The pointing and whispering started as soon as Draco set foot in Diagon Alley. If he was being discerning, there was a fair amount of gasping thrown in the mix as well. Keeping his gaze trained above the heads of the crowd to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might take it as an invitation to speak to him, Draco quickened his pace, walking with a distinct air of purpose towards Gringotts.
Passing underneath the large, vaulted archway of the bank's front entrance and joining a short queue, he felt several pairs of eyes follow his every move. Although this was fairly standard practice for the bank's goblins, who were naturally suspicious of anyone who dared enter their marble hall, Draco had a very strong feeling that the security staff were not the only ones keeping an eye on him, though, thankfully, the whispers were kept to a minimum this time -- any side conversations that were not finance-related tended to be frowned upon mightily by the staff. While much of the wizarding community was still in the habit of regarding goblins as an inferior species, openly crossing the creatures who controlled the economy was generally not considered a clever move.
Draco stepped up to the counter, the parchment Ginny had given him in hand.
"Good morning," said the goblin teller, whose nametag read: Hornglum. As most of the others of his kind did, Hornglum sported a pointed beard, but looked uncharacteristically cheery for a goblin.
"I'm here to reclaim control of my family vault and withdraw some money," Draco said, passing the parchment over the counter and ignoring the woman at the next counter over, who was openly gaping at him.
The goblin made small noises of approval as his long, thin fingers ticked off several points on the Ministry order, reconciling them with some internal list he had in his head. "Everything appears to be in order," said Hornglum, the parchment disappearing somewhere beneath the counter, from which he then produced the small key that the Ministry had confiscated so many years ago. "The key to your vault, sir," he said, dropping it delicately into Draco's outstretched palm. "Now, if you will follow me."
Draco fell into step with the young goblin -- at least, he assumed Hornglum was young, judging by the bounce in his walk -- and they passed through the side door that led to the holding area for the bank's carts. He climbed in with little difficulty, though he thought he remembered the carts being somewhat larger the last time he had been down here. That had been years ago with his parents, of course, and Draco realised he had never come to Gringotts alone. With a jarring lurch, the cart rattled onward, soon dropping its leisurely pace in favour of its usual alarming whiz. The goblin seated ahead bobbed easily along with each bump and weave, while Draco, without feeling the need to impress his father with a show of stoic manliness this time, gripped his fingers over the sides of the cart.
As the cart came to a sudden halt outside the Malfoy vault, Hornglum gestured for him to unlock the door, and then folded his hands and waited patiently. Draco stepped out with as much dignity as he could muster while his legs threatened to give way. Regaining his balance by shreds, he inserted his key into the keyhole and pulled the vault door open, and was immediately greeted by heaps and mounds of gleaming coins, precious jewels and priceless artefacts. The sight, familiar and greatly missed, produced the same effect as if he were to have cast a Cheering Charm on himself.
Removing from his pocket a small velvet pouch, Draco filled the bag with about as many coins as he thought would last him until the memory of the careening cart became fuzzy enough that he would consider coming back to Gringotts a good idea. Shrinking the bulging pouch and shoving it back into his pocket along with his key, Draco shut the vault door and gave the goblin in the cart a slight grimace before stepping back in. "Surely there has to be a better method of transportation?" he asked without hope.
"Perhaps you wizards just ought to be made of sterner stuff, sir," Hornglum suggested, and set the cart going again. As it hurtled through the darkness, the goblin shouted over his shoulder, "Besides, what other job provides such thrills on the company Sickle?"
With the ride ended, Draco took a moment to regret eating lunch just before coming. Keeping the contents of that meal where it belonged by sheer force of will, he did his best not to blow the cart to smithereens, and tipped his head in thanks to the goblin, who quickly returned to his vacated post behind the counter. Had he the inclination to take over the world, Draco decided his first order as dictator would be to overhaul the Gringotts transportation system by exploding it all. Feeling slightly better, he marched out of Gringotts, coins weighing down one side of his trousers, and looked both ways before getting his bearings and heading towards Flourish and Blotts.
He had been fairly amenable to the idea of living as a Muggle during his brief ambush meeting with Williams and Webb, who had made some very good points in its favour, until he remembered very quickly after just how well and little he thought of Muggles. With parents who had had absolutely no use for the non-magical world, his exposure to that way of life had been very nearly non-existent until the Hogwarts elective class system made it impossible for him to avoid Muggle Studies any longer, having dropped both Care of Magical Creatures and Divination like hot rocks as soon as he had been able. Naturally, it had been that year that Professor Burbage obtained permission to take the class on an ill-advised, day-long field trip into Muggle Edinburgh, which had resulted in a lost child, Burbage going absolutely mental about it, Ministry interference and Draco being firmly convinced that there was no good to come out of intermingling with Muggles. He also remembered the place as being fairly dirty, which did not commend it to him any further.
However, with orders -- masked as friendly suggestions -- to carve out some semblance of normal life in the Muggle world, Draco realised he would have to put his dislikes aside and immerse himself in their lifestyle. Besides, for all he knew, the Muggles might have done some spring cleaning since his last outing there, though he seriously doubted it. Although there really was no better way to find out than to just pop in himself, in his better moments of clarity Draco had usually preferred to do copious amounts of research and observation first before acting on any impulses, and since he hadn't paid very much attention in Muggle Studies as Burbage had been one of those teachers who passed out Outstanding marks like sweets, his next best bet was Flourish and Blotts' Muggle section.
He had hoped, perhaps a little idiotically, that he might get in and out quickly without too much fuss, but halfway to the bookshop he was already being followed at a distance by a small contingent of curious shoppers, who giggled and shushed each other in high-pitched tones as though they were thirteen and had sighted the star who adorned their bedroom walls. He was beginning to see Williams' point about unwanted attention very well. Deciding to just leave it be for the time being, Draco slipped into Flourish and Blotts, and found a camera shoved in his chest.
"Whoops, sorry. You all right?" said the owner of the camera, whose hand shot out to make sure Draco hadn't been too terribly bruised by the contact. The mousy young man then inhaled loudly in a squeal of happy surprise. "Draco Malfoy!" he all but shouted.
Draco frowned and tried to get past him without getting sucked into conversation. Unfortunately, the man followed him around the shop like an overgrown puppy yearning for attention. Finally, Draco turned around and gave him a hard glare. "What?"
Undeterred, the young man stuck his hand out. "I'm Dennis Creevey! D'you remember? From Hogwarts?" he gushed. "Boy, it's been ages, hasn't it? Listen, you wouldn't mind if I got a picture, would you? I'm at the Prophet now, and this is just the kind of thing they'd want on their front page!"
Draco felt the words 'no, sod off' form on his tongue, but a quick look out the window, featuring the growing group of regressed characters who'd been trailing him, told him that he might be able to use the Creevey boy to his advantage. "Here's the deal," he said, ignoring the hand Dennis was still waiting to be shaken. "Keep those people away from me, and I'll give you a picture."
"No problem!" Dennis said, and ran to the shop door, locked it and hung up the 'Closed' sign. He beamed at Draco.
Ginny could scarcely breathe, her whooping laugh attracting stares from the other cafe patrons, as she clutched her side with one hand, and used the other to frantically wave at George to make him stop talking.
"Quiet down, Ginny; people are looking," George said in a fussy old woman's voice, which set his sister off in another round of laughter. The ancient fusspot who had accidentally eaten one of her grandson's Ton-Tongue Toffees and had arrived that morning to the shop in a fit of pique to harangue him about the danger he was putting everyone in with his horrible products was just ripe for impersonation, in George's estimation, and he had trotted the impression out in the middle of lunch, which was the reason why Ginny was in danger of falling off her chair in convulsions in the first place.
"Stop," she pleaded between breaths, wiping a tear off her face. Pulling herself together, with an occasional giggle bubbling up and escaping, Ginny managed to look appropriately apologetic to the other customers before directing a heatless glare at her brother. "You have to warn me before you do things like that," she said. "And best in private, too."
"You should've seen her. She shook her cane at me, Gin," George said. "You sure you don't want to come work at the shop? You could see all these things for yourself firsthand!"
"And have sticks shaken at me? I'll pass, thanks," Ginny said, smiling. "Besides, I like my job. Kind of. Most of the time."
"So, you weren't just complaining about the thing you had to do this morning for Malfoy?"
"That falls in the twenty percent of the time I think my job's crap. And if I never have to deal with him again, that percentage will lessen considerably."
"I'm telling you, you'd have loads more fun with me."
"Mmhm. And what would my wages be?"
"What's money between family?" George asked, spreading his palms and shrugging.
"Ha, I thought so."
George grinned and laid his napkin on the table. "Okay, I'll pay you in Weasley dollars. But that's my final offer."
The reminder of the complicated exchange system of chores, goodwill, prized possessions and the occasional dessert that the younger Weasley siblings had concocted as children made Ginny giggle. "You still owe me two garden weedings, one sweep of all the spider-webby corners and a chocolate pudding. Are you really sure you want to reinstate the Weasley dollar system? Because at the current exchange rate plus accumulated interest, I've already earned two weeks of skiving off at your shop."
George cast a sideways, suspicious glance at her. "Have you been hanging around Percy again?"
"I can be a smart-arse on my own, thank you very much," Ginny said, poking her tongue out at him. "And speaking of the dear, I have the perfect Christmas present in mind for him, and since I'm here I thought I'd pop down to Flourish and Blotts after this. Want to come?"
Checking his watch, George shook his head. "Nah, I've got to get back to the shop soon. Brian's off this week, so I closed it for lunch. And why are you thinking about Christmas? It's months away!"
"Because you boys are always so hard to buy for; I have to start planning for the next Christmas every Boxing Day, practically."
"What are you getting me, then?"
"Don't be silly. It's a surprise. Like every Christmas that's come before."
"Fine," George said with a put-out sigh, as they exited the cafe. "What're you getting Percy? I solemnly swear not to tell."
"That new book on the history of magical transportation. He'll like that, won't he? It's --" She was cut off by George affecting a loud snore, and she reached over to thump him on the arm.
"Hey, watch it," George said, rubbing his sore spot. "These are the limbs of a creative genius. You don't want to risk putting me out of commission, you know; how else will the youth of today get corrupted if I'm not there to provide them with the necessary tools of evil that'll lead them down the path of moral laxity?" he asked, slipping into his old woman voice again.
"Don't start again," Ginny laughed. "Don't you have a shop to tend?"
"How could I forget?"
Ginny pecked him on the cheek before they went their separate ways. As she neared the bookshop, she noticed a crowd gathering in front of it, a few people occasionally getting on their tiptoes to try to peer inside. Following suit, Ginny edged her way into the middle of the throng, wanting to see what the fuss was about.
Somewhere to her left, a voice shouted out, "Go back to jail!" A chorus of other voices followed this up with about an equal mix of approval and dissent.
"What's going on?" she asked the woman next to her.
"Draco Malfoy's in there!"
Ginny pulled a face. Him again. "So?"
"Didn't you hear me? Draco Malfoy is inside the shop."
"All right, no need to get in a bloody strop about it," muttered Ginny, put off by the woman's adamant tone. Raising her voice so the bystander could hear her again, Ginny asked, "So what's everyone doing out here, then?"
"We can't get in; they've just locked the door, so we couldn't follow him in!"
Ginny shook her head in disgust. It was one thing to let the man out of prison, pay him extra for having gone to prison and absolve him of any wrongdoing, but treating him like a celebrity and locking everyone else out of a public establishment just so he could shop in peace was beyond the pale. Well, she had Christmas shopping to do, and this would not stand. Sticking her elbows out, Ginny managed to get to the front of the shop, where, through the glass pane in the middle of the door, she could see the manager of Flourish and Blotts arguing with a smallish, camera-toting man. Said camera-toter, who looked very familiar and yet altogether unremarkable, seemed to be blocking the manager's path to the door.
"Oi!" Ginny shouted, pounding the flat of her hand against the glass.
Inside, the manager gestured angrily at the other man to the door, and pushed him aside to hurry over. Quickly turning the deadbolt and flipping the 'Closed' sign around, the manager shot Ginny an apologetic look as he swung the door open. "Terribly sorry, miss. Just a bit of a misunderstanding. Please, we cherish your patronage," he said, somewhat desperately, extending his look to the rest of the shoppers outside.
"Hallo, Ginny!" The familiar man bounded up to her, a bright smile stretching from ear to ear. Standing so close to her that she was barring the entryway now, he went on, "How've you been? Gosh, I haven't seen you in ages!"
Ginny looked at him, the brusque question 'Do I know you?' ready to burst forth, when she suddenly recognised the nearly manic grin. It had belonged to Colin Creevey, too, once upon a time. "Dennis," she said, managing to return a fraction of his smile and edging sideways slightly. "Hi."
Noticing her movement, Dennis slid over an inch as well. "Could you stay there just a mo?" he asked. Then lowering his voice to just above a whisper, he added, "Draco Malfoy's asked me to keep everyone away from him."
"That's silly, Dennis," Ginny said decisively and pushed forward, feeling the crowd in back of her follow her lead. Studiously keeping her gaze from wandering and accidentally lighting on Draco, Ginny headed straight towards the History section, intending to pick up Percy's gift and get out without so much as an acknowledgement of Draco's presence in the nearby vicinity. Unfortunately, getting to the History section meant that she had to pass the Muggle shelves, and despite putting mental blinders on, telltale white-blond hair caught her periphery attention, and her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat, recognising her fatal flaw of never leaving things well enough alone. Taking a detour, she marched down the aisle between shelves to where Draco was standing, reading the back of one book jacket with a critical eye. "What is your problem?" she asked.
"I beg your pardon?" he said, putting the book back.
"Making Dennis lock up the shop for you -- a shop which does not belong to him, I might add -- just so you can browse in privacy? Have you a big enough head, Malfoy?"
"Sorry," came Dennis' voice from the end of the aisle, as he peered at them around a shelf.
"Do you really think getting the little Creevey to be my bodyguard is my idea of a good time? Besides, we made a deal. Didn't we, Creevey?" Draco said, his hard gaze still directed at Ginny.
"That's right," Dennis said happily, loping forward and popping the cap off his lens. Adjusting the settings on his camera, Dennis then hoisted it up to eye level and directed it at Draco. "Smile!"
While Ginny ducked out of frame with a groan, Draco gave him a two-fingered salute.
"Oh," said Dennis ruefully, lowering his camera. "I don't think we can print that."
"Shame," said Draco. "You'll just have to make do. Our deal was your services -- not too well done, I should say -- for exactly one picture, which you now have."
Dennis frowned for a second. "Maybe I can crop it so it'll just be a giant head, glaring. That would still sell, right?" he asked hopefully.
"I don't know if a giant head would sell, but it's definitely appropriate for the subject," said Ginny sourly.
Draco shot her a contemptuous look, and absorbed the scene around him. There was a group of women circled around the bestsellers' table trying to look casual while actually eavesdropping and giving themselves away with an occasional titter. To Dennis' left, an old bag couldn't be bothered to pretend not to stare at him as though his head was afire. He couldn't think of a good way to salvage the situation that didn't involve a lot of wand-waving, so he did the next best thing: leave.
"Get out of my way," he growled, brushing forcefully past Ginny, Dennis and the aforementioned old bag. He was overdoing it a little, and wondered if perhaps that was not the best impression to give off his first day in public out of prison. Then again, if he was an absolute ogre to everyone, maybe they'd get the hint and leave him alone. Living among Muggles was starting to look rather appealing. He accosted the manager, barking out orders to give him a catalogue and an owl order form, and Apparated back to Blaise's place, where nobody would giggle his name.
Falling heavily onto the sofa, Draco emptied his pocket of the money he'd withdrawn, and, out of reflex, checked the other pocket. He was surprised when his fingers touched a piece of parchment he was sure had not been in there before. Unfolded, it read simply:
The Wembley Arms, Muggle Ealing. Tomorrow, 6pm.
Passing underneath the large, vaulted archway of the bank's front entrance and joining a short queue, he felt several pairs of eyes follow his every move. Although this was fairly standard practice for the bank's goblins, who were naturally suspicious of anyone who dared enter their marble hall, Draco had a very strong feeling that the security staff were not the only ones keeping an eye on him, though, thankfully, the whispers were kept to a minimum this time -- any side conversations that were not finance-related tended to be frowned upon mightily by the staff. While much of the wizarding community was still in the habit of regarding goblins as an inferior species, openly crossing the creatures who controlled the economy was generally not considered a clever move.
Draco stepped up to the counter, the parchment Ginny had given him in hand.
"Good morning," said the goblin teller, whose nametag read: Hornglum. As most of the others of his kind did, Hornglum sported a pointed beard, but looked uncharacteristically cheery for a goblin.
"I'm here to reclaim control of my family vault and withdraw some money," Draco said, passing the parchment over the counter and ignoring the woman at the next counter over, who was openly gaping at him.
The goblin made small noises of approval as his long, thin fingers ticked off several points on the Ministry order, reconciling them with some internal list he had in his head. "Everything appears to be in order," said Hornglum, the parchment disappearing somewhere beneath the counter, from which he then produced the small key that the Ministry had confiscated so many years ago. "The key to your vault, sir," he said, dropping it delicately into Draco's outstretched palm. "Now, if you will follow me."
Draco fell into step with the young goblin -- at least, he assumed Hornglum was young, judging by the bounce in his walk -- and they passed through the side door that led to the holding area for the bank's carts. He climbed in with little difficulty, though he thought he remembered the carts being somewhat larger the last time he had been down here. That had been years ago with his parents, of course, and Draco realised he had never come to Gringotts alone. With a jarring lurch, the cart rattled onward, soon dropping its leisurely pace in favour of its usual alarming whiz. The goblin seated ahead bobbed easily along with each bump and weave, while Draco, without feeling the need to impress his father with a show of stoic manliness this time, gripped his fingers over the sides of the cart.
As the cart came to a sudden halt outside the Malfoy vault, Hornglum gestured for him to unlock the door, and then folded his hands and waited patiently. Draco stepped out with as much dignity as he could muster while his legs threatened to give way. Regaining his balance by shreds, he inserted his key into the keyhole and pulled the vault door open, and was immediately greeted by heaps and mounds of gleaming coins, precious jewels and priceless artefacts. The sight, familiar and greatly missed, produced the same effect as if he were to have cast a Cheering Charm on himself.
Removing from his pocket a small velvet pouch, Draco filled the bag with about as many coins as he thought would last him until the memory of the careening cart became fuzzy enough that he would consider coming back to Gringotts a good idea. Shrinking the bulging pouch and shoving it back into his pocket along with his key, Draco shut the vault door and gave the goblin in the cart a slight grimace before stepping back in. "Surely there has to be a better method of transportation?" he asked without hope.
"Perhaps you wizards just ought to be made of sterner stuff, sir," Hornglum suggested, and set the cart going again. As it hurtled through the darkness, the goblin shouted over his shoulder, "Besides, what other job provides such thrills on the company Sickle?"
With the ride ended, Draco took a moment to regret eating lunch just before coming. Keeping the contents of that meal where it belonged by sheer force of will, he did his best not to blow the cart to smithereens, and tipped his head in thanks to the goblin, who quickly returned to his vacated post behind the counter. Had he the inclination to take over the world, Draco decided his first order as dictator would be to overhaul the Gringotts transportation system by exploding it all. Feeling slightly better, he marched out of Gringotts, coins weighing down one side of his trousers, and looked both ways before getting his bearings and heading towards Flourish and Blotts.
He had been fairly amenable to the idea of living as a Muggle during his brief ambush meeting with Williams and Webb, who had made some very good points in its favour, until he remembered very quickly after just how well and little he thought of Muggles. With parents who had had absolutely no use for the non-magical world, his exposure to that way of life had been very nearly non-existent until the Hogwarts elective class system made it impossible for him to avoid Muggle Studies any longer, having dropped both Care of Magical Creatures and Divination like hot rocks as soon as he had been able. Naturally, it had been that year that Professor Burbage obtained permission to take the class on an ill-advised, day-long field trip into Muggle Edinburgh, which had resulted in a lost child, Burbage going absolutely mental about it, Ministry interference and Draco being firmly convinced that there was no good to come out of intermingling with Muggles. He also remembered the place as being fairly dirty, which did not commend it to him any further.
However, with orders -- masked as friendly suggestions -- to carve out some semblance of normal life in the Muggle world, Draco realised he would have to put his dislikes aside and immerse himself in their lifestyle. Besides, for all he knew, the Muggles might have done some spring cleaning since his last outing there, though he seriously doubted it. Although there really was no better way to find out than to just pop in himself, in his better moments of clarity Draco had usually preferred to do copious amounts of research and observation first before acting on any impulses, and since he hadn't paid very much attention in Muggle Studies as Burbage had been one of those teachers who passed out Outstanding marks like sweets, his next best bet was Flourish and Blotts' Muggle section.
He had hoped, perhaps a little idiotically, that he might get in and out quickly without too much fuss, but halfway to the bookshop he was already being followed at a distance by a small contingent of curious shoppers, who giggled and shushed each other in high-pitched tones as though they were thirteen and had sighted the star who adorned their bedroom walls. He was beginning to see Williams' point about unwanted attention very well. Deciding to just leave it be for the time being, Draco slipped into Flourish and Blotts, and found a camera shoved in his chest.
"Whoops, sorry. You all right?" said the owner of the camera, whose hand shot out to make sure Draco hadn't been too terribly bruised by the contact. The mousy young man then inhaled loudly in a squeal of happy surprise. "Draco Malfoy!" he all but shouted.
Draco frowned and tried to get past him without getting sucked into conversation. Unfortunately, the man followed him around the shop like an overgrown puppy yearning for attention. Finally, Draco turned around and gave him a hard glare. "What?"
Undeterred, the young man stuck his hand out. "I'm Dennis Creevey! D'you remember? From Hogwarts?" he gushed. "Boy, it's been ages, hasn't it? Listen, you wouldn't mind if I got a picture, would you? I'm at the Prophet now, and this is just the kind of thing they'd want on their front page!"
Draco felt the words 'no, sod off' form on his tongue, but a quick look out the window, featuring the growing group of regressed characters who'd been trailing him, told him that he might be able to use the Creevey boy to his advantage. "Here's the deal," he said, ignoring the hand Dennis was still waiting to be shaken. "Keep those people away from me, and I'll give you a picture."
"No problem!" Dennis said, and ran to the shop door, locked it and hung up the 'Closed' sign. He beamed at Draco.
Ginny could scarcely breathe, her whooping laugh attracting stares from the other cafe patrons, as she clutched her side with one hand, and used the other to frantically wave at George to make him stop talking.
"Quiet down, Ginny; people are looking," George said in a fussy old woman's voice, which set his sister off in another round of laughter. The ancient fusspot who had accidentally eaten one of her grandson's Ton-Tongue Toffees and had arrived that morning to the shop in a fit of pique to harangue him about the danger he was putting everyone in with his horrible products was just ripe for impersonation, in George's estimation, and he had trotted the impression out in the middle of lunch, which was the reason why Ginny was in danger of falling off her chair in convulsions in the first place.
"Stop," she pleaded between breaths, wiping a tear off her face. Pulling herself together, with an occasional giggle bubbling up and escaping, Ginny managed to look appropriately apologetic to the other customers before directing a heatless glare at her brother. "You have to warn me before you do things like that," she said. "And best in private, too."
"You should've seen her. She shook her cane at me, Gin," George said. "You sure you don't want to come work at the shop? You could see all these things for yourself firsthand!"
"And have sticks shaken at me? I'll pass, thanks," Ginny said, smiling. "Besides, I like my job. Kind of. Most of the time."
"So, you weren't just complaining about the thing you had to do this morning for Malfoy?"
"That falls in the twenty percent of the time I think my job's crap. And if I never have to deal with him again, that percentage will lessen considerably."
"I'm telling you, you'd have loads more fun with me."
"Mmhm. And what would my wages be?"
"What's money between family?" George asked, spreading his palms and shrugging.
"Ha, I thought so."
George grinned and laid his napkin on the table. "Okay, I'll pay you in Weasley dollars. But that's my final offer."
The reminder of the complicated exchange system of chores, goodwill, prized possessions and the occasional dessert that the younger Weasley siblings had concocted as children made Ginny giggle. "You still owe me two garden weedings, one sweep of all the spider-webby corners and a chocolate pudding. Are you really sure you want to reinstate the Weasley dollar system? Because at the current exchange rate plus accumulated interest, I've already earned two weeks of skiving off at your shop."
George cast a sideways, suspicious glance at her. "Have you been hanging around Percy again?"
"I can be a smart-arse on my own, thank you very much," Ginny said, poking her tongue out at him. "And speaking of the dear, I have the perfect Christmas present in mind for him, and since I'm here I thought I'd pop down to Flourish and Blotts after this. Want to come?"
Checking his watch, George shook his head. "Nah, I've got to get back to the shop soon. Brian's off this week, so I closed it for lunch. And why are you thinking about Christmas? It's months away!"
"Because you boys are always so hard to buy for; I have to start planning for the next Christmas every Boxing Day, practically."
"What are you getting me, then?"
"Don't be silly. It's a surprise. Like every Christmas that's come before."
"Fine," George said with a put-out sigh, as they exited the cafe. "What're you getting Percy? I solemnly swear not to tell."
"That new book on the history of magical transportation. He'll like that, won't he? It's --" She was cut off by George affecting a loud snore, and she reached over to thump him on the arm.
"Hey, watch it," George said, rubbing his sore spot. "These are the limbs of a creative genius. You don't want to risk putting me out of commission, you know; how else will the youth of today get corrupted if I'm not there to provide them with the necessary tools of evil that'll lead them down the path of moral laxity?" he asked, slipping into his old woman voice again.
"Don't start again," Ginny laughed. "Don't you have a shop to tend?"
"How could I forget?"
Ginny pecked him on the cheek before they went their separate ways. As she neared the bookshop, she noticed a crowd gathering in front of it, a few people occasionally getting on their tiptoes to try to peer inside. Following suit, Ginny edged her way into the middle of the throng, wanting to see what the fuss was about.
Somewhere to her left, a voice shouted out, "Go back to jail!" A chorus of other voices followed this up with about an equal mix of approval and dissent.
"What's going on?" she asked the woman next to her.
"Draco Malfoy's in there!"
Ginny pulled a face. Him again. "So?"
"Didn't you hear me? Draco Malfoy is inside the shop."
"All right, no need to get in a bloody strop about it," muttered Ginny, put off by the woman's adamant tone. Raising her voice so the bystander could hear her again, Ginny asked, "So what's everyone doing out here, then?"
"We can't get in; they've just locked the door, so we couldn't follow him in!"
Ginny shook her head in disgust. It was one thing to let the man out of prison, pay him extra for having gone to prison and absolve him of any wrongdoing, but treating him like a celebrity and locking everyone else out of a public establishment just so he could shop in peace was beyond the pale. Well, she had Christmas shopping to do, and this would not stand. Sticking her elbows out, Ginny managed to get to the front of the shop, where, through the glass pane in the middle of the door, she could see the manager of Flourish and Blotts arguing with a smallish, camera-toting man. Said camera-toter, who looked very familiar and yet altogether unremarkable, seemed to be blocking the manager's path to the door.
"Oi!" Ginny shouted, pounding the flat of her hand against the glass.
Inside, the manager gestured angrily at the other man to the door, and pushed him aside to hurry over. Quickly turning the deadbolt and flipping the 'Closed' sign around, the manager shot Ginny an apologetic look as he swung the door open. "Terribly sorry, miss. Just a bit of a misunderstanding. Please, we cherish your patronage," he said, somewhat desperately, extending his look to the rest of the shoppers outside.
"Hallo, Ginny!" The familiar man bounded up to her, a bright smile stretching from ear to ear. Standing so close to her that she was barring the entryway now, he went on, "How've you been? Gosh, I haven't seen you in ages!"
Ginny looked at him, the brusque question 'Do I know you?' ready to burst forth, when she suddenly recognised the nearly manic grin. It had belonged to Colin Creevey, too, once upon a time. "Dennis," she said, managing to return a fraction of his smile and edging sideways slightly. "Hi."
Noticing her movement, Dennis slid over an inch as well. "Could you stay there just a mo?" he asked. Then lowering his voice to just above a whisper, he added, "Draco Malfoy's asked me to keep everyone away from him."
"That's silly, Dennis," Ginny said decisively and pushed forward, feeling the crowd in back of her follow her lead. Studiously keeping her gaze from wandering and accidentally lighting on Draco, Ginny headed straight towards the History section, intending to pick up Percy's gift and get out without so much as an acknowledgement of Draco's presence in the nearby vicinity. Unfortunately, getting to the History section meant that she had to pass the Muggle shelves, and despite putting mental blinders on, telltale white-blond hair caught her periphery attention, and her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat, recognising her fatal flaw of never leaving things well enough alone. Taking a detour, she marched down the aisle between shelves to where Draco was standing, reading the back of one book jacket with a critical eye. "What is your problem?" she asked.
"I beg your pardon?" he said, putting the book back.
"Making Dennis lock up the shop for you -- a shop which does not belong to him, I might add -- just so you can browse in privacy? Have you a big enough head, Malfoy?"
"Sorry," came Dennis' voice from the end of the aisle, as he peered at them around a shelf.
"Do you really think getting the little Creevey to be my bodyguard is my idea of a good time? Besides, we made a deal. Didn't we, Creevey?" Draco said, his hard gaze still directed at Ginny.
"That's right," Dennis said happily, loping forward and popping the cap off his lens. Adjusting the settings on his camera, Dennis then hoisted it up to eye level and directed it at Draco. "Smile!"
While Ginny ducked out of frame with a groan, Draco gave him a two-fingered salute.
"Oh," said Dennis ruefully, lowering his camera. "I don't think we can print that."
"Shame," said Draco. "You'll just have to make do. Our deal was your services -- not too well done, I should say -- for exactly one picture, which you now have."
Dennis frowned for a second. "Maybe I can crop it so it'll just be a giant head, glaring. That would still sell, right?" he asked hopefully.
"I don't know if a giant head would sell, but it's definitely appropriate for the subject," said Ginny sourly.
Draco shot her a contemptuous look, and absorbed the scene around him. There was a group of women circled around the bestsellers' table trying to look casual while actually eavesdropping and giving themselves away with an occasional titter. To Dennis' left, an old bag couldn't be bothered to pretend not to stare at him as though his head was afire. He couldn't think of a good way to salvage the situation that didn't involve a lot of wand-waving, so he did the next best thing: leave.
"Get out of my way," he growled, brushing forcefully past Ginny, Dennis and the aforementioned old bag. He was overdoing it a little, and wondered if perhaps that was not the best impression to give off his first day in public out of prison. Then again, if he was an absolute ogre to everyone, maybe they'd get the hint and leave him alone. Living among Muggles was starting to look rather appealing. He accosted the manager, barking out orders to give him a catalogue and an owl order form, and Apparated back to Blaise's place, where nobody would giggle his name.
Falling heavily onto the sofa, Draco emptied his pocket of the money he'd withdrawn, and, out of reflex, checked the other pocket. He was surprised when his fingers touched a piece of parchment he was sure had not been in there before. Unfolded, it read simply:
The Wembley Arms, Muggle Ealing. Tomorrow, 6pm.
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