Chapter II: Meetings, Maps, and Mudbloods
Ginny resisted the urge to run as she stood before of one of the oldest and richest family estates in all of Britain. It was tall, dark, gloomy, and more than a little trouble to locate. It wasn't a simple apparation.
You had a choice to take a Ministry portkey or apparate to Malloy Square, a small town that was mostly made-up of the Manor's staff. Then a smooth twenty-minute buggy ride with one of the Manor's drivers, Mr. Hassleoff to the actual Manor. Now here she was standing before a pair of dark heavy doors with an overwhelming unnatural fear.
"Please, it's just Malfoy," whispered Ginny to herself, pulling the gray rope to sound her arrival. "Just stuck-up ferret-faced, Malfoy."
The door slowly opened and a rather oddly, but well dressed house-elf greeted her.
"You's be the Weasey. Master's been waiting for?" he asked. His blue-eyes, tactlessly skimming her clothes. "Come in." He held the door even wider, as if Ginny hadn't gotten the hint the first time. "Me names' is Edmund. Can's Edmunds gets the lady's anything."
"No, thank you," Ginny answered, feeling quite self-conscious.
She was appalled by the elf's behavior and his unconventional name. She took off her green cloak, as the small elf scampered away, leaving her alone in the entrance hall.
It wasn't the first time that she felt this small and insignificant. She felt this way a lot working at the Ministry. However this wasn't the Ministry, this was something much bigger, but the cold and un-welcoming feeling was still the same.
There were closed doors on each side of the hall and a grand staircase stood in the center. Ginny silently wished the house-elf would return quickly so she could get this over with.
"Ms. Whezzy, Masters will see you's now," called Edmund, from one of the rooms' doorways.
"Thank you," she said, after hurrying to the partially open door.
She didn't fancy getting lost. In her third year, she had heard rumors that if you were to get lost in some manors, you would never be found. You would just disappear, not even your body would be discovered. Sure, it was immature to listen to such tales, but she wanted to stay safe.
The room in question wasn't a room at all, but another long and dark hall. The candelabras' burning in the spacious nooks in the stone walls were casting an eerie golden glow as she and the house-elf passed. The looming setting was making Ginny very nervous.
She didn't like the dark very much. Her mother had told her once she had been a wonderful baby. Rarely scared of anything, a true Gryffindor. She even went to bed without a fairy-light before Charlie, and he was the bravest of all the Weasleys. Then it was her first year, and the nightmares began. Tom came overthrew her life and the fear of the dark swallowed her.
Soon, she and her guide turned onto a hall with fewer doors. She assumed the rooms must be getting bigger, because they were spaced further apart.
***
Draco sat in his study, waiting for his authenticator to arrive.
He knew she was a Weasley, the smallest and youngest to boot. The one with the unyielding crush on Potter. The one that opened the Chamber his second year. The one living proof that sometimes even his father could be an untidy git. True, he had covered his tracks well but not well enough to prevent very unwanted attention.
But Ginny Weasley was coming and there wasn't much he could do about it. Unfortunately, he needed her. She had the gift, an unnatural gift (even by a wizard's standards), a gift she was never supposed to receive. She had the capability to tell him, if he was right and he hoped he was. That the piece of map he had purchased was the real thing.
He heard his office door open, and in walked a small red head a green cloak draped over her folded arms. She was shorter than average, an unmistakable trait inherited from her mother. Thin and round, disturbingly where she should be. The undeniable trademark Weasley tresses pulled into a sort of loose knot at the back of her head with curls randomly escaping and spilling out.
She was wearing an unfashionable handmade cream sweater, and khaki dress trousers.
Draco felt his mouth twitching at the sight before him.
'Well, well, the little Weasley's grown up.'
"Weasley," he drawled, slowly making his way around his large desk. He casually leaned against it waiting for Weasley to meet him.
"Malfoy," answered Ginny, a clearly forced smile on her face.
***
Ginny sat in an uncomfortable chair before Draco's desk. He was lounging lazily, his long crisp charcoal trouser clad legs stretched from his seat to the empty top of his desk. His freshly shined black shoes reflecting the candle light.
They had done their uncomfortable, at least for her, greetings and inquiries. Mostly on her part and mostly about his mother. He kept his insults to himself and was oddly quiet.
'Too quiet,' Ginny thought, suspiciously quiet.
He had given her an old, yellowed to the point of being considered brown, scroll but on closer examination Ginny saw it was a piece of something. A torn piece of a map. There were black lines and words in Latin, English, French, and a language she wasn't familiar with, drawn all over.
She touched it and held it up to a candle's light, which didn't make the tall blonde very happy at all.
"You could burn it, you silly cow!" he yelled, snatching it away from her.
"Like you could tell," countered Ginny, unsuccessfully trying to snatch it back. She didn't know why but the piece intrigued her. "It's nearly black anyway."
He reluctantly gave it back and three hours later they were still at the beginning.
"Well is it or isn't it?" he asked impatiently.
"Well is it or isn't it, what?" she replied. "It wasn't created with dark magic and hasn't led anyone astray or," Ginny's voice sounded bored and recited. She had told this to so many people when they called upon the Ministry, but rarely was anything Percy's 'patrons' brought were ever truly enchanted.
"That's all you have to say," asked Draco. He pulled his feet from their home on his desk. "I pay you fifty-thousand galleons and you say it hasn't been touched by dark magic. That's it."
"Fifty-thousand?" Ginny stammered. Percy had told her it was only twenty-five. She was going to have to deal with him later.
"Yes, fifty-thousand," he answered. "Not so sure anymore though, not with such little and useless information."
"Fifty-thousand?" she repeated, silently.
"Merlin's beard, have you gone deaf or something?"
Ginny just looked at him. Fifty-thousand galleons and he was going to take it away if she didn't say something.
"I can have someone else, someone much better than me look at it!" She said, her words flowing quickly, as she stood up and handed the piece to Draco. "Someone very advanced in these...things."
"Who?" asked Draco, sitting back in his chair. His gray eyes slitting with suspicion at her, over the map in his hands.
"Hermione?" Ginny replied.
"Granger? With MY map, I think not," he said. He was in the process of putting the map back in its case. A task he trusted no one, not even Edmund, to do.
"You trusted me with it," argued Ginny. She knew she was begging, but she didn't care. Her department desperately needed that money. "I'll guard it with my life. I swear."
"Now Weasley, that's just disgusting. I hate when people beg," He looked at her a smirk pulling at his thin lips. "Actually, I don't. Beg away, throw in some sexual favors while you're at it."
Ginny felt her face blushing. Did he just say what she thought he said?
Draco obviously noticed her lack of cheeky comeback and colored cheeks. "Gods Weasley, you have the sense of humor of a Grim."
"And you a hippogriff," Ginny smiled. She saw the highest point of his cheekbones barely tinting baby pink.
"Oh yes, that one never get's old," he said flatly. He was handing her the frame now.
"You're letting me take it?" she asked, smiling.
What had changed Malfoy's mind? Why was he letting her take it? Before she could blink, much less ask any questions, the fair boy had pulled his dark wand out. She felt her eyes widen as he muttered a spell and a light-blue spark drowned the room in blue.
"What did you do?" she squeaked, and felt her throat closing with fear.
"You said with your life. Am I correct?" He asked, pulling Ginny up from her seat by her upper arm. She noticed Draco's grip was stronger than it looked.
"Yes, but.."
"But nothing," he interrupted, "You're going to prove it. I'm letting you take it to the Ministry, your home, the shower if it's necessary," he paused to open the study's heavy door, "it can't be taken more than three meters away from you at any time."
"So I can let Hermione see it?" she asked, smiling. Her eyes moved down to where Draco was still holding her arm and then back up to his face.
He was a great deal taller than she remembered and his hair was more than a shade fairer, almost silver. Under different circumstances she would have loved to sit and study him for a little longer.
Ginny wondered what he was thinking as he looked down at her, his gray eyes slit.
"Yes," he said defeated. "But only if the mud-blood can keep that big trap of her's shut?"
He let go of her arm and shut his heavy door.
"Wait! I have more questions," Ginny said, to the door. She knocked but there was no answer.
"Draco," she pleaded, in vain to the thick closed door. "Please, I need to know where it came from? Whom you bought it from?"
"Hey," She heard a soft Scottish voice from behind her. "Aren't you Fred and George's little sister?"
"Yes," Ginny replied. She turned on him her cheek's red and her brown eyes bright.
Her jawed dropped a little at the burly man before her. His uncommonly short hair and his dark chocolate eyes not much different from the days she had watched him on the quidditch pitch.
"Oliver Wood?" Ginny asked, smiling. "It's me Ginny."
"Well, you've grown. Las' time I saw you was at Fred's weddin," said Wood, smiling at her his teeth impressively still intact despite being a professional keeper.
"Yeah," she smiled. "Umm, What are you doing here?"
"Quidditch business. Me boss, needed someone to come and familiarize," he rolled his eyes, "ourselves with Malfoy. Seems he's startin some business with the team. Investin' or somethin' not real sure." He scratched the back of his dark head. "Eneway, found out I went to Hogwarts and sent me...You?"
"Umm... Ministry business," she said flatly, looking at her watch.
"Ginny, I shouldn't be too long. Would you like to ride back together?" he asked, leaning into the door. His bright red cotton shirt complimenting his freshly tanned complexion.
"Sure," she smiled wider. "But if you're not down in half-an-hour. I'm leaving without you."
"Deal."
He walked through the door as Ginny started down the hall.
***
Ginny glanced at her watch it had been fifteen-minutes, when she heard the strangest string of words in her life. When the voice's body opened the door, Ginny was shocked. White hair and long legs stepped in and sat across from her.
"Oliver Wood, stupid prat," Draco was seemingly going into another rant. "You buy the quidditch team with Flint's school rival, and somehow you're responsible for ruining his life. Thick-headed, kilt-wearing, sorry excuse for a keeper..."
Ginny cleared her throat.
"What are you doing in my carriage?" he asked, his voice slightly edged.
Ginny wanted to answer, but oddly her voice caught in her throat.
"Decided to try the favors route then?" he asked, kicking the carriage door open."I'd usually be thrilled, but tonight I'm rather late for an appointment, so if you don't mind." He motioned with his hand to the door.
"This is my carriage," Ginny retorted. How dare he try to claim it, she had been sitting in here for a quarter of an hour.
"No it's not. It's mine." He said, quickly closing the door.
"Is your name on it?" asked Ginny. Immediately she regretted her childish insult, of course his name was on it. He owned it.
"As a matter of fact," he started, but stopped when he found himself falling into a childish squabble.
"Fine," Ginny answered confidently, "I'll get Edmund to get me another one." She was reaching for the carriage door's handle but Draco stretched his long leg out to block her.
"Edmund?" He asked, mockingly innocent. "Gotten familiar with the help, have you? Lot like that brother of your's Peter."
"Percy," Ginny corrected. "Wait, what are you talking about?"
"Forget, I said anything," he said. His face turned to the window.
Ginny sighed frustrated. She looked out the window. They seemed to be already ten minutes into their ride. She had missed her ride with Wood, all because of Draco. Loathing that she hadn't felt in a long time, seemed to bubble with in her. Why did he have to be so annoying? Why did she have to work with him?
"We're here," the driver announced, opening the small door.
Draco allowed to Ginny step out first. She tightly wrapped her dark green cloak around her and the frame. Draco stepped out, unnecessarily straightened his black cloak and ran a hand through his neat pale hair.
"Well Miss Weasley," he turned to her, "I think our working together will be very...interesting to say the least. I do hope you and Granger have it figured out, before noon on Friday." He turned on his heel and made his way down the dark street.
"What's Friday?" called Ginny after him.
He ignored her and turned into one of the many homes aligned on the small street.
"This has been one of the strangest days of my life," she murmured to herself, before she made her way to the portkey.
***
Less than forty-eight hours after Draco had given Ginny the map, she found herself sitting in Hermione's office. It was spacious compared to Ginny's and most in the ministry. Orderly books, some not even held in the restricted section at Hogwarts, filled the floor to ceiling shelves. Her multiple honors adorned the wall behind her desk, including the plaque for graduating top in her class. Scrolls, inkwells, half-scribbled parchment, and a mountain of books covered her desk. They obstructed Ginny's view, and the only reminder that the petite bookworm was even in her office was a mound of brown curls.
Ginny had given her the frame half an hour ago. She had been expecting a simple appraisal, with the magical origin, magical value, and if possible a price estimate. Draco would have to be pleased with this information. He couldn't possibly take away her fifty-thousand galleons now. He had seemed so angry that she couldn't tell him more, disgusted that she couldn't do it herself, and put-off that she had asked for additional help. Ginny was hoping that her visit with Hermione could give her extra material, something to please the overgrown brat.
Hermione was blatantly unimpressed at first sight. She'd carelessly rolled it over in her hands, deciphered the words in English, Latin, and recognized the last language as Italian. Her eyebrow's scrunched at some of the lettering. From the top corner to the placement of where it was ripped it read: To taste with touch. She'd read that somewhere before, but could neither remember when and where nor what it had meant.
She had attempted to take it across the room, but the frame swung back nearly knocking her off her feet. She took the dark yellow cloth like parchment out of it's case, with the same results. She couldn't take it more than two or three meters away from the red head. Ginny explained that the reason she couldn't part from the frame was that Draco had bound her to it. Ginny had to take it when she slept, cooked, and even bathed. Hermione wasn't happy that Ginny was irresponsible enough to let Malfoy get so close to her with his wand, but she understood.
She studied the piece some more and racked her brain for all her memory of maps. She remembered the Marauder's Map, and the Map of Guidance, which helped in the Goblin Rebellion. Then it fluttered through her mind like a blue-jay in a sand storm.
It was a myth.
It couldn't exist.
Just like the Chamber of Secrets was a myth her mind countered.
Hermione left the map fragment on the desk. She was quickly across the room, on one of the sturdy ladders that leaned in and hooked to her bookshelves. She nimbly made her way up, and used her arms to slide the ladder to the right. She used her wand to charm books on and off her desk.
"Aha!" she exclaimed, pulling a large red leather bound book.
She picked the piece of map up, it's unusual clothlike texture foreign to her fingers. She laid the red book on her desk.
"Do you know what it is?" Ginny asked, her face unable to hide her emotions. The way Hermione's face was glowing with happiness, Ginny was sure that it must have been something big.
"I'm not sure," Hermione answered. Her fingers were quickly fingering the pages. While her deep brown eyes were scanning them. Ginny often wondered when she saw Hermione like this if she was some sort of speed reader.
"Well?" Ginny asked. She was beginning to grow impatient and her voice betrayed her.
Hermione let out a soft hiss, and Ginny understood. She often did that when she was with Harry and Ron. A warning to be quiet, and let her work.
After consulting her books, incoherent mutters, and a stretch of unbearable silence, she answered.
"You have to test it," she smiled. She was holding the piece in her hand and walking towards Ginny.
"I've already tested it," Ginny countered.
"Not that kind of test. This a physical test. We must merely set it on fire, and all will be revealed. Quite simple, really."
"Wait!" Ginny snatched the cloth away from Hermione. "You're telling me, that I have to catch this very old, very expensive, very important, map on fire?"
"Yes," answered Hermione, her dark eyebrows knitting.
"Are you crazy? Malfoy will kill me!"
"No, he won't. If it burns then it's a fake and he spent a lot of money on a pretty piece of parchment," said Hermione, and she seemed very pleased with herself.
"And if it doesn't?" asked Ginny. She didn't understand what Hermione was saying.
"Well then Malfoy, has purchased something rare indeed, something that could change the course of this war. It could even change the course of history.
"Do you have any idea what this is Gin?" Ginny shook her head.
"A myth, a legend, a fairytale..."
"I get the point. How's a myth going to change the world," Ginny interrupted. Hermione wasn't making sense, and it was actually starting to scare her.
"I was getting to that," Hermione answered, annoyed by Ginny's interruption.
"I read that it was said to be forged by four of the greatest wizards of the time.."
"The Hogwarts four?" asked Ginny, excitement getting the better of her.
"Well, yes," she answered slightly impressed. "How did you know?"
"Oh please, Hermione. When anything's done in three's it's always you, Harry, and Ron. Anything done in fours is them." Ginny smiled at the blush that crept into Hermione's cheeks. "Anyway, what was it made for?"
"They drew the map to find each other before they died. Remember, before Slytherin went mad, they were all very close." Hermione sighed, "Every generation has their Slytherin."
"Their traitor," Ginny hissed. She hated remembering the treachery of some of her schoolmates, the way the war was slowly pulling everyone apart. The standard motto : Trust no one. Now, she was trusting the one person she shouldn't trust.
"Yes, well, some say they died, others say they built a utopia, a paradise, a heaven. They would go their before they died, and basically live happily ever after."
"How? Why?" Ginny broke in again.
"Virginia Ann Weasley are you going to let me finish?" Ginny blushed at Hermione's outburst. Hermione rarely lost her temper and patience.
"It's said to make every desire come true," Hermione said, a slight haughtiness to her as she spoke.
"Why would Malfoy want it?" Ginny asked, her eagerness not letting her mind digest her thoughts. She was sure Hermione thought she was crazy, but the former Head Girl was carrying a candle to her.
"Ginny, you can't be serious! Why wouldn't he want it?"
"Well, why didn't I feel anything? I mean, if Slytherin had his hand in creating it." Ginny found it a little hard to believe that a piece of cloth could last that long, that any of this was really happening. Was Draco really trying to take over the world?
It was Hermione's turn to interrupt. She explained to Ginny that Slytherin wasn't always dark. He slowly fell into it, and the founders had lived comfortably together for years. They had forged the map together, like they did the school, and then Slytherin turned. They divided their map. Each taking the piece they had given the most with creating, and spreading it in the four different corners of the world.
The map was far from being whole. There were the three other pieces. Hermione wasn't sure who had contributed in the making of their piece, or where it was from. Though with a simple spell they could use their piece as a sort of magnet to the other pieces. When it was complete Harry could use it. That is if it was true.
She held the candle to Ginny, waiting for the red head to make her decision. Ginny picked the piece up. The black writing and black lines contacting her skin. They were jagged and rough, unlike the smoothness of their canvas. She wondered what it was made out of. Some short haired animal. It would have to have been a very short haired animal. She looked at Hermione, holding her gaze as she brought it to the flame. It hissed as if it were a small animal but it didn't singe. It absorbed the heat and she let it drop. Amongst the black scrawl, certain red lines were glowing, as if steering them.
"Merlin's beard, Ginny. We have to tell Fudge!" Hermione cried.
* * *
She lay there, a light against the black silk sheets, her long honey wheat locks thinned and limp against her narrowed shoulders. He remembered twirling those locks as a child, calming him as he fell asleep. The strong and dainty arms that held him tightly fell weakly at her sides.
She had grown so thin, barely a heap of covers where she lay motionless in the overpowering four-poster, a gentle rise and fall of thick black blankets, as she took shallow breaths.
She lay there, the beautiful, obedient, and perfect wife of Lucius Malfoy. Her health deteriorating by the day. She was sick, very sick, unable to do the simplest task of feeding herself.
He watched from his dark velvet chair, his fingers numbly tracing patterns on the smooth fabric. He watched the nurse in her white and blue apron mutter spells over his mother. He'd hired her a year ago, when he had discovered his mother unconscious, bleeding from the mouth, on the cold floor of her room, unknowingly the last time she would leave her bed without assistance.
The doctor said it was unusual, undefinable, and un-treatable.
They would do what they could, but the best they could do was to just make her comfortable, make the passing a little easier.
It was the worst day of Draco's life. The pain, the guilt, the frustration, the emotions of helplessness coerced through him like the Hogwarts Express. He couldn't let his mother die. It wasn't right. It wasn't her time. He went as far as to invite a muggle doctor to care for her, but the outcome the same. There was nothing they could do.
"Draco," she breathed. Her voice once so smooth, was brittle and hoarse. The nurse had left her, to gather much needed pain reliving and dreamless potions.
"Yes, Mother," He got up from his seat and went to her side. His long smooth fingers enclosing her fragile ones. He could feel the bones through her pale, transparent skin.
She didn't answer. Draco knew she just needed his presence, someone strong to take care of her, someone like his father had been.
"Mother, listen," he whispered, hoping that she could hear him. He bent a little closer to her ear. A comforting smell from childhood filled his nostrils. She smelled of jasmine.
"Mother," he whispered again. "I have the map, and soon I WILL have your cure."
Her answer was a small hitch in her breath. A sign, Draco imagined, that was good.
"Mr. Malfoy?" a small ravenhaired boy whispered from the door. Draco kissed his mother's smooth hand and gently set it on the bed.
Draco turned on the boy, as they stepped outside. His face emotionless, almost as if he were at a dinner party, and not at his dying mother's bedside.
"What?" he hissed, smoothly. His face was passive, but his voice was harsh.
"An owl brought this, sir." The gaunt boy was holding a white envelope on a silver platter.
"I was holding court with my mother and did not want to be disturbed." His voice was even, but dripping in venom.
"But Edmund insisted sir."
"Did he?" Draco asked. A light blonde eyebrow arching. If Edmund insisted it must have been important.
He quickly snatched it off the serving tray, and sneered at the young servant. He watched as the boy scurried through a service passage. Draco didn't understand his enjoyment from watching people cower. Especially black haired boys, green-eyed boys, or boys with glasses.
He looked up and down the hall. Not a servant or house-elf in sight. He opened the letter slowly.
It read:
Malfoy,
Little Red Riding Hood and The Mudblood went to Fat Arse.
Smith
Draco scoffed at the unoriginality in which his informant decided to code their correspondence.
He wasn't surprised the Weasel betrayed him. He had been half expecting it. The girl was as cunning as a Hufflepuff. Did she actually think that she could delude him? Obviously the mudblood did. It had probably been her idea to go to Fudge.
Draco was angry and satisfied as the oak door cracked. He was in his study. Not the office Ginny had visited earlier in the week, but in his study where he kept his concealed belongings. He needed the problem to be fixed. If Fudge got his greasy hands on Draco's map, Draco could never use it, he'd never find the island, and his mother would never be cured. He had to get the map back. He pulled his parchment and quill from his desk drawer. The scratch of quill against parchment was ringing in his ears.
He read over it when he was finished.
Smith,
Take care of the Mudblood. I will take care of Red. DO NOT MESS UP.
Malfoy
It was short and to the point. He liked it. Now he needed to find the address of one Ms. Virginia Weasley.
Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.
AN: To anyone who reviewed thank-you so much. I hope to read what you thought about this one. Criticism is welcome and taken in stride.