Chapter Text
“Ginevra, fancy seeing you here,” Malfoy’s posh drawl carried over the hubbub of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Screaming frisbees whistled as they soared overhead and pygmypuffs merrily chirped from their crate in the window.
“I work here, Malfoy, it's hardly a surprise I'm here,” Ginny spat. “You however, what do you want?” Malfoy rarely ventured into the shop, preferring to send in his orders via owl. He may have been fully redeemed in the eyes of the wizarding public but that didn't prevent George from seeing him as fair game for a range of pranks, his version of payback in miniature for every jibe and taunt that had been directed at their family.
“Now, now, is that how you talk to all your paying customers?” Malfoy replied, pulling at a loose thread on the cuff of his elegantly tailored deep blue robe. He vanished the offending cotton with a flick of his wand. Ginny eyed him suspiciously. He didn't move from his position besides the display of owl treats.
“Well customise then,” she told him, turning to return to stacking Fred's newest invention: Chameleon Chocolate Creams - merge into the background with one delicious bite. Admittedly, the delicious statement was pushing it. Ginny had sampled them several times and the strong lavender flavour was more than a little off-putting. But the effects were undoubtedly impressive; you could stand in front of anything and one tiny bite would morph your skin to match. It stayed that way for about thirty minutes and they'd had great fun at Hermione's birthday party playing guess where you'd eaten the chocolate.
“I…” Malfoy’s long slender fingers landed on her bare forearm; Ginny stilled. “I wanted to talk to you.”
She placed down the box she was holding and turned back to face him. His lips curled up in their almost trademark sneer, but his silvery eyes sparkled with uncertainty. “Talk then,” she said.
“Is there…” He glanced around the shop. There was a young witch perusing the novelty Christmas decorations further down the aisle, but otherwise the section they were in was deserted. “Is there somewhere we could talk? More privately,” he clarified. “It's important.”
Ginny huffed out a burst of air. Shaking his hand from her arm, she gestured at the stock room. “We can talk in there.”
He followed her into the small cluttered space, it was more of a cupboard than a room. Teetering shelves charmed to contain all the spare stock clung to each wall. Ginny hopped up onto the low table at the back, it was usually used for sorting small items for display but it was currently bare. She directed Malfoy to the rickety chair in the corner.
He seated himself gingerly on the edge after brushing off a cobweb with his hand. He watched her, pale grey irises dancing silver in the candlelight from the wall sconces. His platinum blonde hair swept across his forehead. Chiseled cheekbones and angular jaw gave him a haughty but not unattractive look. Ginny wouldn't deny that he was good looking. In her adventurous sixth year through the available boys at school she'd have happily considered him, even if then he'd resembled more of a gaunt ghost than seventeen year old schoolboy. Now, with the consumption of ample food and no menacing presence residing in his home, he'd filled out in all the right places.
“Talk then, I haven't got all day. In case you didn't realise, I'm working. Some of us don't have the luxury of being Wixin of leisure,” she snapped, rushing out her words to quell the unwelcome quickening of her pulse at his proximity. Her voice came out more harshly than she'd intended. It still rankled that for all Malfoy had done wrong in the second wizarding war and all she had done right, it was her who had to work and he still had the unbridled wealth of centuries of vaults behind him. Not that she disliked her job, Fred and George had built an excellent business and they were equally fair with family as with their other employees.
“I have a proposition for you,” Malfoy said, examining his fingernails.
“A proposition?” Ginny echoed.
“I, ah, may have told my mother that I'd secured a suitable date for her Halloween Ball in three weeks time,” he murmured into his lap.
“And that involves me, how?” Ginny asked, a little bewildered.
“I'd like it to be you.”
Ginny let out a burst of laughter, clutching at her stomach. “That's a good one,” she gasped out between sucking in deep breaths. “You had me fooled. George would be delighted at the act.”
“I'm being quite serious.” He raised his head, meeting her eyes.
Ginny struggled to calm her breathing. He sat, perfectly upright and facing her. His expression pleasantly neutral as if they were discussing the weather. “Let me get this straight, you, Draco Malfoy, told your mother that you had a suitable date for her extravagant ball, and somehow the witch you came up with was me? You do recall that I'm a Weasley?”
“Precisely, you are a Weasley. One of the sacred twenty-eight pureblooded families, and thus, in the eyes of my mother, suitable.” His voice was even, but his fingers betrayed his nervousness as they played with the diamond studded cufflink on his opposite wrist.
“There is no way your mother approves of my family, Malfoy. We are blood traitors and proud,” Ginny said, allowing the broad smile to spread across her face. “Your mother would hate it. She would hate me.”
Malfoy leant towards her. “And that is why you would be perfect,” he said, his breath stirring some errant strands of hair that had fled the confines of her bun.
Ginny stared at him, forcing herself to not back away. “But you just said…”
He cut her off. “My mother gave me some parameters, which you fulfil completely. However as you say, she's not going to happy.”
“And that is a good thing because?”
“Because she's trying to marry me off. I don't want to court any of those vapid witches she keeps trying to pair me with, so she told me to find my own. If I turn up with you on my arm, I'm sure all mention of marriage contracts will be swiftly cast into the next decade. I'm barely into my twenties, far too young to be considering such a commitment regardless of the proclivities of my illustrious ancestors.” His sneer was back as he spat out the final words.
“I see,” Ginny said slowly. “I understand how this benefits you, but what's in it for me?”
“How Slytherin!” Malfoy gave her a wink. “Your recent breakup was headline news, wouldn't you like a little revenge?”
“No,” Ginny replied quickly. Malfoy’s brow creased, as if trying to piece together a complicated puzzle. “What happened between Harry and me is none of the press’s business. Or,” she held up a finger, “your business for that matter. I know you two don't get along. But suffice to say our breakup was perfectly amicable. We are still friends. We just wanted different things. And I won't do anything to hurt him.”
“So if not that, what do you want?” Malfoy asked, his voice had dropped lower, more seductive. He leant a little closer, his breath tickling her cheek. “I have resources, connections. I'm sure we could come to some arrangement.”
A raft of ideas flitted through Ginny's mind: playing Quidditch professionally, buying her own flat instead of having to share with Ron, dressing in an elegant gown and being twirled around a ballroom. All came down to the one thing she'd never had enough of. The thing that meant she'd had to take the stable job offered to her when she finished Hogwarts instead of risking everything on a Quidditch dream. The one thing that Malfoy had in ample supply. And yet she was a Weasley, and Weasleys never asked for money. They may not always have the financial resources others had, but they were rich in so many other ways.
"I wouldn't be adverse to other things.” She brushed a finger across his jaw and was gratified at the shudder it elicited. This could be an exciting diversion if she played it right. Not that she had any real intention of doing anything of that nature with him in a fake relationship, but it could be fun to see what response she could elicit from behind his outwardly icy persona.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His unruffled demeanor faltering momentarily.
He suddenly sat back, his face relaxing back into a neutral expression. “I would, of course, treat anyone I'm dating generously.”
“Fake dating,” Ginny clarified, quashing the unease she felt at his apparent reading of her mind. Legilimens needed eye contact, didn't they? Malfoy knew the Weasleys weren't rich, that must be why he'd offered that information.
“Fake or real, the money is the same. My mother would never believe that I'm truly dating you if I didn't shower you with gifts.”
“Enemies with benefits,” Ginny replied with a chuckle.
“I'm not your enemy,” Malfoy protested, a tinge of pink spreading from the bridge of his nose and across his pronounced cheekbones.
“True,” Ginny agreed. “Acquaintances with benefits then. You could hardly describe us as friends.”
“I guess not,” Malfoy replied. “Anyway I have kept you from your job for far too long. Forgive me. I'll owl you later with further arrangements.”
With that he rose, gave an awkward half bow in the cramped space and strode from the store room.
Ginny ambled along the quaint Muggle high street. She'd been surprised when Malfoy had suggested via owl that they meet in a Muggle cafe, but she had always enjoyed her forays into the Muggle world so she'd had no objection. She'd taken longer than usual deciding on an outfit, finally pulling on some dark jeans and a pale blue fitted top that accentuated her curves in all the right places (at least if Luna was any judge).
Ron had enquired where she was going as she'd walked past him in their small kitchen. He'd visibly bristled when she'd joked that she had a date. She'd annoyed him further by telling him that he wouldn't approve. Although she was not looking forward to him finding out who she was (fake) dating; she doubted there was anyone he'd actually approve of.
Malfoy was already in the cafe when she arrived, he rose to greet her. As he brushed a kiss across her knuckles, she had to fight back a giggle. She failed to suppress her blush.
“Looking lovely, Ginevra,” he said.
“Right, first things first, you are not going to call me that. Call me Ginny.” She fixed him with a firm stare, the same look that usually managed to quell even Fred and George's exuberance.
“Okay, Ginny,” he stretched out her name, lips curling up in a smirk. “You can call me Draco. My mother is hardly going to believe our ruse if you are still snapping Malfoy at me.”
“Very well, Draco,” Ginny copied the way he'd elongated her name. “I'd like a cappuccino and a slice of carrot cake.”
He nodded once and headed to the counter. Ginny observed him, in his smart trousers and crisp white open collar shirt he looked somewhat overdressed for this small establishment but perfectly Muggle.
“I'm surprised you wanted to meet here,” Ginny said as Malfoy returned and took his seat. He pushed her coffee and cake towards her and she gratefully clasped her hands around the cup.
“Hermione suggested it,” Malfoy replied, pouring tea into his cup and adding a dash of milk. By far the strangest thing that had come out of Malfoy's post-war redemption work was the friendship he'd formed with Hermione. He'd given some ridiculous sum of money in aid of setting up a primary school for magical children of non-magical parents and from that gesture an unlikely friendship had formed. “We could hardly meet at the Manor, I don't fancy being eviscerated by your brothers, and we will draw attention if we meet in wizarding public.”
He had a fair point. Although Ginny's brothers accepted that Malfoy was no longer the enemy, that didn't mean that they liked him. Ron in particular became very grumpy whenever Hermione talked about the school project as it inevitably meant that she mentioned Malfoy.
“So, what do we need to discuss?”
“Very Gryffindor, straight to the point as always.”
“And the issue with that is?”
“No issue at my end, but at the ball…” Malfoy paused, taking a sip of his tea. Ginny bit back the retort that hung on the tip of her tongue, was this a test? He slowly placed the cup back down, it clinked against the china saucer. “At the ball, it matters what you say. People will read things into every action, every utterance.”
“Slytherins,” Ginny muttered.
“Slytherins indeed,” Malfoy agreed. “Although not solely. Whilst it's true that the majority of my mother's associates were in Slytherin, she's not quite that closed minded.”
“Just nearly.”
“In most things, no. She has softened on many matters, but she still has a ridiculous notion that the Malfoy line must be unblemished.” Malfoy snarled the last word; it was clear he didn't agree.
“So why me? If you wanted to prove to your mother she has no hold over your romantic prospects, why this pretence with me?”
“You are believable,” Malfoy replied. He lathered jam and cream into his fruit scone.
“A Malfoy and a Weasley, believable!” Ginny let out a ripple of laughter. “Hardly!”
“Why ever not? You are an attractive witch. And we have a lot in common.”
Ginny stared at him, but Malfoy seemed unaffected by the compliment he'd just paid her as if it were of no consequence. “We have?” She settled for asking about the other point he'd made, pushing down the cauldron that threatened to bubble over in her chest.
“Quidditch,” Malfoy said simply. “We both love Quidditch. In fact I think that would make the perfect cover story for how we became reacquainted. How would you like a try out?”
Ginny fumbled for the words, none appeared on her tongue.
“You were the best flyer at school by a considerable margin. Your talents are wasted in that shop. I told you I have contacts, I don't mind putting them to good use.”
“I, um, I…”
“I think the word you are looking for is thank you,” Malfoy interrupted her garbling. "As for the other parts of the story we can improvise if necessary. I take it you haven't told anyone?"
Ginny shook her head. She'd considered telling Luna, but even though she trusted Luna not to tell anyone outright there was always the risk she'd reveal truths unintentionally. "Have you? You mentioned Hermione recommended this cafe," Ginny posited.
"I haven't," Malfoy confirmed. "I merely asked Hermione if she could recommend a cafe in which I could meet someone without press interference. I think it's best we tell no one. It's more believable that way."
"And the expectations?"
"To the point as always," Malfoy said, with a chuckle. "We'll have to quell some of those Gryffindor tendancies."
"If you didn't want Gryffindor tendancies then you should have asked someone else!"
Malfoy properly laughed at that. "Quell them just outwardly. I happen to be quite a fan of the straightforwardness, makes a pleasant change from the slipperiness of my fellow Slytherins."
"A brood of vipers more like."
"I think you'll find we are more bark than bite. But subtleness is an art that will help with our cover."
"Well while it's just the two of us I'll dispense with the subtleness. What will be expected of me at your mother's extravagant party?"
"A couple of dances, a little light conversation, arriving on my arm," Malfoy said lightly. "Nothing onerous.
"No overt public displays of affection?" Ginny clarified.
"Not unless we are trying to give my mother kittens." He put on an even more pronounced posh tone in a higher voice. "It is not becoming of your station to cavort around as if you were an erumpent in heat, Draco."
Ginny smothered a giggle as Malfoy took a sip of his tea.
"That was in essence my mother's lecture when I attended the last ball she hosted. I was in fourth year and Pansy was my date. My mother caught us snogging behind a curtain. Her lecture to us both droned on for hours and was punctuated with more disappointment than I'm capable of conveying. It's not that she's even particularly prudish, she just takes great care in appearances and not being caught." Malfoy winked at her and heat flashed across her cheeks.
"Not that there will be anything to catch," she said, hoping her voice didn't betray her.
"No, I guess not," Malfoy confirmed.
Lying in bed later that evening, Ginny allowed herself to imagine that he'd seemed disappointed at that fact.