Disclaimer: standard disclaimer applies.
The poems are not mine either, they belong to William Shakespeare and Lord Byron.
A/N: Finally, the next chapter for those who were dying to read it! Again, here I make allusions to many important medieval works on alchemy, mostly the Ripley Scroll, as well as medieval bestiaries and sources on folklore. I also shifted the events known as Bonfire of the Vanities some 26 years. What happened then was actually very fascinating. I suggest you go to your local library and read about it.
Thanks a bunch to everyone who reviewed!!! Those who have read this, but still haven't reviewed, will be severely punished! I'm not kidding! LOL
CHAPTER FOUR
Gambit
The door suddenly opened and the elf ushered in a young woman. Draco relished the sight of her. She dressed and acted like a Muggle, but he didn't mind that. It suited her. (He knew that many would call him a hypocrite if he ever voiced his views).
Her curly auburn hair was held up in a neat bun, and her pale aristocratic features were slightly touched by make-up. A small black designer dress clang to every curve of her lean body, not revealing much, but at the same time baring enough of her creamy flesh. She approached him with feline grace, the four-inch stiletto heals of her shoes sinking in the thick carpeting.
Her cinnamon eyes were fixed on him too, as she walked towards the table, taking in every inch of his body. He was leaning back in his chair, his posture relaxed. The sleeves of his crispy white shirt were rolled up, revealing his toned sinewy arms. The top button of his shirt was also undone, and it gave him an air of nonchalant scruffiness.
"Catherine," he smiled, rising from his chair, "you look ravishing!"
"Thank you, Draco," she said, returning the smile. "You don't look bad yourself."
"Please, sit down," he gestured towards the opposite seat.
She sat down gracefully.
"Wine?" he asked, uncorking the bottle of Veuve Clicquot.
"Yes, please," she smiled appreciatively.
She leaned forward to take her glass, shrouding him with the refined scent of her Thierry Mugler perfume.
His eyes followed the movement of her slim manicured fingers as she clicked the lighter and lit her first cigarette. She inhaled slowly, and then looked at him with a hint of languor in her dark lambent eyes. Oh, he knew that look too well!
"Why did you ask me to come?" she inquired, looking at him intently.
For a moment he watched her brush the tip of her cigarette against the rim of the ash-tray.
"I need your help," he said, looking back at her.
A light smile twitched the corners of her mouth. "You're straight-forward, I like that."
"I want to make you an offer."
"What kind of offer?" she smiled at him over the rim of her wineglass.
"I want you to get me a very important manuscript," he replied.
"It must be a very extraordinary manuscript, if you're asking me to get it for you."
"You have the best antique shop in London," he shrugged with a smile.
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Malfoy," she smirked. "What kind of manuscript are we talking about?"
"The Zenatti Manuscript."
She froze, the wine glass in her hand stopping half way to her mouth. "The only copy that still exists is in a private collection. And I doubt that the owner would want to part with such treasure."
"Tell him that I can be very generous."
"How much?" she asked.
"Fifty thousand Galleons," he replied.
She raised her thin brow in surprise. If he was prepared to pay this much money, then the deal was worth a try. But it was going to be difficult. She thought for a while, tapping a long, polished fingernail on the clothed table.
"I'll have the answer for you by tomorrow," she said at last.
"Thank you."
"I am always happy to help an old friend. Besides, I'm just returning a favour. You know, I hate to be indebted."
"Of course," Draco's lips curled in a smile.
"But what do you need it for, if you don't mind me asking?" she asked curiously.
"It's a good investment," he replied laconically.
She understood that he didn't want to talk about it, so she changed the subject. They sat through three courses of a delicious meal, talking and laughing, until it was long past midnight.
"It was nice seeing you again, Draco," Catherine said before disappearing behind the door.
"It was nice seeing you too," he replied.
He poured himself some more wine and watched the specks of the flickering candle-light glisten on the glass. He was smiling contentedly. The evening turned out to be even more successful than he had expected.
***
The note came on a piece of scented vellum paper, with the name Catherine Bergdorf stamped on top.
Dear Draco,
I'm pleased to inform you that the deal will proceed as planned. Mr. Leonard Trondle, the owner of the Zenatti Manuscript, has seriously considered your generous offer and is willing to sell it. I will owl you as soon as we work out the details. As of today your money pouch will feel a lot lighter!
I'll keep in touch,
Catherine
Draco grinned at his own reflection in the mirror as he was tying his necktie. It was the best deal he had ever had. Now that he had the manuscript, he could solve the mystery of the book and get it done and over with. For good.
Of course, fifty thousand Galleons was quite a fortune. Just to think that Nicolas Flammel purchased The Red Grimoire of Orpheus for just two florins! But what could he do with all that money? His parents were dead and he didn't have a family of his own. His father left him a few vaults full of gold and he would have spent it anyway. He had enough to last a lifetime. Only he had lost the spendthrift desire long ago. That is, until now.
***
The room was tiny and an average Muggle would undoubtedly wonder how it could possibly fit a single bed, a dresser, a rocking chair and a desk and a chair by the window. Not to mention a built-in massive fireplace. But Muggles are widely known for their naiveté and it would certainly never occur to them to check the room for any signs of magic. To an average wizard, however, it would be obvious that the room was shrouded by a tightly woven net of various spells that kept it all together.
It was still dark outside and no sunlight filtered through a gap in the floral-patterned curtains. The girl in the bed heaved a deep sigh and drew the blanket tighter around her. A light smile played on her lips and her eye-lids trembled slightly - a sure sign of a pleasant dream.
Two bulky figures were hunched on either side of the bed, watching vigilantly over the sleeping figure. One of them bent down over the girl and listened to her even breathing.
"You do that again, and she will wake up!" hissed the voice from the other side of the bed.
"She won't," replied the first and retreated, "she sleeps like a log. I just wanted to make sure."
The other figure shook his head disapprovingly.
"All right. Let's be quick. You've got everything with you, haven't you?"
The other nodded and took a small box out of his pocket. He grinned wickedly as he removed the elastic band that was holding the lid in place. When it was open, he rapped the contents of the box with his wand and whispered a quick incantation. A shimmering pink smoke rose from the box and then spiraled down, towards the sleeping girl.
The pink cloud almost covered her face, when she, sensing something, jerked awake and pushed the dark figure, and the pink cloud, away from her. Her arms and legs got entangled in the blanket and she pummeled it violently, until she managed to throw it off her bed. In a blink of an eye she grabbed her wand from under the pillow and pointed it towards the dark mass on the floor.
"Who is here?" asked Ginny, for it was her, in a trembling voice, trying to keep her wand steady.
"I told you it was a bad idea," came a growl.
"Fred?!!" Ginny whispered in shock. "What are you doing in my room? What time is it?"
She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was showing a little over six in the morning.
The mass on the floor moved and in the light of her wand Ginny saw a tuft of familiar red hair. Fred's ginger head came into view as he managed to extricate himself from under the blanket. He gave the rest of the dark mass on the floor a not so friendly push and said gloomily: "Come out. She got us."
The blanket moved again and out came an identical ginger head.
"George?!" Ginny exclaimed.
"Hey, Gin," he grinned. "Nice pyjamas."
Ginny looked furious and confused. "What are you two doing here?"
"Oh, right," said George, avoiding her angry glare, "well, you see, eh…we were just…eh, you know…"
"No, I don't know! What's going on?"
George was going to resume his awkward explanations, when Fred suddenly stared at him and then started guffawing, having to bury his face in the discarded blanket, so as not to wake anyone in the house.
"What's wrong?" George asked, concerned.
"Look at your face!" Fred replied and then burst out laughing again.
George raced towards the mirror on Ginny's dresser and stared in horror at his own reflection. His freckled nose was covered in thick pink pollen and it dawned on him that he was breathing it in as well.
"We haven't got an antidote," Fred informed him, still grinning.
"Can someone explain me what's going on?" Ginny started to get impatient.
"The thing is, little sis, that we have developed a new product for our joke shop. We are planning to launch it right before the Valentine's Day. The perfect moment, wouldn't you say, George? We just haven't tested it yet."
"Hold on," Ginny clenched her fists. "You mean, you came to my room at six o'clock in the morning to test a dubious product on me while I was sleeping?!"
"In a nutshell, yes," murmured George, who was still observing his nose in the mirror.
"And what does it do? Makes you grow a tail? Changes the colour of your skin?"
"Erm, well, if it works right, then it only makes you recite poetry for a day," Fred explained.
"What? You wanted to make me recite poetry? Somehow it doesn't seem as innocent as it sounds."
She crawled out of bed and walked over to George. She stood next to him and together they studied his pink nose.
"I'm glad I hurled the spell back at you," she said with a smile. "I have to get to the Ministry this afternoon and I don't fancy being sacked over some ridiculous Valentine's joke."
George scowled at her, but didn't say anything.
"What kind of poems does it do?" Ginny asked curiously.
"I don't know. It's never been tested before," George said, turning away from the mirror.
"Let's go and look it up in our books, George. Maybe we'll find something," Fred suggested, taking pity on his twin.
"Good idea," Ginny chimed in. "As for me, I'm going to bed. It's still too early."
"Yeah," said George nonchalantly, "maybe if you're lucky, you'll have that dream again."
"What dream?" Ginny looked at him puzzled.
"Must have been a good dream. You were smiling and whispering somebody's name."
Ginny looked mortified. "Whose name?" she asked slowly.
"Oh, I don't know," said Fred, as he picked up the blanket and put it back on her bed. "Didn't quite catch it. Some foreign name, I reckon."
With that both twins tiptoed out of her room, leaving Ginny perplexed and embarrassed. She had strong suspicions about the 'foreign' name, but was afraid to admit it to herself.
She went back to bed and lay there thinking. She remembered the day she had spent at Malfoy Manor. How excited she was at the progress they had made with the book! And what's more important, they hadn't even exchanged a single cross word. What was happening? Was she growing soft on him? She pondered this, trying to be as honest with herself as possible. She conjured Draco's image in her mind. His voice invaded her reverie. That coarse laugh. That determined profile…
"No!" she grunted, kneading the blanket in agitation. She got carried away again. No more dreaming about Draco sodding Malfoy!
Time and time again, she tried to remember all his shortcomings that would sober her up a little. That stupid laugh of his wasn't sexy at all, it was a hyena's laugh! As to the profile, his features were too pointed! And that disgusting unshaved chin! Come to think of it, his grey eyes were cruel and cold too! And he was too…too blond, Ginny decided lamely. And that petty creature still treated her with his customary hauteur. Like he was somehow better than her! Argh!
As a result of all these reflections, Ginny could not sleep a wink. At long last, she gave up and at half past eight she went down for breakfast.
Saturdays in the Burrow usually started late. Everyone, the family and the guests, often stayed in bed until midday, weary after the long supper and the games the night before. Some even stayed up to chat deep into the night. That happened, for instance, every time Hermione and Harry came over. Ginny longed for some female company and the two of them would chat for hours on end, giggling, whispering and sharing their girlie secrets.
This time Harry and Hermione, whom no one naturally treated as guests, joined them at the Burrow for the Friday supper. As an exception to the rule, the girls went to bed soon after the meal. Harry and Hermione were obviously looking forward to being alone at last in their bedroom. And Ginny was secretly grateful for that, because she couldn't bear Hermione asking her about her 'collaboration' with Draco Malfoy. She was sure that Hermione would inevitably find something out and would either get very angry with her or would laugh at her. She didn't know which was worth.
In the kitchen she saw all her brothers, except Charlie, sitting at the table. Her father was reading the Prophet, from time to time announcing interesting bits of gossip. Her mother and Hermione were busy fixing breakfast.
"Good morning everyone," Ginny yawned. "Where is Charlie?"
"One of his dragons, Betsy, is sick. He had to come over," Ron replied between the helpings of eggs and bacon.
"By the way, Ginny, what was that noise in your room this morning?" Mrs. Weasley asked as she levitated the saucepan with her wand.
Ginny and the twins exchanged brief glances.
"My room? I don't know what you're talking about, mum. Maybe it was that ghoul in the attic again," Ginny replied carelessly.
"Right. We should do something about it. It's getting out of hand!" Mrs. Weasley huffed angrily.
The three of the young Weasleys sniggered.
"How's Malfoy doing?" Harry asked Ginny jokingly, as she flopped in the chair next to him.
"He's a hideous, loathsome bastard," Ginny replied automatically.
Everyone nodded pityingly and Ginny smiled inwardly. How easy it was to fool them! For a second, it seemed that she could convince herself too.
Her train of thought was interrupted by a cough. She looked up and saw George's eyes flash strangely. His face, like a face of a love-sick person, looked dreamy and altogether altered. He suddenly turned to Hermione and recited in a clear voice:
Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date.
"Oh, George!" Hermione blushed and dropped her eyes.
Everyone, including Harry, goggled at George. Even Mr. Weasley's puzzled face appeared above the newspaper. Mrs. Weasley was moved to tears: "He's become so romantic, since he started dating Angelina!"
Ginny and Fred were choking on their porridge, being the only ones who really knew what was happening to their brother, and George turned puce. It was as if he was fighting something inside him that was desperately trying to get out. At last, his breathing normalized, his face transformed back to his own and he was the same old George again. Ron and Harry (who still eyed George suspiciously, in case he decided to ask his girlfriend out as well) broke the awkward silence by proposing a game of Quidditch.
Ginny had to decline the offer. She ate her breakfast as fast as she could in order to get to the Ministry on time. When she was nearly out of the door, she heard George sing:
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
Outside, it started to rain. Puddles formed on the roads, in which the gravid clouds and buildings reflected like in a mirror. Ginny sighed and closed one of the files she had brought from the Ministry. She had a lot to do, masses of documents to look through. But the grey dullness outside had a soporific effect on her, inducing somnolence and general laziness. In her mind, Ginny debated an option of spending the rest of the day in bed, with a good book, preferably of a non-scientific kind. Still unable to decide, she watched the dense stubs of pollards in the garden through the curtain of drizzling London rain.
But it looked like someone decided for her already. She heard a rattling sound in her chimney and out of the fireplace, amidst the dancing green flames, appeared Draco Malfoy. Ginny stared at him disbelievingly as he stepped out of her fireplace. He dusted imaginary soot off his robes and smirked at Ginny.
"I thought such a capable witch like you would think of putting a barrier on her fireplace."
"What are you doing here?!" Ginny cried.
"I want to show you something. This can't wait," he said hastily.
He reached inside his robes and took something out. She glanced curiously at the object in his hands. It was a round silver filigree case with a screw top. The surface of the case with finely engraved finial pattern was polished, giving off an argent glow. A small silver ring was attached to the top, presumably to hang from a chatelaine. The other end of the cylinder bore an intricate family crest to be used as a seal.
Draco unscrewed the top and emptied the contents of the case into Ginny's lap. What appeared to be a shapeless dirty rag, turned out to be a scroll of ancient parchment.
"What is this?" she looked at it in awe.
"The Zenatti Manuscript," Draco grinned.
"But I thought it got burned in 1523?" Ginny goggled at him.
"Luckily for us someone made a copy. And now I own it."
"You bought it?!"
"Yes," he nodded. "What's wrong with that?"
"I didn't know you were so dedicated to this project," Ginny replied slowly, looking at him with sudden interest.
"There is a lot you don't know about me," Draco said mysteriously.
Ginny raised her brows. She reckoned she could write a Liber Mysteriorum based on his life, with plenty of mysteries and riddles in it.
"I don't suppose you drink tea at this time of the day?" Ginny asked in her best hostess voice.
"I don't suppose you have any decent tea in the house?" he asked in the same tone.
Ginny gritted her teeth. "The best from Ceylon. I'll fetch you a cup. You just sit back and relax, feel at home," she barked.
She went to the kitchen, glancing back to see what he was doing. Draco took off his heavy coat and sat down on her couch, looking around himself with a tinge of scorn.
"Sorry, I don't keep any mummified relatives in my closet," Ginny said angrily, before storming off into the kitchen.
Draco snorted.
Meanwhile, Ginny was pacing her tiny kitchen, on her way fetching cups and saucers. What she wouldn't give right now for a pinch of arsenic! She pictured Malfoy choking and gasping for breath and she would be just watching him maliciously. Sorry, Draco dearest, just today I ran out of bezoars. Bad luck, huh?
She poured some hot water from the sibilant kettle into her finest porcelain cups. She put them, together with the sugar-basin and the milk-jug, on a tray and slowly entered the living room.
Draco Malfoy marked his presence in the room by lounging on her couch, his blond head buried in the handbooks on alchemy. The whole picture looked so ridiculously odd, that Ginny nearly dropped the tray. She carefully put it down on the small table before them and took place next to him, never crossing the invisible line of demarcation between them.
"Well," Ginny said, feeling very awkward because of his sprawling body next to her, and feeling even more stupid because of feeling awkward in her own home.
"I've been doing some reading lately and I found this," Draco said.
Ginny looked over his shoulder and read the following:
On 7 February 1523 followers of the priest Girolamo Savonarola collected and publicly burned thousands of objects in Florence, Italy. This event is historically referred to as Bonfire of the Vanities. This was done with one purpose: to destroy sinful objects and vanity items, such as mirrors, cosmetics, fine dresses and musical instruments. Among these objects were also certain books and manuscripts, considered wicked and immoral. Even some original paintings by Sandro Botticelli suffered the same fate.
As people failed to contain the fire, it spread to the nearest building which happened to be the Mancini Library. As a result, many valuable books and scrolls were lost forever.
"I just don't get one thing," Ginny said thoughtfully. "If Zenatti owned the manuscript, why was it kept in the Mancini Library?"
"It was displayed there for everyone to see. Anyone who wasn't ignorant knew what an amazing work it was. So, naturally, everyone wanted to see it."
Ginny nodded.
"Even these days many people realize how valuable it is. The funny thing is that most people associate it with Zenatti and not with the author, Fra Filippo. Did you know that Anselmo Zenatti's portrait is hanging in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"
"No, I didn't," she shook her head.
She unrolled the manuscript which, against her expectations, was unusually short for a tractate. About a meter-long roll of brownish paper was covered with writing in bright-red ink. It was topped with an emblem depicting an Alphyn. The animal, which generally looked very much like a tiger, had a sturdy hirsute body, thick mane, elongated donkey-like ears and a long tongue. The tail was curled in a fanciful shape. The front paws were the ones of an eagle, with blade-sharp talons.
She scanned the text in a matter of seconds. Like the books she used to read for Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures this one described the wizarding animal world that abounded in a variety of species, many of which, back in the 12th century, were still relatively unknown. Fra Filippo's essay
was divided in half, dedicated to both tamed and feral animals. Ginny was surprised to find out that even hundreds of years ago owls and kneazles made very good pets. A little portion of the text in the end was solely dedicated to werewolves and their habits. On the whole, everything in it looked very normal to her. No gnomic riddles this time. No long passages in Latin.
A few excerpts from the text made her very curious.
Wyvern - this rare variety of a dragon-like monster has, unlike dragons, only the front paws, its hind part of the body forms a barbed tail. The brazen scales on the body have often been used in making harnesses.
Griffon - a creature with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. It has been believed to be very valuable since it is able to find hidden gold. Be sure to take one of these with you when you're going to hunt for leprechaun gold.
This animal likes basking in the sun and one can usually find it on the sunny pastures, chewing on corn-flowers - its favourite food. My fellow magizoologists and I differentiate between females (those who have large webbed wings) and males (those who don't have any). Females lay eggs and are very watchful of their offspring. The males, on the other hand, are not very devoted partners and fathers and often leave the females after copulation takes place.
Simplicissimus - a cross-breed between a dragon and a Scottish Firebird. Has two legs of an eagle and a split barbed tail. Bright plumage serves to attract the potential partners during the mating season. Throughout the history successful attempts have been made to tame them and use as a means of transportation. Several simplicissimi have been used in battle, but have all been slain, together with the wizards riding them.
Ginny suddenly got a sniff of Draco's eau-de-Cologne. They were now sitting side by side, both absorbed in the manuscript. As if on purpose, today Draco looked extra sexy and desirable. He had a new haircut that really suited him and his white shirt fit his torso so well that Ginny thought that wearing one should be made illegal. Her head swam. Against her will, her mind was spelling the word 'concupiscence' in huge fiery letters.
She took great pains to ignore him as best as she could, but she was failing miserably. Now, whenever she was in his presence, she felt like her wrists and ankles were fettered and she couldn't move. His gaze paralyzed her and conquered her will. She gulped nervously and averted her eyes.
Draco caught that slight movement of her head and looked at her. He was so close to Ginny that she could feel his breath on her cheek. He slowly leaned in to kiss her. Ginny, in her transfixed state, neither backed away nor moved forward. Their lips were just inches apart when Ginny regained her senses and jerked away from him.
"If you are looking for a quick shag, you chose the wrong person," she said angrily.
"If you don't want it, fine. I won't beg. Malfoys never beg," he shrugged and moved away. His arm was still resting on the back of the sofa, so dangerously close to her.
"Right, it's me who's supposed to be begging!" Ginny got to her feet impatiently, indicating the end of his visit. He got the hint and, smirking, got up too.
"I suggest we call it a day. We'll continue tomorrow," he said, as he pocketed the manuscript.
She shrugged indefinitely and turned away from him. She didn't care about being civil to him anymore.
"Good night then," he said and Disapparated.
In the darkness of his bedroom Draco lay with his eyes open and watched the shadows move across the ceiling. He was reflecting upon the strange circumstances in which he and Ginny found themselves due to the work on The Book. First, he was perplexed and resentful about the whole thing, but now he started to like it. And, he figured, being paired up with that fiery read-head Ginny Weasley was not such a bad idea. Surprisingly, he totally lost his head over this girl. He thought incessantly about her long, soft hair that reminded him of polished copper Knuts; about her tender face with burning hazel eyes and her shapely legs, and whatever else she was hiding under those robes.
He was actually very much attracted to her. So she was a Muggle-lover. Big deal! He used to bed stupid Hufflepuffs without kith or kin, this wasn't any different. It was just sex after all. So, he wasn't breaking any rules. And if he was, he didn't care. He wanted her and he was going to get her.
Meanwhile, Ginny was glumly devouring the contents of her fridge. She chided herself for being do silly and naïve. How could she give in to the charms of that lofty bastard! She even served him tea in her snug little home! She should have kicked him out the moment he stepped out of her fireplace! First thing tomorrow she would buy some arsenic and board up the flue!
Ginny clenched her fists, feeling very helpless. She felt tears burning her eyes.
He's had more than his fair share of girls at Hogwarts! His wild escapades were elaborately described in nearly every issue of Witch Weekly! Why would he want to add her to his vast collection as well? Was she just another trophy for him? What gave him the right to think that her heart was a go-as-you-please area?! And she thought that he was changing for the best. Not he, she thought bitterly. Once a Malfoy, always a Malfoy.
She finally dissolved into tears. She was crying because she was angry with him for treating her like that, and at the same time she realized that she longed for him to touch her, kiss her, which enraged her even more. Why did he have such an enchanting effect on her?
A few minutes later, she wiped away her tears and made up her mind to ignore him the next day, and the day after that until he would beg for forgiveness. With that thought firmly established in her mind, she allowed slumber to take over her.