A/N – I have had the most shocking writer's block on this fic. My HP muse completely abandoned me. And, as an added bar to inspiration, over the Easter weekend I had a Steve McQueen marathon. Poor Lucius was quite eclipsed.

Disclaimer – I don't own HP. Or Lucius. Of the two, I'd rather have Lucius… I'm only borrowing him.

Chapter 9

The next morning, Ginny dressed in her best robes and arrived at Gringotts at 10:05am, sweeping into the bank in a grand entrance, deliberately and fashionably late. Just another trick she'd learned from her midnight talks with Lucius –

My father is a liar, a murderer, and a cold-blooded, ruthless power monger. But no one can ever say that he lacks style...

"Madame Malfoy." Griphook smiled; his eyes cold and flat as he bowed. "You are most welcome."

Ginny extended her hand, and he saluted it elegantly. "Master Griphook. My father-in-law speaks well of you."

As they progressed through the hallowed corridors, chatting sociably, the head goblins of the bank all took the opportunity to observe their newest major account holder. Lucius they had known and dealt with for decades, but this unknown woman – a Weasley – had quarreled with her father-in-law, demanding control of her inheritance, and such change could only mean one thing for the bank: trouble.

"Yes," Griphook murmured, "Mr. Malfoy has long been a valued client of ours." He stopped, suddenly, one hand on his office door. "If I may be frank, Madame Malfoy, we were…concerned, to hear that you had forbidden him control of your affairs."

Watching his eyes, Ginny wondered why she had never before thought to look any deeper than his vaguely comical appearance. She supposed she'd never thought of goblins as wielding any real power – yes, they hoarded their money jealously; yes, they resented competition of any sort, and had crushed no less than four rival institutions in their two thousand year history.

But all that had been just background, rumours and gossip she'd heard all her life without ever really understanding. It was only now, confronted with the Head Goblin, that she realized Gringotts wielded very real financial clout –

And that they disapproved of her.

"With respect, Master Griphook," she retorted crisply, "Mr. Malfoy was stripped of his control and authority, and every single one of his assets and accounts was declared forfeit, confiscated by the Ministry, and then passed on to me."

His politely skeptical expression told her exactly how much he cared for the Ministry's declarations and confiscations. "Be that as it may, Madame; I have yet to see that you can – or indeed will – assume complete responsibility for your assets. You have proved reluctant, in the past."

"That was in the past. And this is now. And now, I have come out of mourning, Griphook, and I am taking control of my life. I don't care if you approve of me or not, but you will give me control of my money and the Malfoy accounts –"

Griphook's superior expression slowly faded as Ginny refused to back down.

"How was it, dear?" Molly asked absently, her hands busy as she sorted through the clothes she'd just magicked off the line.

Ginny sighed and made herself a cup of tea. She'd flooed back to the Burrow straight after leaving Gringotts, under strict orders delivered by owl that morning. "A power struggle. But I got my way in the end."

"That's good. You don't want men thinking that they can control you through your pin money. It's best to look after such things yourself."

Five hundred million galleons, Ginny thought, was hardly pin money.

"My own father – Augustus Rookwood, you know – was a very old-fashioned man. He used to give my mother a quarterly allowance, and ring a terrible peal over her head if she exceeded it. When I married your father, Ginny, I made sure that I had complete control over the money I brought into the marriage…"

"I didn't know you had your own money, Mum," she said, genuinely surprised.

Molly raised her brows. "Of course I did, dear. We Rookwoods were hardly poor. But I'm afraid that, between seven children, it's been stretched rather thin."

"Oh. I didn't… I mean, of course I knew money was short, but…"

"Don't worry, Ginny. We're hardly destitute. And don't even think about offering us some of that money you just wrested away from Lucius."

Ginny choked on her tea.

"I may be old and motherly, but I'm not entirely a fool. I talked with Ron and Hermione last night. They were worried."

"I know. And I appreciate their concern –"

"But you'd rather consign our constant meddling to the Devil." Her mother smiled ruefully. "I know, Ginny. But be careful, in your mad dash for freedom, that you don't go to foolish lengths to prove your independence. Malfoy is entirely too perceptive; you should not have stayed with him for so long."

"I don't understand." Frowning, Ginny looked up, catching her mother's eyes. "What can he do? He can hardly drag me back to the Manor by my hair."

"No. I'm not talking about physical force, Ginny. Or even financial pressure. He's surrendered those two options – but Malfoy has always preferred more subtle means. Don't tell me you haven't seen it," Molly continued, as serious as Ginny had ever seen her. "He picks a victim – Fudge was a classic example – and works his charm on them. Until the very end, when the Death Eaters attacked the Ministry itself, Fudge maintained that Lucius was a pillar of the community. He was an intelligent, ambitious, even ruthless man, but where Lucius Malfoy was concerned, he was besotted."

Ginny winced. Lucius' charm – his wry, incisive intelligence, his lazy, crooked smile, those devastating moments when she saw Draco in his manner, in his laugh…

"I know that, intellectually," Molly tapped her forehead, "you know Lucius is a villain. But, Ginny, I don't think you understand it in here." She tapped her chest. "And no amount of knowledge in the world will help you if you don't understand."

Ginny wondered what her mother's reaction would be if she told her about Lucius' proposition. Molly Weasley would never, ever succumb to that smooth, silken voice and that cool logic; blunt, straightforward and completely down to earth, she would have no hesitation in vehemently refusing him.

"Mum –"

She stopped. Of course Lucius had been trying to ensnare her, alone and vulnerable in her grief and distraction. Of course she'd opened her very soul to him in their late night chats, where he studied her as thoroughly as Hermione had ever studied her books. That was where his expertise lay, after all – he knew (he understood) his victims, their hopes and desires, their sorrows and their secrets.

Ginny wanted Draco back, alive, and in her arms. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, laughing, arguing, and loving. She wanted to see beautiful, silver haired children who would not be snotty brats like their father had once been –

But Draco was dead.

And Lucius, understanding her far too well, had made his proposition…

Blaise made his way to Ginny's flat with sweating palms and a swift-beating heart. It was ridiculous: he'd fought a terrible, unending war, he'd seen all manner of cruelty and atrocity, and he knew that the age of chivalry and heroism was long dead, but he could not suppress the urge to rescue Ginny Malfoy. Perhaps it was the memory of her happiness at her wedding, juxtaposed against her ashen, grief-stricken face at Draco's funeral, or perhaps it was Lucius' cool, ironic voice as he denied he had any control over his daughter-in-law's actions –

Blaise had not made the mistake of believing him.

Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to see him here, flowers clutched tightly, rapping nervously on her door. When it swung open to reveal a sophisticated, stylish woman instead of the smiling/grieving bride/widow he remembered, he was taken aback.

But when she smiled joyfully and held out her hands to him, he recognized her at once.

"Blaise!" she laughed, reaching out to hug him and pull him inside. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," he answered, hugging her back for a moment, before handing over the flowers. They were a little wilted, victims of his nervous grip, but she laughed and led the way to the kitchen, looking for a vase.

"Violets, Blaise? They're lovely, but –" she turned and gave him an enchanting, mischievous smile, "you do know they make me sneeze terribly?"

Almost on cue, she frowned, her nose crinkled, and she went into a paroxysm of sneezing. Horrified, Blaise grabbed the bunch of flowers from her and wrenched the kitchen window open, tossing them out as quickly as he could. With the flowers gone and the fresh air blowing in through the window, the sneezes quickly subsided.

He handed her his monogrammed silk handkerchief, stammering incoherent apologies.

She only laughed. "No, no, it's all right." She sneezed again, one last time, her eyes watering, and blew her nose inelegantly. "A small allergy. I'm sure you have some kind of secret, embarrassing allergy, too." She smiled a little sadly. "Draco was allergic to pineapple."

"I know," he grinned. "We all got him drunk, one night at Hogwarts, and gave him a fruit cocktail two parts pineapple juice. He was covered in a red rash for days – there was nothing Madame Pomfrey could do for him." Remembering those reckless, innocent days, he laughed. "And as for me, well…"

She seized his arm, mock glaring at him. "I've told you my secret," she said, her eyes laughing. "Now spill yours."

"Ah. Well." He managed to look shamefaced. "Floo powder."

"Floo powder?" She went into peals of laughter. "You're allergic to floo powder? How do you ever manage?"

"Very inconveniently," he sighed. "It was even worse, before I earned my Apparition license."

With that, with his disastrous gift and her red eyes and nose, with the admission of one of his most embarrassing secrets and her delighted laughter, Blaise tumbled headlong past infatuation and into love.

"And now that I've shared my most terrible secret," he said, once he could breathe again, "you must take me out to dinner, Ginevra. I hear you're now indecently rich."

"You heard that? I only went to see Griphook this morning."

"Oh, the Ministry grapevine is humming, as is the Diagon Alley social circuit. They see it as final evidence you've escaped Lucius' clutches –"

The last remnants of the laughter faded. "Out of Malfoy's clutches, and dowered with his entire fortune. Are you stealing a march on them, Blaise?"

He stiffened. "I assure you," he said haughtily, "I have no need of a rich wife. I'm merely offering my services –" he held out his arms, offering everything he was, friend, man, wizard, Auror, aristocrat – "should you find yourself in need of a deterrent. Or even of an escort, or a friend; only say the words, Ginny."

She smiled, placed a white, delicate hand on his arm. "Thank you, Blaise. I will."

A/N – Feedback is greatly appreciated. Please tell me what you think. Can I just ask: how many readers actually want to see Ginny end up with Lucius? Or do you enjoy the cat and mouse game more?