*
Part II
*
Ginny resented being ordered around. She resented being ‘allowed’ to do things even more. The fact that Malfoy of all persons deigned to do both greatly chafed at her rebellious spirit.
She trumped noisily into the kitchen of the Burrow and set about making tea. Her hands went through the motions automatically, the familiar ritual soothing her frazzled nerves. She had just put the kettle on when Hermione stumbled in, tousled and rubbing her swollen abdomen. Ginny smiled warmly at her sister-in-law.
“Why are you up?” she asked softly, not wanting to wake the rest of the house.
“Fred Jr. is kicking again,” Hermione replied, wincing. In a surprising turn of events that had really only surprised Molly and Percy Weasley, Hermione had married a different Weasley only two years after graduating Hogwarts. The couple was expecting their first child – alternately called Fred Jr. and Frederica by its parents. They had a flat in London, but Molly had requested that Hermione stay at the Burrow when it got closer to her due date.
“I feel like I’m about to pop at any second,” Hermione complained now.
Ginny grinned and rubbed her sister’s shoulders while keeping an eye on the kettle.
“I’m sure all expecting mothers feel that way,” she said comfortingly.
Hermione shook her head. “Molly only tells me the good parts – everything excluding the pain. That feels wonderful, Ginny, thanks. I have to read Dr. Spock if I want to actually get the facts.”
At Ginny’s confused expression, Hermione explained that Dr. Spock was a Muggle specialist in babies and had written several books on the subject of pregnancy. Hermione’s bedside table was covered with books on pregnancy, birth and parenting, something Fred managed to find endearing. The culprit entered the kitchen then and grinned when he noticed Ginny.
“Hello, little sister, just looking for my wife. Have you seen her? She’s about five feet six inches tall and big as a house.”
Ginny chuckled.
“You fiend,” Hermione scolded. “You did this to me. Now come over here and pay penance.”
Fred relieved Ginny of her rubbing post, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as he passed. He dropped a kiss to Hermione’s lips before massaging her back tenderly.
“Your son is definitely a Quidditch player, Fred,” Hermione said on a groan as Fred Jr. aimed another shot at her insides.
“Yeah?” Ginny picked up interestedly. “Which position?”
“Beater,” they said in unison. Ginny laughed.
Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. A muffled “Oh no” could be heard. Fred and Ginny looked at each other in surprise – this was not a usual response to massages.
“Bee in your bonnet, love?” Fred asked gently.
“I completely forgot,” Hermione replied. “I have a meeting with Parkinson tomorrow, Malfoy’s cow of an agent. I just know she’ll give me the run-round to avoid deadlines.” She groaned again.
Ginny was intrigued, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. As Hermione regaled Fred with stories of Parkinson’s unbearable attitude, Ginny listened keenly for clues about the world she was about to visit.
“Ginny, what’s that?” Fred asked suddenly. He and Hermione had been quiet for some time, but Ginny, lost in her thoughts, hadn’t noticed.
He was pointing to the gold ring on the ring finger of her right hand. Ginny clenched her fist self-consciously, dropping her gaze as a blush stole up her cheeks. “It’s, um, nothing.”
When she dragged her eyes back up to meet theirs, they were both wearing similar expressions of scepticism. Ginny hesitated, wondering if she should tell them about the mess she’d gotten into. They’d be able to help – Fred ran a shop that deal with exactly this sort of thing, for Merlin’s sake. And Hermione was not without her talents. But a privacy clause was a privacy clause and her honourable nature wouldn’t allow her to betray someone. Not even a Malfoy.
“Nothing,” she repeated more firmly. “Luna gave it to me on a loan. Well, actually I sort of took it without asking.” She laughed nervously, which wasn’t hard since Ginny experienced anxiety over even the most banal subterfuge. She hoped they would attribute the blush to her guilt at getting caught and not dig for more answers. But when she met their gazes, it was obvious they still had their doubts.
She gave a rueful grin. “I’ll return it tomorrow, promise.”
At the thought of tomorrow, Ginny’s heart rate increased. She wondered dimly if the rushing sound she heard was in her head.
“Ginny,” Hermione called. “The tea.”
Oh. Of course. The kettle was whistling loudly enough to wake the dead and Ginny hastened to turn it off. Fred and Hermione left the kitchen as she poured and the echo of goodnights cheered her up somewhat.
She sat in the darkness of the kitchen, savouring the strong brew and the calm it lent to her thoughts. Tea fixed everything. In a few hours, she went upstairs to pack. To her family, she left a note explaining that she was going to be helping Luna for the next month, so she’d be away. They could reach her through Luna if they wanted. It was cowardly to leave before anyone was even up, but Ginny wasn’t feeling much steeped in courage at the moment. In fact, she considered herself a very timid, very helpless mouse and while she hated that Malfoy could reduce her to such a pitiful state, she rationalized her trepidation with the knowledge that she was about to enter the enemy’s lair.
She Floo’d to Luna’s first, hoping that would keep her parents satisfied if they decided to check up on her. She could be back here in seconds if they dropped by for an unexpected visit.
She stumbled out of Luna’s fireplace, anxiety making her unusually clumsy. Her luggage was shrunk to fit in the pocket of her robes – not that there was very much of it.
“Lumos,” she whispered, igniting the tip of her wand and peering around the cramped quarters. Luna lived in a flat above the London branch of Daughters of Mnemosyne. Ginny knew so because she had often been over for tea. Like her office, the flat was about as snug as a troll in a broom closet. Ginny wondered if she ever bought men home.
She padded out of the living room into the sole connected bedroom and unceremoniously poked Luna in the side to wake her. She grinned when the blonde yelped, pushing back the covers to regard her friend steadily. “Finally,” she said with some exasperation.
Ginny frowned in confusion and followed the sometimes batty, always brilliant witch when she hopped out of bed and walked back to the living room.
“I got tired of waiting up for you,” Luna told her as she switched on the lights. Muggle technology, Ginny recalled absently. Her father would have been delighted that she was staying here, except she wasn’t and this was all supposed to be a clever ruse. Not quite clever enough, apparently.
“Hang on,” Ginny said a mite indignantly. “How did you know I was coming?”
Luna stared at her as though she wasn’t very bright.
“Well, you wouldn’t have told your family you were going to Malfoy’s , since they’d demand to know the reason. Even if you didn’t tell them the truth, they were bound to find out. Of course you’d come here.”
Ginny released a small sigh at the explanation of her motives.
“Any suggestions?” she asked, throwing herself on the tiny sofa and clutching a cushion.
Luna though carefully before replying. “Stay open-minded,” she suggested finally in an upbeat tone.
Ginny huffed despairingly. “Not bloody likely with that lot,” she grumbled.
She sighed and the clock on the mantle struck seven. Reluctantly, Ginny heaved herself off the couch and took the two steps to the fireplace. Grabbing a handful of Luna’s Floo powder (for some reason, it was blue), she stepped into the flames. Luna smiled encouragingly as Ginny called out “Malfoy Manor” in a strong voice. At least, she hoped it was a strong voice; she was afraid the words came out more as a squeak.
She tumbled through the fireplaces, trying to not fall out of the wrong one and gave a small gasp when she landed with a lurch, almost falling out of an enormous, ornate hearth. She placed a hand on the cool marble to steady herself and nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice cut through the dimness.
“Who are you?” it demanded.
Ginny’s heart leapt to her throat as she reached for her wand, igniting the tip to detect the source of the voice.
“Put that light out, child!” the voice said sharply. “It hurts my eyes.” The person spoke like someone accustomed to have her orders obeyed instantly.
Ginny obligingly murmured “Nox” and let her eyes adjust to the limited light. Though she had only heard it once, that voice sound familiar. As more light penetrated Ginny’s irises, she could just discern the outline of Narcissa Malfoy perched daintily on an armchair.
“Who are you?” the silhouette repeated.
“Ginevra Weasley,’ Ginny answered, trying to be polite.
“A Weasley?” Narcissa echoed in disdain. “What business could you have here? Are you from the Ministry?”
“I have business with Malfoy,” she responded with more backbone, annoyed at the Lady Malfoy’s contempt. She remembered belatedly that there were two Malfoys in residence here, and she wasn’t keen on Narcissa thinking she was here to meet the elder. “Draco Malfoy,” she amended.
By now, enough daylight had penetrated through unseen crevices to illuminate the room and its occupants. Ginny realized she was in a large drawing room, with several armchairs and a sofa, Oriental rugs and a vase or two to decorate the space. It was also easily three times the size of Luna’s flat.
Narcissa Malfoy was sipping delicately from a cup as she regarded the young woman before her with suspicion.
“What business do you have with my son?” she asked presently.
Self-consciously, Ginny’s hand tightened into a fist trying to hide the ring. The movement did not escape Narcissa, whose sharp eyes detected the glint of gold encircling her finger.
Bollocks, Ginny thought desperately. There was no way she could lie to Narcissa Malfoy and get away with it.
To her amazement, a smile spread over the woman’s previously stern face. Ginny blinked in shock; she didn’t know what conclusion Narcissa had drawn but she was sure it wasn’t the right one. Narcissa set her tea down and rose quickly, walking over to Ginny with enviable grace. She was still smiling; it was incredibly bizarre.
“My dear,” Narcissa greeted warmly, taking Ginny’s hands in her own. She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Are you two promised? Is it a secret? I won’t breathe word to a soul!” The blue eyes, formerly cold, were dancing with excitement.
“Congratulations, my dear child,” Narcissa was saying. At least that’s what Ginny thought she was saying. At the moment her mind couldn’t quite comprehend how the witch’s mind had moved from disdain to rapture at the mere thought of marriage. Narcissa was still talking.
“Despite your family’s... leanings...” Narcissa cleared her throat delicately and gave Ginny a small smile. “Well, you are a Pureblood, at least.
Ginny stiffened and would have dragged her hands away if Malfoy Jr. had not seen it fit to enter at that moment. He was obviously distracted and, oblivious to Ginny’s presence, addressed his mother.
“Mother, have you seen my raven’s feather quill? The elves seem to have mistaken it for one of yours.” He frowned. “Knobbly is punishing himself in the kitchen – terrible racket –”
“Draco,” his mother interrupted firmly. “Look who’s here.”
Malfoy glanced at his mother distractedly. His jaw slackened when he saw Ginny and his eyes darted from one face to the other, trying to assess the situation.
“Don’t worry, darling,” his mother assured him, beaming. Ginny found it deeply disturbing to see Narcissa Malfoy looking so happy. “I know all about your little secret.” She winked at him while leading Ginny over. His grey eyes flashed a menacing glare at her but she shook her head firmly.
“Don’t blame Ginevra, dear. She didn’t say a word. I figured it all out on my own.” Narcissa was supremely pleased.
Against her better judgment, Ginny latched on to Draco’s arm and smiled weakly. She should be running to the fireplace instead of pretending to be in love with Draco Malfoy.
“She thinks we’re engaged,” she muttered to Draco as soon as Narcissa’s back was turned.
“How in the name of Merlin could she have gotten that idea?” Draco hissed back.
“The rings, you idiot,” Ginny reminded him with irritation. “The bloody things won’t come off.”
Draco did some quick thinking. Perhaps it was for the best that his mother remained ignorant about Weasley’s real purpose here. It would certainly make several things easier. He slipped an arm around Weasley’s waist, pinching her when she would have cringed away.
“You got us into this mess, now you’re going to get us out,” he whispered with an undercurrent of menace in his tone. “I hate to disappoint my mother.”
“It would be easier if you weren’t such a prat all the time,” Ginny argued, still trying to wriggle out of his grip. He tightened his arms painfully around Ginny’s waist.
“Part of my charm, I assure you,” he replied, before calling his mother’s attention.
“We’re sorry you had to find out this way. We had hoped to make a formal announcement soon.”
Narcissa smiled warmly at her son. “There’s no need to apologize, Draco. I’m simply delighted that you’re settling down. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see to a house elf.”
The moment she was gone, Draco’s hands dropped from her waist and she stepped away from him, rubbing her bruised side. “Now what, O Brilliant One? She thinks we’re engaged!”
Draco ignored this and grabbed her wrist, dragging her forcefully though the halls of the Manor. Despite Ginny’s frequent protests, he didn’t stop until he reached his study. Once there, he released her abruptly and sat behind a beautiful mahogany writing desk. Ginny rubbed her wrist and scowled at him.
“If you leave any more marks on me, people will think you’re abusive to your girlfriends,” she said in annoyance.
“Maybe I am,” he replied distractedly. “You’ll have to sleep in my room,” he added.
“No, I bloody well don’t,” Ginny responded hotly. “I refuse to share a bed with the likes of you.”
“I never said anything about sharing a bed, Weasley; I’d rather not be castrated in my sleep.”
Ginny crossed her arm and looked at him. “You’re sleeping on the floor, then?” she asked with raised eyebrows.
“Merlin, no,” he replied casually, and after a pause went on. “You are.”
Ginny glared at him furiously. Just as she was beginning to think that he possessed a modicum of decency, he would say something so unspeakably conceited that she wanted to smack the smirk right off his face.
“Since you’re here, you may as well begin,” he said next.
“Begin what?” Ginny was confused and not a little exasperated by his non sequiturs.
“Inspire me,” he said for clarification, waving a hand through the air.
Ginny grimaced. What was she going to do? “So soon?” she asked weakly.
Draco looked her up and down. “There’s no time like the present,” he drawled.
“Stop looking at me like that!” Ginny snapped.
“Like what?” Draco asked, leering.
“Like you expect me to perform a striptease for you. Not in your lifetime, Malfoy,” she growled.
Draco smirked at her. “Keep thinking that, Weasley. Can I assume you know what you’re doing?”
“Aside from not stripping?” Ginny said in annoyance. “Every Daughter has a degree in Creative Writing and they’re professionally trained to help writers develop their ideas.” She was parroting the pamphlets Luna had shown her over the years. “I’ve spent enough time with them to pick up a few things,” she added. Some minutes passed in silence before Draco spoke again.
“Does that mean no stripping?”
*
Several days passed by in similar fashion; Ginny attempted to be as inspiring as she could, but short of walking around in a tastefully wrapped sheet and nothing else, she wasn’t sure how to get through to Draco. He was snarky and critical and she couldn’t resist rising to the challenge every time he baited her. Most of their sessions ended with shouting.
One afternoon she heard a voice as she passed by Draco’s study and paused to listen in. “You’re a clever child, aren’t you, Nicholas?” Draco’s voice was admiring. Ginny frowned. Who was Nicholas?
“A veritable genius, I know,” he continued. “Such a pity the idiots you live with can’t see it. Now what do I do with you once you’ve found Gwendolyn?”
Ginny laughed to herself as she pushed open the study door. Draco was at his writing desk and judging from the absence of anyone else, Ginny’s guess was confirmed. He had been talking to one of his characters. She grinned and took a bite of her apple.
“Stuck, Malfoy?” she asked cheekily.
He looked up from his desk and scowled at her. “Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “You’re a poor excuse for a Muse if you can’t even inspire me to write paragraph,” he accused.
Ginny ignored the barb. She had grown somewhat comfortable in the last week or so that she was here. She was sure most of it was Narcissa’s doing and felt marginally guilty for deceiving the woman. “Maybe you’re just a poor excuse for a writer,” she retorted, making Draco scowl at her again. Draco muttered something about proper inspiration and scantily clad bosomy women before Ginny cleared her throat.
“Well, imagine you’re picking up a book for the first time – your book, this book. The first thing you see is the cover with the title. You do have a title?” she asked Draco. He murmured something she couldn’t quite catch, but she doubted it was a “Yes”.
She pursed her lips, making a tsking sound but continued. “After the cover page, there’s a title page – also blank, I’m assuming...” she gave Draco a reproving look. “Maybe an excerpt, then acknowledgments –”
“I don’t write acknowledgments,” Draco interrupted.
Ginny’s brow knitted. “Don’t you have anyone to thank?” she asked.
“Pansy assured me it was unbecoming to thank myself,” he replied loftily.
Ginny shook her head at his haughtiness. Ah, she thought with some curiosity, the elusive Pansy. She had tried to decipher the witch’s relationship with Draco ever since she had seen them in Luna’s office. There were times when Ginny was sure that they were more than writer and agent, and these times usually involved Draco arriving home in the early morning, reeking of alcohol and Pansy’s expensive perfume. But whenever she was in the same room as them, Pansy was nothing but professional.
“Narcissistic prat,” she said in response to his last statement, but the name lacked any real venom. Ginny wasn’t sure when she had begun to forget that Malfoy was the enemy, but now she regarded him as almost an acquaintance. Their verbal battles were actually fun for her, and though she’d balk at saying she actually liked the git, she was somewhat comfortable in his company.
“Ignoring the acknowledgment,” she continued. “Next we’ve got the contents page – have any idea how many chapters you’ll have? Are you still with me?” At Draco’s nod, she went on. “Good. We’ve come to the first chapter of Nicholas’s story.” Her voice was low and enchanting, penetrating the layers of Draco’s consciousness to stoke a buried creative spark. “The words are appearing in print before your very eyes. Nicholas was an astute child, wasn’t he? I’ve heard you say so. But the people he grew up with never appreciated his brilliance – they just exploited and ignore him, didn’t they?
Come on, Malfoy,” Ginny breathed. “This is your story, your characters. Breathe some life into them... if you can that is.” Ginny threw out the taunt experimentally. She wasn’t sure how he would respond to the challenge.
Draco’s eyes snapped open and found hers. She was sitting on the edge of his desk, leaning towards him in her efforts to reach his imagination. Something in his eyes shifted from frustration to enlightenment and he all but shoved her off the desk as he reached for his quill.
Hmph, Ginny thought, being a muse was a thankless job, really. But she was beyond pleased. She felt the urge to clap her hands and dance around – finally, finally a breakthrough!
An owl tapped insistently at the window, interrupting her rapture. She recognized the bird as belonging to Parkinson, who’d kept up a steady stream of messages between herself and Draco every day for the two weeks she had been there. Sometimes Ginny had been tempted to ask what kind of business necessitated such constant communication, but thought the better of it. Now, however, her curiosity would be sated.
She spared him a glance before opening the letter. He was oblivious to the owl, engrossed in documenting his breakthrough.
Draco,
Reminding you of the press conference two weeks from Thursday. It’s at Prophet Publishing House. Granger’s doing. You should have let me hex her when I had the chance.
It starts at two in the afternoon. Don’t bring the muse.
Pansy
‘Don’t bring the muse,’ Ginny repeated to herself questioningly. She was suddenly grateful she had read the letter first. A press conference was an excellent opportunity to let the public know Draco was writing again, and she was convinced he would need her there. ‘Don’t bring the muse’, indeed. She snorted as she magically erased the first five characters of that sentence and adjusted the following ‘b’, ignoring the fact that it was slightly illegal to tamper with mail.
She resealed the envelope and placed it on Draco’s desk before closing the window after the owl and settling on the window seat she had claimed as her own. This Muse lark was easy, she thought to herself, relaxing in the glow of the sun’s rays.
Author notes: Please leave a review telling me what you think! :)
Leave a Review