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Even at thirty years old being summoned to the Headmistress’ office was rather nerve wracking. Ginny tried desperately to think of what could’ve made McGonagall send her an owl asking for her immediate presence. She had spent most of the day organizing her classroom; bloody Peeves had decided to make a mess of her stuff the night before, likely payback for yelling at him in front of the students several times over the year.
Had she done something to upset McGonagall? Classes were done and the students were gone. It was literally the last day the professors were in the school before they headed home for the summer. What could it possibly be?
Passing the gargoyle statues, Ginny ascended the staircase. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she approached the office door. Merlin’s beard, there wasn’t any chance she was being let go, right? It felt like a loose Snitch was fluttering around in her belly as panic struck her. For the last four years, she had been the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts. It hadn’t been easy the first year or two, but Ginny thought she really got the job down now.
She hesitated at the door.
If she got fired, her mum would be unbearable. Molly had been sure that it was Ginny’s breakup with Harry that had pushed her to work at the school. She went from playing Quidditch professionally with the Harpies for almost a decade to announcing retirement and applying to the only open position at Hogwarts. Ginny could already hear her mum’s voice in her head—“Why don’t we just invite Harry over for a spot of tea and see if we can get this all fixed up, darling? We all knew teaching at Hogwarts would never stick.”
Ginny groaned.
Well, if her time had come, her time had come. Ginny raised her hand to knock on the door, but she needn’t bother. The door swung open, welcoming her. She took a deep breath and walked in.
“Headmistress, I—”
The words died on her lips. Headmistress McGonagall was seated behind her desk, watching her sharply. But there was someone else in the office. Someone who Ginny absolutely did not expect to see.
“Malfoy.”
“Weasley.”
“Professor Weasley,” Ginny corrected him for perhaps the five-hundredth time.
His lips twitched into an all-too-familiar smirk and Ginny rolled her eyes. Ever since Draco Malfoy had been hired at the start of the term, he had always been eager to annoy her. Even as their relationship developed into something kinder, something that wasn’t quite enemies but not quite friends, that fact had remained the same. She took a quick look over the wizard, trying to figure out why he would also be called to McGonagall’s office. Nothing about him looked different; as always, not even a strand of slicked back blonde hair was out of place.
She looked away from Draco and towards McGonagall, who motioned for her to take a seat beside Draco. Ginny did so promptly, grasping her hands in her lap. The urge to explain herself, as if she were a student who was caught doing something naughty, almost made her speak. But Ginny didn’t know what she possibly had to apologize for, so she kept her lips firmly shut.
A fire was burning in the fireplace despite the summer season. The cauldron in the corner bubbled with something that Ginny didn’t recognize. Several of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses murmured to each other from their portraits, their conversation low. The rest pretended to be asleep. Ginny waited.
McGonagall, after a long moment, spoke.
“As you know, Horace has announced his retirement as Potions professor. Draco has applied for the now open position.”
Ginny started but forced herself not to look at Draco.
Potions professor? It made sense, she supposed. Draco had been working as gamekeeper the last year, taking over Hagrid’s position while the half-giant took time to spend with his brother, Grawp. The work had never seemed to quite agree with Draco, though. He was far too… prissy.
“That’s…” She struggled to find the right word. “That’s swell.”
“Swell?” Ginny heard Draco repeat softly under his breath, the word twisted with disdain.
“Yes, I agree,” McGonagall said. “Only… there is one thing that makes me hesitate to give him the job right here and now.”
Ginny’s eyebrows lifted. Was it because he was a massive git? She glanced at Draco and saw he was watching her intently, as if he was trying to read her thoughts. The corner of her lips lifted slightly, and his eyes narrowed. Though they were on far better terms than they had been at the start of the year, facts were facts. The sun rose in the east and set in the west. Nearly Headless Nick would never be allowed to join the Headless Hunt. Draco Malfoy was a massive git.
“Peeves brought this to my attention, only a few hours ago,” the Headmistress continued.
When Ginny turned to see what McGonagall had, the last thing she was expecting to see was a bright pink, glittery notebook. Seated across the desk, Ginny could still recognize her own handwriting on the cover; the letters were obnoxiously big in different, flashing colors.
GINNY WEASLEY’S FORMAL COMPLAINTS ABOUT DRACO MALFOY!
Bloody hell.
Her face flushed a deep red at the sight before her. That book—that bloody notebook that Hermione had given her as a gag gift for her birthday last year—was not meant to be seen by anyone. Anyone! And McGonagall, of all people, had it. Now Ginny did feel like a student getting reprimanded.
Why had the floor not opened up yet to swallow her whole?
Ginny could feel the weight of Draco’s glare on her. She refused to look at him. She couldn’t look at him. He was going to murder her when they exited the office, Ginny was sure of that.
Desperate to get some control over the situation, Ginny straightened in her seat and shoved her braid over her shoulder. She would do what Fred and George had taught her to do anytime she felt she was about to get in trouble: lie, lie, lie. Even if it was to McGonagall, who Ginny had once considered one of the scariest witches in all of England. Okay, maybe she still viewed the older woman as rather frightening.
But at least they were colleagues now.
She’d use that to her advantage. Ginny would soften her tone like she was talking with her friends, and she’d call the Headmistress by her first name, which McGonagall had been insisting on since the first year Ginny had come to teach at Hogwarts. This would be fine.
And there was always a chance that McGonagall hadn’t even opened the notebook yet!
“That must be some sort of prank Peeves is trying to pull,” Ginny said. “The poltergeist is out of control, Minerva, honestly.”
A flicker of something—amusement? —colored the Headmistress’ face before it went stoic again.
“Yes, I rather thought the same.” Ginny almost breathed a sigh of relief. “Until I read the complaints.”
Fuck.
McGonagall turned the notebook back towards her, studying the cover for a second, before placing it on her desk and opening it. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. This was the stuff of nightmares and Boggarts. Ginny lurched forward, contemplating the consequences of snatching the notebook from McGonagall’s hands, but the look McGonagall gave her immediately made her freeze.
“I highly value your opinion,” McGonagall told her. “The complaints you’ve written here are understandably concerning.”
“You can’t actually be taking that pink thing into consideration—”
“They were jokes, honestly, Headmistress—”
A simple lift of McGonagall’s hand silenced Draco and Ginny at once. Ginny risked a look at Draco and looked away again. His cheeks were pink, his jaw was clenched, and he was gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white; all signs that Draco was about to be pushed over the edge.
“I’d like the three of us to go over these complaints together before any decision regarding Draco’s future employment here is decided.”
Ginny desperately wanted to drop her head in her hands and scream. Yeah, she had written complaints about Draco in that stupid notebook since the beginning of the year. There was no denying that. He was an utter prat who was incapable of doing his job. For months, Ginny had been cleaning up his messes. Why was he even working at Hogwarts? There were certainly more qualified people out there, right? Draco had surely never worked a job before. At the beginning of the year, Ginny had been positive it was a pity hire. It was well-known that Draco had been kicked out of his family’s estate and cut off from his inheritance, leaving him poorer than the Weasleys had ever been. McGonagall must’ve felt bad and offered him the job.
A job Ginny ended up partially doing because he was incapable.
Despite how much he annoyed her, though, Ginny hadn’t ever planned on showing the book to McGonagall! Well, okay, maybe she had planned on showing it to McGonagall at some points, whenever Draco was being particularly intolerable. But she didn’t and that had to mean something.
“If we can all keep our wits about us, this process should be over fairly quickly,” McGonagall said, peering at the two of them over her glasses.
Draco made a sound of agreement. Ginny nodded her head, curling her toes in her shoes. McGonagall cleared her throat, a startling impression of Umbridge. Neither Draco nor Ginny had the courage to point this out.
“September 1st,” McGonagall read. “Malfoy attempted to drown a boat of first years as they sailed across the Great Lake. Didn’t bother to dry them off as they muddied the Entrance Hall before the Sorting Ceremony. Why is he gamekeeper? ”
Ginny decided to hell with it and covered her face with her hands. She could hear Draco seething beside her.
“The student tipped the boat,” Draco snarled. “He tipped the boat trying to catch a bloody Chocolate Frog. What did you expect me to do, Weasley? Tie down the students so they couldn’t move on the boat?”
“No, no,” Ginny started, turning to him. “These complaints weren’t meant to be read—”
“Ended up a Gryffindor too,” he interrupted sharply. “Shouldn’t be surprised by that, though, should we? Never the sharpest bunch.”
A retort danced on her tongue, as it always did when she began to bicker with Draco, but she bit it back. She was in the wrong here, not him. She kept a book full of complaints about him that had been discovered. He was allowed to be upset.
“September 3rd,” McGonagall continued after she flipped to the next page. “Hagrid’s hut won’t allow Malfoy access. Have caught him several times trying to blast the door down. Students are frightened. I finally coaxed the door into letting him in. What does Hagrid’s hut know that we don’t? ”
Draco spun to face Ginny. She grimaced. He had been overly embarrassed when she had managed to get the door open with a few sweet words. Ginny had tried to explain to him that it was because she had done tea with Hagrid the past several years and that he was, well, Malfoy but it didn’t matter. He had slammed the door right in her face instead of thanking her.
Recalling his lack of gratitude in that situation, a spark of anger shot through her.
“Well, it’s true,” Ginny said before Draco could speak. “The hut wouldn’t let you in.”
“And that’s worthy of a formal complaint?” he hissed. “That a stack of sticks was holding a grudge against me?”
“These aren’t formal complaints—”
“September 22nd. Malfoy watched as two students started dueling. Duel only stopped once I managed to get through the cheering crowd. Does he not realize as adults we’re supposed to be protecting the students? Not allowing them to harm themselves? First the Great Lake incident, now this. ”
Hearing her words spoken by McGonagall was perhaps the most embarrassing part of this. Her face reddened further.
“They asked for critiques on their dueling forms,” Draco said.
His tone had changed, Ginny noticed, and she narrowed her eyes. The git was lying.
“You know better than that, Draco,” McGonagall admonished, before flipping to the next page. Was this never going to end? “October 5th. Found Malfoy nearly unconscious. The pumpkins had tried to strangle him with their vines. When has a pumpkin ever done that before? When I suggested he ask Neville for help with Hagrid’s garden, he called me a cow. ”
She remembered that too. He had been nearly blue in the face, trying to fight off the pumpkin vines. It had been pure luck that she had been returning from her morning laps around the Quidditch pitch. Getting the vines to let him go had been a long process, forcing her to run to her first lesson of the day and she still arrived five minutes late.
“The pumpkins were lovely for the Hallowe’en Feast,” the Headmistress noted. “Did you end up going to Neville for help?”
Draco shifted in his seat.
“Yes.”
“Smart decision, as he is the Herbology professor,” Ginny couldn’t help but say.
A sneer played across his lips.
“What was the cause of their aggression towards you?”
Ginny knew it was only because McGonagall was asking that Draco was answering these questions. She had a feeling he too felt like a student in trouble.
“He said…” Draco paused before pushing on. “He said it was likely because I had been using vulgar language towards them while they were seedlings. That I needed to be kinder.”
“Hmm.” She flipped the page. “November 6th. Malfoy has begun to show up to my third year Muggle Studies classes. He insists he’s bored as gamekeeper, and he has no malicious intent. I do not believe him. He must be trying to live up to the reputation Rita Skeeter gave him in the Prophet—the newly proclaimed Malfoy the Muggle Lover.”
Ginny’s face felt like it was on fire, it was so hot. But she was surprised to find it wasn’t because of embarrassment. It was from shame.
The Daily Prophet had written several first page articles about Draco the summer before he began at Hogwarts, spreading the rumors that Draco had been cut off from his estate. Skeeter had dubbed him Malfoy the Muggle Lover. Ginny had been sure it was all bullshit, something he likely put into the papers to get public sympathy. Until…
Until he showed up that day in November, in her third years’ class. He sat in the far back of the room, ignoring the students’ snickers. And he listened to her teach. Draco really listened. She had yelled at him after class, once they were alone. She had told him to stop bothering her, reminding him of how unprofessional it was to have him leering at her. But Draco had kept coming back. He never interrupted her teachings or distracted the students.
He simply listened.
“November 20th. Malfoy led a herd of Thestrals through the grounds from the Forbidden Forest. Thankfully most of the students can’t see them. But Gabe Buttons came to me distraught over it—his mum passed away in front of him the year before. It took us over an hour to get the Thestrals back to the forest.”
“That—that was Luna’s fault!” Draco exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “She told me to feed the bloody things every week or they’d starve.”
“Luna?” McGonagall asked, her eyebrows drawing together. “Miss Lovegood?”
“Yes. Told me to bring them raw meat like Hagrid used to. The things started following me around everywhere.”
A surprising rush of warmth shot through Ginny. She knew that Luna considered Draco a friend and had for years. When the war ended, Luna had accepted Draco’s apology for not doing anything when she was locked away in his manor’s dungeon. But Ginny didn’t realize Draco considered Luna a friend too. He never talked about Luna, really. And he certainly hadn’t told her Luna was the reason the Thestrals were following him around that day.
This was the issue with Draco. This right here. He was an incredibly difficult coworker; he complained about any hard labor he had to do, which was plenty as gamekeeper. Ginny had been cursed to sit next to him during meals and often had to listen to him whine about new callouses developing on his hands. For the first few months of school, he didn’t bother to learn the students’ names. On more than one occasion, he had somehow managed to guilt Neville into helping him with some of his gamekeeper duties. And every time Ginny seemed to enter his vicinity, he was ready to mock her.
Yet…
Yet he came to her Muggle Studies class. After Christmas had passed, Nearly Headless Nick confided in Ginny that Draco had spent most of the time playing chess with the children who hadn’t gone home for the holiday. He always took seconds of her mum’s fudge when she begrudgingly offered him some, and he seemed to relish every bite. The only thing he said about her family anymore was that her mum was an amazing baker. When Slytherin Quidditch games had been approaching, she’d often find him huddled with the Slytherin students. Ginny had initially assumed he was giving them techniques to curse the other team, but the Slytherins always played fair.
“—and I apologized to Buttons!” Draco cried out dramatically. “The kid cried on my shoulder for over a month. Is that not punishment enough for my mistake?”
Ginny blinked. Draco was staring at her, waiting for some sort of response, but her brain felt rather foggy. He frowned at her, as if aware she was at a loss for words. McGonagall filled the silence.
“December 14th. Heard Malfoy give two students detention for snogging in a closet. Why is he up on the third floor? And is he even allowed to give detentions? ” McGonagall looked up from the notebook to Ginny. “Of course, Draco can give detentions. Hagrid simply never utilized that authority.”
“I’d like to file a formal complaint.” Ginny rolled her eyes as soon as Draco spoke. Any weird, warm feelings she had towards the wizard abruptly disappeared. “There’s a gossipy harpy that seems to be following me around the castle—”
“Oh, shut up, Malfoy. You’re lucky I’ve been around as much as I have. You almost died by strangulation because you were mean to a patch of pumpkins.”
“You likely charmed the pumpkins to attack me.”
“If I had, why would I save your life? What sense does that make?”
“Weasley, I’d like you to know, from the bottom of my heart… that I consider you worse than that bug Rita Skeeter. Truly.”
Ginny went to jerk her wand from her holster when there was an abrupt knocking at the office door. For a moment, she had forgotten where she was. McGonagall, who was currently rubbing her temples, looked as though she wished she was anywhere but here. When there was another knock, Draco waved his hand towards the door.
“Should I get that for you?” he asked the Headmistress.
The look McGonagall shot Draco made him straighten in his seat. She waved her wand and the door opened. It was Professor Flitwick. He said his hellos, eyeing the trio curiously.
“May I have a moment of your time, Minerva?” Flitwick asked.
She stood up, shooting Ginny and Draco a look that promised trouble if they continued the argument while she was gone. The office door clicked shut behind McGonagall. And Ginny was suddenly alone with Draco. Well, as alone as they could be with dozens of Headmaster and Headmistress portraits surrounding them. Draco leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Professor Snape, I suddenly find myself a tad more empathetic regarding your time teaching here at Hogwarts.”
Like every other portrait in the office, Severus Snape had been listening into the whole conversation. He seemed like he was ready to roll his eyes. Instead, he let out a long breath.
“Is that so?” Snape inquired.
“Well, having been in the presence of the Weasleys for as long as you had been, any wizard would be expected to go a bit mad—”
Ginny reached over and punched Draco in the arm. She was surprised when he started snickering; she had half expected him to go for his wand. Amusement made her lips curl, and she folded her arms over her chest.
“This is ridiculous,” Ginny said, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.
“What’s ridiculous is that you’ve kept a diary of our encounters,” Draco responded, tilting his head.
She opened her mouth, defensive immediately, but hesitated when she saw that something close to curiosity was gleaming in his light eyes.
“I didn’t think you were qualified for the job,” she admitted.
“I wasn’t.” He paused. “I barely am now. But a job here had everything I needed to survive so I was willing to do whatever was needed to keep it.”
Her eyebrows lifted and Draco ran a hand along his jawline, as though he were picking his next words carefully.
“You read the Prophet. My parents cut me off, in every way possible. Hogwarts offered me money, food, shelter. Even if the shelter is living in that bloody hut.”
Surprise flitted through her. Having sat next to each other for the past year at meals, Ginny was used to conversing with Draco politely, though it was far and few between. Otherwise, they had a general back and forth banter, which was sometimes playful and sometimes mean. What was happening right now, however, was different. A little more open, vulnerable, honest.
“What… what made your parents cut you off?”
“You said it yourself,” he drawled. “Malfoy the Muggle Lover.”
She hesitated, not sure what to say, but he continued.
“I told my parents that perhaps Muggles weren’t so bad. That, maybe, we should try to align ourselves with the new world order. My mother turned the tide of the war to make sure I was alive and safe. She was willing to do anything for me. But to say that Muggles weren’t dumb animals—surely, I was trying to be like Harry Potter. And that was simply unacceptable.”
Ginny was alarmed to find herself laughing.
“Stop. Really?”
“Indeed.”
“That is… that’s a shame, Malfoy. Maybe they’ll come around.”
“Probably not. I’m passed thirty and had never worked a job until this year. This might… not have been the worst thing to happen to me.” The words looked like they pained him to say. But Draco still said them.
Draco drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair as Ginny studied him.
“How many more complaints are there in that hideous book of yours? I’d rather like to get the position as Potions professor. Do I need to worry, Weasley?”
She bit her bottom lip.
“I really hadn’t meant for anyone to see that book. It was more of a… an outlet for frustration. You were driving me absolutely mad.” He snorted and shook his head. Ginny could feel the conversation between them shifting again, becoming familiar. They were likely only a second away from arguing once more. She pressed on, oddly desperate to keep the honesty between them going. “I stopped writing in late February, I think. Or March. You’re not—Malfoy, you’re honestly not that bad at your job.”
Draco stared at her, his gaze searching her face; perhaps to see if she was lying. When he found no deceit, he leaned towards her, waiting for more.
“You’re no Hagrid,” she admitted. Draco seemed to take that as a compliment, preening slightly. The prick. “But the students have grown to like you. And the vegetables have stopped attacking you. You even organized Valentines Day this year, which no one has done since Lockhart.”
The look on his face became positively mischievous. She groaned out loud and almost reached over to punch him again.
“You did that to make fun of me? You arsehole!”
“You must’ve suspected,” he laughed. “Come on, Weasley. I even got those dwarves dressed as Cupid again.”
Ginny hated that she started giggling. She had been shocked when she woke up on Valentines Day to a fully decorated castle, with those stupid dwarves racing around delivering sonnets. The only reason she hadn’t suspected Draco was because she had been sure he would’ve endlessly mocked her as soon as they saw each other that morning. Instead, he had been perfectly quiet. He hadn’t teased her once that day.
She should’ve known he was up to no good.
“His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,” Draco crooned.
“Bugger off, git.”
“I wish he was mine, he’s really divine…”
Ginny forgot how much Draco had liked imitating others during their schoolyears. She was amused despite herself.
“You remember the poem? That was decades ago, you realize.”
“It was such excellent writing. How could I forget?”
The silence that fell over them was shockingly relaxing. The wood in the fireplace popped as the bright flames engulfed it. All the Headmasters and Headmistresses were quiet in their portraits. Beside her, Draco took a deep breath before releasing it. Ginny looked over McGonagall’s desk, half expecting a bowl of Lemon Drops to be waiting for her attention.
Instead, her eyes found her notebook, still sitting on the desktop.
She stood up before she knew what she was doing and grabbed the notebook. From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco sit up in his seat.
“Plan on reading the complaints for us?” he questioned. “I’d much prefer that. I think you’ll hit the marks rather well.”
“No, I—” Ginny hesitated, unsure of what she wanted to do now.
GINNY WEASLEY’S FORMAL COMPLAINTS ABOUT DRACO MALFOY!
The words glared at her. She had written them in a rage after the Sorting Ceremony. Draco had been horrible to sit beside that meal, his injured pride turning him into a menace. He complained under his breath the entire time: about her, about any student who wasn’t sorted into Slytherin, about Neville’s hair style, about Hagrid abandoning his position.
But now… now that they were not quite enemies, not quite friends it seemed… silly.
So, with no hesitation at all, Ginny chucked the notebook into the fireplace.
“My God, Weasley,” Draco cursed, backing away as the fire swelled.
Of course, at that second, the office door opened. McGonagall entered the room and quickly assessed what had happened.
“Miss Weasley!” McGonagall snapped, falling back into old habits.
Adrenaline forced Ginny to speak quickly.
“It doesn’t matter. The book doesn’t matter. The complaints weren’t real complaints, and I wasn’t ever planning on showing them to you. Malfoy—Draco—he deserves a shot at the Potions position. And if you don’t give it to him, he should stay on as an apprentice to Hagrid—” Draco openly sneered at that, as if he’d rather live on the streets than stay in the hut with Hagrid. Ginny ignored him. “I appreciate that you value my opinion but, honestly, I’ve never been clearheaded around Malfoy, and it wouldn’t be fair for him to lose this opportunity because of me.”
“Is that so?”
McGonagall’s eyebrows ticked upwards when Ginny nodded.
“Very well then. Draco, if you’d still like the position of Potions professor, it is yours.”
Well, that was easy. Ginny and Draco shared looks of confusion before Draco stood also, his arm brushing Ginny’s as he addressed McGonagall.
“I would, thank you.”
“Perfect. Enjoy your summer break, both of you. I’ll have Horace bring over his lesson plans to you, Draco, if you’d like something to look over. Ginny, as you know, I expect your lesson plans by August.”
Ginny blinked at the dismissal. She wiped her sweaty palms on her robes before heading out of the office; she could feel Draco following behind her. The office door shut behind them and they headed down the staircase and passed the gargoyles in silence.
“That was weird, right?” Ginny asked, when they finally seemed far away enough from McGonagall.
Draco made a sound of agreement.
“I mean… she didn’t even bother to argue about the complaints again. And she never addressed that I blatantly lied to her about the book to begin with,” she hesitated. “What is McGonagall up to?”
“That old bat?”
Draco chuckled when Ginny elbowed him in the ribs.
“I’m serious. McGonagall is never like that.”
“I got the job I wanted, Weasley. So, don’t mind me for not really caring what McGonagall is up to. Perhaps she’s gone senile and—”
“You’re a brute.”
He inclined his head, as though she complimented him. Ginny rolled her eyes but bit back a smile. They continued down the corridor together. Now that he’d be working in the dungeons, he’d be rather close to her classroom on the first floor. She didn’t doubt that he’d continue to annoy her next year.
The idea… wasn’t as unappealing as it probably should be.
“I would’ve rather liked to read the rest of those complaints. I’m sure they were enlightening. They could’ve really helped me with my teaching style,” Draco mused.
“Pity they’re gone now.”
Thank Merlin, they were gone now. Ginny hadn’t been lying that she had stopped writing in the book around February or March. But the complaints near the end had become much less hostile and much more observant. He would only mock her more for it.
“There is one thing that concerns me about that meeting, though,” he said suddenly, the amusement gone from his voice.
Ginny looked up at him—he was so bloody tall—and waited. He glanced at her.
“I never realize I distracted you so.”
“What?”
“You said you’ve never been clearheaded around me—”
“—which isn’t a compliment—”
“—a fact that interests me greatly,” Draco finished, ignoring her interruption. “I believe you might be obsessed with me.”
Her face grew hot.
“Get a life,” Ginny snapped.
“You write in your diary about me every day. You find it hard to think around me. Is it my dashing good looks that distract you?” Ginny hated him. Really, she did. “Did you give Peeves the book to give to McGonagall? Did you want me to find out about your obsession with me? Was this some setup, hoping I’d try to get into your knickers?”
“You are never getting anywhere near my knickers, Malfoy.”
He made a skeptical sound. Ginny stopped walking and crossed her arms over her chest. She wanted to tell she’d never give him the time of day. That even if they didn’t hate each other now, there was absolutely no chance of them becoming closer. But then her eyes caught his.
At the beginning of the year, they hadn’t been friends. And now they were friendly. Who was to say what was to come with the next schoolyear? She thought of how different the conversation in the office seemed when McGonagall left them to themselves.
No. No. This was a stupid line of thought. Merlin, what was she thinking? Ginny shook her head, smiling to herself. Draco would laugh in her face if he knew the thoughts going through her head. But when she looked up and their gazes locked again, she couldn’t help but wonder…
He tilted his head, ever so slightly, as if he somehow knew. Her heart raced; Draco was far too good at reading her. Licking her lips, she looked away.
“I’ll see you next term,” Ginny said, blushing at how ridiculously breathless she sounded.
“Indeed,” Draco replied.
She awkwardly waved before turning and rushing in the direction of her classroom. Ginny was almost to the corner when something made her stop. Looking over her shoulder, she was surprised to see that Draco was still in the spot she had left him.
“Where will stay?” she called to him.
“Hmm?”
“This summer. You said you have nowhere to live. Where will you stay?”
“The grounds still need keeping,” Draco said with a smirk. “Hogwarts will remain my home.”
“Then I’ll know where to find you.”
And she turned the corner and left him alone.
--
When the door shut behind Draco and Ginny, Minerva McGonagall only had a brief flash of silence before the portraits around her awoke from their ‘sleep’ and burst into chatter. She leaned back in her seat and rested her intertwined fingers over her stomach.
That went better than she had expected.
“Shut up! SHUT UP!” Dexter Fortescue shouted from his portrait. “We’ll never know what she’s up to if we don’t let her talk.”
The rest of the portrait occupants went silent in anticipation.
“Yes, Minerva,” the familiar drawl of Snape swept over her. “What exactly was your plan there?”
“Plan?” she repeated, looking at Snape.
He was entirely unamused. She allowed herself a small smile.
“Did you bribe that poltergeist to go through your subordinate’s personal things?” Phineas Nigellus Black asked. “How very Slytherin of you.”
“I did not,” Minerva scoffed. “Peeves was acting on his accord. I simply…”
She waved her hand, searching for the proper word.
“Reaped the benefits?” Snape smirked.
“There is a betting pool going on among you and the Heads of Houses, isn’t there? Flitwick, Slughorn, Longbottom, and Vector, correct? Concerning the relationship between those two?” Phineas shook his head. “Very immature.”
“Perhaps,” Minerva allowed.
“You truly think that conversation will somehow change their relationship?”
Snape seemed unconvinced but it didn’t matter. Minerva had watched Ginny and Draco grow up from young children into adults. She had always viewed Draco as a lost cause; that view did not change when she found him drunk and broke at the Hog’s Head last summer. But she decided to honor Albus, her dear friend, and give the boy a chance.
Perhaps that was all he needed: one more chance.
He cleaned up his act over the course of the year. Ginny—well Ginny seemed unable to keep herself away from helping Draco.
The betting pool had been Slughorn’s idea, of course, with his belief that they’d be locking lips within three years. Longbottom had been firm that Draco and Ginny would never get together. Flitwick thought in five years, perhaps, something would grow. Vector believed within six months. Minerva bet within two years.
And she wasn’t going to lose that bet, not after the endless mocking Vector got when six months had passed.
“Something changed while I was gone, didn’t it?” Minerva asked her fellow Headmasters and Headmistresses. “What happened?”
Phineas Nigellus Black pretended to fall back asleep. Snape frowned sharply. It was Armando Dippet who responded.
“I’m not sure,” he said slowly. “But there was something, wasn’t there? Snape?”
Snape sniffed instead of replying. Minerva’s smile grew.
There was no knocking on her office door this time before it flung open. Longbottom, Slughorn, Vector, and Flitwick stomped into the room in an uproar, shattering Minerva’s relative calm.
“That’s cheating, Minerva! How very naughty of you!”
“We agreed to not interfere, correct?”
“They aren’t going to get together! I know Ginny, she’s my friend—”
“Well, I do say, I wasn’t expecting this from you.”
“If Filius hadn’t told us you had Weasley and Malfoy holed up in here, would you have kept it secret?”
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw them in your office, Minerva—”
Minerva tried not to look too pleased with herself. Perhaps reading from the book of complaints would lead to nothing. Or… perhaps it would.
Only time would tell.