Author's Chapter Notes:
Back with a new chapter! Sorry it's taken so long. I'm quite determined to finish this fic this summer, and it shouldn't even take too long, as I now predict it being a bit shorter than I'd originally thought, and significantly shorter than The Enemy of Souls.
Also – I need your help! Part of the reason this chapter took so long it because I was having trouble with a scene that was supposed to be at the end of this chapter. I threw in some other scenes instead, and it all flows quite well, but that scene I left out absolutely must go in the next chapter, and I've become quite lost as to how it should play out.
So, if you're interested in giving me some suggestions, I'm taking requests - check out my fic journal at livejournal. Username is rainywinters. It's the most recent post. You can reply there or in a review here. Thanks!
Chapter Two
Perhaps it was karma, but Ginny did come down sick not two days after the incident with her arm burning. She fought through it at first, not wanting to put anyone out of their way for a second time, but after putting Will down for a nap in the afternoon, she could no longer deny that she was shaky and unnaturally warm, and her head was killing her. It was not so much that she felt unfit to take care of Will, as that, with a fever, she knew she probably shouldn't, since he could get sick as well. Which finally triggered the decision to Floo her mother and see if she wouldn't mind coming over.
But when she tried the Floo, the connection wouldn't go through. "Not again," Ginny moaned, falling back onto the sofa. This was ridiculous; Malfoy had said he would look into it at the Department of Magical Transportation two days ago.
Strictly speaking, fires in Muggle establishments were not meant to be connected to the Floo Network—an all wizarding family living in a house on their own would be fine, but since Ginny and Malfoy lived in a flat, in a building where Muggles lived, it really wasn't supposed to be allowed. Malfoy money, however, still talked, no matter how diminished, and Malfoy influence certainly still talked, so Draco's contacts in the Department of Magical Transportation were able to set them up, especially as it was unlikely any Muggles would ever come into their flat.
But it wasn't always very reliable, and Ginny had never imagined how inconvenient it would be to not be able to rely on the Floo Network, especially living with a baby, when Apparition was not always an option. They had a telephone, but seeing as most people she knew didn't have one, it didn't do much good. Perhaps it was her father's influence, but Ginny had thought it might be a bit cool to sort of live as a Muggle, with a television and a microwave. But electricity and batteries, she'd soon discovered, were not as reliable as magic, and living in close proximity with Muggles limited how much magic they could do. Ginny had actually gotten a warning from the Ministry of Magic several months ago, when she'd done a Warming Charm just before their Muggle landlord had stopped by.
It was getting exhausting, just living in this flat. Ginny rubbed her eyes, wondering what she should do. The headache and fever were not making thinking a very easy thing to do. Malfoy would not be home from work for at least another three hours. In the end, feeling quite stupid about the whole thing, she called one of the few wizards she knew who did have a telephone—Dean Thomas, who was Muggleborn, and having many Muggle friends and family, still had use of one. He would likely be at work, but his girlfriend, who lived with him and worked from home, picked up. Feeling stupider by the minute, Ginny asked her to Floo her mother and pass on the message, but then, it turned out her mother wasn't at home, and so, being very apologetic about the whole thing, Ginny asked if she would Floo the twins' flat instead.
Half an hour later, Diana, George's wife, turned up to pick Will up and take him to their flat for the rest of the day. Feeling sicker than ever, after all of that, Ginny collapsed on the sofa and promptly fell asleep.
She was rudely awakened, several hours later, by someone roughly shaking her by the shoulder.
"Weasley! Oy, Weasley! Where the bloody hell is Will?"
"Huh? Wh-what?" Ginny mumbled, turning over onto her stomach. She buried her head in the sofa, hoping whoever was disturbing her would go away and leave her alone.
"Ginny." As he grabbed her by the shoulder to turn her around, Ginny realized that, of course, it was Malfoy, waking her up. "Wake up. Where is my son?"
Ginny blinked, opening her eyes reluctantly to stare at Malfoy, who was leaning over her. She couldn't really register his expression beneath the harsh light glaring from overhead, but he sounded faintly panicked. A moment later, she realized why. "Oh—Will. Calm down, Malfoy…Diana took him—to her place—"
"Calm down?" Malfoy echoed. Ginny shut her eyes, wishing she could as effectively shut out his voice, which seemed incredibly loud to her pounding head. "Calm down?I get home and he's nowhere to be seen—"
"I'm sorry," Ginny cut in, not really sorry at all. She shoved herself upright on the couch, though her body let out aches of protest. Her tone was as sarcastic as she could manage when she said, "Perhaps I should've left a note!"
"Or, I don't know, Floo'd me?" Malfoy shot back.
"Well, I would've done, if the Floo was working, you prat!" Ginny glared at him balefully. "But it isn't! I thought you were going to see about that two days ago!"
"It's still not working?" Malfoy scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking around at the fireplace with an annoyed expression. He was still dressed in his work robes, though his tie hung a bit askew from around his neck. "How can it not be working? I talked to Foster about it when—"
"Well, maybe you should talk to him again," Ginny said acidly. She stifled a groan and ran a hand over her eyes. Her head was still throbbing, feeling every second as though someone were knocking it against a wall. Her clothes were damp with sweat, and now, she found, her throat was burning, too. She swallowed thickly, wincing at the pain. Ah, if only she could go back to sleep…
But Malfoy was still talking. "…he doing with Diana, anyway? Am I supposed to be comforted by the fact that my son is staying with Fred and George? Because—"
"Diana too khim because I don't feel well, Malfoy!" Ginny cried. "And because Pansy is on holiday, my mum wasn't home, and I didn't know who else to ask!"
"I'd rather Davis looked after him than the evil duo—"
"Then next time, I'll ask her," Ginny grumbled.
"Well, do I have to go pick him up, then? Because I was supposed to go—"
"No." Fueled by frustration, Ginny pushed herself to her feet. "No, Malfoy, you don't have to take time out of your day to go get him. I will go get him, since it's on my way anyway." And with that, she turned and left the room, heading down the short corridor.
Malfoy followed her. "On your way where?" he demanded.
"On my way to the Burrow."
"Why're you going to the Burrow?"
At the door to their bedroom, Ginny wheeled around to face him, glaring so forcefully she thought her head might explode with it. "Because my mum, I'm sure, will do a much better job of taking care of me than you could!"
She turned back into the bedroom, slamming the door in his face. For a moment, she slumped against the door, letting her face fall into her hands. She felt shaky and dizzy, and the pain in her head and throat was so bad she could feel tears forming in her eyes. Finally, she took a deep breath, lifted her head, and went to pack a bag for her and Will.
She didn't say goodbye to Malfoy. She Apparated directly out of the bedroom, to Diagon Alley, outside the building which housed the twins' joke shop and their extensive flat. Diana, however, seeing how ill that she was, insisted that she leave Will with her, assuring her that he would be fine with them for the night.
"Yeah, just leave him here, Gin, don't worry about it," George said, hands in his pockets. Fred sat in the kitchen with Will and James (George and Diana's son), supervising their dinner. "Mini Malfoy will be fine with us." He grinned at her.
Ginny shut her eyes. "I trust that only because Diana is here."
"I'm hurt," George said, still grinning. "You don't trust us? Your own brothers?"
Leaving Will's things with them, Ginny left a few minutes later, Apparating home to the Burrow. Only her mother and father were home, and both expressed appropriate concern over Ginny when they realized she was ill. Her mother, as expected, ushered her into the kitchen and instantly began making soup for her, while ordering her husband to retreive a fever-reducing potion from the cabinet.
"I'm sorry to impose, without warning first," Ginny said, slumping into a chair at the kitchen table. "But—"
"Don't be silly, Ginny," her mother fussed, busying about the stove. "You can come by anytime, especially if you're not feeling well. But Draco said he thought you weren't so ill, when he came by with Will a few days ago!"
Ginny chanced a glance at her dad, at the mention of Draco stopping by the Burrow, but he seemed wholly engrossed in the Evening Prophet. Though she did think his grip on the paper seemed to tighten slightly.
"Well, I was better," Ginny admitted. "But then today, I don't know…" She shook her head.
"Will's at home with Draco, then?" her mother asked.
"Actually, he's staying with the twins." Ginny folded her arms on the tabletop, resting her head on them. "Will, I mean. Diana took him hours ago, so I could get some sleep. And I didn't want to get him sick."
"Oh, of course." Her mother turned, however, and gave her an odd look, planting her hand on her hip. "But where is Draco, then?"
"At home." Ginny lifted her head wearily. "I, er—don't think he's in a very good mood."
At this, her father opened his mouth to speak, but something in the look Ginny shot him obviously made him reconsider. A moment later, he shut his mouth and returned to his paper, as though nothing had happened.
Her mother whipped up some chicken soup in a surprisingly short amount of time, and, as expected, it was just what Ginny needed. It was usually something of a chore to put up with all her mother's fussing and mothering, but feeling so awful, she actually welcomed it. It wasn't just being sick, either. It was…everything. The Floo disconnecting, the insufficient heater in their drafty apartment, the light flickering in the bathroom, and Malfoy…
Ginny firmly put that thought out of her mind. She didn't want to think about Malfoy right now.
Unfortunately, her father wasn't clear on this, because he brought the prat up a moment later. "I ran into Draco at work the other day, " he said, still looking at his paper and not at Ginny. "He was up on my level. He said he's transferred into Magical Games and Sports?"
Ginny nodded, slurping soup from her spoon. She eyed her father out of the corner of her eye. For some reason, his brow was furrowed in an almost…disapproving expression. "Yeah, in the Quidditch division. It pays better than his last job. And it's what he's wanted to do for years."
"Well, then it's good he's doing it," Molly said firmly.
Again, her father opened his mouth to speak, but this time, it was Ginny's mother who shot him a warning look, and again, he closed his mouth and said nothing. Ginny looked between the two of them warily, but she didn't understand what that had been about. Perhaps she could sort it out when her brain wasn't so muddled. Just then, however, something her father had said penetrated her thoughts. "Hang on," she said. "What was Malfoy doing up on Level Two, Dad?"
Her father raised his eyebrows. "He said the Aurors were questioning him."
Ginny grumbled into her soup. "About his father."
Arthur Weasley nodded. There was a moment's silence, and then her father said, "You, erm, haven't heard anything, have you—about—"
"Arthur!" her mother cut in.
"Dad." Ginny put her soup spoon down in exasperation. "Don't you think I would've said something if I had? If you'll recall, Lucius Malfoy and I aren't exactly chummy."
"I recall," her father said darkly, no doubt remembering the incident with the diary her first year. "But, well, he did try to, er…keep you from some of the other Death Eaters, at the Riddle House, and I thought, maybe you—"
"He only did that for Will and Draco." Squeezing her eyes shut against the foul taste, Ginny gulped her fever-reducing potion down quickly. "Bellatrix's idea was to kill me and use Will as leverage over Draco, whereas Greyback just wanted to kill all of us. And Lucius isn't as stupid as all that. He knows what killing me would bring down on him."
"Probably more than he could imagine," her father said grimly.
Ginny felt much better only minutes after taking the potion, but it also made her incredibly drowy, so, with her mother following along behind her, she headed up to her old room and collapsed into bed. She fell asleep immediately.
She had no idea how much time had passed when she woke again, though it was dark outside and the house was still and quiet, so it must have been sometime in the middle of the night. For a moment, she wasn't sure what had woken her. But then a lancing twinge shot through her arm, and she sat straight up, hissing in pain.
The mark on her arm was shining a fiery red again. Biting her lip, Ginny shuddered at the thought of spending another night like she had two nights ago, curled up in agony. But as quickly as it had come, the pain began to fade. Ginny let out a shaky breath as the pain receded, slowly loosening her grip on her arm. Taking another deep breath, she glanced aside, out her window—
Ginny froze, staring out the window. Standing on the lawn, not thirty feet from the house, was a figure, hooded and cloaked all in black. His face was entirely covered, though judging by his height, he was a man. Ginny leapt to her feet without thinking, snatching her wand from her bedside table. Her head let out a small, protesting throb at the sudden movement, but for the most part, her headache and sore throat seemed to be gone.
For a moment, Ginny stood stock still, wand in hand, staring at the hooded man standing outside. He stood facing her window, and Ginny felt sure he was watching her. As she stared, the man slowly raised an arm, pointed a finger at Ginny, and then gestured to himself, down below. Ginny understood. He quite plainly wanted her to come outside and join him.
For a moment, Ginny was adamant she would not. How thick did this man think she was? The timing of his appearance—showing up when her Mark burned—combined with his black cloak made it obvious; this man was probably a Death Eater. And he wanted her to come out and meet him? But then she thought of her parents, sleeping below, and of all the rest of her family, and what could happen to them if she ignored this man. Surely, if his intention was to attack her, he would've done so? There wasn't really anything stopping him from coming into the house.
She had no choice but to go and see what he wanted.
Quickly, Ginny pulled on some shoes and threw her coat on over her pajamas. Holding her wand tightly in her hand, she slipped down the stairs silently, taking care not to make any noise that would wake her parents.
She left through the front door and went around the house; her window faced the side of the house, to the northeast. Though she knew he was there, Ginny stopped still when she rounded the house and saw him standing there, still a distance away from the house itself.
Swallowing, and making sure she still had a good grip on her wand, Ginny walked towards him, her face set. Ten feet away, she stopped dead. "Who are you?" she demanded. "What do you want?"
For a moment, the man said nothing. Even close up, Ginny could tell nothing about him; his cloak, along with a pair of black gloves, covered every part of him, and she suspected that, even beneath his hood, he was wearing a mask. Then—
"I've been sent," he said, "by Lucius Malfoy."
Ginny stared at him, her blood going cold. The man's voice was deep and oddly gruff, as though he were forcing to make it so, but she hardly noticed. "Lucius Malfoy isn't even in the country," she said, her voice unwavering.
"Not yet," the man said coolly. "But even out of the country, he still has some…influence…here in England."
"Not over me." Ginny crossed her arms over her chest, still clutching her wand tightly. "That's what you mean, isn't it? That even out of the country, he has some hold over me? Well, he doesn't. I don't care where he is, he hasn't—"
"If he's got no hold over you," the man cut in, "then why has your arm been burning?"
Ginny broke off. She supposed she should've known. Of course Lucius Malfoy had been behind it, of course, it had been the Death Eaters, threatening her, communicating with her, in their sick, twisted way. But Ginny remained calm, refusing to let this man see any weakness or anxiety from her. "This?" Coolly, she pulled back her coat sleeve and held her arm up. The Mark wasn't so red anymore, and in the darkness, the man probably couldn't even see it beneath the rest of the burn scars marking her arm. She dropped her arm a moment later. "I don't know what Lucius thought he was doing, putting it on me. I don't know what you lot were trying to achieve. But it means nothing."
"There's a way to hide it," the man said suddenly. "I can show you. There's a charm, it'll conceal the Mark."
For a moment, his voice was different, less harsh, and almost…familiar. Unconsciously, Ginny took a few steps forward, peering at the hooded man. "Do I…know you?"
When the man answered, his voice was again gutteral and harsh. "If you did, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, now, would I?"
Ginny shook her head, coming back to herself. "I don't need to hide the bloody Mark," she said irritably, suddenly wanting nothing more than to leave this Death Eater and go back into the house to sleep. "In case you couldn't tell, no one can see it anyway."
"Oh, I imagine it becomes pretty visible when it burns," the man said knowingly. "And who knows when that might happen? Next time, it might not be at night, while you're asleep in bed. It might be while you're out to lunch with your mum, or having breakfast at home with…Draco." The man's voice twisted sourly over Draco's name. Ginny wasn't surprised. A lot of the Death Eaters detested Draco, now that he'd turned against them.
"Draco wouldn't care." Ginny let out a scornful laugh. "He has a Mark himself, or didn't you know?"
"Hmm. Then why haven't you told him about it?"
Ginny froze. She realized, suddenly, she wasn't sure how to answer this. She hadn't told Draco about it, she'd never said a word. In fact, when he'd pressed her about what had happened in the Riddle House, when he'd wanted to know what they'd done to her, she had refused to tell to him.
This time, it was the Death Eater who took a step closer to her. "Why don't you want him to know, Weasley? What are you afraid of?"
"Nothing," she snapped. "There's just no reason for him to know, that's all. No reason to—"
"In fact, if the Mark means nothing, why haven't you told anyone?" the man asked. He was still coming towards her, and while the practical side of her told her she should back away, the stubborn side refused to do so. "Afraid what you'll be accused of? Afraid of what the Aurors might to do you, what the Ministry—"
"Don't be ridiculous," Ginny scoffed. "No one would believe—"
"Wouldn't they?" The Death Eater stopped, not two feet away from her. "Are you sure? You're in pretty deep these days, Weasley. Thick as thieves with Draco and his son. And don't you think the Aurors don't know you covered for Draco, saying he wasn't the one who told you the Death Eaters' location, at the Riddle House? I mean, after all—" The man let out a short laugh. "Isn't that why we're still standing here, talking? The old Ginny Weasley would've restrained me, called the Aurors—but that could lead to some…unpleasantness…for you and your little family, couldn't it?"
Ginny was shaking, though whether from the man's proximity, from anger, or from the fact that his words were…shockingly accurate…she didn't know. Before he could even think about coming any closer to her, she raised her wand and leveled it at him. "I'll tell you what the old Ginny Weasley would've done," she snapped. "It's exactly what I'll do now if you don't leave. I'll hex you within an inch of your life. There won't be enough of you left for the Aurors to come and collect."
To her surprise, the Death Eater laughed again, and for a second, the sound was so familiar that Ginny felt oddly dazed. "Yes, that's true, isn't it?"
"What's true?" Ginny asked.
"That that's what the old Ginny Weasley would've done." He laughed again. "So nothing's really changed then, has it?"
Ginny didn't drop her wand, but she cocked her head, eye narrowing. "Who are you?"
"Don't underestimate Lucius Malfoy, Weasley," the Death Eater said, ignoring her question. He took several steps back. "He'll use that Mark to get to you, to use you. I'd be on your guard, if I were you."
And before she could respond, he Disapparated.
"Tunnels?" Blaise said, wiping dirt off his robes as they came out into a dark room. "Tunnels? After all your mysterious talk, Malfoy, I was expecting something more…magical."
"Something magica lwould likely have set off alarms, you idiot." Draco pushed past him, coming out of the tunnel which led into the kitchen pantry in Malfoy Manor. The tunnel ended out in the woods, much of which covered the grounds outside, at a point past the perimeter the Ministry had set up. "As it is, you're going to have to make do with candles in here. Don't use any magic."
"And I thought staying at Malfoy Manor would be like staying at a palace," Blaise said dryly.
"Well, not now, it isn't," Draco grumbled, moving forward cautiously in the absolute darkness. Although Draco's first night alone in the flat had been a much more miserable experience than he would've thought—he'd tossed and turned, alone, in the bed all night, and in spite of Will's absence, still woke up at six in the morning—the second night that Ginny and Will were gone, he was rather relieved. Because he and Blaise had finalized their plans to get into Malfoy Manor.
"Where are we, anyway?" Blaise demanded.
"The kitchens." Draco slowly pushed open the pantry door and, feeling his way around the doorframe, turned right, into a larger room. Just inside the room, he knelt down, feeling for the cabinets along the right wall. Unfortunately, in the darkness, Blaise must not have seen him stop, for a moment later he collided with Malfoy and tripped, stumbling past him.
"Damn it, Draco, what are you doing?"
"If you would just hold still for a moment—" Annoyed, Draco tried to ignore him as he felt around in the cabinet. A second later, he'd found what he was looking for - a few tallow candles. Pulling out the box of matches he'd brought with him, he quickly lit the candles. He pulled out several more, until he'd lit enough of them that he could see Blaise, and the rest of the room, quite clearly.
He glanced around the kitchen and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Although he knew how to get in, Draco hadn't been back here since they'd left, since they'd been forced out, a year and a half ago. He knew Ginny had been more than happy to leave, especially after some of the horrible things that had happened to her here, but he, Draco, had not been all too happy. This place was his home, the only home he'd ever known…
How different his life had become since leaving it. How unrecognizable.
"Fond memories, Draco?" Blaise asked, a smirk on his face. He leaned back against the far wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
Draco snapped back to the present, settling a glare on Blaise. "I didn't come here to talk about the past, Zabini."
"No." Blaise narrowed his eyes. "You came here to let me in. Now, you can leave."
"I don't think so."
"Listen, Malfoy," Blaise said, sounding faintly annoyed, "we weren't exactly the best of friends in school—"
"Too right, you were a snobby pretty boy, and probably still are," Draco cut in. "I'm not staying to chat with you so we can catch up. I want to know what business you've got to see to here in England. You've got me caught up in your mess, so you may as well let me know."
Blaise evaded his gaze. "It's nothing. Nothing to concern you, anyway."
A horrible suspicion swooped over Draco. "You're not—you don't—this business doesn't have anything to do with Ginny, does it?"
Blaise laughed humorlessly. "Listen to you. Of course it doesn't have anything to do with her," he said, but Draco noticed he still wouldn't look Draco in the eye. "I dated her for a few months, Malfoy. I don't give a flying fig about her."
"Really," Draco said flatly. "You know, she was obsessed with finding out what happened to you. Refused to believe you were dead. She looked for you for years."
"Sounds like her problem, not mine." Blaise shrugged indifferently, still studying an invisible spot on the wall.
Draco narrowed his eyes. For some reason, he was beginning to feel very angry. "You know, I've changed my mind. Let's talk memories," he said, watching Blaise closely for a reaction. He stepped forward, looking around, then pointed. "For instance, that counter over there. That's where Ginny gave me a cupcake for my birthday, and then she gave me something much better than a cupcake—"
Bam. Blaise moved so quickly, Draco scarcely saw him before he'd slugged Draco across the face, knocking him back until he'd stumbled and slammed into the cabinets behind him. For a moment, Draco caught a flash of a furious expression on Blaise's face, but then his ears stopped ringing and, when he looked again, Blaise looked quite calm, flexing the fist he'd hit him with.
"Right." Resisting the urge to touch his lip, which he thought was likely bleeding, Draco righted himself, dusting off his robes. "You don't care a flying fig about her. Not at all."
"Why don't you go home, Malfoy," Blaise said between gritted teeth. "What I'm up to here is my business. It's nothing to do with you." He turned his back on Draco, settling against the far wall, putting distance between them.
"Hang on," Draco said. "There's something else I want to know."
"What now?"
"I still don't understand," Draco said, "what could be so important that the Death Eaters have been on you and your family for nearly eight years. You said they wanted information, information you and your mum didn't know. What is it?"
Blaise turned back around to face him, his eyes glittering. For a moment, Draco thought he was just going to tell him to stuff it again, but then, abruptly, Blaise said, "Eight years ago, my mum was dating this bloke who worked at Gringotts. He was high up in its administration. They hadn't been dating long, but I'd say he was well on his way to becoming husband number eight."
Draco blinked. "What on earth does that have to do with—"
"I'm telling you, Draco, so shut it." Blaise rooted a stool out of the corner and perched on it, facing Draco like a witness at a trial. He looked suddenly tired. "About a month before the Death Eaters attacked Hogsmeade, there was—apparently—a break-in at Gringott's."
"I don't remember hearing anything about that." Draco frowned.
Blaise tossed him an exasperated glance. "Well, seeing as you were in hiding—"
"Snape brought me the Daily Prophet everyday," Draco interrupted. "And surely it would've been reported about, break-ins at Gringott's are rare enough—"
"Well, that's the thing." Blaise shrugged. "It was all hushed up. I don't just mean the press didn't get an in on it, I mean internally, it was hushed up. There wasn't really an investigation, apparently. And that's what's rare. As if the goblins would let a break-in slide through—but obviously, someone on the inside, someone powerful enough to do it, shut it all down. Wouldn't let them look into it."
"You're saying…" Draco said slowly. "This bloke your mum was dating? Hushed it all up?"
"That's what they tell me," Blaise said wearily.
"They who?"
"The Death Eaters, of course. I didn't actually know anything about this when it happened. My mum may have been dating him, but I'd only met the man once."
"But what's this got to do with the Death Eaters?" Draco demanded, wishing Blaise would just get to the point already.
"Well, they don't know for sure," Blaise said. "The Death Eaters, I mean—they don't know for sure which vault was broken into. Which is just one ironic bit of this whole thing," he said bitterly. "But they know what sector of the bank it was. And it was in the same sector that houses your aunt's vault, apparently."
Draco shook his head. "My aunt? Bellatrix? So, whoever it was, was trying to break into her vault?"
"They think so, Draco. They don't know for sure. Don't forget that," Blaise said, speaking quietly. "They don't know for sure. This whole thing—killing my family, chasing me, torturing me—it's all based on a guess. A mere suspicion."
"If that's true," Draco said slowly, "then it must be important. What was taken from my aunt's vault. But why do they think you—"
"Nothing was taken, Draco. That's what I've gathered, anyhow, between all the hexes and curses I've endured over the past couple of years." Blaise's voice rang with scorn. He shifted uncomfortably on the stool. "Nothing was actually taken. They're not trying to get something back. They just want to know who was trying to break in, and why."
"And where do you fit into all of this?" Draco asked, feeling a headache coming on.
"My mum," Blaise said simply. "And that man she was with, the one who worked at Gringott's. He disappeared, you see, not long after the break-in. You see how it looks, Draco? He hushed everything up, then, apparently, went into hiding."
"They think he was in on it," Draco said, instantly putting it together. "They think he knows something, about who broke in, maybe even was part of the plan—"
"Exactly." Blaise leaned back, slumping slightly. "Exactly. And they thought my mum," he said, his words dripping with acrimony, "might know something, too. About where he went. Even about the break-in."
"And she didn't, I gather," Draco said quietly. His mind was still whirring with possibilities, but now, he felt something heavy and unpleasant settle in his gut, realizing, now, what Blaise had been put through, and why. "She didn't know anything."
"Of course not!" Blaise jumped off the stool and stalked across the room, brimming with anger. "I'm sure all my mother knew about him and Gringott's was how much gold he had in his vault! She wouldn't have cared about his business, about his personal life, about anything that could've had something to do with any of this! And me? What the hell would I know about where he's gone, what someone was after in your aunt's vault?"
Draco swallowed and stood very still, watching Blaise. He was afraid if he said something, Blaise might slug him again; he looked that furious and unstable, at the moment.
"I've told them that again and again for two bloody years! The only reason they wanted me in the first place was to use me as leverage against my mother, to get her to give them information. You'd think they'd realize I wouldn't possibly know anything! But whatever it is, whatever they're worried about, is so damned important to them that they're desperate, they're willing to grasp at anything to get their information!" Blaise rounded on him suddenly, and, unwillingly, Draco took a step back.
"So what is it?" Blaise demanded.
"What's…what?" Draco asked, unnerved.
"What are they so worried about?" There was an odd, desperate look in Blaise's eyes, unlike any expression Draco had ever seen on his face before. "What's in your aunt's vault that's so bloody important?"
Draco shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Blaise. Honestly, I don't. It makes no sense to me, either."
Blaise seemed to deflate. Without another word, he trudged back to the stool and perched there, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.
"The thing is—" Draco rubbed a hand across his eyes. "It's not just Bellatrix, right? Whatever this is, my father's worried about it, too."
"Too right he is," Blaise muttered.
"I mean, if it was just my aunt…" Draco started pacing, thinking quickly. "I mean, she's off her bloody rocker. But for my father to be acting this way too…so desperate to get something, anything out of you…he's not nutty, like she is."
He stopped suddenly, facing Blaise. "It's got to be important," he said quietly. "I mean, like, really important."
Blaise shrugged. "You're telling me."
They were still for a moment, watching each other intently, and Draco knew Blaise was wondering the same thing he was. But he hadn't a clue. He had no idea what could be in his aunt's vault, what could be so important to her and his father and the Death Eaters, that they would take things this far with Blaise.
"Maybe I can try and find out," Draco said suddenly. "I've been trying to get in to see my aunt—I've wanted to ask her…" Draco trailed off, an idea lighting up in his thoughts. Of course…why hadn't he thought of it before? "Blaise," he said suddenly. "They kept you in the Riddle House, didn't they? That whole time?"
Blaise nodded slowly.
"Did you ever see other prisoners in there?"
Blaise shrugged. "Sure. Why?"
Draco felt his heartbeat quicken with excitement. "Did you ever see Ron Weasley?"
Blaise blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Ron Weasley!" Draco said impatiently. "You know, Ginny's brother? The git that was in love with Potter?"
For a moment, Blaise stared at him as though he'd lost his marbles. "No," he said slowly. "I never saw him. Why, is he missing?"
"Yeah." Now Draco's shoulders slumped. It wasn't like it really would've done any good, if Blaise had seen him; it wouldn't have helped track him down. But it would've been further confirmation that he was alive. "Well, most everyone thinks he's dead. Ginny doesn't, though. I thought she was nutters, but, well, now I have reason to think…" He trailed off. When he came to himself and looked back at Blaise, a moment later, he found him looking at Draco through narrowed eyes.
"What?" Draco asked defensively.
"Why're you so interested in Ron Weasley?"
"I'm not." Draco rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "I'm just looking for him, is all."
"Uh-huh." Blaise folded his arms over his chest. "The thing is, the way I remember things, you'd be jumping for joy to have Potter and his weasel sidekick out of the picture."
"Well, Potter can rot, for all I care," Draco muttered. "Hope he stays gone."
"And Ron Weasley?" Blaise said sarcastically. "What do you care what happens to him?"
"Granger," Draco said suddenly. For some reason, he felt unsettled by this line of questioning.
"Granger?"
"I owe her," Draco said negligently. "And I'm sure you'd like the idea of being in a Mudblood's debt as much as I do. I just want out of it."
In spite of this answer, Blaise continued to eye him skeptically. "Wow," he said flatly. "She must've done something pretty impressive for you to pay her back like this."
Draco scowled. "Oh, what do you care, Zabini?"
Blaise snorted. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? You're not doing this for Granger." He sent Draco a very direct look. "This is about Ginny, isn't it?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"I thought you were just messing her around." A peculiar look came over Blaise's face. He seemed torn between incredulity, amusement, and dislike for Draco. "And using her, of course, to take care of your kid. But you…you actually care about her, don't you?"
"Don't be stupid, Zabini."
"You have feelings for her."
"I do not."
"You love her." The words came out of Blaise's mouth like an accusation.
"I don't," Draco said quietly.
But Blaise only laughed, only, he didn't sound as though he thought it were very funny. "I don't know why I didn't see this coming," he said, rubbing a hand over his head. "At least, once I'd heard you two were living together. I mean, you always were sort of…funny…about her."
"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco asked acidly.
"You know, in school. You had a thing for her."
"I did not! That's ridiculous!"
"Oh, come on, Draco." Blaise smirked, though he still looked as though he didn't find this entirely funny. "Everyone knew. Well, everyone with brains, which rules out Crabbe and Goyle. But I knew. Pansy knew—"
"She didn't know anything!" Draco thought he felt himself growing red when he'd realized what he'd just said. "I mean, there wasn't anything to know."
Blaise shook his head. "You're a bloody idiot, Draco." All amusement was gone from him, now; he spoke quietly, sincerely. "You've got the best girl a man could ask for, right in front of you. And you can't even admit you're in love with her."
"The best girl a man could ask for?" Draco said wryly. "And you're telling me you don't care about her anymore. Really."
For a moment, Blaise said nothing. Then he shrugged. "It doesn't matter." He looked up, staring at something in the distance, past Draco. "There's nothing between me and her anymore. And there never will be."
By the time Draco got back home to their flat in Manchester, it was very late, around midnight. The flat, of course, was completely empty. Ginny was still at the Burrow with Will; this would be his second night spent alone in the flat. He stood in the living room, glumly looking at the bare kitchen, taking in how unnaturally quiet the place was. He tried to tell himself that he missed Will, that he was worried about Will—but if he was truthful with himself, he knew Will would be perfectly fine at the Burrow; he'd stayed there before. Not that he wanted Will spending too much time there, but he would be safe there.
No. The lonely pit opening up inside of him was about Ginny. He squashed down the guilt that came up within him when he thought about the row they'd had, the night she'd left. He hadn't known she was sick, hadn't realized it when he'd gotten home. And really, the argument they'd had wasn't that different from the sort of arguments they had all the time—but if she was feeling ill, well, then, he supposed yelling at her had probably not been the best thing to do. But he hadn't realized, and he'd gotten home to find Will missing. It was only natural that he'd overreacted a little, wasn't it?
Miserably, Draco fell back onto the sofa. He was trying, very hard, not to think of the things Blaise had said to him, about Ginny, but her absence was so prevalent in his mind that he could think of nothing else.
He hadn't had a thing for her in school, well, not really. She had always been pretty, of course, and he'd noticed; who wouldn't have noticed? But there had been many pretty girls in Hogwarts, and, well, okay, Ginny had been by far the prettiest, in Draco's opinion, but that didn't mean he'd had a thing for her.
"You have feelings for her," Blaise had said. "You love her."
Did he? Draco rubbed a hand over his face. For some reason, being all alone in their empty flat made it…easier…to look at that stark question, in a way he had never allowed himself to before. Did he have feelings for her? Well, he'd have to really be in denial to say no to that. He had known that, really, known that for fact since the ordeal with Will's kidnapping and the Death Eaters in the Riddle House. And she had a way of…making everything better…somehow. She clearly meant somethin gto him.
But did he love her? What did that even mean? He…felt about her…in a way that he hadn't ever really felt for anyone else. But how was he supposed to know if he loved her? There were very few people in the world that Draco had ever loved, in fact, in pretty much came down to his parents and his son, but how he felt about them was clearly different from how he felt about Ginny.
There was a time when he had thought he'd loved Pansy, but he had been thirteen at the time, and he was quite sure, now, that that hadn't been love. More like teenage infatuation and hormones. Because, only about a year later, he'd come to realize that he didn't even really like Pansy all that much, so how could he love her? He liked her now, of course, now that she'd got over him too.
If he was in love with her, then surely he should feel jealous that Blaise, clearly, still loved her, even if he tried to pretend otherwise. And, truthfully, Draco did feel jealous. But jealousy was a common emotion from Draco; it didn't take much to make him feel jealous. And besides…
Draco stared doubtfully into the empty fireplace, unsure. The fact was, it wasn't so much knowing that Blaise still loved her that angered him. It was knowing that Blaise still loved her, and yet pretended as though she didn't matter at all. Draco realized how odd it was for something like that to make him angry, and he was puzzled, for a moment, before he realized why it made him angry.
"You know, she was obsessed with finding out what happened to you," Draco had said. "Refused to believe you were dead. She looked for you for years."
"Sounds like her problem, not mine."
That made him angry. Blaise's flippant response, his absolute indifference to what Ginny had gone through for him, for what she'd felt for him…
And if he was honest with himself, wasn't he not so much jealous of Blaise, but…worried? Worried about him being back, worried about what Ginny might do…might feel…if she found out he was alive?
It worried him because she might leave. And he would let her. The very thought woke a strange sort of ache inside him; he felt almost nauseous at the thought of letting her go. But he would. If she wanted to. If being with Blaise was better for her, if it was what she wanted.
What did that mean?
I can't feel very strongly about her, Draco told himself. If I would let her go like that. I can't love her. With that thought firmly in mind, he trudged into his bedroom to get to sleep.
But he lay awake for a very long time.
The next day, Draco felt distracted and irritable at work; he didn't get very much done and snapped at everyone he spoke to, even his boss, which was just stupid. He left his office sullenly at the end of the day, grumpily heading down to the Atrium at the Ministry of Magic. When he reached it, however, and prepared to Apparate home to his flat, he stopped. He decided, quite suddenly, that he wasn't going to go to his flat.
He was going to see Ginny.
A couple of minutes later, he was knocking on the front door of the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley answered, and if she was surprised or upset to see Draco, she didn't show it. She showed him in to the kitchen where he was almost immediately rushed at by Will who, apparently, was just up from a nap. "Dada!" Will said happily, throwing himself at Draco.
"Oof, you're getting too big to hold, Will," Draco said with a smile, lifting his son into his arms. Will grinned cheekily at him. That wasn't quite true, though at close to three years old, Will was no longer a baby, but a sturdy, tiny person. His hair was fair like Draco's—not quite the white blond shade Draco and his father had, but still very light—and his eyes were grey, just like Draco's. He was currently wearing his Falmouth Falcons sweatshirt, which Diana had given him for his birthday, and which he wore quite often.
After spending a few minutes engaging in small talk—very small talk—with his son, Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Draco looked around; he had almost forgotten she was there. "Ginny is upstairs," she said, rather pointedly, Draco thought.
"Right." Draco placed Will back down and said, "Stay here, Will, I've got to go talk with your mum." He carefully avoided Mrs. Weasley's gaze, but he could feel her eyes on him as he crossed the room and went upstairs.
It took him a moment to remember that Ginny's room was on the third landing. Pushing the door open, however, he found that Ginny wasn't there. Frowning, he glanced around. He noticed, then, that the bathroom door, across the hall, was not quite shut, and there appeared to be a light on. Tentatively, he knocked on the door. "Weasley?" he said, slowly pushing the door open.
The small bathroom was warm and muggy, as though someone had just taken a long, hot shower. Draco blinked for a moment before he saw her. She had a towel wrapped around herself, and another wrapped around her head, drying out her hair.
She looked up in alarm when he looked in, but alarm quickly turned to annoyed shock when she realized it was him. "Malfoy! What are you doing?" she hissed. He wasn't quite sure why she seemed so embarrassed; he had seen her nearly naked plenty of times, but then she yanked the towel off her head in one, quick motion, and realized that was why. He stifled a laugh.
"Looking for you," he said, answering her question. "You look better."
"Well, I am, the fever's gone, though my throat is still a little—" She broke off suddenly, her expression settled into a glare, and as she stepped up to him, she fixed it on him squarely. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone suddenly cold.
Draco decided to try for the clueless approach. "I came to see you," he said innocently.
"You mean, you came to see Will," she said pointedly. Placing a hand on his chest, she pushed him aside and stepped out into the corridor. He followed behind her closely, though she hurried across the hall, likely afraid her mother might see her with Draco, clad only in a towel.
She tried to shut her bedroom door in his face, but he easily pushed it open and stepped in behind her. She tossed him an annoyed look, but continued to ignore him, turning to her closet.
Draco sighed. "Weasley."
"I've nothing to say to you, Malfoy."
"Good, because I have something to say to you."
Ginny turned to look at him, eyebrow raised. "What?"
"I'm…" Draco swallowed. "…sorry."
Ginny stared at him for a moment. Then she snorted. "Really," she said flatly.
"Look, I didn't know, all right!" Draco scrubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I didn't know you weren't feeling well, and then I got home and Will was missing, and, well, I panicked! So I didn't really…notice…that you—"
"—looked like I was on death's doorstep?" Ginny said nastily.
"You may have felt that way, Weasley, but you didn't really look that bad," Draco said hopefully. Ginny shot him a knowing look that said No way am I falling for that kind of flattery.
"And, I was joking, you know, about not wanting Will to stay with the twins—"
"Oh, you were joking," Ginny muttered.
"—mostly, anyway, I really did talk to Foster about the Floo on Tuesday, so it should've been fixed, and if it wasn't it's not my fault, he said he would look into it, and I could have gone to pick up Will, I wasn't busy, I was just stressed out and—"
"Stressed out about what?" Ginny interrupted.
"Erm—you know. Work," he said, thinking of Blaise, over at the manor. He opened his mouth to continue his explanation, then realized he really had nothing else to say. He had managed much better apologies in the past, but then, he hadn't really given much thought to this before he'd come over.
But he was in luck, because, just then, Ginny sighed, sitting back on her tiny bed, still wrapped in the towel, holding a baggy t-shirt in her hand. "Look, I didn't leave because I was mad at you, Malfoy. Really, I didn't." She shot him a look that was almost guilty, and Draco knew why; an old, forgotten pain pricked at his chest as he thought of it. Ginny had left him once, left him because she was more angry at him than he could ever have possibly imagined, and it had been one of the worst days of Draco's life.
"I just felt so awful," she continued. "And I just didn't want to have to worry about anything, I just wanted to feel better. I know it sounds stupid, but I just wanted to come here so someone could take care of me—"
"But you shouldn't have to come here for that," Draco said quietly. "I can take care of you."
For a moment, Ginny met his gaze. There was something odd in her eyes, a look that was almost…anguished, hurting, yet also wistful—hopeful even. Her face was so raw, so open, and Draco realized, with a start, that he rarely saw that from Ginny…at least, lately, it had become rare.
As if, lately, she didn't want him to see what she was feeling.
A moment later, the look was gone, and her expression wiped blank again. It was odd, that shuttered look coming over her; it was familiar to Draco because he used it so often, but to see it on her was jarring. "Really, it's that stupid flat," she grumbled. "I was so fed up with the Floo—which I know isn't your fault," she added when he opened his mouth to protest a second time. "But it's so drafty, too, which wasn't helping any, and we have to be bloody careful about doing a proper Warming Charm, or the bloody Ministry will send us another bloody warning—"
"Only if the landlord's over," Draco said, and then stopped, wondering why on earth he was defending the stupid Muggle flat.
"It's just…" Ginny sighed, running a hand through her wet hair. "I didn't grow up with much, you know. I don't needmuch. But…it's not as easy living in a Muggle place as I thought it would be." She shrugged halfheartedly. "But, well. We'll manage, I guess. It won't seem so bad once it's warmer out, I'm sure."
Draco nodded, not sure what to say.
Ginny looked up then. "Anyway, get out, Malfoy, so I can get dressed."
"I'm not stopping you," Draco said innocently.
She hurled one of her pillows at him, but she was smiling. "Get out."
Draco shut the door behind him and made his way downstairs. He couldn't keep a smile off his own face; after two days of being miserable and alone, everything felt lighter, brighter. Then he came and spotted Ginny's father sitting at the table, and the smile vanished from his face in an instant.
Arthur Weasley was not smiling, either. "Hello, Draco," he said flatly.
Draco choked out a "hello," desperately thinking of something else constructive to say. He was saved, however, by Molly Weasley, who had been tending to something on the stove and turned around when Draco came down. "Oh, there you are, Draco. I suppose you'll be taking Will with you?"
Draco nodded silently.
"Come help get his stuff together, then," she said, sweeping past him, out of the kitchen, and into the living room. Draco felt a rush of gratitude towards her as he followed her, leaving Mr. Weasley behind in the kitchen. Apparently, saving him from Ginny's father had not been Mrs. Weasley's objective, however.
"I wanted to talk to you," Mrs. Weasley said without preamble, once they were in the living room, "about your townhouse. The one that's been kept from you."
Draco blinked, wondering if he'd heard her correctly. She wasn't looking at him, but instead was picking up Will's toys from the floor. After a moment's pause, Draco slowly bent down to pick up a few himself, and said, "What about it?"
"I was wondering whether you had done anything recently to see about getting around those stipulations put on it," she said, still busying herself with the toys.
"Well…" Draco straightened and shrugged. "I've talked to my attorney about it a few times, but he doesn't seem to think there's any way around the…stipulations." Draco cleared his throat, his voice going a bit hoarse on the word stipulations. Which was only understandable, Draco thought, since in this conversation, stipulations was essentially a code word for marriage. The townhouse that had been left to Draco could legally be his only if he met certain standards, one of which required him to be married. He met all the other criteria. "Not unless my father were to come back and change them, which, well—"
"—isn't going to happen," Mrs. Weasley said briskly. There was no criticism in her voice, only a matter-of-fact tone.
Draco nodded, though she couldn't see him, as she was currently stacking up Will's books on the sofa, her back to him.
"Well," she said, putting the stack of books onto the small table at the end of the sofa. She turned to face him, then, looking him right in the eye. "Ginny, you know, is a very resilient girl. She can handle herself quite well in a difficult situation. But she's become quite frustrated about your flat, and as that isn't like her, I can only assume that things are quite difficult there."
"I suppose," Draco said uncomfortably. "I'm—well, I'm at work a lot, so I suppose she has to deal with more than I do."
"And she says it's quite drafty in the winter," Mrs. Weasley continued. "Which is probably why she came down ill; as I told you before, she never gets sick. And that can't be good for the baby either."
"Right." Draco kept his expression clean, but privately, he was getting a bit annoyed. Where was she going with all of this? What was he supposed to do about the bloody flat? Ginny was the one who'd wanted to live there, why was she acting as though it were his—
"Well, perhaps, then, you should consider meeting that last stipulation," she said, interrupting this thoughts. "For the townhouse."
Draco stared at her. Meeting the last stipulation…. Did she mean what he thought she meant? There was no telling by her expression; she merely looked at him a second longer and then turned to pile Will's books into his bag. Draco, meanwhile, simply stood there, struck dumb. She couldn't actually mean…she wouldn't actually want…
Explains why she didn't want her husband to overhear this, he thought a bit hysterically.
Draco cleared his throat. "Erm—Mrs. Weasley…can I ask you something?"
Ginny would never have told Malfoy that she was secretly relieved to be back at the flat with him, but she couldn't hide that truth from herself. She was very grateful to her mother for taking care of her, but she knew, before long, that all that mothering would begin to drive her stir-crazy. And besides, the flat was her home.
Well, it wasn't so much the flat that was her home. It was Will…and Draco…that was her home. Even the flat, with its defective Floo connection and drafty walls, didn't seem so bad so long as she had them. In fact, she couldn't help but feel that perhaps she'd overreacted a bit over the flat.
Or maybe she was just trying to convince herself of that.
Well, at least the Floo was back on again, as Ginny evidenced when Pansy Floo'd her, one early evening before Malfoy had gotten home. Pansy had been on holiday until just a couple of days ago, and Ginny hadn't talked to her since before she left. Malfoy, apparently, had.
"Listen, I've got to run, so I can't chat," Pansy said carelessly, her head, framed by her dark, blunt bob of hair, floating in the fireplace. "Draco's not home yet, though, is he?"
"No," Ginny said, tossing a glance over her shoulder to keep an eye on Will, who was tottering towards her.
"Oh, well, you'll just have to tell him for me then—I can't make our dinner tomorrow, I've got to go to my mum's—she's having some kind of dinner party." Pansy made a face, displaying just how much she was not looking forward to this. "He can come with me to that, if he wants, but I doubt he'll want to, the prat."
"Wait a minute—" Ginny bent down to lift Will into her arms; he hadn't napped today, and was beginning to get a bit fussy "—what dinner? Malfoy never said—"
"He asked me to go to dinner with him tomorrow," Pansy said, "at that new French restauraunt in London, the one near Picadilly—"
Ginny frowned. "He asked you out on a date?"
"Well, not a date-date, I'm sure, no need to get jealous, Weasley—"
"I'm not jealous," Ginny said, fully aware that her cross tone indicated otherwise. She wasn't jealous, not really, it was just a bit strange, but then, maybe Malfoy just wanted to catch up with Pansy and hear how her holiday had gone. "It's just—I meant—isn't that restaurant a very nice restaurant?"
"Yes, and pricey, so he was probably planning to make me pay." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I've really got to run—just tell him for me, won't you?" And before Ginny could respond, she disappeared, and the flames went quiet.
Ginny stared, for a moment, at the place where her head had been, unsure why she felt so…irked. Then Will gave a whining cry, bringing her back into the present, and she took him into the kitchen to see about making him some dinner.
Malfoy was home quite late; Ginny had already just put Will down for the night when he got in. He seemed oddly distracted, barely saying a word to Ginny, even as she asked him how work had been and told him that Will had missed his nap, and so gone to bed already. It wasn't until she mentioned Pansy that he finally seemed to snap out of it.
"Pansy said what?" he demanded, tossing his cloak onto the sofa, loosening his tie.
"That she couldn't make your date tomorrow," Ginny said. She folded her arms and tried very hard to refrain from tapping her foot in irritation. She didn't know what it was, but it was as though Will's sullen mood had affected her, too.
The fact that Malfoy visibly flinched at the word date, and then even looked guilty, Ginny thought, made it worse. However, he cleared his throat and affixed his usual scowl to his face. "It wasn't a date, Weasley, and if she said it was—"
"Well, no, she didn't, exactly—"
"Then what is your problem?"
"I don't have a problem," Ginny snapped.
"Well, good, then."
"Good."
At which point, Draco exited the room, leaving Ginny feeling even more annoyed, and, not to mention, fairly stupid.
The next morning, Will had a physical exam check-up scheduled at St. Mungo's, which Ginny took him in for. The check-up finished earlier that Ginny had anticipated, and as they were supposed to be meeting Diana for lunch a bit later, they were left with some free time, and nothing to do.
Which gave Ginny an idea.
"Excuse me," Ginny said, speaking to the witch at the reception desk on the ground floor. "I'm—I'm looking for a…patient. I know she's in Spell Damage, but I'm not sure—exactly where—"
"The patient's name?" the witch asked, looking bored.
Ginny hesitated. "Narcissa Malfoy."
The welcome witch did a double take, looking from Ginny to Will, who was on his feet, holding Ginny's hand. It was only for a second, however, and then she said, without needing to consult any records, "Yes, Spell Damage, fourth floor. Janus Thickey Ward."
"Thank you," Ginny said quietly. She hoisted Will into her arms and set off, wondering if the welcome witch was watching her go.
It took a bit of time climbing the stairs to the fourth floor with Will. The Janus Thickey Ward was at the end of the corridor, but as it was locked, Ginny first had to go through the large double doors at the front and find a Healer to escort her in. As the Healer unlocked the door to the ward and let her in, Ginny remembered, with a start, that she had been here before, in her fourth year. They'd found Professor Lockhart here, and seen Neville visiting his parents. The memory unsettled Ginny, and she found herself entering the ward with some trepidation.
As it happened, Malfoy's mother was located down at the end of the ward, just opposite the Longbottoms. As the Healer pulled curtains around to give them some privacy, Ginny slowly seated herself in a chair beside the bed, and looked at Narcissa Malfoy.
Her pale face looked even paler than Ginny remembered, though she had only ever seen the woman once, at the Quidditch World Cup, and she barely remembered her. Never even in her post as an Auror had she had any dealings with Narcissa Malfoy. Ginny only remembered her as somewhat of a haughty woman, though now, of course, she didn't look that way at all. She looked as though she were only sleeping, her blond hair framing her face. There were dark circles underneath her eyes, and she looked quite thin.
As the Healer finished arranging the curtains around them, Ginny said, in a near-whisper, "Can she hear us?"
"We're not sure," the Healer said. "But it can't hurt to talk to her."
Ginny swallowed. "Will—will she ever get better?"
The Healer spared her a sad smile. "It doesn't seem likely," she said, "though of course, we're still looking for a way to help her."
She left then, leaving Will and Ginny quite alone with Narcissa Malfoy. Will was unusually quiet, standing beside Ginny's chair; he only looked at Narcissa solemnly.
Ginny cleared her throat and looked at him. "This is your grandmother, Will. Can you say hello?"
Will looked at her uncertainly—perhaps wondering why they should say hello to a woman who was asleep—but then looked back at Narcissa and said, quite clearly, "Hello."
They did not stay long. Ginny thought perhaps she should talk to Narcissa, because who knew, maybe it would help, but truthfully she was too unnerved and could think of nothing to say. It was ridiculous, because the woman was comatose and therefore, Ginny could say whatever she liked without fear of a reaction—yet even still, this was Malfoy's mother. Ginny felt unspeakably sorry for her, but had she been awake and well, they would never have gotten along. They sat there in silence for a brief time, before the memories of Draco weeping over his mother were too much for Ginny to bear, and they left.
Ginny wisked Will out of the ward rather hastily, and as they stepped out into the corridor, they nearly ran headlong into someone.
"Oh, goodness me, do be careful, there."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Ginny trailed off, eyeing the woman who stood before her. She was quite sure she had never seen this woman before, yet there was something…familiar…in her face. Her eyes were a piercing, stormy blue, and were latched onto Ginny with a severe gaze. She was a tall, formidable-looking woman, dressed in fine robes beneath an expensive-looking coat with gold buttons. Her hair was completely white, and pulled back in a sleek knot on the top of her head.
"Ah," she said. Her voice was perfectly poised, and, looking Ginny up and down, she held herself with a somewhat satisfied air. "You must be Ginny Weasley." Her gaze snapped towards Will, whom Ginny was holding, for the briefest of seconds, and then back to Ginny.
Ginny frowned. "I'm sorry, do—I don't—"
"Oh, we don't know each other, dear." The woman gave a tinkling laugh that was somehow cold. "So no need to worry that you've forgotten your manners. But I believe you knew my daughter—Carina?"
Ginny thought her heart had stopped. "Carina?"
"Lillian Moon." The woman held out a hand, covered in a fur-lined glove. "Delighted to make your acquaintance."
Despite her words, she did not sound at all delighted; there was a sharp edge to her voice. A smile lingered at the corner of her mouth, but it was a calculating smile, and her eyes glittered shrewdly. Rather than shaking her hand, Ginny stared at the woman, frozen, fighting back alarm.
She certainly had never met Carina's mother before, but Draco had mentioned her once. She recalled his words now with complete clarity: She makes my mother look like a ray of sunshine. My father too, for that matter, he had said. She's not a Death Eater…but she's as good as. Her sympathies have always lain in that direction, anyway. So she can't be trusted with Will.
He had said it. She can't be trusted with Will.
Ginny fought the urge to take a step back. Lillian Moon had barely spared Will a glance, her eyes fixed on Ginny's face, but recognizing Ginny, having any interest in her at all, made Ginny sure that she knew very well who she held in her arms.
When Ginny failed to shake her hand, Lillian dropped her own and said, in a dry voice, "Well, I suppose I should have known better than to expect manners from a Weasley."
"I'm sorry." Ginny forced herself to remain calm, composed. "You took me by surprise, is all."
"Did I?" And now, Lillian's eyes moved and settled on Will. "Well. I suppose this, then, must be my grandson."
Will eyed the woman curiously as Ginny swallowed. "Haven't you—I mean, you've never—"
"I've never met him, Miss Weasley, as I'm sure you know," Lillian said coolly. "I told Draco, in no uncertain terms, that I had absolutely no interest in his son, and he seemed quite relieved, to tell you the truth. I've no doubt he's shared that with you." Her mouth twisted a bit when she said this last part, as though the idea of Draco and Ginny sharing anything disgusted her.
"May I ask why?" Ginny asked, matching the woman's even tone. "Why you have no interest in him, I mean?"
"Not that it's any of your business—"
"Actually, it is," Ginny said, unable to hold back.
Lillian Moon raised an eyebrow. "Really? And how is that? Are you related to the boy in any way? Have you adopted him?"
"No," Ginny said.
"Well, perhaps you ought to before you claim him to be any of your business." Lillian sniffed and adjusted her designer-label handbag, hung casually from the crook of her elbow.
Ginny stared at her for a moment, biting back a number of hot replies. She didn't open her mouth until she trusted herself to say something civil. "Perhaps I will," she said, striving for a light tone.
"Though I do wonder," Lillian said, "what my poor daughter would have said to a blood traitor raising her child."
"Carina was my friend," Ginny snapped.
"I find that hard to believe," Lillian said, a touch of scorn in her voice. "She never mentioned you to me."
"Well, no, I don't imagine she would've mentioned me—or any friends she might've had like me—to you," Ginny said, regaining some of her composure. "Given your views on Muggleborns."
Lillian laughed that cold, tinkling little laugh again. "I'm no Death Eater, dear."
"You don't need to be," Ginny retorted, "to be a bigot."
Any trace of a smile vanished from Lillian Moon's face, and her blue eyes went as hard as diamonds. "Funny that someone like you should take such an attitude," she said coldly. "Someone, that is, who's shacked up with Draco Malfoy."
Ginny shifted Will in her arms instinctively, as though to keep Will from hearing any bad remarks about his father. "He's changed," she said shortly.
"Has he?" Lillian's tone was quite dismissive, as though she didn't think very much of this. "I can hardly credit
that. Perhaps you, Miss Weasley, are the one who's changed. Compromised your views on Muggleborns, your…self-righteous…attitude."
"You don't know me," Ginny snapped.
"Oh, I don't need to, dear." Lillian's eyes left Ginny's face, traveling, once again, to Will. "I know of you. That tells me more than enough."
For a moment, she continued to study Will, her face utterly expressionless. Ginny opened her mouth to make a retort, but before she could, Lillian said abruptly, "I've no interest in this boy, Miss Weasley, because he's the bastard son of a Malfoy, and the Malfoys are far from the respectable family they once were." Her words rang with contempt. "And were my daughter alive, my opinion would be no different." With these words, she turned on her heel and marched down the corridor, disappearing at a stately pace down the stairs.
Ginny stared after her, dread pooling in her gut. She let out a long breath, trying to calm herself, her anger, her nerves. Will put a hand on Ginny's cheek, as if to reassure her, and she forced a smile on her face, looking at him. The smile disappeared, however, when she realized that Lillian Moon had not entered the ward as she had seemed to be intending to, when she'd first run into Ginny. Which begged the question—what had she been doing there in the first place?
Draco slogged through the fresh snow covering the road leading out from the high street, cursing under his breath. Snow. Snow. It was now March, and it had snowed. Bloody Manchester.
Since Pansy had been unable to make their dinner date a few days before, he'd quickly rescheduled and met up with her at a small restaurant they often frequented in town, not far from Draco's flat. Normally he wouldn't have bothered, but as Draco was quite impatient to talk to Pansy about…some things…he'd rescheduled as soon as she was available.
She hadn't said anything he hadn't expected, he supposed, and had even given him some good advice, yet he found himself in a grumpy mood. The snow, and the fact that he had to walk through it, didn't help. He couldn't Apparate into the flat or, really, anywhere very near it, as there were so many Muggles around, and he was only a few blocks away, so there was no point anyway. But it still irked him.
He turned down a narrow side street, leaving the bustling high street behind. A couple passed by him, heading for the high street, and a gang of teenagers were walking by on the other side of the road, but otherwise, it was quiet and still. Draco walked down a ways before turning into a deserted alleyway. It was a shortcut he knew, and usually empty, as it was now, which suited Draco just fine. No Muggles around.
He walked for some time down the alley. The only light came from a dim lampost, which Draco had left behind him several paces. Darkness stretched out in front of him, sliced here and there by slivers of moonlight. Draco was so lost in thought that he barely noticed, and anyway, he'd traveled this way many times before. It may have been dark out, but it was not very late.
But then, something made him stop. He wasn't really sure why, only that the back of his neck was prickling, as if in warning. He stood still for a moment, listening, then turned and looked around him. Nothing. He couldn't hear a thing, and there was no one there.
Shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably, he turned back and kept walking. But he'd only taken a few steps when, from around the corner up ahead, something came rushing at him in the darkness.
Draco stifled a yelp and instinctively jumped back, but the…thing…coming at him was nothing more than something silvery and almost vaporous, riding through the air on some invisible wind. Then the silvery thing stopped right before him, and Draco realized it hadn't been traveling on the wind at all, but on its own.
It was a Patronus. A Patronus in the shape of an otter.
Draco stared at it for a moment and then, quite distinctly, it spoke.
"Do not go home. Death Eaters at your flat."
Chapter End Notes:
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