Chapter 35
Snake in the Grass
A WEEK had past since Ron sent the letter to Luna; and still he had yet to hear anything from her. He had figured that either the damn bird was bloody lost or it had simply died. There was also the possibility that Luna didn't want to meet with him.
As he sat there sifting through his papers that lay scattered on his desk, his head began to throb with the dull pain of a headache. The Holidays were always the busiest time of year for magical accidents, especially things like a charm gone wrong, usually a word mispronounced due to the intake of too much eggnog at Christmas parties and family gatherings. Most of these people ended up having to go to St. Mungo's for treatment, but none the less reports had to be filed, and then it was determined if the incident was an accident or not. Sometimes it got rather mundane.
He had been to see Ginny and Ian several times since he discussed the issue of Luna with her. Ian was growing on him, he reminded him of Fred and George; the little booger wasn't afraid of anything and he seemed to have a knack for getting into to trouble like them too. He didn't have much conversation with Malfoy, but he guessed for a Malfoy he was alright, mostly he wasn't there when Ron would visit.
Harry had been scarce sine he had taken on the task of investigating the Ulrick woman. He had even missed Sunday dinner with them, his mother had been disappointed. He didn't even send a note of apology to her, which was not like him seeing as he always sent a note explaining his absence. Even Ginny was a little upset that he had missed it. Personally Ron was glad he missed it, it was enough to have the entire family there and then the Draco and his mother. But Malfoy was pleasant enough, for Malfoy.
Ron signed off on a couple of reports and laid them in his to be filed basket for his secretary. He looked at the clock on the wall; it was nearly time to go home: Hermione had gone to stay with her parents and wouldn't be back until the day before the wedding, now only a week away. Leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes Ron sighed loudly as he rubbed his throbbing temples.
"Ronald," said a woman's voice from the doorway.
Ron nearly turned his chair over he sat forward so fast.
"Luna," he said surprised.
"I got your letter," she said somewhat languorously. "It sounded rather urgent."
Ron stood from his chair and moved around the desk.
"Is Harry okay?" she asked sincerely.
"Yeah, Harry's fine." Ron nodded his head.
She laid her hand on her chest and blew out a relieved breath. "Thank Merlin; I was concerned something was the matter with him by the tone of your letter."
Ron looked at her quizzically. "I thought you called it quits with Harry?"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean I don't care about what happens to him Ronald."
Ron pulled his face in a semi-understanding expression.
"Actually Luna," Ron said, moving behind her closing the door to his small office. "The letter had nothing to do with Harry."
"Then what?" She turned following Ron with her large eyes.
"I wanted to talk to you about my brother Percy." He strode back and propped on the edge of his desk.
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I read the bit in The Quibbler where you said you saw him—
"In Egypt," she said in much less dreamy voice.
"Who exactly was the person, or how was it you put it?"
"Suspicious character," she said taking a seat in a narrow wooden chair across from Ron's desk. "I don't know who he was; he had long dark hair and an American accent. He was rather a handsome man, but very intimidating looking, his square, unshaven face only added to the cold, hard blueness of his eyes." She crossed her legs and arms, leaning back in the high backed chair.
"And Percy, you said he was rather well dressed?"
"Oh I should say so; he looked as if he were one of those dressed up mannequins in a boutique window. Black three piece suit, cufflinks, tie and a fancy walking stick. He looked rather handsome himself."
"And you're sure it was Percy?"
"Yes, Ronald," she answered, "I am positive."
"Who were the buffoons you said he had escort you away?"
"I didn't know them."
"I wonder what he was doing there." Ron said more so to himself than Luna.
He stared at his shoes in silence for several moments. Then he snapped his head up quickly.
"Wait a minute," he said, then turned and leaned over his desk opening one of the side drawers. "You said a dark haired man, right," his voice strained as he stretched.
"Yes."
Ron turned around with a piece a parchment in his hand, with a well drawn graphite picture of a man on it. He held it out to Luna; she took it and studied it for a mere second.
"This is him; this is the man that I saw with Percy." She handed the parchment back to him. "Why do you have that?"
"This man," he said taking the picture and looking at it, "was at the Malfoy Manor after it was burned to the ground, this man was found rummaging through Ginny's apartment in Diagon Alley, and Hermione also saw him meeting with Vincent Crabbe in Uther Park," Ron paused briefly, "he is also following a woman named Cerci Ulrick, who is here in London, whom I might add had a mother, now deceased went to Hogwarts."
Luna looked at him thinking about what he had just said.
"Ulrick, I know that name."
"Yeah they're some well-to-do wizarding family in America apparently."
"Yes," Luna said and snapped her fingers, "she is engaged to Dorian Sullivan and her name is Cecelia."
"Whatever." Ron shrugged his shoulders at her correction. "So you read the Global Wizarding News too huh?"
"Of course I read it; the Sullivan's are related to the Krum's."
"You mean Victor Krum?"
"The one in the same."
"Humph." Ron furrowed his brow.
"You said the Malfoy Manor burned?"
He nodded. "To the ground."
"What happened?" she said placing her hand near her mouth, listening intently to him.
"Oh, yeah," Ron said, "you haven't been around for the drama on this end."
"Drama, you mean there is more than what I left?" Luna cocked her head crinkling her eyes.
"More than you can imagine."
"I thought the prophecy was enough; I can't imagine there's more."
"Yeah, and don't take offense, the night the Manor was torched, Malfoy's son Ian, who apparently belongs to Ginny, was abducted from Tonk's place."
Luna gasped and put her hand over her mouth in shock, her eyes bulging.
"At first, we thought maybe you'd done the torching of the house," Ron said in a guilty tone.
"That's absurd." She looked very affronted.
"Well, we thought maybe you had it in for Gin, because of Harry you see."
"Ronald, please don't think me that shallow or desperate," she said impertinently, "I know Ginny and I grew apart, but I do not wish any ill will to her or Harry." She looked at him hard. "I admit I was very upset when this prophecy bit came about, but to hurt either of them is ridiculous."
"Well then Malfoy was attacked and dragged off in the Forbidden Forest; evidently, Ginny had been there up until shortly before who ever done it torched the place. Malfoy is convinced his father is behind it."
"So Ginny and Draco have a child," she said in amazement shaking her head slowly.
"Yeah that was a shocker to us too. I gave her a hard time, said some pretty mean things to her. I'm lucky she is even talking to me."
"I must say that is a shock."
"Oh it gets even better, then they meet Penny, Percy's wife—in Ireland and she brings Ian back to them. So that let us know Percy was somehow involved."
"That was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, if Lucius is behind it all."
"Yeah, I know, that is why I wanted to talk with you."
"So maybe you think Percy is involved with Lucius somehow?"
"I don't know, but everything seems to be looking that way."
"But why would Lucius kidnap Draco's son, that isn't making much sense to me."
"Us either, not really. Then this Salina Ulrick show's up in town and . . . .,"
"Cecelia," Luna corrected him again.
Ron shrugged, again. "Whatever, anyway she shows up and Dumbledore wants her checked out. Then it turns out that Remus and Narcissa knew the girls mother, apparently she went to Hogwarts and Beauxbatons before she moved away to America."
"Narcissa Malfoy, isn't she—dead?"
"It seems that she wasn't as dead as we thought."
Luna's eyes widened.
"I'm telling you it's been a three ring circus," Ron said nodding his head.
"I'll say." She frowned. "How did Harry take it? About Ginny and Draco?"
"A lot better than I would have that's for damn sure."
"Really?"
"He says he's fine with it, but deep down I know he's not. Then he got your letter," said Ron. "Then Dumbledore put him on this assignment of following around this Cecily person."
"Cecelia," Luna corrected him for the third time.
"So yeah, it has all been pretty weird here."
"Sounds like it."
They both sat there in silence for a moment. Luna stood and smoothed the front of her skit, then crossed her arms at her waist.
"I just can't believe Ginny and has a child with Draco Malfoy."
"Well believe it; even Dumbledore said it's so, has a Pensieve full of memories of it everything." Ron rubbed the scruff of his three day unshaven face. "His name is Ian; he's a cute little booger, looks a lot like Malfoy though."
Luna paced his narrow length of his office for several minutes in silence, as if she were thinking on something.
"How does this all affect the prophecy then?"
"Oh and that's something else, it would seem that there are two who can fill the prophecy—I will only give you one guess."
"Harry or Draco."
Ron pointed his finger at her in accordance.
"Well what are you doing about Lucius?"
"What can we do? There's no real proof, and he hasn't reared his ugly head, 'cept for Draco saw him when Ginny decided to jump off the cart and ran away, but he didn't do anything, Draco said the man you saw with Percy was there; said they had a very evasive conversation."
Luna opened her mouth as if to ask a question then backed out of it.
"All we have on him and Percy right now is speculation; Draco didn't want to involve the Ministry in the abduction or the fire, so he just told the investigators that he must have fallen asleep with too many candles lit."
"Didn't they think it rather odd?" Luna placed a hand on hip.
"I don't know, I think they want to keep anything with Malfoy hush-hush," Ron answered. "Honestly, I think he is trying to protect Ginny and the boy. I have to hand it to him when it comes to her and Ian; he gets pretty intense about it."
Luna was silent for a long while she continued to pace his office.
"I want to help you," she finally said. "I mean, I would like to help you get to the bottom of this, if you want my help that is."
"Any help would be great," Ron sighed. "We are at dead ends here."
"Sometimes you need to see things from a different angle to spot a snake in the grass. And, well being somewhat of a reporter I may have access to angles you may not have."
"True."
"But like you said, if you don't mind for now," she pursed her lips and then finished, "I think it best to keep it between us."
Ron nodded his head in agreement.
"I don't want anyone, Harry," she clarified, "to think I am trying to interfere."
"I understand." He did really understand what she was saying; she didn't want to look desperate.
"Oh, I got my invitation to the wedding. Am I still welcome?"
"Of course you're still welcome." Ron narrowed his eyes.
"Give me a couple of days to do some digging."
Luna turned and gathered her things then left Ron's office. He was rather pleased with their discussion. Actually it might be nice; he thought to have a biased opinion researching the matter. Harry and Hermione and himself were definitely too emotionally involved when they would have their little discussions.
AFTER hours of sundering through papers, Harry finally threw his hands up and leaned back in his chair. It had been a week and he hadn't seen or so much as heard from Celia. Her apartment seemed to have been deserted, and he hadn't the foggiest at the moment on where to look for her. All was quiet, it disturbed him greatly.
He removed the small domed mantle clock and the now barely legible coaster that he had placed in the locked drawer of his desk. All week he hadn't been able to think straight, his mind kept wandering back to the very hot and illicit evening they had. He shook his head and consoled himself with the thought that she had just wanted his help, nothing more and nothing less. Why else would she have seduced him?
The evening and new information he had acquired had caused him to miss the Sunday Weasley Brunch, of which he had not missed but a handful in the last five years, and there was always a good explanation for it. Never had he missed one due to an incredible hangover and the sheer of exhaustion of being out with a woman all night. He hadn't even written to Mrs. Weasley apologizing, he didn't think she would take too kindly to a note that read: Sorry I missed brunch; I had a hangover and was well worn from a night of fantastic shagging. No he didn't think that would go over well at all. He could hear Mrs. Weasley now; Harry you should know better, you barely know this woman, and on and on she would go. Then there was the endless irresponsibility speech that would come from Hermione. Along with the tireless questions from Ron and the under the table comments from the twins, no Harry wasn't up for it. But it had been nearly a week and he hadn't seen any of them, not once.
Aunt Petunia had asked him was he okay every morning, was something bothering him in that I know your lying to me response "Okay Harry" when he lied and said no. Remus had been out of pocket the last week; he had been at Hogwarts mostly, discussing things over with Dumbledore. Harry had called on him there a couple of times and he was out to lunch or dinner with Narcissa Malfoy, which he found odd. He placed the clock and coaster back in his drawer and locked it; then took out his notebook in which he had taken many and very unyielding notes.
What infuriated him the most was this Trevor McLane; he had searched far and wide, pulled every string he had in the International Magical Relations department and still the man managed to elude him. It was as if the man didn't exist, which Harry found very peculiar. Then there was the matter of Isabella. Harry checked every birth record he could get his hands on; he didn't realize how many wizarding families named their child Isabella, which made the search even more difficult. He even called in a favor from a friend in America to search the records there; they had even more Isabella's than all of Europe.
Of course Harry didn't have much to go on for a last name; which didn't narrow his search much, there weren't, as he expected no Isabella Malfoy's or Ulrick's—he had even checked under the name of Frasier and Sullivan. All he really had to go on concretely was a birth year. She had said Isabella was four, so that narrowed it a bit, but not much, the search turned up about a hundred or so female babies born in nineteen-ninety-nine in England alone, with their first or second name as Isabella. None of which Harry found anything suspicious about their last names. He hadn't been able to check into all of them yet.
His contact in America had turned up nearly a thousand plus with the name Isabella. And just as he had expected nothing really stood out about the last names on the list. But his friend had mailed him the list all the same and wished him luck in his search. He had contacts in several other countries in Europe that were compiling a list for him, he had suspected that if Celia was hiding her pregnancy and the birth of her daughter, she most likely wouldn't have given birth in the U.S. or probably not even England. But he had to start somewhere.
Rubbing his head and turning his notebook to a clean sheet of paper Harry dipped his quill in the black ink and wrote at the top of the page: Isabella—then drew a blank line then underneath it drew two more blank lines and the year 1999. From another locked drawer he removed four pieces of rolled parchment. He unrolled the first one and placed a paper weight at each end so it would stay flat as he read aloud:
"Aubrie Isabella Baker, January first." He marked an 'x' by it. "Isabella Diane O'Malley." Another x was placed on the parchment. He read all the way through the babies born the first quarter of the year. None of them struck any interest.
Rolling up the first parchment, Harry then unrolled the second; just as before he started with the first name on the list, "Camryn Isabella Allen, April first." Harry marked an 'x' by the name. "Dierdre Isabella Clarke, April first." Another 'x' went beside a name. Harry droned on through the list, he came to the May births, and read through them, he again didn't see anything particularly interesting. "Isabella Tanith Rosier, May 15." Harry repeated the name in his head a few times; something about it struck a chord with him.
He scribbled the name in his note book repeating the letters as he wrote, "R-o-s-i-e-r." He tapped the parchment a few times, and then moved on down the list. "Isabella Daniel Knight, May 22." Harry sighed and moved on. "Isobella Nicole Ried May 22." Harry hadn't seen then name spelt in this manner on the list, so he scribbled it down. "Izabella Megan Thaiabult, June 1."
By the time he had finished reading over the four parchments he had only written down a hand full of names. Why he chose the ones he did, he wasn't quite sure, some of the names he had never heard of, and some he chose because he simply felt like he needed more than one or two names. Feeling quite defeated by the long list on the parchments and the small list in his notebook, he rolled the parchments and placed them back in the locked drawer.
He still had the list that his contact in America had sent him to go over; he seriously considered enlisting Hermione's and Ron's help, but decided against it. He wasn't quite ready to go to them with this theory yet. Ron would flip for sure, take hold to it for certain, but with all the effort he was making with Malfoy, he would most definitely not hesitate in using an unforgivable on him should it turn out to be true. Some where there was a snake in the grass and he would eventually trap it.
Taking the other parchments, Harry placed them in his bottomless bag, along with all his notes and his favorite quill. He would simply take them home and go over them, maybe even Aunt Petunia would help him; she was good at solving anagrams and word puzzles, who knew maybe a fresh pair of eyes, would turn out something different. Deciding he shouldn't leave the parchments there, Harry removed the ones from the drawer along with the clock and coaster and placed them in his satchel.
Harry gave his small office the once over before locking it for the night, for some reason he put an extra protection charm on it. He headed off down the narrow corridor, toward the lift; his end of the hall was nearly deserted. Looking at his watch he realized why no one was walking the hallway, it was nearly seven o'clock. Harry got on the lift and proceeded to the Atrium.
The lift no sooner got going than it stopped.
"Level three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," the attendant announced loudly then opened the lift.
"Luna!" Harry said wide eyed. "What are you doing here?"
Luna looked at him and smiled softly. "I came to see Ronald actually."
"Oh?" Harry asked, giving her a quizzical look as the attendant closed the lift and they zoomed off again.
"I wanted to make sure I was still invited to the wedding."
Harry adjusted the bag on his shoulder; leave it to Luna to be blatantly honest. But that was one of the things Harry loved about her, even if it did make you feel completely awkward.
"I see." He cleared his throat.
"Atrium," announced the attendant.
Luna stepped out of the lift first, Harry followed her.
"Are you going back to Russia?" he asked as they walked toward the long line of floo's.
"Not until after the wedding I don't think." She continued walking to the tall fireplaces, her heels echoing softly off the marble floor. "Why do you ask?"
He was just curious was all, no other reason he thought to him self as looked at her standing there. Her eyes vibrant as usual and that serene smile on her face as if she hadn't a thing in the world to worry about.
"I was just curious is all," he said gripping the strap of his satchel.
She stared at him for what seemed like forever.
"Harry, are you well?" She placed her hand on his cheek, as if to check his temperature.
Harry knew he looked a bit unkempt, he hadn't shaven in a few days and no, he hadn't slept well in a week, but other than that he felt fine.
"A bit tired is all," he answered; he could smell her jasmine perfume on her skin.
"I see," she said softly, taking her hand away from his face. "You look peaky, are you eating well?"
Admittedly he hadn't eaten like he should in the past week either; how could she see all that in a once over of him.
"You know me," was his response.
"Yes," she said scrutinizing him carefully, "I do."
Harry was about to respond when Ron called to him from the lift.
"Harry," he called, sprinting to catch up to him.
"Evening Ron," Harry said, "You're here a bit late aren't you?"
"Yeah, but Hermione left to go to her parents remember."
"Oh yeah," said Harry, nodding his head.
"So I was wandering if you wanna catch a bite to eat?" Ron patted his stomach.
Harry thought of all the work he had to do, but then he hadn't taken a lunch and he was hungry.
"Sure why not." Harry then turned to Luna who was just listening to the two of them. "Say, you want to join us?"
Her face went slack; Harry hardly ever saw that particular expression on her face.
"Come on Luna," Ron encouraged her, "you have to eat." He smiled.
"I don't want to intrude," she said demurely.
"Don't be silly," Harry said taking her by the hand.
She was still a bit hesitant.
"Well, decide soon," Ron huffed patting his stomach again. "I'm starving."
"If you're sure." She made a pinched face.
"He's sure," groaned Ron.
"Your choice," Harry said with a smile, knowing where she would choose to go: their favorite sushi place.
"How about that little hole in the wall sushi place," she suggested.
"Wantanabe's?"
"I'll have to get some muggle money," Ron said removing his wallet.
"I've got muggle money," Harry and Luna said at the same time.
They looked at each other and smiled.
"You two are just weird." Ron shook his head and they all headed for the phone booth that would take them to the surface.
GINNY sat on the new leather sofa in the family room of her new home; she was flipping through a furniture catalog in front of a large white marble fireplace, easily tall enough for a seven foot man to stand up right in. She had loved the house right away; the warm red brick topped with a steep, tiled red roof laden with a green growth of moss and adorned with spire chimneys—corner and window turrets with delicately paned glass. Outside walls were laced with ivy growing to the top floor, winding around and through every trellis and balcony it could find. Arched doors and windows, and a massive courtyard in the back gave it the slight feel of a gothic castle. The gardens on the grounds were magnificent; apple, pear and quince trees were a few of the many types of trees, along with lime, oak, horse chestnut and hawthorn. The inside of the house had two large rooms with stained glass windows dedicated to growing herbs, vegetables and old-fashioned flowers such as jasmine, lavender and of course roses. The entire property was enclosed by the same red brick as the house, and when you entered in through the large wooden gate that lead you down a narrow tree lined road, it was as if you entered into another dimension entirely. One of the most unique things about the house was the turret covered well in the middle of the back open garden; and Ginny couldn't imagine a more serene looking place.
Draco told her that the house had belonged to a very old wizarding family, Somerive, which had died out in the early part of the century. He had traced the history of the house and the family back through the early fifteen hundreds. The house sat there with all the protection charms still in place, so it was as if the entire property were wrapped in a timeless cocoon, aging just enough over the years to keep suspicion of muggles at bay. He acquired it through the local vicarage, of who had no idea that the house belonged to a family of wizards, which didn't surprise her. When there was no family left to take the house, it fell into the cares of the local government.
Ginny had no idea that Draco was as fascinated and well informed on things of this nature as he was: "What did you think I did all day, knit?" he had asked her a bit bemused.
As the week went on, and they moved in new furnishings along with antiques that Draco had stored away in various places, she learned that Draco was quite the dealer in real estate and restoration of old run down houses. If he found one that had belonged to an old wizarding family, that was even better.
Ian had gone back to school, and she had took and picked him up every day; She didn't know how practical that was since she wasn't going back to work until after the first of the year. But Draco insisted that it was good for him and Ian did seem to enjoy school immensely. He could be quite the prankster according to his teachers.
As she sat there flipping pages, the fire in the grate flared and turned a lovely shade of emerald and her mother materialized in the flames, followed by her father. Molly Weasley stepped out of the fire place and proceeded to clean the fine grains of the floo powder and soot from her clothes.
"Sorry we're late Ginny dear," her mother coughed out, "but your father seemed to have misread your location."
"Oh, now Molly," her father dusted the soot from his lapel and then retrieved his pipe from inside the cloak. "We were only one or two grates off."
Mrs. Weasley didn't say anything to her husband and rolled her eyes as she kissed Ginny on the cheek.
Mr. Weasley was looking around the large room.
"Very nice, very nice indeed," he said puffing on his pipe.
"It's too big for me," Ginny said her voice getting lost in the large room. "But, I suppose I will get used to it, eventually."
Her mother smiled at her and patted her cheek.
"Where's my grandson?"
"He and Draco should be here any moment," Ginny answered watching her father take in the vast room. "I fixed your favorite dad," Ginny said walking to her father, "Lamb with potatoes and carrots."
"Good," he patted his stomach as he spoke, "I am starving."
"Grandpa!" Ian shouted from the doorway and ran into the room jumping in Mr. Weasley's arms.
"There's my boy," Mr. Weasley beamed as he hugged his grandson.
"Grandma!" he said just as excitedly, wriggling down from Mr. Weasley's hold to go to Mrs. Weasley.
Ginny noticed Draco didn't come into the room straight away with Ian.
"Where's your father?" Ginny asked him as he then came to her giving her oodles of hugs and kisses.
"He took a package to the kitchen," Ian answered. "Guess what I did today?"
"I don't know—do I want to ask?"
"Susie Nettles and me turned a rock into a butterfly."
"With permission I hope," Ginny said looking at him skeptically.
"But it was so pretty mom, you should have seen it!" He widened his eyes. "It was blue and black, and its wings were huge and shimmery."
"Ian, you know you aren't supposed to use magic unsupervised." Ginny totally sounded like her mother.
"Well at least it was only a harmless butterfly," Mrs. Weasley defended him.
"Not exactly," Draco said as he came into the room and kissed Ginny on the cheek, then held out a hand to Mr. Weasley. "Mr. Weasley." He shook his father-n-law's hand firmly.
"Draco," said Mr. Weasley in return.
"Ian, what happened?" Ginny sat on the sofa and patted the seat beside her for her son to join her.
"Well the butterfly sort of exploded when Gregor Holdstock squashed it in his fat palms, it and it turned his face a lovely shade of blue." The little boy smiled at the thought.
"Ian," Ginny said trying not to sound too disappointed; although she knew first hand what bullies could be like.
"What—he deserved it," Ian huffed. "He is always trying to get me and Susie into trouble, for things we didn't do."
Ginny sighed heavily and just looked at her son.
"We'll talk about it later," she said with a smile and patted him on the head.
"Am I excused?" he asked her cautiously.
"Yes," she answered, "you're excused."
Ian immediately retreated to his grandparents who were now slathering him with more affection than any one person could possibly have in them.
"I'm going to finish up dinner," Ginny announced as she stood from the sofa.
"Anything I can help you with dear," her mother looked up at her.
"No, you just stay here," Ginny said. "Just a few last minute things, it will be ready shortly."
She smiled at Draco as she walked past him and headed for the kitchen. She heard him excuse himself to help her just as she rounded the corner and stepped into the old world kitchen. It was one of her favorite places in the house; it was like the kitchen at the Burrow only bigger.
It was as if she had literally stepped back in time with the way it was furnished and laid out. Of course it had running water and the normal things a kitchen had, it just looked very old world. The only modern thing in there was the table, but it wasn't all that modern, it was only about a hundred years old.
She stood at the sink and washed off the vegetables that lay out to be washed for a dinner salad. Outside the window she could see the sun setting behind the thicket of trees that stood behind their house. The lake looked sad and lonely now that its only source of warmth was fading away. The trees were bare and swaying slightly in the breeze that had stirred up some dead leaves on the ground.
"You know it is a bit of harmless magic," Draco said in her ear as he snaked his arm around her waist.
"I know, and he's probably right," she said closing her eyes leaning her head to the side, "and I'm sure that Gregor Holdstock deserved it." A warm tingle shot straight down her spine as Draco's lips touched her neck. "I— can't let him know that I agree," she paused momentarily; her legs felt like someone had cast the jelly legged curse on her. Draco's mouth was now on her shoulder, pulling her shirt to the side. Gently turning her to face him, her hands clutched the counter as she pressed full into it. "Do you agree?"
"Absolutely," he said in a voice that told her he was blatantly patronizing her. His body was definitely too close to her at the moment. His mouth covered hers in a gentle kiss before she could speak again.
Refusing to give into his antics of seduction she kept her hands firmly on the counter.
"Don't patronize me," she said, pulling her face back from his.
He attempted to look insulted. "I agree with you." He pressed into her; she could feel his objective as his hips rolled into her.
"I would appreciate if you could control yourself," she said trying not to sound satisfied as his reaction to her. "My parents are here, so I would like for you to," she cleared her throat, "remove yourself."
"You don't mean that," came the deep self-assured reply along with another deliberate rolling of his hips.
Could he be more arrogant?
"I do too," she said pushing him gently with the palms of her hands.
Draco smiled that incredibly egotistical smile and took a step back.
"Okay, you win," he said in a voice that unquestionably let her know she had not won, "for now," he finished as he rolled up his sleeves and helped her fix the salad for dinner.
The evening was pleasant; dinner had gone smoothly. Her parents seemed to be opening up to Draco and giving him an honest chance to be part of the family.
"So Draco," her father said as he wiped his mouth with his napkin, "Ginny tells us this house is centuries old, belonged to a wizarding family?"
"Yes sir," Draco started, "it belonged to the Somerive family, the family died out nearly a century ago. . ."
Draco and Mr. Weasley went on talking about the house and the rich history it held, while Ginny and Mrs. Weasley proceeded to clean up the kitchen.
"Ginny," her mother said as she flicked her wand at the dishes in the sink. "Have you heard from Harry?"
"No, I haven't. Why do you ask?"
"Well he just usually sends me an owl when he misses dinners or brunches. I was just concerned is all."
"I haven't seen him in about two weeks," Ginny admitted. "I expected as much though."
"Why's that dear?" Mrs. Weasley said as if she literally had no idea what Ginny was talking about.
Ginny looked at her mother with a 'you've got to be joking expression.'
"Seriously mum—are you kidding me?"
"Ginny, you and Harry have been friends for a long time; I'm sure this is all taking a toll on him too."
There it was the statement she had been waiting on.
"First I have to deal with all of this myself, then when I have I will worry about Harry," she sounded a bit resentful, even to her self, "In the meantime, if he wants to talk he can let me know. But I am here to tell everyone, I am going to give this with Draco a shot, I owe it to me and him."
"I know dear and I think you should, but don't forget," Mrs. Weasley patted her as she spoke, "Harry is our family too."
"I know, but me first okay." Ginny could feel her temperature rising and her cheeks flushing. Her mother as always was worried about his well being, putting it right up there on the importance level of hers.
Her mother was silent for a few moments.
"You know Charlie is coming tomorrow, he is bringing the kids," Molly said as she busied herself putting away the dishes. "I thought maybe Ian might like to spend a little time with his cousins."
Ginny looked at her mother for a long hard moment; no matter how her mother tried to support her with her decisions about Draco she could see that her mother preferred Harry. Hell her whole damn family preferred Harry, all of them but her. It wasn't that she didn't love Harry, she did. But as they had said it had just taken too long to get around to determining that, Harry had even moved on. Evidently it took a marriage and child with another man for them to realize it.
"We planned on going shopping tomorrow," Ginny said with a lingering thickness in her throat. "Ian needs dress robes for the wedding."
"Oh, of course," Molly said with her soothing smile.
Draco and her father had retired to the family room, along with Ian. Ginny spent the rest of the evening in silence pretending to go over a list of things to do before Ron and Hermione's wedding, only asking uninteresting questions about the reception and rehearsal dinner. Her mother played exploding snap with Ian, and Draco continued the conversation of the house with her father.
When the large clock in the corner of the room chimed seven, her parents had decided it was time for them to go. An hour later Ginny had put Ian to bed and walking back down stairs to the family room where she heard music gently being tapped out on a large, very ancient, black grand piano. Draco was sitting at the oversized instrument, playing a very lovely piece of music that Ginny recognized playing in Dumbledore's office on more than one occasion.
Slowly she walked into the room and sat in an oversized armchair near the piano and watched him play. She had no idea that he could play the piano; it was something she had never learned. She took music class at Hogwarts and attempted to play the harp, but she was no master at it by any means. She didn't dare talk to him; she didn't want to disturb his aura as he moved back and forth to the music.
Finally his fingers played the last notes of the song and he turned to her.
"Oh, don't stop," she said with a smile.
"I haven't played in a while, my timing is off a bit," he said his cheeks slightly blushing in the candlelight.
"I thought it was beautiful, what song was that?"
"Fur Elise," he said as his fingers found a resting place on the keys again. "Canon in D," he said has his fingers hit the first notes of the song. She moved to the bench with him, she watched him play as the metronome on the piano ticked back and forth.
After he finished playing the song he laid his hands in his lap and looked to her; something flickered deep in his eyes, an egotistical flash.
"Do you have a request," he asked confidently.
She shook her head.
"None?" he questioned her again.
She shook her head again.
He took his wand out and tapped the piano; it began to play a song she didn't recognize. The tempo was a bit more upbeat than what he had played himself. He stood and walked around to her side of the bench.
"Care to join me?" he asked bowing to her offering his hand.
"You mean to dance?" she giggled.
"Yes, I would be honored." He still held out his hand.
Ginny took it and stood, she loved dancing and that was something she knew she was fairly descent at. Placing his hand on her waist, pulling her closer to him, he took her hand and she put her hand on his shoulder. Soon they were sweeping around the room languidly. When the song came to an end, Draco dipped her and held her there off balance, looking down into her face; she could feel her breath dragging in and out of her lungs.
Finally he lifted her so that she was face to face with him; he reached up and removed the hair pin from her hair, sending her hair in a red wave over her shoulders. Behind her the piano began to play another yet softer tune. He pulled her tight against him, and she saw the same expression he had left her with in the kitchen earlier. Then there it was, the slight cock of his head, the tiny pull in the corner of his mouth, the arched eyebrow. And what ever he saw in her expression let her know that she had just wave her white flag, as he brought on the full assault of his lips to hers.
Just how they had made it to their upstairs bedroom was a blur as she felt the luxuriousness of the sheets caress her bare back. Her hands gripped his shoulders tightly, his lips trailing down her neck, her shoulder, her breast, his hair tickling the center of her abdomen. Then suddenly from no where, her mother's voice was in her head: Harry is our family too. She squeezed her eyes shut. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, grasping for the flesh of the man with her, still covered by his infuriating clothing. She wanted to be wrapped around him, consumed by him; it was a desperate, needy feeling that was plaguing her. And for some unforeseen rationale he was taking his time seducing her, painstakingly tormenting her.
His hand closed possessively on her waist, and then she felt the silky finger dancing around the waist band of her faded jeans. Which she had only just realized was beginning to be very rude and uncomfortable to certain parts of her body, that she just wished they would disintegrate. Then again like a watermark on her brain her mother's voice reared: I'm sure this is taking a toll on him too.
Against her will, her mind stopped all thought of what her body was feeling. She felt her self become as rigid and bitter as a piece of ice. It did not go unnoticed. Draco pushed himself up his hands on either side of her head; she could his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the pallid fabric glowing in the barely lit room. His hair fell over his shoulders, making a white curtain around his face. He stared down at her as if she were wearing a Halloween mask, and that if he removed it what he would find wouldn't surprise him. Her heart pounded like a sledgehammer beneath her chest; sadness, fear, anger and of all things jealousy. She couldn't stand the intenseness from the steel-blue gaze any longer and she turned her head, looking at his smooth forearm, she could see and hear his gold watch, it was nearing nine o'clock.
She heard an unpleasant sound escape his mouth, whether he meant it to or not followed by a very Draco Malfoy, but very true comment, "Saint Potter strikes again."
Ginny felt not only her lungs but her entire abdomen take in the dreaded breath of forfeit.
"I'm sorry," was all the words she could offer, still staring at his watch.
He didn't move, he didn't say anything, she wasn't even sure if he was still breathing. Then she heard the air that he was holding in his lungs expelled forcefully. She could smell the after dinner whiskey he'd had on his breath. He seemed to be trying to say anything but what he really wanted to say.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, "I shouldn't have said that." His finger traced her cheek.
"I knew the conversation was coming," she said hoarsely, "I knew it would eventually come about."
He didn't alleviate his towering position over her.
"She is concerned about his well being, how he is taking all of this." Ginny felt the resentment swell in her chest. "He is family too Ginny." She mocked her mother.
"And that makes you angry?"
She felt his hair tickle her cheek as he spoke.
"I don't know."
"Did you not say to me yourself just the other day that you were concerned about Potter?"
"Yes, but that's different." She turned her head back so that she was staring straight up into his face.
"I'm sorry, how's that different?"
"Because, that is my mother, she should be more concerned about me!" Ginny felt the ugly beast lash out.
"You're jealous."
"NO," she insisted.
"Are you sure, because it sounds that way to me?"
"We'll I'm sure your not listening properly." Her lips pursed together.
He laughed. He laughed at her.
"It's okay if you are," he said. "But on the other hand, and I can't believe I am saying this, Potter has become like one of your parent's children. Why wouldn't you expect them to be concerned?"
"I don't know, I just always get the feeling that," she stopped before she said it feeling guiltier than ever.
"That they'll forget about you? Replace you with Saint Potter?"
"Don't call him that." She reached up and pushed his hair from his face.
"Excuse me, Lord Potter."
She smiled and rolled her eyes.
"Yes, sometimes, I feel that they do forget about me, not that they mean to."
"Well, I can tell you something," he spoke with a resonance, "Even if your parents do fawn and fall of over Potter, think everything he does is saintly, say pennance to him every night, you're their flesh and blood, and that will never change for your parents."
She narrowed her eyes, not quite understanding where he was going with this.
"Just think about it, can you imagine this situation as a whole with out them? Really?"
Ginny shook her head. "No."
"Look at your brother Percy, your mum still loves him unconditionally. Just as they love you. So what if she is concerned for Potter, it doesn't change anything she feels about you."
"I know," she admitted, "but sometimes it just feels like, they care more about him."
"Look at me and tell me you honestly think that's true."
She couldn't, not really, she knew he was right.
"So, you know what, revel in the fact that even though your mum truly is concerned about him, that it was you she came to visit this evening, in our house." He moved closer to her lips. "And if it makes you feel better, go see Lord Potter tomorrow."
"Really?" she asked in a non-believing voice.
"Of course really," he said in a growl then kissed her, his hot breath moving back down her neck again; his fingers unfastening the weak clasp of her bra. "Besides, I know you Ginevra; you want to see if she is right. You want to see if he is suffering, you want to know if he has really moved on like you say you have. You want to see if your family is really siding with him, no matter what they say or what I say."
She knew this was the moment to dispute him. To rage out at him—to tell him he didn't know the first damn thing about what he was saying.
But she couldn't—because he did.
Everything he said was true. She had been pulled with that dread for a long time now; she had been heaved in and out of the reality of the truth—there was her life before Harry, then there was just Harry. Telling her self that it was supposed to be this way; in the meantime giving her best shot to make things work when she knew they never would.
She felt the button give way on her jeans, the soft click of the zipper opening.
"You want to see if you made the right decisions, made the right choices," he continued, his mouth over her navel, his hands holding her wrist above her head. "If you feel that pull with him, those instant attractions like your sould was set on fire, like you're feeling now."
He kissed her again. Dominant. Possessive. A kiss of branding and claiming. She wondered if he had always been this straight with her, had he always played her like he played the keys on the piano, dancing across her illicitly, playing a slow, tortuous, blatantly sexual dance, with every touch, every look, every word. Knowing when to strike one chord slightly harder than any of the others so that it would make a sound so loud and so resolute that it could be heard clearly above any and all other notes being played. Did he always make her feel that no matter what he would possess her forever? Letting her know he could bide his time, like a snake in the grass, he could wait, wait until that perfect moment before he struck?
No he was much worse, he was addictive—Draco Malfoy was her poison and her anecdote—she could clearly see that now. And no matter how much time sifted between them; she would always come back to him. And he knew that.