Sub Rosa

Chapter Four

Draco had worked furiously for several days trying to conceive of a plan to bed Ginny Weasley. The thought wasn't entirely distasteful to him, though he'd never admit it to anyone else, even if they Crucio'd him to hell and back. If it weren't for her red hair, he might even be able to pretend that she was someone else, and not a member of the biggest clan of blood traitors he'd ever known.

In the end, his plan was beautifully simple. He would pretend to run into her at one of her usual haunts, and then whisk her away to dinner in a fancy restaurant. Truth be told, he was actually rather looking forward to proving his friend wrong. He wasn't concerned with collecting on their bet; he had more than enough money. All he really wanted to do was to prove his point.

On the day he'd decided to execute his plan, he took a long, leisurely bath, and took his time in dressing. He wanted to be sure that he looked every bit the part of the wealthy, charming Wizard that he was - she should have absolutely no reason not to desire him. After ensuring that every last hair was securely in place, he apparated to the sidewalk just in front of her place of employment. When she stepped out of the front door, he was ready for her.

"Good evening," he said smoothly. She turned and gave him a surprised look.

"I'd say it was closer to afternoon. What are you doing here?" She glanced around.

"He's not here," he said, tugging once at the cuff of his button-down shirt. "He's sent me to tell you that he won't be able to make your dinner date this evening."

"Oh." She stared at him. "Why not just send an owl?"

"He wanted me to tell you."

"And since when are you his messenger boy?"

"I thought that perhaps you and I could dine together." Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"You and I?"

"Yes. It's my understanding that the two of you have a reservation at Périgord Noir, so why let it go to waste?"

"At Périgord Noir?" Her surprised look had melted into a mask of confusion.

"Weasley, if you insist on repeating everything I say, this conversation is going to take twice as long," he said, rolling his eyes. She bristled.

"Look, if you're trying to get a feel for me because you're worried about your friend's involvement with me, you're wasting your time. He's already had background checks performed on me, and he's been having me followed for weeks now. I'm sure he has ample information on me with which to decide whether or not I'm worthy of his time."

"I simply wish to get to know you," he said neutrally. So the woman was aware of Blaise's intrusions into her privacy and hadn't shared that information with him, or even gotten angry with him? How interesting. "If you're going to be a lasting part of his life, you and I will be interacting often, whether we enjoy it or not. Why not make it a peaceable transition for everyone involved?"

The look she gave him spoke volumes of distrust.

"Let me make sure I understand you perfectly," she said, folding her arms across her chest. "You want to have dinner with me because you want to get to know me and make things easier on Blaise?"

"Should there be another reason?" he asked innocently. She sized him up a moment longer, and then nodded curtly.

"Fine, I'll bite. I need to go home and freshen up a bit, and then I'll meet you at Périgord Noir." She turned and started to walk away, but stopped when she realized that he was keeping pace beside her. "What are you doing?"

"I should think it's obvious even to you, Weasley. I'm escorting you home."

"I can see that," she said angrily. "But why?"

"I am a proper gentleman, and a gentleman does not allow a lady to wander about unescorted."

She snorted in disbelief. "Lady? You're laying it on a bit thick, aren't you? I mean, if you'd told me that you wanted to eat with me in order to see if I'm good enough for your friend, that would have at least been more believable than what you're trying to do now. Now you'd have me believe that you're trying to be a gentleman?"

"I'm not trying to be anything," he snapped.

"Oh, come on," she returned, her eyes dancing. "Nice doesn't work on you, Malfoy. Why don't you try on one of your other personalities?"

"What are you implying?"

"I'm not implying anything, I'm saying it outright. You've got a hidden agenda for wanting to have dinner with me."

"Are you saying that you won't go with me now?"

"I said no such thing." He swallowed his surprise.

"Then what are you saying? That even though you think my motives are less than pure, you're still going to have dinner with me?"

"A girl's got to eat, hasn't she? And don't say 'less than pure,' because that gives me the willies."

"What shall I say, then?"

"How about 'less than honest'?" She suggested blithely, turning to continue towards her flat. "It's more accurate."

He frowned as he fell into step beside her. "What's the difference?"

"You don't know the difference between 'pure' and 'honest'?" She asked, giving him a sideways glance.

"The definitions, yes," he snapped, annoyed. "How they differ in the context of our present conversation, no."

"Less than pure would imply that you have some sort of interest in me beyond what is proper - and since we both know that you have no interest in me in that capacity, it's erroneous."

"In a physical capacity, do you mean?"

"Merlin, do I have to lay it out for you?" The exasperation in her voice irritated him further. "Yes! When you use 'pure,' that makes it sound as if you want to shag me, is that clear enough for you?"

"I do not need things explained to me as though I'm a toddler," he said coldly. "And I thought that you thought less of me than that."

"Less than what?" She laughed. "You believe that I think you'd shag me because you know that I think you'll shag any woman who opens her legs to you?"

"How incredibly crude," he said, wrinkling his nose distastefully.

"I quite agree - it is crude of you." She smothered a smile at the outraged expression that passed over his face. "Then again, it's not like I'm included in that category, is it? Because we both know that I'd never open my legs to you."

"Or to any other man, from what I understand." It was meant to be an insult, but she looked proud instead of hurt.

"That's right. Why should I settle for less than I deserve?"

"What?" She fished inside her robe for her wand, and whispered the words that unlocked her flat so low that Draco didn't hear. Frustrated, he followed her inside, ignoring his surroundings for the moment. "Less than you deserve? What's that got to do with your being frigid?"

"I'm not frigid, I'm picky," she shrugged, removing her robe and hanging it meticulously on the hook behind the door. "Why should I let a man have access to me physically if he can't stimulate me emotionally? I'm not going to just give myself to a man because he's horny. I deserve some emotional investment - not just a drunk spot of 'how's your father' in the closest convenient place."

"I think I understand now," Draco snarked, arching an eyebrow. "You think that love goes hand in hand with sex."

"It doesn't always, no," she answered, pulling the pins out of her hair. Scarlet locks tumbled down around her shoulders and fell around her face as she bent to unfasten the straps of her shoes.

"Then why the hesitation? Afraid it will hurt too much the first time?" His lips curved up in a smirk.

"Oh, grow up," she breathed, pulling a shoe off. "You think that just because you call me frigid and scared that I'll jump into bed with you? Has that actually worked on anyone else?"

"When I want a woman in my bed, there's one in it without coercion of any sort, I assure you." She rolled her eyes. "You're surprisingly immodest for a virgin," he remarked, watching her closely as she unfastened the first two buttons of her dress shirt. She shook her head.

"Yes, because Merlin knows I can't wait to seduce you - everyone knows that sleeping with you is my life's goal, right?" She batted her eyelashes at him. "I always loosen my top two buttons when I get home, you twit. Don't think for a second that I'd ever put on a show for your arrogant arse."

"You sound as if you've put some thought into it - just how often do you concern yourself with my arse?" Her jaw dropped slightly, and he continued as though he didn't see. "If they bother you so much when they're fastened, why do you even bother with them to begin with?" he asked disinterestedly, examining himself in the mirror that hung above her hearth.

"I know you have no concept of this, Malfoy, since you don't actually work for a living, but it looks incredibly unprofessional to show up for work looking half-dressed."

"As if you care what you look like," he said calmly, smoothing a hair back into place. "Your hair alone attracts so much attention that I doubt anyone would even notice if you were naked."

"Gee, thanks for that," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm crushed. Really. As if I haven't heard you insult my hair before - really, you should try to think of some new material. Take a whole night and just sit around thinking of witty comebacks."

"As if I'd waste an entire night simply thinking about you."

"You're wasting an entire night with me instead, then?" She didn't wait for an answer before moving into her bedroom and closing the door. In the next moment, he heard the sound of running water.

"Mouthy bint," he muttered under his breath. She'd latched onto his motive immediately, but hadn't turned him away, which he took as a positive sign. She'd allowed him to follow her home and was even showering with him in the flat, leaving herself open to an attack - should the mood strike him. Surely she didn't trust him enough to think that he wouldn't take advantage of her, did she? Or perhaps she simply trusted that he cared enough about Blaise not to try anything with her? The thought made his lips twist into a wicked smile.

After several minutes had passed, he sat down on the sofa to wait. Her flat was entirely too small, and the smell of the cinnamon air freshener that was sitting on her coffee table was beginning to make him feel lightheaded. When she finally emerged from her bedroom, his head was throbbing mercilessly.

"I'm ready."

"Finally. I didn't realize that you knew how to bathe."

"Funny. Unlike you, I even know how to wash my hair. Let's go, I want to get this night over with."

"You can scrub all you like, but you'll never erase the stink of poverty and bad upbringing. You do know that, right?"

"And you'll never be able to get rid of the gel buildup you have in your hair, either, you pompous nancy boy," she pointed out, reaching for her cloak. "You know, for someone who's supposedly doing this in an effort to be nice to his best friend, you're certainly not trying very hard."

"You're not worth the extra effort," he supplied coolly, following her out the door.

"Is that right," she said distractedly, reaching for her wand. He watched her raise the wards on her flat, and then she turned and began walking.

"You have nothing to say to that?"

"Nothing that you'd actually listen to, so why waste my breath?" She pulled her cloak tighter about her body.

"I don't think that's it at all. You know that it's true, and that's why you're not saying anything to refute - damn it, Weasley! I know you're poor, but it doesn't cost money to apparate somewhere! Must you walk, or have you forgotten that you're a witch and therefore have alternate means of transportation?" he demanded.

"I like walking."

"That's because your plebeian feet were built for hard labor," he snapped. She stopped and turned to look at him, highly amused.

"Plebeian feet? Oh, that's rich! You mean you've never walked anywhere before, just because you could?"

"Why would I do that? I'm a capable Wizard and I find apparition quite useful! It's not as hard on my shoes as walking is!" Her jaw dropped, and she started giggling uncontrollably.

"You're afraid of ruining your shoes? Oh, it hurts!" She clutched at her sides as she gasped for breath. Her laughter attracted the stares of passerby, angering Draco further. "Sweet Merlin! I'll bet you're one of those girly men who even get pedicures!"

"There's nothing wrong with being well-groomed," he protested hotly. Her laughter escalated.

"You-you're a girly man! Oh, sweet Circe! You really are a ponce!" Too angry for words, Draco chose to simply glare at her. She swiped tears of laughter away from the corners of her eyes and arched her eyebrow at him. "So are you really just sleeping with women to keep up appearances? I have to know - Ron and I have a bet going."

"You - you're betting on whether or not I'm a - a-" He stumbled over the words, and she smiled at him.

"Whether or not you're a what, Malfoy?" She asked sweetly.

"I refuse to take the bait," he snapped, turning and striding towards the restaurant. Her peals of laughter followed him until he'd gotten roughly four blocks away from her. He was inside the restaurant being shown to their table when she finally rejoined him.

"Welcome to Périgord Noir," the waiter said, smiling brightly at them. "Can I start you off with a glass of our finest house wine?"

"That sounds lovely," Ginny said, nodding. Draco pointedly ignored them both, and after several awkward moments of silence, the waiter left to get Ginny's wine. "You're angry with me; there's no point in taking it out on the waiter - especially not if you expect to be the recipient of decent service tonight." He shot an annoyed look at her, and became even more annoyed when she didn't seem to notice it. She was studying her menu, her eyes moving back and forth rapidly across the page as she did.

"I don't have to be nice to anyone," he said finally, giving the rest of the room a disinterested glance. "His position dictates that he wait on me. It's his job."

"It's his job, yes. But that doesn't mean that he has to be nice to you while he's doing it."

"If he wants a tip, he'll be nice."

"Or maybe he'll just decide that the tip isn't worth it and box your ears instead." She missed his incredulous glare as she flipped the menu over to examine the other side.

"I don't know what Zabini sees in you," he said offhandedly, his voice cold and calculating. "You're filthy, you're common, and you have a vulgar mouth."

"I'm also pureblooded, independently wealthy, and a virgin," she said calmly, still not giving him the satisfaction of so much as an angry glance. "Not to mention that he happens to enjoy my sense of humor and other conversational skills."

"Your wine, Miss," the waiter said politely, placing an elegant long-stemmed glass in front of her. "And a complimentary basket of our famous, fresh-baked bread." She gave him a brilliant smile and nodded.

"That's very sweet - thank you." Draco rolled his eyes and tried to prevent his gag reflex.

"You're most welcome. Are you ready to order, then?"

"I'll have the Noix de St-Jacques saisies, pulpes de betteraves." Draco stared at her, his jaw dropping.

"Very good. And for you, sir?" Draco couldn't help but notice the man's obviously frosty demeanor when speaking to him, and wondered for a split second if the redhead could be right about being nice. He dismissed the notion as quickly as it had come.

"Filet de boeuf de race Limousine, piqué de rattes à la fleur de thym." The waiter nodded and left without waiting for Draco to order a drink. "Since when are you cultured enough to know how to speak French? Has Zabini been instructing you?"

Ginny folded her hands together in her lap and gave him a calm look. "Just because you believe something doesn't make it so."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that just because you believe that I'm uneducated doesn't mean that it's reality. Then again, you seem to have difficulty in distinguishing the line between reality and the fiction you choose to believe so often, don't you?"

"Is this a pathetic attempt at goading me?" He reached for a linen napkin and placed it across his lap.

"No, it's my pathetic attempt at trying to engage you in normal conversation," she sighed, shaking her head. "Obviously you have no earthly idea what that even means. You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, Malfoy. Ponder that for a while."

He watched as she reached out and plucked a steaming roll from the basket between them, and frowned silently. If his goal was to seduce her, perhaps he should take a cue from her and actually try to be nice - even if he was only pretending. It was a distasteful idea, but it was quickly becoming a necessary means to his end, was it not? She obviously liked sappy, overly sentimental dolts - she liked Zabini, after all. Surely pretending for a night wouldn't be asking too much, if in the end his point was made?

She was in the middle of spreading an obscene amount of butter on her roll when he spoke. He winced as the words left him. "You're right. I apologize."

The knife she'd been using fell from her hand and clattered against the tabletop noisily, despite the thick tablecloth. Her jaw dropped and she was gaping openly at him.

"Wait a minute, I think I just hallucinated," she said, shaking her head to clear it. She cleared her throat and blinked several times before meeting his eye again. "All right. Did you just say something?"

"Yes, I apologized," he said, his voice edgy with the irritation he felt. It was difficult, this being nice thing. How long would he have to keep it up? An hour? Maybe two? The thought of such exertion made him feel tired already. "You're absolutely right."

"Okay," she said, putting her roll down and wiping her fingers delicately on her napkin, "Now I know something is wrong. You've just apologized and told me that I was right about something, both in less than a minute." She stared suspiciously at him, and cocked her head to the side. "Are you dying? Is that it? Trying to redeem yourself at the last minute?"

"Redeem myself of what?" he snapped angrily. "What have I done that necessitates redemption?"

"Ah, there it is," she said, nodding. He watched in confusion as she picked up her roll and sank her teeth into it.

"There what is?"

"You. Your sourness."

"What?" he snorted in disbelief. "You just finished telling me that I'd catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so I try to be nice. Then you intimate that you prefer my usual demeanor instead of the niceties you've suggested? What in the holy hell is wrong with you? Are you always this indecisive?"

"I'm not indecisive," she said, licking an errant drop of butter off of her finger. "Nice doesn't suit you. Besides, I have to wonder why you're interested in catching the flies in the first place."

He stared at her.

"You're mental. Totally, completely, mind-numbingly bonkers."

"Well, you know what they say," she chirped brightly. "You are the company you keep."