Disclaimer – I don’t own any of the canon characters or concepts.
CHAPTER 5 - Sowing Speculation
Ginny stood there for a moment, frozen, staring up into his eyes, and then blinked, scowled, and slapped his hand away. He took a prudent step back and, eyes alight with laughter, spread his hands out on either side of his body, showing he was unarmed. When she glared at him, the laughter spread and he smiled - a full, unforced and unqualified smile full of laughter and devilry and delight. She caught her breath at the way it turned his already perfect features radiant, a word she would never have used in conjunction with Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it was just as well that the meaning of his last words finally sank in then, distracting her from his smile, from his beauty. Suspicion and mistrust came to her rescue.
"What do you mean, give them something to really talk about?" she asked suspiciously.
He looked at her, eyes limpid with malicious laughter. But his voice was perfectly serious. "I believe that you already had plans for a transformation, a complete and utter change?"
She nodded, still more than a little mistrustful.
"Then, let's go through with them - but in a truly grand manner."
She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
He stepped closer again, eyes intense. There was an air of recklessness about him now, an almost glittering light - and she didn't like it. The thought of Malfoy, Mr. Sangfroid himself, being reckless and impulsive, wasn't good. Oh, no. It was anything but good. "I mean, Ginevra, let's show them all. Show them all who we really are, beneath all the masks, all the all the conventions..."
She took an involuntary step back, suddenly unaccountably wary of the light in his eye. He was no longer laughing, but was instead deadly serious - and then he blinked, and it was gone. He was impassive again, faintly amused, certainly a little cynical and jaded, but no longer disturbingly intense. She cleared her throat. "So, you think I should go through with my transformation."
"Of course,” he said simply, “and I will help you."
"You'll what? Oh, no, no, no. No. I don't think so." She shook her head, actually holding out a hand, as if it would keep him at bay.
"Come now, Ginevra,” he coaxed, “it can't be that bad, can it? I'm generally held to have exquisite taste, and I certainly don't exert my influence for just anyone. How badly do you want this transformation?"
She didn't just want this makeover, she needed it - and he knew it. Ginny supposed, eyeing the cut and fashion of his robes, that he did indeed have good fashion sense, even if he did prefer women - although, according to some of the gossip of her school days, he might not have leant exclusively one way or the other... And besides, shopping with Malfoy would allow her to get into all the best and most exclusive shops, not just the ordinary ones on the Alley proper; and it would certainly fuel a lot of speculation and gossip. She was tempted, more than tempted – but then shook her head. 'It's not that I don't want to, Malfoy - I just don't have enough money to go into the Upper End of the alley..."
His lip curled fractionally in the smallest of sneers, and he lifted sardonic, mocking silver eyes to hers. "Ah, my dear, but that is the whole point. I will finance this whole undertaking."
She gasped. Instant outrage came first, but then came cold reason, and she thought of the conclusions any busybodies, including her mother, worth their salt would draw from her use of Malfoy's money; wild rumours of a Vow were one thing, easily discounted, but a rich bachelor showering money and gifts on a young, unmarried girl...?
"Oh, dear Goddess," she whispered in stunned awe. It was diabolical. It was perfect. It was far too good to pass up.
Something to really talk about.
*********************************
The whispers first started in Alexandre's, when Ginny swept in, head high, dressed in appalling clothes and a terrible haircut, hanging adoringly on Draco's extremely stylish sleeve. Draco and Alexandre, the short, wiry, egotistical master stylist himself, looked her over and examined her as if she were a lifeless mannequin, shaking their heads and discussing her in swift, idiomatic French she had no hope of following. She sat down and sipped tea, trying to look as if she wasn't terrified. Finally, after much discussion and moustache stroking, the little Frenchman nodded enthusiastically and clapped his hands, summoning at least six apprentices and assistants. Then he advanced purposefully on Ginny.
Draco appeared at her elbow, and leant down to whisper in her ear. "Alexandre is intrigued by what you can become, if that hair of yours is ever tamed - you might say that he was inspired by the challenge, and has decided to handle it personally."
She looked up at him a little wildly, reaching up automatically to touch her hair. She'd seen the hairstyles of some of the hairdressers. Draco laughed and gently pulled her hand back down. "Relax," he murmured. "Alexandre knows exactly what he's doing. He's the best hairstylist outside of Paris; he won't mess it up.' Suddenly he smiled reassuringly. "Besides, anything would be an improvement over what you have now." She scowled at him and he squeezed her hand in reassurance, before Alexandre came up to her and bowed flamboyantly, hustling her away to a chair where he would begin the transformation.
Draco looked after them in some amusement, and then strolled into the waiting area where a few others mingled, drinking tea and chatting, waiting patiently for their partners. He found an old acquaintance he hadn't seen for years, and prepared to while away the time until Alexandre had finished working his magic with gossip. Considering his mother had exclusively patronized this place before her death, he was prepared to wait for quite a while. Almost two hours later, he heard the Frenchman's distinctive tones raised in triumph and casually, elegantly, got up and strolled over to see what magic Alexandre had wrought.
The waist length mane was gone. It was still the same colour, a striking dark red, darker than her brothers' hair, but now it was much shorter, cut to frame her face, to showcase her best features - her cheekbones, her stunning dark eyes – and it no longer overpowered her face, as it had done before. Ginny's anxious eyes met his in the mirror, and he nodded slowly, in satisfaction, telling her that it was a good cut. She reached up, almost wonderingly, to touch her hair, to examine her suddenly new-seeming features and face, and something about the innocence of that gesture, of her genuine wonder and delight, caused the slightest stirrings of shame and disquiet in his mind.
Twined around the slight guilt and shame were feelings of pride and undeniable warmth - pride in her courage in going through with this, and warmth at the very innocence she tried so hard to deny and repudiate. She might say all she wanted about being grown up, about being capable of looking after herself, but for all the ancient knowledge and cynicism caused by Tom Riddle's diary, there was still something pure about Ginevra Weasley – something that Draco had lost long, long ago. Closing his eyes, he banished the doubts and hesitations. She had gone into this of her own free will, and of her own understanding of the immediate implications and consequences, if not of the more far-reaching ones. She was twenty-six years old, and as she so stridently insisted, independent and more than capable. It wasn't his fault she was innocent.
Alexandre's voice interrupted them. "So! It is a masterpiece of the utmost magnificence, n'est ce pas? A masterpiece worthy of me!" he kissed his fingers, lost in his own brilliance. Draco met her laughing eyes with his own carefully blank ones, and the moment was lost.
Straightening, he turned to Alexandre. "Yes, indeed it is a masterpiece, Monsieur. You have my thanks." Alexandre protested, bowing, that it was entirely his pleasure, and would mademoiselle mind if he were to take a picture to show his clients his skill? Ginny started to agree, only too willing, but Draco turned a warning, slightly haughty gaze towards the impertinent Frenchman, who had gone too far beyond what license he was permitted. Alexandre said nothing more on the subject, only bowed deeper and went into further flourishes and flamboyance as he saw them out personally.
As they walked outside, Ginny was puzzled. "Why didn't you have to pay them?" She asked, turning her head this way and that to get the feel of her new haircut.
He looked down at her in faint amusement. "My dear Ginevra, it is the height of bad manners to ask for payment immediately. They will send the bill to my house."
"Oh," she said, surprised. "But when my mother goes shopping..." she trailed off, flushing slightly.
"Just so," he said dryly, but a little gently nevertheless.
"Just out of curiosity," she asked tentatively, "how much did that haircut cost?"
He carelessly named a figure that made her wince, and then pale. "You're sure?" she asked faintly.
He nodded, his eyes drifting across the street, to two ladies standing with their heads close together, staring at them. Her eyes drifted across, following his, and she paled even further, now that the game had begun in earnest. Partly for comfort, partly for the benefit of any others watching, he took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, and bent down to whisper in her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "Thinking of backing out, Ginevra?"
Instinctively, she tossed her head in defiance and looked up to scowl fiercely at him, until she realized how close together they were standing and how others would interpret it. Throwing caution to the winds - after all, that was what had gotten her into this mess - she stood up on tiptoes and smiled sugar-sweet into his eyes. "Not in this lifetime, Malfoy." Her eyes shot fire. "And don't call me Ginevra."
He leaned even closer, dangerously close, crowding into her personal space until he was only inches away from her lips and she could see that his eyes were, indeed, pure silver - no blue, no violet, pure silver. He opened his mouth and she felt a curious fluttering in her stomach, an odd anticipation that she had never felt before, even when she had been infatuated with Harry. Was he going to kiss her? But he only smiled, an almost invisible quirk of his mouth. "As you wish....darling." And then he was gone, resuming the proper and appropriate distance for the Upper End at about two in the afternoon.
But the damage had been done. They had been seen, and noted. Now for Madame Worth's, the dressmaker's, to set the seal on the afternoon.
******************************************
If she had to stand still for one more second... Ginny was fuming. Of course Malfoy hadn't intended to kiss her, on the street of all places - so why was she suddenly furious that he hadn't? He had played her for a fool, and if there was one thing Ginny hated...
And to top it all off, she was standing here, practically naked in her underwear and bra (white cotton, of course they were white cotton, conservatively cut) with her arms outspread while some tyrant of a Frenchwoman poked and prodded her as if she were no more than a horse, or a doll. Her face was still red from Madame Worth's disastrously frank pronouncement that she had passable legs, but her breasts were a little small and her derriere a little too well padded.
Great. Just great. Oh, Malfoy was going to pay for this. She forced herself to stay still, fantasizing of imaginative and painful ways in which to dispose of him, as soon as this ordeal was over. After, of course, her new clothes were delivered. She thought she had earned that much.
***************************************
Outside, Draco was deriving considerable amusement from the thought of Madame Worth's notorious frankness - something that was only tolerated because her robes and dresses were, every one, unique masterpieces, with prices to match.
A soft, velvet voice spoke at his ear. "My dear boy, in the short time you have been back, you have managed to stir up quite a hornet's nest..."
He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. "What are you doing in here of all places, Severus?" he spoke softly, as Snape did, because the walls at Madame Worth's had many ears.
"The same thing as you, I should imagine - spending extravagantly."
"Oh?" he asked, interested despite himself. Severus Andronicus Snape, the Lord of High Clan Snape - for what it was worth - had, when he had last been in Britain, not been a man usually seen in Madame Worth's.
But Snape only smiled. "A small piece of advice, Malfoy, from one familiar with your past..."
Draco blinked, and his face became totally impassive. "Go on."
"Your return has stirred up quite a few ghosts. And it has been ten years and more since your father's death - all vows," he paused, "and all amnesties, have long since run their course. All it needs is a catalyst, a legitimate cause..."
Draco stared into black, utterly serious eyes. He had known Snape since the cradle; more importantly, Snape and his uncle and his father had been companions since their cradles, and he had ever been an ally to House Malfoy. His warnings were not to be lightly disregarded.
He inclined his head formally. "I understand," he said gravely. "My uncle also gave me this advice."
Snape smiled almost imperceptibly. "Make sure, then, that you follow it, Draco."
Black eyes stared solemnly into silver, then shifted to watch a young girl came out of one of the alcoves, her black eyes shining as she launched herself at Snape, who caught her confidently and suffered the arms twining about his neck, before carrying her off, giggling, out of the door. He didn't look back, not even for a final significant look. There was no need to. They were in perfect understanding.
Draco crossed to the window overlooking the street. He thought of Snape's advice, and of his uncle's words of last week. Twelve years ago, after his father's death, he had given the order for the discreet execution of every Death Eater who had been present at the gathering where his father had been tortured. Every one of them, bar Snape, had died that night, the Malfoy symbol slashed into their left forearms, over the Dark Mark. He had made more than a few mortal enemies that night, and not even the amnesty he had offered them, saying only the individual Death Eaters had been targeted and killed, not their Clans and families, would be enough to hold them off forever. They had watched, and waited, and plotted patiently, for twelve years.
Waiting for a cause, for a legitimate grievance, for a catalyst. And today he had given them one, on a silver platter. Respectable Gerald, driven to distraction by Draco's seduction of his beloved fiancée...
He wondered, because he was not quite sure himself, whether he had been too caught up in his own pride and arrogance to know what he was doing, or whether he had deliberately provoked Gerald, in the hope of bringing everything that had festered for years in the dark out into the open. But it was of no consequence. He was the Malfoy. Let them come.
A soft, rarely heard voice spoke in his heart. He was ready. But was Ginny?
***********************************
CHAPTER 5 - Sowing Speculation
Ginny stood there for a moment, frozen, staring up into his eyes, and then blinked, scowled, and slapped his hand away. He took a prudent step back and, eyes alight with laughter, spread his hands out on either side of his body, showing he was unarmed. When she glared at him, the laughter spread and he smiled - a full, unforced and unqualified smile full of laughter and devilry and delight. She caught her breath at the way it turned his already perfect features radiant, a word she would never have used in conjunction with Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it was just as well that the meaning of his last words finally sank in then, distracting her from his smile, from his beauty. Suspicion and mistrust came to her rescue.
"What do you mean, give them something to really talk about?" she asked suspiciously.
He looked at her, eyes limpid with malicious laughter. But his voice was perfectly serious. "I believe that you already had plans for a transformation, a complete and utter change?"
She nodded, still more than a little mistrustful.
"Then, let's go through with them - but in a truly grand manner."
She blinked. "I'm sorry?"
He stepped closer again, eyes intense. There was an air of recklessness about him now, an almost glittering light - and she didn't like it. The thought of Malfoy, Mr. Sangfroid himself, being reckless and impulsive, wasn't good. Oh, no. It was anything but good. "I mean, Ginevra, let's show them all. Show them all who we really are, beneath all the masks, all the all the conventions..."
She took an involuntary step back, suddenly unaccountably wary of the light in his eye. He was no longer laughing, but was instead deadly serious - and then he blinked, and it was gone. He was impassive again, faintly amused, certainly a little cynical and jaded, but no longer disturbingly intense. She cleared her throat. "So, you think I should go through with my transformation."
"Of course,” he said simply, “and I will help you."
"You'll what? Oh, no, no, no. No. I don't think so." She shook her head, actually holding out a hand, as if it would keep him at bay.
"Come now, Ginevra,” he coaxed, “it can't be that bad, can it? I'm generally held to have exquisite taste, and I certainly don't exert my influence for just anyone. How badly do you want this transformation?"
She didn't just want this makeover, she needed it - and he knew it. Ginny supposed, eyeing the cut and fashion of his robes, that he did indeed have good fashion sense, even if he did prefer women - although, according to some of the gossip of her school days, he might not have leant exclusively one way or the other... And besides, shopping with Malfoy would allow her to get into all the best and most exclusive shops, not just the ordinary ones on the Alley proper; and it would certainly fuel a lot of speculation and gossip. She was tempted, more than tempted – but then shook her head. 'It's not that I don't want to, Malfoy - I just don't have enough money to go into the Upper End of the alley..."
His lip curled fractionally in the smallest of sneers, and he lifted sardonic, mocking silver eyes to hers. "Ah, my dear, but that is the whole point. I will finance this whole undertaking."
She gasped. Instant outrage came first, but then came cold reason, and she thought of the conclusions any busybodies, including her mother, worth their salt would draw from her use of Malfoy's money; wild rumours of a Vow were one thing, easily discounted, but a rich bachelor showering money and gifts on a young, unmarried girl...?
"Oh, dear Goddess," she whispered in stunned awe. It was diabolical. It was perfect. It was far too good to pass up.
Something to really talk about.
*********************************
The whispers first started in Alexandre's, when Ginny swept in, head high, dressed in appalling clothes and a terrible haircut, hanging adoringly on Draco's extremely stylish sleeve. Draco and Alexandre, the short, wiry, egotistical master stylist himself, looked her over and examined her as if she were a lifeless mannequin, shaking their heads and discussing her in swift, idiomatic French she had no hope of following. She sat down and sipped tea, trying to look as if she wasn't terrified. Finally, after much discussion and moustache stroking, the little Frenchman nodded enthusiastically and clapped his hands, summoning at least six apprentices and assistants. Then he advanced purposefully on Ginny.
Draco appeared at her elbow, and leant down to whisper in her ear. "Alexandre is intrigued by what you can become, if that hair of yours is ever tamed - you might say that he was inspired by the challenge, and has decided to handle it personally."
She looked up at him a little wildly, reaching up automatically to touch her hair. She'd seen the hairstyles of some of the hairdressers. Draco laughed and gently pulled her hand back down. "Relax," he murmured. "Alexandre knows exactly what he's doing. He's the best hairstylist outside of Paris; he won't mess it up.' Suddenly he smiled reassuringly. "Besides, anything would be an improvement over what you have now." She scowled at him and he squeezed her hand in reassurance, before Alexandre came up to her and bowed flamboyantly, hustling her away to a chair where he would begin the transformation.
Draco looked after them in some amusement, and then strolled into the waiting area where a few others mingled, drinking tea and chatting, waiting patiently for their partners. He found an old acquaintance he hadn't seen for years, and prepared to while away the time until Alexandre had finished working his magic with gossip. Considering his mother had exclusively patronized this place before her death, he was prepared to wait for quite a while. Almost two hours later, he heard the Frenchman's distinctive tones raised in triumph and casually, elegantly, got up and strolled over to see what magic Alexandre had wrought.
The waist length mane was gone. It was still the same colour, a striking dark red, darker than her brothers' hair, but now it was much shorter, cut to frame her face, to showcase her best features - her cheekbones, her stunning dark eyes – and it no longer overpowered her face, as it had done before. Ginny's anxious eyes met his in the mirror, and he nodded slowly, in satisfaction, telling her that it was a good cut. She reached up, almost wonderingly, to touch her hair, to examine her suddenly new-seeming features and face, and something about the innocence of that gesture, of her genuine wonder and delight, caused the slightest stirrings of shame and disquiet in his mind.
Twined around the slight guilt and shame were feelings of pride and undeniable warmth - pride in her courage in going through with this, and warmth at the very innocence she tried so hard to deny and repudiate. She might say all she wanted about being grown up, about being capable of looking after herself, but for all the ancient knowledge and cynicism caused by Tom Riddle's diary, there was still something pure about Ginevra Weasley – something that Draco had lost long, long ago. Closing his eyes, he banished the doubts and hesitations. She had gone into this of her own free will, and of her own understanding of the immediate implications and consequences, if not of the more far-reaching ones. She was twenty-six years old, and as she so stridently insisted, independent and more than capable. It wasn't his fault she was innocent.
Alexandre's voice interrupted them. "So! It is a masterpiece of the utmost magnificence, n'est ce pas? A masterpiece worthy of me!" he kissed his fingers, lost in his own brilliance. Draco met her laughing eyes with his own carefully blank ones, and the moment was lost.
Straightening, he turned to Alexandre. "Yes, indeed it is a masterpiece, Monsieur. You have my thanks." Alexandre protested, bowing, that it was entirely his pleasure, and would mademoiselle mind if he were to take a picture to show his clients his skill? Ginny started to agree, only too willing, but Draco turned a warning, slightly haughty gaze towards the impertinent Frenchman, who had gone too far beyond what license he was permitted. Alexandre said nothing more on the subject, only bowed deeper and went into further flourishes and flamboyance as he saw them out personally.
As they walked outside, Ginny was puzzled. "Why didn't you have to pay them?" She asked, turning her head this way and that to get the feel of her new haircut.
He looked down at her in faint amusement. "My dear Ginevra, it is the height of bad manners to ask for payment immediately. They will send the bill to my house."
"Oh," she said, surprised. "But when my mother goes shopping..." she trailed off, flushing slightly.
"Just so," he said dryly, but a little gently nevertheless.
"Just out of curiosity," she asked tentatively, "how much did that haircut cost?"
He carelessly named a figure that made her wince, and then pale. "You're sure?" she asked faintly.
He nodded, his eyes drifting across the street, to two ladies standing with their heads close together, staring at them. Her eyes drifted across, following his, and she paled even further, now that the game had begun in earnest. Partly for comfort, partly for the benefit of any others watching, he took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, and bent down to whisper in her ear, his breath tickling her skin. "Thinking of backing out, Ginevra?"
Instinctively, she tossed her head in defiance and looked up to scowl fiercely at him, until she realized how close together they were standing and how others would interpret it. Throwing caution to the winds - after all, that was what had gotten her into this mess - she stood up on tiptoes and smiled sugar-sweet into his eyes. "Not in this lifetime, Malfoy." Her eyes shot fire. "And don't call me Ginevra."
He leaned even closer, dangerously close, crowding into her personal space until he was only inches away from her lips and she could see that his eyes were, indeed, pure silver - no blue, no violet, pure silver. He opened his mouth and she felt a curious fluttering in her stomach, an odd anticipation that she had never felt before, even when she had been infatuated with Harry. Was he going to kiss her? But he only smiled, an almost invisible quirk of his mouth. "As you wish....darling." And then he was gone, resuming the proper and appropriate distance for the Upper End at about two in the afternoon.
But the damage had been done. They had been seen, and noted. Now for Madame Worth's, the dressmaker's, to set the seal on the afternoon.
******************************************
If she had to stand still for one more second... Ginny was fuming. Of course Malfoy hadn't intended to kiss her, on the street of all places - so why was she suddenly furious that he hadn't? He had played her for a fool, and if there was one thing Ginny hated...
And to top it all off, she was standing here, practically naked in her underwear and bra (white cotton, of course they were white cotton, conservatively cut) with her arms outspread while some tyrant of a Frenchwoman poked and prodded her as if she were no more than a horse, or a doll. Her face was still red from Madame Worth's disastrously frank pronouncement that she had passable legs, but her breasts were a little small and her derriere a little too well padded.
Great. Just great. Oh, Malfoy was going to pay for this. She forced herself to stay still, fantasizing of imaginative and painful ways in which to dispose of him, as soon as this ordeal was over. After, of course, her new clothes were delivered. She thought she had earned that much.
***************************************
Outside, Draco was deriving considerable amusement from the thought of Madame Worth's notorious frankness - something that was only tolerated because her robes and dresses were, every one, unique masterpieces, with prices to match.
A soft, velvet voice spoke at his ear. "My dear boy, in the short time you have been back, you have managed to stir up quite a hornet's nest..."
He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. "What are you doing in here of all places, Severus?" he spoke softly, as Snape did, because the walls at Madame Worth's had many ears.
"The same thing as you, I should imagine - spending extravagantly."
"Oh?" he asked, interested despite himself. Severus Andronicus Snape, the Lord of High Clan Snape - for what it was worth - had, when he had last been in Britain, not been a man usually seen in Madame Worth's.
But Snape only smiled. "A small piece of advice, Malfoy, from one familiar with your past..."
Draco blinked, and his face became totally impassive. "Go on."
"Your return has stirred up quite a few ghosts. And it has been ten years and more since your father's death - all vows," he paused, "and all amnesties, have long since run their course. All it needs is a catalyst, a legitimate cause..."
Draco stared into black, utterly serious eyes. He had known Snape since the cradle; more importantly, Snape and his uncle and his father had been companions since their cradles, and he had ever been an ally to House Malfoy. His warnings were not to be lightly disregarded.
He inclined his head formally. "I understand," he said gravely. "My uncle also gave me this advice."
Snape smiled almost imperceptibly. "Make sure, then, that you follow it, Draco."
Black eyes stared solemnly into silver, then shifted to watch a young girl came out of one of the alcoves, her black eyes shining as she launched herself at Snape, who caught her confidently and suffered the arms twining about his neck, before carrying her off, giggling, out of the door. He didn't look back, not even for a final significant look. There was no need to. They were in perfect understanding.
Draco crossed to the window overlooking the street. He thought of Snape's advice, and of his uncle's words of last week. Twelve years ago, after his father's death, he had given the order for the discreet execution of every Death Eater who had been present at the gathering where his father had been tortured. Every one of them, bar Snape, had died that night, the Malfoy symbol slashed into their left forearms, over the Dark Mark. He had made more than a few mortal enemies that night, and not even the amnesty he had offered them, saying only the individual Death Eaters had been targeted and killed, not their Clans and families, would be enough to hold them off forever. They had watched, and waited, and plotted patiently, for twelve years.
Waiting for a cause, for a legitimate grievance, for a catalyst. And today he had given them one, on a silver platter. Respectable Gerald, driven to distraction by Draco's seduction of his beloved fiancée...
He wondered, because he was not quite sure himself, whether he had been too caught up in his own pride and arrogance to know what he was doing, or whether he had deliberately provoked Gerald, in the hope of bringing everything that had festered for years in the dark out into the open. But it was of no consequence. He was the Malfoy. Let them come.
A soft, rarely heard voice spoke in his heart. He was ready. But was Ginny?
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