Interlude

clanmalfoy

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 17/03/2005
Last Updated: 17/03/2005
Status: completed

As the conflict between the Order and the Death Eaters heightens, even stolen interludes suffer. A Worth Any Price-arc story.

Chapters

1. Interlude

1. Interlude

A/N: Many thanks to all of the readers of my LiveJournal, who gave me wonderful comments while I slaved over this piece, and especially to Karen for beta services.

~*~

It was an unusually hot July evening, and yet Draco Malfoy arrived home from his position in the Office of Finance in a decent frame of mind for once. It could have been the fact that Amos Diggory, his immediate superior and the Senior Ministry Liaison to Gringotts, had taken a much-needed holiday in Brighton with his wife and could not, therefore, impose another half-share of work on his already burdened assistant.

More likely, however, it had everything to do with a nondescript piece of parchment that lay hidden in the pocket of the summer-weight, dove grey business robes he wore. "Libby!" he called imperiously, schooling his face into a serious expression as his house-elf appeared in the foyer with a pop.

The young elf looked up at him, nervous solicitousness radiating from her posture and tone. "What can Libby do for Young Master?" she asked, the words rushed.

"A deviation from the regular arrangement," he said. "Dinner at seven, for two, in the dining room. Something a little more ... elaborate than usual."

Libby's eyes widened. "Young Master is entertaining tonight!" she gasped. Without another word, she disappeared, and amusement tugged at one corner of his mouth, even as he realized the possibility that the house-elf would go far overboard in her efforts to be of service.

For Draco Malfoy was entertaining that night. Nearly a month after his witch had taken her last trip aboard the Hogwarts Express, she had finally concocted some sort of scheme that would allow her to be absent from the Order's headquarters without suspicion for a few days. She'd sent an owl to him at the Ministry using the charms he'd taught her to obscure her communications, and ever since the Interdepartmental Memo had carried the parchment to his desk that afternoon, his thoughts had been far from the security of the Ministry's financial resources and firmly in the realm of a candlelit dinner.

He strode purposefully up the stairs, his fingers fumbling over the small pearlescent buttons holding his work robes closed around his slender frame. Once in the lavish suite of rooms that comprised his inner sanctum, he shrugged the grey material off his shoulders, draping the garment across a convenient chair for Libby to pick up later. He glanced in the mirror at his remaining dress: a white oxford that didn't look nearly as fresh as it had when he'd put it on that morning and a pair of black trousers.

He turned to the ornate armoire that held his wardrobe, and contemplated its contents. Any cotton dress-shirt that was light enough to remain comfortable in the heat was too thin for a dinner engagement, and something thicker would be utterly repressive. Silk tended to become clingy quickly, and ... his eyes settled on something his mother's personal style-witch had recommended on his last trip to Gladrags. It was a charcoal grey tunic of something that fluttered like silk, but was purported to maintain its elegant drape and a pleasant coolness against the skin by means of expensive and exclusive charms.

It couldn't hurt to wear the shirt, Draco reasoned as he removed the garment from its resting place and donned it in graceful motions. If he didn't look absolutely stunning with it on, he'd just have to try charming Ginny out of her knickers with it off.

He'd managed it before, he thought with a feral grin.

~*~

At seven-fifteen, Draco sat in his study, no longer pleased.

Libby had checked in at ten minutes to, in order to confirm that she should set out the first course. But Ginny hadn't arrived by then, and he had ordered the elf to hold until the elusive Miss Weasley actually showed. She'd been expected at six-thirty, and her tardiness after such a long separation rankled.

At seven exactly, he realized that standing in the foyer, glaring at the door would not produce his wayward girlfriend any sooner than she would arrive on her own, and retreated to the cosy chamber. He lit a fire that looked much more cheerful than he felt, and set to pacing, part nervous energy at seeing Ginny for the first time since Easter hols, and part frustration at her inability to be punctual.

At ten past, he'd broken into the brandy.

He sat perched on the edge of his desk, cradling the delicate glass in his hands, and giving it baleful looks between sips. If she couldn't bloody care enough to arrive on time, what was the point--

At that moment a piercing, harsh tone sounded. Draco set aside the brandy he'd poured himself as he rushed from the room; that sound signalled an attempt to pass through his anti-Apparation wards.

Ginny always traveled to Lethoireach by Portkey. Last he'd known, she hadn't yet earned her Apparation license.

He approached the massive front door, wand drawn. He was certain that he could defend self and home from whatever interloper had been rejected by his wards, but caution was most definitely in order. With a nasty feeling of apprehension prickling on the back of his neck, he glanced through the window.

His girlfriend sat in the middle of the walkway, knocked on her arse by the wards.

Draco dropped the security charms on his front door, and swung it open. He opened his mouth to speak, but was prevented by a tirade from the witch on the flagstones. "Well, hello to you too, Malfoy," she said spitefully. "I haven't seen you in months, and this is the welcome I get. I see how it is."

"Well, if you'd elected to arrive on time --"

"Oh, bugger off. I was unavoidably detained."

Smart-mouthed and crabby, she was his witch, and he hadn't seen her in a long time. He extended a hand to her, and she paused a moment before taking it with her own, and pulling herself to her feet. "Where's your Portkey?" he questioned, as he drew her through the doorway.

"I was already running late. I didn't want to be even more tardy by going back home from work," Ginny replied, as he recast the locking charms. He turned to face her, and was horrified by the sight that greeted him, in the full light of the foyer.

She was wearing her hair pulled away from her face and worked into a loose braid. The simplicity of the style accentuated her drawn expression, and the purpling skin under her eyes were a far more vivid contrast than even the additional freckles that June and July had put on her face.

"What in Merlin's name has happened to you?" He lifted one hand to touch her face, and slipped his other arm around her shoulders. He could tell immediately that she was exhausted; her frame was trembling, not from fear or other emotion, but from the subtle shaking that overtiredness often caused.

"Work," Ginny said simply, not meeting his eyes.

Her story didn't hold water, and he knew it. "Gin, NEWT results aren't even out yet." He slipped his fingers under her chin, and raised it so that he could look into her eyes. "Is this because of the Order?"

"We all make sacrifices." She was resolutely staring down at his hands, his shirt, anywhere she could look to avoid his gaze. He wanted to shake her, get her to tell him just what Dumbledore's ragtag band was asking of her to keep her up at nights, but he suspected that it wouldn't have the desired effect.

He leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead, taken aback by how distant she'd become ... so unlike the vibrant, fiery Ginny he'd fallen for. He startled at the crack that signalled Libby's appearance, and a thought came to him.

"Will Young --"

"We will be dining upstairs this evening, Libby," he interrupted, quiet command in his tone. "If you would arrange things, please."

He turned back to Ginny then, paying no attention to the house-elf's retreat. "Upstairs with you, then," he said, letting his arm drift from her shoulders to her waist. When she didn't move, he lowered his face to her ear and murmured, "We can do this two ways. Either you can walk up the stairs with me like a civilized witch, or I can put you over my shoulder like a child. Your choice."

"It's tempting," she replied, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "But I think I can manage."

The setting that awaited their arrival was impressive, even by Malfoy standards. Libby had chosen to arrange their meal on a round table of modest size in one corner, and moved two armchairs close. A number of candles illuminated the room; the diffusion of flickering light through candlewax relaxed the imperiousness of the master suite. The scent of roasted fowl and herbs reached the doorway, and Draco gestured to the table. "Go on."

"Where are you going?" Ginny questioned.

"I'll be right there. Sit," he said pointedly. He waited for her to do so, noting her mildly suspicious expression, before he stepped into his well-appointed bath.

In the cupboard with the stock of fresh bath linens sat a shelf of various concoctions. In amongst the bottles of Pepper-Up and hangover cure, labeled in his own hand, was a pair of flasks holding a serene blue liquid. They were marked in a much more severe scrawl, and sealed with wax as well as stoppered, to ensure the contents would hold in shipment. Draco closed his hand around one of them, and returned to Ginny's side.

She'd settled into one of the chairs and served herself a portion of the meal while she waited; he could feel her eyes on him as he tapped the flask with his wand and muttered the unsealing charm. Once the wax and cork had disappeared, he tipped the contents into one of the empty goblets onto the table, and handed the glass to Ginny.

"What is it?" she asked.

He paused for a moment, considering his answer. "A modified Strengthening Solution," he replied matter-of-factly. "With elements of a Calming Draught, to aid in the relaxing of overstressed nerves, and an infusion of beetroot for its energy restoration properties."

Ginny's eyes widened. "I didn't realize you could make such a thing."

"I can't. This is Severus' specialty .. he developed it to ease the effects of Cruciatus."

"And you just happen to have some in your potion cupboard," she said flatly.

Draco pressed his lips together. He'd expected that she'd discover this potion's presence in his bath the moment he'd stored it there, but all he was concerned about was getting her to drink the damned thing. "We can discuss what the Order requires of each other later," he replied curtly.

"You'll put me off later."

He sighed, audibly revealing the severity of his frustration. "Gin, I swear by anything you'd like me to that I will talk about this later." He shook his head. "Drink that first, then eat something, and then you can interrogate me as you please."

Ginny gave him a searching look, but raised the goblet to her lips. Draco lifted his hand to brush a few unruly locks of hair away from her face as he watched her expression change from one of irritation to one of surprise. "This tastes better than I expected," she murmured, setting the empty glass down on the table.

He smirked. "I told Severus I refused to drink anything that tasted as foul as Pepper-Up."

"Or Skele-Mend," Ginny mumbled. "Are you satisfied now?"

He wondered when Ginny Weasley would have had the occasion to be drinking Skele-Mend ... but he'd promised to save the questioning for after dinner. He nodded slightly, sinking into the other seat. As he reached for the carving knife, she murmured, "You were wrong, by the way."

He glanced at her before laying the blade to the roast. "About?"

"NEWTs came in day before yesterday," she said.

Draco set the knife back onto the platter with a loud clank. "And?" he queried casually.

One corner of her mouth was quirking, as though she dearly wanted to smirk. "I thought the questioning was to wait until after dinner."

"Pushy bint."

~*~

Draco watched Ginny's face as she set her cutlery on her plate. She'd not eaten a huge amount of food, but she'd consumed some of everything, and her face was looking a little less drawn, a little more relaxed. "Better?" he asked.

"Some," she replied. "My compliments to Professor Snape."

He nodded. "What next? A pick-up game of Quidditch? A night on the town?"

"Smartarse." Ginny sent a glower in his direction. "Just because I feel better doesn't mean I feel great."

"Then perhaps I should summon Libby to take care of these dishes, and then we'll have a quiet evening of it." I'll press you on your NEWT scores and your obvious lack of sleep, and you'll interrogate me on the fact that I have a Cruciatus tonic in my bath. Charming.

Draco crossed the room, tapping an elaborate bell near the door with his wand. By the time Libby had appeared and received her instructions, Ginny had crossed to the large bed with its sumptuous linens and soft duvet, and curled up. He was reminded of a feline; all she was missing was the tail tucked over her nose to complete the picture.

As if she could sense that he was contemplating her, she said softly, "I couldn't help it. It was too inviting."

He sat down next to her on the duvet. "Should I take it to mean that you're staying, then?"

"If it's all right with you," she murmured.

He contemplated any number of smart replies, but he had the distinct impression that any response he made would be lost on her, hovering somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. There was something awfully appealing about an early night in his own bed, his own witch in his arms. "As you will," he remarked offhandedly, rising to his feet.

He looked to the table, and upon confirming that Libby had completed her task and vacated the premises, retrieved a pair of pyjamas from the armoire. He didn't need to turn around to know with certainty that Ginny wasn't paying his state of dress -- or undress -- any mind; he slipped out of the shirt and trousers he'd spent so much time contemplating previously, and tossed them into the waiting basket in the corner. He stepped into the cotton pyjama trousers and pulled them up to his waist in one fluid movement.

He moved to don the matching shirt, but his eye caught the form of Ginny, dozing on his bed. Instead, he took the shirt and returned to his spot on the duvet, resting one hand on a decently-toned calf and shaking it gently. When there was no response, he sighed. His hands moved to the buttons of her shirt, freeing them from the confines of buttonholes, and eased the material off of her shoulders.

He slipped one arm around her shoulders, lifting her just enough to ease the soft cotton shirt into place. "What'r you doin'?" she murmured, her voice thick with fatigue.

"Pyjamas, Ginevra. Perhaps you've heard of those?" he replied, coaxing her arms into sleeves. He was surprised that his feisty witch merely murmured incoherently and complied, evidently happy to let him put forth all the effort. His fingers made short work of doing up the nightshirt, and then attended to her trousers and stockings with equal efficiency.

If she was so complacent about his undressing her..

He put her garments into the basket as well, and then crept onto the bed, settling down next to her and drawing her into his arms. He took several moments to examine her face, and placed several delicate kisses along the swaths of purple under her eyes. A little smile crossed her lips, a reaction which pleased him immensely.

And then she gave him his opportunity. "Missed you," she mumbled.

"I should be able to see you more often, now that you've left school," he murmured in reply. A pause, and then, "How did you do?"

She snuggled into him. "Acceptable in Arithmancy. Exceeds Expectations in Charms and Runes."

"And Potions?" he pressed. The one grade he felt some level of involvement in, and it was the one she hadn't mentioned. Bint.

"Outstanding," she yawned.

So all of the extra work over Easter hols had paid off, then. A smug smile settled over his features; Ginny would have given him a solid smack for it, if she had opened her eyes to see it at any point during the questioning. Her eyes had remained firmly closed the entire time, however, and as moments passed he became convinced that she had slept, or something closely approximating, through the entire conversation.

He waved his wand once, extinguishing the candles before setting it on the side table for the night. He spent several minutes tracing the lines of her facial features with one finger before the comfort of her proximity and the warmth of her slight form tucked alongside lulled him into sleep.

~*~

The transition from sound asleep to wide awake was abrupt, nearly instantaneous.

Draco had wand in hand before he realized he was fully awake, his heart pounding madly against his ribs as adrenaline coursed through his system. It took several moments for his brain to sort out all the impulses it was receiving, and only after he scanned the entire room did he realize that he was awake because the girl in his bed had unintentionally kicked in her sleep -- and kicked him.

Light was starting to sneak through the windows, and he set his wand back down on the side table, an uneasy feeling still in his chest. He contemplated the merits of going back to sleep for a few more hours; Merlin knew that sleeping in was a rare treat, especially when Diggory arrived at the Ministry so damned early and expected similar devotion from his employees. One glance at Ginny's sleeping face told him plainly that she could use the extra rest, especially as the circles under her eyes hadn't faded much, and her flailing indicated that the sleep she was getting was quite poor.

Sleeping in would also have the benefit of postponing what promised to be a most difficult conversation. At least now, with Ginny unconscious, he could take some comfort from her presence. He sunk down into the bedlinens behind her, slung one arm around her waist, and buried his face in her hair.

~*~

Something was tickling him.

This time, he woke this time to the sensation of tiny fingers brushing against his arm. He turned his head into the pillow, muffling a pleased sort of murmur. And then he realized that Ginny's fingers were tracing the Mark on the flesh of his forearm, and he was wide awake again.

"Gin," he said in a pained tone, even as he yanked his arm away from the scrutiny, pulling away from her slightly.

"Does it bother you?" she asked softly. His face must have displayed his confusion at the question. "Does it matter to you that someday, your children are going to see that Mark and ask about it? And you're going to have to answer them?"

Draco stared at her for the space of two heartbeats before slipping his arms back around her and attempting a deflection. "Do you often think about my children, Ginevra?"

"You know I have," she said, a hint of frost to her tone. "Don't evade the question, Draco."

A wellspring of ire rose to meet the ice in her temperament. He knew that if he gave into it and lashed out, the rest of the conversation would be held with raised voices and, quite possibly, intentionally cutting remarks ... and forget risking the loss of his gorgeous redheaded witch, he'd be risking the loss of the only person, barring Severus, he trusted at his back.

The tenacity of the Weasley clan in general was legendary. The tenacity of the Weasley lying next to him was exceptional, even in comparison. And yet, it had been several months -- years, now -- since he'd looked at her and thought of the name with contempt.

"I am an agent in the service of the most bloodthirsty, dangerous wizard alive," he said after a moment, his voice barely a whisper. "Spending copious amounts of time contemplating the parenting of children I don't yet, and may never, have is not only a poor use of the few free minutes I have, but could also be lethal, if my thoughts are .. observed." A thought struck him then, and a chill of shock washed over him. "You're not ... God. You're not ...?"

Ginny's brow furrowed as she looked at him, unable to comprehend at first what he was trying to communicate. The change in her expression as realization dawned was no comfort; he could see her jaw set in a strict line, and the brown eyes that were usually so warm and welcoming had dulled.

"No, I'm not," she replied flatly, pulling out of his arms and sitting up at the edge of the bed. "I would have told you, had you had the extreme misfortune to get a sprog on a Weasley."

He reached for her, long pale fingers circling a wrist with Seeker reflexes. "Just ... wait," he snapped, all his former restraint and patience abandoned. "I never suggested that us having a ... future together ... was an unfortunate event. Only that a child," he said the word, his jaw clenched uncomfortably, "would be remarkably ill-timed at present, considering the circumstances." Her face was still drawn, but she wasn't pulling away. "I don't understand," he continued, harsh resignation in his tone. "If I were discovered, I'm certain that the Dark Lord would not hesitate to order me killed. And I KNOW that he would have no hesitation in eliminating you. How is it ..."

"How is it possible to think of a 'normal' life?" Ginny interrupted, her voice thick with sarcasm. "Draco, if I didn't have the hope of a 'normal life' to think about, there'd be no reason to fight. I might as well walk up to your father's front door and make the job that much easier for them."

"I won't bloody allow that," he began in challenge, but was distracted by the corner of her mouth that was quirking. She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, and there was the spirit, the temperament he knew.

"I wouldn't do it," she said gently. "But do you see? Some people don't have a personal vendetta against Voldemort ... they fight because they want to make things better for themselves." She looked away, and he could almost hear the unspoken words, their families, between them. "I'm ... I've been exhausted lately, and I haven't been thinking before speaking. I didn't intend to start a row."

He sat up languidly, slipping one arm around the frame still clad in his pyjama shirt. His other hand moved to her face of its own accord, brushing her unruly auburn hair back so that he could drop a kiss on her forehead. "Nor I," he murmured against the pale, freckled skin. There were many things he wished to ask, but if he'd learned anything just then, it was that serious discussion needed to wait until the shadows were gone from her eyes.

He tugged on the hem of the shirt. "C'mon," he mumbled, pulling her with him as he reclined on the pillows. "I have a brilliant plan."

"Oh? What's that?" He felt her words against his skin more than heard them, as she settled back into his side, her hair falling over his chest.

"More sleep. Then breakfast."