A/N – Yes, I have decided it. This story will contain a relationship between Lucius and Ginny, between father-in-law and daughter-in-law, mildly incestuous though it may be. I've decided to take a little step out on the limb; I've been a bit cautious since the Stolen Generation and the Witch Hunt.

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or any of the canon characters or concepts.

Diminished IV

Time passed, slowly, and the outside world moved on. Harry Potter finally lived up to the wizarding world's expectations and defeated Voldemort; the Aurors took care of the rest of the Death Eaters. Wizarding England rejoiced just as wildly as it had in 1981, and the subsequent witch hunts for Death Eaters and their sympathizers were every bit as savage.

But Ginny had no interest in such momentous events. Safe behind the sheltering, timeless walls of Malfoy Manor, her grief was coming to a natural, inevitable end – she still mourned Draco, but not with her former excessive grief. Now, she could recall him and the time they spent together with a bittersweet, rueful smile, and she was almost to the point where she could face life without him. She could even face his portrait – Caius Draconis Malfoy, forever frozen in time at fifteen years of age – without being swamped by renewed grief and regret.

And through all this long, painful period of transition, there was one unexpected source of strength and support. Lucius was hardly the man to express concern and sympathy for her loss, or even to extend understanding or an offer of comfort. Ginny had a family for that – a warm, supportive, argumentative family who would back her without question no matter what she did. But he seemed to know, instinctively, whenever the grief was blackest and most smothering, and would distract her in his cool, understated manner, infuriating her with a few well-chosen comments to which she never failed to rise, or tossing out intriguing crumbs that would lead to an abstract, hypothetical discussion of completely irrelevant matters.

How had he learned of her delight in debating irrelevant trivialities? Fred and George had introduced her to it, but the rest of her family were too practical, too grounded; when he was in the right mood, Lucius would occasionally engage with her mock-seriously in his light, least serious tone, over whether or not the great goblin leader Krull the Magnificent – who had so nearly succeeded in uniting the ravening goblin hordes – had indeed been poisoned by his chief concubine and his most trusted general, and what might have happened had he survived. Or perhaps the topic would be muggle poetry, and just what that fellow Coleridge had meant in some of his opium induced ravings.

The topic didn't matter, but the light amusement and mental stimulation did. She was not Hermione, had never pretended to the older girl's intellectual abilities. But then, Lucius' strengths did not lie in academia, either – he was a manipulator, a web spinner, a puppet-master who could, if he chose, compel anyone to dance to his tune – with or without their knowledge. There were times when she forgot this one essential fact, when she forgot that he had been the one to destroy her childhood innocence, and in those times – guilty, secret pleasures, where she laughed with him and enjoyed his attention – she was almost content.

Alastor Moody did not like Gringotts. There were two main reasons for this, the first being that he had an instinctive distrust of goblins, despising them as mercenary, miserly, completely and utterly untrustworthy, and even more paranoid than he was. The second reason was that Gringotts was a glorified, fortified monument to money and everything that followed in its wake – greed, ambition, jealousy and distrust. Money was the ultimate corruptor, tainting and debasing honour, turning good men into mercenaries and making bad men worse.

However, not even he could deny that Gringotts was a vital part of wizarding society, and that nobody truly wanted to see the goblins choose sides. Moody could understand that, even if he didn't like it. What stuck in his throat was their complete lack of scruples - they didn't care where the money came from, or what was done with it once it was withdrawn, so long as they got their fees.

He looked down at the paperwork in front of him, a surveillance report on the movements of Phineas Finch, who was the Malfoy family's sole contact with the world outside his estate. It was Finch who carried out their – his – commands in the real world, and in trailing him, Moody hoped to gain an indication of what Lucius was plotting, lying low so peacefully and law-abidingly at the Manor.

There were those who thought his constant interest in Lucius Malfoy's movements was an extravagant, useless obsession, and his hatred an outdated relic of the first Rising. There were those who were willing to believe Lucius Malfoy defeated, with no further interest in intrigue – surely, they said, now that Draco and Narcissa were dead, he will be content to live the rest of his life in peace…?

But they had never truly known Lucius Malfoy. Diminished he may be, but never defeated; a little battered but never broken. And this report proved it – for the last few months Finch had made weekly visits to the Manor, and immediately after each visit had gone to Gringotts, no doubt to pass on his employer's instructions.

When Malfoy had been convicted and sent to Azkaban, Fudge had sent in a team of investigators to determine the extent of his investments and to evaluate the prospect of Ministry seizure of Malfoy assets. Draco had managed to thwart that, regaining title and control to all the family assets, but the investigators had been stunned by their glimpse of the range and complexity of his business arrangements. Ginevra Malfoy had no experience in running a business, let alone such a complicated financial maze – it was definitely not her instructions that Finch was passing onto the bank...

Instructions that had old Griphook rubbing his hands together with glee.

Moody scowled grimly. He knew. There was no need to tell him, because he knew instinctively thatthebastardhad once more landed on his feet.

"Why is Malfoy so concerned about the estate?" Shacklebolt asked Moody, absently staring out of the small, grubby window of his cramped office onto Diagon Alley below. "Another hundred years and it'll be out of his control anyway."

He did not ask why Moody was so concerned. All those who worked with the old man did so understanding if not necessarily accepting his eccentricities – not the least of which was his almost obsessive hatred and suspicion of Lucius Malfoy.

"You'd think so – but he's up to something, I can feel it…" Moody's eyes burned with almost fanatical intensity.

"The estate passed out of his hands and into Ginny's, and in the absence of a Malfoy heir of Ginny's body, it will revert to the Ministry. The only way he can avoid it is by somehow producing an heir out of nowhere – but Draco is dead, and he killed off all the rest of his relatives when they tried to depose him years ago."

Moody stiffened and turned his head, fixing Shacklebolt with his mad, burning gaze. "Wait – say that again."

Shacklebolt blinked. "What? He killed off all his other relatives? Oh, no one's ever proved it, but everyone knows…"

"No, the other bit. The bit about a new Malfoy heir appearing out of nowhere… Merlin's Balls! How could I not see it?"

"But…how? Draco is dead…"

"Yes, Draco is dead. But what about the old bastard himself? Does that make him a eunuch? He can't be much more than fifty…"

They sat at the dinner table one night and Lucius, gently controlling the conversation, steered it around to the very same subject. Comfortable enough with him now that she could offer him comfort, she reached out and touched his hand, smiling, as she said, "I'm sorry the Ministry's gloating so obviously about finally getting the better of you, Lucius. They've been waiting a very long time for this…"

He looked down rather bemusedly at the hand resting so trustingly on his sleeve. "My dear Ginny, let them gloat. I may yet emerge the victor."

She looked puzzled. He sighed. "Is it so surprising that I should be a mortal man, after all? I have fathered one child, and I am quite capable of fathering another. Perhaps I will produce a Malfoy heir to spite them all…"

"But the conditions clearly state that the heir must be of my body as well as of Malfoy blood," she pointed out reasonably, trying not to think of Lucius Malfoy as a mortal man, capable of fathering children.

"Well then," he said gravely, "there you have it. The solution."

Her mouth dropped open and she stared in open astonishment. "You…you can't mean it – I mean, it's…it's sick! You're Draco's father…" He was Draco's father. She was his son's widow. He was a good twenty or so years older – although it was not a huge age gap, in the wizarding world – and he was her family's enemy. He was a convicted Death Eater, and he had ruined her life in her first year with that enchanted diary…

"Yes, I admit that the prospect is not altogether appealing," he replied casually, sipping at his wine. "Nevertheless, I have done far more unpleasant things in my life…"

She threw her knife at his head, unsurprised when he plucked it out of the air. She had learned to recognize his sense of humour, the narrowed eyes that were often all he showed of his amusement – but he was not joking now, or at least not entirely. Some part of him was seriously considering his outrageous proposal.

A cold chill of realization set her heart stuttering and her fingers trembling. It had never before occurred to her that he was a man, as well as her father-in-law, or foe, or sparring partner. Not only that, he was a Death Eater, and he was capable of the most terrible crimes…

She must have paled, or shown her fear in some way, because he looked suddenly ironic. "Don't look so terrified, Ginevra, I'm not going to attack you at the dinner table."

Anger rushed up in automatic defense against fear. "I wouldn't put it past you," she sneered. "I'm sure you've done far worse."

He raised a brow. "My dear girl, if all I'd wanted was a child I'd have gone about it much more subtly, I assure you. I'd have drugged you, impregnated you and then Obliviated you months ago, and then passed the child off as Draco's –"

Her jaw dropped in horrified amazement. "That's…that's diabolical! You weren't seriously…"

"Yes," he mused mock-seriously, holding his wine up to the candlelight, inspecting the deep, rich ruby glow. "Yes, it is rather clever, isn't it? But I've left it rather late, if that was all I was planning. It's been five months since his death..."

"Think it over, Ginevra," he said quietly, as if he had not just shattered all of the unspoken taboos that allowed them both to co-exist peacefully. "It would make things much easier on all of us…"

Next chapter – the Weasleys visit the Manor. And Moody confronts Lucius.

Credit and acknowledgment must go to Caryn, who came up with Lucius' diabolical drug-and-obliviate plan. (Such deviousness should be rewarded! That's a very dangerous inner-Lucius you're channeling, luv) Thanks to all of my reviewers; any and all feedback is welcomed.