Hesperides' Apple
Chapter 4
Ginny stared dejectedly at the pile of clothing in her closet room.
"How am I supposed to know what to take when I've never been to stupid Italy and have clothes enough to dress an entire finishing school?" she snapped, annoyed.
Grainne materialized at her side.
"If you wish, mademoiselle, I could take care of this for you," she offered.
Ginny looked like Christmas had come early.
"You would? Thank you so much!" she exclaimed.
Grainne stared at her feet, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Ginny wished the ghost servant would understand that she, unlike the Malfoys, knew that the words "Please" and "Thank you" existed. As she had other matters to take care of, however, she left it at that and went to the main library. She was surprised to find Draco lounging on a divan, so absorbed in his book he didn't hear her coming in. Lost in the alternate universe of his lecture, his face was free of the lines and harshness his role in society had inculcated him since his earliest age. Ginny actually saw what he must have looked like as a little boy, with hollow cheeks and an aristocratic nose, but also with a softness that had disappeared as he became a young man.
"Hello," she said.
He turned his head slowly toward her.
"Hello," he said. "Grainne told me you were packing."
"Well, I was, until I realized I had no idea what to bring, and she generously offered to take care of it for me."
He smirked.
"At least I know how to choose books on my own," she added simply, and buried herself in the Blue Area, hunting for the perfect stack of novels to bring along with her.
Draco turned back to his book, marveling at the library's light that gave her blonde hair a delicate orange tint.
***
Draco's business partner, an American wizard by the name of Ted Sommers, had a beautiful house in Sicily, a gorgeous wife in her mid-thirties, and three children. Mrs. Sommers was delighted to see that Draco's "fiancée" got along very well with her children and, rather than attempting to carry out lengthy conversations on dull topics, she retreated to the shade below her parasol; she spent most of her days sleeping by the pool. Ginny, as happy with the turn of events as Mrs. Sommers, was followed everywhere she went by five-year old Paul and the three-year old twins, Sara and Mathilde. Draco and Ted were inseparable, buried neck-deep in discussions about stock exchanges, though they emerged for meals and an hour of Wizarding Tennis per day. Ginny would bring the kids close to the tennis court so that they could see their dad play, also enabling her to admire Draco's powerful and precise swings. Each time Draco shot a look at the little group, however, Ginny was busy conjuring birds for the girls or making Paul float.
They were, of course, given a room with one bed. The first night, both of them avoided the issue until they could no longer delay it. Ginny saw that Malfoy deemed it below him to enquire about their bedding arrangement, so she began.
"What do you want to do about the bed?" she asked.
`It's up to you, really," he said politely. "Though I certainly wouldn't mind sharing," he added with a suggestive grin.
She flashed him a charming smile.
"No problem. I used to share my bed with my best friend when we had visitors at the Bu-at home," she said.
Ginny calmly slid between the sheets, murmured, "Good night," and started sleeping. Comfortably installed in an armchair, Draco read for a while, and then looked at her sleeping form. Her hair, still damp from the shower she had taken, smelled faintly of fruit and curled naturally. He took his shirt off and lay down next to her. He yearned to wrap himself around her, to have her body fitting into his. It took him a while to fall asleep.
Ginny awoke to the sun's burning prints on her face. She opened her eyes and found herself face to face with Draco, still asleep, breathing slowly. Part of her urged her to place a kiss on his cheekbone, then one on his jaw, followed by one in his neck, and keep trailing down until he awoke. But before it got worse, she hurried out of bed.
When Draco woke up, it was to find himself alone in the bed. He groggily made his way to the shower, emerging ten minutes later with a towel around his waist and much clearer thoughts. The windows of their room were open. Draco walked to the balcony only to find Ginny reading, facing the Sommers' garden. She wore the Nelsha in a strapless tube dress that would have flared at the knees had she not bunched it up. A feral smile crossed Draco's face as he took in the creamy expanse of her skin. He kissed her on the shoulder and said, "Good morning."
She winced and said, "Hello," as a blush crept on her cheeks.
Satisfied, he asked, "Shall we go get breakfast?"
Ginny nodded and got up, the bottom of her dress flowing graciously around her ankles.
"The cut of your dress suits you," Draco said as they descended the stairs.
"Really?" She turned her happy face to him. "I thought the kids would like it. I mean, I loved my mother's loose dresses, and this one's light enough that I can play with them even around noon."
They had breakfast with Ted as his wife was still in bed, then the men hurried away to talk about business. Ginny read until the kids were up and about, then spent the morning helping them build a sand castle. At lunch time, hearing no word from either Draco or the Notts, she visited the kitchens and asked the elves for picnic material. She and the kids found a cozy place on the grass under a cherry tree. A colorful tablecloth was soon spread and covered with sandwiches, salads, juices, and fruits. Ginny was telling a story when Ted and Draco found them and decided to join in. Draco watched, amused as Ginny played mother to the children.
"She'll make a good wife," Ted whispered into his ear.
"Yes, I think she will," Draco answered.
That night, when Ginny was asleep, Draco wrapped his arms around her. She turned slightly toward him and he saw a blissful smile bloom on her lips.
***
"Shoot, shoot, shoot," Ginny said as she dug through her closet. "Ah!" she exclaimed, relieved, upon finding the pair of stilettos she was looking for.
Barefooted, she then hurried down the stairs, beginning to say, "Sorry I'm lat-" when she missed a step and fell. Draco, who had been waiting for her impatiently, leapt and caught her in mid-air.
"Thank you," she whispered, shuddering.
"Let's go," he said without sparing her a second glance once she was steady on her feet.
She ran after him, and they got in the carriage. She bent over to tie her shoes, but her hat fell in the process. Annoyed, she placed it next to her and was about to make a second attempt when Draco said, "Let me." She looked at him, startled, but his face was placid, as if he had just suggested a highly logical and practical thing. Which, she had to admit, was somewhat true, so she handed him her shoes and placed a foot on his knee.
"MCCD is the abbreviation for-" Draco began as he slipped her foot in the sandal.
"Malfoy Center for Children with Disabilities," Ginny said, her senses alert, feeling his fingers brush her ankle.
"It was my father's idea," he continued, tying a knot around her ankle. I bet, she thought. "It's a revolutionary idea, trying to cure Squibs." He motioned for her to give him her other foot. "The Medi-wizards at the Center will dispose of many funds, both for treatment and research." He slipped her shoe on. "So the program should have excellent results."
Draco appeared extremely proud, and it touched her to see him taking something at heart that way. She knew he felt he was doing the right thing, though she could not help but dislike the way he treated lack of magic as an illness.
"Your mother did not want to come?" she asked as he put her foot down.
"No. She conceived this project with my father, and was as involved in it as he was. Coming to the inauguration would only remind her that he is no longer here to see his project finished."
Ginny said nothing. She had loathed Lucius Malfoy so fiercely that she could not trust herself to say another word without having her hatred seep out. They arrived in front of a rather wide, white building, topped with a dome. Around it sprawled a very green park, with high trees and ponds. Ginny found the place beautiful, albeit a little lifeless. There was already quite a crowd gathered near the entrance at the foot of a marble monument. It represented Lucius standing straight and proud, an arm around Narcissa, who extended her hand in a welcoming gesture. Frozen in the stone, they could not have looked more like their actual selves.
Upon seeing their carriage, a tall woman in white robes headed for them. Their carriage door opened, and as soon as Draco had helped her out, the woman accosted him.
"Mister Malfoy, thank you so much for coming."
"It was the least I could do for my father, Angela. He would have been very happy to be here today. You did a fantastic job."
Angela Bjork was a woman in her mid-fifties, though beauty was still etched plainly in every feature. She looked at Draco fondly, but the mention of Lucius sufficed to fill her gaze with mixed adoration and sorrow.
"Thank you. I-I wish he could be here. How is your mother faring?" she enquired politely, for it was clear that she liked Narcissa about as much as Snape had liked Harry.
"The loss is very painful, but she is stoic. She will not be coming."
Mrs. Bjork appeared satisfied with that piece of information.
"The ceremony begins at ten," Mrs. Bjork explained. "I will introduce you, then you will have a few minutes to present the project. You will then cut the ribbon. The staff will welcome the first Squibs..." She pronounced the word as if fearing it would stain her lips. "…and you will be free to resume you regular activities which, I am sure, are very many and of greater importance than this."
"Of course not," Draco said unconvincingly.
With his arm around Ginny's waist, he set about to meet the other members of the staff and greet Board members. The crowd grew bigger as hordes of reporters flocked to the Center. Draco and Ginny were glad when Mrs. Bjork told Draco to get ready. She walked to the top of the stairs and, after a look Ginny couldn't understand at Lucius' statue, she magnified her voice.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Malfoy Center for Children with Disabilities. This establishment has been-"
Ginny watched dispassionately as the flashes of the photographers crackled. When it was Draco's turn to speak, he pushed her gently forward and kept her in his arms while giving the speech. She resisted her urge to groan, as she was certain that this would make it to the trashy newspapers the next day. Mrs. Bjork handed Draco an enormous pair of scissors.
"I declare the Malfoy Center for Children with Disabilities open," he announced as the cut ribbon spiraled to the ground.
Cheers and applause erupted. Draco, coolly exalted, pressed a firm kiss on Ginny's head. Staff members stepped forward and started speaking with Wizards accompanied by younger children. Ginny saw the incertitude in their eyes, the secret fear of being different, the knowledge that they were an insult to their family's honor. No one paid attention to them, much less talked to them. This day was about them, and the people around them couldn't have cared less. Ginny walked to a little boy who stood staring at his feet.
"Hello," she said.
He looked up, surprised.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
"Leo Lestrange," he said.
Argh. A Death Eater's son. Poor kid, he must have it tough, with the family he has…
"I'm Ginny. So, tell me, you haven't discovered your magical talents yet?"
Again he looked down and shook his head.
"And how old are you?"
"Twelve."
"You know, I had a friend in school who wasn't very good with magic. He used to mess up his spells, when he managed to cast a spell at all. But in his fifth year, he realized that he was extremely gifted in Herbology. His friends excelled in Charms, Quidditch, Transfiguration, everything that is an obvious display of magic, but he found his way caring for plants. And though his grandmother kept saying he was a Squib, by then he had realized that his magic was just different, more specified, and as valuable as any other wizard's."
Leo looked at her uncertainly, eager to believe her but unable to.
"He's the one who bred the Luna Nevilum that saved many wizards from the Harpy Pox," she added. "I don't think people understand how hard it must have been to breed a Mandrake with Devil's Snares, but he did it. I'm sure you'll find something that will awaken the wizard in you."
"And if nothing does?" he mumbled.
"Something will, I promise. Will you keep me posted?"
He was still so abashed that the woman who a few minutes ago had stood by Draco Malfoy would talk to him that he nodded.
"Just send an owl to Ginny Weas-to Ginny, at the Malfoy Manor. I'll come visit you, if you'd like."
Leo nodded and smiled this time. She stooped, hugged him, and searched for another disconsolate child. Draco, deep in discussion with one of the Board members, watched her going from Squib to Squib, uttering what he knew to be reassuring and encouraging words.
Eastern European wizards really do not have the same blood standards as the British ones, he thought. Somehow the knowledge did not make him very proud.
***
"They were bound to find out eventually," Narcissa shrugged as Draco threw a venomous look at the newspaper on his desk. "You are the most eligible bachelor of Great Britain, after all."
On the cover, a black-and-white Draco was giving yet another inauguration speech, holding Ginny in his arms. Above it, "Draco Malfoy's umpteenth fiancée: here to stay?" announced the color of the article.
"Besides, it's not the first time this has happened to you, in the newspaper or with a woman. The question remains, however, is she here to stay?"
"For now, yes," Draco said. "The press appreciated her contact with the Squib children, the fact that's she's been answering their letters, and that she volunteers at St. Mungo's. Frankly, I don't see how she finds the time, but-"
"Don't be blind, Draco," his mother snapped at him. "Just because you're too busy to spend time with her doesn't mean her days are filled with exciting events. At least in that regard, try not to learn from your father; it's a lonely life, being the wife of a Malfoy."
He pondered her statement.
"Do you think she's happy?" he asked.
"I think she's troubled. She's very mature for her age and all too aware of her own innocence. She tries to hide it. She guards herself, and that pushes her toward others. But when she is alone, it seems to me like she's torn between living happily and withering away."
Draco was silent.
"Does she like your friends?"
"Not really. She appears to get along with Blaise well enough-"
"Though encouraging their friendship would not be wise."
"Of course not; I know that, Mother. No, it's almost like she's two different persons when we are together and with other people."
"Then maybe you should think out of your bubble for a bit, rather than trying to fit her in it."
Draco saw the sadness Narcissa had been harboring ever since she had married his father; he saw how it could easily become Ginny's and decided he would try to prevent that. Narcissa exited her son's office in silence, leaving him to think. It didn't take him long.
"James," he called.
The ghost butler was there in an instant.
"I want you to get a table for two at the Rimbaud."
"Certainly, Master Malfoy."
Draco then went in search of Ginny. He looked for her in her apartments, in the Library, and in the painting room in which she had begun to spend time. She was nowhere to be found. Upset, he barked, "Grainne!"
"Yes, Lord Malfoy?"
"Where is Ginevra?"
"In-in-in the kitchen, Master."
"And what is she doing there?"
"Cooking, Master," Grainne whispered, so transparent from fear that she was barely visible.
Luckily, Draco was so surprised that he didn't even think of punishing her. The mere thought of a witch cooking when she has house-elves at her beck and call left him without voice. In his life, Draco Malfoy had probably never spoken more than five minutes with a witch who knew how to make so much as pasta. And so, for the first time in his many years at the Manor, Draco headed for the kitchen.
He found it to be a surprisingly neat and bright place, utterly devoid of the filth and putrid smells he associated with it. The orange light sprung from the gigantic furnaces glided on the wooden beams and bricks, coiling in the copper casseroles hung to the walls. Ginny, her hair tied in a messy bun and with flour on her nose, was mixing a paste in a bowl stuck between her arm and hip. Draco could see a gathering of house-elves looking fearfully at Ginny as a knocking sound repeated itself.
"Will you stop hitting yourself with the pan?" she was screaming at the house-elf chef. "I said stop it, right now! Stop hurting yourself!"
Draco saw the exasperation and tiredness in her voice. He guessed the chef had been at this for a while, probably ever since she had refused his services. He could have intervened, but preferred to observe the creases that had formed in her face and the fire in her angry voice.
What does she care about a house-elf hitting himself? If he couldn't get her to rest instead of cooking, that's really all he deserves…
"Mistress must not cook, mistress must not cook," the chef squealed between cries of pain.
Realizing that, although she screamed at him, the Mistress had no intention of stopping, he ran toward the oven. From the mass of house-elves rose a horrified sigh. Ginny immediately dropped the bowl, grabbed her wand and snapped, "Wingardium Leviosa". The house-elf, immobilized and floating above ground, began punching himself.
"That's quite enough," Draco's voice cut like a knife through the elf's yelps and the others' murmur.
The chef immediately stopped. All the house elves bowed very low. Ginny was looking at Draco, hesitating between gratefulness and annoyance.
"Why didn't he stop when I told him to?" she asked, wiping her forehead and smudging a streak of flour there.
"Because you're not Master Malfoy," he drawled.
He walked up to her, looked at her face made coppery by the furnaces' glow and smiled. With a smooth gesture, he erased the flour dash on her forehead. Ginny blushed.
"And why were you cooking?"
"For the children at the MCCD. I don't think the food they're being given is very good, and all children like cookies, so-"
"Did it occur to you that maybe disgusting food is supposed to make them angry, and that when people are angry they do things they're not usually capable of doing? Like, say, magic?"
She looked shocked.
"You willingly make their lives miserable??? Don't you think that tenderness and encouragement would have a better chance of working? Because I can tell you that their parents certainly haven't tried that."
"It's an interesting suggestion, I will tell Angela about it." Ginny snorted. "But why cook it yourself? The house-elves would be more than happy to do it for you, as you can see."
"Because I like to cook. It takes my mind off things and-" She hesitated "-and I was bored. I had nothing else to do-at least nothing that was useful-so I figured I'd do like my mom used to and bake something for the kids. There really was no reason for your elf here…" She glared at the chef. "…to give way to his suicidal tendencies."
"He angered you. André-" Draco began. The chef grabbed a knife and nodded tearfully.
"No!" Ginny shrieked. "That's precisely what I didn't want him to do! Put the knife down! Put-it-down!"
Draco enjoyed seeing her so distraught. It was amusing how much she valued the poor buggers' health. He dismissed the house-elves with a gesture, giving André a look that promised him he would get back to him, but later. Ginny missed the look and relaxed noticeably.
"Thank you," she said. "Want some cookie dough?"
He peered down at the brownish mixture lurking at the bottom of the bowl, freckled with what could have been chocolate.
"No thanks," he said. She smiled at his expression of disgust. "I was actually here to ask you whether dinner at the Rimbaud would please you tonight."
"The Rimbaud?" Ginny asked, puzzled.
"They have excellent food there, and dancing."
A childish grin lit her face.
"That sounds great," she said, the thrill in her voice apparent.
"We'll leave at eight, then."
Without another word, he walked out of the kitchen.
Yes, Master Malfoy, Ginny curtsied irreverently.
***
"…and Leo Lestrange, he really is adorable," Ginny rambled, "unlike his parents."
"You know the Lestranges?" Draco asked, surprised.
Despite her increasing tipsiness, Ginny realized she had just made a blunder.
"No, but I heard about them. Oh, and something I was wondering about… What's up with the Bjork woman? Why does she hate your mother so much?"
Draco looked at the woman in front of him, highly amused. No one in their right mind would ask such a personal question, Ginevra least of all-had she been sober. He blessed the intuition (or habit) that had pushed him to offer her cocktail after cocktail of what tasted like little more than fruit juice but contained more than enough alcohol.
"Angela was my father's mistress for a little while," Draco explained.
"That's preposterous," Ginny said, unknowingly imitating Draco's clipped tone. "Why would he-heyyyy, speaking of mistress," she muttered to herself, looking slightly disgruntled when a woman placed her hand on Draco's shoulder.
"Draco, how are you?" the woman said.
"I'm well, and yourself?" Draco said, kissing her hand without getting up.
How rude, a little voice sang in Ginny's head. The little voice was also singing a ballad that Fred and George had taught their little sister, so naughty it would have made any lady blush; so Ginny blushed for good measure and glared at Draco for being so rude. All in all, it made her look strangely congested.
"Wouh, I must have drunk a leeetle bit too much," she mumbled.
Draco was trying to get rid of Dana-or was it Danaé?-to keep talking with Ginny, or, at the very least, to keep her talking. She was delightful when tipsy, bubbly and spirited, unrestrained like he had never seen her. Before he had a chance to dispatch his ex, however, Ginny had subtly pulled out her wand and whispered, "Sobrietus". Instantaneously, the little voices in her head were quiet, giving way to Ginny's berating of herself for letting her guard down. When Draco finally turned back to her, he knew. The straight posture and the distinguished smile were back; he had missed his chance.
The evening flew by, bringing its load of delicates dishes and female acquaintances, which Ginny greeted with minimal courtesy. As the music grew louder and more enticing, Draco noticed Ginny's foot marking the beat. A few couples and groups of women had begun colonizing the dance floor.
"Care for a dance?" Draco asked Ginny.
"Only if you ask me on your knees," she joked, taking his hand and following him on the dance floor.
Only then was Ginny tremendously grateful for her dance lessons at Hesperides' Apples. Draco, she supposed, had learn to dance along with walking and riding a broom, and effortlessly swung her back and forth, making her pirouette, twirl, and glide like a jumping jack. The firmness of his guidance was comforting, so that she let exaltation and Draco take over very quickly.
"You're a good dancer," he whispered in her ear as he tipped her casually.
"You're not so bad yourself," she retorted when, a few seconds later, he had her trapped in his arms.
"So they say," he smirked, spinning her away from him.
"I bet," she sighed, her eyebrows raised to indicate he was beyond salvation.
Each dance brought them closer, until salsa came around with its catchy rhythms and sensual moves. Hungry for contact, Draco pressed her against him, while she, as desperate for his touch as he was for hers, flashed him tempting smiles. Her hand, brushed knowingly against his cheek or clasped to his shoulder, her fascinating hips cradled in his or swaying far from him, sent tremors through his body. Ginny sensed his attraction and felt it swelling within her as well. Danaé eyed them furiously.
"They should get a room," she groaned to her partner, who was too mesmerized by her cleavage to pay her words any attention.
And get a room they did. Draco and Ginny Apparated back to the Manor. As soon as they were on his home turf, he slammed her against the first door he found. Both were breathing heavily. He held her pinned against the door and, pulling her hair from her face with one hand, he kissed her in the neck. She breathed in sharply, growing tenser as his kisses landed near her ear, down her jaw, at the corner of her lips. He hesitated then. She looked at him in the eye, as if daring him to continue, as if urging him to continue, and when she didn't move, he kissed her mouth. He bit her lips, swollen and round like raspberries, then slipped his tongue between her teeth gently, curiously.
The man must always make the first move, Molly Weasley had once told her. I think this qualifies at the first move, Ginny thought, so she gripped his neck with one hand, let the other tread through his hair, and returned his kiss feverishly. To hell with decency!
She clung to Draco so ardently that he, unable to keep his cool, scooped her up and opened the door with a kick. In a few hurried steps they had reached the bed of a room Ginny did not know. He put her down at the foot of the bed and pealed the dress off her, his hands not leaving her bare skin in the process. He was surprised to see she wore no bra, but quickly recovered; he caressed one small breast softly, his fingers playing with her. She breathed in sharply, shivers of pleasure coursing through her body, merging at the core. She had been with men before, but their touch lacked this authoritarian, yet delicate accuracy, that turned her skin into a brazier. He, overwhelmed by the softness of her skin, wanted nothing more than to sink into her. He pushed her on the bed, holding her back with an arm, and then lowered himself to her.
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