10

When Draco had asked her if she wanted to stop by Hermione's work, this was far from what Ginny had expected.

"You could've just asked me if I wanted to stop by Malfoy Incorporated," she growled.

Draco chuckled. "And miss the look on your face? Not in a million years."

The way every single person's eyes followed her as she walked past was getting unnerving. "Draco," she asked, "What kind of potions are you making here? This place is enormous!"

"We have roughly one hundred of the world's top Potions Masters, Hex-Reversal Experts, and Medi-Wizards working on cutting edge medical solutions."

"Medical solutions?" she questioned. That sounded like nothing she knew of him, incomplete as it was.

He gave an oddly fake smile. "Haven't you heard? Your death turned me into a philanthropist."

She didn't buy it, but before Ginny had time to press the point, Hermione swept her up in a hug.

"Ginny!" her best friend squealed happily, "This is such a wonderful surprise! Come on, let me show you the back areas. We've discovered around twelve different cures for mental illnesses. In only four years!"

"Wow!" Ginny exclaimed. "That's a lot…" She trailed off.

It clicked, and Ginny stopped dead in her tracks. Mental illnesses. And her bird had been coming to her every day for four years.

She turned to look at Draco. He slouched slightly, hands stuffed into his designer-suit pockets and face taut with suppressed emotion.

"All of this… for me?" she whispered. She couldn't cry, not here, not now with a hundred of the magical world's brightest minds all watching her!

A nod from Draco sent the traitor tears spilling down her cheeks. In an instant he was by her side, crushing her to him as her tears soaked his shirt. "Of course for you, love," he whispered, voice catching. "What better to do with an ungodly amount of money?"

Hermione silently backed away, giving the couple their space.

"But me… I…"

Draco stroked Ginny's hair, burying his cheek into the top of her head. "Ginevra Molly Weasley," he reprimanded softly. "You are a fool if you think this wasn't worth a hundred times every galleon spent. I always thought you were the sharpest witch I ever knew—don't go proving me wrong now."

She fought against a fresh wave of tears while he simply enjoyed the feel of her in his arms again.

"Besides," he chuckled, "you'd be surprised how lucrative medical potions can be."

•           •           •

"Draco, calm down! What's going on?"

The blond boy paced in the disused classroom. He snorted out a hot burst of air. "Father just told me the date of the ceremony."

The redhead's eyes crinkled in confusion. "The ceremony?"

"For taking my Mark!" he roared.

She stood silently, unsure what to do as he resumed pacing. "It's not like he'll take an excuse," the boy spat. "I should have known this would be coming."

"We'll sneak you out," the girl whispered. "You can be long gone by the time they come for you."

He stared at her for an eternity, hope he hadn't expected blooming. "Where?"

She shrugged. "Why not the Burrow? It's well-protected and no one would expect it."

The blond boy resumed pacing.

"Draco, I know you'd be giving up everything, but hadn't you already decided to? Isn't it worth it?"

He stopped pacing. The blond boy looked her straight in the eyes, something strange alight in its depths. "Marry me."

She took a step backwards. "What?"

"Marry me. Please. We can have something that no one else can take away."

•           •           •

Ginny had never seen Draco this nervous, not recently, as a bird, or in any of her scattered memories.

He fiddled with his wand, worry etching his face. The gates to Malfoy Manor loomed two feet away and Draco had made no move to open them. "Are you sure, Ginny?"

She squeezed his hand. "Draco, do you love me?"

He swallowed. "More than I thought possible. But you barely know me. Barely remember."

She shook her head. "The more I'm around you, the more it fills in the gaps." A sweet grin lit her face. "I even remember you proposing."

"You do?" He looked happily shocked.

"Well, mostly. But I really want this, Draco. Just cause I don't remember everything doesn't mean you get to treat me like I'm made of glass."

He gave a wry grin. "I wouldn't dream of it."

With a flick of his wand, the wards lowered, gates swinging open.

•           •           •

Narcissa perched in her favorite chair, waiting for the House Elf to usher her son into the sitting room. She would never have admitted it, but she was slightly nervous to meet the girl that held her son's happiness so completely in her hands.

Hearing footsteps, she rose, her fresh-off-the-runway robes rustling. Hair perfectly styled, dress coordinating with the furniture, Narcissa knew she was the epitome of stately elegance.

Her son walked in, looking sharp in his designer black and grey suit.

And there she was.

Ginevra Weasley, last child, only daughter of dirt-poor blood-traitors. Draco had warned her intensely to, 'Be nice, Mother,' but his warning went straight through her head. The girl was too muscled, dressed simply (high-quality, but she knew it was on her son's galleons), hair out of place, and FAR too tanned to ever be considered attractive in high society. Narcissa had seen her briefly before, but sick and in bed was nothing compared to sticking out like a sore thumb in Narcissa's prized sitting room.

"Mother," Draco warned sharply. He knew her too well. "This is Ginny Weasley, the only woman in the world I'd choose over you."

Narcissa stared at her son in shock.

"Draco!" the Weasley gasped with surprise.

But his gaze held no apology. Narcissa was stunned by the certainty in his eyes, the steel in his tone.

The redhead chewed her lip. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. I didn't mean to—"

"Child," the older woman cut her off, "who do you think knows me better? You, or my own son?"

The girl didn't know how to respond to that.

Narcissa put on her best society-smile and gestured to the couch. "Sit, please, Ginevra. I'll have the House Elves get you something while you tell me all about yourself."

Her son grinned at some joke she didn't understand and Ginevra flushed as she took a seat across from Narcissa.

"Well," the redhead started awkwardly, "I don't actually remember much about myself. I know I was in Gryffindor at Hogwarts, have a large family, and was able to hold my own dueling your son even when crazy."

"Well!" Narcissa was aghast. "Anything you should actually be proud of? Hopefully you aren't planning on having a career," she practically spat the word, "are you?"

The girl frowned. "I don't remember, but I would assume so."

Draco winced. "Ginny was planning on being a professional Quidditch player, before. Just in the past week, I've gotten letters from three different teams, asking if she's still got it."

Narcissa couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. This was her worst nightmare realized.

Ginevra turned to Draco. "Really? I didn't know I was good at Quidditch. Why didn't you tell me about the letters?"

He shrugged. "I didn't want to rush you. Chances are, you still have the muscle-memory, but you haven't been on a broom in ten years. It's not going to be easy to get your edge back."

She nodded, understanding. But his mother was far from it. "Draco, darling," she cooed, "you can't honestly be supporting her playing Quidditch? It's disgraceful for a woman, especially so for the Lady of Malfoy!"

Ginevra lost it. "From what I know, being a Weasley is already a disgrace. Adding Quidditch to it isn't going to change anything."

"But you will be a Malfoy! I cannot allow you to disgrace that name any further!"

"Mother," Draco's voice was weary. "Did you stop being a Black when Father married you?"

Narcissa sniffed. "Of course not. Once you are born from the best, that can never be stripped away from you. Being born as a blight on the name of pure-blood is an entirely different matter."

"That's not it at all," Draco growled. He started to go on, but stopped when Ginevra laughed. "What's so funny?" he asked, voice filled with irritation.

The redhead grinned. "That's exactly it. You, Mrs. Malfoy, were born well-bred and can't help it. I was born a blight," Draco stiffened. "and can't help it."

"You are not a blight!" he said hotly.

The girl ignored him. "Weasleys are known for having lots of children, most of them male. I will also agree to accompany your son to whichever social events he wants, wearing whatever you deem appropriate." A small, cunning smirk twitched at her lips. "But I expect full autonomy in every other aspect of my life. For, as you know, a true Malfoy is servant to no one."

Narcissa felt a rare, genuine smile growing. For once—someone else who could be reasonable.