Author's Notes:
Okay, I'm back with more of our story. I blame the dgficexchange and 50,000 words of NaNoWriMo for the shameless lack of updates.
Thank you to all who have returned for more of this tale and to everyone who left such wonderful reviews! In particular, I would like to thank Cas121689, Alexandria Malfoy, Pour Toujours, pcgrimmy, moogle, jchaser, MarenKPotter, NicolePotter86, Hermione's Shadow, Sailor Universe, Anonymous, miss understood, Persephone33, PrincessEmalia, passion fruit, fondlewand, and anonymous. This brings our review total to 333. Hmm... just half evil, I guess.
As always, much appreciation to marcia, my beta, for putting the polish on this one. Now, on with our story! - fallenwitch
Chapter 17
Fuck Off
The guard averted his eyes when she shed her bathrobe, revealing an oversized flannel nightgown, and began crawling into bed beside her fallen husband. When he looked up, she was lying flush against the unconscious wizard, caressing his face and whispering into his unhearing ear. The sagging left sleeve of her nightgown revealed a loaded holster. The guard looked away, scanning the room and glancing out the window. All was quiet on the Minister's front lines.
----- ----- -----
News of the failed assassination attempt on Chervenko hit the papers the following day, blasting the wizarding world wide open again. The ancient lady creaked on her once steady axis and listed a bit as Death Eating governments around Europe scrambled to deal with the latest Bulgarian crisis.
To Draco's horror, the English newspapers and weeklies had taken to the young Bulgarian Minister's handsome good looks and provocative statements. And that, in combination with Chervenko's most recent tragedy, had copies flying off the shelves. Wild speculation about the who and why behind the failed assassination attempt hung side by side with a detailed history of His Rebel Highness' previous spectacular close brushes with death. It seemed that more than one English witch had a penchant for wealthy foreign rebels with a martyr complex.
It was all bullshit and rubbish. Draco found the press' infatuation with the terrorist superstar particularly loathsome. But the English press would stoop to crawling on its collective belly and licking Chervenko's balls if it meant selling another Knut of a trash-filled copy. It was all Draco could do to keep from gagging and retching as he passed the newsstands on his way to work looking for hopeful signs of his rival's demise.
And what about the magical mischief the rebel king's loyal queen and confidante left behind during her most recent visit to Malfoy Manor? There was no mischief afoot at the Manor, not a whimper of it. Three days of scouring the place turned up a total of two missing kitchen knives. It seemed her current criminal behaviour was limited to a bit of petty theft. And unless she intended to fillet her husband and serve him up for supper, Draco had no idea what possible use two knives could have for her.
----- ----- -----
Bella stared over her reading glasses and down her considerable nose at Draco as he shuffled through her latest owls, hunted down files and spoke to her officers about the Bulgarian situation. He was a wizard possessed and as far as she knew, no exorcism could drive out the she-devil who had taken hold of his heart and his soul. All her admonishing and berating and lecturing of the foolish wizard had stopped a year ago. She was saving her breath for more important conversations.
Yes, he was Cissy's son to his fatally weakened core, hopelessly attached to that ridiculous Weasley girl. But what did it matter? She was married to Chervenko. If the Bulgarian Minister survived, she would remain married. If he died, she would be next. This was the kind of situation Bella favoured, neat and tidy, leaving her unbreakable vow with Draco intact.
Romania. Turkey. Greece. France. Italy. Armenia. Croatia. Draco flipped through operative report after operative report, scanning for some actual news. They already had a dozen or more independent confirmations of Chervenko's felling. What they didn't have was the "who" behind the splendid assassination attempt. That's where those critical floos and owls fell silent. Normally falling over themselves for such an honour, none of the Death Eating governments stepped up to claim responsibility for the spectacular feat. None. This unsettling silence fuelled the growing anxiety in Draco's chest.
----- ----- -----
Two weeks later, Draco stood in the middle of Diagon Alley collecting his thoughts. He read the latest owls from Bella's office and perused the Prophet and half a dozen other foreign dailies. The Bulgarian Minister of Magic would not die. Where was the expiration date on the rebel scumbag? Draco wanted the arsehole toe-tagged and bagged. After all, how long did it take to dive six feet under?
Then some uncoordinated arse of an oaf crashed into him, cutting his internal ruminations short and thrusting him back into the world around him. It was all Draco could do to keep from laying the five-year-old next to him flat on the ground. Looking up ready to clock the bastard, Draco's furious grey eyes met with the idiot's laughing dark eyes and an outstretched hand.
"Didn't realize you were still playing, you bastard," Blaise said, pulling Draco up and slapping him on the shoulder. Draco looked over Blaise's shoulder at the Quality Quidditch Supplies sign. "Where the hell have you been, mate?"
Draco laughed, brushed off his cloak and shrugged his noncommittal shoulders. "Away. On business."
Blaise raised a skeptical eye at this. "For over a month?"
"Some of us work for a living, Blaise," Draco growled, attempting to blow off the intrusive inquiry.
"Work? Right, mate. Tell me, what is the going rate for window shopping these days?" When Draco scowled, Blaise dropped a hand on Draco's back. "What do you say we catch up over lunch? We have plenty of time before the match this afternoon, for those of us who are going, that is."
As the two wizards strolled down Diagon Alley, Blaise leaned over and said, "I saw Rose looking miserable with Patrick Fitzsimmons at the Ministry Gala. Does that have anything to do with any of this?"
Draco snorted and laughed.
Blaise pulled out the latest edition of The Bulgarian Daily, fresh from the wizarding black market. "What about this?"
Draco glanced over and saw Ginny's picture splashed across the cover. No, he didn't speak Bulgarian nor could he decipher a single written world of the foul language, but he knew his witch when he saw her. He snatched the paper out of Blaise's hand and examined it closely. Merlin, she looked exhausted, but the sight of her alive was magic to his eyes. Magic. Was he hallucinating or did he see snatches of the Portkey still around her neck?
Blaise tugged gently at first, then ripped the paper from Draco's clenched fists. "That's what I thought, mate," he said softly, opening the door to The Leaky Cauldron.
----- ----- -----
"What?" Draco glowered down Healer Topman's throat a week later at the St. Mungo's Fundraising Gala, ready to throttle the old wizard.
Healer Topman paused and studied Draco's face. "Did she or did she not tell you about our conversation before she went back to Bulgaria?"
Draco glanced around the room before answering. "Of course she did. I told you that already. You told her she was fit to return to Bulgaria and finish her recuperation there." Healer Topman's eyes went wide with surprise and Draco groaned. A familiar sinking feeling of dread hit the bottom of his stomach. "Let me guess. You didn't tell her she was fit to go home."
"Of course, I never told her that. I recommended she stay for an additional month to see if we could come up with a cure or a partial cure."
"A cure for what?"
Healer Topman looked around. They were ensconced in a secluded corner of the room with no eavesdroppers around. "What I'm about to tell you is privileged information, Mr. Malfoy, but given the extenuating circumstances, if I have your word as a wizard not to divulge the contents of our conversation..."
"Yes, yes, I give you my word as a wizard," Draco spat out, staring into the Healer's worried eyes.
Healer Topman looked around again before speaking in a low tone, barely above a whisper, "We were able to save her life but not her magic. When she awoke from the ancient curse, she was bereft of all magic, a Squib."
Draco put an unsteady hand on the other wizard's shoulder, sure he had misheard what was said. "What did you say?"
"She's a Squib, Mr. Malfoy. And her condition is irreversible as far as I know."
Thank Merlin he was holding onto the old man. Draco closed his eyes, afraid he would pass out from the horror running through his mind and the fear rampaging through his veins and the ruthless shattering of his hope. "What the hell is she doing? She's out of her mind." Not realizing he had spoken aloud, he opened his eyes and saw Healer Topman nodding in agreement.
"I was surprised when you told me she left. With her husband dying and her magic gone, she's in grave danger."
"Why the hell didn't you say something earlier?" Draco hissed, furious.
"I gave her my word I would let her reveal her condition to you in her own time, which we both agreed would be prior to her return to Bulgaria. She gave me her word she would speak to you the morning she left. When I asked you, you said she had spoken to you. How was I to know?"
"She's a liar, Healer Topman. She's a liar and a thief and a murderess and half a dozen other unmentionable things that we haven't figured out yet." Draco ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "And I just let her Port away to her death."
Draco let go of Healer Topman and rushed to the Apparition point across the room, ignoring everyone who tried to stop him. Fuck their idle chatter and useless concerns. He had a witch to save.
----- ----- -----
A week later, Draco threw his head against the wall in defeat. There was no way in. None. Chervenko's bubble was sealed tighter than a vampire's coffin during midday and was absolutely impenetrable.
Every Death Eating country on the continent had been stalking Chervenko and staking out his country, waiting for the opportunity to lunge at the nascent country and rip the head off its brash young leader. Had their time arrived? The Ministry and Bella and even The Daily Prophet were taking bets and speculating with sharpened teeth. Would Chervenko die first or would Bulgaria be attacked from the outside, tumbling the fragile, embattled government while its back was turned and weakened?
Death Eating governments around Europe were poised on the edge of their seats, biding their time and tapping their wands against the tips of their ambition, hedging their bets and gearing up for a possible invasion of Bulgaria. What were they waiting for? Well, no one knew where His Rebel Highness was hiding or the state of his troops or the loyalty of his shaken followers. No outsider knew who was standing where or how vulnerable the Bulgarian defenses were.
But that didn't stop Death Eating countries from sending their elite squadrons in to circle the small, unstable country, pariahs waiting to feed at the first opportunity. And Ginny was in the middle of the madness, bereft of magic and hanging onto the precious lynch pin, the head bastard whose fate was inexplicably tied to hers. Chervenko's death would trigger a magical invasion the likes of which had not been seen, ever. Defenseless, she would be swept away and annihilated with the first strike.
No, Draco couldn't rescue a witch who didn't want to be rescued any more than he could marry a witch who didn't want to marry him or hold a witch who didn't want to be held. These basic tenants of free will irritated the shit out of him. What could he do? Not a goddamn thing, that's what, except stand impotently by and watch her saunter off to her death, ignoring the sound of his world imploding. What about his wants? His wants were beside the point. Yes, his life and his dreams and his ridiculous love for her were beside the point.
But he had given her the means to rescue herself. So why didn't she come back to the safety of the Manor? She had a fucking Portkey, his Portkey. Why didn't she use it? Why?
----- ----- -----
"BULGARIAN DEPUTY MINISTER OF MAGIC MURDERED"
Bulgarian Deputy Minister of Magic, Andrei Arnaut, was found murdered in his home Tuesday morning. According to anonymous sources, Arnaut died from a knife wound to the throat. The motive for his murder remains a mystery. Authorities are not ruling out the possibility of a failed burglary attempt, although the intact wards and lack of missing valuables go against this theory. There are no suspects at this time.
Draco put down The Daily Prophet and pushed his breakfast aside as his face drained of the what little colour it once possessed and his stomach went cold. The threat on Chervenko's life wasn't an external one. It was an internal one. Holy shit.
----- ----- -----
"BULGARIAN CHIEF OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT SLAIN"
Two days later the Bulgarian Chief of Magical Law Enforcement, Georgi Genkov, was found murdered in his home, his throat slashed open in a manner identical to Andrei Arnaut. No valuables were taken and robbery was not considered a motive. Government officials refuse to discuss possible suspects or motives.
Draco pushed his cup of tea aside, slumped down in his chair and held a shaking hand to his forehead. His kitchen knives were running around Bulgaria killing people. She was going to get her convalescing, magic-less arse killed. Someone was going to Avada the shit out of her.
What the fuck did she think she was doing? And who anointed her the new savior of the free Bulgarian wizarding world? Since when was it her job to avenge her husband and overthrow the Bulgarian coup attempt, all with one swipe of his bloody kitchen knives? And by the way, was it one knife per murder or would she be washing and reusing? Did anyone else notice that she wasn't even Bulgarian? It was this type of typical Ginny crap that sent his blood pressure through the roof and gave him an ulcer in the pit of his raw stomach.
Minutes later, Draco began rummaging around for a tumbler and his bottle of Firewhiskey. He didn't give a damn if it was eight o'clock in the morning. He needed a drink to settle his tattered nerves. If he was going to be on a broom dive-bombing for the earth at a hundred and sixty miles an hour, he wanted to be the one driving. The last person he wanted driving his goddamn broom and determining his fate was Ginny, a witch with no magic and no sense of self-preservation. But Draco was neither driving nor riding. He was standing on the ground watching as Ginny hurdled toward the ground, and there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it.
Maybe he needed two drinks. Draco reached for the bottle of Firewhiskey.
She knew. The day she pushed his love aside and nicked his knives and headed back to Bulgaria, she knew what kind of mission she was embarking on - an impossible, suicidal one. She knew Petkov wanted her by Chervenko's side to protect the dying rebel king and kill his would be assassins. She knew they were asking her to lay her life on the line for that ruddy piece of Bulgarian rebel trash, again.
She never expected to return. He didn't need to close his eyes to see her terrified eyes or feel her trembling body in his arms. Draco buried his face in his hands as he heard her frantic voice whispering in his ear and felt her aching lips on his.
----- ----- -----
"BULGARIAN MINISTER OF MAGIC REGAINS CONSCIOUSNESS"
"BULGARIAN TROOPS SECURE MAGICAL BORDERS"
It was over. One week later, Draco stared at the Prophet. Not only had she killed for him but she had also managed to resurrect the stinking bastard. The wily Bulgarian leader was back on his feet, defending their borders and squelching all attempts at an invasion. Draco groaned, put his teacup down and settled his eyes on the picture of Chervenko waving to the masses with one hand and holding Ginny's hand with the other.
It was Draco's first look at her in weeks. Didn't they have any food in the place? She looked horrible, exhausted and stressed and too thin. Where was it? Draco strained for a peek at the Portkey he had thrown around her neck, but all he could see was her scarf, some hideous grey thing and not the Slytherin green one she had nicked from him.
Goddamn it, was the ruddy Bulgarian part vampire? What did it take to kill him? A stake through the heart? The only one with a stake through his heart was Draco, who threw down the Prophet and Disapparated. She was safe but, unfortunately, so was her husband.
----- ----- -----
Three weeks later, Draco received an owl from Ginny. It arrived late one night as he was crawling into bed. "Lumos." By the brilliant light of his wand, he devoured her words again and again before collapsing into bed and draping the bedcovers over his motionless body and his aching head in a futile attempt to shut out the intrusive world he loathed.
Yes, wizarding marriages were forever. No, there was no divorce but arrangements were often made. There would be no such arrangement for Ginny. She had decided to remain in Bulgaria with her arsehole of a resurrected husband. She would not be returning to England, now or ever.
Yes, he was a Malfoy and a privileged Death Eater who sat atop the societal ladder in wizarding England. However, he understood what "fuck off" meant as well as the next wizard.
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