Title: Past Imperfect

Author: Jade Okelani

Email: jade@vanishingscroll.com

Rating: PG

Archive: Feel free to link to my fic at http://www.vanishingscroll.com/Okelani, but please drop me a line and let me know about it.

Disclaimer: Me no own, you no sue, me not doing anything terrible to them, depending, of course, on your definition of 'terrible.'

Classification: Story, Romance, Angst; D/G

Author's Notes: This fic will be told in two parts. The first, here, is complete, and will serve as the "Christmas" part of the story. Hopefully, the second part will be done sometime after the New Year. The plot is almost too guilty pleasure to be abided, but I just couldn't help myself. *g* All the thanks in the world go to Sarea for top notch beta services in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve while y!m steadfastly refused to actually allow us to communicate. And now: Vegas, baby!

Summary: The wizarding world was shocked yesterday by the deaths of more than thirty witches and wizards at an as yet unknown location in Scotland.

~

The wizarding world was shocked yesterday by the deaths of more than thirty witches and wizards at an as yet unknown location in Scotland. Among them were Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class), headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and young Harry Potter, known to most simply as The Boy Who Lived.

Not much is known about the circumstances of this tragic occurrence, but rest assured that we here at the Prophet are shocked and saddened by this great loss, and extend our condolences to a grieving nation.

Services will be held on the 23^rd of December in Yorkshire. The preliminary casualty list follows. In lieu of flowers or costly charms, families are requesting donations be made to the Second Great War Rebuilding fund.

Bell, Katie

Crabbe, Vincent

Crabbe, Lawrence

Diggory, Amos

Dumbledore, Albus

Finnigan, Seamus

Flint, Marcus

Goyle, Gregory

Goyle, Gertrude

Granger, Hermione

Hooch, Madame Rolanda

Malfoy, Lucius

Malfoy, Narcissa

Moody, Alastor

Olivander, Donovan

Parkinson, Pansy

Parkinson, Paul

Parkinson, Precious

Potter, Harry

Thomas, Dean

Tonks, Nymphadora

Trelawney, Sybil

Weasley, George

Weasley, Percy

Weasley, Ronald

Memorial services were held today in Yorkshire for the victims of the Christmas Massacre. Huddled beneath a light snowfall, mourners seemed too shocked and weary to do much more than stare sightlessly ahead as dozens of loved ones were laid to rest.

"I just can't believe it," a former Hogwarts student, Angelina Johnson, commented when approached by journalists. "I knew them -- I knew so many of them, and we can't believe they're gone." Ms. Johnson was in the company of Fred Weasley, who himself lost three brothers in the tragedy.

A tense moment broke out after the service was conducted. Young Draco Malfoy, one of the few survivors of the tragedy, approached the Weasley family, whether to offer his condolences or not will likely never be known. A young woman, Ginny Weasley [pictured at left, with Malfoy, seconds after the confrontation], reportedly a close friend of Harry Potter's, struck Malfoy squarely across the face and hissed something too quietly for onlookers to make out.

"It's a tense day," another survivor, Neville Longbottom, said in Ms. Weasley's defense. "Gin's lost more than probably anyone. Malfoy should have -- he should have known better, is all."

Eternal flames were left by close friends and strangers of the victims, meant to symbolize, one mourner explained, the light that those we've lost brought to the world, which can never be extinguished, "not even by the likes of You Know Who."

A sentiment we here at the Prophet think speaks more plainly than anything we might add.

Jonah Flint, father to Marcus, after several days of intense interrogation from undisclosed Ministry employees, has confessed to being a Death Eater, and has offered a list of twelve other names related to the Christmas Massacre in exchange for lifetime confinement at St. Mungo's. Among those mentioned in Flint's plea bargain are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

"The Malfoys have long been one of the most distinguished and influential families in our world," a spokesperson for the Ministry said via press owl earlier today. "Nevertheless, the public can be assured we will conduct a thorough and intensive investigation into the allegations Mr. Flint has made against them."

Other suspected Death Eaters, not named in Mr. Flint's statement, are thought to have been involved in the Christmas Massacre, and Ministry Officials are working round the clock to apprehend those still living. Keep watching the front page of the Prophet as this epic story develops.

Extra, extra. Harry Potter's longtime paramour, Hermione Granger, may not have been the late, great hero's only bed partner. A little birdie whispered in my ear about a certain someone with flaming red hair and a longstanding affiliation with Mr. Potter visiting a doctor about a bun in her oven. My sources tell me the timing works out perfectly, and that Ms. Virginia Weasley has all but confirmed her child's paternity.

"I like, asked her about Harry Potter, and she like, totally got this far off, misty look in her eye. You could totally tell how much she loved him," an unnamed source at St. Mungo's informed me. "Then she totally touched her stomach, and we all know what that means, right?"

As most of my readers are probably aware, Ms. Weasley lost not only the father of her child, but also three of her brothers during the Christmas Massacre two short months ago. News of her pregnancy must come as a bittersweet final gift from her long lost love, and I'm sure I join my readers in wishing Ms. Weasley all the luck in the world.

Well, well, it would seem that what goes around, comes around. Draco Malfoy, heir to the entire Malfoy fortune, has found himself without a place to hang his hat. Ministry officials seized possession of his family home, quaintly called Malfoy Manor, in the wee hours of yesterday's morning time. While young Mr. Malfoy's whereabouts are currently unknown, my sources tell me that with his two closest friends being victims of the Christmas Massacre, wherever it is, isn't very warm this evening.

As my faithful readers are no doubt aware, Draco Malfoy was one of the few offspring of those wizards and witches named as Death Eaters to escape the frenzy unharmed. No allegations were ever made toward him, though my sources always found that a trifle suspect. It would seem the Ministry has worked out a way to exact a price from dear Draco without sending him to Azkaban, to which I say, bravo.

In an exclusive interview with our own Rita Skeeter, Ginny Weasley tearfully confessed that the father of her unborn child was in fact the late Harry Potter.

"Absolutely heartbreaking, really, how lost the poor little thing is," Skeeter commented. "They shared a truly special love, and when you read about how sorry she is their child will never know its father -- well, to be completely honest, I wept openly."

In light of Harry Potter's only living blood relatives being Muggles, and therefore unaware of the innermost workings of the wizarding world, analysts are speculating that Weasley will inherit the entirety of the Potter fortune. Skeeter's exclusive interview will appear in three parts over the next week.

Severus Snape, Hogwarts' newest Headmaster, has apparently decided to continue the rather unorthodox approach to teaching that the late Albus Dumbledore was famous for. Fast on the heels of his appointment of Remus Lupin as Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher (a position those close to Snape confirm he himself had sought for some time) comes word that Draco Malfoy will succeed Madame Rolanda Hooch as Hogwarts' athletics head.

"Mr. Malfoy has always shown a keen ability to adapt to new situations," the Headmaster said in a written statement yesterday, "and I have no doubt he will be a welcome and indispensable addition to our faculty."

While no definitive word has come about as to who might replace Snape as Potions instructor, we here at the Prophet have no doubt it will be a bold choice.

Though he didn't live to see his only child born, Harry Potter became a father today at three seventeen a.m. The child's mother, Virginia Weasley, gave birth at St. Mungo's with her father at her side, the waiting room crowded with dozens of red-haired relatives eagerly anticipating the blessed event.

"Mother and child are doing extremely well," a hospital spokesperson said early this morning. "Good stock, that little one."

While Baby Girl Potter has yet to be named, she's certainly been brought into the world with a good deal of welcome.

"They've been coming all day," a nurse on the maternity ward confided, indicating piles upon piles of floral arrangements, owl post, and sweets. "That little girl's about the best news the whole bleeding world has had in months."

"We're happy and proud, of course," Arthur Weasley, head of Muggle Relations at the Ministry commented. "Our little girl's little girl."

"Gin was hoping he'd get green eyes, like Harry," Charlie Weasley told us. "All babies' eyes are blue when they're first born, but damned if that little girl isn't showing us all up already." What's the verdict, then? Green eyes like her father? Weasley grinned. "Brown as brandy, just like her mum."

Whatever color her eyes, the Prophet joins the rest of the world in welcoming Baby Girl Potter to the world.

Lydia Hermione Potter was brought home from the hospital today. Mother and child are in perfect health.

The animosity between rival houses Slytherin and Gryffindor is legendary for anyone who's attended Hogwarts, but in the last two years tensions seemed to have cooled.

Until now.

"Mad little buggers," Draco Malfoy, head of athletics, responded when asked about the temperament of his students. "The whole lot of them. Don't know how bloody easy they've got it, either."

His comments are most likely directed at Gryffindor Lilac Brown, younger sister of Professor Lavender Brown, Hogwarts' newest Divination teacher, and Slytherin Judas Braggs, both in their fourth years, and both Seekers for their houses.

"It certainly has drawn undue attention," Headmaster Severus Snape said of the now-famous amateur record-breaking eight-day match Gryffindor and Slytherin played last week.

"They'll get themselves killed sooner or later," Professor Remus Lupin commented. "Hopefully saner heads will prevail and put an end to this madness before it gets out of control."

Headmaster Snape seemed mildly perturbed when informed of Professor Lupin's comments. "He said that, did he? You can tell Professor Lupin that -- never mind. I'll do it myself. This interview is over, get out of my office -- on second thought, get out of my school."

A compromise was reached, and Prophet employees were allowed to remain on the grounds, so long as they confined their questioning to the Quidditch pitch and surrounding areas.

While professional Quidditch matches can routinely last for days on end, school-sponsored bouts rarely make it past a few hours. Word of the fantastic spectacle quickly reached the ears of Norman Leffer, scout for the Chudley Cannons.

"After thirty years in the business, it's hard to surprise me," Leffer said. "But these kids -- they surprise me. I've never seen this kind of raw passion for the game in little buggers so young. You can be sure I'll be back for them when they graduate."

And until then, we'll be watching avidly as the grudge match continues.

Hogwarts is in the market for a head of athletics for the new term, as Draco Malfoy has been drafted to replace aging Milton Tilly as the head coach of the Chudley Cannons.

"Anyone who can inspire that kind of dedication in a group of teenagers is exactly who I want in charge of my team," Cannons owner Delores Bister said in a statement late yesterday. "Go Cannons!"

Draco Malfoy was not available for comment at press time.

Ginny Weasley, mother of Harry Potter's only child, has lashed out against the intense media attention since the death of her father, Arthur, last month.

"You people are vampires feeding on the carcasses of the living and the dead," Weasley was quoted as screaming at a reporter after her father's memorial service.

Close friends confide that Weasley has taken to an undisclosed retreat with her daughter, Lydia, mother, Molly, and her brother, Fred, to mourn in peace.

That's right, my lovelies. The time has finally come for the treat I've been teasing you with all month. Draco Malfoy, confirmed bachelor and self-made multi-millionaire, has granted me an exclusive interview. You all know Draco from his days coaching the Cannons, which of course led to his patent on the Malfoy Lightning Strike, the fastest, most efficient broom in the world. Notoriously closed mouth with anything to do with his personal life, Draco has graciously agreed to this interview because he feels so passionately about his newest project, the Malfoy Lightning Strike II.

RS: Thank you so much for sitting down with me, Draco. I just wanted you to know that I've always had a soft spot for sinfully handsome self-made men, and that I've always felt you had a real knack for success.

DM: Of course you have, Rita. I've always felt your true feelings for me in every word that you've written.

RS: So tell us what we really want to know. Are you seeing anyone?

DM: I'm always seeing someone, aren't I? Just have to read your column to know who.

RS: You heard it here first, my darlings: Draco Malfoy reads moi's column.

DM: I'm sure I didn't mean it like that.

RS: (long pause while no one speaks) So. Tell us about this exciting new project of yours.

DM: It's going to revolutionize the industry. Have you ever played Quidditch, Rita?

RS: Me? Heavens, no.

DM: Well, for those of us who have, particularly the position of Seeker, sometimes it'd be really nice to be able to take your hands off the broom to get a good shot at the Snitch.

RS: (gasps) My goodness, Draco, do you mean to say you've--

DM: That's right, Rita. Dragon Inc. has invented a new, exclusive charm for our brooms that allows the rider to control the movement, speed, and trajectory of the broom with their minds, hands-free.

RS: Hands-free riding? Oh, Draco, that's so exciting!

DM: I know.

RS: You heard it here first, lovelies. I'm sure there'll be a line around the block in Diagon Alley this term.
DM: I would expect so.
RS: Now let's talk about that famous scar on your lower lip. Finally up to telling us where that's from?

DM: No.

RS: Oh, come now, surely you've got to tell someone at some point.

DM: No.

RS: Er -- all right, then. At any rate, I realize you're quite busy, but do you think you could answer just one last question for me, something I've always been dying to know?

DM: (sighs deeply) I suppose.

RS: Just what did Ginny Weasley say to you moments before that famous picture was taken?

DM: (long pause) She said, "It should have been you." Are we done now?

There you have it, my exclusive interview with the Dragon himself. Hopefully he'll be nice enough to talk to me again someday, but until then, I wish you all good days, and good gossip.

~

"Bloody rubbish," Ginny said succinctly.

"Come now, sister dear," Fred declared, "you can't still be holding a grudge against Malfoy after all these years? I admit, he was a right snotty little brat, but you've got to admire what he's managed to do with his life."

"I have to do nothing of the kind." Ginny picked up the paper. "Honestly, a hands-free broom? It's like taking all the challenge out of it, ensuring an easy win for whoever's got the most money. Which, come to think of it, is right up Malfoy's alley." With a sneer, she tossed the paper onto the ground.

"Hey!" Fred objected. "That's my paper."

"You were done with it," Ginny said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Yes, your grand dramatic gesture saw to that," he grumbled. "So tell me, what have you pulled me out of isolation for?"

"I need a sitter and everyone else is unavailable."

"Sweet talking like that makes me feel truly loved, Gin."

"I know you just like to live in your little cabin and invent things no one else will ever use, but your niece needs you, to say nothing of your sister."

Fred sighed and began playing with the handle on his coffee cup. They were seated at an outdoor café and, as it was nearing winter, Fred was trying very hard to not freeze his arse off.

"Bring her out to me, then," he said. "Really, I don't know why you don't just hire a proper nanny."

"I can't afford a proper nanny."

"You'd think Harry Potter's fortune would have stretched a bit farther," Fred pointed out.

"Hm," Ginny said.

In reality, Fred knew very well why Harry's money hadn't stretched very far. The green-eyed young man had been like another Weasley, adopted into the family with little fanfare the moment Molly Weasley met him. Even if Ginny hadn't gotten herself knocked up with his kid, Harry had made provisions for the entirety of his estate to be split between Hermione, Ron, and the entire Weasley family.

Of course, when James and Lily Potter set up Harry's account, they only really figured on it seeing Harry comfortably through his life. They hadn't thought of -- or perhaps, tried very hard to avoid thinking of -- Harry siring a child that would be forced to grow up without a father. And as for Harry himself, well, it was usually a miracle if he thought much beyond the next day, let alone far enough into the future to make plans for an untimely death.

"Why's today so important, anyway?"

A smile lit Ginny's face at last. "I've got a job interview. A real job that might actually mean a steady paycheck for awhile, and, best of all, they've got a facility for children so I wouldn't have to pay someone to take care of Lydia."

"Sweet," Fred agreed. "All right, as soon as she's done pestering the sticky bun lady, I'll take her off your hands."

"Thanks, Fred," Ginny said sincerely. "If Mum hadn't come down with a cold so quickly--"

"Don't worry about it. Isn't that what big brothers are for?" They shared a sad smile and turned sharply toward the café when a loud crash sounded from inside. They both let out audible sighs of relief when the noise turned out to be a waitress dropping her tray, rather than mayhem caused by Lydia, who was trying to convince the woman behind the sweets counter that she would die without a blueberry scone.

"A girl couldn't ask for a more wonderful reclusive weirdo big brother than you."

"Har, har. So where's this interview at?"

Ginny cleared her throat and became fascinated with the tips of her nails. "Er, Dragon Inc."

Fred found it extremely difficult to stop laughing for several minutes.

~

Dragon Inc. was located in an undisclosed part of Scotland, though many had speculated about its close proximity to Hogwarts. Unlike the famed wizarding school, Dragon Inc. could only be reached via Floo transport. However, it was not a part of the Floo network -- one had to take a special train to a special station where a single guard sat beside a fireplace with no back that stood in the middle of nowhere.

Ginny stepped off the train and took a deep breath. Leaving Lydia with Fred was a last resort. It wasn't that she didn't trust her brother -- because she did, with her life, and, more importantly, with Lydia's. But Fred hadn't been the same after George died, his eyes losing much of their sparkle, the mischievous bearing that had been with him all his life dimming in such a subtle way, Ginny wondered if anyone but her had noticed. Fred didn't like to get his hands dirty any longer, didn't truly want to be a part of the world. The joke shop had gone under in the first year due to total lack of interest on Fred's part, and he moved to a small house in the country he kept up by taking odd jobs from the local Muggles.

Everything from their world hurt him now, made him think of all the things that could have been that never would be. Ginny could relate. Sometimes, she was so grateful for Lydia, for having her at what had seemed like the wrong time, but had in fact been just in the nick of time.

The guard was looking at her expectantly. Ginny pulled her coat together with numb fingers, shivering against the biting chill. She'd cast a mild warming charm before getting off the train, but even her magic was no match for the cruel Scottish December.

"Ginny Weasley. I have an appointment with Mr. Graves."

He uncurled a parchment and began scanning it until he found her name. "Right then, Mr. Graves is expecting you. Here's your powder, location password is Level 4."

"Isn't that more of a… level, than a password?" Ginny asked.

The guard shrugged and grinned amiably. "If you was trying to guess the password, you'd never guess it'd be that easy, would you, love?"

Ginny gave a little smile of acknowledgement and took the pouch of Floo powder the guard offered her, dumped half the contents into the palm of her hand, and yelled, "Level 4!"

A few seconds later she found herself in a seemingly endless silver hallway, a crackling fire to her right, a large window to her left. Ginny gasped softly at the view before her. Level 4 must have been at least eight stories high and, sure enough, she could see Hogwarts from here. Whatever spell Dragon Inc. had protecting its existence was powerful enough that the students at Hogwarts didn't wonder what that great towering silver monstrosity was.

There had been pictures in the paper when Draco Malfoy first started his little enterprise. It had always been top secret, but he had let Rita Skeeter in for a tour, allowed pictures of the exterior to be taken, but only from certain angles, and never without vigilant supervision. Ginny had been grudgingly awed by all that the youngest Malfoy had managed to accomplish for himself and often wondered what Harry would say about all this if he could see it.

Thoughts of Harry put Ginny squarely back in the present, and she shook off the haze that had enveloped her. Without giving herself time to second guess the decision, she set out straight ahead down the hallway, clipping along at a brisk pace until she reached a door that read 'Mr. Graves.' Taking a deep breath, she brought her hand up to knock.

"Come," a clipped tone said from beyond the door.

Well, I'm not looking for a friendly employer, am I, just a steady one. Straightening her shoulders, Ginny pushed open the door and felt her mouth drop open when she got a look at the man seated behind a large mahogany desk.

"You're not Mr. Graves," she said stupidly.

"I beg to differ," Draco replied. "In reality, there is no Mr. Graves. I made him up so prospective employees coming in for an interview wouldn't be intimidated or put off by a meeting with the fire-breathing Dragon."

"How clever of you." Ginny cleared her throat and tried desperately to locate her composure. "Though honestly, Malfoy, I can't recall anyone but a bunch of first years being intimidated by you."

He shrugged lazily. "Some things change."

"Some things don't," she answered immediately, then pursed her lips. "Look, if I'm here to interview because you're bored and wanted a good laugh--"

"On the contrary," Draco said. "You're here to interview because I have a very sensitive temporary employment contract that can only be filled by someone I feel I can trust."

Ginny's spirits fell at the word 'temporary,' only to do a painful double take when the word 'trust' came up. "And I'm someone you can trust?"

"You don't have to sound so incredulous about it," he said. "We both know how easily you could have seen me thrown into Azkaban out of sheer spite, but you didn't."

"It wouldn't have been right," Ginny said.

"Right or wrong, it would have been easy. I know you blamed me. I'd have done it if I were you."

An edgy chuckle left her mouth. "Well, then allow me to take the opportunity to say just how grateful I am our positions were not reversed. Besides, I had more important things to focus on than taking my pound of flesh from your pale arse, hadn't I?"

"Oh, how I've missed the Weasley wit," he noted dryly. "What is that, a rare form of retardation?"

"The job," she prompted testily.

"As you've no doubt heard far and wide, Dragon Inc. is revolutionizing the Quidditch market with the first hands-free broomstick."

"Yes, now that you've mentioned it, I have heard your smug adverts all over," she said sweetly. This was good. As long as he was insulting her, she could call upon the sniping instinct she'd sharpened into a fine point during her fourth year.

"As you may have also read," he continued, seemingly ignoring her jibe, "once we'd turned a profit, I've never invested more than half of the total start-up capital myself, which means I am -- how do the insipid Muggles put it -- dependent upon the kindness of strangers."

Restraining a giggle at Draco Malfoy -- unwittingly or not -- quoting a Muggle film, Ginny nodded her assent. "My father--" She blinked her eyes furiously. It shouldn't be that hard to talk about him after so much time had passed, yet she still couldn't seem to manage it. "My father was fascinated by your company," she said. "Used to read all the articles aloud to us."

"Truly, you had a rich and exciting home life," he said. "However, your father was obviously much keener a mind than he was ever given credit for."

It was a compliment, to a Malfoy, so Ginny tried very hard not to take offense. "What does any of this have to do with my new job?"

He raised a pale blond eyebrow. "Someone's getting awfully ahead of herself, isn't she?"

"You did say I was the only one you could trust." That was not smugness, she assured herself. Only Draco was smug. She was just… confident.

"I did, didn't I." He sounded rather put out about it. "I have an investor coming in from Saudi Arabia. Some sort of magical sheik who's just had one of his wives leave him or something to do with trees, to be honest, I wasn't really paying attention on the conference fireplace. All I know is that he's ridiculously old fashioned, and he won't do business with me unless I have a wife of my own, preferably with a snot-nosed little monster, both of which I've already assured him I possess."

"I hope you're referring to a child and you don't mean that literally," she said. A sigh left her mouth. "So what am I supposed to do? Find you a bride and a child to lease out?"

"No, I've already found the perfect girl. Witty, in a mentally deficient way, someone I can really trust." The gleam in his eye was frightening and she found herself unwillingly attracted to it. Then, it hit her just what he was getting at.

"No."

"Yes," Draco said.

"No."

"This is already growing quite tiresome, so allow me to educate you as to exactly why the answer is, in fact, yes. In exchange for you pretending to be my loving wife, and coaxing your daughter into calling me Daddy, from now until the first of the year, I will pay you ten thousand galleons a day. Should this brilliant-yet-daring ruse succeed, and this Arab Sheik consents to funding my business endeavor due to your no doubt brilliant playacting, you will receive a further one million galleons. Now, doesn't that sound lovely?"

Ginny stared at him in shock for a moment, then shook her head slowly. "You're mad. You've actually gone mad. Is it the corporate life that's done it to you, or are you experiencing some sort of post traumatic stress from the war?"

Draco made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his arm. "Yes, yes, it's a foolhardy scheme, you'll never be a party to it, for a number of reasons, chiefly being you hate me with the white hot intensity of a thousand suns and could never fathom pretending to love me. Then you'll storm out, make your way home, take a look at your little girl's innocent, doll eyes and realize you'd do anything for her, even this. I'll expect an owl from you in the morning accepting my proposal. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got another meeting in five minutes. Must dash."

He was out the door before she could form a coherent sentence. Shaking the paralysis that had overtaken her off, Ginny spun around and leaned her head out the door, just barely making out his rapidly retreating backside.

"Are there any benefits?" she yelled, then sighed when her only answer was a chuckle that echoed off the silver halls.

~

"You've gone mad. You realize that, of course."

"Yes," Ginny agreed tiredly, debating whether she'd actually need to bring dress robes. Playing the part of Draco Malfoy's wife practically demanded that she did, yet she was fairly certain he would take one look at the robes she'd had since her eighteenth birthday and laugh hysterically.

"And how do you expect Lydia to pretend that git is her father?" Fred continued, waving his arms around in a manner that so reminded Ginny of Ron she actually had to blink back tears.

"Lydia pretends Mum is the Queen," Ginny pointed out dryly. "I'm not overly concerned."

"You cannot take this job," Fred declared in an overly dramatic fashion.

"I cannot buy food next week," Ginny corrected in the same tone, then let the act drop. "I can most definitely take this job."

"It's Draco Malfoy," he said.

"Whatever happened to admiring what he'd done with his life?" she wondered aloud.

"Yeah, well, that was before the slimy little git was going to be your fake husband," Fred grumbled. "You can't be sure he's not going to stiff you, either, can you?"

"He did what was right in the end six years ago," Ginny said. "He's given me no reason to believe he won't do what's right now. I've got a magically binding contract and he needs me just as much as I need him."

"Oh for Merlin's sake, don't talk about needing him," Fred begged.

"Could you actually be useful and help me get Lydia's things packed, instead of being an enormous pest?"

"No," he said sullenly, then sighed in resignation. "There's no way I can talk you out of this?"

"None," she said with finality.

"Fine." His tone was petulant. "Ladybug!" The yell was loud enough to wake the dead, but Ginny was certain her daughter had managed not to hear it.

"I've got some Fizzing Whizbees," Ginny said at a normal volume. The sound of feet racing through the flat could be heard and Ginny gave Fred a satisfied smirk.

"Bloody sweet tooth," he mumbled a second before Lydia came to a screeching halt before them.

"Sweets?" Her brown eyes were opened wide and innocently hopeful.

Ginny felt around the pocket of her robe for the wrapped treat. "Just one. Don't want to spoil your dinner."

"What's Daddy going to feed us?"

Fred sputtered in outraged disbelief. "Come on."

Lydia grinned at him. "It's just pretend, Unca' Fred. But I can't say it's just pretend when we get there, so I'm pretending really hard."

"Good bug," Ginny said approvingly, charming a few extra inches into her suitcase so she could bring another set of pajamas and a few sweaters. Expansive mansions were bound to be drafty.

"Daddy likes sweets, too, and always has as much of them as possible hidden everywhere," Lydia continued.

"Oh, does he?" Fred's question was directed at Lydia, but his gaze was glued to Ginny. "And just how did you know that?"

"Mum told me," Lydia said guilelessly.

"You can't help but learn little things like that about a person when you all but live on top of each other for a month," Ginny said breezily.

"We were all living on top of each other that last month," Fred said, "and I certainly didn't know Malfoy has a sweet tooth."

"You never fought him over the last chocolate frog for miles."

"Are there chocolate frogs, Mummy?" Lydia asked hopefully, her feet now floating a few inches above the ground.

"You've just had a Fizzing Whizbee," Ginny answered with an affectionately exasperated laugh.

"But now you've made me want a chocolate frog." She moved her arms about as though she were a frog, hopping in mid-air.

"Are you finished packing yet?" Ginny attempted to divert Lydia's attention by changing the subject.

"If I have, will I get a chocolate frog?"

For a five-year-old girl, Lydia was not easily distracted.

"Yes," Ginny said tiredly, "if you go and pack right now and are done before we're meant to leave, I will buy you an entire box of chocolate frogs."

Lydia air-swam out of the room at a rapid pace. Fred practically stared a hole in the back of Ginny's head. Finally, she'd had enough and let out an exasperated noise.

"What?"

"Who won?"

Ginny shook her head in confusion. "Won what?"

"The fight over the chocolate frog. Who won?"

A small, fond smile pulled at the corners of Ginny's mouth.

"I did."

~

Draco Malfoy did not, as it turned out, live in a mansion at all. He lived in a flat, and not a particularly elaborate one at that. It was beautiful, of course, and filled with many lovely and expensive things, but it was nothing like Ginny had pictured him in. Actually, it was something she might have picked out for herself, had money not been an issue. There were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a kitchen larger than Ginny's living room. Draco was not present when they arrived, but his doorman had been given specific instructions upon their arrival.

"You brought the baby pictures of the whelp?" he asked as soon as he'd given her a quick tour.

Nodding, Ginny extracted a photo album she'd hastily assembled after her clothes had been packed. The doorman -- a kind-looking older wizard whose name she learned was Arthur, which caused her a moment's pang -- seemed relieved and waved at the surrounding living room.

"The walls are waiting. Mr. Malfoy's got some frames stacked up in the closet, all different sizes. Says you should feel free to rearrange whatever needs rearranging. Also, he says there's a photographer comin' later to snap pictures of the three a you together."

"A precise man, our Mr. Malfoy," was all Ginny could think to say.

Arthur tipped his hat at her and left. Ginny looked down at Lydia, who stuck her tongue out at her mother, seemingly for no reason at all.

"I feel exactly the same," Ginny confided. Squeezing Lydia's hand, she walked the little girl to what was to be her temporary bedroom. The walls were bare, but a twin bed with a purple bedspread had been placed against one wall, an antique bureau with a ballerina music box leaning against the other.

"I like Quidditch, not ballerinas," Lydia said.

"We'll be sure to let Mr. Malfoy know," Ginny said.

"Daddy," Lydia corrected.

Ginny smiled painfully. "Right you are." But she couldn't bring herself to say it. "Get settled in, bug," she said instead. "Put your clothes and things away. I'll start in on the living room."

They worked silently. It disturbed some of her sitters how quiet Lydia was, how totally still she could be one minute, then bursting with energy and mischief the next. Most of them were either so unbalanced by her reserved nature that they never grew comfortable around her, or so startled when she finally let loose, that they could never really relax.

After nearly an hour, Ginny was satisfied. There was, however, one picture left in her album. Treating the loosely bound pages with something approaching fear, Ginny slowly flipped them to the end, to a photo she'd kept for years without really knowing why.

If Fred had ever seen it, he certainly wouldn't have had to ask who'd won the chocolate frog, for in the picture, Ginny was quite happily licking the last traces of chocolate from the tips of her fingers. Draco sat beside her, looking quite sullenly at her, their shoulders touching. Every so often, the much younger Ginny would turn to the much younger Draco and stick her tongue out, and he would return the gesture, then go back to scowling.

It was good she had this picture, Ginny decided. The physical evidence of any sort of relationship between them could only improve the chances of this insane arrangement succeeding. Moving decisively, Ginny chose an appropriate frame from the stockpile Draco had left and inserted her picture into it. Debating about its placement for a few short moments, Ginny finally decided on the far-left side of the mantle. A picture of Lydia covered in birthday cake, taken on her first birthday, sat on the right, and in the middle, Ginny had already decided, would rest whatever photograph was taken of the three of them that evening.

"Looking cozier already," a voice drawled from behind her, and Ginny took a deep breath before turning around.

"Home at last," she noted. "Forgot you had a family that would be expecting you for dinner, no doubt."

"It's barely seven, I never eat until eight," he said, carefully hanging his coat on the rack by the door.

"Yes, but small children eat around six thirty," Ginny pointed out.

"Knew there was a reason I didn't have any." He waved toward the kitchen. "Well, go on, there's plenty of food in there, make whatever you like."

"I could," Ginny agreed. "Of course, if I did, I'd likely poison us all to death." She elaborated off the look he gave her. "My mum actually does the cooking for us, makes up a casserole or something Lydia and I eat off of for days."

Draco let out a deeply aggrieved sigh. "Very well. I'll fix something for dinner."

"You," Ginny said incredulously, then bit her lip when he actually looked someone affronted. "It's just -- have you ever cooked before?"

"Yes, I've cooked before," he answered in a mocking voice. "Don't go projecting your own culinary failures on others. Now, what does your child like to eat?"

"Anything."

He rolled his eyes. "No, really. I have been around children before, if you'll remember, I used to teach a whole pack of them. They've all got bloody specific hang ups, like enjoying bangers and mash, but the banger can't touch the mash."

"Not Lydia." Ginny smiled tightly. "She will eat anything, much to my horror when we have a day at the park. I've had to take her to hospital at least half a dozen times because she's eaten something she shouldn't. The fact that she steadfastly refuses to eat my cooking sets the bar to which food actually becomes inedible."

"Fine, then, we're having stew," Draco said, "because it's colder than a witch's tit out there." He smirked at her. "No offense."

Ginny tried very hard not to blush. "None taken. I'll just see that Lydia's settled in, then."

Lydia had other ideas. "Mum, look at this! There's a Wally Woogley's Totally Impossible Puzzle in my room!"

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him, and Draco shrugged. "It's not going to look realistic, is it, my daughter having hand-me-down toys?"

"You're so incredibly charming, it's unfathomable you haven't already gotten a wife of your own," Ginny said.

"It is, isn't it," Draco said seriously. Ginny rolled her eyes and watched as Lydia came bustling out of her bedroom.

"Mummy, you've got to help me put the puzzle together, you've simply got to, it's imperative!"

"A matter of life and death, clearly," Ginny noted with some amusement. But Lydia wasn't listening to her any longer. She'd caught sight of Draco in the kitchen and began drifting toward him curiously. She came to a stop a few inches from where he was chopping vegetables by the stove and stared at him.

Draco tolerated it for a few seconds, then carefully put the knife aside and looked down at her. "What do you want, then?"

"Daddy!" she cried joyfully, throwing her arms around his waist.

Draco sighed and looked distinctly uncomfortable. "You don't -- you don't actually have to do that when there's no one else here. Perhaps not even when there are others here."

Lydia released him immediately and regarded him solemnly. "How am I expected to get it right if I don't practice? Really, I'm only five."

"I don't believe you," Draco said.

"All the newspapers say so," she answered, rather cheekily, Ginny thought.

"Enough, bug," she said. "Leave Mr. -- your father alone." The glare Draco cast at her made Ginny grin.

"What are we having for supper?" Lydia asked.

"Stew," Draco answered, going back to chopping celery.

"I don't like stew," Lydia said.

"I thought you liked everything," Draco said.

"Not stew," Lydia argued.

"Not stew." Draco sent Ginny a triumphant look.

"Bug," Ginny said in a warning tone of voice.

Lydia grinned. "I do actually like stew very much, Unca' Fred just said I should disagree with you a lot because you like that."

"Ginny, get her away from me," Draco said in a controlled tone of voice.

"Let's go look at your new puzzle before dinner," Ginny announced, taking Lydia by the wrist and quickly vacating the kitchen.

So far, things had gone just as horribly as she'd expected.

~

Draco let out a deep sigh and added a few more pinches of salt to the stew. This was either going to prove to be the best idea he'd ever had, or the worst. He wasn't stupid, nor was he a fan of kidding himself. His parents' deaths had taught him quite a bit about owning up to who you really were and living life on your own terms. There were no shortcuts in life, save the ones you beat through the surrounding madness and chaos in the world yourself.

Ginny Weasley had always been something of a sore spot for Draco, when they were children, because she was a Weasley, and later, after he'd learned that there were far more dangerous things in the world than all he used to pretend his father confided in him, she became something else entirely. He hadn't realized it, of course, so it wasn't as pathetic as it could have been, he assured himself almost constantly. He hadn't known he was in love with her back then until very recently, and the conscious acknowledgement of it had only been gnawing at him for a little over a month.

It had been late November, and he'd been hiring a cook to prepare a meal for him and a female companion, an American witch who'd been prattling on about some giving of thanks nonsense. They'd come out of an ice cream shop, Ginny and Lydia Hermione Weasley (Might as well have named her Mudblood Weasley), and he'd actually felt the breath get knocked out of his body for a moment. Since he hadn't been in the middle of a duel at the time, it had been something of a new experience. It had only been a moment, a glimpse of them, really, before they'd Apparated wherever it was Ginny and her daughter went on November twenty-first at eleven thirty in the morning, and it was at that point, as he'd actually made note of both date and time, that Draco had realized he perhaps had a rather large problem.

Back then, he'd have opened a vein before admitting he was in love with someone like her. Ten billion self-made Galleons later, and several humiliating moments on a Quidditch pitch in front of a bunch of snot-nosed first year students who weren't nearly as impressed by him, or as frightened of him, as they should have been, and Draco found the prospect of physical and emotional relations with Ginny Weasley far less humiliating than they once were.

It had bothered him at first, the idea that she'd had a child, someone else's child; Potter's child. It made him think of things from the past, uncomfortable things, and he decided the child would be reason enough for things between them to be hopeless. Then he'd kept thinking about her every night before bed, kept wondering what it would be like to kiss her, and slowly, the fact that she'd had another man's child -- Potter's child -- seemed less and less of a reason to keep away from her. What could it hurt, after all, just getting to know her again?

Looking at Lydia now made the burning hatred he'd felt for Harry Potter all his life flare up again, spark brightly against the flint of his newly developed contempt for himself. It was an odd sensation, self-hatred, as Draco had always found himself to be quite charming and effortlessly endearing. There had been, in fact, no one else whose company he preferred as a child. It had been much easier then, being so sure that every decision he made was correct, because it was utterly impossible for a Malfoy to be in the wrong. It had been so simple to live without the regrets that weighed heavily on him now.

Daddy. He was not her father, and if he were, he certainly wouldn't have her calling him Daddy. He would be Father, or at the very most, Dad, but Daddy -- obviously, this was just another in a long line of reasons why having Ginny Weasley or anyone related to her in his life was absolute nonsense.

"Did you need any help?"

Draco blinked once, quickly realizing he wasn't imagining Ginny standing in front of him and that she was looking at him rather strangely. It computed quickly after that she had asked him a question, and that he hadn't so much as given her a cursory nod or a casual shake of his head.

"I've got it in hand," he said tonelessly, hoping that answer would cover any number of questions.

"Well, I've been tossed out and deemed useless to the task of putting a puzzle together," Ginny confided, rolling up her sleeves, "so you'll put me to work and like it."

"All right then," he said, holding out a long wooden spoon. "Stir, and try not to mush up my carrots."

He ignored the insolent way she rolled her eyes as much as he ignored the way her insolence affected him. For Draco, open defiance had always rankled, and from the moment they'd set eyes on each other, Ginny had gone out of her way to defy him. It didn't matter whether he was bullying her precious Potter, or minding his own business working for that stupid Umbridge woman, Ginny was there, glaring, waving her wand about, hexing him when she could get away with it.

It was a pattern that had continued with her right up until the moment that he literally had her life in his hands. He'd passed that little test and she'd warmed up to him a bit. Well, 'warmed' was a bit of an understatement, considering she went around hitting him in the arm or upside the head whenever the fancy struck her, but it was certainly a less hateful expression of frustration than she'd thrown at him in the past. They were on the same side for awhile there, as painful as it was for Draco to admit he'd ever been on the same side as a Weasley or a Potter or -- perish the thought -- a whole community of filthy Mudbloods. They'd been on the same side and she'd almost started to like him, if the way she smiled at him sometimes, when no one was looking, was any indication.

Useless nonsense, he thought, trying to ignore the way her arm brushed his every now and then as she stirred the stew and he sliced a loaf of French bread. Thinking about those times, those confusing, muddled times were of no use. He'd hated every second he'd spent in that godforsaken camp with its drafty tents and total lack of decent food and hygiene. He'd hated sitting in the corner while Potter trained the troops and Granger fed him new spells to impart and Weasley trailed after both of them like a lost puppy while Draco and Ginny and a few hundred other current and former Hogwarts students and professors listened attentively.

"Bloody Snape," Draco muttered aloud.

"What?"

"Nothing," Draco said, flushing. Had he lost all possession of his senses? Was he blurting things out at random intervals now, some sort of brainless git incapable of controlling his vocal chords?

"All right," Ginny said slowly, giving the stew a look that clearly said 'he's gone mad, hasn't he?' which Draco thought was awfully bold of her, given that she was commiserating with a pot of stew.

"If you must know," Draco said after a moment, totally unable to come to grips with idea of his stew thinking badly of him, "I have been known to, on occasion, blame Snape for everything that has ever gone awry in my life."

"All right," Ginny said again, and this time, the loaf of bread got her 'I'm trapped with a madman' glance.

"Don't, don't placate me, I don't like it when you do that," he found himself saying before he could physically stop the words from escaping the magically bound cage of self-control he'd obviously left the lock off at some point.

"You don't like being placated?" A doubtful chuckle escaped her. "That's news."

"I like being obeyed," he corrected automatically, "not placated. There's a bit of a difference."

"Whatever you say, boss," she agreed.

He almost told her he wasn't her boss, that he didn't want her to think of him as an employer, but fortunately, he found the lock for his totally inappropriate emotions and the verbal expression of them and after slamming the door shut, he buried the key.

Draco may have been confused, he may have been dwelling on the past more than was becoming, but he was still a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not encourage employees to be informal, no matter how much they wanted to shag them rotten.

~

"Good stew."

And so stating, Lydia tucked in and didn't look up until she'd emptied an entire bowl of stew and gone halfway through another, three pieces of French bread laid to waste along the way.

"Good Merlin, woman," Draco said, "don't you feed her?"

"It's all I do, sometimes," Ginny muttered, sinking lower in her chair. Lydia's robust appetite was bracing under the best of circumstances, but having her daughter behave so uncouthly -- no doubt precisely befitting Draco's opinion of a Weasley's table manners -- was a new sort of humiliation.

"At least she's not going to be one of those annoying bird women, is she," Draco said after a moment.

"Bird women?"

"You know," he said, gesturing vaguely, "the ones who eat a leaf of lettuce, then bemoan how piggy they feel."

"Yes, she's a Weasley, so no worry about that," Ginny said dryly.

Draco looked like he wanted to say something more, but before he could, Lydia shoved away from the table rather loudly.

"Mum, may I be excused?" she said, but she was already halfway down the hall, so Ginny didn't think it really counted as good table manners.

"It's that damned puzzle." Ginny forced a laugh. "I'm holding you totally to blame for ruining my daughter's behavioral patterns."

"I've known her for all of five hours, and already, she's spoiled?" He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Damn, I'm good."

"I'll clear the table," Ginny muttered.

"No need." Draco gestured toward the ceiling. "It's a fully staffed flat, all sorts of Poltergeist housecleaning staff."

"You know, I would have figured you'd find away around the House Elf Initiative," Ginny said as she left the dishes on the table. "I just never thought it would be Poltergeist."

"What else have they got to do with themselves?" Draco shrugged. "Keeps them from thinking up all sorts of nasty tricks and springing them on unsuspecting Muggles. You should all be thanking me for sparing them that trauma."

"Draco Malfoy, the Boy Who Gave," Ginny said. "Brings a tear to your eye, doesn't it?"

Draco didn't respond, which struck Ginny as odd, but she decided not to pursue the topic. The truth was, she felt far too comfortable in this flat, with this man. Her daughter was already right at home, though that in and of itself wasn't surprising; Lydia had been known to fall asleep on park benches, and she made friends on the Floo network. No, what was worrisome was how much Ginny liked seeing Lydia here, liked the way the pictures hung just perfectly on the wall, liked the way Draco got on her nerves and made her argue with him, liked how off balance he seemed…

What she most definitely did not like was all the ways he reminded her of something she'd very much like to forget.

"Come on," Draco said, "let's have a coffee on the sofa."

A coffee turned into two, except they weren't just coffee, and soon, Ginny felt delightfully buzzed. This was the first time she'd been out on anything even approaching a date since long before Lydia was born, and it felt nice. It was nice talking to Draco about his company and how tedious Rita Skeeter was and how her mother really was going to drive her totally mad one of these days. It was nice feeling that he might actually be interested, even if he really wasn't. Mostly, it was nice pretending she was a teenager again, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione were still alive in the next tent over, playing chess or talking all into the night, and she was spending all her free time trying not to fall in love with Draco Malfoy, and failing miserably.

"I should get to bed," she said out loud, jolted firmly back into the present.

"Sure," he said, and took the empty cup from her hand, setting it next to his on the table.

Neither of them moved.

"Well. Goodnight, then." Ginny stood up, then stumbled a bit. It had been since before Lydia was born that she'd drunk anything stronger than a butterbeer.

Draco was suddenly in front of her, near her, nearly touching her. "All right?"

"Perfect," she said, then immediately forgot what he'd asked her. They stared at each other for a moment.

"Sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"For what I'm about to do. I wanted to apologize before I had anything to apologize for, because it's a bit of a character quirk of mine, you see, that I can't apologize when I've actually got something to be sorry for."

Ginny blinked. "Sorry?"

"That's what I said."

Then he kissed her. His hand found its way into her hair and he held her head still while his mouth took liberties it had no right to. He was persistent, and when she half-heartedly tried to pull away, he held her tighter, bringing his free hand to her side. The tips of his fingers purposefully tickled her ribs and when she opened her mouth to let out a gasp of laughter, his tongue slid inside. Ginny knew she should stop him, should put an end to this, but it was a few days before Christmas, and it had been so very long since she'd had anything just for herself, and that was exactly what this felt like. It was something secret and forbidden, something that would never happen in the daylight hours when Lydia was awake and someone might see. Draco Malfoy would never be caught kissing a Weasley -- an employee -- in broad daylight, and so this was obviously a stolen moment, one she should enjoy to the fullest, a long-buried fantasy come to life in the form of the slightly flawed perfection of his scarred lower lip caught between her teeth.

From the mantle, the teenaged Ginny looked scandalized, her cheeks flushed bright red as she tried to avoid looking at the spectacle before her; the Draco looked smug, a mischievous, almost malicious glint to his eyes. They exchanged almost curious glances, then looked away from one another, disgusted, but did not make any attempts to move out of the same frame. They sat and they watched and they let their arms touch as they tried very hard not to find a bucket of cold water to throw on the kissing couple before them.

They sat, in all their youthful innocence and simple antagonism, and waited for what would happen next.

~