Chapter 20
A Letter
“And in second place, with four hundred and sixteen points, Miss Ginevra Weasley….”
Ginny barely heard the polite applause that crackled around her, and didn’t flinch when Genevieve’s name was called a moment later, in first place, only two points ahead.
She was numb.
Draco had actually gone to France. Actually, she ought to be getting used to the idea by now- it had been nearly a month. Still, she was unable to think of anything else.
There had been no word at all from Draco for a full week, even though he promised to write. Then, owls began to arrive daily. Always, they were detailed and tender and attentive. Sometimes, they veered toward “sweet” and even “romantic”, but there was still a sense of unrelenting control to the words- a sense of repressed emotion and unspoken words that had fostered the sense that Ginny’s “relationship” with Draco- or whatever other term best described the reason for the letters- was an illusion that she couldn’t trust. He never spoke of the past, or the future. He simply sent her standard love letters that might do just as easily for any other girl he had known. There was something odd about them that she couldn’t quite place.
He had sent her one such owl that very morning. “Ginny,” it began in a conversational tone, “I hope things are still going well. I know that things are winding to a close, and how important this is to you…”
Three days ago, she had found out why he seemed so distant.
“Narcissa, ma chere, you are come-eeng to France after zee ball, no? You must help us peek out Genevieve’s trousseau…”
Odile had not lodged many appearances at the Manor since the Fred and George Weasley’s chocolate prank, but they were graced with her presence that rainy afternoon. The statement had struck Ginny immediately as odd.
“Genevieve’s getting married?” She said, skeptically. With Draco beyond her clutches (the one pleasant side-effect of his exile to France) Ginny hadn’t noticed much forward progress on the French girl’s marriage front. The Slytherin boys who populated the Deb pall pre-parties were, apparently, smarter and more discriminating that the littlest Weasley had given them credit for. Still, Ginny was unnerved by the nervous wavering of Narcissa Malfoy’s expression.
“Possibly,” She responded tightly, shooting her foreign guests a quelling glance that was wholly ignored.
“Surely you see zat eet ees nearly certain?” Odile said, puffing out her chest like a robin. “Eef he has not taken a wife by zee night of hees birthday zeen he must marry Genevieve or break zee contract….and I do not theenk zat Monsieur Malfoy weel take zees risk.” Her eyes glittered darkly. “My husband ees very skeeled at curses- as I am sure zat you can guess.”
Ginny felt as if she had taken a bludger to the gut. She knew that the Malfoys and the Fougeres were trying to throw their children together. She knew that the birthday party had been a deadline of sorts- but she had taken heart from Narcissa’s apparent cooling toward the French women. She had never guessed that there were magical inducements which might bind him to make a choice.
Feeling dangerously unsteady, Ginny had claimed business at the Burrow and hurried home. Safely within her room, she had let her tears break free. It wasn’t fair! She had heard that some of the more prominent and pureblooded families still used curses and pacts to bind their business arrangements, but it seemed impossibly cruel that a simple bargain over cauldron factories could wind up dashing all her dreams. She had cried herself to sleep, wondering what she could do- go to France after him? Was that what Draco wanted? After all, he was the one who had decided to go away.
Four days later, sitting through her final pre-ball luncheon, Ginny’s feelings were still unresolved. The excitement about her debut- a tingling anticipation that had been building all summer- suddenly felt hollow and worthless. Since his departure, the war between Ginny and Genevieve had somewhat cooled. They were still rivals, but had concentrated their efforts internally, rather than on undermining each other. Both of them had enjoyed success. With the competition winding down, and the Wizarding Social Season ready to start- with the Debutante Ball to mark its beginning- they were neck and neck in the race for the crown- their closest rival a distant third.
Ginny felt that she ought to be pleased. She had told Draco that she wanted the Debutante ball- and the crown- for herself…but was that really true? Did it matter if she succeeded, if she didn’t have Draco to bask in the glow of her triumph?
“Winning Debutante of the Year is something of a tradition among Malfoy brides…” The words, spoken weeks earlier, rang in Ginny’s ears. Now that it had come to it, now that the final stroke was at hand, she felt utterly destined to fail.
Perhaps she wouldn’t even go to the ball. Ginny had entertained this thought several times over the weekend, but was unable to reach a decision. She didn’t want to be humiliated. She didn’t think that she could bear to be present when Draco and Genevieve’s engagement was announced (and she had no doubt that the Fougeres, regardless of the Malfoy’s preference, would be making an announcement the second the clock struck twelve), but so many people had invested so much effort in bringing her to this night: Her father in surrendering his pride, Narcissa in lending her aide, Fred and George in defending her honor, the love her mother had demonstrated by sewing her dress. Even Oliver Wood, an old friend of her brothers from school, had given up a night of practice for the Quidditch Pre-Season All-Stars game to be her escort for the night. She loved Draco, but she loved them all too- and they would be what she had left when this dream was finally dashed.
Something about his letters- something about Draco’s persistent refusal to surrender their connection entirely, even in the face of so much doubt, gave her the final thread of hope that she needed to hang on and so she remained in doubt.
“You’re looking glum today!” Fred and George were standing in the Weasley kitchen when Ginny returned home, standing around a bubbling pot which looked as if it did NOT contain lunch. The man who had spoken, George, tousled his sister’s hair, “Are you getting worked up for your big day.”
“I’m not sure if I’m going.” Ginny admitted aloud for the first time.
“Not sure if you’re going?” Fred gasped, “What, and miss all the fun?”
Fred and George’s experience at the Debutante Luncheon had gained them notoriety among the Deb Ball set. Their sister was bemused at how far being infamous went in gaining rich and influential friends- they had been invited to almost every function since, and had secured a pair of willowy blondes to escort for the night.
“I hope you aren’t speaking of fun you’re intending to create.” Ginny scolded, not really caring one way or the other, but feeling obligated to complain. Actually, it might be worth going after all if, flush with triumph, Genevieve was at least transformed into a squawking canary, or covered with unseemly spots.
Fred and George didn’t answer, but merely grinned- heightening their sister’s expectations. Deciding not to make herself an accessory to crime, she left the kitchen, but was stopped when a voice called out, “Oh, there’s an owl that came for you too.”
“Yeah.” Fred stepped forward, holding out a parcel. “The owl that brought it was one of those fancy birds from France.”
Ginny’s first inclination was to merely shrug. However, when she saw what they were holding, she felt a thrill run along her spine. The envelope that her brother was holding out was much thicker than those that Draco usually sent. His name was not on the outside of the envelope- it never was- but that didn’t dim her enthusiasm as she rushed to her room and began ripping the paper away.
Inside there was a flat velvet box and a small parchment scroll. She opened the paper first:
Ginny, I wanted you to have this for your big night. I thought it was time that I gave you something better for your neck. I can’t wait to see it on you.
She ran her fingers over the dried ink, her heart hammering in her chest.
The necklace sitting inside was the most exquisite thing she had ever seen. Obviously antique, it was a glittering collar of diamonds, woven in an almost floral pattern. It was a given that the stones were real. Heavy and brilliant, she was achingly conscious that the trinket in her hands was easily worth twice what she could get for their entire Weasley house. What did Draco mean by sending such a gift.
I can’t wait to see it on you …
She thrilled as she read the words again. Was it possible? Was Draco coming home? Maybe hope wasn’t dead after all!
Leave a Review