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MeiMei's X-Mas Present
For you, MeiMei, I am profane. For you, MeiMei, I write slash (and, apparently, threesome). And thus I present to you Ginny-centric H/D that's only slightly beta'd. I know it's not exactly what you asked for, but considering I am a bad purveyor of fanfiction to begin with, and have never written slash before, I hope you appreciate all of the effort I put into this. I wrote this instead of continuing reading X, watching the multitudes of anime my cousin brought over, OR completing the college apps I have yet to do. So without further ado ...
Untitled
By A. Lee
Rating: R
Prompt: Draco/anyone
When I walked in on my fiancé being fucked in the arse by Draco Malfoy, I thought that my world had ended. The man I was going to marry in a month, the man I loved, the man I thought loved me, was cheating on me! With another man! With none other than Draco Malfoy, who I had always thought he hated!
Harry didn’t notice me, too caught up was he in his pursuit of an orgasm, I’m sure, but Malfoy did. And I’ll be damned if he didn’t just smirk at me, mocking me for being the victim. And then he came and Harry came and I started screaming.
Words were exchanged, many of them. Harry started out apologetic, but I wasn’t taking any of that. He muttered something about being confused, about thinking he might love Malfoy, about not telling me because he hadn’t wanted to hurt me, all with Malfoy still smirking at me.
“So when had you planned on telling me?” I had screamed. Shrieked, really. “After we married?”
“I dunno,” he had shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far.”
“Well that much is obvious!” I yelled at him.
It degenerated from there. Although Harry tried to keep as apologetic as long as he could, he has too short a temper for that to last long. Pretty soon, he was yelling back at me, which was what I had wanted. It’s a little hard to be pissed off at a guy who just keeps on apologizing. As soon as he started screaming at me in full capslock mode, however, he also stopped thinking. He accused me of, among other things, being a frigid, insensitive bitch, not understanding him the way “Draco” did, never getting past my hero-worship of him, it being all my fault, and finally, for being bad in bed.
And Malfoy continued smirking.
The argument ended with me casting a hex in his general direction. Both he and Malfoy dodged it easily but could not return fire, being naked and not having a wand within easy reach. Then I stormed off.
If I expected comfort from my family or friends, however, I was sorely disappointed. Luna was out of town and all of my other friends were Harry’s friends first and foremost. While I ranted to Hermione, she kept on interjecting comforting platitudes like, “Don’t be silly, I’m sure Malfoy wasn’t smirking the whole time,” or “You know Harry didn’t mean that. He was just upset.”
As for my brother, not only did he take Harry’s side over mine, choosing his friend before his family, it turned out that he had known. He had known that Harry was fucking Malfoy, or to be more accurate, that Malfoy was fucking Harry, and he hadn’t told me. He tried to bluster his way through an explanation for that one, and I stayed for as long as I was confident my self-control would restrain myself from hexing him. He thought keeping it secret would protect me? That it didn’t matter because it was just a fling? The only gratifying bit of that screaming match was when Hermione found out that Ron had known and “had words” with him.
I left their house for Mum’s next, because I thought that if anyone could stifle my homicidal urges, she could. I was wrong. After she fed me a plate of homemade cookies while listening to me cry my eyes out, she patted me on the head and philosophically said, “Well at least you found out before marrying him rather than after” and then refused to talk about it. She wouldn’t let me bring Harry’s name up again. Each time I started in on him again, she would say something like, “Well, the poor child doesn’t have any parents. It’s no surprise” as if that explained everything. The two facts had no correlation with each other! Eventually, she stopped listening to me each time I brought his name up. It was clear to me that I would find no solace there.
By then, it was near midnight and I returned to my flat. I called in sick the next morning and spent the entire day in bed with Häagen-Dazs, sulking and sobbing and being really pissed off in general. By the end of the day, I was somewhat calmed down and was ready to go the work the next day.
Or so I thought.
The next day, I was too preoccupied trying to lose myself in paperwork to notice the pointing and the whispering until lunch break, when Susan pulled me aside to show me the article that Witch Weekly had put out about “Lurid Affair Between Malfoy Mogul and Boy-Who-Lived: Is Ginny Weasley the Girl-Who-Turned-Harry-Queer?” and similar spin-offs. Some nosy paparazzi had overheard my entire shouting match with Harry (not surprising … I thought everyone within a two-mile radius would hear the ruckus I raised) and had spun a load of crap out of it. Crap that everyone believed. I bore it though, until my boss asked how my fiancé was doing, while smirking, and I started screaming again before quitting right then and there, in perhaps the most spontaneous decision in my life.
Then, while trying to figure out how I was going to rectify my unemployed situation with Bill (who always has useful advice), Fleur let it slip (not maliciously, I’m sure) that Harry was still invited to the Weasley Christmas Dinner. As, apparently, was Malfoy. Bill tried to calm me down in my rage, but I felt that this was the perfect cap to a perfect day and I refused to be anything less than furious. I Floo’d home in order to yell at my mother some more, but she just turned to me and said, “He doesn’t have any other family, dear.” Whereupon I could find nothing else to say and stormed out.
It was a week before Christmas, and I had no job (and thus no money to buy anyone gifts) and nowhere to go for Christmas (because there was no fucking way I was spending Christmas across the table from my ex-fiancé and his boyfriend and try to remain civil). None of my friends were available, either. Because Luna, my only other close friend, was going to attend said Dinner for the first time as the official girlfriend of Fred and George (yes, both of them, and no don’t ask me how it works – I decided long ago I would not give it any more thought than strictly necessary because the one time I allowed myself to wonder whether she had sex with them one at a time or both at the same time, I was rewarded with mental images that will forever remain scarred in my mind).
So it was no wonder that I spent that night and the two nights following in bars where I got roaring drunk and passed out and only ever made it home safely because one of my brothers (I never found out which one) had had the foresight to pay the bartender extra money to see to it that nothing irrevocable ever happened. Four days before Christmas, while I was in the process of getting drunk, a man came up to me and tried to proposition me most sloppily. Before the bartender could throw the man out, I was trying to castrate the man with my wand. Fortunately, I was drunk and did not succeed in doing anything more than turn his privates blue and was not sent off to Azkaban, but I did decide to lay off the getting drunk bit for a while.
Three days before Christmas, as I sat in the bar escalating my tab yet again (but sticking to the less alcoholic beverages), I was reminded of why I had gotten drunk before. The patrons were whispering, pointing to me and I could hear snatches of conversation like,
“-reducing the number of eligible wizards one by one-“ (direct quote from Witch Weekly)
“-with Draco Malfoy-“
“-says she’s bad in bed-“
And so on and so forth.
I exercised enormous willpower, however, and neither got drunk nor committed homicide. I retired to bed early and woke up the next morning before noon and without a hangover. Instead of moping around in bed, as I had done for the past few days, I Floo’d to Luna’s (she had returned home the previous day). Fred and George were there, and they grinningly offered to beat Harry up for me if I wanted, then sheepishly laughed when I took them up on the offer.
“Our primary shareholder, you know,” Fred began.
“-and it wouldn’t look so good,” George finished.
I irritably brushed past them and had a good long cry with Luna, who was very sympathetic when she wasn’t going on about the Three-Eyed Impesti my tears were sure to attract. She offered me a position as journalist for the Quibbler, until I could find a real job, and I accepted with relish. It was my greatest triumph that I wrote and completed an article for the Christmas Eve edition of the Quibbler about Rita Skeeter’s lurid affair with Draco Malfoy, and their tragically-dead lovechild. The article bordered libelous (scratch that, it was libelous), but wizarding society doesn’t have laws regarding slander, and it was immensely satisfying.
Christmas Eve found me alone in my kitchen, mixing up something only slightly alcoholic as I pondered bleakly what I was going to do the following night. And for the rest of my life. Just as I was going to go against my better senses and pour an incredibly large dash of Firewhiskey in my brightly-colored drink, there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was Luna, I opened it immediately (wondering if I was wrong and I was going to get sued by either Skeeter or Malfoy).
And I saw Malfoy.
“What do you want?” I demanded rudely. The only reason I didn’t slam the door on him was because I wasn’t sure whether he could sue me over my article. He was Malfoy. I’m sure he could con large amounts of money out of anyone he felt like.
“I’m here on behalf of your family, who is very much worried about you,” he said, looking awkward for the first time in his life.
“My family sent you?” I asked him incredulously. “Are they trying to tempt me? Do they want me to go to Azkaban?”
“Well, Ron said that since it was all my fault, I could fix it,” he said, shrugging.
At least he wasn’t smirking.
“And you agreed to this?” Somehow, incredulity just kept making its way into my voice.
“Harry was worried,” he said simply.
“Well you can tell him he can take that worry and shove it up his-”
“No, hear me out,” he hurried. “He heard about your getting drunk and-”
“How the hell does he know about that?” I demanded. Getting drunk out of self-pity had been satisfying, but I certainly hadn’t wanted Harry to know that I was that upset over his actions.
“Erm, the twins told him,” he said. (Did a Malfoy just say “Erm”? Are my ears working properly?) “Anyways, he does still care about you.” That last sentence seemed to make him feel incredibly self-conscious.
“Yeah, right.”
“And I guess I’m worried about you, too,” Malfoy said grudgingly.
“You?” I snorted.
“I won’t exactly be accepted into your clan with open arms if you commit suicide,” he said defensively.
“You were smirking the whole time I fought with Harry, and my family thinks you’ll be able to comfort me in some way?” I demanded. “Are they feeling alright?”
“I wasn’t smirking!” he protested.
“Yes, you fucking were!” I screamed. “Smirking with that stupid Malfoy smirk of yours, probably lording over the fact that you had taken Harry away from me right from under my nose. Probably laughing at me for being so stupid and not realizing it earlier!”
“I was worried!” Malfoy screamed back. “Harry had just told me that we were through, that it would be our last time, that he didn’t want to hurt you! I didn’t know he was going to choose me, and I wasn’t smirking!”
“He what?” I asked, surprised.
“He was going to end our affair,” Malfoy said more calmly. “So when you came in, I thought he was going to apologize and end up with you. And I’m sorry that when I get worried or defensive or upset, my face naturally smirks. It’s not my fault.” (Notice he’s no longer denying the eternal smirk, just excusing it.)
“And you thought I would get together with him after catching him being fucked in the arse by you? What kind of wimp do you think I am?” I demanded.
“I would,” Malfoy said simply.
“What?” I asked, not quite understanding what he said.
“I l-” he cut himself off. “I care deeply for Harry,” he corrected, “and I would always be willing to get back together with him, even if he were cheating on me.”
I wondered what kind of twisted relationship he and Harry would have, if that was the mentality Malfoy had. I wondered why I didn’t feel glee at contemplating the psychological distress Harry and Malfoy would both feel in this potentially destructive relationship. (I didn’t feel bad for them, either, but I had certainly thought I would feel some kind of vindictive pleasure in seeing said ironic justice.)
I gave up. “So what do you want?” I asked finally.
“What?” he asked, not quite following my train of thought.
“I’m not giving you my blessing, nor am I forgiving either you or him,” I said matter-of-factly. “I will stop getting drunk every night, but I had been doing that anyways-” (if you didn’t count the Firewhiskey I had been planning on adding to my drink) “-and I’m not doing it for you or him.”
“Come to the Christmas Dinner tomorrow,” he said.
“No,” I said flatly.
“Harry will know you’ve forgiven him.”
“Are you deaf?” I asked. “I just said I wasn’t forgiving either you or him.”
“Your family wants it,” he said.
“The family that kept your affair from me?” I asked scathingly.
“You don’t want Luna’s first Weasley Christmas Dinner without her best friend at her side for moral support, do you?” was his last shot.
That gave me pause. Although I knew Mum approved of Luna in general, I wasn’t quite sure of her attitude regarding Luna dating both of the Twins. At the same time.
“Fine,” I said grudgingly, “I’ll go.” I didn’t add that it wasn’t for either Harry or him, because if he didn’t get it by then, he never would.
“Good,” he said, and then looked a little awkward. “So, I’ll … uh, be going then.”
“You do that,” I said, and closed the door.
And that is how I discomfited Malfoy and had an entire conversation with minimal screaming, all without letting him inside my flat.
I went to Christmas Dinner, but didn’t buy anyone any gifts (being completely and utterly broke, not to mention in debt from all of the drinking I had done) and didn’t even have to stand up for Luna once, as she withstood all interrogation from Mum with great aplomb, always tacking something on about Crumpled-Horned Something-or-others at the end of every serene answer.
As for the rest of the story? Ron and Hermione never did get married, although they did continue living together. Luna and Fred and George moved in together, and she did somehow manage to get herself married to both of them at the same time in a move that few people noticed, so tied up it was in legal loopholes. Penelope (who did marry Percy) never approved, but Fleur talked about it happening “all ze time in my grandmuzzer’s uzzer family” which led to wild speculation on the part of Fred of George on what veelas did in their spare time. Harry and Draco have not broken up yet, nor have they visibly displayed any signs of the mental anguish a destructive relationship can involve (so I’m assuming that Draco hasn’t confessed his tolerance of Harry’s potential affairs to him yet), and although I have not forgiven them yet, I have learned to tolerate them. See? I even call him Draco now, instead of Malfoy.
It did help that I got a well-paying job as a journalist at the Daily Prophet (a job I’m sure Draco had some hand in helping me to get), where I get to vent out my anger at the world in general by writing viciously true articles about anything and everything. And the editors tolerate it when I write an exposé on some politician who usually bribes the paper to keep quiet because I can always finagle exclusive interviews with important celebrities such as Minister of Magic Percy Weasley.
And that’s all I have to say. So if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with that cute bartender who works down the street.
Fin.
P.S. I decided that the ultimate present I would like for the next holiday coming up where people give me stuff is to know where to find the piano score for the soundtrack of Saiyuki... at least, the piano music portion of the soundtrack. I tried Googling it and wound up at a porn site and it was not good.
P.P.S. Have you seen HPIV yet?
Untitled
By A. Lee
Rating: R
Prompt: Draco/anyone
When I walked in on my fiancé being fucked in the arse by Draco Malfoy, I thought that my world had ended. The man I was going to marry in a month, the man I loved, the man I thought loved me, was cheating on me! With another man! With none other than Draco Malfoy, who I had always thought he hated!
Harry didn’t notice me, too caught up was he in his pursuit of an orgasm, I’m sure, but Malfoy did. And I’ll be damned if he didn’t just smirk at me, mocking me for being the victim. And then he came and Harry came and I started screaming.
Words were exchanged, many of them. Harry started out apologetic, but I wasn’t taking any of that. He muttered something about being confused, about thinking he might love Malfoy, about not telling me because he hadn’t wanted to hurt me, all with Malfoy still smirking at me.
“So when had you planned on telling me?” I had screamed. Shrieked, really. “After we married?”
“I dunno,” he had shrugged. “I hadn’t thought that far.”
“Well that much is obvious!” I yelled at him.
It degenerated from there. Although Harry tried to keep as apologetic as long as he could, he has too short a temper for that to last long. Pretty soon, he was yelling back at me, which was what I had wanted. It’s a little hard to be pissed off at a guy who just keeps on apologizing. As soon as he started screaming at me in full capslock mode, however, he also stopped thinking. He accused me of, among other things, being a frigid, insensitive bitch, not understanding him the way “Draco” did, never getting past my hero-worship of him, it being all my fault, and finally, for being bad in bed.
And Malfoy continued smirking.
The argument ended with me casting a hex in his general direction. Both he and Malfoy dodged it easily but could not return fire, being naked and not having a wand within easy reach. Then I stormed off.
If I expected comfort from my family or friends, however, I was sorely disappointed. Luna was out of town and all of my other friends were Harry’s friends first and foremost. While I ranted to Hermione, she kept on interjecting comforting platitudes like, “Don’t be silly, I’m sure Malfoy wasn’t smirking the whole time,” or “You know Harry didn’t mean that. He was just upset.”
As for my brother, not only did he take Harry’s side over mine, choosing his friend before his family, it turned out that he had known. He had known that Harry was fucking Malfoy, or to be more accurate, that Malfoy was fucking Harry, and he hadn’t told me. He tried to bluster his way through an explanation for that one, and I stayed for as long as I was confident my self-control would restrain myself from hexing him. He thought keeping it secret would protect me? That it didn’t matter because it was just a fling? The only gratifying bit of that screaming match was when Hermione found out that Ron had known and “had words” with him.
I left their house for Mum’s next, because I thought that if anyone could stifle my homicidal urges, she could. I was wrong. After she fed me a plate of homemade cookies while listening to me cry my eyes out, she patted me on the head and philosophically said, “Well at least you found out before marrying him rather than after” and then refused to talk about it. She wouldn’t let me bring Harry’s name up again. Each time I started in on him again, she would say something like, “Well, the poor child doesn’t have any parents. It’s no surprise” as if that explained everything. The two facts had no correlation with each other! Eventually, she stopped listening to me each time I brought his name up. It was clear to me that I would find no solace there.
By then, it was near midnight and I returned to my flat. I called in sick the next morning and spent the entire day in bed with Häagen-Dazs, sulking and sobbing and being really pissed off in general. By the end of the day, I was somewhat calmed down and was ready to go the work the next day.
Or so I thought.
The next day, I was too preoccupied trying to lose myself in paperwork to notice the pointing and the whispering until lunch break, when Susan pulled me aside to show me the article that Witch Weekly had put out about “Lurid Affair Between Malfoy Mogul and Boy-Who-Lived: Is Ginny Weasley the Girl-Who-Turned-Harry-Queer?” and similar spin-offs. Some nosy paparazzi had overheard my entire shouting match with Harry (not surprising … I thought everyone within a two-mile radius would hear the ruckus I raised) and had spun a load of crap out of it. Crap that everyone believed. I bore it though, until my boss asked how my fiancé was doing, while smirking, and I started screaming again before quitting right then and there, in perhaps the most spontaneous decision in my life.
Then, while trying to figure out how I was going to rectify my unemployed situation with Bill (who always has useful advice), Fleur let it slip (not maliciously, I’m sure) that Harry was still invited to the Weasley Christmas Dinner. As, apparently, was Malfoy. Bill tried to calm me down in my rage, but I felt that this was the perfect cap to a perfect day and I refused to be anything less than furious. I Floo’d home in order to yell at my mother some more, but she just turned to me and said, “He doesn’t have any other family, dear.” Whereupon I could find nothing else to say and stormed out.
It was a week before Christmas, and I had no job (and thus no money to buy anyone gifts) and nowhere to go for Christmas (because there was no fucking way I was spending Christmas across the table from my ex-fiancé and his boyfriend and try to remain civil). None of my friends were available, either. Because Luna, my only other close friend, was going to attend said Dinner for the first time as the official girlfriend of Fred and George (yes, both of them, and no don’t ask me how it works – I decided long ago I would not give it any more thought than strictly necessary because the one time I allowed myself to wonder whether she had sex with them one at a time or both at the same time, I was rewarded with mental images that will forever remain scarred in my mind).
So it was no wonder that I spent that night and the two nights following in bars where I got roaring drunk and passed out and only ever made it home safely because one of my brothers (I never found out which one) had had the foresight to pay the bartender extra money to see to it that nothing irrevocable ever happened. Four days before Christmas, while I was in the process of getting drunk, a man came up to me and tried to proposition me most sloppily. Before the bartender could throw the man out, I was trying to castrate the man with my wand. Fortunately, I was drunk and did not succeed in doing anything more than turn his privates blue and was not sent off to Azkaban, but I did decide to lay off the getting drunk bit for a while.
Three days before Christmas, as I sat in the bar escalating my tab yet again (but sticking to the less alcoholic beverages), I was reminded of why I had gotten drunk before. The patrons were whispering, pointing to me and I could hear snatches of conversation like,
“-reducing the number of eligible wizards one by one-“ (direct quote from Witch Weekly)
“-with Draco Malfoy-“
“-says she’s bad in bed-“
And so on and so forth.
I exercised enormous willpower, however, and neither got drunk nor committed homicide. I retired to bed early and woke up the next morning before noon and without a hangover. Instead of moping around in bed, as I had done for the past few days, I Floo’d to Luna’s (she had returned home the previous day). Fred and George were there, and they grinningly offered to beat Harry up for me if I wanted, then sheepishly laughed when I took them up on the offer.
“Our primary shareholder, you know,” Fred began.
“-and it wouldn’t look so good,” George finished.
I irritably brushed past them and had a good long cry with Luna, who was very sympathetic when she wasn’t going on about the Three-Eyed Impesti my tears were sure to attract. She offered me a position as journalist for the Quibbler, until I could find a real job, and I accepted with relish. It was my greatest triumph that I wrote and completed an article for the Christmas Eve edition of the Quibbler about Rita Skeeter’s lurid affair with Draco Malfoy, and their tragically-dead lovechild. The article bordered libelous (scratch that, it was libelous), but wizarding society doesn’t have laws regarding slander, and it was immensely satisfying.
Christmas Eve found me alone in my kitchen, mixing up something only slightly alcoholic as I pondered bleakly what I was going to do the following night. And for the rest of my life. Just as I was going to go against my better senses and pour an incredibly large dash of Firewhiskey in my brightly-colored drink, there was a knock at the door. Thinking it was Luna, I opened it immediately (wondering if I was wrong and I was going to get sued by either Skeeter or Malfoy).
And I saw Malfoy.
“What do you want?” I demanded rudely. The only reason I didn’t slam the door on him was because I wasn’t sure whether he could sue me over my article. He was Malfoy. I’m sure he could con large amounts of money out of anyone he felt like.
“I’m here on behalf of your family, who is very much worried about you,” he said, looking awkward for the first time in his life.
“My family sent you?” I asked him incredulously. “Are they trying to tempt me? Do they want me to go to Azkaban?”
“Well, Ron said that since it was all my fault, I could fix it,” he said, shrugging.
At least he wasn’t smirking.
“And you agreed to this?” Somehow, incredulity just kept making its way into my voice.
“Harry was worried,” he said simply.
“Well you can tell him he can take that worry and shove it up his-”
“No, hear me out,” he hurried. “He heard about your getting drunk and-”
“How the hell does he know about that?” I demanded. Getting drunk out of self-pity had been satisfying, but I certainly hadn’t wanted Harry to know that I was that upset over his actions.
“Erm, the twins told him,” he said. (Did a Malfoy just say “Erm”? Are my ears working properly?) “Anyways, he does still care about you.” That last sentence seemed to make him feel incredibly self-conscious.
“Yeah, right.”
“And I guess I’m worried about you, too,” Malfoy said grudgingly.
“You?” I snorted.
“I won’t exactly be accepted into your clan with open arms if you commit suicide,” he said defensively.
“You were smirking the whole time I fought with Harry, and my family thinks you’ll be able to comfort me in some way?” I demanded. “Are they feeling alright?”
“I wasn’t smirking!” he protested.
“Yes, you fucking were!” I screamed. “Smirking with that stupid Malfoy smirk of yours, probably lording over the fact that you had taken Harry away from me right from under my nose. Probably laughing at me for being so stupid and not realizing it earlier!”
“I was worried!” Malfoy screamed back. “Harry had just told me that we were through, that it would be our last time, that he didn’t want to hurt you! I didn’t know he was going to choose me, and I wasn’t smirking!”
“He what?” I asked, surprised.
“He was going to end our affair,” Malfoy said more calmly. “So when you came in, I thought he was going to apologize and end up with you. And I’m sorry that when I get worried or defensive or upset, my face naturally smirks. It’s not my fault.” (Notice he’s no longer denying the eternal smirk, just excusing it.)
“And you thought I would get together with him after catching him being fucked in the arse by you? What kind of wimp do you think I am?” I demanded.
“I would,” Malfoy said simply.
“What?” I asked, not quite understanding what he said.
“I l-” he cut himself off. “I care deeply for Harry,” he corrected, “and I would always be willing to get back together with him, even if he were cheating on me.”
I wondered what kind of twisted relationship he and Harry would have, if that was the mentality Malfoy had. I wondered why I didn’t feel glee at contemplating the psychological distress Harry and Malfoy would both feel in this potentially destructive relationship. (I didn’t feel bad for them, either, but I had certainly thought I would feel some kind of vindictive pleasure in seeing said ironic justice.)
I gave up. “So what do you want?” I asked finally.
“What?” he asked, not quite following my train of thought.
“I’m not giving you my blessing, nor am I forgiving either you or him,” I said matter-of-factly. “I will stop getting drunk every night, but I had been doing that anyways-” (if you didn’t count the Firewhiskey I had been planning on adding to my drink) “-and I’m not doing it for you or him.”
“Come to the Christmas Dinner tomorrow,” he said.
“No,” I said flatly.
“Harry will know you’ve forgiven him.”
“Are you deaf?” I asked. “I just said I wasn’t forgiving either you or him.”
“Your family wants it,” he said.
“The family that kept your affair from me?” I asked scathingly.
“You don’t want Luna’s first Weasley Christmas Dinner without her best friend at her side for moral support, do you?” was his last shot.
That gave me pause. Although I knew Mum approved of Luna in general, I wasn’t quite sure of her attitude regarding Luna dating both of the Twins. At the same time.
“Fine,” I said grudgingly, “I’ll go.” I didn’t add that it wasn’t for either Harry or him, because if he didn’t get it by then, he never would.
“Good,” he said, and then looked a little awkward. “So, I’ll … uh, be going then.”
“You do that,” I said, and closed the door.
And that is how I discomfited Malfoy and had an entire conversation with minimal screaming, all without letting him inside my flat.
I went to Christmas Dinner, but didn’t buy anyone any gifts (being completely and utterly broke, not to mention in debt from all of the drinking I had done) and didn’t even have to stand up for Luna once, as she withstood all interrogation from Mum with great aplomb, always tacking something on about Crumpled-Horned Something-or-others at the end of every serene answer.
As for the rest of the story? Ron and Hermione never did get married, although they did continue living together. Luna and Fred and George moved in together, and she did somehow manage to get herself married to both of them at the same time in a move that few people noticed, so tied up it was in legal loopholes. Penelope (who did marry Percy) never approved, but Fleur talked about it happening “all ze time in my grandmuzzer’s uzzer family” which led to wild speculation on the part of Fred of George on what veelas did in their spare time. Harry and Draco have not broken up yet, nor have they visibly displayed any signs of the mental anguish a destructive relationship can involve (so I’m assuming that Draco hasn’t confessed his tolerance of Harry’s potential affairs to him yet), and although I have not forgiven them yet, I have learned to tolerate them. See? I even call him Draco now, instead of Malfoy.
It did help that I got a well-paying job as a journalist at the Daily Prophet (a job I’m sure Draco had some hand in helping me to get), where I get to vent out my anger at the world in general by writing viciously true articles about anything and everything. And the editors tolerate it when I write an exposé on some politician who usually bribes the paper to keep quiet because I can always finagle exclusive interviews with important celebrities such as Minister of Magic Percy Weasley.
And that’s all I have to say. So if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with that cute bartender who works down the street.
Fin.
P.S. I decided that the ultimate present I would like for the next holiday coming up where people give me stuff is to know where to find the piano score for the soundtrack of Saiyuki... at least, the piano music portion of the soundtrack. I tried Googling it and wound up at a porn site and it was not good.
P.P.S. Have you seen HPIV yet?