Disclaimer: : This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's apologies: You have to believe me; I am very sorry that it has taken me so long to update. I really have been busy (bad excuse I know.) But this chapter did not, like chapter two, seem to write itself. In fact it was quite like wading knee deep through mud. But I hope you forgive me and update anyway!
Chapter three: Kindness
He says nothing for several minutes. It is just us and the deafening sound of the lift as it carries us to ground level. I can smell him and for a moment andI feel as though transported back in time when I had the pleasure of regarding him as a nameless and faceless being. A phantom stalker.
My pulse is throbbing in the hollow of my throat when he begins to speak. My hair clings in a cold sweat to the back of my neck.
"Ginevra." He says coldly.
I swallow and clear my throat which is suddenly to dry for speech. I feel faint with hunger and fear, and an indescribable something that I only associate with him.
"I was hoping to find you here today."
There is a drumming in my ears.
"Did-" my voice breaks "did you?" I can only speak above a whisper. Anything else is impossible.
"Mmm, yes" he says condescendingly "Though I daresay that you did not find what you had come for today."
I am not sure, for a moment, what he means. I turn half way to face him.
"What-" but I stop, because suddenly I remember. The money.
God he's right. Bastard.
He's smirking at me right now, looking everything and nothing like Draco. I find though that I barely care. It doesn't matter to me now.
The air around me is pulsing surreally. I feel as though I'm floating in some kind of wonderful, or terrible, nightmare.
"Pity" he says. He is sneering again, looking at my clothes I'm sure.
"Makes you feel good does it?" A burst of adrenaline is coursing through me, making me unable to think before I speak. "To know that there will always be people with out trust funds that they haven't earned?"
"And there will always be people that do" he drawls.
I can feel the heat rising to my face. The sensation to flee or to hit him with his own caneis overwhelming, and through my wrath he is still speaking calmly. As though he is not the arch nemesis of my dead father. As though we do not hate everything about the other. It is maddening me. I can feel the blood rush to my face, and I am conscious of the fact that I look as though I'm blushing. "But enough of this Ginevra. Do you know" he continuesin asilken drawl "the Leaky Cauldron is around the corner? I'm sure you haven't eaten today…" 'Or for three days' hangs unspoken in the air.
My mother's temper flares fiercely with in me, and though it is legendary I cannot believe his gall. Something scathing forms on my lips but the lift has just come to a sudden halt and the doors fly open with a sudden burst of stark light. A crowd is waiting, and I seize perhaps the only opportunity for escape, and slip in between them. But I feel the undeniable pressure of Lucius' hand gripping my upper arm.
He steers me gently out of the Ministry and on to the sidewalk. The feel of his hand on my arm is burning me with some indescribable thrill of exhilaration and anxiety.
It's cold on the sidewalk. It's so cold that I can see my breath come and go in jets of fog, and I feel myself shiver beneath his hand. My ruined jacket is at home and I apperated to the Ministry.
I wrap one arm around my breasts, rubbing the arm closest to him in a vain attempt to keep warm. He notices. I'm sure he does, but he says nothing. He just walks with his impeccable posture and sneers at everything with in eye sight.
It gives me a sense of smug satisfaction to see him so clearly out of his element.
The muggles that are passing us look strangely at us, and I can't blame them. I must look ridiculous in my thin blouse, next to a man twice my age, who is wearing a floor length cloak and holding me by the arm.
We stop. It is so abruptly that I stumble a step or two ahead of him but he pulls me back. I look around, but the Leaky Cauldron is at least another three blocks in front of us.
'Shit head' I long to say.
He is looking at me with a piercing gaze. The same one he used last night. For a moment I am sure that he is about to curse me, or kiss me, or both. He does neither. I tremble. Maybe this is it. He will kill me here; in front of all of the muggles and go back to prison. Or maybe they'll let him off, again. They'll say it was a mercy killing. And the muggles that witnessed it? Well, who ever said that money can't buy you happiness?
I look at him expectantly, preparing my self for a quick and (admittedly) merciful death. But I am again disappointed. He is unreadable as he drapes his own cloak over my shoulders. And I am so overwhelmingly grateful, and shocked, that I stutter twice and let him tuck my arm beneath his.
I am going soft. Though this thought has often crossed my mind when I think of her, I am now hypersensitive to its implications. Perhaps it is a combination of love and old age, but I have an alarming amount of sentiment attached to this girl. This woman-child who has me so totally and utterly smitten and disgusted with her that it repulses me.
I wasn't expecting to see her this afternoon. I lied to her; shocking, I know. But my instincts that usually tie me to Ginevra were still back in the ally way along with my cover this morning.
I had been walking by and heard my name spoken aloud. I am used to being spoken about behind my back. I do not have a good reputation, but the amount of galleons that I give to charitable organizations usually squash that instinct of my inferiors to drag my name through the mud. At least not in mixed company.
When I saw her in his office I nearly forgot that she had any family left. I had nearly forgotten that any but she existed.
I am loosing my edge. I did not know that love could be this degrading. I never loved Narcissa. Oh, don't misunderstand me; I certainly thought that I did. But at the time and place that we existed as husband and wife, I had not met her. My maddening red haired Siren.
It all seems beyond my control, as I sit in a private parlor with her and watch the delicate slope of her nose as she eats.
We are watching each other. For a moment I feel as though a large part of my life has been leading up to this moment, and then I realize the absurdity of my emotion.
I know somehow that I cannot restrain my self from her for long. To deny myself the fruits of my labor can not be healthy, or so I tell myself. She is irresistible. The fine curl of her hair, the arch of her brow…
Narcissa's memory fades in her presence. I fear that I am loosing my soul.
"How long have you been following me?" he voice is gravelly from smoking. She'll have to quit.
"Seven months" I say before taking a sip of my scotch.
I can tell what she is thinking. I do not need legimancy to know, I already have a valuable weapon at my disposal.
True, I have not told her of my intentions yet. And if it had not been for last night I may have never found the perfect moment to reveal myself to her. I may have haunted her for the rest of our natural born lives.
But that would have never done. No, I shall have to make my intentions clear to her. I just pray that she has the good sense not to ask.But not now. Now I will do something that I am not known for, something that, if you do not know me intimately, is entirely out of my character.
Kindness. It is not my forte, and I have rebuked many who practice it, but it appears to be paramount in wooing Ginny.
"What for?"
Damn!
I dare not show her my hand. Instead I lean over the table casually and whisper something in her ear. It is a line that I have used before, with other women. It is tacky, I know, and Ginnevra deserves better. But it has done its job.
She smiles. Her thin face is lit with a temporary glow, a shadow of the Ginny that lived before the war.
Her smile as ignited a warm flame in my soul. For all that she has tried to wipe it from her face when she realizes what has happened, I have already seen it.
Beautiful.
