The little girl ran through the room shrieking and giggling wildly. She ran quickly, but not quickly enough to escape him. In one great lunge, he lifted her up off her feet and into his arms. Still giggling, she turned.
"No fair!" She exclaimed. "You always win!"
He laughed. "Someday, cub, someday you'll beat your old man."
Pulling back the covers for her, he gently placed her into the bed.
"Do I have to go to bed? I'm not even tired!"
"Yes, darling."
"Mummy?" She said looking to her mother and putting the most entreating puppy-dog pout on her face that she could muster. Her mother smiled.
"Do as your father says, Isabelle." She said, leaving her perch at the doorway to come and sit with her daughter. "But maybe, if you're good, we can talk Daddy into giving us a story."
The girl turned back to him, warm brown eyes bright. "Please, Daddy? Please?"
He couldn't say no to that face. He never could. Boy, did they have him whipped.
"Me too!" Another voice sounded. High, clear and boyish. It would have to be Malachi, awake nearly an hour after being tucked in.
He looked over to see his son was indeed sitting up in the second bed of the room.
Frowning, he said, "You, young man, are supposed to be asleep."
"But Bella gets to stay up!" He whined, looking from mother to his father.
"Well," His wife said smiling. "I just don't see how we can argue with that logic, Draco Darling. Come on." She patted the bed next to her warmly, gesturing for her son to join them.
The boy, not much older then five, ran triumphantly across the room and climbed into the bed. Draco watched contently as his wife slid in beside the two children, curling her legs underneath her, catlike, before pulling the covers up to her chin. She beamed up at him, his indication to start the story.
"Once upon a time…" He paused, settling on Malachi's bed. He'd always let the children's mother tell the stories. Growing up in the cool, somber Malfoy Manner, bedtime stories had never had any appeal to him. In fact, he could easily count the times he'd ever heard any on one hand, and even they weren't the kind his children would appreciate. They contained morals like, plunder then burn or Don't go back on a deal made with demonic forces simply because you feel like being contrary.
But that was all before he met Ginny. She was so bright and beautiful. She had the kind of smile that lit up the whole room and when she laughed, there was something about that sound that made you want to hear it again. Suddenly, the need to make her smile had become very important to him. Not that it was hard. Ginny had a seemingly internal fountain of joy that never seemed to end. Except, of course, in the mornings before she had her tea.
Bedtime stories, it seemed, were a nightly tradition at her house growing up. While he had no doubt the originals were good, stories were always better when she told them. Her personality- her love of life and sense of humor, all the things he loved most about her- shone through the classic tales, creating a variation completely her own.
It was a talent Draco had never had. He looked at her and she, seemingly sensing his dilemma, simply grinned. He snorted. He should have known better than to look to her to help, after all she had so much more fun watching him suffer.
"Once upon a time…there was a handsome prince and a beautiful princess. The princess fell in love with his devastating good looks the moment she first laid eyes on him. Of course, he was much more handsome then she was beautiful and couldn't be bothered with such a trifle girl. So he moved to a different kingdom where he found the most beautiful princess he had ever seen. So without a moment's hesitation, he married her. The other princess, married a different less handsome prince, and though they were much less happy then the other couple, they lived passably decent lives." He finished, rather proud of his story telling ability and noticed the other three were still staring intently at him.
"What?" He asked.
"That's it?" His daughter asked. "That's the end?"
"Yes." He answered defensively. He had thought his story was quite good…for a first try.
"No happily ever after?" Malachi asked, bemused.
Draco shrugged. "No."
His son's confusion turned to revolution. Obviously, any story that did not utter those words was nothing short of sacrilegious.
It was Ginny who laughed first, but once she started the children could no longer contain their giggles either. Draco flushed; he liked their laughter…so long as it wasn't at his expense.
"What?" He demanded.
"That." She said panting once the fit of laughter had subsided. "Was the most pathetic story I've ever heard."
She tried not to, she really did, but she couldn't help it; it was just too funny. She burst into another round of giggles.
"Think you can do better?" He asked. She raised an eyebrow. Was he challenging her?
"Why, Mister Malfoy, I do believe that was a challenge." She said.
"Yes, Misses Malfoy, I believe it was."
The children, chests still rising and falling heavily, exhausted from the bout of laughter, pulled the covers up a little closer and settled deeper into the bed.
Silently, Draco cursed himself. Of course, she could do better. She was a novelist; storytelling was her career.
"Once upon a time there was a peasant girl, and though she was not rich, she never had any desire for gold or jewels. She was not particularly pretty, but she had been blessed in other ways such as charm and wit, or so she believed, though she any assessment of herself would be prejudiced. She was content in her small shack with her family.
"And for many years she never even thought of the splendors of court or the riches of kings, or anything else of such a trifle matter. But one by one, as her brothers came of age, they went off to court. For weeks she wouldn't see them, and in the darkness of her small house, she finally began to realize how small the shack was, and how shabby her clothes were, and though she knew she would miss her parents, she began to secretly long for the day that she too, would be able to go to court. And finally the day came when she, with her kinsmen, set off for the king's palace. And there she found the most beautiful thing she had ever seen; the knight. Hair as raven wings, eyes as emerald and a heart more pure than the finest gold.
"At first, she admired him from afar, but soon the longings of her heart were so great that she sought him out and, in verses of great love and passion, expressed her ardor for him. He was calm and kind, but clear. He could not love her. And so, dark melancholy's grip tight upon her chest, she ran from his room. Crying out her innermost thoughts, her most precious emotions in her flight, she found she had become lost within the many winding towers of the castle. Sinking to the floor in desperation, she cried out.
"'Dear, sweet child.' A voice called, 'what has put you in such a wretched disposition?'
'Kind sir, forgive my trespassing. I shall leave you to your thoughts.' She said, for the owner of the voice was seated by the fire, clearly in deep contemplation. He turned, but in the dim light of the room, she could not clearly see his face.
'I could not return to such thought, for my head is filled with worry for you. Dear girl, who has harmed you?'
'No one, but myself.' She answered. 'For I love one who does not and cannot return my feelings.'
'How can this be?' he asked, 'for who could scorn one as lovely as yourself? Helen, cannot compare to your beauty, lady.'
'I am not beautiful, nor am I worthy of the affections I seek.'
'Do I lie then?'
'No, no good master, I meant no offense.'
He nodded. 'Your beauty is like that of the sun, unchanging and constant in its radiance. And I say so upon all my honor.'
'But even the sun gives way to night. How constant, then, can it be?'
'Constant, child, constant; for even in the darkest hour of night, is it not the sun who lights the moon?'
For that, she had no answer. And, being well taught by her father, she made no reply. For surely it was better to say nothing then to say something foolish.
'Tell me,' he ordered, 'of this fool who does not love you.'
"Not a fool, good sir, he is kind and gentle. He is a knight, protector of the weak and innocent, pure in every aspect of his heart. And to match his kindness is his wit, only outweighed by his beauty. For if I am the sun, a single star, he is the night sky.'
With this said, fresh tears began to fall. 'He and my brother are good friends. My other brothers- I have many- are all grown. I've no one left to talk to.'
'Then come, fair lady, I shall be your friend.'
He stood, helping her to her feet and with the light of the firelight shining upon his face, she saw for the first time that her comforter had been. The prince.
"In surprise the girl reeled back. For the prince was said to be a man of great darkness, of great evil. He was known throughout the land as a cruel tyrant. Daily prayers included the wish that the old king would sire another son before his death so that the boy standing before her did not become ruler. She looked upon her prince in astonishment, for he was only a few years older then her. Surely at such a tender age no man could be evil. And he had been so kind to her. She remembered the gentleness with which he had used to pull her to her feet. Certainly no such man could be the tyrant of which the people spoke. In fact, upon reflection, she could find no fault in this man at all. By degree she worked herself into a fury. How could one so warm and kind be slandered? How could a man such as this become the object of his people's scorn when all he deserved was their affections?"
"'Forgive my boldness, Sire, I, in ignorance did not recognize you.'
'Please,' he said, 'let there be no formalities between us. No limits between friends.' And so with those words spoken, he took her hand and led her back to her room. For the next few weeks they two would meet constantly in the room near the fire and the prince would listen to all her troubles.
Rarely did he speak of his own life, of his mother, the late queen. Of her father, the king, who he abhorred.
The prince became her dearest friend. Though they seldom saw each other outside of their nightly meetings, the secret smiles and knowing glances they exchanged during their brief meetings gave her a feeling of absolute importance. The prince made her feel beautiful and brave. While in court alone, she was shy, but in their meetings she was strong and outspoken. She treasured their meetings above all things.
She could never have guessed that they would end so terrible. For, unbeknownst to her the prince was a man of great darkness, and he had made her a part of his plans, because even though the knight could not love her, he was very fond of her as he might have been of a sister, had he been blessed with any of his own."
As Ginny dove into the dark prince's plan to use her as a lure for the knight, Draco leaned back onto the pillows of Malachi's bed where he had settled and closed his eyes. He reached across the gap between the two beds and took his wife's hand. He wanted so bad to hold her in his arms and rock her and reassure her, even though he knew she was long past needing such comfort. The touch was more for his own assurance then hers.
The story was, of course, that of Ginny's very real encounter with Tom Riddle in her first year of school, and it brought up as many dark memories for him as it did for her.
With nauseating clarity he remembered that year, the attack, the rumors, then finally the message so clearly written in blood claiming Ginny's body to the darkness of the Chamber. It wasn't even the thought that he had almost lost her that made him sick; it was his own twisted glee. His own perverse pleasure that someone had died and in doing so had laid the way for the rise of Voldemort. He had laughed. And it was his own farther that had caused it all. No matter what he was now, he couldn't change what he had been. He would never be able to rid himself of that darkness.
His iniquity had touched Ginny before he even knew her. Even his marriage to her had been out of selfishness. He had known from the start that loving her would put her in danger and he had done it anyway.
The grip on his hand tightened. He wasn't sure if it was unconscious or because she sensed his thoughts, but either way he welcomed the contact.
"Ginny," He said. She looked annoyed. She had just reached the part where the hero swooped down and rescued the girl with the help of a magnificent phoenix when he interrupted.
"What?" She asked.
"I think my story wins. You put your audience to sleep." He gestured to the two sleeping children and grinned.
"That, Mister Malfoy," She said, sounding cross even if she couldn't conceal her own grin, "is the point of a bedtime story."
Carefully, she extricated herself from the tangle of limbs and crawled gingerly out of the bed. Draco picked up Malachi and deposited him carefully on his bed. He waited for Ginny by the door and once she had firmly tucked both children in, they walked hand in hand to their room.
"You should have learned by now," He said once she had lain down next to him in their bed. "I always win."
She snorted.
"I won you, didn't I?"
She laughed again and patted his cheek consolingly, "If you say so darling."
"Besides," She added after a moment. "You didn't let me finish."
Ginny, he'd learned, really hated losing.
"I was just hoping you'd skip over all that knight crap and get to the good part." He answered playfully.
"Oh, you mean that time Harry and I got drunk and made out under the mistletoe?" She answered.
"You were sixteen! For Merlin's sake let it die already!"
She grinned. "I just like to know you still get jealous."
He rolled over to face her and propped himself up on one arm. "So….?"
"So what?" She asked.
"Well, aren't you going to finish?"
She smiled and sat up, crossing her legs beneath her. "Just as the great snake pounced, a beautiful fiery bird swooped down and-"
"Not that part." He snapped. "I said the good part."
She glared. "You get no say in this. And so," She continued, "The girl went about her life, still ignoring the way she felt about the knight. She knew he would never love her, but still, she had hope."
Draco made gagging sounds.
"Oh very mature." Ginny snapped. "Either shut up and let me finish or tell it yourself."
"Fine, I will." He took a deep, dramatic breath before beginning. "And so the girl slowly grew to realize the knight was an absolute prat with no fashion sense. About the same time she met the handsome and rich Lord of Malfoy Manner. She had known him for many years, but never really realized how debonair and devastatingly attractive he was. She instantly fell in love with him and-"
"Merlin, you don't actually tell people this crap when they ask how we met, do you?" She asked, somewhere between horrified and amused.
"Why?" He asked defensively. "I thought that was a marvelous rendition. Maybe embellished a little…"
"Embellished in the sense of being absolute nonsense."
"Well fine, how do you remember it?" He asked.
"Something along the lines of finding you wondering the corridors royally sloshed and me trying to drag you to the infirmary to get a sobriety potion. Then you went and had the grand idea to attack me and ended up casting an adhesive charm that had us fused at the wrist for three days."
He sat up, putting a thoughtful finger to his chin. "I remember waking up next to you but the rest is all a blur…your night gown was pink and rather see-through if I recall…" He broke off grinning.
"You were so drunk I'm amazed you remember anything." She said, smiling back.
His grin grew even wider and with one fluid motion he enveloped her in his arms and pulled her down against the bed and kissed her.
"I love you, Ginny."
She sighed contently and laid her head against him. " I love you too, Draco." Slowly, she drifted off to sleep to the two-beat lullaby of his heart.
But before he drifted off, he whispered it- the same thing he whispered to her every night after she fell asleep. "I wasn't really drunk."
Thanks for 500 reviews! If you haven't read my other story, If Only You Knew, check it out! Hopefully, if you have read it, this will tide you over until the next chapter comes out.
My first attempt at a one-shot(ish) kinda thing, so please review! Constructive critisms are appreaciate, but NO FLAMES. My fragile psyche just couldn't stand it.