One more house to go and Ginny would be done for the day. A cold wind whipped under her cloak, making her shiver and quicken her pace. She knew there would be a warm fire waiting for her at her last visit, an old lady wanting tea and sympathy as much as the powered dragon scales for her arthritis.

In the rickety cottage, Ginny's mind wandered as she sipped the bitter, lukewarm tea and tried to listen to Madam Proust's babble about people from an era long before Ginny's time. "…my cousin Annelise, she was from Yorkshire. Or was it Kent? No, no I think it was Yorkshire. I'm almost positive. Well, no matter. She had strange bumps on her toes, too… Yes, I think she was from Kent after all."

Against her will, her mind drifted away from the cousin with bumpy toes, and strayed, as it so often did these days, into thoughts she would rather ignore. Like the thought of what her family would say if they knew she was aiding the 'enemy' – families of deatheaters and various other ne'er-do-wells sympathetic to them. But who was the enemy really? Could she blame these leaderless people for following anyone who promised them a better life, even if that promise was a lie and those who made the promise clearly evil? And what about the very old and the very young. They felt the poverty worse than anyone. Who could blame her for wanting to help them?

But another voice crept into her mind, a nasty one that brought to mind the suspicious wounds she bound for hard faced men who wouldn't meet her eyes. Wounds her brothers or her friends might have made…

In the end, she settled for the uneasy belief that she was only being merciful, and mercy chose no side. Mercy had a price though, she sighed to herself, thinking of her rapidly mounting debt to the Apothecary.

At last the bitter tea was gone. She studied the patterns made by the dregs, glad she didn't know what they signified. Nothing good, she was sure, by Ron's account of divination. She stood up, and cleared the tea things as the old woman chattered on. At last, giving her patient a gentle hug and a final farewell, her day was finished.

Draco paused for a minute in the moonlight streaming through the window, studying the carefully kept silver washed grounds. It had been so long since he'd simply stopped and looked at anything, and he couldn't believe he was pausing now, of all times. He shook his head at his foolishness and moved on. It was the one night his father was guaranteed to be away, and he had to take advantage of it. His father's schedule had been so unpredictable lately. Father's sudden trip to France was just what he needed if he didn't want to explain why exactly he was 'borrowing' expensive polyjuice potion. After more than a few aborted attempts, he'd thought about bringing his father in on his plan. He would be full of helpful suggestions. Too helpful, Draco thought ironically. Somehow it was important that he do this on his own. That he not come running to Daddy when things began to go wrong, as he'd done so many times in the past. A small smile crept onto his face. For once, he'd be bailing his father out. For once, his father would be proud of him. And all he had to do was marry Pansy. It was a small price to pay.

Ginny collapsed into bed wearily. It had been a long day. She felt like she was about eighty, instead of eighteen. There had been weeks of battles, leaving scores of wounded for her to care for. She supposed it was a good thing really, they must be winning if there were so many injured and even killed deatheaters, she just wished it would stop. It was a huge tax on her energy and her resources, not to mention her conscience, though that seemed to have dulled considerably since the beginning of the war. She was so deeply in debt to the shop she felt like she was stealing. She supposed she was, in a way. She couldn't begin to pay back what she owed. Unless of course…

She pushed the thought from her mind. She would not marry Draco. But the thought wouldn't go away, it circled around in her mind like a vulture, as it had for weeks. Reminding her of her promise. She'd sworn. A magical oath. She wondered what would happen if she didn't keep her promise. Whatever strange force that was reminding her of her promise didn't seem to care that the promise involved a git like Draco Malfoy.

Though really, she argued with herself, would it be that bad? Draco disliked her as much as she disliked him, they wouldn't have to have anything to do with each other. They wouldn't even have to tell anyone. The will hadn't said anything like that. Just the lawyers, and they could be kept quiet with a small 'gift', she was sure. She did need the money, and so did he.

She would marry him, she decided, smothering the pangs from her conscience as she had so many times before. So much had changed with the war. None of the beliefs she had been brought up with seemed to apply anymore. And happily-ever-after's were fairytales from an earlier, peaceful time.

Before she could change her mind, she scribbled a quick note on a scrap of parchment and ran downstairs to the shop's owl.

"Take this to Draco Malfoy," she ordered it bruptly.

As she watched the owl soar off into the night, she wondered what she had done.

Draco batted angrily at the small, insistent owl that had flown in his open window, still three quarters asleep. The creature was scratching and hooting angrily, trying to get his attention. Who in the hell sends an owl at this time of night? he thought to himself, sitting up in bed and giving the owl another swat. Seeing that he was up, the owl dropped a slip of parchment next to him and took off, giving him a last scratch on the arm for good measure.

Draco fumbled for his wand, and, lighting it up with a word, read the note.

Meet me tomorrow in the shop at seven am.

-G.W.

Draco stared at it in disbelief. She couldn't possibly have changed her mind. Could she have? One thing was for certain though…he had to find out. She was better by far than fat, stupid Pansy. Pansy who though she'd agreed to marry him disguised as Ginny Weasley, as he had known she would, had startled him by insisting on a 'real' marriage in front of their families. They would make the announcement tomorrow. Or at least, that had been the plan. Draco grinned in relief as he realized he could call it all off now. Of course, he'd have to 'reorder' some on Pansy's memories, but that wasn't a problem. Leaping out of bed with more energy than he'd had in months, he sent a house elf to the Parkinsons' to wake Pansy and bring her over her to comfort his pre announcement 'jitters.' He dressed quickly in his favorite robes and awaited her arrival.

Draco arrived at the shop at 6:55, but he'd be damned if he were going to look overeager. He'd make her wait a bit. Just enough to make her wonder if he was coming. Pansy had earlier been sent on her way with only the vaguest idea that there had ever been anything between them, let alone a proposal. He thought he might have erased a few other memories as well, judging by the way she couldn't seem to remember where exactly home was, but he didn't think it was anything that would be terribly noticeable. She'd never been all that bright.

He divided his glances between his watch, which was moving with unwonted slowness, and the early morning bustle in the street. Shopkeepers uncovering windows, opening doors, sweeping entryways – it was a side of Diagon Alley he'd never seen, and it rather fascinated him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten up before noon.

At 7:06 it occurred to him suddenly that she could still change her mind and send him packing. It was late enough, he decided, banging the Apothecary door open.

She didn't deign to look up as he entered, but continued sweeping up oddly colored dust. She didn't seem to be making very good progress, Draco noted smugly, as he watched her spread previously collected dust back into the corners. He stood and waited for her to notice him. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of making him open his mouth first.

A moment later it was obvious she had the same idea, as she continued her ineffective rounds with the broom, still steadily ignoring him. Draco grew angrier and angrier, but didn't quite dare leave—he needed her cooperation too badly.

Five minutes later he concluded that she was the stubbornest woman in all of England. She still hadn't said a word. Fine. He would behave like a mature human being even if she wasn't going to. He cleared his throat to give her one last chance. She paused in her sweeping a moment, but gave no other sign she'd heard. "I got your note," he said at last, cursing himself silently for letting her win.

"Good," she said, looking up for the first time. He was startled to see how white she was, like she'd been sick for a very long time.

She began sweeping again. "You know why I asked you here?" she asked a moment later in a tone of quiet resignation.

Somehow Draco couldn't bring himself to mock her or even smirk. "I know," he said simply.

"I have Monday off," she said after a long pause. "The courthouse opens at nine o'clock."

"Nine o'clock then. I'll meet you there."

She nodded, and Draco inexplicably wished he could think of something more to say, but no words came. She went back to ignoring him, whiter than before, if that was even possible. A moment later he turned and left the shop.

If he'd gotten what he wanted…why wasn't he happy?

Ginny stared at her reflection in the ancient mirror. Was it the light making her skin so pale and her eyes so dark? She looked like a clown she decided contemptuously, tugging at her bright red hair. A stupid clown. A stupid clown who would marry for money, even. Something she'd never thought she'd do. But she was doing lots of things she'd never imagined, and few of them were good. She glanced down at the robes she'd chosen, wishing she had a full length mirror. It was silly to be so concerned about clothes. It's not like it mattered. It was a sham of a marriage anyhow. But somehow it did.

Her ordinary robes were too shabby and too dark, but she didn't have any others, and couldn't afford new ones. Or at least, not yet, she thought to herself, thinking of the enormous sum of money which would be hers in a matter of hours. Finally she'd dug out her dress robes from the Yule Ball her last year of school. Pale lavender, they'd been second hand when she'd bought them, and scarcely seemed appropriate, but they would have to do. At least she hadn't grown much since then. She'd torn off all the frilly decorations to make them seem less formal, leaving her with something like a plain lavender dress.

She arrived at the courthouse shortly after nine, and was glad to see him in the entrance hall, staring out a window with his back to her. Somehow she didn't think she could have born it if she had to wait. She stood in the doorway for a moment watching him, her future husband. He turned around and stared at her a second, and she stepped in to the room, glad to see he was semi-dressed up as well.

"Nice robes, Weasley," he hissed, smirking. Her temper flared, he hadn't any right to insult her, but she let it pass. It wasn't like she'd ever have to see him again.

"Are you ready?" she asked coldly, forcing herself to stand up straight, pretending she was wearing the finest robes money could buy – a trick which had seen her through many embarrassments about her clothes.

"Whenever you are, my dear," he replied with equal chill, offering her his arm. She ignored the proffered arm and stepped ahead of him to the registry office.

Ginny was glad to see the same two lawyers waiting, she'd forgotten to contact them, Draco must have. She gave them a small smile.

The Magistrate began the ceremony in the bored tones of one who had done this too many times – seen too many scared or excited couples exchanging vows. Ginny's mind wandered back to the elaborate wedding she'd had planned since she was about 7 - the high ceilinged cathedral, the flowers, the music, even her dress. This was about the exact opposite she mused as the magistrate droned on about 'love' and 'honor'.

"I do," Draco's deep voice intoned from her side, startling her into reality.

"Do you Ginevra Molly Weasley take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?" The magistrate looked at her expectantly.

For a second her stomach turned to ice and the world turned upside-down. This is wrong! her mind's voice screamed. There was gentle pressure on her hand. Draco… The money… It all came flooding back. She had to do this. There was no other way. She'd sworn.

"I do."

A/N: Thanks for anyone who's stuck with this fic over the months it's been since it was updated. I hope you like this chapter, and please review.

Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me, don't sue.