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At first, life on the run was heady and romantic. Two young lovers, rich and poor, Slytherin and Gryffindor, dark and light and born to hate each other, defying family and friends alike to prove that love conquers all.... It was the stuff of grand romance and fairy tales, and in the small part of Ginny's mind not occupied by young love, she composed the tale she'd tell her own little girl one day. It was glorious.
It would make sense for the story to start with the war, for it was in the war that Ginny learned the skills she used to plan her escape. One did not organize a resistance under the Carrows' noses without a certain amount of talent for subterfuge. But the stories Ginny fell asleep to as a girl never began with war, not even when her father told her of the Boy Who Lived, so this one, she thought, should begin with peace. Peace, and a victory, and a celebration to end all celebrations where the heroine danced all night with her friends and family and the Boy Who Lived Again, but mostly with the boy her family assumed she hated and had never suspected she might want for her own. The night ended far from well and at the time Ginny had been heartbroken by the sight of Draco's parents hauling him in one direction while her own dragged her in another, but such is the way of life in fairy tales. Every story needs some conflict before the happy ending.
On the night she left the Burrow for good, Ginny summoned her wand from where her mother had hidden it (for her own good, of course, never as punishment for being seventeen and in love with the wrong boy), quickly collected the few things she wished to keep, and slipped out her bedroom window before anyone was the wiser. She brought nothing with her but her broom, a change of clothes, and a few keepsakes from her friends. A new life deserved a clean start.
Draco was waiting by the rowan trees at the edge of road, and together they apparated north to Gretna Green -- still the best place for a quick and discreet wedding, be ye muggle or magical -- before flying south and over the Channel into France, where the Malfoys had a rarely-used chateau outside of Versailles.
Versailles would not be part of her daughter's bedtime story, although at the time Ginny found herself mentally composing giggly, gossipy letters to Hermione about the wonders of married life. The countryside was gorgeous and the Wizarding areas of the city were fascinating and sophisticated, but Ginny and Draco hardly saw any of it, too involved were they in each other. They spent a blissful two weeks exploring and relearning each other's bodies and hearts, until one morning a nervous-looking elf bearing a letter appeared at the end of their bed, covering its eyes to avoid seeing anything improper.
Darling Draco, the letter read,
Did you truly believe that we would fail to notice that you and your little distraction have taken up residence in Versailles? The elves have been positively abuzz with the excitement of once again having two households to maintain.
I know, as does your father, that in the aftermath of unpleasantness it is only natural for a young man to want to have some fun, but there are limits to how much can be excused as passing fancy before behavior becomes unseemly. Your father plans to travel to France tomorrow to fetch you and to return the Weasley girl to her rightful home. I expect that you and he would each be happier if you were to take responsibility for your actions and set the situation to rights without further inconvenience to him.
Your ever-patient and loving mother,
Narcissa
They finished breakfast in grim silence. When they were done, Ginny composed a letter to her parents informing them that she would not be returning. They packed their belongings into a single trunk and Apparated to the Paris branch of Gringotts, where they emptied the vault containing Draco's allowance and personal funds. The pile of galleons was larger than Ginny had held at any point in her life, but when Draco asked where she fancied travelling to next and inquired with the goblin about the fee for an international portkey, she realized just how frighteningly small it was.
At first, life on the run was heady and romantic, but all things come to an end. Had they been older, wiser, they might have thought twice about it. They could have returned to England, produced their newly-minted marriage certificate with a flourish, and faced the consequences. Instead, they ran away together, first to Marseilles, then Milan, and then on to a wizarding enclave near Hamburg when their funds ran low and Italy lost its appeal. There were few jobs to be had for a pair of young people with no qualifications apart from their OWLS, but they made do, and Ginny reminded herself that the best fairy tale princesses wore rags before they found riches. She had her prince. The rest would come later. Meanwhile, the adventures they had made good stories all on their own.
They celebrated thier fourth anniversary in Amsterdam, just after her twenty-first birthday. Four years, spread over four countries and half again as many cities, but Ginny thought that this time, they might stay. She loved her work and their little flat, and while life still wasn't entirely carefree, for the first time since Milan neither of them worried much about the future.
Draco brought her flowers that night, and a gold bracelet with a message inside it. "For my princess, always," it said. Ginny knew he loved her, had never doubted it except perhaps for during the dark days of the war, but seeing the sentiment so clearly engraved on a bracelet he must have had to skimp and save for made her unsure of whether she should laugh or cry. She settled for kissing him.
Later that night, she let her mind wander over the events of the evening and of their life together, and was struck with a sudden, painful jolt of longing. "Draco?"
"Hmm?" he said, still foggy with contentment after their lovemaking.
"I think I want to go back to England."
He rolled over and looked at her, now fully awake. "What?"
"Just for a visit," she hurriedly explained. "With you, if you're willing. It's just..."
"What?" he asked again, softly, prodding her to continue.
"It's been four years. We shouldn't have to hide any more. And... and maybe I want to show everyone that running off with you wasn't quite the disaster they made it out to be."
"Not a total catastrophe, was it?"
Draco was smirking, and Ginny responded by trailing her fingers down his side until he squirmed. "Not quite that bad, no."
"I'm glad," he said, and as he tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her closer for a kiss, all further thoughts of conversation were forgotten.
It was in Amsterdam, not many years later, that Ginny's thoughts once again turned to fairy tales and bedtime stories. Tales of strife and romance and adventure and love were wonderfully exciting when one was a young girl, but stories of mummies and daddies were not. As Ginny waited impatiently for Draco to arrive home so that she could break the news, she tried on beginnings for size.
"I don't know if you can hear me yet, but just in case... Once upon a time, not too many years ago, there was a great celebration."