As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be- world without end.

Centuries ago, the switch from Catholicism to Anglican occurred. The Malfoys were not a particularly religious family, but tradition they all held dear. Tradition carried their wealth, their power. It was not something to be mocked.

The Malfoys hated change.

"The new way is nearly the same," said an emissary from the king.

But it wasn't, not really. Only decades later the new religion began incorporating English.

The Malfoys didn't care about where they went to church, as, strictly speaking, they didn't. So they agreed to be whatever the King said they needed to be, because it made no difference in day to day living. Catholic, Anglican, Protestant. It didn't matter- they still stayed home on Sundays.

But when it came to funerals, tradition overruled the King's mandates. They would bid their farewells to the dead with a Latin mass, exactly the way it had been done for hundreds and hundreds of years. The family could care less about the message; the cadence and rhythm of the mass were staples in their ways. Why not let the language used for magic also mark their end- for would not their magic be the end of them all?

Time again and again the ruling powers tried to make them cease this custom. They tried to bribe them; the Malfoys just took the money and did as they pleased. They tried to punish them, but the Malfoys' power was greater than that of the crown. They tried to evict them, but their soldiers were too afraid of the family to enforce it. Eventually the Kings and Queens just gave up, and ignored them.

So for every funeral since, the Malfoys had a priest apparate from Rome to conduct a mass.

"-quia peccavi nimis cogitatione verbo, et opere: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa-"

That I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed: through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.

Draco stared at the casket in front of the altar; he wasn't really listening. The words came from his mouth, unbidden. Every once in a while, he would realize what he was saying. And why his family had clung to it so hard.

The casket was closed- it always was during the mass. This was a good thing, he supposed; that he wouldn't have to stare at his father's closed eyes. So he wouldn't be tempted to open them, to see if forgiveness lay in them- if Malfoys believed in forgiveness. Which he was pretty sure they didn't.

Had it been his fault?

There was nothing natural about Lucius's death, and it was Draco's duty to find out why.

The priest lifted the host and coughed. He was still nervous, halfway through the mass. He coughed again and said nervously, "Hoc est enim corpus meum."

This is my body.

His father's body was not bruised in any matter. No bones were broken, not a hair was out of place. His body reeked of the killing curse- stank awfully, making him want to vomit. But as far as Draco could tell, it was Lucius who had cast it.

He ran round and round it in his mind, but came up with the same conclusion every time.

Why would his father kill himself?

He had everything he had ever wanted. What cause would he have to end his own life?

He refused to believe it. Refused to say the word suicide. "He's been killed," he'd said at every question. It was a murder, dammit- Lucius couldn't have done this to himself.

Lucius couldn't have done this to him.

"You know you have to be married to inherit."

"I'm not concerned about that right now."

"You ought to be."

Could he?

"Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et perpetua luceat eis."

Grant them eternal rest, Lord, and illuminate them perpetually.

Even as the casket was lowered into the ground, Draco didn't cry.

Malfoys didn't cry.

Every moment she spent asleep was one more moment she didn't have to think about tomorrow.

She trudged into her bathroom, relieved herself, and then stared at her reflection.

"God, Ginny," she said to herself, "what the hell were you thinking?"

She'd had no intention of considering Draco's proposal initially. Her mind screamed "Hell, no!" then; a few hours later it was "absolutely not!"; then it was "no, no, no." Then Harry had to show up and piss her off, and she never functioned right when her temper was in full swing. Using the possibility of marriage as a threat didn't bother her at that point, and then with the sudden appearance of Malfoy- bearing gifts, no less- the possibility of marriage, period, wasn't so foreign.

But it sounded very, very stupid now.

After her breakfast tea, she dressed, and left for a brisk walk to the Department of Something-or-Other where her brother worked.

"Ms. Weasley," acknowledged a guard. "Good to see you."

"Percy around?"

"No, ma'am," said the other guard.

"Good," she said in relief.

The guards exchanged a baffled look.

"You can leave a message with his personal assistant," said one.

"His name is Tim. He's very efficient," informed the other.

"Thank you," she said.

"No problem, ma'am," came their reply.

Ah, he thought, and said, "Hullo, Ginny," before she even stepped through the doorway. "Your brother is unfortunately detained at the moment. Would you like to wait, or leave a message?"

"Actually," she said, entering the office, "I need your help."

Tim's eyebrows furrowed. "With what?"

"What time do you have lunch?"

"11:09," he replied promptly, then repeated, "with what?"

Ginny drew in a long sigh. "Um. I sort of need a dress."

"A dress?"

Ginny mumbled something that sounded a lot like "I'm getting married tomorrow."

He grew exceedingly uncomfortable. "Ginny, just because I'm- well. You really shouldn't assume I know where to buy dresses. Even if I did, most transvestites like women anyway-"

"I just need someone to help me pick out one," she interrupted, looking vaguely ill. "I can't ask Hermione, because she'll tell Ron and he'll go ballistic. And I can't ask any friends from school because they'll tell Harry, who will tell Hermione or Ron, or maybe even the twins if he's out getting foxed with them, and in any of those situations, I'm fucked."

"Ah," he said.

She took a deep breath and gave him a tentative smile. "And you're efficient, right?"

"That I am," Tim said. He couldn't really say no to her- she was Percy's sister, after all. "Lunch it is, then."

"Thank you." She relaxed visibly. "Meet you at that corner café?"

"11:13, no later," he promised.

He opened the dressing room door. "No," he said, "I'm not even going to bother. That's hideous."

"But-"

"No buts," he said firmly, handing her another dress. "This will be better."

"There's no straps." Bewildered she gave it back to him.

"It'll show off your cute freckles on your shoulders," he said cheerfully, toss it back at her.

"I hate my freckles," she said vehemently. She threw it at him.

"They're like a link between your hair and the dress," he continued, handing it to her again. "Red to red and white to white. It'll be a nice transition."

"You're not going to give up, are you?"

Tim considered this, then shook his head. "Probably not." He grinned and closed the door.

She shimmied it on over her hips and zipped it up easily. Of course it had to fit like a dream and make her look absolutely fabulous. She wanted to cry. Couldn't she even win an argument about clothing?

"How is it?" he asked through the door.

"Horrid," she said spitefully, sniffling.

Mildly, he replied, "I'll tell the clerk that you'll be buying it."

She tried not to freak out at the price tag. After tomorrow, she'd have more than enough money to cover the dent in her savings.

Ginny changed back into her normal clothes and folded the dress over her arm. After one last panicked look in the mirror, she went to pay for the item.

If Lucius had been suicidal over their argument, it would not have taken him an hour and twenty-seven minutes to utter the killing curse. And he honestly wouldn't think his father would bother with the killing curse- he would have used a knife, or a poison.

No evidence of either in the body.

Mea culpa.

"Mister, ah, Malfoy?"

Draco's head snapped up. "Ah. Yes. Could I reserve the church for tomorrow at ten-thirty?"

The vicar nodded. "How many guests do you anticipate?"

"None. And we hope to keep it that way."

The vicar seemed to grasp this with little difficulty.

Draco figured he'd save their families the trouble of refusing to come by just not inviting them in the first place.

He was bucking tradition, could feel it clawing at his back, demanding a full-blown affair with two thousand people sitting in the pews, announcements in the paper. I've had it up to here with tradition, he thought.

"A very short ceremony," Draco said. "We want to be married. And that's it."

"Understood."

Draco jotted a note with the particulars on it and owled it to Ginny. Hopefully she would take care of anything else.

She'd gotten a very formal owl from Draco the night before, giving her the time and the place. At ten-twenty, she apparated to the church.

Draco was already there, sitting in one of the front pews and staring at the wall. He was muttering something.

He was wearing a suit, a dark suit with dark dress robes hanging open over it. It made his hair look even whiter than usual, but his skin seemed a shade darker.

"Draco?" she said hesitantly.

He didn't seem to hear her.

She took a step closer and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Oh," he said. "Good morning. Are you ready?"

"I think so." She stared at his eyes- they were still far away. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason," and if that wasn't the lamest excuse in the world.

"I'm fine," he said again, softer, even though she hadn't asked for the reiteration. Maybe it was to prove his point, or maybe he was just strange, but he cupped her jaw then and kissed her.

"You must be the happy couple," said a jolly voice.

The vicar was short, comically so. He was probably a foot shorter than her, and she wasn't that tall. He was also very round, with stubby legs. He reminded her of a turnip.

"We must be, yes," Draco said, throwing an annoyed look at him. Apparently he didn't enjoy being interrupted.

"Would you like to get started early?"

"That would be fine," Ginny agreed instantly.

All Ginny thought of during the rites was how she was very probably ruining her life, how she was going to piss off every member of her family, every member of his family, and quite a few of her friends.

At some point, she said, "I do."

Her feet ached and she wanted to pull out her hair. Why did she ever agree to do this? Saecula saeculorum, they were together forever and ever, world without end- and he didn't seem to be the type to divorce. 'Malfoys don't divorce,' she could just hear him say. This was such a terrible idea, what had she been thinking...

"Man and wife," she heard distantly, and Draco kissed her firmly, and then she stopped thinking.

"What's it called?" she asked in that way that she just wanted something to say.

Darthaegan, and a pretty estate it was. "It's only been in the family for four hundred years," he said, "so it's actually one of our younger properties."

It was the wrong thing to say. It seemed impossible, but she paled even more than she already was.

"Come, I'll give you a tour."

He led her though the main house, pointing out portraits and rooms. Ginny looked overwhelmed, like the carpets would swallow her up.

"Could we go out into the gardens?" she asked.

"Yes, of course." He found the request odd, but complied nonetheless.

The grounds were not as well kept as those of Malfoy Manor; but there was pleasing vegetation that surrounded a nice stone patio with benches, and a fountain. They sat down on a bench in silence.

"Does this strike you as a very, very bad idea?"

"Marriage?"

She nodded.

"Well, not very, very," he hedged.

"I mean," she said softly, "the feud thing, I've already explained how insane that makes this. But we don't really have anything in common. We barely know each other- and we've only recently stopped hating each other. At least I think you've stopped hating me." She glanced up at him sharply. "Oh, god, you haven't, have you? This is all an elaborate revenge plot on my-"

"Ginny," he said irritably, "shut up."

She closed her mouth quickly.

He laced his fingers through her hair and brought her eyes up level with his. "I do not hate you. This has nothing to do with your family, or mine. For the next two days, for all intents and purposes, we do not have families."

"I'd really-"

"You talk too much," he said, and silenced her the best way he knew how.

She seemed relieved for the conversation to be over, eagerly responding to his advances. Warm, sweet, hot- he spent nearly fifteen minutes just exploring her mouth. He bent her back on the bench, and she suddenly caught her breath and said:

"You know, you can't just make out with me every time you don't like what I'm saying."

"Thanks for the warning," he replied, eyebrows quirked. "I'll have to develop other methods."

"What now?" Draco asked, exasperated.

"What do you mean, what now? We're in the middle of your garden!" She folded her arms protectively. "Is it so much to ask for our first time to be in a bed?"

"It wouldn't have been so much to ask twenty minutes ago," he growled. He mimicked a high-pitched voice. "Could we kindly move this indoors?"

"It's hardly thirty meters- it's not going to kill you."

"It might," he muttered. He pressed a hard, urgent kiss to her lips.

She moaned and pushed him away. "That," she said, "is not going to accomplish our objective."

"It'll accomplish mine."

She glared at him and stomped to the nearest entrance, straightening her blouse along the way.

"Virginia."

He caught up with her and placed his hands on her shoulders. He accelerated her pace, and steered them into the nearest available bedroom.

"This room is pink," she said in horror.

He sighed again, and pushed her into the adjoining room (which was yellow.) Swiftly, he pressed her against the wall and resumed his business.

"Aren't you even going to close the door?" she said between gasps.

Draco gave her an incredulous look and kicked it shut. "Bitch, bitch, bitch."

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You know-"

"No," he said, waving his finger, "no more talking out of you."

Maybe it was because she was feeling charitable. Maybe it was because he was doing a nice job convincing her. Or maybe it was something different altogether. But whatever the reason, her heart or his hands, she said nothing intelligible for a good hour and a half.