Chapter 5—Rumor Has It
The hidden compartment behind Draco’s desk seemed to beckon to her, and Ginny moved toward it without hesitation, pulling out the book that lay inside and sinking into the office chair. She flipped slowly through the pages she’d already looked at, smiling at the memories they represented. When she got to a new page, Ginny paused, blinking in surprise at what she found—a French visa application and a single rose petal, peach in color.
Ginny quickened her pace as she walked through the halls of the French Ministry, nodding politely and smiling amicably when she passed wizards who did the same. This was the law enforcement floor, and it held a surprising number of very polite people, not to mention incredibly built ones. Through the doors to her left, she could hear combat training going on, both magical and muggle, and sometimes a frightening combination of both. A quick thud marked the sound of someone hitting the floor, then a whiny feminine voice yelling in anger at her attacker. Ginny rolled her eyes as she walked swiftly past; having encountered a young Lord Voldemort when she was only 11 years old and lived to tell the tale, she had no sympathy for over-sensitive rookies who complained the first time they got a bruised arse.
“Bonjour, Ginny. It eez nice to see you.”
Ginny glanced up from the paper she’d been skimming as she walked, prepared to offer back a standard, non-committal greeting, only to realize she knew the person addressing her. “Bonjour, Gabrielle. Why are we speaking English?”
“It ees a bit more private, no? Not as many people on this floor speak English.” Gabrielle surreptitiously looked over her shoulder under the guise of tossing her shimmering blonde hair back, looking oh-so-much like Fleur. “You look much different zhan ze last time I saw you.”
Ginny hesitated for a moment in answer but decided her companion’s comment was meant as a compliment. “And you look exactly the same. Do you work here?”
“In a way. I am a model for ze government safety posters. I look fierce and tell ze children not to run with wands.” Gabrielle laughed an adorable little giggle, planting a hand on her hip in a too-casual-to-look-posed-even-though-it-is way. “Do you work here?”
“Actually, I-”
“Ginny, there you are.” Blaise’s smooth voice floated up the corridor, followed by its owner. Ginny smiled and made a show of looking him up and down appreciatively. Blaise, dressed impeccably as ever, noticed and winked subtly. “I was wondering what was keeping you.”
“I’m sorry, Blaise, I got caught up with an old acquaintance.” Ginny watched Gabrielle look Blaise up and down in the same way she just had. “You remember Fleur Delacour from the Triwizard Tournament? This is her sister, Gabrielle, whom I’d have to say is infinitely more likeable. Gabrielle, this is Blaise Zabini; he was at Hogwarts with me, but a year ahead.”
“It eez a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Zabini.” Gabrielle offered her hand, and Blaise took it.
“The pleasure is entirely my own.” Blaise smiled easily, a charming smile that didn’t seem like it could belong to a former Slytherin, then gestured to Ginny. “I’m sorry to rush off, but I’m afraid I have an engagement that rather requires my attention at the moment and Miss Weasley’s as well. If you’ll excuse us, Mademoiselle Delacour, I believe we should be attending to it.”
“Bien sūr.” Gabrielle glanced down at the top paper in the stack she held, then at the clock on the wall. “I should be going, anyway. Eet was nice meeting you, Monsieur Zabini.”
“Please, make it Blaise.”
“Blaise, then.” Gabrielle smiled slightly, a quick upturn of the lips as she walked away, working her model walk in full runway mode.
Ginny and Blaise watched Gabrielle walk away in silence for a moment—rather Ginny watched Blaise watch Gabrielle walk away—then they turned as one to get to the privacy of his office. The occasional head turned to watch the odd couple as they walked, a pair of eyes here and there, but they mostly seemed to be ignored. The older secretaries were very practiced at watching without appearing to; it was how all the office rumors got started.
They reached Blaise’s office without incident. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping back to allow Ginny in first. When he’d entered and closed the door behind him, his first words stated the obvious. “People are starting to talk.”
Ginny nodded. “I’m not surprised; I’d be suspicious if an unknown English woman met weekly with one of the few English men working here and they secluded themselves in his office for rather substantial amounts of time. I’m glad it’s working, but I don’t want you to get into trouble with your superiors for meeting with your girlfriend at work. Are you sure you shouldn’t tell them the truth?”
“I’m not going to compromise your position just to get them off my back with their assumptions.” Blaise leaned against his desk and crossed his arms on his chest. “If you’re really worried about it, we could meet somewhere else, somewhere non-work-related. Your nightclub, maybe?”
Ginny shook her head, sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs that spotted his spacious office. “In my club you can quite guarantee there’s someone listening in; that’s kind of the point of my being there. I think we should continue on here; it gives us both solid alibis.”
“Whatever you want to do.” Blaise pushed himself off the desk and moved behind it to sit down. “Alright, what do you have for me?”
It was only about half an hour later when the door to Blaise’s office opened again, and Ginny and Blaise stepped out. They chatted in a would-be casual way, her hand sneaking up to brush his hair back here, his hand resting briefly on the small of her back there. They appeared to be entirely ignorant of their surroundings, oblivious to the whispers that their intimate gestures were sending around the secretarial pool like lightning. Appearances, however, can be deceiving. Both were survivors of the final battle, and as such were keenly aware of everything going on around them.
“Draco Malfoy,” Blaise said as he pointed to a line on a random piece of paper and pretended to explain it to her. “Coming up behind you.”
Ginny accepted the paper and stepped away from Blaise. “Thank you for your time, Monsieur Zabini. I’ll see that this is delivered right away.”
“Thank you for taking it for me.” Blaise looked over Ginny’s shoulder, pretending to see his friend for the first time. “Hello, Draco.”
“Blaise.” Draco nodded to his friend and caught Ginny’s eyes as she turned around. “Weaslette.”
Ginny grinned in spite of herself, shaking her head at the ever-present Hogwarts nicknames; some things time couldn’t change. “Hello, Ferret. It’s been, what, two weeks since I saw you last?”
“About that, yes.” Draco’s eyes flickered to Blaise’s mussed hair and then over Ginny’s flushed cheeks. “What brings you to the Ministry this afternoon?”
“Nothing terribly exciting. I needed to renew my residence visa, and I stopped up here on a whispered rumor that the auror department had an opening. Apparently, said rumor is incredibly false.”
“I’m afraid we’re a bit over-stocked right now, much to my disappointment. I believe it’d be nice to have you around.” Blaise’s voice was professional but his smile bordered on overly-friendly. “But, as I told you before, Miss Weasley, you probably wouldn’t find it terribly exciting working here after your excursions during the war.”
“I suppose not.” Ginny glanced at her watch, starting convincingly. “Excuse me, won’t you? Thanks again for your time, Mr. Zabini. It was nice seeing you again, Draco.”
The men both offered the fitting social niceties, watching the redhead hurry away before speaking again.
“So… the Weaslette wanted a job?” Draco’s voice was would-be casual, as was Blaise’s when he replied.
“Apparently, but we’re already over-staffed. I took her resume, though, and offered to let her know if there was a position open in the near future. She’s a damn good fighter.” Blaise pushed open the door of his office again, waving Draco in after him. “My superiors are going to think I never do any work in here. What’ll you have today?”
“Butterbeer’s fine.” Draco dropped into one of Blaise’s chairs, tapping a thoughtful finger on his friend’s desk. “The two of you are starting quite a few rumors, as I’m sure you know.”
Blaise coughed awkwardly as he handed Draco a butterbeer. “I certainly know that, but I’m curious as to how you do. Last time I checked, your company wasn’t exactly on anything more than tolerable terms with the Ministry.”
“Witches talk,” Draco dismissed, waving a hand aimlessly. “You might be slightly away from it here in your ivory tower, but the secretarial gossip is as bad as ever. I swear the business floo network is used more for rumor-mongering than it is for actual business.”
Blaise shrugged non-committally, waiting for the topic he knew would quickly resurface.
“As the closest thing you have to a friend, I’d feel more than a little insulted if I wasn’t the first to know if something was going on between you and the Weaselette.”
This was the kind of moment Blaise hated. His job as the head of the Auror Department in the French Ministry often put him in a difficult position; in order to do the job effectively, you sometimes had to lie about the important things to the most important people.
“Nothing is going on with us currently, though I think I’m wearing her down.” Blaise looked at Draco thoughtfully over the top of his beer bottle. “Why, are you interested in her?”
Draco looked right back, his gaze steady. “What would give you that idea?”
Blaise shrugged, taking a gulp of butterbeer before answering. “Rumor has it.”
“What do you think, Draco?”
The blond man glanced up at Blaise and saw that he was expecting a response. Draco’s mind worked quickly to formulate a neutral comment that could cover an expansive range of topics, as he had absolutely no idea what his friend had just asked his opinion on. “It sounds interesting enough, I suppose. Run the general outline by me again.”
Blaise’s ever-present grin widened and he drained his martini with a flourish. “You weren’t paying attention.”
Draco didn’t bother trying to deny the accusation; the two of them saw right through each other more often than not. “My apologies, Blaise. I find I’m a bit distracted this evening.”
“Your thoughts are somewhere else,” Blaise agreed, watching the other man for a reaction. “Or with someone else?”
Draco’s vodka paused momentarily, then continued its journey to his mouth. “And just whom might my thoughts be with, Blaise?”
“Oh, I don’t know…a certain lovely redhead, perhaps?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”
Blaise switched out his empty martini glass for the half-empty butterbeer he’d abandoned earlier, turning slightly more serious. “Far be it for me to make assumptions, Draco, particularly concerning your romantic interests. However, based on your reaction to her earlier this afternoon, I’d have to say that I think the young Weaselette has rather caught your eye.”
The fact that Draco didn’t vehemently deny this suggestion immediately proved Blaise’s theory correct, but he remained silent, waiting to see how the other man would play the field. Draco’s gaze intensified very slightly before he spoke. “And what would your opinion of such an… interest be?”
Blaise was silent for a moment, weighing his next words very carefully. “I can see where such an interest could be… difficult to accept, keeping our former views in mind. However, I’ve come to think rather highly of Miss Weasley in the brief acquaintance we’ve had since school; I could easily be convinced to approve of any hypothetical interest one might have in her.”
Draco sat back in his chair, considering, weighing the options. He seemed deep in thought, and the resolution in his expression never quite achieved completion. “Bear in mind, Blaise, that I’ve in no way made up my mind on the issue.”
Draco paused, and Blaise felt it was necessary to push a little. “I feel a ‘but’ coming.”
“However, taking your view on the matter into account, I’m leaning toward taking action.”
“Excellent!” Blaise clapped his hands once and stood, reaching for his cloak. “Let’s go toast your indecisiveness!”
Draco managed to hold his comment in until they were being seated in the VIP lounge of Et Tout Cela Jazz. “You brought me to where she works? Very subtle, Blaise.”
Blaise shrugged out of his cloak as he sat down, not looking even mildly abashed. “I knew you’d never come here if left to your own devices. You said yourself you were interested; now you get to see her in action.”
“That’s all well and good, Blaise, but I usually prefer not to follow a lady around like a lovesick schoolboy, particularly when I haven’t decided if I’m going to pursue her or not.” Draco’s annoyance was mingled with curiosity, and so was marginally less than it would’ve usually been in a similar situation.
“Watching her perform will help you decide.” Blaise’s grin was very nearly stretching off his face as he ordered a martini and settled in to watch the fireworks. He knew that Draco had always had a healthy appreciation for people with a respectable talent, and a certain redheaded lady certainly fit that description. “Trust me”
“You see, the frightening thing is—-I do.”
Blaise nodded toward the stage. “Here comes your lady now.”
Draco’s gaze went immediately to the stage, and he tilted his head slightly at what he saw, considering. Ginny was making her way out from between the black curtains, the soft spotlight moving with her. She wore an old-fashioned empire-waisted dress—peach in color—that brushed the floor. The fabric swayed with her as she walked, and the gold threading in the dress highlighted the subtle streaks of gold in her red curls. Her long hair positively glowed in the spot, creating the illusion of a halo of light surrounding her lightly freckled face.
She walked confidently, gracefully, to the front of the stage, her entire mannerism speaking complete comfort with her situation. At Ginny’s nod, the pianist played a single note, and the singer began her song a capella.
What immediately struck Draco was the sweet clarity of her voice. She obviously had little to no training, which made the forgiving style of jazz perfect for her. But that voice… it was soft, yet supported; sweet, yet strong; and oh, so crystal clear. She glided effortlessly over the notes, her voice thriving on the curious melody line. The strong chorded style of the piano behind her only intensified the fact that Ginevra Weasley was a beautiful singer.
It wasn’t even her voice that was currently captivating her audience the most, though; it was her presence. The way her curvy silhouette swayed with the music, the way her vibrant hair and deep brown eyes caught the light… it was intoxicating. Her face clearly expressed the helplessness of a woman in love, the anguish of a love unrequited, and the disappointment of walking through her wonderland alone. The way she was one with the music, pulling her listeners in with her, making them feel what she did… it was nothing short of incredible.
The song ended in a predictably jazz way, with one long note fading slowly into nothingness. The applause in the room was dazed as the club’s patrons awoke from their haze and realized it had just been a song, not a reality that they were living. There was no cat-calling or throwing of flowers—-this was the VIP lounge of the prestigious Et Tout Cela Jazz, after all; no such frivolity would be socially acceptable. But the small gathering of people made their appreciation known through their applause, through their approving murmurs, and through the occasional reserved cry for more.
Ginny smiled slightly at the small group of people, amiably accepting their applause with a nod or two, before standing silently to wait for them to quiet down. When order had been restored to the room, a second song began, this one much more up-tempo and including a wider range of instruments. And yet again, when Ginny’s voice joined the accompaniment, all the audience could do was smile and let themselves be entranced.
Ginny’s set continued for just short of an hour, at which time an instrumental jazz ensemble came out to replace her. It was only a few minutes until she reappeared, this time in the audience instead of on the stage. She stood in the back for a moment, allowing everyone a good view of her new knee-length dress as she surveyed the crowd. She waited until Blaise turned and smiled at her before feeling confident enough to move toward their table.
“Hello, Blaise. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” Ginny’s gaze moved to the blond man, and her eyes widened just a hint in surprise. “Draco, it’s nice to see you.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Likewise.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Blaise stood and pulled out a chair for her, planting a light kiss on her cheek as he did so. “You sounded marvelous tonight, Ginny. Am I mistaken, or have you added a new song to your repertoire?”
Ginny nodded the affirmative as she sat, casually brushing her thick red curls back over her shoulder. “Yes, the opener is new. I decided that Lullaby of Birdland was a bit more up-tempo than I wanted to begin with.”
“Do you often do English jazz songs as opposed to French ones?” Draco’s question was voiced out of genuine curiosity; it was unusual to hear non-native songs in this establishment, translated or not.
“Almost always, yes. I’d rather translate my favorites into French than learn a new song that I have no history with.”
“What is that new one?” Blaise signaled a waiter as he spoke, ordering a refreshment for Ginny as if it wasn’t uncommon for her to be sharing drinks with him. “It sounds familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“It’s Sarah Vaughn’s cover of Misty.” Draco spoke before Ginny could, and her surprised stare had him questioning his answer. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
Ginny took a sip of her water before answering. “Yes, though I didn’t expect you to know it. You don’t strike me as the jazz type.”
“Really?” Draco quirked an eyebrow at the redhead. “And what type do I strike you as?”
Ginny tilted her head to the side, biting her lip without even attempting to hide her smile; her gaze darted to Blaise before she spoke. “I can see you sitting in your study with ten other obscenely wealthy men discussing the various subtleties of Tchaikovsky or Clementi.”
“Drinking aged wine-” Blaise’s interjection came quickly and was followed by another addition by Ginny.
“Patting your straining waistcoats-”
“Watching the old record turn on the ancient muggle phonograph-”
“While blowing smoke rings from your expensive tobacco pipe!”
“Oh, no no no, Ginny. The pipe visual should be reserved for when he’s old, gray, and telling stories that include the phrase ‘When I was young’. I should say this particular instance calls for a genuine Cuban stogie.”
“Oh, very well, Blaise.” Ginny feigned exasperation, but her smile bespoke of her amusement. “Patting your straining waistcoats-”
“Watching the old record turn on the ancient muggle phonograph-”
“Smoking a genuine Cuban stogie-”
“Pretending to care about the loss of a meaninglessly small account-”
“Feet propped up on a footstool that costs more than I make in a year-”
“While the sun sets in the west!”
“Hear, hear!”
Blaise raised his glass and Ginny clinked hers with his, giggling all the way at the look on Draco’s face. When their toast was completed and they’d both drained their glasses, the blond man spoke.
“Are you two quite through?”
Blaise glanced at Ginny. “What do you think, Ginny? For the moment, yes?”
“I suppose so. What’s the matter, Ferret?” Ginny leaned across the table, giving Draco an excellent view of the feminine assets otherwise hidden by the neckline of her dress. “You can’t good-naturedly take some teasing at your expense?”
Draco leaned back in his chair, a half-smirk crawling onto his face as he enjoyed the view she offered. “On the contrary, Weaselette, I find no inherent problem with teasing itself. It’s frighteningly dimwitted teasing that I find hard to pallet.”
“And on that note, Miss Weasley-” Blaise stood suddenly, shedding his cloak and holding a hand out to Ginny. “I’ll ask you to dance in order to keep you from throwing yourself across the table at Draco. Shall we?”
Ginny laughed, pushing back her chair as she laid her hand lightly in Blaise’s. “Yes, let’s.”
Draco watched them as they made their way to the dance floor, chatting companionably as they went. The band had just begun a rousing version of It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing), and Blaise threw a challenging look at Ginny before letting go of her hand and stepping onto the floor. Ginny, never one to pass up such a blatant dare, squared her shoulders and moved to meet him. The moment their hands met, the mood changed. The casual dance atmosphere of the room evaporated; all eyes were on Ginny and Blaise.
Now, Draco had seen his friend dance before; he knew that Blaise was a phenomenal dancer, and so was more than a little surprised when Ginny wasn’t immediately trounced. He watched as the pair circled each other, stepping in time to the music, somehow making simple walking something impossible to tear yourself away from. Without warning, they broke out of the circle perfectly together and the dance began.
Draco was immediately struck by the partnership of it all. Though they were currently dancing separately, somehow they were always aware of what the other was doing, always complementing each other in some way. They shimmied, they jitterbugged, they partnered for a toss that had the room gasping, and they captivated. The small crowd began to cheer, and soon the song was wrapping up. Ginny ended in Blaise’s arms, hanging half upside-down and shaking from exertion. A thin sheen of sweat coated both of their faces, but their smiles said they didn’t care.
Ginny and Blaise returned to the table still breathless, with Ginny adjusting the strapless neckline of her aquamarine dress while Blaise unbuttoned the collar of his Oxford. Draco motioned to the frosted pitcher of water the waiter had recently delivered, allowing them to get themselves refreshments before commenting.
“That was very impressive. You two partner each other well.”
“We’ve become something of a staple.” Ginny sat back in her chair, favoring catching her breath over downing a glass of water. “Blaise originally taught me just the simplest moves, but they all seemed impressed. Now, every time he comes they bring out the jazz band to force us to show off. Bit embarrassing, really.”
“You taught her.” Draco’s gaze locked with Blaise’s, his eyes conveying an question that wasn’t present in his tone. “Interesting.”
“She can also cha cha, conga, and waltz.” Blaise put a slight emphasis on the last word, holding his friend’s gaze and shrugging off the unspoken question.
“Impressive.” Draco conjured a single peach rose out of thin air and extended it to Ginny. “Would you do me the honor, Miss Weasley? I believe the Moon River we’re hearing now would prove an excellent waltz song.”
Ginny looked between him and the rose for a moment before accepting it. Carefully avoiding the thorns, she broke the stem off and tucked the bloom into her hair, marveling at the softness of the dainty peach petals. She offered Draco a smile as she took his hand. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy.”
The hidden compartment behind Draco’s desk seemed to beckon to her, and Ginny moved toward it without hesitation, pulling out the book that lay inside and sinking into the office chair. She flipped slowly through the pages she’d already looked at, smiling at the memories they represented. When she got to a new page, Ginny paused, blinking in surprise at what she found—a French visa application and a single rose petal, peach in color.
Ginny quickened her pace as she walked through the halls of the French Ministry, nodding politely and smiling amicably when she passed wizards who did the same. This was the law enforcement floor, and it held a surprising number of very polite people, not to mention incredibly built ones. Through the doors to her left, she could hear combat training going on, both magical and muggle, and sometimes a frightening combination of both. A quick thud marked the sound of someone hitting the floor, then a whiny feminine voice yelling in anger at her attacker. Ginny rolled her eyes as she walked swiftly past; having encountered a young Lord Voldemort when she was only 11 years old and lived to tell the tale, she had no sympathy for over-sensitive rookies who complained the first time they got a bruised arse.
“Bonjour, Ginny. It eez nice to see you.”
Ginny glanced up from the paper she’d been skimming as she walked, prepared to offer back a standard, non-committal greeting, only to realize she knew the person addressing her. “Bonjour, Gabrielle. Why are we speaking English?”
“It ees a bit more private, no? Not as many people on this floor speak English.” Gabrielle surreptitiously looked over her shoulder under the guise of tossing her shimmering blonde hair back, looking oh-so-much like Fleur. “You look much different zhan ze last time I saw you.”
Ginny hesitated for a moment in answer but decided her companion’s comment was meant as a compliment. “And you look exactly the same. Do you work here?”
“In a way. I am a model for ze government safety posters. I look fierce and tell ze children not to run with wands.” Gabrielle laughed an adorable little giggle, planting a hand on her hip in a too-casual-to-look-posed-even-though-it-is way. “Do you work here?”
“Actually, I-”
“Ginny, there you are.” Blaise’s smooth voice floated up the corridor, followed by its owner. Ginny smiled and made a show of looking him up and down appreciatively. Blaise, dressed impeccably as ever, noticed and winked subtly. “I was wondering what was keeping you.”
“I’m sorry, Blaise, I got caught up with an old acquaintance.” Ginny watched Gabrielle look Blaise up and down in the same way she just had. “You remember Fleur Delacour from the Triwizard Tournament? This is her sister, Gabrielle, whom I’d have to say is infinitely more likeable. Gabrielle, this is Blaise Zabini; he was at Hogwarts with me, but a year ahead.”
“It eez a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Zabini.” Gabrielle offered her hand, and Blaise took it.
“The pleasure is entirely my own.” Blaise smiled easily, a charming smile that didn’t seem like it could belong to a former Slytherin, then gestured to Ginny. “I’m sorry to rush off, but I’m afraid I have an engagement that rather requires my attention at the moment and Miss Weasley’s as well. If you’ll excuse us, Mademoiselle Delacour, I believe we should be attending to it.”
“Bien sūr.” Gabrielle glanced down at the top paper in the stack she held, then at the clock on the wall. “I should be going, anyway. Eet was nice meeting you, Monsieur Zabini.”
“Please, make it Blaise.”
“Blaise, then.” Gabrielle smiled slightly, a quick upturn of the lips as she walked away, working her model walk in full runway mode.
Ginny and Blaise watched Gabrielle walk away in silence for a moment—rather Ginny watched Blaise watch Gabrielle walk away—then they turned as one to get to the privacy of his office. The occasional head turned to watch the odd couple as they walked, a pair of eyes here and there, but they mostly seemed to be ignored. The older secretaries were very practiced at watching without appearing to; it was how all the office rumors got started.
They reached Blaise’s office without incident. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping back to allow Ginny in first. When he’d entered and closed the door behind him, his first words stated the obvious. “People are starting to talk.”
Ginny nodded. “I’m not surprised; I’d be suspicious if an unknown English woman met weekly with one of the few English men working here and they secluded themselves in his office for rather substantial amounts of time. I’m glad it’s working, but I don’t want you to get into trouble with your superiors for meeting with your girlfriend at work. Are you sure you shouldn’t tell them the truth?”
“I’m not going to compromise your position just to get them off my back with their assumptions.” Blaise leaned against his desk and crossed his arms on his chest. “If you’re really worried about it, we could meet somewhere else, somewhere non-work-related. Your nightclub, maybe?”
Ginny shook her head, sinking into one of the overstuffed armchairs that spotted his spacious office. “In my club you can quite guarantee there’s someone listening in; that’s kind of the point of my being there. I think we should continue on here; it gives us both solid alibis.”
“Whatever you want to do.” Blaise pushed himself off the desk and moved behind it to sit down. “Alright, what do you have for me?”
It was only about half an hour later when the door to Blaise’s office opened again, and Ginny and Blaise stepped out. They chatted in a would-be casual way, her hand sneaking up to brush his hair back here, his hand resting briefly on the small of her back there. They appeared to be entirely ignorant of their surroundings, oblivious to the whispers that their intimate gestures were sending around the secretarial pool like lightning. Appearances, however, can be deceiving. Both were survivors of the final battle, and as such were keenly aware of everything going on around them.
“Draco Malfoy,” Blaise said as he pointed to a line on a random piece of paper and pretended to explain it to her. “Coming up behind you.”
Ginny accepted the paper and stepped away from Blaise. “Thank you for your time, Monsieur Zabini. I’ll see that this is delivered right away.”
“Thank you for taking it for me.” Blaise looked over Ginny’s shoulder, pretending to see his friend for the first time. “Hello, Draco.”
“Blaise.” Draco nodded to his friend and caught Ginny’s eyes as she turned around. “Weaslette.”
Ginny grinned in spite of herself, shaking her head at the ever-present Hogwarts nicknames; some things time couldn’t change. “Hello, Ferret. It’s been, what, two weeks since I saw you last?”
“About that, yes.” Draco’s eyes flickered to Blaise’s mussed hair and then over Ginny’s flushed cheeks. “What brings you to the Ministry this afternoon?”
“Nothing terribly exciting. I needed to renew my residence visa, and I stopped up here on a whispered rumor that the auror department had an opening. Apparently, said rumor is incredibly false.”
“I’m afraid we’re a bit over-stocked right now, much to my disappointment. I believe it’d be nice to have you around.” Blaise’s voice was professional but his smile bordered on overly-friendly. “But, as I told you before, Miss Weasley, you probably wouldn’t find it terribly exciting working here after your excursions during the war.”
“I suppose not.” Ginny glanced at her watch, starting convincingly. “Excuse me, won’t you? Thanks again for your time, Mr. Zabini. It was nice seeing you again, Draco.”
The men both offered the fitting social niceties, watching the redhead hurry away before speaking again.
“So… the Weaslette wanted a job?” Draco’s voice was would-be casual, as was Blaise’s when he replied.
“Apparently, but we’re already over-staffed. I took her resume, though, and offered to let her know if there was a position open in the near future. She’s a damn good fighter.” Blaise pushed open the door of his office again, waving Draco in after him. “My superiors are going to think I never do any work in here. What’ll you have today?”
“Butterbeer’s fine.” Draco dropped into one of Blaise’s chairs, tapping a thoughtful finger on his friend’s desk. “The two of you are starting quite a few rumors, as I’m sure you know.”
Blaise coughed awkwardly as he handed Draco a butterbeer. “I certainly know that, but I’m curious as to how you do. Last time I checked, your company wasn’t exactly on anything more than tolerable terms with the Ministry.”
“Witches talk,” Draco dismissed, waving a hand aimlessly. “You might be slightly away from it here in your ivory tower, but the secretarial gossip is as bad as ever. I swear the business floo network is used more for rumor-mongering than it is for actual business.”
Blaise shrugged non-committally, waiting for the topic he knew would quickly resurface.
“As the closest thing you have to a friend, I’d feel more than a little insulted if I wasn’t the first to know if something was going on between you and the Weaselette.”
This was the kind of moment Blaise hated. His job as the head of the Auror Department in the French Ministry often put him in a difficult position; in order to do the job effectively, you sometimes had to lie about the important things to the most important people.
“Nothing is going on with us currently, though I think I’m wearing her down.” Blaise looked at Draco thoughtfully over the top of his beer bottle. “Why, are you interested in her?”
Draco looked right back, his gaze steady. “What would give you that idea?”
Blaise shrugged, taking a gulp of butterbeer before answering. “Rumor has it.”
“What do you think, Draco?”
The blond man glanced up at Blaise and saw that he was expecting a response. Draco’s mind worked quickly to formulate a neutral comment that could cover an expansive range of topics, as he had absolutely no idea what his friend had just asked his opinion on. “It sounds interesting enough, I suppose. Run the general outline by me again.”
Blaise’s ever-present grin widened and he drained his martini with a flourish. “You weren’t paying attention.”
Draco didn’t bother trying to deny the accusation; the two of them saw right through each other more often than not. “My apologies, Blaise. I find I’m a bit distracted this evening.”
“Your thoughts are somewhere else,” Blaise agreed, watching the other man for a reaction. “Or with someone else?”
Draco’s vodka paused momentarily, then continued its journey to his mouth. “And just whom might my thoughts be with, Blaise?”
“Oh, I don’t know…a certain lovely redhead, perhaps?”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”
Blaise switched out his empty martini glass for the half-empty butterbeer he’d abandoned earlier, turning slightly more serious. “Far be it for me to make assumptions, Draco, particularly concerning your romantic interests. However, based on your reaction to her earlier this afternoon, I’d have to say that I think the young Weaselette has rather caught your eye.”
The fact that Draco didn’t vehemently deny this suggestion immediately proved Blaise’s theory correct, but he remained silent, waiting to see how the other man would play the field. Draco’s gaze intensified very slightly before he spoke. “And what would your opinion of such an… interest be?”
Blaise was silent for a moment, weighing his next words very carefully. “I can see where such an interest could be… difficult to accept, keeping our former views in mind. However, I’ve come to think rather highly of Miss Weasley in the brief acquaintance we’ve had since school; I could easily be convinced to approve of any hypothetical interest one might have in her.”
Draco sat back in his chair, considering, weighing the options. He seemed deep in thought, and the resolution in his expression never quite achieved completion. “Bear in mind, Blaise, that I’ve in no way made up my mind on the issue.”
Draco paused, and Blaise felt it was necessary to push a little. “I feel a ‘but’ coming.”
“However, taking your view on the matter into account, I’m leaning toward taking action.”
“Excellent!” Blaise clapped his hands once and stood, reaching for his cloak. “Let’s go toast your indecisiveness!”
Draco managed to hold his comment in until they were being seated in the VIP lounge of Et Tout Cela Jazz. “You brought me to where she works? Very subtle, Blaise.”
Blaise shrugged out of his cloak as he sat down, not looking even mildly abashed. “I knew you’d never come here if left to your own devices. You said yourself you were interested; now you get to see her in action.”
“That’s all well and good, Blaise, but I usually prefer not to follow a lady around like a lovesick schoolboy, particularly when I haven’t decided if I’m going to pursue her or not.” Draco’s annoyance was mingled with curiosity, and so was marginally less than it would’ve usually been in a similar situation.
“Watching her perform will help you decide.” Blaise’s grin was very nearly stretching off his face as he ordered a martini and settled in to watch the fireworks. He knew that Draco had always had a healthy appreciation for people with a respectable talent, and a certain redheaded lady certainly fit that description. “Trust me”
“You see, the frightening thing is—-I do.”
Blaise nodded toward the stage. “Here comes your lady now.”
Draco’s gaze went immediately to the stage, and he tilted his head slightly at what he saw, considering. Ginny was making her way out from between the black curtains, the soft spotlight moving with her. She wore an old-fashioned empire-waisted dress—peach in color—that brushed the floor. The fabric swayed with her as she walked, and the gold threading in the dress highlighted the subtle streaks of gold in her red curls. Her long hair positively glowed in the spot, creating the illusion of a halo of light surrounding her lightly freckled face.
She walked confidently, gracefully, to the front of the stage, her entire mannerism speaking complete comfort with her situation. At Ginny’s nod, the pianist played a single note, and the singer began her song a capella.
What immediately struck Draco was the sweet clarity of her voice. She obviously had little to no training, which made the forgiving style of jazz perfect for her. But that voice… it was soft, yet supported; sweet, yet strong; and oh, so crystal clear. She glided effortlessly over the notes, her voice thriving on the curious melody line. The strong chorded style of the piano behind her only intensified the fact that Ginevra Weasley was a beautiful singer.
It wasn’t even her voice that was currently captivating her audience the most, though; it was her presence. The way her curvy silhouette swayed with the music, the way her vibrant hair and deep brown eyes caught the light… it was intoxicating. Her face clearly expressed the helplessness of a woman in love, the anguish of a love unrequited, and the disappointment of walking through her wonderland alone. The way she was one with the music, pulling her listeners in with her, making them feel what she did… it was nothing short of incredible.
The song ended in a predictably jazz way, with one long note fading slowly into nothingness. The applause in the room was dazed as the club’s patrons awoke from their haze and realized it had just been a song, not a reality that they were living. There was no cat-calling or throwing of flowers—-this was the VIP lounge of the prestigious Et Tout Cela Jazz, after all; no such frivolity would be socially acceptable. But the small gathering of people made their appreciation known through their applause, through their approving murmurs, and through the occasional reserved cry for more.
Ginny smiled slightly at the small group of people, amiably accepting their applause with a nod or two, before standing silently to wait for them to quiet down. When order had been restored to the room, a second song began, this one much more up-tempo and including a wider range of instruments. And yet again, when Ginny’s voice joined the accompaniment, all the audience could do was smile and let themselves be entranced.
Ginny’s set continued for just short of an hour, at which time an instrumental jazz ensemble came out to replace her. It was only a few minutes until she reappeared, this time in the audience instead of on the stage. She stood in the back for a moment, allowing everyone a good view of her new knee-length dress as she surveyed the crowd. She waited until Blaise turned and smiled at her before feeling confident enough to move toward their table.
“Hello, Blaise. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.” Ginny’s gaze moved to the blond man, and her eyes widened just a hint in surprise. “Draco, it’s nice to see you.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Likewise.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Blaise stood and pulled out a chair for her, planting a light kiss on her cheek as he did so. “You sounded marvelous tonight, Ginny. Am I mistaken, or have you added a new song to your repertoire?”
Ginny nodded the affirmative as she sat, casually brushing her thick red curls back over her shoulder. “Yes, the opener is new. I decided that Lullaby of Birdland was a bit more up-tempo than I wanted to begin with.”
“Do you often do English jazz songs as opposed to French ones?” Draco’s question was voiced out of genuine curiosity; it was unusual to hear non-native songs in this establishment, translated or not.
“Almost always, yes. I’d rather translate my favorites into French than learn a new song that I have no history with.”
“What is that new one?” Blaise signaled a waiter as he spoke, ordering a refreshment for Ginny as if it wasn’t uncommon for her to be sharing drinks with him. “It sounds familiar, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“It’s Sarah Vaughn’s cover of Misty.” Draco spoke before Ginny could, and her surprised stare had him questioning his answer. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
Ginny took a sip of her water before answering. “Yes, though I didn’t expect you to know it. You don’t strike me as the jazz type.”
“Really?” Draco quirked an eyebrow at the redhead. “And what type do I strike you as?”
Ginny tilted her head to the side, biting her lip without even attempting to hide her smile; her gaze darted to Blaise before she spoke. “I can see you sitting in your study with ten other obscenely wealthy men discussing the various subtleties of Tchaikovsky or Clementi.”
“Drinking aged wine-” Blaise’s interjection came quickly and was followed by another addition by Ginny.
“Patting your straining waistcoats-”
“Watching the old record turn on the ancient muggle phonograph-”
“While blowing smoke rings from your expensive tobacco pipe!”
“Oh, no no no, Ginny. The pipe visual should be reserved for when he’s old, gray, and telling stories that include the phrase ‘When I was young’. I should say this particular instance calls for a genuine Cuban stogie.”
“Oh, very well, Blaise.” Ginny feigned exasperation, but her smile bespoke of her amusement. “Patting your straining waistcoats-”
“Watching the old record turn on the ancient muggle phonograph-”
“Smoking a genuine Cuban stogie-”
“Pretending to care about the loss of a meaninglessly small account-”
“Feet propped up on a footstool that costs more than I make in a year-”
“While the sun sets in the west!”
“Hear, hear!”
Blaise raised his glass and Ginny clinked hers with his, giggling all the way at the look on Draco’s face. When their toast was completed and they’d both drained their glasses, the blond man spoke.
“Are you two quite through?”
Blaise glanced at Ginny. “What do you think, Ginny? For the moment, yes?”
“I suppose so. What’s the matter, Ferret?” Ginny leaned across the table, giving Draco an excellent view of the feminine assets otherwise hidden by the neckline of her dress. “You can’t good-naturedly take some teasing at your expense?”
Draco leaned back in his chair, a half-smirk crawling onto his face as he enjoyed the view she offered. “On the contrary, Weaselette, I find no inherent problem with teasing itself. It’s frighteningly dimwitted teasing that I find hard to pallet.”
“And on that note, Miss Weasley-” Blaise stood suddenly, shedding his cloak and holding a hand out to Ginny. “I’ll ask you to dance in order to keep you from throwing yourself across the table at Draco. Shall we?”
Ginny laughed, pushing back her chair as she laid her hand lightly in Blaise’s. “Yes, let’s.”
Draco watched them as they made their way to the dance floor, chatting companionably as they went. The band had just begun a rousing version of It Don’t Mean a Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing), and Blaise threw a challenging look at Ginny before letting go of her hand and stepping onto the floor. Ginny, never one to pass up such a blatant dare, squared her shoulders and moved to meet him. The moment their hands met, the mood changed. The casual dance atmosphere of the room evaporated; all eyes were on Ginny and Blaise.
Now, Draco had seen his friend dance before; he knew that Blaise was a phenomenal dancer, and so was more than a little surprised when Ginny wasn’t immediately trounced. He watched as the pair circled each other, stepping in time to the music, somehow making simple walking something impossible to tear yourself away from. Without warning, they broke out of the circle perfectly together and the dance began.
Draco was immediately struck by the partnership of it all. Though they were currently dancing separately, somehow they were always aware of what the other was doing, always complementing each other in some way. They shimmied, they jitterbugged, they partnered for a toss that had the room gasping, and they captivated. The small crowd began to cheer, and soon the song was wrapping up. Ginny ended in Blaise’s arms, hanging half upside-down and shaking from exertion. A thin sheen of sweat coated both of their faces, but their smiles said they didn’t care.
Ginny and Blaise returned to the table still breathless, with Ginny adjusting the strapless neckline of her aquamarine dress while Blaise unbuttoned the collar of his Oxford. Draco motioned to the frosted pitcher of water the waiter had recently delivered, allowing them to get themselves refreshments before commenting.
“That was very impressive. You two partner each other well.”
“We’ve become something of a staple.” Ginny sat back in her chair, favoring catching her breath over downing a glass of water. “Blaise originally taught me just the simplest moves, but they all seemed impressed. Now, every time he comes they bring out the jazz band to force us to show off. Bit embarrassing, really.”
“You taught her.” Draco’s gaze locked with Blaise’s, his eyes conveying an question that wasn’t present in his tone. “Interesting.”
“She can also cha cha, conga, and waltz.” Blaise put a slight emphasis on the last word, holding his friend’s gaze and shrugging off the unspoken question.
“Impressive.” Draco conjured a single peach rose out of thin air and extended it to Ginny. “Would you do me the honor, Miss Weasley? I believe the Moon River we’re hearing now would prove an excellent waltz song.”
Ginny looked between him and the rose for a moment before accepting it. Carefully avoiding the thorns, she broke the stem off and tucked the bloom into her hair, marveling at the softness of the dainty peach petals. She offered Draco a smile as she took his hand. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy.”
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