# A Little Thing Called Love

moogle

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 6
Published: 02/07/2008
Last Updated: 02/07/2008
Status: In Progress

Draco Malfoy never intended to fall in love, but when one redhead falls rather ungracefully into his world he finds himself falling just as swiftly for her. The only problem is, she doesn't give a damn for him. ~~~~~Snippet~~~~ Draco stared in surprise at the woman dangling above him, clinging desperately onto what looked like a purple curtain. He gave himself a moment to admire her very nicely formed rear end, and then with a small smirk playing on his lips, said lazily, "You know, I do believe the established mode of exiting a house is through the front door." The woman let out a shriek and almost lost her hold on the curtain, swore furiously under her breath, and then turned a pair of of glaring, brown eyes on him. "What the devil do you want?"

## 1. The New World

Disclaimer: I did not create any of the Harry Potter characters or storylines.

A/N: Some of you may recognise parts of this story (though I will be impressed if you do) as it has bits taken from a drama I was planning to write called ‘Complete Me’. I have hence dispensed with that idea and am revamping it to what it is now. I’m sure you will enjoy it much more, and I daresay I shall enjoy writing it much more. I seem to have a deplorable habit of growing bored of my dramas, so humour seems to be all I am good at. Having said that, I cannot claim that this fic will be all sunshine and daisies, so romance will be the main theme of this little story.

For those of you wondering why I have paused ‘A Marriage of Convenience’ to write this chapter, well, I just had the urge to get this idea down before I ended up tossing the story out altogether. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

The New World

It is funny when you feel like something is missing in your life that it is usually something you have never had. It is funny because if you have never had something then how could you miss it in the first place?

Such were the thoughts of that notable wizard, Draco Malfoy, who had never had to want for anything in his life, and had become, over his short twenty-six years, the spoilt darling of society.

By all appearances he should have been perfectly satisfied with his life. He was excessively rich to the point where some called it indecent, and he was adored by women of all ages and sizes, who either happily boasted to anyone who would listen of their very short triumphs in having once been his latest flirt, or wished to Merlin that he would notice them enough to give them even this hollow success. He was claimed to be exceedingly handsome, if not painfully so, and if some people thought Lord Zabini’s dark features more friendly on the eye, a great many others promptly stamped out such blasphemy by declaring that fair men were always the handsomer.

But Draco’s successes were not just limited to the fairer sex. To his male contemporaries, he was a nonpareil to be admired and envied by all, with a distinct train of avid followers copying everything about the pampered pet of society: from his brooding hairstyle right down to the way he shined his boots. If the older generation sometimes looked down in disapproval at his well-known excesses that would have caused shame on their good ancestors names had it been them facing the charges of wasteful extravagance that the young Malfoy faced; the young bucks of fashion could only fruitlessly wish that they could do the same with such an arrogant negligence for good opinion as Draco did.

However, Draco was not completely without his enemies. There were those who despised everything about the handsome, unrepentant man, and consigned him to the devil with every second breath. Not surprisingly, their opinion did not seem to trouble the gentleman in question. Indeed, it seemed he gained much enjoyment from hearing their view on him when they were brave enough to call him out for his behaviour, but he was not a man of infinite patience, and was famous for his cutting snubs as well as his ability to inflict a whole room into frightened silence by the simple lift of his haughty, right eyebrow. Very few could withstand that withering look, and those that did usually became some of his closest friends, or his sport. It was well known that Draco Malfoy was not merciful, and those foolish enough to challenge him almost always ended up burnt in some way or another.

The interesting thing about the Malfoy heir was that he was not an agreeable man at all. He was proud, reserved, and while he could make himself very charming indeed when he wished it: the fact remained that he very rarely exerted himself to such niceties. He was known to take little interest in anyone else but himself, and though his close friends professed him to be a good sort of fellow, everyone else silently wondered if he was secretly laughing at them all and only humoured them when he would smile in that small way of his. He never smiled in true kindness or amusement; rather his mouth would curl up ever so slightly, so that one was left wondering if he was actually smiling or just smirking. To some this was disconcerting; to others, it only added spice to the handsome man, as many admiring women (including some men) were determined to get him to smile fully for them.

It should come as no surprise then, to learn that Draco Malfoy was a man wholly given to pleasure. He could have whatever and whomever he wanted without even lifting a finger, and because of the state of the world he lived in, the ease in living this pleasurable life was fast secured for him.

The war on Voldemort had ended nearly ten years ago, but the world had changed a great deal since then. It is often said that to kill the snake you simply have to chop off its head, but this snake, unfortunately, happened to have more than one head. Though it was true that Voldemort had been defeated, as well as most of his Death Eaters, there were those who had much to gain with the victory of the Dark Lord, and it was these slippery fellows that had taken the step up to be leaders of the New World during the troubled times after the war. The people had needed a leader, with most of the heroes having been slaughtered during the war, and Cyras King had given them that in the form of himself. He promised great things, saying everything that the people had wanted to hear, and with each heart he swayed, he ensnared them all into his cunning trap.

Once King had been sure that he had the people tightly wrapped around his greedy finger, he slowly brought in the real aim of his goal: to give purebloods the ruling of the Wizarding World, and to force the muggleborns into slavery. The movement had concluded swiftly, for it was easy to force halfbloods and purebloods to believe that muggles and muggleborns were the reason that all their problems had arisen. Voldemort, after all, was a halfblood, and it was his muggle parentage that was laid to blame for his behaviour. Thus, the muggleborns were easily defeated and segregated to one area where they were all expected to live, with their wands snapped. Those brave enough to escape to the muggle world were never heard of again, but it was generally believed that they had been hunted down and killed for their daring to run from the magical realm.

Eyes watched their every move, and many muggleborns, both old and young, were content to follow the rules placed on them so as to escape the harsh punishment that came from disobeying. Those foolish enough to believe what was being fed to them quickly started resenting their heritage, and more often than not it was these people who were the worst in getting their fellow muggleborns into prison for trying to get in contact with their pureblood wives or husbands, or worse, for stealing a wand. They believed that one day they would be rewarded for their loyalty, and would be pardoned for their crime in being a muggleborn, so that they too could join those golden halls where the purebloods played.

The halfbloods, though looked down upon for having muggle heritage, were not treated as bad as the muggleborns. They were allowed their wands and their status as individuals, but they were not allowed to have high-ranking jobs. If any halfblood was found conspiring or trying to get in contact with a muggle or muggleborn, they were swiftly dealt with in the harshest of ways.

Such was the life of the subordinated people of the New World, but for the purebloods, life could not have been better. They were granted titles of ‘Lord’ and ‘Lady’; becoming the aristocrats of a world suppressed by blood racism. They were paid to get fat and lazy on their gilded chairs, while the halfbloods and muggleborns did all the necessary work needed to make a society run. Their lives, it seemed, consisted entirely of parties and pleasure, and very few purebloods found much to complain about.

Draco himself was very pleased with the way things had turned out. He had never liked muggleborns, having grown up in a family that was well known to be blood supremacists, and therefore did not feel a shred of pity for the non-purebloods around him. He took full advantage of the life given him, and being an intelligent man, was shrewd enough to know that it was only because of the privileges purebloods had been given that allowed him to have such a life of excessive pleasure.

There was one thing that troubled him though; something that he could not place at all. It was like there was a void in his life that could not be filled, though he knew not what. All he knew was that his life was sadly lacking in whatever it was that he was lacking in, and for a man who had never needed to want for anything in all of his existence, this was an alarming feeling indeed.

OOOOOOOOO

An ancient clock chimed dimly in the distance, the gentle ding-dong echoing around the lavishly decorated parlour. A rather hard faced woman wearing a remarkable, pink dressing gown was currently talking rapidly about something or the other, but the tall, graceful man lounging at his ease on the cream coloured chair was more interested in staring at the vase of pink roses resting next to him. He thought the vase rather hideous, with its garish white and pink stripes, but he supposed it had cost a fortune, despite its rather vulgar appearance. His friend always had had a lamentable fascination with pink.

“Are you even listening to me, Draco?” the woman demanded irritably, planting one skeletally thin hand on her hip.

Draco turned his cool grey eyes towards his companion and gave a polite but faintly bored smile. “Really, Pansy, you must consider my situation. If I marry then who will all the women croon over? The poor things would all go into a decline, and I really do not see how my bachelordom is any of your concern anyway.”

Pansy let out an exasperated huff that reminded him oddly of an angry cat. She always had reminded him of a cat in a way, with her sharp, dark blue eyes, but then her nose was far too upturned to be like a cat, and that was when one started to view her as a highly bred dog: maybe a poodle. Yes, she was far more like a poodle he decided.

His eyes lit up with secret amusement at the picture he had created in his head, but to his credit he managed to keep his expression as politely bored as ever.

“You cannot honestly expect me to sit here quietly while you go around breaking every girl’s heart, and taking those trollops you call mistresses under your wing!” Pansy exclaimed heatedly, once she had found her voice again. “It’s not good for your image, Draco, and I’ll be damned if I’m friends with someone who is no better than a common libertine.”

Draco folded one leg lazily over the other and gave his small, smirkish smile as he looked up at her. “A libertine, Pansy? And here I was thinking ladies were not supposed to know about such things.”

Pansy’s pale cheeks reddened, but she did not back down. “We may pretend to not know about such things, but even the most prudish of women must hear sooner or later what it is that you get up to. Rumours fly very easily, Draco, and you just happen to be the talk of town.”

He stood up carelessly from the seat and walked languidly towards her. “So you think marriage is the only way for me to settle down?” he replied coolly, with the same little smile curling his lips. “You wish me to stop my libertine ways and turn over a new leaf?”

Draco stopped in front of her and met her gaze steadily with his mocking grey eyes. “And who is it that you have in mind, Pansy? Not the little Greengrass girl I hope.”

“What’s wrong with Astoria?” Pansy demanded, feeling more than a little put out that Draco had hit the nail on the head so quickly. She had wanted to set her friend up with Astoria Greengrass, but why Draco had to act as if Astoria was a monster was beyond her. She was sure that the two of them would suit, and could not understand why Draco had to take that disagreeable, dismissive tone with her. She was only trying to help him get off the path of ruin, and had decided marriage to Astoria was the best way to do that.

“She’s a little fool, that’s what,” he replied shortly. “I daresay she is remarkably beautiful, but those missish airs of hers do nothing for me. She can flutter her eyes over her fan all she likes, but in the end she’s nothing but a naïve little girl pretending to be a sophisticated lady.”

“Well, if that’s the way you’re going to be then perhaps I won’t bother at all in trying to find you a suitable wife.”

Draco’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Pansy, you would make me the happiest man in the world if you did just that.”

Having nothing to say to that, Pansy flounced over to the white table and poured herself a cup of tea.

“You’re insufferable you know that,” she shot at him severely, though he could see her lips threatening to twitch into a smile. “I don’t know why I bother with you at all.”

“Alas, I am a hopeless case,” Draco replied in mock solemn accents. “I’m afraid I will never be able to mend my ways.”

Pansy snorted rather contemptuously and took a sip of her tea. “I’m beginning to believe it. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I always know what I’m doing,” he said simply, and then glanced down at his watch. “I really must go now, Pansy, as charming as your conversation has been. I’m afraid that I have a mistress to dispense with. She has gotten, shall we say, a trifle de trop.”

“I should have known,” Pansy commented in a dry voice and allowed a rueful smile to tug at her lips. “Tell me, Draco, have you ever managed to keep a woman around you for longer than a month?”

Draco opened the door and glanced back at her, a small smile curling his thin lips, and his eyes glinting with mischief. “Only you, darling.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and gave a careless wave before settling herself back on the chair; picked up the Witch Weekly that had previously been occupying her time before Draco had came to disturb her, and promptly ignored him. Her fingers expertly flicked to ‘Frivolous Fantasies’- a short serial about a woman in search of her dream wizard- and Draco could only smile to himself as he watched his old school friend become quickly absorbed in the magazine.

He left the room and closed the door softly. Whistling to himself a catchy tune, he headed to the disapparation point in Pansy’s manor, and then vanished with a loud crack. His grey eyes opened once his feet hit the floor, revealing a handsome bedroom decorated in a decidedly masculine tone. An imposing bed that was both inviting and luxuriously soft rested against the wall, and next to it sat a tasteful wooden dresser where a few odds and ends littered the top. Thick, forest green curtains hung from the large, square windows, and looking out these windows one could see the rough, green moors trailing of into the hilly distance. The room, although decorated with the finest taste, was also rather gloomy, but Draco did not seem to mind that at all.

Moving towards the cabinet that held his important documents, Draco’s eyes briefly glanced at the small mahogany table where a copy of the ‘Independent Voice’ sat. His eyes stopped when they read the bolded heading:

“Protests Against Oppression”

Draco took his hand away from the cabinet door and picked up the black and white newspaper. A grim looking wizard was talking silently, while a young man gestured wildly. Draco thought the young man oddly familiar.

Frowning slightly, Draco began to read the article.

Muggleborn, Colin Creevy, a well-known wizard who has fought valiantly against many of the new laws and thus has been forced into hiding, has been very adamant in his refusal to accept the oppression of muggleborns in the New World. Indeed, Mr Creevy has commented to us that he feels, “The oppression of muggleborns must not be allowed to continue. We are wizards and witches too and should not be treated as aliens to this society. If this continues, I can only see genocide becoming a reality, and we will only find ourselves with another war on our hands.”

Many of us, like Mr Creevy, have questioned the necessity of the muggleborn oppression. We remember a time when halfbloods, purebloods and muggleborns lived peacefully together. Now that seems no more than a mere fantasy, as we look at the muggleborns being forced into impoverished areas, no longer able to aspire to the careers they used to hold. They are deemed dangerous and corrupted people, while halfbloods are left stuck in the middle with no real direction of where they can go. Only the purebloods have managed to escape the New World unscathed from the new legislations…

Draco tore his eyes away from the paper and let out a heavy sigh. This new newspaper called the ‘Independent Voice’ was nothing but trouble. It was ridiculous to try and make things go back to the way they were before the war. The fact was that no one wanted to change the laws because the ones who made the laws were the ones benefiting from it, and with Cyras King ruling the roost just like a great, fat emperor, Draco doubted anything would change anytime soon anyway.

He rubbed his head absently, attempting to smooth away the headache that was threatening to take over his mind. Sometimes he found himself heartily sick of everything, and he knew that this article was going to cause a great deal of bother for him. Those idiotic mudbloods never knew when to just stay silent.

Trying to put the troubling article out of his mind, he opened the cabinet and pulled out a small role of parchment, and then slipped it into his coat pocket. His eyes glanced towards his reflection in the mirror, and silently he tweaked the folds of his cravat. It would not do to meet Annette when he did not look his best.

He had long outgrown his awkward teenage years, becoming almost painfully handsome with his sharp features and piercing grey eyes. His soft, silvery hair framed his face perfectly, and his skin seemed so pale that one would almost call it unearthly. His build was tall, slender, and graceful- a fitting look for one so princely- and he was always tastefully dressed in dark colours to bring out his cold features even more. He was striking, there was no doubt about it, and Draco knew it just as much as the next person.

Once satisfied with his appearance, Draco raised his wand and disapparated with a loud crack. He materialised again in a glass chamber, and walked out of the apparation point to gaze about the busy street. Wizards and witches walked to and fro across the street, and he could see a group of muggleborns wearing their raggedy blue cloaks that marked them for what they were moving quickly in a beeline towards the large, black gate that led to their side of the city.

Draco watched for a moment as the halfblood in charge ran his wand over their bodies to see if any of the muggleborns held wands. It seemed none of this group did, and soon all the dirty, raggedy, blue clad people were shuffling quickly through the gate doors, their eyes darting about nervously as if they were afraid of being pounced upon.

He turned away from the gate and started walking down the street, his eyes not really focussing on anything in particular, when suddenly he stumbled back. Someone had bumped into him.

Draco looked down expecting to see another nameless face, but instead his eyes fell on a young woman with long, vibrant red hair that was oddly familiar. Her large, expressive eyes were a deep brown, and on her cheeks he could see a healthy sprinkle of freckles. A crease grew between her fine eyebrows, and her rouge lips descended into a frown.

“You’re in my way,” the woman said bluntly, giving him a pointed glance that suggested he should move.

Draco snapped out of his daydream, blinking once, twice, and a third time.

“My apologies.” he said stiffly, and moved out of her way.

The woman barely acknowledged him, and merely continued to walk down the street until she became lost in the crowd. He frowned to himself as he stared at the place where he had last seen her. There was something familiar about her, but who was she?

He shook his head slightly, knowing that there was no point dwelling about that right now, and continued to stroll through the crowded streets to where he could see the café he and Annette were supposed to meet. He pushed open the door and suddenly found himself hit with the aromas of hot food and coffee. Voices and the clinking of cutlery filled the café, but Draco ignored all of this and searched with a keen eye for a sign of his mistress. He finally spotted her sitting behind a lady wearing a rather large, ostrich plume in her hair, and lazily made his way over to her.

Annette’s face turned stony when she saw him. “You’re late.”

“I was held up,” Draco replied in anything but apologetic accents, and sat down on the chair opposite her. His eyes roamed over her pretty face, and he thought dispassionately to himself that it was a shame she had to be such a nuisance to his comfort. She was by far the prettiest mistress he had kept, with her crown of black ringlets, dazzling green eyes, and full, luscious lips, but she was also incredibly demanding and spoilt, and was not afraid to throw a temper tantrum when she could not get her way. The inconvenience she gave him really was not worth it, and Draco knew that it was time to let her go.

Annette started fluffing her hair in a fussy manner, her green eyes glancing sideways at him. “Are you going to take me to the party tonight?”

“No,” Draco replied with his small, smirkish smile. “I am not.”

Her hand paused in the fluffing off her hair and she stared at him in puzzled silence. “What do you mean?”

Draco leaned back in his chair and allowed his smile to become a full smirk. “Well, darling, I’m afraid you’re just not interesting enough for me anymore.”

He was amused to see her jaw drop in indignant disbelief, and for a moment he thought she might burst her face was going so red, but then she took a deep breath and placed her hands flat on the table.

“Do you mean to tell me that you are getting rid of me?” Annette demanded, pushing herself to her feet stiffly. Her rage was radiating off her so unstably that her cup started wobbling from the uncontrolled magic travelling through her body.

“Yes, actually, I am,” he replied nonchalantly. “I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“Understand!?” She echoed in a shriek.

“What did you expect, Annette?” Draco asked mockingly. “That I was going to marry you?”

Annette could not believe what she was hearing. She had been his mistress for a month, and in that time she had wormed out of him several diamond necklaces, a new ring, and a beautiful mare. He was one of the few men ready to share his blunt without hesitation, not to mention he was terribly handsome. She did not love him, of course, but he was useful, and she had no wish to let him out of her clutches. Indeed, it had become her greatest ambition to become Lady Malfoy. Now, however, she knew her ambitions to be over. Something had to be done.

“Surely you must be joking?” she said with a shaky laugh, while trying to keep her temper in check.

“No,” that deplorably insolent gentleman replied in a lazy voice. “I am not, but if you cannot accept with good grace that our agreement is over, well-” he smiled politely, but his eyes glinted dangerously- “I’m afraid that I will have to force you to.”

Annette glared furiously at him. She knew enough about him to know that he did not appreciate his old mistresses trying to keep their claws on him. He was generous and loving when he enjoyed their company, but once he got sick of them all charm vanished. The only option she had was to accept her loss with as much grace as possible.

“I understand.”

His teeth gleamed. “I’m glad to hear it. I would hate for us to part on bad terms.”

She couldn’t help but scowl darkly at him. “Of course not,” she muttered bitterly.

Draco stood up from the table and flicked one gold galleon at her. “For the meal.”

Annette glared furiously at him, to which Draco only laughed.

“Don’t scowl like that, darling, it does you no credit at all.”

Watching with satisfaction as Annette struggled to keep her temper in check, Draco moved away from her and left the café in a considerably amused state. He knew he was heartless to treat her in such a way, but really what did she expect? He had used her just as much as she had used him, and no demanding little whore was going to become his wife.

His eyes fell on two nicely dressed men walking towards him with broad smiles on their handsome faces, and with a small smile flittering across his own, Draco moved forward towards them.

“Blaise, Theo; what are you two doing in this part of town?”

“We’re about to head over to Goyle’s to play some cards, and then later we’re going to go to the opera.” Blaise explained with a smile. “Don’t suppose you care to join us?”

“Why not,” Draco said with a careless shrug, and fell into step with his two good friends. “I can hand my papers to King tomorrow.”

The two men heartily put their agreement to this, and soon all three men were heading back towards the apparation point.

By the end of the night Draco was sure that he would be terribly intoxicated by Goyle’s brandy, but that was no evil to a man who spent most nights getting foxed with his friends and playing cards. Indeed, the only surprise would be if he didn’t come home drunk. His life after all, was one of wasteful pleasure.