Chapter One: Two Faced Monsters

It looked like we were photographed at gunpoint so I had to laugh.

---

Why had she come here? Hadn't she known what it would be like?

She stood to one side of the elegantly decorated ballroom, sipping from her flute of Champagne as the richly dressed couples danced and conversed. Everyone looked beautiful, dressed as they all were in their best. The buzz of superficial conversation provided a pleasant backdrop to the subdued string arrangements that inevitably played at the gatherings of the rich.

In these settings she was rarely hounded for autographs, rarely asked to sign someone's lucky jersey, but years of international Quidditch star status had taught Ginny to keep to the periphery and near an exit when in public.

Now standing out of the way as best she could, Ginny nodded and smiled, and armed herself with forbearance when accepting the clearly fake smile and words of greeting of many a socialite as they approached her to compliment her on her dress, her skin, her make-up. "Ginev-rah!" they would drawl, kissing the air over both of her cheeks. The men were no better; their demeanors were more subdued than those of their wives, but their eyes were more inquisitive, more probing. But hadn't she known it would be so, and hadn't she made sure to look her best?

Really, what had possessed her to come here, she again wondered. But then she spotted the happy groom at the center of a group at the far end of the room, his face alight with obvious happiness. That was why. She couldn't fail him, and so she had come.

"Ginevra, darling!" someone called from her left.

Ginny smiled and waved, secretly praying that they wouldn't come over to fake-fawn over her and to question her. She realized that she disliked most of these people and yet she knew them all by name. This had been her own social circle at one time, not so long ago. Had she always resented their insincerity wrapped in exquisite manners? Their mouths were smiling but their eyes were cold as painted glass, like the depthless eyes on the faces of dolls. Was there a pulse beating under that perfect skin?

What a hypocrite I am, she thought suddenly. Because Ginny didn't need to check her reflection to know that she wasn't out of place here - she fit the part. Somewhere along the way, she had learned to look like them.

---

He cast a languid look about him as he drank from his glass of Firewhisky on the rocks. Always the same people, the same faces at these gatherings. He knew that, and yet his eyes continued to scan through the familiar blending of faces, searching for – what?

"Draco." Astoria's melodic voice had a tinge of impatience to it which indicated she had most likely been trying to capture his attention without success for some time.

"Yes, love?" he turned his full attention to her now, giving her a small kiss on the cheek; she smiled indulgently, but Draco knew she hated these little lapses. Lately he found his mind wandering more and more, slipping away into meaningless abstractions.

"I said," she began patiently, "did your secretary send in that gift for Camille?"

"Hmm. Did she, indeed?" Draco replied, sounding thoughtful.

Astoria rolled her eyes. "I do hope you're joking. Can you imagine if she didn't? What will Camille think of us, showing up to her wedding without sending a gift?"

"That we're worthless villains, a pair of cheap scoundrels?" Draco supplied, his fingers massaging the curve of the girl's slender waist. "That we came to her wedding, drank all of her wine, ate her cake and left without sending a gift, like a pair of savages?" Draco arched a fine eyebrow and then laughed when she swatted at him gracefully with her hand, where a large diamond glittered against her milky white skin. "Yes, she sent the gift," he whispered against her temple before pecking it with a quick kiss.

"Draco, you're insufferable," Astoria informed him, but she was smiling.

He allowed her to drag him over for a dance and placed his hands where they ought to be quite mechanically, although not without his characteristic and effortless sort of grace.

They swayed side to side gently, Astoria resting her chin on his shoulder and sighing contentedly as they danced. The restlessness Draco had been feeling gradually began to wear away, but his eyes continued to dart about the ballroom, searching for he didn't know what.

And then, quite suddenly, Draco's eyes fastened on a sight which was entirely unexpected and which struck him as implacably as a bolt of lightning would have. There, in stark contrast with the white pillar against which she lounged, a woman's vibrant red hair captured the light and glowed softly.

---

"And then I said, 'Not on my marble floors, you rascal! Use the newspapers I've laid out, or you'll get it!' Gregory says Tito is the worst dog we've had, but I think he's got spunk, that one does!"

Ginny struggled to keep her attention focused on this riveting story, but found her eyes were glazing over. Merlin's pants, but Rita Goyle could talk!

The redhead wondered vaguely how Gregory could stand this day in and day out. His wife was a well meaning woman and not at all unpleasant, but she could bore one to death with her incessant chatter. Unfortunately by the time Rita had exhausted every detail of hers and Gregory's and even their dog's life, she began asking Ginny more and more questions – this the redhead dreaded more than stories of Tito the Chihuahua.

"And you look so beautiful, Ginevra! You look breathtaking, really! Are there any particular spells you recommend for the skin? But do tell, how are things with that dashing French Quidditch captain whose name I can't pronounce? I read all about it in Witch Weekly, so don't even bother denying it!"

Ginny was down to her fourth flute of Champagne and her third retelling of Why I Decided to Retire at the Height of My Quidditch Career to Focus on Muggle-Style Photography Instead, and Yes, I Actually Enjoy the Single Life, Thank You Very Much, when she felt the intensity of someone's gaze burn her bare shoulder as if she had been physically touched by it.

She turned her head and her eyes clashed against a pair of silvery gray ones. So struck was she that she was unable to move, rendering her facial muscles incapable of reflecting the shock she felt at the sight of those eyes and their owner.

For one wild, panic stricken moment Ginny found herself praying that the ground would open up and swallow her.

"Ginevra? Ginevra! Can you hear me?" Rita Goyle was saying, and then she turned to follow the line of Ginny's gaze and noticed the inevitable approach of the Malfoy heir. "Oh, and here comes Draco! We thought he'd be in Italy celebrating, but you see, he made it after all! I'll go find Gregory!" she exclaimed, clapping her chubby hands together delightedly and then waving at the blond before disappearing.

No! Don't leave, you little fool! Ginny thought desperately, casting her approaching tormentor a veiled look.

As she watched him saunter up to her in his beautifully cut dark robes, his fair hair slicked back to reveal a somewhat patrician hint of a widow's peak on the high, smooth forehead, Ginny resigned herself to her fate; she almost found a small scrap of comfort in it; here, at least, was one who would not fawn.

She noted that his hair was slightly longish and he was handsome as ever – but she hadn't expected differently. The fine features of his face were carefully devoid of expression, but she didn't miss the way the cool gray eyes quickly took in her appearance, everything from the tips of her shoes just visible under the hem of her dress robes, the curve of her waist, to her bare, slightly tensed shoulders, the sparse make-up, the stylishly messy bun in her hair.

She bore the intensity of his deceptively casual glance with apparent nonchalance, but her heart, traitor that it was, galloped almost painfully in her chest, and when his eyes met hers she feared her knees would knock into each other.

Fair and gray-eyed, with features that strongly reminisced of Narcissa nee Black's legendary beauty, Draco Malfoy could almost pass for angelic. Until he inevitably spoke.

"Miss Weasley…" he drawled in his deep, silky voice for all greeting, making her name sound like a secret insult somehow.

She arranged her lips into a fake little smile and nodded graciously in turn. "Mr. Malfoy."

He answered her smile with an amused smirk, but his pale eyes remained cold as ever; they followed the dancing couples for a moment before flicking to her again. "You're looking quite stunning," he remarked casually. "It's a – ah, shall we say, pleasant – surprise to find you here. We all know how much you hate these parties…"

"Yes, well. Blaise is a dear friend," she said simply. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Yes? How good of you. I'm sure Blaise and his bride appreciate the gesture," Draco said pleasantly, and she found she could no longer gauge his level of sarcasm without looking at his face, which was once again turned towards the dance floor. "But it must be quite trying for you to bear with us all."

"It certainly is," Ginny agreed without hesitation. "But as I said, anything for Blaise. I understand you yourself, Mr. Malfoy, cut short some kind of holiday in order to be here tonight. No one at all expected you…" I know I certainly didn't.

"Indeed," Draco replied, and then promptly changed the subject. "I do wonder at your date, Miss Weasley - leaving you unattended for all this time…"

"I'm sure your date must be feeling the same way," she said lightly, refusing to answer his underlying query.

Yes, I've come alone, you bastard.

They locked eyes for a moment, and met with twin pools of grey - impenetrable and cold as Draco Malfoy himself was - Ginny cursed herself for the way her heart was pounding, fluttering against her ribs like a caged bird.

"How's Lucius?" she inquired absently, adjusting the catch of her bracelet.

"Fine," Draco replied, turning his attention once again towards the dance floor. "Lucius is always fine, isn't he?"

Ginny caught the guarded note in Draco's voice and understood that she had guessed correctly – the tensions between father and son hadn't ceased to be a sore topic with the Malfoy heir. "Is he about?" Ginny made it a point to glance around over Draco's shoulder, as if she expected to find Lucius Malfoy standing there.

"No, he's not about." Draco snorted. "You know he hates people."

"If by 'people' you mean most of your friends, I would say you're correct," Ginny replied, smiling benignly. "Otherwise I find him absolutely charming. I miss our discussions. Perhaps I should owl him…"

Draco appeared as if he couldn't be bothered to even make a reply, but the new tension around his mouth, visible as he presented her with her his arrogant, chiseled profile, did not escape Ginny. It was no secret to her that Draco had not had a real conversation with his father since the end of the war. That her poisoned little arrow had hit home would have gone unnoticed by anyone else but was quite evident to Ginny; she was filled with a perverse sort of satisfaction, immediately followed by a burst of shame.

How easily could she become that foul harpy when it came to one she had loved beyond all else. How ironic that he and only he could invariably bring out the worst in her character, she reflected.

"I'll be sure to send your love the next time I see him," Draco was saying now, obviously composed. "I'm sure he misses you, as well. I'm sorry that I can't say the same for Mother."

Ginny had the grace to blush.

In that moment they were joined by a glowing Camille Rosier, now Zabini – Blaise's new bride. Both of their faces instantly relaxed, Draco's lips, which had been an implacable straight line seconds earlier, curving slightly upwards as he greeted the new bride.

"Congratulations, cousin," he said smoothly, kissing her on both cheeks.

For her part Ginny smiled brightly, squeezing the bride's hands warmly in hers. "Congratulations, Camille."

"And how are you two enjoying yourselves?" Camille inquired, giving them a dazzling smile even as her anxious eyes went from Ginny to Draco.

"Smashingly," the blond said quietly, his lips twisting into a faint smile.

"It's a lovely ball," Ginny murmured, watching nervously as a member of the army of photographers trailing after the bride approached them.

"All together for the picture!" he commanded, and as the three crowded in and Draco's hand rested against the small of her back, Ginny felt an electric shiver course down her spine. Her smile never faltered as the flash blinded her, as Draco and Camille's faces pressed against hers, as his hand lifted from her back and he drew away.

"I hope you'll dance, won't you?" Camille was saying.

"As soon as I can persuade Ginevra to dance with me," Draco replied, glancing at Ginny in quite pointed askance.

"I don't think you shall, Draco. But it's no matter. We've got so much catching up to do, don't we?" Ginny gave his arm a halfhearted pat.

Draco's answering smile was full of irony, but he said nothing.

"Suit yourselves, but have fun!" Camille gave them one last anxious yet radiant smile as she wandered on to the next group. "Oh, and Ginny, I love your dress!" she added, her eyes roving up and down the redhead's Quidditch toned figure as only another woman's eyes could.

Ginny frowned, wondering if she'd made a mistake by wearing the burgundy colored silk taffeta robes; she'd made sure the cut was somewhat understated, but the color was too dramatic perhaps.

"Not trying to outshine the bride, are we?" Draco murmured, once the bride in question was out of earshot.

Ginny turned to glare at him. How typical of him to unerringly read her insecurities and zero in on them.

He returned her gaze, his amused little smirk still firmly in place, his eyes cold as ever, unreadable.

"As soon as I can persuade her," Ginny muttered, mimicking his well-bred, haughty accents. "As if you'd asked."

"As if you would," he shot back. His face was still averted, but he'd dropped the sarcastic formality he'd been addressing her with, and for once his tone sounded neutral.

"Yes," Ginny conceded, "but now I look like a grumpy old shrew who won't dance."

"Then your true colors have come out at last," Draco retorted, smiling and nodding at Blaise's stepfather as he walked by them, and Ginny hastened to do the same.

"And did I mention I love that fake little smile you give everyone, Ginevra?" Draco continued, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. "It's fantastic."

"I learned from the best, Draco." She used his same disdainful inflection demonstratively.

He snorted indelicately for all response.

"Congratulations on your engagement to Astoria," she said then, quietly and quite suddenly, without having decided to. "She's a wonderful girl. I do hope… I hope you have better luck this time."

They regarded each other in silence for a moment, and it was Draco who turned away this time. His next question caught her by surprise.

"How is Henry?"

"He's fine," Ginny said, after a moment. "A handful." He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, mouth curved up on the right with amusement, and her expression softened. "You know, you should visit him some time."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Draco said carefully, his voice low. "You know what happened last time I – "

Ginny exhaled sharply and turned to glare at him, cheeks blazing with anger and shame that he'd interpreted her comment as some sort of invitation. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy."

"That's not what I meant, Ginevra," he said sternly, but his lips curved into the smallest of smirks. "I meant that when I was last there we quarreled, like always. We were at each other's throats the entire time, one way or another…"

Her blush deepened, spreading down her face to her slender neck. "Fine then," she snapped, turning away. "Don't visit him. But don't ask me about him either, as if you cared."

The blond man exhaled air in what could have been a scoff or a sigh before tossing back the rest of his Champagne.

"Ah, it's the Malfoys," a cracked and ancient voice said loudly beside them. Draco and Ginny turned to find Audrina Rosier, one of Draco's elderly aunts, staring up at them from behind rheumy blue eyes.

"Hello, Aunt Audrina! But this is Ginevra Weasley now," Draco said loudly into the old witch's good ear. "We've divorced, remember?"

"Dee-WHAT?" the witch demanded, just as loudly.

"DIVORCED!" Draco replied. "We've broken our marriage contract. It's been nearly two years now, hasn't it?"

"Broken the marriage contract?" the witch replied, sounding mystified – just as she had when she'd first learned the news years before.

"Yes, yes. We couldn't stand each other so we parted ways. Two years ago."

Ginny snorted humorlessly into her Champagne flute. This was a decidedly succinct but not entirely inaccurate version of events.

The elderly witch gaped at them in bewilderment for a moment. Then she scoffed and gave her head an indignant little shake before wandering off.

"Bye, Aunt Audrina!" Ginny called out, as Draco snickered.

For a moment neither of them said anything, each lost in their own thoughts.

If someone had told Ginny a few years ago that she and Draco would end up 'not standing each other' and breaking their marriage contract, she would have scoffed just as Aunt Audrina had. She would have never believed it would come to this, and yet look at them now…

She risked a glance at Draco, whose hands were in his pockets as his eyes followed the dancing on the floor.

"How's Molly? And Arthur?" he inquired in a low voice, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Or am I not allowed to ask?"

"They're doing well, thank you," Ginny said tightly.

They slipped into tense silence again.

All of a sudden she felt exhausted by their petty little exchanges. It was silly, childish. More than that, it was surprisingly hurtful. She thought she'd hardened to Draco's callousness, but she was wrong. She thought she could make jokes about their failed marriage, but she doubted if she could keep this up for much longer. There was nothing to laugh about. It had been a fucking tragedy, one she had survived by the grace of God alone.

Turning to Draco, she found his gray eyes were already on her. Still unreadable as ever, but not hard. Not cold. There was a softness there she hadn't been expecting, and that more than anything made tears prick at the back of her eyes.

"Ginny," he said quietly, reaching for her hand and taking it in his. "How have you been?"

His hands were always warm, always felt just right, as if waiting for hers to slip into them. She nodded wordlessly, tearing her eyes away from his. Her throat felt dry, tight. She felt so tired. Why had she come here?

"Draco and Ginny," a low voice announced from behind them. "Trying for a comeback, I hope?"

They turned to find Blaise Zabini, dark and handsome in his dress robes, arm and arm with Astoria Greengrass. He was smiling at them mischievously from behind amused brown eyes, which went from Ginny's hand - still clasped in Draco's - to each of their faces in turn.

"I would hope not," Astoria said lightly, leveling a reproachful glare at Blaise before walking over to stand beside Draco.

Draco laughed and let go of Ginny's hand. "No worries, darling," he said to Astoria, smoothly wrapping his arm around the young woman's slim waist. "You'll be happy to know that Ginevra and I have been at each other's throats all evening."

"I'm delighted," she replied in a voice laden with sarcasm, but her delicately beautiful face turned towards Ginny, her eyes full of undisguised concern.

Ginny smiled broadly in response. "Hello, Astoria. I love your dress."

"Thank you! I've been admiring your robes all evening."

The two women continued to exchange pleasantries as Blaise pressed his lips against the side of Ginny's face. "I'm ecstatic you've come, Gin," he whispered into her ear, before loudly announcing, "I'm dragging you to the dance floor and I don't care what you say!"

He drew her by the waist, leaving her just enough time to say goodbye to Astoria, who waved back. Draco she ignored; she didn't think she could bear looking into his gray eyes after this little charade.

"Thank you," she whispered into Blaise's shoulder as they settled among the dancing couples, moving slowly from side to side. "I don't think I would have lasted much longer."

"It's alright, love." He held her tightly by the waist. Surely he could feel the way she was trembling, but he said nothing.

As Blaise twirled her around, Ginny risked a glance in Draco's general direction and saw that he was whispering something into the blonde and admittedly beautiful head of Astoria Greengrass. They looked wonderful together, and happy.

Ginny couldn't deny that she still carried a blazing torch for her ex-husband, but this touching scene and their recent disastrous attempt at small talk just now made her all the more aware of the need to snuff it out. Two years gone and he was newly engaged to a woman who was probably superior to her on all counts. And where was she? Standing where he'd left her, deep down still waiting for a return that would never come. It was high time to move on, wasn't it?

Ginny exhaled, relaxing, and it felt as if she'd been holding her breath all this time.

"There, that's more like it," Blaise whispered approvingly, his fingers moving over her rib cage until she giggled. "I'd hoped you would come, but didn't really expect you to. It means so much to me that you did."

"Anything for you, Blaise," Ginny said, smiling as he twirled her around. "But just so you know, I'm not coming to another wedding, so you better make this one work."

---

Draco spent the rest of the evening by Astoria's side, acting more the part of a living accessory than anything else. With her unfailing intuition, the future Mrs. Malfoy seemed to pick up on Draco's change of mood and left him to brood as he wished.

"Eat your cake," she told him now, handing him a newly cut slice of wedding cake before turning her attention to Pansy Parkinson's gossip.

"…She tossed him like an old dog and now he's shut up in his house writing Transfigurations papers day and night, but he won't let me publish them," his former girlfriend whispered to his future wife, and Draco stared at the cake for some moments before leaving it on a passing waiter's tray.

He felt shaken up, was the truth of it. He hadn't expected to see Ginny here, Ginny who never went to anything – and she had clearly not been expecting him, but they had each underestimated the strength of the other's affection for Blaise.

By mutual unspoken accord they had carefully avoided each other for the better part of the last year, since his last ill-fated visit to their old flat, which had involved the shouting of insults, the breaking of expensive table porcelain, and the firing of curses resulting in an impromptu magical duel, all culminating in an explosive session of frenzied hate-sex.

Draco hadn't been back there in ages, hadn't seen her in ages, and he confessed himself unprepared for the impact her presence had made on him tonight. He was now flooded with memories, with unwanted thoughts and the new awareness of an unnamed sadness; he'd felt her absence like a void somewhere deep inside of him, and he hadn't realized it until he'd come face to face with her tonight. And how pettily he had quarreled with her, how he had riled her, when all he really wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and whisper that he'd missed her.

Now his eyes kept darting to her of their own accord, hungry for the sight of her.

She was dancing with a distinctly scruffy looking Theodore Nott, about whom Pansy Parkinson's gossip centered, and looked quite lovely with her hair down now. She'd cut it short just to spite him some time ago, and it had grown back down to her shoulder blades. Draco found he rather liked it.

"She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" Astoria whispered to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, following the line of Draco's gaze.

Draco embraced her in turn, his eyes still latched on to Ginny. "She's gained weight."

 

Chapter Two: Same Old Road

A memory, a regret, a hope. Here we go, down that same old road again.
Though we bleed, we must push on.


~
In the space between sleep and vigil he became aware of the feel of her body wrapped around his, the weight of her head on his chest a sweet burden after a night of uneasy, half-formed dreams. His mind still felt dulled by the haze of rapidly fading visions in which she was lost to him, slipping from his grasp, gone forever.

But dreams were just dreams. She was here, soft and warm and fragrant in his arms, and entirely his.

"Ginny," he murmured against her silken hair.

He ran his fingers along the length of her bare shoulder, and as he opened his eyes and turned to her, for one split second he felt himself recoil inexplicably from the sight of golden perfection that met him. Flaxen tresses in place of auburn curls, no dusting of freckles on bare shoulders, no Quidditch tan lines to mar a pristine canvas of bare flesh.

He blushed crimson with shame at his own sense of disappointment, and then a rush of affection mingled with guilt found him gathering the sleeping Astoria tightly to him.

"Draco?" she mumbled softly, stirring in her sleep.

"Shhh, I'm here," he replied, kissing her temple. "It was just a dream..."




~
It was hard to focus on flying when your mind kept drifting to a certain blond Slytherin. Ginny Weasley had learned that the hard way during her Hogwarts years, and she was strongly reminded of it now as she gave one last lap around the snowy fields surrounding Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Ginny… How have you been?" he had asked, so very, very gently. He hadn't called her anything but Ginevra in years—there had been a warmth and tenderness for her in his eyes that Ginny hadn't seen in years—and these things had proven to be her undoing.

And it means nothing, she told herself stubbornly.
Spiraling lazily on her broom, she let the wind rush through her hair like a cold caress, and paused for a moment to observe the wan light of the rising sun as it broke through the clouds. She liked to fly early in the morning, alone with her thoughts in the expectant silence of pre dawn. Things seemed more sharply defined, somehow.

Early in their marriage Draco had come along with her on these early morning flights, each of them flying their own way, never side by side but somehow always attuned to each other, as if tethered together by invisible strings. Today he'd been with her, present in her thoughts.

It occurred to her then that Draco was probably still sound asleep in his bed, with Astoria by his side.

Her thoughts turned to her own life then, to the gaping hole Draco's absence had left in it, and how little she had done to fill it. She felt like half a person, like a shadow, like the ghost of the girl she'd once been.

And suddenly she thought of the owl she'd received weeks ago, still sitting unanswered on her nightstand. By the balls of Merlin she would say yes, and she would jump in with both feet.

No more Draco, she commanded herself, mustering up every last inch of her resolve. Time to move on, Ginny.

She touched down lightly, enjoying the crunch of the freshly fallen snow under her boots. Pausing to toss her broom in the Weasley tool shed, Ginny debated on whether she should Apparate back to her flat or drop in to say hello to her mother. She could smell frying sausages even through the window and she was out of groceries at home.

The loud growling of her stomach settled the matter. Ginny let herself in through the kitchen door, to find Mrs. Weasley seated at the table, immersed in the morning paper.

"Morning, Mum!" she said brightly, heading straight for the coffee pot. "What's crackin'?"

"Now, Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, ignoring her daughter's greeting. "You didn't tell me that Draco was at the wedding. Look here." She held up a copy of The Sunday Prophet, where the headline The Wedding of the Season! preceded several pictures of last night's wedding reception. As was expected, Blaise and Camille figured in most of them, but The Prophet had gone through the trouble of publishing a picture of Draco and Ginny — one smirking, the other smiling at the camera. Draco's arm was circling Ginny's waist, and although they never once looked at each other they could be seen conversing out of the corner of their mouths.

Ginny's stomach flopped, but she made herself read through the little blurb about her and Draco: The Zabini-Rosier wedding marked the first public meeting of Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Malfoy nee Weasley following their shocking divorce two years ago.

Ginny snorted. Friendly reunion, indeed. If memory served, at that moment Draco had been complimenting her on her fake smile.

And Ginevra Malfoy — gods.

"I have got to change my legal name!" she announced, setting the newspaper down on the kitchen table a bit more forcefully than was needed. "I don't know what I've been thinking, not taking care of that earlier. Gods, but I hate red tape…"

She thought of that other unanswered owl, the one she hadn't bothered to open, which was lying on her mantelpiece. She'd received it at an ungodly hour this morning, making it all the more likely to be from her New York City based lawyers.

Time to legally become a Weasley again.

But she had signed so many contracts and endorsements with the name Ginny Malfoy throughout the years… those bastards would have their work cut out for them, and it served them right, at what they charged.

"You look lovely together," Mrs. Weasley was saying reverently, already searching in a drawer for her kitchen scissors — no doubt this picture would feature in her scrapbook.

"Oh, Mum," Ginny muttered crossly, attacking her toast with a butter knife.

How horrid last night had been. Exchanging catty barbs with Draco out of the corner of their mouths, smiling for pictures and making polite conversation when others were around. Hypocrites, the both of them. It had felt just like the last year of their marriage.

"He used to come by here, you know," Mrs. Weasley continued wistfully. "For a while after you left him" — Ginny rolled her eyes at this — "he would come visit me and Arthur, and he would sometimes bring Blaise with him, or that Theodore Nott. I thought he was trying to run into you."

"Mum…"

"I hope he comes and visits again some time," she continued, sighing.

"Well I don't. I hope he stays away," Ginny snapped.

"Ginny—"

"We are divorced, Mother," she continued, her voice harsh. "We've moved on. He's marrying a lovely girl, and I'm… I'm going on to bigger and better things."

"Of course you are," Molly Weasley said dryly, watching as her youngest stuffed an entire slice of bread into her mouth.

"Bigger and better things!" Ginny repeated emphatically, through a mouthful of toast.

"Yes, yes. But surely he can still visit us," Mrs. Weasley retorted stubbornly. "You children bring people here and then expect one not to feel their absence when you break your attachments. I can't remember the last time I saw Hermione."



~
"Milk, eggs… cat litter. Chianti…" Ginny muttered to herself as she scanned the aisle of groceries. "I know I'm forgetting something…"

"Chocolate?"

Ginny turned to find Astoria Greengrass, impeccably dressed in casual periwinkle colored robes, shopping cart in hand.

And I, of course, wore sweaty Quidditch pants, Ginny thought despondently. But Astoria also wore her radiant smile, and Ginny found herself smiling back.

"I'm so glad to run into you, Ginevra! I've been hoping to chat with you a bit, but it seems we never get the chance. How about a cup of tea?"

Ginny didn't put up much of a fight, and allowed herself to be led towards the posh café on the second level of the market. Snobs of all kinds tended to gather there for a casual and overpriced brunch, Sunday Prophets in hand.

"Let's sit by one of the windows," the blonde was saying. "It's such a pretty day! Look, it finally stopped snowing…"

It was surprisingly painless to start with. They talked about Muggle photography and Astoria's current charity. Halfway through their pot of Darjeeling the conversation had inevitably turned to the upcoming nuptials.

"We're getting married in the summer!"

Astoria's enthusiasm seemed palpable, and Ginny found herself smiling in spite of herself, recalling the happy period of her own engagement what seemed like eons ago.

"Draco doesn't want anything too ostentatious. We'll honeymoon in Africa and get to work on that baby. I don't want to lose more time, I've been dying to have children since I graduated Hogwarts, and it's been years, hasn't it?"

Ginny stared at the other woman blankly, processing through the flow of words, when suddenly it hit her. "Wait — what baby?"

Astoria laughed. "Oh, not yet, Ginevra! But Draco and I are definitely having babies right away."

Ginny's left eye twitched.

"There's no sense in waiting, is there?" the blonde witch continued, oblivious. "I know you must have felt differently about children, with your brilliant Quidditch car—"

"—And Draco knows about this?" the redhead cut in, trying to fight the heat she could feel spreading through her cheeks.

The witch sitting across from her laughed again, a small cucumber sandwich held daintily aloft between perfectly manicured fingers. "Oh goodness, Ginevra! I had heard about your sense of humor, but really you're too much! Of course he does!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" Ginny heard herself making laughing sounds. "Of course he does!" Her fingers tightened around the delicate porcelain of her teacup, and for a moment she feared she might snap the handle off.

"Pardon me… Ginevra?" a deep male voice cut in from behind her.

As if in a dream, Ginny turned to find the handsome Marcus Aubrey, with his sharp blue eyes and ever present ironic grin, gazing at her intently.

"I do apologize for interrupting." He sounded anything but apologetic, and his grin widened into a broad display of perfectly aligned white teeth when he saw the flush spreading over the redhead's cheeks and neck. "I couldn't help but notice you sitting here — I just wanted to say hello. Have you been well?"

Ginny stared at him blankly and then nodded, still reeling from the impression Astoria's words had produced in her, but she forced her facial muscles to make the shapes one expected in these situations. "Astoria, this is—"

"—Marcus Aubrey," the blonde replied with a demure smile. "I believe every Quidditch enthusiast in Britain is familiar with that name. Not that I myself am one, but well, Draco…" she trailed off with uncharacteristic awkwardness after mentioning her fiance.

"You're too kind," Marcus replied smoothly, clearly ignoring the name of his business nemesis, his intense gaze already on Ginny. "But I don't mean to intrude. I'll leave you ladies to your tea. Until we meet again, Ginevra. Ms. Greengrass."

"Marcus!" Ginny said suddenly, as he was turning away. "I — yes. That owl… Is this week good?"

The young Quidditch mogul's handsome face broke into a delighted smile. "Of course…"

"Daily Prophet!" someone proclaimed from behind Astoria. Ginny barely had timed to blink as a photographer snapped a picture of her and Marcus.

Astoria Greengrass looked from one to the other, smiling suddenly as it all clicked.




~
She let herself into the flat and rested her back against the door, sighing heavily and covering her eyes with her hands. She felt a deep, liquid sadness somewhere in her chest.

The reality of what had transpired was starting to sink in. She had just accepted a date with Marcus Aubrey, and Draco was sure to hear about it from Astoria — actually, he'd be sure to read all about it in the damned Prophet. Deep down Ginny knew this might be something he'd never be able to forgive.

Now it's done.

She ran both hands through her shoulder length hair and gave a bit of a tug.

When she opened her eyes, she found Draco's gray and white cat glaring at her accusingly, as per usual. After a moment of deliberation he sauntered up to her in a way that she found strongly reminiscent of his owner. He wrapped himself like a ribbon around her legs, and she barely had time to caress the top of his head before he sauntered off again.

"I've missed you too, Henry," she snorted, and then she noticed the rolled up parchment on the mantelpiece.

The lawyers.

Or could it be… Hermione?

It had been ages since she'd heard from her friend, and there was no telling where her teaching conferences had taken her this time.

But when she unrolled the parchment, Ginny was met by an elegant cursive she knew well, and her eyes instantly saw the elegant Malfoy crest stamped in the center of the page. Something in her heart contracted when she read the first line.

Ginny,

...Ginny. Not the cool Ginevra which he'd taken to calling her as yet another way to keep her at arm's length during the past three years.

She exhaled sharply, tearing her eyes away. Her heart was pounding so hard that she was starting to feel dizzy, but the light piece of wood remained steady in her hand.

The tip of her wand ignited, and a heartbeat later so did the parchment. She felt Henry nuzzle against her leg as she tossed the parchment into the fireplace, and together they watched it burn.




~
"Why Champagne?" Ginny asked as the waiter left with their order.

"Because," Marcus replied, topping off her glass, "you've finally agreed to see me after I pestered you for months. That calls for a celebration."

"Ah." She nodded with mock solemnity.

He fixed his startling blue eyes on hers and smiled. "Have I told you that you look breathtaking?"

"Not in the last ten minutes," the red-haired witch replied, making a cross-eyed face.

Marcus Aubrey raised his eyebrows briefly in surprised, and then laughed with genuine enjoyment. "You really are something, Ginevra Weasley. What shall we toast to?"

Ginny returned his smile and watched the bubbles rise to the top of her flute. "To bigger and better things," she answered finally, raising her glass and clinking it with his.

"Bigger and better things," Marcus repeated, taking a sip from his glass. "Coming from a living legend of Quidditch who retired at her peak, that sounds like a bit of a tall order."

"I suppose. But false modesty aside, I was at my absolute best for about two years before I quit," Ginny said, suddenly serious. Her eyes were once again fixed on the ever rising bubbles in her glass. "I had thrown myself into Quidditch, and as far as I was concerned I had no family or friends, no personal problems. No heart."

"Was that around the time of your divorce?"

She looked up briefly, but continued as if she hadn't heard the question. "I love Quidditch, I always will. But I left everything on the pitch that last season I played with the Harpies. I can't live like that anymore. I just feel like it's time for—"

"—A new challenge. Enter photography?" He smiled, grasping her free hand in his. "I've seen your work, it's really quite impressive. I should drop by your studio some time."

Ginny inclined her head graciously, but her reply died on her lips when she saw a head of wavy brown hair sitting a few tables away.

She excused herself from Marcus, placing a hand on his shoulder briefly as she walked away from their table. She walked with conscious grace as she made her way over to find Theo, aware of the eyes of the other diners on her black dress, her figure, her bearing.

"Good evening, sir!" she greeted, coming up from behind him and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Hey, Pansy." She nodded briefly at Theo's dining companion.

Theo rose to his feet to kiss her cheeks, pale as ghost and thinner than he'd seemed in his tuxedo at the wedding. "How are you, Gin?" he replied almost feebly, but his eyes told her he was genuinely glad to see her. She couldn't say the same for Parkinson, but there were no surprises there.

"Can you join us?" Theo asked, and his publisher was gracious enough not to object, although they were clearly in the midst of a business meeting.

"No, I can't stay. But it's wonderful to see you again. How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you," Theo replied with his usual formality; Ginny would have paid good money to hear him speak like the twenty-seven year old he was, but the same had held true when Theo was fifteen.

Her eyes fell on Theo's veiny wrist as he drew his hand away, and her heart contracted. How thin he had become! She felt a stab of guilt at the thought that she'd neglected him. And yet there was something sublimely beautiful about him. His skin was nearly translucent and his features sharply defined, as if they'd been carefully drawn. Theo had always been handsome — one of the heart-breakers of Slytherin, albeit it reluctantly so, unlike Draco and Blaise in their day.

The same suffering that had recently hollowed out his cheeks had somehow made his presence more powerful — there was now an air of tragedy about him, that coupled with his youth made him appear noble and romantic somehow, like some young romantic hero destined to die of Dragon Pox in one of those sappy novels Molly Weasley liked to read. One couldn't help but be moved by his pale, gaunt face, his large dark eyes and the way his wavy rich brown hair framed his face.

He was smiling serenely now as Ginny refused his invitation to join them, but his pale face became an unreadable mask when Pansy Parkinson, with her characteristic directness and lack of tact — bitchiness, Ginny's mind supplied — said the name everyone close to Theo took pains to avoid mentioning.

"Do give my regards to Marcus Aubrey." She met Ginny's amber eyes and smiled unassumingly. " And, Ginevra? Have you heard at all from Hermione?"

~

The next day she opened the studio earlier than usual, in part to compensate for her recent neglect. Flipping through some prints that were due later in the day, she was surprised to hear the Floo connection giving signs of life.

Who could be calling at this hour?

"Hello, Ginny Weasley here," she said breathlessly, brushing a strand of auburn hair out of her face.

Draco's golden head appeared in the fireplace, his sharp features somewhat distorted by the shimmering green flames. Even so, Ginny could see anger etched in every line of his face.

"You wanted my attention and now you've got it, Ginevra." His voice was deceptively soft, making a shiver run down the length of her spine.

"What?" Ginny snapped, raising her chin and crossing her arms. She privately congratulated herself on not letting her voice waver.

Draco held up a copy of the The Prophet, where she could see the picture taken at the cafe. From the pages of the newspaper Marcus Aubrey smiled brilliantly over her shoulder, as a soft smile lit her own face.

"Draco Malfoy's business rival dating Ginevra Malfoy!" he read with some flourish, and Ginny fought to keep a blush in check. "Malfoy Holdings has been bested by Quidditch entrepreneur Marcus Aubrey in the past, most recently with the acquisition of the Falmouth Falcons by Aubrey Limited..." Draco trailed off, suddenly tossing the newspaper into the fire so that his image became distorted as the paper burned to ashes.

"I realize it must be awkward to be cited in the paper, but this really has nothing to do with you," Ginny said calmly, her face impassive as Draco's image once again formed in the flames.

He glared at her through the fire, and for a moment of wild confusion it seemed to Ginny that she was shrinking and he had grown. It wasn't until his pale fingers gripped the edges of the marble fireplace that Ginny realized what was happening; he was stepping through, rising out of the fire with soot and ashes caught in his pale hair, still smoldering.

Her eyes were everywhere then, taking in every detail of him, the perfect symmetry of his face, the broadness of his shoulders, the way his tailor made clothing displayed every graceful line of his body, and how his blue shirt made the gray in his eyes deeper somehow. The line of his jaw was set and his eyes were glittering with anger, but an eerie sort of calmness seemed to be radiating from him.

Ginny was so surprised that for a moment she forgot to be angry, her heart flapping wildly against her ribs like some wounded bird as they stood face to face.

"What are you doing?" he inquired softly, his words as precise and measured as his movements as he walked towards her with his usual grace. "What game is this, Ginevra?"

"It's not a game," Ginny replied, realizing that she had taken several steps back and deciding then to hold her ground. "For the last time, it's got nothing to do with you."

"Doesn't it?" he demanded, so close now that they were nearly touching, his eyes mercilessly bearing down on hers. "Aren't there thousands of men for you to date in England, and yet you've taken up with that muscle-bound oaf. Really, the one person—"

"I haven't taken up with anyone, Draco! It was just dinner, for heaven's sake," Ginny protested, tearing her eyes away.

She felt guilty — guilty!

She had known Marcus Aubrey's name from years of hearing Draco curse it more than from the man's frequent appearances in the media, or her own connection to the Quidditch world. A little voice told her that Draco had every right to be angry, but she silenced it as she met his blazing eyes.

"Just dinner," Draco repeated, taking another step towards her. "With Marcus Aubrey. Did you pause to think how that would make me look? I have business investments, Ginevra. You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? You're doing this to punish me for whatever it is you think—"

"Oh, do shut up!" she snapped. "Though you've been taught to believe otherwise, the world doesn't begin and end with you, Draco Malfoy," she spat bitterly. "I like Marcus. Should I arrange my personal life so that it doesn't interfere with Malfoy Holdings?"

"Ideally, yes," Draco retorted, and Ginny glared at him incredulously.

So close were they that she could feel the warmth of his breath, and pick out every distinct shade of grey in his eyes.

It was hard not to be distracted by his proximity, his scent, the velvety smoothness of his deep baritone voice. He had soot across one of his high, sharp cheekbones, and she almost wanted to wipe it away with the pad of her thumb. Her eyes fell on his lips then, shapely and sensuous as could rarely be found on a man, and suddenly she had to fight the irrational impulse to kiss him.

She tried to back away and realized her back was pressed against the wall — in that moment Draco raised both of his arms and pressed them against the cool stone, trapping her against him in a way that brought back a flood of memories of their Hogwarts years, a time just as tumultuous in its own ways.

"I owled you after Blaise's wedding," he stated calmly, his voice low.

"I saw," she replied, managing to sound equally composed.

"And you read the owl?" he pressed, seeking her eyes. "And you didn't see fit to reply?"

"I didn't see fit to reply."

Draco raised her chin with a slender finger, and she braced herself to meet his stunningly gray eyes.

"I don't believe that for one second," he said quietly.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but froze when she saw Marcus Aubrey standing by the door. How could she have missed hearing the chimes?

She dipped her head and snuck out from under Draco's arm, plastering a dazzling smile on her face.

"Ginevra." The dark-haired man smiled back, seemingly unruffled by Draco's presence or the obvious intimacy of the scene he had encountered. "It seems I've come in at a bad time?"

"Hullo, Marcus!" Ginny said brightly. "Draco here was just—"

"—Trying to have a conversation with my wife," the blond in question interjected. He sauntered over and stood beside Ginny, his eyes meeting the other man's in a way that some might have deemed insolent. "Do you mind?"

He arched his fine eyebrows and placed a slender hand on his hip, looking for all the world as if he were waiting for someone to finish painting his portrait rather than like someone who had recently crawled out of a soot covered chimney.

Ginny opened her mouth and then closed it, staring at Draco incredulously before grabbing him by the arm.

"Excuse us a moment, Marcus," she said tightly, while dragging the blond Slytherin towards the dark room.

"Good seeing you, Malfoy," Marcus Aubrey called after them, rather pleasantly.

Draco ignored him, turning his attention to Ginny and the way her nails were digging into his skin. She grabbed him roughly and drew him away, and Draco realized that he was quite enjoying being manhandled by her, smaller though she was. Her hands were firm on his arm, around his middle as she dragged him into the small dark room and shut the door behind them.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, glaring up at him angrily.

Draco met her glare impassively, refusing to budge further into the confined space so that they were crowded together at the door. Her faintly floral scent once again assaulted his senses, and he took a moment to breathe her in.

"What?" he inquired simply.

Ginny shoved past him into her crowded work space. She ran her hands through her copper colored hair and turned to give him a long glare.

"Marcus is my friend and my guest, you've no right to barge in here and be rude to him just because of that stupid Falcons thing."

"Fuck the Falcons," Draco retorted, approaching her once again. "I'm expected to be happy that he's shagging my wife?"

"I'm not your wife anymore!" she snapped, not realizing she had balled her hands into fists.

"You're getting married to someone else! You're going to have babies with someone else!" She pushed him away angrily, palms flat against his chest, as he stared at her in genuine shock. They regarded each other in stunned silence, his eyes searching hers.

"Ginny, I—"

"No…" She shook her head, raising both hands as if to ward him off, as if to surrender, and he saw that she was fighting tears. "Just leave me alone, Draco."

"Gin, wait…" he said quickly, grabbing her arms. "When you and I – I wasn't ready then. It's not that I—"

"I don't want to hear this," she spat, swatting his hands away, turning her back on him.

"Well you need to hear this," Draco said firmly. "You need to know that it's not you, Gin. It was me, back then I couldn't even imagine myself having—"

"Get out."

"Look, Astoria can never—"

"GET OUT!" she screamed, and suddenly her wand was in her hand, the tip blazing and shooting dazzling sparks even as Draco's lips mouthed the incantation Protego. The blast of her curse against his incomplete shield sent him sprawling, back slamming against the wood of the door as red sparks and smoke swirled and flickered in the air.

She was on him in an instant, golden eyes blazing as dangerously as her wand had. "Get out," she repeated, pointing her wand at the center of his chest.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but the anger he read in her eyes silenced him more effectively than her wand could have. They locked eyes for a moment longer, and he bowed his head to her, leaving the room without a word.

She heard the front door slam behind him a moment later.

It was then she collapsed against the sturdy old wood of her desk, the word Muffliato soundlessly falling from her lips just before she drowned in sobs that had been checked for far too long.