21. The flight
March 31st 1999
Malfoy Manor, England.
Ginny had Grainne call Izha. The young woman walked into Ginny and Draco's room for the first time to find her friend in bed, eyes burning with fever, her skin damp with perspiration. The mark on Izha's cheek, glaring against her pale skin and revealed by her tied up hair, made Ginny's heart beat a little faster. It wasn't often that Izha so freely displayed the mark, but the timing was particularly unfortunate. The nausea that overwhelmed her then was caused as much by the Fever Fudge she had ingested as by more painful memories.
"What's wrong?" Izha asked, hurrying to Ginny's side.
"I don't know. I feel like I may have caught a cold or something."
"Hmmm… Well, there certainly won't be any trip to the Hestia Gallery today!"
Ginny looked stricken.
"Oh, no. Please don't stay stranded here just for me!"
"But-"
"It's a dreary day and spending it here is not going to make it any better… I'd feel horrible knowing you're stranded here because of me."
"But who will take care of you?"
"Since when do I need anyone to take care of me?" Ginny laughed softly, then closed her eyes as another wave of heat shivered through her. "Trust me, the house-elves will be delighted to drown me with concoctions and cooling draughts."
Izha looked thoughtful, but she knew Ginny well enough to understand that the other woman would indeed feel miserable to make her stay at home.
"Very well, then. I'll go. Would you like me to bring you something back?"
"Other than my husband?" Ginny joked bitterly. "No, nothing, but thank you."
"I'll tell the house-elves to brew some Fever Fighter," Izha said, and kissed Ginny on the forehead.
Ginny waited for a half-hour, half-heartedly cursing Fred and George's invention; never mind their usefulness, the fever certainly felt real enough to keep her stranded in bed for a day. When she was certain that Izha was gone, Ginny quickly popped an antidote in her mouth and stepped out of bed. She dressed comfortably, then made her way for the library.
It was lit with torches, an unusual fact during the day. Outside the large windows clouds were gathering in menacing pools, looking very much like molten lead. From the park came the slow, languid whisper of a brewing storm. Ginny quickly found the book that would answer her question. A few pages of reading and a spell later, she was settled: she could not Apparate as long as she stood on the Malfoy grounds, a precaution certainly taken by Draco as soon as he had figured out her identity.
She wasn't surprised, or angered- she would have done the same had she been trying to keep someone captive. All she had to do now was take the appropriate measures. She recopied a map of the Malfoy grounds and shoved it in her pocket. In volume seven of the Merlin Encyclopedia of Spells she found a set of incantations that would definitely help her- if not save her. That was when someone knocked at the door. Ginny jolted.
"Come in," she said.
"Lady Malfoy, I have a message for you," Grainne said. "It's from Lord Malfoy."
"Thank you, Grainne," Ginny said, taking the letter and retreating to the armchair by the window. She opened it.
Ginevra,
I will not be back until later tonight.
For tomorrow's announcement, I will explain the circumstances of our meeting: through a Durmstrang-Hogwarts collaboration we began exchanging letters and found that we had a lot in common. The end of the war enabled us to meet. We decided to cross the gap once dug between our two families, and unite the bloodlines of two of the most ancient pure-blood families. Think up credible details to add should you be asked some questions. You are rather good at that.
-Draco
PS: And do not, for so much as a second, forget who and where you are.
The letter burst into flames as Ginny muffled a cry of anger.
"Cross the gap"? "Cross the gap"! The only gap I will cross will be the one that separates marriage-life from widowhood!
Once she had everything prepared, Ginny went back to bed, swallowed an additional bite of the Fever Fudge, and allowed herself to wallow in self pity as nausea and heat overwhelmed her. Izha found her there, half-awake, bathed in sweat and mumbling incoherent words, and though she couldn't quite put her finger on it, she was surprised by the rapidity, if not the inauthenticity, of Ginny's illness.
"What is wrong with her?" Narcissa snapped as soon as Izha had emerged from the master bedroom.
"I-"
"Is it because of Draco?"
"I don't-"
"Don't lie to me, Izha. I knew his father well enough to understand how much Malfoy men hurt the ones they care for."
"Well, ah-"
"I'm going to string his balls on a drying cord."
Izha stared at Narcissa, amused and surprised by the bluntness of her words. Her aunt was proving to be surprisingly different from what she expected.
"Don't take me seriously. I want a granddaughter, too."
"I also doubt you own a drying cord," Izha pointed out.
"And if I do I have no idea where it is," Narcissa acknowledged, smiling wanly. "Either way, Draco is in trouble."
"I'm afraid he is," Izha said softly and headed back to her room.
Narcissa, now aware that she would have to intervene in her son's affairs, did not ask Izha for more information. She figured she would find out soon enough what was happening between Draco and her daughter in-law. But when Draco arrived home little before midnight, Narcissa, lulled by the woods and leathers like those that decked Lucius' cabinet, had fallen asleep in her son's study. The rain's song against the windows maintained her in a peaceful slumber.
Upon his arrival, Draco went straight to his bedroom. He could guess that Ginevra had been livid all day long. Not surprisingly for anyone who knew a Malfoy, not a surprise for anyone who knew a Slytherin, the situation thrilled Draco. He stepped into the room expecting something- anything -from her, and eagerly awaiting it. The beating rain drops hit harder on the windowpanes. The lights were off.
"Lumos," Draco whispered.
The room was bathed in a soft, golden light. Ginevra, her curls forming a diminutive halo on the pillow, slept soundly. Draco sighed, ever so softly, noting the shadows beneath his wife's cheeks and eyes. A rapid trip to the bathroom informed him that his face bore similar stigmas.
Draco Malfoy managed to keep a straight face when Rabastan Lestrange knelt before Voldemort and announced that the business was done. He was able to nod proudly when the Dark Lord's decrepit fingers curled around his shoulder in acknowledgement of the service rendered. He found the strength not to crumple right then and there, under his fathers' enemies' satisfied gaze, plastered to the ground by the weight of a family's murder. But now, as he stands, facing a mirror in Malfoy Manor, relieved by the knowledge that this proof of loyalty has guarantied his parents' lives for the time being, he knows that what he has just done has dirtied his hands permanently.
He stares in the mirrors, rediscovering the shadows that in his childhood had made his face look pointy and mouse-like and that today made him look gaunt and dangerous. They pool below his eyes, surge beneath his cheekbones like two dark gashes, crease the lines around his nose and burry his features in a strange and impressive chiaroscuro. And though by the Dark Lord's decree his arm remains unmarred by the Mark, from this day Draco is worth no more than any other Death Eater.
This is the price to pay for their safety, he thinks desperately. It was them or the Weasleys, and I made my choice.
Even though he would like to think it was a conscious and well thought out decision, however, he cannot fool himself. He knows all too well that he gave up the little snatch of paper easily, eagerly even, in the hope that this would satisfy his father's Master. He also knows that he had no idea who he was sentencing to death- and that though he had been raised to despise the Weasleys, he would have thought twice about surrendering their whereabouts to the pack of bloodthirsty hounds the Death Eaters had become.
As it is, though, it's too late. Draco can only be grateful that to preserve his anonymity, to ensure his stellar position at the Ministry, he was ordered to remain at home while Voldemort's pawns were sent to massacre yet another family.
It had been one year. In the morning, the Daily Prophet would publish, in small, printed letters at the back of some under-read page, the names of those killed that day. And on April second, Ginevra Weasley's name would appear again, in bold and extravagant fonts on the front page of many Wizarding newspapers, showing to all that not only was she still alive, but happily married to Draco Malfoy and well on her way to bearing him two beautiful sons. Then, with Ginny tied to him by the weight of reputation and public expectation, he would have more time to figure out how to deal with her without sending her away, something he had at last concluded he would not be able to do.
Draco slid between the sheets as the first lightning sizzled across the sky. Ginny remained on her side of the bed, resentful even in her sleep. He kissed her shoulder gently and, turning to the other side, fell asleep.
At some point during the night, Draco awoke to the sound of a woman weeping-a sound that had previously annoyed and angered him to no end, but that, in the wake of things that had happened between him and Ginny and within events greater than themselves, struck a cord in him. Half-asleep, he moved to hug his wife, and was surprised when she responded. She buried her head in his chest and clutched to him, still sobbing softly, mumbling a sequence of names he knew all too well.
"Charlie," she wept. "Oh Gods, why all of them? And Bill-poor Fleur, poor, poor Fleur. And George, and Fred!"
Draco, fully awake, surmised she was either dreaming or too overwhelmed by sorrow to realize she was clinging on to the man who had pretty much signed her family's death decree. He didn't miss his chance and gathered her closer to him. Her tears streamed down his chest.
"Oh, Ron," she whispered at last, and sat still, nested in Draco's arms.
Draco didn't even have the bitterness to be offended by her thinking of her brother Ron- of all people! - whilst with him. Believing she had fallen asleep again, he kissed her on the forehead, and slowly lowered both of them back in a reclining position.
She kissed him.
More precisely, she rolled on top of him as soon as he was lying down, and fiercely pressed her lips to his. In the fragment of a second it took for his body to realize what was happening, Draco responded, kissing and caressing her hungrily, ignited by a fire repressed since he had thrown that fateful butter-knife at her. Weeks of celibacy resurfaced in this moment of liberation, and he took her as overtly as she gave herself, in a fervent and generous communion, in the flittering vividness of this instant of truce.
Ginny fell asleep curled up against Draco. He, satiated by the first physical contact she had granted him in two months, quickly and irremediably drifted into Morpheus' realm.
An hour later, the bed shifted under the weight of Ginny slowly untangling herself from Draco's limbs. She took her wand and murmured a spell that she had figured out the Manor would let her cast.
"Usque aurora dormio (1)," she whispered.
She thought her chest would burst from mingled fear and relief when a silvery smoke spilled from her wand, wrapping around her husband tousled hair, and then vanishing. Then she hurried into her bathroom, came out wearing jeans, a turtleneck, and knee-high boots. On the coffee table she placed her birth acts, a few galleons, clothing she had bought with the money inherited from her family, and a folded piece of paper with the address on it.
"Minimus," she said, and her possessions were reduced to the size of hazelnuts. She slipped them in her jacket pocket as she put it on. "Impermeabilis."
A blue halo enveloped her, covering her with a film of light that would hopefully get her through the storm. She had been hiking in the woods with Charlie and George often enough to know that this would suffice to keep her dry until she reached her destination.
"Sarvuort em en ut siamaj," (2) she added at last.
Three shots of black light flew through her, making her momentarily dizzy. The spell would come into effect as soon as she crossed the Manor's border, incapable until then of overpowering the property's ancient magic. Ginny closed her coat. After an instant's hesitation, she stepped over to the bed, and kneeled above the bed. She kissed Draco softly, and his hand closed around her neck, caressing the ear as he returned her kiss. Feeling her resolution quaver, she quickly pulled back, made sure that he was still sleeping, and stepped out the door.
In silence, she made her way outside, an achievement that the Manor's marble floors and heavy carpets made easy. The wind was blowing fiercely when she walked out, crashing raindrops that felt like hail into Ginny's face. She tied her hood. She buried her hands in her pockets, and then she ran.
She ran like she did when she used to run across the woods in search of a hideout. She ran like she did when they were playing tag, or hide-and-seek, and that Ron always came after her first, seeing as she was the easiest one to catch. She ran like she used to at Hogwarts when trying to escape Tom's hold, her clueless crush on Harry, or news of more killings. She ran as she always had, knowing that eventually she would be caught; except that this time, she was better prepared.
She found her way across the grounds and the well-kept woods, having spent enough time there during her first month to know where she was headed. The mud made her progression slow, and more than once she almost slipped, pushed around by the wind, but the trees lent her supporting branches, and she managed to reach the gates. She had only seen them in passing, before, when she and Draco took the carriage to go to some outing or another. They reminded her of the Hogwarts gates- seemingly always open, without a single lock to hamper their doors, and yet quasi impenetrable.
Ginny pushed the gates slightly open and slid through. As soon as she was outside of the Manor, she felt a weight lifting off her shoulders. A second rush of dizziness confirmed that the spell she had cast earlier was now in effect. She Apparated away.
***
April 1st 1999
Draco awoke as the sun peaked behind the horizon, released from the spell by the first ray of daylight. He extended his arm across the bed, expecting to encounter Ginny's scrumptious flesh, hoping to renew the night's follies. Instead, his hand met barely ruffled sheets. His mind froze, precision and rationality once again taking over with cool efficiency. He did not for an instant think she was still in the vicinity.
"Godfried!" he roared, jumping out of bed.
"Yes, Master?" the ghost murmured as he materialized in the room, all too aware of the rage in his Lord's voice to expect anything good.
"Fetch me my Nimbus," he barked, then rushed into the bathroom to pull on suitable clothes. "And make sure all the brooms are still there!"
When he emerged, dawn cast hesitant gleams through the window. A dense fog covered the grounds.
"Damn her. Damn her to Hell!" Draco snarled, aware that she had manipulated him like only he had ever manipulated others.
The Nimbus 3000, fastest broom of the collection as of yet, appeared within Draco's reach. Godfried informed him that none of the brooms was missing. He slipped warm Quidditch robes on and ran down the corridor. To Narcissa who, surprised by the commotion, slipped a sleepy head through the door of her bedroom, he hissed, "She's gone," and kept running.
"Reperio Ginevra," he said then hopped on his broom and followed the silver arrow that had sprung from his wand.
He kept to his course steadily, flying speedily through the narrow trees of his property. He wasn't surprised when the arrow carried him to the gates of the Manor. He figured that at the speed at which he flew, and since she hadn't taken a broom, he could catch her within a half-hour tops. What he would do when he found her, he couldn't tell, but the mere thought of it got his blood sizzling. Tremors of cold anger shot through him with an inhuman violence, awakening the instinct of the hunter ready to pounce on its prey and do with it what it pleases. When Draco actually crossed the gates, however, the arrow vanished.
Surprised, Draco snapped, "Reperio Ginevra". A dark sliver spilled from the wand and vanished. "Reperio Ginevra!"
When the wand failed to produce the desired arrow, Draco broke it in one, clean snap. He sped back to the Manor, then ran into the vestibule, his thoughts oddly cool and composed, the steps to follow crystal clear in his mind.
"Grainne, I want the list of Ginevra's reading material these past weeks- books, newspapers, notes, everything," Draco said placidly. "Godfried, contact Emoritius Lane; he's in charge of the Floo Network and owes me a favor. I want to know of all the communications, exchanges, and passages from the Manor to another place."
"Draco, what's going on?" Narcissa asked from the top of the stairs, wearing a nightgown and yet looking as regal as any queen.
"I'll tell you in ten minutes, Mother. If you could get Izha as well, I would be grateful," he said as he ran past her, toward his study. "Oh, and Grainne, cancel the announcement with the Daily Prophet."
"Is Ginevra alright?" Narcissa enquired.
"She will be until I find her," Draco called back, and then slammed the door of his study shut. In two strides he was by the fireplace and had thrown a handful of Floo Powder into the flames.
"Zabini estate, Blaise Zabini." He waited a few seconds. "Blaise, get up, now!"
Blaise Zabini's face eventually appeared in the fire place, his long and dark eyes still heavy with sleep.
"What the bloody Hell do you want? It's seven in the morning!" he grumbled.
"Six, actually," Draco said.
"Fuck you."
"Ginevra's gone."
"Ginevra's gone?" Blaise repeated, sleep disappearing from his gaze at an alarming speed.
"Ginny ran away?" came Shehzin's voice from the fireplace.
"I gather she isn't with you, then," Draco said nonchalantly.
Blaise's head was pushed out of the way, only to be replaced by Shehzin's, all coppery skin, tousled black hair, and furious eyes.
"Of course she isn't with us! I haven't seen her in weeks! You-"
"Shehz, you shouldn't-"
"No, Blaise," she said menacingly, then directed her glare back to Draco. "You've been keeping her away from her friends and the people she cares for ever since you learned of her identity. You humiliated and hurt her by prancing about with Serafina at your arm. You're nothing more than a cruel, egotistical, sel-"
"Shehz…" Blaise tried.
"Are you quite finished yet?" Draco said softly. His eyes had narrowed dangerously, and the tone of his voice dropped a few degrees. "Regardless of what you may think, I had my reasons for acting as I did, and am accountable to no one. Now tell me: do you, or do you not know where Ginevra is?"
"We don't, and even if we did-"
A hand wrapped itself around Shehzin's mouth and Blaise appeared again, pushing his wife out of the way.
"Look, Draco, I'm sorry we have no idea where she is. Just give me a half-hour and I will be right over."
Draco nodded and closed the communication to the sound of Shehzin's, "No you bloody well won't!" He sat at his desk, toying with his paper-cutter, then pulled out a quill and piece of parchment.
Leo Lestrange, he wrote. Lorelei Prewett. Oliver Wood. Neville Longbottom. Clearwater. Hermione Granger. "Hermione Granger" and "Neville Longbottom" he circled viciously, determined to visit them personally rather than to send Blaise to do the dirty work. There was a soft but determined knock on the door.
"Come in."
Narcissa stepped in, shortly followed by Izha. Both took a seat on the sofa and waited in silence.
"Well? I think you owe us an explanation," Narcissa snapped, giving her son a patiently cold stare.
Draco felt somewhat relieved by his mother's pragmatism, though he knew her well enough to perceive the anger beneath the smooth tone of her voice. Izha, meanwhile, eyed Draco with what could only be described as overflowing with compassion, her enigmatic smile making her look affectionately receptive.
"There's something I have known for a while and that I failed to tell you…" he began. And though neither woman batted so much as an eyelash during the discussion that followed, the revelation of Ginny's identity and undeniable desire for revenge came as quite a shock.
My pathetic attempt at Latin: "Sleep until dawn." If anyone knows Latin, please correct me!
"Jamais tu ne me trouveras," written backwards, which means, "You will never find me"-in French.
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