20. The confidant
February, 1999
Malfoy Manor, England.
To the ignorant watcher they might have appeared like the perfect couple. He sat at his desk, reading through piles of paper and occasionally signing them. Once in a while he threw her a sharp glance, usually prompted by the movement of her foot or the particularly loud turning of a page. She, snuggled in an armchair by the fire, seemed engrossed in her novel and could not have been made to look at him for all the Galleons in the world. She was, however, more aware of his every gesture and the rustling of his documents than she would have liked. Rather than berating herself for it, she read with greater determination.
A grandfather clock in the corner struck eleven. Draco pulled his papers together and placed them on the side of his desk, then walked to the armchair where his wife kept ignoring him. He rolled his eyes, knowing that she would not catch him making such a disgraceful but appropriate gesture.
"Ginevra."
She looked up slowly, rearranging her features to display annoyance.
"Following Miss Jones' suggestions, I decided you should go out more."
"Is that so, dear husband?" Ginny replied, her voice saccharine sweet. "Aren't you forgetting that I may not go anywhere of my own volition, much less without Narcissa to chaperone me?"
"No, I am not forgetting that," Draco conceded, earning himself a surprised glance. "Which is why I asked Izha to come and spend some time at Malfoy Manor."
"You what?"
"It seemed like you two got along quite well at Christmas, and she is a midwife, so I figured she would be the perfect friend."
"And Shehzin wasn't good enough because…?"
"Because she is not family, and you could easily appeal to her compassion to make more trouble."
"What makes you think I won't do the same thing with Izha?"
"The fact that she's my cousin and knows better than to anger me."
"Izha wouldn't anger anyone if she could help it," Ginny said to herself, thinking back of the strange but soothing moments spent in the young woman's company.
"Exactly," Draco said. "Regardless, don't even think about revealing your identity to her. Same goes for letting her know the nature of our, ah-dealings, as of late."
"So you mean I shouldn't tell her you're keeping me here against my will until you decide how to discard me without harming your progeny?"
"I couldn't have put it better myself," Draco said, grinning ferally. "It'll be our little secret. And you like secrets, don't you…"
Ginny looked away, feeling tears well up around her lashes. He eyed her dispassionately, somewhat contented by the effect he had on her. After a childhood spent bullying other snotty kids, it wasn't without pride that he noted he could also bring the fiercest Gryffindors to their knees. Ginny was opening her book again, considering the discussion to be over, when someone knocked at the door.
"Come in," Draco called.
The heavy wooden doors of the study opened softly and Izha appeared in the doorway, smiling her soft and gentle smile as usual. Draco got up and hurried to greet her while Ginny, wiping the much hated tears from her lashes, put up her facade of unmarred happiness.
"Welcome," Draco said as he bent to kiss Izha's hand. "I'm so glad you could make it, particularly on such short notice. I cannot tell you how relieved Ginevra and I are that you can spend some time with us here-aren't we, Ginevra?"
Without so much as a glance for her taunting husband, Ginny wrapped her arms around Izha and hugged her tightly, in a gesture whose desperation the other woman had no difficulty identifying. It sent a familiar tingle across Izha's cheek, as if offering her the opportunity for redemption from her father's evil. Izha smiled, mocking her own, elaborate interpretations for something that may have been little more than a rash.
"I'm delighted to be here," Izha said after Ginny had stepped back. "Thank you so much for inviting me."
"You're very welcome," Ginny said brightly, though Draco easily perceived the strain in her voice. "Now come, I'll show you to your room. The house-elves will deal with your luggage. I'm sure you have a lot to tell me."
"And you probably have a few things of your own to tell her as well," Draco pointed out.
Ginny threw him a loathing glance as she ushered Izha through the door. He narrowed his eyes dangerously, signaling that those "things" were not to go beyond news of her pregnancy. He resumed his work as soon as the women were out of ear-range, and for the first time in days managed to concentrate his efforts on the task at hand.
Ginny took Izha to one of the guest rooms closest to the main suite. It was decked with draperies and curtains of salmon silk, with furniture of dark brown wood and mother-of-pearl carvings. She felt appeased by the young woman's mere presence, though every glimpse she caught of the mark on her cheek brought back painful memories.
"So," Izha said immediately, "boy or girl?"
"What?" Ginny blurted out, realizing belatedly that "I beg your pardon?" would have been the appropriate response.
"Your child. You can't expect me to be a midwife and not know the telltale signs."
Ginny looked at her, eyes wide, then laughed, feeling as though she hadn't done so in years. Though the thought was not particularly delightful, the actual deed was much more so.
"So what are the telltale signs?" she asked.
"Is it a boy or a girl?" Izha retorted, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
"Boys. Two of them."
"Your breasts are heavier than usual and obviously painful, which showed on your face when you hugged me. Besides, you kept bringing your hands back to your tummy, particularly when Draco was talking."
Ginny sat on the bed with a "humpf" and smirked.
"Well if I'm that obvious, I wonder why the rest of the community hasn't noticed anything."
"I suppose it's only been two or three months, so it's not surprising that they wouldn't figure it out. Are you going to make a public announcement? Make the Daily Prophet's day?"
"For someone who grew up in Uzbekistan you know a good deal about our culture."
"Don't forget that I lived in New York for almost a year. Sut and Sophia made sure I could have access to the Wizarding newspapers of the main international communities."
"Three cheers for them," Ginny said good-naturedly.
"Yes, they were very kind. But so is Draco," she added after an instant. "I had never been to England, and there is so much to see here."
Ginny accepted to overlook the blatant praise of her currently loathed husband in favor of the prospects Izha was offering her.
"Eager to visit my beautiful country?"
"Oh, yes," Izha said, smiling like a little girl. "If you're not too tired, of course."
"No, the tiredness and nausea stopped a while ago," Ginny admitted. "So we can set up a plan of all the places you want to visit tomorrow, and then we'll try to make sure that your stay here is as productive and informational as possible."
Ginny could feel the excitement building up in her, and she knew Izha's presence would help her regain her strength. Perhaps then she would find a better way to extract herself and her sons from Draco's claws. For the time being, however, she had other important matters at hand; Izha would easily become her surrogate sister.
"Good night then," Ginny said.
Izha smiled lovingly at her.
"Oh, and Ginevra," she said as Ginny exited, her voice and poise more serene and mature than instants before. "All will be well."
Stonehenge City, England.
Ginny ushered Izha in the Galileo, smiling at the dark-haired woman's awe-filled eyes.
"Don't tell me they didn't have such eminent restaurants in New York," Ginny joked as a young man divested them of their coats.
"I'm sure they did," Izha said, "but I never went there. Only the elite of the society…"
"Lady Malfoy, welcome to the Galileo," the maitre d'hotel cooed as soon as they were within his reach. "We are delighted that you would-"
"Oh, Louis, would you cut the flattery?" Ginny interrupted him, playfully placing her hand on the maitre d'hotel's arm. "I like coming here and you know it. On the other hand, feel free to try convincing my friend that your place is worth her time." Louis gave Izha an inquisitive look. "On second thought, will you just show us to a table?"
"Of course. Please, follow me," the maitre d'hotel said, barely repressing a smile.
He led them down a dimly lit passageway until they reached a huge, spherical room. A platform extended from the corridor across the center of the sphere, and on that transparent surface were tables and chairs. The customers were served refined dishes under the slowly shifting welkin, and the starlit penumbra that reigned enveloped the entire surroundings in an elegant half-night.
"So, uhm, do they remember everyone who ever comes to their restaurant?"
"Ah, Lady Malfoy, welcome back," the middle-aged waitress said as she placed the menu before Izha and Ginny. "Could we interest you with our specials today?"
"Yes, Bertha, please go ahead."
"As an appetizer, our chef suggests-"
Ginny, who had been craving for the Galileo's renowned curried duck, casually glanced about the room, looking for familiar faces. She had run into the Notts and the Silversprings here more than once, much to her annoyance at the time. She looked tenderly at Izha, whose eyes, sparkling with gluttony, reminded her of her earlier weeks attending dinners with Draco. She simply hadn't been used to the attention and deference exhibited by the waiters, or to the exquisite complexity of every single dish. She thought, somewhat bitterly, that one easily grows accustomed to such richness. And then she saw them.
"Ginevra…"
The delicate pressure of Izha's hand on hers enabled her to direct her attention back to the waitress.
"I'll have the saffron shrimp dumplings as appetizers, and then curried duck with jasmine rice, and the sweet potatoes and plantain flan, please. Oh, and a pina colada, please."
"Actually, I think we'll stick to water," Izha firmly told the waitress.
Bertha nodded, retrieved the menus, and walked away.
"What's wrong with the pina colada?" Ginny asked, not particularly focused on the issue but surprised by Izha's display of authority.
"Muggles discovered that alcohol disturbs the pregnancy. Luckily, the magical genes usually counter-effect whatever damage is done to the fetus when witches drink, but it's just something you don't want to fool around with."
Ginny smiled gratefully to Izha, her ears buzzing with the noise in the room. She felt the beginning of a headache building. The blood rushed to her face, beating against her temples like waves against a cliff. There was no mistaking her headache for anything other than a manifestation of her particularly vivid unhappiness.
"Ginevra, I'm sure that whoever she may be, she doesn't mean a thing to him," Izha said softly.
Ginny's smile faltered.
"You knew they were here?" she asked.
"No, but the look on your face says it all. And I've been reading Witch's Weekly."
"I hate him," Ginny muttered somberly, agitating her wine glass so that the liquid danced.
"Sure you do," Izha said indulgently, and Ginny had to look up, wondering what could make her so sure. "And don't ask me how I know. I just do."
"You sound like you know a lot of things," Ginny said cheekily, though Izha's air of certitude, utterly lacking the arrogance so many people often exhibited, contributed to appeasing her.
"My mother made sure I knew what was going on around me so that I would not make the wrong choices."
Ginny gazed somberly over at the table where Draco and Viviane Silverspring were absorbed in their conversation. The woman's mane flowed like a halo about her face, and Ginny, for an instant, regretted her brash decision to chop off her own hair. Never had Viviane seemed so imposing and graceful, her attitude communicating both strength and softness in a way that appeared to be charming the living daylights out of Draco Malfoy. Ginny couldn't help but think that Viviane would have made a perfect Lady Malfoy, and sat back in her chair, the headache worsening, as she realized that the other woman was well on her way to becoming just that.
"So, uh, do you miss your mum?" Ginny asked to pull herself from her sordid thoughts.
"Very, very much," Izha said, her voice little more than a whisper and yet strangely clear against the half-muted background of conversations. "She was all I had, growing up. She let me tag along everywhere she went, which meant that I got to see her and Grandmother helping around the village a lot."
"The village?"
"There's a cluster of Wizarding habitations on the outskirts of Samarqand. We often went there to help those who needed it-and sometimes, when Grandfather was not around, that even included Muggles."
"Oh no, Muggles? The horror! The horror!" Ginny joked.
"Heart of Darkness?"
"I suppose she introduced you to a few Muggle classics as well?"
Izha nodded brightly.
"My dad went berserk for their inventions," Ginny zent on. "Electricklity, interwet, all these things that made Harry and Hermione laugh whenever he tried to use them."
"Hermione? That's an original name."
"She's my sister-in-law," Ginny said, bursting to tell Izha the truth about her best friend and her recently discovered nephew. She knew better than to disregard Draco's threat, particularly when he was in the same room. "As to Harry, he is… was like my seventh brother."
"Oh," Izha said, and it was her turn to stare at her wine glass, for she remembered her discussion with Ginny on Christmas' Eve. She could only guess that Harry had been one of her father's victims. "Do you miss them?"
Ginny couldn't tell whether Tom's daughter was referring to Hermione, Harry, or her lost family. In any other case she would have been offended by such a blunt question. At any other time she would have felt like these were too painful memories to touch upon. But somehow, seeing Draco cozying up to another woman showed her that there are different levels of pain, and that all of them can and must be overcome.
"I miss them so much it doesn't hurt anymore. They've left leaving a part of me hollow and lifeless, so much in fact that pain does not course through it anymore. I think that I cried so much during the days that followed the news of their death that it eroded the ties between my feelings and them. It was either that or die from grief." Ginny paused, considered what she had just said, then added, "Not dramatic at all, I know."
"Sometimes drama is the only way to put our emotions into words," Izha said tenderly.
"You are too wise for your own good," Ginny laughed.
"And in that respect, my mother prepared me well."
"Prepared you?"
"You don't fall in love with a completely twisted wizard and bear him a child without preparing for the consequences. Mum knew very early on that her existence was tied to Tom's, and that if I gained a birthmark for being the daughter of a murderer, she could expect trouble from his ascent to power-and downfall, as well."
"Was she right?" Ginny asked, too curious to keep her mouth shut. Izha nodded.
"She raised me to live without her, taught me how to be kind, thoughtful, and studious, made sure that I would be mature enough not too, ah… wither away when she was gone." Izha pushed her hair out of her face, revealing the dark cross on her cheek. "So I guess it's that wisdom you were talking about that kept me standing when she died."
"What happened?" Ginny asked again, amazed at the calm with which Izha evoked such memories.
"Tom died."
Only then did Ginny realize how childish of her it had been to keep pressing the issue. She herself had awakened in the middle of the night, feeling as though a particularly painful piece of her psyche had been torn from her and crushed under her eyes, and she had only been possessed by the diary. It only seemed fit that death would await the woman whom Tom had come so close to loving.
"So you see," Izha went on, imperturbable, "I just try to think of my troubles and fears as grains of sand in the ocean of human misery; focusing on them makes my life spicier, more vivid, but in the end, the world is exactly the same whether I wallow in self pity or not." She paused. "And that's the end of my corny metaphors for the time being," she added, laughing so freely that Ginny couldn't help but feel like laughing, too.
They were brought there appetizers, and the food, as it often does, chased away deep and harrowing conversations. And though there wasn't a minute that went by without Ginny's casting a glance to the table where Draco and Viviane enjoyed their meal, she had to admit that he was entitled to his fun now that she refused herself to him. It pained her to think in such terms, but so long as the facade was maintained, then he was, by his own set of rules, free to do anything he pleased. Ginny just hoped that she would be able to bear the news of his fooling around with other women, for her newfound feeling of stoicism felt momentary.
When Ginny and Izha got ready to leave, Draco and Viviane were still engrossed in their conversation. As she pulled her coat on, Ginny called Bertha over.
"Would you mind sending Lord Malfoy and Lady Silverspring over there a bottle of your best Firewhiskey? Add a few teaspoons of Pepperup-Potion to it and say that since Lady Malfoy couldn't indulge herself, she hopes they will drink in her name."
The waitress nodded and headed for the kitchens. Izha and Ginny stepped out of the Galileo laughing like schoolgirls, though the latter couldn't help but feel that her prank would never suffice to mend the gash made by Draco's inconsiderate actions.
All is fair in love and war, she thought bitterly, though she couldn't have told which one she was engaged in.
Draco Malfoy, once he recovered of mixed Firewhiskey and Pepperup Potion's terrible effects, found himself thinking along the same lines-albeit with a copious amount of curses interspersed in the maxim. He swore he would make her pay.
On February the fourteenth, Draco had to cancel dinner with his wife in favor of a business meeting. Ginny appeared less troubled about it than Narcissa, whose glare threatened Draco with murder the second he announced they would not be going on a date. Frigidly, she asked him which CEO, which Minister, would be spending the evening with Lord Malfoy rather than his wife, particularly on Saint Valentine's Day. Draco responded just as coolly that it was an impromptu, albeit extremely important meeting, and that though they both regretted it, they would have to attend it.
From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Ginny's form slumping ever so slightly, and the spark of sadness that shot through her eyes convinced him that he had effectively retaliated.
Where a woman strikes you in your honor, strike her in her pride. Following Draco's suggestion, Leo Lestrange was sent back to his family. His progresses at the MCCD having grown exponentially, his uncle felt it was time he regain his place amongst his magically apt equals. Draco also tried to have Lorelei Prewett return to her parents, for he had noticed Ginny's affection for her distant cousin ever since Halloween night, when she had stood on the brink of the pentacle holding the little girl by the hand. Holda Prewett had flatly refused to take her daughter back, claiming that the girl would step out of the MCCD to enter Hogwarts or rot. And though the shrill laugh that followed that statement implied that she was joking, Draco Malfoy had thought better than pressing the issue. In the end, he figured, Ginny would be sufficiently saddened to see one of her proteges sent away.
Ginny did not learn of her husband's manipulations, though their effects slowly gnawed at her. Tea at Pansy's became a weekly hell, for Serafina could not be kept quiet about all her evenings spent in Draco's company. One day that Blaise's despicable sister was away, Pansy cornered Ginevra and asked her right out what a good number of people had been wondering.
"What is wrong between you and Draco?" she drawled between two puffs from a cigarette; she would have looked like the cat who caught its prey had it not been for the flicker of concern in her almond eyes.
"Nothing," Ginny lied flatly, though she didn't dignify her affirmation with a smile and stared right back at Pansy.
"Of course. Well, in the event that something should ever be wrong-just know that he's an ass, and a bastard. So that the more he cares for you, the harder he will try to hurt you if you give him cause."
"He doesn't care for me," Ginny said, smiling in a disabused way.
"Oh trust me, he does," Pansy said, the bitter edge of her voice unmistakable. "I wouldn't have let you marry him otherwise."
Ginny looked at Pansy with mixed shock and incredulity.
"Well, I wouldn't have made it so easy for you," Pansy amended. "I'm afraid that when Draco is bent upon doing something only he can put an end to it, which is something you would do well to remember."
Ginny nodded in appreciation, knowing that showing any more gratitude would displease the other woman. She didn't know where Pansy's sudden concern sprang from, but she couldn't help but feel faintly encouraged by it.
"Oh, and by the way… I'm having dinner with Draco tomorrow night. I thought you should hear it from me before you read it in Witch's Weekly."
That bitch, Ginny thought without much conviction.
Izha proved to be extremely distracting, and Ginny was grateful for that. Showing her around Wizarding and Muggle London gave her an excuse not to think of Draco's repeated excursions, extended meetings, and dinners during which he barely paid her any attention in favor of discussing his affairs. Narcissa sometimes accompanied Izha and Ginny in their peregrinations, a cool, composed, but always interested travel companion. More than once Izha caught Draco's mother staring tenderly and worriedly at Ginny, though she could tell, from overheard conversations between mother and son, that she had been strongly encouraged not to broach the topic.
Draco, meanwhile, buried himself in work. The sense of duty his father had inculcated him with early on in his life had often been a burden, yet all of a sudden it became a particularly resplendent excuse to spend as little time as possible at the Manor. Unbeknownst to Ginny, Izha gave him regular feedback on the pregnancy, and he was satisfied to hear that his wife, despite her unhappiness, took her health very seriously-should things remain as they were, he would be the proud father of two little boys within five months. The indistinct idea that they should be raised in a united family, protected from gossip and unexpected truths, pushed him to make quite the tactical error. Before leaving for work on the eve of April first, he purposefully strode in Ginevra's bathroom as she wandered about, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her head.
"Get out!" she snapped as soon as she saw him.
Draco stood there, eyeing her up and down, even after she unwound the towel from her hair and hastily draped herself in it.
"Good morning to you too," he said at last. She glared. "You're looking lovely today, if a little wet."
"Doesn't the King of Wankers have better things to do than be voyeuristic and crude?"
"He does," Draco conceded. "He would like to inform his highly-fuckable-looking wife that the Malfoys will make a public announcement tomorrow according to which Lady Malfoy is pregnant, and none other than Ginevra Weasley, the sole survivor of-"
"Fuck you," Ginny hissed, shocked by her husband's words. Their conscious vulgarity echoed the harshness of the revelation. Both wounded Ginny beyond what even she deemed reasonable.
"Will you?" he asked, stepping forward, looking like Christmas had come early.
"Get-out-immediately," Ginny enunciated slowly.
Seeing the hairbrushes and bottles on the vanity oscillate dangerously, Draco prudently made his way for the door.
"Suit yourself, then. Tomorrow at eleven, Ginny."
The bottles of bath bubbles exploded loudly behind the closed door, and Draco could tell from the inarticulate scream of rage he perceived in Ginny's mind that she was fighting very hard not to shout. The anger and fear ended abruptly when she realized he was probing her mind. Draco smiled to himself while Ginny, stunned, fell to the floor and listlessly gazed at the marble tiles.
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