Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N Ugh, I do NOT like this chapter, but you guys are going ot have to live. Anyways, there's not much left to this story so I'm kinda excited…it'll be the second real long fic that I've finished in this life =D. And I must say, I could not have gotten HALF as to where I am without my readers (I have 1000 reviews!!!!). When I started fanfiction, I never IMAGINED that people would actually even read my work. I love you all!
Much thanks to Casey Collins, eleoopy, priscilla my ever-wonderful beta, and Vic Vic J Potter. This chapter's for you.
Chapter 14. And The Truth Comes Out
"What the hell are you doing here?" Draco asked once more.
Blaise Zabini unfolded himself from the bed, looking genuinely sheepish as he glanced between Draco and Pansy. His blue eyes were clouded with uncertainty and a certain degree of regret – regret, Draco wondered, at being caught?
There was a long silence before anyone spoke. "Draco," Blaise began quietly. "I'm sorry."
"No no," Draco said impatiently, waving him off and directing his silver gaze towards his wife. "Tell me, Pansy, how many charms did you have to use on Zabini here to lure him into your bed?"
Her jaw dropped open in indignance, and Blaise jumped in. "Draco, she didn't use any spells. I'm in love with her."
"You're in love with her?" Draco repeated.
"You're in love with me?" Pansy squeaked at the same time.
"Someone's capable of loving her?" Draco said wondorously, while Pansy scowled at him fiercely.
"I'm sorry," Blaise said, casting his eyes towards the ground. "It's low of me to go behind your back, but I was only trying to help, honestly. And then one thing led to another and…" his voice trailed off, and he locked eyes with Pansy again, a small smile curling his lips. "And here we are," he finished firmly. "And I love her."
Silence again; it seemed to be occurring more and more often in Draco's life. "Well," he finally said, brightly. "This means I can get the divorce, right?"
For the first time, Pansy smiled. "Yes," she replied softly, never once taking her eyes off of Blaise.
"I just came from Vanessa Flint's," Draco said suddenly.
"Come off it," Blaise cut him off. "You aren't changing my mind. I don't care if you think I can do better."
"I was just thinking," Draco went on, as if nobody had spoken. "That everything seems to work out for the best, doesn't it? She's happy with Marcus, and you're happy with" –he made a face—"Pansy."
Blaise sent him a questioning glance. "But does everything turn out for the best? Even with…you?"
"Draco, why are you here?" Pansy blurted out, and they both looked at her oddly. "I just mean it's odd that you're here. I wasn't expecting you."
"Actually, Pansy, I decided that I'm madly in love with you and need you to have my children," was his sarcastic reply.
Pansy stared at him with big round eyes.
"Keep dreaming," Draco scoffed. "I want to know why Ginny Weasley masqueraded as you seven years ago at Flint's ball."
Blaise made a choking noise as Pansy paled. "Weasley?" he repeated. "Weasley?"
"Shut it, Zabini," Draco said coolly, and then focused his piercing gaze on his wife once more. "Answer me, Pansy."
"It was Weasley?" Pansy said in a shocked voice. "She had…she had this charm on that blurred her face and I…this all makes sense now…the governess position…the red hair…the…oh Merlin…how did I not piece this together before?"
"Because you're daft," Draco sneered, not missing a beat. "Now I think you owe me an explanation."
"How did you know about the ball?"
"Explanation," he growled once more.
She seemed to be deep in thought, long lashes casting shadows that danced across her face. Both Blaise and Draco watched her with bated breath, one in curiosity and the other in impatience, when finally, she raised that golden head of hers, and spoke in a calm tone. "It was a deal," she told them. "A midnight bargain. We needed an offspring, my parents were expecting one, and you, Draco, you couldn't care less."
"And how does Weasley come into play?" Draco demanded.
Pansy hushed him. "I'm getting to that. My friend, Lillith, the one from Germany you know, well she told me about how in ancient days, if a couple couldn't conceive they would hire another woman…to get pregnant…and then…they would pay a surmountable deal of money for her child."
The look on Draco's face was a cross between horror and realization.
"And so," she continued, "I set out a notice on the black market. There were many people that came, you know, but I had bad vibes from many of them. And then, that afternoon, the one before I went to France, I went to see Madame Halliwell in Diagon Alley—"
"You and your stupid fortune predicting," Draco interjected snidely.
"Yes, well, Madame Halliwell knew about my plight," Pansy defended. "And she predicted that my troubles would end that afternoon, she actually said that good would come to me in shades of red. Red, don't you see?"
"Like her hair," Blaise mused.
Pansy nodded. "Anyways, a woman came to me that afternoon. She wouldn't tell me her name, or why she needed the money. But I knew she must've been the one that Madame Halliwell was speaking of, because of the hair."
"How could you?" Draco seethed. "The Malfoy line, real or not, has to be purebred. What if some trollop like Granger had waltzed in?"
Pansy made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. "Calm down, Draco. I know the stakes as well as you do." He simply crossed his arms and glowered, waiting for her to continue. "I gave her Veritas Purite mixed in a heavy dose of her tea," she explained. "If she wasn't of pure blood – which you and I both know that Weasley is – she would've developed an allergic reaction within seconds."
There was a look of great excitement on Blaise's face. "Well, go on." He urged as she paused.
"Knowing she was a pureblood," Pansy continued, "I knew I could ensure her child to be a pureblood by finding her a mate that was."
"The masquerade ball," Draco said dully.
She nodded. "All Slytherins are pureblooded – at least the ones that run in Flint's social circles are anyway. It was an invite only, and so she went on my invitation."
"Was that not a great risk?" Draco wanted to know. "Think about it Pansy, there were bound to be people there who knew who you were, and they would have known that she was not you."
"Hence the mask," Pansy interjected. "I'm not stupid, Draco. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, it was now or never."
"And if she didn't conceive?" Draco demanded.
"Impossible," Pansy grinned. "Fertilizing charms never fail, you know." They all stood in pensive silence, three people entangled in the oddest of ways, and finally Pansy gave a sigh. "There, Draco, you've had my deepest secret laid out before you. I was never unfaithful to you until Blaise came to Aruba." She paused, looking sad. "For the longest time, I thought that if I loved you just enough, if I loved you long enough, you would…love me back. Time wasted, eh?"
"You—you—" Draco began incredulously. "I can't believe you would—"
"It was…" she shrugged. "Survival of the fittest, I guess. I had to do something, didn't I?"
"But you paid a woman to have our child," Draco spat.
"Not ours—" Pansy started to say.
"The woman was Weasley," Blaise cut her off with wonder on his face. "Imagine, of all coincidences…"
Pansy looked at him with great alarm, a light bulb practically appearing above her head as she pieced together puzzles of her past. "Oh Merlin," she breathed, blinking at Draco. "The woman you slept with at Flint's…this all starting to make sense…"
If Malfoys could blush, Draco would've been turning a pleasant shade of pink. "Yes, coincidence," he spat out.
Pansy's jaw dropped open. "Do you know what this means, Draco?" She and Blaise exchanged stunned glances, blue on blue, before turning back to stare at a very befuddled Draco.
"Enlighten me," he finally growled.
"Draco," Pansy said in an odd-pitched voice, "Sebastian is your son. Your real son."
Draco blinked, seeing Sebastian in his head. The feathery white-blond hair. The aristocratic nose.
"I always thought I was lucky Sebastian had turned out to physically resemble you," Pansy told him. "I thought it luck."
"He's my son?" Draco echoed, his throat dry.
"I hadn't meant for things to turn out this way," Pansy whispered. "I had only meant for us to pretend to have a child, any child, but here we are, and Sebastian…he's really yours."
"Think about this," Blaise cried in amazement. "Of all the people Weasley could've chosen to sleep with at the ball…she chose you. Isn't that something?"
"Something," Draco agreed numbly.
"It's fate at work, don't you see?" Blaise said, spreading his arms. "Draco, Sebastian is your son. And Ginny, she's the mother. You've started a goddamn family with the woman you love, and you didn't even know it. If that's not destiny, I don't know what is."
"You love her?" Pansy asked, looking genuinely surprised. "You're capable of love?"
"I do not love her," Draco said most disagreeably.
"You do too," Blaise countered with a small smile. "As well you should, or poor Sebastian is going to have a very broken family."
Draco glanced between them helplessly. "Father is going to kill me," he finally murmured. "I've gone and knocked up a Weasley."
Pansy smiled, a real, toothy, smile that he had not seen directed towards him until now. "Go," she encouraged softly. "Go home, Draco. I'll draw up the divorce papers by tomorrow."
Home. To Sebastian. To…Ginny?
"Go, Draco."
Without further thought, he disapparated.
There was a swing behind Malfoy Manor.
It was hidden within a thick swath of willow trees, the wood old and cracked. As a young boy, Draco had spent countless hours on that swing after being berated by his father, hidden away from the world he was destined to live in for the entirety of his life. Here he'd been free to dream, free to think, for a few moments in solitude before Narcissa or one of the house elves called him back.
He sat here now, face grave and solemn as he faced Sebastian, who stared back at him expectantly.
"Sebastian," Draco started, but trailed off as he took in his son's face. My son, he thought, feeling an odd swell of pride. Merlin, he's my son.
"Yes, Father?"
Draco took in a deep breath. "Sebastian, I've something to tell you. It's very important, so you need to listen carefully."
He nodded, amber eyes wide. Ginny's eyes.
"Pansy is…" There was no easy way to say it. "Pansy is not your mother, Sebastian." He cringed, waiting for a reaction.
"I know," Sebastian said slowly.
Draco blinked. "You know?"
"I heard her talking," he explained, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "She said…something about one day having her own son. That means I'm not her son, right?"
My God this kid is intelligent. "Yes," Draco said, nodding emphatically. "Yes."
"So…who is my mother, then?" Sebastian asked, and Draco wondered if he already knew.
With a bit of hesitation, he patted the boy's shoulder awkwardly. "It's Governess Weasley, Sebastian."
His eyes lit up. "Really?" Sebastian said excitedly. "Miss Weasley?"
"You aren't disappointed?" Draco blurted out. "You aren't going to need therapy?"
"I just as suspected," replied the boy.
"How?"
"Miss Weasley loves me," Sebastian said, and the look on his face told Draco that her love meant the world to him.
Like Father, like son.
"Where is Miss Weasley?" He inquired.
"We're going to find her," Draco said firmly, before he could stop himself. "We're going to find her, and she's going to come here."
"Forever?"
He grinned. "Forever."
Now if only Ginny would consent.
Ginny, I want you to…
Ginny, I need you to…
Ginny, I need you.
Draco stood outside Ginny's small, worn flat, one hand on the knob and the other around his wand. He could see her face already, the small smile she always wore when she was pleased but tried not to appear so, the sparkle of her warm eyes, the spattering of freckles upon her creamy skin. He took in a sharp breath, resisting the urge to storm in and snog her silly.
Gently, he eased the door open.
"Ginny?" Draco called, and then furrowed his eyebrows as no response came. "Ginny?"
No, the flat was definitely empty.
Frowning deeply, he made his way around the familiar place, picking up teacups and Quidditch books lying around here and there. He traced a finger along the mantle of her fireplace, scowling at the dust that had collected there, and then saw the pictures upon it which were beaming at him, and he stopped.
There it was, plain as day: the picture.
He picked it up slowly, focusing on the one object that had caught his attention the last time – the sparkling necklace dangling from her neck. Slowly, he pulled out a long silver chain from the pocket of his trousers – the place he'd kept it all these years, and dangled it beside the photograph.
It was, without a doubt, the same necklace.
"What are you doing here?" A shrill female voice from behind him cried.
Draco turned sharply to see a pretty young brunette, green eyes wide with surprise as she stared in utter shock. "Excuse me?"
"You don't live here," she said, in softer tones now. "I don't think."
"You don't either," he replied pointedly.
"I'm Ada," she explained. "I'm Miss Weasley's maid."
She can afford a maid? Draco found himself thinking. Though for some reason, Ginny's non-wealth was really not so much a bother anymore. "I see," was all he said, and then went back to scanning the room.
"So what are you doing here?" Ada demanded once more.
"Making a huge sacrifice to my pride," Draco muttered under his breath.
"Pardon?"
"I'm looking for Gin—Miss Weasley," explained Draco in an exasperated tone. "Do you know when she'll be back?"
Ada shrugged, moving towards the counter with duster in hand. "Not for a while, sir. I mean, she is at a wedding."
Draco frowned. "Wedding?"
Ada turned to him with a startled look upon her face. "Why didn't you hear? It's been the talk of this side of town, you know. The great Harry Potter finally remarries. And of course Miss Weasley would be there—" Ada let out a little laugh "—she really kind of has to be, since she's his—"
"Where's the wedding?" Draco demanded frantically.
"Um," Ada wrinkled her nose. "The Hartcourt Chapel in Diagon Alley, I think." She looked at the tall clock sitting upon Ginny's desk. "But I'd hurry if I were you, I think it started already."
"Fuck," Draco muttered under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing." Filled with frustration and resentment and helplessness, he stormed out the door.
10 minutes, and counting.
Ready to scream, or at least attack one of the passersby, Draco glanced around in great anger, clenching and unclenching his jaw repeatedly. "Why can nobody tell me where this damn wedding is," he growled under his breath, pushing through the crowds.
"Hey," he snapped, pulling at a man strolling past him. "Where's Hartcourt Chapel?"
The man glared. "Learn some manners and maybe somebody will tell you."
"Don't even start with me," Draco snarled. "Do you know who I am, Mr.—Mr.—"
"Donelly," the man supplied coolly.
"Right, Donelly," Draco waved him off. "I happen to be Draco fucking Malfoy, owner of Argent Enterprises, and if you don't direct me to Hartcourt right this moment, I swear that—"
"You think I'm afraid of you?" Donelly sneered, and Draco wanted nothing more than to slug him.
Only when a crowd began forming around them, and his hand started to sting did he realize that he actually had.
"Why, you," growled Donelly, and he lunged towards Draco, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist and bringing them both to the ground. He struck Draco with a blow that lacked in force, but both men knew it would ultimately leave a red mark behind. Sharply, Draco brought up his knee, jabbing him just below the chin, and leapt to his feet, ready for more.
Donelly ran towards him once more. This time, he kicked Draco from behind, just above his heel, causing the blond to fall backwards. The crowd gasped, and Draco fumed, doing just the same from his unbecoming position. The two men grappled with one another for a few moments, until it was finally clear that Draco had the upper hand; Draco, in turn, was pinning him to the cold concrete, raising a fist and readying himself to smash it into Donelly's nose.
"Stop!" cried a bystander. "Violence is not the answer."
Draco glared at the man beneath him, his eyes, two silver slits, his hair in disarray and his face clouded with rage. Finally, after a long bated breath, he stood up, brushed himself off, and tried to appear as dignified as possible.
"Where," he spat to the crowd around him. "Is Hartcourt Chapel?"
"Over there," a young woman volunteered. "It's just one block down on your left. You see that pointy thing?"
Draco let out a sigh of relief. "Um, yeah, thanks," he muttered. He glared once more at Donelly, who was gingerly touching his swelling face, and then turned to sprint down the street. By now, he was perspiring with anxiety and the effort of his excursions in such uncomfortable robes (they were luxurious, soft, and expensive of course, but decidedly not ideal for exercising).
From the distance, he could see Hartcourt Chapel, rising into the air with its sharp peaks and roofless court. The grand double doors were slightly ajar, and the booming voice of whoever was marrying Harry to Ginny – his Ginny – could be heard well into the street.
He paused, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the glass windows, the loose strands of white-blond falling across his face and the dirtied robes. There's still time to back out, he reminded himself.
No, he had to do this.
And what if she doesn't want you? A small voice in his head chided. What if she really does want to be Mrs. Harry Potter?
"If there be any objection, speak now or forever hold your—"
Without thinking, Draco thrust the doors open. "You can't marry him," he declared, storming inside, his focus concentrated on the sprawling white dress that took up much of his periphery. "I won't let you."
There came a collective gasp from within the church. Murmurs flew up immediately, the guests looking bemusedly at one another in shock.
"Malfoy?" cried Harry, looking alarmed.
"That's right," Draco said rather smugly, crossing his arms. "You're not going to win this time, scarhead. She loves me. I know she does. In fact—" He pulled out the sapphire pendant from his pocket and held it aloft triumphantly "—I can prove it."
"I don't even know you!" a female voice declared, and then the mass of white beside Harry turned around.
It was decidedly not Ginny.
Oh…shit.
=End of Chapter 14=