Chapter Text
chapter one
NEWSWORTHY
She knows the voices in her mind
They tell her to leave
She's tired of smiling madly
Until silence becomes very silently
A noise in her mind
— After All by Delirium
A beautiful woman with red, wavy hair smiled serenely as her husband, a tall, blond man with an air of authority, swooped down to kiss her cheek. They repeated this display of love over and over, dazzling the viewer with their perfection. Under the photo, the caption read: The Minister for Magic and his charming wife arrive at the State Dinner held last night at the French Ministry in Paris.
People across England sat at their breakfast tables with the newspaper, talking about the Minister and how good he’d been for the country since being elected five years ago. Indeed, respect for the British magical community - and their magnetic Minister - had risen greatly since he had taken office. He was the youngest Minister they’d had for decades, elected in the aftermath of a war he had managed to come out of seemingly unscathed.
After running on a pro-business, pro-Britain platform, he’d won a historic election and set to work straight away, strengthening alliances with several of their neighbours, making all the right moves to ensure that Britain still held power in Europe. He had cracked down on criminals, made several improvements to criminal laws and even introduced a Community Watch legislation, encouraging civilians to take charge of making their communities safer. Some saw this as a slippery slope to the kind of authoritarianism they had only recently escaped with the fall of the Dark Lord. In a country still recovering from those horrors, however, it had proven popular. The new Minister had unified their magical community in a way that no one else had succeeded in doing since the Great War.
And then, there was his wife.
She was an elegant woman who split her time between various charities and volunteering at St. Mungo’s every week, insisting that she be treated like any other person since she was only doing her duty as a conscientious citizen. While he came across as aristocratic and aloof, she seemed gracious, warm and kind. Part of his brilliance was having found a woman who complemented him as well as she did, softening his sharp edges to make them more palatable to the general public. He was a rich son of an old pureblood family, and her blood was purer still, but all the same, she made him seem approachable, like someone who would stop and listen to what you had to say because he cared. Like someone who could fall in love and dedicate their life to it.
Anyone who saw them together couldn’t help but fall in love with them. They were a fairy tale come true. And with the tragedy their little family had suffered all those years ago... if anyone deserved to be happy, people thought, it was definitely the Minister and his wife.
Lord and Lady Malfoy.
***
Ginny sat at the table, sipping her coffee. Skimming through the Daily Prophet, she avoided looking at the picture on the front page, skilfully passing her eyes over it as she read about the latest developments on the Eurasian Magical Trade Agreement that was currently in the works. It was the same news as yesterday—the Minister’s office was working on it, progress was being made, details unknown.
Bored, she closed the paper and pushed it away. It was noon on a Thursday, and she found herself alone, eating a very late breakfast in the family dining room. Picking up her cup, she wrapped her hands around its warmth, breathing in the delicious smell to soothe the headache she was presently nursing. She had cancelled her volunteer shift at St. Mungo’s for the day, having been too worn out from last night’s state dinner. They hadn’t gotten home until two in the morning, and after that, it had taken her a good hour to fall asleep.
You would think I’d be used to the lack of sleep by now, she thought sardonically. After all, five years is a long time.
Five years.
So much had changed during that time. Draco had become the Minister. She had gone from being Lady Malfoy to the Minister’s wife. If she had thought the transition from Ginny Weasley to Ginny Malfoy had been hard, these recent years had taught her that she hadn’t known the meaning of the word until she became The Wife. The press and public attention had been a constant in their lives from the moment Draco had decided to run, and despite the years she had spent being in newspapers, she had never quite become comfortable with the spotlight. She had gotten better at pretending, though.
A bitter smile graced her lips at the thought. Smoke and mirrors and lovely thoughts. People only saw what they wanted to see.
Everywhere she went, people practically ooh-ed and ahh-ed at her, telling her how they admired the two of them, and how inspiring they were to couples all over the country.
Inspiring.
How could an illusion be inspiring? Were people really that blind?
But I suppose we have always been good at keeping up appearances, she thought.
It had been Narcissa’s first lesson: a Malfoy must never reveal weakness. For as terrible as the press was, high society was even worse.
Involuntarily, her thoughts wandered to a time when their happiness wasn’t just a front. More than a decade had passed since they’d reentered each other’s lives, but those early years seemed so much closer and more familiar to her than the last five she’d spent as the Minister’s Wife.
She had been twenty at the time, fresh out of a journalism apprenticeship and the Great War. Harry had just broken up with her, and in a bout of rebellion against him and her family, she had moved out and taken a job at the Daily Prophet. Unfortunately, the only position available at the time was for a gossip column (Magical Musings). It was mostly boring stuff - reporting on the lives of high society brats and the new heroes of the war. There was a surprisingly large appetite in their readership for such content. Ginny supposed people needed a bit of levity in the aftermath of such dark times. Those people, unfortunately, did not include her. It was mind-numbing work that she only continued in the hopes of snagging an opening in the Sports Reporting department. Six months into the job, however, she’d hit a jackpot: Draco Malfoy.
After receiving a barrage of letters from a rather persistent woman, and having nothing more interesting to write about, Ginny had given in. After interviewing as many as twelve women, she had published an “exposé”, tearing into the so-called Slytherin Sex God, chiding him for his womanizing ways and showcasing the cascade of weeping women he left in his wake. Watch Out, Girls! Her article had read: Once he gets what he wants, this Slytherin will always Slyther-out!
Ginny cringed. It had not been her finest work, on any level.
He had been working in his family business at the time. The morning of the publication, he’d stormed into her office.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅
The door banged open, and Ginny looked up, slightly alarmed but not entirely surprised to find Draco Malfoy standing in the doorway, furious and panting.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, shaking the newspaper clutched tightly in his fist. That put her hackles up.
“Well, hello to you too, Malfoy. It’s been a while,” she said archly. “I’m doing well, thanks. How are you?”
“Don’t try to be cute, Weasley. What is this?” He repeated, storming over to slam the newspaper onto her desk. It was turned to the second page, where her article about him had been printed. “Watch out, girls? Slyther-OUT?! What are you thinking, publishing rubbish like this!”
“Malfoy—”
“What kind of gossip column does exposés anyway?”
“It’s not strictly a—”
“And why me?! What have I ever done to you, Weasley?”
Her jaw had dropped open at that. “Are you serious?”
“Do you realize how embarrassing this is for you to be writing shite like this?”
“For me?! That’s rich coming from you! I’m not the one sleeping with half of London!”
He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you actually believe this rubbish, do you?”
“Why would I write something I believed to be untrue?”
“It’s shite! Utter nonsense, all these supposed wailing women… I mean, some of these,” he gestured to the paper, “I haven’t even touched!” He jabbed a finger at Millicent Bulstrode’s photo in the centre. She had been one of the few women who wanted to go on the record. “As if I’d ever be attracted to that.”
Ginny gasped, shocked by his callousness. “Are you fat shaming her? God, you’re a prick.”
“What? No!” He looked annoyed. “It’s Bulstrode. We went to school together. She’s horrid.”
Ginny couldn’t disagree with that. The few interactions she’d had with Millicent over the years had been mildly unpleasant at best. But still… that didn’t mean Malfoy was telling the truth. If Millicent was unpopular within his social circles, he would certainly deny any involvement with her. She opened her mouth to rebut, but he continued speaking.
“Besides, don’t go all feminist on me now, Weasley. Just moments ago, you were slut shaming me. Bet you’d sing a different tune if our roles were reversed.”
“I wasn’t slut shaming you,” she protested through clenched teeth. They both knew that was a lie. “All I’m saying is, I would never sweet-talk someone, sleep with them, and then leave in the middle of the night, never to be heard from again. I mean, don’t you feel any shame?”
“No,” he sneered. “I never claimed to be looking for a wife. They knew what the deal was. They just didn’t like it. Spurned lovers, is what they are,” he emphasized the words using air quotes. “And I always treated them with respect when we were together,” he added with a frown, as if it was important to him that she knew that.
“Right, Malfoy, because twelve women would come out to get you with the exact same story—”
“As we’ve already established, I have never had anything to do with some of them.”
“—Half of them didn’t even go to Hogwarts, for Merlin’s sake! How many women could you possibly have spurned in two years?!” she finished, throwing her hands up.
When he looked at her like she was naive, Ginny decided that perhaps Malfoy, being - well, himself - probably had pissed off a dozen women in a couple of years. Or more. He arched an eyebrow as he saw the realization fill her face, and she had an urge to smack him. He was such a prick.
A beautiful, arrogant prick, her mind supplied, and she smothered the thought as soon as it surfaced.
He cleared his throat. “Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. You will print a retraction with an apology for your libellous article tomorrow. I will graciously accept, and we’ll put this all behind us.”
He nodded and started moving towards the door, the matter settled in his mind. His hand was on the doorknob when she finally found her voice to respond: “No.”
Draco froze. “Excuse me?”
“No, I will not be doing that. You can’t tell me what to do unless you own the newspaper, which you obviously do not if you have to come running to me to fix your problems.” She sat back in her chair and folded her arms.
Draco turned around. His jaw was set, frustration oozing from every pore as he struggled to keep his composure.
“Weasley, I’m this close to running out of patience. One way or another, you will be printing a retraction. Your sources lied, you didn’t do your due diligence, and you have opened yourself up to litigation,” he ticked each point off on his fingers. “And believe me, I will bury you under a mountain of it if I have to.”
Ginny raised her chin. In truth, she was beginning to worry he might be right — that Millicent Bulstrode had lied and she had failed to do proper due diligence before writing the article. Ginny knew she should be de-escalating the situation; mollifying him with empty promises till she could get the Prophet’s lawyers involved. She should be acting like a professional. But she just couldn’t help herself; couldn’t access the rational part of her brain when he stood there looking so infuriatingly smug in front of her. It wasn’t a surprise then that she heard herself saying: “Bring it on, Malfoy. I’m not afraid of you.”
With one last sneer, he turned away from her, slamming the door shut as he strode out.
A week later, when she had been in the middle of a rather nice date with Dean Thomas, he had shown up at her door with a triumphant look on his face. After barging in uninvited and unceremoniously kicking out her date, he had announced that she was looking at the new owner of the Prophet.
They were standing in her living room, facing each other from across the small space. Ginny’s eyes bulged.
“No! Tell me you didn’t.”
“Oh yes, I did!” A grin broke out across his face, and he looked like the cat that got the cream. Much to her annoyance, Ginny noticed that it made him look handsome. This could not be happening.
“What happened to burying me under a mountain of litigation?”
“Buying out the paper was faster. Now, as we’ve discussed, I expect a full retraction and an apology to be printed in tomorrow’s Prophet. And it better be a good one.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Believe it, Weasley, it’s happening.”
“No, YOU are unbelievable. First, you shag half of London and don’t have the decency to break up with these women properly—”
“This again. I’ve told you—”
“And when someone dares to call you out on it, you have a tantrum and expect me to smooth everything out for you. And when THAT doesn't work, you throw your money around and expect me to just fall in line. As if my own thoughts and feelings on this don’t matter,” she huffed. “Not to mention, you interrupted a perfectly lovely date I was having with Dean. IN MY HOME!”
He made a disgusted sound. “Trust me, Weasley. I did you a favour. You don’t want to climb that tree, short as it may be.”
“Ugh!” Ginny threw her head back, hands clutching her hair. “I can’t. Is that all you took from what I said?”
“No, that’s the only thing I found worth responding to,” he replied coolly. She narrowed her eyes.
“Get out.” She pointed to the door.
“No.” He folded his arms across his chest, muscles flexing underneath a dark shirt as he leaned back and planted himself on the wall.
“You’re being a right controlling bastard, Malfoy. You know this isn’t right.”
“No,” he pushed off the wall, all mirth suddenly gone from his face. She backed away instinctively. “What’s not right is you printing lies about me, Weasley.”
“They weren’t lies!”
“Your source gave you false information. That is the definition of a lie!” He advanced again.
“You have no proof that she lied!” This time, she moved towards him, propelled by anger.
“I don’t need proof! The onus is on you!” he jabbed a finger at her chest.
She swatted his hand away. “No, it isn’t! It’s an advice column—”
“Libellous trash!” He thundered. They were nose to nose now, him towering over her, chests rising and falling hard as their faces flushed with anger. She could feel the heat of his body on her, edging closer with every breath. He felt distractingly close.
“Ahhhh!” Ginny screamed in frustration, pushing him back. When he didn’t budge, she tried again, only this time, he caught her by the arms and slammed her back against the wall.
“Stop,” Malfoy hissed, blond hair falling into his molten eyes. There were only centimetres between them now, and the heat had bloomed into an inferno. The smell of him - clean and musky - filled her nostrils as he caged her in. It was intoxicating. She had to get away.
Ginny started twisting her body this way and that, trying to wrench free. “Weasley, if you don’t stop this right now, I can’t be responsible for what happens next.”
That only spurred her on more, and she doubled her efforts. She heaved her body against his. Malfoy cursed. Then, suddenly, he was flush against her, and Ginny could feel every muscle, every point of connection between them with burning clarity. His lips were just a whisper away, his warm breath tickling her neck. He looked – and felt – so alluring in that moment that Ginny finally understood what the other girls must’ve seen in him.
He’s so fucking hot.
She shivered.
Looking up, she was startled to find that he was looking at her, not with anger but with an intense searching look, as if he was trying to decipher something about her. They stared at each other for a long moment. Then, she was reaching up to thread her fingers into his hair, and he was bending down to meet her.
Ginny kissed him. The moment their lips touched, it was as if a dam had broken and unleashed their feelings in full force. They devoured each other, releasing the frustrations of their fight in bites and kisses and moans. Ginny pushed him onto the sofa, licking at his lips as she straddled him. His skin was soft and warm under her fingers. It was so unexpected that she sat back for a moment, tracing her fingertips along his face, across the planes of his chest, and down the flatness of his stomach, fascinated. She had thought he would feel cold; he was anything but.
Her exploration was cut short when Draco made an impatient noise and flipped them over. As he bit and sucked on her neck, Ginny felt delirious with desire. She wanted him. His hardness was pressing into her, making her wetter by the minute, and she couldn’t help but wrap her legs around him, wanting him closer. That seemed to turn him on more as his kisses became ravenous, and she lost herself to his touch...
They had shagged on her sofa, then in the hallway to her bedroom, and finally - when they were able to make it there - in her bed.
⋅ . ☽ ˚₊‧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
That had been the beginning.
After that, they became inseparable. The following year saw them falling passionately in love, surprising both of their families and society at large. On their first anniversary, he had taken her to her favourite restaurant, buying out the entire room for a candlelit dinner for two. She had been so mesmerized by the decor and the food that when, at the end of the meal, he’d taken out a ring and proposed, she’d simply squealed a loud “YES!” before jumping on him. Six months later, they were married in grand Malfoy tradition, and she became Lady Ginevra Malfoy, mistress of Malfoy Manor.
It had been the happiest day of her life.
Tasting salt in her mouth, Ginny was surprised to find wetness on her cheeks. She hadn’t cried in a while.
Letting out a shaky sigh, she got up, drying her tears and performing a glamour charm on her face before leaving the room. Walking down the ornate hallway, she noticed, as she always did when she was alone, how deafening silence really was. Picture-perfect Malfoy Manor, with all its crystal chandeliers, intricate mouldings and Persian rugs, was lifeless and empty.
Just like her.