A/N: Thanks to all those who added this story to favourites/alert list and special thanks to those who took the time to review. It is much appreciated.
Notes From Afar
Draco groaned as a beam of sunlight cut through his bedroom, harshly lighting his face. Experimentally, he raised his head. Throbbing pain meet the languid movement. Draco let his head drop to his pillow before turning over, intent on sleeping through the worst of his hangover. He'd have Tilly owl his office.
A beautiful, though slightly tousled, woman met his gaze. His eyes widened. Right, don't remember doing that. He noted the marks on her neck, following them down to her partially exposed chest. Carefully, he lifted the sheet off her sleeping form. He took his time looking over her body. Bloody hell! I wish I could remember doing that!
"Like what you see?" a soft, voice cooed from beside him.
He pulled his gaze away from her breasts, dropping the sheet back over her. He gave a non-committal grunt before burying his head in his silken pillows.
"Oh, someone's not a morning person," she said, amusement colouring her slightly nasal voice. Draco cringed as the sound ricocheted around his head. "But if you turn over I'm sure I could lift your spirits."
"That won't be necessary," Draco replied coldly. Why do I always bring them back to my place? He thought angrily. They're always bloody here when I wake up! The woman, Draco racked his brain but could find no memory of the harpy, ran her fingernails down his back.
"Are you sure?" she purred.
"Quite," Draco replied shortly, removing the woman's hands from his body.
"What's wrong?" she pouted, trying to once again entice him by tracing her finger down his back in small circles. "Last night you couldn't get enough of me. You screamed my name," she purred in his ear.
Draco was certain that he had not in fact screamed her name. That would require knowing her name.
"Come on, baby," she whined. "What's changed since last night?"
"The alcohol content of my blood," he replied, roughly pulling the sheet around his shoulders effectively stopping her clawing hands.
He was going to kill Greg. This was all his bloody fault. Greg had forced him to attend the stupid feast in honour of the Boy-Who-Lived. Whoopde-fucking-doo. He was alive too, you know. He had survived his crackpot of a father, hadn't he? That deserved some semblance of credit. But noooo. Potter survives one little curse and he gets all the recognition.
Greg had forced him to attend the feast, under the guise of adequately representing the Malfoy Corporation, the ponce, and he had to watch that bloody git touch and kiss her all bloody night. She didn't see him. He doubted she saw anything in the Great Hall. She smiled and chatted and allowed Scarhead to pull her to him but she wasn't there. Stevie frigging Wonder could see she wasn't there but they couldn't. None of them ever could.
"That's not very nice," the woman said, sounding hurt. She was spared his scathing retort as a large tawny owl came swooping through his open bedroom door, hooting loudly. A distressed looking House Elf followed the owl yelling, "Owl must not wake Master Draco! Master Draco has hangover and must not be disturbed!"
Draco growled at the loud intrusion, pulling himself up to glare at the House Elf that was still yelling and chasing the hooting owl. Swooping past Draco, the owl dropped the Daily Prophet onto his bed and promptly flew back out the door. The House Elf sighed.
"Would, Master Draco, like Tilly to escort his tart out?" she asked.
Tilly was a strange House Elf as far as House Elves went. Dobby had definitely had a negative influence on her. She had no problem insulting Draco. When his mother had tried to release her from the Malfoy family's service for that particular trait, Tilly had blatantly refused to take the dress robe from her. Draco quite liked the rebellious little Elf, truth be told. He had threatened Tilly with clothes more times than he could count, but the cunning elf simply replied that once released from his service she would no longer be required to keep any of his secrets. Despite her unusual nature, Tilly really was a fabulous House Elf. She never failed to deliver on a single request and was the best cook Draco had ever had in his service. Draco smirked as Tilly ushered the half dressed and protesting woman out of his bedchamber. He really did enjoy having Tilly around.
A few minutes later Tilly reappeared with a loud crack, a food and vial laden tray in her hands. He downed each potion in a single gulp, glancing at the label as he replaced each on the tray. Headache relief potion, re-hydration potion, STD prevention potion, liver cleansing potion, nausea relief potion and Madam Rosmerta's Fresh Breath Potion. Tilly was nothing if not thorough.
Draco pushed the now empty vials to side of the tray focusing on the stack on pancakes sharing the tray. Draco brought a golden syrup drenched pancake to his mouth, chewing gently, savouring the flavour. Best pancakes he had - STD prevention potion? He didn't keep any of that in the Manor.
"Tilly?" he said, holding the empty vial between his thumb and forefinger shaking it lightly. Tilly looked up from across the room where she was attempting to extricate Draco's pants from the bookshelf.
"Master Draco doesn't know where his tart has been!" Tilly admonished, her long fingers wrapping around her tiny waist. "Master Draco should be grateful Tilly forced a contraceptive potion down tart's throat!'
"I believe I have better taste in women than to pick up a diseased one," Draco said snidely, returning his attention to the stack of pancakes on his plate.
"Oh really?" Tilly questioned. "Then Master Draco can tell Tilly what his tart's name was?" Draco glared at the small House Elf who was smirking at him unaffectedly. It was really quite an odd look. It made him extremely glad that Tilly was the only House Elf in England that smirked. "Master Draco must finish his breakfast quickly. He has a meeting in one hour." With a loud crack she was gone.
Unfolding the paper, he made a mental note to yell at someone from the postal service. That was the third time that bloody owl had invaded his bedroom. Draco was particularly incensed by the invasion that resulted in an entire bottle of his favourite shampoo meeting his scalp.
Draco emitted a fierce growl as he read the morning's headline, suddenly losing his appetite. The four of then were on the bloody front page again. They were all smiling as the Weasley patriarch gave his 'endearing, uplifting yet solemn and heart-wrenching' speech. They stood encasing her, trapping her and she smiled along with them, a desolate look, invisible to the untrained eye, staining her chocolate orbs. "One-Year Anniversary Marks New Beginning: Potter Baby on the Way!", the paper proclaimed. Whipping the sheets back, he stalked to his en-suite, flinging the offensive paper at the wall.
Draco stood in the shower, his head turned towards the nozzle with the slightly too hot spray stinging his skin. He couldn't stand it. What was so god damn special about Ginny Weasley? So she was good looking but she wasn't spellbinding. She had a brain but she was never top of any class. She had the voice of an angel sure, but no one ever heard it. Nobody bothered to listen. Her voice was his. Just his. Draco slammed the palm of his hand onto the cool white tiles with a growl. He was rich, powerful, and owned and ran his own company. Well, at least he almost ran it. Right now he listened to a board of directors and signed on many dotted lines, but he was learning. He didn't need to be plagued by thoughts of some silly bint that he had some fling with, and who was soon to be impregnated with Potter's slimy spawn.
He twisted the faucet tightly, stemming the flow of water. The metal cut into his hand. He grabbed a plush towel, whipping it off the rack and tied it roughly around his waist. Draco scanned his bedroom carefully before dropping the towel and began to get dressed in the clothes Tilly had left out for him. It had become habit for him to ensure Tilly was nowhere in sight while he changed since the unfortunate day that he dropped his towel only to hear a high pitched squeak. He had looked up to see Tilly burrowing her head beneath his pillows. He didn't know who was more horrified, Tilly or himself, but he would pay any amount necessary to not know that he didn't measure up to Noddy, one of the kitchen elves in Goyle Manor.
Slipping his wand into his robes, Draco stormed down the hall to his study, picked up his brief case, and apparated to his office.
While working through his lunch, Draco decided that today was simply not a good day. It was rotten to the core, and his eleven o'clock definitely smelt it. His day was only set to get worse. His two o'clock was wizard by the name of Archabald Ferdinanne, who made Professor Snape's hair look freshly washed, and somehow always found a way to stroke Draco's bum, no matter what Draco did to avoid it. But he was rich, stinking rich in fact and a valuable client for the firm. Draco had just made it onto the last page of the Ferdinanne contract when his assistant's high pitched voice announced the arrival of Archie. He asked Draco to call him this at each of their meetings, while quite unabashedly letting his gaze travel down Draco's crotch. Draco sighed, scanning the remainder of the contract, and stood as his assistant led Archie into the room.
"Mr. Ferdinanne," Draco greeted. "Wonderful to see you again."
"Now, now Draco," he scolded. "How many times must I tell you to call me Archie?' Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes as Archie's gaze left his face.
Draco reclined in his plush leather chair, a fire-whisky held securely between his pale fingers. His day was finally over. Until nine AM, the next morning he didn't have to look at any form of the written word. He sighed as he took a sip of the amber liquid, welcoming the burning sensation as it slid smoothly down his throat. Glancing at his watch, he switched on his radio, the clear, deep, and scathing voice of Rocca Didack filling his office. The man was rude, crude, spiteful, sarcastic but also hilarious, both on and off air. Although, the greatest appeal for Draco was the fact he had had a vendetta against Harry Potter since Scarhead refused to appear on his show. His subsequent on-air rant had resulted in Draco becoming his number one sponsor. How the man had been sorted in to Hufflepuff was a mystery to Draco. The Sorting Hat must have been having a spectacularly bad day to get something that wrong.
Draco crossed his legs at the ankle resting them on top of his desk, readying himself for an hour of mindless hilarity.
"-it, then change the fucking station! Nobody is forcing you to listen to me!" Rocca Didack's aggravated voice said, abruptly cutting off the apparently aggrieved caller. "Stupid bastard. OH! And talking 'bout stupid bastards, apparently, the famed hero of the Wizarding world, slept through his beloved's abduction! SLEPT! He didn't hear a fucking thing. Not that that's really all that surprising. I don't think I've ever heard the woman speak! Potter always answers for her. 'Cording to Weasley – the minister one, Jesus Christ no wonder Voldemort lost. There's a fucking army in the Weasley family alone- it's believed that some renegade Death Eaters have broken into their flat and taken the woman for leverage over Potter! Personally, I reckon the bint got bloody sick of the ponce's nattering and just up and left him…"
Draco didn't hear the rest of the Didack's broadcast. He felt sick, his feet coming to rest gracelessly on the floor. He stalked over to his fireplace, throwing a fist full of floo powder onto the dormant coals. Emerald flames sprang boisterously into life, spitting a small amount of soot and excess floo powder back onto Draco, staining his pristine white shirt.
"GREG!" he yelled into the flames. "Get your ass here right the bloody hell now!
"What?" Greg Goyle asked aggravated. "Ah, Draco, you've got a little something on your-" he stopped abruptly, noticing Draco's wild expression.
"Gin," Draco growled. "Any witch or wizard with any association with Death Eaters whatsoever, I want checked. Find her. Now!" Greg stared at Draco dumbly. Draco shut off the floo call before Greg had a chance to answer.
His assistant wisely kept quiet as Draco exited his office, violently pushing open the double doors, the handles slamming into the wall behind them, leaving a hole in the plaster.
Draco didn't sleep. He sat in his office, hunting through his father's diaries, searching for clues as to who might have taken Ginny. He barely took any notice of the flustered and scolding Tilly as she chased a swooping owl. Her face covered the front page of the Daily Prophet, with her family pleading for her return. He scowled at the paper, flinging it back at Tilly. The House Elf didn't attempt to order him around or comment on his crumpled appearance as she normally would. She just handed him a steaming mug of coffee to enable him to keep working.
He flooed Greg at his office as the day came to a close. Greg ran his own detective agency. He had become an Auror after the war but had been fired for his sometimes less than legal means of gathering information. Draco was one of his only clients. Many still had reservations about trusting a suspected Death Eater to uncover their secrets but Greg had connections everywhere. Draco didn't know how he did it as he spoke so little in public. He played the dumb minion to a tee.
Greg's tired and apologetic looking face appeared in the flames. Draco took one look at him and let out a barrage of expletives.
"I still have more suspects to look into. I've barely even scratched the surface. I need more information than what's in the press release."
"So find it," Draco growled, fighting the temptation to reach into the flames and wrap his long fingers around the man's throat. "Isn't that what you do?" Draco knew he shouldn't take his frustrations out on his friend but he couldn't help it. This was Ginny they were talking about.
"I have a meeting set up for tomorrow morning with Percival Weasley," Greg replied, ignoring Draco's tone. How Greg had managed to gain a meeting with a Weasley was a mystery to Draco. The man had a stick shoved so far up his arse that Draco was surprised he couldn't see it when the man spoke. Of course, Percy only spoke to Draco while trying to discredit him or find illegal going-ons in Malfoy Corporation. Percy Weasley refused to speak with anyone remotely connected to the Dark Lord in any manner. The fact that he had agreed to see Greg of all people was astounding.
"Why?" Draco snapped. "The man isn't smart enough to be able to give you any clues as to who took Ginny."
"But he will know details that I cannot otherwise get a hold of. My source at the ministry apparently cannot give me any information on this case. Everyone there is very tight lipped and a full Auror report hasn't even been filed yet. Percival will be able to give me details that were left out of the press release. Was there any evidence of forced entry, magical residue, evidence of a struggle, blood." Draco blanched at the mention of blood. He was going to kill Potter for letting this happen. Ginny was tiny and would have no chance if men had physically taken her from her home. Potter should have protected her. This never would have happen if Draco had… Draco's thought ended abruptly, unwilling to go down the tangent of why he wasn't there.
"Draco," Greg said softly, bringing Draco's attention back to him. "I'm starting to wonder if she really was taken by Death Eaters at all. Ever-"
"What?" Draco interrupted sharply, uncaring that he had cut Greg off. Greg sighed, rubbing his forehead, the first indication he had given that the past days events had taken a toll on him. Greg never broke, never showed what he was truly feeling, and rivalled Draco in that respect. This indication that he was frustrated made Draco dread the next words out of Greg's mouth.
"When I spoke to Percival to set up a meeting, he was…jittery."
"His sister's just been abducted," Draco said in a near screech. "What the fuck did you expect? He'd offer you tea and talk about Quidditch?"
"The man barely knows what a quaffle is. So that scenario seems highly unlikely." Greg continued speaking, ignoring Draco's colourful outburst to his statement. "Draco," he snapped. "Percival was too insistent that Death Eaters were to blame for his sister's disappearance. It was like he was convincing himself, and it didn't sit right with me." Greg sighed, rubbing his forehead once more. "Why don't you get some sleep. I'll let you know if anything comes to light." Draco leaned back in his chair as Greg's face disappeared from the fireplace, the flames returning to their usual crimson shade and emanating heat once more. Greg had to find her.
Ginny walked to a table in the centre of the Bronze for the second time in less than ten minutes, feverishly hoping she had the order right this time. The woman gave her a disdainful glance as Ginny set the replacement coffee onto the table, apologising for the mistake. The woman simply waved her off, complaining loudly to her companion about inept service. Ginny smiled pleasantly, apologised once more and headed back to the bar, all the while reminding herself that hexing was not an option. Alex took one look at her expression and burst out laughing, earning himself a deathly glare from Ginny. Unfortunately, in only made him laugh harder.
"What's so funny?" she asked, moving behind the bar.
"Your face, Gin, ah, it's priceless." Ginny scowled at him again.
Alex simply continued to laugh at her, tears leaking from his eyes. Ginny glanced at him, resisting the urge to smile.
"Don't worry about it, Gin," he said breathlessly. "She comes here almost every day and I have only twice seen her completely satisfied with her order. And both times Jaydon served her. Why-" A loud banging interrupted Alex. Looking up, Ginny saw a woman who looked to be in her mid twenties, an embarrassed smile on her face. She held a now crying baby in one arm and the handle of a stroller in the other.
"Stairs," she said meekly, hurrying to a booth. Ginny heard the woman she had just served talking cattily about the woman to her friend.
"Gin," Alex said, using tongs to withdraw a large chocolate chip cookie from a glass jar, placing the cookie on a bright red plate. "Why don't you go take Angie's order and give her this." He indicated to the cookie. "On the house." Ginny nodded, taking the proffered plate. Ginny walked over to Angie, who had managed to settle her baby and was currently reading the paper. Alex giving Angie a free cookie or coffee wasn't an unusual occurrence.
Ginny had been working at The Bronze for nearly two weeks and every week day at 12.30 Angie would arrive, comment on the stairs, stay for an hour, and leave. Alex knew a bit about every one of his regular customers, and had been telling all of them to Ginny. Some had her falling on the floor laughing, like poor Mr. Goodwin and his terrible luck, while others, like Angie's, were heartbreaking. Angie's husband Mike, had been killed in a mugging when she was six months pregnant, leaving the English native alone in America.
Ginny's eyes widened as she came up behind Angie, the paper she was reading coming into view. She had a cut out from another paper hidden between the grey pages. It was a story on the Cannons' newest recruit, the black and white photo showing a young man grinning happily as he performed loops on his broom. Ginny gasped, causing Angie to whip her head around, hastily moving the paper out of Ginny's line of sight. Her sudden movements caused the free page to slip from between paper, floating to the floor. Angie grabbed for the wayward page but it eluded her grasp. She scrambled from her seat, reaching for the page but Ginny was too quick for her, leaning down and scooping it up. Ginny stared at the page, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Angie looked from Ginny to the page in her hand and back again, understanding dawning on her. Ginny was still staring at the article, 'Ginny Weasley Still Missing'. Ginny scanned the article quickly. For an article apparently about her, it focused an astounding amount on Harry, and how her 'kidnapping' had affected his sleeping patterns.
"You're Ginny Weasley, aren't you?" Angie said. It wasn't really a question. She already knew the answer. Ginny's American transformation had really been limited to her hair at this stage. Ginny shook her head meeting the woman's sceptical gaze.
"No," she croaked, shoving the paper back in to Angie's hands. "It's just a remarkable resemblance." The look in Angie's eyes as she spoke was one that Ginny had learnt to recognise and loathe. Pity.
"You're Ginny Weasley, aren't you," Angie repeated softly. Resigned, Ginny nodded. "You weren't kidnapped, I take it." Ginny shook her head. "Maybe you should owl your family. They're obviously worried." Ginny scoffed, a spark of the infamous Weasley temper igniting.
"Of course they're worried. It affects Harry now. Besides I left a letter. There is no reason for them to be talking to the papers."
Angie looked at the too thin girl. This wasn't the Ginny Weasley she remembered from her days at Hogwarts. She remembered a bubbly, though quiet, little girl completely enamoured with the Boy-Who-Lived, following him and the other two-thirds of the trio around Hogwarts. She remembered a red-faced girl defending herself against Draco Malfoy, the snot nosed, little boy who had entered the school thinking he owned it, as he teased her over some valentine. The woman in front of her couldn't be more than 22 years old, the half dead look in her eyes was unnerving in a person of her age. She had the look of someone who had seen too much, who knew too much about the seedy under belly of the world.
Ginny turned away from Angie, panic rising in her chest. They were going to know where she was now. They were going to come and get her and she wasn't going to be able to say no to them. She had to leave. Leave Los Angeles, leave America. France. She'd go to France. She liked croissants.
"Ginny," Angie called softly to her retreating form. She saw Ginny's shoulders stiffen as she turned to Angie a look of fear in her eyes. Her reaction confirming Angie's hesitant decision. "I won't tell anyone where you are. I won't owl the ministry." Ginny looked at her, wide eyed, and then gave her a stiff nod.
"Thank you," Ginny said quietly. Angie gave her a small smile. Ginny walked back to the bar in a daze, latent panic still affecting her breathing. She barley registered Alex as he spoke to her.
"What did Angie order?" he asked.
"Croissant."
Ginny arrived back at Charlotte and Wyatt's after her shift at The Bronze, a pleasant nervous and excited feeling resting upon her. She and Charlotte had found the best flat for her. Maybe 'best' was a bit of an overstatement. It was nice though. Or at least it could be with small cosmetic adjustments.
It was a small one bedroom flat with a joint lounge/dining area and a small kitchen. Thankfully, it had its own bathroom and shower unlike a few of the flats they had look at and declined. The walls were a sickly yellow colour for the most part, except for the bathroom, which was painted watermelon pink with bright green tiles. Ginny still needed to buy furniture as the flat only came with a bed frame and a questionable looking mattress. Charlotte had lent her some spare sheets, pillows and quilt for the time being, refusing to accept any form of payment for Ginny's stay with her.
"Hello, Baby," Charlotte called warmly from the kitchen. "How was your day? I hope Alex isn't working you to hard."
"No, he's not," Ginny said with a small smile. "My day was fine." A sudden image of Angie and the Daily Prophet article flashed across her minds eyes, causing her to unconsciously crease her brow. "Pretty routine."
Charlotte noted the uneasy look that momentarily passed over Ginny's face, but let it slide. She had seen that look a fair bit over the past two weeks and found she found she didn't gain anything but an uncomfortable silence if she pressed Ginny on it.
"What are you cooking?" Ginny asked warily.
"Honestly!" Charlotte exclaimed, shaking her head. "You haven't even fucking tasted my cooking yet and you're already using that tone with me! It's not right! Didn't your flashy English boarding school teach you any manners?"
Ginny smiled broadly at her.
"Nope."
Charlotte glared at her.
"Cheeky little bitch," she muttered, the knife in her hand striking the chopping board loudly. "But if you must know I'm not cooking, I'm dicing."
"Only thing Wyatt will trust you with, is it?" Ginny giggled. Charlotte sighed dramatically; pushing the diced chicken onto a plate, covered it with cling wrap and stored it in the fridge, all the while muttering about silly, redheaded cows. Ginny simply grinned.
"Now you," Charlotte said straightening up. "Let's see about getting you to that apartment of yours." Ginny's grin widened.
Later that night she sat alone on top of the covers on her bed, glancing around her bedroom, thinking about the letter she had just sent. She had spoken to Angie again briefly as the woman payed for her unordered croissant, and had given her the address of a reliable wizard post office in the area. She fiddled nervously with the charm bracelet around her wrist, wondering if they were reading her short letter yet, while simultaneously knowing it had not yet arrived.
For the first time in nearly a year, Ginny took the time to study her bracelet. It really was a beautiful bracelet. Her family had given her it for her 16th birthday and each of her brothers had purchased a charm, while her parents provided the slightly thick silver chain. She ran her fingers over each charm in turn with her fingers gliding over the small spans of links in between. A replica of his fang earring from Bill, a dragon from Charlie, a cauldron from Percy, Percy had not been pleased when he had found Fred and George's adjustment to his charm. Apparently, it had originally been a quill and he had been quite put out when Ginny refused to let him exchange it. Fred and George had each given her the WWW symbol in gold and rose gold, respectively. Both had refused to talk to the other for the rest of the evening claiming each had stolen the others idea, and from Ron, a broomstick. Her smile faded as her fingers stopped on the seventh charm, a snitch. Harry had given it to her to mark some anniversary in their relationship. She couldn't rightly remember which. Ginny scowled at the small gold ball, roughly withdrawing her wand from her black bag, hanging from the bed board. With a small un-sticking spell, the charm came away from the rest of her treasured bracelet, into her hand.
Getting up from her bed she made the short trek from her bedroom to the kitchen, forcing the rather large window open. With one final glance at the charm, Ginny flung it out the window, watching with a smile as it disappeared into the dark night.
Feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, Ginny made her way back to her small bedroom and crawled under the covers.
Ginny studied her newly refined bracelet, her fingers lingering momentarily on the final charm. She briefly debated whether the finely crafted and expensive charm should receive the same fate as the miniature golden snitch. Yes, she decided, nodding vehemently. She reached for her wand again to undo the sticking charm. She closed her eyes as she muttered the spell, the small, silver serpent with diamond eyes falling to the bedspread. No, she muttered, magically reattaching the charm. She wasn't ready to get rid of that just yet.
Harry sat in the kitchen of the Burrow watching as Molly bustled around making breakfast for him and the Weasley brothers. The only one absent was Charlie, who had been forced to go back to Romania under the threat of unemployment. Molly had insisted he go back, assuring him she would floo the second they had any news. Bill sat quietly off to the side, neither included nor excluded by the others. He almost felt sorry for the bloke.
A loud thump interrupted the light breakfast conversation. The boys and Molly looked up to see smudges on the glass of the kitchen window.
"Oh!" Molly exclaimed. "That would be Pig. I sent him to check our post box." A moment later Pig reappeared at the now open window, flapping his wings and hooting excitedly as Molly attempted to retrieve the letters clutched in his claws. Harry sighed at the sight. Ginny was the only one who could calm the god-forsaken owl.
Molly gave a small yell of triumph as Pig released the letters into the thankfully empty sink. She flicked through the small bundle quickly. "Bill, bill, catalogue, bill, oh a letter." Molly read the letter quickly, her face paling.
"Mum?" Bill asked concerned, "What is it?" Molly looked up from the letter, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to think of what to say.
"Ginny," she croaked, holding the letter out to him, her arm shaking. The letter was short, abrupt even. The parchment was jagged down one said as if it had been torn from a book. The script was neat as though great care had been taken when deciding what to write. The rest of the boys crowded behind Bill, reading over his shoulder.
Dear Mum, Dad, Bill etc., etc.
I saw an article on my 'kidnapping' and wanted to assure you that I'm safe and to tell you to stop looking for me. I'll come back when and if I'm ready to. Please, just let me have this.
Ginny
"Are we the first etcetera or the second etcetera?" Fred asked his other half.
"I'm not rightly sure, old boy," George replied in an upper class English accent. "But at least we know now-"
"-Who her favourite brother is," Fred finished for him.
"I must say, I'm highly disappointed in the girl's taste."
"Ay, I thought we had her when she wasn't made a prefect," Fred agreed morosely.
A slap up side the back of their heads from Molly silenced her troublesome twins
"You're making jokes at a time like this. Your sister is clearly being forced to write this… this dribble!" Fred and George shared a look and then glanced at a grimacing Bill.
Half an hour later Bill, Percy, Fred and George, sat in Percy's room discussing Ginny. Harry and Ron had blatantly refused to believe that Ginny had left of her own will, preferring the notion that Death Eaters had taken her. They had flooed to Hermione's as soon as Molly had been adequately calmed down.
"Well, we know she's in England," Percy reasoned calmly.
"How?" Fred and George asked in unison.
"She saw the articles in the Daily Prophet."
"Besides," Bill added. "She couldn't have much saved. Her only income is her secretarial job and that hardly pays enough to get her very far."
"Actually," George said guiltily. "That's not actually-"
"One hundred percent,"
"True."
"What? Why?" Percy asked sounding put out by the twin's admission.
"Well," Fred began. "She might-"
"Maybe,"
"Just a little bit,"
"Own ten percent of Weasley Wizard Wheezes," the twins admitted in unison.
"Since when?" Bill exclaimed.
"Since the beginning really," George said with a blissful sigh.
"Yeah," Fred said imitating his brother. "She blackmailed us."
"For all the years-"
"Of forced human trials,"
"She was also in possession of information quite sensitive in its nature,"
"Would have been disastrous if someone found out."
"What did she know?" Percy asked curiously.
"Can't tell you that, brother dearest," Fred said, his voice playfully clipped.
"Yeah," George continued. "Can't afford to give any more of our business away!"
"Well I never!" Percy huffed. "The two of you ar-"
"How much does she have?" Bill cut in before the conversation developed into one of the twins favourite games, aggravate the Percy.
"We've made a lot," George said happily, rubbing his hands together.
"Especially since the war,"
"How much is a lot?" Bill asked, concern evident in his voice. The twins suddenly looked nervous. Bill sighed, it had apparently just dawned on them what a well moneyed Ginny meant.
"Ummm, a lot," Fred answered.
"A lot a lot,"
"A real lot,"
"Huge lot really,"
"And ten percent of a lot a lot-"
"Is quite a bit."
Bill closed his eyes in exasperation. "You have no idea how much you've made, do you?"
"Not a clue," Fred and George answered simultaneously, giant identical grins covering their freckled faces.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," Bill grumbled as he searched through Gringotts' dusty underground filing chamber. "I'm going to lose my job, my license, and die a horrible dusty death in this bloody cavern!"
Guided by the light at the end of his wand, Bill finally reached the section labelled 'W'. He searched along the row, stopping at the cabinet labelled 'We-Wh'. He gasped sharply - causing him to choke as dust filled his lungs - at the amount of galleons she had withdrawn from her vault the night of her disappearance. The twins were right. She had quite a bit.
Draco Malfoy sat at his desk unable to focus on the contract he was supposed to be approving. If his employers had noticed a decline in his work rate, they hadn't said anything to him. Most of them just scuttled off in the opposite direction when he came near them, or focused more intently than was strictly required on their work.
Two weeks. For two weeks he'd slept badly, if at all. Draco had suspicions that Tilly was lacing his food with a sleeping drought to ensure he slept. And it was completely that bloody run-away bints fault!
Greg had managed to get a copy of the note Ginny had left for Scarhead. It was in ink that matched the pot in her study, written in what appeared to be her "unforced" handwriting. Greg hadn't been able to find any Death Eater, or anyone else for that matter, who had any idea where Ginny Weasley might be. It was like she had vanished into thin air, which in itself was not all that unusual for a witch or wizard. The only exception being that she had left absolutely no magical or physical trace. She was just gone. She hadn't taken anything with her, as far as Potter could tell. Draco scoffed. Like that excuse for a man could see anything to do with Ginny if it didn't have a flashing, neon sign above it. Come to think if it a neon sign wouldn't do much good. He didn't notice Ginny, and she had a bloody beacon for hair.
Draco sighed forcefully turning his attention back to the contract. He read half a page before giving up completely. He couldn't comprehend a bloody word. Firewhisky he thought. Need Firewhisky. He had just raised an over-filled glass to his lips when his fireplace crackled into life, Greg's face appearing in the flames.
"They've received another letter from her," Greg said hurriedly, disappearing as fast as he had appeared.
Bill arrived home to his London flat exhausted. He had only meant to stay to inform his brothers on just how much a lot was, and that if the records kept by the Goblins were correct, which of course they were, then there was no way that Ginny had been forced to leave. The insurance spells she had taken out with her vault ensured that the galleons could only be taken by Ginny, of her own freewill.
As he made his way to the back porch in order to apparate home, he ran into his mother who insisted he stay for dinner. Three hours and a third helping later, he was finally permitted to leave.
With a muttered word, his small flat was illuminated, revealing Draco Malfoy sitting comfortably at his kitchen table. Bill raised his wand in defence.
"What the hell are you doing in my house, Malfoy?" he yelled.
"You know, Weasley," Draco said taking a sip of Firewhisky from the simple glass before him. "You really need to upgrade your liquor cabinet. This," he sneered at the amber liquid. "was your finest drop. Though I suppose that's all one can expect from someone of your," he took his time looking over Bill, his eyes lingering on his long hair, tied in at the nape of his neck and the silver fang adorning his earlobe. "stature." he finished with a sneer.
"What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing. Here. Malfoy?" Bill bit out, resisting the overwhelming urge to simply hex the bastard. His back teeth were grinding together and her felt a growl building in the back of his throat begging to be released.
"I wish to make you a proposition."
"You want to pay me to find my sister?" Bill asked in disbelief.
"Yes, I believe I made that clear the first time I explained it to you."
Jesus fucking Christ! Bill thought. The man only had two modes. Cold and freezing. Bill couldn't believe how calm Malfoy was as he explained his proposition to Bill, pausing only to take a sip from his whisky.
"Why?" Bill asked, at a loss as to what else to say to the young Malfoy heir.
"Ginevra didn't grate on my nerves as much as the rest of you ingrates did." Bill ground his teeth together, his fists clenching beneath the table. "I have no wish for any harm to come to her, so I offer you the means to locate your wayward sister."
"Shouldn't you just ask some of your buddies where they've taken her?" Bill spat, his anger boiling to the surface.
"You and I both know that Ginevra was not 'kidnapped', as Potter would so readily have the simpering idiots of this country believe. One does not empty a Gringotts vault holding a fairly generous sum, when kidnapped. Do not think to play me for a fool, Weasley." Draco spoke softly and calmly, but the intensity of his glare made Bill shift uncomfortably in his chair and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "I presume that even a Weasley would know to procure insurance against forced withdrawals. Even for the meagre sums you - people - are used to," he sneered, raising his eyebrows at Bill, searching for confirmation. Bill nodded. How the hell did he know about Ginny's second vault?
"The wards she had in place were quite thorough. Only Ginny could access it." Draco nodded in acknowledgement.
"Do you know of any way to track someone who has seemed simply to have vanished?" Draco asked. "Preferably, one that doesn't involve manually scouring every square inch of the country, of course," he added.
Bill let his head hang in thought. He could feel Malfoy's never-faltering gaze on him.
Draco began to silently panic. What if Weasley didn't know a way to find her? Scouring the country inch by inch really was his next plan of attack. He stared at the eldest Weasley of this generation, willing him to know. Weasley's head didn't move as he raised his eyes to meet Draco's glare. His mouth was set in a hard line, his voice expressionless as he spoke. Draco was unnerved by the sight but his icy demeanour didn't falter.
"I know of one,"