Someone was knocking at the front door. Ginny groaned and rolled over, grabbing both ends of the pillow and pulling it down over her head so it looked like she was wearing a flower-patterned bonnet. Maybe if she stayed silent the horrible knocking would go away.

"I know you're in there, Ginny!"

The redhead winced. Gods, it was Hermione. She knew her 'I'm Not At Home' pretence wasn't going to work in this situation (Hermione had an annoying habit of knowing when someone was trying to avoid her—not to mention was far too persistent for her own good), but Ginny's care factor was an eternal zero. Put simply, the thought of getting out of bed and opening the door for her sister-in-law seemed like a feat fit for Hercules. Much better to stay in her pit of cosy blankets and sleep.

Ahhh, sleep.

Knock, knock, knock!

Ginny flinched, jolted out of her doze. She raised her head from under the pillow and scowled at the direction of the front door through half-sealed eyes. A few seconds later, Hermione barged inside the bedroom, sweeping her wand in the air with a well-practised spell that opened all of the curtains and let light stream in through the windows in golden waves. Huh, that was a new record. Normally, it took Hermione at least five minutes of knocking and demanding entrance before she forced her way inside.

"Really, Ginny," Hermione scolded, putting her wand away and stepping further into the room, "would it kill you to just answer the door for once?"

"I'm allergic to effort," Ginny said, then yawned and burrowed her face back under the pillow. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to—"

"Oh, no you don't!" Hermione interjected, wrenching the covers off Ginny's body. "You've slept long enough, Miss!"

"Hey!" the redhead cried, making pathetic grabs at the blanket. "I was still using that."

Hermione let out a snort. "I can see that. You practically live in that thing. I swear it's become a second skin." She scrunched her nose. "Speaking of which, when did you last shower?"

Ginny sat up and smothered a yawn. "What kind of stupid question is that? Of course I've been showering. In fact, the last one I had was just—" she paused, furrowing her brow.

Wait a minute, when was the last time she had showered? Frowning, she raised her arm and sniffed her armpit. And recoiled in disgust.

"Real attractive," Hermione remarked dryly.

"So it's been a few days," Ginny said with a shrug. "Who cares? It's not like I've got anyone to impress."

"Right, because you're so determined to become a blanket monster who lives her life shut up in this house like some hermit who's got a few too many screws loose."

Ginny raised her eyebrow. "Are you calling me crazy?"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb. "I'm saying that you need to stop this moping around that you've been doing and do something productive with your life."

"I am doing something productive," Ginny retorted. "I'm working on a novel."

"Writing a novel doesn't mean you have to shut yourself away and act like no one else exists! You never call, you never visit. Gods, Ginny, you couldn't even make it to Hannah's baby shower!" Hermione shook her head. "I know the break-up was hard on you, but this is getting out of hand. You are getting out of hand."

Ginny folded her arms across her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about. Harry and I broke up months ago. I couldn't care less what he's doing."

"So you keep saying, but it's obvious you're still hung up about something or you wouldn't be acting this way. For Merlin's sake, you could at least clean yourself up a bit!" She gestured a hand towards the full-sized mirror standing in the corner. "Have you even looked at yourself lately?"

Ginny gave an involuntary glance at her reflection. A woman with a bird's nest of red hair stared back. There was a smear of drool still stuck to her cheek, and her eyebrows were a beautician's nightmare: all sparse hairs that stood out in the light even from this distance. She wore a grubby camisole that had stretched so much one strap always dangled from her shoulder. Her pyjama pants were just as grubby, painting a whole collection of tales thanks to the food that stained both sides of the fabric.

"What's your point?" Ginny demanded, if a little mulishly.

Hermione just sighed and shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know why I even bother."

"Maybe it's because you love to poke your nose into everyone's business."

Hermione planted her hands on her hips. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't look so scandalised," Ginny retorted, yawning and stretching her arms. "You know damn well you're a bossy, nosy bint who likes to meddle in people's lives. Honestly, I don't know how Ron puts up with it." She eyed Hermione up and down. "I'm guessing you must be good in the sack."

Hermione went bright red and made a few spluttering sounds, like a fish gaping out of water. Finally, she found her voice. "You're impossible!"

Ginny shrugged. "You're the one who barged in uninvited. If you want me to be polite, stop invading my house as if you own it. You know, most people get the hint when no one answers the door."

The brunette's eyes flashed and she inhaled a deep breath, as if visibly trying to restrain herself from hexing the other woman. Ginny just watched and waited with one eyebrow raised, counting down the seconds for when Hermione would leave in a huff like she normally did. Instead, Hermione marched over to the dresser and began pulling out clothes. She threw them at Ginny and then planted her hands on her hips, waiting expectantly.

"Get dressed," Hermione ordered when Ginny didn't move.

Ginny picked up the rumpled blue top. "What for?"

"Because this nonsense has got to stop!" A militant sparkle gleamed in Hermione's eyes. "You say I'm a bossy, nosy bint who likes to meddle in people's affairs? Well, now I'm going to live up to that label. Consider this an intervention."

Ginny scrunched her nose. "I think I liked you better when you weren't married to my brother. Remind me to increase the wards on my house."

Hermione's only response was to throw a bra at Ginny's head. "Up! I want you showered and dressed in ten minutes. I'll be preparing breakfast in the kitchen."

The brunette swept out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Ginny could hear cupboards being opened and the clatter of pots coming from the kitchen, rattling about with more force than necessary. She had a childish urge to poke her tongue out at the closed door, but instead she just sighed and dragged herself off the bed towards the bathroom down the hall.

"Definitely need to increase the wards," she muttered.

Or at least get Ron to rein in his bossy boots wife. Hermione was almost as bad as their mum—except there were less tears and tantrums.

"I can't hear the shower running!"

Ginny scowled in the direction of the kitchen. On second thought, Hermione was worse than her mum. Much, much worse.

DGDGDGDG

"Don't you feel better now that you've been outside and in the fresh air?"

Ginny deigned that comment with a dramatic eye roll. Hermione had forced her to wander around the park with her to get some exercise (sadly, even magic couldn't make a person instantly thin), and now the two women were sitting in one of those artsy cafes with impressionist paintings hanging all over the walls. Some female singer was warbling in the background. Ginny was tempted to hex the wireless.

Hermione pursed her lips. "You could at least try to look like you're enjoying yourself."

"You're right, Hermione." Ginny clapped her hands together. "The sun is shining, I'm wearing clean clothes, I'm eating a bagel with cream cheese, and—" she plastered a smile to her lips "—I have you for company. Everything is wonderful!"

A frown. "I swear sarcasm is a disease with you."

Ginny just grinned and bit into her bagel. "Mm, thush re' goomph."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "What?"

The redhead swallowed her food. "I said this is really good." She waved the bitten bagel for emphasis.

Hermione just sighed. "Sometimes, you're so much like your brother. Can you please not speak to me while you have food in your mouth? It's disgusting."

"Yeah, yeah," Ginny said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Forgot you were Miss Manners."

"At least I have some."

"I'm an ex-international Quidditch player, a war hero, and soon to be famous novelist." Ginny swept her hair back with a careless flick. "I don't need manners."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I see you're humble, too."

Ginny grinned and took another large bite into her bagel. "Thu'rsh 'ite."

Hermione just shook her head. "Honestly."

She probably would have said more on the matter of public eating etiquette, but just then she was distracted by a square piece of paper that materialised in front of her with a pop. Her eyes widened and she grabbed the memo and scanned the words scribbled on the front.

"I have to go," Hermione said, glancing up from the paper. "I'm sorry, Ginny. There's something major happening at the office."

Ginny waved her bagel. "Hey, no worries. At least I got a bagel."

Hermione frowned as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "Listen, Ginny, I know you like to brush everything off as nothing, but everyone is worried about you. Please take care of yourself, and you know you can contact me and Ron any time if you need help."

Some of the amusement died in Ginny's eyes. "Yeah, I know. And, Hermione—"

The brunette paused. "Mm?"

"Thanks." Ginny gave a much more natural smile. "I mean it. I am glad we got to catch up today."

Hermione's eyes softened into an answering grin. "Any time."

The two hugged and then Hermione dashed out of the café and vanished with a pop. Ginny shook her head, still wearing the faint traces of a smile, and gathered up her coffee and remnants of bagel. She'd eat the rest while walking. Much as the café was nice, she wasn't in the mood to sit by herself and be gawked at by the pimply teenager behind the counter. Judging by the fish-like movements of his lips, he was bound to come up and demand an autograph sooner or later. No doubt he'd seen that horrible charity calendar the Holy Head Harpies had done before she had resigned from the team. Quidditch Babes on Broomsticks. Gods, even the title made her cringe. It sounded like something from a cheap porn.

Ginny clenched her bagel between her teeth as she shifted her bag to her shoulder and reached to open the door—only to find it was already open and something solid was coming right for her. There was an awkward collision, strangled oaths, and then a hot splash of liquid spilled all over her front. Brilliant. There went her coffee.

"Sor—" a male voice began, then abruptly stopped.

Ginny raised her gaze and found herself staring at a handsome blond. A handsome blond whose jaw was hanging loose like a wooden puppet, even as his eyes widened in a flicker of all sorts of emotions that she knew she was probably mirroring. Surprise, confusion and then, finally, resignation. It was Draco Malfoy.

"Weasley," he said dryly.

Ginny removed the bagel from her mouth. "Really? We haven't seen each other in years and all you can say is 'Weasley' like we're still at Hogwarts? What about sorry?" She pointed at her coffee-stained shirt. "Look what you did!"

His eyebrow lifted a fraction. Calmly, he pulled out his wand from inside his robe pocket and waved it at her once. The coffee vanished without a trace.

"Better?" he asked, if a little sarcastically.

Ginny jutted her chin. She hadn't expected him to give in that easily (too bad, too, because she would have enjoyed a good rant). As it was, she had to say thank you with what little grace she could muster.

Draco nodded in a dismissive sort of way and made to walk past her. Their reunion might have ended there had the man behind Draco not suddenly decided to make his presence known. She would have recognised those pretty features anywhere. Blaise Zabini might have got older, but he was still a full-lipped, dark Adonis with eyes the colour of amber. All the girls had swooned over the now professional model at Hogwarts. Ginny had always thought him a bit of an idiot herself, but apparently good looks went a long way when it came to disguising a narcissistic, ugly personality.

"Well, if it isn't the littlest Weasley," Blaise purred.

No, really. He purred. It was like his voice was dripping with an invitation for sex while at the same time wanted to make you feel like a small, rather vulnerable mouse that was probably going to be eaten. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Looked like the catwalk slut hadn't changed.

"Blaise," she greeted coolly. "Love to chat, but I was just leaving."

His arm blocked the doorway. "Why not stay a bit?" he suggested. "We could, uh—" his mouth curved into a smile "get reacquainted."

She couldn't stop the snort of laughter from escaping her lips. "Wow. Does that actually work?"

Blaise blinked. "What?"

"You know, the whole 'I'm so sexy' act." Ginny looked him up and down. "I suppose you're good looking, but you try way too hard."

Again, Blaise could only blink. It was Draco who laughed and met Ginny's gaze with an appreciative smile. Such grey, grey eyes. She'd never seen the blond look so warm and approachable. Her heart gave a funny jolt in her chest and butterflies spread their wings in her stomach, giving a few flips and soars. It was all rather alarming, and she quickly cleared her throat.

"Whatever," she continued. "Just let me pass."

Blaise managed to find his voice. "Well, I see these past years of fame haven't done anything for your manners. It seems it's true that money can't buy class."

"Oooh, burn." She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, what are you twelve? I'm giving you five seconds to get out of my way before I toss you aside like a garden gnome."

Draco snickered. "I bet there are quite a few people who would pay to see that."

Blaise flushed and glared at his friend. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side that doesn't waste my time by talking to random females who clearly aren't interested," Draco drawled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to order."

He strolled off to the counter without another word. Blaise shot an irritated look at Ginny and then followed his friend. Good riddance, too. She didn't mind reunions with old school mates (it had been more than a decade since they'd all attended Hogwarts), but she'd be damned if she'd put up with Blaise Zabini's idiocy simply because it was polite, adult protocol. She'd rather kiss a flobberworm.

Her gaze flickered to the blond. His back was facing her now, but she couldn't help but remember the little smile that had tugged at the corner of his mouth or the deep, deep grey of his irises. The years had definitely been kind to him. Who would have thought that little rat-faced cretin would turn into such a hottie?

Uh, wait a minute. Had she really just thought that?

Ginny gave her head a slight shake, as if to knock all thoughts of Draco aside. That was weird. Readjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she exited the café and began making her way down the cobbled street. The sun was still a vibrant splash of yellow set against a backdrop of fluffy marshmallow—a rare thing for this part of the country. She inhaled a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of vitamins sinking into her skin and the fresh air. Perhaps Hermione had been right to insist on Ginny leaving the house. Writing a novel was great, but the outside had its merits.

"Hey!"

She blinked as an elderly man suddenly appeared in front of her.

"You're that Quidditch player!" he exclaimed, pointing at her with a toothy grin, while at the same time trying to flatten down his crazy, I-Look-Like-I've-Been-Electrocuted hair. Poor thing. That was a losing battle if she ever saw one.

"Uh-huh," Ginny said, trying not to show her irritation at being interrupted.

Now she remembered why she didn't like to go outside. The outside was filled with people. What was it her manager used to say?

Be nice to the fans, Ginny. They're the ones who make it possible for that scrawny little butt of yours to even sit on a broom, so whatever you do, don't be yourself.

Hmph. As if she wasn't nice. Honestly, she didn't know why Cyril had fretted so much. It was only the one time that she'd hexed a fan, and that was with just a harmless Jelly Legs.

Speaking of fans, the old man was grinning creepily at her now that she had confirmed his suspicions. Ginny repressed a shudder. So much gum. He leaned in conspiratorially, as if he were about to share a great secret, and she got a whiff of cigarette and musty fabric. Mm, lovely. A personal bubble invasion.

"You know, I still have a copy of that calendar all you lasses posed for," the old man told her in a hush, hush voice. "Your month was my favourite." He winked. "Always had a thing for redheads."

Ginny gave him a glassy-eyed stare. It was all she could do not to grab his walking stick from him and hit him over the head with it. Instead, she forced a smile. Maybe the expression did come across more as Closet Psychopath with all the eye twitching going on, but at least her hands weren't actually latching round his throat.

"I'm flattered," she said with only a hint of sarcasm (gold star to Ginny!). "Anyway, I really must be leaving. Lovely to meet you … er, whatever your name is."

She Disapparated with a pop, just catching a glimpse of the old man's disappointed expression before the world compressed and vanished in a blur of colour. A second later, she was standing outside the wooden gate that led to her house. Well, cottage was probably a better word. It was a small, two-storeyed building made of brick with a sloping roof and a garden overflowing with wild flowers. Ginny had bought it not long after she had broken up with Harry. It had seemed the perfect countryside retreat to write her novel—not to mention avoid society's scrutiny.

"Home, sweet home," she muttered, pushing open the gate and entering the house.

She tossed her bag on the sofa and then collapsed on her favourite armchair with a sigh. The house was silent. No pets, no partner. It was the perfect hermit hide-away, free from any distraction. Ginny had been so caught up in her writing for the past five months that she hadn't really thought about the fact that she spent most of her time alone. If she were to be honest, she had never thought that at age thirty-one she'd be living in a cottage with no real job, no spouse, and no children. It was a very different life to the one she had imagined for herself as a bright-eyed eleven year old (that one had been simple: international Quidditch player, married to Harry Potter, and mother to a gazillion kids).

A wry smile curved her lips. Well, life was full of twists and turns. She didn't mourn the future she could have had, no matter what people thought. Her choices had all been her own and, if given the chance to do it all again, she wouldn't change a thing. She and Harry … they just hadn't worked. Quidditch had been great, but after so many injuries she had realised it had been time to give it up and try her hand at her unspoken dream: to write and publish a bestselling novel.

Ginny relaxed against the armchair, closing her eyes as she envisioned how it would be to see her books in stores all around the world with the name G. Weasley written in gold print on the spine. A triumph all of her own. Her characters would be as real to others as they were to her, speaking and inspiring emotions from words that she had crafted with her own hands and imagination.

She opened her eyes and snorted in amusement. "Hung up over Harry? As if."

Maybe to Hermione it seemed strange that Ginny could actually enjoy being a sloth-like hermit, but she didn't understand that Ginny didn't really exist in this cottage. She lived in her fantasy worlds with Tati, Blake, and all her other characters. Reality was a far off place that only mattered when Ginny's body told her it was time to eat or use the bathroom.

"But maybe that isn't the healthiest way to live," Ginny admitted, propping her chin on her hand.

She supposed she could try to get out a bit more and associate with real people. The last thing she needed was another intervention from Hermione. Getting a proper job might not be so bad either. Her stash of savings was beginning to get alarmingly small.

Ginny groaned and threw an arm over her eyes. Gods, actually living in the real world again was going to be a nightmare.

An owl was hooting somewhere outside. Ginny rubbed a hand over her eyes, blinking a few times to shake the invisible weights from her eyelashes. So hard to focus. Words were blurring in front of her gaze, speckling with flashes of red and green. The screen of her magically powered laptop was just a buzz of nonsense, yet her fingers continued to race along the keys. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.

"C'mon, work with me here," she muttered, giving a slap to her cheeks in an attempt to wake herself up.

It was coming up to four o'clock in the morning. She had been writing solidly since … well, she actually couldn't remember. She just knew that her muse was being very, very good to her tonight and she was reluctant to shut down for something as mundane as sleep. The Phoenix Tails had helped as well. Nothing like alcohol to get some creative juices flowing. Ginny had lost count of the number of glasses she'd consumed, but oh well. No one was there to judge.

Her eyes scanned the words on the screen, checking to make sure she was satisfied with what she was writing. All seemed fine until she got to a section about her main protagonist.

"Grey eyes?" she said aloud, blinking at what she had written. "Does Blake have grey eyes?"

Wondering if she was drunker than she'd realised, she began flicking through old documents and looking for any reference to the character. Her brow furrowed as she realised that he had indeed gone from having blue eyes to deep grey. Even his build had changed slightly. She'd started by making him quite stocky with scruffy dark hair. A few chapters later he was tall, slender and had hair that looked soft and silky to touch.

Ginny swore under her breath. "That bastard."

Drunk or not, she was coherent enough to realise that she had slowly been turning her character into Draco Malfoy. And it was all because that blond bastard wouldn't get the hell out of her head. His grey, grey eyes were just a daydream away; his little smile flittered through her thoughts like fairy clusters scattered on the wind, pretty and distracting. She'd barely spoken a few words to him that day in the cafe, but her stomach loved to do flip-flops at the mere mention of his name and it suddenly seemed like she lived her life hoping to see him again.

"Bastard!" Ginny muttered again, with much feeling.

Obviously, it was his fault she was acting like some moonstruck idiot. Such behaviour could not be tolerated.

Disgusted, she shut the laptop down with a snap and grabbed the last cup of Phoenix Tail that she had poured for herself. She took a big swig, draining the rest, and then wiped the residual liquid from her chin. Cooperative muse or not, she was not going to let Draco Malfoy ruin her story with his grey eyes and—and male gorgeousness. Nope, she was just going to go to bed and sleep her worries away.

Unfortunately, the blond even invaded her dreams. He was flying on his old Nimbus 2001 and kept trying to give her a bagel, as if it were some amazing gem that she absolutely had to have. Meanwhile, she was stuck wearing the horrible outfit her manager had made her wear for Quidditch Babes on Broomsticks—which is to say, nothing at all except an artfully placed Quaffle.

By the time Ginny awoke, she was feeling grumpy and confused. Draco Malfoy was just one man; she didn't understand why he was having such an effect on her. Something needed to be done. She just had to see him again and confirm to herself that he wasn't actually as special as her memory thought.

"Right!" Ginny said, hitting her fist against her palm. "It's time to chase down a Malfoy!"

So it was that a few hours, many owls, and some expert stalking later, Ginny found herself peering through a glass window to where the blond was seated at a big mahogany desk (not even kidding—that thing was bigger than her bathroom). There were papers scattered all around him and he was tapping a quill against his chin, either deep in thought or just plain daydreaming.

Ginny pursed her lips. She had hoped to find him and see only pointy, rat-like features and a snooty expression, just like she had back at Hogwarts. Instead, he'd rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, baring pale forearms and hinting at the toned body hidden beneath expensive fabric. His hair was styled in a loose, artless sort of way that somehow looked both tousled and sleek. A few strands fell in his eyes, drawing attention to the deep grey of his irises and emphasising his razor-sharp cheekbones. Gods, it really wasn't fair that a guy could have nicer bone structure than her. The sharp angles of his features should have been jarring, but it just worked. He was beautiful, plain and simple.

And she was not cured of her weird infatuation.

"May I help you?"

Ginny jumped and spun around to see a young woman staring at her while clutching a stack of folders to her chest. Pencil black skirt, white blouse, and a matching black suit jacket? Must be a worker of some sort. No doubt the girl was wondering why Ginny had been gazing through Draco Malfoy's office window like some peeping Tom. The things one does for the sake of sanity … or lack of.

"Uh, hi," Ginny said, clasping her hands behind her back and forcing a smile. "I was just, um—"

The door opened behind her. Suddenly, she could feel a presence looming over her, as if there were little magical charges tingling through the air to connect and form the shape of a man. A quiver went through her body and she inhaled a quick breath, catching a whisper of a cool, masculine scent that was like a contradiction of mysteries bundled in one—a little spicy, a little light, and was that a hint of citrus? Mmm, yummy.

In that moment, Ginny wanted nothing more than to throw her arms around Draco and take a great, big sniff. But that would be weird and creepy, so she resisted the urge and instead faced the blond with as much confidence as possible, given the embarrassing situation in which she had got herself. She was pretty sure the first rule of stalking was that you don't get caught.

"Hiya," she said, giving an awkward wave.

Draco's eyebrow raised a fraction. "Weasley?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "My name is Ginny. Well, Ginevra, actually, but I really can't stand that name 'cause it makes me feel like I'm in trouble, so—"

His eyebrow rose even higher, disappearing into his hairline. She closed her mouth.

"Look, I'm just saying that I have a name," she said bluntly. "You can use it."

"Sure." His gaze drifted to the pencil-skirt lady. "You got those papers I needed?"

"Ah, yes. Here you go." Pencil-Skirt handed a stack of parchment to Draco and then frowned at Ginny. "Do you have an appointment with Draco? I'm sorry, it's just I didn't have you down on the system, and—"

"Oh, I highly doubt she's here for an appointment," Draco said with a wry smile. "Weas—"

"Ginny," the redhead muttered.

"Ginny," he corrected, throwing her an exasperated glance, "does what she pleases. Always has." A crease formed on his brow. "Though I'm not sure why she's chosen to target me today."

The redhead shrugged. "Oh, I just wanted to see if you were as hot as I remembered. It's been bugging me since we last met at the café."

There was a pause. Ginny's cheeks flooded with pink as she realised she had spoken aloud. Damn it, she really needed to work on this socialising thing.

"Uh, I mean, forget that," she added hastily. "I was just curious to see where you work."

Draco rubbed the base of his neck. "Right."

Pencil-Skirt glanced between the two. "Well, I'm going to go. Call me if you need me, Draco."

He nodded absently, still staring at Ginny. She fiddled with a button on her jacket.

"So," she said, drawing out the O. "How's it going?"

Draco folded his arms across his chest. "Alright, enough pleasantries. What do you really want?"

Ginny plastered an innocent expression on her face. "Can't an old school friend come to say hello?"

"We weren't friends."

She raised her finger to the air. "Ah, but we did go to school together."

His brow furrowed. "Whatever. I have work to do, so—"

He made to enter his office, but Ginny slipped in before he could close the door on her face. She let out a low whistle as she examined the surroundings—all expensive leather and polished wood. The guy had taste.

"This is nice," she observed, taking a seat on his desk and picking up a marble paperweight.

Draco just stared at her with a glassy-eyed expression. He was still standing in the same spot by the door as motionless as if he had been stuffed. No doubt he couldn't believe how bold she was being by forcing her company on him when he had tried to dismiss her. It made her want to cackle. There was a reckless sort of excitement rushing through her blood, making her act out and push his buttons as far as she could. She'd been living in her own head for months; now that she was confronted with a handsome man who was entertaining when bothered, it seemed too much to expect her to do the polite thing and leave.

The blond gaped at her a few seconds longer as she rummaged through his stuff. Finally, he unfroze. "What are you doing?" he demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Perusing," she said, shuffling a few papers out of the way. "Apparently, you can learn a lot about a person by how they set up their desk." Her eyes danced with mischief as she looked at him. "Yours tells me you're an OCD neat freak who likes to be in control."

Draco just stared, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

She shifted her attention to his magically controlled computer. "Hrrrm, now I wonder what you keep as your desktop—"

"Wait!"

Suddenly, he was moving at lightning speed. Fingers latched around her wrist, trying to pull her hand away from the mouse. Too late. The black screen burst with colour, revealing a familiar woman sitting with her legs crossed sideways on a broomstick. She was resting her chin on one hand and smiling cheekily while the other held a Quaffle. She was also quite obviously naked. Everything about the way she sat and even the cascade of her long red hair served to cover the important parts, but still. Her body was there to see in all its naked glory.

It was that damn photo she had done for the charity calendar.

Ginny's smile froze. "Oh."

Draco had the grace to look a little shamefaced. "I can explain."

"Really?"

"I did not put that picture there. That was all Blaise." His cheeks went a little pink and his voice lowered to a mumble. "I just, uh, don't know how to change it."

Ginny's mouth twitched. She didn't know what was more humiliating: the fact that her naked body was being displayed for all to see on Draco Malfoy's computer or that he was so useless that he couldn't even figure out how to change his display settings. Well, she knew how to fix the problem.

"Don't worry," she said with a wicked little gleam in her eyes, "I can sort that out."

Without waiting for him to respond, she sat down at his desk and quickly searched the desired picture on the Wizard Web, then set it as his desktop picture.

"Done!" she exclaimed, standing up.

Draco took one look at the screen and then swore. He now had a whole team of buff, naked Quidditch guys holding Quaffles and beater sticks to cover their family jewels. Ginny cackled and raced out of the office, even as he swore bloody murder and chased after her.

Revenge was so sweet.

DGDGDGDG

Later that day, Ginny sat in front of her laptop in her writing office, all set to continue working on her self-proclaimed bestseller. Her gaze paused at the passage that had thrown her off the previous evening; the one where Blake's eyes were described as grey instead of blue. Her lips quirked upwards as she thought of the blond.

"Can't believe he had that stupid calendar picture as his screensaver," she muttered.

It was so awkward, but a part of her couldn't deny that she was flattered—even if he hadn't been the one to set the display screen.

She propped her chin on her hands and wondered what Draco was doing right now. They had parted on semi-decent terms, agreeing that both had reason to be upset and sometimes pride had to be sacrificed for the sake of avoiding a war. Truth be told, Ginny had been pleasantly surprised by the blond. Not only was he good-looking, but he was also good company. Not that she was about to go out of her way to be around him all the time … probably.

"He's just a novelty," she scolded herself. "You need to get a grip."

She had to focus on her writing and ignore all snarky blonds. Ginny chose not to dwell on why the thought was so disappointing.

A week had passed. Ginny had tried to do the practical thing and focus on sorting out her life. She had applied for some jobs, had dinner with her family, and she had even started exercising again. Even better, she hadn't thought about Draco Malfoy once … well, not a lot anyway.

…

Fine. She had thought about him all the time, but so what? He was interesting. It wasn't like she was mooning blindly over him like she had used to do with Harry back when she was eleven. Now that had just been sad. The bespectacled 'saviour' had been able to do no wrong in her eyes back then. Of course, as it turned out, it was her own inability to live up to expectations that had ruined their relationship. Funny how life worked.

In any case, Ginny had made an attempt to follow Hermione's advice and stop being such a hermit. The only thing that had really stayed the same was her midnight drinking and writing binges. She had always sworn that her best work happened when she was drunk. Her liver probably wasn't too happy with her, though.

Thud, thud, thud.

Ginny paused. She turned her music down and listened intently. Sure enough, someone was knocking at the front door.

"Oh, for the love of—"

Ginny stood up from her writing chair and stumbled her way to the front of the house, flicking on the lights as she went. She had no idea who was trying to visit her at this hour of night, but she was not appreciative of the interruption. Her fingers fumbled with the lock, and it was only after much cursing that she finally managed to unlock the bloody thing and open the door.

"Whad'ya want?" Ginny growled, planting a hand on her hip and squinting out into the dark.

"Umm."

Ginny blinked and had to grip the wall to steady herself. "Draco?"

Sure enough, the person standing in front of her was the same bastard who was always distracting her thoughts of late—every silvery-haired, grey-eyed inch of him. He kept shifting on his feet like he needed to piss, which her sleep-deprived brain decided to think was kind of cute. Gods, she really was drunk. Maybe it was time to stop drinking while writing.

"Why are you here?" Draco demanded with just the slightest hint of a slur.

Her eyes narrowed. "What the hell do you mean 'why am I here'? I live here!"

He blinked. She glared. There was much awkwardness.

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. He scanned the contents, but the way he kept tilting his head and squinting at the words didn't make her have much faith in his reading abilities. She snatched it off him and read the note, which she saw had an address written on it that was almost identical to hers; the road name just had a few letters in the wrong place. Ginny snorted and handed the sheet back to him.

"You're at the wrong house, you idiot."

Draco scowled and shifted on his feet a bit faster, almost like he was doing an odd dance. "I gathered that."

Ginny thought that would be the end of the matter, but then Draco swore and ceased his jiggling.

"Look, this is going to sound weird, but can I use your loo?"

Ginny's jaw dropped. Draco Malfoy was asking to use her bathroom. She was tempted to pinch herself just to make sure she was awake. This was so bizarre that she was sure it had to be some weird, alcohol-fumed dream.

"Er, okay," she said, and held the door open for him.

He slipped inside and demanded to know where he could find the toilet. Ginny gave him the directions and then gave herself a surreptitious pinch. Huh, so it wasn't a dream. She frowned and followed him back into the house, wondering if this was some deity's idea of a joke. She'd spent days thinking about the blond since their last encounter, and now here he was—granted, using her toilet—but he was inside her house. The romantic part of her that had once thought she and Harry Potter were fated to be believed that this was too much of a coincidence to be ignored; the experienced, jaded half just hoped he didn't vomit all over her bathroom. She was pretty sure that Draco Malfoy was about as sober as she was—maybe less so.

The door to the bathroom opened and the blond exited to the sound of the chain flushing. There was an awkward moment as they looked at each other: Draco tugging at his collar and running a hand through his hair so it stuck up at the ends, while Ginny just examined him with her head tilted on the side like a sparrow.

"You are drunk," she suddenly announced, as if pleased with her deductive powers.

Draco's mouth thinned. "Speak for yourself, Slurry."

"Slurry? What kind of stupid name is that?"

He shrugged. The matter didn't seem to interest him overly much, which said far more about his sobriety levels than anything else. From what she remembered, Draco Malfoy prided himself on his comebacks.

The blond sprawled on one of her sofas and seemed quite content to make himself at home. Ginny could have told him to get out, but since her brain was also happily sloshing around in Phoenix Tail liqueur, she just curled up on the armchair opposite and watched him through owl-like eyes. He was a novelty in her usually hermit-oriented world. She was quite content to observe him, taking in his angular features—all cheekbones and slants. If she was an artist, she'd love to paint his profile. The slope of his nose, the point of his chin: it was like someone had taken a chisel to marble and wanted to find the beauty in cold sharpness. But she knew that there were moments when he could be warm; she'd seen it before during their random encounters.

Ginny propped her chin on her hands. "So, are you going to say anything? I mean, you did just barge into my house."

Draco threw an arm over his face, blocking out the light. "Hey, you invited me in."

She frowned. "Actually, I just didn't want you to piss on my porch."

He chuckled and lowered his arm so that he could look at her. "You really do have deplorable manners."

Ginny just grinned. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he hadn't meant it as an insult. Inspired by their brief moment of camaraderie, she stood up and got more alcohol.

"Want some?" She waved a glass at him in offering. He snatched the bottle and took a big swig. "Like that, huh?" she said, collapsing on the sofa next to him.

"It's been a—well, it's been an interesting night," he confided.

Ginny took the bottle from his hands and had a sip. "Tell me about it."

At any other time, she was sure that he would have raised his eyebrow and given her the cold shoulder. Hell, if he was more sober he probably would have Disaparrated on the spot upon seeing her face and realising he had got the wrong house. But Draco was drunk, she was drunk, and it seemed like a perfect idea to have a midnight heart to heart.

So he told her about the fact that his father was trying to make him take over the company, even though he had zero interest in the business. What he really wanted to do was become a healer.

Draco laughed. "Father definitely didn't like that. It's all about money and prestige with him. Used to be like that for me too," he admitted, "but ever since the war ended … well, everything is different now. I just want to live my own life."

Ginny twisted her lips. "I can't say I pegged you as a healer. No offence, but you don't seem the caring, cuddly type."

His eyebrow rose. "Who said healers have to be cuddly?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. Healers just always remind me of Madam What's-Her-Face—dumpy, cuddly people who'll call you 'dear' and make you drink Pepper-up Potion when you have a cold."

Draco scowled at Ginny and snatched the bottle from her hands. "I don't think you should have any more alcohol. Your already lacking brain cells are clearly being impaired."

"Ha ha," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "But, seriously, you wanna be a healer? Then do it. Who cares what your dad says?"

"I guess." He went all broody and silent for a moment, then he blinked and turned to her. "What about you? You quit Quidditch and just vanished from the face of the earth one day. What was with that?"

Ginny took the bottle back from him. "I dunno. Hermione likes to call it my mid-life crisis. Maybe she's right; all I know is that I wasn't satisfied with my life anymore." She shrugged. "So I quit."

"And dumped Potter," Draco added.

"That, too," Ginny agreed. "I don't think society ever forgave me."

"Well, we can't go hurting precious Potter."

Ginny laughed, but her amusement faded a second later. "I do feel bad for him. He proposed to me, you know? I thought I'd be happy—I'd been waiting for him to propose for so long—but I just felt this weird sort of resignation, like I'd just tied a noose around my neck and signed my own execution. I broke up with him that night."

Draco blinked. "I never thought I'd say this, but I actually feel sorry for the guy. You are definitely a piece of work, Ginny Weasley."

She shrugged. "So I've been told. If I had a Galleon for every time I felt more emotion for a fictional character than people in real life, I could pay for the psychiatric help that I obviously need."

He laughed long and hard at that comment. Ginny just gave him a blank stare as if to say "what? I'm serious?", which only made him laugh harder. She didn't understand what was so amusing, but she liked the way his eyes crinkled when he chuckled, all unguarded and boyish. He looked less like carved marble and more like an especially sloshed angel.

"You are one interesting woman," Draco observed after a while.

Ginny snorted. "And you are very drunk."

"I think I am," he admitted.

As if deciding something, he leaned closer and stared at her through his grey, grey eyes. She waited for him to speak—maybe say something philosophical, like he had been for most of his drunk ramblings—but all he said was that she had lots of freckles. This epiphany seemed to fascinate him, judging by his intent gaze, but Ginny was just confused.

"What?"

He tapped her nose. "Like little dots of cinnamon. I'd ask if they go all over your body, except I know they don't."

Ginny's eyebrow lifted. She might be drunk, but she was definitely not sloshed enough to miss the fact he had admitted that he knew what she looked like without clothes. Sadly, it was also true. That stupid calendar really was the bane of her existence.

Draco's eyes met hers. "So, do you often pose with just a Quaffle for photos?"

Her cheeks burned pink. "Don't you even start!"

"What? It's a serious question."

Except his eyes were glinting mischievously, and that crooked grin was anything but serious. Ginny retaliated by hitting him with a cushion. He just laughed and asked her how it felt to know that twelve-year-old boys all around the world were probably getting their jollies from her picture.

"You know," he said, "cause their mums probably don't let them buy actual porn."

"That's it!" she cried, holding the pillow above her head. "You asked for it!"

The next moment she was attacking every inch of him with the cushion. Somehow, she managed to knock them both to the floor so that they landed in a tangle of limbs. Draco was still laughing as he rolled them over in an almost lazy way, pinning her underneath him and trapping her wrists against the ground with his hands. Suddenly, her heart quickened. She could feel the tips of his hair tickling her cheek and his breath fanning her face. He was so close. Too close. She could see all the different shades of grey that coloured his irises. His mouth seemed very inviting, despite the alcohol fumes surrounding him.

"I have something to confess," Draco murmured, holding her gaze.

Ginny swallowed. "What's that?"

"It wasn't Blaise who chose that desktop picture."

She blinked. Wait, was this a confession? Suddenly, she was not in the mood for … er, whatever this was.

"Are you seriously telling me that you like me by admitting that you willingly put a naked picture of me up on your screen?" she demanded.

Draco scrunched his face, as if just realising the implications of what he had done. "Uh, yeah." He gave another shrug. "I'm drunk."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, whatever. Just kiss me."

So he did. The kiss wasn't exactly magical, but then she'd learnt long ago that romance wasn't all fireworks and rainbows. Sometimes, it was messy, dramatic and random. Sometimes, it also tasted like a brewery and expressed itself in bordering creepy stalking and the displaying of naked pictures.

Really, the both of them were a little messed up, but that was okay. Ginny thought that if anyone could handle her brand of crazy, it would be Draco Malfoy. She was quite content to let her dreams of knights in shining armour fade away to the land of fairy tales where they belonged. It was time to live in the real world, even if that meant having a snarky blond at her side.