5: Can We Just Skip the Morning After?

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Chapter 5: Can We Just Skip the Morning After?

---

Ginny woke up at ten thirty on Friday morning, and it was still far too bloody early as far as she was concerned. She debated taking a potion of some sort, but decided the furry feeling in her mouth and head was insufficient to demand going out and buying such a thing. After showering, eating enough to convince herself she was fine without testing the tolerances of her stomach, and dressing in something appropriately crisp, she felt relatively human again. It was eleven sharp...time to set out for the office. Even her morning-allergic partner should be there by now.

She was saying the same thing to herself at ten minutes after eleven, then again (with profane embellishments) at twenty minutes after. By half past eleven, she had almost paced a hole in the rug and was viciously jabbing at the keypad on her mobile phone. By twenty to noon, three very terse and commanding messages had been left on the voicemail of one Draco Malfoy's phone, and one Ginny Weasley's phone was sailing across the room, propelled by extreme frustration.

Which was how, by quarter of noon, Ginny was climbing out of the Floo into the Floo-Parlor at Malfoy Manor. Time to find Draco in this giant maze to which she had not yet been invited.

"Is Miss here for lunch? Please to follow Sniffy to the dining room, Miss."

Ginny was on her hands and knees on the hearth, face-to-face with a house-elf. It was rather cute, as such creatures went...a discarded doily draped on its knobby little head offset its pointy ears, and its massive, misty eyes matched the bluish-gray monogram on its little tea-towel toga.

"No, I'm here to..."

Not noticing whether the unannounced guest was following or not, the elf began to wander off. Ginny hastened to follow. For a creature with such short legs, it managed to get ahead of her and into the corridor remarkably quickly.

"Sniffy, I'm here for Mr. Malfoy." Ginny wondered if she needed to wave her hand in front of the elf's face to get its attention. She'd prefer not to yell. This didn't strike her as a yelling sort of place.

"Oh. Sniffy is sorry! Will have to punish Sniffy later." This did not seem to bother the elf. Ginny had the distinct impression Sniffy would forget Sniffy's head if it weren't attached, much less remember self-punishment.

The house-elf gestured vaguely, and a narrow door appeared in response. "Miss is finding Master Draco at the top of the stairs," Sniffy said. "Miss is much nicer Miss than usually comes for Master Draco," the house-elf added, smiling blankly.

Ginny deduced that she had just met the Luna Lovegood of house-elves, and it had mistaken her for Draco's flavor-of-the-minute. Last night's surreal quality was evidently carrying over into the morning. She ascended the dark and narrow, but clean, staircase and opened the door at the top.

Whereupon she was confronted with Draco's very pale, very toned, very, very naked arse.

Well... 'confronted' might have been too strong a word. After all, he was face down on the approximately one acre square bed in the middle of the room, legs tangled in silvery-blue silk sheets in a way that suggested he'd been covered at some point during the night. And she was all the way on the other side of said room, taking in a pile of clothes on a gilt chair in a vain but valiant effort to look at something other than the lean body on the bed. Just when she thought it couldn't get any more awkward, he turned over.

Oh. My.

Morning erection, anyone?

Ginny closed her eyes. Deciding that wasn't enough, she canted her head towards the ceiling. Not that she was squeamish about such things; having six brothers meant that she had inadvertently seen an awful lot of male appendages in various stages of use. (What was it with boys and not bothering about going into the house to use the loo?) And of course, with a boyfriend or two to her record, she was intimately acquainted with such organs in their other practical application.

But she had never seen one quite so... aesthetically pleasing. Another embarrassed glance confirmed her initial assessment. In fact, everything on that alabaster body was perfect. Even the faint dusting of translucent hairs was symmetrical. His aristocratic face was delineated by elegant lines, which couldn't quite be spoiled by hair splayed over the pillow like dandelion fluff or a partially open mouth emitting an artistic trail of drool and mild snores.

Ginny couldn't decide between tossing a blanket over all that delicious symmetry and yelling for him to wake up, jamming one hand under her bra and the other down her knickers to relieve the tension caused by viewing said body before doing so, or simply adding her clothes to the discard pile and covering him with herself.

Therefore, she continued to stare at the ceiling as he rolled over again. Perhaps he needed that large a bed. Either that, or he needed to be tied down to keep from rolling out. Bad Ginny! No going there!

Why was there no rule of business etiquette to cover such situations? Had there never, ever, in the history of the world been an instance of walking into the bedroom of your business partner and finding him bare-arse skyward on silk sheets?

A deafening 'crack!' spared her the need to agonize further, causing both her and sleeping beauty to jump about a foot in the air. In Draco's case, it brought him to the floor with a resounding crash and a shrill string of profanity.

"Sniffy is sorry for interrupting Master Draco's visit, but Sniffy is remembering instructions to wake Master."

"Uhhh... Visit? What time is it?"

Ginny didn't have any more time to waste with this nonsense. "Time you were at the office!"

Draco sat up quickly, yelled upon seeing Ginny (quite unnecessarily...after all, she'd pretty obviously seen it all already) and clutched the sheets around as much of himself as possible.

"What are you doing here? Owww..." he whimpered, pain overtaking indignation for the moment.

"Making sure we don't miss our very important appointment, which is in about an hour!" She glanced around the room, looking for clothing and avoiding looking at Draco. Or avoid looking as if she were looking at him. Something like that.

Sniffy dragged a silky, green dressing gown over to Draco, who, interestingly enough, blushed quite far down his body. Not that Ginny was interested. Looking. Looking interested. "Is visit with Miss over? Is Master Draco needing this?"

He snatched the garment and tried to squirm into it as discreetly as was possible while seated on the floor half-tangled in bed sheets. "Damn it, get out!"

"As Master wishes," Sniffy said amiably, vanishing with another glass-shivering explosion.

"Not you!" he yelled, then grabbed his head again. "Why am I stuck with the world's daftest living house-elf?"

"Sounds like divine retribution," Ginny answered, unable to resist. She identified what appeared to be a closet and yanked open the door. "We don't have time for this! You need to get dressed and get bright, now."

As if she needed another eye-opener, there was now Draco's wardrobe to contend with. "Merlin's..." Ginny hastily bit off her remark, deciding against mentioning arses just now. 'Walk-in closet' didn't do this compact yet complete haberdashery justice.

"Oh, fine. First you barge into my bedroom and ogle me, now you're pawing my clothing." Drawers were being opened and shut somewhere behind her. Draco's tone of voice left Ginny with the odd feeling that there was actually some doubt as to which he considered more invasive.

"You make it sound as if I'd been standing there studying your arse," she retorted, hiding her flaming face amongst the shirts and hoping said feature would subside to a color less livid than her hair soon. After all, she wasn't lying; she was just challenging his very accurate assertion. Ginny tossed out a shirt and tie, then reached for trousers, only to find...

"Leather?" 'Disbelief' didn't quite adequately describe her tone.

"It was a phase, okay?" Now they were both blushing furiously, not that either would notice what with their concerted efforts to look elsewhere.

"Leather trousers," Ginny repeated, dazed.

"Will you come off it?" Draco realized how that sounded the split second it left his mouth. Between the blush, the green dressing gown, and the all-but-white hair, he resembled an unwieldy Christmas decoration as he snatched the shirt and tie and darted into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Ginny silently made another selection and waited an appropriate amount of time before knocking lightly on the door. It opened just enough to admit her partner's slim hand, which grasped the trousers she thrust smartly at it before jerking back into the room and slamming the door again.

The dramatic effect would have been significantly greater had he not caught one trouser leg in the door, obliging him to open it a fraction again.

Draco finally stumbled out looking decidedly sullen and substantially less polished than usual, though no one who didn't know him well would have noticed. Ginny touched up the glamour that was covering the circles under his eyes as he struggled to get the shoes and belt thing right, and they left via the secret stairway again.

In the intimidating corridor leading to the parlor, Ginny again felt the need to speak quietly. "You must have had one hell of a night. Would it kill you to..."

Draco flinched even at her low tone of voice. "Don't mention last night, okay?"

"Draco!"

For the second time in twenty minutes, they both jumped about a foot. Draco spun like a top, a cornered expression on his face. Ginny grabbed at her wand and turned quickly to see what could have him so utterly ashen, imagining escaped horrors from secret rooms beneath the Manor.

All she saw was Narcissa Malfoy, looking surprised, but smiling. It may have been rather a self-satisfied, nose-in-the-air smile, but it wasn't derisive.

"Draco, darling, you should have told me that you are seeing someone." She tipped her head slightly towards Ginny, giving the distinct impression that Narcissa would have considered it vulgar to actually employ her neck in the maneuver. "Miss... Weasley, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy, but Draco and I aren't..."

Ginny broke off with a squawk of surprise as Draco grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him. "Well, it's rather recent, Mother. In fact, I was going to suggest that Ginevra have dinner with us, ah, soon."

Funny, how Draco squeaked when elbowed in the ribs. Ginny would have thought he'd have devised a more masculine sound to cover such situations by now. "Have you lost your Gobstones? We are not seeing each other and we are going to be late!"

Narcissa had the oddest look on her face. Judging by the way Draco appeared to be restraining an urge to squirm, it was analogous to Mum screaming at Ron at the top of her voice. Ginny was impressed. It seemed effective, and it had the added benefit that Narcissa's face never had to become scrunched and red. "Darling, you know how distressed I become when you keep things from me."

"Mother, I...we'll talk later. There just isn't time." They took their leave of Narcissa very awkwardly and made it to their appointment with no more than five minutes to spare.

---

Snape felt like something akin to crap. This was admittedly not a new sensation. It was not, however, a sensation he'd felt recently, so it was more disagreeable than his previous experiences of the kind. He opened one eye cautiously, knowing that any sudden moves might result in extreme provocation of the Bludger ricocheting around in his skull. There, sitting on the edge of the bed, was a vision more heavenly than any he'd ever beheld...Hermione with a vial of Hangover Relief potion in her hand.

"I love you." Even through the very large wad of hay that was apparently occupying his mouth, he managed to invest a great deal of passion in those words.

Hermione's expression flickered soft for a few seconds before becoming stiffly blank. This alerted Snape to the fact that all was not well in places other than the unhappy recesses of his head.

"Pet?"

"Were you addressing the vial, or me?"

He frowned, found it painful, and settled for looking depressed. It required very little effort. "If you loved me, you'd give it to me."

Hermione's face went very odd. Then it went a little odder, and a choked giggle slipped out. Finally, she was laughing out loud, and Snape pulled a pillow over his head in self-defense. She slipped the vial into his hand, and he managed to drink it without emerging from under the bedding. Feeling the effects kick in, he sat up and glared at her interrogatively.

"I'm sorry, love, but I couldn't help it. The last time I heard that..."

With clarity and immediacy almost as painful as his recent hangover, Severus saw where this was going. "If you tell me who said that to you before, I'm asking for the ring back."

She gave him a sour look. He studied the disparaging expression, wondering if it was one of his or one of hers before finally deciding it was a sort of a hybrid. "After you obliged that poor witch at Moore and Mraz to show us nearly every ring in the shop before we decided on these? That wouldn't be very sporting." Her expression smoothed as her eyes drifted over to the black boxes on the dresser.

Severus followed her gaze, feeling something begin to unknot inside him. "If you think those were hard to choose, you should have seen what it was like the day I went to buy your betrothal band. The jeweler had to give me a lecture on gems and metals so I wouldn't be an absolute dunderhead selecting the ring."

Hermione scooted closer to him on the bed. "I can't imagine you ever being an absolute dunderhead. Though I admit you came quite close the night you proposed." He applied one of his sharpest admonishing glares. By now he knew that, far from intimidating his beloved, it might well net him a kiss. His expectations were met, though he was hoping for something more passionate than a quick peck on the nose. Oh, well. At least she followed it up with a nice, soothing healing charm for his black eye. "I don't recall that nice, motherly witch seeming the lecturing type," she said.

"She wasn't the one who sold me your ring. It was a younger witch, one of the jewelers. Durmstrang-trained, if the way she handled her wand was any indication." Both his eyes and hers darted to the beautiful sapphire on her finger. "It almost seems like it happened in another lifetime."

"This might sound silly... but it was nice, being in the shop amidst the gems and gold and such. Almost like going to an apothecary."

"I know what you mean. Everything in the shop feels...almost smells...a bit like pure magical potential."

"It's even peaceful there, Knockturn Alley outside the front door notwithstanding."

Their eyes met. "What are you thinking, pet?"

"What would it take to have that sort of peace here? Between us?"

Snape knew he was dodging the question. But he couldn't really help himself, not with her luscious, chocolaty eyes on him. Not to mention it was a rather sore topic. "I can think of a sure way to make everything good between us." He slipped one hand around her back and the other into her riotously messy hair.

She melted against him, even as she fixed him with a calculating look. "As good as you unquestionably are, you can't use sex to evade discussions."

Severus figured their relationship was strong enough to withstand a little white lie now and again. "I wasn't thinking of evading discussions. I was thinking of diffusing arguments." He nibbled his way down her neck, beginning to feel a little hungry...though not for food just yet.

"Uh-huh... How does actually having the discussion first sound? Then we can figure out whether we need make-up sex."

He must be losing his touch. She was still painfully articulate, even though he was pretty sure he'd managed to leave love bites with at least a few of those kisses. "I take it you wish to discuss something... but do you think it can wait until after we..."

"Sorry to interrupt you two randy little Kneazles, but..."

Severus... do not hex the Jarvey. It may feel oh-so-satisfying in the short term, but your fiancée will likely revoke your shagging privileges for so long, you will begin to wish the spell had rebounded on you. "If you really wanted to help, you would GO AWAY."

"Silky to sulky in one second flat...a new record," Reggie said dryly.

Snape was decidedly put out at the lack of effect his death glare had on the beast, so he tried the expression Hermione had been practicing.

"It's a good thing I'm not cream, you bastarding wanker...otherwise that look might have spoilt me. As much as you two need to have this conversation, I'm afraid Hermione has company."

"I'm sorry, love...but I did tell Ginny she could come over today."

"Not half as sorry as I am." Her face crumpled with a cascade of negative emotions, and he quickly pulled her ring-bedecked hand up between them as if the sapphire were a talisman against strife. Quite deliberately, he kissed the ring, then the finger, then her lips. "I promise, we'll finish this later."

She smiled, but her eyes challenged him. "Yes. We'll discuss this later. Discuss, Severus."

He hmphed. "If the 'discussion' doesn't go as best it might, I reserve the right to distract you by any means necessary."

"I may hold you to that, love."

---

Hermione waved her wand at the kettle distractedly, realizing a little late it was only sheer luck that she hadn't spilled boiling water everywhere. So distracted was she, in fact, that she didn't notice that Ginny was too distracted to remark on the near miss. Hermione's mind was entirely occupied with the effort of seeming to pay attention to Ginny while wondering what, precisely, made Severus so reluctant to address the topic of domestic tranquility. She had a feeling that it was a little more involved than just his instinct for evasion.

They drank tea more or less automatically, went over a few last-minute details, including the rehearsal set for Tuesday night, and finally got to last night. This was a topic Hermione would cheerfully have left alone. She therefore rushed it along as subtly as possible.

Had she known that talk of last night was leading up to talk of the morning after, she would have opted to relive every last second of the tipsy, embarrassing, entirely too memorable evening.

"Hermione, if I don't tell someone about this, I think I'll burst," Ginny babbled. "I went to collect Draco this morning, and the house-elf sent me to his room, and I saw... um... Draco... he was..." She faltered, hesitated, then rushed right on, "He was completely starkers in the middle of a bed about half the size of a Quidditch pitch, with absolutely yards of silk sheets framing the most gorgeous arse known to wizardkind!"

"Ginny," Hermione said slowly, no longer grateful for Hangover Relief potion since it was enabling her to listen to this, "I want to make this as clear as I possibly can. The instrument has not yet been devised that is sensitive enough to measure how little I wish to know anything about Draco Malfoy's arse."

"You don't understand," Ginny said plaintively, clutching at Hermione's arm as if she were desperately trying to convince her of one of Luna's stories. "He's GORGEOUS! He couldn't be more perfect if he were a marble statue charmed alive!"

Hermione was feeling unaccountably irritated, and for the oddest reasons. There was nothing odd in the fact that she'd rather peel Shrivelfigs than hear about any part of Draco Malfoy. There was nothing out of line in feeling that she didn't especially need to know what Ginny found gorgeous in any man. But what seemed to push her over the edge was a feeling that Ginny was shoving it in her face that she had Draco the Dreamy whilst Hermione was stuck with Severus the Skinny and Snarky. Which was so deeply incorrect, on so many levels, that her subsequent outburst was even more embarrassing.

"I DON'T GIVE A PYGMY PUFF'S ARSE ABOUT ANY PART OF DRACO! AND AS FOR ARSES, I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT SEVERUS' IS SPECTACULAR!"

The yelling would have been quite sufficient to make this a dramatic display. Hermione's purpling face was really a bit of overkill, and the cup slipping from Ginny's unexpectedly nerveless fingers and smashing to bits on the floor was simply anticlimactic.

"Hermione," Ginny finally managed to respond in a strangled, mortified whisper, "I think there were a few kelpies on the shores of the Orkneys that didn't quite catch all of that."

By the time Severus slammed his way into the room, badly abusing the kitchen door and pushing the swirling potential of his work coat to its uttermost limits, the drama level in the room had quite gone off the scale. In lieu of panicking, Hermione idly wondered whether such a device as a drama-meter was magically feasible. If the kitchen were equipped with one, would it now have a gauge with a broken needle, or would the reactive liquid therein have exploded from the top of the tube?

"I want to know why in the bloody hell my arse is the topic of conversation?" he asked in his icy-cold, silky voice. The one that suggested he was strongly inclined to tempt fate by testing an experimental potion on someone.

"Dear, that's not strictly accurate. The conversation was about...someone else's. Yours just... came up."

"My backside is not up for discussion in any way, shape or form! Wait... whose arse were you talking about?"

"I'll just be going," Ginny said hastily and retreated even faster.

"Would this be a bad time to laugh?" Motoyoshi whispered to Reggie, invisibility having enabled them to view the entire performance.

"Very bad. Come on, let's go to the parlor so our arses don't end up in a sling." Before the door could smack her tail, the Jarvey yelled back, "And have that fucking discussion already!"

"This isn't about arses, and you know it! Unless you're referencing your instances of acting like one!"

Severus sat down and glared at her through narrowed eyes.

"I knew you were going to do that because you only have four reactions in your repertoire when it comes to criticism or challenges: the silent sulk, the angry tirade, the snide rejoinder, and...I hope this one is reserved for me...trying to change the subject by way of another oral activity." She knew this statement was liable to provoke option two, but at the moment, she would accept that as better than no communication at all.

"That last is my own invention. The rest I inherited from my parents."

Closed expression or not, this was an unusually open remark. Hermione was determined not to let it go. "I wish you would tell me something about them." She brushed a strand of hair away from his face, luxuriating in the silkiness of it and once again wondering why in the world it had ever looked greasy.

He pulled her into his lap, and she almost resisted...but his sigh hinted that it was a prelude rather than a dodge. "What is there to say? My parents were difficult people. I assume they loved each other once but they certainly weren't in love within my memory. They routinely managed to provoke each other into furious arguments that resolved nothing. Then they lapsed into hostile silence until something happened to set them off again, or one of them let slip a sarcastic remark."

"I'm fairly well inured to your sarcastic remarks by now."

"Oh, certainly. That's why you give me one of those looks when I make one."

"I give you one of 'those looks' because it's no more than your remarks deserve. It doesn't mean I'm falling out of love with you." She nestled in close to him. "I don't plan on ever falling out of love with you."

"And if all does not go according to plan?" His voice was a little sad.

"Then I guess we'll have to try to fall in love with each other all over again."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"Well, talking over tea worked last time."

He Summoned another cup from the cupboard. She poured for him, then picked up her own neglected cup and saucer, casting a quick warming charm. The cup didn't quite reach her lips before she concluded it wasn't worth saving and banished the dregs in favor of a fresh pour.

"Speaking of proposals, love, the rehearsal is..."

"Hermione?"

Brilliant timing, Flora. Hermione sighed, kissed Severus quickly, and hurried into the parlor. Her fellow Healer's face glowed green from the hearth.

"Problem, Flora?"

"That's one way of putting it. The entire Cornish Pixie Preservation Society came down with food poisoning after their annual tramp-and-tipple. Seems that someone who didn't know their Herbology put the wrong mushroom in...something. We're still working that out. Don't bother with your robes, just get over here!" She disappeared.

It must be serious. For Flora Randolph, consummate Sweet Hufflepuff, to break off a Floo-call without a proper farewell (or a polite acknowledgement of Severus, plainly visible over Hermione's shoulder), the Plant Poisoning Ward must be in utter chaos. "Duty calls, love." With another quick kiss, she hurried through the Floo.

---

Reggie had, of course, been listening to the entire exchange. Until her charges were lawfully wed, anything that threatened their domestic tranquility was her business. Whether they liked it or not.

Snape returned to the kitchen and his tea. Reggie scampered up to the table to finish Hermione's abandoned tea and biscuit, and Moto waited patiently while she Summoned hot water from the kettle so that he could mix his own little bowl of matcha. Snape rolled his eyes at them, but otherwise refrained from commenting.

"Stay of execution, eh, Snarkypants?" she asked knowingly around a mouthful of crumbs.

He glanced at her over his teacup, his eyebrows adding punctuation to his reply. "Indeed. I plan to savor every minute of it."

---

Back in London, Rita Skeeter's search through marriage license applications turned up a name that was bitterly familiar and undeniably connected to Potter...that self-important, jar-wielding, little-goody-two-shoes Hermione Granger. The fact that said name shared the application with that of Severus Snape was promising. Potter probably wasn't thrilled about that. Hmm. 'Granger Chooses War Criminal Over Best Friend/Former Love?' Well, it was a good working headline until she could come up with something better. She'd have to strike the war criminal bit, for certain; considering the outcome of the trial, that way lay a libel suit. Some heated confrontations between the wizards had made a blip in the gossip columns a year or so ago, but it had been quiet since then. Maybe she could spin it as a cold war?

Skeeter was idly flipping through files, so busy inventing tearful confrontations and angry ultimatums that she almost missed an application that was specially tabbed. It, too, bore a familiar name. Lupin. Remus Lupin, upon whose shoe she had hitched a ride to Amsterdam... Bloody hell! She was sure Lupin and Snape were connected somehow. In Amsterdam. Last night. Maybe.

Somewhere in her brain was a career-saving story. If only she could remember it.

She all but smacked herself in the forehead. If a werewolf was getting married, there would be a duplicate application in the new department that tracked dangerous magical creatures other than beasts. That department might well be interested in... whatever it was that happened last night. Time to visit the Daily Prophet Foreign News Office and see if anyone had picked up anything on Amsterdam.

This had to be her lucky day. Rita found a police blotter item that was so exciting, she Flooed back to the Ministry. She didn't dare Apparate for fear she'd splinch.

The Department for International Monitoring of Potentially Dangerous Magical Beings had been built from several sections of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, particularly the three poorly organized branches pertaining to werewolves. Its offices had a look to them that could only be described as crisp, especially compared to the vague sense of disorder that pervaded most areas of the Ministry. One got the feeling that the paper airplane memos were starched before flying out in charmed formation.

Reluctantly, the secretary allowed her access to the wizard in charge. Rita was surprised at his appearance. She could have sworn that the bespectacled Weasley fellow working for the Ministry of Magic was much older.

"I don't appreciate having my secretary annoyed, Miss Skeeter. You had best be bringing me a serious and legitimate concern, not fishing for one of your absurd stories. Otherwise I will be quite pleased to summon Security to help you find the exit."

Rita fixed her best 'confiding interviewer's smile' on her face. "Oh, this is serious, Mr. Weasley. I have evidence that Remus Lupin is not, as per the conditions of the approval of his petition to marry, keeping to the right side of the law. I happen to know that yesterday evening there was an incident in the Red Light district of Wizarding Amsterdam, involving several wizards accosting a lady of the evening, with the connivance of Leprechauns and other Magical Creatures. Among those wizards," she continued, "were Severus Snape and one Remus Lupin, registered werewolf."

"I would need evidence of this, of course." No gasping at the momentous revelation, no eagerness to grasp the parchment she waggled so temptingly? This man plainly had no appreciation for her hard-hitting investigative reporting style.

She was finally obliged to drop her bargaining chip on the desk, whereupon he adjusted his glasses and gave it a quick read.

"A blip on a police blotter about a reported leprechaun gold shower at a gentlemen's club...which does not contain the names you mention, nor any indication of criminal mischief, I might add...is what you consider 'evidence?' I'm afraid I find it difficult to be overly concerned about two persons who haven't so much as had a citation for jaywalking in five years, on the assumption they might have been at said club having a clandestine meeting with faerie creatures."

Rita had the oddest feeling that he wasn't taking this seriously.

"This was a genuine incident, and if these two known disreputable characters are..."

He cut her off coldly. "Indeed. Has the Department of Magical Law Enforcement already laughed you away from their offices? Or does it require more gall than even you possess to take such accusations before a lot of wizards who are constantly armed and authorized to use force?"

It was at times like this that Rita Skeeter missed the good old days, when Voldemort-inspired paranoia was rampant, and officials of the Ministry were dying to arrest people and give out quotes that could provide the foundation for paragraphs of lovely innuendo.

"I should have thought you would have appreciated any information from a concerned citizen, considering the great need for your department to prove the value of its new approach to dealing with potentially dangerous magical beings." That had to have struck a chord. It was well known that the proposal to try 'tighter monitoring' of werewolves and similar creatures had only beaten out the 'automatic imprisonment' solution by a narrow margin.

His already tightly clenched jaw seemed to redden somewhat. "In light of the potential seriousness of the allegations... if time permits... I will make a private inquiry. However, don't think for a moment that I owe you any sort of consideration with regards to the information I may uncover."

"What if I can find additional information? Wouldn't that be worthy of a little... consideration?"

"Then I would expect you to report it immediately. After all, it's no more than your duty as a concerned citizen."

Even for someone as apparently immune to hostility as Rita Skeeter, this last bit impressed her as being particularly unfriendly. It was also obviously the signal that if she failed to leave the office under her own power, she might find herself leaving with the aid of a 'Mobilicorpus' spell. She smiled winningly and left one of her business cards so that he wouldn't forget that consideration he'd almost promised. Or would have, if she hadn't been too busy to continue their little talk.

Friday turned into Saturday, then Sunday, and the Floo was quiet. Rita was getting antsy. By now, the trail was getting cold, and whatever those two were plotting, someone else might find out about it and scoop her story!

Sunday night, Rita sat down with her quill and parchment before her, muttering out the beginnings of an article. Well, maybe it was more of a small gossip piece...she took what she could get these days, but that would change soon enough. At least it would be easy to slip it into the Monday morning edition of the 'Daily Prophet.' She couldn't wait for the day to come when editors would be drooling over her front-page-worthy exposés again.

'Inquiries are being made as we speak.' Absolutely true. After all, that Weasley in charge had said he'd make a private inquiry. Perhaps this little nudge would serve to help make it public. At the very least, it would start the buzz going and possibly shake something or someone loose.

---

Draco knew he was in for it.

Once the paperwork was squared away, Ginny had gone into 'cut the crap' mode. He'd managed to dodge her temporarily. He also managed to dodge his mother all weekend, an equally impressive feat. It was easy to forget, viewing Narcissa through the cloud of expensive perfume, tailored robes, and receipts from her latest shopping expedition, that she was a Slytherin through and through. Draco wondered if Mother deliberately cultivated a fashionably flaky impression to keep people off guard.

He knew his chances of escaping either of them altogether were nonexistent, considering he still lived at the Manor with Mother (he shuddered to think of what she might get up to if he moved into a place of his own) and he and Ginny ran a company together. He just hadn't expected Ginny to catch up with him by stepping out of the Floo Parlor at twenty minutes before dinnertime on Sunday night. She grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the room without so much as a 'Good evening.'

"Good thing you happened by. I'm guessing your mother will be down here to greet me in roughly ten minutes, so you'll have that much time to tell me precisely what the hell is going on here."

Since he had at least ten minutes, Draco elected to stall. "What are you doing here?"

"Your mother invited me for dinner...which is more than you've done, I might add, in all the time we've been in business together. We will be covering that point later in the agenda. Item number one, why did you try to pass me off as your girlfriend on Friday morning?"

"Technically, it was afternoon."

"Don't make me ask at wandpoint."

"By the time we started the business, I was at my wit's end. Mother has been spending Galleons like they were water, trying to take her mind off... everything, I guess."

"Well, that's simple enough. Tell her how much discretionary spending the household budget allows and let her know she'll have to stay within those limits."

"Ah, the household budget isn't all it could be."

"In other words, it's nonexistent." Ginny sighed. "I suppose I can organize that, too, once I'm done helping Hermione with her wedding."

"The other half is telling her to stay within the limits. She's been through so much...losing Father and almost losing me. A lot of that money went to trying to free my father, for all the good it did. A great deal more disappeared with our son-of-a-bitch accountant almost before Father's body was even cold. Nearly all of our family is gone, at least all she was still in contact with, and most of her friends as well. I figured that was enough for her to adjust to, without... this."

"Do you honestly think telling her to buy a few less scarves would be traumatic?"

Draco felt his grip on his temper slipping. He could feel himself glaring, but couldn't stop, despite the threat of wrinkles. "Look, Mother doesn't know about ANY of this. I haven't told her that I'm in business, never mind that we're partners. She trusts me with everything, and she doesn't know how precarious our financial situation actually is. Hell, she doesn't even know I have a mobile phone. I assume that answers more than one of your questions."

Ginny sat down in one of the decorative chairs that was as uncomfortable as it looked. Draco elected to remain standing.

Watching the play of expressions over Ginny's face was quite interesting. Watching her face is quite interesting, part of his mind suggested none-too-innocently. What a shame she finally settled on exasperation.

"As admirable as some of that reasoning is, she has to find out sometime. And since I'm here, and still not willing to pretend to be dating you, 'sometime' just became 'tonight.'"

Draco sat down in the opposite chair. It was as bad as he remembered, but at least it facilitated burying his face in his hands. He didn't bother looking up when he heard shoes against carpet and was thus surprised to feel Ginny's hand come to rest on his shoulder, light and warm through his robes.

"It's been almost five years since most of this happened. I think she'll be able to handle it. After all, she still has you."

CRACK!

"Mistress wanted to know something." Sniffy stared around the room, evidently groping for the memory of what, exactly, Mistress had wanted to know.

Draco didn't know what life without house-elves would be like. But he was sorely tempted to find out sometime. "Let me guess. She asked you to find out if Miss Weasley had arrived yet."

Sniffy's face brightened. "Oh, yes! Master Draco is right, as usual." The elf disappeared again.

Ginny opened her mouth, and Draco held up his hand to forestall any speech on her part. "Wait about...fifteen seconds."

Sure enough. CRACK! "Is Miss Weasley here?"

"Over here, Sniffy."

"Oh! So nice to see Miss again. Is Miss here for dinner?"

Draco interrupted, fearing they'd go round in circles all night, otherwise. "Sniffy, tell Mistress that Miss Weasley is here for dinner."

"Very good. Right away, Master Draco!" Sniffy vanished with another earsplitting explosion.

"If ever a house-elf needed socks..." Ginny began, trailing off in giggles.

"We've tried. She just forgets that we've given her clothes and comes back the next morning in a clean towel and a fresh doily. We finally gave up...after all, she cooks well and more or less keeps the place clean."

"She makes Dobby seem helpful."

"Welcome, Ginevra. I do hope Draco wasn't boring you, discussing the state of our household servants." Narcissa waltzed in grandly, wearing her best company smile. Draco found this very worrying.

He wasn't reassured by the amiable interactions between the two witches as dinner proceeded, though he couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed that Ginny's table manners were more than up to par. His fears were realized when Mother turned to him and asked, in a deceptively mild tone of voice, "Draco... how is it that you and Ginevra don't seem to agree on the purpose of her visit on Friday?"

Looking at those unyielding-as-sapphire eyes, Draco was rather forcibly reminded that, as scary and downright mean as Auntie Bella had been, she wasn't the most dangerous of the Black sisters. Trying not to squirm too obviously, he glanced at Ginny. No way out there, but at least she was giving him a good approximation of an encouraging look.

"Mother, there's no easy way to tell you this. Our fortune simply isn't what it used to be. That Tinker prat embezzled quite a lot, and the efforts to get it back had their cost as well...without any success." He opted not to mention legal fees, fearing she might break down at the thought of Father. "We can't afford to spend quite as freely as you like to. In fact, I'm going to have to ask that you keep to a strict budget from now on."

"Budget?" Narcissa looked at him a little blankly. At least she wasn't having hysterics. Yet. "It's rather bad, then?"

"Ginevra will help set it up, Mother, no need to worry about that. Which, ah, brings me to the next thing I need to tell you." He glanced at Ginny, who nodded encouragingly. "I...Mother...um, Ginevra, that is, Miss Weasley...oh, sod it, we're business partners. We're going to make some really excellent changes to the way the Floo is used, and it promises to be quite lucrative. We... our company... has to deal with Muggles, and I've even learned to use some of their devices...and it's all going rather well, actually."

Narcissa's eyes were like huge drops of sky in her pale face, and her lips were slightly parted in amazement.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I didn't want to worry you. I wanted you to be proud of me. You trusted me to manage things, and... I am." He watched anxiously for her reaction.

Narcissa's eyes fluttered closed. She heaved a huge sigh. "Thanks be to any saint, god, or shade that might be listening! What with that bizarre charade in the corridor Friday, I was afraid you were going to tell me that you've only been pretending to fancy witches all these years!"

It took a moment for the exact meaning of this statement to register. Some part of his awareness that was not entirely gobsmacked heard Ginny squeak over to his left...a sound that suspiciously resembled hilarity.

"How? What? Mother, how could you possibly think I'm gay? What about all that time I was dating Pansy, or..." Draco managed to put the brakes on his mouth before saying anything about the purpose for which he occasionally used the private stairs to his room.

Narcissa's voice was gentle, but her expression was patronizing. "Dearest, any wizard who spends as much time on his hair as you do is bound to make a mother worry that she'll never have any grandchildren."

Draco shot a pained look at his mother, then turned to Ginny for support...only to find her head bent over her plate, eyes scrunched shut with tears leaking out of the corners, her shoulders trembling violently in an effort to suppress her laughter. He felt a sulk coming on.

"Please, darling, don't pout so hard. Wrinkles!"

Draco instantly smoothed his expression.

"You see, precious? When you respond to such admonishments, it just encourages people like Marcia Flint...terribly original names in that family, by the way...to call you the 'token girl' on the Slytherin Quidditch Team." Narcissa sniffed. "Of course, ninety-nine percent of that was ignorance and jealousy. Just because HER muscle-headed puppy couldn't break 'Troll' on a single O.W.L... The only 'newt' that pillock ever had was spawned in his ill-kept cauldron."

Ginny was gripping the seat of her chair to keep from falling off, she was giggling so hard.

"Oh, do go ahead and laugh," Narcissa said. "It's quite amusing, after all."

She accepted the invitation and laughed aloud.

Draco was not the least bit amused. "I don't BELIEVE this! Everyone knows that Pansy and I were together from the Yule Ball, fourth year!"

It was truly, deeply annoying to be pinned down by patronizing looks from both your mother and business partner at the same time, Draco decided.

Ginny spoke first. "You've got to be joking. She just fueled the rumors. After all, why would you be going out with someone like her..."

"Dense as a cauldron bottom, with a personality to match," Narcissa clarified helpfully.

"...unless it was either arranged, or you didn't particularly care what she was like because she was, oh, what's the term... a 'beard.'"

My own mother thought I was a ponce, as well as half the school, evidently. Oh, gods. It was enough to make him forget to be upset that she kept calling him pet names in front of Ginny. "Mother, I thought you liked Pansy."

"Your father liked Pansy...because considering her unimaginative little nouveau riche family, she was unlikely to be a gold digger. I thought she was annoyance on a stick."

"Oh, Narcissa, that's a perfect description of her." Draco was somewhat horrified to note that the two witches were now smiling across the table at each other. "Her voice alone could make a magic mirror stop its ears."

Narcissa put one hand to her bosom in a delicate gesture of long-suffering. "I can still hear her calling through the house like a fishwife on that last visit." She modulated her voice to a whiny falsetto. "Draaaaaaaycooooo!" she warbled, fluttering her eyelashes.

Draco cringed. "Don't remind me!"

Which sent the witches off into gales of giggles again. Draco had never been quite so glad to see dessert arrive while having so little appetite for it. At least he was saved from chatting with them...or between them...late into the night. Ginny excused herself, citing work the next morning. A crash from the kitchen sent Narcissa gliding with graceful alacrity to survey the latest Sniffy disaster, taking a moment first to exchange valedictions with Ginny.

They walked to the Floo-Parlor in more or less amiable silence.

"Well, goodnight."

"Till tomorrow, then." Draco didn't feel like dragging out their goodbyes. The stress reaction from coming clean to Mother had set in, leaving him run down.

"I meant what I said to your mother...this really has been a lovely evening."

"At least we've established I'm not gay," he grumbled.

"I don't recall that happening...precious." Ginny grinned cheekily at him and ducked into the fireplace.

Mother walked in just then, denying him the satisfaction of subjecting one or more of those god-awful chairs to a 'Reducto.' This just wasn't his night.

"I am sorry I missed taking leave of dear Ginevra. She is quite the clever little thing, isn't she?" Narcissa smiled brilliantly up at him and touched his cheek, signaling him to lean closer. "Goodnight, my precious dragon," she whispered, and they exchanged their customary pecks on the cheek.

"Goodnight, Mother." He managed not to sigh. One of these days, she'll stop calling me 'precious' in front of company.

It wasn't until he was climbing into bed that it occurred to him to wonder when Ginny had become 'dear Ginevra.'

---

It was rather late by the time Severus got up on Monday morning. 'Not a morning person' didn't begin to encompass his antipathy towards rising early. To compound the problem, Hermione had been doing back-to-back night shifts at St. Mungo's over the weekend. He had discovered that he no longer slept particularly well when he was alone, opting instead to read or organize his supplies late into the night. Brewing while exhausted was Recipe for Disaster #2 (after 'brewing while intoxicated') so he saved actual potions-making for a time when he was rested.

He brightened slightly at the well-loved sight of Hermione's crown of fluff peeping up over the top edge of the 'Daily Prophet.' Just five more days and a silly party, and we can go back to normal, he thought, feeling uncharacteristically optimistic. "Good morning, love." He managed to deliver it in a fairly silky purr, no mean feat for before noon on a Monday.

He was rewarded with a hard stare over the top of the newspaper. The pages lowered to reveal a face as unyielding as her eyes.

"Severus... we need to talk about Thursday."

Snape really had to learn to stop letting himself feel optimistic.

---

Japanese Vocabulary:

Matcha: pulverized green tea. In Japan, green tea ground to a fine powder is whisked into hot water with a bamboo whisk (chasen) to create a very strong, aromatic drink. The powdered tea is stored in a little caddy called a natsume (for its resemblance to a jujube; usually made of lacquered wood) or a ceramic jar called a cha-ire (literally, 'tea put-in.')

Motoyoshi carries his chasen, natsume, and tea bowl (chawan) everywhere with him in his furoshiki so as to be able to center himself with a Tea Ceremony as the occasion requires. He is a remarkably refined Kappa.

Author's Notes:

No, Draco and Ginny have NOT hijacked this story (though they gave it a damn good try). Fortunately, I have Reggie for backup, and in the case of any draws, the win goes to the one who has the Jarvey on their side.

Up next: Reggie and Moto pull off the gloves and put on the tutus! (I suspect that, besides the wedding, this is the moment you've all been waiting for!)

Before I forget--Happy New Year, y'all! (That goes double for the incomparable Tempest of Dreams, who actually read this during the course of her holiday festivities!)