Chapter 11—The Drunkenness of Angsty Purebloods

From last time:

"This isn't about your job; this is about Blaise."

"Who I work with. All of my dealings with Blaise are work-related, and that's all I can tell you." The first of the tears slipped from her eyes and slid down her cheeks. Ginny didn't know if they were from fear or anger. "If you can't handle that, there's the door."

Draco's face was impassive. "If you can't tell me why you're lying about your past with my best friend, then maybe I should walk through it."

Ginny's eyes narrowed through the tears. A vice-like hand clamped around her heart. She held his gaze. "Maybe you should."

Draco pulled his cloak on and fastened the silver clasp. He opened the door and walked through it without a backward glance. The door slowly swung shut behind him.

Chapter 11:

"Ginny!"

Ginny's head jerked off the couch. She instantly regretted it when the room started spinning. She moaned and lay back down. "Why do you hate me, Blaise?"

The head in her fireplace snorted. "It's hardly my fault you can't hold your liquor."

Ginny's response was somewhere between a human groan and an angry cat. She groped blindly for a couch pillow and lobbed it in the general direction of the fireplace. "Stop shouting."

"Stop being a fire hazard."

Ginny blearily opened one eye. She squinted against the bright morning light. "What time is it?"

"Nearly eleven. I assumed you'd sleep late today."

The unexpected note of quiet in his voice broke through the layers of pain and nausea assaulting Ginny's senses. Cautiously, she pushed herself into a sitting position. "How did you know that?"

Blaise hesitated. His eyes flickered to the empty wine bottle prominently featured on the coffee table. "I had an interesting conversation with Draco late last night. Maybe conversation isn't the right word. He did all the talking."

Goosebumps broke out up and down Ginny's arms. She pulled the throw from the back of the couch around her. "What did he say?"

"Do you want the nice version or the real version?"

"Nice."

"He said you're all mine." Blaise watched for a reaction. "Something you want to tell me?"

"We're too good at our jobs?" Ginny sighed. Her head fell back against the couch. "Our cover is too convincing. He doesn't believe we're not involved, or weren't at some point involved, or something like that." Ginny gestured to the empty wine bottle. "The specifics are a little fuzzy."

"So he thinks we're both lying to him." Blaise scrubbed a hand down his face. He inhaled audibly. "What do you want to do?"

Ginny shrugged helplessly. "What can we do?"

Blaise was silent for a moment. "We could tell him the truth."

Ginny's bloodshot eyes met Blaise's fire-rimmed ones. That would be ideal, but… "You said yourself the more people that know the truth, the bigger the chance our cover will be blown."

"Our friendship, your relationship…" Blaise sighed from the fireplace. He looked at her. "Is it worth the risk?"

Ginny sat up slowly. She didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"I think so, too. Do it."

Two hangover potions and one battle with a hairbrush later, Ginny apparated into the front hall of Black Manor, where Draco had resided since its previous owners—Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange—had died in the final battle. Thankfully, it seemed the wards hadn't been changed—yet—to disallow her entrance. The house was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the large grandfather clock under the grand staircase.

"Miss Weasley!" The house elf's voice was squeakier than usual in its surprise. Under better conditions, Ginny might have found it funny. "Master is saying you wouldn't be coming."

"Surprise." Ginny brushed past the elf and started up the grand staircase. "I'm going to see him and I'm not taking no for an answer."

Somewhere between the foyer and Draco's study, the elf overtook her and scampered on ahead. By the time Ginny reached the heavy oak door, the elf had already knocked.

"Master." The elf pushed the door open and stepped inside. His voice was timid. "The Miss Weasley is here and says she is not taking no for answer."

Draco's audible sigh drifted through the open door to the hallway where Ginny was waiting. A long silence followed. When he spoke, his voice was dry and even. "Well, if she isn't taking no for an answer, by all means, let her in."

The scent of alcohol hit her hard as she stepped through the door. Draco sat behind his desk, hair slightly tousled, collar unbuttoned. He was wearing the same clothes from the night before. What looked like half the contents of his liquor cabinet adorned the desktop. Great. Drunk Draco was notoriously even harder to deal with than sober Draco.

Ginny tread lightly. "You've taken to drinking in the mornings?"

"Only on special occasions." Draco's voice held just a tinge of bitterness. He raised his glass in her direction. "To you."

At least his sense of humor was intact. Ginny walked carefully around his desk and perched on the edge, close but not too close. "What are you drinking?"

Draco eyed the amber-colored liquid in his tumbler. Not finding the answer there, he examined the bottles littering his desk. "I don't even know anymore."

Ginny leaned in and sniffed his glass. Brandy. His supply must be running low. Not surprising if he'd been drinking all night. "I hear you spoke with Blaise."

"I did." Draco swirled the brandy around in his glass. "I assume you did as well, since you're aware of that."

"I did." Ginny watched Draco closely, trying to gauge how intoxicated he really was. She didn't relish the thought of getting all the way through this only to find he didn't remember it tomorrow. Draco looked at her, eyebrows raised, and she got a good look at his eyes—bloodshot, but focused. "We decided to tell you the truth."

A pained expression crossed his face. Draco closed his eyes and turned away. "Just a moment." He tossed back the rest of his brandy and, somewhat unsteadily, selected a bottle at random and refilled the tumbler. "Go on."

Ginny acquiesced and told him about her job. That she was affiliated with both the English and French auror offices, that she was a go-between who hand-delivered sensitive information from Harry to Blaise and vice versa. How she had lunch with Harry and Ron once a week under the pretense of their old friendship and family ties, and left with the latest intel in her pocket. How men who ran dangerous and illegal business operations frequented the VIP room at Et Tout Cela Jazz where she worked undercover. How, in order to impress those men and charm information out of them, Blaise had gotten her that job and trained her in the different styles of dance she did there.

Draco snorted into his port. "Prick."

Ginny suppressed a smile. If only Blaise had been here to hear that. "The problem is that I didn't have an excuse to go to Blaise's office on a regular basis like I do Ron and Harry. Blaise and I weren't exactly friendly at school. Sex buddies was our solution."

Draco choked on his port. "I beg your pardon?"

Ginny smirked. "He's attractive, I'm attractive. We couldn't pass as friends, so we pretend to be together. It was a perfectly lovely arrangement until you came along. Obviously, if I'm supposed to be shagging Blaise, I can't be seen on dates with you. All it takes is one of the three of us to become tabloid fodder and my cover is blown."

Draco tapped a finger on the top of his desk. He turned his head slightly in her direction but didn't look at her. "So your constant state of dishevelment upon leaving his office, your absolute refusal to speak to anyone you know when we're in public…"

"Is all part of my cover," Ginny finished. She waited to see if he would say more. When he didn't, she continued. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner."

Draco was silent for a long moment. He smirked into his tumbler. "Well, this certainly explains some of Blaise's more pronounced oddities that have developed in the last six months. I thought he was developing Turrets the way he'd start a sentence about you and stop it suddenly."

Ginny smiled a little. "He really wanted to tell you. It was just… sensitive."

Draco's gaze dropped, seemingly involuntarily, to his left forearm. He tugged lightly at his sleeve. "I understand sensitive situations."

Ginny laid a hand on his arm, pressing lightly, soothingly, where she knew his Dark Mark was hidden. "There's one more thing." Ginny tapped Draco's arm lightly to be sure his alcohol-sodden brain was paying attention. She waited until his eyes met hers. "You have to trust me, Draco. Forget that we've been together for some time now; Blaise has been your best friend for years." Ginny paused to let this sink in. "How could you not trust him?"

Draco drew in a breath and opened his mouth. He closed it again. Wordlessly, he reached for her hand and tugged. She went willingly, letting him pull her gently into his lap. He pulled her head into his chest. "You're right." His alcohol-scented breath ruffled her hair. "I'm sorry. I should have trusted you, both of you."

Ginny smiled to herself. He must be drunker than she had realized to just come out and say it. She settled into his arms, burying her face in his neck and breathing in his scent. Eau de Purebloods-don't-sweat-like-normal-people. "Has this at least convinced you I might be a better liar than I let on?"

"Not particularly." Draco drained the last of his port and put the glass down. "You actually liked the opera, didn't you?"

Ginny smiled against his neck. "Maybe a little."