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Chapter Eight
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“Weasley, what’s wrong?” Draco asked.
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong,” Ginny said, perplexed.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m getting ready for my date,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“In a frilly yellow potato sack?” Draco wasn’t too thrilled about Ginny dating the termite-infested tree-man, but he couldn’t help but smirk at her ridiculous outfit.
“Potato sack?” Ginny spluttered. “Frilly dress robes are all the rage these days.”
“But not for you,” Draco said, trying to hold back his laughter.
Ginny was normally considered a fashionable woman. Her half-wizard, half-Muggle style of dress developed from the hand-me-downs from her brothers. Her pixie-face looked adorable in boys’ clothes, and she tailored and accessorized in a way that made her style unique, without making her look like a man. It gave her a spunky girl-next-door appearance that many men liked. She was popular with the men, despite her reputation as a heart-breaker. After getting over her long-term crush on Harry Potter, she seemed to have lost the ability for long-term relationships in general, and dated just for the fun of it.
But Ginny’s lack of experience with men that she actually wanted to keep around for longer than a few weeks put her at a disadvantage when trying to dress to impress. Usually, the men sought her out, not minding that she was wearing a ripped pair of jeans that she had nicked from one of her Muggle-born boyfriends. But she definitely couldn’t go on a date with Oliver, who she’d fancied for a while, while wearing her brother’s old T-shirt.
She had chosen the happy-looking yellow dress robes that were on display at Madam Malkin’s. She thought it looked fine, but Draco, who was nearly choking while trying not to laugh, suggested otherwise.
“What,” Ginny demanded, “is so funny?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” Draco said, composing himself. He now knew why Ginny didn’t wear women’s clothing – it looked completely out of place. The frills didn’t agree with the sharp temper in her eyes, and the bright yellow color looked extremely gaudy with her neon hair. If Oliver Wood had eyes, he would most likely think twice about ever going on a date with Ginny again. Not that Draco cared. “You look fine, Weasley,” Draco continued smoothly. “It just isn’t my style, that’s all. My Mother would not have worn something like that if her life was being threatened, but Mother was a particularly elegant woman.”
“Pansy Parkinson was considered an elegant woman. She wore frilly pink robes to the Yule Ball,” Ginny retorted.
“Ah, so that was what the hideous dress was for. My memory gets fuzzy around then, you see. But she was fourteen at the time. You’re twenty-four. But like I said, it’s your style, not mine, and I’m sure Wood would find you quite lovely – after a few glasses of Firewhisky. Or, actually, you better make that a few bottles.”
“Whatever, Malfoy. I think the yellow brings out the gold in my hair. I’m wearing this dress,” she declared, crossing her arms defensively in front of her, and glaring at Draco, as if daring him to challenge her.
Draco thought that her stubbornness was going to get her into a lot of trouble someday. “If it makes you happy,” he said, inwardly glad because he knew Wood wasn’t going to like that dress. “When’s the date?”
“I’m not sure. He said in the afternoon.”
The afternoon came and went, and it was six in the evening. There was no Floo call, no owl, and no Wood. Ginny’s hair, which had been neatly curled for the occasion, was starting to frizz again. If her face was any indication of how she was feeling, Draco thought it best that he stay out of her way. He was itching to say something snarky, but held his tongue. Draco had never looked at Ginny the same way after she tried to chop his head off on his first day living with her. So, he grabbed a book from the shelf, and sat quietly in the corner.
An hour later, Draco was rereading the same sentence over and over again, not really absorbing it. He was internally debating if it was worth getting hexed to tell Ginny that her shoulder exercises were meant to restore her shoulder, not pop it out of its socket. If Ginny’s eyes weren’t already spitting sparks, Draco would have remarked that she looked like an angry, broken windmill.
As Draco turned back to try and read the book again, the front door came crashing down. “Expelliarmus!” he roared, and snatched the intruder’s wand. He would have hexed the unwelcome guest without further thought, but the brown bush that was perched on top of the intruder’s head made him pause. Only one person he had the misfortune to know had hair like that.
Hermione Potter collapsed on a chair, crying, and tried to explain her story, mostly by broadcasting her thoughts to any Legilimens within thinking distance. Being a Legilimens, Draco understood very clearly.
Draco found the situation rather amusing, though it was a surprise to him that Pansy would take an interest in old Weasel-King. He was particularly delighted that Potter’s wife had not loved him, though she apparently did now. If he was Potter, of course, he would be disgusted that a Mudblood loved him. But Potter was Potter, and he was pathetic, and Draco couldn’t understand why a Pureblood like Ginny had ever liked him.
Draco relayed the news to Ginny, then realized something. “I say, Potter, if you’re running around England looking for Potter, who’s looking for Zabini and other potential axe-murderers? That Philby kid can’t handle this on his own.”
“Philby?” Hermione repeated, stopping her crying to look shocked instead. “I sent him out on an assignment regarding Zabini. He said if he isn’t back within two days, I should be worried. It’s been three. He’s not back yet…”
“Oh, how brilliant,” Draco said. “You sent a rookie out to catch Zabini, Slytherin’s slipperiest. Some genius you are.”
“We should be worried!” Hermione cried. “He was the best color-coder I’ve ever met! He had potential!”
“Stop speaking in the past tense, Potter. You make it sound like he’s already dead.”
“How do you know he isn’t dead yet?” Hermione demanded, her paranoia replacing her misery concerning Harry. “Did you kidnap him? Are you in this with Zabini? Are you going to demand a ransom from the Ministry?” Hermione snatched her wand away from Draco and waved it threateningly in his face. She was quite the scene with her tear-streaked face, bushy hair, and slightly swollen eyes that deserved their own trademark color called ‘paranoia brown’.
“There, there,” Ginny said as nicely as she could, which wasn’t very nice at all, because Oliver had apparently forgotten about their date. “Malfoy’s been with me all day long, and he couldn’t have kidnapped anyone. Philby looked like a smart kid, I’m sure he’ll be fi –”
The fireplace erupted into green flames, and Draco and Hermione both turned their wands to it. “Who’s there?” Hermione thundered.
“Oliver Wood?” came an uncertain reply.
“Oliver!” Ginny exclaimed, her anger quite forgotten. “You’re a bit late!”
“Late?” Oliver looked confused. “I, er, listen, Ginny, would you mind coming over to Bon Appétit? I’ve ordered food, and it’s… well, it’s getting cold.”
It wasn’t the best way to invite a woman to dinner, but it worked for Ginny. “Cold? Food shouldn’t be left cold! I’ll be right there!” Ginny said, and Disapparated on the spot. The flames died down as well.
Draco snorted, then turned to Hermione. “Potter. I believe that Philby is in a position where he needs to be found. I also believe that you’re in a position to go find him.” Draco motioned for her to leave. “And next time, refrain from knocking down my door.”
Hermione huffed indignantly and bustled out the door, grumbling, “Your door? Since when was Ginny’s door your door? Arrogant, egotistical, bigheaded –” she stopped herself before she went into the unspeakable zone of the English language.
---
When Ginny rematerialized in Diagon Alley’s most famous restaurant, Bon Appétit, Oliver stared at her in a way that was a bit difficult to describe as romantic. “Ginny, are frilly yellow potato sacks in fashion?” he asked.
Ginny blushed scarlet. She should have listened to Draco’s advice. Oh, how he was going to taunt her by saying, ‘I told you so.’
“It is, actually,” she said carefully, plastering on what she hoped was a confident smile. “You know me, the trendsetter. By next week, frilly yellow robes are going to be the hot item.”
“If you say so,” Oliver said with a shrug. “Let’s eat. The food’s getting cold.”
Ginny didn’t like having her dates order food for her, and planned on telling Oliver that sometime soon, especially since she didn’t like fish that wasn’t fried (and this fish was everything but fried), but it was only the first date, so she grinned and took a bite. Ginny was surprised that the food actually was cold – very, very cold. “Oliver,” she began, “when did you order this food?”
“About an hour ago,” he replied glumly.
“It took you an entire hour to ask me to come?”
“Well, I thought she might come back…”
“She? She who?” Something wasn’t right, but Ginny couldn’t quite determine what.
“Katie. I thought you knew,” Oliver said.
“Katie?” Ginny echoed dully. She could almost hear her world crashing down on her.
Oliver raised both eyebrows (he, like Harry, did not master the art of raising just one eyebrow). “Well, when I said I liked a superb Chaser who was like a little sister to me, who’d you think I was talking about? Rosalyn?” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Ginny was doing a perfect impersonation of a shocked fish. Katie? Katie Bell? The Katie who Oliver kept smiling at during practices? Katie, the superb Chaser? Katie, the little sister who suddenly blossomed into a woman? Katie, who was definitely not Ginny Weasley? Katie? Katie?
Picking her jaw back off the floor, Ginny managed to say in a strangled sort of voice, “So, why am I here instead of Katie?”
Oliver sighed heavily. “Shouldn’t let the food go to waste. We had just ordered dinner, when Katie’s friend, I think her name was Leanne, came running over. She was upset, asking Katie how she could be on a date when she was the reason Leanne’s brother was in St. Mungo’s with something like a broken heart. Katie denied it, but Leanne was ready to hex her, so they both left. Did you know that Katie was a heart-breaker? I didn’t. I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend. But then again, she’s really pretty…”
Ginny was gripping onto her wand very tightly. It was new, since the axe-murderer had run off with her old one, and she wasn’t as comfortable with it yet. As a result, the wand sparked, and the next thing she knew, the table was on fire.
“Ginny!” Oliver exclaimed. “I know you don’t like cold food, but this is just too much! Aguamenti!”
The tip of Ginny’s wand was still shooting off angry red sparks. The other customers began looking around for somewhere to hide. “I think I should go now, Oliver. My wand, it’s new, and it’s going out of control,” she said as evenly as she could.
“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea,” said Oliver. “The food’s a bit too warm to eat now. Would you like to borrow my wand to Apparate?” he asked, holding out his wand. “Yours seems a bit dangerous –”
Ginny Disapparated before he could finish, leaving behind an explosion of sparks. On the other side of the room, Lavender Brown, who was on a date with Ian O’Brien, tore her eyes away from her sweetheart to see what the commotion was about. What she saw was Oliver pointing his wand in Ginny’s direction, and Ginny disappearing into red sparks.
The last she had seen, Oliver had been on a date with Katie Bell. They appeared to get along quite well. Lavender did some quick thinking. If his date was Katie Bell, who had been a Reserve until Ginny was hurt, that would mean that Katie would only be on the official team if Ginny wasn’t. Katie was Oliver’s date. Oliver liked Katie. Oliver apparently did not like Ginny. Oliver Wood seemed to be violent with Ginny, shooting sparks at her like that, and come to think of it, every time the axe-murderer attacked, Oliver was somewhere near Ginny. He even lived across the street from her. He also knew Joscelind Wadcock, including where she lived, and he had been good at Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts when he was in school. It would have easy to cast an Imperius Curse on her. Also, Oliver was only the temporary Captain because Joscelind was away. If Joscelind was blamed for trying to murder Ginny, she would never come back to Puddlemere, and he would be Captain forever. It all fit.
“Ian!” Lavender gasped. “I think your Captain may be the axe-murderer!”
---
“This is ridiculous, Potter,” Pansy hissed. “We’re surrounded by Muggles!” She seized the back of Harry’s jacket and began pushing him around, using him as a shield to keep the Muggles away from her. “I used to torture them for fun, remember? Now I don’t want anything to do with them! I don’t even want to look at them!”
“Parkinson, it’s the Eiffel Tower! Of course it’s full of Muggles!” Harry said, trying to keep his voice down.
“Sod the Eiffel Tower! I’ll curse it to rubble! I want to go back! Now that I know that you didn’t actually kill Draco, I want to see – Ahhh! Get off me, you filthy little brat!” Pansy screeched at the little Muggle girl who was pulling on her skirt.
The little girl dropped Pansy’s skirt and scowled up at her. “Tu n’êtes pas ma Maman!” she declared.
“…videmment, enfant stupide,” Pansy spat. “Partez!”
Harry snickered as the girl stuck out her tongue at Pansy, then ran off to find her Mum. “I understood the ‘stupide’ part. You speak French?”
“Of course. I spent many summers in France with the Malfoy family. Speaking of the Malfoys, I would like to see the last remaining one. Where is he?”
“How should I know?” Harry said, not really wanting Pansy to meet Draco, but not knowing why he didn’t want her to.
“Well then, take me back so I can find him!”
“I’m not going back!”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “This is stupid. You got into a fight with your wife, and you ran away to France. And you’re supposed to be the Savior of the world. You didn’t save the world by running away from the Dark Lord, so why are you running away from your wife?”
“Hermione can be scarier than Voldemort –” Pansy stiffened a bit at the name, but otherwise did not indicate that it bothered her, “– but right now, I’m the one who’s mad.”
“Of course. You’re moodier than most women are at that time of month.”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Hermione used to call me ‘Captain Capslock’.”
“What’s Capslock?”
“It’s the key that you – oh, never mind, it’s a Muggle term.”
Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Trust Granger – no, it’s Potter now. This is confusing. There are two Potters running around, and soon there will be more. What horrible children you’ll have, with bushy hair and pickled-toad eyes. Anyway, trust Potter to give a wizard a Muggle nickname.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Hey, Potter, what’s that?” she asked suddenly, pointing at something far away.
“What?” Harry leaned over the banister to get a better look, accidentally dropping Pansy’s arm, which he had been holding to prevent her from Disapparating.
Pop.
“Parkinson!”
He had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
---
“No one is allowed in here!” Hermione screamed at Mr. and Mrs. Philby. “I understand that your son is hurt, and that you’re terribly concerned, but I need to have my team examine those wounds for Dark magic, and you need to keep out! You need to keep out too!” she barked at the irritated Healers. “This ward is now under Ministry protection!” Hermione slammed the door and threw up a ward that could only be broken by Ministry workers.
Auror Ernie Macmillan was Hermione’s new partner. He had originally worked on the Russian Wizarding Mafia case with Head Auror Brand, but with an Auror being attacked during the axe-murderer case, Brand decided that Hermione needed a skilled partner.
“Tell me again,” Hermione said to Ernie, “how did you find him?”
“I was trailing a Mafia hit man, and the hit man was trailing someone else. I was too late, because the hit man was gone, and he’d already gotten his victim. It was Philby. He was slashed across the chest when I found him.”
“Why is the Mafia after Philby?”
“No clue. We don’t know if it’s actually the Mafia, or if it’s someone who’s paying the Mafia to do their dirty work. That’s what Auror Brand is trying to find out.”
“Where did you find Philby?”
“Not too far from the Museum of Modern War, or the old Malfoy Manor.”
Hermione frowned deeply. There was something funny about Draco Malfoy, she knew it. He was staying so close to Ginny in order to avoid suspicion. He was behind all the attacks on her, and saving her life was only an act. She needed to get Draco out of Ginny’s flat, but how?
As much as she didn’t want to see Ron right now, especially after her embarrassing outburst after seeing him with Pansy, she needed to, for Ginny’s sake. Hermione was willing to bet that even if he wasn’t the actual axe-murderer, Draco was somehow involved. Ron’s strategizing genius would discover how he was involved. Being Ginny’s overprotective brother, he would also find a way to kick Draco out of Ginny’s house.
“You take over the Philby case, Ernie,” Hermione said. “I need to go consult an expert.”
“But Hermione, we are the experts!” Ernie called, perplexed.
---
Draco was sitting in front of the open cupboard, staring at his Pensieve. It was so tempting to just reach in and regain all his memories, but he didn’t know what that would do to him and his relationship with the world.
He had questions about himself, certainly. Like why his parents had been in a situation that required him to save them by becoming a Death Eater. He wondered what being a Death Eater meant to his younger self, though it was technically his alternate self, because he had started his life over at the age of thirteen.
Technically, he was only twenty years of age, though his actual age was twenty-five. Living in the friendly but uneventful Swiss village didn’t really give him an opportunity to mature either. He had grown up a bit, and had changed under Aunt Andromeda’s decidedly non-Malfoy ways, but he was still childish. But he liked it. Coming back to England, he saw how everyone, Potter especially, looked much older than they were. They were weighed down by the invisible burden the war had left behind, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to deal with it.
Finally resolving to look at it when he was a bit more settled into life on his own – though Ginny still looked after him a bit –, Draco shut the cupboard and decided to order some owl-delivery pizza.
Several minutes later, a large owl tapped on the window, and Draco settled down into the couch with the Tele-wiz set to a Kenmare Kestrels vs. Ballycastle Bats match. He opened the box of delicious-smelling green tomato and newt sausage pizza, and lifted the first delectable slice. He opened his mouth to take a bite of the cheesy, tomato-y, newt-y goodness, when he was rudely interrupted by a faint pop, accompanied by a pair of freckled hands that snatched away the precious pizza slice.
“Oh, I was famished,” said Ginny, taking a humongous bite. “Mmm! Newt sausage, my favorite topping. How’d you know?”
“It is unbecoming for a lady to speak with her mouth full,” Draco snapped irritably, grabbing a new slice for himself. “Not that you’re much of a lady.”
“Hmm. Wha – tha wa thoopy!” Ginny exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the Tele-wiz.
“What?”
Ginny swallowed her mouthful of pizza. “That was stupid! Fannahan should have directed the Bludger at Silver, not Pfeifer!”
Draco terribly wanted to ask her what went so wrong with her date that she came back in fifteen minutes, and didn’t even eat. But Ginny, who was now yelling profanities at the Tele-Wiz, didn’t seem to be in the mood. For some strange reason that he couldn’t quite understand, Draco decided to let her be. He was glad that the date didn’t work out, and justified his happiness by telling himself that he didn’t like Wood, and if Ginny dated him, she would be bringing him around a lot, and Merlin knew that Draco didn’t want to be stuck in a house with two intolerable lovebirds.
Ginny, while cursing the Quidditch players to Hell and back, felt relieved that Draco wasn’t asking her questions. She wasn’t sure why he was leaving her alone, which was a definitely un-Malfoylike thing to do, but she was grateful because, if he asked her to explain, she thought she might cry. She was so disappointed, and felt so stupid for thinking that Oliver, who was practically a brother, would feel anything for her. So, she pretended that all the Quidditch players on the Tele-wiz were Oliver, swore at them like a sailor, ate half of Draco’s pizza, laughed when Pfeifer fell off his broom, drank some Butterbeer, threw a piece of tomato at Draco, laughed some more, and for the first time since Draco came around, felt comfortable with his presence.
---
To be continued…
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(*) The little French conversation between Pansy and the little girl was translated through the use of an online translator, and may have errors. I’m sorry to any French speakers who might be annoyed by this, and if there is a mistake, please point it out!
To the rest of the non-French speaking folk, the conversation is simply, “You’re not my Mum!” and “Obviously, stupid child. Go away!”
Chapter Eight
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“Weasley, what’s wrong?” Draco asked.
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong,” Ginny said, perplexed.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m getting ready for my date,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“In a frilly yellow potato sack?” Draco wasn’t too thrilled about Ginny dating the termite-infested tree-man, but he couldn’t help but smirk at her ridiculous outfit.
“Potato sack?” Ginny spluttered. “Frilly dress robes are all the rage these days.”
“But not for you,” Draco said, trying to hold back his laughter.
Ginny was normally considered a fashionable woman. Her half-wizard, half-Muggle style of dress developed from the hand-me-downs from her brothers. Her pixie-face looked adorable in boys’ clothes, and she tailored and accessorized in a way that made her style unique, without making her look like a man. It gave her a spunky girl-next-door appearance that many men liked. She was popular with the men, despite her reputation as a heart-breaker. After getting over her long-term crush on Harry Potter, she seemed to have lost the ability for long-term relationships in general, and dated just for the fun of it.
But Ginny’s lack of experience with men that she actually wanted to keep around for longer than a few weeks put her at a disadvantage when trying to dress to impress. Usually, the men sought her out, not minding that she was wearing a ripped pair of jeans that she had nicked from one of her Muggle-born boyfriends. But she definitely couldn’t go on a date with Oliver, who she’d fancied for a while, while wearing her brother’s old T-shirt.
She had chosen the happy-looking yellow dress robes that were on display at Madam Malkin’s. She thought it looked fine, but Draco, who was nearly choking while trying not to laugh, suggested otherwise.
“What,” Ginny demanded, “is so funny?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” Draco said, composing himself. He now knew why Ginny didn’t wear women’s clothing – it looked completely out of place. The frills didn’t agree with the sharp temper in her eyes, and the bright yellow color looked extremely gaudy with her neon hair. If Oliver Wood had eyes, he would most likely think twice about ever going on a date with Ginny again. Not that Draco cared. “You look fine, Weasley,” Draco continued smoothly. “It just isn’t my style, that’s all. My Mother would not have worn something like that if her life was being threatened, but Mother was a particularly elegant woman.”
“Pansy Parkinson was considered an elegant woman. She wore frilly pink robes to the Yule Ball,” Ginny retorted.
“Ah, so that was what the hideous dress was for. My memory gets fuzzy around then, you see. But she was fourteen at the time. You’re twenty-four. But like I said, it’s your style, not mine, and I’m sure Wood would find you quite lovely – after a few glasses of Firewhisky. Or, actually, you better make that a few bottles.”
“Whatever, Malfoy. I think the yellow brings out the gold in my hair. I’m wearing this dress,” she declared, crossing her arms defensively in front of her, and glaring at Draco, as if daring him to challenge her.
Draco thought that her stubbornness was going to get her into a lot of trouble someday. “If it makes you happy,” he said, inwardly glad because he knew Wood wasn’t going to like that dress. “When’s the date?”
“I’m not sure. He said in the afternoon.”
The afternoon came and went, and it was six in the evening. There was no Floo call, no owl, and no Wood. Ginny’s hair, which had been neatly curled for the occasion, was starting to frizz again. If her face was any indication of how she was feeling, Draco thought it best that he stay out of her way. He was itching to say something snarky, but held his tongue. Draco had never looked at Ginny the same way after she tried to chop his head off on his first day living with her. So, he grabbed a book from the shelf, and sat quietly in the corner.
An hour later, Draco was rereading the same sentence over and over again, not really absorbing it. He was internally debating if it was worth getting hexed to tell Ginny that her shoulder exercises were meant to restore her shoulder, not pop it out of its socket. If Ginny’s eyes weren’t already spitting sparks, Draco would have remarked that she looked like an angry, broken windmill.
As Draco turned back to try and read the book again, the front door came crashing down. “Expelliarmus!” he roared, and snatched the intruder’s wand. He would have hexed the unwelcome guest without further thought, but the brown bush that was perched on top of the intruder’s head made him pause. Only one person he had the misfortune to know had hair like that.
Hermione Potter collapsed on a chair, crying, and tried to explain her story, mostly by broadcasting her thoughts to any Legilimens within thinking distance. Being a Legilimens, Draco understood very clearly.
Draco found the situation rather amusing, though it was a surprise to him that Pansy would take an interest in old Weasel-King. He was particularly delighted that Potter’s wife had not loved him, though she apparently did now. If he was Potter, of course, he would be disgusted that a Mudblood loved him. But Potter was Potter, and he was pathetic, and Draco couldn’t understand why a Pureblood like Ginny had ever liked him.
Draco relayed the news to Ginny, then realized something. “I say, Potter, if you’re running around England looking for Potter, who’s looking for Zabini and other potential axe-murderers? That Philby kid can’t handle this on his own.”
“Philby?” Hermione repeated, stopping her crying to look shocked instead. “I sent him out on an assignment regarding Zabini. He said if he isn’t back within two days, I should be worried. It’s been three. He’s not back yet…”
“Oh, how brilliant,” Draco said. “You sent a rookie out to catch Zabini, Slytherin’s slipperiest. Some genius you are.”
“We should be worried!” Hermione cried. “He was the best color-coder I’ve ever met! He had potential!”
“Stop speaking in the past tense, Potter. You make it sound like he’s already dead.”
“How do you know he isn’t dead yet?” Hermione demanded, her paranoia replacing her misery concerning Harry. “Did you kidnap him? Are you in this with Zabini? Are you going to demand a ransom from the Ministry?” Hermione snatched her wand away from Draco and waved it threateningly in his face. She was quite the scene with her tear-streaked face, bushy hair, and slightly swollen eyes that deserved their own trademark color called ‘paranoia brown’.
“There, there,” Ginny said as nicely as she could, which wasn’t very nice at all, because Oliver had apparently forgotten about their date. “Malfoy’s been with me all day long, and he couldn’t have kidnapped anyone. Philby looked like a smart kid, I’m sure he’ll be fi –”
The fireplace erupted into green flames, and Draco and Hermione both turned their wands to it. “Who’s there?” Hermione thundered.
“Oliver Wood?” came an uncertain reply.
“Oliver!” Ginny exclaimed, her anger quite forgotten. “You’re a bit late!”
“Late?” Oliver looked confused. “I, er, listen, Ginny, would you mind coming over to Bon Appétit? I’ve ordered food, and it’s… well, it’s getting cold.”
It wasn’t the best way to invite a woman to dinner, but it worked for Ginny. “Cold? Food shouldn’t be left cold! I’ll be right there!” Ginny said, and Disapparated on the spot. The flames died down as well.
Draco snorted, then turned to Hermione. “Potter. I believe that Philby is in a position where he needs to be found. I also believe that you’re in a position to go find him.” Draco motioned for her to leave. “And next time, refrain from knocking down my door.”
Hermione huffed indignantly and bustled out the door, grumbling, “Your door? Since when was Ginny’s door your door? Arrogant, egotistical, bigheaded –” she stopped herself before she went into the unspeakable zone of the English language.
---
When Ginny rematerialized in Diagon Alley’s most famous restaurant, Bon Appétit, Oliver stared at her in a way that was a bit difficult to describe as romantic. “Ginny, are frilly yellow potato sacks in fashion?” he asked.
Ginny blushed scarlet. She should have listened to Draco’s advice. Oh, how he was going to taunt her by saying, ‘I told you so.’
“It is, actually,” she said carefully, plastering on what she hoped was a confident smile. “You know me, the trendsetter. By next week, frilly yellow robes are going to be the hot item.”
“If you say so,” Oliver said with a shrug. “Let’s eat. The food’s getting cold.”
Ginny didn’t like having her dates order food for her, and planned on telling Oliver that sometime soon, especially since she didn’t like fish that wasn’t fried (and this fish was everything but fried), but it was only the first date, so she grinned and took a bite. Ginny was surprised that the food actually was cold – very, very cold. “Oliver,” she began, “when did you order this food?”
“About an hour ago,” he replied glumly.
“It took you an entire hour to ask me to come?”
“Well, I thought she might come back…”
“She? She who?” Something wasn’t right, but Ginny couldn’t quite determine what.
“Katie. I thought you knew,” Oliver said.
“Katie?” Ginny echoed dully. She could almost hear her world crashing down on her.
Oliver raised both eyebrows (he, like Harry, did not master the art of raising just one eyebrow). “Well, when I said I liked a superb Chaser who was like a little sister to me, who’d you think I was talking about? Rosalyn?” He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Ginny was doing a perfect impersonation of a shocked fish. Katie? Katie Bell? The Katie who Oliver kept smiling at during practices? Katie, the superb Chaser? Katie, the little sister who suddenly blossomed into a woman? Katie, who was definitely not Ginny Weasley? Katie? Katie?
Picking her jaw back off the floor, Ginny managed to say in a strangled sort of voice, “So, why am I here instead of Katie?”
Oliver sighed heavily. “Shouldn’t let the food go to waste. We had just ordered dinner, when Katie’s friend, I think her name was Leanne, came running over. She was upset, asking Katie how she could be on a date when she was the reason Leanne’s brother was in St. Mungo’s with something like a broken heart. Katie denied it, but Leanne was ready to hex her, so they both left. Did you know that Katie was a heart-breaker? I didn’t. I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend. But then again, she’s really pretty…”
Ginny was gripping onto her wand very tightly. It was new, since the axe-murderer had run off with her old one, and she wasn’t as comfortable with it yet. As a result, the wand sparked, and the next thing she knew, the table was on fire.
“Ginny!” Oliver exclaimed. “I know you don’t like cold food, but this is just too much! Aguamenti!”
The tip of Ginny’s wand was still shooting off angry red sparks. The other customers began looking around for somewhere to hide. “I think I should go now, Oliver. My wand, it’s new, and it’s going out of control,” she said as evenly as she could.
“Yeah. That sounds like a good idea,” said Oliver. “The food’s a bit too warm to eat now. Would you like to borrow my wand to Apparate?” he asked, holding out his wand. “Yours seems a bit dangerous –”
Ginny Disapparated before he could finish, leaving behind an explosion of sparks. On the other side of the room, Lavender Brown, who was on a date with Ian O’Brien, tore her eyes away from her sweetheart to see what the commotion was about. What she saw was Oliver pointing his wand in Ginny’s direction, and Ginny disappearing into red sparks.
The last she had seen, Oliver had been on a date with Katie Bell. They appeared to get along quite well. Lavender did some quick thinking. If his date was Katie Bell, who had been a Reserve until Ginny was hurt, that would mean that Katie would only be on the official team if Ginny wasn’t. Katie was Oliver’s date. Oliver liked Katie. Oliver apparently did not like Ginny. Oliver Wood seemed to be violent with Ginny, shooting sparks at her like that, and come to think of it, every time the axe-murderer attacked, Oliver was somewhere near Ginny. He even lived across the street from her. He also knew Joscelind Wadcock, including where she lived, and he had been good at Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts when he was in school. It would have easy to cast an Imperius Curse on her. Also, Oliver was only the temporary Captain because Joscelind was away. If Joscelind was blamed for trying to murder Ginny, she would never come back to Puddlemere, and he would be Captain forever. It all fit.
“Ian!” Lavender gasped. “I think your Captain may be the axe-murderer!”
---
“This is ridiculous, Potter,” Pansy hissed. “We’re surrounded by Muggles!” She seized the back of Harry’s jacket and began pushing him around, using him as a shield to keep the Muggles away from her. “I used to torture them for fun, remember? Now I don’t want anything to do with them! I don’t even want to look at them!”
“Parkinson, it’s the Eiffel Tower! Of course it’s full of Muggles!” Harry said, trying to keep his voice down.
“Sod the Eiffel Tower! I’ll curse it to rubble! I want to go back! Now that I know that you didn’t actually kill Draco, I want to see – Ahhh! Get off me, you filthy little brat!” Pansy screeched at the little Muggle girl who was pulling on her skirt.
The little girl dropped Pansy’s skirt and scowled up at her. “Tu n’êtes pas ma Maman!” she declared.
“…videmment, enfant stupide,” Pansy spat. “Partez!”
Harry snickered as the girl stuck out her tongue at Pansy, then ran off to find her Mum. “I understood the ‘stupide’ part. You speak French?”
“Of course. I spent many summers in France with the Malfoy family. Speaking of the Malfoys, I would like to see the last remaining one. Where is he?”
“How should I know?” Harry said, not really wanting Pansy to meet Draco, but not knowing why he didn’t want her to.
“Well then, take me back so I can find him!”
“I’m not going back!”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “This is stupid. You got into a fight with your wife, and you ran away to France. And you’re supposed to be the Savior of the world. You didn’t save the world by running away from the Dark Lord, so why are you running away from your wife?”
“Hermione can be scarier than Voldemort –” Pansy stiffened a bit at the name, but otherwise did not indicate that it bothered her, “– but right now, I’m the one who’s mad.”
“Of course. You’re moodier than most women are at that time of month.”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Hermione used to call me ‘Captain Capslock’.”
“What’s Capslock?”
“It’s the key that you – oh, never mind, it’s a Muggle term.”
Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Trust Granger – no, it’s Potter now. This is confusing. There are two Potters running around, and soon there will be more. What horrible children you’ll have, with bushy hair and pickled-toad eyes. Anyway, trust Potter to give a wizard a Muggle nickname.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Hey, Potter, what’s that?” she asked suddenly, pointing at something far away.
“What?” Harry leaned over the banister to get a better look, accidentally dropping Pansy’s arm, which he had been holding to prevent her from Disapparating.
Pop.
“Parkinson!”
He had fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
---
“No one is allowed in here!” Hermione screamed at Mr. and Mrs. Philby. “I understand that your son is hurt, and that you’re terribly concerned, but I need to have my team examine those wounds for Dark magic, and you need to keep out! You need to keep out too!” she barked at the irritated Healers. “This ward is now under Ministry protection!” Hermione slammed the door and threw up a ward that could only be broken by Ministry workers.
Auror Ernie Macmillan was Hermione’s new partner. He had originally worked on the Russian Wizarding Mafia case with Head Auror Brand, but with an Auror being attacked during the axe-murderer case, Brand decided that Hermione needed a skilled partner.
“Tell me again,” Hermione said to Ernie, “how did you find him?”
“I was trailing a Mafia hit man, and the hit man was trailing someone else. I was too late, because the hit man was gone, and he’d already gotten his victim. It was Philby. He was slashed across the chest when I found him.”
“Why is the Mafia after Philby?”
“No clue. We don’t know if it’s actually the Mafia, or if it’s someone who’s paying the Mafia to do their dirty work. That’s what Auror Brand is trying to find out.”
“Where did you find Philby?”
“Not too far from the Museum of Modern War, or the old Malfoy Manor.”
Hermione frowned deeply. There was something funny about Draco Malfoy, she knew it. He was staying so close to Ginny in order to avoid suspicion. He was behind all the attacks on her, and saving her life was only an act. She needed to get Draco out of Ginny’s flat, but how?
As much as she didn’t want to see Ron right now, especially after her embarrassing outburst after seeing him with Pansy, she needed to, for Ginny’s sake. Hermione was willing to bet that even if he wasn’t the actual axe-murderer, Draco was somehow involved. Ron’s strategizing genius would discover how he was involved. Being Ginny’s overprotective brother, he would also find a way to kick Draco out of Ginny’s house.
“You take over the Philby case, Ernie,” Hermione said. “I need to go consult an expert.”
“But Hermione, we are the experts!” Ernie called, perplexed.
---
Draco was sitting in front of the open cupboard, staring at his Pensieve. It was so tempting to just reach in and regain all his memories, but he didn’t know what that would do to him and his relationship with the world.
He had questions about himself, certainly. Like why his parents had been in a situation that required him to save them by becoming a Death Eater. He wondered what being a Death Eater meant to his younger self, though it was technically his alternate self, because he had started his life over at the age of thirteen.
Technically, he was only twenty years of age, though his actual age was twenty-five. Living in the friendly but uneventful Swiss village didn’t really give him an opportunity to mature either. He had grown up a bit, and had changed under Aunt Andromeda’s decidedly non-Malfoy ways, but he was still childish. But he liked it. Coming back to England, he saw how everyone, Potter especially, looked much older than they were. They were weighed down by the invisible burden the war had left behind, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to deal with it.
Finally resolving to look at it when he was a bit more settled into life on his own – though Ginny still looked after him a bit –, Draco shut the cupboard and decided to order some owl-delivery pizza.
Several minutes later, a large owl tapped on the window, and Draco settled down into the couch with the Tele-wiz set to a Kenmare Kestrels vs. Ballycastle Bats match. He opened the box of delicious-smelling green tomato and newt sausage pizza, and lifted the first delectable slice. He opened his mouth to take a bite of the cheesy, tomato-y, newt-y goodness, when he was rudely interrupted by a faint pop, accompanied by a pair of freckled hands that snatched away the precious pizza slice.
“Oh, I was famished,” said Ginny, taking a humongous bite. “Mmm! Newt sausage, my favorite topping. How’d you know?”
“It is unbecoming for a lady to speak with her mouth full,” Draco snapped irritably, grabbing a new slice for himself. “Not that you’re much of a lady.”
“Hmm. Wha – tha wa thoopy!” Ginny exclaimed, gesturing wildly at the Tele-wiz.
“What?”
Ginny swallowed her mouthful of pizza. “That was stupid! Fannahan should have directed the Bludger at Silver, not Pfeifer!”
Draco terribly wanted to ask her what went so wrong with her date that she came back in fifteen minutes, and didn’t even eat. But Ginny, who was now yelling profanities at the Tele-Wiz, didn’t seem to be in the mood. For some strange reason that he couldn’t quite understand, Draco decided to let her be. He was glad that the date didn’t work out, and justified his happiness by telling himself that he didn’t like Wood, and if Ginny dated him, she would be bringing him around a lot, and Merlin knew that Draco didn’t want to be stuck in a house with two intolerable lovebirds.
Ginny, while cursing the Quidditch players to Hell and back, felt relieved that Draco wasn’t asking her questions. She wasn’t sure why he was leaving her alone, which was a definitely un-Malfoylike thing to do, but she was grateful because, if he asked her to explain, she thought she might cry. She was so disappointed, and felt so stupid for thinking that Oliver, who was practically a brother, would feel anything for her. So, she pretended that all the Quidditch players on the Tele-wiz were Oliver, swore at them like a sailor, ate half of Draco’s pizza, laughed when Pfeifer fell off his broom, drank some Butterbeer, threw a piece of tomato at Draco, laughed some more, and for the first time since Draco came around, felt comfortable with his presence.
---
To be continued…
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(*) The little French conversation between Pansy and the little girl was translated through the use of an online translator, and may have errors. I’m sorry to any French speakers who might be annoyed by this, and if there is a mistake, please point it out!
To the rest of the non-French speaking folk, the conversation is simply, “You’re not my Mum!” and “Obviously, stupid child. Go away!”
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