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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.

Chapter List
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Ginny sat at her typewriter for most of the day that followed. She hadn't slept very well, and Harry's presence next to her was distracting.

Everyone had small indiscretions, she told herself. It wasn't worth losing her cool over. Ginny was practiced in lying to herself, though, and her ease with the situation should have been a warning sign.

An indiscretion; a one night stand. She'd never had one, she'd never been anything less than faithful in her home life, and she'd never had anyone but Harry, but Ginny knew people everywhere must make these sorts of mistakes all the time. It hardly seemed worthy of upsetting Harry to dissect the night. Once that was decided, any thought of potentially calling off her marriage, or uprooting her three otherwise happy children dissolved.

Still, sitting at her typewriter with her notes of the evening open beside her, Ginny was finding it hard to concentrate.

Despite the impending deadline, she couldn't manage plugging in more than three words before her train of thought ran off. She suddenly felt more aware of her body. Her skin was soft, sensitive. When was the last time she was conscious of her toes? When had she last felt the stimulation of her scalp? She ran her fingertips over her lips as she remembered his kiss and could feel her body warm, pressing her thighs together as warning from her rational brain to the irrational. Let it be a memory, Ginny.

Let it be.

She pushed away from her desk and wandered around the empty house for a few moments, aimless. Her bare feet on the floor felt restless but melodic as she paced.

Draco woke in the morning feeling unsatisfied with his sleep. For some reason, the bed he'd just gotten used to occupying without Astoria felt large and empty again, the whole Manor seemed to echo with emptiness. The floor felt chilled, his body felt sore.

Ginny had been the first woman he'd slept with after the divorce. The celibacy streak hadn't been intended, though he supposed there was some psychological argument to be made about a lack of confidence and desire, one that seemed to fault when it came to the lady in question. It wasn't as though the tryst of the night before filled him with a positive feeling. If anything, he felt guilty for taking advantage of an unhappily married woman, no matter how right it had felt at the time.

A scalding hot shower and a quick dressing had Draco feeling a little bit more like himself, at least willing to fake it though the day. By the time he descended the grand staircase of Malfoy Manor, his facade had been restored and all thoughts of Ginny Weasley were shelved. As he brewed a cup of espresso and flicked open The Daily Prophet, he heard the mail arrive in his study across the hall. His owl, Rigel, normally well mannered and without need of doting attention seemed to be squawking murder from his perch in the study.

Draco quickly abandoned his brewing coffee and crossed the foyer to tend to the bird, noticing immediately that the shouts were out of pain. The owl was in great distress, flapping wildly as a letter it had been carrying refused to drop out of its talons. It appeared the note was sealed with twine that was also tied roughly around the leg of the bird. Draco quickly used a charm to untie the twine, Rigel taking off through the window again in immediate recoil.

The note that remained on the floor of the study, tied with the severed twine was scarlet red, stamped in silver with the word "URGENT." Draco summoned the letter, recognizing the envelope make, and slid his finger across the seal, pulling open the note. His eyes scanned the note twice before he disapparated from the spot.

Ginny had never felt so sick in her entire life. Harry had made her promise not to get out of bed, but the stuffy air of the house was sticking to her skin. Five months pregnant with her first child, the pregnancy had gone without incident until a few days prior; Ginny had woken to sharp pains across her abdomen, shooting down to her toes. It crippled her with pain so intense that she could barely move her legs. For a few short moments she wondered if she was going to die.

Harry was concerned, reasonably, until they noticed blood between her legs. Fearing the worst, they rushed to the hospital, and though the baby was apparently fine, Ginny was soon ordered to a strict regiment of potions and bedrest. Having never spent a day in her adulthood laid-up in a bed for anything other than recreation, she was besides herself with boredom. Worse yet, Ginny found all the medications and rest didn't make her feel any better.

Three months before the bed rest order she had been flying professionally, hopping off to a stadium or a party every night of the week. For the first time in her life, Ginny Weasley felt glamorous and the attention had done her well. When she figured out she was pregnant, she had kept the news a secret from Harry for an embarrassingly long time, even dangerously playing in matches while carrying her first child. She hadn't wanted the ride to come to a halt.

On bedrest she had too much time to herself to daydream. While Harry went to work, Ginny wondered what life would be like if she had decided not to have the baby. James, they'd already named him long before his conception. Or worse yet, what if James had robbed her of her legs that night they'd almost lost him? He had already grounded her for the forseen future. He was already keeping her indoors.

Sticking her head out of the bedroom window, feeling breeze on her face, even just for a moment helped her more than any medicine.

Her husband loved her home when he got there. He loved the thought of her laying in bed in her nightgown all day waiting for him. He loved her stomach. The first nights after they returned from the hospital were cool, and all the windows were open in the house at Ginny's request while she tried to let her pain pass. His hand stroked over her back, and her stomach, spooning against her as she tried to get comfortable.

"We can go back to the hospital if you want," he whispered, concerned for her continued grimace and the seemingly persistent pain.

"No, no," Ginny shook her head as she exhaled slowly. The truth was it hurt too much to move, she'd rather stay where she was. The pain was always worse at night, but she could endure it.

"What does it feel like?" he asked, part curious, part playing healer and determined to figure out a solution for her ailments.

Ginny was annoyed that he was insistent about a conversation, but as always his motives were in goodness; it was hard to push that away. The only analogy she could come up with wasn't going to please him though, and she struggled for a different way to begin.

"It's sharp, stinging... it's," she exhaled again, and drew in a quick breath, squeezing his hand on her stomach as a pang hit her. "It's like I feel him inside of me and my body is resisting it," she said reluctantly, "Like it wants him out already. I've only felt pain like it once before."

She could hear Harry breathing deepen behind her as he mulled over what she was saying. "Ginny," he said softly, barely a whisper. She was struck by how cautious he sounded, as if he knew for once what she was going to say and he was warning her not to say it.

"Do you ever feel like sometimes He's still a part of you?" She whimpered, squeezing his hand again. "Like you can still hear Him in your head?"

"No," Harry murmured, hugging her tight, "I don't."

Ginny felt ashamed for bringing Tom up. They spoke of him as little as possible, less as the time after the war came to match their time before it, but Ginny still thought of Tom more than she wanted to admit. More than once she had caught a glimpse of Harry and only seen Tom Riddle. Her true first love. The one she never spoke about. It was easier to let Harry believe he saved her, and that her memory from all that time was gone. It was a secret she never wanted him to discover. Harry had consumed evil from Tom, and shunned it; Ginny felt she had absorbed power, and it lay dormant.

"Do you?" He whispered, still concerned, his nose pressing against her the birth mark on her shoulder. She could tell he had his eyebrows stitched together, slightly angled at the center in that look of empathy that made her feel ridiculous. She could tell just by the tone of his voice.

"Not anymore," she lied. "But I remember it. It kind of feels like that, but in my stomach instead of in my head."

"I'm so sorry, Ginny," he exhaled against her neck. "So so sorry. The healers say it will pass though. You know I'm here with you every step of this."

"I know," Ginny sighed, shutting her eyes tight. She didn't bother telling Harry that that was part of the problem. He expelled a held breath on the back of her neck; it made her skin crawl.

Ginny left the house for a break from her writer's block in the early afternoon, strolling down to their corner shop for a cup of tea and a pack of cigarettes. She tapped the packet against her palm, pulling off the wrapping and taking out two cigarettes. She slid one between her lips and tucked one behind her ear, handing the rest of the pack to the man behind her in line. She had briefly taken up smoking between James and Albus' births but kept it a completely private vice. One of her secrets. From time to time she missed it with unbareable ache and she'd do the exact same thing she did that day: buy a pack and pass on the majority of it to keep the addiction in check.

London could be lovely in the late autumn. Ginny enjoyed their neighborhood, the lively color of the muggle establishments and the frequency of parks. It was easy to walk around and clear one's head within the space of a few blocks, but Ginny found herself at least a mile away from Grimmauld before she realized. At the end of her second cigarette and the end of her cup of tea, she was still completely at a loss on how to write about Draco Malfoy and how to continue avoiding the subject with Harry.

It was too late to owl her editor and complain about the interview, and she needed to have a draft completed by the morning.

She dawdled on her way back home, making a giant circle in the city maze, finding herself strolling down the high street next to dressed up shop windows filled with mannequins and beautiful clothes. Despite her firm intention to never ever under any circumstances let what happened the night before happen again, Ginny found herself unable to resist staring at an emerald green dress glimmering in a shop window for no other reason than a momentary whim of how Slytherin it was. How Malfoy.

Harry quite proudly told each of their children of how the Hogwarts sorting hat had let him choose Gryffindor when he first entered the school. He had begged to be placed in the house he thought to be most noble.

Ginny had only mentioned to one person that she too had been given a choice between those two houses. She had only chosen Gryffindor because she knew she'd never hear the end of it from her family. Only Tom Riddle knew how close she had come to being a Slytherin herself.

When she sat back down at her typewriter, Ginny cracked her fingers and slid them to the keys. With stubborn determination, she forced herself to begin to type. By the time Harry came home she had finished the piece and had begun cooking dinner, the cigarettes, the green dress, and Draco long forgotten.

Draco looked down at the sketched map an assistant had provided him with. The deal he was about to make was worth disrupting his breakfast and his entire day over. The man currently boasting about the goods Draco was trying to purchase was only continuing to talk in an attempt to drive up the price. If only the man knew how weak he seemed in Draco's eyes, he would have shut up nearly the moment he entered the room.

"Let's see it then," Draco requested, folding up the sketched map and sliding it into his own pocket, standing as the dealer opened up his parcel, soft cotton opening itself to a jagged portion of a broken mirror, about the size and shape of a goblin's head.

"It's genuine, if that's what you're wondering," the man was quick to supply, wiping sweat from his brow as he was starting to get intimidated by Malfoy's reserve and silence. "Last piece on the open market."

"I'm well aware of both of those facts," Draco said coolly, "Unfortunately the piece is useless without the others. Three have disappeared from record. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"

The man shook his head, "I could try my hardest to find out though. Place a few galleons in a few empty pockets," he supplied, seemingly eager to please. "As soon as I'm paid, of course."

"Of course. Well, do keep your ears perked," Draco reached for the mirror piece, picking it up with careful hands. "Pay the man," he directed his assistant.

When he had retreated to his office, Draco unwrapped the piece again, sliding it like a puzzle piece into the spot where it belonged. The three pieces off of record were three of the four corners, already collected long ago. The piece purchased that day was the last. For the first time in over a decade the pieces of the mirror had been assembled in one room and Draco was the one to accomplish it. With great care, he slid the pieces closer together before stepping back again, aiming his wand at the table. With an indulgent flick of his wand and a clear charm, the pieces cinched together into one solid piece of glass with a satisfying crunch.

"I don't hate it," Felix spoke, pushing the marked up draft across his desk towards Ginny, "It's just so boring."

Ginny couldn't think of a place she longed to be less than this office on this day talking about this piece.

"Blah blah, Draco Malfoy's business, blah blah, reformed Death Eater, blah blah blah, team poised to have a good season," Felix shut his eyes as he tried to formulate his thoughts. "You've got these two 'road of redemption' storylines, right? They just don't parallel enough. Maybe that's it. Chuck in more team history. Really make the echo the point of the piece. Ditch the bit about his marriage—this isn't a society piece—pad the business angle."

Ginny made shorthand notes on the corner of her piece, not bothering to talk back to Felix on the matter, giving a brief nod, "I should have a new draft for you in an hour?"

"Perfect. Go. Scribble like the wind," Felix shooed her out the door.

She settled at her desk in the bullpen and pulled out a fresh piece of parchment, dictating to her typewriter as the keys clicked along. She reached the note about Draco's marriage and lost her train of thought for a moment. She wondered if Draco had cheated, if Astoria had had enough of him fucking redheads on the desk of his office. Enough, Gin.

She rubbed her temple and pushed the thought from her mind before completing the draft, handing in the sheet and heading out to lunch to clear her head. Maybe to grab some cigarettes.

When Ginny returned from her lunch, she found a note taped to her typewriter—firm cardstock with the most infuriatingly neat and elegant script she'd ever read.

"Something to show you. My office, DBB&B, Diagon. —DM"

Ginny chewed thoughtfully on her lip debating whether or not this was worth seeing through when Felix shouted from his office, "Potter, Yeats, Hornby, Murray! You are free to go! The rest of you, line up outside my office for second round reviews!" She took the mercy as a sign, grabbed the note, and headed to Diagon Alley.

Draco's fingertips slid along the skin of her back and Ginny gave a resigned sigh. The second the breath escaped her lips, his fingertips dug into her hips and he held her firmer, controlling her movements, restricting her. He stilled her pelvis completely and let her hands fall to his chest, let her get frustrated.

"Let me... fucking... move," she whimpered, her nails digging in to his skin in punishment but he shook his head, sitting up, resettling her weight, shifting inside of her.

"Never ever ever make that sound with me again," he tucked hair behind her ear, his hands sloping over her shoulders to the center of her upper back, keeping her close. "That resigned little wounded animal noise. I never want to hear it from you. If I'm lacking in some department you need to alert me to that fact. I won't take offense."

"—I won't take much offense," he corrected himself, pausing to let his thumbs gently run over the skin of her back. "I'd rather an ego blow than hear you give unhappy little sighs for whatever reason, understand?"

Ginny pressed her hips forward, tilting the angle of Draco's desk chair back slightly, causing the both of them to tip, Draco's hands holding onto her firmly as she raised her hips and lowered them again, bringing her arms up to grip the back of the chair, attempting to keep them steady, "Let me fucking move and I won't have to make the noise," she purred against his lips, never quite kissing them, just letting hers teasingly hover over his flesh. "I promise," she whispered, pulling her face back as his hands slid down her back, gripping her ass with force, pulling her hips even closer to his.

The sharp movement made his cock slid even further inside of her, their bodies unbelievably close, making her mewl in surprise and pleasure. "That's the kind of noise I don't mind hearing," he cockily whispered in her ear, keeping his grip firm on her hips, not letting her shift from the position they were in. After a long moment, his left hand slid to her thigh, pushing her body ever so slightly out, his hips recoiling, and in a coordinated move, pulling her close again with a hip thrust, causing her to whimper again, this time followed by an involuntary twitch of her leg muscles and a soft shuddering cry that Draco instantly recognized as orgasm.

Draco kissed along her shoulder, down to her collarbone, down each soft breast, keeping their hips completely flush. Ginny caught her breath and observed him. She had been naked no more than five minutes with him and he had already made her cum. "I still fucking hate you, you know that," she murmured.

He laughed against her skin and the sound gave her a slight chill, "I told you, you can hate me," he reminded her, pulling back to watch her features, "Everyone does."

Draco's heart was beating wildly. He never thought he'd see himself so happy again, never thought he'd see a wedding band on his finger again, never thought he'd have Ginny in his arms again, kissing him, adoring him. He shut his eyes in bliss, practically smelling that sweet basil scent of her so close to him.

"Mister Malfoy, Missus Potter is here," a monotonous voice buzzed into the office, wrecking his concentration and pushing the fantasy from his mind. Draco opened his eyes to see Missus Potter staring back at him through the glass of the mirror.

"Send her in, please," Draco requested, pushing his chair from in front of the mirror, trying to regain his composure. He was pleased she had come, but he didn't expect to be so unsettled by the prospect of having her, in the flesh, in the room.

Ginny pushed into Draco's office with slight trepidation. She had faith in herself to keep the meeting professional, but not enough that she wasn't curious why he'd called. "I do hope whatever you want to show me is outside of your pants," she found herself murmuring, shutting the door with a firm click.

Draco laughed softly, "Really, Weasley, you think so little of me. Besides, I thought it was 'off the record.'" Yeah right.

Ginny blushed, unable to stop the small smile he elicited, "Touché."

"I wanted to show you that," Draco motioned to the large mirror resting against the wall to her left.

She moved into the office towards Draco, raising an eyebrow, "Please tell me you invited me to come here and admire your reflection."

"Merlin, you're a pain in the ass, will you just look at the thing?" He moved her to stand in front of it and backed away from her reflection.

Ginny looked into the glass from across the room and immediately knew what the item was. Erised. Ginny looked at herself, 15 years younger, still young and vibrant, in a Harpies' jersey. Ginny looked into the eyes of a version of herself who didn't know Harry.

"How?" Ginny dragged her eyes to Draco, confusion replaced by shock and a tinge of admiration, "Why?"

"I've been tracking down the pieces for over a decade now," Draco smiled as he sat against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her look at herself. He was dying to know what she saw, but knew she was unlikely reveal it. "The mirror was useless without all the pieces, the enchantment broken. But pop them all together and a simple repair charm will put it right."

"It used to hang in the Slytherin Common Room, long before we were at Hogwarts. Originally belonged to Slytherin himself, as the legend says. It was thought to be destroyed at the Battle of Hogwarts in the Room of Hidden Things," Draco eyed Ginny carefully. "I'm sure you know all about the Fiendfyre," at Ginny's nod he stopped talking. It was the very incident that had indebted Draco to her husband, in a sense. "I think if I had known what I was doing for a living now I would have tried much harder to stop the damn thing. So many artifacts gone beyond repair," he shrugged, "But not all of them. And I've been trying to find and restore what I can, most of it pillaged and separated after the war. Like the pieces of this beauty."

"I've been staring at it all day," he admitted with a boyish smile.

Ginny looked back at herself, turning to the side and then forward again, transfixed by the reflection, "Harry, Ron, and Hermione used to talk about it. How Harry had gotten the Philosopher's Stone by picturing himself with it."

"I see you," Draco said softly, "in my reflection. I see you with me."

Ginny felt her cheeks flame up, not daring to bring her eyes back to Draco's. "You're kidding."

"Wish I was," he said, bringing his arms to rest at his sides. "I can't stop thinking about you."

Ginny felt the cynic in her resist the claim but a more honest part of her knew she hadn't gone a few hours without thought of him either. "Malfoy—"

"—Draco," he corrected. "This isn't a line. This isn't a chat-up. This isn't me hitting on you. Well, it is the last bit a little, but not in any way that isn't earnest."

"If only I could believe you," she stepped away from the mirror, faced him square on.

Draco raised his pointer finger, drawing an X across his heart against his black robes. "How can I prove it to you?"

Ginny recognized the game. He was testing her flirtation and if she played along that was it. She was prey. But he didn't know her at all, did he? It was infuriating to think he even stood a chance at getting into her knickers again, and yet there he was: silver eyes and catlike mannerisms, telling her in no certain terms that he wanted her, desired her, and he'd swear on the honesty of it.

"Why me?" She found herself asking.

"You're pure fire, Ginny Weasley. A fucking force of nature. I can't stop thinking about your freckles, or your maddening questions. The way you fly. The way you cum."

Ginny felt goose flesh spring up on her arms as he spoke.

"I'm not an idiot. I know you won't leave Potter. He's goodness and triumph in a human package. But I can keep a secret."

Ginny had to admit his argument had a certain appeal. "No promises. We won't make any promises," she requested. "This isn't serious, and this isn't permanent."

Draco thought to his reflection, to the wedding band on his finger and the knowledge that in his reflection, Ginny was his, but he agreed. The compromise was a small price to pay.

"I can still hate you a little?" Ginny asked, and Draco nodded with a small smile.

"I think I'd actually prefer it."
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Promises