Chapter Five: Madam and Sir
As soon as Ginny stepped into the Manor, Draco's fingers snaked around her wrist and tightened in a hold that was almost painful. Startled, she instinctively tried to jerk her hand away, but his grip only tightened more, grinding bones together until she gasped. Then he started dragging her down the hallway.
Once she had recovered from her shock, she tugged on her wrist again, feeling rage start to build. "Let go of me!" she hissed savagely, aware of the unobtrusive eyes that were on them. The house elves seemed to be everywhere-or at least they seemed to be. Maybe she was just delusional. He didn't answer her, just continued to tow her with tightened lips down the hallway.
Ginny could help it. She despised physical violence-although she did practice it at times, especially around Draco-but she wouldn't let herself be manhandled. "Let go!" she snarled, and slammed her foot into the back of Draco's knee.
It crumpled beneath him, and she saw his shocked look before he fell to the ground. Unfortunately, even with the surprise of her attack, his grip on her hadn't wavered, so she went tumbling down with him. Immediately he rolled on top of her, pinioning her arms to her sides so she couldn't do him any real damage. Then he snarled down at her. "What the hell was that for?"
She could feel the trembles start, and she desperately tried to push them away. Not now, not now, she prayed desperately, but felt her body start to shake. He was heavy and strong above her, and she felt helpless, a feeling that she despised and feared.
Draco looked down at her, and saw that her pupils were dilated, and her body was shaking violently. He nearly gaped down at her. "What's wrong with you?" he blurted out, and saw her flinch violently.
"Get off me!" she whispered, her voice wobbling dangerously. "Get off me!" Her voice continued to rise in pitch before Draco regained his wits and rolled off her, staring at her in surprise.
"What's your problem, Weasley?" he growled at her. "Can't handle a real man?"
She didn't answer him, just wrapped her arms around herself and tried to stop the horrible trembling. Draco's brow furrowed in consternation. What was wrong with the woman? He had never seen her display an iota of fear, and he sincerely doubted she could even feel the emotion. So what was her problem? A few minutes later, she rolled to a sitting position, her hands still shaking wildly. To hide it from Draco, she buried them in the folds of her skirt.
Draco just watched her with narrowed eyes. "Get up," he said curtly. "I want to talk to you."
"Why can't you talk to me here?" Ginny's voice was soft, and sounded like she was worn to the bone.
Behind her back, Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, well, he mused. Wasn't she a bundle of contradictions today? First she wore some stupid wedding ring from some old flame, then she freaked out over a bit of nothing, and now she's tired from all that. Then he rolled his eyes expressively. Hell, if he had been half as busy today as she had, he'd be tired too.
"Because I don't fancy sitting on the cold marble," he said coldly. "Now get up."
Ginny bit her lip. She wasn't quite sure that she could. Even sitting down her legs felt like limp noodles. But the thought of being able to sit down in a chair and relax-even if she had to listen to Draco bitch while she did it-was a seductive idea. She squared her jaw. She could do this. It was all a matter of willpower. And if there was one thing that she possessed in abundance, it was willpower. She studiously avoided looking at Draco as she braced her hands on the floor and tried to push herself to her feet. Her legs nearly gave out, and she sagged for a moment before pushing herself all the way vertically.
She swayed briefly for a moment, then made her way over to a wall to try to lean against it. Then she glanced at Draco, then swiftly away. "Where were you going?" she asked him quietly, looking over his right shoulder.
Draco frowned. What the hell was wrong with her? "What's wrong with you?" he said, feeling a tenuous uncurling of those unfamiliar emotions again. "Are you ill?"
She barked out a laugh that startled him in its bitterness. "No," she said shortly. "I'm not ill. Could we just go, please?"
He narrowed his eyes at her, deciding on the spot that he would find out what was wrong with her. "Yes," he said curtly. "I was heading for my office."
Ginny nodded shortly. "Very well. Lead on. Just don't haul me anywhere." Her eyes flashed with a little of her spirit. "I don't like to be manhandled."
"Obviously," Draco muttered under his breath. He turned on his heel and strode down the hall, because looking at her leaning against the wall made he want to pick her up and carry her. After a moment's hesitation, he heard her soft, hesitant footsteps as she followed him. A few seconds later, they came to a bare mahogany door. He turned the handle, and Ginny saw that it glowed a soft red whenever Draco touched it. Then he swung the door open and strode into the room.
More slowly, Ginny followed him, looking around in fascination. The room was spacious, but almost bare. There were bookshelves lining the walls, filled with books. Hermione would have a field day in here, Ginny thought wryly. Then she smiled to herself. As would I. Then she turned her attention to the rest of the room, promising herself that she would come back later and peruse the books. There was a massive desk, made of the same dark wood as the door had been. It was almost bare, except for a few paperweights and scattered papers. Ginny frowned to herself. She hadn't pegged Draco as messy. In fact, she had thought he was quite the opposite. So why were there papers scattered around on his desk?
She glanced around again as Draco seated himself in the luxurious chair behind the desk. There was a sofa across the room in front of the hearth, as well as a dark green wingback chair. Obviously for comfort if someone was talking to someone in the fireplace. There were two chairs in front of Draco's desk, and that was all. That was the entire contents of the room.
Frowning thoughtfully to herself, Ginny sat in one of the chairs, letting herself relax. She had had to hold herself painfully erect to make it down the hallway, considering how badly she was still shaking. Curious about the undercurrents and memories in the room, she opened her barriers a little bit. She kept them tightly closed whenever she was around Draco, which is why she had been able to bear his physical touch throughout the morning at the Ministry. Now she let them down a little, and nearly sucked in her breath in shock. There was unhappiness in this room, and a pleasure for violence and pain. She could almost hear screams, and a woman's weeping.
Ginny hung her head so that Draco didn't see the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She slammed her barriers up again, but she could still hear the memory of that piteous weeping in her ears. Who were you? She wondered painfully. Who were you that loved so much to hurt so badly?
Draco watched her with narrowed eyes. She was tying him up in knots, the dratted woman. She made him feel unfamiliar, uncomfortable things, and he didn't particularly like it. He had never seen her as anything but strong and formidable, but she looked fragile now, almost as if he could break her with a breath. Since the thought made him uneasy, he pushed it away.
"Now tell me," he said brusquely, "what you're doing with that ring around your neck."
Ginny looked up at him, and he could see that some of her fire was dimmed, although it still shone from her like a beacon of life. "That's none of your business." Usually her words would have had more bite, but she was just too tired to argue with Draco. She had laid her stance out, and he would have to respect it.
"I believe it is my business." Draco deliberately forced himself to calmness. "As I said earlier, my life and the lives of others depend on this sham of a marriage. Therefore, I do not want your past coming back to bite me on the ass."
"Oh, don't worry about it," Ginny said wearily, running her hair through her hair and wrecking it again. It tumbled around her face, making her look even more pale against the fiery glow of her hair. "Nothing is going to bite you on the ass, Malfoy." He saw a quick sparkle of laughter light in her eyes. "Unless you're into that kind of thing, of course."
Draco's lips twitched, which he sternly pushed away. "I doubt that will be happening in the near future, Weasley," he said acerbically.
She shrugged, making the movement somehow graceful. "Never know," she said cheerfully, and Draco felt the cool taste of relief as he saw some color come back into her cheeks. Then he shook himself and scowled at her.
She didn't cower before him-instead she just politely arched one eyebrow in a gesture that Draco noted was reminiscent of his own. Because he wanted to smile at how quickly she had picked up his mannerisms, he scowled at her instead. Then he leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to look indolent and mildly interested. "Well why don't you regale me with the tale anyway, Weasley?"
Ginny smiled, but it was sharp and edgy. "Because I don't want to, Malfoy. It's personal, and you have no business knowing it."
He smiled silkily at her. "On the contrary, you're my wife. I think that gives me every right."
Ginny lifted her chin and stared at him boldly. "I don't think it does," she said softly, her voice sounding almost dangerous.
Draco stared at her, then lifted his slender hands and clapped lazily. She blinked at him, surprise evident in her eyes. "Very well done," he said, a sardonic smile curling his lips. "I almost believed your threat there, Weaslette."
Her eyes iced, and Draco watched her in blatant fascination. She was a coil of contradictions, and her moods could swing widely from danger to playfulness. He never knew what to expect from her. "You should believe it." Ginny's voice was remote, and her eyes like shadowy previews of hell. "I meant it, Malfoy. There are some things that I don't believe it's any of your business to know. This is one of them."
"What's another?" Draco's voice was deliberately taunting, and he saw Ginny's eyes flash with anger.
She rose slowly from her chair, and Draco mirrored the movement-both because his mother had drilled courtesy into him as well as he didn't want her looming over him. He would have expected her to be vibrating with rage, but she was oddly, almost eerily calm. "I think we've made it clear between us that we're both only doing this to avert a war," she said coolly. "Don't fool yourself into thinking it's real, Malfoy."
His eyebrows went up in surprise. "I'm thinking it's real, Weasley? I could say the same for you."
Ginny stared at him coldly. "I don't believe I've ever given you an indication that I believe we are anything but reluctant partners."
"Oh believe me," Draco said silkily, "when we're-partners-it won't be reluctant."
Ginny shoved down the instinctive shiver that came from somewhere deep inside her, and found the power to stare at Draco with a bored look in her eyes. "Leave off with the innuendo, Malfoy," she said lazily. "We both know you don't mean it. Or maybe it's such habit by now that you can't quite help it anymore."
This time Draco kept his face expressionless. By God, if she could do it, then so could he. But he was annoyed at her assessment of him. Although he possessed a natural charm and charisma that he used to his advantage, he didn't treat women the same. They were fascinating creatures in his eyes, and he loved to unravel their mysteries. But he was never overtly disrespectful-he wasn't twelve anymore. There was no need to bait the females of the species. He could get around them in other ways, or use them for his own purposes without hurting their feelings. Of all things, Draco Malfoy hated female tears. They made him feel like slime-even if they weren't directed at him.
"I do not seduce women-"
"I'm not sure that's something I need to know, Malfoy."
"Without a care." He finished his statement and then glared at her. She smirked at him, and he suppressed his rising irritation. God, the woman could infuriate a rock. Then he skirted the desk and came to stand beside her. She tilted her head back to look up at him, and for the first time her eyes were wary. Draco took sadistic pleasure in knowing that she was aware of him-in more ways the one. Unconsciously, his mind recalled the feel of her beneath his hands. Soft, feminine, and utterly delicious.
"And don't you think that I knew what you were feeling at the Ministry?" he asked her softly, his voice radiating sexual menace. But Ginny knew he wouldn't hurt her-at least not in that way. Whatever else he was, Draco Malfoy was not a rapist. Why would he need to? She thought irritably. Women threw themselves at his feet all the time. Can't rape the willing.
"Knut for your thoughts?" he murmured, his eyes moving languorously over her face. She had an interesting face, one that he would have loved to draw if he had any talent in that area. It was made up of a jumble of features that kept her from having a classic beauty. She would never be a beauty queen like Pansy Parkinson had been at Hogwarts. Instead there was a strikingness in her face, a vivacity that kept her from that fate. She was so alive that it almost hurt his eyes to look at her. She glowed from the inside out, and it was fascinating to look at her.
Her cheekbones were high and arched, sculpting her face into something elegant, almost the equal to Draco's own aristocratic bones. Her eyes glowed, contrasting sharply with her mane of tumbled red hair. Unconsciously, Draco's fingers came up to touch her hair. He remembered her first year when she had come to Hogwarts. Her hair had been thin, and the color of a carrot. But over time it had thickened, and darkened to a luxurious, silky wine-red. When the light struck it, she looked like a ruby shining in the sun. Her hair was still stick-straight as it had always been, but it suited her. On other women it would have made them look sickly and frail, but on her she looked…vivacious.
"What are you doing?" Ginny's knees were trembling, and she was amazed that she could speak. He had been staring at her for several minutes, as she stared right back at him. His face made her stomach clutch up with the urge to touch him. And feeling his fingers moving softly through her hair made her want to close her eyes and touch his mouth with hers again.
Draco blinked down at her. "Doing?" he echoed blankly. Unconsciously his fingers threaded through her hair.
She stared up at him, unable to think. He was so close to her that she could feel the heat from his body, and she wanted to press herself against him. Wanted to nip at that curve of his neck, kiss that sulky bottom lip. She wanted him. Wanted him to touch her with the same gentleness that he had touched her hair.
Draco stared down at her, caught by the look in her eyes. The only word he could think to describe it was-hungry. He stepped closer to her, feeling her soft curves press against his harder body. He swallowed. God, why had he ever thought any other woman turned him on? Ginny fit against him like another half of a puzzle. He pushed his hands deeper into her hair, and tilted her head up to look at him.
He could feel her breathing quicken to match his own pounding pulse. He pushed away the niggling thought that he shouldn't touch her like this. He couldn't not touch her. She was like a drug in his blood. He lowered his head and kissed her.
He felt the same whirling in his head as he had before when he had touched her. His hands tightened in her hair, chaining her to his mouth as he ruthlessly took what he wanted. His mouth urged hers to open, to accept him. And without hesitation, she did. As her mouth opened, Draco felt that dizziness again at her simple acceptance of his kiss-of him. It didn't matter what she thought he had been, or what he was now. It didn't matter that their families hated each other. All that mattered was feeling her soft mouth beneath his, and her tentative caresses on his back as her arms came around to hold him.
Without thought, he turned her and then pressed her back against the desk, still taking his time with her mouth. He could kiss her all day-she was an addiction. Once he had had a taste of her, he would kill to have another. His hands loosed themselves from her hair, but she didn't notice as he moved from her mouth down to nip and kiss at her throat. The sound of her soft breathing and whimpers made his body as tight as a wire. His hands moved down her back and to her hips, sinking into her firm flesh. Abruptly, he lifted her and sat her on the edge of the desk, not breaking his kiss on her throat.
He felt more than heard her soft gasp of surprise, considering that his lips were on the soft juncture between her throat and jaw. Then he stepped forward, aggressively crowding close to her. Instead of drawing away, her hands went around his back to press him closer, and Draco felt a savage primal triumph. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her. It was gratifying as well as seductive.
He drew his head away from her throat, his breathing harsh. With primitive pleasure he saw his mark rising on her throat. Good, he thought savagely. She's mine. And that shows it.
She opened her eyes, and he saw that they were dilated again, but this time not from fear. Where a few minutes before her face had gone white as chalk, now it was flushed, her hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders, mussed from his hands. "Draco?" she breathed, and he felt his body shiver convulsively. Her voice when she said his name was like a physical caress that he felt through his whole body.
He stared down at her, taking a primitive satisfaction in knowing that he could have her right now if he wanted her. For his own enjoyment, he took her mouth again, lingering over it until she whimpered, her fingers digging into his back, a silent plea for more. Then he released her, feeling her fingers clutch at him in protest. He took a step away, staring at her, his breath heaving.
She looked up at him, her eyes heavy-lidded and sensual. "Draco?" she asked again, and he shivered.
"Go away," he said curtly, and saw her blink and shake her head as if she hadn't heard him properly.
"What?"
"Go-away." He enunciated clearly, and saw her struggle to understand.
"Why?" she whispered, her eyes wide and filled with hurt.
He curled his lip at her. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done. "I don't want you. Get out."
She seemed to draw into herself for a moment, and looked down at herself. She was sitting on the edge of Draco's desk, her legs still spread from where Draco had been standing a moment before. Her hair was tousled, and she could feel the bittersweet pleasure of his mark on her throat. When he had touched her, she had felt-passion. Heat. And now all she felt like was a whore.
She hung her head as a sick feeling of shame went through her. She knew that he had wanted her-knew that he still did. She might have been innocent, but she wasn't that innocent. But no matter if he wanted her or not, she looked like she was a whore. It didn't matter that he was her husband. She had almost given herself to him, on his desk, in the middle of the day.
She slid off the desk, feeling like she was going to throw up from the nausea curling in her gut. Then she looked up at him, and Draco nearly flinched from the pain and shame in her eyes. "I know you want me," she whispered hoarsely, and he winced. She sounded like someone had strangled her.
He forced himself to stare at her haughtily. "I don't want you anymore, Ginny."
She didn't even process that he had called her by her first name. "I know you want me," she repeated again. "But you'll never have me. Not ever again. I won't let you treat me like your whore, Malfoy."
Then she turned unsteadily on her heel and walked out of the room.
Blinking in shock, Draco sank down into one of the chairs that he had muscled aside when he had pressed Ginny against the desk. He desperately tried to process what she had said. You'll never have me. I won't be your whore.
The idea of Ginny as his whore was so foreign that he almost couldn't understand it. She was his wife. And the thought that he might never have her again made his whole body scream in frustration. What had he done? Why the hell had he stopped? Even he couldn't answer that question. All he had known was that he couldn't take her. Not on a desk. Not Ginny. She wasn't a quick fuck like most of his other women. She had courage, and passion, and he couldn't bear to see her treated so shabbily.
He blinked. When did he care what Ginny was like? When did he care what she felt, or what she thought? He scowled to himself. Better this way, he thought consolingly. Don't want the stupid Weaslette anyway. But his aching body told him otherwise.
Snarling at his own stupidity and sudden scruples, he stalked upstairs to take a cold shower.
***
Later that night, Ginny finally ventured downstairs again. She had taken a shower and scrubbed herself repeatedly, weeping silently. One minute he had made her feel glorious, and then the next she felt like she was dirt. How could one man make her feel so much? She wondered wildly. He shouldn't be allowed to have such power over her.
She didn't even bother to dress up-she put on a pair of pajama pants and one of Fred's old shirts, then went downstairs. She didn't want to meet Malfoy, but her stomach was gnawing impatiently at her. She hadn't eaten all day, and she was starving. She had lain in bed for hours, terrified to go downstairs and come face to face with Malfoy. She knew it would happen eventually, but her nerves felt too raw to survive another confrontation with him at the moment.
Fortunately, she didn't see him on her way down the stairs, nor as she scampered into the kitchen. She ruthlessly pushed away the little voice in her head that told her she was disappointed she hadn't seen him. Why do I want to see him? She asked herself roughly. I don't want to see that prat.
As she stepped into the kitchen, the bustle of movement inside stopped abruptly. Blinking, Ginny stared at the various house-elves. She knew they had been hurrying around before she stepped inside, because several still held plates and dishes. But they had all frozen in place once she came through the door.
She bit her lip, hoping that she could just back out the door and leave, because obviously her presence unnerved them. Just as she started to do so, a little voice squeaked, "Missus!"
Startled, her gaze instantly flew to the speaker and saw that it was Blinky, the house-elf who had shown her to her room yesterday. Was it only yesterday? She wondered absently. It seemed so long ago.
Blinky hurried up and bowed deeply, a gesture that the rest of the house-elves hurriedly emulated. "Does Missus need anything?" Blinky asked anxiously. "Is something not to the Missus's liking?"
"Oh no," Ginny said hurriedly. "Everything is wonderful. Honestly. I just came down here to fix myself something to eat." As if to punctuate her remark, her stomach growled.
There was a shocked gasp from the house-elves, and even Blinky looked horrified. "Missus would fix her own food? This can not be done! Blinky himself will fix Missus some food." Then he puffed himself up importantly, and Ginny surmised that obviously this would be a great honor for Blinky. Unfortunately, Ginny had never been raised with house-elves, and she had always fixed her own food. To have someone wait on her was-unnerving. It wasn't so bad when she didn't see the house-elves, but to know they were here and taking time out of what they had to do to fix her something to eat made her uncomfortable.
"No," she said hurriedly. "It's quite all right, Blinky. Thank you for offering, though."
Blinky blinked, as if he were stunned. "But Missus!" he sputtered. "Missus cannot be making her own food!" He seemed obviously distressed, and Ginny bit her lip, distressed herself. She didn't want to have Blinky make her food, but she also didn't want to insult him. The rest of the house-elves seemed to be watching in blatant horror and fascination at the tableau being enacted between the head house-elf and their mistress.
Then a voice said pleasantly, "Blinky, if the Mistress would like to make her own dinner, then I suggest you move out of her way."
There was a simultaneous squeak from the house-elves, then they all seemed to vanish from the room. Ginny blinked at their sudden departure, then turned to face the person standing behind her.
It was a slender man with a crop of perfectly trimmed fair hair. He wore what looked to be a butler's uniform, and his face was perfectly expressionless. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and he looked like an older version of Draco. Draco took little from his father, and most of his physical attributes from his mother. He had her fair hair, silvery eyes and slim build. This man had all those same things-was he related to Narcissa? Ginny wondered, staring up at the man.
"Thank you," she said hesitantly, not quite sure what she was thanking him for. The house elves hadn't been a real annoyance, just a conundrum. And they had seemed blatantly terrified of this man.
She held out her hand to shake with him, abruptly conscious of her damp hair and pajamas. She curled her toes beneath her pants, feeling five years old again. "It's a pleasure to meet you." To contrast her disheveled appearance, her voice was polite and precise.
She could have sworn she saw amusement in his eyes, then it was gone. He shook her hand gingerly, then immediately released her. "My pleasure, madam."
"Who are you?" Ginny asked him, fascinated. His resemblance to Draco was too strong to deny, but why would Draco have one of his relatives working as his butler? It didn't make any sense.
He drew himself up to his full height. "I am Gareth," he said, his voice proud, then looked down at her to see if that had any meaning for her.
Obviously it didn't, because Ginny just looked perplexed. "Okay," she said slowly. "Gareth. Do you have a last name?"
If she hadn't been looking for it, she wouldn't have seen the fine tension that invaded his muscles. "No madam." His voice was positively arctic. "I do not."
Ginny nodded quickly, hoping to relieve his annoyance. "I apologize," she said hurriedly, but he shook his head.
"No, madam. No need."
"Yes it is," Ginny argued. "I insulted you, and I apologize."
"There's no need." He sounded as if he were speaking through gritted teeth, but Ginny ignored that and started to glare at him.
"Can't you just accept a simple apology?" she snapped, her fists planted on her hips. "Who are you, anyway?"
He sighed and muttered something under his breath, but Ginny didn't hear him. Finally he said, "I am your butler, madam."
Ginny's mouth quirked in a little smile. "I guessed that, from the costume," she said lightly, making a gesture towards his clothes.
Gareth nearly glared at her. "Is something wrong with my attire, madam?" His voice was positively arctic, and Ginny threw up her hands in frustration.
"You're already driving me mad!" she muttered. "Good God, how does Malfoy stand you?"
"He's had lots of practice," Gareth said, a mixture of amusement and irritation in his voice.
"I'll bet," Ginny muttered under her breath, then checked her temper. Finally she puffed out a breath and asked him, "I was going to make something to eat. Would you like something?"
Gareth blinked at her. "I thought you just wanted to house-elves to leave because they were bothering you," he said slowly. "They should make your dinner, madam."
Ginny leveled a finger at him, a stern stare on the other end of it. "If you don't stop with this 'madam' business, I'm going to clock you," she told him, glaring. "You can call me Ginny."
"It would not be proper," he said stiffly, and she surprisingly laughed.
"Nothing about me is proper, Gareth," she said lightly, moving to the cold box to peer inside. Then she grinned. Obviously it had been restocked sometime in the day, because it was nearly overflowing with food. No more celery and beer, she thought gleefully, rummaging through the food.
She emerged a few minutes later holding an armful of food, which she promptly dumped onto the counter. She turned toward the door, half expecting Gareth to have fled. Instead he was watching her with sharp, considering eyes. She smiled at him. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"
He hesitated, then took a step into the room, then another. "I suppose I could assist you," he said reluctantly.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I don't need your assistance, Gareth. I was going to make some dinner. I'm hungry, and you look like you could use some fattening up. Doesn't Malfoy ever feed you?"
She could have sworn she saw a twinkle of amusement in his eyes before he said with great dignity, "Master Malfoy feeds me perfectly well, madam."
She glared at him over her shoulder, and he sighed. "I cannot call you Ginny. What does Ginny stand for?"
She hesitated, then rolled her eyes. "Virginia," she said reluctantly, turning her back on him to rummage in the drawer for a knife.
"Very well." He sounded pleased with himself as he came to stand beside her. "I will call you Virginia, then, if you so desire."
"You can't call me just Ginny?" she asked wistfully, and saw his small smile and shake of the head. She sighed theatrically. "Fine, fine. I guess Virginia will work. Just as long as it's not madam!"
She saw his secretive smile, and nearly smiled herself. He was awfully handsome, she thought abruptly, then pushed the thought away. But it crept insidiously back. She looked at him sideways as she started to cut up some lettuce. He had the same sharply defined bone structure as Draco, but his eyes were a piercing, pale blue instead of Draco's changeable silver. He was also more stout than Draco. Draco had a classic Seeker's build-wiry muscles and a slim body. This man was more thick, his shoulders more broad. Despite his broad shoulders, they tapered down into a thin waist that would have been the envy of most women, who had to suffer through corsets to get that kind of shape. Despite their differences, the two men could have been brothers.
The thought struck her like a hammer. Were they brothers? She certainly couldn't ask Draco-or Gareth, for that matter. They would just brush her off, or in Draco's case, insult her. She started to tap her lip with her finger, and was abruptly startled into awareness when Gareth snatched her hand. She blinked up at him, and saw that he looked both annoyed and furious. "Good God, woman!" he snapped. "Don't you know you're not supposed to stick knives around your face? You could have cut yourself!"
She blinked up at him. "I didn't know," she blurted out. "I'm sorry. I was thinking."
"Obviously not," he snapped at her.
She scuffed her feet, feeling like it was her mother scolding her. "Sorry," she mumbled. "Can I have my knife back, please?"
"I don't believe so." The furious, icy cold voice came from the doorway, and as if on cue, both Gareth and Ginny turned to look.
Draco leaned against the doorframe, but his indolent posture was belied by the furious, icy rage in his eyes and the hard set of his mouth. Ginny wanted to shrink back against the counter, but forced herself to remain straight and not cower before him. Gareth seemed like a stone statue beside her, and she risked a look up at him. His face was perfectly composed and set, except for his eyes. They burned with a steady emotion that Ginny could only think of as hate. She bit her lip anxiously, then Draco's fingers were sliding around her wrist and pulling her forward, away from Gareth.
Startled, she allowed Draco to move her a foot before she dug in her heels, feeling a sense of de ja vu. "Let go of me," she hissed furiously. "I'm not your little toy you can drag around. Let go before I make you let go."
Draco turned around to glare at her. They had both forgotten about Gareth, still standing stiffly beside the counter. "You couldn't-" Then he abruptly remembered her actions earlier. Obviously she could.
Reluctantly, he released her, but couldn't resist letting his fingers linger for a moment on the soft underside of her wrist in a tempting caress. He saw the small shiver in her at his movement, then she controlled herself and stared at him with icy eyes. "Did you need something?" she asked him coldly. "Gareth and I were just making dinner."
Draco narrowed his eyes at Gareth, who just stared at him in silence. "Why is my butler making dinner? That's what house-elves are for."
"Because I asked him to," Ginny said coolly. "And he was kind enough to oblige me."
Draco barked out a laugh. "He was kind enough? That's a laugh."
Ginny's glare darkened. "How dare you?" she hissed. "To insult him like that!"
Draco sneered down at her. "What do you care, wife?" He caught her fragile wrists in his hands and brought them up, almost to his chin as he put his face close to hers. "And don't forget that," he hissed. "You're my wife, Virginia."
Her lips wanted to tremble-whether from fear or rage, she didn't know. "Don't call me that," she snarled at him.
He glared down at her, fury nearly sparkling around him. "Why not?" he hissed at her. "You asked him to call you that."
Embarassment and anger made two red flags rise on her cheeks. "That's different," she snarled back at him, keeping her voice as low as his.
"How is it?" he snapped. "How is it different? You're my wife. I can call you whatever the hell I want."
"No you can't," she growled. "You call me Weasley, or Weaslette, but you don't call me by my name. That would imply that you cared."
"Oh? And like he cares about you? You're just his employer. Not even that. You're his employer's woman."
Shame burned her cheeks. "I am not your woman," she said woodenly. "I will never be your woman."
He curled his lip at her. "We'll see about that," he hissed. Then he released her so sharply she stumbled back a step. He spun on his heel and strode from the room, leaving a barren silence in his wake.
Ginny leaned against the counters, feeling trembly and drained. She tried to get her breath back, feeling like Draco had taken it with him as he had gone. Then there was a hesitant touch on her shoulder, and she looked up at Gareth. His face was hard and cold. "I apologize for any trouble I have caused you, madam," he said remotely. "If you will excuse me-"
"No," she said shortly. "I won't excuse you."
He had already started to move toward the door, but at her words he stopped and turned to stare at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"I won't excuse you," she repeated. "There's no reason for you to run off. He was angry with me, not with you."
"That's the reason that I am leaving," Gareth said coolly. "I do not wish to be a problem between you and your husband."
Ginny sighed and raked her hand through her hair in frustration and confusion. "You're not a problem, Gareth." She laughed harshly. "There are so many other problems than you."
"But you were just married yesterday," Gareth said softly, his voice almost having the same silky quality as Draco's did. Again, Ginny was sure that they were related. There was no way that two men could be so similar and not have the same blood. But that only made her more confused. Why was Gareth a butler if he was related to Draco?
Ginny smiled slightly at him. "Draco isn't the easiest man to get along with." That, at least, was truth. "But I love him anyway." That was a lie-wasn't it? "We always have little spats." That was exceptionally true.
Gareth narrowed his eyes at her, but didn't respond. He slowly moved back toward her, and picked up the knife that was lying on the counter, and began to thoughtfully chop more lettuce.
Ginny moved up beside him, then smiled hesitantly up at him. "And besides-I thought I told you to call me Virginia, not this madam stuff."
He looked down at her for a moment, then she saw his mouth move into a slight smile before he turned his gaze away and concentrated on what he was doing.
Feeling a mixture of pleasure that she had made him smile and frustration with Draco, Ginny started to make the rest of their dinner.
***
In his office, Draco glared at the bookshelves across from him, barely seeing them. He could barely look at his desk without imagining Ginny earlier that day. She had been radiant, and now whenever she looked at him he saw her shame. It made his guts twist into knots, a fact that he was rapidly growing irritated with. He didn't want to care for the chit. He didn't want to feel this multitude of feelings that were scrambling him up. Especially when he knew that she didn't feel the same way. He knew that she was attracted to him--that had been blatantly obvious earlier today. But she didn't feel this same dazzle of emotions that he did.
Then he imagined Ginny downstairs with Gareth, and his hands curled into fists. He had never wanted to hit another person so badly as he had wanted to hit Gareth. The nerve of the bastard! To try to seduce Draco's wife in his own house! Draco gritted his teeth, his fury unabated by his moments of introspection. And Ginny had looked-adorable. Her hair had been falling down around her face, and he had seen laughter in her eyes as she looked up at Gareth. He had no desire to admit it aloud, but he had been desperately jealous. She never smiled at him, and he was her husband!
He narrowed his eyes furiously. By God, that wanker Gareth wouldn't get away with it. She was his, dammit, and he didn't share. Not with anyone. Maybe he hadn't cared in the past if the woman he was seeing was seeing another man, but it made a difference now. No matter what she thought, Ginny was his woman, and he wasn't going to let her go. At least until the charade is over, Draco thought. And then they would quietly divorce, and they would go their separate ways. But until that time, she was his, and he planned to keep her that way. Only his.
Draco brooded silently until he heard a soft knock at the door. He sat up straight, his heart jumping at the thought that it might be Ginny. Then he pushed it away impatiently and called, "Come."
The door opened hesitantly, and Draco nearly slumped. Ginny would never have opened the door so hesitantly, as if she were afraid of him. She would have strode into the room and commanded the attention of everyone there. That was what she did. Whether or not she meant to, she was impossible to ignore. He was jolted from his thoughts when one of the house-elves peeked around the corner of the door at him.
"Master," it said hesitantly. "Dinner is ready."
Dinner made by who? He nearly asked scathingly, then checked himself. He had no wish to broadcast his problems with his wife to his house-elves.
Instead he nodded curtly. "Very well." The house-elf, sensing his dismissal, scampered out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.
Draco glared at one of the glass paperweights on his desk, then surged to his feet, ill-temper making his eyes flash. By God, he wasn't going to sit idly by. More than his ego rested on their marriage. Lives-his life and others-depended on it. It was high time that she was reminded of that. With a cold smile curling his lips, Draco strode to the door and then down the hallway, ready to give his wife a thorough tongue-lashing.