A/N: The reviews, favorites, and follows are lovely. I'm so glad people are enjoying this. Here is the next chapter.
The next morning, Draco and Ginny spent only fifteen minutes with Potter, making a schedule for trips to his house. They would need to make several, and they had to be planned around Potter's training courses. Draco would take the first trip that afternoon once Potter had finished training. He could assess the house directly and have access to it, after which he could determine how many people he needed and for how long.
Draco took Ginny with him on several small assignments before meeting with Potter. A woman who was divorcing her husband had cursed the lock on her soon-to-be ex's house so that it wouldn't open for anyone but her; a man had received a mysterious package in Diagon Alley which caused him to panic but turned out to be the early arrival of a shipment of pumpkin-flavoured toothpaste; and an argument in Muggle London had resulted in a pair of wizards simultaneously cursing each other with sticking charms and being stuck to both each other and the wall of a Muggle bank. The last one also required two Aurors and a team of Obliviators.
After the morning's excitement and a brief break to collect what he needed, Draco met Potter for the first visit to his house for an initial assessment of the breadth of curses to remove. He walked to their agreed upon Apparition point, case file in hand. Potter was already there, leaning against a wall and whistling. Draco's heart sped up and his palms grew clammy. It shouldn't have made him anxious, being alone with Potter, yet somehow it did. He paused, collecting himself before making his presence known.
"Afternoon, Potter," he said.
Potter twitched a little, then glanced over. "Ready to go?"
"Any time."
Potter extended his arm and Draco gripped it firmly; Potter turned on the spot and Draco felt the familiar pull. It was strange—he hadn't side-along Apparated in years. When they landed, they were on the top stone step of the entry to a large, unattractive house in a questionable neighbourhood. Although Potter had confirmed the house had belonged to Draco's extended family, he had no memories of having been there before. He thought that by the time he was old enough to recall, his mother's relations were dead or in Azkaban. He shuddered; perhaps it was best he hadn't spent much time in this creepy old house.
The moment they entered the doorway, the lamps flared. To one side was a set of thick, dark curtains. Draco eyed them, wondering what they were hiding. His eyes drifted away from the curtains, following the trail of house-elf heads up the staircase. He shuddered, but he had no time to consider any of that further. A voice whispered, "Severus Snape?"
Before Draco could react, he felt his tongue furl. Meanwhile, he heard Potter telling the bodiless voice that they were not Snape. Draco's tongue relaxed and so did he—for all of six seconds. A ghostly shape was forming from the carpet. Potter stepped around him and banished the figure; something about not killing it. Draco's heart was in his mouth and he had to remind himself he'd seen worse. These spells were frightening, but they were not dangerous—more of a nuisance than anything else.
"Now I understand why you need help," he told Potter.
Potter nodded. He leaned in and kept his voice low. "And that's not even the worst of it. There are at least three rooms with permanent sticking charms and a whole attic full of things I'd rather not dispose of myself."
Draco frowned. "Why are you still whisper—"
"Shh!" hissed Potter. "Please keep it down."
It was too late. With a bang, the curtains just by Draco's shoulder snapped open. A hideous old woman began shrieking at them, cursing the half-blood and his entire family. When she caught sight of Draco, she paused mid-rage to assess him. "You! Associating with filth and mudbloods! You have brought dishonour to the House of—"
She didn't finish. Potter pointed his wand at her and the curtains fell shut, silencing her. "That's why you whisper." He sighed. "That old bat is going to be the first thing to go."
"I see what you mean. Why haven't you taken her portrait down?"
"That's one of the permanent sticking charms I mentioned."
They stepped further into the house, eventually descending the stairs to a large kitchen. Draco was just glad to be away from the watchful eyes of the house-elf heads. He examined a dusty kitchen chair before sitting down. Potter rattled about, at last locating a tea-kettle and putting it on. He joined Draco at the table.
"So, now you've seen several of the things that need to be removed. All of the people who placed those spells are dead, and I have no idea how to go about dismantling any of them. I can possibly take care of some of the Dark artifacts in the attic, and there shouldn't be any left anywhere else. But I'm at a loss for the rest."
"Given time and a good team, I think I should be able to manage. As far as that painting goes, though, why didn't you put her in stasis?"
"You can do that?"
Draco nodded. "We'll have to, if we want to remove her. It's too bad—she was apparently my great-aunt."
"Once she's off my wall, you're welcome to her."
"I shall decline, thank you." He shuddered. He thought he understood why his mother had never brought him to visit her aunt; his own had been bad enough, and he'd only known Bellatrix when he was an adolescent. He couldn't fathom how he'd have reacted to either of them as a toddler.
"Not sure what I'll do with her when we're through." Potter chuckled. "I can only imagine the havoc she'd wreak at Hogwarts if I donated her there."
"Perhaps she could guard the kitchens. No-one would sneak food after meeting her."
Potter laughed. "She'd put everyone off their feed for months. So how do we go about getting her off my wall?"
After an hour or so of assessments and note-taking, they returned to the Ministry. Draco suggested they take a break and have a late lunch. Potter declined, excusing himself to his own work. He had a late afternoon training session, and he said he had a few things to do beforehand. Once he'd left, Draco invited Ginny to join him in the Ministry canteen instead. He thought to give her an update on the case.
When they were comfortably settled into their seats, he told her what he'd found at the house and what he proposed to do about it. As he spoke, he grew more animated, enjoying discussing the finer points of the work ahead. He concluded by saying, "It's actually fascinating. I think I'll take along a couple of the junior-level Curse-Breakers. It'll be good exercise for them, as there's not really anything dangerous—just complicated."
Once he was through talking, Ginny cleared her throat. Her expression was half amused, half exasperated. "So," she said, "I know what you think of the house. What do you think of Harry?"
Draco nearly choked on a mouthful of hot soup. He swallowed painfully. "Warn a bloke next time, Ginny."
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "You've spent a couple of hours with him now, though. Well?"
"He—he looks as if he's doing well for himself," Draco managed, wondering where her sudden interest came from.
"Mm-hm." She sighed and looked a bit wistful. "Think he'd want to give us another go?"
Draco scowled. So that was where this was headed. "How should I know? Weren't you keeping in touch with him while he was gone?"
"Sometimes," she admitted. "Mostly through my parents. We were too young when he was still here, and neither of us was ready to settle down. We weren't that close anymore."
Draco set his spoon down. "What is it you want from me?"
She shrugged. "Just looking for advice on how to approach him, I suppose. You spent time with him, so I thought you might have some idea."
He raised his eyebrows. "You need advice on how to attract Potter? Have you looked in a mirror lately, Ginevra?"
She glared at him. "Don't call me that. Fine, yes, I know I look all right. But I don't have a lot of luck with dating as it is, and it's always been ten times worse with Harry. I get so nervous, and I can't figure out what to say to him. I've been like that since we were at school. We've been apart so long we hardly know each other anymore." She sighed again. "Why do you think I keep running off every time we're all together?"
Draco had, in fact, been wondering about her behaviour. He thought about the time they'd all been in at the Torchlight, when she'd abruptly left the minute she'd finished eating. She'd been so quiet the whole time, too, as though she couldn't gather her thoughts properly. It made sense if she fancied Potter, she might be nervous and stressed. He thought he could relate a bit.
He found himself saying to Ginny, "Fine. I'll try and help you."
She wrinkled her nose. "How?"
"Give me a minute to think." Draco sat for a moment, wishing he could tell Potter what he was feeling—if he even knew what that was—when something struck him. If Ginny was having trouble speaking to Potter, perhaps she should try writing to him.
"I have an idea for you," he told her.
"Hm?" She had gotten distracted somehow and appeared to have lost the trail of their conversation.
"About Potter." He huffed at her lack of attention. "Seems like it's hard for you to talk to him when you're with him. What if you wrote him a letter and owled it?"
She laughed. "You're joking."
"No, I'm not. Why?"
"I'm no good at that sort of thing. Why do you think I didn't stay in better touch with him?"
"You write excellent reports for me."
"Well, that's different. It's work. This is personal."
"Not even a poem?"
She snorted. "I don't suppose you remember that stupid love poem from when Lockhart taught us Defence."
"That was more than fifteen years ago. You'll need to refresh my memory."
She flushed. "I compared his eyes to fresh pickled toads."
Draco stared at her for several seconds. "I have no clue what to do with that." As bad as her simile was, he had to admit Potter's eyes were a rather magnificent shade of green. He wasn't sure he could blame her eleven-year-old self for failing to find a better comparison.
Ginny giggled. "My poetry skills were severely lacking, and they haven't improved much." She made a face. "I'm rubbish at all that hearts and flowers shite. Ask me to give you a play-by-play of the Quidditch World Cup and I can provide it in detail. Give me a complicated set of curses and have me explain how to untangle them and I have no problem. Love poetry and sappy letters? Forget it."
"Potter really doesn't seem the sort to care about how eloquent you are," Draco replied. "Besides, if he doesn't like the real you, it won't matter whether you write brilliantly or not."
She shrugged. "I don't know, actually. He's changed a lot, in case you haven't noticed."
Draco had noticed, of course. Potter had surprised him with his confidence and his ease with their banter; there was no reason to think he wouldn't have changed in other ways. He suspected what Potter wanted was something a bit more substantial than love letters and chocolates delivered twice daily to his desk by owl. The thing was, and Draco would absolutely never admit it, he did like hearts and flowers He wanted to be spoilt, to be courted and admired. At the same time, he wanted to give as good as he got—to tuck notes into his lover's lunch or leave drawings and poems on the mirror in the morning. For all their flaws, his parents were an exceptionally romantic pair, and they had set the bar high. Yet Draco didn't simply want mutual fawning over—he needed someone with whom the words could carry the weight of wit and intellect, someone who wasn't afraid to push back against his flaws and who could take it as well as dish it out. Perhaps that was the real reason his relationships were so few and far between—he had yet to find anyone who met those criteria. He ignored the small voice which whispered to him, except for Potter.
He shook his head. "After spending time with him, I believe you have quite a lot of what he wants—you're clever and funny and kind, not to mention fit, and I think that's exactly what he's looking for. I doubt he's interested in someone who expects to give him a load of romantic rot without any substance behind it."
"Hm," Ginny said. "You may be right. I still wouldn't know where to start, though."
It occurred to him there might be a way to help Ginny and tell Potter how he felt, even if Potter never knew. Perhaps in so doing, he could work this ridiculous budding crush out of his system, help Ginny get her love life in order, and finally be rid of Potter so he could get on with the rest of his life. He decided not to remind himself he would have to hear about it forever if this worked and they got married. He chose to ignore the lonely ache at the thought of them flying off into the sunset together.
"What if I helped you write it?" he asked. "You could bring me what you write, and I'll look it over and help you make changes."
Ginny's stared. "You would do that for me?"
He nodded. "Of course." He gave her a half-hearted glare. "If your work suffers because you're too busy daydreaming about Potter, I'll put you on desk duty and you'll be filing papers for the next month. Also, if you ever tell anyone that I'm a hopeless romantic who makes matches for my staff, resulting in countless requests for my assistance, I will do the same and hex you. Understand?"
"Perfectly," she said, and she grinned at him.
He sat back in relief. It would work out after all. So why did he still feel so miserable, and why did he have a nagging feeling that there was something suspicious about Ginny's expression?