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“It’s not my fault that he’s so inept!” Ginny cried, slamming her stein of mead down, too angry to worry about the damage she may be doing to the wooden bartop.

“All I asked was for him to personally apparate over our engagement agreement and the gold his House promised us to show some sincerity! How was I supposed to know he would splinch himself doing that?” she continued, not caring about the attention she was drawing from the other patrons. It didn’t matter—no one could recognize her anyway. Tonight, she was just a random obnoxious, drunk woman with straight turquoise hair, green eyes, a tall nose, and high cheekbones, thanks to the assortment of transfiguration spells Hermione had cast on her before she sneaked out for the night.

“Can you believe he has the nerve to blame me for what happened? And now that pig-headed, stuck-up oaf is calling off our engagement and demanding compensation!” She took another gulp of her mead, then ran a frustrated hand through her transfigured straight turquoise hair. “Even House Malfoy wouldn’t stoop to something as ridiculous and shameless as this!”

“No, I suppose not,” said a smooth male voice from her left.

She looked up to find a figure in a fine dark gray velvet cloak next to her, his face obscured by a hood. She remembered seeing him take the seat earlier but whether that happened on her third, fourth, or fifth drink, she couldn’t quite remember. Regardless, he must have been there long enough to hear her rant, which was good because she didn’t have the energy to repeat herself again.

“At the very least," the stranger added wryly, "their heir knows how to apparate without splinching himself.”

“Exactly!” She gestured wildly in her outrage. “Who still splinches themselves in their thirties?”

She had no idea who the man was but given he was patiently lending his ears to a drunkard like her, he didn’t seem like a terrible person, or at least a much better person than her stupid ex-betrothed. The fact his hood had remained up the entire time was somewhat suspicious, but then again, the same could be said about her own disguise. “And to top it all off he is already balding!” She took another deep drink and groaned. “I can’t believe I even considered marrying him in the first place!”

Her companion tilted his head slightly. “Why did you?”

It was a good question.

She briefly considered whether it was wise to confide in a stranger but quickly dismissed the thought. He couldn’t possibly know who she was, and she had no intention of ever seeing him again. “If it weren’t for the war with a rival House—and the fact that my House could really use the gold—I wouldn’t have given him a second glance.”

“So your family sold you.”

She traced the painted outline of the tavern’s namesake animal on the stein with her index finger. A part of her, the less good, more unladylike part, agreed with him, but it wasn’t something that she could voice even when she was drunk. “It is my duty to my people as their lady,” she said mostly to remind herself, because she was a good daughter and there was a role a good daughter must play, “I volunteered for the good of my family and our people.”

“How touching,” her companion commented drily.

She chugged the remainder of her mead and shrugged. “It’s not like my future husband can be Harry anyway, so he should at least be useful to my family.”

“Harry?”

Harry. No matter how hard she tried to keep an open mind, all her suitors seemed to pale in comparison with him. The young lord had always been attentive and kind to her, but he never made it clear whether he was giving her attention purely due to her being his best friend’s sister or something more. So like parallel stars, they orbited each other’s lives only to never intersect. “He’s my brother’s best friend,” she explained, a little wistful.

The man scoffed. “If you fancy this Harry so much, you should just marry him.”

“The council would never allow it. What advantage would they gain from marrying me to someone who is already fully aligned with my House? No, they need me to marry someone else, someone who is…” she sighed and leaned her head in her hand, “rich enough to pay for my father’s army or influential enough to convince other Houses to help us win the war.”

The prospect was so depressing, Ginny called the bartender over to refill her stein. At times like this, Ginny was envious of Hermione, who had no title and could freely choose to dedicate herself to the Magic Tower instead of being forced into an unwanted political marriage.

She sank into her freshly refilled stein as her eyes wandered over the rim to her companion. Through the shadow of his hood, she could just make out the sharp line of his clean-shaven chin and the curve of his lips—features that were undeniably easy on the eyes. Her gaze drifted down, tracing the intricate gold embroidery on his dark gray cloak before settling on the ancient-looking signet ring adorning his left pinky finger. It struck her that his attire was as elaborate as those seen in the Emperor’s palace—far too fine for a commoner. He was likely a high nobleman, though the realization didn’t surprise her; after all, the Hog’s Head, with its expensive drinks and refined menu, was well-known across the Empire as a favored haunt of the aristocracy.

A daring idea slowly brewed in her intoxicated mind.

Sitting next to her was a (maybe) handsome, (hopefully) competent, (most likely) wealthy heir of one of the Great Houses that was nice and a good listener to boot—in short, an almost perfect marriage candidate. Rather than waiting for her father’s council to marry her off to yet another Lord Selwyn, why shouldn’t she take control of her own destiny?

Of course, first, she needed to confirm a few important details. “Can you apparate without splinching your arm off?”

He snorted. “Of course.”

Pleased, Ginny followed up with the most important question. “Are you married?”

The man choked on the wine he had just sipped.

“Or engaged to someone?”

He turned toward her slowly. “No?”

She grasped his hands in excitement. “Great!” she declared, not letting him go even when he tried to pull away. “Let’s get married!”

He stood there, utterly dumbfounded.

“Let’s get married,” she repeated, giggling, so proud of her brilliant idea.

“You’re drunk,” her companion said when he finally composed himself and extracted his hands.

“No, I’m not!” She flailed her arm and nearly knocked her stein over. “Okay, maybe I am, but I'm perfectly serious! We should get married! We’re a great match!” she proclaimed with conviction.

Infuriatingly, the man merely shook with silent laughter.

She crossed her arms in a huff. “I’ll let you know that I'm actually a very good catch! I have many desirable qualities!”

“Oh?” the man asked with unmasked amusement.

“Well, I have a title, land under my name, and I have a reasonably good personality. Plus, I'm good at—” she stopped herself, remembering what her mother’s opinion had always been, that her hobbies were improper for ladies and that they would scare away her suitors. She settled for something safer. “I am good at embroidery, piano, and estate management.”

“That’s all well and good, but I’m not in need of a seamstress, musician, or housekeeper,” the man replied, evidently unimpressed.

“I am also good at dueling, riding, and lock picking,” Ginny blurted out, desperation bleeding into her voice.

This, at least, made the edge of the stranger’s lips twitch. “You might want to start with those next time.”

Encouraged by the fact he didn’t seem all too repulsed by her unconventional talents, Ginny pressed on hopefully. “So, does that mean you’ll marry me?”

He tapped the stem of his wine glass thoughtfully. “To persist or to cease...”

It annoyed her that she couldn’t see his face when he was being so cryptic. “Why are you wearing your hood anyway?” she asked sullenly. “Are you hiding some grotesque deformities?”

He answered with a snicker.

That hood must come off, Ginny decided. She took another swig of her mead before leaping from her chair, intending to stealthily remove the hood, only to stumble.

The man sprang up to catch her, the soft velvet of his cloak brushing her arm as he stabilized her by the shoulder. He was so close his warm breath was tickling the side of her head. “Careful now, you wouldn’t want to damage that pretty face.”

“You think I’m pretty?” She smiled mischievously, reaching for his hood, but only managed to reveal a glimpse of his platinum blond hair before he stopped her.

“I think you’re drunk.”

She half-hiccuped and half-giggled. “I think you are too sober.”

“And I think you don’t realize you’re putting ideas in my head that you probably won’t like tomorrow.” He let go of her and took a step back. “I’m calling you a carriage.”

She shook her head adamantly. “No! I can’t ride back on a carriage at this hour!” she protested, her words slurred. “My mother will kill me if she finds out I went out drinking alone. I have to apparate back.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “You'll splinch yourself like your ex-betrothed if you try.”

Drunk as she was, she realized he might be right. “Fine, I’ll walk then… It’s just up the hill and down the hill and up another… I'll just pick the lock to the secret passage and then…”

“Right.” He sounded doubtful.

“No! I can do it!” She tried to prove her point by stepping forward, managing to take a good seven steps in a slightly crooked line before the world began to spin from the effort.

He quickly caught up and steadied her.

“Ooof…” She leaned back into him because she could, because it was so nice to have someone else hold her upright. He was tall, warm, and his chest was surprisingly solid. “We really should get married,” she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy. The mead must be catching up with her, because she was suddenly so drowsy.

“You can’t sleep here.”

She closed her eyes and let her head drop onto his shoulder. “I just need to rest my eyes… for a moment…”

The sounds of the bustling tavern gradually dimmed in her ears. She thought she heard him say something in the darkness—her name and something about being ready for what she’d started—but she was too tired to process what he meant, or how he knew her name at all.

Ginny woke up to a world shattering headache.

“It’s about time,” a familiar voice said.

She forced her eyes open only to close them again to avoid the bright afternoon sun. She lifted a hand to hold her throbbing head. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost noon,” Hermione told her with a hint of exasperation. “If you get up any later, your brothers will start asking questions.”

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a carriage,” Ginny grumbled as she gingerly pushed herself up to a sitting position. The headache worsened with every slight movement.

Hermione clicked her tongue and handed her a bottle of hangover draught. “Just how much did you drink?”

“Not that much…” The pungent herbal scent filled Ginny’s nostrils immediately when she pulled off the cap. She made a face, held her breath, and tilted it back into her mouth. She winced as she swallowed the thick, disgusting-tasting liquid.

“Really.”

“I’m not lying. I just had… maybe…” Ginny tried to remember the exact number but everything beyond the fourth drink was a bit fuzzy. She groaned. “I guess I will know when I read the bill.”

“I asked your maid, she said you came back empty-handed,” Hermione said with a disapproving frown. “Where did you go last night anyway?”

“I started at the Three Broomsticks and then…” Ginny paused, made a sheepish expression, and concluded, “I blacked out. I don’t even remember how I got home last night.”

Hermione face-palmed. “Maybe I should have accompanied you.”

“You had duties at the Tower,” Ginny reminded her. “Besides, I got back in one piece and I stayed anonymous since the transfiguration spells stayed on,” she pointed out, gesturing at her still turquoise hair and trying to look on the bright side.

Hermione snorted. “They are my spells, of course they didn’t wear out early.”

If anyone else had said that, they would have sounded arrogant, but Hermione was one of the most talented up-and-coming wizards in the Magic Tower, acknowledged even by the Tower Mistress McGonagall.

“I don’t expect anything less,” Ginny said with a toothy grin. She could be playful again now that the hangover draught had kicked in and her headache had finally subsided to an acceptable level. “And I guess I must have successfully made it in unseen through the secret passage given Percy isn’t screaming about impropriety in my ears yet.”

“I’m only covering for you this one time,” Hermione said sternly before undoing her transfiguration spell.

Ginny watched her straight turquoise hair transform back to her original unruly red curls with some regret. “I know.”

“And before I forget…” Hermione summoned a copy of the newspaper over to her. “You should take a look at this article. Your father has just called an emergency meeting over it.”

Ginny frowned and unfolded the newspaper. In large letters on the front page was this headline: House Malfoy Heir Announces Surprise Engagement.

House Malfoy Heir Announces Surprise Engagement

Lord Draco Malfoy, heir to House Malfoy, and only son of Duke Lucius Malfoy and Duchess Narcissa Malfoy, made a surprise announcement this morning at the Annual Ashir Hunting Competition about his engagement with a distinguished lady from a prominent noble family.

Lord Malfoy hails from a family renowned for its business acumen and strong military power. The Malfoy family has built a legacy of economic prowess and strategic leadership, contributing significantly to both the Empire's prosperity and security. The young lord has demonstrated exceptional skill in both governance and strategic maneuvers, continuing his family's legacy of service and patronage.

The identity of Lord Malfoy’s betrothed remains closely guarded, adding an air of mystery and anticipation to this noble engagement. However, he has assured that the bride-to-be hails from a highly respected and influential noble lineage, well-matched in both grace and accomplishments to himself.

Plans for a formal engagement party are already underway, with a grand ceremony anticipated to take place at the Wiltshire castle, next month. 

Ginny arrived in the Great Hall in the nick of time, mere moments before the guard announced her father’s arrival. She hurried to the closest open seat, which unfortunately was the one next to her least favorite brother, Percy.

“You’re late,” Percy hissed at her as she took her place, just as the inner door opened.

“No, I’m not, father isn’t here yet,” Ginny whispered through gritted teeth as she rose from her seat along with everyone else.

Percy glared at Ginny. She glared back. They bowed as their father strolled in alone and took his seat.

“At ease,” her father said, waving a hand. “I’ll get straight to the point, as I’m sure you all know why I called this meeting. The heir of House Malfoy has announced an engagement. Minerva,” he addressed Tower Mistress McGonagall first, as she was renowned across the Empire for her wisdom and knowledge, “what is your opinion?”

“It depends on the bride’s House, Marquis Weasley, and we won’t fully grasp the risk until we know her identity,” the sagely old woman replied. “That said, given the timing, it’s highly likely that House Malfoy is rushing into this union to exploit our recent fallout with House Selwyn. Although we’ve been recapturing much of our occupied land in recent months, without the gold from House Selwyn, we’ll likely have to pause our campaigns during the winter, when food and transportation costs are at their peak. If House Malfoy secures a strong ally through this marriage, they could continue advancing during the winter and potentially sweep through the Northland region in our absence. In the worst case, they could reclaim all the ore mines we’ve recaptured this past year.”

“This is grave news.” Her father scanned the room. “Does anyone have any idea of the bride’s House?”

Ron stood to speak. “Harry and I believe it’s most likely House Parkinson or House Greengrass, as their daughters have been close friends with Lord Malfoy since childhood.”

“Let's hope that's true,” said Charlie. “House Parkinson and House Greengrass are neutral Houses that generally don't participate in wars. On top of that, they’re not as wealthy as House Lestrange, nor as powerful as House Black, nor as politically influential as House Selwyn. A formal alliance between House Malfoy and either of these Houses wouldn’t pose any real threat.”

Percy sneered. “Basing our House’s future on mere speculation is foolish.”

“It’s not speculation if it’s based on logical assumptions,” Bill said diplomatically.

“What logic?” Percy demanded, his voice rising and making Ginny’s headache flare up again. “According to my spies at Wiltshire, there have been no significant changes in the level of contact between House Malfoy and those two families in recent months.”

“Perhaps the marriage had been decided long ago and was just announced,” the Tower Mistress rationalized, ever the voice of reason.

“If that’s the case, then why the secrecy around the bride’s family?” Percy asked, refusing to let things go.

Ginny couldn’t hold her tongue anymore. “Why don’t you grace us with your wisdom then, Percy,” she snapped, nursing her throbbing head. “Which House is it?”

“How would I know?” Percy snapped back.

Ron snorted. “If you don’t have an opinion—”

“Actually, I think Lord Percy Weasley has a point,” Hermione cut in.

“Hey, whose side are you on?”

Hermione shrugged. “I’m just saying that Lord Draco Malfoy has no reason to leave out House Greengrass or House Parkinson in his announcement. To me, there can only be two logical reasons. One, that the bride candidate hasn’t been fully finalized, or two, that the bride can’t be named.”

Murmurs flooded across the room.

“Someone who can’t be named…” Harry started and everyone quieted down to hear what he had to say. “Could the bride be the rumored daughter of the Emperor, Lady Delphini Lestrange?”

The room erupted at his suggestion.

“... the Emperor’s daughter…”

“There was a rumor that the Emperor…”

“... that lady had always been interested in…”

“… but hadn’t House Malfoy rejected?”

“My lord, we must be vigilant,” Sir Alastor Moody, respected war hero and head knight, spoke above the commotion. “If there is even a small chance Lady Lestrange is Lord Malfoy’s intended bride…” His good eye shifted to Ginny, making her freeze. “Lady Ginevra must either patch up her engagement with Lord Rupert Selwyn or consider a union with House Black.”

“That’s preposterous!” cried Charlie, who had always been more protective toward her than the rest of her brothers. “The current Lord of House Black is over twice my sister’s age!”

“Even if we don’t consider the possibility that Lady Lestrange is the Emperor’s daughter, Duke Lestrange has made it clear that Lady Delphini Lestrange is the heir apparent of his House. We cannot take on both House Lestrange and House Malfoy without House Selwyn's influence or House Black's army,” Sir Alastor paused, his good eye darting across the room and daring people to contradict him, before adding tersely, “I trust our young lady understands the gravity of the situation and will act accordingly.”

The room fell gravely silent. A quick scan confirmed her brothers were all avoiding her eyes, so she turned to her father, silently begging him to reconsider. But her father only mutely sat there, not agreeing with Sir Alastor, but not disagreeing with him either.

Your family sold you, the words surfaced from out of nowhere in Ginny’s mind as her indignation flared. Someone must have said that to her recently, but who? Who would dare make such a callous statement?

She woke from her ruminations at the sound of the front door being thrown open. Her mother stomped in unceremoniously with the twins in tow, plainly irate. From the twin's disheveled clothes and slightly abashed expression, she knew they must have been caught by their mother doing something imprudent again. Ginny smiled inwardly, feeling smug that, unlike the twins, she hadn’t been caught. Amateurs.

Her mother took the seat next to her father and spoke. “Tell them what you told me.”

Fred and George silently looked at each other as if daring the other to speak. Then, their mother slammed the arms of her chair in ire and they jumped.

Fred was the one to speak. “Last night, George and I were on our way to the casino—” the Weasley matriarch shot him a furious scowl. “We didn't lose money, I swear—anyway, we were passing Hog’s Head when we saw someone in a gray cloak that looked suspiciously like Lord Draco Malfoy helping a drunk woman onto an unmarked carriage.”

Her father frowned. “Did you get a good look at the woman’s face?”

The twins shook their heads. “But that woman had one distinctive feature—she had turquoise hair.”

Ginny shot up to her feet the moment the meeting adjourned, single-mindedly focused on leaving and getting to her room. She was so fixated on her goal she didn’t realized someone was calling her until the person tapped her shoulder.

She swung around and almost collided with Harry.

“Ginny. Are you okay?”

On any other day, she would have been pleased by the attention, over the moon even, but today she found the prospect of small talk absolutely unbearable. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Sorry, I need to get going.”

She spun on her heels to leave, but Harry stopped her by her wrist.

“Wait, this will only take a moment. About what Sir Alastor said…”

What did Sir Alastor say again?

“We haven’t explored all our options yet, so try not to worry too much.”

“Ah.” It took a moment for her to remember the distasteful suggestion by the old knight. Her mind had been such a jumbled mess since Fred mentioned turquoise hair that she had completely forgotten about everything else.

“I’ll go talk to my godfather. He might be willing to lend us troops without asking for anything in return.”

“Okay.”

Harry blinked, seemingly surprised by her tepid reaction. “Okay?”

“Can you let go of my arm now?” Ginny asked impatiently.

He let go. “Sorry.”

He looked disconcerted, but Ginny was in no condition to worry about others so she quickly sped away and didn't stop until she reached her room and locked the door behind her.

Calm down, Ginny, calm down.

In the first place, while natural turquoise hair was rare, it wasn’t unheard of. Metamorphmagus often have unnaturally colorful hair. In fact, the son of Baron Remus Lupin was famous for having turquoise hair. So it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that Lord Malfoy was at Hog’s Head with someone with natural turquoise hair. Or, let’s say having someone with natural turquoise hair was too unlikely; couldn’t it be someone else who happened to transfigure their hair for the night?

It must just be a coincidence that last night she was drunk and had turquoise hair like the mystery woman Lord Malfoy was with last night. Crazier coincidences had happened before. It couldn’t be her.

Right. Right?

A vague memory from yesterday night surfaced. She was chatting with a… hooded man in a gray cloak.

But gray cloaks were in fashion! So maybe she was just talking with some random fashion aficionado. Yup. That must be it. There was no way the stranger was Lord Malfoy. Besides, he was outside Hog’s Head, not at the Three Broomsticks where she went. Even if she was drunk, she most definitely wouldn’t be crazy enough to tavern-hop...

An image of a hog painted on one of the steins she drank from emerged unhelpfully.

Bloody hell. She paced, digging at her memory, trying desperately to think of that one thing that would prove what she feared impossible. Surely, there must be something. Surely.

A persistent knocking at her window pulled her from her thoughts.

An unfamiliar eagle owl with a small tube of parchment tied to its leg was glaring at her from the other side of the window; apparently unhappy about being ignored. With a heavy dose of foreboding, she let the owl in and pulled loose the note. In flourishing cursive, it read:

We should talk. Borgin and Burkes. Midnight. - DM

P.S. Check your pocket. You took something of mine.

Ginny scrambled to her cloak, patted down the pockets, and felt something hard and round in one of them. 

She reached in and pulled out an ancient-looking gold ring. Her eyes widened in horror when they landed on the crest. There were two winged serpentine creatures facing each other on the two sides of a shield and the letter M in the middle: it was the House Malfoy crest.

She had stolen a House Malfoy signet ring.

The shadows in Knockturn Alley grew under the new moon, its cobblestone path slick with the remnants of a recent rain. The chill of the autumn night seeped into Ginny’s bones, the air biting and sharp. A solitary store stood at the alley’s end, its sign lit despite the late hour.

Her family would kill her if they ever found out where and who she was about to visit, but it wasn’t as if she could ask anyone to return a ducal House signet ring that she had stolen in a drunken stupor. Ginny took a deep breath, checked her wand one more time, and pulled her hood down as low as it would go before approaching Borgin and Burkes in brisk steps.

The bell sounded when she pushed open the door. A stooping man stood behind the counter, his greasy hair slicked back from his face. He bowed deeply when he saw her. “Esteemed guest, Lord Malfoy told me to expect you. How can I serve you? A cup of tea? Or perhaps coffee?”

Ginny shook her head. “Where is Lord Malfoy?” she asked in her most aristocratic voice.

The storekeeper flashed a practiced smile and waved toward the door behind the counter. “The young lord is in the back room waiting for you.”

Her hand hovered over her wand as she moved through the dimly lit hallway toward the room at the end, not knowing what to expect. She didn’t know she was holding her breath until she let it out when she stepped into the backroom and found it surprisingly spacious and well-furnished. There was a elegantly carved wooden table in the middle, and sitting on one end was a man in a forest green dress robe, shoulder-length pale blond hair, silver eyes, and unconscious arrogance. Even though she had only seen Lord Malfoy up close a few times, Ginny instantly recognized him.

“It’s good to see you again so soon, Lady Ginevra Weasley,” he drawled lazily, one hand holding a glass of wine and the other petting a brown spotted greyhound that was resting its head on his lap.

Ginny pulled off her hood and wordlessly sat down in the seat farthest from him.

“Wine?” He sent the bottle of old-looking red wine over to her side with a flick of his hand. The bottle floated and poured into an empty wine glass in front of her.

Ginny squinted at the wine suspiciously.

Lord Malfoy smiled and took a sip from his glass. “It’s not poisoned.”

She couldn’t help it; she blushed, which only made him laugh at her. “What do you want?” she grumbled under her breath.

“Me?” He shrugged. “Nothing much, I just thought it would be nice if we could finish our conversation.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I do,” he replied, one side of his lips tilting upward.

“I’m only here to return your ring,” she told him before pulling the ring in question out of her pocket and throwing it to him. He caught it in one smooth motion and slid it back onto his left pinky finger.

“I’m sorry,” she continued before self-consciousness could fully take hold, “I was too drunk and not in my right mind last night. I must have...” she grimaced in shame, “taken your ring accidentally. Please forgive me for my transgressions.”

“You should be sorry,” Lord Malfoy said wryly. “But not necessarily for the ring. That, at least, wasn’t entirely an accident," he added, almost as an afterthought. 

Ginny frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You might have been the one who pulled it off my finger, but I was the one who allowed you to take it,” he answered with a sly smirk. “You wouldn’t be willing to come otherwise.”

A hot mixture of anger and embarrassment came rushing into the foreground as she realized she had been played. “You!” She reached for her wand, ready to hex his smirk off his face but reconsidered when she heard the hound growl.

“Easy,” Lord Malfoy murmured, calming his dog with a few firm pats. The hound obediently settled back down at his feet. “I didn’t bring you here to quarrel, Lady Weasley. I just needed to discuss your proposal.”

“What proposal?” Ginny asked as a foreboding feeling seeped into her. She had the distinct feeling she was forgetting something. Something terribly important.

Lord Malfoy’s gray eyes danced in wicked merriment. “You don’t remember?”

“What are—” and at that moment, flashes of the most cringe-worthy and mortifying memories washed over her. Heat crept up from her neck to her face as she recalled the absurd words that she had uttered the night before. We should get married. She had said that! More than once. She swore in the most unladylike manner and prayed for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. It didn’t work.

A cruel smile bloomed on Lord Malfoy’s lips. “I accept your proposal of marriage.”

Ginny recoiled. “What did you say?” She must still be drunk because she swore she heard him say…

“Let’s get married like you wanted so badly last night.”

Ginny opened her mouth, then closed it, and instead of saying anything, picked up the glass of wine from the table and drained it in one go. “No.”

“No? After everything yesterday? Why, Ginevra, I’m hurt,” Lord Malfoy said, though the glint in his eyes said otherwise.

Ginny scowled. “I don’t recall giving you permission to call me by name.”

“But we’re about to be husband and wife,” he teased, openly enjoying himself at her expense.

Ginny had enough of his bullying. “No no no no, we are not! And stop trifling with me!” she cried, crimson faced, and pushed herself out of her chair. “You know full well I was drunk and I didn’t mean any of it!”

“But I meant every word,” Lord Malfoy said, his voice almost sincere. “So much so, I even announced my intention to marry in the morning.”

She gaped at him as the front-page article from the Daily Prophet flashed in her mind—the one that had caused so much panic in her House. Had he really concocted a fictitious marriage partner just to exact revenge for her indiscretions the night before? He was mad. Completely unhinged. “The answer is still no!” she huffed, storming toward the exit.

“Not even for your people?”

She stiffened.

“Not even to end the war?”

She spun around and stared at him in shock. “What do you mean?”

The man was still in his seat, his eyes focused on the wine he was swirling. “You mentioned you need to marry someone rich or someone influential to help your House win the war for your people. But isn't the best thing for your people not winning the war but not needing to fight the war to begin with? If we marry… we may just be able to stop it all.”

For a moment, Ginny was swayed by his pretty words, but only for a moment. Her eyes narrowed. “Funny. House Malfoy is the one that had been trespassing on my family's ancestral land and occupying our arcane ore mines. If there is a party that covets war, I think it is your House.”

Lord Malfoy shook his head once. “On the contrary, House Malfoy wants nothing more than to stop this war. Wars are expensive and unpredictable, and even if we win, there’s very little to be gained.” 

Ginny threw her arms up in exasperation. “You can end this god-damned war right at this moment if you just order your troops out of House Weasley’s land!” 

The wine glass hit the table with a sharp clink. “There are times when even a ducal House can’t act according to its own wishes,” said Lord Malfoy, his voice hushed and his eyes dark. “Don’t think I’m not trying, or that it doesn’t cost me.”

“What do you—”

“I already said too much.” He stood up and closed the distance between them, his hound following loyally beside him. “I’m not one to force a lady to marry against her will,” he told her, his posture reminding her of a stalking predator. “If you’re still unwilling to marry me in a month’s time, so be it.”

“We won’t meet again.”

“Oh, but Lady Weasley, I think we will.” A sardonic smile she didn’t like one bit materialized on his face. “Think over my proposal some more. Just know that I have no intention of retracting my announcement, so I will marry. If the bride can't be you, I wonder which House I’ll be visiting next.”

Ginny opened her mouth, not sure how to respond to his thinly veiled threat.

His smile widened. “Until next time,” he said, and the next moment, he and his hound disappeared with a pop.

Sunday family brunch was a Weasley tradition that couldn’t be missed, even if one had nearly no sleep due to a preposterous proposal made by a Malfoy.

Twenty-one people were seated at the long table. The children and her three sisters-in-law sat on one side while her six brothers and parents sat on the other. There were technically no rules that called for the division, but the children were eager to get away from boring adult talks, the mothers followed dutifully to look after them, and the men never complained because the arrangement actually allowed them to hear each other. Ginny, however, secretly hated the segregation, mostly because it foreshadowed what her life would be like when she inevitably marries.

A woman’s duty was to take care of her husband and children, her mother tirelessly reminded her. Ginny was resigned to the fact, but she still dreaded it.

As always, the brunch was a rowdy and informal affair. Eggs, ham, sausages, blood pudding, potatoes, fruits, and bread piled haphazardly in five large trays stationed across the table. The elder children fought over a single breakfast item despite the plentiful food around them, the younger ones expelled cries and screeches at random times, while her brothers talked at and above each other. Ginny found the chaos endearing and often joined in the revelry, playing games with her favorite nieces and nephews or talking back to her less beloved brothers. Not today. Sleep-deprived and still aggravated by the prank (she refused to call it anything but that) a certain blond-haired fiend had pulled, she kept to herself and only half-heartedly listened in on her brothers’ conversations.

They were sampling desserts when the conversation turned, inevitably, back to the situation at the northern border.

“Speaking of good news," said Bill, on the tail of the twins' tall tale about their latest misadventures at the casino. "With the latest skirmish, we’ve recaptured about a quarter of the arcane ore mines that House Malfoy had taken over."

“Excellent work,” her father said, nodding to Charlie, who had been leading the efforts at the front line.

Charlie humbly refused credit. “It’s Ron’s brilliant two-prong strategy, Fred and George’s newly improved arcane bombs, and of course the good men who sacrificed their lives for our victory.”

“What were our losses?” her mother asked somberly.

“Only thirty-six, about half the number House Malfoy lost. We’ve already paid for the funerals and sent the next of kin their death gratuity.”

Only thirty-six men. Thirty-six men who were talking and laughing at this moment a week ago were gone, and who knows how many parents lost their children, wives lost their husbands, and children lost their fathers. Ginny felt sick to her guts, but somehow the rest of the family seemed unaffected; they were pleased even. She watched mutely as her brothers congratulated each other for what they considered an insignificant loss and a great victory.

“And the budget?”

“We finished balancing the budget for this season,” replied Percy, clearly proud of his achievement. “But we will likely need to raise the land-rent and dues for next year.”

It was a ridiculous suggestion. People were already struggling with their dues because a bad flood last spring had significantly damaged the harvest. Ginny waited for her more sensible brothers to rebuff the idea, but no objections came. Though it wasn’t considered proper for a lady to interject in political matters, she couldn’t hold herself back any longer. “How can we consider taking more from our people?”

“We are at war, Ginny,” Percy told her in an annoyingly patronizing tone.

Lord Malfoy’s words echoed in Ginny’s mind. She hated to agree with him, but he was right; the best thing for her people wasn’t to win the war but to avoid it altogether. “Shouldn’t we try to negotiate with House Malfoy and stop the war instead?”

Ron snickered insensitively as Percy rolled his eyes. None of her brothers gave her even a look of support; even Charlie, who was usually so supportive, was shaking his head. Ginny clenched her fists under the table as her frustration simmered. Maybe they were right, and she was ignorant and naive, but…

“Don’t you think it’s at least worth a try?”

There was a moment of dead silence, then her father said faintly, “You are a kind person, Ginny, and I know you mean well, but there’s no negotiating with greedy bastards like the Malfoys.”

He patted her mother's hand meaningfully, and her mother spoke up. “If you really want to help our people, dear, go with Percy to Lord Theodore Nott’s birthday party tomorrow. Lord Selwyn will be there too, so you can speak with him and win him over.” Her mother paused and had the decency to look a little guilty. “Even if you can’t convince him to marry you again, you must make him reconsider reparation.”

Her brothers exchanged looks and stayed quiet. None of them knew how to soften the blow her parents had so effectively delivered. Bill was a skilled negotiator, Charlie a formidable fighter, Percy an efficient administrator, Fred and George two genius inventors, and Ron a brilliant strategist. But poor, innocent, naive little Ginny was only good as chattel to be traded. She closed her eyes and let out a sharp, bitter laugh because the alternative was to cry.

Lord Theodore Nott’s birthday party was an elegant affair in the Nott ancestral garden. Guests, wrapped in long scarves and fine cloaks, mingled under the autumn sun beside ancient oak trees, their laughter blending with the soft rustling of yellowing leaves and the distant cawing of crows. Ginny and Percy gave their congratulatory messages to the host together. Then Percy, ever the uncaring brother, went off on his own to network with other important young lords, leaving his sister alone to complete their mother’s mission.

Not that Percy would have been of any real help, but Ginny would have appreciated a bit of moral support. She sighed and began scanning the garden for her mark.

“If you’re looking for Lord Selwyn, he’s over there.”

Ginny spun around to find Lord Malfoy in a crisp black shirt, tailored trousers, and a deep green cloak trimmed with fox fur, pointing somewhere to their left. “You!”

He gazed down at her with the slightest hint of amusement. “I told you we would meet again.”

“How could you have known I’d be here today when I didn’t even know I was coming until yesterday?” she asked, glowering.

“It was a foregone conclusion,” Lord Malfoy flashed an irritatingly knowing smile. “Lord Selwyn demanded a settlement that your House didn’t want to pay and you needed to meet him to persuade him otherwise. This is the most convenient event that both of your Houses are attending.”

Show off. Though his astuteness was honestly scaring her a bit… Ginny regarded him warily.

He let out a low laugh. “Have you given my proposal any more thought?”

She hadn’t, because there was no need to think about a cruel joke played at her expense. “The answer is still no.”

“Pity. Well, maybe you’ll give me a better answer next time.”

She rolled her eyes. If things go the way her mother wants today, there won’t be a next time anyway. She looked in the direction Lord Malfoy had pointed earlier and quickly found Lord Selwyn with his obvious comb-over. There was no time to waste. “If you’ll excuse me, Lord Malfoy.”

Suppressing her trepidation, she approached Lord Selwyn’s table. “Good day, Lord Selwyn. I'm glad to see you’re feeling better,” she greeted him carefully, offering a polite curtsy.

Her ex-betrothed regarded her coldly from in his seat. “Well, if it isn’t Lady Ginevra Weasley. Did my messenger not make my position clear?”

“He did, my lord,” Ginny replied, forcing herself to maintain her smile. “I understand you wished to end our engagement.”

Lord Selwyn took a sip of his whiskey and jeered. “That's right, so what are you doing here?”

As she felt more eyes turning toward them, watching with morbid fascination, she took a deep breath to steady her rising temper. One wrong move, and she would undoubtedly be the laughingstock of high society. “I thought it appropriate to personally offer my sincerest apologies for what happened to your arm. I was wondering—”

Lord Selwyn cut her off with a cold, mirthless laugh. “If you think a simple apology will suffice, you’re more naive than I imagined.”

“I understand,” Ginny replied in a low, measured voice, maintaining a stiff smile. “Please, tell me what you would like me to do to prove my sincerity.”

“Kneel.”

“Excuse me?”

“I told you to kneel,” Lord Selwyn repeated with a malicious smile, his voice rising. “I know why you’re here. You wanted me to reinstate our engagement, or short of that, you wanted me to reconsider the settlement. If you want any chance of achieving either, I suggest you start begging on your knees right here and now.”

She dug her fingers into her palms hard enough to leave marks as the crowd around them grew. If she could just keep her temper in check for a little longer, she was sure her brother would notice something was wrong and come to her rescue. “My lord, be reasonable.”

Lord Selwyn stood up. “I am being reasonable,” he roared, so intimidating that Ginny took an involuntary step back. “I almost lost my arm because of you and all I’m asking in return is your dignity. Kneel down.”

She looked into his wild eyes in defiance. “No.”

“Kneel! Do it!”

“No!”

“You!” He raised his right hand and time seemed to slow as he brought it down. If she had her wand with her, she could have easily defended herself, but she had left it at the gate for the party. In her peripheral vision, Ginny saw Percy running toward her, but he was too far to reach her in time. She managed to dodge the first blow, but Lord Selwyn seized her by the hair and raised his hand to strike again. Moving her arms to cover her face, she waited for the inevitable blow...

Only the hand never connecting with her—because someone had stopped the attack just in time.

“Lord Selwyn,” her defender said, twisting his wrist to free Ginny’s hair. “Don’t you think you may be crossing the line?”

Ginny’s eyes widened as she looked up. To her astonishment, it was Lord Malfoy standing in front of her, imposing and steadfast, angry on her behalf.

“Who are you to interfere with our private matters?” Lord Selwyn hissed, his face pink with anger. He tried to pull his hand away, but Lord Malfoy held firm.

“Private matters?” Lord Malfoy asked arching a mocking eyebrow. “But I heard you broke the engagement, so what private matters could you possibly still have with Lady Weasley?”

Lord Selwyn jabbed a finger at her with his free hand. “She made me lose my arm and humiliated me!” he spat, his face growing redder with every word, consumed by his outrage.

“Lose?” Lord Malfoy stared frigidly down at the bandaged arm he was still holding off. “You mean this arm that you were using to hit with?”

“Did I say lose? I meant almost lost. And it got better,” Lord Selwyn spluttered when he was caught in his lies. 

Lord Malfoy threw the bandaged arm down as if it were something vile and grabbed the other man by his collar. “How can you extort a lady over something you fully recovered from? How dare you demand she kneels for your own sadistic pleasure? A person’s dignity isn’t something for the likes of you to toy with!” he shouted, his voice shaking with an intense, cold fury that starkly contrasted with his usual composure. Then, as if suddenly recalling himself, he released his grip and turned to the onlookers with a calm, impassive gaze, seeking their support.

“That’s right!” Percy yelled, finally managing to push his way to the front. He yanked Ginny protectively behind him. “How dare you lay a hand on my sister, you shameless, asinine, idiotic fiend!”

Lord Malfoy’s friends stepped forward. Lady Astoria Greengrass, her elegant brown curls bouncing slightly, clicked her tongue. “Didn’t you injure your arm because you splinched yourself while apparating? How is that Lady Weasley’s fault?”

Beside her, Lady Pansy Parkinson let out a sardonic laugh. “If anything, Lady Weasley should be asking for compensation for defamation.”

At the murmurs of agreement from the crowd, Lord Selwyn, the coward that he was, began to back away. “You... you...” he stuttered, tripping over his chair, “Who... who wants her money anyway?”

“I don’t usually discourage pettiness,” Lord Theodore Nott remarked in a perfectly bored tone, “but even I find your behavior too petty, Lord Selwyn.” With a wave of his hand, two guards stepped forward to take Selwyn by the arms. “Remove this man from my party.”

“Let me go!” Lord Selwyn shouted hysterically as he was dragged away.

Lord Nott sneered. “Well, that’s one spectacularly efficient way to make enemies with multiple Great Houses. What do you think will happen next, Draco?”

Lord Malfoy considered for a second and smirked. “House Selwyn has a smarter, younger son. Give it a week, their House will be naming a new heir.”

They watched Lord Selwyn in silence until he was thrown out of the estate. When he was gone, Percy awkwardly turned toward Lord Malfoy. “Thank you for coming to my sister’s aid,” he said, conflicted and clearly pained. 

Lord Malfoy offered a casual shrug. “Let’s hope Lady Weasley’s next betrothed is a better man,” he replied, before taking his leave. Much to Ginny’s chagrin, she couldn’t help but notice the conspiratorial glance he cast her way as he strolled past with his friends.

“Lord Rupert Selwyn’s younger brother is taking over as heir,” her father announced at the dinner table exactly one week later.

Ginny raised an eyebrow as she sipped her wine; the timing and course of events had played out exactly as Lord Malfoy had predicted. Somehow, she wasn’t even surprised anymore.

“I’m glad they got rid of that fool,” Percy growled, stabbing his steak with his fork. He had been noticeably more brotherly since the party, and Ginny wasn’t quite sure what to make of his newfound protectiveness.

“To think Lord Rupert Selwyn would try to strike our poor Ginny like that,” her mother lamented with a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, dear, for asking you to reconcile with him.”

Ginny hadn’t quite forgiven her mother for what she had said the week before, but seeing her so contrite, she couldn’t help but soften. “You didn’t know, Mother,” she consoled.

Unfortunately, her mother opened her mouth again. 

“There’s no point crying over spilled milk,” she declared much to Ginny’s dismay, “Dear, why don’t you go to the tea party at the palace in your brother’s stead when your father goes to the chamber meeting later this week? A change of scenery will do you good, and who knows, maybe you will even meet a young lord you like.”

The interior of the Emperor's palace was a testament to his taste, with vast halls and soaring ceilings that amplified its cold, impersonal atmosphere. The black marble walls, polished to a mirror-like finish, reflected the flickering torchlight, creating an almost otherworldly sheen. Every surface was defined by sharp, straight lines, from the towering columns to the angular archways, giving the space a geometric precision that was both impressive and intimidating.

Four guards met them at the reception hall; two escorted her father to the Lords Chamber, while the remaining two led her silently down winding corridors to a small banquet hall.

The black marble continued inside the hall, where square tables were set up with crisp white linens, delicate porcelain tea sets, and an array of silverware. The high-backed chairs at each table were already occupied by young ladies and lords who had arrived before her. From across the room, Lord Neville Longbottom waved at her from his seat next to his betrothed, Lady Hannah Abbott, and their friend, Lord Ernie McMillian. Ginny waved back and was about to join them when an all-too-familiar voice, nearly purring, greeted her.

“Hello, Lady Weasley, we meet again.”

She sighed and wondered if this too was part of whatever convoluted scheme he was trying to drag her into. “Why are you here?”

Lord Malfoy smoothed his solemn black dress robes and regarded her with an even gaze. “The same reason why you and everyone else are here, I suppose,” he tightened his lips then added, “I was invited.”

The emphasis on the word told Ginny he wasn’t there by choice.

The Emperor had a habit of inviting sons and daughters from certain aristocratic Houses to take afternoon tea in the palace on the day of the quarterly chamber meeting. On the surface, it was a way to foster relationships among the future generation of the Empire, but everyone with half a brain knew these gatherings were the Emperor’s way of keeping the Houses he didn’t fully trust in line—a subtle form of hostage taking in case the fathers did anything displeasing. House Weasley was always asked to send a child, but as one of the Emperor's favorites, House Malfoy had always been exempted.

Yet here Lord Malfoy was.

“Why–”

“That’s a dangerous question, Lady Weasley,” Lord Malfoy cut in smoothly, though the warning in his voice was clear. “As I told you before, even a ducal House can’t always do as it pleases.”

His gray eyes flickered across the room before settling back to her. “We should take our seats.”

“I’m not sitting with you.”

His face briefly lit up with amusement, but the fleeting expression vanished so quickly Ginny wondered if she had imagined it. “As much as I’m flattered you considered it an option, you’d best sit with Lord Longbottom and his friends.” He stepped around her. "It’s safer.”

Safer from what?

She assumed he meant the Emperor’s scrutiny, but something in his tone suggested there was more to it. Before she could ask for clarification, though, he was already gone.

Despite everything, afternoon tea at the palace was enjoyable. The tea fare was, as always, delicious, and her company was pleasant. Lord Neville Longbottom and Lady Hannah Abbott were genuinely kind and caring, while Lord Ernie McMillian was funny and engaging. Conversation with them was relaxing—they never spoke in riddles, never layered their words with hidden meanings, and she never had to second-guess their motives, unlike...

She stole a glance toward another table. Lord Theodore Nott, Lady Pansy Parkinson, and Lady Astoria Greengrass were picking at their tea sandwiches, but Lord Malfoy was glaringly absent. A flash of platinum blond and black at the edge of her vision caught her attention. Her eyes followed, spotting Lord Malfoy walking in brisk, sure steps past a doorway covered by heavy red velvet curtains, his black robes billowing behind him.

“Lady Weasley?”

She turned back to Lady Abbott. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“Oh, I was just asking if you’re okay,” she said, genuinely worried. “You seem… distracted.”

Ginny shoot her a quick smile. “I’m fine, I just need to use the loo,” she lied and quickly excused herself.

She crossed the room and slipping through the red curtains just in time to glimpse Lord Malfoy disappearing down the hall. Her steps faltered as she watched him vanish around a corner. Instincts warning her against following him any further, but curiosity, relentless and insistent, spurred her onward. With careful, measured strides, she reached the end of the corridor and found a winding staircase spiraling downward, where he must have descended earlier. She followed, her pulse raced with every downward step to the unknown. But when she reached the bottom, she found herself alone—Lord Malfoy had vanished, as if the palace had swallowed him whole.

Just as she considered turning back, a woman's lilting voice reached her ears, the words indistinguishable but unmistakably present. She moved silently toward the sound, every sense on high alert, until she found herself just outside the door where the voice was coming from.

“... do you know why you are here?” asked the woman.

“I have a reasonably good guess,” came the familiar voice of Lord Malfoy.

Ginny edged closer to the door, straining to hear more.

“It’s so nice dealing with smart people. I've always liked that about you,” the woman remarked, her voice carrying a serpent-like quality, smooth yet dangerous. “I waited for you all night a fortnight ago, but you never came.”

“Something came up,” he replied coolly.

Ginny did some quick mental math and realized, to her horror, that a fortnight ago was the day she drank herself into oblivion. The "something" Lord Malfoy was referring to was none other than her.

“Like your sudden engagement announcement?” the woman asked, her voice chillingly soft, the kind of softness that made it more terrifying. “Who is the woman?”

Lord Malfoy didn’t answer.

The sharp crack of a slap echoed out from the room, making Ginny flinch.

A surge of apprehension and shock making her mind go blank. Before she knew it, she was peering through the small, barred window near the top of the door into a dim, dungeon-like chamber. Inside, a woman with striking blue tipped silver hair loomed over a hunched Lord Malfoy, her back to Ginny.

Blood trickled down from his lips. He touched it gingerly, then wiped it away with the back of his hand and straightened up.

“You and your House could have had it so much easier if you had just accepted me back then,” the woman whispered, her voice laced with menace. “My father may have no love for me, but he cannot stand the thought of subjects denying his own blood.”

Ginny realized with a jolt that the woman was none other than the rumored Emperor’s daughter—Lady Delphini Lestrange.

“House Malfoy stands by our decision,” Lord Malfoy said simply.

Lady Delphini let out a derisive laugh. “Ten thousand tons of arcane ore and a war you can’t afford? I hope it’s worth it.” She reached up and caressed his bruised lips with an unsettling gentleness that sent a shiver down Ginny’s spine. “But that’s not what we’re here to discuss, is it? No, you’re here today because you jilted me the other night.”

Lord Malfoy brushed her hand away and closed his eyes. “Just tell me what you want.”

“You know what I want,” Lady Lestrange replied in a sing-song voice, trailing a finger down his chest with a slow, deliberate intent. “And you know that neither you nor your father will be leaving the palace today until I’m satisfied with you.”

She began to unfasten the buttons of his dress robe and Ginny gasped, her hand flying to her mouth too late to stifle the sound.

Both figures in the chamber froze.

Lord Malfoy’s eyes darted up first, and their eyes locked. In an instant, his expression shifted—distress, bordering on raw panic, shattered his usual composed facade. Then, noticing Lady Lestrange had begun to turn, he swiftly reached up, cupped the back of her head with both hands, and forcefully pulled her into a desperate, deep kiss.

Ginny’s heart pounded into her chest as she watched, the weight of the moment pressing down on her. She wasn’t sure what would have happened if Lady Lestrange had caught her spying, but she was certain it wouldn't have ended well.

Seizing the moment Lord Malfoy had bought her, she fled, dashing away from the room, up the staircase, down the corridor, past the thick curtains, and back to the safety of the bustling tea party.

Ginny didn’t know what time it was—only that it was well past midnight—when she heard footsteps in her room. jerking upright, she watched, surprised but less shocked than she probably should have been, as Lord Malfoy, still in the black dress robe from earlier, stepped out of the shadows into the soft glow of the full moon.

He ran a hand through his hair, then wordlessly slumped against the wall across from her and slid down to the floor. He looked haggard, his lips still cracked where Lady Lestrange had struck him earlier, his collar unbuttoned, and he appeared more undone than she had ever seen him.

Ginny swallowed, a wave of nausea suddenly hitting her. “She let you go.”

He shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “She always does eventually. The Emperor wouldn’t let her go too far.”

Ginny made a quiet, sympathetic sound, silently wondering what exactly "too far" meant.

They sat in silence for a while, Lord Malfoy rubbing his eyes while Ginny stealing glances at him, until, having grown tired of the silence, she sighed and asked, “How did you get in?”

“The secret passage. You showed me last time.”

She opened her mouth and closed it. Alcohol. She really needed to stay away from that. She shifted her legs off the bed to get a better look at him. “Why did you come here?”

He gave her an ironic smile. “Where else would I go after you saw me at my lowest?”

“If you’re worried about me telling anyone—”

“I don’t presume you’re that stupid,” he snapped, massaging his temples. “Listen, I’m too tired for games. I just need to know—is there even a chance?”

She knew he was referring to his proposal—the one she had dismissed as a cruel joke. But now, with a clearer understanding of his circumstances, she realized it warranted more serious consideration. Of course, that didn’t mean she would accept him out of pity. Marriage was a significant decision, and she had to consider the future of her House and her own happiness. She needed facts. She needed truths. “I’ll tell you what I think I know, and you need to tell me if I’ve got it right.”

He leaned his head on the wall and nodded.

“Lady Lestrange is really the Emperor’s daughter.”

“True.”

“And she wanted to marry you, but your House refused.”

“Also true. She is a damned lunatic, as you saw.”

“And the Emperor is punishing your House because he sees the rejection as a slight.”

Lord Malfoy sighed. “That, I’m not sure about. The Emperor is shrewd and ruthless, never doing anything for just one reason. Maybe he wants to teach my House a lesson for daring to refuse his daughter, but I’m certain he’s also using this situation to advance his own agenda.”

“Which would be…” Ginny leaned forward in her bed, she was listening keenly now because politics and intrigues were two things her family had never actively explained to her. 

He flipped the question back to her. “Do you know what the Emperor fears most?”

She shook her head.

“He fears a House gaining enough power to overthrow him.”

“So he’s doing all of this to weaken House Malfoy?”

“No,” Lord Malfoy said, staring directly at her. “He’s doing it to use my House to weaken yours.”

“Why House Weasley?” she asked, genuinely intrigued. “We’ve never sought the throne.” The Weasleys didn’t actively seek favor from the Emperor, but it wasn’t out of disloyalty. They were simply more focused on improving the lives of their people than on pursuing power.

“It’s not about whether your House is actually planning anything; it’s the fact that House Weasley has managed to gather too many powerful allies, like the Magic Tower Mistress and Baron Potter. And beyond that, your family has many sons, all accomplished in their own right.”

“So he wants us to fight a war of attrition to drain our resources.” 

“Yes. Except he can’t openly ask for that, so instead, he demands ten thousand tons of arcane ore from my House in place of five years of tribute—knowing no one would sell a rival House something that could easily be processed into bombs, and fully aware that the largest, most accessible ore mines lie on your side of the border.”

The rest of the story was history. House Malfoy occupied the mines, her House fought back, resources were drained on both sides, lives were lost, and suddenly, they were trapped in a war with no end in sight.

“And you can’t retreat because you still need more arcane ore to appease the Emperor.”

He nodded wearily. “We’ve only managed to secure two thousand tons so far, which means we still need eight thousand more. It’s not an impossible amount, but it’s far from trivial. At our current rate, we’ll be fighting for at least another five, maybe ten years. House Malfoy is a commerce-centric house. Sure, we have a large, well-funded army that can defend our land and assets, but our strength lies in how we invest our wealth, not in how we wage war. We can’t outlast your House in a prolonged conflict. Your troops are better trained, and your brothers are constantly developing innovative weapons and tactics.”

It felt surreal listening to Lord Malfoy of all people praising House Weasley so much, but then again, the entire situation was surreal.

“I can’t speak for House Weasley, but House Malfoy can’t afford a decade of war. And I certainly can’t bear to see my people dying and suffering for something so senseless,” he said, his gray eyes hardening like hammered steel as he recalled unpleasant memories. “I began searching for ways to shorten the war, something that wouldn’t require sacrificing more lives, and I realized there was another source of arcane ore available... if I was willing to pay the price.”

House Lestrange also had some arcane ore mines on their land, much less productive than her family’s but still fruitful. Words dried up in her mouth as she realized what he had done. She whispered: “You sold yourself.”

He let out a harsh, bitter sound. “Fifty tons of ore for one night as her whore. I tell myself it’s worth it if it spares even one life, but... it costs me.” He squeezed his eyes shut in despair. "I don’t think Lady Lestrange even likes me anymore, but she agreed because it gave her the chance to humiliate me. She enjoys watching my dignity wither.”

Ginny sucked in a sharp breath. She remembered the cold fury in his eyes when he had grabbed Lord Selwyn by the shirt and talked of dignity. Now, she wondered how much of that anger had been for her and how much of it had been his own release. Unlike with Lord Selwyn, the Emperor's daughter was someone he couldn’t retaliate against—he could only endure. “That night when we met at Hog’s Head…”

“I was on my way to answer Lady Lestrange's call." He gave a flippant shrug. “Alcohol always made those nights easier.”

“So, at least our first meeting wasn’t part of an elaborate scheme,” she concluded, genuinely relieved.

Lord Malfoy sighed. “Our families have been feuding for centuries. Honestly, it never even occurred to me that you could be an option until that night. But then you asked me to marry you, and I couldn’t not think about what that could do.” He paused, waiting until she met his eyes before continuing. “Your family loves you, even if their ideas about gender roles are a bit outdated… I figured that if we married, for your sake—even if they hated me—they could be persuaded to listen just long enough to see through the Emperor’s game. House Malfoy is willing to pay more than a fair price for the arcane ore we still need, just so we can cleanly extricate ourselves from this war and refocus on our businesses. Neither of our Houses would suffer for it. And the Emperor would most likely see our union as a win for him too. He already got the war he wanted, and with you in House Malfoy, he’d feel he gained some leverage over House Weasley, and…” He grimaced, a touch of self-loathing in his expression. “I could stop seeing Lady Lestrange and maybe start hating myself a little less.”

Ginny’s heart twisted at his final words. It took a long moment before she could start processing what he had revealed—his sharp assessment of the situation, her family's stance, the Emperor's likely reaction—and she had a sinking feeling that if they marry, events would unfold exactly as he predicted. He was usually right, after all. The thought of being used as leverage against her own family was unsettling, but she had always been an optimist, preferring to focus on the clear benefits rather than on fears that might never materialize. “So you decided we must marry.”

“Yes, and so I plotted and planned,” he said, holding out his hands as if he was scrutinizing them. “Everything that happened—the ring, the announcement, the meeting at Borgin and Burkes, Theo’s party, even Lord Selwyn’s reaction to some extent, and a few more ‘chance’ encounters that were bound to occur—all part of my carefully calculated plan.”

“But not yesterday.”

“No, not yesterday,” he smiled ruefully. “No one was ever supposed to know my dirty secret, not even my family nor closest friends, and certainly not the woman I was trying to convince to marry. But here we are.”

“Here we are,” she echoed.

“I’ve told you everything,” he said candidly as he slowly pushed himself to his feet. “If you have the stomach for cruelty, I’m sure you could find ways to use what I’ve told you against my House, against me. But I’m willing to take this gamble because I’m desperate.” He swallowed, and in that moment, under the moonlight, he looked so vulnerable, almost small. “I realize I need this marriage more than you do, Lady Weasley. I need it so much that I’m willing to give you anything in my power. Just name a price.”

A price. How absurd, but it was natural for him to think in terms of transactions; he was a Malfoy, after all, and trading was in his blood. But Ginny was a Weasley, and while she knew logically that political marriages were always tied to money and connections, in her heart of hearts, she wanted more.

“My people get peace, my House gets prosperity, but what about me? What will I get?”

Lord Malfoy thought for a long moment. “Freedom, Ginevra. None of those old-fashioned gender roles you detest so much exist in House Malfoy. We have far too few people to be particular about what women can and can’t do. You can learn whatever you want and pursue whatever you desire.”

The image he painted was so wonderfully alluring Ginny wondered if she could ever go back and accept the dull domestic life lived by her mother and her sisters-in-laws.

“And if you want,” he added quietly, “I promise I’ll be by your side to support and encourage you.”

Stunned by the future he was proposing, Ginny could only blink.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. ”Will you marry me?” 

Standing before her was a man cunning enough to predict the future with uncanny accuracy, brave enough to expose all his weaknesses at her mercy, caring enough to put his people above his own honor, and a good listener and communicator to boot. A perfect candidate, really. She wasn’t in love with him but she was convinced she could learn to love him.

In time, he might learn to love her too.

Decision made, Ginny pushed herself off the bed, stepped toward him until they were only an arm's length apart, and offered him her hand.

He took it after a brief moment of hesitation, a quizzical look on his face.

She couldn't help but smirk at his reaction. “Well then, my dear Draco,” she said, pulling his hand to her lips and kissing it, “let’s get married.”