♥ "Of Marriage and Learning" for dgficexchange ♥
Title: Of Marriage and Learning
Author: silveredaccents
Rating: hard Pg13/soft R
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Major character death. I did take a bit of liberty with the immediacy after the war, as well as the progress of Dragon Pox. Non-epilogue compliant (obviously), though canon through final chapter.
Author's Notes: This really did take on a life of its own, and yet, I can't apologize for leaving it where I did. Still, I hope I gave you what you wanted! Many thanks to my betas.
Summary: Draco and Ginny are forced into a marriage without understanding why. The first six months of the marriage are a bit rocky as they come to grips with their new life together.
Of Marriage and Learning
The day had been miserably hot, leading to an afternoon thunderstorm and Lucius Malfoy's untimely and highly unlikely death by lightning strike. It had been that incident that pushed Narcissa into action. It had been because of his death that they were here.
Not being a girl, Draco had never put much thought into this day, though he was certain that had he done so, he would not have imagined it being anything like reality turned out to be. That his parents would have a large say in who he married, he accepted as the way of things. That his mother would arrange it completely and against every consideration for him had been a new revelation.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, he smoothed his robes out. It wasn't that the witch was all that deserving of his attentiveness. It was simply that he was Draco Malfoy and he would not appear anything less than perfect no matter the circumstances.
He sighed dramatically, then caught his mother's eyes reflected in the glass.
"I've nothing to say to you, Mother."
She flinched; a move, he was certain, she would not have even hinted at in public.
For a long moment, they stared at each other saying nothing. He went back to fidgeting with his robes.
"Draco, you'll understand later." The decision to take away her son's free will in this had been difficult for her, and while he was angry, she couldn't bring herself to explain fully. Instead, she stood there, watching him ready himself for what should have been a happy occasion.
Hard met regret when they looked at each other again. "I'll do my duty, Mother, but no further." She nodded weakly and turned, leaving him alone again.
Draco took another look at himself, then muttered something unintelligible, even to himself.
As Draco made his way to stand before the registrar, his soon to be wife was standing in her own makeshift dressing room. It was only down the hall, and yet through a united frustration, the unhappy couple was far closer than either imagined. Still, a common hatred was hardly the beginning of a healthy relationship.
It was precisely that thought that went through the mind of the redhead trying to keep from crying again. Anger was far better than wishing she'd been wearing this dress for a different groom. A groom who loved her.
Blinking furiously, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she vaguely remembered receiving from Narcissa earlier that day. She threw the offending object away, practically screaming at it when it floated harmlessly.
"Ginny?" the ethereal yet timid voice called from the doorway.
She spun around, lace and tulle swishing and pooling around her slipper clad feet. Brown eyes turned on the stooped wizard in the doorway.
"Ginny, it's time."
Ginny had felt that Mr Lovegood had been sent from Merlin himself when her parents had come down with Dragon Pox. As her godfather, he'd been granted full legal guardianship of her for as long as they remained in quarantine. Now, though, she wanted to hate him, wanted to scream and beat her fists on his chest. What she did instead, was clench her hands around the lace.
"Don't make me do this." The pleading weak voice sounded nothing like her. There was no confidence, no fire, just a little lost girl, not a girl nearly on the cusp of her coming of age.
Mr Lovegood's smile was soft and completely without regret, lovingly correcting an errant child.
"Ginny, dear, I know it's an old tradition, but it does make sense for you. Now, let's not keep the young man waiting." He offered his arm to her, denying her further argument.
She took his arm reluctantly and walked with him down the hall very much watching the last minutes of her life fade away. The witch walking down the short aisle looked little like the feisty only sister in a houseful of boys. She tried not to shake, her Gryffindor courage holding her tight to this course.
It was that courage and sense of nobility that had given her the strength to continue trying to live her life the past couple months. She simply hoped it would be enough to hold her through to some form of a life. Or at least it might be strong enough to help her find a way out before it was too late.
The war had ended only two weeks before the first witch fell sick. While the epidemic started slowly enough, the new strain of Dragon Pox seemed unstoppable. Starting within the Ministry, it seemed indiscriminate, taking muggle-borns, pure-bloods, and half-bloods alike. Within a month, St Mungo's had exhausted its resources, leaving many at the mercy of private medi-witches.
Percy had been in the first wave, managing a room in the contagious ward. Arthur and Molly ended up quarantined in the Burrow. The perverse glee she would have in spending Malfoy funds to give her parents the best medical treatment was Ginny's only comfort as she took one last look at Mr Lovegood before the ceremony began, at least until she could find out how to get the bloody vows annulled.
The ceremony itself was a private affair. Narcissa hadn't wanted to spare the time for a formal affair, and Ginny hadn't wanted anyone she knew or cared about to witness her humiliation. Still for all its hurry and hushed tones, the ceremony itself was still dignified.
Standing next to Xenophilius Lovegood was odd enough for Narcissa. Watching her only child exchanging vows with a Weasley only made the experience that much more surreal. As she watched with schooled distance, Narcissa tried to retrain her thoughts. Draco would not be disowned; the girl would now be her daughter. Given the circumstances of their betrothal and marriage though, she thought even her purist aunt would have agreed on the match.
When the two pulled away after the final kiss, her heart sank. Hatred burned in one set of eyes; fury in the other. Both sets were trained on her.
"May I present Mr and Mrs Draco Malfoy," intoned the registrar.
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The room hadn't precisely been decorated for a wedding night. There were no flower petals strewn across the bed. No champagne sat chilling in a bucket with two flute conveniently nearby. No, this was simply a bedroom prepared for a new guest. Fresh bed linens of fine white silk were pulled back half-way in invitation. There was a dresser, a chest of drawers and two wardrobes, all of matching mahogany. A white fur rug covered parts of the hardwood floor. The fireplace stood empty. In other circumstances, it might have been warm and comforting.
Ginny entered the room first, pulling the veil off her head and dislodging the intricate up-do that had been spelled into her hair. The many layers of tulle swayed under the still pristine wedding gown mocking her with its perfect crystalline sheen. Casting a glare at the door, she contemplated pushing it shut, locking it. Instead, she threw herself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if it had been spelled out of solid marble.
The ceremony had been quick, efficient even. Ginny tried to replay it in her mind, only to groan in frustration at how few proper memories the brief exchange offered. It had been only held the barest of resemblance to what a wedding should have been. Neither of them had smiled at all. She idly wondered if it had even happened, though the ring on her finger assured her it had.
She held her hand up, looking at the jewelry that plagued her hand. The ring was exceptionally beautiful, and she would have been honored beyond compare had Harry given it to her. She would have been happy had it been given to her by Seamus or Dean or any of her previous boyfriends. The musing brought up another depressing thought. The whirlwind that had been their courtship, or mockery thereof, hadn't allowed for her to tell anyone. Rather, it had allowed her the excuse of not telling anyone in hopes she'd never have to.
Looking back, maybe she should have told someone. Maybe they could have helped her. As it was now, it would look like she had been a willing participant. She did not want to explain her current marital status to anyone. Most especially Harry.
"Harry," she breathed out in a broken plea.
It was that moment that Draco had chosen to enter the room. Ginny had left the dinner table earlier, leaving him to his mother's mercy. The conversation had been particularly one-sided. Narcissa had lectured him on his duties as a husband. He'd sat there glaring at his half-finished wine glass. So many things he was supposed to do for the new Mrs Malfoy. His mother had an endless supply of duties he was to perform to make this woman he hated comfortable in his life. Quite frequently during her tirade, he was biting his tongue or cheek. By the end, he could swear he tasted copper.
The relatively short walk to the chambers he shared with the hellcat was begun with resignation, but quickly turned to irritation. The door was open part way, hiding the view of the bed. Not for the first time even that evening, he cursed his mother's antiquated views. It wasn't that Draco had considered doing anything differently, until she'd announced to him the identity of his intended. The normally close relationship began to flounder quickly, leading both of them to wonder if it it was salvageable.
Draco's face set as he heard the word worshiped on his wife's lips. She was a Malfoy and still Potter was the name on her lips? His silver eyes hardened as his mind ran through two potential courses of action. The first, he admitted quickly, was in truth a non-option. Never mind that the idea of forcing himself on anyone was nauseating; even if he had gotten past his own disgust, his mother would do far worse to him than he'd ever seen his Aunt Bellatrix do. The second option, the one favoured by him since he'd started Hogwarts, came forward and settled itself as a shell around his soul. He would cut her off. If she didn't matter, which she clearly never should have in the first place, then her idiotic desire for Potter would never hurt him either.
"I hadn't realized Potter had truly reached sainthood. Do you carry an idol of him around as well?" he drawled, looking around the room in appraisal, which he clearly found lacking. His customary sneer was devoid of actual fire though as his eyes settled on their marriage bed.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand!"
Draco leaned into the door frame, folding his arms across his chest. "Enlighten me."
She seemed wholly unready for the question. She recovered with respectable speed, however. "How would you know what it's like to know for years who you're going to marry only to have it pulled away from you at the last minute by your sworn enemy!"
He raised an eyebrow as she screamed at him, then nodded quietly. Unfolding himself, he closed the door and approached the bed. Ginny tensed, finally scurrying off the bed as he pulled the sheets down.
"I'm not having sex with you!"
"Did I ask?"
She glared at him as he nodded to himself. "What are you doing then? Can't you just sleep in your old room?"
He turned to her, his very casual air causing her skittishness to appear more extreme. "I'm not here to sleep. I wouldn't trust you not to strangle me." The barb was delivered calmly. He really had no fear she'd kill him. Well, almost no fear.
"Then what are you doing here, because we'd already established no sex."
Draco sighed and turned to her. "No, there will be no sex, but it needs to appear that there was, so if you would kindly lower your voice, I'll explain." His voice was very much lacking in anything resembling compassion.
Ginny's jaws shut with an audible snap. She remained silent long enough for him to decide she wasn't going to say anything.
"Right." A deep breath later, he was looking at the wall, the bed, anywhere other than her. "The house-elves are ordered to report to my mother in regards to the consummation of our marriage."
"They what?" she screeched.
Ginny's breath was coming in short rapid bursts. She clutched her hands to her chest in a failing attempt to calm her pounding heart. He'd just said they weren't going to have sex and now he was talking about the house-elves reporting to his mother of all people?
He rolled his eyes at her, obviously not as upset as she was. His calm only irritated her more.
Draco drew his wand, "I need your arm." She pulled further into the corner. "Oh for Merlin's sake, Weasley."
"Malfoy," she whispered.
"What?"
"It's Malfoy now." Her displeasure at the circumstance was easily identifiable.
He rolled his eyes again. She was intent on making this harder for him, he was certain.
"The house-elves are going to report to Mum whether or not your blood is on these sheets. We don't need much, just a few drops."
Draco set his jaw watching her eyes flicker briefly before she thrust out her arm, practically stomping toward him and the bed. He took her wrist and performed a small slicing spell on her arm, holding it steady over the bed as she hissed in his ear, digging manicured fingernails into his shoulder.
The bleeding only took a moment. He whispered the healing spell on her arm and shoved it away from him. Pocketing his wand, he moved to the nightstand to retrieve a book. He ignored her stare as he settled himself into an armchair, flipping open the book.
The whole scene had played out within a matter of moments, though Ginny continued to stare at him slack-jawed. When he didn't acknowledge her, she made several strangled sounds trying to get her vocal chords to work.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Without looking up, he drawled, "Perhaps you may not know this, but sex is intended to take considerably longer than the two minutes we've been in here." He shook his head, flipping a page, "Unless you want to let on that we are skirting responsibility," he smirked, standing up.
She finally caught on to what he was referring and shook her head violently. "No, no, that's fine. Stay," she was practically growling while flinging open her wardrobe to look for something suitable to wear.
Inside, she wanted to scream. How could he be so calm about all of this? He hated her as much as she hated him, perhaps even more since his family was the one known for kicking people out when they didn't tow the line.
She hated everything about him, this house, his mother and she didn't care who might know. Except that she was now tied, magically and legally, to all of it. She slammed the wardrobe shut not having registered any of the finery that had moments before been within arms' reach.
Hands on her hips, she panted, lips pursed against the string of obscenities she wanted to offer to the world.
"That wardrobe is over a hundred years old," he drawled from his perch on the opposite end of the room. He hadn't looked up from his reading either. She glared at him.
"If I'm only allowed to destroy things under a hundred years old, then that leaves you," she sneered, fists clenched tightly at her side.
Petite or not, she was far more skilled at Muggle style fighting than she looked, and when one was short, it was important to know how to use it. She was fast, and she got inside the power punch range which left her opponents relatively defenseless.
Allowing her mind to imagine Malfoy being pulverized by his wife who was nearly a foot shorter than he produced a dark half-smile to her lips.
"I didn't know you could make that face, Ginevra."
Ginny half-turned away from him, then saw a vase holding a bouquet of white roses, narrowing her eyes. Not giving herself time to second guess, she grabbed it and hurled it at him.
Draco had looked back down when he made the comment, barely noticing the vase hurtling at him with enough time to roll off the chair before the porcelain connected with velvet and wood. Having missed its target, the vase clattered to the floor, shattering.
Drenched and littered with flowers, he glared at her, drawing his wand finally. Ginny gasped, turning quickly while she reached for hers and pushing herself into the corner. His blotched face and steel eyes looked murderous.
Slowly, he cast the spell to dry his clothes. As he stood, he repaired the vase, levitating it to the top of the wardrobe before cleaning up the water and discarded flowers.
She knew she shouldn't have assumed he was going to hex her. She knew she should have given him a bit more benefit of doubt, but she knew how angry she'd been. As he cleaned up the mess she'd made, part of her blushed, though it was more that the blood was rushing to her face after she'd held her breath.
Draco picked up his book and pocketed his wand, looking at her with open disgust. "You really thought I would hex my own wife. Nice to know your expectations," he drawled, acid dripping from every syllable, "I'll strive not to disappoint you." He turned on his heel and left the room fully dressed less than five minutes after they'd entered their wedding night suite.
Ginny slid down the wall to the floor shaking. Had she really believed he was abusive? Of course she had! Everyone knew that Lucius had been an abusive bastard who kept his wife and son in line using fear, why wouldn't the pattern continue?
The rest of her life wasn't starting off so well. Levering herself off the floor, Ginny made her way to the loo where she promptly lost the remains of dinner.
Birthdays were supposed to be a time of joy and celebration. Being the youngest of seven, Ginny had always been called the baby, a title she both loved and hated. Having older brothers to buy one presents was wonderful. When those same brothers had chased away all boyfriends save one, they weren't so wonderful. In truth, Ginny had done her fair share of dumping. She had known, though, that any boy who wanted to date her would have had to survive interrogation from not only her father, but six over-protective brothers.
The irony that the one who did marry her had never had to face such scrutiny did not escape her notice. When she had needed them most, when she had wanted to run to them to protect her, she'd been scared to. She hadn't told any of them about the offer, the insistence, the fact that their parents' illness had left her in the care of Xenophilius Lovegood, the man who could see conspiracy in a loaf of bread and yet had accepted Narcissa Malfoy's proposal.
She should have been at the Burrow. She would be in Harry's arms, laughing and lacing her fingers with his, leaning against him while Bill and Charlie competed in who had the most elaborate tale to tell. After dinner, they'd shower her with gifts over which she'd giggle and awe. Then they'd all head out for an evening of late three on three Quidditch.
Instead, she was standing at the edge of the carefully manicured Malfoy gardens, hugging herself against imagined cold. The day itself was warm, not even overcast, as she stood, thinking about the letters she'd gotten. He'd raised an eyebrow at her, pale and demanding as he noted that only one of the birthday sentiments had been addressed to "Mrs Ginny Malfoy." The revelation that she hadn't informed her family was not well received. The memory of the his icy stare caused her to wrap her arms around herself, shivering again despite the heat. The potential reception she'd receive from her family made her pull into herself tighter. She had to tell them. They would find out soon enough.
Ginny herself had been a bit surprised that Narcissa hadn't announced it in the society pages. However, she imagined that as rushed as it was, a quiet elopement would seem more romantic as opposed to the suggestion of an unexpected pregnancy. The possibility that a romantic existed inside the marble exterior of her mother-in-law was a new one, and one with which Ginny was very uncomfortable.
Steeling herself, she turned around to head back to the manor. She would face her family. Just not today. Today, she would try to pretend nothing was wrong, that she wasn't alone.
Before she reached the house, Tibby popped in front of her. "Mistress has a guest waiting at the front door." The house elf bowed to her.
Ginny frowned. She hadn't expected anyone. She certainly hadn't told anyone about the marriage, or her subsequent housing arrangement. With a foreboding pit in her stomach, she asked, "Who is it?"
"He is Mr Ronald Weasley, Mistress, he says he is mistress's brother." The elf seemed to echo her distress, becoming more agitated.
Ginny's lungs stopped working. Ron was here. He was waiting at the house for her. It meant only one thing, that her brother knew. She refused to wonder how he found out. The only people who knew had been Narcissa and Mr Lovegood. That Luna's father had told her made sense. That Luna might had gone to Ron, however, raised concerns.
"Mistress?" the house elf's whine broke her from her haunted musings. She opened her eyes to look at the creature who was now wringing its hands in preparation for whatever punishment she saw fit to dispense. "Mistress, what should Tibby do?"
Ginny took a deep breath, groaning when it failed to calm her. "Show my brother to the east parlour. I'll be there shortly." She held up a hand, "And do not let him find Mr Malfoy or Narcissa." It had been an afterthought, but one that Ginny thought would be the only way to avoid bloodshed. As the elf bowed again and popped out of existence, Ginny lifted her robes and ran to the house.
They'd never discussed her family coming to visit. She imagined Draco had never believed such a travesty would come to pass. Certainly she'd never thought they would dare come to the viper's den to see her.
What must Ron be thinking? She'd gotten married, hadn't owled any of her brothers begging saving, and was now living with said husband. To make matters worse, he and his family had tormented hers, trying to kill various members on occasion. That Fred hadn't been killed by Lucius was sheer coincidence. She knew that as well as anyone. Now, however, she had to explain what was going on, and why she'd not written to anyone with the real story.
She reached the house slightly out of breath. Taking the walk from the garden doors to the east parlour as a chance to ease her breathing, she smoothed her robes and frowned, wishing she'd had enough time to change. The thought was tempting, but the idea of him waiting in this house longer than necessary, especially when she hadn't had the chance to explain that while the circumstances were without doubt deplorable, Draco had been a caring and generous, if distant husband. The latter being something for which she was not ready to complain.
She'd barely rounded the corner when strong arms wrapped around her.
"Ginny!"
Overwhelmed at the open affection after months of relative isolation, the loneliness having started while she was with the Lovegoods, Ginny barely kept the tears at bay. "Oh Ron. I've missed you!"
Her words seemed to call him back to himself as he pulled away, holding her at arms' length, looking into her eyes. "Ginny, why are you here?"
She laughed weakly, turning from him. It had taken him all of thirty seconds before he had to start in with the difficult questions. How had she gotten so horribly unlucky? Was he always this single-minded?
"This is my home now, Ron." The words were weak, all conviction gone. What was left was a plea for understanding from the most pig-headed of her brothers.
He sighed loudly, "No, Gin, I mean why did you marry him? He's a git!"
She turned on him, fists balled at her side. "I didn't have a choice, Ronald. How's that for a reason?"
"What do you mean you didn't have a choice?" His eyes expressed clearly that he couldn't imagine any situation where she would have been unable to get out of the wedding.
"I mean, I was an unwed, unattached pure-blood witch who had a marriage arranged for her under an obscure statute." She didn't quote him the statute, though she knew he could have asked Hermione for the information on it. Statute of Marriageable Personages from 1332. If two families should decide to marry their children to each other, the words of the parents shall be legally binding on the children so long as neither child was already engaged or married. The words had kept her up at night for weeks before the wedding. She'd begged Mr Lovegood, who had smiled at her and said it was a good match, that they had repented and so their deeds were forgiven. He'd gone so far as to tell her that to upset her parents with the matter when they had given him legal care of her while in quarantine would have only weakened them further against the disease.
She'd agreed reluctantly.
"But Mum and Dad would never have agreed to this! I bet that hag cast something on them! I wonder if it was the Imperius!" Ron was pacing, babbling and gesturing wildly. Had the situation been different, she would have found his concern, if not his reaction, endearing.
"Mum and Dad had nothing to do with it," she sighed. "Mr Lovegood was made my godfather when they were put in quarantine. I was still under age, Ron!" She had to get him to understand. "I couldn't do anything about it, and by the time all of this came about, they couldn't do anything." Her voice went quiet, "No one could. Mr Lovegood said it was a good match, and all the proper antiquated rules had been observed. What was I supposed to do? Refuse and get him in trouble with the MLE?"
Ron was staring at her, wide eyed as if she'd grown a second head. When he didn't say anything, she continued. "I never told anyone because I didn't know what to say."
"Gin, this was coerced. We can get it annulled, I know we can." She shook her head sadly. "No? What do you mean no? You haven't--Gin, did you sleep with Malfoy?!"
She wanted to hide her face in her hands, burying herself deep in her shame. Instead, she stood there resolutely, face flushing. "Not precisely, but it hardly matters. We did something that would ensure it can't be undone." In hindsight, she wondered if the embarrassment by her mother-in-law's heckling would have been worth the opportunity to end the marriage. She wasn't sure she had an answer.
"What about abuse? Ginny, he's a horrible git who's just like his father."
"He's never hurt me, Ron." The voice sounded far different from her usual, and the vehemence with which she defended her husband startled both of them.
"Do you love him?"
"No, but, it isn't as bad as it could have been. He's tried to make this bearable for me. I do the same for him."
Ron scoffed loudly, "Oh poor Malfoy, I bet he's loving lording his status over you."
"Ron! He's been a gentleman to me! If you have nothing else to say, then maybe I was right to not tell anyone."
That seemed to shut him up. He stood there, gaping at his little sister who had just told him in not so many words to sod off where it came to her husband. His eyes hardened and he nodded.
"Mum and Dad aren't going to be happy."
"Yes, well, they haven't refused the private healer I insisted upon for them."
"Private healer?" The confusion was almost humourous.
"Yes. As part of the bride price, I insisted on a private healer for Mum and Dad and the best treatments for Dragon Pox. I haven't told them why, though it's possible someone has. It's not like they're allowed to write or anything."
Ron seemed appropriately humbled and nodded, grumbling, "Look, Ginny, if you ever want out, I'm sure we can get you out of this marriage. If there were any coercion spells, I'm sure Harry can undo this. Oh, bloody hell, he's going to go mental when he hears about this."
The mention of her ex-boyfriend sent her into a panic. "Ron, please, if you tell him, tell him Draco had nothing to do with this! It was Narcissa and Mr Lovegood."
Ron looked at her. She must have sprouted that extra head again. If she thought about it, she'd have to agree. She wasn't acting like herself. But the need to ensure that the blame went where it belonged was simply a Gryffindor trait and not some other concern masquerading as her principles.
Apparently deciding better of his desire to attack her husband, her brother nodded once more, "Only because you say so, Gin, but if we find out otherwise--"
"If you find out he was involved, then I get to have at him," she interrupted.
This promise of fire and pay back seemed to placate him. He hugged her once, then headed toward the door. "Hope you're having a happy birthday, Gin. Sorry we couldn't have a proper one at the Burrow."
Ginny cursed her emotions as tears threatened to spill at the mention of a birthday at home. "Yeah, so am I." She blinked them away furiously. "Go on. I'm sure you have the rounds to make."
She was far too willing to let Ron take the brunt of explaining to all the Weasley boys that she'd been given in marriage to Draco Malfoy by an old family friend.
They stood there a few moments longer, communicating as siblings do through silent glances and expressions. Without words, he hugged her and exited, glancing back at the girl who was trying resolutely to make the best of a poor situation.
Draco turned from the window, making his way to the large oak desk. His study was a sanctuary. Filled with his personal collection of books and ledgers of the Malfoy holdings for generations, it held open access only for the head of the Malfoy name, though others could enter with his permission.
Currently, his mother sat in a black leather armchair, drumming manicured nails silently. Her use of such a common indicator of irritation had been drawn out due to his ignoring her. That he had done so while watching the front lawn for signs of Weaselby's leaving had only stoked the fire.
Narissa raised a pale eyebrow, her ice blue eyes asking him if she should expect any more interruptions.
"He left. Alone." That he was relieved was something he hadn't fully expected. Even more of a surprise was that he hadn't wanted her to leave.
"You expected her to leave with him?" The question was bored, though Draco saw through the disinterest to his mother's prying.
"The thought did cross my mind." He sat in the chair behind the desk, fiddling with papers mindlessly. That the move itself betrayed hid distraction, he didn't care. She had brought him to this, forcing himself into this role, husband trapped in indifference.
"I am considering selling the vineyard in France," he began, not looking up, instead keeping his gaze on a letter from Pansy asking when he would be available to call on her. "It isn't producing as it should, and the quality of the wine has only gone down."
"Draco Malfoy, you are not selling that vineyard and that is a letter from that Parkinson girl."
He looked up then, allowing the letter to settle back on the desk. "Mum," he began, stopping as she stood up. With her standing over his desk, he sank into the cold embrace of his leather wing-back.
"You are going to tell Miss Parkinson that you are married." She held up her hand as he opened his mouth to protest. "I have obviously made a grave error in imagining you would handle such societal affairs yourself."
Draco settled in for a lecture, careful to keep his affect straight yet apparently attentive.
"I believe it is time to announce your marriage." She turned and began walking to the door. Draco stood up, his manners returning now that he was no longer the chastised child. "Oh, and Draco," she turned, the Black predatory grin lighting her face with a dark glow. "Do begin treating that girl as a proper wife. Black blood flows through your veins, and no Black was ever as cold as you have been, not to his spouse."
He managed to keep his jaw from dropping only long enough for her to turn around and leave his study.
Once alone, he slouched back into his chair, staring with unseeing eyes at the letter from his childhood friend and one time fancy. His mother had gone mad, surely. He could not, would not, force himself as husband or any other role than host on the redhead who resided within these walls no claiming his name. He was treating her with kindness, but it was difficult to warm to someone who hated everything about you.
The memory of her whispered prayer smarted. She wanted Potter, and he had no desire to fight for her attentions. He shouldn't have to.
"She should want to be with me," he growled, sweeping his desk clean with a violent arm before standing up and moving once again to the window. Leaning his head on the glass, he stared out at the white peacock wandering the lawn oblivious to the comings and goings of the world around him. Draco wished for such oblivion for himself, though he knew it to not be his lot.
"Master?"
Draco turned, more out of surprise than respect for the creature. He hadn't recalled calling her, though he suspected with his mother's meddling, she might have been the one to do so.
"Is Master needing Tibby?" she continued, whimpering loudly.
Draco turned back to the lawn. If his mother had done this, it was obviously a hint. "Yes. Tell my mother and my wife that I shall be late for dinner."
His mother was a fool. There were no warm feelings even possible between the two of them. However, he would not allow for it to be said he neglected her on her birthday, however little he cared for her.
His gift of jewelry was accepted, though rarely worn. Draco didn't ask for her reasons. He knew them already. She did wear it when her oldest brother arrived with his wife in a transparent attempt to keep her brother from hexing her husband in name only.
Several more visits followed suit, with Ginny always ensuring that she was not freed of their marriage by widowhood. Draco was reluctantly thankful, but after having mentioned it once, he learned quickly that it had been nothing more than the same sense of nobility that had led her down the aisle in the first place.
That sense of chivalry did not, it seem, extend to family holidays. He covered his eyes, spanning his forehead with one hand, massaging his temples.
"We are spending Christmas here," he repeated as if she were an errant child.
"I am spending it with my family!" she shrieked, the sound pounding on his already tortured ears.
Lowering his hand, he glared at her, daring her to deny his truth. "We are your family. You are, and have been for months, Ginevra Malfoy. Therefore, we are spending it with my mother."
"No, you are spending it with your mother," she spat. "I, however, am going to the Burrow to spent it with people who actually care about me!"
They had repeated this fight for several days, each louder and more cruel than the last. The current fight had begun much like the rest, casually. The details were hazy, but according to his recollection it involved whether or not they were a real couple.
"And you expect me to let you run off into Potter's arms for the day? You can go have an affair with anyone else, but not him." He said the words quietly, though there was little gentleness in the offer.
He winced as he heard something break. Something he'd have to fix later. At least she no longer threw objects at him. It had only happened the once.
"You think I'm having an affair?" the screeching rose in pitch.
He looked up over his hand. "I'm telling you that if you were, he is not on the approved list."
"You want me to have one?" Her voice cracked with horror and outrage.
Draco sighed with his full body. "No you foolish girl. Though I am beginning to think you may be more pleasant company if you did." He hadn't realized just how much he believed it until then nor precisely what that meant for their future. His pride was pricked, certainly, but he had no desire to bed the witch, especially with her claiming how horrible he was.
"How dare you?!"
"Apparently quite easily." He stood up, smoothing his robes reflexively.
"You are horrible!"
"I believe we established that some time ago."
"You have no remorse, no conscience!"
The arguments never changed. He was heartless and cruel, despite the fact he had opened up his vault to her. It didn't matter he never questioned the healer she hired for her parents. He was Draco Malfoy and therefore nothing he ever did would be enough to warrant anything more than her sense of righteousness demanded. He only merited that because his mother had arranged the marriage. He had heard her offer up his mother for lynching, though to their credit, none of her hothead brothers actually thought to go through with it.
"Of course not, Ginevra." He wasn't agreeing with her out of any foolishness in which he actually believed what she said. After all, she'd expressed the sentiments so often they were becoming quite droll.
Perhaps, he was doing it for that very reason. It seemed to infuriate her further when he simply agreed. She wanted the fight to be a raging fire, and his ice cold demeanor made her look as irrational as she truly was. It wasn't his fault if the comparison left her lacking.
"I am merely reminding you that you, in fact as well as name, are a Malfoy now, and that for you to attend Christmas dinner with that cacophonous gaggle alone would be an attempt to deny it. A mistake I am not willing to allow you make."
"That gaggle is my family!" Ginny clenched her hands together tightly at her sides, trying not to hit him. She took several heaving breaths, "I am going to my parents for Christmas dinner, and you can't stop me! I'm not your prisoner!" Tears began to flow finally, leaving wet trails between and over freckles.
The argument was over. Draco had no desire to encourage her further. She was now in tears, all rational thought had left her. She had caved into the meltdown more quickly this time. The speed actually had startled him, regardless of how well he hid his own reactions.
"No, you are my wife." He walked out of the room, holding tightly to his control to avoid wincing as she screamed at him, slamming the door so close to his back that he felt the breeze.
She would go be with her family. Her birth family. He knew there was little point in belaboring the topic further. That she would go alone was another given. He was not welcome at their house, hovel, burrow, whatever name they chose to give it. Nor did he care to be. He allowed them to visit her, as infrequently as they chose to take advantage of it. The Burrow, however, was far too crowded.
No, she would spend the majority of the day with her parents, and he would spend it with his mother. That she had wanted to see them had never been the problem. He'd asked her to consider Christmas Eve, or spending less time. She'd refused to listen to reason. Every restriction he placed on her time was one more way he hated her family, wanted to deny her things she hadn't had the choice to give up.
In the end, however, it was his final words to her that were why he let her go. Christmas was only a few days away; there would be no more fights. His entire argument for them spending the holiday together was the one reason he knew that when she put her cloak to leave, he would let her. She was his wife, and while he might hate the woman who owned the title, he respected the title, and he would not keep her captive.
Draco's mood soured over the next couple of days. He entertained the thought of hexing down all his mother's decorations. Only the knowledge that she needed life to go on as normal as possible kept him from it. For himself, it was a farce. He had been forced to accept change in his life, and yet his wife was the one insisting on playing the victim. There would be no laughter this year. The absence of his father was felt keenly.
Every task his mother asked of him that had once been his father's was met with a curt nod and polite acquiescence. The tree had been difficult, though there had been plenty of smaller chores that he'd never realized were his father's responsibility, or rather, he'd been oblivious to for forever. He helped his mother with the owls and her shopping. He was thankful when she wanted only discreet decorations. His newlywed status did nothing to override the somber mood that pervaded each festive preparation.
By the time Christmas Eve came around, the Manor was a tense silence. Narcissa barely spoke, keeping all of her responses as short as politeness would allow. Her resolve would not allow her to lose her composure, though occasional hints could be seen. Her silverware clinked a little loudly. Her hand shook ever so slightly as she reached for her wine, only noticed in the subtle ripple of liquid behind faceted crystal. And if she wasn't wearing her usual holiday earrings, the sapphire and diamonds Lucius had bought her for their first Christmas together, only Draco would notice.
Narcissa slipped her son a glance, the pain she saw reflected in his eyes only increasing her own. When she had decided her course of action, binding her son irrevocably to the Weasley girl, she had hoped the two of them would find some form of happiness together. Perhaps if she had realized the necessity sooner, Lucius would still be there. He would be able to talk to Draco about how to win the girl's heart. Certainly, he would have been able to work on easing the tensions between the families, tensions he himself helped create and foster.
She schooled her features, taking bites with mechanical grace. She had not figured out the consequences quickly enough. She had not deciphered the riddle fast enough to realize the cost of her son surviving the war would be to mix blood. Not that it would have mattered. The Weasleys wouldn't have agreed to the match. Not their only daughter. She would be too precious for the likes of the Malfoys, her happiness far outranked the lives of she and Lucius.
Draco could feel his mother's anguish, echoed in variation in his own. He would remain strong for her, however. In his father's place, the Malfoy name and honour would be his responsibility. That responsibility included being the strength his mother needed no matter his own overwhelming grief.
He thought perhaps it was good that Ginevra was heading to her parents' tomorrow. It would be best for he and his mother to have some time to themselves. She would not understand, he decided with force. Even if she could ferret out the source of the tension, she'd not care. The girl and her family, he thought with venom, had likely cheered when his father had died.
Draco was pulled from his macabre musings by a rapping on the window. Glancing at both witches as he drew his wand told him that he'd been the first to notice, or at the least the first to identify the sound of beak on glass.
The owl entered quickly, flying into the warmth of the room, landing between Draco and Ginny. Ruffling its feathers, it nipped at Draco as he reached toward it. He retracted his hand and looked at his wife questioningly. Certainly it wasn't easy to always predict when an owl would arrive, but it was nonetheless an interruption.
Ginny shrugged silently, her fingers deftly removing the small parchment from the brown owl that continued to shiver and gain more warmth under its feathers. Absently, she reached for a piece of meat to offer the bird as her other hand turned over the parchment to read the lettering.
The letter had been addressed to her in her brother Bill's masculine scrawl. Payment for the owl forgotten, she ripped the letter open with both hands. Bill was going to be at the Burrow tomorrow, indeed was there tonight. It made no sense to send an owl tonight. She read the letter quickly, her face becoming speckled chalk.
Draco quickly fed the owl before it could peck at her for inattentiveness. He had seen many expressions pass his wife's face in their short marriage, though none had been like this. Her face had become stark pale, the freckles even paling somewhat. Her hands were shaking, not much, but the quiver of the parchment betrayed her control. He glanced at his mother when he heard her chair move.
"Please excuse me," was all she said in response to the quizzical look before heading out of the dining room. Draco watched her go, then turned his attention back to his wife who hadn't moved.
"Ginevra?"
"No...it can't be," she whispered. "It can't be."
Draco knew the pain in her voice. It had been in his this summer. He stood up, not even thinking whether or not the offer would be appreciated let alone accepted. "What can't be?" he asked, his voice more gentle than he had ever been with her.
She didn't flinch when he put his hand on her shoulder, though he wasn't entirely certain she even registered the weight. Before she spoke, he knew horror had come into her life. Her hands held tightly to the parchment he refused to read over her shoulder. Her whole body shook under the restraint of not flailing and screaming.
"Ginevra?"
"George," she whispered finally, a hoarse broken sob as tears sprung forth from her eyes.
"Ginevra, what about George?"
He watched her move her mouth, her lungs refusing to allow air to pass to speak. With a wildly shaking hand, she offered the parchment to him. He took it, holding it with one hand while the other remained put. The letter was short and to the point, and having read it, Draco understood completely her shock.
George, the surviving member of the infamous twins, had died. They hadn't determined how yet, as it was via the clock, something Draco would ask about at a later date, that they knew at all.
Soft broken sobs aided in returning his focus to the only Weasley daughter, baby sister and beloved of all her brothers. She'd lost Fred in May, now to lose his twin on Christmas Eve was something he could not imagine.
All hatred and venom left him as he dropped the letter, kneeling next to her, taking her hand. He winced as she ripped it from his grasp, sighing and shaking his head.
"Ginevra."
"He's dead."
Draco closed his eyes so that she would not see them roll slightly. He couldn't hate her, not now, couldn't she see he was trying to actually be human to her?
"I know."
"It's because of me."
The statement hit Draco full in the chest. "What? How is it your fault? It's not. It can't be." All possibilities of how it could be her fault were immediately tossed. She had been at the manor; there was nothing she could have or would have done that could possibly have set in motion her brother's death.
"I wasn't there for him," she sobbed.
"There was nothing you could have done." He wasn't sure of that, but it seemed the right thing to say. He remembered his own pain when he'd heard about the freak accident that had claimed his father's life. He remembered the guilt and knew hers, while no more valid, was worse.
"You don't know that," she spat, though with less bite than usual.
"Ginevra," he closed his eyes once more, praying for the strength to offer this. "Do you want to go to the Burrow tonight?"
"I can't," she began to argue, shaking her head. "I'm not to go over there tonight. You didn't want me to."
She thought he was going to hold her to the same agreement as before? Surely, had it been for anything other than a family emergency, he would have, but her brother died.
"Ginevra," he couldn't keep the chuckle out of his voice, "I would say this outranks our fight." She turned to look at him, eyes red and puffy, face still a blotchy pale.
"Really? I...I can go be with them?"
He was going to hate himself for this. He knew it. That the circumstances were rather more than simply extraordinary. He sighed, nodding. "Yes. That is where you belong."
Standing up, he took her hand, not allowing her to pull away this time. "Let's get you out of your festive robes and into something more comfortable to go to your parents' house in, shall we?" He had kept his voice steady, a feat of which he was sure his mother would have been proud.
He was shocked, however, when she refused again, pulling her hand down and forcing him to his knees again. The thought filtered through his mind that had she been any other witch, he wouldn't have allowed her to pull him so easily. Perhaps his mother hadn't been fully off when she'd reminded him that no matter how cold he had been to her, no matter how strained their marriage, she was his wife.
It was easy, then to force quiet the voice complaining about involving itself in Weasley grief. He was simply being a dutiful husband. She'd earned that much at least.
When she didn't speak up, he raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to go?" At her nod, he continued, "Ok, so we need to get you changed." She shook her head. "No?"
"No. I," she took a shuddering breath and began to squeeze his hand tightly. He held his tongue, not wanting to alert her to the fact she was taking comfort in his presence, even if said action startled him thoroughly. "I just need to go."
He nodded, "All right. Shall we floo?"
"You, you're coming?" she asked, looking at him. He couldn't place what had entered her voice, and wasn't entirely certain of the answer she wanted to hear.
He nodded, "At least to get you there." He'd only intended to get her there, then to leave her and her family to grieve and finagle their way through their destroyed festivities without his disruptive presence. He had no place there, as she'd repeatedly reminded him, not that it bothered him, but with it came the understanding that he was escorting her there to ensure her safe arrival. Nothing more.
"Will you stay?" she asked, voice shaking. Draco could swear he saw fear enter into her eyes.
He thought for only a moment on how to answer. Not because he was sure of how to, but because in her fragile state, he didn't need to cause her any more agitation. Looking at her, he held his voice steady, "Only if my presence will do more good than harm."
"Thank you," was all she said before wrapping her arms around him and sobbing again.
He returned the gesture, holding her close, though he was more than a little concerned that when she regained her faculties later, she'd regret her action. They remained that way for several minutes until her sobs eased and she pulled slightly away from him.
Draco stood up, pulling her with him, then lifting her carefully, carrying her to the floo before setting her feet down once more. He didn't move his arm from around her waist, though she didn't move her hands from his neck either.
"Are you ready?" he asked, then nodded in response to her own.
Steeling himself, he reached for some floo powder, trying not to think about how he was willingly heading into the Weasley stronghold. Guiding the shaking witch in his arms into the floo, he thought about whether the Weasley floo was large enough to accommodate both of them. It was easier than thinking about the new thoughts he was having in regards to his wife.
"Draco?" she asked softly, interrupting him just before he dropped the floo powder.
Thanking whatever power had delayed his hand, he looked down at her, "Yes?" He hoped his irritation wasn't noticeable, then relaxed as she didn't catch it or at the least respond to it.
"Stay with me?" came the timid request.
He pulled her closer to buy himself the moment it was taking to wrap his mind around the request. Two days ago, she couldn't stand him. Two weeks ago, he knew she wanted an annulment. Now she was asking him to stay with her in the presence of a bunch of stressed Weasleys? That she was hoping they'd kill him did cross his mind briefly, but the part of him that had caused him to offer to take her to her parents' house spoke up. It was the part that had remained quiet so long as she was content to remind him of his failings. Now, it would not return to solitude.
"Are you sure?" he managed. Most of him hoped she'd tell him no, that it was just her foolishness, her shock speaking. That part sulked as she nodded, pulling herself closer to him.
"Please? I can't face them alone."
That she had done so on several occasions was irrelevant. She had always done so when there hadn't been a major catastrophe. That she was asking for his strength, he didn't miss, and that small irritating part of him triumphed, laughing at the larger sulking part of him.
"Yes, I'll stay, but only as long as you want and need me there."
The answer seemed to satisfy her as she settled herself against his chest, shaking still, tears falling down her cheeks onto his robes.
Draco had known she and her family were known for volatile emotions, nothing half-hearted or restrained for the Weasley family. This rapid swing, however, left him wondering what would ever happen if the two of them no longer fought constantly. That small nagging part of him wanted to find out. The rest reminded him that even if all that came out of this was a more amiable relationship, his efforts would have been rewarded.
All of that, however, he forced back as he focused on getting his wife to her parents' house.
Author: silveredaccents
Rating: hard Pg13/soft R
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Major character death. I did take a bit of liberty with the immediacy after the war, as well as the progress of Dragon Pox. Non-epilogue compliant (obviously), though canon through final chapter.
Author's Notes: This really did take on a life of its own, and yet, I can't apologize for leaving it where I did. Still, I hope I gave you what you wanted! Many thanks to my betas.
Summary: Draco and Ginny are forced into a marriage without understanding why. The first six months of the marriage are a bit rocky as they come to grips with their new life together.
Of Marriage and Learning
The day had been miserably hot, leading to an afternoon thunderstorm and Lucius Malfoy's untimely and highly unlikely death by lightning strike. It had been that incident that pushed Narcissa into action. It had been because of his death that they were here.
Not being a girl, Draco had never put much thought into this day, though he was certain that had he done so, he would not have imagined it being anything like reality turned out to be. That his parents would have a large say in who he married, he accepted as the way of things. That his mother would arrange it completely and against every consideration for him had been a new revelation.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, he smoothed his robes out. It wasn't that the witch was all that deserving of his attentiveness. It was simply that he was Draco Malfoy and he would not appear anything less than perfect no matter the circumstances.
He sighed dramatically, then caught his mother's eyes reflected in the glass.
"I've nothing to say to you, Mother."
She flinched; a move, he was certain, she would not have even hinted at in public.
For a long moment, they stared at each other saying nothing. He went back to fidgeting with his robes.
"Draco, you'll understand later." The decision to take away her son's free will in this had been difficult for her, and while he was angry, she couldn't bring herself to explain fully. Instead, she stood there, watching him ready himself for what should have been a happy occasion.
Hard met regret when they looked at each other again. "I'll do my duty, Mother, but no further." She nodded weakly and turned, leaving him alone again.
Draco took another look at himself, then muttered something unintelligible, even to himself.
As Draco made his way to stand before the registrar, his soon to be wife was standing in her own makeshift dressing room. It was only down the hall, and yet through a united frustration, the unhappy couple was far closer than either imagined. Still, a common hatred was hardly the beginning of a healthy relationship.
It was precisely that thought that went through the mind of the redhead trying to keep from crying again. Anger was far better than wishing she'd been wearing this dress for a different groom. A groom who loved her.
Blinking furiously, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she vaguely remembered receiving from Narcissa earlier that day. She threw the offending object away, practically screaming at it when it floated harmlessly.
"Ginny?" the ethereal yet timid voice called from the doorway.
She spun around, lace and tulle swishing and pooling around her slipper clad feet. Brown eyes turned on the stooped wizard in the doorway.
"Ginny, it's time."
Ginny had felt that Mr Lovegood had been sent from Merlin himself when her parents had come down with Dragon Pox. As her godfather, he'd been granted full legal guardianship of her for as long as they remained in quarantine. Now, though, she wanted to hate him, wanted to scream and beat her fists on his chest. What she did instead, was clench her hands around the lace.
"Don't make me do this." The pleading weak voice sounded nothing like her. There was no confidence, no fire, just a little lost girl, not a girl nearly on the cusp of her coming of age.
Mr Lovegood's smile was soft and completely without regret, lovingly correcting an errant child.
"Ginny, dear, I know it's an old tradition, but it does make sense for you. Now, let's not keep the young man waiting." He offered his arm to her, denying her further argument.
She took his arm reluctantly and walked with him down the hall very much watching the last minutes of her life fade away. The witch walking down the short aisle looked little like the feisty only sister in a houseful of boys. She tried not to shake, her Gryffindor courage holding her tight to this course.
It was that courage and sense of nobility that had given her the strength to continue trying to live her life the past couple months. She simply hoped it would be enough to hold her through to some form of a life. Or at least it might be strong enough to help her find a way out before it was too late.
The war had ended only two weeks before the first witch fell sick. While the epidemic started slowly enough, the new strain of Dragon Pox seemed unstoppable. Starting within the Ministry, it seemed indiscriminate, taking muggle-borns, pure-bloods, and half-bloods alike. Within a month, St Mungo's had exhausted its resources, leaving many at the mercy of private medi-witches.
Percy had been in the first wave, managing a room in the contagious ward. Arthur and Molly ended up quarantined in the Burrow. The perverse glee she would have in spending Malfoy funds to give her parents the best medical treatment was Ginny's only comfort as she took one last look at Mr Lovegood before the ceremony began, at least until she could find out how to get the bloody vows annulled.
The ceremony itself was a private affair. Narcissa hadn't wanted to spare the time for a formal affair, and Ginny hadn't wanted anyone she knew or cared about to witness her humiliation. Still for all its hurry and hushed tones, the ceremony itself was still dignified.
Standing next to Xenophilius Lovegood was odd enough for Narcissa. Watching her only child exchanging vows with a Weasley only made the experience that much more surreal. As she watched with schooled distance, Narcissa tried to retrain her thoughts. Draco would not be disowned; the girl would now be her daughter. Given the circumstances of their betrothal and marriage though, she thought even her purist aunt would have agreed on the match.
When the two pulled away after the final kiss, her heart sank. Hatred burned in one set of eyes; fury in the other. Both sets were trained on her.
"May I present Mr and Mrs Draco Malfoy," intoned the registrar.
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The room hadn't precisely been decorated for a wedding night. There were no flower petals strewn across the bed. No champagne sat chilling in a bucket with two flute conveniently nearby. No, this was simply a bedroom prepared for a new guest. Fresh bed linens of fine white silk were pulled back half-way in invitation. There was a dresser, a chest of drawers and two wardrobes, all of matching mahogany. A white fur rug covered parts of the hardwood floor. The fireplace stood empty. In other circumstances, it might have been warm and comforting.
Ginny entered the room first, pulling the veil off her head and dislodging the intricate up-do that had been spelled into her hair. The many layers of tulle swayed under the still pristine wedding gown mocking her with its perfect crystalline sheen. Casting a glare at the door, she contemplated pushing it shut, locking it. Instead, she threw herself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if it had been spelled out of solid marble.
The ceremony had been quick, efficient even. Ginny tried to replay it in her mind, only to groan in frustration at how few proper memories the brief exchange offered. It had been only held the barest of resemblance to what a wedding should have been. Neither of them had smiled at all. She idly wondered if it had even happened, though the ring on her finger assured her it had.
She held her hand up, looking at the jewelry that plagued her hand. The ring was exceptionally beautiful, and she would have been honored beyond compare had Harry given it to her. She would have been happy had it been given to her by Seamus or Dean or any of her previous boyfriends. The musing brought up another depressing thought. The whirlwind that had been their courtship, or mockery thereof, hadn't allowed for her to tell anyone. Rather, it had allowed her the excuse of not telling anyone in hopes she'd never have to.
Looking back, maybe she should have told someone. Maybe they could have helped her. As it was now, it would look like she had been a willing participant. She did not want to explain her current marital status to anyone. Most especially Harry.
"Harry," she breathed out in a broken plea.
It was that moment that Draco had chosen to enter the room. Ginny had left the dinner table earlier, leaving him to his mother's mercy. The conversation had been particularly one-sided. Narcissa had lectured him on his duties as a husband. He'd sat there glaring at his half-finished wine glass. So many things he was supposed to do for the new Mrs Malfoy. His mother had an endless supply of duties he was to perform to make this woman he hated comfortable in his life. Quite frequently during her tirade, he was biting his tongue or cheek. By the end, he could swear he tasted copper.
The relatively short walk to the chambers he shared with the hellcat was begun with resignation, but quickly turned to irritation. The door was open part way, hiding the view of the bed. Not for the first time even that evening, he cursed his mother's antiquated views. It wasn't that Draco had considered doing anything differently, until she'd announced to him the identity of his intended. The normally close relationship began to flounder quickly, leading both of them to wonder if it it was salvageable.
Draco's face set as he heard the word worshiped on his wife's lips. She was a Malfoy and still Potter was the name on her lips? His silver eyes hardened as his mind ran through two potential courses of action. The first, he admitted quickly, was in truth a non-option. Never mind that the idea of forcing himself on anyone was nauseating; even if he had gotten past his own disgust, his mother would do far worse to him than he'd ever seen his Aunt Bellatrix do. The second option, the one favoured by him since he'd started Hogwarts, came forward and settled itself as a shell around his soul. He would cut her off. If she didn't matter, which she clearly never should have in the first place, then her idiotic desire for Potter would never hurt him either.
"I hadn't realized Potter had truly reached sainthood. Do you carry an idol of him around as well?" he drawled, looking around the room in appraisal, which he clearly found lacking. His customary sneer was devoid of actual fire though as his eyes settled on their marriage bed.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand!"
Draco leaned into the door frame, folding his arms across his chest. "Enlighten me."
She seemed wholly unready for the question. She recovered with respectable speed, however. "How would you know what it's like to know for years who you're going to marry only to have it pulled away from you at the last minute by your sworn enemy!"
He raised an eyebrow as she screamed at him, then nodded quietly. Unfolding himself, he closed the door and approached the bed. Ginny tensed, finally scurrying off the bed as he pulled the sheets down.
"I'm not having sex with you!"
"Did I ask?"
She glared at him as he nodded to himself. "What are you doing then? Can't you just sleep in your old room?"
He turned to her, his very casual air causing her skittishness to appear more extreme. "I'm not here to sleep. I wouldn't trust you not to strangle me." The barb was delivered calmly. He really had no fear she'd kill him. Well, almost no fear.
"Then what are you doing here, because we'd already established no sex."
Draco sighed and turned to her. "No, there will be no sex, but it needs to appear that there was, so if you would kindly lower your voice, I'll explain." His voice was very much lacking in anything resembling compassion.
Ginny's jaws shut with an audible snap. She remained silent long enough for him to decide she wasn't going to say anything.
"Right." A deep breath later, he was looking at the wall, the bed, anywhere other than her. "The house-elves are ordered to report to my mother in regards to the consummation of our marriage."
"They what?" she screeched.
Ginny's breath was coming in short rapid bursts. She clutched her hands to her chest in a failing attempt to calm her pounding heart. He'd just said they weren't going to have sex and now he was talking about the house-elves reporting to his mother of all people?
He rolled his eyes at her, obviously not as upset as she was. His calm only irritated her more.
Draco drew his wand, "I need your arm." She pulled further into the corner. "Oh for Merlin's sake, Weasley."
"Malfoy," she whispered.
"What?"
"It's Malfoy now." Her displeasure at the circumstance was easily identifiable.
He rolled his eyes again. She was intent on making this harder for him, he was certain.
"The house-elves are going to report to Mum whether or not your blood is on these sheets. We don't need much, just a few drops."
Draco set his jaw watching her eyes flicker briefly before she thrust out her arm, practically stomping toward him and the bed. He took her wrist and performed a small slicing spell on her arm, holding it steady over the bed as she hissed in his ear, digging manicured fingernails into his shoulder.
The bleeding only took a moment. He whispered the healing spell on her arm and shoved it away from him. Pocketing his wand, he moved to the nightstand to retrieve a book. He ignored her stare as he settled himself into an armchair, flipping open the book.
The whole scene had played out within a matter of moments, though Ginny continued to stare at him slack-jawed. When he didn't acknowledge her, she made several strangled sounds trying to get her vocal chords to work.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Without looking up, he drawled, "Perhaps you may not know this, but sex is intended to take considerably longer than the two minutes we've been in here." He shook his head, flipping a page, "Unless you want to let on that we are skirting responsibility," he smirked, standing up.
She finally caught on to what he was referring and shook her head violently. "No, no, that's fine. Stay," she was practically growling while flinging open her wardrobe to look for something suitable to wear.
Inside, she wanted to scream. How could he be so calm about all of this? He hated her as much as she hated him, perhaps even more since his family was the one known for kicking people out when they didn't tow the line.
She hated everything about him, this house, his mother and she didn't care who might know. Except that she was now tied, magically and legally, to all of it. She slammed the wardrobe shut not having registered any of the finery that had moments before been within arms' reach.
Hands on her hips, she panted, lips pursed against the string of obscenities she wanted to offer to the world.
"That wardrobe is over a hundred years old," he drawled from his perch on the opposite end of the room. He hadn't looked up from his reading either. She glared at him.
"If I'm only allowed to destroy things under a hundred years old, then that leaves you," she sneered, fists clenched tightly at her side.
Petite or not, she was far more skilled at Muggle style fighting than she looked, and when one was short, it was important to know how to use it. She was fast, and she got inside the power punch range which left her opponents relatively defenseless.
Allowing her mind to imagine Malfoy being pulverized by his wife who was nearly a foot shorter than he produced a dark half-smile to her lips.
"I didn't know you could make that face, Ginevra."
Ginny half-turned away from him, then saw a vase holding a bouquet of white roses, narrowing her eyes. Not giving herself time to second guess, she grabbed it and hurled it at him.
Draco had looked back down when he made the comment, barely noticing the vase hurtling at him with enough time to roll off the chair before the porcelain connected with velvet and wood. Having missed its target, the vase clattered to the floor, shattering.
Drenched and littered with flowers, he glared at her, drawing his wand finally. Ginny gasped, turning quickly while she reached for hers and pushing herself into the corner. His blotched face and steel eyes looked murderous.
Slowly, he cast the spell to dry his clothes. As he stood, he repaired the vase, levitating it to the top of the wardrobe before cleaning up the water and discarded flowers.
She knew she shouldn't have assumed he was going to hex her. She knew she should have given him a bit more benefit of doubt, but she knew how angry she'd been. As he cleaned up the mess she'd made, part of her blushed, though it was more that the blood was rushing to her face after she'd held her breath.
Draco picked up his book and pocketed his wand, looking at her with open disgust. "You really thought I would hex my own wife. Nice to know your expectations," he drawled, acid dripping from every syllable, "I'll strive not to disappoint you." He turned on his heel and left the room fully dressed less than five minutes after they'd entered their wedding night suite.
Ginny slid down the wall to the floor shaking. Had she really believed he was abusive? Of course she had! Everyone knew that Lucius had been an abusive bastard who kept his wife and son in line using fear, why wouldn't the pattern continue?
The rest of her life wasn't starting off so well. Levering herself off the floor, Ginny made her way to the loo where she promptly lost the remains of dinner.
Birthdays were supposed to be a time of joy and celebration. Being the youngest of seven, Ginny had always been called the baby, a title she both loved and hated. Having older brothers to buy one presents was wonderful. When those same brothers had chased away all boyfriends save one, they weren't so wonderful. In truth, Ginny had done her fair share of dumping. She had known, though, that any boy who wanted to date her would have had to survive interrogation from not only her father, but six over-protective brothers.
The irony that the one who did marry her had never had to face such scrutiny did not escape her notice. When she had needed them most, when she had wanted to run to them to protect her, she'd been scared to. She hadn't told any of them about the offer, the insistence, the fact that their parents' illness had left her in the care of Xenophilius Lovegood, the man who could see conspiracy in a loaf of bread and yet had accepted Narcissa Malfoy's proposal.
She should have been at the Burrow. She would be in Harry's arms, laughing and lacing her fingers with his, leaning against him while Bill and Charlie competed in who had the most elaborate tale to tell. After dinner, they'd shower her with gifts over which she'd giggle and awe. Then they'd all head out for an evening of late three on three Quidditch.
Instead, she was standing at the edge of the carefully manicured Malfoy gardens, hugging herself against imagined cold. The day itself was warm, not even overcast, as she stood, thinking about the letters she'd gotten. He'd raised an eyebrow at her, pale and demanding as he noted that only one of the birthday sentiments had been addressed to "Mrs Ginny Malfoy." The revelation that she hadn't informed her family was not well received. The memory of the his icy stare caused her to wrap her arms around herself, shivering again despite the heat. The potential reception she'd receive from her family made her pull into herself tighter. She had to tell them. They would find out soon enough.
Ginny herself had been a bit surprised that Narcissa hadn't announced it in the society pages. However, she imagined that as rushed as it was, a quiet elopement would seem more romantic as opposed to the suggestion of an unexpected pregnancy. The possibility that a romantic existed inside the marble exterior of her mother-in-law was a new one, and one with which Ginny was very uncomfortable.
Steeling herself, she turned around to head back to the manor. She would face her family. Just not today. Today, she would try to pretend nothing was wrong, that she wasn't alone.
Before she reached the house, Tibby popped in front of her. "Mistress has a guest waiting at the front door." The house elf bowed to her.
Ginny frowned. She hadn't expected anyone. She certainly hadn't told anyone about the marriage, or her subsequent housing arrangement. With a foreboding pit in her stomach, she asked, "Who is it?"
"He is Mr Ronald Weasley, Mistress, he says he is mistress's brother." The elf seemed to echo her distress, becoming more agitated.
Ginny's lungs stopped working. Ron was here. He was waiting at the house for her. It meant only one thing, that her brother knew. She refused to wonder how he found out. The only people who knew had been Narcissa and Mr Lovegood. That Luna's father had told her made sense. That Luna might had gone to Ron, however, raised concerns.
"Mistress?" the house elf's whine broke her from her haunted musings. She opened her eyes to look at the creature who was now wringing its hands in preparation for whatever punishment she saw fit to dispense. "Mistress, what should Tibby do?"
Ginny took a deep breath, groaning when it failed to calm her. "Show my brother to the east parlour. I'll be there shortly." She held up a hand, "And do not let him find Mr Malfoy or Narcissa." It had been an afterthought, but one that Ginny thought would be the only way to avoid bloodshed. As the elf bowed again and popped out of existence, Ginny lifted her robes and ran to the house.
They'd never discussed her family coming to visit. She imagined Draco had never believed such a travesty would come to pass. Certainly she'd never thought they would dare come to the viper's den to see her.
What must Ron be thinking? She'd gotten married, hadn't owled any of her brothers begging saving, and was now living with said husband. To make matters worse, he and his family had tormented hers, trying to kill various members on occasion. That Fred hadn't been killed by Lucius was sheer coincidence. She knew that as well as anyone. Now, however, she had to explain what was going on, and why she'd not written to anyone with the real story.
She reached the house slightly out of breath. Taking the walk from the garden doors to the east parlour as a chance to ease her breathing, she smoothed her robes and frowned, wishing she'd had enough time to change. The thought was tempting, but the idea of him waiting in this house longer than necessary, especially when she hadn't had the chance to explain that while the circumstances were without doubt deplorable, Draco had been a caring and generous, if distant husband. The latter being something for which she was not ready to complain.
She'd barely rounded the corner when strong arms wrapped around her.
"Ginny!"
Overwhelmed at the open affection after months of relative isolation, the loneliness having started while she was with the Lovegoods, Ginny barely kept the tears at bay. "Oh Ron. I've missed you!"
Her words seemed to call him back to himself as he pulled away, holding her at arms' length, looking into her eyes. "Ginny, why are you here?"
She laughed weakly, turning from him. It had taken him all of thirty seconds before he had to start in with the difficult questions. How had she gotten so horribly unlucky? Was he always this single-minded?
"This is my home now, Ron." The words were weak, all conviction gone. What was left was a plea for understanding from the most pig-headed of her brothers.
He sighed loudly, "No, Gin, I mean why did you marry him? He's a git!"
She turned on him, fists balled at her side. "I didn't have a choice, Ronald. How's that for a reason?"
"What do you mean you didn't have a choice?" His eyes expressed clearly that he couldn't imagine any situation where she would have been unable to get out of the wedding.
"I mean, I was an unwed, unattached pure-blood witch who had a marriage arranged for her under an obscure statute." She didn't quote him the statute, though she knew he could have asked Hermione for the information on it. Statute of Marriageable Personages from 1332. If two families should decide to marry their children to each other, the words of the parents shall be legally binding on the children so long as neither child was already engaged or married. The words had kept her up at night for weeks before the wedding. She'd begged Mr Lovegood, who had smiled at her and said it was a good match, that they had repented and so their deeds were forgiven. He'd gone so far as to tell her that to upset her parents with the matter when they had given him legal care of her while in quarantine would have only weakened them further against the disease.
She'd agreed reluctantly.
"But Mum and Dad would never have agreed to this! I bet that hag cast something on them! I wonder if it was the Imperius!" Ron was pacing, babbling and gesturing wildly. Had the situation been different, she would have found his concern, if not his reaction, endearing.
"Mum and Dad had nothing to do with it," she sighed. "Mr Lovegood was made my godfather when they were put in quarantine. I was still under age, Ron!" She had to get him to understand. "I couldn't do anything about it, and by the time all of this came about, they couldn't do anything." Her voice went quiet, "No one could. Mr Lovegood said it was a good match, and all the proper antiquated rules had been observed. What was I supposed to do? Refuse and get him in trouble with the MLE?"
Ron was staring at her, wide eyed as if she'd grown a second head. When he didn't say anything, she continued. "I never told anyone because I didn't know what to say."
"Gin, this was coerced. We can get it annulled, I know we can." She shook her head sadly. "No? What do you mean no? You haven't--Gin, did you sleep with Malfoy?!"
She wanted to hide her face in her hands, burying herself deep in her shame. Instead, she stood there resolutely, face flushing. "Not precisely, but it hardly matters. We did something that would ensure it can't be undone." In hindsight, she wondered if the embarrassment by her mother-in-law's heckling would have been worth the opportunity to end the marriage. She wasn't sure she had an answer.
"What about abuse? Ginny, he's a horrible git who's just like his father."
"He's never hurt me, Ron." The voice sounded far different from her usual, and the vehemence with which she defended her husband startled both of them.
"Do you love him?"
"No, but, it isn't as bad as it could have been. He's tried to make this bearable for me. I do the same for him."
Ron scoffed loudly, "Oh poor Malfoy, I bet he's loving lording his status over you."
"Ron! He's been a gentleman to me! If you have nothing else to say, then maybe I was right to not tell anyone."
That seemed to shut him up. He stood there, gaping at his little sister who had just told him in not so many words to sod off where it came to her husband. His eyes hardened and he nodded.
"Mum and Dad aren't going to be happy."
"Yes, well, they haven't refused the private healer I insisted upon for them."
"Private healer?" The confusion was almost humourous.
"Yes. As part of the bride price, I insisted on a private healer for Mum and Dad and the best treatments for Dragon Pox. I haven't told them why, though it's possible someone has. It's not like they're allowed to write or anything."
Ron seemed appropriately humbled and nodded, grumbling, "Look, Ginny, if you ever want out, I'm sure we can get you out of this marriage. If there were any coercion spells, I'm sure Harry can undo this. Oh, bloody hell, he's going to go mental when he hears about this."
The mention of her ex-boyfriend sent her into a panic. "Ron, please, if you tell him, tell him Draco had nothing to do with this! It was Narcissa and Mr Lovegood."
Ron looked at her. She must have sprouted that extra head again. If she thought about it, she'd have to agree. She wasn't acting like herself. But the need to ensure that the blame went where it belonged was simply a Gryffindor trait and not some other concern masquerading as her principles.
Apparently deciding better of his desire to attack her husband, her brother nodded once more, "Only because you say so, Gin, but if we find out otherwise--"
"If you find out he was involved, then I get to have at him," she interrupted.
This promise of fire and pay back seemed to placate him. He hugged her once, then headed toward the door. "Hope you're having a happy birthday, Gin. Sorry we couldn't have a proper one at the Burrow."
Ginny cursed her emotions as tears threatened to spill at the mention of a birthday at home. "Yeah, so am I." She blinked them away furiously. "Go on. I'm sure you have the rounds to make."
She was far too willing to let Ron take the brunt of explaining to all the Weasley boys that she'd been given in marriage to Draco Malfoy by an old family friend.
They stood there a few moments longer, communicating as siblings do through silent glances and expressions. Without words, he hugged her and exited, glancing back at the girl who was trying resolutely to make the best of a poor situation.
Draco turned from the window, making his way to the large oak desk. His study was a sanctuary. Filled with his personal collection of books and ledgers of the Malfoy holdings for generations, it held open access only for the head of the Malfoy name, though others could enter with his permission.
Currently, his mother sat in a black leather armchair, drumming manicured nails silently. Her use of such a common indicator of irritation had been drawn out due to his ignoring her. That he had done so while watching the front lawn for signs of Weaselby's leaving had only stoked the fire.
Narissa raised a pale eyebrow, her ice blue eyes asking him if she should expect any more interruptions.
"He left. Alone." That he was relieved was something he hadn't fully expected. Even more of a surprise was that he hadn't wanted her to leave.
"You expected her to leave with him?" The question was bored, though Draco saw through the disinterest to his mother's prying.
"The thought did cross my mind." He sat in the chair behind the desk, fiddling with papers mindlessly. That the move itself betrayed hid distraction, he didn't care. She had brought him to this, forcing himself into this role, husband trapped in indifference.
"I am considering selling the vineyard in France," he began, not looking up, instead keeping his gaze on a letter from Pansy asking when he would be available to call on her. "It isn't producing as it should, and the quality of the wine has only gone down."
"Draco Malfoy, you are not selling that vineyard and that is a letter from that Parkinson girl."
He looked up then, allowing the letter to settle back on the desk. "Mum," he began, stopping as she stood up. With her standing over his desk, he sank into the cold embrace of his leather wing-back.
"You are going to tell Miss Parkinson that you are married." She held up her hand as he opened his mouth to protest. "I have obviously made a grave error in imagining you would handle such societal affairs yourself."
Draco settled in for a lecture, careful to keep his affect straight yet apparently attentive.
"I believe it is time to announce your marriage." She turned and began walking to the door. Draco stood up, his manners returning now that he was no longer the chastised child. "Oh, and Draco," she turned, the Black predatory grin lighting her face with a dark glow. "Do begin treating that girl as a proper wife. Black blood flows through your veins, and no Black was ever as cold as you have been, not to his spouse."
He managed to keep his jaw from dropping only long enough for her to turn around and leave his study.
Once alone, he slouched back into his chair, staring with unseeing eyes at the letter from his childhood friend and one time fancy. His mother had gone mad, surely. He could not, would not, force himself as husband or any other role than host on the redhead who resided within these walls no claiming his name. He was treating her with kindness, but it was difficult to warm to someone who hated everything about you.
The memory of her whispered prayer smarted. She wanted Potter, and he had no desire to fight for her attentions. He shouldn't have to.
"She should want to be with me," he growled, sweeping his desk clean with a violent arm before standing up and moving once again to the window. Leaning his head on the glass, he stared out at the white peacock wandering the lawn oblivious to the comings and goings of the world around him. Draco wished for such oblivion for himself, though he knew it to not be his lot.
"Master?"
Draco turned, more out of surprise than respect for the creature. He hadn't recalled calling her, though he suspected with his mother's meddling, she might have been the one to do so.
"Is Master needing Tibby?" she continued, whimpering loudly.
Draco turned back to the lawn. If his mother had done this, it was obviously a hint. "Yes. Tell my mother and my wife that I shall be late for dinner."
His mother was a fool. There were no warm feelings even possible between the two of them. However, he would not allow for it to be said he neglected her on her birthday, however little he cared for her.
His gift of jewelry was accepted, though rarely worn. Draco didn't ask for her reasons. He knew them already. She did wear it when her oldest brother arrived with his wife in a transparent attempt to keep her brother from hexing her husband in name only.
Several more visits followed suit, with Ginny always ensuring that she was not freed of their marriage by widowhood. Draco was reluctantly thankful, but after having mentioned it once, he learned quickly that it had been nothing more than the same sense of nobility that had led her down the aisle in the first place.
That sense of chivalry did not, it seem, extend to family holidays. He covered his eyes, spanning his forehead with one hand, massaging his temples.
"We are spending Christmas here," he repeated as if she were an errant child.
"I am spending it with my family!" she shrieked, the sound pounding on his already tortured ears.
Lowering his hand, he glared at her, daring her to deny his truth. "We are your family. You are, and have been for months, Ginevra Malfoy. Therefore, we are spending it with my mother."
"No, you are spending it with your mother," she spat. "I, however, am going to the Burrow to spent it with people who actually care about me!"
They had repeated this fight for several days, each louder and more cruel than the last. The current fight had begun much like the rest, casually. The details were hazy, but according to his recollection it involved whether or not they were a real couple.
"And you expect me to let you run off into Potter's arms for the day? You can go have an affair with anyone else, but not him." He said the words quietly, though there was little gentleness in the offer.
He winced as he heard something break. Something he'd have to fix later. At least she no longer threw objects at him. It had only happened the once.
"You think I'm having an affair?" the screeching rose in pitch.
He looked up over his hand. "I'm telling you that if you were, he is not on the approved list."
"You want me to have one?" Her voice cracked with horror and outrage.
Draco sighed with his full body. "No you foolish girl. Though I am beginning to think you may be more pleasant company if you did." He hadn't realized just how much he believed it until then nor precisely what that meant for their future. His pride was pricked, certainly, but he had no desire to bed the witch, especially with her claiming how horrible he was.
"How dare you?!"
"Apparently quite easily." He stood up, smoothing his robes reflexively.
"You are horrible!"
"I believe we established that some time ago."
"You have no remorse, no conscience!"
The arguments never changed. He was heartless and cruel, despite the fact he had opened up his vault to her. It didn't matter he never questioned the healer she hired for her parents. He was Draco Malfoy and therefore nothing he ever did would be enough to warrant anything more than her sense of righteousness demanded. He only merited that because his mother had arranged the marriage. He had heard her offer up his mother for lynching, though to their credit, none of her hothead brothers actually thought to go through with it.
"Of course not, Ginevra." He wasn't agreeing with her out of any foolishness in which he actually believed what she said. After all, she'd expressed the sentiments so often they were becoming quite droll.
Perhaps, he was doing it for that very reason. It seemed to infuriate her further when he simply agreed. She wanted the fight to be a raging fire, and his ice cold demeanor made her look as irrational as she truly was. It wasn't his fault if the comparison left her lacking.
"I am merely reminding you that you, in fact as well as name, are a Malfoy now, and that for you to attend Christmas dinner with that cacophonous gaggle alone would be an attempt to deny it. A mistake I am not willing to allow you make."
"That gaggle is my family!" Ginny clenched her hands together tightly at her sides, trying not to hit him. She took several heaving breaths, "I am going to my parents for Christmas dinner, and you can't stop me! I'm not your prisoner!" Tears began to flow finally, leaving wet trails between and over freckles.
The argument was over. Draco had no desire to encourage her further. She was now in tears, all rational thought had left her. She had caved into the meltdown more quickly this time. The speed actually had startled him, regardless of how well he hid his own reactions.
"No, you are my wife." He walked out of the room, holding tightly to his control to avoid wincing as she screamed at him, slamming the door so close to his back that he felt the breeze.
She would go be with her family. Her birth family. He knew there was little point in belaboring the topic further. That she would go alone was another given. He was not welcome at their house, hovel, burrow, whatever name they chose to give it. Nor did he care to be. He allowed them to visit her, as infrequently as they chose to take advantage of it. The Burrow, however, was far too crowded.
No, she would spend the majority of the day with her parents, and he would spend it with his mother. That she had wanted to see them had never been the problem. He'd asked her to consider Christmas Eve, or spending less time. She'd refused to listen to reason. Every restriction he placed on her time was one more way he hated her family, wanted to deny her things she hadn't had the choice to give up.
In the end, however, it was his final words to her that were why he let her go. Christmas was only a few days away; there would be no more fights. His entire argument for them spending the holiday together was the one reason he knew that when she put her cloak to leave, he would let her. She was his wife, and while he might hate the woman who owned the title, he respected the title, and he would not keep her captive.
Draco's mood soured over the next couple of days. He entertained the thought of hexing down all his mother's decorations. Only the knowledge that she needed life to go on as normal as possible kept him from it. For himself, it was a farce. He had been forced to accept change in his life, and yet his wife was the one insisting on playing the victim. There would be no laughter this year. The absence of his father was felt keenly.
Every task his mother asked of him that had once been his father's was met with a curt nod and polite acquiescence. The tree had been difficult, though there had been plenty of smaller chores that he'd never realized were his father's responsibility, or rather, he'd been oblivious to for forever. He helped his mother with the owls and her shopping. He was thankful when she wanted only discreet decorations. His newlywed status did nothing to override the somber mood that pervaded each festive preparation.
By the time Christmas Eve came around, the Manor was a tense silence. Narcissa barely spoke, keeping all of her responses as short as politeness would allow. Her resolve would not allow her to lose her composure, though occasional hints could be seen. Her silverware clinked a little loudly. Her hand shook ever so slightly as she reached for her wine, only noticed in the subtle ripple of liquid behind faceted crystal. And if she wasn't wearing her usual holiday earrings, the sapphire and diamonds Lucius had bought her for their first Christmas together, only Draco would notice.
Narcissa slipped her son a glance, the pain she saw reflected in his eyes only increasing her own. When she had decided her course of action, binding her son irrevocably to the Weasley girl, she had hoped the two of them would find some form of happiness together. Perhaps if she had realized the necessity sooner, Lucius would still be there. He would be able to talk to Draco about how to win the girl's heart. Certainly, he would have been able to work on easing the tensions between the families, tensions he himself helped create and foster.
She schooled her features, taking bites with mechanical grace. She had not figured out the consequences quickly enough. She had not deciphered the riddle fast enough to realize the cost of her son surviving the war would be to mix blood. Not that it would have mattered. The Weasleys wouldn't have agreed to the match. Not their only daughter. She would be too precious for the likes of the Malfoys, her happiness far outranked the lives of she and Lucius.
Draco could feel his mother's anguish, echoed in variation in his own. He would remain strong for her, however. In his father's place, the Malfoy name and honour would be his responsibility. That responsibility included being the strength his mother needed no matter his own overwhelming grief.
He thought perhaps it was good that Ginevra was heading to her parents' tomorrow. It would be best for he and his mother to have some time to themselves. She would not understand, he decided with force. Even if she could ferret out the source of the tension, she'd not care. The girl and her family, he thought with venom, had likely cheered when his father had died.
Draco was pulled from his macabre musings by a rapping on the window. Glancing at both witches as he drew his wand told him that he'd been the first to notice, or at the least the first to identify the sound of beak on glass.
The owl entered quickly, flying into the warmth of the room, landing between Draco and Ginny. Ruffling its feathers, it nipped at Draco as he reached toward it. He retracted his hand and looked at his wife questioningly. Certainly it wasn't easy to always predict when an owl would arrive, but it was nonetheless an interruption.
Ginny shrugged silently, her fingers deftly removing the small parchment from the brown owl that continued to shiver and gain more warmth under its feathers. Absently, she reached for a piece of meat to offer the bird as her other hand turned over the parchment to read the lettering.
The letter had been addressed to her in her brother Bill's masculine scrawl. Payment for the owl forgotten, she ripped the letter open with both hands. Bill was going to be at the Burrow tomorrow, indeed was there tonight. It made no sense to send an owl tonight. She read the letter quickly, her face becoming speckled chalk.
Draco quickly fed the owl before it could peck at her for inattentiveness. He had seen many expressions pass his wife's face in their short marriage, though none had been like this. Her face had become stark pale, the freckles even paling somewhat. Her hands were shaking, not much, but the quiver of the parchment betrayed her control. He glanced at his mother when he heard her chair move.
"Please excuse me," was all she said in response to the quizzical look before heading out of the dining room. Draco watched her go, then turned his attention back to his wife who hadn't moved.
"Ginevra?"
"No...it can't be," she whispered. "It can't be."
Draco knew the pain in her voice. It had been in his this summer. He stood up, not even thinking whether or not the offer would be appreciated let alone accepted. "What can't be?" he asked, his voice more gentle than he had ever been with her.
She didn't flinch when he put his hand on her shoulder, though he wasn't entirely certain she even registered the weight. Before she spoke, he knew horror had come into her life. Her hands held tightly to the parchment he refused to read over her shoulder. Her whole body shook under the restraint of not flailing and screaming.
"Ginevra?"
"George," she whispered finally, a hoarse broken sob as tears sprung forth from her eyes.
"Ginevra, what about George?"
He watched her move her mouth, her lungs refusing to allow air to pass to speak. With a wildly shaking hand, she offered the parchment to him. He took it, holding it with one hand while the other remained put. The letter was short and to the point, and having read it, Draco understood completely her shock.
George, the surviving member of the infamous twins, had died. They hadn't determined how yet, as it was via the clock, something Draco would ask about at a later date, that they knew at all.
Soft broken sobs aided in returning his focus to the only Weasley daughter, baby sister and beloved of all her brothers. She'd lost Fred in May, now to lose his twin on Christmas Eve was something he could not imagine.
All hatred and venom left him as he dropped the letter, kneeling next to her, taking her hand. He winced as she ripped it from his grasp, sighing and shaking his head.
"Ginevra."
"He's dead."
Draco closed his eyes so that she would not see them roll slightly. He couldn't hate her, not now, couldn't she see he was trying to actually be human to her?
"I know."
"It's because of me."
The statement hit Draco full in the chest. "What? How is it your fault? It's not. It can't be." All possibilities of how it could be her fault were immediately tossed. She had been at the manor; there was nothing she could have or would have done that could possibly have set in motion her brother's death.
"I wasn't there for him," she sobbed.
"There was nothing you could have done." He wasn't sure of that, but it seemed the right thing to say. He remembered his own pain when he'd heard about the freak accident that had claimed his father's life. He remembered the guilt and knew hers, while no more valid, was worse.
"You don't know that," she spat, though with less bite than usual.
"Ginevra," he closed his eyes once more, praying for the strength to offer this. "Do you want to go to the Burrow tonight?"
"I can't," she began to argue, shaking her head. "I'm not to go over there tonight. You didn't want me to."
She thought he was going to hold her to the same agreement as before? Surely, had it been for anything other than a family emergency, he would have, but her brother died.
"Ginevra," he couldn't keep the chuckle out of his voice, "I would say this outranks our fight." She turned to look at him, eyes red and puffy, face still a blotchy pale.
"Really? I...I can go be with them?"
He was going to hate himself for this. He knew it. That the circumstances were rather more than simply extraordinary. He sighed, nodding. "Yes. That is where you belong."
Standing up, he took her hand, not allowing her to pull away this time. "Let's get you out of your festive robes and into something more comfortable to go to your parents' house in, shall we?" He had kept his voice steady, a feat of which he was sure his mother would have been proud.
He was shocked, however, when she refused again, pulling her hand down and forcing him to his knees again. The thought filtered through his mind that had she been any other witch, he wouldn't have allowed her to pull him so easily. Perhaps his mother hadn't been fully off when she'd reminded him that no matter how cold he had been to her, no matter how strained their marriage, she was his wife.
It was easy, then to force quiet the voice complaining about involving itself in Weasley grief. He was simply being a dutiful husband. She'd earned that much at least.
When she didn't speak up, he raised an eyebrow. "I thought you wanted to go?" At her nod, he continued, "Ok, so we need to get you changed." She shook her head. "No?"
"No. I," she took a shuddering breath and began to squeeze his hand tightly. He held his tongue, not wanting to alert her to the fact she was taking comfort in his presence, even if said action startled him thoroughly. "I just need to go."
He nodded, "All right. Shall we floo?"
"You, you're coming?" she asked, looking at him. He couldn't place what had entered her voice, and wasn't entirely certain of the answer she wanted to hear.
He nodded, "At least to get you there." He'd only intended to get her there, then to leave her and her family to grieve and finagle their way through their destroyed festivities without his disruptive presence. He had no place there, as she'd repeatedly reminded him, not that it bothered him, but with it came the understanding that he was escorting her there to ensure her safe arrival. Nothing more.
"Will you stay?" she asked, voice shaking. Draco could swear he saw fear enter into her eyes.
He thought for only a moment on how to answer. Not because he was sure of how to, but because in her fragile state, he didn't need to cause her any more agitation. Looking at her, he held his voice steady, "Only if my presence will do more good than harm."
"Thank you," was all she said before wrapping her arms around him and sobbing again.
He returned the gesture, holding her close, though he was more than a little concerned that when she regained her faculties later, she'd regret her action. They remained that way for several minutes until her sobs eased and she pulled slightly away from him.
Draco stood up, pulling her with him, then lifting her carefully, carrying her to the floo before setting her feet down once more. He didn't move his arm from around her waist, though she didn't move her hands from his neck either.
"Are you ready?" he asked, then nodded in response to her own.
Steeling himself, he reached for some floo powder, trying not to think about how he was willingly heading into the Weasley stronghold. Guiding the shaking witch in his arms into the floo, he thought about whether the Weasley floo was large enough to accommodate both of them. It was easier than thinking about the new thoughts he was having in regards to his wife.
"Draco?" she asked softly, interrupting him just before he dropped the floo powder.
Thanking whatever power had delayed his hand, he looked down at her, "Yes?" He hoped his irritation wasn't noticeable, then relaxed as she didn't catch it or at the least respond to it.
"Stay with me?" came the timid request.
He pulled her closer to buy himself the moment it was taking to wrap his mind around the request. Two days ago, she couldn't stand him. Two weeks ago, he knew she wanted an annulment. Now she was asking him to stay with her in the presence of a bunch of stressed Weasleys? That she was hoping they'd kill him did cross his mind briefly, but the part of him that had caused him to offer to take her to her parents' house spoke up. It was the part that had remained quiet so long as she was content to remind him of his failings. Now, it would not return to solitude.
"Are you sure?" he managed. Most of him hoped she'd tell him no, that it was just her foolishness, her shock speaking. That part sulked as she nodded, pulling herself closer to him.
"Please? I can't face them alone."
That she had done so on several occasions was irrelevant. She had always done so when there hadn't been a major catastrophe. That she was asking for his strength, he didn't miss, and that small irritating part of him triumphed, laughing at the larger sulking part of him.
"Yes, I'll stay, but only as long as you want and need me there."
The answer seemed to satisfy her as she settled herself against his chest, shaking still, tears falling down her cheeks onto his robes.
Draco had known she and her family were known for volatile emotions, nothing half-hearted or restrained for the Weasley family. This rapid swing, however, left him wondering what would ever happen if the two of them no longer fought constantly. That small nagging part of him wanted to find out. The rest reminded him that even if all that came out of this was a more amiable relationship, his efforts would have been rewarded.
All of that, however, he forced back as he focused on getting his wife to her parents' house.