CHAPTER 6
If it was absolutely necessary that she go undercover at a nightclub, Ginny knew that she would have to look the part. And that, unfortunately, meant a visit back to the Burrow, to go through some of the old clothes that she had left there when she’d moved out, just before the true height of the War.
When she’d been younger, she’d actually liked dressing up, although she’d never really had many good clothes, not compared to some of the other girls she knew. But, with her mother’s help, she’d made do – transfiguration was good for more than turning random hedgehogs into pincushions. Rifling through her old closet, in her old room – still almost exactly as it had been when she’d left – she was conscious of a sharp pang of nostalgia, for the girl she’d once been, for the dreams she’d long ago given up to become an Auror…
Here, a little faded, was the dress she’d worn to the Yule Ball in her fifth year, when Seamus had escorted her and Blaise Zabini and Malfoy had spiked the punch. That night, Seamus managed to evade Ron’s eagle eye and they found a little hidden alcove where they had experimented with a little necking… Unfortunately, there had been a Slytherin-Gryffindor punch-up and Colin Creevey had been sent flying into the curtain that hid them from the rest of the room, tearing it down and exposing them for all to see.
Ron had been furious, his face ridiculously scarlet from the alcohol, and had stormed forward to beat Seamus to a pulp; Malfoy, watching the ensuing chaos with delight, had laughed until tears came into his eyes.
Here, still vibrant as ever, were the red and gold Quidditch robes she’d worn in her sixth year, when she’d once again played Seeker in Harry’s absence. That had been the first time she’d really encountered Draco on a broom; she hadn’t before noticed how good he was. Usually he was so outshone by Harry…
She’d still beaten him, of course. Later on, he’d said that Quidditch – probably one of the only things he’d ever really cared about at school – had been the one thing that he’d never been able to dominate with his Name or his money. It had driven him crazy.
And here… A small, wistful smile curved her lips, and suddenly she was no longer a hard, self-reliant Auror, but a lovely girl. Here was a rich, thick, extremely well cut dark green cloak. When the Death Eaters had first attacked Hogwarts, she and Malfoy had both been out on the grounds and they’d not been able to reach the castle in time. For nearly six hours they had been holed up, unable to use magic, in a small thicket just behind Hagrid’s hut, in absolutely freezing weather; Malfoy had shared his cloak – perhaps the first gentlemanly thing she’d ever known him do – and they’d…well, they’d tried their best to ignore each other, while they huddled together for warmth.
Afterwards, of course, he’d refused to take it back, claiming it had been contaminated by her Weasley touch, but the beginnings to a very unlikely relationship had already been established. Once, she had treasured that cloak…
There was a knock on the door, and she took her hand off the soft, smooth fabric, almost reluctant to part contact with it. When her mother came in, she let it fall to the bed where it made a vivid, exotic contrast to the frilly, cream-coloured coverlet.
“Are you sure you’ve got everything, dear?” Molly Weasley looked anxiously at her daughter, her baby – no matter that she was now past thirty.
And, because she was past thirty, Ginny restrained the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, Mum, I’ve got everything.” She made a show of checking her bag – wand, spare wand, keys, ID, money, lipstick – just for the sake of it. It had been a long while since she’d gone out clubbing –
In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out at night for recreational purposes, not on Auror business. She’d gone straight from school into the Auror Corps, and after the war ended she’d felt too old, too drained for such innocent, terribly innocent pastimes…
But that, she’d heard, was the very appeal of Shadowlands. It didn’t cater to painfully young, naïve barely-old-enough-to-drink children. It was a club for veterans, for those who could remember the terror of near death, and the terrible joy in surviving it.
And, by all the Gods, the torrent of adrenaline that followed it…
Ginny remembered that all too well.
She made a conscious effort to smile at her mother, to pretend that all was well, but the smile never reached her sombre eyes. With a quick kiss on the cheek, Ginny tossed her cloak over shoulder and made her way to the front door, clothes she hadn’t worn in years tucked under her arm, leaving Molly standing in her daughter’s old room, remembering.
Almost unconsciously, she, too, lay a hand on the expensive cloak, so out of place in their conventional household. Oh yes, she remembered…
*************************
At eleven o’clock that night, she apparated into a side street not far from the Leaky Cauldron, giving an old drunk muggle beggar the shock of his life. Hastily obliviating him, she looked around guiltily, just imagining what Malfoy would have said had he seen – she had gotten out of the habit of stealthy apparition, since the end of the War.
Holding her dark cloak tightly around her, she made her way into the Cauldron, slipping through the common room without drawing attention to herself – right now she was in no mood to stop and talk to anyone. Gaining entry to the brick wall concealing the entrance to Diagon Alley, she tapped out the correct sequence with her wand and let herself onto the thoroughfare, once more slipping into the Saturday night crowd.
Here she relaxed a bit more, letting go the tight grip on her cloak to reveal her all-purpose dark green dress – a little daring, perhaps, to go with her destination, but still acceptable in all but the most conservative venues, sending a message she knew Malfoy was more than astute enough to understand.
Whatever else she had thought of Draco Malfoy, she had never accused him of being stupid.
Ginny had never been to Shadowlands, but if she hadn’t already known where it was located she would have had no difficulty in finding her way there tonight; all she had to do was follow the crowd. It seemed that everyone was on their way to the wizarding nightclub district, on the western side of Diagon Alley, where the biggest, most popular clubs were located – The Adrenaline, The Cocoa Tree, The Grey Kneazle.
And Shadowlands.
There was a ridiculously long line of witches and wizards eagerly awaiting entrance into the unassuming, three storey red brick townhouse. Uninterested in waiting in line, and perhaps a little curious to see if she still had any standing with Malfoy’s people, she ignored the queue and went straight to the two doormen at the entrance, shaking back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face and, more importantly, her red hair.
There was a momentary hesitation, and then the doorman on the left ducked his head and went inside, no doubt to confer with someone in authority. She hoped it would be Higgins, who had been one of the few who had actually approved of her relationship with Draco – but no, the man who came out to check on her was the lean, dark haired man she recognised as Patrick Kelly.
She was very sure that he recognised her, too, and was aware of her purpose in coming here – suddenly, she was glad that she had not gone along with Moody’s original stipulation. Had she tried to enter the club in disguise, she would have been found out almost immediately, and the very fact that she had tried to deceive him would have been all the evidence Malfoy needed to confirm her complete and utter guilt…
So she would try the forward, direct approach.
“Good evening, Mr. Kelly,” she said, steadily meeting his flat, grey-green gaze, noting that the amusement that played around his mouth never quite reached his eyes.
“Miss Weasley,” he murmured, inclining his head – his manners flawless, as Malfoy insisted of all his employees. “Or is it Officer, tonight?” There was a wealth of derision underneath his impassive tone; she remembered that he had no love at all for British authority of any kind. Understandable, considering who he had once been, what he had once done…
Nevertheless, she refused to be fazed, either by what sketchy details she had been able to glean from his file, or by the flat menace she read in his body language and in his eyes. So he did not want her here, or anywhere near his precious employer? Well, neither did she want to be here, or anywhere at all near Malfoy.
She drew herself up, lifted her chin. “I am here in an official capacity, yes,” she answered, her voice clipped and chill. “I would like to see Mr. Malfoy.”
Cynical, sardonic amusement danced briefly in his eyes. “Certainly, Miss Weasley. We’ve been expecting you.” And he turned and unclipped the rope for her, letting her go first and then following her inside to the club.
**********************************
Draco looked up at the knock on the door. He had been expecting it, of course, but still a slight thrill of excitement shot through him; his reaction to Ginny’s presence had always been visceral, tangled up with his gut instincts in a way that had nothing at all to do with his rational mind.
Higgins, lounging against one of the walls, went to open the door and let them in, before going out himself; as he turned he gave Draco a long, significant look. Irritated, Draco narrowed his eyes at the man who had been with him for nearly twenty years. They had gone over all this before – he didn’t need his various employees taking such an avid interest in his life or his business. He could take care of himself.
After Higgins had gone, Patrick Kelly – another bloody busybody who had nothing better to do than to interfere with Draco’s life – walked through the door, followed by Miss Ginevra Weasley, Auror. She was not in uniform, but he could still see her badge, nevertheless.
And because she was – metaphorically – in uniform, and because he was too shaken by his reaction to her and the memories she invoked, he didn’t stand up, a discourtesy that would have drawn a severely displeased his mother, once. As it was, it took more effort than he liked to think to remain impassive and raise an eyebrow.
“Miss Weasley,” he said, drawling, falling back on a mockery of formality – his normal reaction to situations where he wasn’t sure of himself. He didn’t look at Kelly. “To what do I owe this honour?”
She gave him a very flat look. “I think you know why I’m here, Malfoy,” she said dryly. And then, quite casually, she disposed herself in one of the chairs in front of his desk and crossed her legs. Her long green silk dress was slit at the side, and so parted to reveal a spectacularly distracting view – he wondered if she had known that would happen? He wouldn’t put it past her – which he did his best to ignore.
He was far too old to be distracted like that. Of course he was.
Kelly cleared his throat discreetly, and Draco tore his gaze away. “I have an idea, yes,” he said, parrying for time. He had not been expecting her to come out with it so directly.
“You’re under investigation,” she said, her voice curt and precise, as it was when delivering a report. “I’m sure you know it. And I’m sure you know that I was supposed to be sent in here, undercover.”
Once more – involuntarily, this time – Draco’s eyebrow rose. This was frank indeed.
She continued. “But I thought it would be best for all concerned – considering our history – if we didn’t try to play such games. So I’m here to ask if you’re willing to cooperate.”
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers and gazed at her in fascination. “Cooperate in my own investigation?” he repeated neutrally. “No doubt you have your reasons…” He knew that that tone and manner infuriated her, and so watched in pleasure as her lips tightened and she breathed a little more deeply. Evidently she had gained self-control since he saw her last.
“I don’t believe you’re guilty,” she said flatly, bluntly. And then, as his brows rose and he prepared to make a comment, she added with rather more vehemence than he believed she had originally intended, “I’ll believe many things of you, Malfoy, but not that you’re trafficking drugs through your club, or that you’re secretly holding Death Eater meetings in your basement. Unfortunately, Moody doesn’t know you as well as I do – if you cooperate with me, we can clear this mess up much sooner than if you turn Slytherin and lie and obstruct me at every turn.”
She saw it – actually saw the temptation flash through his eyes – before he controlled the one impulsive urge he had never quite managed to quell. His quick, often unruly tongue had landed him in trouble too often to count, but happily – for both of them, she thought – he managed to rein it in. And if the laughter was all too plain in his eyes, then at least he was keeping it to himself.
Instead, he stared at her for a good ten seconds, laughter slowly being replaced by speculation and calculation, and then he smiled. An ordinary smile. A pleasant, businesslike, impersonal smile such as he might give to any number of acquaintances and business partners. “Lies and obstruction of justice? But my dear Ginny, it will be my pleasure to cooperate with you…”
**********************************
She headed out of the office, walking as quickly as she could in the dress and in the crowd. Somehow, although he had promised to be as helpful and cooperative as he could, she couldn’t shake the impression that she had come out second best in that encounter…
**********************************
Neville watched her go, escorted – shepherded? – by the Irishman through the crowd towards the door. She looked like she was tense, but he didn’t think that it was because she was wary of Kelly; rather that she was still worked up over her confrontation with Malfoy. He would have to ask her about it later, when he got back to Auror Headquarters tomorrow morning.
But as for now… He turned his attention back to the job at hand, mixing and drawing drinks with all the panache of the Muggle barmen in that old movie, Cocktail. There was a very pretty blonde witch watching him admiringly, and he sent her a flirtatious wink, revelling in the new freedom granted by his new Polyjuice disguise. She simpered and battered her lashes, telegraphing a signal so unmistakable even he could pick up on it.
Yes, there was something to be said for working undercover…
***********************************
If it was absolutely necessary that she go undercover at a nightclub, Ginny knew that she would have to look the part. And that, unfortunately, meant a visit back to the Burrow, to go through some of the old clothes that she had left there when she’d moved out, just before the true height of the War.
When she’d been younger, she’d actually liked dressing up, although she’d never really had many good clothes, not compared to some of the other girls she knew. But, with her mother’s help, she’d made do – transfiguration was good for more than turning random hedgehogs into pincushions. Rifling through her old closet, in her old room – still almost exactly as it had been when she’d left – she was conscious of a sharp pang of nostalgia, for the girl she’d once been, for the dreams she’d long ago given up to become an Auror…
Here, a little faded, was the dress she’d worn to the Yule Ball in her fifth year, when Seamus had escorted her and Blaise Zabini and Malfoy had spiked the punch. That night, Seamus managed to evade Ron’s eagle eye and they found a little hidden alcove where they had experimented with a little necking… Unfortunately, there had been a Slytherin-Gryffindor punch-up and Colin Creevey had been sent flying into the curtain that hid them from the rest of the room, tearing it down and exposing them for all to see.
Ron had been furious, his face ridiculously scarlet from the alcohol, and had stormed forward to beat Seamus to a pulp; Malfoy, watching the ensuing chaos with delight, had laughed until tears came into his eyes.
Here, still vibrant as ever, were the red and gold Quidditch robes she’d worn in her sixth year, when she’d once again played Seeker in Harry’s absence. That had been the first time she’d really encountered Draco on a broom; she hadn’t before noticed how good he was. Usually he was so outshone by Harry…
She’d still beaten him, of course. Later on, he’d said that Quidditch – probably one of the only things he’d ever really cared about at school – had been the one thing that he’d never been able to dominate with his Name or his money. It had driven him crazy.
And here… A small, wistful smile curved her lips, and suddenly she was no longer a hard, self-reliant Auror, but a lovely girl. Here was a rich, thick, extremely well cut dark green cloak. When the Death Eaters had first attacked Hogwarts, she and Malfoy had both been out on the grounds and they’d not been able to reach the castle in time. For nearly six hours they had been holed up, unable to use magic, in a small thicket just behind Hagrid’s hut, in absolutely freezing weather; Malfoy had shared his cloak – perhaps the first gentlemanly thing she’d ever known him do – and they’d…well, they’d tried their best to ignore each other, while they huddled together for warmth.
Afterwards, of course, he’d refused to take it back, claiming it had been contaminated by her Weasley touch, but the beginnings to a very unlikely relationship had already been established. Once, she had treasured that cloak…
There was a knock on the door, and she took her hand off the soft, smooth fabric, almost reluctant to part contact with it. When her mother came in, she let it fall to the bed where it made a vivid, exotic contrast to the frilly, cream-coloured coverlet.
“Are you sure you’ve got everything, dear?” Molly Weasley looked anxiously at her daughter, her baby – no matter that she was now past thirty.
And, because she was past thirty, Ginny restrained the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, Mum, I’ve got everything.” She made a show of checking her bag – wand, spare wand, keys, ID, money, lipstick – just for the sake of it. It had been a long while since she’d gone out clubbing –
In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out at night for recreational purposes, not on Auror business. She’d gone straight from school into the Auror Corps, and after the war ended she’d felt too old, too drained for such innocent, terribly innocent pastimes…
But that, she’d heard, was the very appeal of Shadowlands. It didn’t cater to painfully young, naïve barely-old-enough-to-drink children. It was a club for veterans, for those who could remember the terror of near death, and the terrible joy in surviving it.
And, by all the Gods, the torrent of adrenaline that followed it…
Ginny remembered that all too well.
She made a conscious effort to smile at her mother, to pretend that all was well, but the smile never reached her sombre eyes. With a quick kiss on the cheek, Ginny tossed her cloak over shoulder and made her way to the front door, clothes she hadn’t worn in years tucked under her arm, leaving Molly standing in her daughter’s old room, remembering.
Almost unconsciously, she, too, lay a hand on the expensive cloak, so out of place in their conventional household. Oh yes, she remembered…
*************************
At eleven o’clock that night, she apparated into a side street not far from the Leaky Cauldron, giving an old drunk muggle beggar the shock of his life. Hastily obliviating him, she looked around guiltily, just imagining what Malfoy would have said had he seen – she had gotten out of the habit of stealthy apparition, since the end of the War.
Holding her dark cloak tightly around her, she made her way into the Cauldron, slipping through the common room without drawing attention to herself – right now she was in no mood to stop and talk to anyone. Gaining entry to the brick wall concealing the entrance to Diagon Alley, she tapped out the correct sequence with her wand and let herself onto the thoroughfare, once more slipping into the Saturday night crowd.
Here she relaxed a bit more, letting go the tight grip on her cloak to reveal her all-purpose dark green dress – a little daring, perhaps, to go with her destination, but still acceptable in all but the most conservative venues, sending a message she knew Malfoy was more than astute enough to understand.
Whatever else she had thought of Draco Malfoy, she had never accused him of being stupid.
Ginny had never been to Shadowlands, but if she hadn’t already known where it was located she would have had no difficulty in finding her way there tonight; all she had to do was follow the crowd. It seemed that everyone was on their way to the wizarding nightclub district, on the western side of Diagon Alley, where the biggest, most popular clubs were located – The Adrenaline, The Cocoa Tree, The Grey Kneazle.
And Shadowlands.
There was a ridiculously long line of witches and wizards eagerly awaiting entrance into the unassuming, three storey red brick townhouse. Uninterested in waiting in line, and perhaps a little curious to see if she still had any standing with Malfoy’s people, she ignored the queue and went straight to the two doormen at the entrance, shaking back the hood of her cloak to reveal her face and, more importantly, her red hair.
There was a momentary hesitation, and then the doorman on the left ducked his head and went inside, no doubt to confer with someone in authority. She hoped it would be Higgins, who had been one of the few who had actually approved of her relationship with Draco – but no, the man who came out to check on her was the lean, dark haired man she recognised as Patrick Kelly.
She was very sure that he recognised her, too, and was aware of her purpose in coming here – suddenly, she was glad that she had not gone along with Moody’s original stipulation. Had she tried to enter the club in disguise, she would have been found out almost immediately, and the very fact that she had tried to deceive him would have been all the evidence Malfoy needed to confirm her complete and utter guilt…
So she would try the forward, direct approach.
“Good evening, Mr. Kelly,” she said, steadily meeting his flat, grey-green gaze, noting that the amusement that played around his mouth never quite reached his eyes.
“Miss Weasley,” he murmured, inclining his head – his manners flawless, as Malfoy insisted of all his employees. “Or is it Officer, tonight?” There was a wealth of derision underneath his impassive tone; she remembered that he had no love at all for British authority of any kind. Understandable, considering who he had once been, what he had once done…
Nevertheless, she refused to be fazed, either by what sketchy details she had been able to glean from his file, or by the flat menace she read in his body language and in his eyes. So he did not want her here, or anywhere near his precious employer? Well, neither did she want to be here, or anywhere at all near Malfoy.
She drew herself up, lifted her chin. “I am here in an official capacity, yes,” she answered, her voice clipped and chill. “I would like to see Mr. Malfoy.”
Cynical, sardonic amusement danced briefly in his eyes. “Certainly, Miss Weasley. We’ve been expecting you.” And he turned and unclipped the rope for her, letting her go first and then following her inside to the club.
**********************************
Draco looked up at the knock on the door. He had been expecting it, of course, but still a slight thrill of excitement shot through him; his reaction to Ginny’s presence had always been visceral, tangled up with his gut instincts in a way that had nothing at all to do with his rational mind.
Higgins, lounging against one of the walls, went to open the door and let them in, before going out himself; as he turned he gave Draco a long, significant look. Irritated, Draco narrowed his eyes at the man who had been with him for nearly twenty years. They had gone over all this before – he didn’t need his various employees taking such an avid interest in his life or his business. He could take care of himself.
After Higgins had gone, Patrick Kelly – another bloody busybody who had nothing better to do than to interfere with Draco’s life – walked through the door, followed by Miss Ginevra Weasley, Auror. She was not in uniform, but he could still see her badge, nevertheless.
And because she was – metaphorically – in uniform, and because he was too shaken by his reaction to her and the memories she invoked, he didn’t stand up, a discourtesy that would have drawn a severely displeased his mother, once. As it was, it took more effort than he liked to think to remain impassive and raise an eyebrow.
“Miss Weasley,” he said, drawling, falling back on a mockery of formality – his normal reaction to situations where he wasn’t sure of himself. He didn’t look at Kelly. “To what do I owe this honour?”
She gave him a very flat look. “I think you know why I’m here, Malfoy,” she said dryly. And then, quite casually, she disposed herself in one of the chairs in front of his desk and crossed her legs. Her long green silk dress was slit at the side, and so parted to reveal a spectacularly distracting view – he wondered if she had known that would happen? He wouldn’t put it past her – which he did his best to ignore.
He was far too old to be distracted like that. Of course he was.
Kelly cleared his throat discreetly, and Draco tore his gaze away. “I have an idea, yes,” he said, parrying for time. He had not been expecting her to come out with it so directly.
“You’re under investigation,” she said, her voice curt and precise, as it was when delivering a report. “I’m sure you know it. And I’m sure you know that I was supposed to be sent in here, undercover.”
Once more – involuntarily, this time – Draco’s eyebrow rose. This was frank indeed.
She continued. “But I thought it would be best for all concerned – considering our history – if we didn’t try to play such games. So I’m here to ask if you’re willing to cooperate.”
Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers and gazed at her in fascination. “Cooperate in my own investigation?” he repeated neutrally. “No doubt you have your reasons…” He knew that that tone and manner infuriated her, and so watched in pleasure as her lips tightened and she breathed a little more deeply. Evidently she had gained self-control since he saw her last.
“I don’t believe you’re guilty,” she said flatly, bluntly. And then, as his brows rose and he prepared to make a comment, she added with rather more vehemence than he believed she had originally intended, “I’ll believe many things of you, Malfoy, but not that you’re trafficking drugs through your club, or that you’re secretly holding Death Eater meetings in your basement. Unfortunately, Moody doesn’t know you as well as I do – if you cooperate with me, we can clear this mess up much sooner than if you turn Slytherin and lie and obstruct me at every turn.”
She saw it – actually saw the temptation flash through his eyes – before he controlled the one impulsive urge he had never quite managed to quell. His quick, often unruly tongue had landed him in trouble too often to count, but happily – for both of them, she thought – he managed to rein it in. And if the laughter was all too plain in his eyes, then at least he was keeping it to himself.
Instead, he stared at her for a good ten seconds, laughter slowly being replaced by speculation and calculation, and then he smiled. An ordinary smile. A pleasant, businesslike, impersonal smile such as he might give to any number of acquaintances and business partners. “Lies and obstruction of justice? But my dear Ginny, it will be my pleasure to cooperate with you…”
**********************************
She headed out of the office, walking as quickly as she could in the dress and in the crowd. Somehow, although he had promised to be as helpful and cooperative as he could, she couldn’t shake the impression that she had come out second best in that encounter…
**********************************
Neville watched her go, escorted – shepherded? – by the Irishman through the crowd towards the door. She looked like she was tense, but he didn’t think that it was because she was wary of Kelly; rather that she was still worked up over her confrontation with Malfoy. He would have to ask her about it later, when he got back to Auror Headquarters tomorrow morning.
But as for now… He turned his attention back to the job at hand, mixing and drawing drinks with all the panache of the Muggle barmen in that old movie, Cocktail. There was a very pretty blonde witch watching him admiringly, and he sent her a flirtatious wink, revelling in the new freedom granted by his new Polyjuice disguise. She simpered and battered her lashes, telegraphing a signal so unmistakable even he could pick up on it.
Yes, there was something to be said for working undercover…
***********************************
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