A Break in the Bone
Draco
Deception is a relative term. To some it is merely a white lie – a harmless little untruth soon forgotten. To others it is a heady, dangerous poison that burns the tongue from which it is spat out. To me it is more like a skeleton – a beautiful, living structure, which holds everything together. Each bone needs to be perfectly crafted to fits its specific purpose. Something like 'Oh I can't possibly come to work today, I'm ever so cough sick" would be a finger bone, a small, unobtrusive lie never thought about. The secret I hold is far, far greater – it is the spine; the one part of the structure which can shatter the skeleton from the tiniest imperfection. This morning I found that imperfection. This morning I found a break in the bone.
The day began as any other. I woke with my arm curled around my beautiful wife. "One year, one day." I said softly recalling our wedding anniversary. I ignored the shiver that ran through her sleeping body and reminded myself how fortunate I am – how clever I have been. As I do every morning, I left a trail of butterfly kisses on my Ginny's bare shoulders and twisted a lock of fire round my finger. "I wish I could stay here forever" I whispered idly "Just us and this bed. Could anything be more perfect?"
"Nothing Draco, not a single thing." I imagined her saying. If awake those words would have probably left her lips.
I sighed with content and with one final touch of my hand to her porcelain skin, I left the bed and lazily dressed for work. I scoff as I'm writing this, as 'work' couldn't be further from the truth. I have no job or at least not one in the typical sense. You see I am a celebrity. A hired hero now that the 'real' one is otherwise engaged. Normally being second best is a position I resent but the perks of the position far outweigh any lingering complex. After my 'stunning and incredibly heroic' (the Daily Prophet's words) defeat of the last Death Eaters I have become Draco the Brave, any past link with the Dark Side of the force long forgotten. It is strange how conveniently people can turn murder into a selfless act. I presume it offers them some kind of comfort and makes it acceptable, no, essential that they praise me for ending the life of a person. Actually twelve people. They give me medals and take my photograph and shake my hand and all for completing incredible, excruciating mass murder. The press works in mysterious ways…
I put on my expensive black robes and peered in the mirror. You handsome bugger! I said smugly and combed through my shoulder length hair. It really is too long but Ginny likes it and what Ginny likes, Ginny gets.
"Er… pardon me sir but…but" I looked down at my quivering house elf Jarvis. His large ears were shaking and I found myself wondering if he would suddenly take flight. Hs huge nose has an indecently large red wart perched precariously on the edge and every time I see it the desire to accio my darts set is almost overpowering.
"What is it?" I said shortly.
"A-A letter has appeared in your study sir…a very special letter." Jarvis replied hastily. Probably more fan mail ('oh Mr. Malfoy you are just soooo dreamy, I know you're married but I really think I'm your dream woman, I know I'm lumpy in places and my teeth have run away but we can make it work…')
I rolled my eyes and said impatiently "Well bring it here. Whose owl delivered it?"
"That's the strange thing," it said with wide eyes "It just appeared from thin air. I was cleaning in there and…" he stopped and suddenly banged his head against the wall. "Bad, bad Jarvis! Sir says I must stay out of study but I forgot! Stupid, bad Jarvis!"
Normally I would punish the little bastard for sneaking around but my curiosity had been piqued.
"Stop it!" I grabbed him by the ears and held him steady. "Why didn't you bring it up?"
"I couldn't sir. Jarvis tried but the letter kept flying away and screeching 'For Malfoy's eyes only!' over and over again." He looked at me with that stupid, ugly face and asked quietly "You are not mad at Jarvis? He tried but no, no, only for you is the letter meant."
"I'm not mad. I flatly responded and sent him from the room. Servants are a waste of oxygen – bring back the guillotine.
I walked down to the study and found the heavy oak door open. I briefly wondered how the elf could have gotten past my many security spells but the sight of the small white envelope hovering over my desk, drew me forward. Puzzled, I reached my hand forward and the letter rushed towards it, gluing itself to my palm. On the front there is no address only a name, one word 'Malfoy'. Without hesitation I opened it and a single piece of white paper danced to the floor. I picked it up and as my eyes registered the words sprawled in black ink, the beating of my heart increased tenfold.
It can only mean one thing. Impossibly, horribly it can mean just one thing. The bone is breaking.
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID
I have a visit to make. I need to talk to Harry's keeper.
1
1
1
GINNYI am supposed to glow. They say that pregnant women have an aura of natural beauty. I don't. I feel wretched and ugly and for the last twenty minutes my head has been down a toilet. This is the first day of morning sickness and to my absolute disgust it is far from being the last. At least Draco had left for work by the time my stomach held a full-scale bid for freedom. I don't think I could handle him seeing me like this – not so pathetic and dare I say it, normal. Ever since he has truly known me I have been part of something extraordinary. I was a fringe member of the infamous trio, I was part of the Order, I fought in the war alongside my brothers and friends and I was in love with…
But now I'm just a housewife, an expectant mother, which I know is a big deal in itself but it's just not enough. When I was younger I was going to take over the world – I was going to be Ginny medi-witch extraordinaire or Weasley the best Auror in Britain or even Professor Weasley headmistress of Hogwarts. But now I'm just a wife, just a title. I know jealousy is petty but I just can't help feeling a painful stab whenever I think of the success of my brothers. Bill the curse breaker, Charlie the dragon keeper, Percy the high flying ministry worker, Fred and George the unlikely entrepreneurs and then there's Ron – how did my stupid brother who's afraid of spiders (tiny spiders for Christ's sake!) become one of the most bravest and well respected wizards in modern history? I can't even think about Hermione, if I do then I might just turn green with envy.
I try to swallow these thoughts and crawl back into bed. Urghh…at the moment I personify that noise. I curl up under the covers and press my hands over my still-flat stomach.
A noise. My body goes stiff and cold. There's someone in the room and it's not Draco. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm going to be murdered in my bed. I'm going to die alone and in a…vomit stained nightdress. Fantastic.
Following my instincts I pull down the covers and sit up straight and alert on the bed.
Better to go down with a fight.
"Who the hell are you?" I ask, regretting how ridiculous my shaking voice sounds. Why can't I be all menacing and scare him off with my angry glare? Oh yeah, I'm bloody petrified!
The shadows move and I can now see the intruder. He is tall…moves closer…he is good-looking…steps forward…with thick black hair…and…no, no it can't be…my heart drops like an anvil…it isn't.
"Blaise Zabini?" I state incredulously
"Hello Mrs. Malfoy. How are we today?"
For the first but not the last time I am left speechless. Blaise formerly known as the creepy-scare-the-crap-out-of-me-shadow appears completely relaxed and stares at me like I'm the insane intruder in his calm world.
"What are you doing here?" I ask the obvious question with my face still set in shock. The fact that there is a handsome man in my bedroom who is not my husband might excite me after ten years of marriage but not now – not when I'm half-naked and covered in something sticky and impossibly orange.
"I came to see you. he replies nonchalantly and moves to perch on the edge of my bed. I quickly inch back and pull the covers up to my neck. I can't get my head around the blip in my usual routine of normalcy. Everything in my life for the last year has been uber normal but now someone I haven't seen for years is checking his watch for the time and is looking thoroughly bored. Bored? How could I possibly be boring him? He lets out an impatient huff as if to say 'Are you always this slow? Shouldn't you be offering me a cup of tea by now?'
"Why? Become a cat burglar? Going to liberate the family jewels and use the money for a much needed haircut?" I want to reply coolly and confidently but in reality all my heavy tongue can muster is a slurred "…w-why?"
He smoothly uncrosses his legs and stretches them out. He offers a patronising smile and responds, "I have something important to give you."
I look closely at him. His eyes, now surveying me mockingly, are gold and flecked with flashes of vivid orange. The curved lips are thin and I can imagine how severe they would appear when he's angry. He registers my prolonged stare with a knowing nod, as if to say 'Yes I know I'm incredibly sexy, feel free to drool'.
"Why in my bedroom? What's so important?" I demand, thankful that my shock is now turning to anger. A very useful emotion.
He eyes me suggestively and answers slyly "I have to get my thrills somewhere don't I?"
"Excuse me?"
"Oh don't fret I'm not in a pillaging mood." He says rolling his eyes "Plus the bed hair and vomit look really doesn't work for me – I'm picky like that."
A traitorous blush creeps across my cheeks and I spit out "Answer the damn question!"
"Actually" he retorts, "there were two questions. Didn't they teach you maths at Hogwarts?"
Before I can think of a witty comeback, he grows suddenly serious and moves further up the bed.
"Open your hand." he orders quietly as he reaches into his trouser pocket.
For some reason I listen to him and in an instance a little weight is felt. I draw back my outstretched hand and look at the object.
I swear the world stops spinning. Time stills. My eyes close without me knowing. I can hear the blood streaming through my veins. The room shrinks and I am lost in the same dark place I had desperately clawed myself up from so long ago.
Dangling between my thumb and index finger is a plain silver chain. On the chain is a simple silver ring. It was an engagement ring. It was a promise made between two people. The promise was to be true and loving every day for eternity. That promise was broken.
"Oh God…" I mutter, unable to form other words "Oh God…"
"It was never found." Blaise begins, saying the sentences I should but can't say. "Harry Potter never took that off. It hung around his neck like a lifeline – a pendant of solace. You've always wondered what happened to it, haven't you?" he asks and with my numb nod continues "Perhaps you assumed it lost in the final battle? That it flew from its owner and was buried by rubble? Or maybe you thought Voldemort had taken it just before saying those lethal last words in order to gloat over his victim?"
"Stop it! Stop it!" I say with a disgusted shout. Those questions have been asked so many times, they were useless and painful and futile and every time I found no answers my soul would be torn that little bit more.
I find myself jerking from the bed and standing before Blaise.
"Take it back!" I urge angrily, shoving the necklace towards him.
"No." he replies in a horribly calm tone, his arms lay relaxed by his side and the knowing smirk has returned with a vengeance.
I want to slap him for being so cruel but my body won't move. I try not to think – I don't want to ask why he's here with his necklace – I don't want to know. But he tells me anyway.
"There are secrets you need to discover. Facts need to clarify fiction," Blaise states simply. He stands up so that we are face to face. His breath brushes my face; it's hot and smells of spice and knowledge.
He takes hold of my shoulders. "But I won't be the one to tell you." He plants a quick kiss on my forehead and says, "You can have one secret from me."
Leaning to whisper in my ear, his words coil straight into my head "Harry's alive."
My closed-mouth scream masks the 'pop' of Blaise apparating away.
Harry's alive…