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Promises	By : recension Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Ginny Views: 2750 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, all characters items and worlds, do not belong to me but to WB and JK Rowling. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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"Pott-errrrrr!"

Ginny felt a chill run down her spine at the call into the writer's bullpen. She was sitting at her desk struggling to end her latest piece when her editor stuck his head out of his office and gave the call a howler would curdle at.

Felix Skeeter was the over privileged son of his famous mother, two inches taller than her, 9 stones soaking wet, and way too much like Percy. He had risen to Lifestyles Editor in the time she had taken off to have Albus and it seemed he had made it his personal mission to make her life a living hell.

Felix had hinted, more than once, that he thought her writing sophomoric and her role as senior Quidditch correspondent was obviously awarded her because of her last name. In kindness for his tact in not mentioning his thoughts explicitly, she too refrained from telling him it was obvious his mother had secured him his job.

Still, she had to admit fighting with Felix was one part of her job she enjoyed. She so rarely fought, even with words.

"Whaaaat?" she drawled, swiveling in her chair to meet his eyeline.

"What, sir," he insisted, as he always did.

"You're the one who called, sugar, and no need to call me 'sir'," she grinned cheekily.

Felix rolled his eyes and beckoned her with an outstretched hand, gesturing towards his office door before disappearing back inside.

Ginny took her time but girlishly leaned against her boss' doorjam as he flipped through papers behind his desk, "Well?"

"New assignment. Falmouth Falcons have a new owner. I'm thinking Sunday profile, front page of the section," Felix pushed his glasses to rest at his forehead, gauging her reaction.

Ginny didn't know what was so urgent or so special that it couldn't be handed to her in a memo like all her other assignments. Reluctantly she humored him with a raised eyebrow and a droll, "Is that all?"

"This man, he's important. Ad dollars... so don't fuck it up, Potter," Felix's tone was serious in a way she'd rarely heard it. "I set up a dinner for you two tomorrow night. A five star place. I want professional dress, and I want full receipts–not forged ones–and most importantly I want a draft on my desk by Friday. This is delicate, do you understand?"

"I'm not a child, Felix. I get it. You can trust me with this. It will be honest but slightly glowing, you'll hack it to shreds and we'll start again," she promised, giving a soft smile. "Why so delicate anyway? Who is this guy?"

"It's Draco Malfoy," Felix said quickly, knocking his spectacles back onto his nose, "I'll send you the address to the restaurant. Remember, Friday," he said, shooing her from the office with a flick of his backhand, the door closing on her, pushing her out of the way.

"You're a professional," Harry murmured, barely holding on to his mirth. He poured her a large glass of wine and kissed the top of her head. "I am certain he'll want to make a good impression with the woman with the almighty quill," He grinned, moving to tend to their supper. "And if conversation falls flat, just talk about the kids."

"Like he'll care about any progeny but his own," she huffed, playing with the rim of her glass. "It's not like I'm obligated to make conversation outside the reason that I'm there. I'll get in, ask my questions, and get out. I'll even order only a little salad and make sure I circle back for the check if I have to leave immediately. In case I feel a curse bubbling up in my throat from his general git-i-ness."

"That's a girl," Harry teased, sliding a hot plate down in front of her.

Ginny had a sense that Malfoy might pull mind games, particularly if he saw how easy it was to get a rise out of her. She decided that since she'd have to be such a good sport for the good of The Prophet she should try to enjoy it. She arrived at the restaurant early, expecting Malfoy late, and ordered a glass of wine as soon as she was seated.

Felix had chosen his favorite spot in London, slightly trendy but too upscale to be hip. It was stuffy in a way that reminded Ginny of Draco Malfoy and she wondered if it was the sort of place he frequented with his wife.

A night out with Harry usually involved a pop into Hogsmeade for Rosie's mead and a good pub meal. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a restaurant with cloth napkins or even put on her best suit. It had been slightly snug across her waist but a quick transfiguration spell had fixed that.

Just as her glass arrived at the table she heard, "White wine. How dull are you?"

Ginny didn't even have to turn to see who the offender was. She simply lowered her glass and stood at her seat, offering her hand, "Mister Malfoy, a pleasure."

"Weaslette," he smirked, taking her hand in a gentle shake. "Since you've started to drink without me I think I deserve the dig," he explained, catching a nearby waiter and ordering their two fingers of their finest scotch with one ice cube before settling in across the table, "Mrs. Potter," he said with a slight head nod in a somewhat apology for the name.

The last time she had seen him in Diagon Alley years ago, she remembered him differently. He had looked tired, looked older. Perhaps her perspective had changed or maybe he was using more cosmetic charms, getting more vain. As if it was possible, she mused. Either way, his hair was more white than blond but somehow it suited him. He looked distinguished, with his pointed chin and pointed nose and startling silver eyes. He was head to toe in black, though that never changed, with a crisp suit in a flattering cut.

"Do you mind if we get down to it? I had planned to get down to the stadium before practice ends. New investment, and all of that," Draco straightened each cuff before reclining slightly in his chair, picking up his menu.

"No problem with me," Ginny said, actually relieved to hear it. She flipped open her notepad and set a quick quotes quill to wait patiently. "After we order, we'll be right to business."

Draco snapped his fingers to call a waiter and ordered the nicest steak on the menu, specifying the removal of all starches and thanking the man for his scotch. Demanding and polite, she made note of his behavior in her book. She ordered the small house salad and thanked the waiter before letting her eyes settle on Draco, really taking him in.

His movements were feline, conservative. He never moved more than he needed to. When his scotch was placed on the table he reached for it and held it, sipped it and returned it to its place with precise movement. Like a python striking, Ginny thought to herself.

"I suppose I should start with my congratulations. It isn't everyday that a man your age has the means or opportunity to purchase an international team so revered as the Falcons."

Draco could sense in the way she rolled the words around her mouth and the way they spilled from her pink lips that Ginny Weasley was definitely not getting enough sex. He highly doubted she was as competent of a journalist as to put away their family history and there was certainly no way the Weasley-cum-Potter had respect for him which lead him to one conclusion: she was flirting with him. Conscious or not, he was certain it was the case.

"Yes, well, I've always admired the team. Fan since I was a boy. It was an easy decision to make."

"Tell me, Mister Malfoy, is it the team colors or the team motto with which you identify more?" Ginny sipped her wine, amused at the thought of maybe getting the best of Draco in conversation.

"Permissum nos lucror, sive nos ne cannae lucror, permissum nos effrego pauci caput capitis," Draco murmured in Latin, "Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads," he translated.

"It's a lovely phrase. But alas, as much as that would make a lovely pull-quote for you it is the team legacy and its assets that drove the sale. I am a fan of winning, and the Falcons have  ambition that I admire," Draco admitted, crossing his legs as he reclined further into his seat.

"Tell me about your corporate pedigree. Why leave your career in business to join the Quidditch world?"

Draco seemed to be prepared for this question and took a deep breath before starting to speak. "After the war my family was disgraced. Not many people know what it is like to be cast out of the world you knew and the world that is left. I began my career specializing in the restoration and trade of antique magical items. I studied with Arthur Burkes himself, and took over Borgin & Burkes at the age of twenty-two. We bought out Dervish & Banges in Hogsmeade five years later when I inherited my father's estate. Dervish, Banges, Borgin & Burkes is now on five continents and is the premiere distributor and restorer of magical items."

"Why not Malfoy?" Ginny interrupted him at a breath and Draco seemed startled. Slightly.

"Pardon?"

"Why not add your name in there? I've always been curious. It's odd to think you would humbly resist restoring some honor to your family name," Ginny watched the way a micro-expression flickered across his brow at the word 'honor.' If he thought he was hiding anything he was terribly wrong.

"I'll only answer that off the record," he diplomatically answered, waiting until the scribbling quill was in Ginny's hand before opening his mouth to speak.

It was an answer he normally wouldn't divulge but he didn't give a second thought to what was loosening his tongue now. He didn't think of how easy she was to talk to, or how beautiful her eyes were lit up in curiosity.

"I wanted to rename the whole thing Malfoy & Burkes but I was advised against it by my lawyers," Draco admitted. "That's the real reason, the one I keep quiet. Bad for business, the Malfoy name, at least splattered across a shop window. Especially after my father..."

...killed himself.

Ginny watched as he picked up his scotch and finished the rest in one gulp. She hadn't expected to feel pity for him but was surprised to feel something more akin to understanding.

She waved a hand at their waiter from across the room and lifted Draco's empty glass in request, setting it back down as she cleared her throat. "Back on the record then?" She asked, softly.

The rest of the interview went smoothly, possibly suspiciously smoothly. Draco remembered in his third scotch that this was the woman who had brought more Potters into the world and somehow he didn't hate her for it. He found it charming the way she was quick to smile, the way she sipped her wine and the way she didn't feel self conscious about ordering dessert.

Ginny never once thought of Lucius with the exception of the moment he was brought up in conversation.

It was when he switched to coffee that she had last brought up his personal life. His separation from Astoria and bringing up Scorpius. When he admitted that the separation was full blown and he'd be divorced by year's end, Ginny made the note that it was off record even if it had never been said. Draco was tempted to ask about Harry but somehow knew it was off limits. It wasn't as though she was eager to bring up the subject either. She never even mentioned her children.

When it seemed the meal could be stalled no longer, Ginny asked for the check and thanked Draco for the interview. She glanced at her wristwatch and assured him he would make the end of practice if he needed to leave.

"Why don't you join me?" He offered, rolling his eyes slightly as one of her eyebrows shot up to her hairline, "It might make an interesting lead for the piece," he suggested, "I just bought some new brooms. I'm eager to give one a shot myself."

"Alright'" she reluctantly agreed, "but I've sworn off flying on anything faster than a Firebolt," she let him know, "So if this is a plan to have me race against the young ones, you'd better have a closet full of antiques."

"A Firebolt? That's criminal. You would think the Boy Who Lived could afford to buy the mother of his children a broom that is still in production," Draco teased, cracking a smile.

Ginny was so taken aback by a flash of authenticity from her subject (and how much more handsome it made Draco to look happy rather than smug) that she agreed to take a lap on one of the team's new Whiskwhips without realizing it. At the very least she considered it a way to educate herself on the safety of the broom—James had been asking for one for going on six months now. Draco lead the way to the nearest deserted alley.

"I'll have to be out of the stadium by eleven," she laid more terms on the engagement, reaching for his wrist to Apparate along with him. He froze but moved her hand to his other wrist. Ginny realized she must have squeezed on the mark now burned into his skin never to be removed.

"You will be. I promise," he said, producing his wand and with a crack, they were off.
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Promises