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Ginny Weasley was doing all she could to not shuffle her feet with nerves as she stood in what appeared to be one of the lesser morning rooms of Malfoy Manor, her bag with the symbols for Mediwitch emblazoned on the side tapping gently at her hip as she waited for the lady of the house to make her appearance. Instead, she let her eyes scan the spacious room, noting the way the sunbeams danced in through the gauzy curtains, highlighting a curious glass dome set right in front of the window on a golden pedestal. Intrigued, she found herself drifting closer and closer until she could make out the contents-a large egg, slightly tan in color, surrounded by a cloud of gently rotating golden mist. As she watched, part of the egg flexed and the tiniest of cheeps could be heard emanating from behind the shell. Ginny glanced around, worried that something had gone wrong–should this egg be hatching with just her as a witness? It looked important–when the cheeping grew louder and markedly distressed. “Oh no, you poor dear,” she crooned, transfixed by the hole she could now see in the egg, “but you’re almost there, you can do it.”
“Do what, exactly, Miss Weasley?”
“Oh, er,” Ginny found herself pointing stupidly at the cloche. “I think it’s hatching?”
“I would ask if that was a question or a statement, Miss Weasley, except that would be a waste of both of our time and I can clearly see what is happening.”
“Ah, yes, well.” Unconsciously, Ginny straightened her posture and steeled her spine. It was always this way with Narcissa Malfoy and she was forever wrong-footed when it came to dealing with the woman. She was fairly sure it was part of how she managed to keep the upper hand in interactions, but she also found herself getting used to it. “Is it something that you need to tend to? I can come back at a more convenient time if so.”
“No, I am afraid from here we can only let nature continue to take her course from here.” Narcissa eyed the swirling spell around the helpless little creature. “As long as the mist stays golden, all is as it should be.”
“What, exactly, is it?”
“One of Lucius’ precious peacocks.” Narcissa frowned. “I am sure that it will be another menace to my gardens. If it were not for the Malfoy family tradition…” she trailed off, eyeing the egg as though it contained her next great nemesis. Ginny could see a larger crack in the shell now, complete with little tufts of damp white feathers sticking out. Narcissa was already turning an appraising eye to Ginny, one eyebrow lifted. The look in her eyes was assessing; Ginny wasn’t sure she liked it. Rather, she was definitely sure she didn’t like it. That was a look she saw on her mother’s face all too often when she was about to ask why Ginny was still single and when she was going to give her grandchildren, never mind the absolute hoard she could already claim.
Ginny clapped her hands, ready to head off the awkward silence she knew was coming before a question she really didn’t want to answer, along with any more judgments about her being the ill-bred and ill-mannered sort. “Speaking of your gardens, let's take a look at that scrape from the Venomous Tentacula. We’re well clear of any after-effects from the venom, but we can’t be too careful about infection or scarring, you know. It’s vital that we….”
–
One week later
Ginny carefully inventoried her Mediwitch satchel as she walked the last few steps up to Malfoy manor. Narcissa Malfoy was hardly one to abide any sort of incompetence and while she knew that she always kept the bag stocked up with all the basics, she most certainly didn’t want to be caught unprepared–even if she didn’t know how she’d acquire any missing items at this late juncture. She deliberately didn’t think about that as she tidied the last gauze roll into the pocket where it belonged and lifted the heavy door knocker. It rebounded off the door with a resounding thud she could feel in her chest and would have startled her if she hadn’t already experienced it; how was that not aggravating to all the residents? Was it not a problem because no one even visited the Malfoys anymore? She couldn’t remember the last time that she had even seen a member of the family outside of the property except for Narcissa’s initial visit to St Mungo’s for treatment for the raw burn that had extended from her wrist to elbow, incurred when a pruned tendril of a Venomous Tentacula had dripped sap down her arm. The sight of her in the lobby, robes wrapped around her arm and leaves and other bits of detritus still in her hair, had the whole ward on edge without her even saying a word. The woman’s whole face was sharp, but her eyes could cut like a knife at the least sign of hesitation. And honestly, after seeing the way her coworkers acted like bumbling idiots when faced with Narcissa, she understood why she had requested followup visits to occur at her home in lieu of a donation to St. Mungo’s. Maybe she would have even felt flattered by being singled out and specifically requested by Narcissa if she hadn’t sniffed imperiously after saying Ginny’s name like she was somehow allergic to it.
The heavy doors swung open before her silently, cutting off her thoughts. Well then. Things could be worse. At least Narcissa had requested her; she wouldn’t have if she didn’t have faith in her abilities, and she supposed that, at least, was something.
-
A scant quarter hour found Ginny exiting the same doors again, after doling out a slightly different tonic than last time and giving nearly the same advice. Well, it made for an easier day than it would back on the ward, she thought to herself, even if Narcissa had shuffled her off rather quickly, clearly anticipating the company of someone else she would far rather be with. She was torn between feeling relieved and slightly put-out –she didn’t want to spend any time with her anyway really, and there was no reason to be eager for her approval after all, so why was she just slightly miffed that she wasn’t needed? Wasn’t wanted? The manor had been full of bustle, clearly prepping for something, so her supposition of earlier this morning that no one ever visited must clearly be wrong. Ginny firmly categorized her reluctance to leave as unsatisfied curiosity–always a bane of her existence–and told herself she certainly wouldn’t give it another thought.
She was only just clear of the long, sweeping set of stone steps and even with the beginning of the expansive gardens that marked the edge of the private apparition point when she heard it–a faint but distressed cheeping. The sound was somehow both quiet and sharp and had her turning on her heel immediately. A small white shape bobbled on the steps behind her, nothing more than a bit of fluff on legs. It quickly caught up to her and raced about her feet, chirping and darting about so madly that she was half-afraid to move in case she stepped on it. She crouched down, paused, and darted out both hands to catch it as if it were nothing but a fluffy Snitch. The cheeping stopped instantly, replaced by a pleasant little burble. She couldn’t resist the impulse to open her hands slightly and stroke the head of what had to be a tiny, week-old peacock–so the one she had seen last week did hatch safely then. An unreasonably warm measure of satisfaction flowed through her at the thought that the small bird was well as it nestled into her hand.
“I see your Quidditch skills haven’t gotten rusty.”
Ginny nearly startled out of her skin. The voice, which had come from a surprising distance above her own head, was deeper than she remembered and tempered with far more good humor than she would have ever thought possible. She paused, waiting for the “But” and for the laugh in his voice to turn cruel as her eyes turned up to a version of Draco Malfoy she was no longer familiar with.
Neither came and now the moment was awkward.
“Ah, thank you. I think.”
And now she was staring at his face, one where the features had settled and matured from pinched and pallid to masculine and refined–except the sardonic raise of one eyebrow was nearly exactly the same. As was the full mouth, but she was definitely not going to consider the implications of wondering if his bottom lip felt as soft as it looked.
Draco chuckled from his perch up on the steps just above her. Something in the sound made her straighten her spine and she shot up from her crouched position, only to wobble a bit with the abruptness in the change of her posture. He was already down the steps, one hand at her elbow and the other just below where her own were joined around the chick before she could do more than wobble the slightest bit. His hands were large, warmer and sturdier than she would have expected even though his touch was light. The intensity of his expression as he looked into her face and his searching gaze tracing over her features made her breath catch in her throat and she felt her lips part as if to say something–anything, except she couldn’t find the words.
A sharp peep from her hands saved her the trouble.
It was a scarce second of contact before she deliberately shifted her body and her gaze away and moved to put the chick into his outstretched hand with a half-murmured excuse to be leaving, unable to find her voice when dazed by his closeness. The hand that had been on her elbow traced a delicate path over the tender skin of her inner arm as she pulled away, so light that it had to be unintentional, as both his hands closed over hers, relieving her of her fragile burden. As she pulled her hands out from under his, she told herself that she was just imagining the slight pressure of his fingers against hers, that his reluctance to let her go was entirely in her mind along with the idea that his touch had made sparks dance along her nerve endings.
She certainly didn’t look back to see him flex his hands as though he was affected by the same electricity.
–
Two weeks later
Ginny fussed with her hemline as she stood outside the restaurant, wondering if the slit in her black cocktail dress split too daringly over her thigh. It already rode dangerously high and she wasn’t sure if it was really first date material–to be honest, she wasn’t really sure her date was first date material anyway. It was another man that Hermione swore she’d love and Hermione had the worst taste in men, as evidenced by the fact that she settled down with Ron of all people. Sure, he was her brother and she loved him, but he was also an insufferable know-it-all, just of a different breed than Hermione. Ron was insistent that he knew the best way for Ginny to live her life, which she found morbidly funny because she could have benefited much more from his overbearing supervision back in her first year. She certainly didn’t need it now that she was grown. She definitely didn’t need the insistence of the both of them that she’d be happier if she just settled down, as though emulating their life together would somehow prove that Ron and Hermione had made all the right choices for a domestic bliss and all she needed to do was to follow in their footsteps.
She huffed a breath into the warm spring night. Whatever was going to happen tonight, she was confident that she wasn’t going to be seeing her future husband on this date; she’d probably die of boredom first. The most interesting thing that she knew about this bloke was that he was already five minutes late. She checked her watch. Well, 10 minutes late, and in her opinion that was enough time to justify trading in her dinner plans for some takeaway and an early bedtime. Butter chicken would certainly be more satisfying than being stood up.
A sudden kerfuffle inside the restaurant caught her eye as she raised her wand to Apparate away– one of the tables on the other side of the window was in a state of chaos as both occupants shot to their feet, arms waving wildly at some white bird–was that a pigeon?--knocked over an expensive looking bottle of wine, splashing the resulting spill all across the couple while the woman screeched. She could only see the back of the man, but whatever he was saying or doing couldn’t have been very comforting because the woman tossed the contents of another diner’s water glass directly in his face. His carefully coiffed pale hair dripped down his face and even from a distance she could tell that his ears were burning red.
Ginny couldn’t help but giggle a little. At least someone was having a worse night than she was, and at least she had better company, even if it was just her own.
–
Three weeks later
After seeing an errant white bird interrupt that couple at the restaurant, Ginny was suddenly seeing them all the time. Or maybe it was just one who appeared in her vicinity all the time.
It must be the phenomenon of seeing something everywhere once you finally notice it, kind of like realizing how many Nimbus brooms were used in her neighborhood after she looked at buying one for herself.
Whatever the reason, they always made her smile.
–
Six months later
“Harry, you really need to start going to St. Mungo’s for things. I appreciate that you trust me to help you out, but it really isn’t the best idea to wait around and see if I’m available or not when you can go directly there and get treatment right away.”
Ginny pushed the remains of her fruit salad around her plate, smashing a bit of the under ripe cantaloupe between the tines of her fork. This was supposed to be a thank-you lunch with Harry, but it was feeling more and more like he was subtly trying to make it into a date and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Sure, it was flattering to have an ex-boyfriend chase after her again and she even flattered herself that he regretted letting her get away, but a quiet alarm was beginning to ring in the back of her head. There was a reason they’d broken up the first time, even if it was more of a drifting apart when they both got busy than some kind of explosive separation.
“Gin, you know what I’m like, it’s always a big deal, then next thing you know I’m on the front page of the Daily Prophet for something that can be fixed in a few waves of a wand.”
Ginny frowned. “Waves of a wand? Is that what you think I do?” Privately, she thought that Harry wasn’t all that likely to wind up on the front page as he thought. It had been a convenient excuse he used back when they were together and there was something he wasn’t really interested in doing. It still felt like an insult to her intelligence and the implication she wouldn’t be open to a reasonable compromise if he were honest still stung. And if he was really worried about some kind of publicity, why were they eating on the patio of a restaurant right in the heart of Diagon Alley on her lunch break anyway? Even the Wizarding world got tired of hearing about the random scrapes, mundane bruises, and boring lunch outings of the Chosen One.
“Ah, I didn’t mean it like that, and–”
“Harry, if it’s something that can be fixed with a few waves of a wand anyway, don’t you think you or your partner should be taking care of it? Honestly, are any of you Aurors paying attention when we come to do basic first aid training?”
“Well yeah, we just don’t all have the natural aptitude that you do.”
“Harry, I didn’t have the natural aptitude right away either, it’s called practice.” Merlin , she sounded like her mother now, but it was entirely true. Ginny’s knack for Charms had made becoming a Healer easier, but the skills she labored to gain were far from intuitive for her. She’d spent long hours studying and practicing and despairing over her future career and he knew the sacrifices that she’d made because he’d been there.
“You sound more and more like Hermione these days, Ginny,” Harry said with a frown.
“And that’s a bad thing? She’s supposed to be one of your best friends, and the one who made sure that you and Ron actually made it through school!” Ginny was stabbing the errant grapes on her plate now, mulishly refusing to look Harry in the face.
“I’m not here to start a fight, Ginny, I actually wanted to talk to you. I miss you.”
The fork slipped from Ginny’s hand suddenly. She wasn’t sure if the tinny sound that she was hearing was the fork clattering against the plate or a sudden ringing in her ears. She was definitely staring at Harry’s face now, barely even registering the way he’d grabbed her now-empty hand. His expression was earnest, sad and wistful, somehow both yearning and self-assured. She was suddenly struck with the realization that he thought he already knew what her reaction would be. He really thought she would get back together with him if he just asked. That was the real reason that he had been coming to her with injuries instead of going to St. Mungo’s, to test the waters with her. She was probably even the last to know–this was definitely the sort of thing that he’d probably have strategized with Ron, and everything Ron knew Hermione knew. And no one had even bothered to even feel her out. Was she really that predictable? Was she really the type to settle so easily for so little? A hysterical little giggle worked its way up and out of her mouth, opening a door she’d kept the feelings that were inconvenient for everyone else behind.
“Are you serious?”
The words slipped from her mouth before she could think about them, but she wouldn’t take them back for the world. Harry’s forehead began to crinkle, just starting to process her disbelieving tone. As his mouth parted to utter something she was sure that she wouldn’t actually want to hear, Harry was hit in the face by a pair of frantically beating wings and interrupted by a chorus of raucous squawking.
Ginny took the opportunity to jerk her hand back, but her mind didn’t seem willing to process events beyond that. She was rooted to her seat, not quite able to comprehend the scruffy, awkward looking white bird as it finally found its perch on the table and turned its attention to the pulverized fruit on Ginny’s plate. There was something familiar about the bird, even if she wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Some sort of exotic albino pheasant, or a mangy chicken maybe? But it had a funny little crest of half-grown white feathers on its head…
Then the bird fixed its gaze on her, burbling happily, and she suddenly realized where she had seen a smaller version of it, sans the mashed strawberry sliding down its beak. That was one of the Malfoy peacocks, but how in the world did it get here? Harry straightened his glasses and dusted himself off, but it didn’t help much as he still looked ridiculous with tiny downy feathers stuck in his hair. Ginny was too busy scanning the crowd for a Malfoy face to tell Harry about his appearance, but he was frowning at her again.
The reason for his frown became suddenly clear as someone planted one hand on the back of her chair and leaned over her shoulder to snatch the bird just behind the wings with a practiced hand. One of the very people she had been looking for was so close that she could feel the warmth of his body as his shadow fell over her, could hear his murmured “ idiot bird”, so quiet and low it was almost more of a reverberation than an utterance. His cologne wrapped around her as he pulled back, subtle and woodsy, and it cued something in her brain to take notice and sit up a little straighter. As close as he was, Draco wasn't touching her. That same something in her brain thought that was a shame.
“Draco Malfoy,” Harry said in a mostly neutral tone, “I wasn’t aware you were back in the country.”
Draco tucked the juvenile peacock under his arm, ignoring its strained half-honks as he cast a Silencing charm along with an immobilization spell before responding in a deliberately bland voice.
“Potter. I’ve been busy with business. As I imagine you have been as well. I doubt either of us has had much time for socializing recently. Though, Miss Weasley, we didn’t get to finish our conversation of some time ago.”
Ginny’s brow crinkled in confusion.
“When you paid a visit to my mother? I have a few questions regarding her care, if you wouldn’t mind. Though perhaps somewhere with more privacy is in order.”
Great, now she was trapped between an ex-boyfriend who wanted to get back together despite his penchant for ignoring the things that mattered to her and someone she had purposely avoided thinking about since the last time she had seen him. This day was shaping up to be an absolute loss.
But she’d be on the receiving end of considerably less grief if she decided to hex Draco Malfoy rather than Harry-bleeding-Potter and she had more patience for the former at the moment, so she gathered her bag and popped out of her seat as fast as she could. Harry started sputtering something about important conversations, but she cut him off with a forced smile.
“Sorry Harry, must be going, duty calls and my break is nearly over anyway. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon,” she said, already walking away from the table. Draco followed in her wake and she noted that he was much better at controlling his expression than he had been as a child–she had almost missed the shadow of a dimple from the smile he was repressing. She rolled her eyes. Clearly the version of him that she had known in school was still lurking under this new polite veneer. Something about that was comforting. It made her feel a little less bad about taking off and sticking Harry with the bill as well, knowing that there was at least some part of her companion that would be gleeful about it instead of judging her for it. Besides, if he was going to judge her, she had plenty of words to share about the poultry he still had tucked under his arm.
She waited until they were well clear of the patio and walking out of Diagon Alley proper before clearing her throat.
“So. Your mother?”
She had to look a longer way up than she would have thought to meet his eyes and it made her suddenly recall that moment of electricity on the stairs in front of Malfoy Manor. Memories of that brief experience of frisson stirred the banked coals of her feelings like tiny bits of ash in a gentle wind. Something in the intensity of his expression made her insides twist in a not entirely unpleasant way. It had been awhile since she had felt this kind of anticipation instead of anxiety and she was a bit surprised to find the emotion within herself again when her recent relationships had been so fraught with tension.
Draco slowed his steps, carefully watching her face. “Honestly, while I really would like to know how she got on while I was away, I was a bit more worried about you.”
“What? Why?” GInny could feel the wrinkles coming up between her eyebrows again. Merlin, after today she was going to need to make sure she was proactive about using her moisturizers or she’d wind up with wrinkles deeper than a canyon.
“You looked like you’d really rather be anywhere else in the world and I didn’t think it was because of this giant bird practically in your lap.” He smirked at her as he stroked the peacock’s head, though it didn’t look like his heart was completely in it. “And maybe I was a little worried for Potter if he didn’t let go of you.”
She could feel her ears burning as she snorted, just a little. “I guess amputating his hand would have been going a bit too far.”
“Mmm, yes.”
She felt more than saw him eye her, assessing–she just didn’t know if it was because he was about to say something awful or if he was judging her for her lack of patience. His smirk grew more natural and she knew it was definitely the former as he stuck his free hand in one pocket and looked up at the sky, feigning nonchalance as he continued in a grave voice, drawling for emphasis.
“After all, it would be considerably harder for him to bear up the weight of the entire Wizarding world with just one hand. I had to interrupt or risk the complete collapse of society as we know it.”
Despite her better judgment, Ginny laughed. Maybe it wasn’t right, but there was something about being not entirely nice that was a relief, like putting off the mantle of a good, responsible, grown-up girl for just a moment was a weight off her shoulders. She knew it would only encourage him and judging by the reappearance of that faint dimple in his cheek, he was enjoying himself entirely too much. She knew she would be a hypocrite if she scolded him now, so she just smiled and ducked her head instead.
As much as they had slowed their pace, Ginny found herself reflected back in the window of Purge & Dowse Ltd entirely too soon. She turned back to face Draco so she didn’t have to look at the concealed entrance for one moment longer. He watched her silently, eyebrows raised as though inviting her to take one last parting shot.
She surprised herself when she gave him an opening instead.
“We never did talk about your mother, you know.”
“We did not.”
The smirk was back in full effect. He was enjoying this, the prat, but at least it was honest.
“And we could continue to not talk about her. I need to go back–”
“Saturday morning, the park? Dress for flying, I want a fair race with somebody so I’ll bring the brooms.”
The words had spilled out of him, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to get out. She smiled, a full smile that stretched all the way up to her eyes. It felt a little strange, but so good. She could feel that inner fire glowing to life again.
“Yes. Saturday morning. The park. Be prepared to lose.”
–
Three days later
Draco made good on his word that weekend and loaned her one of the most perfect brooms she had ever seen–beautiful lines, perfectly weighted, sleek and fast. Fast enough that she beat him handily three times in a row. Flying again would have been enough of a gift, but to be able to do it on a broom that was a work of art while beating an old school rival who pouted ridiculously every time she rubbed a victory in his face? That was just the cherry on top. If she hadn’t known that Draco had a competitive streak a mile wide, she might have even suspected some of his disappointment was manufactured for her own benefit. And maybe she was secretly enjoying it when she jostled him playfully, bumping his shoulder and invading his personal space while calling him old and feeble. He called her cheeky and a harpy and she reveled in it.
She purposely didn’t ask what he wanted to know about his mother.
He invited her to do it all again next week anyway. And the week after that. He never said anything about it, but Ginny was quickly coming to consider him a friend.
And maybe it made her feel more like herself again.
–
seven weeks later
Morning races on the weekend became late brunches and turned into entire days spent in each others company– during some of which Draco was harassed by his family peacock again, though it never seemed to bother him all that much. In fact, he almost seemed to welcome it even if he was constantly bemoaning its lack of intellect. One Saturday afternoon found Draco draped inelegantly over the overstuffed chaise longue he had helped her manhandle through the doorway of her apartment and then into her living room–they had both realized after the fact that their lives would have been easier if they had simply shrunk the offending article of furniture down to something more manageable until it was in its proper location. While Ginny had laughed herself silly, Draco decided to protest by becoming one with the cushion. When his stomach growled, she doubled over in giggles again as she left the room.
He sat up, offended at her mirth and lack of attention. He followed her and she had the distinct impression of an oversized cat upset at being denied an early dinner.
“Weasley, I’m always making sure you’re fed and here you are laughing at me as I waste away. Have some pity, let’s go get something to eat already.”
“Can’t,” Ginny said, rummaging through her kitchen cabinets noisily before finding a tin. “Gotta get ready for a date in a bit. But here’s some pumpkin pasties from Mum, I’ll never get through all these.”
“Can’t understand why you’re bothering, you said you didn’t even like this bloke and you were tired of people pressuring you into things you didn’t want to do” he growsed as he removed the container lid and started poking through the contents. Ginny wondered why she had ever thought this grown version of Draco was capable of being polite as he took an overly large bite of one of the pasties.
“What, do you have the privilege of not being harassed by your mother to find someone and settle down already?”
Draco stopped chewing, one cheek puffed out ridiculously. He looked like he’d been caught out, but at what, Ginny wasn’t sure. He finished chewing and swallowed slowly. It was enough to make Ginny pay close attention. She’d survived having too many siblings for too long to not know something important was at play here.
“Settle down, yes.”
“And?”
“What?”
“What else?”
“Maybe I don’t have to worry about the finding someone bit.”
He was watching her closely and carefully now and for the first time she noticed a secret in his eyes. She tried to tell herself that was why she suddenly felt a sharp wound in her chest. She’d grown close enough to him to confide that she was unhappy with who she had let herself become, explained her resolve to reclaim the old parts of herself that she missed, shared her joy at finding the things that still lit her spark. And he had been happy for her, had shared his own hopes and fears. Somehow knowing he hadn’t really shared everything when she had laid herself bare felt terrifying.
“Like…an arranged marriage?”
“Not exactly,” he said slowly, choosing his words deliberately. He put the tin of pasties back down on the counter. “The peacock, the one my mother calls Lancelot, do you remember it?”
“Ye-es, but what does your stupid fancy turkey have to do with anything?” She was peeved now, letting the irritation well up in the place of hurt and turn into anger. She began pacing, too intent on not wondering who would take her friend from her to stand still.
“The peacocks are a part of the Malfoy legacy, some kind of magical construct dating back to who knows when. If the heir of the family comes of age and hasn’t found their spouse, the peacocks are supposed to bring them together. Lancelot is just a bit…overzealous, apparently.” He thought for a moment.
“And you expect me to believe this? Draco Malfoy, you’re really going to let a bird with a brain the size of a walnut pick your wife?”
“That’s not what I said. Listen, Ginny, I need to tell you something but I promise nothing changes if you don’t want it to and I will not say another word if–”
But Ginny was too overwhelmed to listen. She could feel the prickle of tears start behind her eyes. The last thing she wanted was a set of promises about remaining friends that would break and shatter like the most delicate china. She swiped her eyes. She couldn’t cry in front of him, not now.
“Look, I’ve got to get ready, can you please go now?” She was shoving him towards her front door pushing on his shoulder as he stubbornly dug in his heels.
“Wait, Ginny, please .”
The please broke her. It was a word he always found his way around, didn’t use it to ask for anything unless he had to. She’d always thought it was their little inside joke, that she’d tell him to use his manners and he’d find every loophole while she called him a spoiled brat. He never said please once they’d become friends, not to her.
“Leave, Draco.” Her voice was quiet now, broken.
“Ginny,” he sighed, reaching out one hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll leave, but I need you to come find me when you’re ready to hear me out.”
His hand was warm and the line he traced over her cheek burned. It felt like the loss of something she never had, a tragedy for reasons she couldn’t even articulate.
And then the door was closing behind him and he was gone.
–
Two hours later
Ginny cancelled the date. It was the first time that she made an active choice to not let others be the driving force of her love life after her failed romance with Harry. And for the first time, she decided she only cared about what she wanted.
It didn’t take her long to decide what that was.
It did take the rest of the night to decide what to do about it.
–
The next morning
Dawn broke softly as the morning fog hung heavy in the air, turned pink and golden from the sun’s gentle rise. Draco sat defeated on the stone steps leading up to his home, hair disheveled from running his hands through it too many times over the interminable length of the night. He had paced and fretted the whole night through as he wondered if he was a coward for leaving her before she could tell him she never wanted to hear from him again. The relentless whirling of his own thoughts had been punctuated by the cries of Lancelot and it had become a refrain that started to sound like “ gone, gone, gone ”.
The sudden harsh pop of Apparition had him jolting to his feet–there, looking like her night had been just as sleepless as his, stood the woman he had half-dreamed up the entire night through. She was still in her nightwear under an oversized robe, one that looked like she might have nicked from him, hair tousled and face pale.
“ Ginny, ” he breathed. Seeing her again was like a revelation; he only hoped it was salvation that awaited him.
Ginny stepped forward, careful and deliberate, acutely aware of how close she was to him. Not quite close enough for her chest to brush against his as it rose and fell with her careful breathing–but it could be, in just a step or two.
“You asked me to come to you, when I was ready.” She was concentrating carefully on her breathing now, hands held together in front of her to stop them from shaking as her eyes found his and held fast. “Draco, I have something I need to say to you first. Somehow you’ve become my best friend and I can’t stand the idea of losing you. I need you whining in my kitchen because I didn’t buy the right tea and telling me I cheat at racing or telling me to grow a backbone and stand up for myself.” She sniffed, the tears she had worked so hard on restraining tumbling down her cheeks again. “You were there when I needed a friend, but what I realized is I need all of you. Only you.”
Draco stepped in closer, hands reaching for her waist when he stumbled over the peacock that had been circling him. Instead of a soft embrace, he clutched Ginny to him and he could feel the relief in his bones at finally having her close. “We are a mess, aren’t we?” He murmured into her hair. “You silly witch, I was trying to tell you that it was you I was meant to be with. I think I fell in love with you the second I saw you turn back for that idiot bird after you walked down these steps. It’s only you for me. Only ever you.”
Ginny pulled him down by the neck, kissing him so hard he swore he saw stars. Stars, and the heavens, and all the cosmos laid out before him and the only thing left for him to want was for it to never end.
–
Narcissa had been awake for hours, thanks to one particular peacock that had been wailing all night while Draco had dithered over what to do. As much as she had wished to Silencio the bird, she knew it was best to let these things play out as they were meant to. Thankfully, the Weasley girl was competent enough to take matters into her own hands. Narcissa drew the blinds closed as their reconciliation played out on the lawn and thought to herself that maybe she did fancy a trip out of the house for a while– A new couple needed their privacy after all. And if Lancelot became her favorite peacock after finally securing the happiness of her only child, she never did say.
She still locked the bird in the dungeons on their wedding night.
Just in case.