CHAPTER 2
Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart.
-- Author Unknown
October 8th, 2003
The first discussion of our marriage takes place a week after receiving the written proposal and just a couple of weeks before the wardrobe session. It is still warm for October and the day is disagreeably beautiful. My Dad and the Malfoy lawyer are present too, but mostly it is Draco and I who speak.
Draco is very calm and composed, but the tension is oozing from every fibre of his being, so I know he’s less than happy with the situation.
“I am well aware that what many people are doing right now is entering into formal marriages to appease the Ministry,” Draco starts, “What I am proposing, however, is a real marriage.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off.
“Yes, I know it cannot be a marriage of affection. At least not at first.” My snort goes unacknowledged. ”A lot of marriages start out that way but-”
“In your circle maybe.”
Dad cringes at my biting tone. “Now-now, Gin, there's no need for us to be rude.”
“It's no use, Dad, he's not going to take the proposal back.”
For a moment there's a tense silence which Draco interrupts with, ”I'm afraid your daughter is correct, Mr Weasley. At this point neither party can withdraw without severe consequences.”
I keep from pointing out that it was he who started the whole mess in the first place and he continues unperturbed, “You, Ginevra, are correct too in pointing out that in my circle arrange marriages are, indeed, quite common. But I believe that such a start shouldn't be seen as an impediment, but rather an opportunity. Since we are not in love, we have clear heads on our shoulders. We are both intelligent people and have at least a modicum of respect for each other. Perhaps in time, we can learn to... appreciate each other's company better, too.”
I give him a look of utter disbelief at that, but not because the mutual respect he speaks of isn't there. It is and has been for a couple of years now. It's just that his practical approach to marriage seems disgustingly rational.
At length, we discuss our concepts of marriage, my determination to continue working even after nuptials, agree on separate personal quarters, and no lovers unless discussed beforehand (his words). By then, we both know that the Ministry will allow us to divorce, if we so wish, after ten years of marriage, or if we aren't able to conceive, in five. Neither of us brings up the matter of kids since we know that the law will not allow any birth-control anyway.
October 21st, 2004
Sometimes he looks at me as if he hates me. As if he tries not to, but there's nothing he can do about it. It can't be possibly because of the baby, can it? Maybe he blames me for losing it? But I'm not thinking about it and men don't really care about thing like that much, do they? It's probably something much simpler. I think it's because I'm... me.
At first it didn't bother me; I didn't care what he thought of me, but now I tend to be self-conscious about myself. I tell myself it doesn't matter, but it's just so unfair that in the dark of his bedroom he has no problem with my hair (he strokes it when he thinks I'm asleep), but during the day he can barely look at it.
The clothes I wear now are nice, expensive and they suit me very well. I know I look better than ever before, and I see how other men look at me, but Draco seems to dislike me on principle. What really pisses me off is that back when we both worked at the Ministry, he even used to favour me with his approving eye from time to time. (He worked; I was still in training for charity and social work.) I can't but wonder if it's because of Astoria somehow, but nothing's really changed since then, has it? Is it really the case of grass always being greener on the other side of the fence?
Today I don't even bother with pleasing Draco; I pull on my old jeans and a deep blue top, which, I'm sure, would be deemed too 'plebeian'. After a quick bite, I trudge along the southern corridor towards the main fireplace to Floo to George's shop, where I'm supposed to meet Angelina and Luna. Just as I reach the library, I hear distant sounds of yelling. With astonishment, I recognize Draco's voice. The last time I heard him raise his voice was years ago, so it's a bit disconcerting.
I sneak down a bit closer and stop just behind the library doors. Suddenly, it's oddly quiet and I barely have courage to breathe.
“This is the last time you've put the plan into danger, you imbecile!” My husband's voice is only a low hiss now, and I realise that situation can turn violent in a heartbeat, if the 'imbecile' won't make himself scarce.
“You do something like that one more time, you are finished, you hear me? And when I say finished I mean really finished, if you know what I mean.”
There's a heavy pause before I hear a faint “yes sir.”
There's a sound of Floo activating and then silence. Disappointed that I was unable to find out anything yet again, I start to creep away, when a sudden crash from the parlour makes me jump. Unfortunately, I'm too close to a huge Chinese ceramic urn and I hit my ring stone against it with a resounding clang. Before I can even think about running, the door opens and I slowly turn to face the music. Draco's standing in the doorway, his posture rigid and his face unreadable.
“Going somewhere?” His words are slow, precise and quiet.
“I was just leaving for Diagon Alley.” I try to maintain a calm façade. “You startled me. Did you break anything?”
He looks me up and down and the disapproval in his face deepens.
“Going where, exactly?”
“I'm meeting the girls today. At the shop? Luna and Angie?”
Slowly, so very slowly he nods, as if unsure if he should agree with me going. But I'm already moving to escape. We both know I was eavesdropping and there's nothing to say about that. Fortunately, he lets me leave.
November 2nd, 2004
I hear that Astoria Greengrass got married to some East European steel manufacturer last week. Draco must feel awful. I'm extra nice to him that evening and it seems to help.
November 5th, 2004
“I'm leaving for Madrid tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I ask, feeling uneasy for some reason which, naturally, makes me sound like a fishwife. “Why didn't you say anything earlier? And what's in Madrid anyway?”
He ignores my tone and calmly answers, “Unofficial meeting for Europe's Home Secretaries and various ambassadors.”
“You waited to tell me this late about it on purpose.”
I'm an irate fishwife. I'm being ridiculous and we both know it; I can already see Draco's temper rise.
“What do you care when I leave anyway? It's not as if my presence has any real impact on your life.”
I don't refute it. I tell myself that he's right and shrug. It doesn't matter. Really.
November 18th, 2004
The thing with people is that you get used to them. It doesn't really mean that Draco's growing on me. Except that maybe he is, just a little. He was supposed to be in Madrid for a week, but now it's been almost two and the knot in my stomach tightens by the day. Something must be wrong. I mean, I'm not missing him, or anything. And planning for a child together- but I'm not going to think about it now.
I just find it highly suspicious that European Home Secretaries have two-week length meetings. Unless Draco lied and it's actually a Death Eater thing. Or maybe he's having an affair! Oh my god, what if he's having an affair? That would be even worse! Except, of course not. Having an affair could never be as bad as a Death Eater stuff. And I shouldn't care if he's having an affair anyway. Why should I care, it's not as if...
But it would be very humiliating! Like with that couple at the Ministry a few years back; everybody felt so sorry for the girl, it was awful! I wouldn't want to be in her shoes. But Draco's not having an affair behind my back, because it's just some Death Eater thing. Besides, Draco knows better than to cheat on a Weasley with six, er, five brothers. Yeah, I should talk to Hermione about this Death Eater thing the Home Secretaries are having. I'll do that tomorrow.
November 23rd, 2004
It's strange. Seventeen days and I've talked to Draco three times through wonky Floo. Both times, he looked really tired and unhappy, which naturally lifted my spirits, because it means that the Death Eater plans aren't coming together. After Draco complained about the food, I sent him some home-baked chocolate cake with an Elf. I didn't tell him that I baked it myself; he would have thrown it out or something. I don't know.
And you know that thing with Malfoys and gratitude? The last time he Flooed, it was just to remind me about giving seasonal instructions to the House Elves about the greenhouses. Doesn't he trust me at all? Except, a tiny little part of me hopes that he actually Flooed because he misses me too. Or maybe he's just checking up on me. Whatever.
December 12th, 2004
Today is the day I once imagined I would cherish. As I girl, I've dreamed of waking up to warm kisses and great morning sex, there would be smiles and laughter, perhaps even rose petals on my pillow. Instead, I wake up with a headache, and my husband seems to have forgotten the date altogether. I assume, he's already left for work, because Draco is not there when I stumble downstairs into the breakfast room and it's quite late already.
A year. A whole year of marriage and we are still both here to celebrate it. Unless we are not celebrating at all, which actually seems to be the case.
I'm half fed when Draco finally comes in.
“Good morning,” he says but I don't think he's having a good morning at all. There are rings under his eyes and he looks tired.
“Morning.” I don't ask him what time he returned yesterday because I don't care. Pointedly.
“I'm late.” He grabs a scone and stuffs it into his mouth.
No kidding, Sherlock. “Late?” I ask just to say something.
“I was supposed to be in 20 minutes ago,” he says, gulping down half a cup of coffee. Despite rushing his food, he still swallows before speaking. The high-bred prick.
As he leaves, he throws over his shoulder, “The reservations are for seven o'clock, so make yourself beautiful. I'll be home by six.”
He ends up being late back home too, but eventually, we get out of the house. The restaurant is a triple-EX: exquisite, exotic and exclusive. I expect no less and find myself apathetically thinking that I expect no more either. It's not in Draco's nature to go out of his way to please me, even if it is our first anniversary.
Draco seems stressed out, but somehow I sense that it's not because of work. After making some small talk he passes me a gift-wrapped package across the table.
I blink. “I didn't get you anything.”
“I didn't expect you to.”
I unwrap two books. Figure Flying for Dummies and Figure Flying Through the Ages.
I stare.
“I thought you wouldn't really be into celebrating, so it's nothing much,” he says, after a while.
Why didn't I get him something? Considering what he got me, even a cookbook would have done the trick.
“Open it,” he says.
I stare at him now. I'm not going to read the book here, I think.
“Open it,” he repeats patiently.
Figure Flying for Dummies, eh? When I open the other book, I find two leaflets inside. One is an advert to Madam Lorraine Courtiere's figure flying courses for beginners, and the other one is an invitation to the private tutoring lessons.
I was wrong. A cookbook wouldn't have cut it.
“You can use one of them or combine both,” he says. “Or if you prefer, I can get you the advanced courses; wasn't sure which would suit you better. There was a book on a philosophy behind the Eastern figure flying too, but I didn't think you'd be really into reading about it.”
He speaks more than usual, and suddenly I realise that he must be anxious since I still haven't said anything.
“I'm sorry I didn't get you anything.”
“It's all right,” he says, but I know that it isn't.
The marriage should be a two-way street. There's an empty pause and I feel really awkward. The truth is, I didn't think we would be celebrating at all, but I can't say it, because it would be even worse.
“Or I could just take you shopping in New York,” Draco says finally.
I stare at him for a beat and then ask, “You think I would trade this for a shopping trip?”
I try to sound really incredulous and it seems to be working. He smiles a little.
“A lot of women would. It's New York.”
“I'm not one of them. Thank you, Draco. I used to love figure flying at school, and Lorraine Courtiere's is one of the best teachers. It was a wonderful idea! How on earth did you manage to get me into the course? Will they even take me? I must be too old.”
He smiles. I've actually managed to make Draco Malfoy smile!
“You are not that old, and this course is meant especially for the rich and bored. I'd wager you'll be one of the youngest there. You're going to be the star among amateurs.”
“How do you now? I could be awful, for all you know.”
Draco shakes his head. “I don't think so. I used to watch you at school. Or, well, Blaise and I used to sneak a peek at the whole bunch of girls practising group figure flying.” He shrugs. “You were poetry in motion.”
“You calling me a horse?” I ask, and he grins.
Something strange is happening between us. Draco never smiles and I never smile at him, but there it is; us, together, smiling. And suddenly I realise that whenever Harry and I laughed, it never meant this much, because Harry is prone to laugh and I'm easily to amuse too, but Draco and me, even just smiling... that's something.
Later I thank him again, and think that maybe Draco really is trying. He didn't give me some formal knick-knack that was easily obtained and meant nothing, nor did he just take me to some prestigious place that would cost more than it's worth. Instead, he got me something that was just for me. Something that I would enjoy. Never again will I be jealous of a girl who Harry Potter invites to a Quidditch match.
Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart.
-- Author Unknown
October 8th, 2003
The first discussion of our marriage takes place a week after receiving the written proposal and just a couple of weeks before the wardrobe session. It is still warm for October and the day is disagreeably beautiful. My Dad and the Malfoy lawyer are present too, but mostly it is Draco and I who speak.
Draco is very calm and composed, but the tension is oozing from every fibre of his being, so I know he’s less than happy with the situation.
“I am well aware that what many people are doing right now is entering into formal marriages to appease the Ministry,” Draco starts, “What I am proposing, however, is a real marriage.”
I open my mouth, but he cuts me off.
“Yes, I know it cannot be a marriage of affection. At least not at first.” My snort goes unacknowledged. ”A lot of marriages start out that way but-”
“In your circle maybe.”
Dad cringes at my biting tone. “Now-now, Gin, there's no need for us to be rude.”
“It's no use, Dad, he's not going to take the proposal back.”
For a moment there's a tense silence which Draco interrupts with, ”I'm afraid your daughter is correct, Mr Weasley. At this point neither party can withdraw without severe consequences.”
I keep from pointing out that it was he who started the whole mess in the first place and he continues unperturbed, “You, Ginevra, are correct too in pointing out that in my circle arrange marriages are, indeed, quite common. But I believe that such a start shouldn't be seen as an impediment, but rather an opportunity. Since we are not in love, we have clear heads on our shoulders. We are both intelligent people and have at least a modicum of respect for each other. Perhaps in time, we can learn to... appreciate each other's company better, too.”
I give him a look of utter disbelief at that, but not because the mutual respect he speaks of isn't there. It is and has been for a couple of years now. It's just that his practical approach to marriage seems disgustingly rational.
At length, we discuss our concepts of marriage, my determination to continue working even after nuptials, agree on separate personal quarters, and no lovers unless discussed beforehand (his words). By then, we both know that the Ministry will allow us to divorce, if we so wish, after ten years of marriage, or if we aren't able to conceive, in five. Neither of us brings up the matter of kids since we know that the law will not allow any birth-control anyway.
October 21st, 2004
Sometimes he looks at me as if he hates me. As if he tries not to, but there's nothing he can do about it. It can't be possibly because of the baby, can it? Maybe he blames me for losing it? But I'm not thinking about it and men don't really care about thing like that much, do they? It's probably something much simpler. I think it's because I'm... me.
At first it didn't bother me; I didn't care what he thought of me, but now I tend to be self-conscious about myself. I tell myself it doesn't matter, but it's just so unfair that in the dark of his bedroom he has no problem with my hair (he strokes it when he thinks I'm asleep), but during the day he can barely look at it.
The clothes I wear now are nice, expensive and they suit me very well. I know I look better than ever before, and I see how other men look at me, but Draco seems to dislike me on principle. What really pisses me off is that back when we both worked at the Ministry, he even used to favour me with his approving eye from time to time. (He worked; I was still in training for charity and social work.) I can't but wonder if it's because of Astoria somehow, but nothing's really changed since then, has it? Is it really the case of grass always being greener on the other side of the fence?
Today I don't even bother with pleasing Draco; I pull on my old jeans and a deep blue top, which, I'm sure, would be deemed too 'plebeian'. After a quick bite, I trudge along the southern corridor towards the main fireplace to Floo to George's shop, where I'm supposed to meet Angelina and Luna. Just as I reach the library, I hear distant sounds of yelling. With astonishment, I recognize Draco's voice. The last time I heard him raise his voice was years ago, so it's a bit disconcerting.
I sneak down a bit closer and stop just behind the library doors. Suddenly, it's oddly quiet and I barely have courage to breathe.
“This is the last time you've put the plan into danger, you imbecile!” My husband's voice is only a low hiss now, and I realise that situation can turn violent in a heartbeat, if the 'imbecile' won't make himself scarce.
“You do something like that one more time, you are finished, you hear me? And when I say finished I mean really finished, if you know what I mean.”
There's a heavy pause before I hear a faint “yes sir.”
There's a sound of Floo activating and then silence. Disappointed that I was unable to find out anything yet again, I start to creep away, when a sudden crash from the parlour makes me jump. Unfortunately, I'm too close to a huge Chinese ceramic urn and I hit my ring stone against it with a resounding clang. Before I can even think about running, the door opens and I slowly turn to face the music. Draco's standing in the doorway, his posture rigid and his face unreadable.
“Going somewhere?” His words are slow, precise and quiet.
“I was just leaving for Diagon Alley.” I try to maintain a calm façade. “You startled me. Did you break anything?”
He looks me up and down and the disapproval in his face deepens.
“Going where, exactly?”
“I'm meeting the girls today. At the shop? Luna and Angie?”
Slowly, so very slowly he nods, as if unsure if he should agree with me going. But I'm already moving to escape. We both know I was eavesdropping and there's nothing to say about that. Fortunately, he lets me leave.
November 2nd, 2004
I hear that Astoria Greengrass got married to some East European steel manufacturer last week. Draco must feel awful. I'm extra nice to him that evening and it seems to help.
November 5th, 2004
“I'm leaving for Madrid tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I ask, feeling uneasy for some reason which, naturally, makes me sound like a fishwife. “Why didn't you say anything earlier? And what's in Madrid anyway?”
He ignores my tone and calmly answers, “Unofficial meeting for Europe's Home Secretaries and various ambassadors.”
“You waited to tell me this late about it on purpose.”
I'm an irate fishwife. I'm being ridiculous and we both know it; I can already see Draco's temper rise.
“What do you care when I leave anyway? It's not as if my presence has any real impact on your life.”
I don't refute it. I tell myself that he's right and shrug. It doesn't matter. Really.
November 18th, 2004
The thing with people is that you get used to them. It doesn't really mean that Draco's growing on me. Except that maybe he is, just a little. He was supposed to be in Madrid for a week, but now it's been almost two and the knot in my stomach tightens by the day. Something must be wrong. I mean, I'm not missing him, or anything. And planning for a child together- but I'm not going to think about it now.
I just find it highly suspicious that European Home Secretaries have two-week length meetings. Unless Draco lied and it's actually a Death Eater thing. Or maybe he's having an affair! Oh my god, what if he's having an affair? That would be even worse! Except, of course not. Having an affair could never be as bad as a Death Eater stuff. And I shouldn't care if he's having an affair anyway. Why should I care, it's not as if...
But it would be very humiliating! Like with that couple at the Ministry a few years back; everybody felt so sorry for the girl, it was awful! I wouldn't want to be in her shoes. But Draco's not having an affair behind my back, because it's just some Death Eater thing. Besides, Draco knows better than to cheat on a Weasley with six, er, five brothers. Yeah, I should talk to Hermione about this Death Eater thing the Home Secretaries are having. I'll do that tomorrow.
November 23rd, 2004
It's strange. Seventeen days and I've talked to Draco three times through wonky Floo. Both times, he looked really tired and unhappy, which naturally lifted my spirits, because it means that the Death Eater plans aren't coming together. After Draco complained about the food, I sent him some home-baked chocolate cake with an Elf. I didn't tell him that I baked it myself; he would have thrown it out or something. I don't know.
And you know that thing with Malfoys and gratitude? The last time he Flooed, it was just to remind me about giving seasonal instructions to the House Elves about the greenhouses. Doesn't he trust me at all? Except, a tiny little part of me hopes that he actually Flooed because he misses me too. Or maybe he's just checking up on me. Whatever.
December 12th, 2004
Today is the day I once imagined I would cherish. As I girl, I've dreamed of waking up to warm kisses and great morning sex, there would be smiles and laughter, perhaps even rose petals on my pillow. Instead, I wake up with a headache, and my husband seems to have forgotten the date altogether. I assume, he's already left for work, because Draco is not there when I stumble downstairs into the breakfast room and it's quite late already.
A year. A whole year of marriage and we are still both here to celebrate it. Unless we are not celebrating at all, which actually seems to be the case.
I'm half fed when Draco finally comes in.
“Good morning,” he says but I don't think he's having a good morning at all. There are rings under his eyes and he looks tired.
“Morning.” I don't ask him what time he returned yesterday because I don't care. Pointedly.
“I'm late.” He grabs a scone and stuffs it into his mouth.
No kidding, Sherlock. “Late?” I ask just to say something.
“I was supposed to be in 20 minutes ago,” he says, gulping down half a cup of coffee. Despite rushing his food, he still swallows before speaking. The high-bred prick.
As he leaves, he throws over his shoulder, “The reservations are for seven o'clock, so make yourself beautiful. I'll be home by six.”
He ends up being late back home too, but eventually, we get out of the house. The restaurant is a triple-EX: exquisite, exotic and exclusive. I expect no less and find myself apathetically thinking that I expect no more either. It's not in Draco's nature to go out of his way to please me, even if it is our first anniversary.
Draco seems stressed out, but somehow I sense that it's not because of work. After making some small talk he passes me a gift-wrapped package across the table.
I blink. “I didn't get you anything.”
“I didn't expect you to.”
I unwrap two books. Figure Flying for Dummies and Figure Flying Through the Ages.
I stare.
“I thought you wouldn't really be into celebrating, so it's nothing much,” he says, after a while.
Why didn't I get him something? Considering what he got me, even a cookbook would have done the trick.
“Open it,” he says.
I stare at him now. I'm not going to read the book here, I think.
“Open it,” he repeats patiently.
Figure Flying for Dummies, eh? When I open the other book, I find two leaflets inside. One is an advert to Madam Lorraine Courtiere's figure flying courses for beginners, and the other one is an invitation to the private tutoring lessons.
I was wrong. A cookbook wouldn't have cut it.
“You can use one of them or combine both,” he says. “Or if you prefer, I can get you the advanced courses; wasn't sure which would suit you better. There was a book on a philosophy behind the Eastern figure flying too, but I didn't think you'd be really into reading about it.”
He speaks more than usual, and suddenly I realise that he must be anxious since I still haven't said anything.
“I'm sorry I didn't get you anything.”
“It's all right,” he says, but I know that it isn't.
The marriage should be a two-way street. There's an empty pause and I feel really awkward. The truth is, I didn't think we would be celebrating at all, but I can't say it, because it would be even worse.
“Or I could just take you shopping in New York,” Draco says finally.
I stare at him for a beat and then ask, “You think I would trade this for a shopping trip?”
I try to sound really incredulous and it seems to be working. He smiles a little.
“A lot of women would. It's New York.”
“I'm not one of them. Thank you, Draco. I used to love figure flying at school, and Lorraine Courtiere's is one of the best teachers. It was a wonderful idea! How on earth did you manage to get me into the course? Will they even take me? I must be too old.”
He smiles. I've actually managed to make Draco Malfoy smile!
“You are not that old, and this course is meant especially for the rich and bored. I'd wager you'll be one of the youngest there. You're going to be the star among amateurs.”
“How do you now? I could be awful, for all you know.”
Draco shakes his head. “I don't think so. I used to watch you at school. Or, well, Blaise and I used to sneak a peek at the whole bunch of girls practising group figure flying.” He shrugs. “You were poetry in motion.”
“You calling me a horse?” I ask, and he grins.
Something strange is happening between us. Draco never smiles and I never smile at him, but there it is; us, together, smiling. And suddenly I realise that whenever Harry and I laughed, it never meant this much, because Harry is prone to laugh and I'm easily to amuse too, but Draco and me, even just smiling... that's something.
Later I thank him again, and think that maybe Draco really is trying. He didn't give me some formal knick-knack that was easily obtained and meant nothing, nor did he just take me to some prestigious place that would cost more than it's worth. Instead, he got me something that was just for me. Something that I would enjoy. Never again will I be jealous of a girl who Harry Potter invites to a Quidditch match.
Author notes: The mistake with the first chapter made me revise the second just in case. (Check A/N before the chapter!) That is why you're getting the second one early. You can now thank me with a review. *grin*
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