Disclaimer – I don’t own any of the canon characters or concepts. Don’t sue me.
Chapter 11 - A Long Awaited Conversation
Draco had always had serious trouble verbalizing his emotions. His father and Professor Snape – the only true role models he’d ever had – were profoundly uncomfortable with messy, emotional scenes. Despite Snape’s occasional venture into melodrama when faced by childhood ghosts, Draco’s mentors were undemonstrative, intellectual, and rather passionless – their second lives as Death Eaters had only served to divorce them even further from the mainstream wizarding world.
His mother’s influence had been negligible – her personality had not been strong enough to provide a counterbalance to Lucius’ dominance – and so Draco had never truly learned what it was to express himself freely until he’d begun his relationship with Ginny Weasley.
In so many ways, Ginny had been the only one who had ever been able to challenge Lucius’ influence over him. And that was why it had been so devastating when she’d so unequivocally rejected him: he’d turned himself inside out to please her, and in the end she’d still turned away.
Should he have refused to grant his father freedom from the ultimate indignity of the Kiss? In his eyes, death was infinitely preferable to soulless vegetation – but Ginny hadn’t thought so. She had preferred that the Ministry and the masses were granted their chance to view Lucius Malfoy’s titillating, humiliating end…
He may have loved her, but by the gods there were limits.
**********************************
After the violence of his last, sharp warning, Ginny watched in dismay as he turned away, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and visibly composed himself. It was quite an amazing sight, really, as he brought himself back under control – the tense, vibrating muscles slackened and relaxed, the lines of his face smoothed, his whole demeanour returned to polite interest – and she had to admire the real skill inherent in such dissemblance.
Never mind that it drove her mad when he employed it to escape her questions. In a way, it was flattering to know she could drive him this far – but not when he used it against her.
Finally, he turned back to her. “Is this an official visit, Auror Weasley?” His voice was once again calm, cool, and insufferably collected.
“Indeed it is, Mr. Malfoy. As you may recall, I made an appointment a few days ago, so that you could cooperate with me in the Ministerial investigation into your nightclub.”
They were so proper, so stiffly formal – they had to be, lest they destroy each other.
He nodded, no doubt reassured now that she was playing along with him. “Very well, then. Ask your questions.” He walked around the other side of the bar, poured himself a drink, and cocked an eyebrow at her in question.
She shook her head. It was barely eight in the morning, and he was drinking already. It was not a good sign – and nor was the cigarette.
Well, and so was she in a terrible mood. “What have you done to Fane?”
She saw it then, saw the calculation, the assessment. In the end, he decided to tell the truth. Perhaps, for all of his fragile composure, he was not in the mood for petty games. “You shouldn’t have sent him in, Weasley. Kelly made him almost straight away.”
Ginny grimaced, but hid her relief as best she could. “He would.” And, to distract his too perceptive mind, and because she was genuinely curious, she asked, “How did he come to work for you, Malfoy?”
He watched her with flat, searching eyes. “My father had…dealings…in Northern Ireland in the 70s. I don’t know the details, but apparently he saved a young, hotheaded Kelly from the Aurors, and Kelly felt he owed a life debt. Why it took him twenty years and more to transfer it to me I don’t know, but he showed up one day and announced himself.” Slowly, almost unselfconsciously he grinned. “Truth to tell, he’s a very useful man to have around…”
“I’m not going there, Malfoy,” she interjected, amused despite herself. “I know who and what he was – and probably still is. But you haven’t answered my question – what have you done to Fane?”
“Not much,” he answered dryly, perhaps a little cruelly. “But we did have to persuade him to cooperate with us.” He waited a beat. “Don’t worry, Longbottom’s not permanently damaged…”
Involuntarily, she sucked in a breath, and then cursed herself for it. She had misread him. She’d been so sure she could see the calculations in his eyes…
“Yes,” he said, with feline cruelty, in conversational tones. Any pretence of pleasantness had vanished, leaving the terrible reality of his controlled anger behind. “Do tell me, did he uncover any titillating tidbits for you, Ginny? Did he find any evidence that I wouldn’t have given you myself, had you only asked?”
She tried to refute the flood of accusation, but he rode straight over her. “Was it worth sending him in, knowing he might be found out and questioned?”
“Now just a moment, Malfoy, don’t dump the blame on me –“
“You are responsible, Auror, for the actions and fates of everyone under your supervision. It was your choice to send him in, and yours to come to me openly, and yours to spin this whole ridiculous web of lies –“
“It was not my choice,” she flared, but again he cut her off, his voice like a knife driving his icy anger home.
“You, and you alone, knew just how to get to me – you, and you alone could ever have disarmed me enough to lower my guard for even a moment. You knew that, and still you continued –“
“It was not my choice!” she shouted, leaning over the bar, pushing her face into his, and sweeping the glass off the bar with a vicious sweep of her arm.
He flinched. He actually flinched.
“Merlin’s Beard, Malfoy, you know I had no choice but to take this assignment. I may have had some choice over the course of the operation, but I have to work within a fixed set of parameters, and Moody and Carlisle were damned certain of what they wanted. You’re damned lucky it wasn’t me undercover, trying to deduce evidence from pillow talk.”
She flung the last sentence at him as a challenge, and finished with her breath heaving and her eyes flashing, and with him watching her with perfect, utter impassivity.
The silence stretched, hummed. “Are you quite finished?” he asked icily.
Feeling a little foolish, she nodded, retreated from his personal space, smoothing her robes unnecessarily.
He watched her for a while longer, his eyes quite unreadable. And then, “Moody and Carlisle?” he said conversationally.
Once more, she nodded. “Carlisle seemed almost unreasonably determined to bring you down.” She caught the mocking sneer as it crossed his face. “Perhaps you’d know why?”
He shrugged. “Carlisle had a beloved younger sister who got hooked on my illusions. She killed herself.” She winced, but his composed, unemotional voice continued on. “I would think it probable he’s using this investigation as a personal tool of revenge. But his hatred alone does not justify a full in-depth investigation of my activities – there must be other, larger fish out there.”
Ginny hesitated, wondering whether she should share classified information with him or not. He was the enemy in this investigation – but he was also her old partner, and she had once trusted him with her life and with everything she had ever valued. “They think,” she began, swallowing, “that you’re using your illusions to ensnare key government personnel, either to begin your own revolution or to aid in another attempt at one.”
She waited for the betraying knowledge to flash through his eyes, for the telltale flicker of guilt – and so was completely and utterly stunned when he blinked, and then threw his head back and laughed until tears came to the corners of his eyes.
***************************************
Higgins turned away from the open door, turned to face Kelly, who was leaning back in the chair, his legs up on the table. “Well,” he said, “what do you think of that?”
Kelly laughed softly, his hard green eyes half-lidded. “So quickly, they turn from arguing to working together. It’s like they’re banding together against an outside threat.”
“They are. It was always that way with them – they’d fight each other, but only let someone else enter the picture against them…” he shrugged. “When those two work together, there’s nothing on this earth that can stop them.”
“How long do you think the new mood of happy cooperation will last once she remembers the poor bastard in the cellar?”
Higgins’ satisfied expression dissolved into a wince.
****************************************
A/N – I am trying not to take the well-travelled path, here, so a wary reconciliation – at least until she remembers about Neville. (Poor Neville always gets the short stick).
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I truly appreciate it.
Chapter 11 - A Long Awaited Conversation
Draco had always had serious trouble verbalizing his emotions. His father and Professor Snape – the only true role models he’d ever had – were profoundly uncomfortable with messy, emotional scenes. Despite Snape’s occasional venture into melodrama when faced by childhood ghosts, Draco’s mentors were undemonstrative, intellectual, and rather passionless – their second lives as Death Eaters had only served to divorce them even further from the mainstream wizarding world.
His mother’s influence had been negligible – her personality had not been strong enough to provide a counterbalance to Lucius’ dominance – and so Draco had never truly learned what it was to express himself freely until he’d begun his relationship with Ginny Weasley.
In so many ways, Ginny had been the only one who had ever been able to challenge Lucius’ influence over him. And that was why it had been so devastating when she’d so unequivocally rejected him: he’d turned himself inside out to please her, and in the end she’d still turned away.
Should he have refused to grant his father freedom from the ultimate indignity of the Kiss? In his eyes, death was infinitely preferable to soulless vegetation – but Ginny hadn’t thought so. She had preferred that the Ministry and the masses were granted their chance to view Lucius Malfoy’s titillating, humiliating end…
He may have loved her, but by the gods there were limits.
**********************************
After the violence of his last, sharp warning, Ginny watched in dismay as he turned away, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and visibly composed himself. It was quite an amazing sight, really, as he brought himself back under control – the tense, vibrating muscles slackened and relaxed, the lines of his face smoothed, his whole demeanour returned to polite interest – and she had to admire the real skill inherent in such dissemblance.
Never mind that it drove her mad when he employed it to escape her questions. In a way, it was flattering to know she could drive him this far – but not when he used it against her.
Finally, he turned back to her. “Is this an official visit, Auror Weasley?” His voice was once again calm, cool, and insufferably collected.
“Indeed it is, Mr. Malfoy. As you may recall, I made an appointment a few days ago, so that you could cooperate with me in the Ministerial investigation into your nightclub.”
They were so proper, so stiffly formal – they had to be, lest they destroy each other.
He nodded, no doubt reassured now that she was playing along with him. “Very well, then. Ask your questions.” He walked around the other side of the bar, poured himself a drink, and cocked an eyebrow at her in question.
She shook her head. It was barely eight in the morning, and he was drinking already. It was not a good sign – and nor was the cigarette.
Well, and so was she in a terrible mood. “What have you done to Fane?”
She saw it then, saw the calculation, the assessment. In the end, he decided to tell the truth. Perhaps, for all of his fragile composure, he was not in the mood for petty games. “You shouldn’t have sent him in, Weasley. Kelly made him almost straight away.”
Ginny grimaced, but hid her relief as best she could. “He would.” And, to distract his too perceptive mind, and because she was genuinely curious, she asked, “How did he come to work for you, Malfoy?”
He watched her with flat, searching eyes. “My father had…dealings…in Northern Ireland in the 70s. I don’t know the details, but apparently he saved a young, hotheaded Kelly from the Aurors, and Kelly felt he owed a life debt. Why it took him twenty years and more to transfer it to me I don’t know, but he showed up one day and announced himself.” Slowly, almost unselfconsciously he grinned. “Truth to tell, he’s a very useful man to have around…”
“I’m not going there, Malfoy,” she interjected, amused despite herself. “I know who and what he was – and probably still is. But you haven’t answered my question – what have you done to Fane?”
“Not much,” he answered dryly, perhaps a little cruelly. “But we did have to persuade him to cooperate with us.” He waited a beat. “Don’t worry, Longbottom’s not permanently damaged…”
Involuntarily, she sucked in a breath, and then cursed herself for it. She had misread him. She’d been so sure she could see the calculations in his eyes…
“Yes,” he said, with feline cruelty, in conversational tones. Any pretence of pleasantness had vanished, leaving the terrible reality of his controlled anger behind. “Do tell me, did he uncover any titillating tidbits for you, Ginny? Did he find any evidence that I wouldn’t have given you myself, had you only asked?”
She tried to refute the flood of accusation, but he rode straight over her. “Was it worth sending him in, knowing he might be found out and questioned?”
“Now just a moment, Malfoy, don’t dump the blame on me –“
“You are responsible, Auror, for the actions and fates of everyone under your supervision. It was your choice to send him in, and yours to come to me openly, and yours to spin this whole ridiculous web of lies –“
“It was not my choice,” she flared, but again he cut her off, his voice like a knife driving his icy anger home.
“You, and you alone, knew just how to get to me – you, and you alone could ever have disarmed me enough to lower my guard for even a moment. You knew that, and still you continued –“
“It was not my choice!” she shouted, leaning over the bar, pushing her face into his, and sweeping the glass off the bar with a vicious sweep of her arm.
He flinched. He actually flinched.
“Merlin’s Beard, Malfoy, you know I had no choice but to take this assignment. I may have had some choice over the course of the operation, but I have to work within a fixed set of parameters, and Moody and Carlisle were damned certain of what they wanted. You’re damned lucky it wasn’t me undercover, trying to deduce evidence from pillow talk.”
She flung the last sentence at him as a challenge, and finished with her breath heaving and her eyes flashing, and with him watching her with perfect, utter impassivity.
The silence stretched, hummed. “Are you quite finished?” he asked icily.
Feeling a little foolish, she nodded, retreated from his personal space, smoothing her robes unnecessarily.
He watched her for a while longer, his eyes quite unreadable. And then, “Moody and Carlisle?” he said conversationally.
Once more, she nodded. “Carlisle seemed almost unreasonably determined to bring you down.” She caught the mocking sneer as it crossed his face. “Perhaps you’d know why?”
He shrugged. “Carlisle had a beloved younger sister who got hooked on my illusions. She killed herself.” She winced, but his composed, unemotional voice continued on. “I would think it probable he’s using this investigation as a personal tool of revenge. But his hatred alone does not justify a full in-depth investigation of my activities – there must be other, larger fish out there.”
Ginny hesitated, wondering whether she should share classified information with him or not. He was the enemy in this investigation – but he was also her old partner, and she had once trusted him with her life and with everything she had ever valued. “They think,” she began, swallowing, “that you’re using your illusions to ensnare key government personnel, either to begin your own revolution or to aid in another attempt at one.”
She waited for the betraying knowledge to flash through his eyes, for the telltale flicker of guilt – and so was completely and utterly stunned when he blinked, and then threw his head back and laughed until tears came to the corners of his eyes.
***************************************
Higgins turned away from the open door, turned to face Kelly, who was leaning back in the chair, his legs up on the table. “Well,” he said, “what do you think of that?”
Kelly laughed softly, his hard green eyes half-lidded. “So quickly, they turn from arguing to working together. It’s like they’re banding together against an outside threat.”
“They are. It was always that way with them – they’d fight each other, but only let someone else enter the picture against them…” he shrugged. “When those two work together, there’s nothing on this earth that can stop them.”
“How long do you think the new mood of happy cooperation will last once she remembers the poor bastard in the cellar?”
Higgins’ satisfied expression dissolved into a wince.
****************************************
A/N – I am trying not to take the well-travelled path, here, so a wary reconciliation – at least until she remembers about Neville. (Poor Neville always gets the short stick).
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I truly appreciate it.
Leave a Review