29. Unwelcome surprises of the pleasant sort
June , 5th 2001
Malfoy Manor, England.
"Draco, please. I would really like to resume-"
"No," he answered, searching through his drawers and pulling out a set of papers which he began perusing.
"But I-"
"No. You'll be busy enough with the babies," he said without looking up.
"But after they-"
He stopped reading and stared at her, his face devoid of emotions, his voice neutral. The morning daylight streamed through the windows left ajar, bright and cool like only winter and morning daylight can be.
"Gin, we've already discussed this. It is absolutely unheard of for a Lady Malfoy to hold a job. And one as a Mediwitch, at that!"
"What's wrong with being a Mediwitch?" Ginny snapped, annoyed at his persistent narrow-mindedness.
"Blood, disease, people… Need I say more?" he enumerated, waving his hand as though he were chasing flies.
"Might I point out that-"
"No, you may not point out, Ginevra, or continue your training as a Mediwitch. End of discussion."
He returned to his papers. Accustomed to having his every whim satisfied and every displeasure eradicated, he was surprised when the stack disappeared from between his hands. He looked up to see his wife, wand in hand.
"Very well, then," she said coldly. "Let's begin a new discussion. Why won't you let me do what I want to do?"
"It's not that-"
"Yes, it is exactly that. Just because your notion of the perfect housewife doesn't fit with one of my childhood dreams does not entitle you to having things your way."
He stared at her mutely, unwilling to engage in a conversation they had had regularly over the past months, but that had never seemed to mean so much to her and that, therefore, had never really meant much to him until now.
"But why?" he asked, and the incomprehension is his voice was anything but feigned.
"Well, you're away all day, so you don't notice how boring life can be when you don't have something to do. But when the boys go to Hogwarts I-"
"Gin, that's so far away," he pleaded, walking to her and taking her in his arms.
"I know," Ginny answered, looking at her hands, "but when something you love is taken away from you quickly, you need to have a purpose, something else-anything else-to keep you going."
Being thus reminded that her purpose had once been to ruin his life, he figured if being a Mediwitch was all it took to keep her happy, then he would cede. But not today.
"How about we talk about this some other time?" he suggested, using the much employed tactic of delaying discussion until it was forgotten. "Today's a bit busy, you know, and-"
"Of course, yes," Ginny said, and shook his arms off gently, then smiled at him. There was patience in that smile, but he could tell she had only given in for the time being, to mollify him. Besides, she owed him this-at the very least on this day.
"Go get dressed," he said tenderly. "I'll be done in a half hour and I'll help you finish up."
"Help me finish get dressed?" she sniggered. "Please… If you step anywhere near me during the time it takes me to get rid of my nightie to the time I have my robes securely fastened, then we both know I won't be getting dressed."
"Neither will I, though," he pointed out, as though this were an indication that there was no problem.
"Exactly! Now unhand me,"-he had somehow managed to get a hold of her again and, fascinated, was running his hands across her belly-"because we have an appointment to get to."
Draco reluctantly let go of her, a frown of uncomprehending annoyance marring his features.
"Remind me why you had to schedule the meeting with your nurse today?" he asked petulantly.
"They had no other time available."
He debated telling her that people should always have time available when Lady Malfoy needed it, but he knew it would infuriate her and rather liked the idea of having her happy on his birthday. Such a feeling was entirely new to him. He thought he might like it.
"And why do I have to come?"
"Because our children are worth more than any birthday present, of course." She paused, frowning. "Or aren't they?"
He didn't notice that her question was a tad too childish, a bit too similar to what Pansy would ask, and, immediately going into auto-pilot, tried to step out of the hole he apparently had dug.
"Of course not, love," he said quickly, and missed the smile of amused triumph his frantic attempt at peace-keeping elicited. "I'll be ready when you are."
"I know you will, which is why I'm trying to get myself ready."
She sashayed out of the room, rays of light revealing the shape of her legs beneath the white nightgown. Draco debated calling her back to ascertain just how transparent that piece cloth was, but decided against it and turned to the list of acquisitions his business associates were suggesting.
Ginny came back to his study half an hour later, wearing sleeveless robes of a dark, forest green. Draco smirked, knowing that-as petty as it may have seemed-she had made an effort to wear those Slytherin colors, and he was distinctively pleased. The silver serpent on her arm, reminiscent of her silver and jade set of rings, were yet another betrayal to her Gryffindor pride; that, in itself, could have constituted his birthday present.
"Stop gloating and let's go," Ginny said, self-consciously adjusting her hair and revealing jade earrings.
"Aren't we fancy today?" Draco said, taking her arm. He did not mind, of course.
"Aren't we a smart prick today?" she retorted, smiling sweetly.
"You wouldn't want me any other way."
Ginny shrugged.
"We all have our tragic flaws. You just happen to be mine."
They walked to the front steps, where their carriage was awaiting them. Ginny had been using it since the beginning of her seventh month of pregnancy, per the nurse's instructions.
"So I get to be Lady Malfoy's tragic flaw… Does that give me full license to be evil?" he asked casually.
"Well, in other circumstances, it would give you full license to be naughty," she said, readjusting the strap of her robe; Draco blinked and made a very convincing display of self control as he kept his hands to himself. "However, because I don't want to show up at the nurse's appointment looking like I was attacked by an Indian Incubus-"
"How's Loony Lovegood?" he interrupted, knowing full well where such terminology could come from.
"The name's Luna, and she's doing well, no thanks to you, might I add, since Neville hasn't left her side after the visit you paid him."
"Draco Malfoy, a Cupid in making," he said, sighing dramatically. "I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or-"
"Don't be. Your ego takes up enough space as it is."
"You're one to talk, Mrs. I'm-so-pregnant-I-can-barely-wa-"
"Hmmm," Ginny answered, looking pointedly away. "All thanks to your ego."
He looked at her sharply, his eyes narrowing never so slightly and acquiring that metallic quality that Ginny had grown to avoid.
"Is that what you think?" he asked silkily. "That you're pregnant because of my ego?" He saw from the look of astonishment on her features that she hadn't meant it seriously, much less reproachfully. But it spurred something within him, some blind need to retaliate that Harry Potter and his friends had so easily aroused when he was younger, and it was with almost malignant persistence that he added, "And I who thought it was because of your ego… your desire for revenge…"
Her eyes flashed with anger, all trace of bewilderment gone.
"It was a joke, Draco. No need to rub it in. Unless you want me to bring up the reason why I wanted revenge. We could do that, too-talk about how they all died and the house was set to burn, all because-"
"Enough," he barked.
The unseen memories, imagined so many times, as well as the slight tremor of her lower lip, indicative enough of the imminent tears, hurt him more than he would have been willing to admit. Of course, he should have known better than to believe that her returning to him so naturally after a week-end in Clearvaux would mean that all was forgiven-or forgotten.
He looked at her from the corner of his eye, his lips pressed thin, a vein pulsing along his neck. Ginny managed to contain her tears, and took it upon herself not to fall down into the trap they consistently laid down for each other. She had the grace to look concerned, and then sheepish, although the spikiness of her character was clearly reluctant to back down so easily.
"I'm sorry," she said, almost moodily, but softly, in a conciliating manner. "I shouldn't have-"
"No, you shouldn't have."
"You aren't making things any better, you know," she bit back testily, rubbing her belly for comfort. She shot him a look halfway between grumpiness and repentance. When his demeanor did not change, she gazed out the window sadly, thinking that there were better ways to celebrate a husband's birthday, and that she had clearly messed up this particular one.
"Look, I said I was sorry," she added. "What more do you want me to do?"
Forgive me, he thought, but because saying this would have meant it mattered, and because having things matter was but another reminder of how vulnerable humans are, and he amongst them, he didn't say it. The sunlight, carving his fine features from the shadow of the carriage, made him look hard and cold, like a Rodin sculpture polished to appear smooth, but still radiating the initial power and ruthlessness.
Ginny felt as though a chill had suddenly crept into the carriage, and she huddled in her corner, goose-bumps creeping along her arms and shoulders, the placid and mute figure of innertorture that was Draco at the moment an unpleasant sight to bear. The smell of warm, nearly dry grass, and dirt moist with the remnants of desiccated streams permeated the air, lightly, softly, like the whisper of the summery landscape unfolding before their eyes.
Ginny pressed her hand against the window and had the surprised pleasure of feeling the glass vanish, immediately giving way to a gust of air. It was warm and fragrant, as strong and determined as the wind itself, bent on its mission to carry summer from one end of Great Britain to the other. Ginny nearly jumped when she felt Draco's cool fingers picking up her hand and raising it to his lips. He didn't say a word, but the look he gave her would have made her knees buckle had she been standing, so stern and passionate was it-ambivalent but doubly painful, a momentary mirror to the scarred man he had become.
He took her in his arms and they let the wind blow in their faces. Just before they reached the clinic, he kissed her again, so that by the time a valet came to open the door, Ginny was once again blushing and Draco looked as smug as ever. Megan Jones, from her window across the courtyard, saw them and smiled. She had the distinct impression that their children would grow up in a surprisingly strong and interestingly united family.
When they had sat in the waiting room long enough for Jones to review Ginevra Malfoy's file, Mediwitch Jones went to greet them. She was unsurprised to notice a faint, pinkish blotch beneath the redhead's jaw-line, one she was trying to hide as casually as possible with her too short curls.
"Well, Lady Malfoy, I'm afraid this will be one of our final visits," Jones said once Ginny was seated.
Draco looked unconcerned, and Ginny beamed with the thrilled expectation that had, many years earlier, made her mother look gloriously resplendent. And if, like her mother, the young woman kept to her promise of having "just two children," then Jones could tell -from the future mother's happiness and the look of hunger the future father constantly enveloped her with- that they were no closer to remaining a small family than Molly and Arthur Weasley had been.
The throne Ginny was sitting on seemed made by the very will of the tree that had given its bark rather than by the intent and instruments of a wood-sculptor. Following a tap of Megan Jones' wand, a shudder of life coursed through it, surprising Draco; Ginny had been here often enough to know and appreciate the feel of the chair coming to life, armed with a set of vines that, pressed against the taut skin of Ginny's abdomen, could reveal as much as there was to know about her sons. Jones held a rectangular slab of wood, thick enough to bear elegant carving but not so much that it made it heavy, and perfectly smooth in its center. As soon as the throne's vegetal tentacles had wrapped themselves around Ginny's belly, Jones peered intensely at the wooden slate, nodding to herself and mumbling small words of approval.
Draco eyed her impassibly, curious but unwilling to betray himself. His wife's obvious calm-eyes closed peacefully and hands completely relaxed-reassured him, so that he composedly accepted the wooden board when Jones handed it over to him. Its carvings had extended and progressed to occupy the entire slate, changing and moving to reveal the intertwined shapes of two babies.
Draco watched avidly as the wooden image of his sons mirrored their every move, conveying their slow, aquatic movements and the adorable proportions of their tiny bodies. He had never seen them before-for lack of time and ignorance of what it felt like-never experienced the sudden grip of pride, anxiety, and excitement that settles itself instantly within the future parent's mind and body. And while he understood he would never experience, as Ginny did, the powerful and overwhelming occupation of his body by another one, he was now aware of what it meant to be a father, and how regardless of what could happen, that notion would never leave him.
"They both appear to be in excellent health," Jones announced. "I wouldn't be surprised if they decided to show up earlier than initially planned-you did say they were conceived around the beginning of November?"
Draco nodded, avoiding the half-amused smile Ginny shot him. He had tricked her then, and yet she couldn't bring herself to begrudge him that, to resent the marvelous blessing the two boys had felt like once she was past the days of morning sickness.
"I don't think they'll wait until the end of July. I'm happy to see that you've been eating correctly. How's the exercise?"
"I know the pool by heart," Ginny said dutifully, "and Izha has been helping me with the whole gymnastics part. Otherwise, there isn't much I'm allowed to do for fear I might `hurt the babies', so it's a bit frustrating at times."
Jones nodded, and proceeded with her interrogation.
"Does your back hurt?"
"Yes, sometimes. More and more, in fact, but I suppose it means their getting their fill of food," Ginny said, and she laughed.
"Has the potion helped ward off your fatigue?"
"It has, yes. I'm so happy you recommended it, because I really wouldn't have thought that that potion would help. But it did. We had most of the ingredients in Narcissa's greenhouse or on the grounds, so it was rather easy from there."
If Jones was surprised that Ginny had brewed the potion herself, she didn't show it. Draco, on the other hand, did a double take.
"Why didn't you simply buy it, darling?" he asked casually. "It would have saved you the trouble."
"No trouble at all, I assure you," Ginny replied evenly, "darling. Not to mention… I'm so bad with potions that the first time I tried, Izha and I were laughing all morning long, and the second time we floated throughout the house until evening." She giggled like a school-girl. "Even your mother was cracking up. She had the house-elves and ghosts close all the windows, just in case."
"Purely harmless potions," Jones added, as to reassure Draco. "The entire family of Merry Mixtures is entirely benign, I assure you."
Ginny tried to wipe the bright smile from her face, for she could tell that Draco was not pleased by that revelation. Of course, had he been with them, he would have had a merry time as well-at least until he noticed her repeatedly bumping into the walls as she missed the doorway.
"So is there anything I can do or take, for my back pains?"
"I'll add a series of stretches to your morning gymnastics"-Ginny grimaced-"but, if the pain gets too severe, you may purchase," Jones threw a pointed look at Draco, "a vial or two of this potion and apply it."
"Mmh… And maybe you can help me with that, too," Ginny said coyly, having the pleasure to see a very faint pink tinge appear on her husband's cheekbones. Clearly, although he didn't mind giving her hickies for all the world to see, he was not used to being publically flirted with by his wife.
"Of course," Jones said very professionally. "If you don't mind, Lady Malfoy… I would like to take a blood sample, but afterwards you'll be set. I can imagine you do not want to be held too long on this day."
Ginny and, to a lesser extent, Draco, looked at Mediwitch Jones oddly.
"My mother delivered you, Lord Malfoy. I was a Mediwitch at the time. And allow me to say, with all due respect of course, that seeing your father pace like a lion in a cage while your mother gave birth in the most elegant and dignified way I have ever witnessed will remain engraved in my mind."
"Don't count on my being too elegant and dignified, Draco," Ginny said, smiling at the rather caricatured depiction Jones had made of both Lucius and Narcissa.
"I wouldn't expect you to," he retorted smartly, and she stuck her tongue out at him as soon as Jones had tactfully tuned her back to retrieve the syringe.
"So you got to see Draco as a baby," Ginny carried on as Jones wiped the crook of her arm clean. "I haven't been able to-" she winced when the needle perforated her skin-"get my hands on baby pictures. What was he like?"
Draco shot the nurse a warning glance, which she ruthlessly ignored.
"He was one of the most peculiar first-borns I have ever seen," Jones admitted while she put away Ginny's blood sample. "Most babies cry as soon as they're out. It's a reflex, it's simply the first thing they do. But your husband, blind, disoriented, and utterly toothless as he was, smiled. His mother saw this, and beamed, but when she took you in her arms," Jones carried on, turning to Draco, "there was sadness on her face. I think what she said was, `Oh darling… This trusting innocence of yours will soon be gone', and she held you tighter."
"Funny," Ginny said softly, for she could see the puzzlement on Draco's features, "that's what my mum said to me when I left for Hogwarts. I suppose both of them were right."
"Mothers tend to be right," Jones affirmed and tapped her wand on the chair. The tentacles coiled and folded themselves back into the wood, allowing Ginny to stand up. "So. Exercise. Eat well. Use the potions if you need them. Otherwise, I have nothing left to do but wish Lord Malfoy a happy birthday."
Draco nodded politely, still resentful of the Mediwitch's revelations regarding the day of his birth. It was a private thing that, he felt, she should not have shared, even with him; the sadness, the resignation in his mother's words sounded so unlike the image of her he had that he wondered what she had meant then.
"And I suppose Grainne will take care of scheduling your next appointment?" Jones wondered.
"As usual, yes," Ginny answered. "Thank you very much."
Gingerly, she made to step down from the seat and Draco was swift enough to help her. While she did not need his hand to walk down the step, she was glad for the intention and the feel of his hold, strong and effortless as everything he did.
Jones watched them stroll away, smiling knowingly. She was no stranger to the disagreements that had once existed between Weasleys and Malfoys, no stranger either to the times when animosity-as much as desire-had reigned in their couple. As things stood, though, she could tell that something had changed, hopefully for the best.
"You didn't tell me your back was hurting," Draco said after he had ushered Ginny into the carriage.
"I didn't want to trouble you," she said absently, flattening the folds of her robe.
He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him.
"Ginevra. Listen to me once and for all, because I won't say this often. I care. I care about you. I care about our sons. Ergo, I care about your back, aching articulations, swollen breasts-"
"Mmh, I bet you do," she replied, smiling mischievously, but pleased by his admission all the same. "I bet you wish I had a cream for that, too."
"I could brew one, if you want," he said hopefully. "You know, to alleviate the-" she had taken one of his hands and placed it on her breast, where it fit perfectly "-pain," he hissed.
She smirked at the change in his voice, and he saw it. Allowing his other hand to find a place on the small of her back, he pulled her closer to him.
"I see you've not only learned manipulation and deception from us Malfoys, but also the facial expressions that go with it."
"Who, me?" Ginny asked, looking like Eve would have had she tried to deny her taking a bite into the forbidden fruit.
"Yes, you," he confirmed, leaning in to nuzzle her neck, stroking her with wary tenderness, his hands gentle yet uncompromising.
They spent the rest of the ride home speaking softly and holding each other, surrounded by the supple comfort meaningless words and pointless caresses can create. And as only timid teenagers or a tranquil old couple do, they shared, in the twenty minutes that the trip lasted, the illusion of timeless affection that characterizes lovers sharing more than eternity or perfection, sharing nothing more than their humanity.
They had no sooner walked into the cool shade of the Manor than Ginny exclaimed, "Oh, I almost forgot! Just… wait here!"
And with that she walked quickly into the salon. Draco was wondering where the smell of burnt food was coming from when he heard Ginny scream with terror. He rushed after her, wand in hand, his months of training during the war seeping into him with ease as he stalked in the shadow. When he burst into the salon, ready to capture, torture, and kill without hesitation to protect Ginevra, it was to find her holding a distinctively burned cake, topped with shimmering candles. Around her stood Blaise, beaming unselfconsciously-a habit he had inherited from Shehzin--, who stood immediately beside him, smiling that smile of hers that seemed like it could illuminate even the depths of Tartarus.
There was a faint look of surprised disgust on Draco's handsome features as he took in the assembly of his friends: the Goyles and Notts were there, earliest of his school comrades to have found solace-if not happiness-in matrimony; Pansy Parkinson, Vivian Silverspring, Cecilia Lestrange, and Serafina Zabini, Graces of stunning beauty whose tongues were sharper than a dagger, stood together, adoringly gazed at by Vincent Crabbe. Draco hadn't planned on seeing, on his mother's right hand side, his aunt Proserpina and her son Cyrus. While the presence of the former filled him with serenity, for she bore a striking resemblance to his father, that of the latter left him on his guard. But Cyrus smiled unabashedly, as though he had never tried to lay hands on Ginny or imagined nights of guilty pleasure spent in her company, and hugged Draco warmly when the young man reached his level.
"Happy birthday, cousin," he said, and Ginny was once again stunned by the innocence and vitality of his features. His smile was anything if not winsome, the very picture of the smile kings and presidents are raised to master.
"Thank you," Draco answered without missing a beat, his demeanor polite and bordering on friendly, but his eyes colder than the snow storms that enshroud villages for weeks on end.
"And Ginevra, how lovely it is to see you again," Cyrus went on. "It has been too long."
Whether his smile became a hint too tense or a feral glint shot through his eyes, Ginny couldn't tell, but she did sense the predatory nature behind the mask, and felt Draco's arm closing protectively around her.
"There is no such thing as `too' long," came Izha's composed, neutral voice. "When you wish to see friends, you do; when you don't, you don't. That is all there is to it."
Cyrus shot her an odd look, filled with respect and disdain that barely filtered through his debonair façade. The smile she gave him was, in turn, dismissive and tinged with distaste. Ginny had never seen such a negative expression on her friend's face, except when she evoked her father or witnessed the damage he had wrought. It made Izha seem more human, this half-concealed scorn, for her compassionate calm and perpetual serenity were oddly out of place in a country just emerging from war.
"Indeed," Proserpina said non-committaly. "Izha, we've been missing your wisdom at my house. Unfortunately, Cyrus no long has anyone to stand up to him and takes full advantage of the fact." She kissed Izha gently, mustering as much affection for her niece as she then displayed for Draco. "Happy birthday, dear," she said, running a white hand across his cheek and kissing him on the forehead.
The elder woman's lips felt cold, and on the verge of being dry, as though no lip balm or moisturizer could ever restore the warmth to these lips that suffered either from not having kissed enough, or from not having been kissed in return. Those were the thoughts that came to Ginny's mind when, having greeted her husband, Proserpina turned to her. In the depths of her icy eyes, no bluer than Lucius' had been, loomed the pitiless beauty of an existence gone unfilled, of joys turned away by prejudice, of a marriage made sterile by both parties' disinterest.
"How'd you like the surprise, mate?" Blaise asked, grinning boyishly and hugging his best friend roughly.
"It's hard to say," Draco said ambiguously. "After all, it's… a surprise," he added, giving his mother an inquisitive glance.
"I assure you I had no part in it," Narcissa said, mild disapproval visible in the slight, downward curve of her mouth. It reminded Ginny of the Narcissa Malfoy she had seen at the Quidditch World Cup years before.
"So, how does it feel to be twenty-one, Draco?" Shehzin asked, and kissed Draco soundly on both cheeks. She appeared, as usual, radiant. The caramel brown of her robe seemed to merge with her skin. Cyrus was not one to let that go by unnoticed, and gave her curves an appreciative look.
"Draco," Blaise said, his arm finding its way around Shehzin's waist, "I do not believe I have been introduced to everyone here."
Ginny stared at him, surprised at the change in his voice. His posture had straightened and the planes of his face suddenly looked manlier than she could remember; the beauty he had inherited from his mother became formidable, magnified as it was by his impeccable manners and perfectly controlled anger. Draco stared at his friend, amused by his reaction and almost relieved that they both felt threatened by this handsome young man whom so many others would have deemed harmless. He was once again reminded, and Ginny finally understood why, Blaise was Draco's best friend.
"Blaise, this is Cyrus, my cousin. Cyrus, Blaise-my best friend," Draco enounced as they shook hands.
"This is Shehzin, my wife," Blaise added, giving Cyrus such a withering look that the younger man hesitated to kiss Shehzin's hand. Her dislike for him, made obvious by the instant disappearance of her smile, convinced him not to dare touch the dark-haired woman.
"And I'm Serafina."
Blaise turned to see his sister smiling enticingly at Cyrus. Had he not still been incensed by the other man's earlier conduct toward both his wife and Ginevra, he would perhaps have taken the time to roll his eyes and drag his sister away to lecture her about the risks of hanging about dangerous men. As it was, though, he figured that not only was she old enough to take care of herself, but she had also grown up in close companionship with Draco and himself; where dangerous men were concerned, she had probably had the best education a woman could have. Cyrus, meanwhile, in a graceful, fluid gesture, had taken hold of Serafina's hand and kissed it languorously. Ginny and Draco, seeing the sparks fly between both disreputable individuals, shared a look. Ginny shrugged. Draco nodded. Serafina and Cyrus, quickly absorbed in a conversation whose tone went diminishing, moved away.
"I suppose that takes care of that," Izha said.
Her immutable smile had returned. She turned to Narcissa as if expecting her to say something, and Narcissa complied.
"While this surprise get-together-"
"Party," Blaise mumbled, and tried to cover it up with a cough when the blond woman raised an eyebrow dismissively.
"-was not my idea for an ideal birthday celebration, Proserpina and I will have some matters to discuss with you later on."
"And Ginevra," Draco said calmly.
"Yes, and Ginevra," Narcissa acknowledged, a bit surprised by the interruption but pleased that he had stepped up for his wife-something Lucius, regardless of the love he bore her, had not done unless her safety or reputation were in danger.
Shehzin caught the rapid hand squeeze Ginny gave Draco and her smile further brightened.
"Shall we get some cake?" Blaise asked, rubbing his hands eagerly in an almost childish manner.
Ginny eyed him subtly, recognizing the enthusiastic, avid young man Blaise became whenever he was around Draco and Shehzin. The ease with which he had become the contemptuous bastard she had known at Hogwarts was appalling; the fact that both he and Draco could change in an instant, whether from their education at home or in Slytherin, stunned her into contemplative silence. And as Blaise dragged Shehzin toward the impressive cake, upon which the neglected candles still blazed, Draco leaned to whisper in Ginny's ear.
"This surprise wouldn't happen to be one of your ideas, would it?" he asked, suspicion and mirth battling for the key note in his voice.
"Mhh? No, not at all. What makes you think it could be?"
Narcissa and Proserpina were walking away, absorbed in a conversation the depths of which only they could conceive.
"I seem to recall the Ravenclaws mentioning a tremendous surprise party thrown by a little Gryffindor for one of their house members…"
"Well, fancy that…" Ginny mused, and turned to face him, smiling innocently. "Who knew Neville was so inventive?"
The corner of Draco's lips twitched as he fought to contain a smile.
"I sincerely doubt Longbottom is to blame for this."
Ginny's face fell, a hint of uncertainty marring her features.
"You really don't like it?"
"Oh, I suppose it's alright," he said airily, bringing her so close to him that their foreheads touched. "It's just that, where surprises are concerned, the one that would make me happiest entails-"
He finished his sentence in a very low and sensuous voice, one whose tone and insinuations had a bright blush creeping on Ginny's cheeks within seconds.
"Well, uh," Ginny giggled, and then, realizing the absurdity of the situation, as Draco was merely retaliating for her earlier flirtation in front of Megan Jones, she lasciviously added, "I'm sure we could make the proper arrangements."
His eyes darkened as she knew -and hoped- they would, and he was already pulling her toward the door when they were stopped by four feet of timid boyishness.
"Happy birthday, Uncle Draco," Leo said hesitantly, as though feeling that he shouldn't have stopped these two grown-ups on their way to the bedroom, but having been unable to refrain from doing so.
"Uncle Dr-" Draco repeated, surprised, giving Ginny an inquisitive glance.
She shrugged and ruffled the boy's dark hair affectionately.
"Well, you are his uncle. And your name is Draco, right? Or is old age taking its toll on you already?" she went on, laughing.
An uncertain smile appeared on Leo's lips as he looked at them alternately. Draco pinched Ginny's arm lightly.
"Be quiet, woman," he said, undaunted by the exaggerated yelp his teasing elicited.
"See how he treats his wife?" Ginny asked, taking Leo as witness. "I'm not sure he deserves a birthday present. What do you think, Leo? Hopefully you'll be much nicer to your girlfriend when-"
"Now, now, duck, don't go about ruining years of education on how to properly treating ladies with your lessons," Draco said, smirking, as he pushed an errant strand of red hair back behind her ear.
Draco wished he had not spoken when he saw a similar look of stupefaction on both Ginny and Leo's faces. Expecting a thinly-veiled rebuke and allusions to the lamentable source of Bellatrix Lestrange's son's education from his wife, he was unsure of the young boy's reaction; either way, a sense of dread crept upon him as a hawk diving for the kill.
"You just called me-" Ginny began.
"Duck," Leo finished as if he had been holding his breath. "Like… a duck…"
"Draco Malfoy…"
"A pet name…"
Ginny and Leo exchanged a glance filled with understanding as Draco eyed them warily, mildly displeased that such an innocuous choice of words could seem so appalling. Then the two of them smiled and it was as though a veil had been lifted, another bridge crossed, another gap mended.
"Well, I'll just go get some pumpkin juice," Leo said very seriously, although a mischievous sparkle danced in his eyes.
Ginny, not for the first time that day, wrapped her arms around Draco's neck and, a self-satisfied smile curling her lips, she murmured throatily, "Will wonders ever cease…?"
"Quite a devoted admirer you've got yourself there, Ginevra Malfoy," Draco replied, loving the way her full belly felt despite the space it introduced between them.
"Why of course… Why else would you have married me?" she retorted cheekily.
"I meant Leo," he snickered, "but why else indeed…."
Their lips met tenderly, her hands finding their way into his hair as his ran down the small of her back. He leaned in to deepen the kiss, in a display of affection that was shocking not so much because of its intensity but because this was Draco Malfoy, throwing caution and decency to the wind in exchange for a blissful exchange with his wife.
"I suppose I should be grateful to your mother for inviting only him and Cecilia," Ginny said when he paused to look at her. Their foreheads rested against each other.
"Actually, Bellatrix hasn't been feeling very well, lately," Draco explained. If he saw the glimmer of triumph that shot through Ginny's eyes, he did not remark upon it or question her. "She and Rodolphus are on vacation in Switzerland."
Draco did not consciously avoid referring to them as "uncle" and "aunt", but, in circumstances where he would have been given the chance to do so, he would quickly have realized that he had first come to call them family out of politeness, then of fear, and finally convenience; continuing to do so, in view of Ginevra's repugnance and his own aversion for them, would have been pure unconsciousness.
"Well I sure hope they don't-" Ginny began, incapable as always to hold her tongue.
"Come back? Yes, I know," he interrupted her softly. "Please do not say this where Mother can hear you."
"I'm afraid Ginevra is quite entitled to saying whatever she wishes about my sister, Draco," Narcissa's voice, uncharacteristically grave, said. "That is, not about Andromeda. I doubt Nymphadora would forgive you, and anything you could say about her without having known her would fall dreadfully short of the woman she was. After all, even we, who knew her well, failed to understand the strength of her character."
The young couple turned to find Lucius' widow standing there, holding a glass of champagne. For the first time, Draco noticed the lines of fatigue on her face. While elegantly faint for a woman her age, they were nonetheless present, as ineffective parentheses around a past that would not remain muted. Ginny looked mildly uncomfortable , and yet she understood in some indescribable way that this authorization to exact revenge from Bellatrix was, for a woman whose eldest sister had once been everything to her, as close to an apology as the redhead would ever get.
"I am actually here to remind you," Narcissa went on, frowning, "that you must blow the candles on your cake, or Blaise will do it for you… and perhaps even eat them, along with a monstrous slice of the cake he has been coveting since Ginevra baked it."
"You baked the cake yourself?" Draco snapped, annoyed but not surprised to learn that she could not keep away from the kitchen.
"Well, I was going to have Blaise make the icing-he insisted upon it!-but you must have smelled the result of that when you walked in."
"Mh," Narcissa concurred. "Apparently, despite rather obvious hints, the fact that one does not actually heat the icing completely eluded the poor boy."
"Poor I may be," Blaise roared from the other side of the room, "but I certainly will not be hungry unless the birthday boy,"-both Draco and Narcissa cringed- "comes over here and starts cutting the damn-"
He was interrupted by Shehzin's hand, tactfully pressed against his lips as she finished the sentence.
"Cake," she said simply, but loud enough for everyone to hear. "Watch your mouth, there are children around," she added much lower, glaring at Blaise. Somehow that did not seem to dampen his spirits, as only the sight of Draco finally making his way over to the cake succeeding in chasing away the prospect of ruthlessly claiming the chocolate cake for himself.
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