Author's Notes: It's been a while since I updated. Been doing all sorts of moving and shaking and working lately. My free time is pretty nil. But I do have a few other chapters waiting to be uploaded, but I'm keeping them until I can do some final edits and stuff on them since I still am beta-less. I'm very particular about the betas I work with, if you couldn't tell from my writing. Usually I ask that they know more about writing and English than I do, otherwise, what's the point?
So anyway, aside from my fruitless search for perfection (god, I miss Alexis right now), AIDE is starting to wrap up. I have the final chapters outlined and ready to write when I get the time. I'm estimating about 40 chapters of this right now. Still working out kinks. And working them in.
I do want to take this time to thank you all for the reviews so far and to keep them coming. If it wasn't for those reviews, I wouldn't bother updating because I'd think you'd all lost interest by now. But thanks go to Kelly for leaving a lovely, long review the other day to remind me. I really appreciated your comments because they were thoughtful, questioning, and honest. Aurora Borealis1, you're spot on, love, so a biscuit for you. A heads up to Sue Bridehead the reviewer for unwittingly leading me to the following quote, thank you. Joseph Campbell is the best. You will surely be appreciating later bits of this story, I assure you.
Um, I would like to know which words I'm misspelling since I seem to get a few reviews saying that. I run everything through spellcheck and it's set to UK ENGLISH in case anyone is confused on that point. The ¾ things I've tried to correct in this chapter. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter.
The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek. -- Joseph Campbell
"I'll take the tray. Now be gone, elf," Draco snarled as he kicked the air behind an impertinent house-elf wearing a large, floppy, and poorly-knitted hat. The elf snapped his fingers and sent Draco a glare before fully Disapparating from the room.
"Liberated help, indeed," he muttered.
Draco glanced back at his mother, lounging calmly on a divan with a cold cloth over her eyes. Her hands were draped dramatically over her head, shielding her face further from his view and he from hers. Most excellent.
He pulled a small, blue phial from his pocket and added three drops of clear liquid to the bottom of her cup before tucking it away again and carrying the tray over to the small table beside his mother's divan.
"Tea's here, Mother," Draco said quietly. He poured a cup for her, carefully adding sugar to suit before passing it over.
"Just set it down, Draco." Mrs Malfoy waved a long-fingered ivory hand in his general direction and pressed at the cloth over her eyes. "Do be a dear, though, and pull those drapes shut. The sunlight pierces my brain like a- " She sat up partially and turned her blinkered head toward him. "What is that thing? A needle? Yes, one of those." She laid flush against the pillows again. "I should know about those by now. I've had to watch Molly Weasley with one enough to be sick to death of them. And I have such a migraine . . ."
Draco rolled his eyes and did as he was bid, flicking his wand at the curtains. Only they seemed to catch on something unexpected and he was forced to actually stand up and free them from the wall. When he returned, Mrs Malfoy was sitting up and slowly sipping at her tea. She had poured out a cup for him as well, liberally dosing it with cream and almost no sugar. Draco was honestly surprised that she remembered how he took his tea.
He drank a bit and looked at her from under his eyebrows. She didn't seem any different, but then, she wouldn't to the untrained observer or even herself. Time to test.
"I see that you're not completely without use, Mother."
Mrs Malfoy sighed and picked up a biscuit to nibble at it delicately. "I'm afraid that I am almost completely useless. I only sleep, eat, and compla--" She stopped and looked up at him sharply. "Draco, did you put something in my tea?"
He shrugged casually, swiped a petite four from the tray, and popped it in his mouth, intending not to admit to anything but instead he said: "Just a mild form of Veritaserum, Mother."
Draco clapped a hand over his mouth and looked up at her. Had he accidentally dropped some in his own cup? From the look of amusement on her face, apparently he did not.
"Veritaserum? For me? Well, that's . . . expected, I suppose."
"Did you put some in my cup as well?" Draco demanded.
"Of course." Mrs Malfoy picked up a pair of silver pinchers and dropped three more lumps of sugar in her cup. Two vertical lines marred the perfection of her pale brow. "You never did make my tea sweet enough, Draco."
"Some people prefer to drink a cup of tea instead of liquid sugar," Draco replied dryly. "Why you feel the need to drown yourself in it, I'll never know."
"So little in my life is sweet, perhaps," she sighed, lifting her spoon from the cup without a sound.
Draco searched for clouds and sky through the blank barrier of the ceiling again. "Don't be maudlin, Mother. It ruins my image of you."
Mrs Malfoy's eyes were unusually lucid when they met his. "Down to business, Draco, since we have little time before that farce of a wedding you're to be participating in soon." She glanced at the clock behind him and back again. "What did you want to know so badly that you felt it necessary to dose me with Veritaserum first to find out?"
"Hmmn, well . . . " Draco attempted to stall, but found his tongue wanting to take away his Slytherin preference to distract and pounce. "I want to know about Chertien de Malfai and the curse I am, or was, under."
"Ah," Mrs Malfoy leant back against her pillows, balancing her teacup on her lap. "I suspected as much. Ask me, then, since you know I can not refuse you anything now."
Draco finished chewing his cake and grinned rakishly. "Who was Chertien de Malfai?"
Mrs Malfoy lifted one eyebrow. "He was such a boring man, Draco. Chertien de Malfai was the first Malfoy in Britain. Before that, they lived in France, and . . ."
"Something useful, Mother." Draco prompted impatiently. This was too much. He had to have a cigarette. Right now. "I already know most of this."
"Yes, well, I suppose useful to you means the curse." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "He was the first to cast it on his family. Chertien de Malfai learnt the curse from Grindlewald the Dark sometime in the fifteenth or sixteenth century. They were great friends, all told, and what is not usually told is that they were lovers of a sort."
Draco had just taken his second puff from one of the precious sticks in his silver case when he choked on the smoke. It burned his lungs and Draco could do little more but cough and splutter for a moment before he regained his composure. "Lovers?!" he gasped. "You mean Father wasn't the first- "
Mrs Malfoy shook her head, a wicked smile tugging her lips. "Oh no, certainly not the first. Although I believe Lucius had Chertien stricken from the family records whilst Percy- " She stopped and the smugness drained from her face. "Well, it was when Percy was there that Lucius did it. He grew angry one night and blew a hole in the mural with his wand the day after Percy arrived; threw a goblet of wine at it as well, if I recall."
Draco's skin was creeping and it was a decidedly unpleasant sensation, so he moved forward with his questioning. "All poofing aside, what else was so special about the man?"
Mrs Malfoy tipped her head elegantly and drained her teacup. "I have no idea. It wasn't until the next generation that all the odd burnings and tortures and other amusing things took place."
"Lovely to know your view on that area of our history, Mother," Draco said slowly, drawing on his cigarette again. He decided that the calming charms must have had some sort of negative reaction with the Veritaserum he'd drank because the smoke pouring from the lit end of his cigarette started making patterns he found difficult to ignore. They were actually quite . . . pretty. Ooh, and that one was the very image of a wolf sitting on his mother's hea-- Draco shook his head to clear it and squeezed the filter of his cigarette between his fingers so it would disappear.
Mrs Malfoy was languidly raising a hand, palm to the sky, and sliding another biscuit toward her with the tip of a finger from her other hand when he looked back at her. At least her movements weren't creating light trails anymore.
"And the curse itself?" Draco asked in an attempt to focus on the conversation again. "What do you know of it?"
"What I've told you already," she insisted. "It is a bartering curse. You must--"
"Yes, I know," Draco cut her off. "'One must pay a price for certain boons.' So what are the boons and what is the price?"
"It can be manipulated a bit, but the basic curse consists of removing certain emotions like joy and sorrow - or fear and bravery - and in return giving you perfection of form."
"So what did it take from me? What did it give to me?" Draco asked, leaning forward in his seat, waiting with baited breath for her answer.
"I suspect it improved your natural looks." She contemplated his hair with a frown. "Covered certain natural and artificial imperfections, and obviously it made you taller since you seem to be shrinking at an alarming rate."
"And the price?" Draco whispered.
Her eyes roved over him again. "Likely your ability to feel things as normal people do; intensifying certain emotions your father felt were good for servitude to the Dark Lord and erasing others that were not. Twisting you up inside."
"But the curse is gone now?"
"It seems to be fading." The edges of her lips warped, bowing into a sort of frown. "And I must say that I preferred your previous look because that hair of yours simply refuses to behave."
Draco pushed his hair back with a snarl. He was still light-headed and she wasn't making this easy. "I don't care about my sodding hair right now, Mother. I want to know more about--"
She cut him off by tapping her spoon soundly against her cup. His mother was too graceful and involved in etiquette to have done it without purpose. "Let me ask you a question now, Draco."
He sat back and glared at her whilst she patted down the wrinkles in her robes and set her cup aside.
"Do you really object to marrying the Weasley girl?"
The 'no' came out completely against his will and Draco gritted his teeth to keep in any other unacceptable admissions.
"I see," Mrs Malfoy said. "And how do you feel about the girl? Fancy her, do you?"
"Yes, I fancy her. Other than that, I don't know. She scares me." Draco stuffed his fingers in his mouth and bit them quite hard, preferring the pain to saying anything further on the subject.
"You don't love her, do you?" Her shapely eyebrows rose to a great height as she waited for his reply.
"I--I don't know," Draco said, relieved and more than a little curious at the same time. "She's comfortable to sleep on, and she's a romping shag and I keep having these dreams about her . . . Mother, please don't make me say anymore! Ginny is mine, and I'd like to wring Creevey's bloody neck if he ever thinks about touching her-- Mother! Again. I quite like her."
Draco slumped over and couldn't bring himself to look directly at his mother. "You're a bitch," he said in all honesty.
"Noted," Mrs Malfoy said calmly. When he looked up, she was examining her fingernails for imaginary dust and debris. "But could you-- do you love me, though?" she asked softly. Her heart - and Draco had never thought of her having one before - was in her eyes as she waited for his answer.
Draco didn't really have to think about it. "Of course I'm fond of you, Mother. But I don't think that I know you well enough to love you."
"Yet you know this Weasley--" She muttered under her breath and frowned sharply before beseeching him again. "Do you have even the vaguest impression of what it is?"
"Absolutely no idea," Draco said happily, pointedly ignoring his mother's pleading eyes. "And I really do prefer it that way, you know. Love makes things too complicated."
There was something in the back of his mind, which told him that wasn't precisely true, but the instant jubilation and gratitude he felt at being able to lie again quashed it firmly into a corner to be quickly ignored.
"I thought I knew what it was once," Mrs Malfoy mused, picking at the lace coverlet on her lap. "But I was very young, and foolish, and it was an odd sort of situation anyway."
Draco raised an eyebrow and snatched up another biscuit since he deemed those safe for consumption. "Don't tell me it was Father."
"Ah, but the Veritaserum's worn off now, Draco. Therefore, I think I'll keep my secrets a while longer if you don't mind, since they are the only things that are truly mine and I prefer not to dwell on such youthful indiscretions."
It was as if Draco were looking at a great, shifting puzzle and another piece suddenly slid into place. "You ran away from Father to be with someone else, didn't you?"
Mrs Malfoy's leg twitched and her eyes slid closed. "I don't wish to talk about that, Draco."
He took that for a yes and picked up his cup to take another sip when he remembered the Veritaserum and set it down. He was very thirsty after so many dry biscuits and he needed a drink. "Did you poison the pot or just my cup?"
"Just your cup. I wanted some tea, too, after all." Mrs Malfoy took a flask from her pocket and conjured a tiny glass for herself. Draco watched her pour the familiar green liquid in the bottom. She didn't even bother with sugar, fire, or ceremony anymore, it seemed. His mother drank it straight down with a clean jerk of her hand.
"If you don't lay off of that, there won't be a wedding." Draco paused and smiled widely as a thought occurred to him. "Would you like me to bring you another bottle?"
Mrs Malfoy sent him a crisp look over her glass before she tilted it back and drained it dry. It was an uncharacteristically crude gesture on her part, but she seemed past the point of caring. Then she repeated the gesture with a refill. Twice. "As if anything could keep you from your precious little Weasley girl."
Draco winced. Mrs Malfoy set down her glass and picked among the morning pastries and biscuits, taking her time in selecting one to eat. She had just plucked a jam tart from the pile of sweets when a knock sounded at the door.
"And speaking of tarts," she said unsteadily as she poked at the flaky pastry in her hand. "That's probably yours at the door now."
Draco shook his head at his mother's addled wit and wearily flicked his wand at the door. It opened to reveal Mrs Weasley.
"Oh, I was wrong," Mrs Malfoy said gleefully, her eyes silver crescents. "It's the other one. What flavour do you think she would be, Draco-my-lovely?"
"Mother," Draco warned, not spoiling for a pre-wedding fight between his mother and his mother-in-law-to-be. He shuddered. "Less faerie juice, if you please."
Then, it would be ever so entertaining to see how hard Mrs Weasley had to be pushed before she Avada Kedavera'd someone. Just for future reference, of course. He could take notes.
Mrs Weasley was glaring at his mother, but she managed to restrain herself and addressed Draco. "I thought you should know that it's almost time to present yourself downstairs. Ginny's nearly ready."
"Lovely." Draco absentmindedly plucked the silver flask from his mother's hand and threw it over his shoulder, ignoring her protests. He sighed and flicked open his cigarette case without thought, bringing one to his lips. Draco gestured toward her with his smoking hand after he'd taken a few calming puffs and addressed Mrs Weasley. "We'll be ready as soon as she can walk without running into imaginary trees in the corridors. Mother has a terrible dependency, you know."
Mrs Weasley pursed her lips tightly and nodded once before closing the door behind her, muttering something about Malfoys and their vices.
Draco looked down to see Mrs Malfoy staring, in a most enthralled manner, at her hands. "Do grow up, Mother." He grabbed his dress cloak from where it was draped over a chair and swirled it around his shoulders, pushing the toggles through the loops of ribbon along the front. "I can't take you anywhere, can I?"
*~*~*~*~*~*
Harry walked down the halls with Ron uncertainly. Hermione gripped his hand tightly as they made their way toward the tower that would house the wedding and the feast afterwards. Hermione was attempting to nerve herself by keeping up a steady stream of chatter about wizarding wedding traditions versus Muggle ones. At least it kept her from speaking in the open about plans she was just itching to discuss again.
"And of course they must eat a symbolic egg after the ceremony, but I'm not sure if they will now, seeing as Ginny is already--"
"Oh look," Ron interrupted with the air of one who was desperate to find something else to talk about. "It's Millicent Bulstrode. I wonder what she's doing in this part of the castle."
Hermione looked at Ron strangely. "I don't see anyone. And why would you care if she's down here or not?"
Ron shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Just thought it was odd, is all."
Harry quickly felt a migraine coming on which had nothing to do with a mystical force. It was a strangely familiar and comforting pressure, though, so he decided to ignore it and hope it went away soon. Actually . . .
"You two go on ahead. I'm going to run over to Pomfrey and ask if she has any headache potions."
Ron cast an eye on him. "Feeling all right, mate?"
"Yeah, it's just that I don't want to ruin the wedding later by having a headache."
Ron and Hermione both scoffed.
"It could do with ruining, I think," Hermione said crisply. "I hate even thinking about how mediaeval this all is. Poor Ginny--"
Ron snorted. "Poor Ginny can take care of herself. If I didn't hate the bloke, I'd give my sympathy to Malfoy. Smug bastard that he is." Grumbles followed.
Harry took this opportunity to break away. "I won't be long. Save a seat for me."
He relished the chance to escape for a moment and slowed his pace as soon as he rounded a corner. Harry wasn't precisely sure whether he would actually go looking for headache potions, but if he wound up in the Infirmary, he wouldn't mind.
Things were clicking into place now. Being with Ron and Hermione both again made things seem frighteningly more real all of a sudden. The scheme Hermione had come up with was like old times. Harry half-expected to open a door and find Fluffy guarding a trap door, or to come across the Mirror they were now looking for.
Harry never thought the Mirror of Erised was of any practical use before Hermione discovered a passage about it whilst looking up information on how to avoid being spied upon by Dumbledore. It really was the perfect solution to their problems. Grindlewald, or Dumbledore, whoever he was, would never tell them the truth when directly confronted. But Albus Quaffle seemed terribly insistent that Grindlewald was a Muggle lover and 'not a bad fellow, but for that Muggle thing', despite what the Chocolate Frog cards and slim gleanings of history they found said. What was the real story?
Smirking to himself, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and continued his ramble around the castle. It had to work. Hermione was too clever for it not to be a smashing breakthrough in this latest mystery. The only real problem lay in finding where Dumbledore had hidden the bloody Mirror.
Then there was the required sacrifice.
Harry stopped and stared out a window that overlooked the grounds and part of the lake. The answer wasn't in the new spring grass, nor was it to be found in the gentle sun-gold waters of the lake.
For the Mirror to work with the incantation Hermione had discovered, it required that one of them sacrifice a desire in order to see a particular desire. Right now, they wanted to see the past and what really happened between Dumbledore and Grindlewald. But what would they be willing to give up?
When Harry had encountered the Mirror before, he had seen his parents and extended family. Whilst it was still true that he desired the love and presence of his parents, there were other things now that he wanted in life; more adult things.
He had Hermione, or at least he assumed she was his as much as he was hers. That was a little foggy and he hoped that whatever he saw in the Mirror had nothing to do with her. Then, Ron had decided to forgive them, or did they forgive him? Harry pressed a hand to his eyes. All the thinking was making his headache worse than it was before. Nothing was clear anymore, it seemed.
He sighed and kicked a piece of crumpled parchment someone had left in the hallway, satisfied by the small thwack it made against the opposite wall.
So if they found the Mirror, someone would have to give up a desire. Did that mean that the desire would never come true or simply that the person would stop longing for it? If he saw only his parents in the Mirror, maybe Sirius and Hagrid, too, Harry decided that it wouldn't be such a bad thing to stop wanting them to be there. No matter what he did, they weren't coming back and that was the truth.
Perhaps losing the desire for something made it so that you no longer bothered to try, so it wouldn't come true that way. Was that it? How had Hermione explained it to them earlier?
Harry plopped down in a window ledge and buried his head in his hands. He probably should seek Madame Pomfrey out actively if he wanted his headache to go away. He also reasoned that less thinking was in order since it seemed to disagree with his health.
Soft, shuffling footsteps echoed down the hall. Harry looked up to see Dumbledore coming toward him, his face serene and untroubled.
"Ah, Harry. Feeling all right today?"
"As well as can be expected, sir, considering the circumstances."
Dumbledore nodded and held out a tin of sherbet lemons. Harry refused them, naturally. Any thought of sherbets automatically recalled Albus Quaffle and he didn't want to think anymore that day. He just wanted to get through it.
"I may not completely agree with this wedding, Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "But I feel that it's probably for the best considering Mr Malfoy and Miss Weasley's temperaments."
Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean you want them to kill each other?"
The light in Dumbledore's eyes was jovial. "On the contrary, I believe that their more volatile passions may cool long enough for their feelings for each other to surface. Provided that they are given their own space for a while, of course."
"Malfoy doesn't have any feelings," Harry grumbled. "He doesn't care about Ginny at all. Certainly not about their children."
"I think he cares for Miss Weasley very much," Dumbledore disagreed. He leant down and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "He won't hurt her, Harry. He can't whilst I am here."
Harry shrugged. "I suppose not. I should probably be giving my sympathy to Malfoy."
Dumbledore threw his head back and laughed. He patted Harry's shoulder a few times and stood straight again. His eyes were the same sparkling blue orbs of merriment that Harry had known almost his entire time at Hogwarts. Dumbledore didn't look or sound any different from how he always had. If this was Grindlewald, he didn't seem like an evil person.
As Harry watched, Dumbledore nodded solemnly and started walking away, his soft shoes thumping steadily toward the small hall where the wedding would be held.
Harry stood up and balled his fists, all thoughts of headache gone as he summoned the famous Gryffindor courage to aid him.
"Grindlewald," he called softly. "Your name is Grindlewald."
Dumbledore stood frozen, his back still to Harry when he spoke. "That's a very peculiar accusation, my boy. Especially considering that Grindlewald died long before you were born."
"True, though," Harry replied.
Dumbledore dipped his feeble, grey head in acknowledgment. "We have much to discuss, Harry. Come to my office after the wedding feast. I'll be waiting for you."
He started walking away again, but Harry stopped him with a shout: "I won't be alone!"
The old man half-turned, his gaze the only gleaming point in heavy shadows. "I wouldn't expect you to, Harry. But . . . choose wisely, and well, from amongst those you trust."
Harry locked stares with Dumbledore for only a moment before bolting back toward the wedding hall. He had to prepare Ron and Hermione for a social call later.
*~*~*~*~*~*
"The robes are fine, Mum, honestly."
"Well, more pearls won't hurt, will it?" Mrs Weasley waved her wand and added a row of delicate seed pearls to the hem of Ginny's wedding robes.
Ginny rolled her eyes and glanced over at her father for help. He smiled shyly and stepped forward before his wife added more lace to Ginny's sleeves.
"She's fine, Moll. Ginny already looks like a sorceress in those robes."
Mrs Weasley huffed and stepped back. "I just don't want Narcissa to say that Ginny's robes are too plain, Arthur."
Ginny glanced down at herself and then quickly up at the mirror in front of her. There were so many pearls and laces and ribbons that to add anymore would be vulgar, but Ginny didn't say anything more than: "She won't be able to call these robes plain, Mum."
Mrs Weasley sighed and stepped back. "It's almost time, dear. I need to go put my gloves and hat on." She shoved Mr Weasley toward their daughter on her way out of the room. "Talk to her as I'm getting dressed, will you, dear?"
He stumbled briefly before straightening up. Ginny displayed her best half-smile to assure him and smoothed down the front of her bodice. "It really is too much." She fingered the lacy front. "All these extras Mum added."
Mr Weasley put his hand in his pocket. "I'm afraid that I need to add just-- one more thing." He withdrew his hand and dangled a gold chain and pendant in front of her.
Ginny frowned and lifted her hand to touch it. "What's this, Dad?"
He looked down and shuffled his feet. "It was your Christmas present . . . from Percy."
Ginny's eyes widened and she met his nervous gaze. "Oh, Dad," she breathed. She touched the ruby heart and smiled wistfully at the golden dragon's claw grasping it snugly. Ginny lifted her hair and turned around. "Put it on? I want to wear it today."
She saw his arm reach awkwardly around her neck and felt him fumbling with the clasp. The ruby settled low in her bodice and Ginny patted it before turning back to her father.
"Thank you," she said simply. "I'm glad you gave this to me today."
Mr Weasley lowered his eyes and nodded. "Percy wanted very much for you to have it. It was-- it was one of the last things he wrote about."
Ginny frowned. "Wrote about?"
"In his journal. The, uh, the Aurors at the Malfoy estate sent it to me a few weeks ago. They thought we might want it."
"Oh," she said as she fingered the cool ruby hanging over her heart. "It must have been difficult for you." Ginny looked up. "Does Mum know?"
Mr Weasley shook his head. "I haven't told anyone but you. It's too painful and too personal to share. Even with your mother. It would only upset her. She's been so happy lately, with the wedding and all, that I feel it would just cause her undue grief."
"This isn't the time to keep secrets, Dad," Ginny said, threading her fingers with her father's. "We've all been keeping them and look where we are now."
He smiled faintly. "I suppose you're right. I can show it to Molly later; after all of this wedding madness has calmed down and she's bored again."
Ginny laughed loudly and attempted to embrace her father, but her skirt was too full, so she settled for gripping arms with him. She'd missed his quiet presence, his powerful curiosity, his love for his family and his wife. Ginny saw her father with brand new eyes in this sparkling moment between them.
Mrs Weasley came back then, wearing a pair of pristine white kidskins and a large hat covered in flowers with a tulle veil obscuring the top half of her face. She checked the buttons of her pale purple robes and the corsage of tiny, yellow cinquefoils pinned to her bosom.
"Are you ready, Ginny?" she asked inattentively whilst turning her round collar down and smoothing it with quick, precise flicks of her fingers.
"Yes, Mum," Ginny sighed. "I've been ready for ages. Doesn't mean I want to be ready."
Mrs Weasley stopped preening and glanced up at Ginny critically through the obstruction of her veil. "Don't give me that tosh. Now turn around so I can make sure I've not missed anything."
Ginny slowly rotated with her arms held out. She felt like a bell with the large, hoop-skirted robes and form-fitting bodice. A giant could come by and use her upper body as a handle, letting her skirts swing back and forth. Ginny wondered if her screams would sound like the tinkling of a bell to the people below, but decided not to test that theory, tempting as it was to give voice to her nervousness and fear.
"I suppose it will--" Her mother stopped and pointed sharply at Ginny's neck. "What's that there?"
Ginny whirled round the rest of the way and clutched at her pendant, her skirts struggling to catch up with her. "It's just-- um, mine."
Mrs Weasley walked forward to examine it and Ginny haltingly allowed her. Her mother visibly relaxed and smiled. "Ah, that must be Percy's necklace. Wherever did you find it?"
Mr Weasley stared. "How did you know about that?"
"Oh, I, well, he told me about it. Before he--" She cleared her throat and stepped away. "We really should be going now, dear. They won't wait forever, and we still must meet Draco and Narcissa at the doors before going in."
Mr Weasley glanced between his daughter and his wife for a moment, but said nothing. He held out his arm for Mrs Weasley to take, and Ginny followed them out of the room.
As soon as Draco saw them, he marched up to Ginny and her mother, cigarette in hand. "You can't invite that Mudblood Granger to my wedding or the feast! I won't allow it."
"Draco Malfoy!" Mrs Weasley gasped. "How dare you say that word!"
Draco ignored Ginny for the moment and span on his heel to address Mrs Weasley, a ferocious glint in his eye. "Clamp it, woman. I'm marrying your daughter, not every half-breed from here to Edinburgh."
Mr Weasley stepped forward angrily, almost nose-to-nose with Draco. "Now see here, you spoilt--"
But his wife pulled him away and took a menacing step toward Draco, her eyes flashing murder before they flickered over to Mrs Malfoy.
"Narcissa, dear, I think that you need to have a talk with your son about propriety and respect for his elders."
Mrs Malfoy shrugged her thin shoulders. "But you're so much better at it than I am."
Mrs Weasley gnashed her teeth audibly. "Draco, as much as I would like more grandchildren, I'll eviscerate you if you don't behave today and that's a promise."
Draco's eyes widened and he stepped - unconsciously, Ginny was sure - behind his mother. Mrs Malfoy, for her part, looked unmoved by any of this, and she yawned delicately behind her hand.
"Today shall be a happy day for both of you," Mrs Weasley continued, her voice laced with venom and honey. "I'd hate to have to do something drastic." She picked up the hem of Ginny's robes and obsessively added yet another row of seed pearls to the hem with her wand. "And Hermione will be attending the wedding and the feast, whether you like it or not. I want her silly little head to be reeling at the evidence of her handy-work."
"Molly!" Mr Weasley chided. "That's uncalled for. Hermione's a lovely girl."
Ginny was confused as to who she thought was right. She was still angry with Hermione, but she also considered her a good friend and wanted her to be at the wedding. It seemed like she'd get her wish now.
Meanwhile, her mother snorted. "A lovely girl who's been filling our daughter's head with all sorts of nonsense." She paused to tug at an imaginary wrinkle on Ginny's robes. "I'm just glad that Ron figured it out for himself before I had to think about how I would coax children out of her if they married."
"Yes, because Pansy Parkinson is going to be so much easier to convince," Draco crooned slyly, glancing at his nails in an exercise of boredom. He lifted his face and addressed Mrs Malfoy. "Are we still waiting for Professor Snape, Mother, or can we go in yet?"
Ginny outright giggled at the look of undisguised horror on her mother's face. She tried to scowl at Draco, but her mirth made it completely ineffective.
"No!" Mrs Weasley gasped. "Not another one. Oh, my Ron!"
Mr Weasley led his wife to the doors. "Come now, Molly. You don't want to get all worked up. Let's lead the children in now and you can fret later."
"But Ron could be off doing God knows what with the Parkinson girl right now," she protested, planting her feet firmly on the floor. "Is Harry sure that he fancies Hermione?" She looked past them at the wall, a frown tugging her lips. "I mean, young love rarely lasts. Maybe she'll get sick of Harry and be interested in Ron again."
"Mum!" Ginny exclaimed. "You leave them alone. Hermione is practically all Harry has left, and they're friends with Ron again. Don't plot any matchmaking schemes, please?"
Mrs Weasley burst into sudden tears and buried her head in her husband's chest. He wrapped her in his arms and patted her back quietly. "There, there, Molly. Maybe you'll be able to plan another wedding soon. Imagine how fun that will be, hmmn?"
She lifted her head up just enough for air and wailed: "All of my children are leaving me!"
Ginny saw Draco roll his eyes and lean back against the wall, chatting quietly with his mother. She suppressed her desire to do the same, even if she wasn't overly fond of Draco's mother. Mrs Weasley blew her nose into a handkerchief loudly and cast a drying charm on Mr Weasley's damp robes.
"I still have you, though," she sniffled. "And Percy. And the chickens."
Mrs Malfoy glanced at them all sideways, but said nothing. Ginny was busy being quietly horrified, but Mr Weasley grasped his wife's shoulders and squeezed affectionately.
"Perhaps you should rest for a bit, love." The lines of his face were tensed to the point of snapping. "You're not yourself."
She shook him off and looked down whilst she composed herself again. "No, I'm quite all right, dear. Just nerves."
Ginny and her father shared a glance. Ginny supposed that she wasn't the only one who thought her mother had gone round the bend, but they said nothing to each other about this. Their silent communication was all that was needed to assure one another that they had, indeed, heard correctly.
"I see Professor Snape," Draco said loudly. "Finally."
Ginny looked over her shoulder to see her Potions' professor bearing down on them swiftly. She stepped aside to assume ranks. Draco quickly pinched his cigarette.
The Professor would walk in first with Draco's mother. Since he was Head of Slytherin and a long-time family friend of the Malfoy's, it was only fitting that he take Lucius' place today. Her parents would follow next. Then it would be just her and Draco.
Draco's hand gripped Ginny's firmly as he led her through the double doors; she looked at him in surprise when she felt it, damp and trembling. He cocked an eyebrow at her.
"You know this is permanent, right?"
Ginny sighed and tried to focus on the platform looming ahead, where exactly she would stand to be married. "Yes, I know. But what can we do?"
Draco shrugged. "Nothing."
"Mmmn," Ginny mumbled in acknowledgment of their imminent imprisonment. That must have been Hermione's voice again, she thought. Marriages should be happy, Ginny mused. It would be dull, and lonely, and lacking in certain physical areas, but she could surely find something to make it bearable.
Ginny plastered a smile on her face as they neared the Wizengamot's representative. He spoke a few traditional words to the crowd before asking for their wands.
It was with hesitation that Ginny slipped hers from her sleeve and placed it in the gnarled palm waiting to bind her wand to Draco's, but all the same, she did so. Behind her, Ginny could hear the twins grumbling and muttering with Charlie, Bill, and Ron; likely plotting Draco's death or, at least, a severe hexing.
Ginny found the smile was not so forced after that.
You know the drill. Reviewing and goodness and souls and all that. Feel free to beat me or pet me or what-have-you.