A/N: Sorry it's been so long since the last chapter; thanks to all of you who are still reading and reviewing. And thanks to Gabriele: if you're enjoying this story at all, it's because he takes the time to format and post each chapter for me.
Chapter 17
"No way. No. Bloody. Way." Ron stared at Ginny, his mouth agape. "You're not married to Draco Malfoy." He said this last part in a final sort of way, as though he were setting his sister straight on a piece of information she had somehow got wrong.
Ginny sat on the sofa between her parents and folded her arms, glaring across the room at him.
"Yes, Ron," Arthur said gently, "she is married to…" But Ron was shaking his head before the words were completely out of his father's mouth.
It was a Tuesday, three days before Ginny's birthday. Almost as soon as she had convinced Draco to come to dinner with her family at The Burrow, she had begun to regret the idea. In truth, she realised it was probably a disaster waiting to happen. She had toyed with the notion of cancelling the whole thing, but always came round to the conclusion that that was the coward's way out. She loved Draco. If she was going to stay with him there was no way to hide it from her brothers forever: it was time to come out into the open. So Ginny had gathered about herself every shred of courage she possessed, and she had called a Weasley Family Meeting.
Weasley Family Meetings were not held often; they were reserved for the really big things. There had been a meeting to discuss Percy, when he had made his break with the Order. Another when Bill and Fleur had announced their engagement. When Charlie died they had held one, not to make plans or discuss options, but simply to regroup as a family and to cling to one another. There had been many meetings over the years – although Ginny had never been present at one of them – to announce the advent of a new baby in the family. A Weasley Family Meeting was not an event any of them missed. Ever.
Now, twelve of them sat in the living room of The Burrow. Ginny was on the sofa, flanked by her parents, grateful for their solidarity. Ron, Hermione, Fred, Angelina, George, Bill, Fleur. Percy and Penny had sent their two boys out to the back orchard with a pair of small broomsticks, and were there as well. All of them wore varied expressions of shock, anger, outright disbelief, and in Bill's case, a sick sort of guilt.
Now, Hermione spoke up, obviously distressed. "Why didn't you ever tell me about this, at school? I might have been able to help! We could have found a counter curse… There must have been some way of circumventing…"
"Yeah," said Fred, cracking his knuckles. "You should have told all of us. We would have taken care of the arsehole for good a long time ago, and you'd never –"
"You shut up!" Ginny jumped to her feet and took a threatening step toward Fred. "Just keep your stupid, fat mouth shut, Fred Weasley! You don't know anything about it." Her voice was rising, and she was gratified to see Fred shrink back a little.
"And," her mother added firmly, "there will be no nasty language like that from any of you. Draco is a member of the family now."
Ron and George snorted simultaneously, and George muttered something under his breath.
"What?" Ginny cried, turning on him. "Sorry, George, I didn't quite hear that."
George glared back at her, and spoke very loudly. "I said 'not a member of my family, he's not'."
"Oh, so tell me, George, what should I have done then: refused to marry Draco, and just… let Bill die?"
"You could have looked a little harder for a way out of it." George's voice was sullen.
"It was a blood curse!" she shouted at him.
"You didn't have to go and fall in love with him!"
"I couldn't help it!"
"You damn well should have tried to help it. He's the enemy!"
"Yeah!" Ron added, "He poisoned me once!"
"You go stuff yourself, Ron!" Ginny spat at him. "He wasn't trying to poison you, and you know it! That was a long time ago; some people change, over time." She threw him a look of contempt. "And some people never change."
Arthur cut in firmly. "Draco is not the enemy, George: he's not his father. He does a lot of good in this world, whether the rest of you are aware of it or not. This marriage between Ginny and Malfoy was unavoidable. And you all," he added, looking sternly over his spectacles at all of them, "will do well to realise that what's done is done. Sit down, Ginny."
Ginny hesitated, then grudgingly sat down.
Her father went on. "Your mother and I have known about The Curse of the Firstborn since the day Ginny came into this world. Don't you think we tried everything we could to prevent Ginny having to marry Malfoy? Not…" he added, when Fred made a derisive noise, "because of who he is, but because we did not want your sister to have to marry anyone against her will. We wouldn't have wanted that for any of you.
"Over the years, we've talked to every Curse Breaker in Britain, and some outside of it. We consulted with the Department of Magical Curses and Contracts; we tried everything. The end result was that there was simply no getting around it: it had to be done." Ron started to protest, but Arthur raised his hand for silence, and went on. "And if your sister has come to love the man she's married to, I expect you all to treat that with respect, and to make some sort of peace with it. I will not have this family torn apart over old feuds and prejudices, especially unfounded ones."
There was a little silence after he finished, and then Bill cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was low and hoarse. "Thanks, Ginny. I had no idea."
Beside him, Fleur put her hand on his arm. "You 'ave saved 'is life," she pronounced firmly. "Beel is blessed to 'ave a leetle sister 'oo would do such a thing for 'im." She gave a toss of her long silvery hair and sat up straighter. "Your 'usband Draco weel always be welcome in our 'ome, Ginny."
"Yeah," Bill said with conviction. He looked around at his brothers' mutinous faces. "And the rest of you can just get off your high horses and say the same to her. She would have done this for any of you if she'd had to: think about that. If she'd married Malfoy to save any of your lives you'd be singing a different tune right now." He turned back to his sister. "Ginny, I think you're the bravest and most unselfish person I've ever known." He glared round at his brothers again. "And you lot are some of the most selfish I've ever known. I'm ashamed of you all."
In the ensuing silence, Ginny went to Bill, and kneeling on the floor, put her arms around him. He held her tightly, and she felt his shoulders begin to shake. When he let her go, she turned to Fleur. How ironic, she thought, that Fleur, for whom she had always cherished a bit of contempt, should be the first to be accepting of Draco. Mentally, she repented of every mean or catty thing she had ever thought about her sister-in-law. She kissed Fleur on the cheek and went to sit between her parents again. She was gratified to see that her brothers and their wives were all looking highly uncomfortable.
"Now then," said Arthur, in a no-nonsense voice, "Ginny's husband Draco will be joining us for dinner on Ginny's birthday. We will all welcome him as a one of the family and treat him with the same respect and courtesy we offer to Fleur, Penny, Angelina, and Hermione."
No one said anything.
"Percy?" prodded Arthur.
Percy cleared his throat and looked up at his father. "Yes, Dad."
"Don't say it to me; say it to your sister."
"All right, Ginny. I'll do my best." He had the grace to look abashed.
"Fred?"
"Don't have much of a choice, do I?" said Fred irritably.
Suddenly, Angelina turned on him. "Oh get over yourself!"
Fred looked startled.
"Ginny," Angelina continued, "you can be sure that Fred will be on his best behaviour towards Draco. And…" she narrowed her eyes at her husband, "you have my word of honour that there will be no pranks played at your birthday dinner."
Fred opened his mouth to protest but apparently thought better of it and subsided into a sulky silence.
"Thank you, Angelina," Arthur murmured. He turned to George. "And you, George?"
George shrugged one shoulder and muttered, "Whatever."
"Pardon me?" There was a note of iron in his father's voice that George did not miss.
He blew out a breath and nodded at Ginny. "OK then."
"And no pranks?" Arthur said.
"If you say so."
"I do say so. That's settled, then. Ron?"
But Ron remained stubbornly silent, and even Hermione could not manage more than a feeble, half-apologetic nod at Ginny.
"Well, then," said Arthur, standing up. "We'll expect to see those of you who can agree to behave properly on Friday, for Ginny's birthday dinner. Those of you who can't agree might do better to stay home." He cast a significant look in Ron's direction, and picked up his hat. "I'll say good-bye, then. I have some work to catch up on at the office." And he headed towards the Floo in the kitchen.
On Friday night, Ginny stood on the library hearthrug, and gave Draco a quick kiss. "It's going to be all right," she told him, sounding more certain than she felt.
Draco only shrugged. He had been remote and silent all day long, and she knew he was dreading the evening ahead with every fibre of his being. She dreaded it too, but still believed there was little choice: It would have to be done, and they might as well do it sooner than later. It was her birthday: maybe for her sake everyone would be on their best behaviour.
He stood, as tense as one of her guitar strings, and faintly white about the lips, and gave her a little push towards the fireplace. "Well, let's get it bloody over with, then."
Ginny took a pinch of Floo powder, threw it into the flames, and stepped in. "The Burrow!" she cried, and for a fleeting second, thought to wonder whether Draco would actually have the courage to follow her or not.
He did. In moments, they were standing in her mother's cluttered kitchen, brushing ash from their hair and clothing. Ginny looked around in relief: they had come half an hour early so they would have the home turf advantage. None of her brothers had arrived yet.
At once, her father stepped forward and seized Draco by the hand. "Malfoy! Good to see you! You're looking well."
Draco relaxed perceptibly. "So are you, sir."
Molly hurried forward, brandishing a wooden spoon. "Draco dear, I never got a chance to thank you for saving Ginny's life in that terrible convenience shop episode."
"It wasn't only me…" Draco started to protest.
"Oh… well, come here, then, let me give you a hug." And she pulled him into a tight, bosomy embrace. Ginny nearly giggled at the shocked expression on Draco's face, but wisely restrained herself in time.
"Drink, Malfoy?" Arthur held up a bottle of Firewhisky.
"Thanks."
Ginny noticed that Draco drained his glass rather more quickly than usual, but supposed she couldn't blame him. How anyone could be expected to face an evening like the one ahead without chemical help was beyond her. Her father had just refilled his own glass, and Draco's, when the front door opened and Percy, Penny, their two sons Gil and Jem walked in. Almost on their heels came Fred, Angelina, and George.
At once, the atmosphere in the room changed, and beside her Ginny could sense Draco's tension like a palpable thing. For a moment the group hesitated, as one, in the kitchen doorway, and Ginny saw both Fred's and George's eyes narrow menacingly. Behind them, Percy nervously pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. Someone coughed. Then – she could have kissed her sister-in-law from gratitude – Angelina elbowed her way forward and marched up to Draco, her hand outstretched.
"Good to see you, Malfoy," she said evenly, and though her voice was not exactly warm there was something in it that promised Draco a fair chance. He recognised this, and shook her hand.
Percy and Penny followed, Percy shooting his twin brothers a defiant look before he too offered Draco his hand, muttering something that sounded like, "Malfoy."
Only Fred and George remained in the doorway, arms folded stubbornly across their chests. Fortunately, their rather pointed message to Draco was somewhat blunted by the arrival of Bill and Fleur just then.
As the others had done, they paused just for a moment in the doorway, and then Fleur rushed forward, grasping Draco by the arms, and rising up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
"Mon cher!" she exclaimed. "'Ow can we evair express our gratitude for what you and Ginny 'ave done to save Beel's life?"
Draco turned faintly pink, and for the first time, his mouth quirked up in its characteristic half-smile. "Well, to be fair it saved my life too, you know."
Bill shook his hand enthusiastically. "So we have something in common, then." His enthusiasm, together with Fleur's, seemed to thaw something in the air, and suddenly things seemed to be almost normal. Angelina and Penelope began to chatter with one another, Jem and Gil turned and pounded up the stairs towards the toys in the attic, and Percy wished her a happy birthday. Beside her, Bill was still talking earnestly to Draco, and as the two of them moved away from her, to stand closer to the fire, Ginny was overwhelmed with love and gratitude for her favourite brother.
"And you," Fleur said, turning to her, "You must tell me 'ow you find married life to be. Eet ees the best thing in zee 'ole world, ees eet not?" She linked her arm in Ginny's, and pulled her towards the table, where Penny and Angelina were still talking nineteen to the dozen.
Ginny blinked away tears of relief. "Thank you, Fleur," she managed.
Fleur winked at her. "We weel show them what ees what, eh? Some of your brothers are vairy stubborn, but we weel make thees night a success in spite of them."
Ron and Hermione did not show up for dinner. Ginny didn't know whether she was disappointed or relieved about this. It could only mean that they hadn't reconciled themselves to her situation. Draco, sitting beside her, ate very little, but she knew it was because he still was tense, and on his guard. Percy unbent a good deal towards him throughout the meal – and after all, Ginny reflected, he should: he knew what it was to be a black sheep. Penny took her cue from her husband, and Angelina pointedly included Draco in the conversation once or twice, in spite of Fred's glowering silence. It was only Fred and George who steadfastly refused to look at him or talk to him, and indeed seemed to have very little to say at all.
Molly was slicing the cake, and Ginny was just beginning to sigh with relief because the evening was nearly over without mishap, when the flames in the fireplace flared suddenly green. Hermione stepped out into the kitchen, followed closely by Ron, who wore an expression of mutinous resentment on his face. Ginny felt her scalp tighten with a tingle of apprehension.
Hermione spoke into the silence that had fallen. "Hello, everyone." Ginny noticed that her voice was not quite steady. "Sorry we're late, Molly. Happy birthday, Ginny." Her eyes met Draco's. "Hello, Draco," she said quietly.
Draco nodded curtly at her.
There followed another silence, which quickly grew uncomfortable as Ron, expected to say something, patently refused to do so.
"Well," Molly said brightly, after a moment or two of this awkwardness, "better late than never. Budge up, you lot, and make room for Ron and Hermione at the table." It broke the tension, and to Ginny's relief, conversation resumed as it had been before.
Her mother handed round the cake, but although it was her favourite – chocolate marmalade – Ginny could not force down a bite of it. It was all too much; Ron was an insufferable prat, and the twins were being deliberately mean. It was her birthday: why couldn't they at least pretend to be nice to Draco, at least for one evening?
"Ginny's already opened the rest of her gifts, Hermione," Molly was saying. "Why don't you pass yours down, and she can open it now?"
Mechanically, Ginny took the heavy, beribboned box from Hermione, conscious all the while of Ron's and the twins' cold gazes on her husband. Because she felt it was expected of her, she shook the package and tried to sound like she cared when she asked, "What did you get me?"
"Well," Ron spoke up suddenly and loudly, "we wanted to get you a nice divorce, but it seems they don't gift wrap those."
A horrified silence fell over the table. Ginny stared at her brother in disbelief. Ron's face flushed a brilliant scarlet, and his mouth hung open a little, as if he himself could not believe what he had just said.
And suddenly, Fred and George both broke into loud peals of laughter.
A tidal wave of fury washed over Ginny, swamping her in rage such as she had never known before. She stood up, and with all her might hurled the gift at Ron's shocked face. It hit him squarely in the forehead with a satisfying thunk. The table erupted in gasps and little shrieks.
"That's enough! That's enough!" Molly shouted, and at the same time, Arthur stood up and pointed at the twins.
"You two: Out!"
The twins stopped laughing. "Dad…!"
"Now wait a minute…"
But Arthur was adamant. "Now." Looking sulky, Fred and George pushed back from the table. Angelina looked as though she did not know what to do.
"Ron, Ginny…"
But Ginny had had enough. "No, don't bother," she said, and congratulated herself that her voice sounded calm and perfectly composed. "We were just leaving." She swept the group around the table with a withering look. "Those of you who found it in yourselves to be decent, thank you. Ron, George, Fred: I'm embarrassed to admit you're part of my family."
And somehow, they made it out the front door, and had walked very fast down the lane before her tears broke free. And then, all she could do was to cling to the front of Draco's robes and sob brokenly, while he rubbed her back and murmured pointless, comfortless things to her.
She had been mad to suppose this would ever work out. To think that Draco would ever be accepted by her family. It was the worst birthday she had ever had in her life.
Two days after Ginny's birthday dinner at The Burrow, a letter arrived for Draco. It was afternoon, and Ginny was at work. He was at home, poring over some account books, when he heard the familiar tapping on the library window. At once, he felt a prickle of dread; it had been a long time since he'd had a mid-afternoon letter. The morning post had come hours ago, and he had a good idea what this might be.
Sure enough, he went to the window to find The Baron's Eagle owl pecking imperiously at the pane of glass, and glaring in at him. Draco opened the window and unfastened the scroll from the bird's leg. Without waiting for an answer, the owl turned on the windowsill, spread its massive wings, and soared into the sky. Draco watched it until it was out of sight. Only then did he look down at the scroll in his hand.
He had not heard from The Baron all summer. That in itself was not unusual; he often went months between these jobs. Now, holding the letter in his hand, he realised he had been hoping never to hear from the man again. Because since the last time he had been summoned, Ginny had… happened. And knowing her, loving her had changed everything for him. He knew now what it meant to love: he was not sure he would be able to kill again. Was he capable of performing an arbitrary act of hate just because someone commanded him to?
Slowly, he broke the seal on the little scroll and read the message there:
Tea
Today, four o'clock
Sir Craig Dunbar-Wilkes
Damn.
He slumped into his chair and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, feeling dread settle heavy in the pit of his stomach like a sickness that permeated all of him; not just his body, but through to his very soul. Ginny must not be allowed to find out about this: it would devastate her. Draco re-read the message to be sure he hadn't missed anything, and with his wand, set fire to it, dropping it into the clean-swept fireplace. He watched the flame lick at the parchment, reducing it to an airy sheet of ash until it collapsed on itself and crumbled to bits of white and grey fluff on the cold marble hearth. He looked at the mantle clock: two o'clock. Two hours then. Two hours to wait, and to decide what he was going to do.
For two hours, he pondered it. He paced the study and debated every angle, every option and possibility. It was no use; he felt hunted, caged like an animal bound for the slaughter, with no way of escape. Instinctively, he sought the outdoors: the open air and the limitless possibilities that were always there in the wide plains and majestic sweeps of the Highlands. He went for his broom, avoiding the direction of the waterfall. There was too much of Ginny there: If he went there, he would not be able to think objectively. Instead, he kicked off in the opposite direction, and for an hour he flew as hard and fast and dangerously as he could make himself fly. The end of it found him breathless and numb, and more frightened than he could remember having been in ten years, and yet he could not come up with any other answer for the choice that lay before him.
At three fifty-eight, he stepped into his Apparition Port dressed, not in his usual robes, but in black trousers, and a black cashmere turtleneck. In one pocket he carried a black stocking mask, in the other, black gloves. He wore his wand in his belt, and strapped to one leg, below his knee, and concealed by his trousers, was an eight-inch knife with a blade as hard as diamond and as sharp as a razor. He also wore sunglasses, though not as part of his disguise. These, he wore to hide his eyes from The Baron. And he did not wear the pair he had bought that day on Crete, with Ginny. He had made his decision; he could not wear anything associated with Ginny for something like this.
"Malfoy!" The man at the other end of the room stood, and came towards him, his arms outstretched like a long-lost father, or an old friend. Like a trap. Draco steeled himself not to flinch as The Baron enfolded him in an embrace and clapped him on the back, then held him back at arm's length to scrutinise him.
"You look well, Malfoy. Married life agrees with you, eh?"
Draco did not miss the shrewdness in the man's gaze. He shrugged easily. "Married life is a necessary evil for a few more weeks, Baron. I can't say it agrees with me, though." The gleam of approval in his boss' eyes was nearly imperceptible, but it was there all the same.
"She's a lovely young woman, Malfoy. Lucky thing you haven't got yourself… attached to her, so to speak. Keep the home and business fronts separate, that's the best way for everyone, eh? Especially when the home front is a Ministry Auror."
Draco only smiled coldly, and inclined his head a fraction in agreement. He perfectly understood the implied threat.
The Baron swept an expansive hand towards a table set before the fireplace. "Sit, sit, and let me tell you all about your latest commission."
Draco sat on an intricately carved mahogany chair and accepted the cup of tea The Baron handed him. He held up his hand to decline any offer of scones or cakes. He could pretend to drink, but to even pretend to eat would surely choke him today.
The Baron chuckled. "Don't like to kill on a full stomach, eh Malfoy? Nice touch, that. It lends a certain elegance to the job."
Draco sipped at tea that went down his throat like sawdust, and did not answer.
"Now then," The Baron continued, lounging back in his chair with his own teacup resting on his ample stomach. "I've had a spot of bother with a Muggle called Gudoshnikova." Unnecessarily, he added, "He's a Russian."
Draco schooled his features into an expression of polite disinterest. The man was dying for him to ask questions, but he knew his boss well by now. The Baron would tell him only what he wanted him to know, and at his own pace. And in his opinion the less he knew about the job the better for his peace of mind.
When Draco did not comment, The Baron went on. "This Gudoshnikova fellow has something of a racket going in St Petersburg that involves combining his call girl services with a Muggle thing called the Internet. Photographs, that sort of thing."
"Pornography," Draco said bluntly.
The other man winced. "Such a crude term. There's no need for crassness, Malfoy. I assure you, it can be a very upscale business. And in the right hands – my hands – it has been so, until now.
"I've been content to let Gudoshnikova have his little piece of the pie in Russia just like I have mine here in England. He runs his business the way he wants to run his and I run mine the way I want to run mine. It's all ticked along very smoothly. Suddenly though, Gudoshnikova's got big ideas about expanding his business into the British Isles. Frankly, Malfoy, the market, at this time and place, won't support both of us."
The Baron heaved a deep and exaggerated sigh, and picked up his teacup. "I tried to make him see this, but he continues to insist on budging into my little corner." He looked at Draco, over the rim of his cup. "He's been very troublesome: made one or two moves that were entirely out of order, and won't listen to reason." He took a careful drink, then set the teacup on the table and wiped his mouth. "I think it's time he was removed."
Draco finished his tea without tasting it, and set down his own cup. He was grateful for the sunglasses he wore, which hid the disgust and dread he knew must show in his eyes. Tonelessly, he said, "Where, and when?"
The other man stretched luxuriously. "Why not right now? You look as though you've come prepared, and it's seven o'clock in St Petersburg: just about dinnertime for my friend. I happen to know he dresses for dinner alone every evening, in his private dressing room."
"And… Apparition?"
"Taken care of. Here are the coordinates." He handed Draco a slip of parchment that contained a set of numbers, and a photograph of the man called Gudoshnikova. "You have a twenty minute window in which to Apparate in and back out without using a Port."
Draco stood up, barely considering the job ahead, grateful only for a chance to escape this man, who resembled nothing so much as an overgrown, poisonous spider. "I'd better not waste any time then," he said.
The Baron stood as well. "I know you'll make a clean job of it, Malfoy. Unless I hear from you, I'll assume all has gone well."
Draco didn't bother to answer, but turned back the way he'd come. In The Baron's Apparition Port, he glanced down at the slip of parchment in his hand, and willed away an unexpected wave of nausea. He concentrated on the coordinates. And then he was there; he had arrived in St Petersburg.
He had Apparated right into a cupboard filled with fur coats. From somewhere came the strains of very loud opera music, and someone singing in a throaty, off-key voice. The fur tickled his nose and got into his mouth, and he had to stifle a sneeze. The wardrobe door was open a crack, and cautiously he peered out.
A stocky man stood before a long mirror, adjusting a black bow tie, and singing to himself in Russian. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, and he looked soft, as though he were a man accustomed to safety and luxury: the kind of man who would never consider that his life might, at this very moment, be in danger. Well so much the better, thought Draco.
Carefully, silently, he pulled on his black gloves, and lit his wand. By the glow of the tip, he studied the photograph in his hand then looked back at the man's face, reflected in the mirror. There was no doubt they were the same person. Draco extinguished his wand, slipped the parchment scrap back into his pocket, and waited.
He did not have to wait long. Gudoshnikova gave his hair one last pat in front of the mirror, tugged at the tails of his coat, turned to examine his reflection from the back, and then, apparently satisfied, headed toward the very cupboard in which Draco was hiding.
He had done it so many times before that he hardly gave it a conscious thought now. In one long stride, Draco burst out of the wardrobe and drove his wand into the Russian man's ribs.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
The man stiffened, and wearing an expression of utter astonishment, keeled over backwards and landed on the floor with a loud 'thump'. Draco landed on top of him, pinning the man's chest with his knee. Swiftly, he glanced around to be sure the room was empty: it was. Someone might be along to check on the Muggle at any moment though: he had only seconds to do the job and get out of there. He drove his wand harder into the man's side, and took a deep breath.
And at that very instant, he heard Ginny's voice in his head. "How can you live with yourself? How do you even sleep at night?" It was there for just a second, and then it was gone, but it was enough to throw his concentration off.
"Avada Kedavra," he hissed at the Russian. But nothing happened. No flash of green, no sudden slackening of the man's face, nothing. Draco felt a sudden, icy rush of fear. He tried it again. "Avada Kedavra!" Gudoshnikova only gazed up at him, wide-eyed, terrified, and very, very much alive.
Draco stared back at him in frozen fear. Good god, what was wrong with him? He couldn't kill the man. He was saying the words, but he could not have meant them or they would have worked. He closed his eyes briefly, behind the stocking mask, and tried to summon up the will to hate this man enough to kill him, as he'd been told to do.
Instead, what he saw was a freckled face with shining brown eyes, touching the place over his heart and saying, "I'm proud of you."
'No!' He looked down at the stocky Russian man, who was beginning to squirm beneath his knee. It was this man's life or his own. Without hesitation, Draco pulled the knife from the sheath on his leg, and held it to the man's throat, pressing it in until a bead of dark blood welled up at the tip.
"You're dead," he whispered, and watched with satisfaction as the man's eyes widened. Good. He should be afraid. Because he, Draco, was going to kill him right now.
But he couldn't make himself do it. He found that his breath was coming in short, hard gasps and his heart was hammering as though he'd been running a race. A cold trickle ran down between his shoulder blades, and under his gloves his hands were hot and wet with sweat. He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried once more to plunge the knife into the throat of the big man underneath him.
Instead, he felt the fingers of his hand open, and the knife slip to the floor. Hot tears pricked at his eyelids, and before he fully realised what he was doing, he was standing up, backing away. The Russian lay on the floor and blinked up at him, and Draco could have sworn he was sneering. His pulse was pounding so loudly he could hear it in his ears. He felt strange and dizzy: disoriented. He had to get out of there, before he fainted and got himself caught. Draco gave the man a vicious kick in the ribs, and twisted his wand.
And then he was home. Blessedly, safely home. He leaned against the wall of his own Apparition Port and slumped to the floor, pulling off his black stocking mask. He buried his head in his hands and let the tears slide freely down his face.
Oh gods, he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill the man he was supposed to kill. Within hours, The Baron would hear about this.
He was a dead man.
He rested his forehead on his knees and pulled in great, ragged breaths of air until he no longer felt that he was drowning. He willed away the tears – tears he hadn't shed in more than ten years – and forced his breathing into a more normal pattern. He could not afford to be weak right now. He had to think, and think clearly. He pulled himself to his feet. Ginny. He needed Ginny. She would tell him what to do. She would make everything all right again.
He found her upstairs in their bedroom, brushing her hair. She could not have been home from work for very long, but she had already changed into jeans and a tatty old tee-shirt, and she looked like an angel from Heaven itself. He went to her without a word and took her in his arms.
She laughed. "Hello to you too!"
He could not answer her, but only buried his face in her hair and hung on.
"Draco." There was concern in her voice now. "Draco, what's the matter?"
He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and still could not answer.
She pushed him gently away and looked at him from arm's length. He watched as she took in his black clothes, his face that must have looked as drawn and haunted as he felt. "My word," she said quietly. "You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backward. Come and sit down." She drew him over to the edge of the bed, and sat, pulling him down to sit next to her.
Numbly, he obeyed.
"What is it?" she asked, taking both his hands, and lacing her fingers through his. "What's happened, Draco?"
He closed his eyes briefly. And then he said, "What do you know about Secret Keepers?"
Silence. He watched her face change as the realisation of what he meant dawned on her. He was grateful that she did not ask him any questions. Instead, she only whispered, "My father would do it."
He told her all about it. How The Baron had summoned him and how, for the first time, he had not been able to kill someone. He wanted to tell her why: to say it was because she had come into his life and changed the very essence of who he was. To tell her that he loved her. But he couldn't do it. There was something in him that was still too afraid of what would happen if she ever stopped loving him. And she might stop, now that she knew what he had just tried to do. He searched her face, looking for some sign that she hated him now.
Instead, Ginny took his face in both her hands and leaned her forehead against his. "Go see my father," she said. "He'll perform the spell, I know he will."
"He'll despise me for playing both sides, when all along he thought I was so good."
"He'll get over it. Draco, you don't have any choice."
She was right, of course. He could not afford to try and salvage his pride through all this. Arthur Weasley was the obvious choice to be his Secret Keeper – and Ginny's too, because they were both going to need one. And time was running short. He had to go and see Arthur and tell him everything, and trust that Arthur would be as good about it as Ginny was being.
He stood up. "I'll go right now and… and explain things to him."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
"No, I… I think I want to talk to him by myself first. After that, if he'll agree to it, I'll bring him back here to perform the ceremony."
"He'll agree to it," she said, "but hurry. You don't have any time to lose. The Baron will know by now that you didn't kill this man."
"Yes. And… Ginny… if something should happen to me…"
"Don't say that!" She sat up straight on the side of the bed, her eyes snapping at him. "Nothing's going to happen to you!"
"I hope not. But if it does, you should know this." He went to the small writing desk in the corner, and found a piece of scrap parchment. Carefully, he inked a quill and wrote the words, Craig Dunbar-Wilkes. He blew on the ink to dry it, and then folded the parchment and slipped it into her hand. "This is the name of the man who calls himself The Baron. If something happens to me…" he swallowed hard. He still could not bring himself to suggest that Ginny turn to Harry Potter in a time of crisis. So he simply said, "You'll know what to do."
Ginny took the paper and put it into her pocket without looking at it. "I won't need it," she said firmly. She stepped close to him and put her arms around him, burying her head in his chest. "I love you, Draco."
The words, as always, went through him like a shock. A wonderful, frightening shock that he would never, as long as he lived, grow tired of feeling. "I… I know," he said. He kissed her gently on the forehead, and stepped away. "I need to go now."
She nodded. He reached over the mantle and took a handful of Floo powder. He threw it in, and when the flames flared bright and green, he looked at her once more. He should say it back to her, he thought. He loved her; she deserved to know that. He opened his mouth. "Ginny, I…"
He saw that her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"I'll be back soon," he said, and stepped into the flames.
Ginny went to the library to await Draco and her father. She waited six hours. When midnight came and there was no sign of either of them she could no longer escape the fear that something had gone horribly wrong.
She reached into the teakwood box of Floo powder, and tossed a handful into the fireplace. Kneeling on the hearth rug, she put her head into the green flames and said, "The Burrow!"
When her head had stopped spinning, she was looking into her parents' kitchen. All was dark. She frowned. She started to call out, but then thought better of it. Instead, she pulled her head out, then stood up and while the flames were still green, stepped into the fireplace.
This time, she stepped out into The Burrow's kitchen. The house was silent. Not a light shone in any of the downstairs rooms. She pulled her wand and crept silently up the stairs, adrenaline singing through her veins like a charge of electricity. She stopped outside her parents' bedroom door. It was open, and here too, everything was dark and silent except for the sound of her father's gentle, whiffling snores.
"Mum?" she said, aloud. "Dad?"
No answer. She went to her mother's side of the bed and knelt down, feeling like a little girl again, who'd woken from a bad dream, or been sick in the night. She shook her mother's shoulder. "Mum, wake up!"
Molly came awake with a start and sat up. "Good lord, Ginny! You frightened me half to death!" She rubbed at her eyes and shook her head, then peered more closely at her daughter. "Whatever are you doing here at this time of night? What's wrong?"
"Where's Draco?" Ginny whispered.
"What?"
"Draco! He was supposed to be here, earlier."
Molly reached for her wand on the bedside table, and lit a lamp with it. At the sudden flare of light, Arthur grunted, and rolled over, turning his back to them. Ginny's mother stared at her.
"He was never here."
Oh Merlin. She felt the bottom of her stomach drop out. "I think we'd better wake up Dad."
Molly reached over and shook her husband firmly. "Arthur! Arthur, wake up."
With a snort, he came awake, and sat up groggily, his nightcap askew on his head. "What? Who's there?"
Ginny was nearly in tears by now. "Dad! It's me. Wake up, come on!" When she was certain her father was fully awake and listening, she went on. "Have you seen Draco tonight?"
Arthur looked at her blankly. "No. Haven't seen him for days."
A nearly paralysing fear washed over her, and she clutched at her mother's arm. Silently, Molly slid out from under the covers and reached for her housecoat. "Let's go down and have a cup of tea, and you can tell us what's going on."
Over the comfort of tea in the old familiar kitchen, she told her parents everything; how Draco had been working for Dark of the Moon, and how he'd wanted to get out of it, and was counting on Arthur to be their Secret Keeper.
Her father frowned. Heavily, he said, "He never showed up, Ginny."
"Maybe he went to your office to look for you there?"
"Maybe. But why wouldn't he come here, when he didn't find me at the Ministry?" Ginny could not think of an answer to this.
"Is it possible," asked her father, very gently, "that this… Baron could be watching your Floo?"
They sat and stared at one another in mounting horror, and Ginny felt a sick feeling rise up in her throat. If The Baron knew Draco hadn't killed the Russian man, and if The Baron had him now…
Would she ever see him again?