As the weeks passed, she found her patience being drawn to its absolute limit. She would have quit if she felt that it would have been at all in her best interest. Unfortunately, it wasn't, and for the hundredth time since she'd started working on the Malfoy project, she once again found herself questioning her career choice, or lack thereof. If only she'd planned her future, like her friends had, she could have possibly found a path that was more agreeable to her, but she remained reluctant to outright say that her choice to work in the catering industry had been a mistake. She was, after all, not entirely unhappy for most projects, and it did suit her personality well, except, perhaps, when it came to dealing with Narcissa Malfoy.
“I've decided that I don't want quail for the main course,” Narcissa informed her only three weeks before the ball.
Ginny fought down the urge to strangle the woman. She'd changed almost every single detail at least three times. Almost always, the changes involved Ginny being required to obtain an article that was more exotic, or difficult to locate.
“I understand, Mrs. Malfoy. May I ask why? You seemed quite pleased with Chef Martin's creation last week.”
“I've decided that I probably won't be in the mood for something so common. I believe I would like to go with a more unique fare.”
Ginny nodded, carefully repressing a sigh. “Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. Should I ask Chef Martin to return with other selections for you to sample?”
The older woman gave a short sniff, indicating disdain. “No, I've decided that I don't like Chef Martin. He's far too thin. Chefs should not be thin; it makes one think that they dislike their own creations.”
Egad, she really was going to strangle the woman. If Ginny didn't smooth this over, she'd likely never get the somewhat elite chef to ever work for her agency again, and goodness knew if she was going to be able to find someone else on such short notice.
“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy, but may I remind you, that you did enjoy all the items Chef Martin brought for you during his last visit.”
Mrs. Malfoy said nothing, apparently no longer interested in the subject, turning her attention to a list of music selections for the event.
Ginny knew better than to prod the woman. If she was lucky, Mrs. Malfoy would once again change her mind before Ginny actually had to begin the work of finding a new chef. If she had learned anything over the last few weeks, it was that jumping to cater to the woman's whim was far from effective. If she waited a short time, sometimes even a day or so, she'd find that Mrs. Malfoy would settle onto a more reasonable position. The aristocratic woman's rants usually were a way of her thinking aloud and Ginny had suffered through far too many occurrences.
Ginny had, fortunately, been warned about this during her first week or so on the job by Draco. After their first meeting, where he'd initially derived a great deal of amusement over her stressful encounters with his mother, Draco Malfoy had managed to become almost useful. Oddly enough, he'd become her one anchor of sanity during the entire month that she'd been working with her client. He'd warned Ginny about Narcissa's changes in moods, what details she truly felt to be important, and what she would most likely waver on and change during the last weeks. He'd also suggested how Ginny should react verbally when Narcissa seemed to be particularly difficult.
- ~ -
“Why is she so fickle about all this?” she finally asked Draco during their latest session, with no small amount of frustration showing on her face.
He grinned broadly. “Ah, she's growing on you. I can tell.”
“Don't start that again, Malfoy. I'm prematurely aging due to this little shindig. It would just be nice to know why.”
“Ours is not to know why, my dear little Weasel.”
“And, would you please stop calling me that!”
“It's a pet name, Weasley, and while a weasel is not exactly on the common pet list, it still fits.”
“You realize that I really, truly hate you at this moment,” she said unconvincingly.
It was normal for them to spar like this throughout their meetings. He seemed to enjoy finding new and creative ways to irritate her, and the shorter her temper, the more he seemed to enjoy himself.
“Somehow, I doubt that. You find me far too interesting,” he stated, as he leaned forward propping his chin on his hand and smiling charmingly at her. It was his usual tactic, to provoke her mercilessly, then back off and look all charming and sweet. His arrogance knew no limitations, apparently. She was stuck with him and had to tolerate it because he was a paying customer. A very important paying customer. Yet, she had to agree, the man had charisma. Too bad he had the ego to go along with it.
Sometimes, she swore, he only came here to irritate her, and despite the fact that he actually did give some useful information, he really loved getting on her nerves.
There were moments, however, that she almost enjoyed being with him. They were rare, but every so often he seemed to let his guard down just enough to allow her to see what was behind his facade. She realized that her last question had apparently provoked one of those times.
He leaned back and gave a sigh. Yes, she thought, it was definitely one of those moments. She leaned forward with interest.
“It's not the ball itself that has her knickers in a twist,” he told her, sounding almost as defeated as Ginny felt. “It's what it means to her.” Ginny watched as his face took on an almost wistful expression. “She desperately wants to make a good impression to improve the family standing, and rather than focus on the social implications, she's directing her energy on what she can control which, unfortunately, includes everything you do.”
Ginny nodded, processing his words in an attempt to understand the difficult woman's motivation.
Unfortunately, as quickly as it came, the soft expression on Draco's face had gone, and Ginny decided to move back to business to avoid any uncomfortable moments.
“Do you have any more information on the final guest list?” she asked, knowing that this was the area that Draco was referring to with his last statement. One of the most challenging parts of this project was the guest list. To say Lucius and Narcissa had fallen into disfavor within the Ministry and higher social circles was an understatement at best. Most persons with any aspirations for advancement within the Ministry openly avoided contact with Lucius due to his past history. It made it difficult to convince those same people to attend a ball in the Malfoys' honor.
Draco had indeed been spending his time trying to rebuild the Malfoy name, as he'd told her. Ginny was no fool - she'd checked into it. But the good reputation that Draco was beginning to establish was still new and extremely fragile. He was only turning twenty-four years old and, while his name was slowly becoming more reputable, it was only in small social circles and limited to the business community, hence the difficulty with his action item for the ball, which was the guest list.
“I've already convinced most of my parents' old acquaintances - no surprises there. It's mostly anyone with ties to the Ministry that are hedging. I've been able to get a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt next week. I might be able to get him to attend, in the interest of building better relations within the community, putting the past behind us and such. If he agrees, then the others will probably fall in line.”
Ginny hesitated, wondering if he was going to ask for her help. She was relieved when he didn't. The fact that he was leaving her out of it raised her respect for him a bit, since he easily could try to use her reputation or her family's personal friendship with the Minister, if needed.
“I think the argument of promoting unity is a good one,” she said after pondering his words. “It's a non-political function, I don't see why he won't agree. I would definitely focus on that. If your parents are really as changed as you say, then it would be the best for all of us to mend this rift.”
She truly hoped that what he was saying was the truth. Yet, he seemed so unguarded when he spoke of it, that she couldn't help but think that he was either being truthful or he was one of the best actors she'd ever met. She sincerely hoped it was the former.
- ~ -
As the month of May progressed, Ginny fought to find enough time to fly the patterns that Oliver had assigned, each one more difficult and complex than the last. She found herself rising early for a short flight before breakfast, skipping lunch to get some time between her meetings, and going to bed each night exhausted, both mentally and physically. In ways, she felt more alive than ever. Her life right now was, at the very least, interesting.
With only two weeks remaining before the ball and the trials the following week, Oliver had been dropping by to view her progress almost daily. After a particularly harrowing session, Ginny was seriously reconsidering her decision to even attempt going to the trials. Few witches ever made it into professional Quidditch and, as Oliver had pointed out, the ones who did were typically a much bigger build than Ginny's five foot two inch stature could ever manage.
She landed, tired and winded, her hands sore from gripping the broom handle, snitch firmly in her hand.
“Not bad Ginny, not bad at all.” He smiled. “I think you're ready.”
“You've got to be joking.”
“I wouldn't joke with you about this. You have a real chance to make it. All we need is to set up your disguise.”
“I don't think I need it, Oliver. It doesn't seem right. If I can't make it onto this team as myself, I don't want to do it.”
“You won't make it as yourself. Coach Raymond was a hardcore Slytherin while he was in Hogwarts, even though it was decades ago, and he still holds some sort of school grudge. If I hadn't already been on the team when he came on board last season, there was no way I'd be there now. He's as bad as Snape used to be to anyone who's a known Gryffindor. Besides Ginny, they won't even consider you if they know your real age. They want eighteen-year-olds.”
“It just seems so... dishonest.”
“It will just be for a few weeks. Don't worry, I've got it all worked out.”
So, she agreed, with a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as he, Fred and George worked on finding a variety of spells and charms to alter her appearance enough to fool her own mother, but not impact her flying ability.
They settled on changing her hair to a light brown, shortening the length, so that she could fly without having to pull it back. Her eyes were changed to a dark brown, making them look larger. But the final, most embarrassing alteration was when George cast a spell to deflate her chest size a bit.
“George!”
“C'mon Ginny, we've got to change you're body type a little bit and this won't affect the way you fly.”
“I thought you only knew spells to enhance that particular part of the anatomy,” she grumbled at him.
“Well, it always helps to have a counter spell, for when the lady in question is ready to hex your remaining ear off,” he explained. No doubt, she thought, silently sympathizing with whatever witch had been subjected to his ministrations. It was a good thing she loved her brother so much.
“You tried that on Camille, didn't you,” she stated. Her friend had been dating George over the last few months, and she knew Camille's personality well enough to know that the girl was more than capable of containing George's enthusiasm with force, if necessary.
He smiled sheepishly, confirming Ginny's speculation.
After they finished, she looked in the mirror and saw a girl that reminded her of a field mouse. Oliver had even gotten her a new name: Francine Miller, an American. The identity wouldn't be so easily traced as a fake if it was from another country, he'd told her. Great. So, on top of it, she had to fake an American accent. Apparently there were several varieties, and she had to pick one. It wasn't easy, and she kept slipping into her normal speech pattern if she didn't concentrate. Worse, even if she did concentrate on it, the accent sounded horrible.
Fred eventually found a spell to help her, but the ugly twang of the accent was terribly annoying and still sounded fake to Ginny's ears. She decided that Francine was going to be a very quiet girl. The less anyone heard that accent, the better.
And so, Ginny's alter ego was born. Oliver immediately went to get Francine's name on the list for trials.
- ~ -
Ginny charged into the office on Tuesday morning, late. Everything seemed to have gone wrong that day. Aside from oversleeping, because she was so exhausted from working long hours and practicing, she had found out only that morning that trials for the Falcons were that same afternoon. To keep Francine's anonymity, her alter ego's owls were currently being delivered to Fred and George's shop in Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, redirecting her mail had caused a delay in receiving the messages.
To make matters worse, the time scheduled for the trials directly conflicted with a meeting scheduled for the Malfoy project.
She raced to her desk, tossing her purse on the chair and rummaging in her file cabinet. “Camille, I need you're help!” she shouted in the direction of her friend's desk.
“Oh no, what does the old bat want today?” Camille responded, walking over to Ginny with trepidation.
Ginny paused to catch her breath, before pulling out the necessary files and turning back to her friend. “Nothing out of the ordinary, for her, and please don't call the client a bat. If Ms. Tinkerton caught you, you'd be sacked on the spot.”
“Sorry. You know what I mean," she replied, her smile indicating that she wasn't exactly apologetic. "I haven't had a day off since this project started and, quite frankly, if I have to Floo Brazil again for some exotic concoction she decides she wants, I'm going to go positively insane.”
“Anyway, it's not Mrs. Malfoy. I need to be someplace this afternoon, and I have a meeting with Mr. Malfoy. I need you to cover it.”
“Another meeting with him, Ginny? Good heavens, you'd think you were dating the man.”
Ginny cringed at the implication. “Don't make me ill, Camille. I'm looking forward to this thing being over next week and, hopefully, I'll never have to see him again.”
“Well, at least when he comes here, he always seems to be in a good mood.”
“Ha!” Ginny barked out a sarcastic laugh. “His favorite activity at every meeting is to make fun of me and laugh at how his mother is driving me bonkers. Of course he's in a good mood because it's at my expense. I'm sure it's the highlight of his week.”
“Oh, Ginny, he's not that bad.”
Ginny gave a sigh, apparently Camille was also part of the Draco Malfoy Fan Club, along with the rest of the staff. They all seemed to think that he was handsome and charming, for some reason. Ginny sincerely believed that she was the only woman in the office who was immune to his charm.
“Well, you get to meet with him today. I've got something important to do, and I'm not letting him interfere with it.”
“Dare I ask what?” she asked.
“I really can't say. It's personal, and it's very, very important to me,” Ginny replied.
“Tell me it doesn't have to do with a man,” her friend prodded.
Well, technically, this had to do with Oliver Wood talking her into it, but that was hardly relevant. Ginny felt it was best to give a small amount of misdirection.
“Not exactly,” was all she could say. “Just take the file. I have all the latest adjustments to the menu ready. Remind him of the pricing changes, though he'll say he doesn't care, and try to find out if his mother is planning on changing the party favors again, because it's getting a little late to reorder some of the arrangements from overseas, due to customs.”
That afternoon Camille entered the conference room and for the first time since the project began two months ago, she saw Draco's normally cheerful demeanor turn sour. The meeting was short, formal, and rather uninteresting. No wonder Ginny hated the meetings, she thought.
“I've decided that I don't want quail for the main course,” Narcissa informed her only three weeks before the ball.
Ginny fought down the urge to strangle the woman. She'd changed almost every single detail at least three times. Almost always, the changes involved Ginny being required to obtain an article that was more exotic, or difficult to locate.
“I understand, Mrs. Malfoy. May I ask why? You seemed quite pleased with Chef Martin's creation last week.”
“I've decided that I probably won't be in the mood for something so common. I believe I would like to go with a more unique fare.”
Ginny nodded, carefully repressing a sigh. “Of course, Mrs. Malfoy. Should I ask Chef Martin to return with other selections for you to sample?”
The older woman gave a short sniff, indicating disdain. “No, I've decided that I don't like Chef Martin. He's far too thin. Chefs should not be thin; it makes one think that they dislike their own creations.”
Egad, she really was going to strangle the woman. If Ginny didn't smooth this over, she'd likely never get the somewhat elite chef to ever work for her agency again, and goodness knew if she was going to be able to find someone else on such short notice.
“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy, but may I remind you, that you did enjoy all the items Chef Martin brought for you during his last visit.”
Mrs. Malfoy said nothing, apparently no longer interested in the subject, turning her attention to a list of music selections for the event.
Ginny knew better than to prod the woman. If she was lucky, Mrs. Malfoy would once again change her mind before Ginny actually had to begin the work of finding a new chef. If she had learned anything over the last few weeks, it was that jumping to cater to the woman's whim was far from effective. If she waited a short time, sometimes even a day or so, she'd find that Mrs. Malfoy would settle onto a more reasonable position. The aristocratic woman's rants usually were a way of her thinking aloud and Ginny had suffered through far too many occurrences.
Ginny had, fortunately, been warned about this during her first week or so on the job by Draco. After their first meeting, where he'd initially derived a great deal of amusement over her stressful encounters with his mother, Draco Malfoy had managed to become almost useful. Oddly enough, he'd become her one anchor of sanity during the entire month that she'd been working with her client. He'd warned Ginny about Narcissa's changes in moods, what details she truly felt to be important, and what she would most likely waver on and change during the last weeks. He'd also suggested how Ginny should react verbally when Narcissa seemed to be particularly difficult.
- ~ -
“Why is she so fickle about all this?” she finally asked Draco during their latest session, with no small amount of frustration showing on her face.
He grinned broadly. “Ah, she's growing on you. I can tell.”
“Don't start that again, Malfoy. I'm prematurely aging due to this little shindig. It would just be nice to know why.”
“Ours is not to know why, my dear little Weasel.”
“And, would you please stop calling me that!”
“It's a pet name, Weasley, and while a weasel is not exactly on the common pet list, it still fits.”
“You realize that I really, truly hate you at this moment,” she said unconvincingly.
It was normal for them to spar like this throughout their meetings. He seemed to enjoy finding new and creative ways to irritate her, and the shorter her temper, the more he seemed to enjoy himself.
“Somehow, I doubt that. You find me far too interesting,” he stated, as he leaned forward propping his chin on his hand and smiling charmingly at her. It was his usual tactic, to provoke her mercilessly, then back off and look all charming and sweet. His arrogance knew no limitations, apparently. She was stuck with him and had to tolerate it because he was a paying customer. A very important paying customer. Yet, she had to agree, the man had charisma. Too bad he had the ego to go along with it.
Sometimes, she swore, he only came here to irritate her, and despite the fact that he actually did give some useful information, he really loved getting on her nerves.
There were moments, however, that she almost enjoyed being with him. They were rare, but every so often he seemed to let his guard down just enough to allow her to see what was behind his facade. She realized that her last question had apparently provoked one of those times.
He leaned back and gave a sigh. Yes, she thought, it was definitely one of those moments. She leaned forward with interest.
“It's not the ball itself that has her knickers in a twist,” he told her, sounding almost as defeated as Ginny felt. “It's what it means to her.” Ginny watched as his face took on an almost wistful expression. “She desperately wants to make a good impression to improve the family standing, and rather than focus on the social implications, she's directing her energy on what she can control which, unfortunately, includes everything you do.”
Ginny nodded, processing his words in an attempt to understand the difficult woman's motivation.
Unfortunately, as quickly as it came, the soft expression on Draco's face had gone, and Ginny decided to move back to business to avoid any uncomfortable moments.
“Do you have any more information on the final guest list?” she asked, knowing that this was the area that Draco was referring to with his last statement. One of the most challenging parts of this project was the guest list. To say Lucius and Narcissa had fallen into disfavor within the Ministry and higher social circles was an understatement at best. Most persons with any aspirations for advancement within the Ministry openly avoided contact with Lucius due to his past history. It made it difficult to convince those same people to attend a ball in the Malfoys' honor.
Draco had indeed been spending his time trying to rebuild the Malfoy name, as he'd told her. Ginny was no fool - she'd checked into it. But the good reputation that Draco was beginning to establish was still new and extremely fragile. He was only turning twenty-four years old and, while his name was slowly becoming more reputable, it was only in small social circles and limited to the business community, hence the difficulty with his action item for the ball, which was the guest list.
“I've already convinced most of my parents' old acquaintances - no surprises there. It's mostly anyone with ties to the Ministry that are hedging. I've been able to get a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt next week. I might be able to get him to attend, in the interest of building better relations within the community, putting the past behind us and such. If he agrees, then the others will probably fall in line.”
Ginny hesitated, wondering if he was going to ask for her help. She was relieved when he didn't. The fact that he was leaving her out of it raised her respect for him a bit, since he easily could try to use her reputation or her family's personal friendship with the Minister, if needed.
“I think the argument of promoting unity is a good one,” she said after pondering his words. “It's a non-political function, I don't see why he won't agree. I would definitely focus on that. If your parents are really as changed as you say, then it would be the best for all of us to mend this rift.”
She truly hoped that what he was saying was the truth. Yet, he seemed so unguarded when he spoke of it, that she couldn't help but think that he was either being truthful or he was one of the best actors she'd ever met. She sincerely hoped it was the former.
- ~ -
As the month of May progressed, Ginny fought to find enough time to fly the patterns that Oliver had assigned, each one more difficult and complex than the last. She found herself rising early for a short flight before breakfast, skipping lunch to get some time between her meetings, and going to bed each night exhausted, both mentally and physically. In ways, she felt more alive than ever. Her life right now was, at the very least, interesting.
With only two weeks remaining before the ball and the trials the following week, Oliver had been dropping by to view her progress almost daily. After a particularly harrowing session, Ginny was seriously reconsidering her decision to even attempt going to the trials. Few witches ever made it into professional Quidditch and, as Oliver had pointed out, the ones who did were typically a much bigger build than Ginny's five foot two inch stature could ever manage.
She landed, tired and winded, her hands sore from gripping the broom handle, snitch firmly in her hand.
“Not bad Ginny, not bad at all.” He smiled. “I think you're ready.”
“You've got to be joking.”
“I wouldn't joke with you about this. You have a real chance to make it. All we need is to set up your disguise.”
“I don't think I need it, Oliver. It doesn't seem right. If I can't make it onto this team as myself, I don't want to do it.”
“You won't make it as yourself. Coach Raymond was a hardcore Slytherin while he was in Hogwarts, even though it was decades ago, and he still holds some sort of school grudge. If I hadn't already been on the team when he came on board last season, there was no way I'd be there now. He's as bad as Snape used to be to anyone who's a known Gryffindor. Besides Ginny, they won't even consider you if they know your real age. They want eighteen-year-olds.”
“It just seems so... dishonest.”
“It will just be for a few weeks. Don't worry, I've got it all worked out.”
So, she agreed, with a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach as he, Fred and George worked on finding a variety of spells and charms to alter her appearance enough to fool her own mother, but not impact her flying ability.
They settled on changing her hair to a light brown, shortening the length, so that she could fly without having to pull it back. Her eyes were changed to a dark brown, making them look larger. But the final, most embarrassing alteration was when George cast a spell to deflate her chest size a bit.
“George!”
“C'mon Ginny, we've got to change you're body type a little bit and this won't affect the way you fly.”
“I thought you only knew spells to enhance that particular part of the anatomy,” she grumbled at him.
“Well, it always helps to have a counter spell, for when the lady in question is ready to hex your remaining ear off,” he explained. No doubt, she thought, silently sympathizing with whatever witch had been subjected to his ministrations. It was a good thing she loved her brother so much.
“You tried that on Camille, didn't you,” she stated. Her friend had been dating George over the last few months, and she knew Camille's personality well enough to know that the girl was more than capable of containing George's enthusiasm with force, if necessary.
He smiled sheepishly, confirming Ginny's speculation.
After they finished, she looked in the mirror and saw a girl that reminded her of a field mouse. Oliver had even gotten her a new name: Francine Miller, an American. The identity wouldn't be so easily traced as a fake if it was from another country, he'd told her. Great. So, on top of it, she had to fake an American accent. Apparently there were several varieties, and she had to pick one. It wasn't easy, and she kept slipping into her normal speech pattern if she didn't concentrate. Worse, even if she did concentrate on it, the accent sounded horrible.
Fred eventually found a spell to help her, but the ugly twang of the accent was terribly annoying and still sounded fake to Ginny's ears. She decided that Francine was going to be a very quiet girl. The less anyone heard that accent, the better.
And so, Ginny's alter ego was born. Oliver immediately went to get Francine's name on the list for trials.
- ~ -
Ginny charged into the office on Tuesday morning, late. Everything seemed to have gone wrong that day. Aside from oversleeping, because she was so exhausted from working long hours and practicing, she had found out only that morning that trials for the Falcons were that same afternoon. To keep Francine's anonymity, her alter ego's owls were currently being delivered to Fred and George's shop in Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, redirecting her mail had caused a delay in receiving the messages.
To make matters worse, the time scheduled for the trials directly conflicted with a meeting scheduled for the Malfoy project.
She raced to her desk, tossing her purse on the chair and rummaging in her file cabinet. “Camille, I need you're help!” she shouted in the direction of her friend's desk.
“Oh no, what does the old bat want today?” Camille responded, walking over to Ginny with trepidation.
Ginny paused to catch her breath, before pulling out the necessary files and turning back to her friend. “Nothing out of the ordinary, for her, and please don't call the client a bat. If Ms. Tinkerton caught you, you'd be sacked on the spot.”
“Sorry. You know what I mean," she replied, her smile indicating that she wasn't exactly apologetic. "I haven't had a day off since this project started and, quite frankly, if I have to Floo Brazil again for some exotic concoction she decides she wants, I'm going to go positively insane.”
“Anyway, it's not Mrs. Malfoy. I need to be someplace this afternoon, and I have a meeting with Mr. Malfoy. I need you to cover it.”
“Another meeting with him, Ginny? Good heavens, you'd think you were dating the man.”
Ginny cringed at the implication. “Don't make me ill, Camille. I'm looking forward to this thing being over next week and, hopefully, I'll never have to see him again.”
“Well, at least when he comes here, he always seems to be in a good mood.”
“Ha!” Ginny barked out a sarcastic laugh. “His favorite activity at every meeting is to make fun of me and laugh at how his mother is driving me bonkers. Of course he's in a good mood because it's at my expense. I'm sure it's the highlight of his week.”
“Oh, Ginny, he's not that bad.”
Ginny gave a sigh, apparently Camille was also part of the Draco Malfoy Fan Club, along with the rest of the staff. They all seemed to think that he was handsome and charming, for some reason. Ginny sincerely believed that she was the only woman in the office who was immune to his charm.
“Well, you get to meet with him today. I've got something important to do, and I'm not letting him interfere with it.”
“Dare I ask what?” she asked.
“I really can't say. It's personal, and it's very, very important to me,” Ginny replied.
“Tell me it doesn't have to do with a man,” her friend prodded.
Well, technically, this had to do with Oliver Wood talking her into it, but that was hardly relevant. Ginny felt it was best to give a small amount of misdirection.
“Not exactly,” was all she could say. “Just take the file. I have all the latest adjustments to the menu ready. Remind him of the pricing changes, though he'll say he doesn't care, and try to find out if his mother is planning on changing the party favors again, because it's getting a little late to reorder some of the arrangements from overseas, due to customs.”
That afternoon Camille entered the conference room and for the first time since the project began two months ago, she saw Draco's normally cheerful demeanor turn sour. The meeting was short, formal, and rather uninteresting. No wonder Ginny hated the meetings, she thought.
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