Disclaimer – Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowlings and a number of other entities. It does not belong to LadyRhiyana, who is an impoverished student, currently wrestling with her old scientific calculator and what are laughably called ‘basic’ financial formulae. Needless to say, she is not at all pleased with this turn of events.
Free Choice
Arthur Weasley was not looking forward to meeting Draco Malfoy again. Their first encounter had been almost twenty years ago, at Flourish and Blotts in Malfoy’s second year – he still cringed whenever he remembered that day – and their rare meetings since had not been any more cordial.
They had met at Lucius Malfoy’s trial, and at his eventual execution, and at the judgment that declared Draco exile and outcast – his strongest impression of him was of frozen grey eyes and fierce, bitter hatred.
And now the fierce, half-grown boy was a man, and there was nothing open or obvious about him anymore. He was elusive, he was brilliant, and he was – despite the impossible implausibility of it all – Ginny’s husband…
And, as Ginny’s husband – as Zabini had been so eager to point out – he bridged all levels of wizarding society, linking the old order and the new, the rich and the poor, the purebloods and the muggle lovers…
Surely he could have become such a bridge by marrying someone else’s daughter.
“Mr. Malfoy,” he said courteously, standing up to welcome him as he entered the room, “thank you for coming.”
Draco Malfoy was cool and ironic as he inclined his head fractionally. “Minister.”
So. He was going to make this difficult. Facing a man who could be Lucius’ ghost, Arthur felt the familiar sense of awkwardness and inadequacy return…
“Ah… No doubt Mr. Zabini has explained the situation to you…”
“Indeed he has. Most persuasively.”
“Yes, well.” Malfoy’s unblinking eyes watched him with feline cruelty. “Please understand that I am most grateful to you for the, er, services you performed for me in Russia, but…” he cleared his throat, “I must make another request of you.”
A raised brow. “A favour? I must remind you, Minister, that my services do not come cheap.”
“No, I have no desire to purchase your services, Mr. Malfoy. I was speaking of your loyalties.”
For the first time there was a ghost of a smile in the other man’s eyes. “I highly doubt you could afford those, Mr. Weasley. Not after you’ve spent so long making yourself agreeable to all parties…”
Arthur sighed. “I speak of Britain.”
“Britain? Why should I care for Britain? The Malfoy, the High Clan – these things I might have cared for, once – but not for Britain.”
The arrogance of that statement was truly shocking. “But… The Malfoy, the High Clan, the rest of society – and yes, even the Muggles – they are all part of Britain; you cannot have one without the other. You of all people should know that, claiming your descent from Brandon Andenais himself.”
“I had not thought you such a patriot.”
“Pray, do not mock me Mr. Malfoy. You know of what I speak. Think it over – for ten years you have been a rootless, dishonoured exile. I’m giving you a chance to come home and take up what should have been your life.”
“And your daughter, sir? Will she be part of my new, honourable life?” Stung, perhaps already irritated by the ultimatum that had originally brought him back, Malfoy lashed out. “You do know that there is no possibility of a divorce – if I stay in Britain her fortunes will be permanently bound to mine…”
**********************************
A team of investigators had been sent in to find out the exact truth of the events of what Molly always called – at least in the privacy of her own thoughts – That Night. Neither Ginny nor her absentee husband would speak of it, or of the reason why divorce or annulment was impossible –
Don’t ask, Mum – just don’t ask…
And so she had been determined to find out the truth.
As far as the investigators could tell, Ginny had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A mediwitch sent in to provide aid to an emergency area, she’d seen too much, and had been picked up by one of Petrov’s goons who’d recognized her red hair and the implications of her parentage. And Petrov, always looking for any possible advantages, had taken the connection further, remembering the ancient Malfoy-Weasley feud.
Exactly what he’d hoped to gain by gifting his newest contracted employee with a Weasley no one had been quite able to tell. Perhaps he’d desired a further hold over him (a favour, blackmail, who knew?) or perhaps he’d honestly thought Malfoy would revenge himself upon the Weasleys by torturing their beloved sister and daughter. Whatever the reason, as soon as Malfoy had proclaimed their engagement, Petrov had called his bluff…
And then he had taken it one step further.
“It is good that you give her your protection like this, my friend. No other name would provide greater security than yours – no other husband would ever keep her safe. So you must never abandon her, Malfoy; without you she would not last a month…”
The subsequent arrest and execution of Petrov and all of his men had not removed the danger, either, for Petrov had been – or else he had employed – a very powerful wizard. His wedding gift to them both had been powerful and long-reaching; for as long as she lived, no matter where or how, if she remained a member of House Malfoy, she would be safe. But as soon as that protection was dissolved…
*******************************************
“Well, Blaise,” Draco said absently, “I can’t say I appreciated your surprise.” They were seated in Blaise’s study, a typically masculine room with a blazing fireplace and walls covered with books. “In fact, I thought better of you.”
“Did you?” Blaise asked reflectively. Unlike many, many others, he was unmoved by the thought of Draco’s displeasure. “But then you knew my motives before you came.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Ginny? I told her the truth, of course. It’s past time you came back home, Draco. You’ve wandered long enough.”
Draco laughed, saluted him dryly with his glass. “Pick up the ancient mantle of my ancestors, you mean? That’s a bit old-fashioned even for you, Blaise. The days of pureblood supremacy are finished – I should know, I was there.”
“Yes,” Blaise argued, “and so was I, standing right beside you. And yet here I am, still influential if in a different way – reinvented, to fit into the new world order.”
“The new world order? Oh, please, Blaise –“
“No, Draco; listen to me. As hackneyed as the phrase may be, it’s true enough – the world has changed, and no – as you said – you can’t simply step into your ancestors’ shoes. But nor can you abandon your responsibilities.”
Draco scoffed. “What responsibilities? They confiscated the estates after my father was arrested, they took everything else when they exiled me, and now I’m nothing more than a private citizen. Any money I have I made myself, any influence I might ever have had has long been discredited.”
“That’s bollocks and you know it, man. The Malfoy name will never die – it’s too closely entwined with this land…”
“If you’re suggesting, Blaise, that I have some sort of obligation because my ancestor slaughtered his way to conquest and power twenty-five centuries ago…”
Blaise sighed heavily, knowing that any further argument at the moment would be useless. “Well then, what are you going to do about Ginny?”
Draco started. “What do you mean?”
“You must stand by the marriage, I know. But that doesn’t mean you have to live together, or have anything at all to do with each other – the curse only mentioned the protection of a name, and nothing further.”
For the first time in their conversation, Draco refused to meet his eyes. “Of course I would not stand in her way, if she wished to make her own arrangements…”
“Truly? That’s not what I thought.”
Malfoy raised an icy eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
Not in the least intimidated, Blaise grinned. “I saw the way you looked at her, Draco. You can’t tell me you’ll meekly stand aside and let her go to another man – take her mind, her charm, and her influence with her father with her?”
“I have yet to meet anyone who would not like to see it,” Draco said sourly. “Ours is not accounted a popular match.”
“But an excellent one for you. And, from what I’ve seen, a potentially passionate one…”
“Blaise, I swear you are worse than an old woman. Cease your matchmaking for a moment and think. She has not given one single indication that she sees me as anything more than a dangerous mercenary – and that is scarcely a good foundation for the love match you peddle so eagerly.”
“Well then,” Blaise said, grinning even more widely, “all the more reason for you to stay and try to convince her otherwise.”
Draco closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. When he opened them again, he set his glass down firmly on the table, got up, and retreated with great dignity from the room.
*******************************************
The party having ended some two hours ago, the house was deserted and the familiar corridors silent as he made his way blankly through them. It was not often that he retreated in such disorder from a confrontation, but Blaise had always known just how to provoke him, and how to needle him into thoughtless impulse. Following an ancient instinct he made his way outside and into the gardens, noting with ironic vindication that the moon was indeed full – no doubt that explained why the whole world seemed to have gone mad lately.
He also noted that his wife had not yet returned to her home – wherever she was living at the moment, he hadn’t the slightest idea – and was instead waiting on the lawn, gripping her cloak around her, watching him with startled dark eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect…”
“A midnight encounter?” he asked sardonically. “No, I can’t say I expected one either. However, Blaise has proved most industrious of late…”
Ginny winced. “No, this was none of his doing. I was waiting for you.”
Forcibly, he checked the sharp reply. “Why?”
She shifted her feet, looked a little nervous, but then raised her chin and looked him right in the eye. “Blaise wants me to convince you to stay in Britain.”
I think I’ve heard a little too much of Blaise tonight…
“Yes, I know.”
She looked a little startled at that. “You know?”
He smiled grimly. “Quite a number of people lately have been trying to persuade me to stay. I’ve decided to be flattered.”
However, his tone was so obviously ironic that she swallowed, and decided not to be foolish. “Would it be so bad?”
He sighed, and lowered himself down to sit on the grass, tipping his head back to look at the stars. Here on the outskirts of London they were dimmed by man-made light, but they comforted him all the same. “Duty, responsibility, obligation – they were all drummed into me as a child, and most of the instruction was contradictory. I had a duty to House Malfoy and my dependents, but I was also to be a faithful servant to the Dark Lord – my father was often unclear as to which of those should take priority, should there be a conflict. I had a duty to be a good son, but when my mother betrayed everything I had ever held sacred…”
He turned to her, eyes painfully self-mocking. “And now they say I have a duty to my country when it killed my father and exiled me, and a duty to my people when they were the very ones who abandoned me.”
“Well, if everybody is telling you what you should do, what do you want to do?” she asked, sitting down beside him, carefully smoothing out the skirts of her dress.
“What do I want to do?” He smiled again. “How sinfully self-indulgent…”
She scowled at him, feeling no unease in his presence now that he was talking easily and was no longer bitingly ironic. “I should think you’ve been doing exactly as you pleased for the last ten years. I would call that an orgy of self-indulgence.”
“Would you?” His mood seemed to have taken a turn, and now there was untrustworthy whimsy in his eyes and in his voice. “But it was not self-indulgence when I married you, ma’am. I tried every way I could to get out of it, and even now I’m still trapped…”
Perhaps it was the full moon. Perhaps it was the wine she’d drunk at the party. Perhaps it was the lurking laughter in his eyes, gleaming brightly in the half-light of the moon. She glared at him and slapped at his shoulder lightly as she would have done to her brother or Harry or any of her other male friends – and just like her brother, or Harry, or any of the others with their quick, trained reflexes, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her off balance, wrestling her down to the ground.
But when he had finally pinned her lightly, there was nothing brotherly or friendly in his eyes…
And then he released her very carefully, stood up, dusted himself off, and walked away as quickly as he could, leaving her staring after him in confusion.
********************************************
Free Choice
Arthur Weasley was not looking forward to meeting Draco Malfoy again. Their first encounter had been almost twenty years ago, at Flourish and Blotts in Malfoy’s second year – he still cringed whenever he remembered that day – and their rare meetings since had not been any more cordial.
They had met at Lucius Malfoy’s trial, and at his eventual execution, and at the judgment that declared Draco exile and outcast – his strongest impression of him was of frozen grey eyes and fierce, bitter hatred.
And now the fierce, half-grown boy was a man, and there was nothing open or obvious about him anymore. He was elusive, he was brilliant, and he was – despite the impossible implausibility of it all – Ginny’s husband…
And, as Ginny’s husband – as Zabini had been so eager to point out – he bridged all levels of wizarding society, linking the old order and the new, the rich and the poor, the purebloods and the muggle lovers…
Surely he could have become such a bridge by marrying someone else’s daughter.
“Mr. Malfoy,” he said courteously, standing up to welcome him as he entered the room, “thank you for coming.”
Draco Malfoy was cool and ironic as he inclined his head fractionally. “Minister.”
So. He was going to make this difficult. Facing a man who could be Lucius’ ghost, Arthur felt the familiar sense of awkwardness and inadequacy return…
“Ah… No doubt Mr. Zabini has explained the situation to you…”
“Indeed he has. Most persuasively.”
“Yes, well.” Malfoy’s unblinking eyes watched him with feline cruelty. “Please understand that I am most grateful to you for the, er, services you performed for me in Russia, but…” he cleared his throat, “I must make another request of you.”
A raised brow. “A favour? I must remind you, Minister, that my services do not come cheap.”
“No, I have no desire to purchase your services, Mr. Malfoy. I was speaking of your loyalties.”
For the first time there was a ghost of a smile in the other man’s eyes. “I highly doubt you could afford those, Mr. Weasley. Not after you’ve spent so long making yourself agreeable to all parties…”
Arthur sighed. “I speak of Britain.”
“Britain? Why should I care for Britain? The Malfoy, the High Clan – these things I might have cared for, once – but not for Britain.”
The arrogance of that statement was truly shocking. “But… The Malfoy, the High Clan, the rest of society – and yes, even the Muggles – they are all part of Britain; you cannot have one without the other. You of all people should know that, claiming your descent from Brandon Andenais himself.”
“I had not thought you such a patriot.”
“Pray, do not mock me Mr. Malfoy. You know of what I speak. Think it over – for ten years you have been a rootless, dishonoured exile. I’m giving you a chance to come home and take up what should have been your life.”
“And your daughter, sir? Will she be part of my new, honourable life?” Stung, perhaps already irritated by the ultimatum that had originally brought him back, Malfoy lashed out. “You do know that there is no possibility of a divorce – if I stay in Britain her fortunes will be permanently bound to mine…”
**********************************
A team of investigators had been sent in to find out the exact truth of the events of what Molly always called – at least in the privacy of her own thoughts – That Night. Neither Ginny nor her absentee husband would speak of it, or of the reason why divorce or annulment was impossible –
Don’t ask, Mum – just don’t ask…
And so she had been determined to find out the truth.
As far as the investigators could tell, Ginny had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. A mediwitch sent in to provide aid to an emergency area, she’d seen too much, and had been picked up by one of Petrov’s goons who’d recognized her red hair and the implications of her parentage. And Petrov, always looking for any possible advantages, had taken the connection further, remembering the ancient Malfoy-Weasley feud.
Exactly what he’d hoped to gain by gifting his newest contracted employee with a Weasley no one had been quite able to tell. Perhaps he’d desired a further hold over him (a favour, blackmail, who knew?) or perhaps he’d honestly thought Malfoy would revenge himself upon the Weasleys by torturing their beloved sister and daughter. Whatever the reason, as soon as Malfoy had proclaimed their engagement, Petrov had called his bluff…
And then he had taken it one step further.
“It is good that you give her your protection like this, my friend. No other name would provide greater security than yours – no other husband would ever keep her safe. So you must never abandon her, Malfoy; without you she would not last a month…”
The subsequent arrest and execution of Petrov and all of his men had not removed the danger, either, for Petrov had been – or else he had employed – a very powerful wizard. His wedding gift to them both had been powerful and long-reaching; for as long as she lived, no matter where or how, if she remained a member of House Malfoy, she would be safe. But as soon as that protection was dissolved…
*******************************************
“Well, Blaise,” Draco said absently, “I can’t say I appreciated your surprise.” They were seated in Blaise’s study, a typically masculine room with a blazing fireplace and walls covered with books. “In fact, I thought better of you.”
“Did you?” Blaise asked reflectively. Unlike many, many others, he was unmoved by the thought of Draco’s displeasure. “But then you knew my motives before you came.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Ginny? I told her the truth, of course. It’s past time you came back home, Draco. You’ve wandered long enough.”
Draco laughed, saluted him dryly with his glass. “Pick up the ancient mantle of my ancestors, you mean? That’s a bit old-fashioned even for you, Blaise. The days of pureblood supremacy are finished – I should know, I was there.”
“Yes,” Blaise argued, “and so was I, standing right beside you. And yet here I am, still influential if in a different way – reinvented, to fit into the new world order.”
“The new world order? Oh, please, Blaise –“
“No, Draco; listen to me. As hackneyed as the phrase may be, it’s true enough – the world has changed, and no – as you said – you can’t simply step into your ancestors’ shoes. But nor can you abandon your responsibilities.”
Draco scoffed. “What responsibilities? They confiscated the estates after my father was arrested, they took everything else when they exiled me, and now I’m nothing more than a private citizen. Any money I have I made myself, any influence I might ever have had has long been discredited.”
“That’s bollocks and you know it, man. The Malfoy name will never die – it’s too closely entwined with this land…”
“If you’re suggesting, Blaise, that I have some sort of obligation because my ancestor slaughtered his way to conquest and power twenty-five centuries ago…”
Blaise sighed heavily, knowing that any further argument at the moment would be useless. “Well then, what are you going to do about Ginny?”
Draco started. “What do you mean?”
“You must stand by the marriage, I know. But that doesn’t mean you have to live together, or have anything at all to do with each other – the curse only mentioned the protection of a name, and nothing further.”
For the first time in their conversation, Draco refused to meet his eyes. “Of course I would not stand in her way, if she wished to make her own arrangements…”
“Truly? That’s not what I thought.”
Malfoy raised an icy eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
Not in the least intimidated, Blaise grinned. “I saw the way you looked at her, Draco. You can’t tell me you’ll meekly stand aside and let her go to another man – take her mind, her charm, and her influence with her father with her?”
“I have yet to meet anyone who would not like to see it,” Draco said sourly. “Ours is not accounted a popular match.”
“But an excellent one for you. And, from what I’ve seen, a potentially passionate one…”
“Blaise, I swear you are worse than an old woman. Cease your matchmaking for a moment and think. She has not given one single indication that she sees me as anything more than a dangerous mercenary – and that is scarcely a good foundation for the love match you peddle so eagerly.”
“Well then,” Blaise said, grinning even more widely, “all the more reason for you to stay and try to convince her otherwise.”
Draco closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. When he opened them again, he set his glass down firmly on the table, got up, and retreated with great dignity from the room.
*******************************************
The party having ended some two hours ago, the house was deserted and the familiar corridors silent as he made his way blankly through them. It was not often that he retreated in such disorder from a confrontation, but Blaise had always known just how to provoke him, and how to needle him into thoughtless impulse. Following an ancient instinct he made his way outside and into the gardens, noting with ironic vindication that the moon was indeed full – no doubt that explained why the whole world seemed to have gone mad lately.
He also noted that his wife had not yet returned to her home – wherever she was living at the moment, he hadn’t the slightest idea – and was instead waiting on the lawn, gripping her cloak around her, watching him with startled dark eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect…”
“A midnight encounter?” he asked sardonically. “No, I can’t say I expected one either. However, Blaise has proved most industrious of late…”
Ginny winced. “No, this was none of his doing. I was waiting for you.”
Forcibly, he checked the sharp reply. “Why?”
She shifted her feet, looked a little nervous, but then raised her chin and looked him right in the eye. “Blaise wants me to convince you to stay in Britain.”
I think I’ve heard a little too much of Blaise tonight…
“Yes, I know.”
She looked a little startled at that. “You know?”
He smiled grimly. “Quite a number of people lately have been trying to persuade me to stay. I’ve decided to be flattered.”
However, his tone was so obviously ironic that she swallowed, and decided not to be foolish. “Would it be so bad?”
He sighed, and lowered himself down to sit on the grass, tipping his head back to look at the stars. Here on the outskirts of London they were dimmed by man-made light, but they comforted him all the same. “Duty, responsibility, obligation – they were all drummed into me as a child, and most of the instruction was contradictory. I had a duty to House Malfoy and my dependents, but I was also to be a faithful servant to the Dark Lord – my father was often unclear as to which of those should take priority, should there be a conflict. I had a duty to be a good son, but when my mother betrayed everything I had ever held sacred…”
He turned to her, eyes painfully self-mocking. “And now they say I have a duty to my country when it killed my father and exiled me, and a duty to my people when they were the very ones who abandoned me.”
“Well, if everybody is telling you what you should do, what do you want to do?” she asked, sitting down beside him, carefully smoothing out the skirts of her dress.
“What do I want to do?” He smiled again. “How sinfully self-indulgent…”
She scowled at him, feeling no unease in his presence now that he was talking easily and was no longer bitingly ironic. “I should think you’ve been doing exactly as you pleased for the last ten years. I would call that an orgy of self-indulgence.”
“Would you?” His mood seemed to have taken a turn, and now there was untrustworthy whimsy in his eyes and in his voice. “But it was not self-indulgence when I married you, ma’am. I tried every way I could to get out of it, and even now I’m still trapped…”
Perhaps it was the full moon. Perhaps it was the wine she’d drunk at the party. Perhaps it was the lurking laughter in his eyes, gleaming brightly in the half-light of the moon. She glared at him and slapped at his shoulder lightly as she would have done to her brother or Harry or any of her other male friends – and just like her brother, or Harry, or any of the others with their quick, trained reflexes, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her off balance, wrestling her down to the ground.
But when he had finally pinned her lightly, there was nothing brotherly or friendly in his eyes…
And then he released her very carefully, stood up, dusted himself off, and walked away as quickly as he could, leaving her staring after him in confusion.
********************************************
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