2.

Action is eloquence
- Coriolanus III.ii



Ginny had acquired the house on Waterside only two years earlier, though she had lived in it for three. Deeply in love and deeply deluded, she and Harry had decided to move in together. They had chosen the house itself almost on a whim, having found that a distant relative of Ginny's who lived there had died, leaving the property to a cousin who in turn agreed to sell at a cut down price. Harry bought it. A year later and he'd left; sharing a house with someone who you had put on a pedestal did not turn out to be a good idea.

'Where are we?' asked Malfoy, after they Apparated onto the parkland on the other side of the road from the house. He looked at the river, then at the large building adjacent to the clearing they'd arrived on. 'That's the theatre, I've been here before.' Ginny felt queasy and light-headed from the journey so barely acknowledged him until he asked her a direct question: 'Why on earth do you live in Stratford-upon-Avon?'

'Why not?' She shrugged. 'The journey's the same as if I lived anywhere else. Come on.'

She set off across the grass, through a gap in the bushes and across the road to her house. Down the street a gaggle of school children were being herded by their teachers. Ginny reminded herself that she needed to stop Apparating to this particular patch of grass; though sheltered, it was still risky. Still, she felt almost as giddy as the school children, heading through her garden gate in the middle of the afternoon. It was almost always pitch black both when she left in the morning and also when she arrived back in the evening, especially at this time of year.

The house was only a tiny terrace with one bedroom; it was much more suited to one occupant than two, which probably contributed to the difficulties she and Harry had had in living together. The location was what made the property spectacular. From her bedroom Ginny enjoyed a view of the river Avon and on her doorstep was one of the busiest theatres in the country; in the months after Harry left, Ginny became addicted to the place. She saw The Duchess of Malfi three times in a week, just to wallow in the macabre of the thing. Next, she saw Richard III, which she enjoyed immensely, and Twelfth Night, which she found a ridiculous, though secretly she knew she couldn't enjoy it because she was still bitter and broken-hearted. The night she first saw Julius Caesar was the night she knew she was over Harry.

Another perk of Ginny's home was that it was only a few doors down from a pub. When Harry had been around, they'd gone there for dinner occasionally, or a drink on weekends, but after he left was when she truly began to appreciate The Dirty Duck. She'd eat there when she had forgotten to buy food, she'd pop in for a pint on a sunny Sunday afternoon and soon enough she was a regular. She found it easy enough to talk with Muggles by letting them know from the outset that she was quite eccentric; it came up in most initial conversations that she did not have a television. However, in this town, eccentrics were something they were used to.

The Dirty Duck had been central to most socialising Ginny had done in the months after her split with Harry; it had been here that she had met Richard. He was an actor, which wasn't all that unusual – she had begun to make friends with all sorts of people, but mainly actors, who appeared in the pub regularly for a few weeks or months at a time then left for pastures (and productions) new. No, what was different about Richard was that he was the first person she'd met in Stratford-upon-Avon who hadn't been a Muggle. As far as she was aware in any case. She remembered vividly the first time she saw him; she'd been sat on the wall outside the pub, talking to Luna, who had come to stay for the weekend. He'd come up the steps at the tail of a group of high-spirited actors, having finished rehearsals early to enjoy the sunshine. He'd been tall, handsome and very vaguely familiar. He smiled at her and her heart skipped a beat.

Later, he'd pulled up a chair and pronounced that he knew her – she must be Ginny Weasley. He had been friends with Charlie at school and he'd been to the Burrow on a number of occasions but had lost touch with Charlie since he'd gone to Romania. Ginny still didn't recall him, which wasn't too surprising considering how young she must have been; he tried to refresh her memory but to no avail. After a short chat, and a mutual sigh of relief that there were definitely other wizards in town, Richard left the girls to it. She met him again a week later, after the opening night of his play. She was sat at the bar, drinking a glass of wine after a stressful day at the Ministry when he appeared next to her, able to listen, able to distract her.

Afterwards, he walked her to her door. She stood half inside and half out, at a crossroads. Having always believed that it was better to regret doing something than not doing it, she kissed him. After that night, they embarked on a summer fling; it was like something from a dream, just lazy summer days and crazy drunken nights. When the play finished Richard left, as he'd always said he would, gone to America to try out for movies. Ginny missed him at first, but she never cried. She never believed their relationship to be anything more than what it had been; she was proud of herself for keeping her head screwed on.

She thought of Richard each time she caught sight of the pot of daisies on the doorstep, but that was all. Ginny eyed it briefly as she unlocked the door, it looked even more insignificant on this February afternoon, being as it was just a pot of earth. She sighed, pushed open the door and the barking started, as it always did. Malfoy looked apprehensive as he followed Ginny into the hall. She raised an eyebrow at him.

'Not a dog lover?' she asked.

'I'm not a lover of anything that makes noises like that if I can't see it,' he replied. 'Where do you want the box?'

'Just put it on the stairs for now. And it's only Boris, he's harmless.'

She crossed the hall to the kitchen door, opening it to let the dog out, he ran straight by her to Malfoy, jumping up to greet him.

'Boris?' he called over the incessant barking. 'Boris the Beagle?' His tone was dismissive but she noticed he was affectionate with the dog despite himself.

'Don't be mean,' she said, 'he's my baby.'

'Oh, you're one of those girls.' He was looking her up and down now, as though seeing her anew.

She resisted the urge to ask him what he meant because she already knew; she didn't need to listen to him tell her about how lonely and broody she was when that wasn't actually the case. Socially, it seemed to be a dangerous thing for a single woman to get a pet and bond with it; the world assumed it meant that something was missing, that it was a statement of aloneness. Never mind that whole families acquired and fell for animals all the time. So instead of hearing Malfoy enjoy psychoanalysing her – incorrectly psychoanalysing her – she put on the kettle.

'Brew?'

'Please. White, one sugar.'

'Can you grab some parchment?' she asked, taking two mugs from the cupboard. Malfoy rifled through the box, then sat at the table, green quill in hand, looking a little uncomfortable. It was odd having him in her personal space, though Boris seemed to have got over the excitement; he was curled up in his bed, watching them as though they were interrupting nap time.

'We need to write down everything we know as of right now.' Ginny dropped teabags into the mugs, then added half a sugar to Malfoy's. 'Then, I want to think about the logical questions these facts pose.'

'The first one being, “Who stole it?” I suppose,' said Malfoy sarcastically.

'Make fun of my methods if you want,' she said with a shrug, 'but you'll be surprised what doing this turns up.' She poured hot water onto the tea, then stood, leaning against the cupboards, looking at Malfoy expectantly. 'Okay, I'll pick something first. We know that an athame was stolen, we know it was kept in a supposedly secure vault at Gringotts, we know that the goblins believe it to be of historical value.' She paused, both to think and for effect. 'Why? What makes it valuable?'

'It belonged to an ancient wizard of considerable power,' said Malfoy, 'a dark wizard who did things that no one had ever done before. That makes anything to do with him historically important.'

'Agreed.' said Ginny. She didn't like the slight tinge of admiration in Malfoy's voice. 'But what's special about this piece?' She went to the fridge and took out the milk. Malfoy looked at her blankly. 'Why take the knife and nothing else?'

'It can't be for money,' he said. Ginny nodded, pouring milk into their mugs and vanishing the teabags. 'There were things in that vault worth much more. Honestly, there were things in there that I would think were more dangerous.'

'Like what?' She put their mugs on the table, then pulled out a chair, sitting at ninety degrees to him.

'The staff, which – as I'm sure you know, Auror Weasley – is one of the items most people associate with Herpo the Foul.' He looked thoughtful. Ginny took up the discarded quill and made some notes on the things she knew about the case so far. When she looked up at Malfoy, his brow had furrowed all the more.

'What?' she asked.

'I've been all over the place,' he said, 'all over Europe – I've never seen an athame used for Dark magic before.'

'We used them in potions all the time at school,' said Ginny, 'they're an everyday item, which means that they're bound to be used in all sorts of magic.'

'Well, yes,' Malfoy conceded, he seemed to be having difficulty arranging his thoughts and getting his point across. 'What I mean is, I've worked hundreds of digs, cases, investigations, break-ins, whatever you want to call them, and I've seen athames, really valuable ones. But they were never Dark.'

'Have you seen this one, Malfoy?' asked Ginny. 'Do you want me to start on the snake thing again?'

'All I'm saying is that perhaps being completely logical isn't the way to go with this – because a Dark athame is the opposite of logical. I've no idea what its purpose might be, do you?'

Ginny shook her head. 'I dread to think.'

'I would think that if there was an immediate and logical answer, then one of us would know it.'

Ginny thought about this as she sipped her tea. She mulled over Malfoy's argument, which to her surprise made sense. Part of it stuck out to her. 'So, break-ins?' she asked with a grin. 'Let's talk about that.'

He looked very pleased with himself all of a sudden, his trademark smirk playing about his features. 'It's nothing, really,' he said, in such a tone that implied that it was not nothing at all. 'I'm sure you've heard all sorts of exciting stories from your brother.'

'Well, yeah,' said Ginny. 'But just because I've heard one tale of adventure, doesn't mean that I can't hear another.'

'I don't want to risk my job,' he said. 'Or my freedom – I don't know that telling an Auror about some of my exploits is such a good idea.'

'When this is all over, I'm going to get you very drunk and make you tell me all of your secrets.'

He was grinning at her now, causing the butterflies in her stomach to go into overdrive. 'We both know what you're like when you're pissed, Weasley. I think it's much more likely that your secrets will be the ones spilled.'

'I have no secrets,' said Ginny. Malfoy gave her a sceptical look. 'Okay, but they're only small.'

He sipped at his tea. 'You've only put half a sugar in this.'

'You don't need sugar. Really, I'm doing you a favour.' She had now finished off her own drink, so put it in the sink to clean later. 'You know, I think the “why” might be more important than the “who” in this case. If we can decipher why the athame was stolen, I bet we'll be well on the way to figuring out who took it.'

'I have a horrible feeling that we're working against a clock here,' said Malfoy. 'And all we've done so far is sit around drinking.'

'You'd be surprised how much of being an Auror is actually just sitting around drinking. And eating biscuits. Do you want a biscuit?'

'No thanks.'

'Are you sure?' Ginny reached for the tin. Malfoy shook his head. 'Well I'm having a custard cream.' She ate the biscuit, thinking through her next moves. 'We need more insight into the object. I'm going to get some research done,' she said. 'Proper research, I mean. And – are there any other curse-breakers about, ones that might have seen something like this in the past?'

'Not really. I think I might send an owl to a contact I have in Greece, though.'

'Good idea. Herpo-related stuff is bound to come up there a lot. I'll have a word with Bill.'

Silence fell between them. Ginny found that she missed the office; there was scores of Aurors on hand there, ready to give some direction when she was a little lost. The smallest comment from a colleague often helped to crack a case.

'There's something else I like to do to get some grounding on a case, as well,' said Ginny. Malfoy looked at her expectantly. 'I'll explain on the way.'

*


Ginny found what she was looking for in the usual place – Hogsmeade. After only twenty minutes of waiting in an alley outside the Hog's Head, she had Mundungus Fletcher thrown against the damp brick wall, Malfoy's wand to his throat. Ginny stood before him, arms crossed triumphantly, her wand pinning up her hair.

'I think you know the routine by now,' she said.

Mundungus was eyeing Malfoy, clearly taken aback by the pair who had accosted him. He made to step away, but when Ginny lifted a hand up towards her wand he stilled.

'I don't know anything,' he said. Malfoy let out a snort of derision. 'I don't, I'd tell you, I would. Ginny, you know I would.'

'What I know, Fletcher, is that every time I come to see you we do this little dance and eventually you tell me what I want to know.' She took a step towards him. 'That's when I come to you alone. Now I'm here with Malfoy. You know what that means, don't you? A Weasley and a Malfoy coming for you together.'

Mundungus looked between them. 'Something big,' he said. 'But you know I ain't involved in anything like that. Not that important, see.'

'You're right,' Ginny agreed. 'But that doesn't mean you've gone deaf. If something bad happens and I find out you could have helped me in any way at all, I'll take you down, Fletcher. I will bring out every last thing that I have on you – and I've got more than you know.'

'Between you and me,' said Malfoy in a low voice, 'I don't think she's bluffing.'

Silence. Ginny remained looking at Mundungus head on. She knew he'd break any second; he was so pathetically weak. Malfoy dug his wand a little further into Mundungus's throat.

'Well?' asked Ginny. When there was no response, she nodded toward Malfoy.

'Wait,' said Mundungus. 'Wait. I've heard something.'

'I'm listening.'

'Wiltshire. Something's happening there; the Eyes of March.'

Ginny was sceptical. 'The Eyes of March?'

'I think the cretin means Ides,' said Malfoy.

'Maybe that was it.' Mundungus shrugged. 'I heard a bloke in The Leaky Cauldron a few days ago, said he was taking something valuable to Amesbury, but he didn't know what it was for, just that it must be more of a Sphinx than a Salamander if it was someone like him – someone like us – transporting it.'

'A name,' said Ginny.

'Didn't get one.' He held up his hands. 'I swear. People have been talking about it but no one used any names – not fake ones or nothing.'

'What do you know about a break-in at Gringotts?' asked Draco. Ginny shot him a look meant to convey shut up, but it was too late.

'Nowt,' said Mundungus, his grizzly face breaking out into a smile. 'Til now, that is.' He moved away from Malfoy, aware that he'd served his purpose and that Ginny had lost her power. 'Thanks for the chat.' He took his pipe out of his jacket pocket, lit it, then began to retreat back into the pub; no doubt their encounter would be common knowledge in criminal circles within hours.

Ginny sighed. 'Nice one, Malfoy. Word's going to be out now.'

'From him?' he pointed in the direction of the pub. 'Are you joking? Who's going to listen to that twat?'

'No one of importance, I suppose,' said Ginny, 'except maybe the people behind this.'

'Whoever took that knife is going to know someone's after them, Weasley.' The way he was looking at her made her feel like a twelve year old. She could feel more frustration and anger building within her. 'You don't get clever enough to break into Gringotts without a bit of common sense to go with it.'

'Clearly the people without the common sense are your bloody lot, since anyone and their mum can steal priceless objects from Gringotts these days.' She began storming off towards the High Street, Malfoy hot on her heels

'Gringotts security is nothing to do with me,' he said, 'so that's hardly an insult.'

'Why are you raising your voice then?'

'I'm not.' Ginny stopped, turned to face him and looked him square in the eyes. He shrank back a little, then gave her a challenging look. 'What?'

'You messed up, Malfoy,' she said, her voice not as steady as she'd like. 'We're doing this as equals, sure, but you need to let me do the parts I'm trained to do.'

'Oh, you mean sit around drinking tea all afternoon?'

'I mean interrogating criminals.'

'I just asked him what we wanted to know,' said Malfoy with a shrug. It was clear he knew his mistake but was too stubborn to admit it, especially now they had come this far in the argument.

'And I would have got to that. I could have got the information in a way that didn't let on what it is we're looking for.' She reached up and pulled the wand from her hair. 'I think we should call it a day.'

Malfoy nodded. 'I'm going to the pub.' He began walking up the street away from her, then paused, turning back. 'Next time, Weasley, I'm not going to act like your inferior in front of a worm like Fletcher. Consider yourself lucky that my speaking out of turn was all he got.'

He walked off at speed, not allowing Ginny to argue the point any further. She stood alone in the middle of the street and watched him head into the Three Broomsticks, passing over the exact spot where she had stood and drunkenly kissed him all those years ago. How things changed, she thought, then headed home.
To Be Continued.
Butterfly_Kate is the author of 5 other stories.
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