22. Hunting a woman
April 1999
London, England.
"See you on Monday!" Ginny called as she exited the small bookshop, preceded by her belly.
Satisfied with the small thumps that answered from within her womb, she set out into Muggle London, progressing gingerly so as to avoid iced-over puddles here and there. Her boss had allowed her to take a copy of Lord of the Rings home for the week-end, and she was delighted at the thought of two days spent lazily sipping hot chocolate and reading. Ten minutes later, she had reached the townhouse where Dean Thomas and some of his friends lived. They had welcomed her without a question when, two weeks earlier, she had showed up, unannounced, at their door.
Of course, Dean had been floored upon learning that she was not only alive, but married, and running away from her husband. His happiness had seemed authentic enough to Ginny to warrant her staying with him longer than she had planned. And his friends were truly adorable. Muriel had helped Ginny dye her hair a rich, chocolate brown, and Mark, Jared, and Anthony had donated large shirts and sweaters in which Ginny could inconspicuously fit her stomach. Anthony had dug out a sufficiently well-paid job at an artsy bookshop, enabling Ginny to pay her share of the rent despite the others' protests.
When she reached the house, she found Dean sitting on the steps, smoking a cigarette.
"Get that out of your mouth, young man," she joked.
"Only if you replace it with something else," he retorted, pouting his lips amorously.
Ginny waved her hand menacingly, but laughed.
"Come on. I hear it's bad for babies," she went on.
"Of course," Dean said, and immediately crushed it on the floor, looking mildly repentant. "Must not harm the babies. How are they doing today?"
"Excited at the prospect of a week-end discovering Tolkien, I'm sure. Now, let me go through, Great Knight, lest I freeze the babies, myself, and Tolkien on the spot."
"Only if you promise to get suitably dressed and come with me."
A hint of surprise flashed through Ginny's eyes.
"Why? Where are we going?" she asked, feeling like Draco's shadow was suddenly looming over her.
"That's for me to know and you to find out," Dean said, smiling so mischievously that Ginny was instantly reassured- Dean would never inform Draco of her whereabouts, and she doubted Draco could track her down here. After all, Dean had been erased from the Wizarding community, along with the rest of Muggle-born and half-blood wizards.
"Very well, then, but I'm afraid a sweatshirt of the Holyhead Harpies and jeans will have to do."
Dean nodded, smiling enigmatically, and stepped aside to let her go through. In Muriel's room, which they shared, as they were the only two women of the group, she found a dress. It was large and by no means fancy, of a deep, plum color, embroidered with oriental arabesques, but Ginny felt that Dean had chosen it with care and the thought both touched and pained her. She remembered how easily she had gotten over him when Harry had made himself available, knowing all too well that neither had been fooled in the process: the arguments and disagreements Dean and Ginny had had back at Hogwarts had been extremely superficial and useless, little more than excuses for Ginny to break free from Dean.
She had neglected him then, and the kindness with which he had welcomed her into his life- and not without risk, as she had warned him- led her to wonder about his intentions. She could only hope that the wedding band she still wore, along with the substantially more voluminous proof of her pregnancy, would keep him at bay.
Just because I'm running away from Draco doesn't mean I don't lo -well… I don't. But it must be hard for boys, growing up without a father. Could I…? Could Dean…?
At last, Ginny slipped on the dress, applied a little bit of makeup, and then wrapped herself up in several layers of clothing. When she stepped out, it was to find a rather dramatic amount of cigarette butts, reduced to ash pulp, at Dean's feet.
"Smoking is bad for your health, too, you know?" Ginny observed.
"Smoking?" Dean asked innocently, though a part of him was relieved by the fact that she cared.
Gallantly, he offered her his arm, and back into the Londonian streets they plunged.
***
London, England.
"So, I went and asked Oliver Wood about Ginevra, and he clearly had no idea what I was talking about."
"Did you-"
"Yes," Blaise said, "I poured copious amounts of Veritaserum in the beer I paid him, and he only looked more confused by the conversation."
"I didn't think that was possible," Draco commented snarkily.
"Yes, well, neither did I, but here I was, staring into his blank-albeit beautiful-"
"Did you find Granger's address?" Draco interrupted.
"Here it is. And this is Longbottom's. But to tell you the truth, I don't think she'll go to either of them. She knows how you operate too well to count on your neglecting to `interrogate' them."
"It's worth a try."
"Definitely. I think we need more info, though. Is there someone who attended Hogwarts with her and who could tell us who were her friends, boyfriends, etc.?"
"Boyfriends?" Draco asked, now looking positively murderous.
"Yeah," Blaise went on, oblivious. "I hear she had quite a lot." He noticed his friend's dark countenance. "That was before she met you, of course," he added quickly, repressing a smile.
"Vane."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Romilda Vane. Nott, now. She was in Gryffindor around that time. She'll be able to tell us."
"Perfect. I'll get right to it then. Oh, and Draco… Serafina wanted to know-"
"No."
"Right. That's what I thought." Blaise smirked, then added, more thoughtfully, "Though next time you feel like breaking a woman's heart, I would rather it not be my sister's. She's a bitch and a great deal of other, nasty things, but she's a human being, too."
Draco nodded without answering, but Blaise was remotely satisfied to find a spark of comprehension is his gaze.
It takes a broken -heart to know a broken -heart, he thought, unsure whether to be amused by the ironic turn of events or worried about both his best friend and his sister.
***
London, England.
"So you turned him down," Muriel stated flatly, staring emotionlessly at Ginny.
Ginny nodded sadly, not daring to look up, feeling guilty enough without needing Muriel to rub it in.
"I thought you would," Muriel went on, and smiled at the look of surprise on Ginny's face. "I mean, you show up at his door, married, knocked-up, looking for a place to stay before you moved on… You, his high-school sweetheart-"
"I wasn't his high-school sweetheart," Ginny said morosely.
"Well, I only figured that out after I saw the two of you together. But the way he spoke of you, we always thought-"
"He talked about me?"
"In a way, yes," Muriel said, not willing to elaborate. "You should have seen the hope in his eyes when he asked us whether you could stay for a little bit. There was no way we could say no!"
"You like him," Ginny said, understanding suddenly dawning upon her.
"I'm lesbian," Muriel said unequivocally.
"Oh." Understanding actually dawned upon her.
"But I do love him as much as I love my brother. There was no way I would let his high-school sweetheart-which you weren't, I know," Muriel continued when she saw the look on Ginny's face, "stay cold, hungry, and hunted on our doorstep."
"Thank you."
"Thank him," Muriel said pointedly.
"I know," Ginny said, and lowered her head sadly.
"I'm not implying anything," Muriel said, rolling her eyes. "If you don't want to be with him, you just don't. I mean, you didn't get married- or pregnant, for that matter- for no reason, so…"
Sometimes I wonder, Ginny thought bitterly.
"What I'm saying is that he had no right to expect anything from you. If you care for him only a tenth as much as he cares for your, though, even as a friend, you shouldn't desert him as rapidly as you did when you were teenagers."
Again, Ginny nodded.
"And if he can't be your boyfriend, maybe he can become your best friend? I mean it's definitely worked between me and Jared."
"You and-"
"Yeah… And then I found out I wasn't into guys…"
Both women laughed.
***
Nott Estate, England.
"Hogwarts looks like it was so much fun," Shehzin laughed, going through Romilda Nott's photo album. Around them, the boudoir was decked in lavender and silver tones, with bouquets of white camellias that complemented the embroidered curtains and armchairs. The air smelled faintly of flowers, porcelain, and feminine secrets.
"Oh, it was," Romilda agreed, her eyes bright with memories from the times when Hogwarts wasn't populated only with pure-blood children.
"And who is this cutie?" Shehzin asked, pointing to a dark-haired young man with obnoxiously round glasses and green eyes.
"Don't let Blaise hear you saying that," Romilda giggled. "It's Harry Potter. The Slytherins hated him."
"I'm sure they were jealous of his stunning good looks."
"Of that, yes, amongst other things," Romilda said, her eyes glazing over as she suddenly grew more serious. She pensively played with the hem of her robes.
"Well, why didn't you go out with him, then?" Shehzin went on, detesting herself for the ease with which she was pulling Romilda into her trap. "I'm sure you could have gotten any guy you wanted."
"He had a girlfriend," Romilda admitted, making a face, and Shehzin could tell she was back to her usual self.
"No way. Which one is she?" Shehzin asked, outraged.
Romilda flipped through a few pages.
"That's her, there, with the orange hair."
Shehzin was surprised to find Ginevra Malfoy staring at her, her uniquely beautiful features surrounded by a mass of coppery curls. There was a vitality to her exuberance that had abandoned the woman Shehzin knew, but she was surprised that none of the people who had gone to school with her had recognized her.
"She looks pretty enough."
"Well, the boys certainly thought so," Romilda said. "By the end of her sixth year she had managed to date Corner, Thomas, and Potter. That's with the last of her ten or eleven brothers still in school; imagine what she could have done to the male population without her overprotective brothers…"
I can imagine, yes, Shehzin thought somberly.
***
London, England.
"I think your son would enjoy Eragon very much. The atmosphere is somewhat similar to Lord of the Rings, but the historical and mythological parallels aren't as complex. It's quite an enjoyable read."
The woman thanked Ginny, weighed the book suspiciously, but finally decided to buy it. Ginny directed her to the counter, then returned to the pile of books that awaited her. She began placing them on the different shelves, then smirked when a particularly pink cover caught her attention.
"Passion in Venice," she read, and turned to read the first page. "Andreas thrust into Lucienne with a force only equaled by the love and respect he bore her. Their mingled sweat gleamed like the gold of their wedding bands, and their flesh had the carmine coloration of the most sensual of seashells. Suddenly, a thunderous knock threatened to break down the door. `Oh no!' hissed Lucienne between two groans of pleasure. `It can only be my husband!'" Ginny sighed. "This is rubbish."
"Perhaps you should try writing something better."
Ginny wheeled around and was met with Dean's smile, tinted with the perfect mix of humor and sarcasm that had once threatened to cure her from her infatuation with Harry.
"Unfortunately, creation isn't my area of expertise."
"Procreation, on the other hand…" Dean said, and ducked in time to avoid Passion in Venice.
"Have you come here to torment me?" Ginny asked dramatically. "Page two of the book I just threw at you," she added when she was met with a look of incredulity.
"No, actually. I've come to make amends-" he said, pretending to kneel.
"So, where are the presents?" Ginny said. "There will be no pardon without presents." But then she added soberly, "Dean, you don't need to apologize. I shouldn't have come-"
"No," he stopped her. "No, you should have, and I'm glad you did."
Ginny ran a hand through her hair, unsure of where this was going. She could tell he was searching for words, and she would have been, too, if she had made a move on a friend and been avoiding her for several days.
"When you're done with work, I'd like you to come with me to my workshop."
Ginny looked at him oddly, and Dean laughed, feeling the tension dissolve as he did so.
"Don't worry, I won't try anything the father of your children could disapprove of."
"I'm afraid your mere breathing would fall in that category," Ginny said glumly.
"He's one of those, then?" Dean asked, a veil of resentment obscuring his eyes. When Ginny nodded he asked, "How did you ever end up with him?"
A flash of hurt rippled across Ginny's face. There was a slight tremor in her chin that, Dean knew, usually accompanied painful memories.
"Never mind," he said, hugging her gruffly. "I don't need to know. Just stop by my studio later, or whenever you feel like it. There's something I have to show you."
He kissed her on the forehead and then headed for the exit.
"I'm done in two hours," Ginny called, eyeing him meaningfully.
Dean nodded. He would be waiting for her by the door of the bookshop in two hours, she knew, with a hot chocolate or chai tea latte- both of which she had developed an addiction to during her cohabitation with Muriel.
***
Amsterdam, Netherlands.
"What do you mean, `Where is Ginevra?'?" Neville asked, surprised by Draco Malfoy's irruption in the lab where he worked.
"I mean precisely what I say, Longbottom," Draco said slowly, softly. "Is Ginevra with you?"
"Of course not! She's supposed to be with you!" Neville snapped.
"She's also supposed to be my loving wife. It appears she is less and less where and who she is supposed to be."
"Wait…" Neville suddenly realized that if Malfoy came to him looking for Ginevra, then she had probably blown her cover. Instantly, his tone went from disbelieving to irate. "What did you do to her?"
"Are you willing to swear a wizard's oath that she is not with you and that you do not know where she is?" Draco enunciated clearly.
"I'm not swearing any wizard's oath with you," Neville said disgustedly.
An instant later, he had Draco's new wand pointed at his forehead, its master's eyes flashing malignantly.
"We aren't at Hogwarts anymore, Malfoy," Neville spat, "and the war is over. No one's willing to cover for you anymore."
Draco's expression remained impassible, though a muscle in his jaw ticked.
"I fought my battles then and I fight them now. Tell-me-where-she-is."
"I don't know where she is," Neville said. An odd ripple of magic coursed through the two wizards, and Draco understood that the other man wasn't lying.
"Very well, then," Draco said at last, lowering his wand as smoothly as he had pulled it out. "I trust you will tell me if she does come to you."
Neville snorted, and Draco noted that he had not given up one inch since the beginning of their encounter. He doubted Ginny's friend would betray her so easily, and so, placidly, he went for the kill.
"Make sure that you don't forget, Longbottom, or a stray Inferius might accidentally cross paths with our lovely Luna Lovegood."
Fear and concern suddenly suffused Neville's face, and Draco was satisfied to note he hadn't lost his touch. He Apparated away.
***
London, England.
Ginny stared, amazed, at the large paintings that covered every wall, ceiling, and floor in Dean's atelier. The canvases sometimes sat atop each other, thrown carelessly together like heaps of cloth or meat. There was something primal and vibrant in those canvases, something that reached beyond their roughness and the colors that that deprived them of their nudity. Dean's paintings seemed to have captured an aspect of life that Ginny had lost the night her family had been killed, and so, stunned, she breathed in the powerful vitality of his art.
"Are you coming or what?" he called from the depths of his workshop.
"You mean this isn't what you wanted to show me?"
He emerged from behind a humongous, half-painted canvas.
"Uh… No," he answered, looking puzzled.
She followed him. She was surprised when two wide, golden eyes caught hers. They were like an amber pulsing with life, sizzling with some unspoken amusement, and framed by a set of copper lashes. Beneath them, a constellations of pale freckles sprawled on milky cheekbones.
"Are those-"
"Your eyes? Yes, they are," Dean answered, not even bothering to look back. "There are a few sketches of you dispersed throughout my study."
He turned toward her and she could see he was smiling derisively.
"That's part of the reason why my roommates think you were my `high-school sweetheart', as they like to put it."
"Do I want to know the other parts of the reason?"
"No," Dean said, and laughed. "I think you know as well as I do that your first love has a hard time letting go of you." Ginny nodded. "Well, you were just that. Now," he went on, "this is what I wanted to show you."
He handed her a small, translucent and clear orb that bloodied as soon as she closed her fingers around it.
"I thought so," he murmured sadly.
Ginny, feeling a wave of indescribable sadness invading her, stared at the coppery red spirals in the globe.
"What is it?" she asked. "What is it?" she repeated, hearing the shrillness in her voice, but uncertain of what had spurred it.
"It's a memory."
"Of what?" Ginny hissed.
"The night of April first, nineteen ninety eigh-"
"No!" she said, and gave it back to him, her mouth twisted in a grimace. "Where did you get it? You knew? All this time you knew what happened to them and-?"
"I can't see it," Dean interrupted her. "I don't know why, but I can't. It was the confession of… of a friend, after he was… enrolled."
Ginny's face was a mask of disgust and despair.
"A friend?" she snarled.
"He was," Dean said, softly but firmly, looking her straight in the eye. "And then he did this. The next day he came to me, looking for help, looking for an escape from what he had done. He gave me this, and ran. They found his body four days later, though I think the Death Eaters got to him quite a bit earlier, judging by the state of the corpse."
Ginny fell to her knees, her mind reeling with horrendous images and thought of what the memory could contain. In a second, Dean was by her side, cradling her against his chest. Again he kissed the top of her head.
"I didn't know what to do with it. I was glad I couldn't see what it contained-seeing you murdered, or worse? I would have killed my friend on the spot. But I didn't, knowing they would take care of that soon enough." He hugged her fiercely. "And then, a year later, you walk back into my life, with blond hair and hollow eyes and pregnant, and I'm thinking- maybe I can help you? Maybe I can keep you? Maybe you can find it within you to care for me half as much as I love you?" He shook to the rhythm of her sobs. "But you lost something that night, Ginny-love, didn't you? It wasn't your life, but it scarred you like it scarred all the war victims. So, I guess I can't give you comfort, or justifications, and you don't want my love,"-Ginny grumbled something between two snuffles, "-well you don't want my love in the way that I would most want you to have it… But I can give you the truth. I don't know if you want that, either, but now at least you have the choice."
Ginny gurgled something.
"Gin, there are a lot of things I have always adored about you, but clear elocution was not one of those."
"The forbidden fruit," Ginny said sadly, trying to erase her tears with the back of her hand.
"That's one way of seeing it," Dean conceded. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She was grateful that he didn't try to take care of it himself. "Apple of knowledge or not, this is a memory that I felt you were entitled to owning. So, here it is."
"Thank you," she said and then, very slowly, she turned her head to face Dean, and kissed him.
***
New York, USA.
The door slammed in Draco's face. He whipped out his wand, snapped "[?…]", and the door came crashing down, leaving a gaping hole through which he walked with his usual feline grace.
"Granger," he called, "there really is no point in-"
"Stupefy!"
"Protego!" Draco said immediately, and the spell bounced back. "Immobil temporis," he added.
New York was silent. Not a single noise rose from the street. Draco quickly found Hermione Granger, half hidden behind the door of her bedroom, immobilized in the instant. "Consciensus," he said. "Yes, it's Dark Magic," he added casually, nonplussed by the hatred in the look she gave him as soon as the "Consiensus" spell allowed her to regain her spirits.. "And this must be little Harry Arthur," he cooed, bending over the cradle where a little boy had been cuddling with a teddy-bear when the spell interrupted his games.
Fear burst into Hermione's eyes like a bomb, blasting her earlier surprise and anger to smithereens.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt your kid…" he said, leaving the sentence unfinished to maximize the effect of his implication. Then, turning from the baby to its mother, he added, "You aren't going to ask me to sit down? This is rather rude of you. Your mummy is a bad mummy, Harry Arthur. She isn't very nice to old school friends."
Hermione's eyes frenetically darted between her son and Draco, who strolled back to the living room and sat on the couch.
"Mummy and I are going to have a little discussion, Harry Arthur, and seeing as you are so young and innocent, we both feel you should be spared the specifics of this, ah- chat."
Hermione felt somewhat relieved by the fact that whatever Draco would do, he apparently did not feel like doing in front of her son. Fearing for both their lives, she hoped that he would at least cast a Silencing Charm.
"Mobilicorpus," Draco said, and Hermione was levitated into the living room where, with a swish of his wand, Draco sat her in an armchair. "Stupefy. Fugit temporis."
Again, the street's noisy commotion could be heard, accompanied by a piercing wail from the bedroom. Hermione's eyes widened in horror when she saw Draco head for the room, looking annoyed, but the spell kept her immobilized.
"Malfoy, please, don't-"
Harry Arthur stopped crying and Draco stepped out of the room. He sat back on the couch, staring with mild concern at Hermione, whose face glistened with fear and tears.
"What did you do to him?" she hiccupped. "He's just a baby! He-"
"Relax, Granger. I didn't kill him."
She wasn't convinced, but the flow of tears dwindled.
"You can believe or you can not believe me," he said coolly. "Either way, I have a few questions for you, and you should know that if you do not answer me truthfully, I will kill him."
Hermione stopped crying immediately and waited for Draco to name his terms. She wasn't going to risk her son's safety in the event that he was still alive and well. In this situation, there was nothing else she could do, and they both knew it; he was glad she was so prompt to realize it.
"Rennervate," he said, and Hermione lost the unnatural rigidity conferred by the spell. Regardless, she didn't move so much as a muscle. "I don't suppose I have to warn you against the dangers of trying to attack me…"
Hermione shook her head.
"Excellent. Now, tell me. Is Ginevra with you?"
Astonishment washed over Hermione's face, and Draco had his answer.
"No. Isn't she with y-"
"No, she isn't, or I wouldn't be here, now, would I?" Draco barked, and Hermione sat back in her chair, unwilling to rile him up. "Right. Right…I was hoping…." He seemed at a loss for words. "She's pregnant," he informed Hermione, looking up at her.
"I know."
"You gave her that spell."
It wasn't a question, but Hermione nodded.
"Damn you," he hissed, and she cast a quick, fearful look in the direction of the bedroom. "Why did you have to meddle into things?"
Hermione didn't answer, unsure of what he was referring to.
"It's what you do, of course. Meddle. Nosy Mudblood," Draco murmured to himself, suddenly looking very, very tired. "I should kill you for what you both have done to me," he added, sadly, as if trying to convince himself of the fact. "Why did she come after me?"
"I think you know," Hermione said softly, unable to stop herself.
"I do, but she doesn't," Draco said, and there was something in the way he said it, in the way his steely eyes once again found Hermione's, that showed he was back to normal. "Regardless, I have to find her before… I have to find her. If she comes to you, contact me."
"How?" Hermione asked, unwilling to give her friend in, but placing her son's safety above everything else. She hoped that Ginny would know better than to come to her for help.
"An owl will do."
Again, Hermione nodded, calming down as she and Malfoy came to an agreement. She realized that he wanted her help as desperately as she wanted Harry Arthur to be safe. And though the turn of events by no means reassured her, she felt that if Ginny stayed clear of her path, Ginny, Harry Arthur, and herself could be alright.
"Very well, then. Don't you dare not follow my instructions."
"I won't."
"Good evening, then," Draco said.
He rose, bowed slightly, and Apparated. Hermione, a new surge of anxiety suddenly gripping her, ran to the bedroom. She found Harry Arthur animatedly twittering to a flock of emerald green and silver birds. With a sigh of relief she fell to the ground, and, clinging to the cradle's bars, she tried to organize her thoughts.
***
London, England.
"I don't suppose this was a `Please ravish me on the spot' kiss'?" Dean asked when Ginny pulled her head away from his.
She shook her head slowly, the small smile on her lips brought by memories of very sweet moments spent in Dean's company. He seemed to understand, and simply pulled her against him, paradoxically taking this kiss as the very proof that she cared for him only as a friend.
"If you want, I can leave you here until you know what to do with that memory," Dean went on. "All you have to do is turn off the-"
"No, I'm coming with you. I'm not sure I'm ready to… for… you know," Ginny said, and he nodded.
Dean helped Ginny to her feet and ushered her toward the door. The last glimpse she had of his studio was of her painted eyes being suddenly engulfed in darkness.
***
Zabini Estate, England.
Blaise Zabini crossed out the name of Neville Longbottom, recalling how he had reacted to Draco's confronting him. Then he crossed out Michael Corner's name, for the man, much like Oliver Wood, had given a very satisfying answer once drugged with Veritaserum: Ginevra was not with either of these men. Immediately below, Dean Thomas' name shone in Shehzin's delicate handwriting. Blaise had the distinct but unpleasant certitude that due to the man's history with Ginevra, Draco would want to pay him a visit in person.
A/N: I feel like the line "I don't suppose this was a `Please ravish me on the spot' kiss" is an adaptation from something I read/heard before, though I have absolutely no idea where. If you know what I am talking about, please do not be offended, and tell me who created it so that I can give the required credit. Thanks!
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