After the Fact

Draco Malfoy was sick of post. It was everywhere; all over his desk, filling his drawers, in every room of the Manor, and even perched outside his windows, still attached to the owl that had brought it. Ever since the Order of Merlin ceremony, he'd been trying to keep track of letters from witches and wizards all over England. Most of them were small town politicians, looking for a recommendation to the Minister or requesting his support for such-and-such a relief effort or his presence at some ceremony, certain that he'd bring in the reporters and get their cause some publicity. What with Harry Potter withdrawing from society completely--did anyone even know where he lived?--the wizarding community had to have someone to look to. Who'd ever have thought it would be him? Obviously not some of the letter writers; he got a fair amount of hate mail, expressing contempt for his newfound popularity and doubt at the sincerity of his transformation. He'd learned, a few weeks in, it was better not to read these if he wanted to stay sane.

It would be a relief, he knew, to have someone to take over the post--especially those few nasty letters. Having an assistant hadn't appealed to him at first; Draco wasn't sure he trusted another person to be handling affairs important to him. He'd grown up to be suspicious of everyone around him, and that was a habit hard to break. But Eileen had insisted. She, at least, was a necessity in the household, as he'd found out soon after he'd taken possession of the Manor. Sure, house elves could take care of the manual chores, but after a week or so, Draco was craving human company. Eileen Bernshaw had proven herself as trustworthy as anyone Draco had ever known; born a Squib, she didn't mind keeping house for a wizard, as it kept her involved in the magical community. It had been Eileen who had come up with the idea of an assistant; Draco had protested, but his housekeeper had warned him sharply that if he was going to go and fall ill and have to be sent off to the mountains to relax every few months or so, she wasn't going to be the one keeping track of all his post on top of her own housework. And it would help with the stress, she had said.

He wasn't stressed, Draco had replied.

He was, Eileen had told him matter-of-factly, and if he had any sense, he'd let her find him a personal assistant to start when he came back from his holiday.

He'd gone off on holiday still uneasy about letting someone handle his business. But his discomfort was reduced a bit when Eileen's head popped into the fire of his quaint mountainside cabin and told him that an applicant named Ginevra Weasley was on her way; there had only been a few other applicants, and he hadn't known any of them. Not that he really wanted to hire someone he knew...that wasn't the objective. But the familiar name, the idea of having someone working with him who knew him--really knew who he was, not just the public profile, not just the reformed him, but someone who had been there before, during, and after the transformation--sounded much more appealing than a stranger. Without thinking about it too much, he told Eileen to hire her. His housekeeper had asked him three times if he was sure, and he relented a little and told Madam Bernshaw to make sure she could handle the job, but if at all possible, if there were no other applicants, give it to the Weasley girl.

Yes, it was ironic; he admitted that fully. True, he'd reformed; with the remaining members of his family dead or imprisoned until dead, there had been no one to stop him from casting off the cloak of familial tradition and embracing a life that, while decidedly more difficult to live, offered him a chance of being truly happy. Yes, he'd proven himself, and the good citizens of the magical community trusted him; they praised him; they even admired him for being the one to put the Malfoy family name to good use. But that didn't mean the Old Guard, as he thought of them in his head, liked him. He'd fought as hard as any of the Weasleys, Potters, Longbottoms, whatever you wanted to call them, when it had come time for them to take up arms. He'd fought beside them, with them, for them, and for that, they offered him some sort of unspoken truce, some well-earned respect, and the erasure of childhood grudges. But that didn't mean they liked him.

Draco knew this. Still, he'd rather have Ginny Weasley poking around his life than some stranger. She'd learned most of his history anyway, from her brothers who were of-age to be in the Order, and it wasn't as if he had much to hide these days. And he wanted someone familiar, someone mature; he'd dealt with enough new faces in the past year. It seemed to be an ideal situation for him; for her, he wasn't quite sure yet.

It seemed he'd find out soon; glancing at the clock on the mantle, he saw it was 9:27; Madam Bernshaw had told her to come at 9:30. Just as he'd begun to straighten up his desk before her arrival, there was a firm knock on the door, which he knew to be his housekeeper's, and then the door swung open.

"Come in," Draco said unnecessarily; Eileen always came straight in if he was in the study.

"Miss Weasley, sir," said his housekeeper, ushering in the waifish form of the redhead before bustling out and shutting the door again, leaving the employee with her new employer.

Draco stood up and crossed the room, extending his hand. She didn't hesitate a moment, but shook it firmly, as if they were strangers instead of old schoolmates.

"Right," Draco began. "I'm...glad you're here."

"I'm grateful for the opportunity, sir," she replied coolly, formally, and Draco wondered immediately for how long they were going to play this game. "Your housekeeper says you have an appointment at 10?"

"Yes," he said at once, seizing the advantage. "A meeting with the goblin handling my parents' estate."

"Any specific files you'll need, sir?"

Draco hesitated, torn between answering and getting business done or breaking the frigid atmosphere.

Apparently he hesitated too long. She was walking across the room, behind his desk. "These, here?" she asked after peering at the stack in the center, just in front of his chair.

"Yes," he replied. "Yes, bring those, if you would."

She'd already picked them up and opened the many-pocketed organizer she'd brought with her and filed them away. "And is this your calendar?" she asked, examining the long piece of parchment he'd attached to the top of his desk, where he usually penned in appointments as they came up.

"Yes."

"Social or business?" she asked without looking up.

"Both," he replied, crossing so that he stood on the other side of the desk, facing her. "I don't really work, per se. Just events and appointments here and there, when I'm asked. It turns out they can build up, though. Some of them could be considered strictly social, I suppose."

"Right," she said, and he thought he detected a hint of a frown. "Well, I'll sort it out. Do you have any sort of appointment log?"

"No, just this."

Ginny pulled out her wand and tapped the makeshift calendar; it transfigured into a compact brown leather book, almost the same shade as the wood of the desk. She picked it up and flipped through it; the appointments on the parchment were already penned into the corresponding date boxes.

For the first time since she'd entered, Ginny looked up at him, and Draco read in her eyes something of a challenge; not hostility, he thought, but more a gleam that dared him to...to...what? He wasn't even sure. But it intrigued him.

"Well...looks like you've got everything under control," he said at last.

"I hope so," she replied, glancing back down at the stacks of papers on his desk. "If it's all right with you, sir--"

"Please," he interrupted, and her gaze shot back up. "Drop the 'sir' thing, Ginny. My name's Draco; you know that, so use it. I intend to call you Ginny, if that's ok with you."

Her mouth twitched up slightly. "Well, it's an improvement on 'Weasley.' I'll take it. Now," she continued, opening up her files and pulling out a roll of parchment. "I'll just take notes at your meeting, and then I'll get organizing the rest of these files, and we'll see about your schedule for the rest of the week. Sound okay?"

"Sounds...perfect," Draco replied, taken slightly aback. He hadn't know exactly what an assistant did, but he had thought he'd have a lot more to do with it than this.

They stood in silence for a moment longer, then Ginny moved away from his desk and started backing towards the door. "I'll just let you finish up here, and I'll...be waiting in the..." She trailed off, not knowing exactly where he would be meeting.

"In the parlour," he finished.

"Should I send for tea?" she asked. "Do...do goblins take tea?"

Draco smiled. "I don't think so. But maybe you ought to send for some, just in case. I'll be down in a moment."

She nodded. "I'll meet you in the parlour, then." And she was gone, almost as if she'd Apparated down there, leaving Draco to mull over the last few minutes. With a sigh, he collapsed into his chair and stared at his desk, drumming his fingers on the bare spot where his calendar used to be. It was a little unsettling, not being able to see everything he'd written down; he was constantly checking his calendar to see if he'd forgotten something or if he'd forgotten to make any changes. It was going to take some getting used to, letting someone else take care of it.

He glanced at the clock; he still had a few minutes before he should be ready for the meeting, but...he didn't have anything else to do. Not anymore. So he straightened his robes and headed down to join his new assistant.

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Harry prodded the pan on the oven with his wand; it hissed and a long trail of steam rose into the air, clouding his glasses. Curry, he'd thought, was an easy dish to make; wasn't it really just a load of vegetables and rice and some sauce all fried in a pan? A good idea. Something simple that would at least show he'd made an effort. He wanted to surprise her after her first day; he was sure it wouldn't have been easy.

Harry checked his watch; 6:12. She was bound to be back any minute; Malfoy wouldn't have kept her past six, not on the first day. At least, he hoped not. And Ginny, who still hadn't taken her Apparition test, would have to fly home anyway. He poked the mess in the pan again, hoping it was still edible when she got back...if it had ever really been edible in the first place.

He sighed; it had been a rough few days. Ginny had stayed at Ron and Hermione's house for two nights. He'd gone to see her the day after they'd fought, of course, and they'd talked. He admitted he'd overreacted; he trusted her, and, to a degree, he trusted Draco Malfoy to treat her fairly, even if he wasn't Harry's favorite person in the world. She forgave him, said she understood why he'd felt that way. But she hadn't felt like coming home yet, she said. She needed one more night on her own.

Harry hadn't really known what to make of it. Ron said it was nothing, just girl stuff, and it'd sort itself out in the end. Hermione had warned him to think more carefully about what strain he was putting on his relationship with Ginny and what he could do to show he appreciated her and that he was serious about the commitment he'd made to her. Ron, again, said that was a load of nonsensical girl talk (but in fewer words). So, Harry hadn't really known what to think, except that he missed Ginny, that he hated when they fought (even though he always seemed to walk right into it without knowing), and most of all, that he wanted to make it up to her.

She'd come home, of course, and it had been awkward and quiet around the flat for a while, like it always was after they'd had a row. But the two of them quickly settled into their routine again; she was nervous to start work, he was all encouragement, and they were themselves again. Now he was just working to keep it that way. Thus the cooking.

He was in the middle of pouring two glasses of wine, having just lit the candles and set them on the little table just outside the kitchen when the sound of the door opening and closing alerted him to her arrival. Harry quickly set down the glasses and ran to check the curry; it was simmering and turning a little black around the edges. He prodded it with his wand again, and a cloud of steam shot up from the middle, accompanied by a loud, angry sounding hiss.

"Harry?" came Ginny's concerned voice. "What's going on?"

She poked her head into the kitchen, where Harry was fanning away the smoke from the pan with one hand and trying to nudge it off the burner with the end of his wand.

"Darling?" she queried, biting back her smile as best she could. "Having a little trouble?"

"No!" Harry said, finally grabbing the handle of the pan, picking it up, and promptly dropping it on the counter--seeing as it was hot--sending bits of curry flying onto the floor, counter, and into his hair.

Ginny laughed and came into the kitchen. "Why didn't you use magic, Harry?"

"Too dangerous," he said with a sheepish grin. "I'm always afraid I'll explode something or light the flat on fire."

Ginny smiled knowingly up at him and flicked her wand at the pan; it levitated a few inches into the air. "You're burning the counter, love."

"Bloody hell!" Harry cried, defeated. "I give up. I tried."

Ginny leaned up and picked a bit of curry out of his hair. "And I love you for it," she said, giving him a quick kiss before she turned her attention back to the steaming pan. She levitated it back down onto the oven, and with another flick of her wand, the curry was separated and placed in two bowls Harry had set out on the counter earlier.

"Allow me," Harry said, picking up the bowls before Ginny could make a move and heading out to the table, where he quickly finished setting everything up. Ginny watched him, leaning against the doorframe. It was sweet of him, she thought, to go to all this effort. Maybe this job won't get in the way after all, she thought as she pulled the butterfly clip out of her hair, shaking down her red mane.

Harry pulled out her chair and motioned for her to sit down; Ginny grinned and did so. "Merci, monsieur," she teased. "I've taught you well."

"So," he said, taking his seat across from her. "How was your day?"

"It was...good," she replied. "Really good, actually. I think it's going to be the right kind of work for me."

"I'm glad," he said, tentatively testing the curry. Relieved to find it edible, he continued, "So, what'd you do?"

"Just what I'd expected. I did a lot of organizing his files and sorting the post--for Merlin's sake, the amount of letters was ridiculous. That took a while, but I'm trying out a system. We'll see if it works. And I took notes at a meeting this morning, good experience."

"You learn anything?"

"Yeah. Goblins don't take tea, but they're fairly agreeable to pumpkin juice."

"Do I want to know?"

She laughed. "Goblins, they're handling his parents' estate settlement."

"Oh," Harry said, poking at his curry. "Shouldn't that have been settled ages ago? Lucius and Narcissa...well...they died a while ago."

"Lucius Malfoy was a powerful wizard, Harry," Ginny replied delicately. "He left spells and enchantments you wouldn't believe all over his will that prevented even his son from taking possession of his estate. And then there's all the legal protection, as well. He was thorough in making sure no 'blood traitor' could inherit his fortune."

The light clicked on in Harry's head. "And I suppose Draco's considered a traitor to his family now, isn't he?"

Ginny paused. "I don't know if I'm supposed to say. We didn't really talk about confidentiality. But as I suppose as there's no other member of the Malfoy family around to get upset about it, I can say: yes. It's been a real struggle for him to claim what's rightfully his; the only thing that's simplified proceedings is the sheer lack of another known Malfoy heir."

Harry fell silent, pushing what remained of his curry around his plate thoughtfully. "Must be difficult," he said at last. "You help him get things straightened out?"

"Not me, Harry," she replied. "I just take notes. But," she said, her voice brightening. "I do get to go along with him to the big events, you know, banquets and conferences and balls and that sort of thing. Eileen said people always bring their assistants along to help them remember everyone's name and rank and things like that."

"Seriously? You're going to memorize all the guests at every event he goes to?"

She shrugged. "I guess so. It's my job. But I'll get to look fabulous, so that's okay."

"If you say so."

"I do. Don't worry about me, Harry. This job's only going to get better."

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"Ok, so your robes are ready for the reception at one," Ginny said, perched on the edge of Draco's desk. Her boss was pacing around the room restlessly; it was going to be a long, tiring day of chatting up people he didn't know, and it made him edgy.

"Relax, Draco," said his assistant, too lightly. "This is nothing. You've got lunch with the Junior Undersecretary at eleven, but he's headed to the reception as well, so you know it'll be short. I've estimated an hour for you to pop back here, change, and calm down. I'll be waiting for you here, and we'll leave at precisely one, make an entrance, mingle a bit. The ceremony's at three, cocktails afterwards, banquet at six, and as soon as you've had dessert, you've got fifteen minutes for goodbyes before you're reasonably allowed to leave." She snapped her notebook shut. "Piece of cake."

It had been two months since Ginny had taken control of Draco's scheduling, and they'd fallen easily into a rhythm. He wasn't used to having so much free time; at first, he'd tried to stay out of her way, let her work in the office while he tried to relax but he was so bored after a week, he brought in another desk, and they both worked in his office for a while each day. She had swiftly learned that he liked to have control over things, and this, she understood; she was the same way. So she let him manage anything that was strictly social--as long as it lined up with her schedule, of course. And if it fell into a grey area, it was hers, uncontested. That was what he paid her for, as she'd pointed out on numerous occasions.

"So," she continued, pulling a file out of her folder. "As soon as we've prepped you on the guest list, you're off to lunch."

"I've already prepped the guest list," Draco replied.

"Well, prep it again. It'll stop you pacing," Ginny insisted, opening the file.

"No, it'll just make me more nervous if I forget," he argued. "What time is it?"

"10:40."

"I'll go now, get there early, take a minute to think."

"Fine," she said, putting away the file. "Have a drink when you get there."

"No. I'll be having enough to drink later."

"Suit yourself. Want me to walk you to the gate?" Ginny opened the door of the office, letting Draco head out first, and followed him down the corridor leading to the front door.

"No, no, I'm fine. What are you doing for lunch?"

"I'm staying here, making some final notes. I think Hermione's going to pop over; I haven't seen her for over a week. If you get back early, I'll be in the kitchen."

"Good." He paused before they split off and went their separate ways. "Give my best to Hermione."

"I will." She gave him a playful push towards the door. "Go on, you'll be fine. Good luck."

"Thanks," he called over his shoulder, heading for the door.

Ginny turned and headed for the kitchen. Planting herself in the middle of the large wooden table, she spread out her notes for the reception that afternoon, double checking every name, face, and pronunciation. In the last two months, she'd gotten to be an expert on memorization--she knew every trick in the book, now, and it had come in handy. Each new event was a challenge; every new, thick stack of names and facts a task to be handled skillfully. So far, Ginny had been pleased with her performance. And Draco had yet to complain.

It was this scene of utter absorption that Hermione entered into when she Flooed in through the kitchen fireplace, nearly giving Madam Bernshaw a heart attack; the household was so small and entertained so few regular visitors that anyone entering unannounced was apt to startle.

"Hard at work still?" Hermione greeted her friend, one eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"Hermione!" Ginny cried happily, looking up from her notes. "Yeah, it's going to be a long day. I just thought I'd go over everything one more time...here," she continued, rolling up her notes and stowing them in the bag hanging over her chair. "There, sit down, sit down."

"Will you be needing anything, Ginevra?" Madam Bernshaw inquired.

"Would you send one of the house elves with a glass of port?" Ginny asked, taking her seat opposite her friend again.

"Certainly."

As Madam Bernshaw exited, Hermione smiled across at her sister-in-law. "Ginevra?" she teased.

"I can't get her to call me 'Ginny,'" the redhead explained in exasperation. "But it's better than 'Miss Weasley,' so I'll take it. Anyway, how have you been? I feel like we haven't talked in forever."

"It has been a while, Gin."

Ginny sighed and flicked her wand at the counter, levitating over the plate of sandwiches she'd had made up earlier. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm just so busy...and I really like it, to be honest."

"Good," Hermione said, smiling. "You should be happy with your job. Merlin knows, I'm about doing what you love. Just...remember to make some time for yourself, ok?"

"I'll try," said her friend. "How are my niece and nephew?"

Hermione's face lit up, and Ginny knew she was off the hook for a bit. "Adorable," said the proud new mother. "I couldn't have asked for two better babies, really. They hardly ever cry, they sleep most of the night, and they pretty much entertain each other. You're probably busier running around after Draco than Ron and I are with the twins."

Ginny laughed. "And how's Ron? Has he dropped them yet? Fed them something ridiculous? Turned them into toads?"

"Not yet," Hermione said wryly. "He's getting it, really. Though he wouldn't hold Meg for almost two weeks when we brought her home. I guess he thinks girls are more fragile or something."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He would."

At that moment, a house elf appeared with the requested glass of port. She set it carefully on the table next to Ginny and practically brushed the ground with her nose as she bowed. "Anything else, Miss Weasley?"

"No, no, thank you, Dot," Ginny said hastily, seeing Hermione begin to frown. Dot bowed out of the room and back down to whatever chore she had been at before.

Ginny reached over and unrolled one of the scrolls she had put aside and set it on the end of the table along with the glass of port.

"What's this?" Hermione asked.

"For Draco," Ginny replied, returning to her sandwich. "He'll be back from lunch early, just watch, and he'll head straight here. He absolutely has to drink something before we get to the reception or I'll murder him. He thinks he's fine, but anyone can tell when he's nervous; he starts worrying at his sleeves like a five year old. And there'll be several foreign ministers at the banquet tonight; he can't show up with ragged sleeves."

Hermione nodded, chewing thoughtfully at her sandwich, and Ginny thought she detected something in her expression, something vaguely resembling concern. She chose to ignore it. She chose to ignore a lot of things lately.

"You two work together well, then?" Hermione asked, having swallowed.

"Better than either of us would have thought," Ginny replied. "I mean, even after the war began and everything, we were never friends, so it's just a bit odd, really, that we get on as well as we do considering the...history...between his family and ours...and all the animosity. I mean, I know I told Harry that was all nonsense and it was over the minute Draco traded sides, but I've got to admit, I was worried when I started. But he was all cordiality and friendliness, and the nature of the job is for us to work closely, so I suppose he really couldn't be anything but."

"You go pretty much everywhere with him these days," her friend remarked.

"Not everywhere," Ginny replied quickly, beginning to feel slightly defensive, which made no sense to her. "Not to purely social functions. Not to lunches, like the one he's at now, or private meetings."

"But to balls and banquets and assemblies," Hermione pointed out. "He needs you at things like those, doesn't he? And they keep you out pretty late most of the time."

"Well, yes," Ginny said, uncomfortable now for some reason she didn't know, but she had a sick feeling she knew where they were headed. "It's part of my job, Hermione. That's what an assistant does."

Hermione paused, as if she had been about to say something and then thought better of it. "I see," she said. "It's just...Gin, it's just...you and Harry don't go out that much, do you?"

Now they'd come to it. "No," she replied. "Harry doesn't like to go out anymore, you know that. And I'm not going for fun, Hermione. It's my job. He knows that--we've had this discussion a hundred times."

"I know," Hermione said, sounding apologetic. "It's just he mentioned to Ron how you'd been gone so often and how he was starting to worry about your being out so late all the time, and Ron made me promise I'd ask about it. They're being paranoid, I'm sure, because it's Draco Malfoy and they haven't quite given up the childhood habit of trying to stalk him around."

"If Harry has an issue, he can bring it up with me," Ginny said. "And believe me, he has. This isn't the first time he's pulled the 'you're out too late and I'm worried about you' tack to try to get me to quit. I think he's jealous."

Hermione leaned in. "He doesn't have reason to be, does he?"

"Hermione!" Ginny cried angrily. "That's ridiculous! Of course he doesn't; and if he was curious, I'd prefer he asked me himself! He's the one who's always talking about how he trusts me, but he doesn't act like it."

"No, no," Hermione said hurriedly. "He does, Gin. He's just...Harry. You know that. You know him better than any of us at this point, so you know how he thinks; you know he says things differently than the way he means them."

"I know," she replied, sighing. "And in this weird slump he's in, he has nothing better to do than think about things all day. I wish there was something I could do to pull him out of it."

Hermione shrugged. "We've tried, Gin. I think it's best we let him pull himself out of it."

"Well, I hope he does it soon. It gets tiring, staying in the flat night after night."

She saw that strange look cross Hermione's face again, but before she could think of what to make of it, the kitchen door opened and in strode Draco.

"Draco!" Ginny cried. "What are you doing back? I wasn't expecting you for an hour."

"Junior undersecretary cancelled," he said, glancing between her and Hermione. "Hello, Hermione."

"Hi, Draco," Hermione said, her smile a little forced.

"Sit down," Ginny ordered her boss, and he did so. She pushed the roll of parchment and the glass of port towards him.

"What's this?" he asked.

"The itinerary, just for you to brush up on."

"I meant the wine," he said.

"Oh," Ginny said, as if she hadn't seen it there. "That's wine, Draco."

"Yes, I know that," he replied, almost laughing. "Why is it sitting here?"

"Because if you don't drink it I'm quitting," Ginny shot back, handing him half a sandwich as well.

Hermione watched this exchange curiously; to her surprise, Draco didn't argue as she had expected him to. Instead, he sipped at the port and glanced at the itinerary Ginny had laid out. Ginny, who had become used to his obeying her rather blunt orders, didn't think anything of it; for her, it was all part of the job. She turned back to her friend.

"Have you seen Mum and Dad lately?"

The question jerked Hermione away from her thoughts. "Yesterday," she said with a half-smile. "Molly can't stay away from the twins for long."

"Well, they're her first grandchildren," Ginny pointed out. "Have another one, and she'll back off."

"Ha ha," Hermione joked. "How about you have one, that'd steal her attention for a while."

Ginny stuck her tongue out at her sister-in-law, then turned her attention towards Draco again. "Read everything?"

He rolled up the scroll and handed it to her. "Of course," he replied.

Hermione made to stand up. "I should leave you two to get ready," she said.

"No, no, don't mind me," said Draco, before Ginny had a chance to reply. "You two stay here; I ought to go change."

"No, I insist. You two have a busy day, and I should get back to Ron and the twins anyway," Hermione argued. "It's been good to see you again, Draco; I hope all goes well for you this afternoon. Gin, we'll see you this weekend?"

"Yes, I think so," the redhead replied.

"Good," said Hermione, drawing out a small pouch of Floo powder. "Good luck, you two!" A moment later, she'd disappeared into the emerald flames.

"Meet you in the parlour?" Draco said, pausing at the doorway.

"Twenty minutes," Ginny said, gathering up the rest of her notes. Draco nodded and headed upstairs; Ginny left to change in the little powder room on the first floor. After her first few weeks, she'd invested in a few dresses to see her through Draco's events, and with a few minor changes every so often, she hoped no one would notice her repetitive attire. She was, after all, only his assistant. For this particular occasion, she'd removed the sleeves from her black cocktail dress and added a thin belt with a rhinestone buckle. She changed quickly and swept her hair up into a simple twist. She wore no makeup, nor did she usually apply any. She'd learned the makeup charms in school from the other girls in her year, but she'd never been a fan of using them regularly; enhancing one's face by magic, Ginny thought, was little more than base deception, and she had not yet discovered how deception becomes part of one's life whether one intends to deceive or not.

Picking through her notes, she pulled out the invitation and a backup guest list to take with her, then headed out to meet Draco. He was waiting patiently, looking well-groomed and more relaxed than he had earlier. Ginny smiled and headed into the parlour.

"You look nice," she said, instinctively buttoning the top button of his shirt beneath his robes. He smiled; he was used to it.

"You too," he replied. "Ready? You have everything?"

"Invitation, guest list, shoes, let's go," she said, heading towards the door.

"Right." He followed her out and took the lead towards the gate at the end of the path.

"We're, um, Apparating, right?" Ginny asked, slowing her pace as they neared the gates.

"Yes," he replied, glancing over towards her. "That is the...usual form of transportation."

"Well..." She trailed off sheepishly as Draco unlocked the iron fence and led her out. "There might be a small problem."

"That being?" he asked, closing the gates behind them.

She paused. "I don't exactly have my license," she admitted, smiling embarrassedly.

"What?" Draco asked, amused. "You can't Apparate?"

She shook her head. "I didn't get to sixth year at Hogwarts," she reasoned. "So I never took the courses. And after that, I don't really think they were offered until rebuilding started, and I just haven't got around to learning yet."

Draco grinned at his shamefaced assistant. "No matter," he said. "I can take you with me. Come here, if you don't mind." He extended his arm, and she stepped into him; he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close to his chest. "Just, uh...remember to breathe."

Three seconds later, Draco had stepped through the air, and Ginny couldn't be sure if the crushing feeling in her chest was just the strange feeling of Apparition or of something else entirely.