Chapter I:
The polished hilt of the silver dagger reflected the little light in the dust-filled rays of sun that were drifting through the one window in the small Ministry office. The young ginger-haired woman examining it, turned it around with her finger letting it spin freely on a stack of unsolved case files.
"Well, Gin. It looks quite dark and evil," announced Colin Creevey, a mousy twenty-year-old photographer. He was shifting in his uncomfortable seat in-front of her desk.
At her friends words, Ginny Weasley snatched the dagger from it’s place and lightly slid the nearly mirror like blade across the palm of her hand. She felt nothing. Not cold, not empty, not pain. Absolutely Nothing.
"Well," she sighed, spinning it between her hands. "It's either a very nice, a very expensive, a very old, and a very rare piece of weaponry, that consequently was confiscated from a death eater or . . . " Ginny Weasley's voice trailed off as she gripped the hilt of the blade tightly. Her fingers clasped so firmly she might have been chocking it.
"Or what?" squeaked Colin. His mouse like features filled with no more concern than if she’d been gossiping about pygmies.
"Or I've lost the only contribution I make to this Ministry," she answered, sitting down in her oversized and overstuffed red desk chair. It was old had more holes and tears than any chair should, but it was comfortable. Her father had given it to her from his office upstairs. It was more than comfortable. It was homelike and helped with her usual foul moods.
"Ginny, please," begged Colin. His usually high-pitched voice being brought down an octave. "You’re beginning to feel sorry for yourself, again. And you know how annoying I find that."
Ginny shot him a less than flattering look.
Ignoring her, he stood up to stretch his short legs and cast an occasional glance at the harmless artifacts overwhelming the tiny office. Ginny was one of three in her small department, and the Ministry had given them an even smaller office to work in. His dark brown eyes drifted back to her taking in her state. She looked so dampened, so worn thin.
"I'm bored," he announced. "C'mon, let's go out for drinks. My treat."
"Colin Alan Creevey, it's three-o'clock in the afternoon! Do you honestly believe that they would just let me leave in the middle of the day, because my puffy best friend decided he wants to get pissed?" she asked, giving him a cynical glance.
Colin looked unaffected by her outburst and stern look. His light brown hair was tucked securely behind his ears, and his slightly large front teeth were shown in his smile. The vest he wore was dark-olive in color, with too many re-sewn pockets. It was faded, worn, torn, and patched up but like her chair it fit Colin. His inseparable black camera, slung freely from his neck.
"Honestly?" Colin asked mockingly. "Yes, I do."
"Don't make fun of me, Colin," she said her bright brown eyes falling back to the item she was holding. Her grip loosening as she carefully set it back down on her desk.
"I've got enough to worry about. This is the second time I can't feel anything. Nothing." She sat back in her chair and sighed. "What if it happened? What if I lost it? They said it could happen."
"Listen Gin, you can't make yourself feel something that's not there," he broke in, his voice softened.
"Like love, eh?" she asked, smiling mirthlessly at him.
"I guess," he answered slightly baffled. "Anyway, if you have lost it then I’m glad."
Ginny's narrowed her dark eyes even further on his own. Was her best friend glad that she had lost her only use to the Ministry? Her only job. Her only means of income.
"Don't look at me like that!" he argued, as if he had read her thoughts. "What I meant was you can finally travel with me. Like an assistant or something." His voice took on a conspiring tone, "We can get pissed and take advantage of pretty boys. In places like: Paris, Dublin, New York, Japan."
"Milan?" she asked dreamily, her chin falling into her cupped hands. She had always wanted to visit Milan.
"Yes, Milan," repeated Colin. "Buggar," he murmured to himself as his face fell.
"What's wrong Creevey?" she asked, her voice mimicking that of a mother speaking to her baby. Sitting back up she took hold of the dagger and turned it end over end in her hands. "Scared Gin-bug will take away all your adoring ‘ickle fan-boys?"
"Now, we both know that would never happen," Colin replied, matter-of-factly. "No, I'm actually supposed to be in Milan, right now! Doing a reshoot for Gina. That's why I was here in the first place, to take a portkey."
"Are you going to be at the flat for dinner?" she asked, absently running her finger over the intricately designed metal work of the hilt. She was quickly becoming impressed at the craftsmanship that had gone into the weapon and couldn’t bring herself to overly express her concern that her friend was going on another business trip. She was used to Colin's outings and was slightly joyed at the prospect of having the flat to herself.
"Probably not, love. Don't wait up either," he answered. He quickly plucked his faux black leather camera bag from beside his chair and made his way around her dark pine desk. Ginny barely felt the kiss he left on her mound of red waves that before he left the office.
"Wouldn't dream of it," she called to his fading back as he exited her small relic filled office. Her eyes and concentration never wavering from the green gemmed knife.
~*~*~*~
Ginny stood staring at the dagger her pale hands wrapped gracefully around the hilt. Colin had left her office three hours ago and she desperately wanted to play with her new "toy". At least this toy didn't give her, cranial-splitting migraines, hypothermic shock, or unbearable waves of nausea. She swung it through the air, imitating an Amazon warrior she had seen in a book once. Scrapping her worn out white tennis shoes, across the floor less elegantly than the depicted war mistress. Ginny's long yellow skirt swishing as she ducked an imaginary Greek solider's sword.
She had always found sword fighting on par with the ballet, less of a sport and more of a finely honed art. However, those were arts for the rich and being a Weasley you weren't given such luxuries. She stabbed into the air, as her foot contacted a slightly loose floor board and in the next instance, she was lying painfully on her back.
"Well, have we been trainin’?" A soft Celtic accent laughed from above her. "Ready to go to war, are we? Defen' the land of your people."
"Seamus Finnigan have you forgotten how to knock?" her voice held a sliver of anger. She felt the all too familiar blush creep quickly into her cheeks, as she slowly stood up.
"Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," she said regrettably and put the blade on her desk. "It's just you gave me a terrible fright." Ginny forced her eyes to meet his face and felt even more annoyance at the suppressed smile he wore."Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Yes," answered Seamus. His crystal blue eyes following her progress to her seat. "Your brother ordered me to give you this." He handed her a letter. Percy's red seal burning on the colorless envelope. "And I was wondering if your not busy later." Seamus found his voice trailing off, as Ginny's eyes scanned over the letter. Her lips briefly parting as she pronounced each word silently. She always seemed a bit too intense when it came to the Ministry.
"Oh, never mind," he said defeated.
"What did you say?" Ginny looked up to an empty office and shook her head. Seamus was always disappearing. ‘That boy is a bit of a mystery, really.' Ginny thought. 'A loud obnoxious mystery.'
However, her attention found the letter in her hands again.
To: Miss. G. Weasley
From: Mr. P. Weasley
Memo: I understand artifact: CT # 13075 has been in your possession for some time. I will need you to bring it to my office, as it is needed as evidence in the trial and prosecution of one Mr. N. Bates. If you would please come personally by my office, as we have other matters to discuss.
Thank you,
Mr. P. Weasley
Ginny groaned walking past her coworkers matching pine desks. She knew the catalogue number too well. The artifact in question had left her retching for a week after she had made bare skin contact with it. She’d lost five pounds in the process.
From eyesight alone it looked like another beautiful piece of jewelry. The set sapphires, as clear and blue as her brother's eyes. The thin soft golden chain holding them, consistently shining.
Underneath and undetected, simply touching the necklace could be fatal. Wearing it slowly and painfully, slowed your heart down, to it's last beat. Mr. Bates had been selling the item and it's brother made of rubies, in his shop for years. Stealing it back from his unfortunate patrons after their untimely deaths.
Ginny put on her required marigold yellow gloves. She was in no mood to experience the darkness that seemed to overwhelm her every time she touched an object that had been tainted by dark wizardry. After the diary incident in her first year she had developed a bit of a sixth sense, but in the year after she had left school she’d discovered she had the ability to actually feel when dark magic had been applied to an object by simply making skin contact. In the worst cases she had to relive and share the feelings of it's last victim.
She went to one of the four ceiling to floor wooden cabinets, used her wand and muttered the password. The large oak doors opened up. The necklace was sitting in it's glass case completely harmless, surrounded by other seemingly harmless objects.
"Well, off you go," said Ginny pulling the glass container from it's home.
~*~*~*~
"Are you sure it's authentic?" asked a smooth drawling voice.
"Yes, quite sure sir," replied, Mr. Roberts, the balding curator, who was studying the young pale haired man before him.
"Quite sure isn't much of an answer. Now is it?" the young man countered. His corresponding pale eyes, dissecting the yellowed parchment.
"Absolutely sure, Mr. Malfoy," answered Mr. Roberts with false confidence. He was giving his buyer a very coerced smile.
"Well, Mr. Roberts. For your sake, I hope you're right," he said, his slender fingers touching the parchment's glass casing.
"You could always have it looked over. That would be wise." He dusted the dark cherry lined frame with a white cotton handkerchief. They were in a special storage room, in a muggle museum. A sort of common ground for him and his pointy faced, steely-eyed patron.
"Wise, indeed," the young man smirked. "Let us assume that I do purchase this map piece from you, Mr. Roberts." He straightened, smoothing the soft charcoal colored material of his suit coat. "I have it looked over but it's discovered to be a counterfeit, or worse spoiled by the touch of a dark wizard."
Mr. Robert's jaw flinched involuntarily. He could feel sweat forming on his gray balding head and brow.
"Mr. Roberts you wouldn't want to be selling me something like that. Now would you? My father would be very disappointed. The ministry would be outraged. I'd have no choice but to tell them exactly, where and who I bought it from."
"Mr. Malfoy."
"Mr. Roberts," he continued ignoring the older man. "You do know the ministry doesn't look kindly on the selling of artifacts. Especially artifacts from such a notable museum and being bartered from such a trusted curator."
"Mr. Malfoy!" yelled Mr. Roberts. He was beginning to grow uneasy and impatient with their correspondence. "If you're implying something. I would really rather we have it out. This," he indicated to the framed objected. "Was from my father. The sole piece of my inheritance. Now my questions is: Are you interested? If not, I am sure I can take my piece of... art somewhere else. I have had a number of buyers lined up for weeks. Who would all be glad to take it off my hands." Mr. Roberts felt the cumulating beads of sweat run from his neck down his spine, at the young mans icy glare.
He looked so much like his father at that age, if not better looking. The same grace in their step, the same porcelain skin, the same chilly demeanor. 'But that doesn't help Lucius Malfoy now. Not where he is,' thought Mr. Roberts, bitterly.
"No one likes a bad liar, Mr. Roberts. That's something my father taught me," said Draco Malfoy. He threw a heavy black bag at the man. It fell to the floor with the distinct clink of coins bounding off each other."I know you have no other buyers but I'm going buying it from you anyway."
Mr. Roberts let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding. He quickly snatched the velvet bag from the ground. Spilling the golden coins out onto the palm of his chubby hand.
"Why?" he asked before berating himself for his curiosity.
"I want it," Draco smirked picking the frame up from it place. "Nice doing business with you, Mr. Roberts. Trust me. I will have it looked over and come back to see how you're surviving without it."
Mr. Roberts watched relieved, as the slender young man walked out of his museum. He swore to himself this was the last time he did business with the Malfoys.
~*~*~*~
"Percy, you can't be serious. I can't. I won't!" Ginny strained. Her voice coming back to her off her brother's office walls.
"Yes, you will Ginevra," he said rising from his seat using his full height as leverage in their upcoming row.
"Ginny look," he stated looking at his sisters tensed face. Her round cheeks pink with anger, her arms crossed over her chest, and her deep brown eyes narrowed. "Do you like your department?"
"Yes," she replied flatly.
"And what is your department in desperate need of?"
"Money," Ginny sighed. Her eyes looking down to the pale yellow skirt she was wearing. Percy knew Ginny was close to breaking when she broke eye-contact.
"And what are the Malfoy's famous for?"
"Being evil-cold-blooded-blonde-butt kissing-bigots, with You-Know-Who shoved up their ars..."
"Ginny!" Percy cut her off. The impatience and anger apparent in his voice. "I want to work with him about as much as you do but we don't have a choice."
"No!" yelled Ginny, pushing a finger into her chest. "I don't have a choice."
"Then Malfoy, will be expecting you at half past two tomorrow evening." Percy smiled as he watched his young sister’s face fall into defeat.
Draco Malfoy had owled him earlier in the evening looking for a unique authenticator that only the Ministry could provide and despite their family history with the Malfoys Ginny was the best at what her department did. It was only fitting that he send her out there if Malfoy were up to anything nefarious Ginny would be incorruptible and quick to blow the whistle.
Long ago, after the Ministry had taken a harsh hit, Percy had arranged a system. Certain dependable persons from Ginny's and other unique departments and fields would inspect someone's personal objects, outside of the usual loot from a death eater raid, for a large fee. It wasn’t exactly a completely legitimized way of doing business but it got the Ministry what it needed.
Percy looked to his youngest sibling and could feel her apprehension.
"Look Gin," he said giving her as brotherly smile as he could muster. He slid his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "He's willing to pay a lot and honestly your department could use the Galleons."
"Fine," she sighed positively defeated. "Fine, I'll do it. But, you know just walking into that place, might kill me. I just want to make that clear."
"No, doing actual work might kill you,” he answered, his brown eyes slitting, causing him to look oddly like their mother. "He'll be expecting you at half past two." He handed her another slip of paper, before sitting back into his shiny brown desk chair.
"Instructions on how to get there," he explained. "Read them CAREFULLY and PAY attention, because you can't just Apparate there like everywhere else."
"Half-past two," echoed Ginny. She turned on her heel and stormed out of her older brother's office.
TBC
The polished hilt of the silver dagger reflected the little light in the dust-filled rays of sun that were drifting through the one window in the small Ministry office. The young ginger-haired woman examining it, turned it around with her finger letting it spin freely on a stack of unsolved case files.
"Well, Gin. It looks quite dark and evil," announced Colin Creevey, a mousy twenty-year-old photographer. He was shifting in his uncomfortable seat in-front of her desk.
At her friends words, Ginny Weasley snatched the dagger from it’s place and lightly slid the nearly mirror like blade across the palm of her hand. She felt nothing. Not cold, not empty, not pain. Absolutely Nothing.
"Well," she sighed, spinning it between her hands. "It's either a very nice, a very expensive, a very old, and a very rare piece of weaponry, that consequently was confiscated from a death eater or . . . " Ginny Weasley's voice trailed off as she gripped the hilt of the blade tightly. Her fingers clasped so firmly she might have been chocking it.
"Or what?" squeaked Colin. His mouse like features filled with no more concern than if she’d been gossiping about pygmies.
"Or I've lost the only contribution I make to this Ministry," she answered, sitting down in her oversized and overstuffed red desk chair. It was old had more holes and tears than any chair should, but it was comfortable. Her father had given it to her from his office upstairs. It was more than comfortable. It was homelike and helped with her usual foul moods.
"Ginny, please," begged Colin. His usually high-pitched voice being brought down an octave. "You’re beginning to feel sorry for yourself, again. And you know how annoying I find that."
Ginny shot him a less than flattering look.
Ignoring her, he stood up to stretch his short legs and cast an occasional glance at the harmless artifacts overwhelming the tiny office. Ginny was one of three in her small department, and the Ministry had given them an even smaller office to work in. His dark brown eyes drifted back to her taking in her state. She looked so dampened, so worn thin.
"I'm bored," he announced. "C'mon, let's go out for drinks. My treat."
"Colin Alan Creevey, it's three-o'clock in the afternoon! Do you honestly believe that they would just let me leave in the middle of the day, because my puffy best friend decided he wants to get pissed?" she asked, giving him a cynical glance.
Colin looked unaffected by her outburst and stern look. His light brown hair was tucked securely behind his ears, and his slightly large front teeth were shown in his smile. The vest he wore was dark-olive in color, with too many re-sewn pockets. It was faded, worn, torn, and patched up but like her chair it fit Colin. His inseparable black camera, slung freely from his neck.
"Honestly?" Colin asked mockingly. "Yes, I do."
"Don't make fun of me, Colin," she said her bright brown eyes falling back to the item she was holding. Her grip loosening as she carefully set it back down on her desk.
"I've got enough to worry about. This is the second time I can't feel anything. Nothing." She sat back in her chair and sighed. "What if it happened? What if I lost it? They said it could happen."
"Listen Gin, you can't make yourself feel something that's not there," he broke in, his voice softened.
"Like love, eh?" she asked, smiling mirthlessly at him.
"I guess," he answered slightly baffled. "Anyway, if you have lost it then I’m glad."
Ginny's narrowed her dark eyes even further on his own. Was her best friend glad that she had lost her only use to the Ministry? Her only job. Her only means of income.
"Don't look at me like that!" he argued, as if he had read her thoughts. "What I meant was you can finally travel with me. Like an assistant or something." His voice took on a conspiring tone, "We can get pissed and take advantage of pretty boys. In places like: Paris, Dublin, New York, Japan."
"Milan?" she asked dreamily, her chin falling into her cupped hands. She had always wanted to visit Milan.
"Yes, Milan," repeated Colin. "Buggar," he murmured to himself as his face fell.
"What's wrong Creevey?" she asked, her voice mimicking that of a mother speaking to her baby. Sitting back up she took hold of the dagger and turned it end over end in her hands. "Scared Gin-bug will take away all your adoring ‘ickle fan-boys?"
"Now, we both know that would never happen," Colin replied, matter-of-factly. "No, I'm actually supposed to be in Milan, right now! Doing a reshoot for Gina. That's why I was here in the first place, to take a portkey."
"Are you going to be at the flat for dinner?" she asked, absently running her finger over the intricately designed metal work of the hilt. She was quickly becoming impressed at the craftsmanship that had gone into the weapon and couldn’t bring herself to overly express her concern that her friend was going on another business trip. She was used to Colin's outings and was slightly joyed at the prospect of having the flat to herself.
"Probably not, love. Don't wait up either," he answered. He quickly plucked his faux black leather camera bag from beside his chair and made his way around her dark pine desk. Ginny barely felt the kiss he left on her mound of red waves that before he left the office.
"Wouldn't dream of it," she called to his fading back as he exited her small relic filled office. Her eyes and concentration never wavering from the green gemmed knife.
~*~*~*~
Ginny stood staring at the dagger her pale hands wrapped gracefully around the hilt. Colin had left her office three hours ago and she desperately wanted to play with her new "toy". At least this toy didn't give her, cranial-splitting migraines, hypothermic shock, or unbearable waves of nausea. She swung it through the air, imitating an Amazon warrior she had seen in a book once. Scrapping her worn out white tennis shoes, across the floor less elegantly than the depicted war mistress. Ginny's long yellow skirt swishing as she ducked an imaginary Greek solider's sword.
She had always found sword fighting on par with the ballet, less of a sport and more of a finely honed art. However, those were arts for the rich and being a Weasley you weren't given such luxuries. She stabbed into the air, as her foot contacted a slightly loose floor board and in the next instance, she was lying painfully on her back.
"Well, have we been trainin’?" A soft Celtic accent laughed from above her. "Ready to go to war, are we? Defen' the land of your people."
"Seamus Finnigan have you forgotten how to knock?" her voice held a sliver of anger. She felt the all too familiar blush creep quickly into her cheeks, as she slowly stood up.
"Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry," she said regrettably and put the blade on her desk. "It's just you gave me a terrible fright." Ginny forced her eyes to meet his face and felt even more annoyance at the suppressed smile he wore."Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Yes," answered Seamus. His crystal blue eyes following her progress to her seat. "Your brother ordered me to give you this." He handed her a letter. Percy's red seal burning on the colorless envelope. "And I was wondering if your not busy later." Seamus found his voice trailing off, as Ginny's eyes scanned over the letter. Her lips briefly parting as she pronounced each word silently. She always seemed a bit too intense when it came to the Ministry.
"Oh, never mind," he said defeated.
"What did you say?" Ginny looked up to an empty office and shook her head. Seamus was always disappearing. ‘That boy is a bit of a mystery, really.' Ginny thought. 'A loud obnoxious mystery.'
However, her attention found the letter in her hands again.
To: Miss. G. Weasley
From: Mr. P. Weasley
Memo: I understand artifact: CT # 13075 has been in your possession for some time. I will need you to bring it to my office, as it is needed as evidence in the trial and prosecution of one Mr. N. Bates. If you would please come personally by my office, as we have other matters to discuss.
Thank you,
Mr. P. Weasley
Ginny groaned walking past her coworkers matching pine desks. She knew the catalogue number too well. The artifact in question had left her retching for a week after she had made bare skin contact with it. She’d lost five pounds in the process.
From eyesight alone it looked like another beautiful piece of jewelry. The set sapphires, as clear and blue as her brother's eyes. The thin soft golden chain holding them, consistently shining.
Underneath and undetected, simply touching the necklace could be fatal. Wearing it slowly and painfully, slowed your heart down, to it's last beat. Mr. Bates had been selling the item and it's brother made of rubies, in his shop for years. Stealing it back from his unfortunate patrons after their untimely deaths.
Ginny put on her required marigold yellow gloves. She was in no mood to experience the darkness that seemed to overwhelm her every time she touched an object that had been tainted by dark wizardry. After the diary incident in her first year she had developed a bit of a sixth sense, but in the year after she had left school she’d discovered she had the ability to actually feel when dark magic had been applied to an object by simply making skin contact. In the worst cases she had to relive and share the feelings of it's last victim.
She went to one of the four ceiling to floor wooden cabinets, used her wand and muttered the password. The large oak doors opened up. The necklace was sitting in it's glass case completely harmless, surrounded by other seemingly harmless objects.
"Well, off you go," said Ginny pulling the glass container from it's home.
~*~*~*~
"Are you sure it's authentic?" asked a smooth drawling voice.
"Yes, quite sure sir," replied, Mr. Roberts, the balding curator, who was studying the young pale haired man before him.
"Quite sure isn't much of an answer. Now is it?" the young man countered. His corresponding pale eyes, dissecting the yellowed parchment.
"Absolutely sure, Mr. Malfoy," answered Mr. Roberts with false confidence. He was giving his buyer a very coerced smile.
"Well, Mr. Roberts. For your sake, I hope you're right," he said, his slender fingers touching the parchment's glass casing.
"You could always have it looked over. That would be wise." He dusted the dark cherry lined frame with a white cotton handkerchief. They were in a special storage room, in a muggle museum. A sort of common ground for him and his pointy faced, steely-eyed patron.
"Wise, indeed," the young man smirked. "Let us assume that I do purchase this map piece from you, Mr. Roberts." He straightened, smoothing the soft charcoal colored material of his suit coat. "I have it looked over but it's discovered to be a counterfeit, or worse spoiled by the touch of a dark wizard."
Mr. Robert's jaw flinched involuntarily. He could feel sweat forming on his gray balding head and brow.
"Mr. Roberts you wouldn't want to be selling me something like that. Now would you? My father would be very disappointed. The ministry would be outraged. I'd have no choice but to tell them exactly, where and who I bought it from."
"Mr. Malfoy."
"Mr. Roberts," he continued ignoring the older man. "You do know the ministry doesn't look kindly on the selling of artifacts. Especially artifacts from such a notable museum and being bartered from such a trusted curator."
"Mr. Malfoy!" yelled Mr. Roberts. He was beginning to grow uneasy and impatient with their correspondence. "If you're implying something. I would really rather we have it out. This," he indicated to the framed objected. "Was from my father. The sole piece of my inheritance. Now my questions is: Are you interested? If not, I am sure I can take my piece of... art somewhere else. I have had a number of buyers lined up for weeks. Who would all be glad to take it off my hands." Mr. Roberts felt the cumulating beads of sweat run from his neck down his spine, at the young mans icy glare.
He looked so much like his father at that age, if not better looking. The same grace in their step, the same porcelain skin, the same chilly demeanor. 'But that doesn't help Lucius Malfoy now. Not where he is,' thought Mr. Roberts, bitterly.
"No one likes a bad liar, Mr. Roberts. That's something my father taught me," said Draco Malfoy. He threw a heavy black bag at the man. It fell to the floor with the distinct clink of coins bounding off each other."I know you have no other buyers but I'm going buying it from you anyway."
Mr. Roberts let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding. He quickly snatched the velvet bag from the ground. Spilling the golden coins out onto the palm of his chubby hand.
"Why?" he asked before berating himself for his curiosity.
"I want it," Draco smirked picking the frame up from it place. "Nice doing business with you, Mr. Roberts. Trust me. I will have it looked over and come back to see how you're surviving without it."
Mr. Roberts watched relieved, as the slender young man walked out of his museum. He swore to himself this was the last time he did business with the Malfoys.
~*~*~*~
"Percy, you can't be serious. I can't. I won't!" Ginny strained. Her voice coming back to her off her brother's office walls.
"Yes, you will Ginevra," he said rising from his seat using his full height as leverage in their upcoming row.
"Ginny look," he stated looking at his sisters tensed face. Her round cheeks pink with anger, her arms crossed over her chest, and her deep brown eyes narrowed. "Do you like your department?"
"Yes," she replied flatly.
"And what is your department in desperate need of?"
"Money," Ginny sighed. Her eyes looking down to the pale yellow skirt she was wearing. Percy knew Ginny was close to breaking when she broke eye-contact.
"And what are the Malfoy's famous for?"
"Being evil-cold-blooded-blonde-butt kissing-bigots, with You-Know-Who shoved up their ars..."
"Ginny!" Percy cut her off. The impatience and anger apparent in his voice. "I want to work with him about as much as you do but we don't have a choice."
"No!" yelled Ginny, pushing a finger into her chest. "I don't have a choice."
"Then Malfoy, will be expecting you at half past two tomorrow evening." Percy smiled as he watched his young sister’s face fall into defeat.
Draco Malfoy had owled him earlier in the evening looking for a unique authenticator that only the Ministry could provide and despite their family history with the Malfoys Ginny was the best at what her department did. It was only fitting that he send her out there if Malfoy were up to anything nefarious Ginny would be incorruptible and quick to blow the whistle.
Long ago, after the Ministry had taken a harsh hit, Percy had arranged a system. Certain dependable persons from Ginny's and other unique departments and fields would inspect someone's personal objects, outside of the usual loot from a death eater raid, for a large fee. It wasn’t exactly a completely legitimized way of doing business but it got the Ministry what it needed.
Percy looked to his youngest sibling and could feel her apprehension.
"Look Gin," he said giving her as brotherly smile as he could muster. He slid his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "He's willing to pay a lot and honestly your department could use the Galleons."
"Fine," she sighed positively defeated. "Fine, I'll do it. But, you know just walking into that place, might kill me. I just want to make that clear."
"No, doing actual work might kill you,” he answered, his brown eyes slitting, causing him to look oddly like their mother. "He'll be expecting you at half past two." He handed her another slip of paper, before sitting back into his shiny brown desk chair.
"Instructions on how to get there," he explained. "Read them CAREFULLY and PAY attention, because you can't just Apparate there like everywhere else."
"Half-past two," echoed Ginny. She turned on her heel and stormed out of her older brother's office.
TBC
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