If Ginny was amused before, she was now in an uproar. Her laughing would not stop, despite many dirty looks from Hermione.
"Oh Merlin that is rich! You two can snuggle up on the couch in pajamas and eat popcorn. Oh please let me hide in the closet and watch."
"I am warning you, this is not funny! He is coming to my house! What kind of movies do you show a murderous psychopath?" She shouted, getting a bit riled.
This was the heart of her predicament, as embarrassing as it was. She didn't want him there, but she couldn't change that. Now she needed to find something to convince him muggle films weren't completely idiotic.
"I wouldn't call him a psychopath. A bit sadistic yes, but I believe he had some ideas of right and wrong in the end, or they wouldn't have let him out."
Why would she defend him anyways? Wasn't it a best friend's job to agree with everything you said?
"As for your problem, why not watch something sophisticated? An old classic that the stuffy codger could relate to…purebloods love all that old fashioned crap." Sometimes Hermione thought Ginny was the wisest person she knew.
She made up for it in brashness.
When Hermione and Harry first introduced the youngest Weasley to television, it was hard to pry her from it. She likely watched every video the local rental shop had, and probably more than Hermione had seen in a lifetime. It was why she was the perfect assistant when the right films needed to be picked.
They sat on the floor for the rest of the evening, sorting the mess into piles. Finally everything was organized neatly.
"Alright… over here we have definitely not's, here are the maybe's, and these are distinctly possible. How many did you think you wanted to watch?" Ginny asked, grabbing the stack of possible choices and sifting through them.
"Well more would be better, but the less time I spend with Lucius Malfoy in my house, the better. Why don't we go with two?"
In the end they went with Casablanca and The Godfather. Ginny found the later a very amusing choice, and could not stop laughing.
It was significantly better than all her suggestions, which she made for her own amusement. There was no way Hermione would think of showing Malfoy any film with that much sex. It was bad enough thinking of watching Casablanca.
The red-head was still giggling when she got up to leave.
"I will talk to you tomorrow. Maybe I can come over on Saturday and help you set things up before your date gets here." She ran to the fireplace before Hermione could catch her.
"That man is NOT my date, Ginevra Weasley! Get back here so I can hex you!"
Draco Malfoy was a very different man, and he wanted everyone to know it.
His family had been disgraced, he lost his mother, and his father was locked up in his Manor. The name he had spent his adolescence being so very proud of was now his biggest flaw.
He spent the years since his mother's death working his hardest to rise above the family he no longer wanted to be a part of. Finally he was given a respectable job with Gringotts that allowed him to travel, leaving his ghosts behind.
He continued to visit his father out of duty, but after a year or so it became tiresome and depressing. When he met Astoria through work, he decided it was time to cut all his ties and focus on the future. The bank sent them all over Europe, establishing important business connections. The past 4 months had been spent in Italy, setting the groundwork for a new bank branch.
He would have been happy to stay away from England forever, but Astoria wanted to return soon and see her family. He still needed to decide whether it was worthwhile going home.
"Darling, there is a bird at the window. Should I let it in?" She asked him.
What kind of question was that?
"Yes please, I'm coming." He saw the bird and stopped. Only one person would send a letter with that overly pretentious thing. He grabbed the parchment on the eagle's ankle and read what his dear father had to say.
"Well, who is it?" She was so oblivious it was adorable.
"It seems my father has been unleashed on the world again. I suppose I will need to stop in and see him after all." Great, just when things were going so well.
Lucius studied the book carefully, but the diagrams were not helping. Nothing in his wardrobe looked like the mess this book called "casual and comfortable".
The only muggle clothing he would even consider wearing was listed under formal attire. He had a few well made muggle suits, but the girl likely wouldn't appreciate him showing up wearing one of those, as much as he wanted to for his own sake.
It would probably get filthy sitting on her furniture anyways.
He was having a real predicament. It was unlike him to have nothing to wear; this situation was just below his usual social standard.
He supposed now that he would be attending these ridiculous muggle events he would need appropriately muggle clothing.
For now, he decided on trousers and a light dress shirt. He would owl his tailor later and set up an appointment to have appropriate clothing made. He most certainly would not be buying clothing from the so-called "new age wizards".
Tying his hair back with a ribbon, he picked up his walking stick and threw a winter cloak over his shoulders.
Whatever fresh hell he was in for today, at least he would appear eminent. In his opinion, no matter what you accomplished in a day, it was important to be well groomed. More often than not it helped with getting one's way.
The riff raff he so often found himself associating with in his Death Eater days seemed to share a different viewpoint, but that was exactly why he managed to rise above all of them. They somehow managed to be constantly filthy.
He had been making a political move, not rolling with the outcasts. They did not understand politics, they were either idiots or insane.
Unfortunately it turned out to be the wrong political move in the end, but he was rising above that now. Handsomely.
Few things truly frightened Lucius Malfoy, but as he appeared in Diagon Alley and prepared to enter muggle London, he realized how far out of his element he was about to step.
For once, the mudblood might actually have the upper hand. Not that he would let her realize, even for a moment. She was probably already squirming uncomfortably, having a fit that someone of his background would be in her home.
He looked down at the slip of parchment that held her address. For someone so intelligent, her handwriting was nearly indecipherable. Perhaps she felt the need to write as fast as she thought? It looked as though it was once neat, but years of nerves and constant scribbling made it too small and angular.
She likely envied his writing, although he couldn't blame her; it was impeccable.
The building came into view. It was nothing spectacular; in fact it looked a tad bland. Surely Miss Granger had the money to afford something better than this hovel? She was a war hero after all.
Did the Ministry not reward those who had essentially saved them from utter destruction?
Unless she simply chose to live this way, in which case he really would never understand her.