Summary: She'd let her heart be broken once before, and she'd be damned if he was getting a second shot at it. He'd made a bad choice back in his past, but at the time it had seemed so right. This is the story of Hestia Jones and Caradoc Dearborn – a story about the depth of friendship and the shallowness of lust, and how no one should ever confuse the warmth of the first with the passion of the second.
Disclaimer: Characters and stuff © JK Rowling. My name is not JK Rowling. DON'T SUE.
Chapter the first: Deception
In the autumn of 1978 …
Hestia Jones had never thought that she would end up here. The tinkle of champagne glasses was muffled by the dull murmur of conversation in the ballroom. The crème de la crème of a very particular batch of the wizarding world was here tonight.
She felt like a rabbit tossed into a den of wolves. Her eyes scanned the group. Here and there the atmosphere was broken by a shrill bout of forced laughter. She'd always hated parties like these.
A slight pressure at the small of her back interrupted her thoughts.
'Deadly dull, isn't it?' said an aristocratic voice, absolutely dripping with boredom. Hestia carefully arranged an expression to match on her own face – it wasn't difficult.
'Terribly,' she muttered.
The man at her side smiled – it twisted his face in odd ways. He was tall – but then, Hestia conceded, from her viewpoint most people were tall – and blonde and well-dressed. His eyes were blue and cold. His robes were of the very latest fashion.
'My dear Hestia, you are always a breath of fresh air at these things,' he said, as he surveyed the other partygoers just as she had been doing only seconds before. 'I have missed your company this evening.'
Hestia raised an eyebrow. 'Why, Lucius,' she said, her voice laden with sarcasm. 'How nice of you to say so. Even though you have spent the last two hours whispering God-knows-what into Narcissa Black's ear, you were still thinking of me. I'm touched.'
Lucius Malfoy shot a sharp look in her direction, stunned for the briefest of moments. Then he laughed. The sound grated on Hestia's ears. How she loathed him!
'My dear, you're priceless,' he said, his eyes streaming with mirth. 'I ought to know better, I suppose – you have eyes like a hawk!'
Hestia did not laugh. 'You ought to know better,' she agreed coldly. Something about her tone was enough to make Malfoy take notice. He frowned at her.
'You aren't angry at me, are you Hestia?' he asked. 'It was a simple mistake, anyone could have-'
'What am I to you, Lucius?' she asked, her eyes not leaving the main floor of the ballroom. She refused to look at him. 'I am not some toy you can throw aside at a moment's notice for someone else. I refuse to be treated as such. You know I will not stand for these games, Lucius. You know better than to cross me.'
Malfoy frowned more deeply still. He moved around to stand in front of her and took her chin in his right hand, forcing her dark blue eyes to look into his light ones.
'Are you threatening me, Hestia?' he asked dangerously.
She glared, and jerked her face out of his grip.
'You're a pig,' she growled. 'How dare you speak to me like that? I'm leaving, and don't you dare try to stop me.' She turned on her heel and swept out of the ballroom. As she stormed down the corridor, she silently began a countdown. Five … four … three … two …
'Hestia!'
Ah, yes. She was still holding all the strings. She stopped in her tracks but did not turn around. Malfoy's footsteps hurried along the corridor towards her. His hand landed heavily on her shoulder and swivelled her around.
'Don't you walk away from me,' he warned. His anger was cold, like his eyes. Hestia responded with some ice of her own.
'Why shouldn't I?' she demanded. 'I can't mean that much to you, if you choose to spend the evening with that … that woman. Be warned, Lucius; if you choose to treat me like a plaything I shall leave you. Don't test my patience.'
Malfoy stared at her. But behind his glare there was a flicker of uncertainty.
'Hestia …'
They stared at each other. The sounds of the party filtered through from the next room. Hestia raised her eyebrows.
'Fine,' Malfoy said finally, his mouth curling back into that same, twisted smile. 'You win, Hestia. I do hate to argue with you – if this is what you want, then of course I will agree.'
Hestia's expression did not change. She wouldn't have trusted Malfoy any further than she could throw him. She let her frostiest look linger on his face for half a minute before she walked briskly past him into the ballroom. He followed, taking her hand as they reached the double doors. She let him.
Hestia Jones knew how to make men fall in love. She knew exactly how to keep them guessing. There was something about her that intrigued every man who came across her path. She had just the right combination of striking looks and fiery temperament to attract them, the perfect recipe for lust. A man would say anything to the woman he loved to get her to stay with him – particularly if she was as volatile as Hestia had the potential to be. She knew how to keep a man in line. Oh, that part was easy.
It was remarkable how much power her five foot frame could exert over men. She scarcely had to try.
Lucius steered her towards a group of men near the grand fireplace. She acknowledged each of them with a sullen nod. She made no attempt to join their conversation. Around them, light, tinkling piano music faded unceremoniously into the hum of voices. Lucius laughed and Hestia cringed inwardly. She thought longingly of her bed and the half-finished book that lay on her bedside table …
There was a crash, and a scream. The people around Hestia gasped. She gripped her wand in the hidden pocket of her dress. Lucius put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back.
'Stay here,' he muttered, heading for the door from whence the noise had come. But before he could reach it, there was another scream, which was cut short by a harsh curse and a flash of green light which extinguished every lamp in the ballroom. Hestia heard the partygoers panic and felt them rush past her as, unafraid of the sudden darkness, she pushed forward towards the door…
She pulled it open, pointing her wand into the small antechamber beyond. There was no sound except the rushing footsteps of those fleeing the hall.
'Lumos,' she said harshly. The glittering wandlight illuminated the grisly scene.
Lucius appeared at her side. The dim shapes of robed figures moved just beyond the light from Hestia's wand.
'This is not something I wanted you to see, Hestia,' Lucius admitted gravely. One of the robed men moved into the pool of light to examine the body that lay on the floor. It was a woman. Hestia felt Lucius take her wand from her numb hand, finding that she could say nothing, do nothing … her body and mind had frozen, but her heart was beating wildly. In the white light of Hestia's wand, the face of Dorcas Medowes was pale and drawn. Her body lay in a heap where it had fallen.
Lucius put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her away; but the sight remained, burned into her eyes.
'Did you know her?' he asked once they were across the room from the scene of the murder.
Hestia took a deep breath. Her numb brain finally kicked into action. A single thought crossed her mind. I must lie.
'No,' she said quietly. 'Who was she?'
Lucius smiled coldly. 'A foolish woman, who could not see when she was beaten. The Dark Lord has seen to it that she should finally understand her position in life.'
Hestia repressed the urge to shudder.
'I want to go home, Lucius,' she said shakily. 'I think I've had quite enough of this party for one night.'
Lucius nodded and handed her wand back.
'Yes. I will speak with you tomorrow. For now, go home. You are safest there.'
He took her hand, kissed it, and smiled as she left.
As soon as she was out of sight, she disapparated back to her little bedroom.
Here she sank to the floor, her body cold, her eyes streaming tears. She couldn't move, she couldn't think. Inky rivers of mascara coursed down her cheeks but she didn't care.
She was the reason. The reason Dorcas Medowes was dead.
A few days later …
James Potter made his way through the graveyard at a solemn pace. He stopped in front of a particular marker and knelt down, brushing away the ivy that was eating the stone. He didn't know whose grave it was. It looked as though no one did anymore.
'This can't go on forever, James,' said a female voice. James didn't turn. He picked another piece of ivy off the stone and sighed.
'It won't, Hestia,' he promised.
Hestia stood a little way off, behind a thicket of bushes. James knew this, although he still did not look up.
'I don't know how long I can keep this up,' she said fearfully. 'Sooner or later, he's going to see me for what I really am-'
'Hestia, don't,' James said quickly. 'You have to stay strong. You can do this.'
'I don't want people dying on my account, James,' she whispered.
There was a silence, in which James wondered what he could say. There wasn't much, he knew. Would it be different this time? Probably not. But they all had to keep going, keep fighting … and that meant Hestia too.
'You can't give up, Hestia,' he said finally. 'It'll all work out in the end.'
He heard Hestia sniff back her tears. 'Will it, James? Will it? Is that what you told Dorcas Medowes? Who will you send to the front lines now she's dead, James? I can't take this – I wasn't cut out for this game.'
He heard her begin to walk away. With a quick glance around for eavesdroppers, he jumped up and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and look at him.
They had known each other all their lives, but James barely recognised the young woman who stood before him now. Her face was tear-streaked; her dark blue eyes empty of the fire that had once lit them. Her lower lip trembled. Her elfin features were pale and the normally rosy hue of her cheeks had greatly diminished.
He hated himself for pushing her, for turning her into a spy. But she was the only one who could do it … without her, they were lost.
'You can't just walk away now,' he sighed. 'You know you can't. You're too involved with it to walk away now.'
She took a deep, shuddering breath. 'I can't handle anyone else dying while they try to protect me,' she said quietly. 'If I have to continue, then I want to continue alone.'
James frowned.
'You can't go on alone! What if something happened to you?'
'That's a chance I choose to take,' Hestia said firmly. 'Don't send anyone to sneak around behind the scenes anymore. Let me do what I do. It'll be for the best.'
She shivered and pulled her cloak around her diminutive frame.
'I should go,' she said. 'Someone might be watching.'
James sighed again. 'You'll be all right, Hestia?'
She smiled weakly.
'I can take care of myself, James,' she said. 'You ought to know that better than anyone.'
He nodded and offered his best attempt at an encouraging smile.
Hestia walked away, weaving through the tombstones. James watched her leave, wondering what he could do to help her. It felt like she was beyond his help now.
Three years previously …
Hestia sent a furious curse into the doorpost. James Potter, who was sitting idly in a chair by the window, lazily countered it with his own spell in order to save the woodwork.
'Hestia, you know, I understand your anger, but seriously, d'you mind? The place has only recently been painted.'
'How DARE she?' Hestia exploded, taking no notice of James's warning. 'She's practically forcing me into it! She can't do this; there must be some sort of law!'
'Actually, in pureblood families arranged courtships – not to mention marriages – are quite common,' said Sirius Black, who was, as always, seated at James's right hand.
Hestia glared at him.
James shrugged. 'You know he's telling the truth, Hestia. Besides, what's the point in complaining to us about it? Go and tell her where you stand. You ought to have no trouble sticking up for yourself. I can't imagine anyone successfully managing to force you into anything.'
'You don't know my mother!' Hestia despaired. 'The woman won't take no for an answer! She's practically written up the guest list already! I caught her talking to Honeydukes about wedding cakes! She's insufferable! And that Malfoy git just sucks up to her every chance he gets! I think if she had half a chance, she'd go ahead and marry him! Stuck up little bastard, thinks he's so fabulous …'
James and Sirius exchanged a glance.
'Malfoy, did you say?' Sirius murmured slowly.
'Yeah. Why?' Hestia raised her eyebrow suspiciously. 'What are you – oh Merlin, nothing good ever comes from that look of yours,' she muttered, as a slow, thoughtful smile crept across James's face.
'My Dad was talking about him,' James said, carefully avoiding Hestia's eyes. 'Lucius Malfoy, is that it?'
'Yeah, but –'
'The Malfoys are an old family,' Sirius said. 'I bet he could tell you some useful things, Hestia.'
'I bet he would, if he thought you were on his side,' James added.
Hestia glanced between the two.
'You're not actually suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?' she demanded.
James glanced up at her.
'It's not like we're saying you should marry the wanker,' he said. 'Just … pamper his ego a bit.'
Sirius nodded. 'He'd never suspect you.'
Hestia stared at them.
'You're both nuts,' she said finally. 'This is crazy – not to mention dangerous! What if he turns out to be a Death Eater?'
James laughed. 'From what you've told us about him, Hess, he sounds like nothing more than a pretty boy with a smarmy attitude. Come on! You've got to admit that it's a great idea. At the very least you'll get to go to a lot of posh parties and talk to important people.'
'And if he asks me to marry him or something?'
Sirius grinned. 'I'm sure you'll think of a severe enough insult, Hestia. You usually do.'
Hestia couldn't believe it.
But a little voice inside her head was nagging her. You could do it, it said quietly. You could do it. You could make him tell you anything.
Because she had seen the look in Malfoy's eyes the last time she'd spoken to him, and she knew that she could make him say anything – anything – to hold her attention.
The more she thought about it, the less crazy it seemed.
Back in 1978 …
It was all over the Daily Prophet. She tossed it to one side, sickened. They were saying that the Dark Lord himself had killed Dorcas Medowes. That would mean that he had been in that room, just a mere fifty feet away from where Hestia had stood.
Her flat was full of the clutter of a busy life. Dishes cluttered the sink. Items of clothing, old newspapers and magazines littered the floor. The whole flat had a faint, but particularly nose-wrinkling smell to it. It was dark, and cold. She didn't see much point in remedying the situation – these days she was hardly ever home, it seemed.
Next to the sink, a large bunch of flowers sat unceremoniously in an old jam jar. She glared at them with contempt in her eyes. They just sat there, unheeding of the poisonous look on her face, continuing to represent (or so it appeared) everything that was wrong with her life. As though she needed reminding.
She had made her choice. It was the same choice she had to re-make every morning when she woke up. It was the choice she had made three years ago, and six months after that, when she had found out that Malfoy was, in fact, a Death Eater. It was a choice that other people – good people, people so unlike those that Hestia was forced to be in the company of day in and day out – had died for. And yet, no one guessed – at least, Malfoy had never guessed that it had been her choice all along. And now she was locked into that choice. She couldn't walk away from it now. James had been right.
Hestia hated it when James was right.
She stood up and stretched. Another night waiting tables. At least Malfoy would be nowhere in sight. She went to her bedroom to change into her uniform.
When she came back into the living room, there was an owl waiting on her coffee table, looking at her expectantly. She groaned, recognising its ruffled brown feathers and altogether homely appearance. Of all the things she didn't need right now …
'Shoo!' she said loudly, waving her arms at it. 'Get out! I don't want your letter!'
The owl didn't move. Its large eyes were reproachful.
Hestia rolled her eyes.
'Why me?' she asked of no one in particular, bending down to take the parchment envelope that had been tied to the owl's leg. Relieved of its burden, the owl hopped back to the open window and flapped away into the encroaching twilight. It had long ago given up on Hestia wanting to send any kind of message in reply to its master's letters. It knew that if it hung around, there was no chance of it getting fed.
Hestia looked down at the envelope in her hands. Familiar handwriting spelled out her address carefully. She winced, wishing that he wouldn't do this. She brought out her wand. This time, she would …
But as always, something stopped her before she could mutter the curse that would see the envelope crumble into ashes. As if on autopilot, she went to the cupboard and pulled out the little wooden box she had hidden there. Opening it carefully, she slipped this new letter in to join its fellows. She tried not to think about it as she put the box back in its place, behind some old pairs of shoes.
She straightened up, brushing down her skirt. At least at work she could pretend that her life was remotely normal, she thought ruefully, as she slammed the wardrobe door shut.
That night, in London …
James Potter sat at his desk, staring at a photograph by candlelight. Smiling faces looked back at him and waved. He watched for a while as his photographic best friend whispered a joke into the ear of his photographic self. He watched as Lily, who was standing beside him in the picture, grinned and tugged on his hand to get his attention. He watched as, in a group to the far left of the picture, Dorcas Medowes laughed heartily in response to a joke of Alastor Moody's …
He sighed and rested his head in his right hand. It was always hard. Especially when he knew … if he hadn't … she wouldn't've been …
He couldn't even bring himself to think it. Instead he tried to think about how to help Hestia. No matter what she said, he couldn't allow her to carry on with this by herself. It was suicide. She needed someone out there who was willing to protect her if the whole scheme started to fall down about her ears. Even if they were horribly outnumbered. It just had to look like a back-up plan, in any case. Just so he could say, if the worst were to happen, that at least he had done everything he could.
Just so that, if Hestia lost her nerve at the crucial moment, James could still sleep at nights knowing that he had done something. It wasn't entirely selfless, but there you were.
But try as he might, he was at a loss for plans. This almost never happened to him. He cast his eyes over the faces of the Order in his photograph, searching for the answer. It stubbornly eluded him.
A hand sneaked over his shoulder. He jumped and looked up into Lily's face.
'Oh, hey,' he said. 'You gave me a fright.'
She looked sad as she noticed the photo he was agonising over.
'Why do you torture yourself like this, James?' she sighed.
James shrugged and looked back at the photograph. 'I don't know,' he admitted quietly. 'I guess I feel like I deserve to be tortured a little bit, you know?'
'Oh, James,' Lily murmured softly. 'You're too much of a Gryffindor for your own good, sometimes. Why don't you come to bed? It's too late for this – you'll never accomplish anything if you just stare at that picture all night.'
James thought about this for a second.
'I suppose you're right,' he said finally. He stood up and stretched. 'It'll probably work out better if I sleep on it.' He yawned. Lily smiled and kissed him.
'Good boy,' she said happily.
James smiled back and squeezed her hand.
'You go on ahead – I'll be up in a second. I'll just clean up a bit down here.'
Lily nodded, kissed him again, and then headed out of the study and up to the bedroom. James looked around the little room. He closed the curtains against the dark night and went across to his desk to put out his candle. He paused over the photograph.
Dorcas Medowes waved and winked. He sighed.
Then he saw someone tap her on the shoulder. She turned to listen to the conversation of this newcomer.
James watched Caradoc Dearborn talk quietly and seriously to Dorcas for almost a full minute before he was aware of Lily's voice calling him from the top of the stairs.
'Coming, love!' he called back, thoughtfully reaching for the candle. The room and the photograph were enveloped in darkness. He headed upstairs, a new plan kindling in his brain …
