Hello, readers!
I can only apologize for the huge delay in posting this chapter, and I hope you'll forgive me and keep on supporting this story.
I'll try to post the next chapter as soon as possible, but please do bear with me as I juggle two jobs, studies, a shitty personal life and this story. I do promise that I fully intend on finishing this story - and considering the plot I've laid out, it is going to be a wild roller coaster ride. So do stick around please!
But without further ado, please go ahead and enjoy this chapter. It is a long one!
Disclaimer: HP is Rowling's. This story is mine.
WILFULLY: CHAPTER 14
Ginny Weasley had a choice to make.
And it seemed that no one, not even the ones that she thought she could rely on the most, were going to make it easy for her.
xx
Ginny plopped down on the living room sofa with a tired sigh and ran her fingers through her half-dry hair. It had been a long day. The Holyhead Harpies had been invited to a fancy brunch, hosted by one of their sponsors, and after that Gwenog had dragged them off to a rather rigorous practice session.
"You look tired," Her mother commented. She was sitting in the armchair by the fire, knitting a dark purple Weasley Christmas jumper. Christmas was only a fortnight away, after all.
"I feel tired," Ginny replied. "But the bath helped."
It had, for sure. Which meant a lot, because not much seemed to help her these days. Nearly ten days had passed since her big fight with Draco – the breakup – and it had hit her surprisingly hard. She had known that the blond git had meant a lot to her, but that his loss would leave her grieving was something she had not expected.
"That's good, dear," Molly said softly. Too softly. "Do you want some hot cocoa?"
"No, mum." Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Ever since she had told her family that things were over with Draco, they had been treating her with extra care, as if she was fragile – which made no sense because she knew that despite their somewhat consoling demeanours and gentle words, they were all relieved at the news. The hypocrisy irked her as much as the pointless cushioning did. "I'm fine."
There was a hint of dubiousness in her mother's expression that she quickly hid with a nod. "Of course, dear."
"Stop it!" She snapped. "Stop tiptoeing around me. I'm fine."
For a moment, Molly seemed startled, but only for a moment. "Are you?"
"I said so, didn't I?"
"You don't seem it, dear." Her mother put down her knitting needles and looked at her, as if she was contemplating something. Then, after a moment or two, she spoke up. "You know, I really liked it when you and Harry were together–"
"Mum, please." Not this again. Please, Merlin. Her relationship with Harry was the last thing she wanted to talk about right now.
"And when things ended between the two of you, you were so lost," Molly went on, clearly ignoring her daughter's warning tone. "So was he, to be honest. I never really understood why you two broke up."
Ginny stood up. "I can't have this conversation."
"Ginevra." Her mother said firmly, and something in her tone made her pause. "I did not approve of your relationship with the Malfoy boy because I did not like him. I'm still not sure if I do. But Ginny, you were happier with him than I've seen you be in a long, long time. It almost made me want to forgive him for all the wrongs that he has done."
If there was ever any example of rotten timing… All these months, she had begged, hoped, prayed that her family would understand her connection with Draco, that they would see that he was a changed man and that she was happy with him. And now, after finding out that he was still the prejudiced git that he had been back at Hogwarts, after she ended things with him, now her mother wanted to give him a chance?
Ginny let out a laugh of incredulity, – or perhaps it was frustration, exhaustion, irony – accio-ed her coat and flooed to the first place that came to her mind: Diagon Alley. Which was a bad idea; the place was too damn crowded due to the holiday season. The entire street twinkled with bright, colourful lights, the smell of freshly baked scones from a stall wafted in the air, and a bunch of enchanted wooden-toys sang Christmas carols outside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
She contemplated going in there; it had been days since she'd last seen George, but the shop was packed with customers and he would undoubtedly be busy. Besides, what she really wanted was some peace and quiet to sort out the multitude of thoughts dancing in her head, and a chaotic joke shop was not the place to get that.
With a sigh, she started towards the apparition point when her eyes caught the elegant sign of La Nuit – the posh restaurant where Draco had taken her on their first date. It had been a lovely evening, and she had been thoroughly charmed by his manners and conversation.
Fuck.
The last thing she wanted to do was think of Draco Malfoy. He was a git. A prejudiced, spoiled git who had not learnt anything even after going through hell – and putting so many others through it too; he had, after all, tortured, betrayed and hurt so many people during the war. Why, then, did she miss him so much?
"Ginny!" A familiar voice caused her to turn, and she saw Percy walking out of Pettichaps with a bunch of large bags.
"Percy," she smiled as she walked over to her brother. "What, did you buy the entire contents of the shop?"
"I had to buy presents for Victorie and Fred. And Audrey has five nieces and nephews," he replied. "She usually does the shopping. I thought I'd help her by doing it instead, but I'm regretting it now."
Amused, Ginny reached out and grabbed half the stuff from her brother, who was clearly having trouble carrying the gifts.
Percy smiled gratefully but when he spoke, it was not to thank her. "What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"You look… disturbed."
"I'm fine," she said, almost automatically.
It was obvious that he did not believe her, but mercifully he did not pry. He never did; it was one thing she admired most about him. It was also perhaps the reason why everything tumbled out of her mouth – Draco and Lukas' fight that she had accidentally eavesdropped on, her argument with Draco, their breakup, and what her mum had just said to her.
It felt good to unburden her heart. After the breakup, she had only informed her family and friends that things were over between Draco and her. When they had asked why, she had refused to answer. She wasn't sure why she was telling Percy of all people, but he was listening with great attention and no interruption, and that was more than enough.
"I'm sorry you're going through this difficult time," Percy said softly once she had finished. "And I'm sorry that I'm not going to make things easier for you."
Ginny frowned. "What do you mean?"
With a slight nudge, he steered her into a side alley that was much less crowded, probably to keep them out of range of possible eavesdroppers. It was good thinking on his part; the last thing she needed was for Rita Skeeter's quill to cash in even more on her chaos. "Look," Percy stopped and turned to face her. "I didn't approve of your relationship with Malfoy. But my feelings for the man aside, I think you were unfair to him."
"Unfair?" she demanded incredulously. "He believes the French were right to pass that Act."
"So do I."
The sheer shock of that admission caused her to falter, but only for a moment. Then, her anger took the reins. "How could you even say that? That law is nothing but a golden opportunity for those blood-supremacist families to torment muggles and muggle-borns."
"Ginny, please. You misunderstand me." Percy grabbed her hand and made her sit on the front steps of a closed, boarded up shop. Taking a seat next to her, he added with a sardonic shrug, "Though I should hardly be surprised. Our family has a habit of doing that."
Where in the name of Merlin's pants did that accusation come from? The need to voice that question did not come, for Percy kept on talking.
"During the war, I was wrong about a lot of things and I've apologised for that," he said. "But you all never admitted your mistakes. I was ambitious, my dream was to be someone – and you all judged me and shamed me for it."
"We didn't–"
"Yes, you did," He cut in, then smiled sadly. "But that's okay. I'm used to having beliefs that are not always shared by my family."
His words unsettled her, and she wanted so desperately to disagree with him. But perhaps the way to go about this, to make him realise that he was wrong again, was to listen to his side of the story. "Why do you support the 'Surveillance and Security Act'?" she asked.
"An entire family was brutally murdered by a relative of a muggle-born witch," he answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The families of all muggle-born witches and wizards are informed of magic, but there is no sure-fire way to determine if they will accept our kind or hold grudges. And then there are loopholes in who gets told – cousins, uncles, aunts, guardians. Harry's, for instance. And Emily Carre's cousin."
Emily Carre had been Jeremy Chaucer's muggle-born friend at Beauxbatons, and her muggle cousin and his friends had murdered the Chaucers.
"And you think that justifies invading people's privacy?" she asked.
"It's not the cleanest solution, but it is a solution."
"It's cruel, Percy," Ginny told him. "And who is to say that certain pure-blood ideologies won't use this law to detain muggles, torment them and bend the rhetoric for political gains?"
A shadow of conflict crossed over his face, as if her question was a worry that he had pondered over and found no answer to. "Maybe we will be able to find kinder ways to solve this dilemma in the future," Percy told her, "But for now, harsh measures are needed to ensure that no other family is so brutally killed."
Silence engulfed them after that; either they needed to process the conversation they had just had, or perhaps because no words they could say would change anything. Well, that was not entirely true.
Ginny was a firm believer in equality and freedom for everyone, magic or no magic. It was why she had fought against Voldemort's tyrannical movement with such passion; the Dark Wizard had wanted to rule over muggles and declare himself and his Death Eaters above others. That was wrong. It would always be wrong. And this new Act by the French Ministry of Magic would trample on the rights of people, take away their freedom and enable discrimination.
And yet, as she thought of Jeremy Chaucer, whose entire family had been murdered due to pointless hatred based on prejudice against magic, she found herself understanding Percy's point of view. She admitted, albeit reluctantly, that the law did make some sense, and yet she could not bring herself to stomach it. Trapped between a rock and a hard place – between hatred and more hatred – how was she to decide which one was lesser?
Percy placed his hand on her back, snapping her out of her morbid, conflicted thoughts. "I support the law, Ginny," he said softly. "Will you condemn me for my beliefs like you did Malfoy?"
"No. Of course not," she replied at once. Tears sprang to her eyes and she sniffed in hope of keeping them at bay. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel alienated. It was never my intention."
"I know," he said, and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, sister."
"No. Thank you," she mumbled in return, and hugged him back.
xx
It was a ridiculously chilly afternoon, with strong winds and no sun in sight. Rubbing her gloved hands together in hope of more warmth, Ginny crossed the busy street and headed towards the tall building in Canary Wharf that was the main office of the Malfoy Corporation.
Her conversation with Percy had given her much to think about. For two restless nights, she pondered about her last argument with Draco; Everything they had said to each other that day in the Malfoy library played in her head over and over again, and she'd realised that nothing Draco had said that day had been truly prejudiced.
Draco was raised to believe that blood-status mattered, and for the longest time he had acted so. He was certainly posh and arrogant, but his family's beliefs had not reflected in his manner the night she had met him at that ball in France, or in the months of dating since. He had openly admitted to conducting business with the muggles, had frequented many muggle restaurants with her, and even once stated that he found football to be slightly bearable – which was saying much, considering the sport did not even come close to the thrill of Quidditch, in her opinion.
Lucius Malfoy had openly ridiculed muggle-borns and anyone who considered them to be human, but Draco did not seem to share those beliefs – at least not anymore. He did not parade around spreading hatred like his father did. On the contrary, he was haunted by the war, much like everyone else, and was working hard to leave those horrors in the past. He was constantly fighting against the values that had been instilled in him since he was a boy, he was trying to be better, which was the most important thing in her opinion.
That day in the library, he had merely stated his support for stricter laws, laws that happened not to favour muggle-borns and muggles. But that did not mean that he was not a changed man, right? Besides, when it came to this law, her own brother Percy shared the same beliefs as Draco. It felt hypocritical to forgive one for it but not the other. Since when did holding an opinion about politics become a crime?
A glimpse of very familiar blond hair brought both her thoughts and her body to a sudden halt. Draco had just walked out of the revolving doors of the building, slinging his office bag over his shoulder.
The sight of him filled her with anxiety, and she wondered if she was right to come here. He had been furious with her that day, to the point that she had been terrified, which was saying something considering she did not scare easily. What if he did not react well to seeing her now? Should she dare approach him, in the middle of the street?
She was being stupid; she'd come all this way, turning back now would be cowardly. She had to try. Summoning her Gryffindor courage, Ginny strode over and planted herself in his way. "We need to talk."
Draco stopped, clearly taken aback by her presence. Then, his body stiffened and his expression closed into an icy mask, one she knew he put on whenever he wanted to keep people at bay - and he walked past without a word.
"Draco, wait!" she called out. When he didn't even pause – stubborn git! – she hurried over so she could fall in step with him. "We need to talk."
"There's nothing to talk about," he replied. "Go away."
"No." She reached out to grab his arm and he pulled away, quick as lightening. The movement did cause him to stop walking. "Listen, I–"
"This is my workplace," he hissed, glancing at their surroundings momentarily. "Do not make a scene."
"I will if you give me no choice," she told him matter-of-factly. It was the reason why she'd chosen to meet him here rather than visit him at the Malfoy Manor. At his home, he could have simply thrown her out; But here, surrounded by a bunch of professional connections, his employees and a ton of muggles, Draco's sense of propriety and concern for his image would keep him restrained from acting too harshly. "Just listen to what I have to say."
"I think you've said plenty already," he said coldly, then glanced at his watch. "And I have other, more pressing appointments."
Ginny pressed her lips, finding his attitude infuriating. But she knew why he was angry, and understood that he was hoping to drive her away. That was not going to happen; she was, after all, just as stubborn as him. "Your appointments can wait."
"They really can't," he sneered and turned away.
She stepped in his way, again. "I'm not leaving until we talk."
"Fine!" Draco exclaimed with a mixture of frustration and exasperation as he marched over to a bench nearby. Taking a seat, he looked at her expectantly. "Talk."
A part of her wanted to tell him that a bench in a courtyard of London's crowded financial district was probably not the best place to hash out their relationship, but that would be just a waste of time. It was a miracle already that he had agreed to listen to her after so little pleading; she may as well get straight to the point. Only, now that she found herself facing him, she did not know where to begin.
Stalling, she went and took a seat next to him, ignoring how he moved away so there was a vacant space between them. Her eyes darted to him, while he stubbornly refused to look at her. There were slight circles underneath his eyes; a part of her wondered if it was because he had been distressed at the end of their relationship – but that was probably not the case. He was probably working too hard.
"Well?" He demanded. "I haven't got all day."
"I…" she began uncertainly. There was no point stalling any further, and any hesitance would not make this conversation easier. "I didn't mean to call you a Death Eater."
His jaw clenched. "Yes, you did."
"Alright, maybe I did," she conceded. "But you were one, and you have to own up to that."
"Have I not?" Draco turned to her then, but she could not read him. The man was too good at hiding his emotions. "If it was just my past that you were judging me on, I wouldn't have blamed you. But you meant to silence my thoughts. I will not change my beliefs to appease you, Ginevra. I am who I am."
"As am I!" she ground out.
Something flashed in Draco's eyes for a moment, then he sneered his trademark, annoying, Malfoy sneer. "Good talk."
"That being said," Ginny said quickly, "I don't want things to end between us."
He stilled at that, the emotionless mask on his face falling away to reveal confusion and contemplation, as if he had not expected her to say these words and did not know what to do with them now that she had said them. For a moment it looked like he was going to say something, but then he stood up abruptly and walked away.
That was it, then.
Ginny bit her lip and lowered her gaze in hopes of hiding the tears that had blurred her vision, which was annoying really. She had half-expected this outcome – and yet his departure had hit her harder than she had thought. Her reaction made sense, though; Draco was the first man she had allowed into her life since Harry, and she knew that once the sting of the break-up faded, she would look back at these few months of their relationship with content.
Hopefully.
Merlin, please, let the sting fade away, she prayed as she furiously wiped away her tears. It was time to collect herself and find the courage to return to her normal life.
"Damn you!"
Ginny started at the sound of the familiar voice. Draco sat down next to her, not on the far end of the bench like before, but only a few inches away. Not that it mattered, or did it? She knew not, and could only stare at him, her heart thudding anxiously in her chest.
"I don't want things to end between us either," he admitted plainly, and there was no icy barrier masking his expression or emotions anymore; he sounded very much like the man she had come to know in the past few months. "But our differences still stand."
"I know," she murmured.
"What's the point of this, then?" he asked, his eyes boring into hers as if he was searching for an answer in her that he had been unable to find in himself.
"I don't know," she told him truthfully.
He did not speak immediately after that. Instead, he leaned back slightly with a sigh, tilted his head up and closed his eyes, as if deep in thought. A minute passed. Two. Perhaps five. It wasn't a painful silence, merely an uncomfortable one – everything was hanging in the balance. "I will make you a deal, Ginevra," he said finally and turned to her. "I won't try to change you, if you promise not to try and change me."
If she truly did believe in freedom for all, then she would have to accept that others will hold opinions that went against her beliefs – she did not have to agree with them, but she had to accept their existence. "Sounds good."
The air shifted between them. The tension in Draco's posture evaporated and he reached out and clasped her hand. She blew out a breath, feeling as if a giant weight had been lifted off her chest. She did not know how long this would last or if there was any hope for them at all, she wasn't even sure if she wanted something that long-term; there were secrets between them – more on his part than hers – and yes there were differences in ideologies, but this, being beside him felt right.
"How've you been?" Draco asked softly.
"Busy," Ginny replied, eyes fixed on their intertwined fingers. "Gwenog is really drilling us at practices before the holidays begin." And rightly so. The Holyhead Harpies were slated to play against Falmouth Falcons in the first match after the break.
"Ah, yes. Christmas is around the corner," he nodded. "Any plans?"
"The usual. A nice dinner with my entire family – and Harry, of course," she told him. "What about you?"
"Oh," Draco shrugged indifferently. "My mother will be visiting. I'm sure she'll have an idea of what to do. I'm not one for Christmas cheer."
That didn't sound right. Back at Hogwarts, Draco used to boast about the lavish dinners his family used to host; there were always whispers about how he and his friends used to party hard, or vacation in an exotic country. The Malfoys were no longer as popular, but their wealth had not depleted, and they still had an intimate circle of friends. There was no reason why they'd have no celebrations anymore. Was he lying to her, then?
She was about to ask when she noticed him glance at his watch. "Your appointment?"
Draco looked at her sheepishly. "Lunch."
"It's fine," she told him, though she did not think she was ready to part with him so soon. But to voice it would be childish; they will have time later. "You should go."
He hesitated, then tugged at her hand as if he was reluctant to let it go just yet. "Come with me."
"What? I don't know–"
"Come," he insisted as he stood up, pulling her up with him. "You won't regret it. I promise."
xx
The lunch turned out to be with Blaise Zabini, who was quite surprised (no doubt he knew about the breakup and hid his curiosity very well) and mildly grumpy to see her there. Apparently, these lunches were a fortnightly thing and the two friends had a rule that no one was welcome – a rule that, according to Draco, Zabini had breached a total of three times to date, so there could be no objections to Ginny's presence there. Zabini had conceded after that particular argument, albeit reluctantly.
Ginny, on the other hand, felt very out of place, not only because she was not entirely welcome but also because they were dining at a ridiculously posh restaurant in Kensington. Both the men were dressed in sleek, tailored suits and here she was, wearing ripped jeans and an oversized jumper. The stares she had received almost made her wish that she'd kept her coat on the entire time.
Swallowing her discomfort, she tried to ignore her surroundings and glanced down at the single menu card placed before her. It was to be a fancy four-course meal. Lovely.
Hors d'oeuvres – Zucchini Fritters
The conversation started with the usual small talk about work, though Ginny realised within a couple of minutes that it was not exactly small talk. The two Slytherin friends not only knew plenty about each other's work but seemed to take genuine interest in conversing about it. As the two discussed the possible causes of the blood malediction that one of Zabini's patients suffered from, Ginny wondered if she should leave. As much as she wanted to spend time with Draco after their reconciliation, she was not sure if gate-crashing his lunches was the way to do it.
"What about you, Miss Weasley?" Zabini asked.
Ginny blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. "What?"
"I imagine your work must be remarkably more interesting than ours."
"In a way, yes," she replied. "But it is also more gruelling."
And so, she was sucked into the conversation, talking about her training – which soon led to a conversation about the Quidditch league, and well, it was nearly impossible to walk away from that, especially considering that the two men were a breed of typical condescending Puddlemere fans. She was obligated to stay there and defend her team.
Appetizer – Mushrooms stuffed with Pecorino Romano and herbs
"Grace Fawley was, is and will always remain my one true love," Draco admitted with an unapologetic shrug. "I don't think there is a player, dead or alive, who can perform the the Sabryn Steal with as much precision and elegance as her."
"It's a shame her career ended so soon," Ginny stated. Fawley had played as the star-Chaser for Puddlemere United, until she was forced to retire due to a rather horrible spine injury.
"I remember when she announced her retirement," Zabini snorted. "Drake wouldn't stop mopping. We had to practically beg him to come to the Yule Ball."
Draco shot him a look. "Might I remind you that you were equally 'moppy' because Daphne had outright refused to go with you and chosen Adrian Pucey instead."
"I never understood what she saw in him. But," Zabini waved his hand lightly, wedding band glinting on his finger. "I get the last laugh."
"Only after years of constant hard-work," the blond pointed out. "You were a disaster with girls back at Hogwarts."
"That is not true."
"You never got any girl."
"Because I only wanted Daphne."
"Liar!" Draco scoffed. "If I'm not mistaken, and I know I'm not, you even had a thing for Ginevra."
Ginny sputtered. "W-What?" There was simply no way that Blaise Zabini, arrogant arsehole extraordinaire, was infatuated with her back at school. The man was famous for looking down at everyone, even amongst Slytherins.
"I did not," Zabini sniffed in disdain, though his cheeks had coloured slightly. It was as if he knew that his face was somehow giving away his embarrassment at this sudden declaration, so he elaborated: "I was most certainly not infatuated with you, Miss Weasley, but I recognised beauty where I saw it."
"Me?" she asked, bewildered.
"Oh, don't feign ignorance. You know of the reaction you elicited in most boys at Hogwarts." The dark-skinned man reached for his wine with a shrug. "I certainly knew of the effect I had on girls. Still do."
"And you thought I was vain," Draco muttered to her dryly.
"It's not vanity," Zabini told him. "I have always prided myself on being a man of taste. Even when all the silly boys, like Drake here, would crumble to the ground at the sight of Pansy's backless dresses, I found myself appreciating more unique types of beauty."
It was vanity, she thought. Well, sort of. But there was an odd grace to it, as if he was merely stating something that he believed to be God's truth. If it worked for him, she wouldn't argue. "Thank you," she said, then made a face. "I think."
Main Course – Spicy Thai Basil Chicken for Ginny, Roasted Duck with Orange-Ginger Glaze for Draco, and Coq au Vin for Zabini
Ginny was beginning to realise that Slytherins took their revenge very seriously; the revelation of Zabini's crush (but not really a crush) meant that it was almost obligatory that the dark-skinned man rebutted with an anecdote about his friend: In their fourth year, Draco lost 30 house points and spent two weeks in detention because he had managed to get into the Ravenclaw common room. When the Ravenclaws had returned from breakfast, they had found Draco lounging on the divan – legs spread out and a fake diadem conjured on his head. He'd greeted them with the words, 'Bonjour, bitches!'.
"I was making a point," Draco said, clearly torn between wanting to glare at his best friend or laugh at the memory. "Answering a riddle is the stupidest method of dorm security. I thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be smart."
"It's a shame Professor Flitwick did not see the point," Zabini smirked.
"That little bastard made me clean the Owlery without magic. I smelled of bird shit for days!"
As Ginny watched them with great interest, she realised that a pandora's box had somehow been opened. The two friends seemed very much intent on sharing interesting stories of their student life. Not embarrassing though – they were both holding back, which made sense; they'd want to protect the other, and also themselves since she was certain that they both had plenty of humiliating, hilarious dirt on the other. She did feel that this sudden reminiscing had less to do with telling her these tales and more to do with visiting a memory lane that the two men had clearly not visited in a while. There were odd, mischievous grins on their faces, and watching that, she could not help but smile herself.
"You know," Draco told her, "Blaise does a mean Umbridge impersonation."
Apparently, a re-enactment of the fifth year's Defence Against the Dark Class was a usual occurrence in the Slytherin Common Room, where Zabini graciously performed his part as Umbridge, Pansy Parkinson played Hermione and–
"Let me guess," Ginny ventured, her eyes fixed on her boyfriend. "You were Harry?"
"Salazar, no!" Draco scoffed. "Nott was way better at portraying Potter's stupidly righteous fury. I usually sat on the side and amused the audience with my colourful commentary."
"It was colourful, alright," Zabini muttered.
"I don't think Harry's fury was stupid," Ginny could not help but say. "Umbridge was a bitch."
"She was," Zabini agreed. "And all Potter had to do was write a formal application expressing dissatisfaction with the teaching methods, get it signed by as many fellow students as he could and submit it to Dumbledore and the Board of Governors."
"Would that have actually worked?"
"Probably not," Draco piped in. "But that was the way to go about protesting. Instead, the idiot made his quarrels with Umbridge all about his great destiny of fighting the Dark Lord and only fed into Fudge's insecurities."
Huh. That was an interesting take on that fiasco of a year, she mused. But she didn't think it would have worked. Cornelius Fudge and Umbridge were hell-bent on vilifying Harry at the time, and there was a very corrupt regime in the Ministry – most of them Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy – feeding lies into their heads; any formal application would have made no difference. "If only Fudge had listened to Harry at the time, I don't think things would have turned as bad as they did."
Draco hummed. "Yes, but we'd have been deprived of Blaise's brilliant impersonation skills," he said in a rather obvious attempt of steering the topic of conversation back to more lighter topics. "May I request a little glimpse, sir?"
"You may not," Zabini retorted flatly.
"Come on!"
"Drake, I said no."
Ginny pressed her lips together, amused, then decided that perhaps it was time for her to show off. "Hem, hem."
The reaction was abrupt. The two men looked at her, very much surprised, and then the three of them burst out laughing like lunatics.
Dessert – Chocolate Raspberry Souffle
She always found it difficult to hold a conversation when there was good chocolate before her, which is why she had slowly dissolved into silence as she savoured her dessert, leaving the two men to chat.
It did give her some much-needed room to order her thoughts; in a span of a single, rather lavish meal, her entire perception of Slytherins had been challenged. On the outside they appeared to be vain, spoiled and prejudiced – though not as openly and as horribly as they once were – but it wasn't that, not entirely. The fact was that the Slytherins came from a privilege that rest of the people could not contemplate, and they certainly had a belief system and a view of the world that Ginny found hard to share.
And yet, they didn't seem all bad. They used to make fun of their teachers, they were mad about Quidditch, they liked pulling each other's legs – albeit more savagely than it was appropriate – and they were much too ambitious about their works. They were simply... different.
xx
She had never been this thankful for hot showers as she was now, Ginny mused as she watched the trembles in her fingers fade away.
While she had been lunching with Draco and Zabini, an icy storm had enveloped London in its grip, showering the city in a blanket of white as the air became unbearably crisp and the temperatures plummeted way below zero.
As a result, the Floo Network had flooded, and the queues before the large hearth in the fireplace were a nightmare. Zabini had announced that he would not wait and instead go to work on foot, which was no brave feat considering that St. Mungo's was simply across the street. Draco and her, on the other hand, had decided to be more courageous and walk to the designated Apparition Point, which happened to be a seventeen-minute walk from the restaurant. Three minutes into the walk, they had realised their mistake, but they were drenched to the bone already and there was no point in turning back.
How she wished they had!
By the time they made it to the Malfoy Manor, they were both ridiculously soaked, with their skin turning blue and their bodies shivering uncontrollably. She had wanted to light up the nearest fireplace and jump into it, but Draco had dragged her to his room, insisting that a warm shower was the cure to their ailment. They'd only gotten to his giant closet room when Yugo had popped before them and politely informed Draco that Narcissa Malfoy was on the Floo (apparently the international one was working just fine, or maybe the Malfoy Floo was more prestigious and free of error; she had no idea, nor did she want to inquire). Draco had excused himself to go speak with his mother, after giving her the blessing to shower – as if she needed it. Prat.
Which brought her to the blissfully warm shower, which was probably the only thing keeping her from dying of the cold. She dried her hair with a quick spell as she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a fluffy white bathrobe, only to find herself face to face with Draco. He had discarded his coat, and his wet white shirt stuck to his torso. She could see his slim, pale torso underneath and decided that it was a pleasant sight. As were his dripping, dishevelled blond hair and the pink spots on his cheek induced by the cold.
"Hey," she greeted him needlessly, which made her realise how unsettled she felt. They had only made up a few hours ago after a complicated breakup; Zabini's presence at the lunch had been a distraction to take them away from all the things that they still needed to talk about to understand exactly where they stood.
"Hi," he responded softly as he reached out towards her, then stopped, as if uncertain whether he was allowed to touch her.
Ginny stepped towards him, and asked, "Where are my clothes?"
He glanced around, noting the lack of female garments. "Yugo took them away."
"I could have dried them myself."
"And then Yugo would have killed himself," he muttered dryly. "Just let my house elf have his fun."
"While you have your fun?"
His lips curved in amusement and his gaze dropped to her lips. "Well, I wouldn't want to be presumptuous…"
"How very wise of you," she cut in, leaning closer to him.
"But I wouldn't be opposed to the idea." He mirrored her movement until their lips were only an inch away, then drew away abruptly. Turning away, he sneezed violently – once, twice, thrice.
Ginny jumped in surprise, then eyed him in concern. "You should take a shower and change before you get sick," she suggested. He looked incredibly sexy in this wet state, but he would regret it very much if he stayed like this.
"I-I think you're rig–" Draco trailed off to sneeze once more, then let out a groan. "Right." He started towards the bathroom, his priorities clearly reshuffled, but before leaving he waved vaguely in the general direction of his gigantic closet. "Feel free to dress in something of mine; I doubt Yugo will be returning soon."
He was not wrong, Ginny mused. The elf was overly particular when it came to cleanliness; of course, Draco would have a house elf that was as much of a clean freak as him.
She opened the closet, ignored the colour-coded suits hanging neatly and went for the drawer – only to find it filled with an undoubtedly expensive collection of cufflinks. Sweet Merlin, he had a whole drawer dedicated to cufflinks! Her exasperation was not made better by the fact that the next two drawers had watches – most of them with diamonds embedded in them. The Malfoys were the epitome of elite, weren't they?
It was when she was halfway through trying her luck at the next door of the closet when she noticed the familiar stripes of green-and-silver tucked away in the lowest shelf. Curious, she knelt on the soft carpeted floor and found out that Draco Malfoy, the man who often complained about how futile sentimentality was, had kept his Slytherin Quidditch robes even after all these years.
She couldn't help but wonder why he never pursued a career in Quidditch, considering his love for the sport. Granted, he was never as good as Harry, but he had proven himself to be a decent player – and she could count on two hands the players who were chosen to play in the League and were not as well-trained as him. But then again, no one would have accepted him had he even tried; he was a disgraced Malfoy, a convicted Death Eater, after all.
Anyways, this was too good an opportunity to tease him about being a softie, and it would be even better if she had more ammunition. It was time to see what else the blond had tucked away. There was a leather duffle bag in the shelf, and she pulled it out and opened the zipper, praying desperately that it be filled with his Hogwarts essays or something.
She froze.
Neatly folded inside the bag were heavy robes that she would recognise anywhere. They were as black as death, which was an apt description considering that they were a Death Eater's robes. And top of them lay a Death Eater's mask. Matte grey in colour, it had an intricate dull silver vines circling around the snake-like eye slits, making it one of the less decorated masks worn by Voldemort's supporters.
With trembling fingers, Ginny picked up the mask. She was certain she had seen it at some point during the war but could not remember when.
Draco's mask. Draco's robes.
A remnant of his dark, dark past. She had always been aware of it, but holding it in her hands somehow made it very real. And terrifying.
"What do you think you are doing?"
Ginny was already too shocked, so the only reaction that Draco's voice elicited from her was a turn of her head. He stood a few feet away from her, with a towel wrapped around his waist, his eyes wide. Her heart was madly thudding in her chest, her brain screaming at her to run – run far, far away and never come back, but instead she found herself rooted to the spot. "W-Why do you still have this?"
"Did your parents teach you no manners, Weasley?" He demanded angrily as he strode over to her, shoved the bag inside the closet and slid its door shut. "It is rude to go through people's belongings without permission."
"Why do you still have this?" She waved the mask – and then a worrying thought occurred to her. She wracked her brain, recalled as many of their conversations as she could in hopes that she was wrong, but she wasn't. Over the last six year, Voldemort's name had lost the fear it had once commanded. The nose-less bastard was nothing but a villain now: defeated, destroyed, dead. But Draco still called him the Dark Lord. Was it because of fear, or was it something far, far worse – respect? "You still call him 'Dark Lord'."
Draco froze at her words, then sat down next to her, his back against the damned closet. "Yes," he admitted and took the mask from her. He held it gently, like one would hold a child, and his thumb caressed the engraved vines – a sight she would have found revolting had she not seen how haunted and thoughtful his expression was. "I am not this anymore."
"Then why have you kept it?"
"You won't understand."
"Try me."
His mouth worked for a moment, as if he was searching for words that would explain whatever it was that he wanted to say. Then – "It's no secret that I wanted this, but it also didn't take me long to realise how terrible my side was. You don't know how I suffered, Ginevra. No one does." He caressed the mask once again. "I've wanted to burn this for so long, but I can't bring myself to."
Merlin, this was turning more complicated by the second. Ginny was curious, but she was also terrified of finding out the answer. And yet, she couldn't just walk away. She had – they had come too far. "Why not?"
"I just can't. You don't get it. It wasn't all bad. I mean, it was, but–" He shook his head, and took a deep breath in an obvious attempt to gather his thoughts. "The Dark Lord lived in this Manor for over a year. And I was here, because I didn't go back to Hogwarts. He scared me, but he also… inspired me."
She stilled, because there was nothing else that she could do, really.
Draco went on, unaware of her reaction. Or perhaps he was aware. It was hard to tell. "When I wasn't away on missions, I'd just hole up in my room or in the library, studying various subjects; I reckon it was my way of connecting with the school life that I was missing out on. T-The Dark Lord found me working on advanced Arithmancy once, and sometimes he'd sit with me and discuss history, potion-making, Herbology and even business." He hesitated then, as if he did not think continuing was wise. "Even though I knew what he was, sometimes I could not help but see him as a-a…"
"A friend?" Ginny ventured a guess, her voice calm, detached – a perfect reflection of how she felt inside. His story had triggered memories that she had buried deep within her, memories of an old, black diary and how she had poured her heart out to it, to Tom Riddle, because he had been there to hear her when no one else had.
"Yes," Draco breathed, and his eyes met hers. "He was so intelligent and–"
"Charming. Charismatic. As if he truly wanted to listen." She knew that all too well. The realisation that Draco understood that feeling too nearly knocked her breath out. Up until that day no one, sometimes not even Harry, had understood how bloody easy it had been to consider Tom Riddle a friend, how much she had cherished that friendship in her ignorance, how it had so utterly ruined her but also helped in a time when she had needed someone so very much.
"Yes." Draco frowned. "How could you possibly know that?"
She did not know how to respond to that. After spending these past few months with Draco, she had figured out that he obviously knew that she had been taken into the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago, and that Tom Riddle had acted using a diary (that was the story Dumbledore had announced to the world), but he did not know how she had been the Riddle's puppet – and he most definitely did not know that Lucius Malfoy had been the one to slip that diary to her.
Should he know? Perhaps. But she did not want to tell him. It would change things between them. It would break what they had. No, in this case, his ignorance was truly a bliss.
So, she mumbled something incomprehensible that almost sounded like 'Harry', in hopes that he would assume that her knowledge of Voldemort came from her ex and not by the fact that the Dark Wizard had practically possessed her back when she was a child. The things she had done, the things Riddle had made her do, the control he had had on her for all those months – how he had told her that he would guide her, how she had written her own death note, and how he had sucked the life out of her until she was on the brink of death. Had Harry not saved her that day in the Chamber…
A shiver ran down her spine at the thought, and she snuggled closer to Draco, resting her head on his bare shoulder. His skin was warm, and she welcomed the touch. So did he, for he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.
The Death Eater mask was still in his other hand, though, and she eyed it warily. His sins were known to all, but there were plenty of dubious secrets that he held within him.
And yet, Ginny could not fault him for having secrets. She had some of her own.
xx
Ginny Weasley had a choice to make.
It was not an easy choice. Draco's own words and actions certainly did not help his case. But what it came down to was whether she could trust him or not. As she sat there on the floor against his closet, curled up against him, she felt safe. She could find it in her heart to trust him.
So she made her choice, and decided to let the chips fall where they may.
There, that's the end of this chapter. I hope you liked it. Please let me know. Your reviews and feedback mean the world to me.
Until next time!