Disclaimer: Harry Potter J.K Rowling's
A/N:Chapter Three - longer than the rest, took the longest to write so far, and the one I like least :S Ah well. Very little violence and swearing, and very little action in general. Again, un-betaed so excuse the grammar errors and plot holes.
Draco stared outside at the warm summer sky. If he had a drop of poetic blood in his soul, he would find a way of describing how the swallows soared in and out of the lilac trees, or how the bright blue sky contrasted so much with the vibrant green, flat fields so much it made his eyes hurt… Instead he turned his back on the window and stared into the darkness of his study, waiting for his eyes to adjust. But he was too used to the place to be bothered to look at it with any interest.
He'd rather be outside in the gardens (perhaps not on a broom), or spending the afternoon in Diagon Alley… But instead he stayed in, keeping a low profile from people looking for him.
An owl clucked impatiently, grabbing his lost attention again, ruffling its feathers pointedly. Draco idly passed it a treat, after rooting out the packet from the back of his desk and helping himself to one. He chucked the bag back into the depths of the drawers when the owl flew back out through the window. It's delivered letter lay with ominous innocence on the table.
At some point early this morning he had fallen asleep. The nights he had spent since… oh Christ…only three days ago had not got any better. Dreams of falling, nets disintegrating in front of him and the ground rising steadily to meet him mingled too easily with Hearne's laughter and someone's scathing comments, waking him up in a cold sweat. He'd loved to then spend his time lazing in front of the fire with a glass of something strong, brooding moodily, reflecting on the fate of his soul. But he knew the routine, the doomed battle his mind would put up after every task and so would stay in his bed, sometimes watching the sunrise, sometimes falling back into a guilty sleep.
After a few moments of warily staring at it, Draco picked the letter up and ripped off the seal. Someone ought to have seen him by now, but he had neither the nerve or suicide wish to make enquires…
Sighing, he let the letter drop to the wooden counter again.
We need to talkP
Falling back into the chair, turning around it in it, he started laughing…
Impeccable timing, as ever…He was expecting something so much worse-
As he placed his feet back on the floor, the fireplace to the right of him roared into life. Draco was on standing in a moment, watching the green flames flare up as far up as the mantle before a figure emerged and stooped out of the grate. Whoever they were, they now had a wand aimed at them. He was not expecting pleasant company.
But as they straightened out, Draco's arm dropped involuntarily as his voice caught in his throat.
A drawn out man looked back at him, with an unreadable expression. A man he wished to god he had never met in the first place, and, after yesterday, prayed that he would meet never again. After what felt like an hour of staring, Draco found his manners from somewhere and inclined his head politely.
"Good afternoon, Mr Hearne."
The gesture was returned with equal stiffness, and he quietly declined everything he was offered.
A drink? No thank you. Some lunch? I'm not hungry. A chair? I'd prefer to stand.
By this point, Draco was at a loss at what to do. His new company seemed to be thinking, their mouth opening occasionally before closing, and he decided to leave them to themselves for a minute. This did not, however, prevent an uncomfortable feeling engulf him… Hearne, like his son, was tall, although the wiriness that had made his son so popular with women seemed to be fading away his father. But he still had the same absorbing dark eyes that demanded attention – though this quality seemed to have bypassed the son – and ageless brown hair.
"I am sorry if I have interrupted anything," came Hearne's first volunteered speech. Draco thought vaguely of events before his arrival – the spinning and laughing on a chair – and decided that he wasn't leading the most hectic of lives… Hearne continued without a response. The slight rasp and cough of an unused voice soon disappearing. "I, and my family, wish to- to thank you."
Draco tried not to look surprised, and he thought he had carried it off. It was his voice that betrayed him however. "Excuse me?"
A small, wry small appeared on Hearne's sombre face. "Thank you," he repeated placidly. "You may not realise it, but you did my family a great good."
Even after the sentiments were repeated, it made less sense to Draco than before, distractedly wondering if it would be acceptable for him to make himself a drink and fall into a chair.
The man continued. "Do you remember the Kings Cross incident?" A pause as he waited for recognition. Draco was not included in that particular event, after all, why would someone with as low ranking as him be allowed to even know… "The Carrow's even didn't get their son's body back. Those bastards at the Ministry-"
At this point Hearne came to premature end. The breath had left Draco's body and he was now at even more at a loss at what to say.
The silence dragged on. The birds outside sang, and the perfectly blue sky mocked him. "Mr Hearne, I really don't deserve your thanks. I don't deserve anyone's, least of all yours or your family's."
"Perhaps," came the murmured reply. "But I'm giving it to you, and I wouldn't recommend refusing any offers of kindness at the present moment." Draco felt a hot surge of anger and embarrassment all at the same time, and started to croak a question that he didn't want to ask – but Hearne was already answering, business like tone taking over. "I'm sure you're aware that you're…well…"
"In the shit?"
"To put it bluntly. Yes. Has anyone spoken to you?"
At this point Draco fell into his chair and his company followed suite after a moment's deliberation.
No one had seen him. That was the worse part. Forgiveness was not given out freely, or with any willingness, mistakes held over the person for months, years… a lifetime. His father was proof of this – a sin so bad that his son was still reeling from it. But, Draco mused darkly; he didn't need his Father's gracious help to fluff up…
"No."
Hearne nodded pensively before speaking once more. "I'm going to be honest with you, Malfoy. What I've said, and what I am going to say are things that I never have done before. My family owes you more than a thank you – we owe you our closure. My wife especially… In short, we are in your debt." Draco swallowed an ironic smirk and the thoughts that circled it – he had not finished speaking. By this point Hearne was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, almost whispering. "I may be able to help you. I know enough to be an influence on several people, people that could perhaps… aid you. Avery owes me a rather large favour, for example."
A frown was beginning to pull on Draco's face and he looked the man directly in the eye. "I made a mistake, Mr Hearne. You of all people should be condemning me for it. I didn't do what I was sent to do – it was my own inability that lost what little favour I had with Him."
Hearne sat up correctly again, and rubbed his stubble-ridden chin. He looked drained and tired. Draco's initial awkward feeling returned - he wished the man no ill will, but wished he would just disappear.
"But Malfoy, I'm sure-"
"Do you really think that I'm going to have any vestiges of respectability left once this is over?" Draco interrupted sharply. "I know I'm lucky to still be alive, and I'll be more than bloody lucky to be alive this time next week. Do you think that I don't know what's going to happen to me? I've been in this too long to be hopeful."
They fell silent.
Draco stared into the empty fireplace. The dust had long settled since Hearne's arrival, and now the pair of them sat in continued pensive silence. He needed some time alone to sort his head out – to get what exactly his thoughts were, and put them into words. That had been increasingly hard in recent months – everything he wanted to express to make himself clear got clogged up somewhere, so he was left with a lump of unrefined… things swirling around in his conscious…
Maybe I'm just getting stupider… or more stupid…"I may have not made myself clear perhaps," he intoned quietly. "I am grateful. But He can see into your lies, find your weaknesses… It would be foolish to even try. No one can influence him, those who think they can care just deceiving themselves. The Dark Lord has always worked alone, and we are at his mercy."
Mercy… what a laugh.
Hearne shifted uncomfortably in his chair, fiddling with something within his cloak pockets. "I know. It is – as you say – ridiculous to even discuss it."
"Or think it," Draco added, not looking at his visitor.
"Yes. I felt that I should at least try something…"
"Well, thank you, but don't. I'm sure your wife wouldn't like to lose a husband as well as a son."
By this time, Draco was on his feet. He didn't want to see Hearne – or his new uneasy stance - anymore, nor was he particularly in the mood for talking to anyone. What he did want, however, was a lifetime alone (perhaps in a Scottish glen with a rather busty local barmaid) doing nothing more aggravating than boil a kettle.
Hearne got the hint. A shook hand, a green blazing fireplace, and the man was away. And Draco was alone.
An ache rumbled around somewhere in Ginny's midriff. Earlier on in the week, somewhere in the small hours, cramp in her side had woken up out of stupor as she found herself surprised for a moment to be in the middle of a field. But then it hit her, and she sprung to her feet, ignoring the searing pain that ripped through her muscles. The world around her was deadly silent – a fox or cat scuttled just out of her range of vision – as she checked herself for any damage. Nothing. Malfoy had stayed away, kept to his worthless word, and she was still here.
And she here she was, here at the moment being a comfortable seat behind her desk. A half finished evaluation lay in front of her, which she concentrated on when someone walked past. The rest of the time however was spent on daydreaming, occasionally rotating her chair lazily to keep the circulation continuing along her legs.
"Christ you look like death warmed up."
Ginny's attention snapped forward as someone slammed a pile of papers onto the desk. Andrew, coffee in hand, collapsed into his own chair, a massive grin on his face.
"A simple 'morning' will suffice," she muttered, inspecting the sheets that had been so ceremoniously dumped in her area. "These are for you to fill out. See – has your name on. I may do everything for you, but I seriously am not doing your pissing red tape."
"Hmmm, I believe this-" he indicated to the plate at the front of his table, Andrew Collins – Head of Department for the Magical Diplomacy and Regulation – "says I can."
"Oh, smart comment, Andrew. Almost as smart as your tie is obnoxious."
Clearly hurt, he patted his vibrant green, Quaffle studded, tie with care. "Luckily my intelligence doesn't have degrade into witty banter-"
"Yeah, we've all been saved."
"-as I control the amount of money you earn."
Ginny shut up, mumbling to herself as she pulled over the files. Confidential Personal Only.
Interesting.
Opposite, sipping bad humouredly on what was most likely a bad coffee, Andrew read the morning paper. She watched him for a moment, noting the lines of stress that were forming as he read further into the editorial. As for herself, Ginny never read the things. Everything she needed to know was always available to her, the truth waiting for her whenever she paid her friends a visit. She took a valuable piece of advice – only use the Daily Prophet for the crosswords, and then as a temporary cat litter tray.
She dragged her head down to her desk. A quick scan over the text and she had a frown on her face to match her colleagues'. "I really don't think I should be doing this-"
With more force than was perhaps needed, Andrew threw his cup in the general direction of the bin. "Just bloody do it."
With a withering look, Ginny gathered up the papers and walked over to his desk. "No, seriously-" she dropped them on his work-free area, "-this is about a raid. The Auror's should be looking at it. Not us. I'm surprised my fingers haven't been burnt off, or worse, by the confidentiality charms…why are you smiling? Don't smile."
"No one's told you? You were sent and owl last night – well I was – informing us that we now are going to deal with the more delicate legal situations. We're transferring to a new building – whole lifestyle change. I think the new office is somewhere in the Outer Hebrides. Nice bit of wind and rain to clear the cobwebs away-"
"Don't be an arse. Why have I got this?"
A helpful shrug. "I'm not sure – it's a warrant for a raid for some suspected DE. The Auror's want it air tight…"
"Yes I can see that," she said bitingly, "And the Office of Law is what…on holiday?"
"I'm not sure," he answered with the most annoying grin. "Apparently this is one slippery character," he glanced down the page, blinking his eyes blindly for a second. Finally, after a moment of holding the paper further and further away, he as able to read. "Ah yes – possible links to killings, both Muggle and Magical for starters, ending with Dark Art supplies for dessert." Ginny moved behind him to get a better look, leaning on the back of his chair and peering over. Andrew tilted back and showed her more closely. "And this is just the stuff they're almost certain about. Yummy."
"Who is it?"
Ruffling through the parchments, Andrew searched for a moment. Ginny spotted the name a second before he read it aloud, and felt all the blood in her disappear, along with the pit of her stomach.
"Draco Malfoy… Hmmm, no picture. Ah well. Sounds like the sort, doesn't he? Most likely a Pureblood twat, a silver spoon up his arse."
All Ginny could do was smile weakly, and accept the information back off him, mentioning something about getting started on it. Safely behind her desk, she shoved it hastily into a draw and continued with some other work that had mysteriously arrived, sending messages, writing letters and generally getting cramp in her hand. Finally, Andrew sighed dramatically and announced that he was dieing of hunger, and was going to get some food. It meant that Ginny had an hour, while he lost several games of snooker at the local pub, to look at the Malfoy file.
The door had barely clattered shut before she was scrutinizing it. It was pretty run of the mill – accept for the privacy note – in appearance, and more or less normal (as far as warrants went) until it got to the information page.
Known Killings – None, known to be present at othersSuspected Killings – Numerous - suspected in many – never direct evidence
Torture/Injury inflicted – Several serious inflictions on Ministry personal, several minor cases, three serious on Muggle.
Unforgivables – Imperius, Cruciatus, possible Avada KedavraOther Information – Son of Lucius Malfoy, associate of other active and prominent DE's
And on the list went. She knew stuff that wasn't even on Ministry radar yet – things her friends, her brothers (Ron was especially explicit) had said, and threads of conversations she'd over heard.
The ache, which she had purposely put down cramps, rippled ominously again. It could not, she knew, be a coincidence that the warrant – and imprisonment by the looks of things – of the person she was indebted to now lay at her fingertips. Her eyes were drawn to charges and offences on the list. Names she recognised – for various reasons – littered the text.
Despair threatened to engulf her. The more she thought and looked, the more and more obvious it became what she would have to do to get rid of the gnawing in her insides. But another consequence swam into her mind - the people that would be saved more pain and anguish if Draco Malfoy didn't slip through their fingers once more…
Perhaps she ought to pay the north coast of Scotland a visit, set up her own office there where she would deal with the regulation length of rats tails, apothecary prices or something as equally dull. Something that didn't require soul splitting decisions. But there really shouldn't be any choice in the matter – she could see what he had done with his life since he had left Hogwarts and had known to well what he had done within them. And what that had resulted in. The perfect world outside the magical window calmed her down and she returned to her thoughts a moment later. She knew what he was like, what he was doing, done and would do in the future. She had seen what Deatheaters left behind in rooms and minds, and she saw her brothers, her friends all living their lives from one disaster to the next.
She grabbed her jacket and stalked out of the office. It was occasions like this that made her itch for her broom, which had got her into this mess in the first place.
Without registering or seeing anything, Ginny found herself outside and looking onto a bustling Muggle street. Another grey London day, the distant buzz of the centre and the hum of traffic moving everything along. A quick glance up at the mix of beautiful and disgusting architecture and she was on her way.
Fate was really beginning to piss her off.
It wasn't often that Draco found himself doing something without first thinking it through. Slytherin, after all, had been his House and home for years. His subconscious – as far as he was aware – had very little to do with his day-to-day life. This was why he was so surprised to find himself in the Hogs Head, with an altogether fuzzy memory as to how and why. With any luck, it would be an Imperius, which would just be a fantastic stroke of cruel irony as he was in Hogsmeade. If it was the case, someone would want him here – something would be happening.
Years of doing it meant that his head kept itself down instinctively, hood up, blending with the rest of the characters in the bar. The wizened innkeeper remained polishing the same dirty glasses with the same dirty rag that he'd had for as long as Draco cared to remember.
Despite the health risks, and having already seen the other glasses here, he ordered a drink and found himself a seat. It wasn't that bad here, not really. It was hot, but unlike the customers at the nearest pub, no one was straying outside to enjoy the summer sun of the evening. His, and everyone else's aside from some really iffy figures near the far corner, cloak remained on. Enjoying the relaxing bustle, he took a sip. It was nice to just get out of the house – even though he really shouldn't be anywhere remotely public.
He'd spent an afternoon in deep meditation (napping on the sofa) yesterday thinking about his present situation. Perhaps another solstice was needed now this thing with Hearne had popped up…
I should be so lucky…Someone sat down next to him.
"Mr. Malfoy?"
It had been a long time since someone had called him Mr. Draco's guard was immediately up.
"Who are you?"
The person was a girl, well a woman really, and had her hood down so her tired face was fully visible. Curly black hair, made darker by the surroundings, modestly tied back and even darker eyes. Something he recognised…
"I'm Aine Hearne."
"Hearne?"
Another? He really couldn't get rid of them. Surreptitiously while swirling his glass, he took a good look at her. From his knowledge of her father, Draco could only presume that the prettiness came from her mother's side. But as he have her a fairly charismatic smile, she stared at him icily.
"Yes. I've been sent to give you some information."
"Oh. Right."
Draco had no idea where this particular member of the Hearne family was trying to go. Paranoia sniffed a trap. He waited for her to continue, hoping that her meaning for discussion wasn't as uncomfortable as her father's… though that did actually seem impossible.
"Well… I have some information for you."
Draco nodded and didn't move away as his new companion shifted a little closer to him. She had no drink. Something of his thoughts must have wandered onto his face, because the cool reception he had suddenly got a whole lot cooler.
"I know you've heard of my family, Malfoy," she said coldly, "so I don't expect I have to prove my alliance to you." Draco would never have dreamt to ask from which side she was coming from - his question was not who, but why. She continued. "I work in the Ministry – in the Department of Aurors. My friend got me the job," she added pointedly. "Your house is going to be raided."
"What?"
Now she looked a little uneasy. He had said that a little too loud.
"Your house - It's about to be raided." she repeated, snapping, edging around in her seat. She looked like she wanted to be a million miles away.
Draco frowned at his lap and thought for a moment. There was something he didn't understand. "Has your father sent you?"
"My father? Why would he tell me to do anything?" Slight outrage had taken over her previously barely covered disdain.
"It doesn't matter," he dismissed, "more importantly, when is this going to happen?"
Looking moody, Aine answered. "In about two weeks."
"Any particular time in those weeks?"
"Look, I don't know!" came the waspish reply. "It's not going to happen before this time in two weeks."
Whether or not this was the pot calling the kettle black, Draco wasn't sure about her information – she looked barely eighteen. Fresh out of school, a wet fish in the Ministry, how could she know anything? There could be the chance she was just the delivery girl, but why not send a protected Owl, or send someone with a little more… calibre. His mind sighed, running off a million thoughts, all of which culminated into one feeling – he wasn't worth any more than that. He wasn't worth more than a new girl. He wasn't worth more than a big nosed git with a broom problem…
These musings must have continued for too long. Aine interrupted. "Well?"
"Who sent you?"
A smirk. "Well you can be sure as a Hippogriff's arse it wasn't my choice. Some of your friends wanted you to know. They felt it would be great if I told you."
Draco nodded and slowly pulled back his hood. It was slipping anyway. "Friends or associates?"
"Associates, of course."
They shared a moment of bitterness.
"Two weeks then," he surmised. "Can I buy you a drink?"
The mutual hatred for authority figures had vanished, and all of that feeling was directed back at him. "No. I hope I have made it clear that if it was up to me then-" She stopped. Someone walked past her and her venomous tone inverted. "-Goodbye, Mr Smith. Don't hurt yourself."
"I'll try just for you," he muttered darkly, mulling over his whiskey and thoughts. Miss Hearne (how wrong it sounded, even in his head) nipped out of the door, not holding it open for the man that walked in. Plain clothes, but they reeked of Ministry personnel. Draco sunk lower in his seat… The new man eyes were trailing and grazing the bar, before strolling over to the bar man. He was watched back more subtly than they realised.
Draco, however, was not one of those people keeping an eye on the new arrival. He returned blankly to his glass, noting that it was a lot emptier than he cared to agree with. Suddenly finding the pub unbearable, Draco gathered up his things, pulled over his hood, drained his glass and braced himself to enter the summer sun.
When he got out, weaving his way around the tables and people, the light was just as abrasive as he suspected. It didn't matter – he had no intention of looking up and around at the landscape anyway… He was going to get to the Apparation point and get the hell out of here.
Ginny decided within ten minutes of arriving that this was the single best lunch time she had spent. Tonks, sporting her trademark hair, had the day off and was sorting out some random strands of paper work. Ginny knew the feeling too well, so when she came into kitchen, saw the sky high piles of work, immediately tried to back out. But Tonks had just laughed that they were Remus' – Ginny however suspected that these papers belonged to neither of them – and dragged her through the back door and into their garden.
That was where they sat now, gracefully sitting on a dilapidated bench and basking in the beautiful midday sun. Tonk's hair seemed to give off its own light, and her face was even brighter now departed from her work and talking idly.
They sat in pensive silence for a minute, Ginny watching the hive of activity that was the garden. The flowers – and numerous unwelcome plants – were in full bloom and created a colourful jungle that was not unlike the Burrow, and exactly like the woman stood next to her.
"Hermione was here a while ago. I felt so guilty about the flowerpots alone," laughed Tonks. "But Remus wants to sort it out… I just don't have the stamina. The gnomes are becoming frighteningly territorial."
Ginny listened with a numbed interest. This bench really wasn't stable, and was creaking mournfully with the two of them lounging on it, their feet balanced on a plant pot and old box respectively. Ginny thought with no small amount of guilt of her own deserted garden. She looked after it a little, but if the truth was told she really didn't have the will any more. When she was younger, gardening seemed to be nothing but chasing garden gnomes and making mud bricks with Ron and the Twins. Now it seemed to involve either weeding on hands and knees, or battling the pests – both magical and other – away from her flowers.
"I think I'm going to move back into the city," she mused aloud. Tonks stayed looking on ahead, giving a brief sideways look. "I mean, it's useless me having that big house in the country and not even enjoy it. Like, I don't even think of myself as having a garden. All I do there is sleep, and occasionally eat."
"You're not alone there, Ginny."
"Well, I know," she mumbled into her mug, slightly embarrassed. "I'd prefer it better in a flat. Less maintenance I guess. Plus I only seem to stop pot plants from dieing at the moment…"
Tonks smiled knowingly. "Sounds like a plan – rather you than me with the moving. Bit of a random topic, though."
"I suppose," Ginny sighed, wishing she imagined the meaningful tone in Tonks voice. "I actually came here to talk you about work, of all things."
"Oh really? I don't see how I can help with anything helpful, except the coveted technique of getting the best biscuits… Trick is – the tea lady usually puts them near the bottom. Reckon it's so others won't have them so there's more for her."
Ginny already knew this from her own, and her brother's, experiences but laughed anyway. It was nice sitting here, the sky now sprinkled with clouds, making the sun gentle and less severe. "No, something more serious. A lad at work got into a Wizard's debt…"
She waited for a reaction but Tonks simply stared at the wilderness in front of her, a slightly frown pulling on her face. She made a non-committal noise. "They can be nasty. What has he been told to do about it?"
Tonks wasn't taking the bait. Not surprising really… She should have asked Ron – things would just be a lot simpler with her brother, who had only realised that Ginny did actually lead an independent life.
Ginny shrugged, thinking as surreptitiously as she could for a sound and airtight reason that would pass an Auror's paranoia without letting the conversation wander.
"I don't know all the details exactly-" Oh, yeah, brilliant start "-I heard from George that he knew someone that had gotten into a debt with one of the less desirable allies the Ministry sees fit to employ."
"Oh?"
George? George? Tonks now looked amused, and it was beginning to rile Ginny, not unlike the times when she was excluded from Order meetings.
"Right ok – I do understand that he's probably having me on. I mean, he said that this poor boy was saved by a hag, of all people. But I was just curious about what actually happens if you were to break it."
She now had all of Tonk's serious attention. "What's wrong with asking Hermione?"
Ginny had actually considered Hermione, but knew that she would not only have a textbook, slightly dry, response, but her brother would mysteriously know that his little sister had been asking about magical debt's. She explained this carefully to Tonks who laughed understandably.
"Fair enough. I don't suppose she'd know, or admit to knowing, anyone with it. People tend to be quiet secretive with debt's."
"Yeah, I can believe that."
"I don't think anyone needs to go the gory details. But depending on the scale of the debt, the feelings between the people, an ignored debt isn't pretty."
Suddenly it was very cold. "What if someone saved your life?" she whispered.
Tonks shifted on her seat delicately. "Debt's can pass down generations if there isn't an opportunity to repay. But if it's ignored on purpose then…"
The sentence trailed off miserably. They both returned to watching the jungle in front of them. A moment later the conversation steered onto something paradoxically mundane.
Someone grabbed his arm.
"Malfoy!"
While his hand went straight to his wand, it was only years of… doing what he did that prevented his mind going blank, and his reactions to slow. Two things might have caused this – Ginny Weasley touching his arm and calling his name in public, and the towers, turrets and stone of Hogwarts sparkling merrily in the dieing sun, the blazing glass winking back at him…
"What the- You don't talk to me in the middle of the fucking High street-!"
"Oh shut up."
She was pulling him to the side. They hadn't really been in the middle of a street - more to the edge, loitering around the entrance of the pub while he stalked out in what he hoped was an unapproachable manner. He would, obviously, have to work on that.
An empty crate clattered emptily and she let go of him, not wasting a breath. "I have some information for you."
Draco's temper stilled instantly. If his paranoia had been bad with a Hearne then what chance would it stand with Weasley – a Gryffindor, a blood traitor, a Ministry worker… someone had done her utmost to kill the life he led. Not that he was particular upset about her recent actions; it just didn't create the most stable environment in which to exchange pleasantries.
"Your house, it's going to be raided."
And he did something terrible. He started laughing. Soon after that a wand was jabbed under his chin and a thoroughly pissed Weasley in his face. The outburst stopped immediately and he pushed her roughly off, slightly repulsed at himself for letting his guard down. She could have killed him then, if she had wanted to. He shouldn't have even left the house… he should have stayed wandering aimlessly around his study – perhaps indulged in a little indoor Quidditch to really liven things up…
"What's your problem? I've come here to help you and you just-"
"Why are you helping me again, Weasel?" Oh dear. They'd reverted into childhood names. "Oh yes, I remember. Because I saved your life… Am I supposed to be ever so grateful for the fact you're merely paying back a debt. And not with any grace if I-"
Weasley looked at him darkly for a moment. They were quite far apart, more so than normal conversation rules dictated. But it seemed strangely fitting. Behind him, basking her figure in a glorious sunlight, the sun was dipping out of the sky. It was getting darker earlier each night, the warm breezes that pushed his hood back soothing thoughts of a pending winter…
"Your house. This Thursday. Morning. I've told you, the debt is repaid."
This Thursday? The day after tomorrow?She walked off, but he caught up with her and blocked her way. "This Thursday? Are you sure? As in… this week?"
"Yes," she snapped. "I saw the papers myself."
"I don't believe you, why would you tell me…"
"You said so yourself, Malfoy. The debt."
Draco's mind was racing, checking her voice, her stance, her eyes to see a sign of untruth. There were ways of getting around commands and obligations. It could mean that date in five years time or a leap year… in August.
"The debt is not repaid. Only I can say when it is."
He hadn't quite expected her reaction. He'd have loved her to go mad, shout and scream at him in a fit of rage, and he'd watch calmly, elegantly replying with some pre-made insults, tearing her up in one smooth swoop. But instead she swallowed, obviously restraining something. But it gave no pleasure – she had after all not let him get the better of her… Her eyes flickered away from his for a second, looking around at the pub.
"My colleague is there – you want to know which department I work at, Malfoy?" she enunciated clearly, making sure he heard every last nuance of utter hatred. "I know what the warrant says, I know how it's been written. You have no idea what is going on. An order has been signed for an automatic imprisonment and a freezing of all assets if a piece of paper with Dark Lord so much as written on it is found. I haven't saved your life, Malfoy, but I've saved everything else thing you value."
"What do you know of what I value?"
But she stalked off, and he saw her join her friend. It was the Ministry worker from the pub, the one who had barged into deep conversation with the barman. Draco watched him shrewdly for a second as the pair of them walked off, Ginny clearly being interrogated as to what she was doing. Then he disappeared, apparating – though not before sending a filthy look in Draco's direction – leaving Ginny alone.
She didn't even look back.
And next chapter? Ooooh, a raid, and apology and the Twin's shop