Dating one month:

“But what is it for?”

“You heat it up and then set the pan of cookie dough inside. That’s how the cookies bake, Draco.” Ginny repeated the directions for what must have been the fourth or fifth time, her voice full of exasperation.

The process still made no sense. It didn’t look like the square black chamber ran on magic, unless she had used a wandless spell without my having realized it. I eyed the deep box warily and watched as she pressed some buttons to make the internal coils light up and emit heat. “Isn’t that what magic is for?”

“Do you really want magic to be your only resource for the rest of your life, Draco?”

Yes, I thought.

“Now get your head out of the oven so I can slide in this tray.”

I bit my tongue to keep from retorting, and then moved out of the way so she could stick a metal sheet on the rack inside of the oven. A moment before, she had showed me how to mix raw cookie dough and roll it into same-size balls. She must enjoy putting me to work, I thought, though she’d never admit it.

Doing jobs I could just order my house elves to do really wasn’t my idea of fun, but it was her turn to choose what we did for the evening, so I put up with it. Plus, I didn’t want to be the one to start a fight. We hadn’t had a row since dinner two nights ago; a few more hours and we’ll have set a new personal record.

“I’m going to set the timer for twelve minutes,” Ginny said as she pointed to the corresponding oven clock that started the countdown. “When it goes off you will hear a buzz; the cookies should be finished and can be taken out,” she instructed, “but keep an eye on them to make sure they don’t get too brown. I’m going to go Floo Mum before I forget.”

She didn’t wait for a reply from me, and I didn’t bother to ask any questions. I already saw the cookie dough beginning to rise through the little window, just as she had said it would do. And the smell — I inhaled the tantalizing aroma of melting chocolate — was divine. When I glanced at the timer, I saw that there were still a solid eight minutes before they would be done. Did I really have to wait that long?

In an attempt to distract myself, I walked around and examined the kitchen in her flat. I hadn’t spent much time here, since we usually went out or did something at my place. It was a bit disorganized, but that was just like Ginny. I had mentioned her messy habits to her once, and she had simply said that it wasn’t messy, it was lived in. Well, pardon me.

I began to tidy up a bit, and I came across some mittens she had pulled out earlier. They were made out of a cheap, scratchy fabric. As I slid one on, I realized that the palm had a horrendous design on it. I thought it was supposed to be a cat. Surely she wasn’t planning on wearing these while out with me? They were terribly loose and didn’t even seem like they would keep one’s hands very warm. I tossed those straight into the bin and decided to buy her a much better pair when we went out later.

Just then, the timer started to beep. I peered into the oven and saw that the cookies had begun to turn brown, just like Ginny had warned. What to do? Well, the beeping had to stop. I began pressing some of the buttons she had used before, until I found one that ceased the annoying sound.

As I stared at the cookies, I realized that they still turned darker. Why didn’t it stop? When it goes off, they should be finished and can be taken out. Right. Take them out. I pulled open the oven door to let the heat escape and kept my head out of the way like Ginny had told me to. Then I grabbed the cookie sheet and pulled it off of the metal rack.

“Dammit!” Before I could even think, I had dropped the pan and clasped my blistering palms together in an effort to stop the burning sensation. However, the searing pain just got worse. When I inspected my hands, I found two red burn marks running symmetrically across them.

Ginny rushed into the kitchen. “Draco, what happened?” she exclaimed as she took in the scene before her. I must have looked a sight, with my hands clutched to my chest as I swore at the scattered cookies on the floor.

“Merlin, what were you thinking?!” Ginny scolded. She gently cupped my hands in her own and drew them over to the sink. After she got the cold water to run over them, she located her wand and skimmed a spell book for healing incantations.

Inwardly, I berated myself for my stupidity. I just knew that bloody heating box would be dangerous. An “oven,” she had called it. Well, I could’ve just zapped the damn dough and cooked them for her in seconds! But no, I guess Muggles knew best now, eh?

She finally found the spell she had searched for and attempted it a few times before she executed it correctly. As I inspected my palms for any more damage, I rubbed the slightly raw areas that still lined them.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t completely heal it. But I should’ve known that internship at St. Mungo’s would have come in handy.” There was a smile in her voice as she said this, and when I looked up, sure enough, a grin graced her face.

“You think this is funny?” I growled and thrust my palms out at her, just in case she had already forgotten my pain. But there she was, giggling — yes, giggling — at me! “I’m so glad you find my suffering humorous.” She actually had the gall to continue to shake with mirth.

If she hadn’t walked over and started to kiss my aching hands, I’m pretty sure I would have made some sort of scathing comment. But the feel of her lips on my skin halted any angry thoughts for that moment.

“Why didn’t you put on the oven mitts before you grabbed the tray?” Ginny asked, as she now began to massage my palms.

“The what?”

She laughed. “Oven mitts. I could have sworn I left them on the coun—” Ginny glanced around. “Oh, I must have forgotten to take them out! I’m so sorry, Draco, this is all my fault.”

I thought back to the ugly kitten gloves I had tossed in the trash just a few minutes ago and wanted to smack myself. But, wait. Really, wasn’t it Ginny’s fault? If she hadn’t insisted on using the oven in the first place, this never would have happened.

I tried to discreetly change the subject. “This bloody obsession with Muggles has got to stop, Ginny,” I said reproachfully. “It’s getting quite out of hand.”

I honestly should never have encouraged her to explore this...fetish she’s got with Muggle inventions. Blaise warned me to put my foot down and stamp out the issue, but I had been infatuated with her enthusiasm; she had made me want to like it just because she loved it.

Oh, how wrong I had been.

“Did that Mudblood friend of yours put you up to this?” I asked. I wanted to nip the problem in the bud. “This predicament seems like something Granger would find comical.”

Her eyes narrowed into a fiery glare and I knew that I had just said the worst possible thing. Mudblood was not a great topic of conversation with her, better to just avoid it altogether.

“What did you just say, Draco?” Ginny hissed. She proceeded to back me into a sharp corner of the counter.

Well, there went our perfect record.

XXXXX

Dating seven months:

“Alright, Draco. One more try, okay?”

Ginny picked up the device and began to press a series of buttons. There was a robotic female voice emitting from it, and I nodded to Ginny as I tried to focus on the instructions the voice gave. I’d heard them already, but I must have missed something since I had to keep doing this over again.

“Okay, here you go. You’ll start in just a moment,” Ginny warned, passing me the device. Don’t forget to say your name this time!”

I nodded once more in affirmation and waited for the quiet buzz tone before I began.

“This is Draco Malfoy speaking. You are listening to the message on this—what is it called, again?”

“Cell phone!”

“—on this phone. I am not here right now—well, my voice is—but my actual self, voice included, is elsewhere and will call you back when this message is received. Well, if I like you, that is...BEEEP.”

I looked over at Ginny expectantly then narrowed my eyes when I found her convulsing in silent laughter. See, it was one thing for her to laugh at my inability to understand these gadgets of hers, but she was purposefully letting me embarrass myself. That was the sixth time I’d had to repeat my message into the ominous shiny black brick in my hand, and Ginny had done nothing but giggle and poke fun at me.

Malfoys do not get made fun of.

The exception being when I am in the presence of a certain redhead, obviously. Still recovering from her mirth, Ginny let out another small giggle before she explained herself. It seemed she could sense my distaste.

“Draco, if I called you and you didn’t answer, don’t you think it would be perfectly obvious that the recorded message playing wasn’t actually you?” she asked, sending herself into another bout of laughter. “And,” she added, still gasping in delight, “I told you, you don’t need to make the beep sound!”

“But they always beep,” I argued, upset over the fact that I couldn’t master something she had promised was simple. It was bad enough that she had tricked me into bothering with this frustrating Muggle junk in the first place. According to Ginny, this “recording” thing was a two-minute job. Yet there I was, almost an hour later, still trying to understand the right way to introduce myself to a stranger.

“There’s always an annoying BEEEP!” I added even louder, demonstrating the noise once again. This was getting really annoying.

“Well, yes, but that’s made by the recording machine,” Ginny informed me. She took back the cell phone and began the now-familiar procedure of deleting my message so that a new one could be recorded in its place.

My patience was wearing thin by this point, and I wanted answers. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” I asked in indignation.

“I didn’t realize you needed to be told!” Ginny said, her smile giving away her amusement. She held it out to me once more, silently asking me to give the device another go.

“Don’t see why I need one of these things anyways,” I grumbled petulantly, snatching it from her hand.

Ginny gave me a look of innocent speculation. “How else will I keep track of you?”

I argued and complained a bit more, but finally relented. “Fine. At least show me how to answer the blasted thing.”

And I let the ear-piercing squeals of delight commence.

XXXXX

Dating a year and a half:

“This is ludicrous, Ginny! I absolutely refuse.” I began walking away, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Oh, come on, Draco,” she begged, running after me to grab my arm. Her face was a mask of sorrow. “Please? I promise this is the last one.”

I rolled my eyes sarcastically. “If I had a Sickle for every time I heard that.”

My comment was rewarded with a sharp elbow to my gut. “What?” I gasped, clutching my side, “Did Muggles get granted some sort of royal pardon from the purebloods while I was sleeping?” I backed away from her dangerous appendage. “No self-respecting wizard would ever do this; it’s what house elves are for! No.” I was adamant. I was resolute. I would not give in.

“I’ll give you a month off from Sunday dinners with my family,” she bargained, following me step by step.

There wasn’t even a pretense of hesitation in my voice. “I’m in!”

Ginny jumped up like a hyperactive schoolgirl and gave a few short, excited claps. If I weren’t so disgusted with myself, I might have laughed at her antics.

“Okay,” she said, latching onto my arm again and dragging me over to the large machine that stood awkwardly in the middle of her flat. It looked like an oversized cylinder with wheels and a handgrip. Right now, it was the enemy.

“Here’s how it works: you pop the handle down like this,” she demonstrated the motion, “press the power button, and then run it back and forth across the floor.” Ginny smiled and looked up at me. “Easy, right?”

I obviously was in another state of mind entirely when I accepted the awkward handle from her. Otherwise I might have exercised some amount of caution. But I had grown accustomed to these odd Muggle devices that Ginny liked to experiment with. It was something that she and her father seemed to bond over and, if I was being completely honest, I wanted that sort of connection with her, too. I always regretted it afterwards, but it seemed worth it at the time.

Grasping the handle as she had shown me to, I pulled the device back towards me and pressed the button, proceeding to roll it along her carpet. I felt like an idiot, pushing this big hunk of plastic around. “Nothing’s happening,” I said, stating the obvious.

“Hmm.” Ginny looked just as perplexed as I did, bending down to examine the power button as though the problem would solve itself. “Dad said it should suck up the mess.”

I looked a bit too excited as I asked, “Perhaps it’s defective?”

“No, no,” she disagreed. “Just let me think for a minute.” Ginny circled the machine and me, looking completely clueless before her face brightened into a wide grin. “Aha!” Reaching down, she retrieved the end of a gray lead and began pulling it along to some holes in the wall.

I remember being upset when we first moved into the place, after I had found similar holes in every room of the flat. Since when does a brand new building have holes in its walls? It wasn’t until Ginny had explained what they were and told me of her need for the “outlets” to power her Muggle contraptions that I had settled down.

All of this seemed like more trouble than it was worth, and as she went to plug in the lead, I couldn’t help but wonder how many more times we would go through this same routine. Ginny had introduced me to countless Muggle objects throughout our time together, and although I would initially refuse, I couldn’t seem to say ‘no’ to her. She even used that against me, the witch.

I was just calculating how many more dinners with her family I could possibly get excused from, when suddenly the machine roared to life and I practically jumped out of my skin, dropping the thick handle on my foot in the process. It sent a spear of pain shooting up my leg and I tried to get away from it before it could do any more damage.

“Aaargh!” I wasn’t able to focus over the roar of the Muggle menace as I hopped awkwardly over to the couch, grasping my throbbing foot.

“Ginny, what is that thing?!” I couldn’t help but stare at it, as I had a clear view into the bottom of the huge machine, toppled over as it was. Beneath the plastic cover were rows of spinning mechanisms moving at a daunting speed. From this position, the contraption looked positively lethal! Had Ginny gone batty?

“Draco! You’re supposed to push the vacuum like I showed you!” she yelled over the noise of the machine. Ginny pulled the plug and I watched as the whirring slowed and then sputtered weakly before producing nothing but silence.

“Oh, dear,” she sighed. “I hope you didn’t break it.”

What?! I’m over here, a bloody casualty of the thing, and she’s worried about it being broken. Right, well that makes perfect sense. “Maybe next time you should take it out to dinner before going home with it,” I spat angrily, shooting alternating glares between her and the device cradled in her arms.

XXXXX

Engaged four months:

Rolling out of bed, I dragged my hand down my face, trying to erase the idea of sleep from my mind. If I even entertained the thought of “ten more minutes”, I knew I’d never get up in time. I was already exhausted, and it was only seven in the morning — the fun hadn’t even begun yet.

This whole wedding planning thing had lost its Novelty status after the first week; in fact, it had just been upgraded from Complete Bore to the ever so wonderful Pain In My Arse. Initially, I had considered myself aware of the planning it took to produce the entire wedding ordeal. But I hadn’t factored in how time-consuming all of the planning really was. The meetings where everything was decided had begun to occupy all of my free time until I didn’t even know what to do with myself whenever I had a few moments of my own.

Why I allowed Ginny to drag me to every meeting wasn’t much of a mystery. I could honestly care less about what color the napkins were, which guest sat where during the reception, or what baby pictures were distributed between family members. But Ginny had deviously made an ally of my mother when I wasn’t looking, so I was being pushed from both sides to attend these heinous morning get-togethers.

The other people who attended the meetings were all female, and it was hard work trying not to drown in the estrogen they emitted when fawning over wedding details. There was only one upside as far as I could see: going to the meetings meant I would have some say over what Ginny incorporated into the wedding. Just yesterday, I had nixed the use of a Muggle electric knife for cutting the cake. That hadn’t been the only one — the number of devices she was throwing at me was appalling, and I couldn’t figure out where she was getting so many hair-brained ideas.

Oh, I should have guessed.

As I walked into the kitchen of the flat Ginny and I shared, I looked past the usual wedding clutter that covered every open surface to find my fiancée and her friend, Granger, exchanging whispers across the dining table. Holding back a moment, I tried to listen closer but only caught snippets of their conversation — “microphones” and “karaoke” — before they grew quiet in my presence.

Yes, Granger would be the source of all my troubles. I had blamed the witch for all my troubles from the very beginning, but at least now I had proof. The two sat there, attempting to look innocent as they sipped their tea. Well, I was the king of deception, and neither of them were fooling me.

As Granger held out a plate of croissants for me, I made a mental note to look into what exactly karaoke was before striding across the room and planting a deep kiss on Ginny’s lips. She melted easily, grasping the hair at the nape of my neck and pulling me closer. I could hear Granger’s huff of indignation and I smirked, continuing to snog my fiancée. If I couldn’t get Ginny to stop forming these ridiculous plans, I could at least scramble her thoughts for a few moments; I was quite good at that.

XXXXX

Married one year:

“Can I look now?”

“Not yet, Draco!” Ginny let out an exasperated huff. “We’re almost there, okay?”

Despite her blatant annoyance, I could hear the excitement in her voice. The wait was pure torture for me though, and my impatient mind was searching for some way to peek. My wife, however, knew me too well. Not only were her hands covering my eyes, but I was blindfolded and being led backwards towards our secret destination.

I had known something was up for about a week, when Ginny had begun to look flustered whenever I entered a room. She would abruptly end floo calls or pretend to be reading something when it was obvious from her heavy breathing that she had been doing something elsewhere around the flat. She had also started coming home from work at odd hours of the evening. With anyone else, my first inclination would be to think that there was another man in her life. But I knew my wife almost as well as she knew me, and my wife could not keep a secret if her life depended on it.

Until now, that is.

What a way to spend a week, wondering what Ginny was up to and trying to pry it out of her. Usually, I simply had to distract the woman and then spring the question on her — she’d sing like a canary. But she was making this entirely too difficult for me. Nothing I did fazed her in the slightest. Even a hot snogging session hadn’t addled her brain enough to slip her up, and that is saying something.

As though I didn’t have enough on my plate while I tried to find her the perfect present, she decided to put this mystery in front of me, one that I couldn’t seem to solve no matter how hard I tried.

It was our first wedding anniversary, see, and I had to make it perfect. Well, almost. She’d already ruined my exquisite breakfast by the lake (where we had our first kiss) by beating me to it with breakfast in bed. Then, I had planned to surprise her with a shopping trip to that Muggle store she’s been dying to go to, the thrifty something or other—oh, never mind. At this rate, all my bloody plans will have been spoiled. She was taking too long with this “surprise” of hers. Really, what could be more important than our anniversary?

“Ginny,” I growled in warning. I had been blindfolded for over ten minutes now, and tripped more than once. It felt as though I was being led in circles around our flat, and I had no tolerance for this sort of thing. If this didn’t end soon, I’d be spoiling the surprise.

“Just a few more steps, Draco,” she replied without a hint of remorse. “There.” Ginny turned me around, presumably facing forwards now.

“Okay, on three.” Her voice was bursting with uncontained excitement. “One...two...three!” The blindfold was ripped off of my face with a flourish.

As I blinked my eyes from the sudden burst of sunlight, I tried to get a good look at what was before me. It was quite large; in fact, it looked like a green metallic buggy with its four wheels and plush seating. The monstrosity also looked as though it had not a stitch of magic in its depths. I remembered her showing me a picture of something similar a few months ago, happily rattling off the many features it contained, but I’d hardly paid her any mind then.

Ginny seemed concerned at my lack of surprised adoration. To bury any pitying comments she might have already formed in her mind, I dipped my head towards hers, capturing her lips in an intense kiss that hopefully conveyed my bluff of gratitude. The car meant nothing to me, but her enthusiasm over it fueled my happiness.

“So you really like it then?” she asked warily, her swollen lips forming a small frown.

I kissed her again rather than lying, which brought a smile to her face.

“Well, see, you know how I had been talking to Dad about what a non-magical car could do,” she babbled excitedly, “and the exchange rate for Muggle currency has been high in our favor the past few months. I thought we might try it out, and I was reading the manual...”

I nodded my head and feigned excitement about this new Muggle invention that had caught her fancy. I still wasn’t interested in it — I doubted I would ever be — but seeing the light in her eyes when she spoke of all the possibilities made me feel all the love I had for her, a love that had grown even stronger in this past year of our marriage.

“I even signed us up for driving lessons, Draco!”

Some things never change.