Chapter Two
by Crow
Disclaimer: This story is for personal use only. All characters belong to J. K. Rowling, except Mirat diBorghese and Sirin Abi who belong to the author. No money is being made.
Luna Lovegood looked expectantly at the wall clock hanging above her office door.
Almost time.
Without realizing it, she caught and held her breath until she felt the deep rumble come through the floor below her, sliding up the walls of her office, enveloping the desk and room. Right on time. She pushed her chair away from her desk and walked out of the office, across the landing, to the railing that looked down at the open level below. She gazed in wonder at the printing presses that were currently running tomorrow's edition of The Quibbler.
When Robert Lovegood decided to use Muggle web presses to print his paper 15 years ago, he was scorned by the wizarding publishing industry. And while he was used to being laughed at behind his back, Robert Lovegood was no fool -- the converted Muggle web press was an operational and financial success. The web's large rollers fed one continuous stream of cream colored paper through its drums, allowing his pressmen mages to perform one spell to bring the paper to life, giving more life-like color and action to the photos. And the web presses were much faster and cheaper than the presses that ran The Daily Prophet. When the publishers of that paper quietly switched over to web presses a year later, Robert Lovegood didn't say a word. He had extreme confidence one day he would be proven right about many things.
"Oh, Papa," Luna sighed, watching the workers scrambling around the press, feeding the paper that would print the first "make-ready" of the day. Her father had been dead a little over a year now, and she still missed him deeply. After her mother's death, Luna and her father had become devoted to each other, and to this paper. So it was easy for Luna to step into his shoes and take over as publisher at his death. Perhaps too easy. The Quibbler was her home, its sounds and smells familiar to her, its rhythms her rhythms, but she still felt...flat. And that worried her.
Caught up in old memories, her sharp eyes still didn't fail to notice the presence of an aging bull of a man yelling at the pressmen below. His short gray hair and long sideburns framed both sides of a square, eternally flushed face. His collarless white shirt was spotless, if a little wrinkled. A miracle, when you considered the smudges of black ink on his hands and his face, a sort of war paint, she thought with a smile. Luna would have been scared of him if he weren't her godfather, and her business partner.
"Jonas, how goes it?" she called, giving her father's customary greeting at the start of each day's press run. She felt her face blush as all the men below her turned their eyes in her direction.
"Oh, right enough," he answered her, rubbing his hands across his face and leaving a new streak of black in their place. He turned to his pressman, though his gravely voice easily carried up to her. "That is, if you don't mind your magenta looking peaked or your pictures barely moving. If that's okay, then we're doing fine." Luna smiled. Obviously things were on schedule.
"Alright then. I'll just be in my office, reading...I mean, working." And with that, she escaped, closing the door quickly behind her. She looked around the office, overfilled with books that sat in precarious piles, table tops filled with press sheets, cost projections for the coming quarter, story ideas, more things than Luna could keep track of. She sat at her desk and picked idly at the correspondence there -- bills and a postcard from Ginny Weasley in Florence. She should be back from her vacation soon. I should see if she found anything. But instead of writing to her friend, Luna ignored the pile in front of her and picked up a book on alchemy and kabala theories and started reading.
A pecking at the window brought her head up. It was Hedwig. Luna scowled and threw her book down before letting the owl inside. It flew in and found its customary perch beside her desk, waiting expectantly for Luna to take the note tied around her leg.
"Damn him," Luna muttered. Hedwig cocked a head at her. "He cancelled on me again, didn't he?" The owl had no answer, but started to impatiently move from side to side on the perch. Luna went over and unfurled the note, instantly recognizing the sloppy scratch across the paper.
Luna,
I'm sorry, but I can't make dinner tonight. Something unexpected came up at work. I know you understand. I'll owl you tomorrow -- I owe you a dinner.
Harry
"Something came up? I know you understand?" she snapped, brandishing the note to Hedwig. "Can you believe this?"
She paced the length of the office. "'I'll owl you tomorrow' he says," she continued, working herself up. Ever since last week, she started thinking, then stopped. What's the use? But for good measure, she picked up a pencil from her desk and chucked it across the room, imaging Harry's face as a target -- and barely missing Jonas' head as he entered the office.
Jonas looked at the fallen missile, face impassive. "I knocked. You didn't answer." He walked in and closed the door behind him, laying down the newly printed sheets of tomorrow's paper. Luna walked over and gave him a shy smile of apology and looked down at the paper, clueless. Jonas took pity on her.
"See this pattern here," he said, pointing to the dots that made up the pictures, "the dots are too large, making the picture look grainy, out of focus. And see here," he continued, pointing to the corner of another photo where a man in black robes ran in and out of the picture frame, leaving the box empty for long moments of time, "he's moving too fast and stays out of the picture too long. We need to slow down the spell so people will see who it's a picture of."
Luna sighed. Jonas had tried to teach her these things. "You know what needs to be done, Jonas. I trust you."
He reached up and put a hand on her shoulder. "You're more than smart enough to do this, Luna. Your heart just isn't in it, that's all."
Luna shook her head, allowing her pale hair to cover the tears that suddenly formed in her eyes.
"It's hard trying to find your place in the world," he continued softly. "The trick is not just stepping into someone else's shoes. I'd say it's the same for the boy. He's trying to find his way too." And with that Jonas turned and headed for the door, pausing and looking at her over his shoulder.
"Of course, I wouldn't let him get away with too much crap if I were you." Luna smiled as he exited the office. She could hear him yelling at the pressman downstairs through her closed door.
"Well, of course she didn't like it. I told you the magenta was still wrong. And don't get me started again on that cover spell."
Feeling better than she had in a while, Luna walked back to her desk and scribbled a hasty note to Harry. She tied it to Hedwig's leg and scratched the owl under her chin. "Be sure to bite him for me when you see him, okay? He deserves it." Hedwig cooed and flew out the open window.
Their party was the event of the season, with invitations issued by a set of criteria that was as hotly discussed afterwards as was the gowns worn by the attending witches. It seemed that almost everyone tried to cully favor with the family -- their wealth and political and business influences attracted the power hungry, the ambitious, the desperate, and the most deadly.
For Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, these types of affairs were common, though never to this scale. In their family's glory days, wizards and witches would come to their manor to curry favor with Lucius. And Lucius himself had been a regular at the diFirenzie fete, though he never trusted his wife or only son to join him on these occasions, no matter how much Narcissa or Draco pouted or whined. It was too important an event, he would drawl, before turning his back on them with a sweep of his finest-cut black wool cape.
But the glory days of the Malfoys had long passed, Draco thought bitterly, squandered away by careless alliances and gaudy displays of wealth that impressed no one of consequence, especially not the diFirenzies. As Draco and his mother took the portkey to the front doors of the estate, Draco wondered for the first time if his father had been right, if he was out of his depth in this group. His trained eye took in and priced the fine marble columns and floors, the rich tapestries, and some of the choicest pieces of art in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, chosen not so much to the personal taste of the house's illustrious inhabitants, but to impress all who entered their foyer.
An incessant tugging on his sleeve brought his attention back to his companion.
"Look at that painting," Narcissa whispered excitedly, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. "And look at what those women are wearing, that necklace must cost..."
"Mother, control yourself," Draco snapped. "We are the Malfoys. We are here to impress, not to be impressed." He winced at the sharp tone of his voice-all of a sudden he sounded like his father.
Narcissa's face hardened and then reset in a cool mask. "But of course, Draco. Forgive my stupidity," she said, then turned on her heel and left him standing alone in the hallway. He thought of going after her but only for a moment. He'd do better on his own tonight.
And then, by second nature, Draco Malfoy began to work the room. Instinct, coupled with careful research, taught him which wizards and witches needed his attention, and who could easily be brushed aside and ignored. He knew which women, for example, should be flirted with, whose old eyes and shaking limbs might benefit from his icy beauty and youth. He had learned at an early age how to hold a wrinkled hand just a moment longer than was called for, how to place a breathy kiss on paper-thin skin, how a thumb rubbed just right across the back of the hand or the inside of the wrist could open doors with powerful husbands and sons. Draco was always well liked in these situations.
Taking a moment for himself, he snatched a flute of champagne from a passing house elf and moved to the fireplace, the perfect position to be seen and yet to stand back and catalog the machinations of the party around him. He saw his own mother sitting on a red velvet chaise lounge talking animatedly with an auburn haired woman he didn't recognize. He winced, hoping that she wasn't boring her companion, and then his eyes were drawn and caught by a woman standing beside the patio doors.
Draco didn't recognize her. She was tall and thin, dressed in a black tunic-style gown that fell to the floor but left her arms gloriously bare. Her long black hair was swept up and off her slender neck, framing an olive complexioned face with wide, dark eyes and a full red mouth. Her only jewelry was a pair of garnet and diamond drop earrings, strikingly elegant compared to the other gaudy displays of wealth around the room. Draco was intrigued.
And she was bored. Draco rolled his eyes when he noticed her companion, Auguste Compton, the obscenely rich manufacturer of the Nimbus line of Quidditch brooms, and understood why. The effusive man had blocked the woman by the wall and was talking animatedly to her in an overloud voice. He kept leaning toward her, but her crossed arms and crystal tumbler of liquor protected a slender margin of space between the two. Feeling mischievous, Draco drowned his champagne and headed in their direction. This should be fun.
"And then those damn French manufacturers thought they could weasel in on our market," Auguste's nasal voice droned, "but they just don't have the high quality wood like our British brooms." He turned when he noticed Draco standing at his elbow. "Do they, young Master Malfoy? You played a bit of Quidditch yourself, didn't you?"
Draco bowed his head at his two companions, his eyes never leaving the woman's face. Was that a smile I see forming on her lips? "But, of course, Auguste," he answered. "I did play some Quidditch at school and only rode your finest brooms." He looked to the woman. "Forgive me, I am Draco Malfoy." He held out a hand to her in greeting.
Ignoring his hand, she took a long sip of her drink. "I know," she said, her voice deep and throaty.
"Yes, you were a seeker, weren't you, Draco? Played against Potter, am I right?" Auguste continued. Draco winced, but continued looking at the woman.
"Yes, I played against Potter," he said. The woman had finished her drink. "Here, let me get you another one," he offered. "What are you having?"
"Old Ogden's," she said, gratefully handing over her tumbler. Draco turned and was pleased to see a house elf standing at his elbow, two tumblers of whiskey ready on a shining silver tray. Draco took the drinks; handing one to his companion, he allowed his fingers to briefly touch her long, cool fingers.
"Thank you," she said, taking another sip of drink. "The diFirenzies believe in only the best." She gestured at their surroundings. "The best furnishings, the best parties," She took another long sip. "Ahh, and the best liquor."
"I saw Potter play once," Auguste continued. "He was incredibly fast and nimble. The best seeker I've ever seen. Too bad he chose to be an Auror instead of going pro."
"Are you friends with the family?" Draco asked the woman.
"Only slightly. I'm more of a business acquaintance really," she answered. "But it is against my religion to miss a party like this. You never know who you will meet on nights like these." She gave Draco a slow, sensual smile.
"Yes, indeed. Some of the people here are quite...fascinating," Draco agreed. "But I'm afraid I do not know your name."
She smiled. "Neither does he," she said instead, gesturing to Auguste with her drink.
Draco smiled back. "Auguste is ignorant of many things."
"Eh?" said Auguste, stopping to breathe.
"I was just saying, Auguste, that the Baron Orfrey over there," Draco vaguely gestured behind him, "was mentioning a big venture he was going into with the Spanish lumber consortium."
"Really," Auguste said, rubbing his chin with eager fingers. "Fine lumber, is it?"
"Oh, the best, hard and light, perfect for why, flying," Draco said, as if just putting two and two together. He leaned forward conspiratorially. "And I hear the rights to his land and lumber can go cheap. Orfrey is deep in debt to Gringotts. And you know how those bloody goblins are when it comes to collecting on a loan."
"Yes, yes," Auguste said excitedly. "Would you please excuse me?" he murmured, quickly turning and heading back into the crowd.
Draco heard his companion laugh. "My hero," she said, saluting him with her drink.
"Think nothing of it, my lady. I am forever at your service."
"You are not like your father at all," she said, looking at him with a knowing eye.
"My father?" Draco managed, feeling suddenly cold.
"Yes, Lucius. Oh, you look like him. And you work a room like him. But there's something different about you, a steel to your eye he never had," she finished, obviously unaware of Draco's discomfort.
"How did you know my father?" he managed.
She shrugged, an elegant gesture. "I was a business acquaintance."
"And what do you do to have so many business acquaintances?" Draco asked, though his tone made it clear that he no longer cared for her answer. She raised an eyebrow but continued on.
"I do whatever it takes for a girl to get by," she answered. "What do you do?"
"I do whatever it takes to undo Lucius' folly and restore my family to its rightful position," he snapped, cursing himself for speaking too much. He took another long swig of his drink, cheered at the burning feeling that wiped away his sudden chill.
"Is that your mother trying to get your attention?" she asked suddenly, looking over his shoulder.
Draco cursed inwardly, and then spared a glance over his shoulder. Yes, it was Narcissa, waving animatedly for him to come over and meet her companion. He sighed.
"Yes, that's Narcissa." He made no move to join her yet. "But surely you know her, if you and Lucius were...acquaintances."
She chose to ignore the sarcasm in Draco's voice. "Oh no, Lucius never mentioned you or your mother."
Draco felt an odd pang of regret. What for? Am I sorry Lucius never mentioned me to his whores?
"Which is a shame," she continued, "I would have loved meeting you before now."
Draco raised an eyebrow, knowing that he was being played, but insanely pleased with the compliment nonetheless. "Well, we have met now," he drawled, bowing to her again. "But I really must attend to my mother before she has a fit. Thank you for the fascinating encounter."
"But it was too brief," she said, reaching and touching his sleeve to hold him there a moment longer. "Are you staying in Florence, or going back to England tonight?"
"Actually, we are staying. Mother wants to do some shopping. We have rooms booked at Hotel Helvetia e Bristol, across from the Strozzi Palace."
"Then perhaps I could take you to lunch tomorrow," she offered. "I could show you our fair city while your mother squanders away some of your fortune."
Draco had to admit he was intrigued. "And who, pray tell, would be calling for me tomorrow at say, one?"
She smiled, squeezing his arm. "Mirat," she answered. "Mirat diBorghese."
"Well, Mirat," he liked the sound of her name coming off his tongue. "I would be honored to have lunch with you tomorrow."
"Till one then," she said, walking past him and back into the crowd. "It was very nice to finally meet you Draco Malfoy."
She could hear their raised voices from the other side of the closed door. She looked at Annie, McGregor's assistant, who sat outside the office watching Ginny with a wry smile. Are you going in? she asked with a raised eyebrow. Ginny shook her head no. If they don't need me...
"I told you, she's a menace," Jones was saying.
"Oh, give her a break, Jonesy," Harry interrupted. "She didn't do anything wrong."
"Wrong? She brandished a wand in front of crowd of tourists. I'm surprised she didn't start hexing Muggles left and right."
"She said she spotted Pettigrew and was trying to chase him down," McGregor said. "If that's the case, she would have been stupid to chase a Death Eater without a wand. And Ginny is not stupid."
"She says she saw Pettigrew, but we don't have any proof," Jones scoffed. "No one has seen the rat since Harry here killed Voldemort."
"With Ginny's help," Harry interjected.
"Yeah, whatever," Jones grumbled. "Pettigrew more than likely was killed, or eaten by that damn snake. Why would he show up in Florence of all places just when Ginny Weasley has been sent there on suspension?"
"Vacation," McGregor corrected.
"Whatever, Mac," Jones said. "Call it what you want. We all know what it was. Weasley went too far interrogating that suspect, and you know it."
"Listen here, Jones," Harry started. Ginny could hear swift movement across the room. "You don't know anything about Ginny, what she's done, or what's happened to her. Just back off. Now."
"Harry, Harry," Jones was backpedaling now, Ginny could tell. "We have no problem with you."
"We?" McGregor asked quietly.
"The men, your men," Jones added. "Harry here, he's one of us. We can count on him. That Weasley, well no one would work with her willingly."
"I do," Harry said quietly. Ginny knew her friend; he was getting angry.
"Of course you do, Harry," Jones said. "You're the Boy Who Lived. You're charmed. I'm just..."
"A stupid asshole," Harry finished.
"Now listen here," Jones started. Ginny could hear a chair scooting quickly against the floor. "I'm not going to stand here and let some kid talk to me like that."
Time to make an entrance.
Ginny threw open the door and strode in, head high. As she had imagined, McGregor was sitting behind his desk, looking pained and angry. Harry and Jones were standing toe to toe across from McGregor. Men.
"Hello, boys. Did I miss anything while I was away?" she asked, throwing herself into the uncomfortable chair across from McGregor. Harry smirked and walked away from Jones, who stood there staring stupidly at Ginny.
McGregor sighed. He rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Can we get back to the subject at hand, please?" he asked the room.
"Of course, Mac," Ginny said cheerfully. "Jonesy here was explaining why I was dangerous and why no one would work with me." Jones flushed, and then leaned down over Ginny, his sour breath washing over her.
"I know all about the likes of you," he sneered.
"The likes of me?" she asked innocently. "Girls, you mean? Why I'm thrilled for you Jonesy. Your mom will be too. By the way, did you get my postcard from Florence?"
"Ginny," McGregor warned.
"Oh, you think you're so funny," Jones continued, "but I've seen your type before. You're a thrill seeker. Your life is empty, so you fill it up with danger and violence. You're a bad auror and a danger to everyone around you."
McGregor's hand crashed down on his desk, making them jump.
"That's enough!" he roared, standing up slowly. "The last time I looked, Jones, I was in charge here. I pick the aurors in this department -- not you or the men outside. We have a job to do, and we will all work together to accomplish it. Got it?"
Jones stood up and walked to the window. "Yeah, I got it," he finally grumbled.
Ginny opened her mouth to say something. "And you," McGregor said, rounding on her. "Shut up." She bit back a snide comment and waited.
McGregor sat back down at his desk. "Now, let's start again." He looked at Ginny. "Ginny, are you sure it was Pettigrew?"
"Yes," she said. "I'd know him anywhere."
"What did you do when you saw him?"
"I pulled out my wand and tried to chase him down. I ran into someone, which caused Pettigrew to notice me. He ran outside, but by the time I got there he was gone. I immediately owled you to let you know what happened."
"You owled Dumbledore too, didn't you?" McGregor asked quietly. Jones made a strangled sound over by the window. Harry threw him an evil look.
"Yes," she answered.
"Why?"
She shrugged. "Because Dumbledore would want to know. He would take the threat seriously."
"Where do your loyalties lie?" Jones finally demanded. A look from McGregor shut him up.
"Leave," McGregor ordered Jones.
"Excuse me?" he gasped.
"I said leave. I'll talk to you later." Jones stood there dumbfounded; even Ginny and Harry were amazed, and exchanged puzzled glances. "Fine," Jones clipped, walking out of the office straight-backed. He softly closed the door behind him. McGregor sighed.
"For all his faults, Jones is a good auror, and I don't like doing that to him," he cautioned. Harry sat down beside Ginny.
McGregor pulled out an envelope and handed it to Ginny. "It seems that Dumbledore takes the 'threat,' as you call it, very seriously. He wants you and Harry to meet him in Florence tomorrow."
"What did you say?" Harry asked, watching his supervisor's face.
McGregor squirmed and looked out the window of his office at the bleak sky outside. "I don't know what's going on here, and obviously Dumbledore knows more than he's telling us. That's dangerous, and I don't like it. But he stood up against the bad guys when no one else would. For that alone, I'm willing to let him have his way here." He looked seriously at the two young people in front of him. "But remember, you are my people now. I want you to let me know what's going on, how we can help you. Keep me informed when you can and try not to do anything too stupid. Understood?"
Ginny and Harry nodded and walked out of the office. There was nothing left to say. They noticed Jones having a heated discussion with a group of aurors. Wonder who they are talking about? The two partners walked over to their desk and sat down across from one another. Ginny rubbed her shoulder, trying to relieve some of the tension that had settled there during the fight. She'd have another headache by tonight.
"Shoulder bothering you?" Harry asked quietly. Ginny didn't like the way he was staring at her.
"No more than usual," she answered. Then, when he didn't say anything else, she snapped. "What is it?" He shrugged. "What's the matter," she continued, "don't you want to tell me how dangerous I've become?"
"Ginny, what happened in that interrogation room?"
She looked down at her desk and didn't say anything.
"I'm your partner. I'm your friend. Trust me," he pleaded.
"How's Luna?" she asked instead. Harry gave her a hard look, then started shuffling papers on his desk.
"She's fine," he muttered.
"Are you still seeing her?"
"I wouldn't call it 'seeing'," Harry started, before a clerk came up to Harry's desk, holding Hedwig on his raised arm. Harry murmured his thanks and put his owl on her perch beside his desk. He reached to pull off the note, and Hedwig nipped at his fingers.
"Ouch! Why did you do that?" he demanded, sucking on his finger while he read the note. His face flushed and he threw the note away without a word. Ginny watched the proceedings with amusement.
"Seems she's not the only one who is mad at you, huh?" she guessed.
"Want to grab some dinner before we head home and pack?" he asked. "Merlin knows what Dumbledore is up to this time. We'll probably need all the rest we can get."
Ginny nodded and followed Harry out of the office. She was definitely going to have a headache tonight.