Disclaimer: The Wizarding World belongs to J.K. Rowling. This fanfic belongs to me.
WILFULLY: CHAPTER 26
Draco Malfoy was working with Harry Potter.
The thought alone filled his mouth with bile. He missed the time when he used to fling hexes on the git in the corridors of Hogwarts, and when he used to shout insults at him from his usual place at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.
Those were good times. Degrading Potter was good. Working with him, not so much.
xx
"Is this really necessary?" Draco could not help but ask as he placed his hands on the table before him, causing the heavy iron chains that were bound around his wrists to clang gratingly.
"We need to keep up the act."
"There is no one here but us." He glanced disdainfully around at the dull stone walls of the interrogation room in the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic. One would think that the so-called revered department would at least be able to get better quality furniture for their interrogation chambers, if not a fake magicked window. The chair that he was sort of tied to was unbearably uncomfortable, and he already had a dull ache emanating from his bum and leading up to just above his hipbone. He was twenty-four, for Salazar's sake, and too young for backaches. The mighty Harry Potter sat across from him on a cushioned armchair that he had conjured for himself, reading a muggle novel called Lord of the Flies. Bastard.
"Yes, but why take the risk?"
Draco narrowed his eyes. "You are enjoying this." The spectacled git did not reply, but the faint grin that touched his lips was answer enough. By Merlin, what he would not give to just bash his stupid head in. But he was a Slytherin, and therefore knew that there were other ways to get back at others than using physical force. "Piggy dies."
Potter's eyes widened as he looked from his novel to him, and then he tossed the book across the room, clearly not wanting to continue reading now that he had been spoiled on the ending. "Fuck you, Malfoy!"
Draco smirked, feeling immensely pleased at his petty little victory, and he made a mental note to thank Daphne for recommending this book to him a few years ago. Now, neither of them had anything to do, other than to just sit here in this wretched room and rue the circumstances that had forced them into working together. Equality.
After what felt like an age but could not have been longer than half an hour, the doorknob turned.
Potter quickly jumped to his feet and harshly asked one of the questions that they had rehearsed beforehand. Draco growled his reply, which included declarations of his complete innocence, though he could not help but add a few improvised insults. Potter was halfway through telling him off for being an evil prat when Weasley stepped in the room, locked and warded the door before turning to them.
"Nice acting, Harry. You'd do great in Hollywood!"
Getting married to a muggle-born had clearly boosted this redheaded idiot's knowledge of muggle phenomenons, such as Hollywood; Draco's own knowledge of the muggle film industry came from his house-elf's annoying habit of watching sad, romantic films and then crying about the stupid plot while doing his chores.
"Nice to know that I have options if this gig fails," Potter joked dryly. "What's up?"
"Had to come and make sure that you two hadn't murdered each other."
"Not yet," Potter muttered coolly.
"Well, don't give in to the temptation, mate. The world will be a better place without this Ferret but imagine the paperwork you'll have to do afterwards."
"Hilarious," Draco said icily. Much to his dismay and disapproval, the entire Golden Trio was aware of the plan that they had been hatching. Honestly, was it really necessary to share everything with your friends? Sometimes, it was sensible to have secrets; he, for instance, had not told Blaise about this entire Dolohov business. But it would seem that those stupid muggles who had raised Potter did not give him that particular lesson in common sense.
Weasley shrugged, then turned to his friend once again. "Did you two tell Ginny of your brilliant plan, by any chance?"
"No." Potter replied, and briefly eyed Draco, who shook his head lightly in confirmation.
A wicked grin spread across Weasley's face. "That explains why she's outside, demanding to see the Ferret." He produced a copy of the Daily Prophet from his coat and slammed it on the table. "It's all over the papers, just like you wanted."
Draco eyed the photograph on the front page with distaste. Merlin, this was so much worse than what they had originally intended.
"She's going to blast your balls off," Weasley told Potter matter-of factly, then glanced at Draco. "Yours too when she finds out that you were in on the plan. I hope I'm there to see it when it happens." He shot him a look of mingled hatred and amusement, then consolingly patted his best friend on the shoulder before taking his leave.
"Scared, Potter?" Draco asked once the door had shut and the wards replaced.
"You would be too if you had seen what Ginny's temper is like," Potter muttered.
Blimey, the hero of the Wizarding World was truly frightened of the Ginevra's wrath. It was laughable, and Draco almost wished that he could go and tell it to Rita Skeeter; no doubt she would spin gold out of this little factoid. He himself had been on the receiving end of Ginevra's infamous Bat-Bogey Hex back during his fifth year at Hogwarts and that had been an unbearably nasty experience. Not to mention that he had seen enough of her fieriness to be extremely wary of her true fury. No, he would not want to face that ever, and certainly not over this bizarre spy-plan that had been concocted by the Git Who Won't Fucking Die.
He reckoned he was safe for now, since she probably considered him a victim of this investigation, and he would make sure that he stayed in the safe zone. The best way to do that, of course, would be to come clean to Ginevra.
"None of this would have escalated so much if you hadn't tried to hex Katie!" Potter barked, looking agitated at the prospect of having to face the Weasley temper.
"She was manhandling my mother," Draco reminded him.
"She wasn't!"
Alright, in hindsight, he could tell that she wasn't. The plan had been that the Aurors would blow up a chair or two in the Main Hall of the Malfoy Manor under the pretence of searching (Draco had been meaning to purchase these amazing new leather armchairs that he had spotted in a furniture gallery in Boston, so he did not mourn the loss of the old furniture) and then they would cuff him and bring him to the Ministry.
What no one had counted on was Narcissa Malfoy barging into the Hall, demanding answers and shouting at them about the mistreatment of her son. During her tirade, she had tripped and Katie Bell had grabbed her, not only to keep her from falling but also to ensure that she would not interfere in the Auror business. From where Draco stood, already pissed about having to work with Potter to destroy his own reputation, he had misconstrued Bell's actions and tried to hex her in an attempt to save his mother– which resulted in him getting roughly tackled to the ground and Potter having to improvise.
Improvise. Ha! The wanker had enjoyed every minute of tormenting him.
"It is time." Potter declared as he glanced at his watch and then charmed the iron binds to release him.
Draco stood up, rubbing his wrists to get the blood flowing. "I will handle Ginevra," he said, his tone haughty enough to make it clear that this spectacled git ought to be grateful to have him on his side. "She will not confront you about this." As much as he wanted to see her hex Potter into oblivion, he could not let this become another edition of Skeeter's bloody love triangle. The whole purpose of going through all this hell was something else: there was a bigger picture here.
The two men walked through the Auror Department, an open area was divided into cubicles that had a distinct air of friendliness and hard work at the same time. Nigel Wolpert was poring over a large map. Katie Bell was chatting merrily with a blue-robed man who had a long ponytail and a scarred cheek. Ron Weasley was clearly giving instructions to a woman with short hair and large hoop earrings as they stared at a bunch of notes pinned to a wall.
"Team meeting in thirty minutes," Potter declared as they headed towards a pair of large oak doors.
Draco could feel a number of inquisitive gazes on him, but he ignored them and kept his head held high as the two of them headed towards the lifts and down to the Atrium, where they were practically accosted by a group of journalists. The sharp flashes of the camera nearly blinded him as he stubbornly shouldered his way through the throng while Potter stayed back to speak with the vultures.
He spotted a familiar flash of red hair, and saw Ginevra standing by the fountain, deep in conversation with Daphne Greengrass. The latter flashed him a smile as he approached, promised to visit him later and then headed off in the direction of the lifts, leaving him alone with his girlfriend.
"Good morning, love," he greeted her. "Is it still morning?"
"Yes." Ginevra stepped forward to give him a quick hug. "Are you alright?"
"I am."
"I swear, I'm going to break Harry's jaw." Her cheeks were flushed in anger and her glare fixed on Potter.
"There will be no need for that," he assured her as he followed her gaze to the reporters, who had gone silent to listen to Scarhead as he made his official statement: that after a thorough investigation conducted by the Auror Department, they had failed to find any evidence pertaining to Draco's involvement with these Death Eaters, which is why they were letting him go.
"I do want to thank Mr. Malfoy for cooperating with us during this investigation," added Potter, his eyes briefly flitting over to where they stood.
Draco visibly bristled at the words, then quickly grabbed Ginevra's hand and started pulled her with him towards the fireplaces. "Let's go before they come asking questions," he muttered to her, clearly not in the mood to deal with the damned media.
Within a matter of minutes, they returned to the Main Hall of the Manor, where all the mess that the Aurors had made the previous night had been unmade, making the place look as grand and clean as ever. As he stepped out of the hearth, Draco almost literally ran into Narcissa, who seemed to be ready to head out somewhere.
"Mother?" he asked, allowing her to embrace him. "Where are you going?"
"To speak to our legal team," her mother replied. "Enough is enough. The Ministry cannot treat you so horribly."
"There will be no need for that. It's over. Potter told the press that I'm not involved–"
"As if that will help," she cut in. "He has already ruined our reputation."
"I will build it back up."
With an exasperated shake of her head, Narcissa Malfoy took a few steps back and tossed her clutch onto the table rather harshly. "You are being too kind to the Ministry," she accused.
"I am many things, mother, kind is not one of them," Draco assured her. It was all he could do, really, for under no circumstances could she find out that he had been a willing participant of the chaos that had taken place in their home the last night. He had told her about Dolohov approaching him, which had resulted in an ugly argument, followed by a frank conversation where she agreed that he had done the right thing in refusing the man. But this, she would never accept. She would never take kindly to the fact that he was willingly putting himself in danger, that too for Ginevra, and she would do everything in her power to jeopardise that plan. He could not have that happen. "Let me handle them my way."
"What way is that, exactly? Silence?"
"You must trust me." He made sure to sound commanding. "And I think you should return to Italy."
"I will not leave you alone," she protested.
For Salazar's sake, could she not try to understand why he was asking her to leave? "The matter went out of hand last night when I attacked Bell for you." He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. She was worried, and he hated that he was the cause of that. "You are my weakness, just as I am yours. Everyone knows it. We cannot allow them to use our familial bonds against us."
His mother reached up to cup his cheek in the palm of her hand. "So, are we not to see each other until this dies down?"
Draco could not help but smile a little at her worry. He did not know about her, but there was no way in hell that he would be able to keep from seeing this woman over the course of the next few months. "Nonsense. We will see each other as per our regular schedule, like normal," he told her. "But not more than that, and most certainly not out of fear."
Narcissa looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, then." She stepped towards the fireplace and reached for the Floo Powder.
"Where are you going?" he asked warily. Her destination could not have been her villa in Italy; that was international travel, and hence not accessible via Floo.
"To the Ministry. I need a Portkey."
Worry flared in his chest. "You can't go there. The reporters–"
"I have been dealing with the press longer than you," she informed him. "And trust works both ways, my dear son." With that, she was gone in a burst of flames.
Draco let out a sigh, then turned to Ginevra who had been silent during the entire conversation. It was very thoughtful of her to sort of blend into the background and let them talk, but now she was looking at him with a rather tender expression on her face. It filled him with warmth, as if he was laying on a beach on a perfectly sunny afternoon. "Will you stay?" he asked her.
"Of course." She stepped forward to wrap her arm around his waist as the two of them slowly started towards his bedroom. "Do you want some breakfast? I'm sure Yugo will–"
He shook his head lightly. "I could do with a shower and a nap."
Minutes later, he found himself in his bathroom, allowing his thoughts to wander as he stood underneath the spray of the scalding hot water.
What Potter had said during the press conference the day before and the subsequent arrest had been a part of their plan to provide Draco with a plausible reason to want to join the Death Eaters, and even though he known that the accusations and the humiliation was coming, he could not help but feel wounded because of it.
In a matter of twenty-four hours, his reputation, which was already questionable to some extent, had come crashing to the ground. Irreparable harm had been done, and he had allowed it, all for the sake of Ginevra. There were no regrets there, not really, because he did stand by his decision, but at the same time he hated putting himself in the spotlight, and that too in relation to the Death Eaters. Everything about this current plan went totally against the main plan that he had been working on for years now, which was to build the Malfoy name up bit by bit and make it something that was respected once again in the Wizarding Britain. That was not going to happen now.
And then there was the fact that Ginevra was still in the dark about everything that was going on, which was unfair to her considering how supportive she had been and how she'd been willing to hex Potter for the sake of him. Draco decided that he could not lie to her about this anymore. He did not want to risk her temper, but more than that, he did not want to risk breaking her trust, which she had given him wholeheartedly. Everything that he was doing was for her, and though he knew that she would not approve of this plan, he could not keep it from her. Besides, Potter had told Weasley and Granger, so it only made sense that he would share this with Ginevra.
With that thought, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went to his closet room. He had just slid open the drawer containing his pajamas when a soft body pressed against his back and a pair of lips touched his shoulder blade.
He smiled for a moment, then stiffened when he realised that he was feeling way too much skin-on-skin contact than normal. He turned around and sure enough, Ginevra stood there in nothing but her undergarments and her sling – how she had managed to take off her clothes without disrupting her bound, injured arm was beyond him; he reckoned magic was involved.
"Hi," she murmured.
"Hello." A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he slowly ran his gaze down her beautiful body, taking in how her light, slightly freckled skin contrasted with the navy colour of her bra and knickers. "I think you're hinting at something."
"Am I?" she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. Her fingers trailed up his arm to lodge around his shoulder as she pressed herself closer and the lacy material of her bra rubbed against his bare chest. A shiver ran down his spine, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he stood naked and dripping wet in his closet.
It was only when she gently started tugging at him, leading him through the double doors that led to his bedroom that Draco hesitated. Ever since Ginevra had managed to gain some composure from the delirious state that she had been in after the blast, she had made advances towards him a number of times, and he had tried his best to indirectly simmer the situation down before their escalated desire led them to physical intimacy.
"Why do you do that?" she asked.
"Do what?"
"Resist."
Ah, so perhaps he had not been as subtle about turning down sex as he had initially thought. "I'm just tired, love." He leaned forward to kiss her, to placate her, but she pulled away.
"Don't you want me?" Ginevra demanded.
"What? Of course, I do." It was not for lack of appeal that he refused her. He had found her in such a terribly vulnerable state when he had returned from Boston, not to mention that she was injured still, her arm bound in bandages, hanging limply in the sling. To indulge in sex would be to take advantage of her.
"Is it because of my arm?" she asked.
"Well, yes but–"
"Oh, forgive me then!" Tears formed in her eyes and she shook her head furiously in a fruitless attempt to get rid of them. She stormed over to the sofa to retrieve her clothes; it had taken a couple of nasty arguments for her to catch on to his neat-freak tendencies, and now she always kept her clothes in a neat pile instead of tossing them all over the room like a complete barbarian. "I should have known that the great Draco Malfoy would not want to fuck a cripple."
"Ginevra!" He moved to stop her. "You're twisting my words."
"Am I?" she shot back as she wiped away her tears, her voice rising. "You just said–"
"What I meant was that you are fragile right now, love. I don't want to hurt you by accident."
"Don't call me fragile!"
"Then stop crying over every little thing!"
Once again, he had said the wrong thing, for she shoved him away. Or rather, she tried to. "You think what I am going through is little?"
In the name of Salazar's blood! He was treating her like a porcelain doll for the sake of her, because he did not wish to wound her body or feelings, and here he was being vilified for it. "I am trying to be considerate."
"Yes well, I hate to break it to you, but you've failed."
"What do you want from me?" He felt his own frustrations bubbling up now. "Has the desire for a good fuck driven you completely insane?"
"I want you to stop bitching about me to Zabini. Have the balls to call me a 'crybaby' to my face, you coward!"
Of all the things he had expected her to respond with, this was the one he least expected. And it was so bizarre and silly that his anger evaporated in a jiffy, only to be replaced with mirth. "Maybe I ought to tell Daphne about that one time he called her a hedonistic harpy," he said with an incredulous laugh and when her glare only became more intense, he added, "You have to understand that Blaise and I have been each other's go-to person for whinging since we were twelve-years-old."
"I know that."
"Then what is the problem?"
His amusement had deflated Ginevra's anger. She tossed her clothes back on the sofa and said in a much calmer tone, "Look, this damned blast took away my arm and my career from me. I know I'll be able to get it back hopefully, but until that happens, I have lost this part of me and everything is… different." Her big brown eyes bore into his, pleading. "I don't want us to be different, Draco. I won't be able to bear any more change. I can't, I just bloody can't right now."
His heart sank. He had been meaning to tell her the truth about Dolohov, but how could he do it when she stood here before him in such a vulnerable condition? No matter how offended she got at the word, the fact of the matter was that she was fragile. There was no knowing how she would react if he told her the truth. At the same time, hiding this big a thing from her was only going to cause a crack in the trust that they had built over the past few months.
"I want to know that you are my same Draco," she went on, unaware of the turmoil raging inside of him. "I want to feel desired. I want to know that you still want me even when I'm bruised and broken."
"You think I don't?" Draco asked incredulously. His hands rose to cup her cheeks. "Merlin, Ginevra! You can come to me bathed in the blood of infants and I'll still want you. Though I would probably ask you to clean up first," he added lightly, causing her to laugh. The sound of it was music to his ears– and he reached his decision in an instant. Not yet. He will tell her everything, but not just yet. For now, her need for the same old normalcy would have to surpass his need for honesty. "I am the same Draco, and I am still yours."
"Show me." Her hand came to rest over his heart, the touch of her fingers hot against his skin. "I know you need this as much as I do."
He did. By Merlin's magic, he did.
His lips sought hers fervently and her mouth acting like a balm for all his troubles. Everything that was wrong with the world, which was a lot, sort of muted and went to the back of his head, to be pondered over later. For now, he was immersed in this sinful kiss that he wished would go on forever.
They slowly moved towards his bed while his fingers sought the clasp of her bra. He helped her out of the article before moving on to the sling. Her bandaged arm hung by her side, and he saw a wave of insecurity flash across her face.
"Lay back," he commanded.
Ginevra did, and then grabbed her limp hand to place it by the pillow where it would not hinder whatever they were going to get up to. She looked rather self-conscious as she did so, though he saw none of that. All he could think of was how unbelievably sexy she was, with her bright red hair splayed across his black pillows. The sunlight streaming in from the half-open windows played on the skin of her chest and abdomen, and he found himself standing at the foot of the bed, admiring the breath-taking view.
Something about his lecherous thoughts must have shown on his face, for pink spots formed on her cheeks. "Are you going to just stand there?" she asked.
"Why the hurry?" Draco asked as he got rid of his towel and climbed on the bed. Then, he started his deliberately slow ascent up her body by kissing every inch of her skin that he came into contact with. His lips curled into his trademark smirk as he licked at the soft skin of his inner thigh, causing her to squirm, and he pulled off her knickers so that he could make a mandatory pitstop at the apex of her legs.
It was only when she was writhing under his ministrations did he decide to continue his travel upwards, once again pausing to tease her heaving breasts until she let out a frustrated groan and wrenched his face up so she could kiss him.
She let out a cry when he joined their bodies, and within moments he had set up a rhythm that had her trembling beneath him. It had been an interesting discovery to know that there were certain movements that plunged her body into an oversensitive drive, and it had become a hobby of his to use said movements creatively just so that he could elicit the most delicious reactions from her. Right now, for instance, she was letting out a string of rather naughty words to egg him on, which was very amusing though not entirely surprising; out of the two of them, she was the more vocal lover in bed.
Sometime in the middle of their raunchy romp, Draco slid his hand up her left arm to clasp her hand. Normally, her fingers would have curled around his but right now they just lay there, utterly unresponsive. The lack of reaction hit him like a Bludger that had come out of nowhere, and he found himself freezing.
If he had felt the loss of function in her hand so terribly in this one moment, how unbelievably scary this whole situation must be for Ginevra, who had to live like this at least for the foreseeable future until the healing process kicked in. All of a sudden, her hysterical tears and her broken demeanour made so much more sense, and while a pang of guilt did hit him for complaining about her crying earlier, all he could feel was pride. He was in awe of her for being so brave in the face of this injury, and for having the strength to battle the inner demons that undoubtedly tried to bring her down every moment of every day; he knew of those demons, he knew how persuasive they could be, for they came to him too and taunted him about his Curse, though his methods of dealing with them were much more self-destructive.
"W-What is it?" Ginevra asked breathlessly. "Why'd you stop?"
Draco raised his head to stare into her eyes. "It's nothing," he whispered, his own voice rather shaky. "You are incredible."
It was rather obvious that she was utterly bewildered about what was going on in his head that had prompted that compliment. That being said, she was still pleased by it, which is why she kissed him with a smile. "Draco," she murmured against his lips.
"Hmm?"
"I love you, but if you don't start moving right away, I swear to Merlin I'm going to Sectumsempra your balls off." She could be quite a horny wench when she wanted to be, and it was probably wiser to oblige her.
And so, with an amused grin playing on his lips, Draco re-continued their gloriously sinful dance.
xx
Five days had passed since his so-called arrest. His mother had gone back to Italy. He had managed to talk Ginevra out of the idea of confronting Potter about that whole investigation fiasco. Potter's statement that no evidence had been found against him had come in handy in conducting business, but at the same time the events leading up to it had caused enough suspicion that a café at Diagon Alley had outright refused to serve him and the owner had hurled insults at him even as he had stormed away, catching the attention of a hoard of shoppers. All in all, it felt like the right moment to take the next step in their plan, which involved Draco reaching out to Dolohov and asking to join the Cause.
Only there was a bit of a problem.
"So, you don't know how to communicate using the Dark Mark?" Potter asked for the third time that night. The two of them were sitting in the kitchen of the 12 Grimmauld Place and Draco wanted nothing more than to pick up one of the big, iron pans hanging above and ram it into the git's face.
"No. As I told you, Dolohov is the one who figured it out and he didn't share the method when we last met."
"So, how are you planning on getting in touch with him, then?"
"There might be someone who can get my message to him," Draco frowned thoughtfully. There was no guarantee that this particular method would still work. It had been six years, after all. But at the same time, Dolohov had to leave some way open to be contacted by his old contacts and this seemed to be the most secure one; only the Death Eaters and his most trusted allies (who were all horrible, horrible people) knew of his affiliation to this particular connection. He glanced at his watch. "Actually, now would be a good time to approach them."
"I'm coming with."
"Sure. Ask the Minister if he wants to join us as well."
"I'm serious."
"You're an imbecile," Draco said pointedly. "How am I supposed to convince this messenger to speak to Dolohov on my behalf when the bloody Head Auror is lurking in the corner?"
"You're a civilian. I cannot allow you to walk into danger without any backup."
"You should have thought of that before you concocted this ridiculous plan and tossed me into Snape's shoes!"
"Well, as you said. It's my plan so we're going to do what I say," Potter said with a shrug, as if his word meant that this was a done deal. He really was used to giving orders and having people simply obey. Twat.
Draco knew there were two underlying issues here. The first was that Potter was such a goddamned hero that he would not let anyone walk into a dangerous situation; he was so used to doing it himself, to leading the charge, that the idea of sitting back and letting someone else do the work simply did not agree with him. It was a personality problem that almost all the Gryffindors had, and unfortunately it was irreparable, else the world would have been a simpler place. The second problem was trust, and this one needed to be addressed. But it was already nearly half-past-ten at night and getting into a quarrel would only waste precious time. "Fine. Do explain to me how you plan on remaining unnoticed, though."
"My invisibility cloak."
Ah. He had forgotten about Potter's precious possession that had allowed the git to roam through Hogwarts after curfew and manage to accomplish infinite noble deeds, such as eavesdropping on the Slytherins. He remembered that one time he had stomped on Scarhead's nose and covered him with the cloak after he had caught the bastard hiding on the luggage rack, trying to listen to his conversation with his friends. It was a good memory, Draco mused as he waited in the main hallway while the git went to grab his things from upstairs.
Anyone with half a mind would be able to see that this was a terrible plan but Saint Potter simply did not want to pass up a chance of prancing around like a concerned, responsible hero. Merlin, he hoped the git fell down the staircase and broke his neck on the way down.
But the universe was not so kind, and Potter made it back to the hallway safely, the silvery cloak hanging on his arm. "Now, where exactly are we going?"
"To a very shady place," Draco answered. "So, do not start arresting people."
"I won't."
"And don't raid the place later. It will look too suspicious."
"I know, I'm not stupid!" Potter snapped.
"That is debatable," Draco muttered, earning a glare. "And not a word to anyone about whatever you see tonight."
Potter narrowed his eyes suspiciously and opened his mouth to retort when the sound of someone coming through the Floo reached them.
"Harry?"
"Ginny?" Potter called out, utterly bewildered.
Draco swore under his breath. Of all the people who could have come to visit this git, it had to be her, the one person who could not, under any circumstances, find out why he was here. Potter must have reached the same conclusion for he throw the cloak over Draco, causing him to disappear from sight just as Ginevra appeared from the archway that led to the kitchen.
She paused when she saw Potter. "Oh. Are you going somewhere?" she whispered. "I can come back later."
Oh, Merlin. Yes, please. Draco held his breath and tried to remain as still as possible, wishing that she would just leave. Apparently, Scarface did not have that bloody common sense.
"No, no," Potter dramatically lowered his own voice. "Why are you whispering?"
"Because of…" Ginevra vaguely pointed at the velvet curtains that were hanging in the hallway.
"Oh, you don't have to worry about that anymore," Potter told her with an amused laugh, reverting back to his normal voice. "I didn't want to have to tiptoe around in my own home, so the first thing I did when I moved here was get these curtains and charm them to be soundproof. The old hag can't swear up a storm if no noise awakens her, right?"
"Harry, that's genius!" Ginevra sounded impressed as she looked around at the staircase, where the wall was decorated with a number of photographs. "The place looks so different."
"It would to you. You haven't been by in…" Potter's smile slowly faded away as the two of them shared a meaningful glance. "A while."
"Yes, well, now that I know Walburga Black won't be ruining the mood, I'll be sure to visit more often," Ginevra said in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. "I, uh, I actually came here to speak to you about something a bit more serious."
Potter folded his arms across his chest warily. "If it is about Draco–"
"It isn't. I mean, I'm pissed at the way you went about your investigation, but it's over now." She made a face. "Plus, Draco made me promise that I'll let him handle whatever rivalry is going on between the two of you."
"Didn't think you were the obedient type."
She glared at him. "Do you want me to hex you? Stop being a prat and let me apologise!"
"Apologise?"
"I came here to say that I'm sorry for accusing you of trying to get my arm amputated. I know you'd never do something like that unless it was to save my life. You've done nothing but help me and I've been such a bitch to you."
"You don't have to apologise, Gin," Potter said as he stepped forward to wrap his arms around her. "I'm glad you're doing better."
The sight ignited a bloody volcano of jealousy in Draco's belly. He had half a mind to jump out from underneath the invisibility cloak and just wrench them apart. The two of them were very awkward with each other currently, which was because of the chasm that had grown between them since their breakup, but even then, there was an aura of compatibility that just made him want to hurl things at the spectacled git.
Ginevra left within the next couple of minutes, after making plans of them hanging out with Weasley and Granger like the old times. Draco waited until he heard the whoosh of the Floo, then shrugged off the invisibility cloak and chucked it at Scarface, feeling obnoxiously disgruntled over things he knew he had no reason to worry about.
By unspoken agreement, the two men decided not to discuss Ginevra, which was for the best, for it would undoubtedly lead to a violent duel between them and they had other, more important matters to tend to.
Draco apparated them to Knockturn Alley and started down a path that led to an intricate web of alleys that he remembered from many years ago. He had never intended to come back to these alleys once the war was over, and yet here he was, being trailed by an invisible Harry Potter. Salazar save him.
He stopped outside a sloppily painted green door, the sign above it read 'The Misty Occamy'. It was a dimly lit place with shabby looking wooden furniture that reminded him of The Hog's Head back at Hogsmeade. Most of the small crowd was gathered around a table where, judging by the cheers, an intense game involving a number of coins and a cockatrice was in full swing.
The bartender was a burly man with an eyepatch and a huge moustache was wiping a glass with what must have been a cleaning rag at some point in the distant past. "Mr. Malfoy. Blimey, it's been an age since you last came here," he spoke with a lisp.
"Midgeon," Draco greeted with a nod. "I will be heading downstairs."
Midgeon looked obnoxiously intrigued but one cool glare from Draco had him hastily reaching for his wand. He pointed it at a large portrait of a rather ugly looking man who was juggling coins, and it swung open. Behind it, the stone bricks of the wall slowly danced away to form a narrow archway that opened to a stony spiral staircase. "Enjoy, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco had only made it ten or so steps down when the archway behind him shut, plunging him into complete darkness. "Lumos." The light from the tip of his wand lit up the path ahead of him and as he continued forward, he could not help but glance over his shoulder, wondering if that moronic Head Auror had made it through in time. It would be so much better if he hadn't. Honestly, life in general would be so much better if that git just bit the dust.
As if on cue, he felt a slight touch on his shoulder that caught him so unawares that he nearly tumbled down the stairs to his own death. He swore under his breath and cast a glare in the general direction where Potty must be standing, then continued his descent down the stairs with what remained of his dignity.
There was another door at the bottom of the staircase, and this time Draco had to pause to take a deep breath. Salazar give him strength, he prayed as he pulled it open and stepped into a grand hall laden with cosy couches that were mostly separated by magicked curtains. The scarlet walls were covered with portraits of promiscuous women in scant clothing, who made lewd comments that were almost entirely drowned in the loud, seductive music that was blaring out of a gigantic horn speaker. Trays floated around the hall, some carrying glasses of champagne and chocolate covered strawberries, while other had an assortment of cuffs and phallic shaped objects.
"A brothel?" Potter whispered from somewhere close behind him, his voice filled with utter incredulity. "Really?"
It was lucky that the bloody music was loud, otherwise the bloody Savior of the Wizarding World would have given away his position, merely because he was taken aback by their destination. Honestly, the fact that this idiot was the Head Auror spoke volume about the rather low standards of the current Ministry.
Draco took a step back where he guessed Potter was and rammed his foot down. It must have hit its intended mark, for he heard a faint grunt. Good. The git won't speak now. Hopefully. If he did, he would simply find another way to hit him. Huh, he rather liked this game!
"Well, well, what do we have here?" A woman with a wrinkled face but extraordinarily striking eyes made his way over to him. Her greying hair was tied into a tight bun that reminded him of McGonagall, though his teacher had mercifully never grabbed him by the shoulders and placed a kiss on each of his cheek the way this woman just did. "I didn't think I'd ever see you lighten up the doorstep of my little establishment."
"Hardly little, Madame Midgeon," Draco said and allowed her to usher him towards a cosy-looking secluded couch. As he sat down, he momentarily caught a glimpse of a hairy wizard engaged in a rather questionable activity with a busty witch behind the curtain a few couches down, and he made a mental note to tell Yugo to burn the clothes he currently had on; it was a shame really, for he quite liked this black tailored suit, but he did not think he would ever want to wear it again now that it had come in contact with the surfaces in this place.
"Madame Midgeon sounds so formal. Call me Eunice," she purred as she slipped in next to him rather than across from him. Her eyes ran over him as if he were a red velvet cauldron cake, which was extremely inappropriate considering that he knew her to be at least in her late sixties. "Now then, what can I do for you?"
"You can point me in the direction of your finest room and send Aspasia in."
The Death Eaters had often frequented this establishment back during the war, and why not, for Madame Midgeon offered the best of everything to her customers: girls, toys, beverages and rates. A few of the happily married members of the Dark Lord's inner circle, such as Lucius Malfoy, Goyle Sr. and Macnair, had kept their distance, but for others it had been a place of pleasure and wonders. Most importantly, it had been a particularly favourite haunt of Antonin Dolohov, who had often dragged Draco here after their more successful missions for a bit of celebration.
Draco had spent many a night sitting in this very couch, having impolite conversations with Madame Midgeon over a glass of wine. She had tried offering him some of her more creative girls but he had always refused, partially because his upbringing would never allow him to accept the concept of paying for sex, but mostly because of Pansy– they were officially broken up at the time because he had his Death Eater duties and she was off at Hogwarts, but that did not lessen the pining in any way. In fact, the handful of times when he had visited the school for one reason or another, he had gone out of his way to track down Pansy for a quick snog, and to remind her why they could not be together in spite of their feelings for each other. In hindsight, it was a wonder that she had stuck around with him for so long; he had been nothing but an arse towards her.
"I thought you didn't partake, Draco," Madame Midegon commented.
"I thought you didn't judge, Eunice," he shot back.
"Perish the thought!" she waved her hand dramatically. "You will forgive my curiosity. After all, your love story has been all over the papers these past few months." She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "What, has Ginny Weasley finally started to bore you?"
Draco let a cool, calm expression to wash across his face, neither affirming nor denying her assumption.
She took it for an affirmation though, for she let out a giggle and reached out to caress his cheek. "I knew you wouldn't be sated by a good girl for long."
"If you're unwilling to provide, I am sure I can find another establishment that will." Draco moved to get up but was stopped when the women placed a hand on his thigh. Dangerously high on his thigh. It was harmless flirtation, really, for their conversations in the past had been composed entirely of inappropriate innuendos that they shot at each other with the sole ambition of causing the other to falter. And yet, right now, the feel of her hand on his leg caused his skin to crawl.
Merlin, he had changed.
"Nonsense," Madame Midgeon said. "You will not find a finer place to sate your lust."
"I'll be the judge of that." He tilted his head to the side expectantly. "Aspasia. I take it she still works here."
"As if I would ever let her go!" She pulled out a key from the chatelaine that was hanging from her waist and handed it to him. "May I ask, why her?"
"I always found her to be entrancing, but sadly she was unattainable at the time."
That was sort of true, but not really. As a teenager, Draco had noticed that Aspasia, which was probably not her real name, was indeed beautiful. She was also always busy whenever he had visited, tending to Dolohov.
Every Death Eater had known that Aspasia was Dolohov's whore and knew not to ask for her should they ever visited this establishment as a group (whether or not they asked for her during their individual visits was something Draco never pondered, nor was he going to now). But only a handful of people whom Dolohov considered close friends knew that there was something going on between the two of them even outside the premises of this brothel.
Draco had unfortunately been one of those so-called friends; actually, he had simply been unfortunate enough to be Dolohov's partner for far too many missions. It was only human nature to share personal details with partners that one is forced to spend extraordinary time with. Draco, who had been given the typical Malfoy training of choosing his words carefully, had made sure to keep his conversations bound to Hogwarts or girls back at school, whereas Dolohov had shown no such restraint. In fact, the man was not as tight-lipped when he had a number of Firewhiskeys in his system. He had confessed one night that he was falling in love with Aspasia – or rather, his twisted version of love, which mostly involved disturbing levels of lust, cruelty and a mutually shared dream of power and riches beyond imagination.
A small wooden staircase led to the private rooms that were usually reserved for clients who could afford detailed, longer sessions. The number on his key read '06', and within minutes he found himself entering the corresponding room. It was simple yet elegant, with red tapestries and a large four-posted bed with sheer white curtains. He had to hand it to Madame Midgeon – the woman had kept her establishment quite classy, even after all these years. But then again, why not? Any business based on primal human desires would always remain flourishing.
It was only when he was about to shut the door did Draco feel a something brush past him and he realised that bloody Potter had followed him all the way here.
Salazar's tit! He slammed the door shut angrily and pulled out his wand. A couple of quick, silent spells confirmed that there were no devices or spells in the room that would allow for spying; Madame Midgeon was a cunning woman, and it was wise to ensure that she was not going to use this visit of his to collect information that could potentially damage his reputation– well, more than it already was damaged. He also placed quick wards about the room so that no one outside would be able to hear whatever goes on inside.
"You couldn't have waited down in the hall, you sick pervert?" Draco asked in an angry whisper.
The air in one corner of the room rippled and Potter's head appeared. His eyes were wide with incredulity, or perhaps it was anger. Disgust? Maybe all of it. "What the fuck, Draco?" he demanded, his own voice hushed. At least, he was smart enough to not start shouting. That was something. "And I've no interest in seeing you– I'm doing my job!"
"If by that you mean 'being a pain in my arse', you are indeed doing your job!" It was a bad, bad idea for the git to be here. He should never have agreed to this. "I don't think I'm going to get murdered by a whore."
"It'll serve you right if she does," Potter muttered and then disappeared under his invisibility cloak once again.
Maybe once this was over, he could cast a good, old incendio on the damn thing.
If someone had told Draco that he was going to hire a prostitute in order to get a message across to a Death Eater so that he could pretend to join their Dark Cause and spy on them for the Ministry in a secret collaborative mission with Harry Fucking Potter… well, he would laughed at the sheer creativity of being able to come up with such a bizarre fantasy. And then he would have thrown about some violent hexes for the implication that he would ever willingly work with Potter.
Life was one ironic bitch.
A few minutes passed in tense silence and then the door swung open. A tall woman with long, dark hair walked in and shut the door after her. Her hazel eyes twinkled as she eyed Draco. "Wand on the table, please."
Draco obeyed, well aware that this was the rule of the establishment. He also wanted her to feel safe; it was paramount that she was comfortable enough to have a conversation with him.
"I know you." Her voice was soft and sultry.
"And I know you," he replied calmly.
"No, but you're about to." Aspasia's blood red lips curved into a smirk as she slipped off the robe she was wearing, leaving her in nothing but a rather sexy lacy bralette, matching knickers and extremely high stilettos.
Draco felt his eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline, and before he had a chance to tell her that he was only interested in talking, she had somehow managed to close the distance between them and push him back onto the bed. He touched the soft sheets with a surprised grunt, and then she was on top of him, kissing him with a fervent passion that may or may not be real. It was hard to tell, really.
"Wait," He mumbled against her lips, but she only used the opportunity to push her tongue into his mouth. Fuck. He placed his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to push her away, but she grabbed his wrists and pressed them into the mattress, holding them in place. Fuck, again. He squirmed uncomfortably. "Stop."
Aspasia obeyed this time and eyed him with thinly veiled impatience. "I know you're not the shy sort, Mr. Malfoy."
How was it that most of the people he came across seemed to have this idea of him being some sort of a sex god, as if his life consisted of nothing but public blowjobs and orgies in the Malfoy Manor? Draco knew that he had developed a bit of a bad boy image back at Hogwarts because of his elitist, arrogant attitude and he had basked in it back in the day, but the truth was that he was a traditionalist. His parents had ingrained in him ancient family values of what it meant to be a gentleman, and he took that very seriously.
"I am the sort that would be obliged to have some conversation with you," he told her.
"Ooh, I do enjoy talking dirty," she purred as she nipped at his collarbone.
He sucked in a sharp breath and then forcibly rolled them over so that he had her pinned underneath him. "That is not what I had in mind."
"Do what you had in mind then." Aspasia hitched one leg around his hips and pulled, causing his lower body to press against hers. "I'm all yours." The words were rehearsed, no doubt she had said them to countless of her clients, but there was something in the way she uttered them that caused him to freeze. Her eyes were fixed on his, challenging– and he was reminded of how Dolohov used to say that she loved playing her little games of domination and dominion.
This was clearly one of those games, though for the life of him, Draco did not know how to play it. So, he hoped to catch her off-guard by asking a rather straightforward question: "Will Dolohov approve of you being all mine?"
"Who?" She tried to feign innocence, but the one benefit of practically laying on top of her was that he felt her body tense at his words.
"Antonin Dolohov. Death Eater. Tall man, fair skin. Used to call you 'his sweet'."
"Many men call me 'sweet'," she told him as her fingers played with a strand of pale blond hair that had fallen to his forehead. The touch felt so wrong that he had to actually resist the temptation to swat her hand away; only Ginevra was allowed to play with his hair now. "It looks to me that you're more interested in Dolohov than you are in me. I would offer you our Polyjuice option, at extra price of course, but I don't think that is possible in this case because neither of us have any bit of him to add to the potion."
"Pity. You will have to make it up to me some other way now."
Aspasia grinned wickedly and flipped them over so that she was straddling him. She rolled her hips against his, sending a reluctant shockwave through him. Conniving harlot. "And what way is that?"
"You are going to get me in touch with the real Dolohov."
She was silent for a moment. "I'm tired of talking." She reached out for the buckle of his belt. "Perhaps we should–"
"No." Quick as lightning, Draco sat up and grabbed her by the throat, his eyes blazing with intent and fury. "You know where he is. That is not under debate. And you are going to give him a message for me?"
"Am I?"
"Yes." He tightened his grip, not enough to constrict her airway just yet but enough to let her know that he would very much strangle her if he so desired. The threat worked; her eyes widened with fear.
"Y-You are not going to hurt me, Malfoy. You do not have it in you."
"Do not mistake me for the seventeen-year-old boy that you once knew," he growled. "I will do anything, anything at all, to get what I want?"
Aspasia must have seen the truth of his words in his eyes, for she paled. "And what do you want?"
"I want to speak to Dolohov. You are going to tell him that."
"I don't know him. He is a bloody Death Eater."
"So am I." He let go of her roughly and pulled up left sleeve in one swift movement to reveal the Dark Mark on his arm, black and moving, more active than any other Death Eater's; that was because of the damned Curse, but no one knew that and he had every intention of making them think that it was his devotion to the Dark Lord that had kept his Mark so alive even after all these years.
Her eyes moved from the brand on his arm to his face. "How come you're not on the run like Dolohov then?"
"Because I was smart enough to fool the Ministry."
"I should call the Aurors on you."
The thought that maybe she really did not know about Dolohov's whereabouts crossed his mind. It had been six years since the man was supposedly on the run, and maybe he had not rekindled this romantic connection. But Aspasia was still very calmly straddling him, eyeing him with a burning curiosity that only encouraged him to insist. "Or you could call Dolohov for me. That would be much more fruitful." Besides, what was she going to do if his guess was wrong, actually call the Aurors? The bloody Head Auror was standing under an invisibility cloak in the corner of the room, watching this entire conversation like the meddling pervert that he was.
She slid off him and started pacing the room, and he watched her in silence. A couple of minutes trickled by and then– "If I were to tell Dolohov that you want to meet him, and I'm not saying I know how to do that," she began. "Why would he agree?"
Draco struggled to keep the triumphant look of his face. "Because he is going to be very interested in what I have to offer."
"What's that?"
"That is for Dolohov to find out."
"Well then, maybe he will." She stared meaningfully at him for a moment, then gave a nonchalant shrug. "It's hard to say, I mean. I don't know where that criminal is."
"Of course, you don't," Draco sneered as he stood up. "Thank you, Aspasia."
"Now, now, you can't leave like that!" She said suddenly as she crossed the room to get to him. "I have a reputation to protect, Malfoy."
Draco raised an eyebrow, wondering what she meant by that, but he received the answer quite quickly when she kissed him again. He turned his head to the side forcefully, and she took it as an opportunity to lick the side of his throat. "I, uh, I am not interested in sex."
"Why, do you have a girlfriend?"
"You know that I do. Besides, I'm not getting into bed with Dolohov's woman."
Aspasia straightened up to glare at him. "I am my own woman."
"All the same," he said flatly and when her lips crashed onto his once again, he felt a flutter of anger ignite inside him. Did the woman have no concept of consent? She bit his lips hard and he had to hold back a pained gasp, knowing that they would definitely look swollen now. "What the fuck?" he demanded as he grabbed her by the arms and shoved her away.
She shot him an amused grin, then proceeded to loosen the straps of her bralette, allowing them to fall onto her arms. "I told you I have a reputation to protect." Reaching out gently, she loosened his tie and undid the first couple of buttons of his shirt before untucking it from the waistband of his trousers. Then, she ruffled his hair and took a step back, eyeing him appreciatively. "There. Now you look shagged."
No doubt he did. Pressing his lips into a grimace, he pulled out a small pouch from his coat pocket and handed it to her.
She did not even count it. She did not need to; the weight of it must have told her that it contained a lot more than what the establishment usually charged. "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Malfoy." With a wink, she exited the room, leaving the door ajar.
It was done.
Draco blew out a breath in hopes that it would calm down the blood that had suddenly started to boil in his veins. It did not. And so, he headed out to the grand hall, pausing only to nod his farewell at a smirking Madame Midgeon and made his way back to the stone staircase, where he quickly fixed his clothes and hair as best as he could before heading up. Once he was outside in the alleyway, he paused and whispered Potter's name. Almost instantly, he felt a light touch on his shoulder, and he disapparated.
They appeared in the front hall of 12 Grimmauld Place, and Draco wasted no time in pulling the invisibility cloak off the Boy Who Lived Twice and slamming him against the wall. He had caught the git unawares, which would have pleased him if he were not so agitated, and he pressed his wand against his throat. "This was the first and the last time you came along with me, Potter."
"I am the Auror here–"
"Don't give me that 'duty' bullshit. This is about you not trusting me."
It would have been so much better if Harry Bloody Potter looked alarmed with the current situation. "You're right. I don't," he said calmly.
"You're going to have to, or else I am out."
A tense moment of silence passed. "Understood. But I also cannot let you prance around with the Death Eaters without backup. This is my mission–"
"Ours, Potter," Draco corrected. "I will not be treated like a puppet in this scheme." And he sure as hell would not dance to anyone else's tunes. If they were going to move forward with this, Potter would have to shove his heroic, bossy attitude up his arse and treat him like an equal partner. In fact, if anyone was to be in charge here, it should be Draco, for he was the one who would be doing the heavy-lifting by dealing with Dolohov and his gang of miscreants. "Merlin knows why I allowed you to come with me tonight, but you will not be around when I speak to Dolohov. I will not risk this plan because you want to act like a twat." There was no other way but to see this plan through now; the safety of his mother, his girlfriend and his own self depended on it, and he would be damned if he let Potter's insecurities get in the way of his success. "So, the next time you want to tag along, don't."
Without waiting for a response, Draco took a step back and disapparated.
xx
It took Draco the rest of the night to realise that his anger was not just because of Potter's distrust, though it had felt incredibly good to put the bastard in his place. Still, after pacing restlessly in his room into the early hours of the morning, he had suffered through enough introspection to be able to pinpoint the exact reason why his insides felt like they had been used as pincushions and why the urge to set things on fire was become hard to resist.
Aspasia. And the touch of her lips on his. That was the problem.
He had not been with any other woman but Ginevra in the past few months, and what had happened in that damned brothel last night was wrong. Necessary, but wrong nonetheless. The worst part was that he had to hide it from Ginevra, to lie to her about what he was doing because she was not ready to hear the truth just yet.
Well, fuck her.
What he needed was just as important. And he needed her to know. So, he had sent an owl to her at daybreak, requesting her to visit him at the Manor as soon as possible.
He was sitting in the conservatory, finishing up his breakfast when Ginevra marched in. Her hair was a wild mess and she was wearing a large, baggy nightshirt that had a two Pygmy Puffs dancing. It was clear that his letter had alarmed him a lot more than he had intended. "I got your owl," she said, looking around in alarm as if searching for a source of danger. "What's wrong?"
"Would you like some breakfast?" he asked calmly.
"Huh?" She frowned, her eyes moving from the half-empty tray to him. "No. I had some at home. Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine." He gestured at the empty seat next to him. "We need to talk, love."
Ginevra warily sat down next to him. "What is it?"
"I just– I need you to listen to me, alright?"
She looked extremely apprehensive, but nodded slowly.
And so, he told her everything– how his Dark Mark had started to burn months ago and he had ignored it. Dolohov's visits, the offer and Draco's subsequent refusal to join the Cause. The fact that he was forced to reassess the situation after she was injured in the blast, and he went to Potter with information, only to somehow get entangled in this plan. And of course, he told her about his meeting with Aspasia, and how he had had no choice but to get his tonsils licked by Dolohov's damned whore.
It was impressive and infuriating how her face had remained so utterly blank throughout. Usually, she was always expressive about what she was thinking, but it seemed that his ability of composing his emotions into an emotionless mask seemed to have rubbed off on her. The only indication of what she was thinking was her eyes, which were blazing but he found it difficult to read them too. It was infuriating.
Once he had finished speaking, Ginevra walked over to stand by the window. He watched her for a bit, taking in the tension in her shoulders that was visible even from across the room, which was quite expected. She needed time to digest what he had told her. But after almost a quarter of an hour, the silence was beginning to eat him from the inside. He wanted to know what she was thinking, he wanted them to talk so that they could reach an amicable agreement in regards to this situation and continue on as one unit.
Draco moved to stand next to her. "Ginevra," he began softly as he placed a hand on her shoulder.
She whirled around quick as lightning and slapped him. Hard.
"I guess I deserved that," he muttered. Her hand connected with his cheek once again, leaving it stinging rather nastily. By Salazar, there was a small part deep inside of him, one that sounded a lot like the cruel Death Eater that he had to pretend to be in front of the Dark Lord, that wanted to hit her back, to punish her for this insolence, but he firmly ignored it. Instead, he met her eyes calmly and asked, "Are you done?"
Ginevra shoved past him but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. He could not let her go, not like this, not just yet. "Let go of me," she said in a low, dangerous voice.
"I understand that you're angry–" he began to say but her voice rose loud about his, angry and demanding.
"Let go of me, Draco!"
He uncurled his fingers from around her hand and she pulled it away, as if his touch had stung her. Her glare was fixed on him, and there was something in her eyes that looked a lot like disappointment. It stabbed at his heart.
"You're the one who wanted me to repent." It was probably the stupidest thing to say at this point, but he said it anyway. Besides, it was not entirely untrue; had she not reminded him not long ago that the acts he committed during his stint as a Death Eater would never truly be washed away if he did not do anything to undo them?
"This is not what I meant by that," Ginevra growled. "And that's hardly the biggest problem we've got. You lied to me!"
"I thought–"
"What did you think?" she demanded, taking a threatening step towards him. "Please, do tell because I want to know how you justify all this."
Draco opened his mouth to respond but no words came out. There were justifications that he could make, he had always been rather good at debating and almost always had some form of words ready in his mind to portray his position on any given topic, but he was not sure if anything that he could say right now would be enough to appease her. "I was trying to protect you."
"I don't need your protection. I would have appreciated some bloody truth, though."
"I'm telling you the truth now."
"Thank you so fucking much!"
"For fuck's sake, Ginevra, I am doing this for you!" he fumed.
"Are you?" She raised an eyebrow. "Would you like me to kiss your feet or will sucking your cock in gratitude be enough?"
It was understandable that she would be shocked, angry even, upon finding out the truth, but surely this was crossing a line. "You're overreacting."
Once again, it was the wrong thing to say for it only caused her fury to flare. "You lied to me for all this time and I am overreacting?"
"You lied to me too," he could not help but point out. "About how you were chummy with Tom Riddle."
The slap she delivered this time was the hardest one so far, so much so that the cracking sound of it actually echoed in the conservatory. No doubt there was a mark of her fingers etched onto his pale cheek by now.
Draco was already beginning to get riled up because of the direction this argument had taken but the blow seemed to be the last straw in his constraint. With a growl, he lunged forward and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her close until their faces were inches apart. "Hit me again and I will break your hand," he vowed.
"Bastard!" Ginevra spat as she struggled to wrench herself away from him.
"Bitch," he shot back, letting go of her. It was his turn to feel disgusted at her touch. "How dare you judge me when you hid stuff from me as well? I had to find out about your involvement in the Chamber of Secrets from your knob of a brother."
"That's different."
"How, exactly?" He demanded, and when she had no answer, he let his lips curl into a sneer. "Dishonesty has no shades, my dear Ginevra. It is what it is. And we are both guilty of it."
"Don't you dare try to compare these two things!" She bellowed, her cheeks flushed red in fury. "I didn't tell you because there was no reason for you to know, and because I didn't want to ruin our relationship."
"I could say the same thing. When I refused Dolohov, I thought that wasthe end of it. You did not need to know. How was I to know that it would all blow up in my face?" This was not at all how he had intended for this conversation to go. It was all wrong, and in an attempt to put it back on the right track, he reached out to grab her hand. Only she pulled away. "Ginevra, please," he pleaded, his voice gentle now. "I am being honest with you."
"Why? Do you want my blessing?"
Salazar! Did she really not understand that the reason he had told her everything was because he wanted her by his side? Not to fight– it was not her job to do so, and she was in no condition right now anyway, but because he did not want to hide such a huge part of his life from her. Not anymore. Enrolling with the Death Eaters again would come with some twisted baggage, and he did not think he would be able to bear the horrors that were most likely going to come up if things did go according to plan.
He needed her support, just like she needed his during her upcoming healing period. They were in love, were they not, and it was their job to be each other's rock.
Draco opened his mouth to tell her just that when a searing pain ignited in his Dark Mark. He reached out and grabbed at his left forearm in surprise, no longer caring to hide his shock and discomfort from her. "Dolohov," he said. "He is calling."
A plethora of emotions crossed her face– anger, concern, wariness, but she controlled it all in a single, impressive instant. "What are you going to do?" Her voice was urgent, as if she knew that he only had a handful of minutes before the Mark locked away his chance to answer Dolohov. It was likely that she did know; dating Auror Potter for all those years would have entailed an education in the methods of the Death Eaters.
"What do you want me to do?" A wave of anxiety crashed upon him just as he asked the question. What if she did not want him to go through with this plan? He would agree to stay, of course. All that he was doing was for her, and if she did not approve then there was no point to it, really. But he had made a promise to Potter, and allowed a considerable amount of damage to his name and reputation to set this plan in motion. He had also reached out to Dolohov.
Merlin, there was no abandoning this plan... Unless he left.
He could do it– move to another country and take Ginevra with him. They could get a farmhouse in Australia, or a villa in Spain or a cottage in the Swiss Alps or a penthouse in New York. It would be tricky but he would be able to manage the Malfoy Corporation long-distance, and she would most certainly find a way to play; Not many places had something as brilliant as the British and Irish Quidditch League, but she was talented enough to get into the national teams. It was possible. They could make a happy life for themselves, far away from the chaos of Potter and Dolohov.
But even as he pictured that probable utopia, Draco's heart dismissed it. England was his home. The Malfoy Manor was his home. He had not left it after the war, after the horrors that the Dark Lord had inflicted upon him and the disdain that the Ministry had showered upon him, and if he was being honest with himself, he did not wish to leave it now. In spite of the prejudice he faced because of his name, he loved being here.
No. He could not leave. He would not leave.
"I don't get a say, Draco," Ginevra said, almost bitterly. "You've made the decisions yourself so far, you'll have to make them now too."
Well, if it truly was his decision to make then he would rather not run away. And if he was not running away, then he would have to see this scheme through to its end, whatever that may be. He had made a promise, and Malfoys always stood by their word, unless it was extraordinarily beneficial to break it, which it was not in the current case. "I have to go."
Draco had made it to the foyer when he heard Ginevra call out to him. It was the thinly veiled panic in her voice that filled him with trepidation. Salazar, she was going to stop him. He was not certain, of course, but it did seem to be the reason why she had followed him, her eyes wide and her hair wild. Things would get terribly complicated if she asked him to not go. He could not allow that, not now when he had chosen.
"I have to go," he repeated before she could speak. "We will talk later."
And he hurried out of the Manor without a backward glance. His heart thudded wildly in his chest, and there was an odd feeling that was slowly descending upon him with each step that he took– a feeling that promised change, though it was difficult to tell if it was for the better or if it was doom that awaited him on the other side of this plan.
Once he was outside of the Manor wards, Draco pushed all thoughts of Ginevra out of his mind and concentrated on the magic that lay burnt onto his arm in the form of the Dark Mark. It tingled, the snake danced around the skull, and an old, familiar urge to apparate to a place unknown tugged at him. He allowed himself to be guided by it for the first time in six years, and apparated off to meet Dolohov.
xx
Draco Malfoy was working with Harry Potter.
Which was hellish already. On top of that, he now had to try and fool a sadistic madman to let him join a cruel, blood purist Cause. All the while, the woman he loved dearly was cross with him for lying to her, as well as for choosing to tell her the truth.
Those gits at the Ministry of Magic better award him the Order of Merlin once all this is over.
Salazar, what had he gotten himself into?
Let me make this very clear: I personally am not a Draco/Harry shipper and there is going to be no romantic or sexual tension between them. The two characters are straight in canon and so they are going to be straight in my story. That being said, I could not resist making them go through petty arguments and awkward situations! Their rivalry is just so much fun to write!
Also, I have noticed that this story has become longer than most novels! I'm certain that we have already crossed the half-mark, but there is some way still to go. I have no plans for a sequel or a prequel, so I am going to tie all the loose ends here. However, I wanted to ask if you think that this is becoming TOO long? If it is, I can think of splitting it into two? (I personally don't want to, but I'll definitely consider it if the majority wants it).
Oh, and what did you think of this chapter? Please please leave a review and let me know!
Until next time x