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The 200 question survey took her four days to complete; not because she didn’t have time, but because half of it was multiple-choice, while the other half was essay-style. It took a lot of effort and thought to express her stances on the situations the questionnaire offered for consideration. Now, two weeks later, Ginny finally got a return letter. Her fingers struggled with the scroll, nerves running through her faster than a golden snitch.
Ginevra Weasley,
Your questionnaire results were received on 2 May. As of 18 May, our team of experts have matched you with a future spouse. Congratulations! As per Statute 904.89b, the groom is responsible for the wedding, sans the bride’s attire, and the bride is responsible for the honeymoon. If this statute poses an exorbitant financial stress on your family, you may owl Barnabus Portley in the Wizarding Marriage Department within three days of this letter.
Please keep in mind: just as you do not know their identity, your future spouse does not know yours. This is to ensure the safety of the couple as well as the integrity of the Statute. Any questions or issues can be owled directly to Mr. Portley above. He will be in touch with the time and location of your wedding.
Also keep in mind that ignoring this summons or attempting to flee from the altar will result in a fine of at least 10,000 galleons and a minimum sentence of six months in Azkaban. Our team has expertly matched you; from emotional temperament to favorite Quidditch team, we study each and every profile to ensure the best possible relationships.
Regards,
Winona Haxlett
------
Draco Malfoy,
Your questionnaire results were received on 6 April. As of 18 May, our team of experts have matched you with a future spouse. Congratulations! As per Statute 904.89b, the groom is responsible for the wedding, sans the bride’s attire, and the bride is responsible for the honeymoon. If this statute poses an exorbitant financial stress on your family, you may owl Barnabus Portley in the Wizarding Marriage Department within three days of this letter.
Please keep in mind: just as you do not know their identity, your future spouse does not know yours. This is to ensure the safety of the couple as well as the integrity of the Statute. Any questions or issues can be owled directly to Mr. Portley above. He will be one to reach with the time and location of your wedding and share the information with your bride.
Also keep in mind that ignoring this summons or attempting to flee from the altar will result in a fine of 10,000 galleons and a minimum sentence of six months in Azkaban. Our team has expertly matched you; from emotional temperament to favorite Quidditch team, we study each and every profile to ensure the best possible relationships.
Regards,
Winona Haxlett
-----
“Oh Ginny, how exciting! You’ll be married in just a fortnight!” Molly gushed, wrapping her arms around her youngest child. “We’ll have to go shopping immediately! I’m sure there are so many women looking for wedding robes and gowns. What do you think you want, Ginny?”
Biting her lip, Ginny let her mother ramble with all of her thoughts on what kind of fabric would drape her best. All Ginny wanted to do was hop on her broom, fly as high as she could go, and just sit amongst the clouds and stare at the roof of the Burrow. Everything was going to change soon; did she know her husband? Was he nice? Did he like apple pies and swimming in the lake during the summer months? Would he make fun of her red hair and freckles?
She shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. The letter said they were matched by experts, so surely he couldn’t be that bad. No one would see a Weasley name and not think of all they did for the war, then match a Weasley with someone who would make their life miserable! That would be ridiculous. Ginny almost laughed at her previous nerves and allowed herself to smile.
“I want pure white, Mum. Any silhouette we can afford, I don’t care, but it has to be white.”
Molly gave her daughter a pointed look, “Ginny, I thought maybe an eggshell, or perhaps a cream?” Ginny shook her head. “Dear, Fleur looked stunning in her ivory gown. White is for-”
“I know what white is for, Mum.” Her brown eyes didn’t blink as she met her mother’s gaze. There was a silent moment between them before Molly wrapped her arms around Ginny once more.
“Oh Ginny! I’m so happy! I’ll owl all the boys and we’ll get you the prettiest dress in London!”
“Mum, no, they’ll have their own weddings-”
Molly threw her head back and laughed. “Who? The only unmarried son I have left is Charlie, and he’s in Romania! I’m sure the Ministry can’t get him there,” she waved the idea off like an insignificant fly. “I have a whole trunk of scrolls we can go through for robe and dress ideas. Now, mind, Bill didn’t have much of a honeymoon, but you can use Shell Cottage just the same if you’d like. They’ve been moved out for about a month now…”
“Wait, Mum… Ron’s only engaged. Any marriage contracts prior to the Marriage Law were null and void. He might not end up with-”
“Stop fussing, Ginny! Everything will be just fine.”
Three days later, Ginny found herself in front of a full-length mirror with a gorgeous white dress on her body. She stared at every aspect, from the fabric to the neckline, the train and the skirt length, but she couldn’t figure out why she hated it so much.
“I look like a…”
“A bride!” Molly squealed, but Ginny’s eyebrows furrowed more.
“No, I look like a pygmy puff.”
Deflating, Molly got comfortable again. “There’s only two more dresses, Ginny. You’ll have to pick one eventually.”
Rubbing her copper eyebrow, Ginny felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. Why was it so difficult to choose an outfit for her wedding? They’d been to three shops and seen dozens of choices; Ginny was ready to throw in the towel.
She shuffled to the fitting room, stripped the atrocious robes off, and wiggled into the next one. At this point, she didn’t even bother checking her reflection before stepping onto the pedestal before her mother.
When Molly didn’t speak, Ginny turned around and found her mother’s hands covering her mouth, eyes filled with tears. “Mum? What’s wrong?” Ginny’s hands went to her stomach, “Is it that bad?”
Still speechless, Molly shook her head. She clasped her hands in her lap and fidgeted with her own ring. “Oh Ginny,” she croaked, “You look…” a sob escaped her before she covered her mouth again.
Ginny finally looked in the mirror and gasped. Her mother was right, this was beautiful. She admired the lace overlay and delicate beading along the bust. The slight silver embroidery within the accents reflected the light and radiated her body in an ethereal glow.
“Wow,” she whispered. “Oh Mum, can we-”
“Yes! Oh Ginny!” Molly ran to her daughter and clutched her for dear life, “It’s absolutely beautiful, and you look so-” she sobbed again, “so grown-up.”
Ginny’s eyes began to mist as well but she forced them away with a gulp. “It’s perfect, Mum.”
While Molly continued to embrace her daughter, Ginny checked the tag that hung from the hanger. She gulped again at the price. “Maybe we should keep looking.”
“Don’t even think about it, Ginevra. This is the one and I don’t want you to even consider walking out of this store without it.”
“But Mum, the price-”
“Hush you. Your brothers came together and made it happen. It’s their wedding gift to you.”
With a few grumbles, Ginny relented; it really was a beautiful gown and she would happily let Ron’s bride use it, too. Maybe even any future Weasley daughters, like Victoire.
------
Narcissa would never tell a soul she was frantic with wedding planning, but Draco could see right through her. It wasn’t like she normally had five cups of tea before lunch, but the last three days, she was rarely seen without a steaming cup in hand. Draco was only slightly annoyed at the idea that his mother was so feverish with ironing out every detail; the poor woman was obsessed with napkin folds and vine arches, he thought she might combust at any moment.
Draco watched as the Quick-Notes Quill scribbled notes above her shoulder, though how it knew what to write for her list and what to omit from her conversation with him would never be answered. He simply watched as his mother made every decision, asking his opinion once in a while before explaining why his opinion was entirely inappropriate for such an occasion. “It will clash with your robes, dear,” was usually her excuse, though Draco was fairly sure his robes would be black and… Didn’t black go with everything? He went back to ignoring her and prayed to the gods that his future bride would accept him, his family, and not be as annoying as Pansy. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?
-----
With only seven days until her nuptials, Ginny felt her anxiety rise exponentially. She and Hermione had gone to Shell Cottage to clean up anything left behind from Bill, Fleur, and Victoire. She was only a baby, but evidence of Victoire was imminent in every room of the beach getaway. Every wave of their wands removed dust, grime, and cleared the humid air. Beds were stripped, floors were swept, and in only a few hours, every room shined.
“This would be a great room for the Ministry-assigned House Elf,” Hermione said, her hand presenting a small room off the staircase.
Ginny groaned, “Was that your idea? Who’s brilliant plan was it to plant a Ministry spy into my forced marriage?”
Hermione gave a sad smile, “They’re there for your protection, Ginny. They’re contracted and paid by the Ministry to ensure safety for both parties. If something goes wrong - which it won’t - the assigned House Elf will transport the endangered party to safety. Wouldn’t you feel better knowing there was an escape plan in an emergency like that?”
The redhead scoffed, “What kind of experts are they if they think my life will be in danger?”
Hermione patted her friend’s hand, “They’re just covering all of their bases, Ginny.”
“And is this House Elf going to rat on me to the Ministry if we don’t sleep in the same bed? That’s part of the law too, isn’t it?”
“You know I didn’t have anything to do with this, right? It’s not like I voted for it or anything,” Hermione explained.
“No, of course not, I know that. It’s just-” Ginny gave an exasperated sigh, “It’s all so stressful. I grew up thinking I’d marry Harry, and when we split up, I understood that my childhood dream was going to change but… I still imagined having a choice , you know?” Hermione nodded sympathetically. “Are you still waiting on your results?”
“Yes, but I’m in no rush. I’m sure it will take a miracle to find the right husband for me.”
“Don’t say that-”
Hermione chuckled, “I know who I am, Ginny. I know what I’m like. I’m with myself twenty-four hours a day, I know exactly what kind of person I am. It takes a lot of patience and understanding to be around someone that puts so much passion into the rights of others, or cares so much about learning everything I can about...well, everything,” a pitiful laugh fell out of her. “I’m a very particular chit, Ginny. It will take a very particular man to pair with me.”
The women stood in silence for a bit, looking around the small room they’d decided on for the House Elf.
“Do you think it'll all be okay, Hermione?" Ginny whispered, desperate to quell her greatest fears.
Hermione squeezed her hand in reassurance, "I'm sure it will."
------
"Where will you live, Draco?" Narcissa asked at dinner.
"Here, I guess," he responded with a shrug.
His parents looked to each other with an unreadable expression.
"What?"
Narcissa resettled herself in the plush chair, "And what if your wife doesn't wish to live in the manor?"
Draco stared at her, searching for a solution. "Who wouldn't want to live here?"
Narcissa's eyes turned soft, "You want your new bride to be comfortable, Draco. The first few years of our marriage, your father and I lived on the French estate. It was important to me that we established our relationship before the pressure from his- our families to begin the Society expectations. Do you understand?”
Draco nodded, but sensing the boy needed support, Lucius cut in, “These are different times, Narcissa. The Ministry has put a timeframe on the repopulation of Wizarding Britain; it’s important for them to be here. Draco needs to be available for the everyday comings and goings of the business. I’m sure his bride will be thrilled to live on the Malfoy estate. And, as such, they will begin their married life here.”
His tone left no room for negotiation, so the conversation was dropped. Narcissa continued to make expressive eyes toward her son, who could only guess at her intent but refused to go against his father.
The faint scraping of silverware against plates filled their ears until the silence overtook her. Narcissa set her utensils down and sat back in her seat. “I am assuming you can plan your own… what is it called, dear? Stag party?”
Draco choked on the wine he was sipping and set the glass down. “I’m not sure something like that is really… appropriate for this situation, Mother.”
“Nonsense,” she said with finality. “Your father claims he had the best stag party a wizard could ask for. Perhaps you should ask him for help. I’m afraid that’s not really my forte.”
The men made awkward eye contact and cleared their throats simultaneously. “Yes Mother,” Draco muttered.
------
31 May 2001
Ginny and her friends Apparated to Hermione’s flat after her hen do and crashed in wild heaps around the small apartment. The responsible and least drunk woman, Hermione, ensured each partier had a small cot or, at the very least, a comfortable pallet of blankets to sleep on. They would also use her place to get ready in the morning.
Ginny fell into the gingham couch with a relieved sigh, cheeks pink from the alcohol she’d consumed. “That was so much fun. Thank you all for making my last single night such a great one.”
A chorus of 'awww's echoed around and Ginny’s cheeks tinged even more. “I love you all so much,” she added tearfully. “Are we still going to be friends and hang out after we’re all married off like old bitties?”
“Of course we will, Ginny,” Luna said reassuringly. “We’ve been friends too long to just drop each other for a marriage.”
Cordia, Ginny’s roommate at Hogwarts, gasped loudly. “Every week or two we should have a girl’s night!” The other women squealed with drunken excitement and agreed, often throwing out different themes or activities they could do together.
“Only after the Probationary Allotment, right?” Hermione reminded them.
Ginny scoffed, “Oh, right. Eight weeks, right? Seven days on a honeymoon and the other-” she pretended to count on her fingers, “the other million to strengthen the matrimonial bond ,“ she added indignantly.
“It’s not like you can’t see anyone, Ginny,” Hermione retorted. “They just want you to focus on your spouse. I’m sure you’ll still have Weekly Weasley Lunch on Sundays; they’ll just expect you to bring your spouse now.”
With a sigh, Ginny slumped further into the couch. “Those bloody experts better have given me the greatest husband ever.”
-----
1 June 2001
The morning was a blur for everyone involved. Ginny couldn’t remember getting her make-up charm applied or her hair rolled. She briefly recalled pulling her dress over the equally white slip and having her mum cry as the veil was added. When Arthur was escorted into the room to add the Prewett family tiara, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room.
Due to the high emotions, everyone used portkeys to the venue to avoid splinching. Ginny barely noticed they were in a beautiful vineyard, nor did she feel the warm sun on her cheeks or take a glance at the gorgeous building on the property. She was entirely too focused on the fact that in just a few minutes, her father would give her away to a stranger.
In her head, she chanted the same things. Please let him be kind. Please let him be sweet. Please let him be sexy. Please let him be kind. Please let him be sweet. Please let him be sexy…
“Now Ginny,” her father started with a cracking voice, “There’s a few things you should know.”
Her brown eyes met his blue ones, “What? Do you know who it is?”
His balding head shook softly, “No. But when you walk down the aisle, you’re the only one who can see all of the guests. Your mother said she can’t see across the aisle or the altar, so I assume they can’t see us either. According to Hermione, both sides will be revealed when we reach…”
“The end,” she finished. Arthur gave a non-commital shrug.
“Now, as a Ministry official, I can’t offer you a way out. But George has mentioned something about a pear.” At Ginny’s confused expression, Arthur shrugged again. “That’s all he said. That’s all I wanted to know.”
She nodded and offered him a smile. “Alright, Daddy. I think it’s time.”
Squaring her shoulders, Ginny looped her arm into her father’s and took a deep breath. A beautiful string instrument began to play, though Ginny couldn’t name the instrument nor the song. Instead, she continued her chant.
Please let him be kind. Please let him be sweet. Please let him be sexy…
She followed her feet as they took her down the aisle, unaware of anything other than the faces staring back at her. She recognized very few on her right - the groom’s side - but offered smiles all the same. Larger smiles were reserved for her own family and friends, and she was the epitome of a blushing bride. The nerves that gripped her seemed to fade away as the music calmed her, every step feeling lighter than the last until she reached the front three rows and made eye contact with her groom.
Her stomach dropped like a leaden weight. If she was still smiling, she didn’t know it, as everything in that moment stood still. All she could feel grounding her was the death grip Arthur had on her hand. He’d seen her groom, and what were the experts thinking?
As time stopped, Ginny considered her options.
Run. Where would she go? What the bloody hell was George talking about with a pear? She couldn’t afford the fine, nor did she want to ever see Azkaban from the outside, let alone in a cell.
Scream. Would that help? Could a tantrum stop this wedding? Were the experts here to reassess their survey answers? These all seemed unlikely scenarios.
Marry the bastard. Ginny hated to admit it, but this was the easiest option. She was in her dream dress and everything else was paid for. She’d done everything right as a child and continued that streak into adulthood, so she knew that breaking this kind of law would alter her life entirely. But could she marry him? Could she really go to sleep next to him each night? Could they even hold a bloody conversation without killing each other?
Arthur muttered something to an official and took a step over. He placed Ginny’s sweaty hand into Malfoy’s and offered a warning through gritted teeth before lifting Ginny’s veil.
Her brown eyes met Malfoy’s, but she felt like she was suffocating. Was it humid here? Where were they? Who the hell paired her with this ferret?
The official cleared his throat and caught the attention of the bridal party.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the unity between two families. The Wizarding World has come a long way in just a few short years, and the steps you take today will continue to nurture and encourage that growth. Draco, this is your wife, Ginevra. Ginevra’s family and friends would like you to know that she is a loving, kind, and creative woman. She will do anything for a friend in need and finds joy in the smallest of wonders, but it’s best not to make a bet against her.”
A chuckle rolled across the crowd and Ginny was grounded to the spot. She’d forgotten there were other people around. Yet none of them were arguing about her match? Had they all gone mad?
“Ginevra, this is your husband, Draco. Draco’s family and friends would like you to know that he is a smart, ambitious, and headstrong man. He will consider any challenge a puzzle to be solved and believes family to be the most important part of his life, but won’t take kindly to questioning his loyalty.”
The groom’s side seemed to nod in unison but didn’t speak.
“You have both prepared your own vows. Draco?”
Startled out of his reverie, he released Ginny’s hand and reached into his black formal robes. A small scroll unrolled and he cleared his throat.
“Dear wife.” He paused to look at her but his grey eyes fell right back to the parchment. “I want you to know that I am agreeing to this marriage with my entire heart.” Ginny’s stomach, having returned at some point during the official’s speeches, fell to the floor again. “I will honor and protect you in marriage and fr-friendship,” he stuttered, as if regretting his blind words to a stranger. “I stand before you today as a willing participant in this relationship and bind myself to you and you alone.”
His fingers struggled to return the scroll to its former position and in his pocket.
“Ginevra?” the official called. It seemed to echo in her ears, reverberating through her chest and into her feet. She swallowed and pulled a scroll from her bouquet.
“Dear husband,” she began, a single sob escaping her. She looked to Malfoy, who offered a sympathetic furrow of his brows, and back to her parchment. “Today marks the first day of the rest of our life. I have hoped and prayed for my wedding since I was a little girl, and I hope it will be as memorable as I’d always dreamed.” Her chin quivered, a sure sign that she would cry soon, but she covered her mouth for a moment to stop it. When she found her nerve again, she took a breath. “I come to this marriage with my whole heart, my whole soul, and my whole being.” A murmur went through the crowd once more, and Malfoy glanced at his parents in the front row. They must have figured it out now. “I vow to cherish and honor you throughout our days, with loyalty and sarcasm in abundance.”
Molly and Arthur looked at each other with tear-filled eyes, seeming pleased at her vows. She tucked the tiny scroll between the stems of her bouquet before Hermione motioned that she would take it.
“And the rings?” the official asked. Draco and Ginny both reached behind them and took a metal circle from the first in line. “Draco, please take Ginevra’s hand.” He did as he was told and Ginny couldn’t tell if her hands were sweaty or his, but she hoped he didn’t notice. “And repeat after me: With this ring… I vow to love and honor you… I vow to cherish and respect you… I bind myself to thee… willingly and wholeheartedly… with a promise to listen...to your needs and wants… All I have is yours… in sickness and health… in jubilation and despair… despite our flaws and differences… until death parts us.”
The ring around her finger felt foreign and loose, but she didn’t have time to consider it any further. “Ginevra, please take Draco’s hand and repeat after me.”
With every line, Ginny felt her heart breaking. This wasn’t right! This wasn’t what she wanted! She deserved to give herself - heart, body, and soul - to someone she loved! Or, at the very least, someone she could stand!
“With the powers vested in me by the gods and goddesses of magical being, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Wait, now it’s-
“You may now seal the marriage with a kiss.”
Oh bloody hell!
Ginny swallowed thickly, her eyes finding Draco’s once more. Every romance novel she’d ever read (secretly, and tucked safely under her bed from nosey brothers) mentioned eyes that swirled or had flecks. It all sounded so beautiful and romantic, like their mate’s emotions were potions swirling in a cauldron. Draco’s grey eyes might as well have been a dreary London sky for all the emotion Ginny could see. The couple stood still, with only the breeze to move them until they finally closed in on each other.
It was a small, chaste peck on her lips and she was being turned to the crowd. “I present to you, for the first time, Mister and Missus Draco Malfoy!”
-----
She remembered walking back up the aisle, though it felt more like stumbling. She remembered his hand around hers (clammy) and the crowd’s eyes as they disappeared into the building. They sat across from each other and stared at the champagne flutes in front of them.
Without a word, Ginny grasped hers and lifted it to toast. Draco mirrored her, though his eyebrows fractured for a moment: uncertainty.
“To…” she looked at his face, down to the bust of her dress, then back to him. “To surviving each other.”
“And each other’s families,” he added. They both drank, though Draco took a dignified sip while Ginny swallowed every drop.
They sat in silence as the families left their seats. A photographer came to their table for a few candid photographs, though Ginny knew they’d look awkward as soon as they were developed. What was she supposed to do with her arms? Was her face really smiling, or just grimacing? She hadn’t eaten all day but she couldn’t stop wondering if there was something in her teeth.
The breeze continued to blow her curled hair, offering a cool wind against her burning cheeks. The silence was stilted and uncomfortable, but neither of them had the words to make the situation any easier. Eventually, reality set in.
“Fuck. I’m a Malfoy now.”
----
The newlyweds sat at a small table inside the beautiful building, overlooking the dance floor and the dozens of tables of guests. Ginny’s mind felt foggy as the evening progressed. She remembered food appearing. She remembered holding a fork and pushing a chicken breast around the plate, but she couldn’t remember eating anything. The plate disappeared, of that she was sure, as nothing was in front of her now.
“It is time for the first dance!” someone said with a Sonorus charm.
“Oh bloody hell,” she muttered, taking another large gulp of her refilling champagne flute. Her brown eyes glanced at her - gulp - husband and Ginny noted he looked uncomfortable but still regal as ever. The bastard.
“I don’t want to do this,” she whispered, catching his attention. Draco managed a thin smile.
“I don’t think we have a choice.”
“To hell with that. We did the vows, we did the kiss, they can’t force us to dance.”
Draco shrugged, “No, but your parents look awfully expectant of it,” he said, his hand making a vague gesture towards them.
Ginny looked up to the table closest to them on the other side of the dance floor. Molly looked at her with bright eyes, her smile lighting up her whole face. Her round hands made a pushing motion. Go on, she mouthed at the bride.
Ginny gave a soft groan but stood, “Fine. But keep your hands to yourself, Malfoy.”
“You do know there’s touching involved in dancing, right Weasley?”
“Shut it.”
With a quick prayer to any gods that were listening, Ginny danced with her husband. His hands sat at a respectful height on her waist and her hands met behind his neck, a vague song tinkling in the background as a camera flashed and Ginny disassociated.
“Please let this end quickly,” she whispered to herself. “Just let it be over.”
“I think you have to dance with your father first. And I my mother. And of course, cake.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she bit back.
“Oh, my mistake. You were talking to another husband then?”
“I was talking to myself.”
“Hm. You talk to yourself often?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m the best conversationalist I know.”
Draco chuckled, “That’s pretty pathetic, Weasley.”
“When I ask for your opinion, you’ll know.”
He looked away before rolling his grey eyes, “This is going to be a disaster.”
“You’re telling me.”
The evening went on quietly after that. Ginny made sharp quips under her breath and Draco rolled his eyes, but they decided against speaking to each other. She smiled as people asked for dances or complimented her gown; Draco gave handshakes or small bows where it was appropriate. They had cake and thanked their guests, but it was all a blur to the newlyweds: blurs with shocks of bright lights as the cameras flashed.
As they were saying their goodbyes to the guests, Ginny hugged her mother and thanked her for everything.
She hugged her father extra tight. He whispered sweet reassurances in her ear, not even bothering to hide his misty eyes. George slipped the Portkey into her hand and kissed her cheek. “Love you,” he said with a choked voice.
“My bags, I-”
“Already there,” George interrupted. “Everything’s taken care of.”
Ginny nodded, a curl coming loose from its grip and tickled her cheek. “Love you Georgie.”
His hands cupped her face. “You come to the shop if anything - anything - goes wrong. You hear me?” Ginny nodded again and swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in her throat.
----------------------
Draco and Ginny dropped the used Portkey like it burned them and stepped away from each other. The evening breeze whipped their hair, her auburn tresses finally coming loose from their style and slapping Draco in the face. Pale hands fought with them as he let out a choke, “Control your hair, woman!”
“Absolutely not. It’s only doing as I wish I could do.”
“We’ve barely spoken to each other and you already want to murder me?”
“I don’t put time limits on slaying evil beasts.”
“Did you just call me an evil beast?”
“I’m glad you’re hearing works, Malfoy. Too bad your mouth does, as well. Pity.”
Grasping the fabric near her right knee, Ginny began the thirty meter walk to the cottage door. Draco held back to save his face from further abuse. If he happened to get a look at his bride’s arse, that was just a bonus.
Ginny, knowing the layout of Shell Cottage, immediately went to the kitchen to start the kettle. Her husband followed after, looking around the room awkwardly, as if afraid to move and rile her hair again.
“Er… where are we?” he asked.
“Shell Cottage,” Ginny replied flatly.
“Right… and that is?”
The kettle whistled loudly, covering her scoff. “Cornwall. Along the coast. Do you want tea?”
His golden eyebrows furrowed, “And why are we here?”
“You ever heard of a honeymoon, Malfoy?” She poured the water into a cup and added the tea to steep.
“Yes, and as the bride, it was your responsibility to set that up. So, again, I ask… Why are we here?”
“This is our honeymoon.”
“This? This is... Are you mental?”
Ginny’s brown eyes lit with anger, “It doesn’t look like much right now because it’s dark! Wait til morning before you nitpick a family vacation home, Malfoy,” she spat.
“Is this the nicest thing you own? A shack in Cornwall?"
“Malfoy, I swear to Merlin I will hex your bollocks off if you don’t-”
Pop! “Pippy heard yelling. Is the Master and Mistress fighting?”
“Yes!” “No!”
The couple glared at each other, the House-Elf’s long fingers ready to disarm both if necessary. “You’s only just gots here!”
Ginny turned back to her steaming cup, “No tea for you!”
“I didn’t even want tea!”
“Good! Because you’re not getting any now!”
“For fuck’s sake!” Draco yelled, kicking the table’s leg. “I’m going to bed.”
The House-Elf’s ears wagged, “Pippy will turn down the sheets for yous!”
“Don’t bother. Just make sure my wife doesn’t murder me in my sleep.”
Pippy’s ears deflated and Ginny stuck her tongue out at Draco.
“Yous must goes to sleep togethers!” Pippy cried at Draco’s receding back.
Ginny scoffed, “The law says in the same bed, not at the same time. Let him go.” With a heavy drop of sugar, Ginny lifted the tea to her lips and nearly choked it down.
“Merlin, this is going to be a disaster.”
--------------
Ginny entered the bedroom an hour later, far calmer after three cups of tea, and tiptoed across the room towards her trunk. She grabbed her nightclothes and slipped into the bathroom to change but realized she couldn’t undo the pearl buttons down her back.
“Oh bugger, what’s that spell?” she asked her reflection. “Pippy?”
Pop! “Yes Missus?”
“Can you undo my dress? Please?”
“That’s yours husband’s job,” the Elf replied.
“Ew, don’t be gross, Pippy.”
The Elf stood firm, “Pippy doesn’t do jobs for husbands. Pippy is here for safety.”
“Ugh, that sounds like something Hermione would say.” Pippy popped away and Ginny rubbed her forehead. “Fine. Fine, I’ll just… I’ll just ask the pompous prat to do it. No big deal.” After a centering breath, Ginny leaned out of the bathroom and cleared her throat. “Er… Malfoy?”
He gave an annoyed sigh, “What?”
“Could you… help please?”
“Help? In the loo? With what, exactly?”
“Ew, don’t be disgusting! My buttons. I can’t reach them, I don’t know the spell, and Pippy refuses.”
“She refused? What the hell do we even get a House-Elf for then?”
“Safety, she says. Please, just undo the buttons for me so I can get out of this damned dress. It’s starting to itch.”
Draco gave another annoyed sigh and she heard the sound of blankets moving. “You’re going to owe me.”
She could hear his footsteps on the wooden floor, “Owe you what exactly?”
“That’s for me to decide,” he said, finally reaching her. “Turn around.”
Ginny did as she was told and revealed her back to him, a blush creeping along her cheeks and down her neck. She felt the tiny pressure against her spine with each button he released from its tiny loop. The scent of his cologne crept into her nose and her hands braced against the doorframe. A glimmer caught her eye and she noticed her wedding ring for the first time.
“Merlin, it’s real. We’re really married.”
His body disappeared into the room again, “Yeah, get used to it, Weasley,” his voice echoed from the bed.
After finishing her nightly ablutions, Ginny padded across the room and summoned all of her courage to lay in the bed. Her heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears and she wondered if Malfoy could hear it too. She laid on her back, staring at the ceiling in a fearful shock. Did he expect to…. Do things tonight? He better not have! Does that mean the marriage isn’t fulfilled? Was there a time limit on that? Damn, I should have read that Prophet article more carefully!
He shifted next to her, “You don’t snore, do you Weasley?”
“Wha- er… not that I know of.”
“Okay, good. That’s not ladylike and a Malfoy never snores.”
Ginny snorted, “I’m not exactly ladylike, Malfoy.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
“Is it possible for you to speak without insulting people? Did you practice in the mirror or are you just naturally this much of an arse?”
“Everything about me is natural, love.”
“Oh Merlin,” Ginny cried. “You know… It’s been a long day. Shut up and go to sleep.”
“What, no goodnight kiss?”
Ginny thwacked him with a pillow. “Touch me and die.”
------
Draco rose from bed as the morning sun leaked through the curtains. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he took a moment to view his wife as she slept on. He noted the curls from yesterday weren’t as tight - was her hair naturally curly? - but still there. He remembered her showering last night, surely a charm wouldn’t make it through that? Her make-up was gone too, as the eyelashes that rested against her freckled cheeks were copper. Stealing one last look, he appreciated the swell of her breasts as her chest rose and fell with each breath, her pink lips pursed together in slumber. He shook his head violently: those kinds of thoughts were not welcome in his brain. Glaring at her for good measure, Draco gathered the necessities and locked himself in the shower.
It was a quiet morning, with only the sounds of seagulls and Pippy filling the air. When ten o’clock rolled around and Ginny finally made her appearance, Draco had read the Daily Prophet three times. “Glad to see you could finally grace us with your presence.”
She rolled her eyes but made no comment, stepping around Pippy for the kettle. “No talking until after tea.”
“Are you always this pleasant in the mornings?”
She poured herself a hot cup, “I hate mornings.”
“They don’t like you either, love.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not your love. You don’t even like me.”
“I never said that.”
Ginny deadpanned and set her cup down on the counter. “You’ve hated me since my first year. You’ve probably hated my family even longer. You think this...this ‘marriage’ will change that?”
Draco’s grey eyes finally met hers. “Well, no, not exactly, but-”
“See? This is a complete disaster. What experts in their right minds would possibly think this was a good idea? My husband hates my bloody guts and-”
“Wait right there, Weasley.”
“Not a Weasley.”
“I don’t hate you-”
“And?”
“And I don’t think this marriage will change my entire feelings on your family,”
“I feel a ‘but’ coming.”
“But-”
“Ah-ha!”
“We don’t have much of a choice.”
She deflated at the anticlimactic ending. She stared at him for a long moment before returning to her cup, placing the sugar in it to her liking. “You could have afforded the fine.”
He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out at her. “Sure, but I’d rather not meet any Azkaban guards, thank you.”
“But aren’t all your friends there?”
Draco’s eyes flashed and Ginny realized the dangerous line she’d overstepped. “Oops. Too far... I didn’t mean-”
“Drink your bloody tea, witch.” He hid his face behind the Prophet once more, willing to ignore her for the rest of the day.
------
As the newlyweds laid down for the end of their first full day of marriage, they stared at the ceiling. Ginny was keenly aware of the softness of the sheets against her legs and the heavy fear that sat on her chest. Draco, too, was on high-alert; not only could he hear every breath his wife took and released, but he could feel the quilt rise and fall with her chest. He wasn’t attracted to his wife - on the contrary, he found her entirely too freckled and crass - but if he Occluded every sensation that he felt, it’d be snowing in their bedroom. In bloody June of all months.
Instead, his eyes inspected the ceiling. He ignored the sounds of her breathing and every motion she made to scratch an itch or move a curl from her face. He just stared. After half an hour, he could no longer ignore it - the tiniest of sniffles rang in the silent room. Draco took a steely swallow and looked at her.
Still on her back, blanket across her chest and arms out flat against the bed, Ginny stared at the ceiling. A few tears slid down her cheek and nearly kissed her ear. Frozen, Draco made no motion to wipe them, nor did he pry into the reasoning behind their existence. She gave no indication of wanting to share those things, so he tore his eyes from her face and Nox'ed the candles out.
“Good night,” he said.
Another sniffle was the only response.
------
“I’m going to the beach,” Ginny said curtly the second afternoon. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He glared at her retreating form as she disappeared around the corner and left the cottage.
“Why yes, I do want to join you, thank you so much for asking,” he replied to the walls.
Draco changed into proper swimming clothes, fetched a towel (after searching three different cupboards!) and joined his wife on the shore. She’d already laid down a psychedelically floral towel and placed herself on it, staring out at the crashing waves as they broke over rocks. The weather was warm but the clouds shielded the sun from blinding them and the breeze carried away any lingering heat. In short, it was perfect beach weather.
Tossing his own towel next to her, Draco blocked her view and placed his hands on his hips.
“Are you trying to impersonate my mum?” Ginny asked.
“Are you going to ignore me for the entirety of our marriage?”
“Just the next eight weeks, Malfoy.”
“The probationary period? Why?”
“Because then we can say it was a disaster and they’ll reconsider.”
“Did you even read the contract, Weasley?”
“Not a Weasley.”
“The reconsideration isn’t just Oh, whoops, sorry ‘bout that. We’ll give you another spouse. It’s a mountain of paperwork, a heap of what they call a reconsideration fee and they start by just recalculating our scores on the questionnaire. Meanwhile, we still stay married, living together, the whole shebang.”
“I think you’re missing the part where we could still not be married, though.”
Draco let out an aggravated sigh, “Yes, Weasley-”
“Not a Weasley.”
“-They could technically possibly maybe rescind our marriage.”
“See? That’s all I ask,” Ginny replied with a smirk.
“Don’t smirk,” he warned, “It looks unnatural on you.”
“Shut up. It’s my face, I’ll do what I want.”
“Must you insist on instigating fights?”
“Well if I won’t do it, who will?”
“Neither of us?” he asked incredulously.
Ginny scoffed and waved her hand as if to shoo him away at such a ridiculous notion. “You’re blocking my view.”
With another roll of his eyes, Draco sat next to her, taking a good portion of her towel. She yelped in indignation and glared at him for good measure. “This is my personal space, Malfoy.”
“Yes, well, we’re married, so it’s our personal space. What’s mine is yours and all that rot.”
“Get the bloody hell away from me,” she warned.
“Or what?”
Her glare increased in anger, but she didn’t respond. She’d foolishly left her wand in the cottage, believing herself safe from annoyances such as her husband. “Or I’ll steal all the blankets and not give you even a corner.”
Draco barked a laugh, the rumble of his chest sparking a shock from Ginny. He knew joy? He knew how to make an actual smile that didn’t terrify the pants off of little children? “I’m a wizard, Weasley-”
“Not a Weasley.”
“I know how to conjure a blanket from thin air. And Poppy-”
“Pippy.”
“will get me another if I request it properly.”
She shook her head, “I find that both ignorant and ridiculous, Malfoy.”
Relinquishing their argument to the breeze, Ginny relaxed on her towel once more. Draco’s eyes lingered on the bare skin of her arms and exposed neck, then his gaze drifted to her long legs. Every inch of her had a freckle and he forced himself to scowl before placing his eyes on the crashing waves.
They lounged like that for twenty minutes before Ginny rustled and turned onto her stomach. Draco took the chance while he had it and inspected her backside but scowled again. More bloody freckles. He would never escape them.
Inspecting the beach once more, Draco noted the rocky hills behind the cottage and the long expanse of empty beach in either direction. He supposed Cornwall had an appeal, if there weren’t so many damned peasants living there. That was also assuming this estate - his lips curled in disgust - was protected against muggles wandering near and invading their private beach. He should have asked the second they landed and frowned at his lack of foresight.
Having grown accustomed to the seagulls, he barely noticed the owl until it landed a few feet in front of the pair. It hopped along the sand to close the space between then and extended its leg.
Noting the Ministry seal, Draco nudged his wife.
“Ugh, not those ruddy bastards.” Ginny sighed through her nose, “Read it aloud.”
“I’m not your bloody House-Elf-”
“Then why did you even pester me?”
It was Draco’s turn to sigh. He unrolled the scroll.
“Dear Mister and Missus Malfoy ,’ he scoffed, “Hardly.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing dear. Congratulations on your nuptials! As of 2 June, your marriage certificate has been recorded and filed with the Board. As the law states, the honeymoon should last between 7-9 days (including weekends and holidays) before you settle into your new home as newlyweds. Only after this allotted time are you admitted to return to your place of employment and everyday life.
“A Ministry official will arrive sometime during your third week of marriage to check in with each of you - both separately and together - as well as the Ministry-assigned House-Elf. Please owl Barnabus Portley in the Wizarding Marriage Department with your new address and any specific instructions for entering. As a precaution, the Ministry requires that you remove any harmful wards or jinxes that protect the property so the official may enter unharmed.’ You think they had to put that in specifically because someone was injured?”
“I wouldn’t doubt it, Malfoy.”
Draco snorted softly before continuing, “‘We appreciate your cooperation with Statute blah blah blah. They really needed to send an owl for that?”
“The Ministry’s all about paperwork, Malfoy. Didn’t you know? My brother works there-”
“Which one? Don’t you have like… twelve?”
Her brown eyes glared at him from against the towel, “I had six. Now I have five.”
Oops, Draco thought. Right, no jokes about the ridiculous amount of brothers.
Ginny’s glare softened as she closed her eyes. Draco watched her, wondering if she was recalling a memory of the twin they’d lost. He only knew which one because of the Prophet but his mind questioned if it was a happy memory or a sad one.
He opened his mouth to speak but she held up a finger to shush him. “Don’t ask any stupid questions, Malfoy.” His face scowled and then softened before he nodded once.
“Right.”
Ginny sighed and stood, rumpling the psychedelic flowers a bit. “I’m going for a swim.” Before he could even get to his feet, she shouted back, “And don’t follow me this time!”
He sulked on the towel instead, watching her rump sway in the one-piece swimming costume. I’m just watching, he attempted to convince himself. Not appreciating. Picking up the Ministry letter once more, he noted the lack of mention on the topic of consummation. He scowled again.
If he thought her rump was good for - ahem - watching, he’d underestimated how dark her curls got from the salty water, let alone the swim fabric tightening around her midsection. Draco needed a drink.
“Oi, be good for something and toss me your towel,” she called.
“Why my towel?”
“Because mine’s all sandy now. And covered in your Malfoy germs.”
“Don’t you have Malfoy germs now, too? You are a Malfoy.”
“That’s not how it works and you know it.”
“I do?”
“We already did the vows, Malfoy, remember?”
He sputtered and collected himself. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”
Gooseflesh broke out across her - stupidly freckled - arms. “Just give me the bloody towel, you git!”
Draco hugged the clean towel to his chest, “Not when you speak to your husband with such rude words, Weasley.”
“Not a Weasley.”
“So you keep saying! But I have yet to see you act as anything but a Weasley!”
To Draco’s great shock, Ginny threw her head back and laughed. “Is that a poor attempt at insulting my family?” She aimed another laugh to the sky, “You’re getting rusty, Malfoy.” Her fingers wrapped around the towel and she yanked it from his grasp with a haughty expression. “Next time, don’t get sand all over your wife’s towel and she won’t have to take the clean one.”
He was going to get wrinkles for all the glaring he was doing. And the scowling. But at least his vision was crystal clear as she walked towards the cottage.
“And stop staring at my arse!” she shouted.
-------
The third day was a lazy, drowsy day. A nasty storm rolled in, with the thunder rolling so loudly the tea cups shook from their place on the shelves. Draco lounged in a faded wingback chair with a dusty book he’d scavenged from a spare bedroom, but Ginny stayed in bed. Pippy offered her tea and sustenance but his wife refused everything as her tears were absorbed into the pillow. Draco had no time for sobbing witches - even if she wasn’t actually sobbing - and helped himself to the tea and sandwiches. By two in the afternoon, he couldn’t stand the silence anymore. In only two days, he’d grown accustomed to her nagging (she didn’t nag!) and rude gestures (oh, she definitely did those). That’s how he found himself in the door jamb to their bedroom, glaring at her.
He was always glaring. “Are you going to whinge all day?”
Pale fingers pulled the covers over her head. A muffled voice responded, “Go away, Malfoy.”
“Where would I bloody go? To the kitchen? The loo? There’s nowhere to go and nothing to do. You should entertain me.”
“No.”
His nostrils flared. “Why not?”
“First of all,” the blankets flew off faster than a golden snitch, “I’m not a bloody monkey, dancing around for your entertainment. Secondly, you’ve been perfectly happy without me all day, so you can just continue on with whatever you were doing. And you know what? I can’t-” she hiccoughed through a sob, “I just… I can’t.”
He leaned against the jamb, “Can’t what?"
Ginny’s head shook softly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Finally, she whispered, “I just...can’t.”
“You’re not making any damn sense, Weasley.”
Her voice deadpanned, “Not a Weasley.”
“What can’t you do?”
“Anything! I hate this! I hate that I’m married to a giant arse who only cares about money and what society thinks and who probably has a dozen blonde witches lined up back in London to shag him senseless and who doesn’t love me!” The sob finally escaped her. “I wanted a marriage with love! With respect and adoration and stupid little inside jokes! I wanted a bloody choice!”
His long legs brought him to her in four strides, “You don’t think I wanted any of that? You think I wanted to be saddled with a redhead who thinks I’m a giant arse? Who thinks I only care about money and society and sex? I wanted love and respect, too, dammit!” He kicked the leg of the footboard in frustration. “When I filled out the questionnaire, I assumed those ‘experts’ had done half a job of actually assigning spouses! Instead, I get assigned a Weasley! And an ungrateful one at that!”
Draco turned to storm out in a huff, but Pippy was blocking him from the exit. “Move, elf!” She looked intimidated but refused to back down. Large ears flopped as she shook her head.
“Move, damn you!”
With a renewed strength, Pippy’s tiny chest puffed out. “No.”
An angry groan, almost like a war cry, erupted from his belly and through his chest. “What bloody good are you?”
“Mister Malfoy sits and has conversations with his wife.”
“No he does not,” he retorted. “Mister Malfoy tries to bridge the gap between them and gets screamed at instead. Mister Malfoy will storm away angrily and hex the closest portrait.”
“There aren’t any portraits here,” Ginny said softly.
“Of fucking course there aren’t.” Noticing that the door to the loo was open, he slammed it shut. The reverberating slam made him feel a little better. A little. He collapsed on the bed, placing his elbows on his knees and rubbing his eyes.
A few moments of silence passed between the three of them. The rain fell in sheets outside and the thunder rolled, but eventually, Ginny sat up. “It’s alright, Pippy. We’ll talk it out.”
Pippy’s tennis ball eyes narrowed in suspicion but stepped away from the door. “Allrights, Missus.”
Staring at his back, Ginny swallowed her nerves. “It was inconsiderate of me not to think about how you felt. I know we’re both miserable.”
“I’m not miserable, Weasley.”
“Not a Weasley.”
Draco sighed. “I can’t very well call you Malfoy. You call me Malfoy. That will get confusing.” He didn’t see the tiny smile that graced her red-blotched face, but he could feel a shift in the air between them. “Are you going to get out of bed today?” he asked, turning awkwardly to look at her.
Ginny’s lips pulled to the side in thought, but her brown eyes stayed on him. “No. It’s dreadful out there.”
Draco sighed, though she couldn’t hear any annoyance in it. “Then budge over,” he said, and bent down to remove his shoes. Ginny’s eyes grew in surprise, but she did as she was told, pulling the blanket up to hide her pajamas. Draco’s long fingers grabbed the corner of the quilt and he wiggled into the mattress before finally laying down properly.
They laid in silence, listening to the rain pelt the roof and the thunder cracking around them. Each raindrop enunciated their own silence, until Ginny’s whisper broke the tension.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she said, her large brown eyes looking at him with such open innocence, Draco couldn’t help but nod. “I don’t like the rain. At all.”
“Why not?” he whispered back.
She took a deep breath through her nose, copper lashes blinking slowly. “Never really liked it as a kid, I felt suffocated being stuck indoors. I know we were poor, more than anyone really. But when it rained, we were all in the house at the same time, miserable, with nothing to do. Couldn’t play Quidditch in the orchard, couldn’t catch frogs in the pond or even de-gnome the garden.” Her brows drew together with pain, and Draco bit his tongue from saying something insensitive. “And I love my brothers, I really do. I wouldn’t trade our upbringing for anything in the world. But through a child’s eyes… it felt like we’d always be stuck in the Burrow, poor with no way out.”
Draco calculated his response. He didn’t nod or offer a half-smile, he didn’t shrug or say something witty. Instead, he reached over and clasped his hand over hers, staring at their pale hands rather than meeting her intense gaze.
Ginny released the bit of blanket she’d been holding and allowed him to lace his fingers through hers. When his nerves faded, Draco looked at her face and found it calmer, more relaxed. The storm outside raged on, harder than ever and shaking the landscape painting on the opposite wall.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?” he asked.
She offered a strained smile, “Not making fun of me.”
Draco snorted softly, a real smile breaking across his face. “I certainly will make fun of you, Weasley.”
“Not a Weas-”
“-but not for that.”
The newlyweds spent the rest of the day in bed, sharing secrets and blankets, offering little pieces of themselves. With each whisper, they opened themselves to endless possibilities. Together.
All because of the magic of rain.