19. And baby makes… three?
January, 1999
London, England.
Blaise, Shehzin at his arm, strolled up to Draco. Lord Malfoy, had anyone bothered to pay his stern figure the attention it deserved, was clearly unhappy to be at the gathering, though he easily concealed it from the common crowd.
"Draco, fancy seeing you here alone," Blaise said casually.
"Is Ginevra not feeling well?" Pansy, nearing them, asked with polite concern.
"She has been tired lately. The Mediwizards have recommended that she spend more time at home," Draco lied. "We felt it would be better if she attended Shehzin's birthday rather than this charity dinner."
"How kind and thoughtful," Serafina observed as she inserted herself in the group. "We would be sorry to hear that Ginevra is ill."
"Yes, we would be," Shehzin repeated, eyeing Draco with a mixture of annoyance and expectation. She couldn't imagine why Ginny had decided to not show up at the orphanage's charity event, or why she hadn't even warned her beforehand. They had, after all, only been preparing this evening for the past month or so…
"Quite, quite," Blaise said, unsure of what to say, and wishing Shehzin would be subtler in her disapproval of Draco's comments. He could not afford to have him angered again-not with the mood he already was in. Though his affairs were going noticeably better since Hermione Granger no longer received detailed information of Malfoy's strategies, Draco hadn't been this mournful and nasty since his father's death.
"Fina," Draco said to Serafina as he linked her arm through his, "you said you dug out this orphanage. What is your strategy to make sure that the children get the attention they deserve?"
"Well, you see, the children here…" she began, then dragged him away from the group.
"Wench," Pansy said casually as she watched their retreating forms.
Blaise nodded sadly.
"How long had you and Ginevra been working on this project?" he asked.
"Two months," Pansy replied evenly, glaring at Draco and Serafina's retreating backs. "She was thrilled at the thought that, thanks to this dinner, they would receive funding for an education at Hogwarts. And now Serafina is taking all the credit," she went on, utterly oblivious to the fact that Blaise may have been offended by her blatant bad-mouthing of his sister. "Where is Ginevra?"
"Home," Shehzin pitched in at last, her voice rich and soft like velvet. "Taking things slowly. The trip to Uzbekistan was tiring, it would appear."
Pansy stared at Blaise's wife in an attempt to discern disapproval or, better, a lie. She found neither in the other woman's tone, so she nodded, somewhat satisfied, and moved on to other guests-if Ginevra wasn't willing to show up to ensure that her precious orphans got the attention they deserved, and Serafina was too busy flirting with the married Draco Malfoy, then she, Pansy Parkinson, would ensure that the orphanage got taken care of. As soon as she was gone, Blaise shot Shehzin an inquisitive glance.
"I would like it if you kept Serafina away from Draco, Blaise," she said darkly. "There's something going on between the Malfoys that eludes me, and I don't like it. Ginevra would have given anything to be here tonight."
"Draco knows who she is."
Shehzin hid her face in one hand, closing her eyes in an attempt to chase the fear and sadness that accompanied those news. She began understanding why her friend had declined her many invitations, had not been seen at the MCCD for days, had failed to show up at Pansy's regular tea ceremonies.
"Don't worry, I doubt he killed her," Blaise offered flatly.
She glared at him.
"Somehow I am not particularly reassured by that," she said.
"Yes well you would do well to not dwell further upon it, love. We owed Draco; we don't owe him anymore. How he chooses to deal with Ginevra is his business and his alone."
"Not if she's in danger," Shehzin retorted heatedly, "and from what you've been implying she certainly might be."
"Draco won't touch her a hair on her head," Blaise said calmly, though he had known Draco long enough to doubt even that. "She's pregnant."
"Ginevra is pregnant?" Shezhin repeated, floored. "Oh Lord…" She looked somewhat relieved, but that didn't keep her from adding, "But he can still hurt her without causing a miscarriage. Physical torture isn't---"
"Yes, I know. And I repeat: there is nothing we can do."
"Keep Serafina away from him, Blaise. Please. It's the least we can do for her," she added, knowing how much Ginevra had resented the other woman's flirtatious attitude toward Draco though she would have slit her wrists rather than admitting it.
"I'll do my best, love," Blaise promised, and he kissed Shehzin tenderly before following Draco and Serafina.
***
Malfoy Manor, England.
"I will not tolerate this from you," Narcissa said coldly.
"Mother, what-" Draco began, annoyance and deference oddly linked in the tone of his voice.
"How dare you exhibit yourself with this, this… girl," she spat out, "when your wife is at home and suffering?"
"She is not suffering, Mother, just tired," Draco replied, his voice suddenly as chilly as Narcissa's.
"Don't lie, Draco, it doesn't befit you." She raised a hand to stop him from interrupting. "Regardless of what is going on between you and Ginevra, you cannot be seen at charity dinners and receptions with Serafina Zabini."
"She's of a good family-"
"And of a terrible reputation! Rita Skeeter has already been hinting at the possibility of a liaison between you two and I want this absurd rumor to come to an end immediately."
Draco eyed her levelly, but nodded-he hadn't planned on comforting Serafina's hopes that she may become his mistress, much as he had wanted to dissociate himself from Ginevra. Sharing a bed with her every night with the knowledge that he would be castrated should he so much as try to lay a hand on her was definitely encouraging him to seek feminine comfort elsewhere. However, he hadn't been able to succumb to Serafina's enticing glances and barely veiled propositions-yet.
"Good. Now, about Ginevra… I don't understand what happened while I was with Bellatrix and her family, but she is withering away. She's your wife, Draco! She carries your child, carries your name, carries the Malfoy ring for Merlin's sake!-and yet there are circles a meter wide under her eyes and her smiles are forced. She isn't happy!"
Good, Draco thought nastily. As well she deserves to be.
"Where is she now?" he asked.
"In her room. She said she felt ill and I haven't heard from her since. The house-elves won't go in there, but they refuse to tell me why, either. Needless to say the kitchen floor is probably strewn with elven body parts…"
Draco grinned somberly and placed a kiss on his mother's cheek.
"I'll go and see what she's up to."
"I'm sure she'll be delighted to see you," she said. Though she perceived the disabused smirk that twisted his lips, she found herself unable to explain it, and merely pressed the point. "You have been gone so often lately, I sometimes wonder if you're still married."
"So do I, Mother, so do I," he said softly and walked out of the salon where she had been embroidering baby clothes.
As he ambled down the carpet-lined corridor, Draco thought glumly about his wife's "illness". Her pregnancy was going impeccably well, the Mediwitch repeated, yet her stomach swelled at the expense of the rest of her figure, her clavicles, cheeks, and knees filling with shadows where the flesh faded. And despite that, despite her increasingly angular shape and the glares she shot in his direction everytime she could, his desire for her just wouldn't quiet down. He woke up at night when the length of her arm inadvertently pressed itself against his. He felt her every movement in the way the mattress or the covers shifted, and waited for her body to unfold as the night progressed. Weasley would fall asleep, curled up, at the other side of the bed, and, in her sleep, move, so that in the morning Draco woke up with Ginevra pressed against him.
And more than once he had to refrain himself from pressing her harder against him.
It's the lack of sex, he convinced himself. Only that, he felt, could justify the mixed feeling of anticipation and alertness that coursed through him as he placed his hand on the door-handle. Has she been in there all day? Maybe she's sleeping… Imagining her in the bed where they had had torrid sex over and over again did nothing to quell his expectation. He opened the door and stepped into the room. Immediately he understood that Ginevra had cast a Silencing spell.
She stood with her back to the door, wearing nothing but a silk dressing gown she had loosely tied at the waist. She pranced about, picking up objects as she went-a vase, a statue, a framed picture of baby Draco-and hurling them against the wall ferociously. The dressing gown gaped profusely because of her wide movements, giving Draco the first glimpse of her engorged breasts he had seen since her return from Paris. Feeling distinctively voyeuristic, he watched on.
Ginny rolled her sleeves up then ran her hand through her hair, sighing loudly. She looked about for something else to break, but didn't notice the looming figure in a corner of her room. After two chandeliers, a clock, and a jewel box had succumbed to her ire, she turned to a delicately engraved mirror Draco had offered her. He saw her hesitate. He smirked contentedly. She went for the mirror.
"Oh no you don't," he growled, unsure whether superstition or the fact that she was about to destroy one of his gifts made him react.
He was behind her in three steps and grabbed both her wrists firmly in his hands.
"Ah!" she said, sounding vaguely surprised, and immediately struggled against his hold. "Let-me-go."
"Not if you're planning on destroying more of my possessions," he whispered in her hair, drinking in its sugary fragrance.
"I'll fix them," she snapped, allowing her arms to go limp for a few, misleading instants, then dug her elbow into his stomach.
Draco cursed but maintained his hold, dropping his arm to wrap around her arm and waist and pressing her against him.
"Not everything can be fixed," he hissed.
Ginny tried wriggling out of his grasp, which only sent distinctive signals to Draco's body. He rolled his eyes, thinking Man you are, and man you remain, with a trace of humor. If her smashing his furniture provided him with an excuse to touch her again, then he was willing to open every single room in the Manor to her lust for destruction. Not that I would ever let her figure that out.
"What," she panted, her arms aching from the effort used in trying to pry herself from him, "are you referring to your heart?"
There was an edge of sarcasm and bitterness to her voice that scorched even her own ears.
"No," he barked, "my reputation."
And though she wasn't surprised at his caring only for his status, Ginny couldn't help but experience a pang of disappointment at the confirmation that he had not felt anything, anything for her. She stopped struggling, tired and feeling utterly wretched, as she realized that her hopes had nothing to do with her wanting to hurt him.
I like him, she thought miserably. I bloody goddamn like the rotten bastard. What a pathetic joke…She wanted to place her hands on her abdomen, for comfort, as she had in the past few days when Witch's Weekly displayed photographs of Serafina Zabini parading from one event to the next with Ginny's husband at her arm. But Draco's hands still maintained her arms pinned to her sides, and she could feel his breath on her neck.
"I wanted to go to the orphanage's charity dinner," she groaned at last.
"But you're pregnant and-" Draco purred.
"It's been three months, you bastard, not seven!" Ginny spat. "My mum didn't stop taking care of the house until she actually gave birth."
"Yes, well, what else could one expect from a Weasley?" A shot of anger coursed through Ginny and Draco felt her hands clench along his thighs.
"Don't talk about my mother!"
"Then don't talk about your mother, either," he retorted primly.
A knot of venom coiled in her throat, tasting like unspoken accusations.
"I had been working on the project for months, and-" she began again, willing her voice to be cold and firm, because in the situation in which she currently found herself, appearance was all she had.
"So that you could slip away and send dear Mudblood-"
"Hermione."
"Mudblood," he hissed in her ear, tightening his grip around her, "an owl informing her that you are being held prisoner in Malfoy Manor? I think not."
She shuddered.
"You can't keep me here forever," Ginny retorted. "Now let go of me. We can't talk like this."
"We can do other things," Draco suggested, running his fingers down her neck and the expanse of flesh where collarbone gave in to roundedness.
"Let-me-go."
All of a sudden the air about Ginny felt cold and empty, for Draco had taken a step back and, arms crossed, waited for her to turn around. She did.
"We will go to Shehzin's birthday. You will come with me to a dinner with some business partners, though don't you dare tell anyone what your pretty little ears will hear. Also, you may accompany Mother in her visits to friends or St. Mungo's."
"Thank you, oh supreme master," Ginny snarled, throwing him a glare that would have chilled him to the bone had he not grown accustomed to it in the past few days. "Though you should realize that people are going to wonder where Lady Malfoy has suddenly disappeared to."
"Luckily enough, Lord Malfoy will divulge the fact that Lady Malfoy's caught a cold in Uzbekistan and that the Mediwizards strongly recommended she not make too many excursions."
Draco grinned broadly, though the smile did not extend to his eyes.
"You're a despicable being," Ginny breathed out at last.
"It takes one to know one," he said softly.
She gave him a look where anger and defeat mingled, the latter having, for the moment, triumphed over the former. She ran a hand through her hair and felt as she did so the strands that had been amputated by the knife Draco had thrown at her. Ginny then closed her eyes. The air in the room seemed to grow denser and shift, until there came the rush of magic that preceded spells and all the broken items mended themselves. The regal blue and gold furniture seemed oddly sumptuous, the wide mirrors casting back the image of a composed Draco and livid Ginny as if they had not just witnessed a domestic scene.
Ginny gave Draco the most contemptuous glance she could muster, then made her way to the bed where she slipped under the covers. He pulled out his wand and murmured, "Minox". The lights dimmed, filling the room with shimmering shadows of copper. Ginny rolled on her side, facing the outside of the bed, and closed her eyes. When ten minutes later she felt his weight making the bed shift, she only pressed her pillow harder against her and willed herself to ignore his presence. He, however, had other things in mind, as became obvious when his skin came in contact with her back and his hand rested on her hip, then dipped between her legs.
A second later, Draco found himself flat on his back with a wand menacingly pointed at his forehead.
"That's a no go, love," he cooed. "The Manor's magic won't let you harm the Malfoy heir."
Ginny trailed the wand along the rim of his left eye.
"Without resorting to something as complex as magic, I'm pretty sure I could pop your eyeball easily."
"How crude," Draco said dismissively, though he had the vague impression she might just do it if he pushed her far enough.
"Perhaps, but it works. So keep your hands for Zabini, because I assure you-"
"No thanks, I just don't swing that way," Draco said cheekily.
The wand's tip pressed dangerously against the corner of Draco's eye and he figured she hadn't appreciated his witty repartee.
"Right," he muttered, and the wand regained its place on Ginny's bed-table. "Keep my hands to myself."
Draco had been threatened of and endured worse pain than that occasioned by the bursting of one's eye, but never by one he had cared for-never by one who carried his child. He did, however, feel somewhat smug at the thought that she disliked his spending so much time with Serafina. He would have been a fool not to perceive the jealousy and hurt in her threat.
"Tomorrow we have a visit scheduled with the Head Mid-wife of the Kore Clinic," he informed Ginny.
She shifted nervously on her side of the bed.
***
Kore Clinic, England.
The waiting room was painted in clear tones of white and green, with windows open onto beautiful gardens and furniture of pale wood. The light in the room, crisp and bright, accentuated the dark circles under Ginny's eyes and her hollow cheeks, marks of tiredness that Draco noticed with satisfaction when he entered the room. He was much less happy upon finding her hair cut at chin level and undulating like a knot of snakes.
"What did you do to your hair?" he murmured under his breath after having kissed her rather sharply.
"Well, seeing as you had already started the job, I decided to cut it entirely," she answered sweetly.
"There are potions-"
"But since I cannot have access to even the kitchens, you understand that I would have a hard time brewing a capillary concoction."
Ginny smiled innocently at him, and he could see the small, spark of triumph in her glance as it brightened, if for a few instants, those amber eyes of hers he hadn't seen so lively in days. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that she looked exquisite-if unconventional-with her new haircut, though he couldn't help but wonder how much better it would look if her hair regained its natural color.
"Lord and Lady Malfoy, I apologize for the wait," a tall, stately woman said as she entered the room. She wore pale yellow robes adorned with a badge stating her name and function. "I am Megan Jones, Head Mid-wife of this clinic. Lady Malfoy, your husband explicitly demanded my expertise, and so I encourage you to tell me everything remotely related to your health and the baby's so that I can efficiently follow your pregnancy."
Ginny smiled tiredly at the woman whose corpulent figure and large hands gave an impression of competence, and tried to shake Draco's hand off her waist. He caressed her subtly, enjoying the annoyance he could feel building inside her.
"Please rest assured that what you choose to divulge will not go past these walls. I understand that you wish to keep all of this private until the announcement of the happy news."
"Which will happen very soon," Draco completed.
"I'm delighted to hear that," Megan Jones went on. "Now, Lady Malfoy, do you mind if your husband remains with us during the visit?"
"Yes," Ginny stated flatly.
"Of course not," Draco said at the same time, giving a look that promised her Hell should she choose to contradict him.
"It's just that," she tried to blush, "I feel a little bit uncomfortable, you know, talking about those feminine things…"
"But you know I want to know everything about our baby, love," Draco said, his voice thick with a tenderness that could only be described as cold and menacing.
"Lovely, then," Megan Jones said. "The father remains. You're lucky to have such a caring husband."
"So I hear," Ginny muttered darkly, and Draco pinched her.
Megan Jones directed the Malfoys into an attending room and had Ginny sit on an imposing stone chair, with runes carved in its arms and back-rest. She then placed her hands on Ginny's belly. They stood still for a minute or so, and though Draco couldn't hear any words he saw Jones' lips moving. Both women had their eyes closed. Draco felt oddly out of place.
"The baby seems very healthy," Jones said at last, straightening herself as she reached for one of the cabinets. "Your body has fully accepted it and supports it well. I can't imagine anything should happen to the fetus should things remain as they are. Now, tell me." She pulled out a set of greenish looking stones. "Is there a history of twinning in your family?"
Ginny nodded, her whole countenance alit by curiosity.
"Right. Well, I wouldn't want to get ahead of myself, but there's quite a chance that you're carrying twins. Would you like me to check?"
Ginny nodded again, more emphatically this time, the hint of a smile blossoming at her lips.
"Can you tell the sex of the fetus?" Draco interjected, doubting that the Malfoy line had ever had twins.
"Of course. I will do so shortly," Megan Jones assured him. "Would you mind opening your robes so that I can place these," she was holding the stones, "on your stomach?"
Ginny gave Draco a significant glare and he merely smirked, then fastened his eyes to her stomach. She slowly undid the lace of her robes, baring her skin inch by inch. At the opposite end of the room, Draco couldn't prevent himself from being turned on by the innocent sensuality and unwillingness of the gesture.
"Thank you," Megan Jones' voice broke the tension as she placed the stones on Ginny's belly. They adhered and immediately sprouted tentacles, which unfurled around her belly and branched off to cover her stomach entirely.
"This is weird," Ginny said bluntly, staring down at the vegetal mineral stuck to her skin.
Draco repressed a smile-trust Ginevra to break the solemnity of a moment with a down-to-earth comment… He stared at the plant, expecting it to suddenly turn pink or blue or scream, "Twin!" An almond shaped appendix suddenly burst open under the pressure of six petals that looked cut from a mirror. It was shortly followed by the blooming of another flower, similarly large and iridescent.
"Twins," Megan Jones noted absently. She picked up the flowers, inspected their interior, and added, "Boys. The two of them."
Ginny smiled brightly, looking as though her family had been resuscitated. She placed her hands on her abdomen despite the plant and closed her eyes. Though she knew better than to expect she would hear them, somehow the knowledge that she was carrying not one but two boys brought her closer to them.
In his corner, Draco tried to hide his satisfaction upon learning that he would be father to two males, which proved to be easier than expected when he considered the difficulty this would cause when sharing the heirloom. The Malfoy heir had always been the eldest boy, a fact made easier by the fact that Malfoy women rarely bore more than one child, and never more than one boy. He could tell by Ginny's beaming that she wasn't acquainted with such formalities, though he figured in her family the heritage could have hardly fed a house-elf for more than a week.
"Congratulations," Megan Jones said, having retrieved the plant and placed it back in the cabinet. "I would suggest that you take care of yourself, Lady Malfoy. You seem somewhat on the skinny side and I sense tension. Eat more. Exercise. Go for walks. Eat more. I cannot stress that enough-for now at least. And come back to see me in a month."
"Thank you very much," Ginny exclaimed.
She closed her robes again and hopped off the chair, a burst of happiness etched in the lines of her face. She half-skipped out of the room, feeling exceedingly giddy. Yes, they were Malfoy's children, and yes, she was a prisoner of said Malfoy, but they were her sons! She was expecting two fantastic, marvelous, incredibly hers, sons. The truth of it was intoxicating.
Draco nodded politely to Megan Jones who, used to mothers' excitement, was utterly nonplussed by Ginny's prompt walking out of the room. She herself had run out of the room to Floo her fiance upon learning that she was pregnant. A few months later, the Head Midwife had welcomed a crying and no longer betrothed Megan Jones into her office, and offered her a position at the clinic after the baby was born. She watched Draco Malfoy's retreating back with concern, feeling something amiss in the animosity and desire that linked the couple.
Draco caught up with Ginny in the corridor. He linked his arm through hers and kept her close against him, despite her initial attempt to shrug him off.
"Manners, Weasley," he whispered as they headed for the exit. "We're in public."
She didn't respond. He held the door open for her and she walked stiffly into the street, feeling her enthusiasm dwindle with every second that passed. Stonehenge City bustled with activity, and even the vicious cold had not managed not keep hordes of wizards at home.
"We'll have to make a public announcement that you're with child," Draco said.
"So what do you do in such case?" Ginny barked.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Do you abandon one baby in the forest, or do you wait for them to become young men and have them fight to the finish?"
"I-"
"Because you will not do this to my children, Draco Malfoy. If you ever touch a single hair on their heads I-"
"Ginevra, it's not-"
"Hurt one of them, and I swear, I swear by my parents' grave and my brother's death which you are responsible for that I will slit your throat right there and then and watch you agonize until there is not a parcel of life left in your body."
"Gory," he noted, casting her an amused glance. She stared straight ahead, her lips quivering from the words just issued, but her determination was palpable and he knew that, if she could, she would carry out her threat. Her mentioning the Weasleys' death was not particularly encouraging, either, and for the first time he considered broaching the topic.
"Look. There have never been-" he began again.
"You and your family are so fucked up," she went on, oblivious. "How will I ever be able to raise-"
"Will you be quiet, woman?" Draco snapped, shaking her slightly by the arm. Her mouth remained open in shock, though he was certain she had handled more from her brothers in her youth. "What I'm trying to say is that since there have never been twins in my family, and much less male twins, there is no rule dictating anything in that respect. Besides, I'm not planning on spilling Malfoy blood anytime soon."
"Sure, but what about Weasley blood?" she shot back.
She glared at him fiercely and he paid her back in kind, rooting her to the spot with a malevolent glower. Not for the first time in the past week, Ginny wondered if she hadn't pushed him too far, and how would she react if a slap of his nearly beheaded her. Luckily his self-control did not break, and though he grabbed her rather roughly to pull her through the crowd, for the moment he left it at that. A muscle in his jaw twitched erratically as he ushered her into their flying carriage. The ride home was silent.
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