I am so embarrassed how long it's taken me to update. I'm sorry. Lots of stuff going on in Real Life and...anyway, thank you for bearing with me.

To answer the question one reviewer posed….If my calculations are correct,
Draco/Ron/Harry/Hermione/etc began attending Hogwarts in '91.

Ginny/Luna/Colin Creevey were a year behind them, in '92

Astoria was a year behind Ginny in '93.

I think. Please correct me if I'm wrong on that. I put the story three years after the War set in August, so Astoria has graduated and had a few months in the summer off, and Ginny has played professionally for two years. Draco Malfoy's birthday is June 5th, 1980—so he'd have just turned 20. I think—someone want to double-check my math?

Also: HMSM - Her Majesty's Ship, Magic.

I'm a little nervous about this chapter, because I'm trying to bring multiple plotlines together...if it seems awkward, I'm sorry, it'll make sense later. I hope, anyway!

Draco was sprawled out on his white leather couch, feet dangling over the armrest. One arm was resting across his stomach, and the other he was running through his hair in mild frustration. He was trying to figure out how he could talk to Astoria and not come across like some crazy stalker. He finally decided to Floo Marcus Flint. They hadn't spoken since Flint graduated years ago, and the invitation he'd sent for the Harpy's preseason party had come as a bit of a surprise.

"Yeah?" Marcus' rough voice echoed through Draco's fireplace.

"Fancy coming over for a beer? I have a question for you." Draco breathed a prayer to Merlin and Salazar that Flint wouldn't mind coming over for a bit. They hadn't been overly close at Hogwarts, and certainly hadn't kept it touch since they graduated.

"Yeah, sure, the Manor?" Flint's face withdrew momentarily, and Draco knew he was reaching for Floo Powder.

"No, no, my flat. Number 42 Foulmouth is the address for the Floo."

"Bloody hell, mate, Foulmouth?" Draco laughed at the double take and expression of surprise that Flint had plastered across his face.

"I'll explain when you get here." Draco withdrew from his fireplace and ended the connection. The fire flashed green and a second later Marcus stepped through, looking around the Flat with unconcealed curiosity.

Draco handed him a butterbeer and got right to the point. "So, I need your advice."

Flint took a long swig and walked out of the living room and down the hall, sticking his head into the various rooms. "Yeah? Go ahead. What the hell are you doing in a muggle place anyway?"

Draco followed after the larger man, trying to keep Marcus' attention. "This isn't a muggle place. Foulmouth is a wizarding community-you know that. Father put me in charge of the shipping part of the Malfoy business—hey, hey, that's my room." Draco pulled the door shut and herded Marcus back to the living room.

"Will you just listen a second?" Draco's patience was nearly exhausted.

Marcus settled into the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Draco reigned in his temper, glaring at the thought of his ridiculous boots scuffing the wood. "You called me here because you want to know about my sister-in-law." Marcus finished his beer and looked at Draco smugly.

"You know, nevermind. If you're going to be a smartass about it, I don't need your help." Draco set his butterbeer, untasted, down on the coffee table, regretting ever calling his old Quidditch captain.

"Well, I can't really help you. At Hogwarts I had nearly graduated before she started, so I don't know who her friends were. The Carrow twins, I guess." Marcus shrugged.

"Well, does she still hang out with them? What does she like doing? C'mon, man, give me something here."

"I really can't help you, mate. She barely says anything whenever there's a family dinner." Marcus clasped his hands behind his head and leaned into the couch, staring at the ceiling. He continued, thoughtfully, "All she does is go to Quidditch, occasionally hang out with the Weasley little sister—the fine redhead, what's her name?-and hide in her room. So I don't know what she likes, or how you could even go about talking to her."

Draco, mollified that Marcus was actually making an effort to help, asked, "What about your wife? Couldn't you have us over for dinner at the same time, or something?" Draco was almost embarrassed how desperate he sounded.

"Nah." Marcus shook his head. "Astoria really doesn't get along with her sister. Maybe you could give up cheering for your beloved Falcons and start rooting for the Harpies." Marcus smirked at Draco.

"That's a terrible idea." Draco rolled his eyes. "When did you become a Harpy fan anyway?"

Marcus scoffed, "I'm not a Harpy fan."

"Then why did you invite the entire Slytherin Quidditch team to their party?" Draco shot Marcus a pointed look.

"Because Mr. Greengrass is trying to find an eligible suitor for Astoria. He asked me to invite all the guys I knew." Marcus had the good sense to look embarrassed.

"That whole party was a match-making effort?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Marcus grinned. "Or did you even find the courage to talk to her?"

"I don't need find courage to talk to anyone." Draco grabbed his beer and drank some in a huff when Marcus started laughing.

Marcus choked out amidst his laughter, "Then, mate, why'd you call me over to help you figure out how to talk to her?"

Still chuckling, Marcus stood up and clapped Draco's shoulder. "I gotta get going, Daphne doesn't like it when I'm late for dinner."

Draco followed Marcus to the Floo. "Thanks. If you think of something, let me know?"

"Yeah. Good luck." Marcus grinned, amused at Draco, and disappeared through the Floo.

Draco trudged into his kitchen, preoccupied with thoughts of Astoria. He leaned against the marbled countertop, and mulled over the best way to approach Astoria. He briefly considered apparating directly to the Greengrass mansion, but, based off the conversations he had with Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass and Marcus, he was fairly certain that Astoria wouldn't even give him a chance if she realized he was trying to court her. Draco had absolutely no qualms about being direct when he wanted something, but he'd learned that the Slytherin approach was often more successful. Sneaky, suave, manipulative—whatever term you used, Draco knew that getting Astoria to recognize he existed—and then fall in love with him—was going to require planning and finesse. And an incredible amount of subtlety.

After a few more minutes of deliberation, Draco finally decided to consult "that fine redhead," even though he didn't expect much help from a Weasley. He accio'ed a quill and parchment and carefully penned,

Miss Weasley,

The pleasure of your company is requested at Number 42 Foulmouth Flat at your earliest convenience.

Respectfully,

Draco Malfoy

He tied the parchment to his owl's leg, and told him sternly, "Don't let Potter get it, only Ginny Weasley. Got it?"

After the bird took off, he decided to take a walk along the docks to clear his mind. His father had been absolutely clear that he'd be cut off from the family fortune and his entire inheritance if he did not marry a pureblood witch before his 21st birthday. He had a little less than a year left. "Damn the old man and his pureblood mania." Draco thought to himself. It wasn't until a half-hour later, while he was reviewing the shipping logs with the supply officer and captain of the shipping vessel HMSM Compass that he received a reply.

While the captain waited politely for him to return his attention to the inventoried descriptions, Draco opened the letter and read,

"What, exactly, do you want?"

"Damn." Draco muttered. The captain courteously slid a blank parchment toward Draco, and stroked his beard while continuing his conversation with the supply officer. "Thank you." Draco took the parchment and thought through his response.

He wrote, deliberately,

"Miss Weasley,

You are a subject matter expert, and I am in dire need of your opinion and advice. If you do not wish to meet at my flat, I am amenable to a location of your choosing.

No tricks. I really am just asking for your help.

Respectfully,

Draco Malfoy"

He gave the bird the same instructions, and watched as it took off through the window.

Draco finished reviewing the past month's ledger and walked along the docks back to his office. He strode past the small office pool and into the foyer outside of his office. He told the secretary, an elderly Hufflepuff woman, to schedule an appointment with the captain of the HMSM Adventure when it returned to port. Draco also ordered his secretary to schedule a meeting with the heads of the manufacturing companies to discuss a shipping venture expansion to the Americas. "And," he added, "can you get me season tickets to the Holyhead Harpies game?"

"Of course, Master Malfoy. I'll have them on your desk tomorrow, unless you'd like them delivered to your home. I'm assuming you want the executive box reserved?" His secretary looked at him over her horn-rimmed glasses.

"That will be perfect, Louisa, thank you." Draco nodded, and then apparated back to his flat. The cool sea air wasn't doing much to distract him from his Astoria conundrum. Draco walked through the front door and kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie. He wandered into the kitchen and was about to pour himself a drink when voice called out from his living room.

"Draco?"

He dropped his glass in shock and immediately brandished his wand.

Repairo. The voice belonged to Ginny Weasley, and she repaired the glass shards as she walked into the kitchen. She leaned down to pick up newly unshattered glass and handed it to Draco, who was slowly lowering his wand.

"How the fuck did you get into my apartment?" Draco took the glass and, using aguamenti he filled it up and took a sip. He glared at her over the edge of the glass.

"I flooed. You left it unlocked." She shrugged, and regarded Draco warily. "You asked me here, remember?"

"Yeah, I just—" Draco took a deep breath to settle himself. He had thought momentarily that one of the right-wing Death Eater haters had broken into his house. He'd been threatened enough immediately following the war and the trials. Life was just finally starting to settle for him. Draco finally spoke again, a little stiffly, "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thank you."

Draco walked over to the table and leaned against it. "I was expecting an owl. Thank you for coming."

"Could you hurry it up, Malfoy, I'm meeting a friend for dinner." Ginny's tone was completely neutral. Draco wasn't sure if she was hiding disgust—a frequent tone employed when people found out he was a Death Eater—or anger, he couldn't get a read on her at all.

"Yes. I'll be quick. Please, sit down?" He pulled a chair out for her, and asked, "Who are you meeting?"

"A quidditch teammate." She slid into the seat, gracefully, and folded her hands. She was giving him exactly ten minutes, and then she was going to leave.

Draco sat down across from her and fiddled with his glass. He finally spoke, "I know that your parents are…" he spoke the word delicately, "…Blood Traitors, no offense, and so you probably don't understand the pressures I'm under from my parents."

"Like what?" Ginny crossed her arms as her mind raced furiously, trying to figure out where Draco was leading with this discussion.

Draco sighed. "My father has given me until my 21st birthday to be married to a pureblood witch. If not, he will arrange the marriage for me. And, I don't know if your brothers incorporated that damn binding oath, the unbreakable vows, into their weddings, but that is custom among…" Draco floundered for the right word again, and finally settled on, "…proper, upstanding pure-blood families."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, the unbreakable vow is pretty standard at wizard weddings, even blood traitors." She said the last with a smile.

"Then you understand why I'm hesitant to commit myself with an unbreakable vow in an arranged marriage." Draco's tone was flat

"So, let me get this straight." She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. "You have less than a year to find a witch and marry her or your father will force you to marry a girl he picks, and if you cheat, or attempt a divorce, it will result in your death."

"A little crassly put, but yes." Draco drummed his long, slender fingers on the table.

Ginny tried not to laugh, but a small giggle escaped her. "I'm sorry for laughing, Draco, but, seriously?"

"Yes." Draco pursed his lips.

Biting her lip to keep her smile under control, Ginny asked, "Well, so, what the hell do you need me for?"

Draco spoke softly, and avoided eye contact with Ginny. "I would like your advice on how to approach one of your quidditch teammates."