A/N: You know what I noticed? I use a lot of semi-colons. Hmm, isn't that weird? Oh, and you know Monday-night-parties are the best. *throws random confetti*
Great big thanks to Elaine for Britifying this chapter and to Karla for translating my pathetic Spanish.
Warning: slightly un-beta'd chapter.
Chapter Four
Mission Malfoy: Part II
Monday, 10 March, 2003
Obstacle Number Two: Shopping
The next day's shopping fling got off to a bad start. Store nzmero uno was the worst. They had an English speaking saleswomen, but she appeared to have gone off on break; at least, that's what the Spanish-English dictionary informed Ginny the other clerks had said. Ginny had to wait twenty minutes for her return, looking at the dresses on her own and realizing she didn't know what sort of dress she was trying to find.
When the woman finally came back, she had eyed Ginny rather coldly and superciliously, as if hinting boldly that she didn't belong in the store. Ginny recalled the same look from the salesman the previous day, and wondered what it was about her that cried, I'm not rich! "What sort of dress are you looking for?" the saleslady asked slowly.
Ginny had come to conclude that she didn't have a clue. What sort of dress would be appropriate for such a party? Evidently the men would be dressed up, but did that mean she should wear something with a skirt that trailed the floor – or would it be fashionable to show some leg? Should the dress be simple and elegant, or gaudy and loud?
"Well," Ginny said, flustered, "it's for – er, a party."
The saleswoman stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to go on. "All right," she said after a moment, forcing a smile. "Where is this party going to be? Outside, inside -?"
"The Westin Palace Hotel," Ginny cut in right away, having committed the name to memory.
"Oh!" The woman's face brightened. "You'll be attending the Tannars' party. You'll want an evening gown. Come, follow me."
Needless to say, Ginny hadn't found a dress she liked there. But she did know what sort to look for, which had aided her in her hunt.
She spent a good part of the morning and afternoon shopping for a dress. Everything she found that she liked was well over her price range, and those that were within her budget she didn't like. She couldn't be an enchantress, no, but she could look good. And she was determined to do so.
Finally, around five in the afternoon, Ginny walked into a women's eveningwear boutique, convinced she was going to find her dress there. If she kept searching much longer, she would be late for the party. She wasn't really sure what time it started, but she suspected around six or so. She'd arrive at eight, just to be careful.
If she didn't find anything she liked at this store, she decided, then she would go back to one of the previous stores and buy a dress that had looked okay. It would be better than nothing.
But she ended up finding a dress there that she liked out of all the ones she'd tried on. It was pale green - mint, the tag read - and made of a type of silk; it clung to her enough to show some curves, but also kept some hidden and left to the imagination. The hem trailed the floor; the straps were thin, decorated in rhinestones; the neckline was pleated and covered her chest modestly.
Ginny had expected sparks to fly when she'd found the right dress. It hadn't happened with this one, but it was pretty enough. She looked good. Besides, as a plus, the color matched her hair; it was awful trying to find the right colors when she shopped for clothes, and most of the time she ended up wearing black or white.
And though it was a bit more than she was willing to pay, she had enough for it. It took over half her food/spending money, but she gave it. Almost willingly, too; it was an incredible relief to have purchased a dress.
It was while she was saying, "Gerwin" to her inn door that she remembered she needed shoes to match. With a screech of frustration, she glanced at her watch and saw it was nearing six. She wanted to snag a bit of dinner - she hadn't eaten since breakfast - and wouldn't have time to go out for shoes afterwards.
It's a good thing you're a witch, Weasley, she thought, furious with her stupidity.
After a brief dinner (it had only been her and Nathaniel Marksmon this evening, as it had been the previous one), she returned to her room and pulled out a pair of her ratty old trainers. She'd never been outstanding in Transfiguration, but she had enough talent to do this rather simple thing.
It did take her the better part of ten minutes to get it right, however. By six thirty she had managed to transfigure her trainers into a pair of satin light green - rather, mint - pumps with a heel the length of her pointer finger. They weren't too sexy, Ginny had to admit; stilettos would've been better, or maybe a pair of sandaled shoes that wrapped up her calf. But who was going to see it with her dress hanging down to her toes? And besides, she needed comfort. She didn't want her feet moaning in pain five minutes into the evening.
Shoes dealt with, she went into the lavatory to take a long, indulging shower. As she scrubbed her hair, she went over the approach-Malfoy plan in her head.
She would at least try the smooth route - accidentally-on-purpose end up standing beside him, widen her eyes in shock when she saw it was him, tell him he looked familiar, and what was his name again? If he hesitated in answering, appearing to think about giving her a false name, she would plunge on and say his real name, as if suddenly remembering it. She would make pleasantries; ask him how he was, what he was doing nowadays, why he was at this party, all the while getting the strict point across that she had no idea he was supposed to be dead.
Then, as if on a whim, she would ask him to have a drink with her. "To catch up," she would say coyly.
She frowned. Coyly? She would have to act. And damn convincingly, too.
But how would Malfoy react? Would he taunt her like he had during their Hogwarts days? Sneer and turn her down for the drink, saying snottily that he didn't associate with poor Muggle-lovers? It would be terribly childish, but she wouldn't put it past him.
Well, she thought, stepping out of the shower, if he rejects me, I'll just keep trying. Follow him home to find out where he lives, appear randomly on his doorstep the next day and tell him I fancied him at one time or something silly like that. Demand that he go out with me, just once.
That course of action made her cringe. She would have to turn into some begging little girl if she wanted to have his attention. She would have to pretend to swoon for him, to need and want his company.
This would take a hell of a lot of acting skill.
Her insides bubbled apprehensively as she slipped on her new dress. Her hands shook as she lifted her wand to arrange her hair into something that resembled a style. By the time she was applying cosmetics, she felt she was about to faint.
She stepped out of the lavatory and came to stand in front of the full-length mirror in her room. She was slightly stunned at what she saw. Not the type to wear a lot of makeup, it was surprising to see her eyes widened by the dark eyeliner, surprising to see her lips colored a darker pink. Her wildly red hair, which had flared out into mad wild waves during puberty and was her pride and her curse, had calmed down a bit; she'd used an Anti-Frizz Charm on it, so it would flatten down slightly, and twisted a few strands so there were large curls every now and then. It was simple, but it worked nicely.
She looked quite good, if she did say so herself. She'd always thought she was rather cute, maybe even pretty, but now she thought she might take a step beyond pretty. Beautiful in a quiet sense. Not outrageously gorgeous, but classic.
She was pleased with the face that stared back at her.
Some of the nervousness unknotted in her belly, and she gained some confidence. She could do this. She would be damned if Malfoy would wound her pride if he rejected her drink invitation. It would be his loss.
Besides, once he was locked in Azkaban, she could come visit him and laugh in his face. She'd taunt him, make up for all those years at Hogwarts where he'd verbally tortured everyone she'd known and cared about. In fact, she'd bring some old friends, so they could all have a go. "How does it feel to be outwitted by a Weasley, Malfoy?" she would ask, and smirk at him through the bars of his cell.
The fantasy made her smile, and eager to get to the party. She glanced at the clock and saw it was just past seven thirty. She could stand to leave a little early; the party was sure to be underway by now.
But then she was faced with the dilemma of her wand. Should she bring it along? She definitely wouldn't feel safe without it, but where could she put it? She debated sliding it into the elastic of her knickers - she'd done it before, but the dress was clingy enough that someone might see the lump. Besides, she didn't like sticking it there, it made her uncomfortable.
She ended up transfiguring her hideous pocketbook into a smaller, sleeker bag that was long enough to fit her wand. It took her another fifteen minutes to get it the right size, and the right color. By then she was more than anxious to get going.
She threw a final glance at her reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, she clutched her bag and Disapparted from her room with a pop.
* * *
"Draco," Blaise said quietly, reaching over the table and grabbing Draco's wrist. "If you have any mercy, you'll kill me right now."
Draco grinned dourly, almost grimacing, and wrenched his wrist free. "I'm too busy plotting Pansy's demise to consider yours, Zabini," he said.
The Muggle party was horrible. Painful. And it had only been going for a half hour.
Draco and Blaise were seated at one of the several round, white-clothed tables set up in the cavernous room. There was a circle of pillars in the middle of the room, sectioning off a table-free area for people to stand in groups and mingle. There were even some couples dancing gently to the four-pieced orchestra that was playing classical music. Against one wall was a long counter of food, and a hotel servant was serving people. Several waiters were walking through the crowd, holding trays of champagne. The air was full of conversation and laughter; the atmosphere was light and cheery.
Draco wanted to hang himself.
"Look at her," Blaise snorted in disgust, referring to Pansy. "She looks like she's enjoying this."
They glanced across the room, into the middle area where Pansy chatting with Gaius Tannar. She wore an outfit that lacked the class and refinement that permeated the room; a white corset that gave her never-ending cleavage, accompanied by an ankle-length white skirt with a slit that ended somewhere around the middle of her thigh. Currently she was charming Tannar, and was unbothered by the fact that his wife close enough to see him staring down her chest and scowling bitterly at them.
"Better her," Draco replied frostily to Blaise's comment, "than me."
"They'll probably leave soon," Blaise said, forcing hope, knowing once they were gone he and Draco could leave as well. "Tannar looks like he's minutes away from shagging her right on the floor."
Draco turned his head so he could meet Blaise's eye. "Don't get too excited," he warned, "Tannar's the host. He can't leave so soon. We have a good two hours left."
"Fuck me," Blaise swore, sinking back in his chair and moping.
"No thank you," Draco answered, taking a sip of champagne.
For a few minutes, they sat in silence, the trilling laughter and flowing speak of the rich and powerful Muggles clogging their ears. It was good they all spoke in Spanish, or else Draco wasn't sure what he'd do. Perhaps something that involved him, a wand, and a forever-silencing curse.
He glanced back at Blaise, seeing the other man's surly face and blazing eyes. While Draco wasn't enjoying the festivities anymore than he was, he knew that Blaise would probably take drastic action before him. Draco hadn't really ever gotten a kick out of torturing Muggles; it seemed like a waste of time and effort, and personally didn't entertain him in the slightest. Blaise, on the other hand, probably wouldn't mind handing out a few Cruciatus Curses to occupy himself. Sometimes he was a little too fanatical about inflicting pain for his own good.
At this rate, however, Draco thought he would be willing to see Blaise loose it and start heaving curses at various Muggles by the end of the hour. Just to have something to watch.
"I'm going to find something to eat," Draco said grouchily, and headed for the food counter.
* * *
Obstacle Number Three: Invitations
Ginny was about to cry. She stood, stupidly, in front of a man who spoke no English and who blocked her passage through the doorway and into the party.
He had greeted her with a large smile, looking ridiculously handsome in his waiter tuxedo, and said, "Seqorita, ?podrma ver su invitacisn por favor?" while simply radiating sex appeal. When she'd merely blinked and stared at him, quite afraid because she hadn't brought her Spanish-English dictionary, he had chuckled uncomfortably and lifted a piece of paper off the podium he stood behind, holding it up for her to see. Though it was written in Spanish, she had enough sense to see that it was an invitation.
God – damn – it.
She hadn't even considered an invitation. But of course she should have. It was a party for only the upper crust of Muggle society; the hosts wouldn't want just anyone waltzing in.
How could she be so thick?
She held up one finger to the man, gesturing that she'd be right back with it. Then she turned and stormed through the lobby, fleeing the hotel.
After smacking herself in the forehead with the heel of her hand and getting odd stares from passerby in return, she started to pace the pavement in front of the building. Her mind worked furiously.
Okay, she thought, this is okay. I can get through this. I'm a witch, for God's sake, I can get past Muggles.
Maybe she could just go back up to the waiter and smile apologetically. She would say she'd forgotten what her invitation looked like. Laughing, she'd explain she just got so many invitations everywhere she couldn't remember what any looked like. She'd memorize it in a few seconds, and then she could come back outside, grab a discarded newspaper off the street, go into an alley, and transfigure it into an invitation.
Hmm, good plan. Tiny flaw, however. She couldn't speak the language it required to ask and see the invitation. Even if she did have the communication skills, there was no way she could remember what the invitation said well enough to transfigure something to resemble it. Which didn't make much sense, because if she spoke Spanish, she would be able to read it as well and remember how to duplicate it . . .
Bottom line: she should've brought her bloody dictionary.
She wanted to kick something, punch something, whack something with her pocketbook. But she didn't want to ruin her dress or hair. After all, once she was done being abusive she would find a way to get into that party. And she still needed to look her best.
So she paced some more; thought some more. And then she was struck with an idea that was so simple she wanted to slap her forehead once again for taking so long to come up with it.
Distraction. Distractions always worked.
But what sort? Maybe start a small fire down the hall, make sure that the invitation Nazi-waiter is closest and therefore have to run away from his post to extinguish it? No, that was too risky. Muggles tended to overreact with fires; they normally evacuated the whole building when a bit of smoke was spotted. She didn't want mayhem; she wanted just one person out of her way.
Well then . . . what? She considered conjuring a snake, maybe have it attack the waiter so he would run away screaming. But then she figured the man might not be afraid and perhaps stomp on it and kill it without moving a step. Or maybe he would scream and his screams would draw the attention of the guests and once the other people spotted the snake. . . .
Mayhem.
"Argh!" Ginny cried, a bit louder than she expected. Once more people gave her questioning glances.
Finally, she just decided to draw the man away herself. She ended up grabbing a stray newspaper, finding a hidden spot, and turning it the same off-white color that the invitations were (her transfiguring skills were rapidly growing). She even gave it a blue boarder and had some black squiggly lines appear, looking like writing. After cropping it approximately to the correct size, she went back into the hotel and headed towards the toilets.
She had to walk right by the invitation man, but he had pulled out a book and was now reading it. He didn't glance up as she scurried by.
She spent a few minutes in the women's bathroom, which was luckily empty. She clogged about three toilets with magic and flushed them so they overflowed. Satisfied as the water spilled onto the clean tiled floor, she turned back around and returned to the waiter. He lowered his book and smiled charmingly at her once more.
Now was her practice round in acting. Scrunching her face into that of horror and disgust, she pointed frantically towards the lavatory. Fortunately she knew the one word that she needed to use: toilet.
"El baqo!" she insisted in badly accented Spanish. "El baqo, el baqo!" She was sure to have her invitation clutched in her hand at the correct angle; at one glance it would seem like the real thing. Once she left the waiter's presence, he wouldn't be too concerned that she had disappeared - to him, it would seem like she had an invitation.
Looking alarmed, the man slammed his book onto the podium and hurried off towards the toilets. Ginny followed him, stood with him in the doorway as he examined the damage, and remained there when he turned to leave and get help.
Calmly, once the waiter had disappeared down the hall, she strolled back to the party. She jammed her false invitation into the middle of the stack of real ones on the podium and walked into the room.
She hovered near the door for a few minutes, surveying the place. No one noticed her arrival; the light conversations in Spanish continued, the music went on uninterrupted, and laughter tinkled happily every now and then. The women were dressed in every color imaginable, their necks and wrists and earlobes sparkling with precious jewels. The men wore elegant black and white tuxedos, looking pompous and undeniably rich.
The groups' wealth eluded them like a scent. Ginny felt oddly out of place. She felt someone could take one look at her and see that she had been raised on everything second-hand, on always getting second best. But no one paid her any attention.
Her eyes searched throughout for Draco, but she couldn't find him from where she was – lingering in the doorway. She stepped deeper into the room. The minute she was in view, a waiter hurried to her side, saying something in Spanish. She assumed he was offering her a glass of champagne, so she flashed him a small smile and took a glass. Then he moved on, and she was left standing idly and trying to look like she belonged.
She took a deep breath and tried to get herself to think. She'd made it into the party - that was the hard part. Finding Malfoy would be easy. Speaking to him would be harder. Getting him to go out with her for a drink would be hardest.
But she'd take it one thing at a time.
Maybe she could go to the table of food and get a plate of something. Then she could sit down at one of the many tables, pray to Lady Luck that there weren't reserved seats, and assess the room from a sitting point while eating. That way she'd at least look like she was doing something, not just standing like an idiot with nothing to do or no one to talk to.
Inhaling deeply and running her champagne-flute free hand over her dress self-consciously, she crossed the room to the counter of food.
For about a minute, she stood there, looking at the choices of meats, breads, pastas, vegetables, and fruits, trying to decide what she wanted. The man serving waited for her to make a decision, although she didn't notice. Finally, just when she opened her mouth to announce what she wanted, a person said something loudly to the server in perfect Spanish.
The voice surprised her; she hadn't been aware someone had come up beside her. She glanced over, some sixth sense telling her before she'd even laid eyes on him that it was Malfoy. But she still was surprised to see him. Starting a bit with a slight gasp, she somehow managed to release the champagne glass. She felt it slip from her fingers, then felt it splash down the front of her dress, before sliding to the floor with the dainty sound of thin glass being shattered.
Obstacle Number Four: Acting
Ginny stared at the broken champagne flute, her face heating up like a second sun. Christ, she was such an idiot. How the hell had she managed to tip her glass over first, before proceeding to drop the blasted thing?
Where the fuck had all her Gryffindor bravery gone? She couldn't make herself look at Malfoy. She could feel him looking at her, and she felt her face burn vividly, but she couldn't meet his eyes. She had the sudden urge to dash away and bash her face into something wide, flat, and metal.
"Oh," she squeaked. "How clumsy of me."
She crouched down to pick up the broken glass, wanting to die, but already a masculine, well manicured hand was reaching for it.
"Allow me," he said, this time in English, and there was a trace of smirk in his voice.
Kill me, kill me, kill me. She found some of that supposed Gryffindor courage she possessed and raised her eyes to his face. He was staring down, not at her, to see the shards of glass he was placing in his hand. And he was indeed smirking.
And he was indeed every bit as good looking as the Ministry's photographs had depicted.
Ginny rose to her feet quickly, wiping her hands foolishly on her ruined dress. She considered taking her wand out of her pocketbook and fixing it, but didn't think now was the time. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Malfoy handing the broken glass to the man serving the food. He turned and caught her gaze before she could turn away.
"Smooth," he told her absently, as if he was already bored with her presence. He reached to pluck a grape from a tray and popped it into his mouth. "Hope that isn't expensive silk."
She'd rehearsed all day what she was going to say to him . . . "Oh, hello! If you will forgive me, I've forgotten your name . . . Ah yes, Draco Malfoy! We went to Hogwarts together, didn't we? It's been what, four years? Five?"
But she didn't think that careless approach would work anymore. She felt way too uncoordinated for that. Think, Ginny, focus! her mind shrieked. You can do this.
It was a little reassuring that her face seemed to have cooled down some.
With some renewed hope, she switched scenes, but kept the same basic script in mind. Calling upon her actress skills once more, she screwed her face into that of amazement. "Malfoy?" she blurted, as if having recognized him at his remark on her dress.
A long second passed as Malfoy stared at her, chewing his grape with an aloof expression. If he wanted to blow her entire mission, all he had to say now was, "No, you are mistaken" and walk away. And she wouldn't be able to do anything without acting suspicious. Because if she really had run into him by accident, she would've accepted the fact that he was someone else, not knowing any better from not having seen him in five years. It would be a bright red sign if she pursued him, showing she was confident it was him; and that bright red sign would read: I WORK FOR THE MINISTRY.
"I can't believe it's you," she went on hurriedly before he could deny anything, trying to sound like she was surprised to see him. "I mean, it's been . . . what? Five years?"
He smirked cockily at that and she ignored it, hoping he got the hint that she hadn't heard of his death. He needed to believe she thought he was just there on vacation or something; he needed to believe she hadn't the slightest inkling he was supposed to be dead.
It was a fragile notion, however. There were a million reasons why Draco could say he was someone else and leave. If he admitted to being Malfoy, he had to know there was a chance that Ginny would eventually find out he'd been "killed", especially since he might figure out she would mention seeing him to someone in her family and they would know for sure that he was supposedly dead.
And yet . . . if he was going to tell her a different name, then why was he standing there smirking at her? Being so Malfoy-ish that it would be impossible to think differently?
All her fretting had been for nothing. Draco Malfoy's expression melted into that of amusement. He replied easily, "Hullo, Weasley."
He sounded the same, Ginny thought to herself, but he also sounded different. The arrogance was still there, the detachment was still there. But he sounded more refined; grown up. Maybe he still got thrills from making fun of people, but he probably did it in a more adult-like manner.
Easy enough. Ginny could handle him.
She forced a smile, congratulating herself on what she felt was a believable appearance of warmth. "Call me Ginny," she said. Politely. Not seductively.
He answered by eating another grape. It was amazing how breathtaking he was. Ginny didn't remember him being nearly as good looking at Hogwarts. His hair was fine, pale . . . almost silvery, if she looked at it the right way. His eyes were gray, and it would have been a pretty color if there had been warmth in them. He was on the short side, even though he had grown considerably since she'd last seen him five years ago, but still a bit taller than she. And he was slim. His skin was flawless; he practically glowed with good health. Beside him, even looking her best, Ginny felt old and scruffy.
She could feel her tense muscles relaxing. So far, everything was going fairly well. The incident with the broken champagne glass was fading from her memory; it hadn't been that bad, really.
"I wasn't aware you came to Muggle parties," she said, striking up conversation. "I guess you've grown up since I've last seen you."
"I'm here for a reason." His voice had taken on a hard edge, so slight he probably didn't even realize it.
"Are you?" She didn't want to pry too much into his business at first; if he thought she was too meddlesome, he would be more apt to reject her drink invitation. "Well, I just didn't think you knew the host." Please don't ask me to say who the host is, she prayed, though why he would ask her such a thing was beyond her.
He met her gaze, his eyes subtly brightening with slight enjoyment. "I didn't think you could afford to know the host," he answered, reaching for his champagne.
Her smile hardened. "Well, maybe you haven't grown up," she told him frostily. In actuality the comment hadn't insulted her in the slightest. Was that the best he could do?
"Hmm. You might want to get that cleaned before it becomes permanent," he said, pointing at the stain on her dress. Then he stepped by her and started to walk away.
Obstacle Number Five: Drinks
No! She wasn't done with him yet. She needed to ask him out. Spinning around, she said hurriedly to his retreating back, "Would you like to leave this party with me?"
Oh my God, she thought, horrified. Had she really just said that?
He turned back to face her, fighting back yet another smirk. "No thanks, Weasley, I have a strict policy that doesn't allow me to sleep with a woman if I haven't known her for at least five minutes."
Her temper flared. Of course he had to take it that way. "You've known me since I was eleven, Mal - Draco," she said, struggling to keep her voice even and the conversation away from childish antics. "And that's not what I meant."
"Really." He started to walk away again.
He's getting away! her brain yelled at her, as if she didn't realize. Anger being replaced with panic, she strode after him. Intercepting him, she grabbed his arm to get his attention. Startled, he threw her hand off as he turned to face her once more.
"I think it would be nice to have a drink with you," she told him. It took effort to add coolness into her tone. "Catch up on things. I've been in this city for a week with absolutely no human contact because I don't know anyone," she lied.
"I have better things to do than spend my evening with you," he said.
Typical. "Such as socialize with Muggles?" she accused harshly, placing her hands on her hips and narrowing her eyes.
His mouth hardened, and he glanced casually over his shoulder. Ginny was well aware he was looking at someone and followed his eyes. Sitting a few tables away was the same dark-haired man who had been tuxedo-shopping with Malfoy the previous afternoon. Though he wasn't looking at them, she could see his face and still couldn't place him. Before she had a chance to study him, Draco moved in to block her view.
"Fine," he told her flatly. "You win."
He kept a hand on her arm as he led her out of the party, as if afraid she would look back to examine his companion. She didn't, but she knew soon she would have to do some serious research to find the dark-haired man's identity.
* * *
Draco was surprised.
He didn't surprise easily. He normally was in control and knew what was going on. Expected it.
He hadn't expected Ginny Weasley to be at the Muggle party.
The sight of her standing beside him at the food counter had sent a swirl of emotions through him. One was doubt. If she was so incompetent, how had she found him so quickly? According to Pansy, she was supposed to have been sent to Spain only two days before. He thought he had about a week before he had to start worrying about her.
Another was a strange sort of attraction. He'd never paid the youngest Weasley any attention at school, but that was because she hadn't had anything worth looking at. Now she caught his notice. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but there was something about her that had tugged at him. And he was a bit wary about it.
The third thing he'd felt was irritation. He would have to deal with her a lot sooner than he'd thought. And by having found him so easily, she proved herself eager. Perhaps she was incompetent and had just stumbled upon him by luck, but she certainly was going to try to do her job. He didn't like that.
It wasn't what he expected.
But she proved to be a plausible excuse for escaping the Muggle party. Blaise would give him hell later, he knew, but he didn't care. Blaise always whined about something and Draco could tune him out rather effortlessly.
And yet for a fleeting moment Draco wondered if he would be better off staying at the party than "getting a drink" with Weasley. But then he realized at least speaking with Weasley would keep him on his toes and give him something to do; after all, he would have to be able to respond to her without giving away he knew she was after him. He would have to think. That was more than he could do at the party.
Draco kept his hand on Weasley's elbow as he led her out of the room, hoping she hadn't gotten a clear view of Blaise. She might not recognize him, but there was still a chance. And though she wasn't a problem in a full sense, she could still report back to her superiors that she'd seen Blaise Zabini associating with Draco and cause more trouble than it was worth. The last thing he needed was the Ministry after Blaise as well.
As the two of them crossed the lobby and headed outside, Draco found he was starving. Weasley had distracted him from getting his dinner at the party. He debated just holding out on eating until he'd had his brief drink with her. No, he thought, I shouldn't have to wait just because I don't want to spend time with Weasley. It would be better for him just to find someplace to eat and promptly ignore her.
So where did he want to go to eat? Home wasn't an option. He refused to take Weasley into his flat. And some nice and expensive restaurant was also out of the question. He refused to spend a lot of money on her. Now that he wasn't trying to hide from the Ministry anymore, he could go to a wizarding place to eat. But having been avoiding all wizarding places he wasn't sure where there was a restaurant.
With an irritated sigh, he decided on a Muggle Chinese place. He'd passed it before and knew of it - he hadn't been inside before, but it had looked clean enough. Moderately priced. The sort of place middle-class people ate.
Draco hadn't set foot inside because he was above middle-class.
If Weasley was to be with him, then he supposed it would have to suffice. He would have to swallow his dignity and lower himself to a Muggle, middle-class restaurant.
"Where would you like to go?" Weasley asked, as if knowing he had finally come to a decision. "I know of a -"
"I know where to go," he cut her off shortly.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a mobile telephone. He found the invention to be one of the most useless devices created, but the only reason he had it was to ring his chauffeur whenever he needed a ride. If he had to live like a Muggle, then he would have the best of the Muggles. If he had to be transported like a Muggle, then he would be transported in class.
Of course, he would soon dispose of both services, because with Weasley on the job, he didn't need to worry about the Ministry tracking him down anymore. But at the moment they proved a useful.
It had taken Draco about an hour of intense study to figure out how to use the mobile telephone, but now he had to admit he was rather efficient with it. He flipped it open and dialed the one number he'd had the need to memorize - his chauffeur's.
Sebastian was the man's name, and he was the one Muggle Draco could tolerate. He barely spoke and never asked questions. Still, it would be a relief once Draco discontinued the use of the Sebastian's services - the next day, he decided. Muggles made him uneasy, no matter how they kept to their own business.
"Sir," Sebastian answered dully after the first ring.
"I'm ready," said Draco shortly. "Waiting out front."
He flipped the mobile closed and slid it back into his pocket. Weasley was staring at him, but he didn't bother to look at her. They waited only a few seconds before Draco spotted the sleek, black luxury automobile that had come along with Sebastian.
Sebastian pulled to a stop by the curb. Draco opened the back door and got in; if he had been a gentleman, he would've held it open for Weasley. But he wasn't a gentleman. Especially when Weasleys were involved. To add a bit more sting, he slammed the door without scooting over. She would have to go around to the other side if she wanted a ride.
A moment later the other door opened, and Weasley plopped in. She looked thoroughly annoyed. Good, he thought, struggling to keep a grin off his face.
"Where to, Mister Malfoy." Sebastian seemed so bored he couldn't even make the question sound like such.
"Chinese," answered Draco, settling back into his seat. Beside him, Weasley had her arms crossed tightly over her chest. He threw a glance at her and saw her glaring out the window as they pulled into the street.
This could be fun, he mused, looking out his own window. He could spend his evening infuriating her.
It was then he wondered why he had subconsciously chosen to sit in the back with her, and not up front with Sebastian.
* * *
A/N: So they've met. Yay.
Next chapter: they eat Chinese. They bond. They banter. Ginny invites Draco out once again. The Plan runs into a problem. Travel must ensue.
Spanish translations: "Seqorita, ?podrma ver su invitacisn por favor?" translates to "May I see your invitation, miss?"
El baqo means toilet.
And thank yous:
dragongirlG (hmm, Penelope is kind of suspicious isn't she? I'll give you a hint though; she's not really supposed to be ;) Miss Congeniality . . . now there's a movie I haven't seen in a while . . .), Jade Summers (haha, gotta love Spanish), Allie29 (wow, that's a lot of Allies. Penelope was quite fun to write, so I'm glad she's fun to read. Thank ya much!), Princess Cora (why thank you. I'm so jealous . . . lots of traveling . . . blah, the only places we go are New York and South Carolina. Gar. Anyway, thanks again!), Atherie (haha, meet they did indeed), Brooke Kenobi (blah, sorry, it did take me a while to update. But I always love your reviews, so thanks!), Lauren (whoosh, long review! It was great. Anyway, I'm honored you'd sacrifice sleep to read my story; that's devotion. Mad hugs for you. Glad you like my Draco; I always find him a pain in the rear to pin down. Yeah, Penelope is rather bold, isn't she? That's just her character, though . . . I think . . . moving on. Writing has always kind of come naturally to me – can you believe that I started to write really bad Titanic stories in fourth grade? – so I can't really remember starting. But I do think it's something that improves the more you do it, so if you enjoy it, then just write! Even if you let no one read them, if it makes you happy, then do it. Well, now that I've gone all sappy, I'll touch on quickly on the marching band topic; we, too, have to wear bulky uniforms that'll keep us nice and warm, especially in the 85-degree, 95 with humidity, weather. But I'm having fun with it, so thanks. This is an awful long thank you, but I enjoyed your review tremendously. Thanks once more!), Sakura1287 (ahh, Blaise/Pansy/Draco is a delight to write (hey, I rhymed!). Haha glad you liked my reviews, I did enjoy your story. Thanks for so many reviews!), fEEdLestEEx (Hurhur, eh? That's a great way to write a laugh. I'll have to try it sometime. Anyway, thanks!), HPReader4L (hey, you know what? I think you're right! I think my years are screwed up. I'll see if I can fix it; thanks!), Bulma Greenleaf (whew, I was worried about those evil pink fluffy teddybears, let me to you. Thank ya!), ChristyK (Draco and Ginny are definitely very shexy together), Miss Auburn (thanks!), mz-duCkiee (haha, good, I'm glad it makes a bit more sense now. And I bet that the Ministry would own Azkaban, but for plot purposes were going to say one man owns it. Bitchy Spanish guys rock, yes they do. Penelope will definitely come in more bulk later!), ChubBubble (in the book it says Draco is kind of short, so I kept him that way. Sorry! Anyway, thanks, glad you like the story!), FlavOftheweek (Haha exactly! If she stunned him there would be no mad G/D sex . . . ahem, anyway. You killed your eye on a tree ROOT? How did your eye get down that low? Haha that's pretty funny . . . well, not that you got hurt, I hope you're okay, of course . . . haha okay I'll shut up now), Nobodysbitch (why thank you, I'll try to keep Penelope quite Bitchy), Luinthoron (Gotta love the Slytherins. Glad you liked Penelope!), Tia Dot1 (haha, well . . . well . . . Penelope doesn't like you either! Okay, that was pathetic. Anyway, thanks for being such a stupendous beta!), silent squeak (yeah, the lexicon is like, my Bible. Kinda. Why are you tired in the afternoon?), MaryMadMalfoy (Pissing me off? Pfft, I love emails! Hey, that's cool that you're translating it . . . good luck, the freaking thing is forever long!), love-and-war17 (why thank you! And I don't see any sequels for AYNiL any time soon . . .), AnonymousHGDV (haha thanks!), VioletJersey (Anything with "Draco" and "Ginny" and "seducing" has got to be high quality, no? Haha, I'm glad you're back to review my fic, it's great to see some loyal fans! I'm thrilled you liked AYNiL so much; it really means oodles to me. Hope to hear from you again quite soon!), Cursed4Life (haha, I hope you laugh in a good way), frananddragon (ever again? You can't EVER use the computer? Eek, that's frightening. No, Blaise isn't gay. He just happened to be lying in Pansy's very feminine bed and Draco wanted to make fun of him for it. I believe Blaise is quite straight), Anaxandra1 (Ha Draco's always smug. I'm glad you like Penelope; don't worry, she's definitely not there to dominate the fic as a Mary-Sue. You have my word. Anyway thanks!), Britta (*bows down to The Beatles* Great song, great song. Yes, I do believe snogs need to come into play, don't they? Soon, I should think. Thanks!), Shakespeare's Muse (gotcha, S.e.a5. Nope, you spelled portrayed right. Glad you like Blaise; I've never even attempted writing him before, so it's completely my first characterization of him. Thank ya much!), twinsofthesky (you crazy, crazy girl, you crack me up like a banana…ha great joke, Brianna *pats self on back*. Anyway, don't go dancing wildly in any libraries soon . . .), TrinitYMalfoY527 (thank you muchos. I know, it was a long shot that she ran into him . . . who would've guessed? Certainly not me . . . anyway, yeah, Penelope at first seems like your usual bitchy, stuck-up, and bold American, but like you pointed out – she's not fat, haha. And she's not very lazy. Or rich. Her character will be revealed in more depth later. Thanks for the review!), Jenny (haha, patience is a virtue, but dammit it's annoying. Thank you!), Pink Inspiration (Some places in America water's free, but other places you have to pay for it. So I just assumed this was a water-charging place in Spain. Anyway, thank ya!), Caramello (well thank you for reviewing! It's great to hear from you), Luna Writer (haha yeah I planned the merci. I'll treat Penelope with tender loving care, never worry), Ili (indeed I have written another story! Thanks, glad you like my stories ;)), Lyn Malfoy/Felton (it has been quite a while! I do remember you, actually. Thanks for the two reviews!), TessWalker (thank you so much! I know I sound eager, but it's really great to hear you say that. I'm glad you enjoy my writing so much. And I have yet to take Spanish . . . next year I will, though), tiggergrl1306 (haha kick-buttish. Thanks oodles), Carol Mephoter (hey, you're English is actually really good! Haha, glad the Spanish is good; I have a Spanish beta), TheGirlWhoLived2 (hello hello Elaine. Of course you made sense. And I'm still envious that you got to go to France and I didn't. Jumping in the ocean at ten at night…pft…*sulks*), Aaren1 (Gracias, amigo! Wow, that's about the extent of my Spanish ability, haha), The Ginneh (No problem; one review is enough. I have no idea how long this story is going to be; it'll just be as long as it wants to be. Thanks for the review!), xi-swt-tearz-ix (thank ya!).
It's great; this chapter I got suuuuuch long reviews. I love 'em, guys! Thanks bunches.