Chapter 7
Leaning against the glass window in his office, Draco watched Ginny’s progress towards Diagon Alley, her slinky green dress in no way impeding her forthright stride. She had always walked like that, he remembered – purposefully, confidently, and with absolutely no nonsense – there was none of the smooth, gliding grace seen in the girls of Slytherin and his own class to be found in Ginny Weasley. It had attracted him as much as it had irritated him. She was so different from every other woman he had ever known, and so he did not understand her, as he would have understood a less honest, more ambitious one. Perhaps that was why it had all gone wrong – misunderstandings from beginning to end, because they were both so very different…
The only things they had shared had been their pure blood, their hatred of Voldemort, and a mutual desire that neither of them had known how to handle. It had not been a good basis for a relationship.
Behind him, there was a discreet, slightly embarrassed cough; without turning he knew he would find Higgins there, respectful and yet slightly apologetic. Good old Higgins, constantly faithful and utterly reliable, and always so impassively, damnably discreet…
“What the devil do you want?” he snapped, irrationally irritated by the older man’s loyalty.
Higgins had been in his employ for too long to take offence. “If you will excuse me, sir, I wanted to know if there was to be any…er…trouble...”
Draco vented a short, bitter laugh. “Trouble?” He looked out of the window again, but the tall figure in the green dress had already disappeared into the crowd. “Of course there’s going to be trouble, Higgins. And most of it is going to come from her.”
Again, the discreet, disclaiming cough. “From Miss Weasley, sir? She is going to investigate us herself?”
“Oh no, we are going to cooperate in our own investigation.” Draco raised a brow. “For our own good, you understand…” He turned to face the other man’s impassive countenance, perhaps hoping to surprise a reaction, but Higgins only bowed, and murmured, “Of course, sir…”
Draco’s lips quirked into a twisted, rueful smile. “Of course you do. Talk to Kelly and Burke – between you three you’ll know what needs to be done. I don’t want Carlisle to see or suspect anything other than what we choose to show.”
Higgins bowed again, and headed out through the door. Just before he closed it and left, Draco stopped him. “Why did you stay with me, Higgins? After my father’s…death?”
The big man paused and turned to look back. His face was battered and lined with the marks of hard, dangerous living, but his eyes were warm, although a little embarrassed at such a direct, emotional question. “To look after you, sir. Because, although you look after everyone you consider yours, no one looks after you…”
**************************************
The next morning, as he made his way through the corridors of the Auror Headquarters, Neville was conscious of the bright, irrepressible smile he could not keep off his face, and of the extra spring in his step – and of the dark looks his good humour was garnering from his colleagues.
He couldn’t help it. Last night had been…
“Snap yourself out of it, Longbottom,” Moody growled fiercely, rudely interrupting fond memories of…Melissa? Larissa? “If you could possibly focus your mind on business, we might be able to begin.”
Coming back to mundane, humdrum reality where he was once again plain, uninteresting Neville Longbottom, he sighed a little wistfully. But then, with hard earned practicality, he turned his attention to the morning’s meeting, and his own report.
“…Rather than sending in an operative already known to the subject, Weasley and I decided it would be better if I were to be the inside man, and Weasley would pretend to cooperate openly, so as to distract attention from me. I had some small experience at making and drawing drinks – my grandmother – you remember her, sir? – used to run a bed-and-breakfast in the countryside, with a small bar…”
Jaryd Carlisle, with his smooth, sleek manner – he could be disconcertingly like Malfoy, on occasion – looked over at him and raised a brow. “Indeed, Mr. Longbottom, I didn’t know that… Am I to assume that you, and not Miss Weasley, have gone in undercover as a bartender?”
Ginny nodded. “We’re using a long-lasting, greater strength version of Polyjuice – it lasts for up to six hours – and we’ve borrowed Harry Fane’s identity, now that he’s come off that Spanish job.”
Moody nodded thoughtfully, thinking it over. Harry Fane – tall, dark, with vivid, perfect features and melting dark eyes – was often employed in the Mediterranean countries where the colouring and charm he had inherited from his mother could be of the most use. Recently, he had been involved in a nasty, prolonged mess in Spain, and after its successful conclusion he had applied for a long, uninterrupted holiday.
Due to Shadowlands’ stringent policy when it came to floor staff – good-looking witches and wizards only – Neville had been driven to ask Fane a rather unorthodox favour. After he and Ginny had explained the situation, the extraordinarily good-looking man had been all too willing to lend his physical appearance to Neville, thinking it a very good joke. A few faked references later, a few strings pulled to cover all the bases, an interview with Malfoy’s minder Higgins, and Neville had found himself a position as a bartender in the most popular club in wizarding London.
“Do they accept you?” Ron asked. “Has anyone taken an…interest in you?”
Neville avoided Ginny’s eye. Coughing deprecatingly, he looked down to the file of papers in front of him, fiddling with them, aligning them precisely in a neat, organised pile. When he felt he could control himself, he said, “No, no one’s paid me any untoward attention yet, Weasley, but I’ve only been there one night. Malfoy’s security is extremely tight. It’s only natural that newcomers – especially in situations like this – are scrutinised very closely.”
“So tell us what you did learn.” Carlisle brought the meeting back on point. “First impressions, for now; we’ll get into the details later, when you’ve been there longer.”
“First impressions…” Neville tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Shadowlands is a very, very slick operation – everything smooth, practiced, from the very smallest things to the main shadow spells that maintain the Illusions. Malfoy sets the spells, but once they’re set they’re self-sustaining, constantly powered by the emotional output of all the patrons, which is, of course, originally inspired by the Illusions…”
“A constant feedback loop,” Tonks said, almost admiringly. “There aren’t many wizards who can do that.”
Moody grunted. “Skill or no, it’s bloody parasitic. But we all know how the magic works – we’ve gone over that again and again. Tell me about the security – you said it was tight?”
Neville nodded. “That’s right. Patrick Kelly’s in charge –“
“Kelly,” Moody interrupted, rapping the question out. “The Irishman. What do you know about him?”
Carlisle laughed, soundlessly bitter. “What does everybody know about him? He’s frigging IRA –“
“No,” Neville said sharply. “No he’s not. Not anymore.” Ron shot him a curious look, and Neville cursed his vehement response. “That is, regardless of his past, there are no indications that he answers to anyone but Malfoy now.”
“Yes,” Carlisle said, still extremely sardonic. “And that’s what we’re all very interested in – exactly why Patrick Kelly – a cold-blooded, amoral killer if ever I saw one – would choose to throw in his lot with Draco Malfoy, and why Malfoy accepted him.”
Ron blinked. “You think Malfoy’s planning something? Something dangerous?”
“My dear Mr. Weasley,” Carlisle answered blightingly, “I don’t know what is going on. I believed Mr. Longbottom would find out for me, instead of returning with a farrago of groundless emotional responses.”
Ginny intervened before the meeting could deteriorate any further. “Perhaps, Neville, you could tell us about the security.”
Neville threw her a grateful glance, reached into his pile of papers and drew out a roughly sketched floor plan of the club. “From what I’ve been able to see – and I haven’t been allowed to see much – security seems to consist of a mixture of human guards, magical wards and muggle electronics. Because we’re dealing with Malfoy, I’d assume that it’s very, very thorough, but the strange thing is that the back rooms are not, as we’d all assumed, the most heavily guarded…”
************************************************
Carlisle caught up with Ginny as she went back to her office. “Weasley,” he said coldly, his face rigid, “what the hell did you think you were doing?” When he was truly enraged he flushed – a delicate pallor staining his normally white skin – and his smooth, languid manner became extremely stiff, as if he needed to keep a stranglehold on his temper. In this, he was quite different to Malfoy, who always paled with fury, iced over, and tended to become even more feline than ever. Ginny, who had been exposed more than once to the full force of Malfoy’s arctic displeasure, was not seriously troubled by Carlisle’s poorly controlled ire.
In fact, it put her back up.
“I was thinking of the operation, Mr. Carlisle,” she said quietly, trying to rein in her own temper. “I knew that Malfoy would recognise me, no matter what disguise I wore.”
“You thought?” he asked, his raised voice rather more intense than she thought the situation warranted. Why was he so upset? “You thought! It is not your place to think…”
Her nostrils flared. “You seem to have more concern for your plan than you do for the investigation.” Something flickered in his eyes. Her instincts pricking, she followed up on her observations. “Why? Why are you so intent on catching Malfoy, when there must be so many other, more immediate threats out there? And why are you so concerned about Patrick Kelly, and why he chose to serve Malfoy? What is all this really about, Carlisle?”
Of course, she knew that she would get no answer. He was an Unspeakable, and he didn’t need to explain himself to a mere Auror. Although, if she were stubborn enough, and willing to risk the trouble that might come down on her head from it, she could go through formal channels with her queries and doubts, but that was not at all advisable…
He refused to answer her, but inclined his head with frigid courtesy and walked off swiftly. But Ginny didn’t make the mistake of thinking she had won the encounter, and she was determined that she would not underestimate him because of this one lapse. Ever since she had first come into real contact with Slytherins, when she’d been (sixteen? seventeen?) she’d equated strength, power and intelligence with self-control, but that was only one mode of behaviour; it would not do to think Carlisle less than deadly because he raised his voice, or did not act as she thought he ought.
“ –nny? Ginny!” She jumped, and was bought back to herself by the sound of Tonks’ voice, coming from just behind her. The older woman grinned as she finally gained her attention, and then jerked her head towards Carlisle’s rapidly disappearing figure. “What’s going on there?”
Ginny scowled, and dug her hands into her pockets. “He’s upset that I took it upon myself to change the plan without informing him.”
Tonks looked indignant – more so than the usual indignation of Aurors who had been trampled over by Unspeakables. “Why on Earth not? You couldn’t have told him in time. I thought that you did the only thing you could, in the circumstances.”
Ginny gave a small, rueful laugh. “Thanks a lot, Tonks. However, it’s not your opinions that matter… In fact,” she said thoughtfully, “I rather thought that he seemed more upset than the situation warranted…” she trailed off quietly, chewing her lip. Tonks gave her a puzzled look, but she would say nothing more.
Tonks knew how to take a hint. Determined to take Ginny’s mind off her troubles, she laughed and said, “Oh, enough of Carlisle. Let’s talk about my cousin Malfoy. You know, I always hated him when he was young…” She ignored Ginny’s glare, returning it with a laughing, mischievous smile. “How did it go last night? What was his reaction to seeing you after all this time? Tell me all.”
Girl talk with Tonks? Well, she didn’t want to talk about Carlisle anymore, true enough, but she wasn’t sure that she wanted to talk about Malfoy either. She hadn’t talked about him for ten years, ever since the disastrous break-up; and before then there had been far too many other things to do than to whisper scandalous secrets to her girlfriends. Most of them hadn’t approved of him anyway.
But…
She laughed, looked left, then right, and pulled Tonks into her empty office and shut the door. “You know the dress I was wearing?” Her smile turned distinctly wicked as Tonks nodded, grinning. “Well, he nearly swallowed his tongue when I sat down and crossed my legs…”
*********************************************
“Well, Mr. Higgins?” Kelly asked, idly tapping his fingers on the bar. “You’ve been very discreet all night – how are we to react to the Weasley woman’s…unconventional…proposal?”
Jim Burke, a short, stocky, cheerful man, was not smiling now as he watched the two very different men fence lightly. When Burke and Kelly had first decided to throw in their lot with Draco Malfoy, there had been some definite tension as Higgins and Kelly had circled each other warily, establishing or reinforcing their relative positions. Since then, they had learned to work together quite effectively, but some rivalry still remained – most of which was expressed in the form of verbal sparring and the occasional dark look.
But Higgins’ reaction to Kelly’s latest idle remark seemed, to Burke, to be quite disproportionate. He stiffened, his fists clenched dangerously, and he spoke with such quiet fury that Burke gave silent thanks that the man was a squib. “Do not refer to her like that.”
Kelly raised a brow.
“Miss Weasley is a proper lady,” Higgins said loftily, having regained some of his composure. “The fact that she is currently investigating us is irrelevant; you will treat her with respect and courtesy at all times.”
This time Kelly’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but the idle tap, tap, tapping never ceased, and he evinced nothing but polite interest. “Why? Because she was once Malfoy’s?”
“Because she still is his,” Higgins corrected, “although neither of them know it. And because he would tear you apart if you even think of harming her.”
Kelly looked briefly amused at the thought of Draco Malfoy – ex-Auror, son of a dangerous Death Eater – tearing him apart, but said nothing, apparently acknowledging the spirit, if not the letter of the point. There was more than one shade of meaning to the possession implied by “Malfoy’s” – and he was very aware of it, having accepted the shelter of just such a possession himself…
But he hadn’t thought rough, crusty Higgins a closet romantic.
Having made that one point very clear, Higgins went on to lay out the instructions he had received the night before, and to take suggestions on their efficient implementation. Cooperation – to a point. Total disclosure of all relevant information – again, to a point.
And no matter what the circumstances, no harm – absolutely no harm – was to come to Miss Weasley…
*******************************************
Leaning against the glass window in his office, Draco watched Ginny’s progress towards Diagon Alley, her slinky green dress in no way impeding her forthright stride. She had always walked like that, he remembered – purposefully, confidently, and with absolutely no nonsense – there was none of the smooth, gliding grace seen in the girls of Slytherin and his own class to be found in Ginny Weasley. It had attracted him as much as it had irritated him. She was so different from every other woman he had ever known, and so he did not understand her, as he would have understood a less honest, more ambitious one. Perhaps that was why it had all gone wrong – misunderstandings from beginning to end, because they were both so very different…
The only things they had shared had been their pure blood, their hatred of Voldemort, and a mutual desire that neither of them had known how to handle. It had not been a good basis for a relationship.
Behind him, there was a discreet, slightly embarrassed cough; without turning he knew he would find Higgins there, respectful and yet slightly apologetic. Good old Higgins, constantly faithful and utterly reliable, and always so impassively, damnably discreet…
“What the devil do you want?” he snapped, irrationally irritated by the older man’s loyalty.
Higgins had been in his employ for too long to take offence. “If you will excuse me, sir, I wanted to know if there was to be any…er…trouble...”
Draco vented a short, bitter laugh. “Trouble?” He looked out of the window again, but the tall figure in the green dress had already disappeared into the crowd. “Of course there’s going to be trouble, Higgins. And most of it is going to come from her.”
Again, the discreet, disclaiming cough. “From Miss Weasley, sir? She is going to investigate us herself?”
“Oh no, we are going to cooperate in our own investigation.” Draco raised a brow. “For our own good, you understand…” He turned to face the other man’s impassive countenance, perhaps hoping to surprise a reaction, but Higgins only bowed, and murmured, “Of course, sir…”
Draco’s lips quirked into a twisted, rueful smile. “Of course you do. Talk to Kelly and Burke – between you three you’ll know what needs to be done. I don’t want Carlisle to see or suspect anything other than what we choose to show.”
Higgins bowed again, and headed out through the door. Just before he closed it and left, Draco stopped him. “Why did you stay with me, Higgins? After my father’s…death?”
The big man paused and turned to look back. His face was battered and lined with the marks of hard, dangerous living, but his eyes were warm, although a little embarrassed at such a direct, emotional question. “To look after you, sir. Because, although you look after everyone you consider yours, no one looks after you…”
**************************************
The next morning, as he made his way through the corridors of the Auror Headquarters, Neville was conscious of the bright, irrepressible smile he could not keep off his face, and of the extra spring in his step – and of the dark looks his good humour was garnering from his colleagues.
He couldn’t help it. Last night had been…
“Snap yourself out of it, Longbottom,” Moody growled fiercely, rudely interrupting fond memories of…Melissa? Larissa? “If you could possibly focus your mind on business, we might be able to begin.”
Coming back to mundane, humdrum reality where he was once again plain, uninteresting Neville Longbottom, he sighed a little wistfully. But then, with hard earned practicality, he turned his attention to the morning’s meeting, and his own report.
“…Rather than sending in an operative already known to the subject, Weasley and I decided it would be better if I were to be the inside man, and Weasley would pretend to cooperate openly, so as to distract attention from me. I had some small experience at making and drawing drinks – my grandmother – you remember her, sir? – used to run a bed-and-breakfast in the countryside, with a small bar…”
Jaryd Carlisle, with his smooth, sleek manner – he could be disconcertingly like Malfoy, on occasion – looked over at him and raised a brow. “Indeed, Mr. Longbottom, I didn’t know that… Am I to assume that you, and not Miss Weasley, have gone in undercover as a bartender?”
Ginny nodded. “We’re using a long-lasting, greater strength version of Polyjuice – it lasts for up to six hours – and we’ve borrowed Harry Fane’s identity, now that he’s come off that Spanish job.”
Moody nodded thoughtfully, thinking it over. Harry Fane – tall, dark, with vivid, perfect features and melting dark eyes – was often employed in the Mediterranean countries where the colouring and charm he had inherited from his mother could be of the most use. Recently, he had been involved in a nasty, prolonged mess in Spain, and after its successful conclusion he had applied for a long, uninterrupted holiday.
Due to Shadowlands’ stringent policy when it came to floor staff – good-looking witches and wizards only – Neville had been driven to ask Fane a rather unorthodox favour. After he and Ginny had explained the situation, the extraordinarily good-looking man had been all too willing to lend his physical appearance to Neville, thinking it a very good joke. A few faked references later, a few strings pulled to cover all the bases, an interview with Malfoy’s minder Higgins, and Neville had found himself a position as a bartender in the most popular club in wizarding London.
“Do they accept you?” Ron asked. “Has anyone taken an…interest in you?”
Neville avoided Ginny’s eye. Coughing deprecatingly, he looked down to the file of papers in front of him, fiddling with them, aligning them precisely in a neat, organised pile. When he felt he could control himself, he said, “No, no one’s paid me any untoward attention yet, Weasley, but I’ve only been there one night. Malfoy’s security is extremely tight. It’s only natural that newcomers – especially in situations like this – are scrutinised very closely.”
“So tell us what you did learn.” Carlisle brought the meeting back on point. “First impressions, for now; we’ll get into the details later, when you’ve been there longer.”
“First impressions…” Neville tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Shadowlands is a very, very slick operation – everything smooth, practiced, from the very smallest things to the main shadow spells that maintain the Illusions. Malfoy sets the spells, but once they’re set they’re self-sustaining, constantly powered by the emotional output of all the patrons, which is, of course, originally inspired by the Illusions…”
“A constant feedback loop,” Tonks said, almost admiringly. “There aren’t many wizards who can do that.”
Moody grunted. “Skill or no, it’s bloody parasitic. But we all know how the magic works – we’ve gone over that again and again. Tell me about the security – you said it was tight?”
Neville nodded. “That’s right. Patrick Kelly’s in charge –“
“Kelly,” Moody interrupted, rapping the question out. “The Irishman. What do you know about him?”
Carlisle laughed, soundlessly bitter. “What does everybody know about him? He’s frigging IRA –“
“No,” Neville said sharply. “No he’s not. Not anymore.” Ron shot him a curious look, and Neville cursed his vehement response. “That is, regardless of his past, there are no indications that he answers to anyone but Malfoy now.”
“Yes,” Carlisle said, still extremely sardonic. “And that’s what we’re all very interested in – exactly why Patrick Kelly – a cold-blooded, amoral killer if ever I saw one – would choose to throw in his lot with Draco Malfoy, and why Malfoy accepted him.”
Ron blinked. “You think Malfoy’s planning something? Something dangerous?”
“My dear Mr. Weasley,” Carlisle answered blightingly, “I don’t know what is going on. I believed Mr. Longbottom would find out for me, instead of returning with a farrago of groundless emotional responses.”
Ginny intervened before the meeting could deteriorate any further. “Perhaps, Neville, you could tell us about the security.”
Neville threw her a grateful glance, reached into his pile of papers and drew out a roughly sketched floor plan of the club. “From what I’ve been able to see – and I haven’t been allowed to see much – security seems to consist of a mixture of human guards, magical wards and muggle electronics. Because we’re dealing with Malfoy, I’d assume that it’s very, very thorough, but the strange thing is that the back rooms are not, as we’d all assumed, the most heavily guarded…”
************************************************
Carlisle caught up with Ginny as she went back to her office. “Weasley,” he said coldly, his face rigid, “what the hell did you think you were doing?” When he was truly enraged he flushed – a delicate pallor staining his normally white skin – and his smooth, languid manner became extremely stiff, as if he needed to keep a stranglehold on his temper. In this, he was quite different to Malfoy, who always paled with fury, iced over, and tended to become even more feline than ever. Ginny, who had been exposed more than once to the full force of Malfoy’s arctic displeasure, was not seriously troubled by Carlisle’s poorly controlled ire.
In fact, it put her back up.
“I was thinking of the operation, Mr. Carlisle,” she said quietly, trying to rein in her own temper. “I knew that Malfoy would recognise me, no matter what disguise I wore.”
“You thought?” he asked, his raised voice rather more intense than she thought the situation warranted. Why was he so upset? “You thought! It is not your place to think…”
Her nostrils flared. “You seem to have more concern for your plan than you do for the investigation.” Something flickered in his eyes. Her instincts pricking, she followed up on her observations. “Why? Why are you so intent on catching Malfoy, when there must be so many other, more immediate threats out there? And why are you so concerned about Patrick Kelly, and why he chose to serve Malfoy? What is all this really about, Carlisle?”
Of course, she knew that she would get no answer. He was an Unspeakable, and he didn’t need to explain himself to a mere Auror. Although, if she were stubborn enough, and willing to risk the trouble that might come down on her head from it, she could go through formal channels with her queries and doubts, but that was not at all advisable…
He refused to answer her, but inclined his head with frigid courtesy and walked off swiftly. But Ginny didn’t make the mistake of thinking she had won the encounter, and she was determined that she would not underestimate him because of this one lapse. Ever since she had first come into real contact with Slytherins, when she’d been (sixteen? seventeen?) she’d equated strength, power and intelligence with self-control, but that was only one mode of behaviour; it would not do to think Carlisle less than deadly because he raised his voice, or did not act as she thought he ought.
“ –nny? Ginny!” She jumped, and was bought back to herself by the sound of Tonks’ voice, coming from just behind her. The older woman grinned as she finally gained her attention, and then jerked her head towards Carlisle’s rapidly disappearing figure. “What’s going on there?”
Ginny scowled, and dug her hands into her pockets. “He’s upset that I took it upon myself to change the plan without informing him.”
Tonks looked indignant – more so than the usual indignation of Aurors who had been trampled over by Unspeakables. “Why on Earth not? You couldn’t have told him in time. I thought that you did the only thing you could, in the circumstances.”
Ginny gave a small, rueful laugh. “Thanks a lot, Tonks. However, it’s not your opinions that matter… In fact,” she said thoughtfully, “I rather thought that he seemed more upset than the situation warranted…” she trailed off quietly, chewing her lip. Tonks gave her a puzzled look, but she would say nothing more.
Tonks knew how to take a hint. Determined to take Ginny’s mind off her troubles, she laughed and said, “Oh, enough of Carlisle. Let’s talk about my cousin Malfoy. You know, I always hated him when he was young…” She ignored Ginny’s glare, returning it with a laughing, mischievous smile. “How did it go last night? What was his reaction to seeing you after all this time? Tell me all.”
Girl talk with Tonks? Well, she didn’t want to talk about Carlisle anymore, true enough, but she wasn’t sure that she wanted to talk about Malfoy either. She hadn’t talked about him for ten years, ever since the disastrous break-up; and before then there had been far too many other things to do than to whisper scandalous secrets to her girlfriends. Most of them hadn’t approved of him anyway.
But…
She laughed, looked left, then right, and pulled Tonks into her empty office and shut the door. “You know the dress I was wearing?” Her smile turned distinctly wicked as Tonks nodded, grinning. “Well, he nearly swallowed his tongue when I sat down and crossed my legs…”
*********************************************
“Well, Mr. Higgins?” Kelly asked, idly tapping his fingers on the bar. “You’ve been very discreet all night – how are we to react to the Weasley woman’s…unconventional…proposal?”
Jim Burke, a short, stocky, cheerful man, was not smiling now as he watched the two very different men fence lightly. When Burke and Kelly had first decided to throw in their lot with Draco Malfoy, there had been some definite tension as Higgins and Kelly had circled each other warily, establishing or reinforcing their relative positions. Since then, they had learned to work together quite effectively, but some rivalry still remained – most of which was expressed in the form of verbal sparring and the occasional dark look.
But Higgins’ reaction to Kelly’s latest idle remark seemed, to Burke, to be quite disproportionate. He stiffened, his fists clenched dangerously, and he spoke with such quiet fury that Burke gave silent thanks that the man was a squib. “Do not refer to her like that.”
Kelly raised a brow.
“Miss Weasley is a proper lady,” Higgins said loftily, having regained some of his composure. “The fact that she is currently investigating us is irrelevant; you will treat her with respect and courtesy at all times.”
This time Kelly’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but the idle tap, tap, tapping never ceased, and he evinced nothing but polite interest. “Why? Because she was once Malfoy’s?”
“Because she still is his,” Higgins corrected, “although neither of them know it. And because he would tear you apart if you even think of harming her.”
Kelly looked briefly amused at the thought of Draco Malfoy – ex-Auror, son of a dangerous Death Eater – tearing him apart, but said nothing, apparently acknowledging the spirit, if not the letter of the point. There was more than one shade of meaning to the possession implied by “Malfoy’s” – and he was very aware of it, having accepted the shelter of just such a possession himself…
But he hadn’t thought rough, crusty Higgins a closet romantic.
Having made that one point very clear, Higgins went on to lay out the instructions he had received the night before, and to take suggestions on their efficient implementation. Cooperation – to a point. Total disclosure of all relevant information – again, to a point.
And no matter what the circumstances, no harm – absolutely no harm – was to come to Miss Weasley…
*******************************************
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