Ginny stroked Naima’s smooth hair as they rocked, marveling in the softness of it. As a mother, she loved all of her children equally, but this one was special because she had the look of a Weasley. Laurie was the very picture of Draco: tall, blond, lean, and lightly muscled. His gray eyes held the same protectiveness for her that his father’s often did, and he had inherited Draco’s proud pureblood stride. Even at six years old, he already had the Malfoy presence, a way of owning a room the moment he walked into it. He would be ridiculously popular with the girls at Hogwarts.
Xavi was the melting pot. The soft blonde hair was reminiscent of his father, but if he turned his head just right, the light brought out the faint strands of Weasley red. Though both Ginny and Draco were pale, their skintones were somehow different enough to tell apart. Xavi had inherited Draco’s particular brand of pallor but also had a light dusting of Ginny’s freckles that made Lucius cringe on occasion. His brown eyes were intelligent and clever, a trait that both parents would try to claim, and his mouth puckered up whenever he was upset, a trait that both parents would try to blame on the other.
Naima was the polar opposite of her brothers in appearance; she was all Ginny. The thin layer of hair covering her infant head promised to be a bright red that would chagrin her paternal grandfather no end. Her big round baby eyes were the exact shade of pansy brown that adorned so many of her uncles, and Ginny was sure her skin—toned to be like her mother’s—would soon freckle in the sun.
Ginny sighed, leaning her head against the back of the rocker, looking out at the starry night. The days were getting cooler again. It had been a year since Draco left. He’d gone with Blaise Zabini—now the head of the French Auror office—to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters and get them through the courts and into Azkaban. The plan had been to only be gone seven to ten weeks, a few months at most. And now it was a year. Draco didn’t even know about Naima. The two of them had had… quite a night before he left, and she’d found out a few weeks later that she was pregnant again. And Draco didn’t know.
Ginny stood in Draco’s study, unsure of what to do. The grandfather clock in the corner said it was technically the next day, and she had come with the intention of losing herself in the next memory Draco had preserved for her. She reached for the book and slowly opened it. She flipped past the note, the pea plant, and Lucius’s hair and smiled a little at what she found: a small slip of paper in Draco’s handwriting with the word ‘Laurence’ on it.
Ginny shivered and pulled her coat around her a little more snuggly. Seeing as she was walking through muggle Paris, she’d been forced to forsake her cloak and wrestle the muggle equivalent away from her father. Yes, it was big and thick and ridiculous, and Ginny knew she looked like a hobo right now, but it was keeping her warmer than her cloak ever had. Whoever said that muggles had never done anything worthwhile had never worn a coat on a cold day.
A particularly strong gust of wind blew and Ginny stumbled, having caught the wind broadside. After a moment, she managed to right herself and continued on down the sidewalk, head down, muscles tight. So much for the ‘gentle breeze’ that had been forecast; this was more like a hurricane without the rain. Or maybe a tornado if you unrolled the funnel.
Another strong gust of wind blew and Ginny fell back, right into the man walking behind her. She heard the surprised gasp leave his lips as her landing pushed the air out of his chest, then his arms were encircling her and pulling her into a sheltered doorway. “Pardonnez moi, Mademoiselle.”
Ginny looked up into the man’s face, intent on making a flirty comment if he was attractive, and did a double-take. Draco Malfoy?
“Parlez-vous Français?”
When Ginny again failed to answer, the man—Draco—frowned, but she ignored his confusion. Her brain was busy trying to process the fact that: A) Draco Malfoy was speaking French, and B) he didn’t seem to recognize her. The second part made her feel a bit insulted. Sure, she’d changed a bit since she’d seen him last, but that was no reason not to… oh, wait. Ginny reached a hand back to her hair, mindless of Draco continuing to question her in French and found her hand encountered only fabric. That’s right. She’d stuffed her hair down the coat to keep it safe from the wind, and a thick black hat that her mum had made her had been hurriedly yanked onto her head. The red hair wasn’t going to distinguish her this time.
“Parlez-vous Anglais?”
Ginny held back a smirk at Draco’s continuing efforts. She felt it would only be polite to answer him, seeing as he’d saved her life a few years ago and had just now kept her from getting a very sore bottom, but the sex slave comment from their last encounter pulsed in her mind; she was very glad that the wind had already turned her cheeks red, effectively hiding the blush she was sure was rising now.
“Oui, Monsieur. Je parle Anglais.”
Draco gave a very faint sigh of relief. “Are you alright, then?”
Ginny smiled a little and didn’t answer. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
Draco frowned and tilted his head to the side. The woman was English; the strong accent in her French had told him that much. Her voice was smooth and just low enough to be sultry without sounding masculine. There was a faint accent in her English that spoke of spending little time around English-speakers of late. She sounded and looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place the name.
“Should I?”
“We went to school together.”
Draco’s brows raised in surprise. Her voice was so… proper, her pronunciation so polished. He didn’t think he’d gone to school with anyone so cultured. “We were in the same year?”
“No. You were a year ahead of me.” The lady’s voice was amused.
Draco thought for a long moment, taking in the brown eyes, the fair skin, and the dusting of freckles. Comprehension dawned. He smiled slightly and reached for her hat, tugging it free; Ginny’s red hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Hello, Weaselette.”
“Hello, Ferret.”
There was no malice in the words. They both knew what had transpired the last time they met. Surviving the war had matured them both, at least to the point where Draco didn’t verbalize his snooty thoughts about her homemade hat and she didn’t retaliate with a Bat Bogey hex.
Draco glanced up, casting around for something to say. He caught sight of the fact they were standing in the doorway of a little café. “Would you like to step inside for a moment, have a cup of tea?”
“Sure.”
They entered the small shop without ceremony and quickly discovered that they weren’t the only ones that had sought an escape from the weather. It took a bit of searching, but they finally found a corner table that was relatively private. Ginny sat down to save it while Draco volunteered to get the drinks.
“Go for it, big guy.” She was more than willing to let him brave the massive line of people at the counter while she sat and relaxed.
Draco gave her a withering look at her choice of words but walked away without comment. When he came back ten minutes later, his mood seemed to have improved slightly, and he actually initiated conversation.
“What were you doing out on such a horrid day, Weaselette?”
Ginny blew lightly on her tea, watching a tendril of steam waft its way to the ceiling. “Walking home from work.”
“You live in Paris now?”
“Mais oui.” Ginny grinned mischievously.
“What do you do?”
“I’m an exotic dancer.”
Draco choked on his Earl Grey, just managing not to spit it all over the table in a very un-pureblood way. “You're not serious?”
“Sadly, no. My life is dreadfully boring.”
Draco breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The old Draco would’ve made a snarky comment about a Weasley having to resort to taking her clothes off for money; the new Draco would’ve been very disappointed if someone so poised was wasting her time as an exotic dancer. “What do you really do?”
“I’m a nightclub singer.”
“A nightclub singer.”
Ginny saw the censure dance into Draco’s eyes. “It’s a classy place, Draco. I happen to love it.”
“Really?” He sounded very disbelieving.
“Really.”
“What’s it called?”
“Et Tout Cela Jazz.”
“Et Tout Cela Jazz! I go there almost every week, and I’ve never seen you there.” Draco sat back, pleased with himself for catching her in a lie.
“I’m the entertainment in the VIP lounge.”
Draco caught the very faint insinuation that he wasn’t important enough to be in the VIP lounge. He looked at her sitting there, sipping her tea and quirking an eyebrow at him, and conceded. “I must admit, I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.” Ginny raised her cup to him before taking another sip. “You’re a partner in your father’s firm, correct?”
“Yes,” Draco said, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Ferret. We get a lot of big businessmen in the VIP lounge, and a lot of them don’t hold their liquor well. They talk and sometimes you can’t help overhearing.”
Draco looked slightly disbelieving but didn’t reply.
Silence fell. Ginny glanced out the window and stood.
“I suppose I’d better be going; it looks like the wind has died down a bit.”
Draco glanced out the window as he stood and watched a small dog blow past. “Looks like it.”
“Thank you for the tea. It was… interesting seeing you again.” Ginny’s head tilted slightly as she smiled, causing her hair to catch the light as it fell.
“Likewise.” Draco steered her through the crowd and held the door for her to walk through first. “You’re a surprise, Weaselette, if nothing else.”
“I’d hate to be dull.” Ginny pushed her hair out of her face in time for it to blow back into her eyes again. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
Draco watched her hair blow out behind her as she turned and, without giving it a thought, reached out, catching her arm in mid-step. “Ginny.”
“Draco.”
“Can I offer you a ride to wherever you’re going?”
Ginny stared at him for a moment, rather caught off guard. “Well, aren’t you the gentleman?”
A hint of Draco’s old smirk appeared on his face. “I do my best.”
A gust of wind tried to blow Ginny into Draco for the second time that day. She smiled wryly. “A ride would great.”
Ginny shot Draco an incredulous look as she stepped into his limousine. “Nice to see you’re so inconspicuous these days. I’m glad you’ve cut back on ostentatious displays of wealth.”
Draco settled onto the seat next to her and shut the door behind him. “You’re hysterical, Weaslette.”
Ginny grinned but let it go. “I’m surprised you use muggle transportation.”
“This is hardly the scene one envisions when using that phrase, but yes, I do occasionally use muggle transportation. This vehicle has its merits.”
“It’s still undoubtedly muggle.” Ginny bit her lip as she examined the buttons controlling the screen between them and the driver. She resisted the urge to experiment with them. “Are you softening on your position that everything non-magical is bad?”
“Let’s put it this way; if I was in a position where I could ignore muggles and their inventions altogether, I gladly would.” Draco saw her interest in the controls and pointed out the correct one. “This one closes the screen.”
Ginny shot him a brilliant smile and played with the switches for a while before replying. “You know, you’ve never exactly been the cuddly type, but I wouldn't have pegged you as the type of man to want to live out his life alone.”
“What?” Draco wracked his brain for something he might have said to inspire such a comment and came up empty.
“I’m sure your anti-muggle stance is still shared by a lot of people, but…” Ginny frowned, still fiddling half-heartedly with the buttons. “Well, I’m just saying you’ll be hard-pressed to find a woman who shares your blatant disdain for all things outside your own little comfort zone.”
Inside, Draco was asking himself how they had possibly gotten onto this topic. Verbally, he said, “What makes you think I have any desire to ‘find a woman’?”
“Exactly.”
“What?”
“You don’t. You’re okay staying just the way you are because you’re not in any rush to find someone to pull you out of that rut.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “What incentive would I have to find someone? My life is certainly beyond acceptable now. I’m insanely rich, heir to an even bigger fortune, and—since you’ve pried into my personal life—I’ll tell you I currently have loads of sex with absolutely no commitment. What could possibly be missing?”
Ginny smiled a little. “I’ll ignore for a moment that I’ve always found sex to be better in a relationship and counter with this: What’s going to happen to that massive fortune of yours, Draco?”
“It’s going to continue to grow in direct proportion to the growth of my company’s client list. What’s your point?”
“I was more thinking along the lines of after your lifetime.”
“I imagine it will continue to grow; the company isn’t likely to go under anytime soon.”
Ginny opened her mouth. She stopped, let out a breath, drew in another, and tried again. “Draco, it amazes me that you graduated second in your class—you’re being extremely thick. My point is that you don’t have any children! Who’s going to inherit your vast wealth when there’s no one left? You can’t tell me you’re willing to allow the Malfoy fortune to leave the Malfoy line.”
“I have plenty of years left to produce an heir, but thank you for your interest in my financial status.” Draco looked at the woman next to him, considering. “Why are you so interested, Weaselette? You don’t have any heirs, either.”
“In my case, that doesn’t make a lick of difference, as you well know.” Ginny leaned back against the seat, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling. “My parents produced far too many heirs; there isn’t a Weasley fortune to inherit.”
Draco looked thoughtful for a moment. “What would you name your children, if you had any?”
Ginny lifted her head and blinked at him. “How did we make that jump?”
“After all the random conversation changes you’ve made today, you question the one that I make?”
“Fair enough.” Ginny smiled at herself, taking a moment to mentally count her conversational bunny-trails before answering. “I very much like Lauren. I want my firstborn to be named Lauren. And then Isabella is beautiful, too, or maybe Selene. I liked Fleur as well, but my sister-in-law ruined that for me.”
Draco snorted in a very undignified way. “Those hardly seem likely, Ginny. Your family doesn’t produce girls at a very rapid rate.”
Ginny shrugged. “I’ll marry a man whose family isn’t known to produce boys, and we’ll even each other out.”
“Of course you will.”
“What about you?”
Draco’s eyebrows shot up; he obviously hadn’t been expecting her to send his own question back. “I really haven’t given it any thought.”
“Really? Men really are different from women.” Ginny was momentarily putout. She recovered quite quickly. “Let’s name your hypothetical children.”
Draco just looked at her. “Let’s not.”
“Your future wife/heir-producer will be appreciative if you’ve put some thought into it ahead of time. What were your grandfathers named?”
“Alexander and Xavier.”
“Oh now, see? That’s an easy one. Combine them into Alexavier and voila! You have a name for the future holder of that massive Malfoy fortune.” Ginny grinned widely.
Draco actually looked mildly pleased. “Even though I’m just humoring you in the hopes that you’ll let this subject go sooner if I don’t oppose you, I rather like it. It’s very smooth and…”
“Pureblood-esque?”
“Exactly.”
Ginny smiled and glanced out the window, then did a double-take. “Where are we?”
“We have to pick up someone.”
“You know someone who lives in the rundown part of town? It’s not a muggle, is it? I would probably drop dead of shock.”
Draco rolled his eyes and didn’t answer as the driver turned into the badly paved parking lot of a semi-respectable apartment complex. When they came to a stop, Draco opened his door and stepped out, leaving Ginny with a firm “Stay here.” He waited to move away until she nodded her assent.
Five minutes passed. Ten minutes and still no sign of Draco. Finally, at the fifteen minute mark, Draco reemerged from the apartment building, holding the door for a beautiful blonde. The woman walked with a heavy limp, and her hip rolled grotesquely with every step she took. Her face showed pain every time her right leg touched the ground, and Ginny soon found herself grimacing along with her.
Ginny’s gaze shifted to Draco, and she felt something squeeze around her heart. He stood tall and proud, resplendent in black dress clothes, but his hand was under his mother’s arm, and he was supporting her as much as he could. Her bags were in his other hand, and there was so much obvious concern on his face that Ginny could hardly believe the transformation. The scene in front of her was incredibly hard to describe, but it was wholly beautiful.
Draco opened the front passenger door and helped his mother inside, then carefully set her bags at her feet. He didn’t speak as he came around to the back and got inside next to her again. The rest of the ride was silent; neither of them made any move to break the silence. Ginny had just been rather humbled in her opinion of Draco, and he seemed to lack any inclination to explain his mother.
A few minutes later, the driver pulled to a stop in front of the complex that housed Ginny’s flat. She moved to open the door, then paused and glanced back at her companion. Without a word or a moment of hesitation, she leaned over and pressed her lips softly against his cheek. When she pulled back, she smiled and said very softly, “Thanks for the ride, Ferret,” and climbed gracefully from the vehicle.
It was a few hours before the incessant tapping on her window began. She had just turned off the heat and lifted the whistling tea kettle from the stove when she heard it the first time and went to investigate. Sure enough, a large eagle owl hovered just outside her house, letter clutched in its beak. Curiously, she opened the window and admitted the unfamiliar bird. Surely Fred and George hadn’t bought another new owl.
Ginny took the letter from the bird and found that the handwriting was unfamiliar. Curiosity peaked, she gave the messenger a few treats to keep it quiet and opened the letter.
The name conversation we had in the car has been echoing through my mind, and it refused to leave me alone until I sent an idea to you. Since you seemed to be so infatuated with the name Lauren, and since it’s highly unlikely a girl will be born to you given the severely unbalanced ratio of male to female Weasleys, I’ve come up with an alternative: Laurence. Name your firstborn Laurence. In exchange, I’ll name my firstborn Alexavier. Unless, of course, they happen to be one and the same, in which case I’ll settle for Alexavier being my second.
Draco
Ginny found herself smiling as she pulled out a quill and started to pen a reply, his last line running through her mind: Unless, of course, they happen to be one and the same…
Author notes: I have to give credit where credit is due. I realize that the line "You don't recognize me, do you?" is rather innocuous, but every time I read it, I see Julia Ormond saying it to Greg Kinnear in 'Sabrina.' That's kind of where the idea for this whole encounter came from :)
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