AN: Thanks to Gabriele, the formatting-monkey-genius behind all of this, and to all you who have reviewed so far. Just... wow.
Chapter 8
"So, d'you think he's real, this Quicksilver character?" Merrilee LeBlanc squinted at the magazine article on the desk in front of her.
"Merrilee, if he were real, don't you think we'd all know it by now?" Ginny blew out an exasperated breath. "If he were real, he'd be an Auror, wouldn't he?"
It had been a slow morning – indeed, a slow week – at Headquarters, and the Ministry Aurors had been reduced to lounging around the office, throwing balls of scrap paper into waste bins and leafing through back issues of Witch Weekly.
"Well, maybe," answered the older woman uncertainly. "I guess I'm just surprised Witch Weekly is hanging onto this angle for so long. Usually they'll tout some piece of nonsense for an issue or two, and then drop it. I mean, what would they have to gain by keeping on with these stories?"
"I'll tell you what they have to gain," put in Ted scathingly. He had dropped by to say hello, and stayed to catch up on office gossip. It had been more than a week since their lunch date, and though he hadn't asked her out again, he had found an excuse to drop by her office every day. Sometimes even two or three times a day.
"Every witch under the age of thirty is arse over tip in love with this imaginary superhero," he went on. "If this gimmick hasn't doubled Witch Weekly's sales in the last nine months, I'll eat my own wand sideways."
"Well, I'm not in love with him," declared Ginny. "I don't even believe in him."
Ted touched her lightly on the hand. Ginny's heart did a little half-skip, and she felt the colour rush into her face. "Of course you don't believe in him. But then you're not just any witch, are you?"
"No?" she said archly. "What am I then?" Oooh, she cringed even as she heard herself say it. Stupid... obvious... flirty... if that wasn't begging for a compliment...
But Ted was tracing a design on the back of her hand, and it was sending the nicest sensations jumping around inside her stomach. "Lovely," he said at last, looking into her eyes with a peculiar intensity.
She smiled at him, too happy to trust herself to speak.
Alec Ward, the senior Auror in the office, picked up the magazine from Merrilee's desk. "Listen to this:
"Hard Evidence or Hardly Credible? Muggle news continues to report of people from Sussex to Skye who are being rescued, in spectacular ways, by the mysterious man known as 'Quicksilver'; so dubbed because of the Mercury's wings he always leaves behind at the scene.
"Sources, speaking on condition of anonymity, report that at each of these fantastic rescue scenes, wand residue has been detected, leading MLES officials to suspect that the elusive hero is indeed a wizard. Ministry officials refuse to confirm these rumours, even as reports continue to roll in from as far away as South America."
"And look –" he ran his finger down the page. "They go on to list a bloody slew of rescues they're attributing to this bloke: shipyard accidents; runaway Underground cars; fires; even a flood in Colombia." He looked up. "Is it the flood season in Colombia?"
Robert Birtwhistle, who had been an Auror longer than Ginny had been alive, reached over and plucked the magazine from Alec's fingers. "How do I know? Here, give us that." He scanned through the article and gave a low whistle. "No way," he said, shaking his head. "No man, not even a wizard, could do all this single-handedly." Decisively, he tossed it into the bin. "Waste of bloody time, reading that rubbish."
Ted stood up and stretched. "Well, there's no rest for the wicked, as they say. I'm afraid it's back to work for me." He touched her on the shoulder. "Ginny, could I have a word with you?"
Ginny glanced sideways at Merrilee, who winked. She blushed furiously, and followed Ted out into the hallway, ignoring Robert's snickers and Alec's pointed throat-clearing. When they had pulled the door shut behind them, Ted reached out and took her hand. He tugged on it so that she was forced to take a step closer to him. "I was wondering if I could convince you to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"
Friday night. Disappointment flooded her. "Oh! I'm sorry Ted, I already told my parents I'd have dinner at their place tomorrow. Can't we do it another time?"
He smiled at her. So sweet, so quick to understand. "Are you doing anything the next day – Saturday?"
"No, Saturday would be just fine." She couldn't contain the silly smile on her face, though she needn't have tried. He was smiling, too.
"Where should I pick you up?"
"Oh... erm..." That was a difficulty. She couldn't very well tell him to come by Four Winds for her. In the end, she gave him the address of her old flat. She could spend Saturday afternoon there with Sarah, she decided, and go out with him afterward, in the evening.
Draco did not show up for dinner, so she ate alone that night, relieved that he was apparently away from home once again. She had just settled herself peacefully in front of the library fire, with a book and her wine, when the door burst open and he stalked in. He was holding an ice bag to the top of his head and scowling blackly.
Oh, this was nice. Not only was he home, but from the look of it, he was in a towering temper. She didn't bother to hide her irritation. "I thought you were out."
"Well, I'd bloody well like to be, but it's not like I can go anyplace, can I?" he snapped. He slumped into a chair and rubbed peevishly at his temples with his fingertips. "I've got a roaring great headache."
She took a deep breath and counted to ten. She would not let him get to her. Ted had asked her out again, qualifying this day as possibly one of the happiest in her life, and Draco was not going to ruin it. He was nothing but a spoilt child, and because he was miserable, he wouldn't be happy until he had made someone else more miserable. Well, it would not be her.
She affected a tone of exaggerated concern. "Poor thing. Is it very serious, do you think?"
He sighed miserably, but didn't answer, slumping back into his chair instead, and pulling the ice bag over his forehead.
If he wasn't fighting back, something was obviously wrong with him. She relented a little. "D'you suppose it's some kind of aftermath of that virus you had last week? Maybe you never really kicked it."
"Probably." His voice sounded feeble, and far away. "I haven't felt right all week."
She studied his face. He did look pale, and she thought he had probably lost some weight as well. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to go out of her way a little bit, for him. "Do you want a drink?"
"No," he said ungraciously.
So much for her tender mercies. Ginny took another deep breath and counted to twenty.
He stared into the fire, and at length, he spoke again. "I'm going flying: I need some fresh air."
"Do you think that's a wise thing to do, if you're not feeling well?"
"And who are you," he said acidly, "my mother?"
She flinched, but only said coolly, "Suit yourself, then. But if you fall off your broom and break your neck because you're too weak to hold on don't say I didn't warn you." She looked back down at her book, staring at the black-and-white blur of the page, waiting for him to leave.
Instead, he was looking at her. She could tell he was, could almost feel his eyes burning into her. Hateful man; why didn't he just go away? He sat up and tossed the ice bag noisily onto the end table. She ignored him. He shifted in his chair, and sighed loudly.
She ignored him.
He kept staring.
At last she looked up. "What?"
"What are you doing tonight?"
She held up the novel she had been reading, and waved it in the air. "I'm trying to read my book."
"Come flying with me, instead."
For a moment, she was surprised into silence. She would have hesitated at the best of times, but with him in a mood like this... it was just asking for more abuse. "I don't want to go flying," she said at last. She did not add "with you", though she thought it.
Draco affected a pious expression. "I think you have a moral responsibility to see that I don't hurt myself by flying when I'm ill." He coughed affectedly, into his hand. "Since I may be too weak to hold on, and all."
Oh! He was exasperating. Well, if he wanted her to go with him, he was going to go about it the way any gentleman would. "You could try," she said with asperity, "asking me nicely."
"I'm not asking you at all."
It was amazing, really, that a person could be so high-handed and still take himself seriously. She would say no. She would pick up her book and walk out of the library, and leave him to his own, stupid, solitary company for the rest of the year. She did not need to be talked to like this. Who, in the name of everything sacred, did he think he was?
Instead, she heard herself say, "All right, Draco. I'll go flying with you on one condition." And the moment the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to kick herself.
"I don't do conditions."
"Fine. Fly by yourself then," she snapped. She picked up her book and pretended to read again.
After a moment, she heard him clear his throat. "Well, what is it, then?"
She looked up warily. He was still staring into the fire, but she noticed there was a peculiar tension about his mouth. It mattered to him. He cared about her answer. Well. That was a surprise. But it was good. It had to be good, right? Because they had to live together for a long time, and it would be so much pleasanter if they could be on good terms...
She spoke carefully. "You have to quit talking to me this way. You have to stop being so... so nasty and sarcastic all the time. I can't listen to that." She waited for him to laugh at her and walk out of the room.
He snorted. "And where would be the fun in that, for me?"
But she saw something – not in his eyes, but behind them. 'He doesn't know,' she thought, with a sudden burst of insight. 'He doesn't know how to relate to another human being without sarcasm and... and all those ridiculous defenses of his.'
And for the first time in the fourteen years she had known him, Ginny felt something besides contempt and resentment and hatred for him. Suddenly, she felt sorry for him. She, who had grown up teased and petted and pushed about by her family, but always – always herself with them... never having to pretend anything...
But then she remembered. She remembered what it had been like, her first year at Hogwarts, to have to hide who she was, and what was important to her, because the people who loved her most would not have understood: would have weighed her in the balance and found her wanting. So she had hidden herself from them, and she remembered how very alone and... groundless she had felt, hiding like that. But at least she thought, even in that year, she had always had people who loved her. And whether or not they always understood, being loved unconditionally was a safe place to be. She wondered if Draco Malfoy had ever had the luxury of that safety.
So, almost surprising herself, she heaved an exaggerated sigh and threw down her book. "Oh all right, I'll go with you. But it's only because I have to keep you alive for the next year." She stood up. Actually, the thought of flying was beginning to sound appealing.
"Sensible girl," was all he said, and stood to hold open the library door with a mocking bow.
The night was crisp and clear and still; perfect for flying. Pulling up alongside Draco though, she saw that he really did not look well. Though he wore gloves, she could tell he was holding the grips a little too tightly; he flew too low to the handle, and once or twice, misjudged his balance when he banked, and slipped a bit. She began to fear that her flippant comment about falling off the broom was closer to the mark than she'd realised In the end, they had only flown about a mile when she insisted they turn back for home.
He grumbled as they touched down on the frost-rimed lawn of Four Winds. "Insolent woman. I'm not an invalid, you know."
"You will be, if you try to fly in this state. Go inside and get yourself back to bed. If you're not better in a day or two, I'm calling in a Healer, I don't care what you say."
He glared at her, but he stomped ahead of her back into the warmth of the house. She noted, with some concern, that he stumbled a bit as he walked, and she followed, sighing. Ah well, she wouldn't let him get to her. Tomorrow was Friday, and after that Saturday, and her date with Ted.
Friday night found Ginny at The Burrow for the first time in nearly two months; she hadn't been in her parents' home since the night before her wedding. Almost as soon as she stepped out of the fireplace, she had felt something inside herself heal that she hadn't even known was broken. Now, it was an inexpressible relief to sit there with her shoes kicked off in the warm, shabby kitchen, with Fred and Angelina, and George, and Ron with his arm around Hermione, and the promise that Percy and Penelope would arrive just as soon as Percy could get away from the office. She sighed, and sipped at her mug of hot tea, contentment wrapping itself around her like a blanket.
"Where's Bill, Mum? Isn't he coming too?" She hadn't talked to her favourite brother in weeks.
"I'm afraid not, love." Molly frowned over the pot she was stirring. "He's feeling a bit under the weather lately. He caught a nasty virus last week, and hasn't really bounced back from it." She added some oregano, and tasted the sauce.
"Must be going around," Ginny said, without thinking.
"Oh, really?" Molly looked up in mild surprise. "Do you know other people who've got it? I'd like to know what it is; none of the potions he's tried seem to be working for him."
Ginny flushed. "Well... it sounds like what's going around the office," she lied. "I don't know... I can ask around and see if anyone's got any remedies for it."
"I wish you would, dear. He's missed a week of work already, and you know how he hates that." Molly put down her spoon, and wiped her hands on her apron. "All right, you lot, come to the table. I think we're just about ready to start."
Dinner was the usual lively Weasley affair, with everyone talking over everyone else, and a great deal of teasing and laughter. Ginny ate far more than was good for her, and felt more like her old self than she had done in weeks. Afterward, she and Angelina, Hermione and Penelope helped her mother wash the dishes, while her brothers and father went out back for a game of moonlight Quidditch.
She left early, when the other girls went out to join the men in the back meadow. It had been a good evening, but she was in no frame of mind to hang about with mooning couples, or to sit in the kitchen and submit to her mother's anxious questions and endless cups of tea. Best, she thought, to leave while things were going well. And besides, after the rowdy evening, she was more than ready to be by herself and do a little daydreaming about tomorrow night, and Ted.
Draco was not at breakfast, and Ginny spared a grateful thought that he was at least staying out of her way, today. After breakfast, she Apparated over to Diagon Alley and spent the morning getting her hair trimmed and her nails manicured. After that, she browsed for a happy hour through Madam Malkin's and came out with a swirly, coppery-coloured robe that fell just above her knees, and a pair of new, high-heeled, leather boots to go with it.
In the afternoon, she floo'd to her old flat to visit Sarah, and dress for her date with Ted. It was just before lunchtime when she stepped out of the fireplace.
"Hello!" she called.
"In here!" She found Sarah in the kitchen, scooping prawn salad into avocado halves.
A smile lit up her best friend's face. "Hello, love." She put down her spoon, and pulled Ginny into a hug. "You can't think how I've missed you... And how I've worried about you." She stepped back and looked her up and down. "You look good though. Is that a new haircut?"
Ginny flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Do you like it?"
"I do! It suits you. I'm glad you kept the length, though. Hair like yours should be long." She eyed Ginny appraisingly. "How are you doing? Everything going all right up in Scotland?"
"Yes, all right," Ginny said striving to sound breezy and matter-of-fact. "It's all going as arranged: we live under the same roof, and take as much care as we can to stay out of each other's way. I can't say it's exactly scintillating, but at least the year should pass fairly uneventfully, at this rate."
Sarah was apparently satisfied. "Good. Come and eat then, and let's catch up."
They took their plates to the table, and opened a couple of bottles of pumpkin ale.
"So," said Ginny meaningfully, when they'd started on their salads. "You haven't asked a thing about the man I'm going out with tonight."
Sarah frowned a little. "Oh, yes. I do want to hear about that. What's his name?"
Ginny rolled her eyes and smiled. "It's only Ted, silly, the one you've heard me going on and on about for the last two years."
"Oh, right!" Sarah's eyes grew wide. "From the office next door to yours? Good looking chap? Dreamy eyes, curly hair – that him?"
"The very one!"
Ginny looked triumphantly at her friend, but Sarah only said, "O-o-oh," and began picking at her salad, so that Ginny wasn't able to read her expression.
Ginny laid down her fork. "What? What is 'o-o-oh' supposed to mean?"
"Nothing! It's about time he got around to asking you out. I mean, where have the man's eyes been all this while?" Sarah's voice sounded forced, and she did not meet Ginny's gaze.
"Sarah!"
"What?"
Ginny gave an exaggerated sigh. "What's the matter?"
Sarah didn't answer right away, only poked around in her salad, carefully separating things into neat piles: cashews on one side of the plate, prawns on the other, celery at the top. At last, she spoke quietly. "I think it's really great that he's finally noticed you." She raised her eyes to Ginny's, and her expression was pained. "Only, he's got rather rotten timing, hasn't he?"
Ginny felt her expression harden into a stiff mask even as she strove to look neutral and confident. "What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"No," said Ginny, a bit more shrilly than she'd intended. "I most certainly do not. I've been mad about this man for two years, and he's finally asked me out. I should think you'd be happy for me!"
"Ginny." Sarah spoke gently. "You're my dearest friend in the world, and I want you to be happy. But what kind of friend would I be to you if I didn't point out the obvious?"
Ginny folded her arms and glared stubbornly at her.
Sarah forged ahead anyway. "You're married, Ginny. You've no business going out with one man, when you're wed to another."
Ginny dropped her gaze, and stared at her plate. "It's not like that, Sarah! It's not as if I want to be married." She looked up. "I don't love Draco."
"But was that a condition, when you said 'I do'?"
She closed her eyes, against tears that were suddenly blurring her vision. "Don't," she managed. "Don't ruin this for me."
Her best friend gave her a long look then wisely said no more about it. Instead, she talked about her job and the neighbours, until gradually the awkwardness between them passed. At five o'clock, she pressed Ginny's new dress for her, and helped her curl her hair. When Ted called for her an hour later, Sarah gave her a quick hug good-bye, and whispered in her ear as she did, "Be a good girl, Ginny."
The night was clear and dry, so they walked the three streets over to a Greek restaurant called The Three Fates. Inside, Ted helped her off with her cloak and let his hands rest lightly on her shoulders for a moment. It startled her, and she shrugged them off before she realised what she was doing. He looked bewildered, and she was instantly sorry. It wasn't that she didn't want Ted touching her, she thought, but she was suddenly conscious that they were in a public place, and if anyone she knew should see them together... which was ridiculous, of course, because only her parents, Sarah and Draco knew she was married, and none of them were going to be here. She made up for it by giving Ted her most brilliant smile as they followed the maitre d' to a table in a dimly-lit corner.
He was a lively dinner companion. While they waited for their food, he told her how he had won fifty Galleons in a Quidditch pool for last season's World Cup quarter-finals, by betting on Hungary at five-to-one.
"I only wish I'd bet twice as much on it," he said ruefully. "But hindsight's always twenty-twenty, eh?"
Ginny said something she hoped sounded sympathetic. She had the slightest beginnings of a headache, and was trying to decide if it would be tacky of her to ask the waiter for a pain tablet.
"Puddlemere has a coaching post open."
"Really?" she said, forcing her attention, with an effort, back to the conversation. "What happened to the coach they had?"
"Went over to Wimbourne. I've been trying to speculate on who might fill the post. There are three or four good contenders for it."
Ginny sipped at her wine, trying to concentrate on Quidditch. "Who are they?"
"Well," he began eagerly, "there's Cole, from Suffolk. He's only been in the league two years, but he's polished the Centaurs up into a right smart team, and I think people are noticing him..."
Their starters came just then, and Ginny did not get to hear who else Puddlemere might hire as their coach. The waiter put the salad down in front of her, and she looked at it in dismay. She'd eaten far too much lunch at Sarah's, she realised, to have any appetite left for dinner. She managed a few bites, though, while Ted talked animatedly of his days as a Hufflepuff Beater at Hogwarts. He had such an open, friendly face, and he gestured frequently with his hands, as he talked. The candlelight only served to point up his dark good looks, and she told herself how lucky she was to be here with him.
Their main course came, but her head was really beginning to pound by now, and the rack of lamb that had looked so good on the menu, suddenly seemed daunting.
"Ted," she said, "excuse me for a minute. I'm just going to nip into the ladies'." Muggles, she remembered, sometimes had those little machines in their lavatories that dispensed aspirin and lip gloss and things like that.
Sure enough, there was a vending machine on the wall in the toilet. She didn't have any Muggle change with her, but all the doors of the stalls were standing open, and she saw that she was alone for the moment. Cautiously, she pulled her wand from her shoulder bag, and gave the machine a little tap. "Alohomora!" The front door of the thing swung open with a click, and she hurriedly helped herself to one of the aspirin packets inside, before closing the door again. She swallowed the two little white pills with some water, and studied her reflection in the mirror. Even to her own eyes, she looked pale and tense. Damn Sarah anyway, and her overdeveloped sense of right and wrong. She should be able to go out with Ted if she wanted to. It was only dinner. It wasn't as though she were sleeping with him.
She turned away from her reflection, then as an afterthought, left a Sickle on the washbasin. Whoever found it wouldn't have any idea what it was, but she couldn't bring herself to just take the aspirin without at least trying to pay for it.
Ted looked up with concern from his moussaka when she returned to the table. Out of nowhere, the image sprang up of Draco, who always stood up when she entered the dining room at breakfast. It was an old-fashioned courtesy that no one expected of men anymore, and she pushed the image away angrily. Ted was not Draco, anyway. And thank goodness too, she thought, as she pulled out her chair rather harder than she'd meant to, and sat down.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes. Bit of a headache is all. I took something for it, and I'll be right as rain in a few minutes." She picked up her fork and smiled brightly. "This looks delicious!" She didn't know how she was going to get a bite of it down.
"Are you sure? I could take you home..."
"No, no," she said. "I'll be all right. It's only a little headache, and actually, I'm starting to feel better already."
"Well... if you're sure..."
"I'm sure. Now, you were telling me about Puddlemere's coach..." It was the right thing to say. Ted picked up the thread of the conversation, and before long, was so caught up in a recitation of last season's Berwick lineup that he did not seem to notice her lack of enthusiasm for the meal. Ginny gave up trying to keep the things he was saying straight in her head. Her mind was reeling with scores and statistics and players' names, and in spite of what she'd told Ted, her head was throbbing worse than ever.
She declined the pudding, and sipped a cup of coffee instead, while Ted ate a generous bowl of trifle. She was beginning to feel a bit nauseated, and when at last he pushed back his chair and reached for the cheque, she wanted to weep with relief.
Out on the pavement, the cold air helped revive her, and she did not protest when he tucked her hand firmly into the crook of his arm and pulled her against his side as they walked.
"Do you fancy a stroll?" he asked her.
"Oh..." she faltered. "I'm afraid I'll have to give it a miss. The week-end is beginning to catch up with me. I think if you don't mind, I'll just make an early night of it."
"Of course," he said heartily. "I don't want Cinderella turning into a pumpkin on me." He smiled at her, and put his arm around her shoulders, squeezing them in a way that made Ginny want to jerk away from him. She didn't though, and when they arrived at the door of the flat, he stopped, and turned her so she was facing him. "I'm glad we did this, Ginny," he said huskily. "I had a wonderful time."
"So did I," she lied, and before she could step away, Ted was pulling her close and then his lips were on hers.
Ted kissing her! It was the moment she had dreamed of for years. She closed her eyes and tried to savour it, but oddly, all she could think at the moment was that the kiss was rather wet and tasted of the trifle he had just eaten.
He didn't notice her lack of response, and when he let her go, it was with reluctance. "See you at work Monday?" he whispered. She nodded, and somehow managed to thank him, before escaping upstairs.
Sarah was waiting up for her, with a pot of tea, and Ginny felt some of her tension fall away. Sarah would listen, and would understand, and would never say 'I told you so'. She tucked her legs up into the corner of the sofa and told her best friend all about the evening.
"He drank blush wine," she finished up, morosely. "And he crooked his little finger when he drank his tea."
"He didn't!" Sarah was horrified.
"He did. Are men supposed to drink blush wine?"
"Well, I suppose there's no law..."
"He talked about Quidditch the whole time."
"You like Quidditch," Sarah reminded her.
"Yes, but I like lots of other things too. Apparently, he doesn't."
Sarah sighed sympathetically, and they sat in silence, sipping their tea, while the mantle clock ticked the minutes by. "What would you call a manly drink?" Sarah asked, after awhile. "Scotch? Beer?"
Ginny smiled ruefully, feeling very world-weary. "Well, not blush wine, that's all I know." She stood up and stretched. "I need to get to bed." She yawned, and leaned over to give Sarah a peck on the cheek. "Thanks for the tea. And... for everything."
Sarah winked at her, and when Ginny stepped into the fireplace, she felt that her head was not aching nearly so much anymore, but that her heart very much trying to make up for it.