INAMORATA: THE DIAGON ALLEY PACT

- OR -

How Ginny Weasley Saved the Day

Rating: M

Pairing: Draco/Ginny

Summary: Wherein a Malfoy and a Weasley break with tradition and call a truce for the good of mankind - or at least for the good of their friends.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Notes: Companion story to my story ‘Inamorata’. This is set during that story. Hopefully it will make sense even if you haven’t read that one. Brief things you need to know: 1) I started writing ‘Inamorata’ before DH was published meaning that this is only canonically correct up to and including HBP. It doesn’t actually deviate fantastically from where DH ended up with the exception of the pairings involved. 2) If you haven’t read ‘Inamorata’ the focus of that story was the relationship of Hermione with Blaise Zabini and Marcus Flint. I only mention this because – since this is a companion story – things will crop up in this that won’t make any sense unless I do. 3) This isn’t going to be some great sprawling mammoth like ‘Inamorata’ was. Finally, I know a lot of you may come over from reading ‘Inamorata’, take one look at the pairing and flee again in rapid succession. I kind of hope you give it a little chance first, though.

PART ONE

Prompt: 021. Weeks

At the other side of the room the waitress leaned up against the restaurant bar, unaware that she had become the object of an intense study. Long legged and slender, she suited the restaurant’s neat black and white uniform perfectly and in a way that made Draco wonder what she would look like out of it. As she turned, tray in hand, he silently commanded her to glance in his direction. Brown eyes met grey ones, sparks flew; a charming blush filtered over her cheeks. The corners of Draco’s mouth curled up into an easy smile.

“Ahem!”

Casually, almost disinterestedly, Draco allowed his gaze to slide over to the woman stood next to his table – to the woman who was the real reason that he had chosen to have his supper at The Round Table that evening.

Short, fierce, and red haired, Ginny Weasley could not have resembled the blonde goddess that had been occupying Draco’s thoughts a moment earlier any less. Whereas her fellow employee was all long sleek lines, Weasley was composed of curve upon curve, including a rather spectacular bosom that Draco remembered all too well from his drunken encounter with it in the Zabini-Granger townhouse only a couple of weeks earlier. In truth, that day now seemed like a lifetime ago considering all that had happened since.

At present, her admittedly rather pretty features were creased with what could only be described as annoyance. As if to emphasise the point, she also had one hand propped upon her hip. Under her other arm there was tucked a large round tray similar to the one that the goddess had been carrying, and from the way that she was holding it Draco decided that she was probably already growing impatient with him.

“Weasley,” he greeted her, inclining his head slightly as he did so.

“Malfoy. My manager told me that you asked to speak with me.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at her clipped tone and then nodded. “Yes, yes I do,” he said, picking up his napkin and wiping his mouth with it before gesturing to the chair opposite. “Sit down, would you?”

“In case you haven’t noticed I’m supposed to be working,” she replied dryly. Her stance rather suggested that the last thing she was going to do willing was sit down opposite him.

“Oh I noticed. But I’m sure your tables can survive without those tantalising glimpses of cleavage – at least for a while, anyway. Tell me, does accidentally on purpose forgetting that one extra button increase your daily tips by much?”

Such was the flash of hostility in her eyes as he spoke that, for a second, Draco thought that she was actually going to smack him around the back of the head with her tray. Her fingers tightened and then relaxed on the dark wood rhythmically. Then she pursed her lips and said quite candidly, “By about fifteen percent, on average.”

Unable to hide his surprise, Draco’s eyes widened. “Imagine what you would get if you lost the next one as well.”

Ginny snorted at the notion. “If I did then I’d probably end up getting arrested. Now if you could get to the point that would be great. We are busy and I sort of doubt that you asked me over here to discuss fashion tips.”

“You’re right – and not just because I doubt that you could possibly say anything worth listening to on the subject of fashion.”

Ginny glared anew, forcing Draco to repress the urge to smile at her. Years of experience – of being forced into close quarters with her by her friendship with Hermione Granger and by Granger’s relationship with Blaise Zabini – had taught him that it was all too easy to push the redhead’s buttons. He was reasonably certain that he could drive her from calm and content to spluttering with rage in under a minute. It was something that never grew boring, despite the relative ease with which the change could be brought about.

Shifting slightly so that he could look up at her more easily, Draco said, “Very well, Weasley, here it is then. I am here to negotiate a truce.”

“A truce?” she asked, looking sceptical.

“A cessation of hostilities for a set period of time - in this case, long enough to tackle and resolve our mutual problem.”

“And that would be what exactly?”

Draco paused for added gravitas before saying quite seriously, “The problem that is Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger, and the complete and utter cock up they’re making of things.”

Ginny’s brow furrowed slightly. “Oh,” she said quietly, and then looked away, off to her right and towards the main floor of the restaurant. Wanting to avoid being spotted talking to her, he had chosen a spot towards the back, well away from the majority of the patrons and out of sight of the windows.

Draco did not bother to follow the direction of her gaze, guessing that she was trying to buy herself some time. Feeling generous, he allowed her to do so, all the while watching as her thoughts danced obviously over her features. The sight of them stirred his interest.

Leaning back on his chair, he said, “Are you going to sit down now?”

She looked at him sharply, as if startled, and then seemed to come to a decision.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head at the same time. The movement was awkward, stunted. Draco’s interest was further inflamed. She really did not want to talk to him – that much was obvious – and he suspected that it was not just because of the mutual dislike that they shared.

“Come on, Weasley – Ginny…” he appealed, making his voice saccharine.

She shot him an incredulous look.

Draco shrugged. “Do you see the levels that I’m willing to sink to?”

Finally, with a sigh, she said, “Okay. I’ll sit. But only for five minutes and if someone calls then I have to go. I’m not losing my job because of you.”

He smiled at her triumphantly, watching as she slid onto the chair opposite his. The tray ended up on her lap, much to his relief. If it looked like she was going to swing for him then at least he might stand a chance of getting out of the way before she could connect.

“I’ll admit that I have never been overly keen on the idea of Blaise and Granger being together,” he told her once she was settled. “But the fact of the matter is that she’s got her claws so deeply embedded in him that he’s miserable without her.”

“He should have thought of that before he decided to start carrying on with his best mate,” she replied bluntly. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him, her expression becoming hard. “Did you know about that, by the way? Did you know about what was happening with Marcus?”

“Salazar no,” Draco exclaimed.

“Don’t lie…”

“I’m not!”

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with them recently – ever since Marcus left Daphne and moved into the townhouse with Hermione and Blaise, in fact. I still can’t believe he did that.”

“I swear on any and all future Malfoys that I did not know that Blaise and Marcus were shagging,” he said firmly.

Her expression suggested that she was far from convinced, although she let the matter drop immediately. Instead, she said, “Hermione doesn’t have her claws in anyone by the way. She was in love with him.”

“Was?” Draco asked after he caught up with the abrupt change in direction.

“Is,” she admitted. After a pause, she added softly, “She’s pretty miserable as well.”

“Then why is she playing such a bloody stupid game then? I mean, honestly, what happened to that enormous brain she’s reputed to have? Why on earth would she think that giving Blaise the chance to try out his relationship with Marcus before making up his mind up as to which one he would rather be with would be a good idea?”

“Don’t ask me. She does seem to think that it’s a good idea, though. Are you telling me that you’d rather Blaise was with Hermione than Marcus? Are you willing to see Marcus lose out instead?”

Draco hesitated before replying. He needed her to cooperate, after all. “I’m just tired of seeing Blaise getting plastered and Marcus walking around like someone has punched him in the gut. It’s only been a week and they’re already in danger of making me give in to my, ah, less than charitable impulses.”

“Draco Malfoy – always looking after number one,” she observed with a roll of her eyes.

He gritted his teeth. “My point is that this all needs to be resolved sooner rather than later and you’re just the person to help me make sure that happens.”

To his astonishment a bark of laughter escaped her. Quickly bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, she choked the sound off and said, “I’m sorry. It’s just – you’ve got to be joking.”

Draco’s expression became indignant. “Why?”

“Well, come on,” she replied, seemingly astonished by his reaction. “Interfering in a friend’s love life is never a good idea.”

Setting his elbows on the tabletop, Draco leaned closer and said, “Weasley, there is a very real possibility that unless this is all sorted out soon they won’t have a life at all, let alone a love life. I’m at the end of my patience.”

Ginny’s lips curled lopsidedly before she could stop them. To his disappointment, however, she went on to shake her head. Pushing her chair back away from the table, she said, “You have clearly forgotten what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Hermione’s temper. I’m not getting involved. I’m just going to go on playing the part of the good, supportive friend, and I suggest that you do the same. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some customers to see to.”

Draco scowled as he watched her walk away, only vaguely noting the pleasant sway of her hips. He was too busy wondering where he had gone wrong. He had gone out of his way to be civil, after all - or as civil as it was possible to be when speaking to a Weasley – and she had still turned him down. She should have listened, allowing him to explain, and then agreed to cooperate.

As if sensing that his eyes were still on her, Ginny glanced back over her shoulder. Draco met her eyes and held his head at a defiant angle.

She would come around, he decided. He simply needed to show her that he was right.

If he didn’t, then he really might end up hexing his friends.

-

A relieved sigh erupted from Ginny’s lips as she re-materialised in the small, dark hallway of her flat. For a moment she remained perfectly still, enjoying the simple peace and quiet that came from being home. She deserved it. After all, she had just endured not only a double shift but an entirely too long conversation with Draco Malfoy. It was a wonder that she had made it home at all.

Barely suppressing a groan as she did so, she toed off her shoes and carefully worked out the tense muscles and tendons of her feet and legs. A flash of satisfaction went through her. They were not quite as painful as the last time she had worn that particular pair of heels.

Nudging her shoes closer to the wall, she toyed with the idea of getting a cup of tea before going to bed only to change her mind. As she turned towards her bedroom, though, she paused as she spied a puddle of light filtering out from under the living room door. Her eyes widened and she glanced at her watch, surprised that Hermione was still up.

She hesitated for a moment and then silently padded over to the living room door, opening it a crack.

The room was a mess. Piles of papers - Hermione’s research – were scattered around the place taking up most of the available surfaces and more than a little bit of the floor. As Ginny had pushed open the door, she had nearly disrupted one of the stacks. There were several heavy looking tomes as well, the likes of which Ginny had been happy to say goodbye to once she had left Hogwarts. In the middle of it all, slumped on the couch, was Hermione herself. It was clear from the open book on her knee that she had fallen asleep while reading.

Ginny tensed slightly, her mind involuntarily jumping back to the uncomfortable conversation with Malfoy earlier that evening. As much as it loathed her to admit it, he might actually have a point. Her friend had been miserable ever since she had found out that Blaise had been carrying on an affair with Marcus right under her nose, and furthermore that he had probably been doing it for some time. She was not getting any happier either, and Ginny could not help but feel that was partly due to the course of action that she had decided on.

For the first time since they had truly become close as friends, Ginny sensed that Hermione’s self-confidence had been dented. She had never seen her so indecisive before. When she had finally informed her of her plan to give Blaise an ultimatum, Ginny had been relieved. Unfortunately, the feeling had not remained when Hermione had gone on to explain exactly what that ultimatum involved. A month was a long time; anything might happen. It did not help that she was dangling Marcus in front of him at the same time.

Ginny frowned and edged sideways into the room. If she was being truthful, she knew that if she had been in Hermione’s place then she would not have wanted Blaise back at all. Her friend was obviously more forgiving – or more foolish. But then she had heard more than once that love made fools of everyone, and there really could be no doubt that Hermione was in love with Blaise.

“Hermione,” she called gently, moving towards the couch. When the brunette did not stir, Ginny reached out and gently touched her arm. “Hermione.”

“Hmm?”

“Come on, it’s bedtime.”

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, prompting Ginny to frown again as they did so. They were rimmed with red. She had been crying again. Then, all of a sudden she seemed to realise that she had accidentally fallen asleep. “Oh!” she exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. Embarrassment washed over her cheeks.

Ginny shot her a half-hearted grin, still concerned. “I’m off to bed. I’m knackered. My feet are going to drop off any minute now.”

With a nod, Hermione said, “Thanks for waking me.”

Ginny smiled again and then moved to leave the room. Hermione was just leaning forwards and starting to gather up her papers as the door closed again.

Sleep evaded her, despite how weary she felt. She fidgeted restlessly and ended up trapped inside the resulting twisted sheets. She felt too warm despite the cold front that had swept in earlier that day – the day before, she realised as she glanced over at her alarm clock. The feeling of being hot and trapped grew oppressive. With a grunt, she finally freed herself and climbed out of the bed to straighten her bedding, hoping that doing so would help her drift off. Even that proved to be troublesome. She felt clumsy, distracted.

She could not stop thinking about Hermione. Or, rather, about Hermione and Blaise, and the mess that were in. She could not stop thinking about Marcus, and the suspicions that she had begun to harbour in the days leading up to Hermione’s trip to Sicily. More than once it had occurred to her that Hermione might actually be suffering from a double betrayal - one that even she might not be completely aware of.

She ended up sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the dandelion-gold of her bedroom wall as she thought. In the dull light that managed to make it past her drapes from the street outside it almost looked mustard. Finally, she leaned forwards to rest her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees.

An idea was forming. A niggling, horrible notion was drawing breath. It was refusing to be ignored.

Malfoy, damn him, was right.

Sucking in a deep breath she stood and padded barefoot through to the kitchen. There she carefully opened one of the drawers, pulled out a pad of notepaper, and reluctantly set about scrawling a message.

There would be no harm in listening to what he had to suggest, after all.

She was reasonably certain that the creaking noise she heard as she wrote was someone moving about elsewhere in the building and not a legion of Weasley ancestors turning in their graves.