Author's Note: Thank you sooooo very much for the reviews. Two things:
A) Harry is never going to play much of a role in this story, and
B) Don't worry, Ginny doesn't actually look terrible. Draco just pictures her that way because she's a Weasley.
About the Harry thing: this may sound stupid, but I avoid Harry/Ginny fanfiction because I think J.K. Rowling is definitely planning to have them end up together. I feel like she's writing their story, so why should we fanfic writers bother? She'll take care of it, and she'll do a wonderful job. On the other hand, writing Draco and Ginny's story is the job- no, the duty- of fanfic writers. And the Draco-not-seeing-Ginny thing is because, well, at this point in the story he's still quite an asshole.
That said, I hope you all enjoy:
Part Four
Ginny woke up the next morning feeling, if not better, at least considerably less melodramatic. She might be stuck in France with the world's biggest prat, but crying wasn't going to improve matters. Breakfast, on the other hand, would. So, after washing her face and cleaning her teeth as best she could in the tiny half-bath attached to her room, she set off in search of some.
Eventually, Ginny's wandering brought her to an arched doorway that opened into an enormous, high-ceilinged dining room. A table the roughly the size and shape of a small swimming pool ran the length of it, and in one ornate chair slouched Draco, drumming his fingers on the tabletop and looking bored out of his wits. "Morning, Malfoy," Ginny muttered, and immediately felt like an idiot. This wasn't a sleepover. But what was she supposed to say? 'Take me home, you kidnapping rat-bastard?' It might make her feel better in the short run, but it seemed highly unlikely to improve her chances of getting any breakfast. And breakfast, Ginny's empty stomach reminded her with a rumble, was the most important meal of the day.
"I would like some breakfast," Draco announced when he caught sight of her, straightening in his chair.
Dandy, thought Ginny. "So would I."
They looked at one another expectantly.
A brief silence fell.
"…Well?" They said in unison.
"Well, what?" asked Ginny, genuinely confused. "This is your house." And she was the guest. Well, more or less. She wasn't perfectly clear on kidnapping etiquette.
"Weasley," the older boy said, staring down his aristocratic nose at her, "I have never in my entire life worried about where my next meal was coming from. I was expecting that you-"
Ginny's eyes narrowed- a dangerous sign, as anyone who had known her before she went to Hogwarts knew- and she abruptly decided that it was too early in the morning to listen to Draco being a fathead. "Well, bully for you, Malfoy," she interrupted. "But as a matter of fact, I haven't either. My family may not be able to afford to buy our way onto mediocre Quidditch teams, but I can assure you that we don't need to worry about having enough to-"
"No," interrupted Draco, his chilly voice impatient. "You don't understand, Weasley. I don't worry about breakfast because I've never had anything to do with it- or any other meal. Not ever. Food just shows up. I get hungry, I sit down, and there it is. I assumed that you- a person presumably more familiar with the mysteries of getting food on the table- might have some idea as to what to do." He arched a brow. "Or am I overestimating your capabilities?"
"Oh." Ginny mulled this one over. Her brain seemed to move more slowly when her blood sugar was low. Her temper was considerably quicker, though. "So what you're saying is, you don't know where the kitchens are either."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Give the girl a prize. And even if I did know where they were, there's nothing in them. No one lives here, remember?"
"Piss off, Malfoy," Ginny said waspishly, and then dropped in a chair. Scowling, she too began to drum her fingers on the table. God, she was hungry. And the pampered idiot across the table from her was clearly going to be absolutely no help.
Draco raised another brow at the formerly meek girl's sharp tone. She seemed rather out of sorts this morning. Feistier than he remembered her being, though. "What's the matter with you?"
"I'm hungry."
"And, what, skipping one meal transforms you from a mouse into a She-Troll?"
"Did I not just tell you to piss off?"
"Such devastating wit," said Draco, false admiration dripping from his voice. "How do you do it? And so early in the morning, too."
The only thing that stopped Ginny from chucking something at him was the utter absence of things to throw. The room was empty except for the chairs and table, both of which looked too heavy to lift. In the end, she was forced to settle for growling at him.
Draco just snickered, making Ginny reconsider her position on the chairs. She could probably manage to heft one of the damn things, if she really put her back into it- "Enough," he said, interrupting her plan of attack with a wave of one pale hand. "Clearly, we're going to need to go into the village for some supplies."
Ginny straightened in her chair. If they went into a town she could ask someone for help-
"A Muggle town," said Draco, distaste dripping from every syllable. "Regrettably, it's the only thing for miles. We'll have to deal with that ridiculous money, too. There's some in the chest in my room."
Damn. No Muggle was going to be able to get a message to Hogwarts. Ginny sighed. "Fine. I'm not much of a cook, though, so we're going to need to buy some very simple things."
"Typical," Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not paying for whatever disgusting peasant food you usually eat, Weasley. You'll either make something edible or you won't eat, is that cl-"
"And you'll get to do all the washing up, of course," interrupted Ginny, satisfaction audible in her voice. Lack of food had always made her spiteful. "That's a sight I'm looking forward to. D'you reckon we can find you a little apron? It'd be a crying shame to get those lovely robes all soapy…."
"I most certainly will not," said Draco, gaping at her as though she'd gone mad. "I've never washed anything in my entire life."
"My heart weeps for you," Ginny said sweetly, her eyes glittering with malicious enjoyment. "But either you wash, or I don't cook."
This time it was Draco's turn to growl, and Ginny treasured the sound. Without another word, he turned and swept from the room, his long legs moving swiftly. Feeling vaguely triumphant, Ginny trotted after him.
****
After collected the mystifying heap of Muggle money from the chest in Draco's room, the two began the long walk to the village. Draco hadn't opened his mouth or altered his expression since the debate over washing the dishes had ended, and Ginny was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable enough to give in, however. As they walked, her hunger-induced short temper began to drift into the depressed stage. She was just starting to sadly meditate upon the many evils of her situation when Draco turned around, his movements so sudden that Ginny barely managed to keep from crashing into him. "Fine," he said, scowling at her. "I'll wash the blasted dishes. But you'll need to show me how."
Ginny refrained from rolling her eyes. Barely. "It's easy. You get them wet, get them soapy, get them wet again, and they're done."
"Easy for you, perhaps," Draco said loftily. "You have plebian roots. I, on the other hand-"
Ginny giggled. She couldn't help it. Plebian roots?
"What?" Draco demanded.
"Are you always this much of a prat, or is there just something about me that brings out the worst in you?" A small, terrified part of Ginny was aghast at how bold she was being- she would never have been this brave at Hogwarts. And yet… she felt strangely sure that Draco wasn't going to hurt her, his Dark Arts background notwithstanding. And they were stuck together. And it seemed fairly obvious that if she didn't stand up for herself, Draco would happily walk all over her. Whatever the reason, for the first time in almost five years she felt reasonably sure that the world wouldn't end if she showed a little backbone.
Draco, on other hand, was staring at her as though she'd grown another head. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said, 'Are you always this-'"
"I heard you the first time," he ground out. "But why, may I ask, are you calling me a prat?"
The ghost of a grin flickered on Ginny's face. "Come on, Malfoy. I mean, 'plebian roots'? Don't you ever say anything different?" She gave a little skip, and then began speaking in a high, falsetto voice with a squeakily upper-crust accent. "Hello, world, I'm Draco Malfoy! Did you know that I'm richer than God? And that it makes me terribly, terribly special? No? Why, that must be because you're a vulgar peasant!"
"Shut up, Weasley!" Draco barked, frowning at her.
But the wretched girl only laughed and continued down the hill, her arms swinging cheerfully. And after a moment Draco followed her, feeling, for the first time in recent memory, more than a little confused.
TBC
Next: Draco and Ginny play happy homemaker!