The Watch

Chapter Eight

6 am, day after Christmas

I throw some clothes on in the dark

The Smell of cold

Car seat is freezing

The world is sleepng

I am numb

Up the Stairs, to her apartment

She is Balled up on the couch

Her mom and dad went down to Charlotte

They're not home to find us out

And We drive

Now that I have found someone

I'm feeling more alone

Than I ever have before

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

Off the coast and I'm heading nowhere

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

They call her name at 7:30

I pace around the parking lot

I walk down, to buy her flowers

And sell gifts that I got

Can't you see

It's not me you're dying for

Now she's feeling more alone

Than she ever has before

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

Off the coast and I'm heading nowhere

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

As weeks went by

It showed that she was not fine

They told me "Son, It's time

To te the truth" and

She broke down

And I broke down

Cause I was tired, of lying

Driving back, to her apartment

For the moment we're alone

and she's alone

and I'm alone

now I know it

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

Off the coast and I'm heading nowhere

She's a brick and I'm drowning slowly

-Brick by Ben folds five

It was pitch dark when Draco awoke from a light doze and inched soundlessly from the bed, moving so carefully he barely disturbed the bedcovers. A slight glow from the fire's embers provided an inkling of illumination, and he padded to the armoire, listening to Ginny's deep even breathing from the uncurtained bed.

In ten minutes he was dressed. He threw a heavy black cloak around his shoulders, took up a dark hat and his gloves, and walked softly to the door. He unlocked the door with the utmost caution. Then he opened the door just wide enough to slide sideways through the aperture and then drew it shut behind him.

Ginny sat up the minute she heard the faint click of the closing latch. What was going on here? What was he doing?

She leaped from the bed, dragging the coverlet around her, and ran to the door, stubbing her toe on the leg of a stool as she wove through the darkness. Cursing under her breath, she eased open the door and stepped into the corridor, where a tallow candle in a wall sconce threw a dim, shadowy light. She tiptoed down the corridor until she reached the head of the stairs.

Draco was talking quietly in the hall below. Ben's voice answered him, but so low she couldn't make out the words. They spoke hastily and then moved out of the hall into the kitchen.

Ginny raced back to the bedchamber and stood at the window, pressing her face to the glass, looking down into the stable-yard. A lantern glimmered below, its light swinging across the cobbles, providing a small oasis in the surrounding blackness. The sky was thick with clouds, blocking out both stars and moonlight, but in the faint puddle of golden light she could discern Draco and Ben, still deep in conversation. Then Ben moved away toward the stables, carrying a torch, leaving Draco in darkness.

Ginny stared stupidly down into the black yard, unable to make any sense of what she was seeing. Then Ben reappeared, carrying a broom.

Ginny flew to the armoire. She fumbled through the garments and found a pair of jeans and a shirt, and ran to the window with them. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the scene in the yard, she dragged on the jeans, rolled up the legs until they cleared her ankles, shrugged into the shirt, and then looked around for a belt. She found the one Draco had discarded earlier... an eternity ago... and cinched it around her waist. The last buckle hole was too loose, so she tied the leather roughly together. It held up the jeans but made a most inelegant muddle around the middle.

Below, Draco had straddled the broom. As she pulled on her shoes, Ginny could just make out a wand hanging out of Draco's pocket.

Draco leaned down, took Ben's hand and shook it briefly; then the broom sprang forward beneath him, disappearing into the darkness over the gate. Ben turned back to the inn with his torch.

Ginny knew now what was happening. Lord Lucifer was taking to the road. She grabbed her cloak and gloves and left the chamber, closing the door behind her. At the head of the stairs she stopped, listening to see if she could hear Ben moving around below. A line of light showed beneath the closed door to the taproom.

He came out of the kitchen and went into the taproom. Voices swelled as the door opened, then faded as he closed it behind him.

Ginny ran down the stairs. In the deserted kitchen, lit only by the fire still burning in the great fireplace, she unlocked the back door and slipped out into the stable yard. She flitted across to the stables, a dark shadow in the deep gloom. Draco had ridden out on a broom. It was reasonable to assume that it was not the only broom present. Despite the fact it was a Muggle establishment.

She could see nothing inside the stable, although the shuffling of hooves in straw and the occasional whinny told of more then one horse bedded down there. A torch hung from a hook just inside the door, flint, tinder and a lantern beside it. It was a risk she had to take if she was to find another broom. Cursing herself for not having brought her wand, she pushed the rubber button and the torch through long shadows on the wooden walls.

The beasts in the stalls moved restlessly as she walked down the length of the building, looking for another of Draco's brooms, her heart thudding in terror as she imagined Ben, or someone even more terrifying, bursting in on her. She was there on sufferance, protected only by Draco's interest, an interest that would extend even in his absence to his own apartments; but once she ventured out of that protected territory, she could well be seen as fair game.

The broom was in the last stall. A 'Firebolt Cougar,' she thought almost reverently. She lifted it carefully and slung it over her shoulder and walked quickly back through the building. She turned off the torch before opening the door to the yard and then hauled herself astride the brooms back. Once mounted, her terror faded. The entire tribe gathered in the taproom could burst forth in pursuit, but no one on foot could stop her now.

She nudged the floor with her heels and directed the broom over the gate. Once in the street, her heart took an exultant leap. She knew which way Draco would have gone. She pulled up the broom, guiding it up the hill to the heath. The broom was steady as she guessed it was the best of the best.

Urging the broom faster as they reached the top of the hill and the black expanse of Putney Heath stretched to all sides. The thin ribbon of the road glimmered ahead of her, winding its way into the darkness. On all sides gnarled trunks and twisted branches bent to the wind, whistling in fierce gusts across the flat heath.

It was an eerie, inhospitable place, the sky so black it seemed to have swallowed all light. Only the road provided orientation, and Ginny drew the broom onto the gorse-strewn turf beside it.

She listened but could only hear the creaking of branches, the wail of the wind, the hoot of an owl. Draco would not be far from the road. He would be waiting somewhere along that ribbon for his unsuspecting prey. Cautiously, she nudged the broom forward, and the broom obeyed almost reluctantly, hovering through the air as if scenting danger looming out of the darkness.

Suddenly the air was rent with a shriek of such pain and terror that Ginny's heart stopped dead, and the broom reared. Ginny clung on to the stick and wound her fingers around it, sweat beading her forehead despite the bitter cold. The shriek reached a crescendo, then died away. She began to breathe again, recognizing the sound as the death cry of some small animal fallen prey to a fox or an owl. But it did nothing to make the heath more reassuring.

Gingerly, the broom moved forward, keeping close to the turf beside the road. A stand of silver birch trees took shape ahead, their bark white in the darkness. Broom and rider drew level with the trees.

She didn't see the thing snaking out of the darkness behind her. She heard nothing until with a faint snap the whip curled around her body, wrapping twice around her, securing her in the heavy folds of her cloak. She felt no pain, but her mouth opened to scream out of shock that died in her throat as his voice spoke into her ear, 'Not a sound!'

Ginny swallowed the scream and sat still, her arms imprisoned in her cloak, only her hands free, uselessly clutching the broom stick.

Ginny turned her head. The other broom's black shrouded rider regarded her in silence. His eyes were grey slits behind a black silk mask, and he wore a black silk scarf knotted loosely around his neck. He flicked his wrist with the wand;, the whip uncurled, snaked through the air to be caught and coiled in one deft movement and disappeared.

Suddenly Draco became very still, his head cocked. Ginny froze.

Then she heard it, the faint rumble of tyres on the bitumen coming out of the darkness around the curve in the road ahead.

'Move into the trees.' His voice was as quiet as the grave, his eyes almost without expression as they rested on her face. Ginny could no more have imagined disobeying the instruction then she could have stood up in an avalanche. She urged the broom backward into the stand of silver birch until they were out of sight of the road.

Draco drew the silk scarf up over his mouth as he sat his horse beside the road. Then both broom and rider became totally still. Ginny strained eyes and ears into the darkness. She could just make out the shape of the man, the rattle of wheels; the rush of the engine grew louder. The car was coming at a fair clip. Now she could hear the crack of a whip, the voice of the driver urging on his car midst sleep as they approached the bend and the stand of the trees.

The driver's frantic urgency seemed to indicate that he knew he was approaching some notorious point of ambush. The hair on her nape lifted, and a shiver of apprehension ran down her spine.

The car lumbered around the corner, the driver looking out of his window as wheels pounded upon the road, sending up a shower of gravel and larger stones.

Leisurely Draco moved into the road. He raised his wand and a blaze of fire ran over the team's head. The driver cursed vilely and within the vehicle a shrill scream ensued, followed by a confused babble of voices.

Draco remained where he was in the middle of the road as the driver fought with those inside, and the car at last came to a screeching halt.

'I won't keep you long, gentlemen,' Draco said casually. His voice, despite the silk scarf over his mouth, carried on the still air, but to Ginny it didn't sound like the voice she knew. He was speaking with a faint but unmistakable foreign accent, and the timbre was higher, more musical. She listened and watched fascinated despite the cold chill of naked terror.

'Would you throw down your gun, sir?' he requested the driver politely. 'And if you two gentlemen would throw down your pistols also.'

The coachman cursed him, but the three weapons thudded to the ground.

'Thank you.'

'Robert... Robert, do something!' shrilled a female voice from within the car. 'You great lump, sitting there like a tub of lard! We're being held up! It's a highwayman!'

'Yes, my dear,' returned a weary voice. 'I know.'

'Then do something! What are you? A man or a mouse? Protect my honour!'

'I sincerely doubt your honour is in danger, my dear.' There was a muffled thump, a resigned sigh, and then slowly the car door swung open.

A thin gentleman stepped out, fumbling with the gun at his waist. He looked up rather helplessly at the man sitting atop his broom.

'You... you thief. I'll see you electrocuted before I give you a cent!' he declared with remarkable lack of conviction.

'My dear sir, I assure you I'm not in the least bit interested in your money,' Draco said calmly. 'But I do beg you not to trouble with your gun, it will only lead to unpleasantness.'

The man regarded him in frank bewilderment, his hand resting on the hilt of his half-drawn gun. 'Not interested?'

'No, sir,' the highwayman said pleasantly. 'Not in anything of yours. Sheathe your gun if you please.'

'La, Robert! What're you doing out there? Have you killed him yet?' A florid face appeared in the window of the coach, a towering hat swaying perilously above. 'Bloody hell, man, what good are you?' she declared in disgust, taking in the scene. 'I could have been robbed and raped by now. Kill him, I tell you. Do it this minute.'

'Yes, my dear... but it's a little difficult, you see...' The thin man, with his hand still on the hilt of his gun, continued to gaze helplessly up at the figure atop the broom. 'He's on a broom, you see,' he offered in desperate explanation.

'La, I can see that, you idiot!' The door crashed open, and a mountainous figure swathed in crimson velvet descended. 'Give me that gun!' She grabbed for it. 'I'll defend myself you great oaf!'

'Forgive me, ma'am, but you have nothing to defend,' Draco said, his eyes now alight with laughter but his voice as steady as before. 'Pray, return to your car.'

'Don't talk to me like that, you murdering thief!' With a great wrench the lady managed to pull the gun out of the sheathe with a jerk that sent the hilt crashing into the chin of the unfortunate gentleman, who fell back, tripped over a stone in the road, and sat down with a weary little sigh that sounded like air escaping from a feather pillow.

'Now, you bastard! Attack a defenceless woman, would you?' Her large frame lumbered towards him with a movement reminiscent of a dancing elephant. She flourished the gun wildly.

A long whip magically appeared and snapped, curling around the hilt of the gun, effortlessly lifting it from her grasp. Then the gun fell to the road with a large clatter.

Draco leaned low over his broom and scooped up the gun from the road, saying mildly, 'I trust I didn't hurt you, madam. Now, perhaps you'd return to the car.' A touch of flint entered his voice at this point, and the woman stared at him, her jaw slack, her previously florid complexion now as white as whey.

Her husband scrambled to his feet, dusting off his coat. 'Best do as he says, my dear.' He touched her arm with a placating hand.

'Coward!' she spat at the poor unfortunate man, jerking her arm away. With a swish of her skirt she climbed back into the car.

'Sir?' Draco gestured in her wake. 'I can see how you might find it more peaceful out here, but I'm afraid I must insist.'

The gentleman glanced over his shoulder at the coach, then, with a resigned shrug, followed his wife into the interior. Draco dismounted, still holding the gun, and leaned through the window. A small man in a dark-brown suit sat trembling in the corner, trying to make himself invisible.

The woman sat on the edge of the seat, for the moment mercifully silent, fanning herself with her gloves. When she saw Draco in the window, she hissed like a serpent, waving one pudgy hand, where a massive emerald winked among the folds of flesh.

'I'd give you my body sooner than let you have my rings... bastard!'

'Fortunately for us both, ma'am, I require neither,' Draco returned in a voice as dry as the Sahara.

'You... you... you!' she exclaimed. 'Do something, Robert.'

'Oh, hold your tongue, Cornelia,' begged the long-suffering Robert, finally pushed beyond caution.

'Bravo, sir,' Draco applauded as the outraged Cornelia gobbled like a turkey. He leaned farther into the coach and politely addressed the man shrinking in the corner.

'Would you be so good as to pass me that leather satchel beneath your seat, sir?'

At this the little man sat up and stared at Draco as if he were looking upon Ursula herself. 'How... how...?'

'Never mind how, my dear sir,' the wizard said. 'If you would just pass it across to me, then you may all be on your way again. It's an inhospitable night to be travelling, I can't think what you were thinking of.'

'Oh, I said we should have stayed overnight at the Whale and Pipe.' Cornelia recovered her tongue. 'But you wouldn't listen!'

'But, my dear ma'am, you were adamant we must reach the city tonight,' her husband exclaimed. 'I tried to point out the folly of crossing the heath late at night but-'

'Oh, you hold your tongue!' Cornelia swiped at him with her reticule. 'Don't you dare argue with me... Your memory is like a sieve, and you have the gall to tell me that I'm mistaken...'

Draco closed his ears as the tirade increased in volume. He took the leather satchel from the trembling passenger and withdrew his head from the window.

'To your left!' Ginny's yell cut through the night. He whirled, just in time to see one of the men grabbing up a pistol from the road.

Draco sprang forward; the silver gun in his hand flashed in the dark as the bullet sprung forth, leaving one of the men dropping the pistol with a cry of pain. He fell back against the coach, clutching his hand.

'Stupid!' Draco declared bluntly, kicking all three weapons into the bushes beside the road. 'You!' He beckoned another man. 'Bind your friend's hand, quickly!'

Draco remounted the broom while the lad slunk over to his wounded fellow and wound his handkerchief around the bleeding hand. Draco then cast a large Obliviate charm eradicating all memory of the Wizarding world. Draco waited until the men were back in the car, and the driver once more behind the wheel. Then he moved himself off the roadway.

'Carry on.' The man needed no second invitation, the engine whizzed and the car plunged forward. Raising his hat, Draco bowed with a flourish as the car passed him, and the face of Cornelia, scarlet with fury, filled the window aperture.

As the car thundered out of earshot, Ginny emerged from the trees. She was convulsed with an almost hysterical laughter and wiped at her streaming eyes with the back of her hand.

'The poor man!' she gasped.

'Yes, one's heart bleeds,' Draco agreed dryly pulling the silk scarf away from his mouth. Reaching behind him with one hand, he unfastened the mask and thrust it into the pocket of his caped cloak. Then he regarded Ginny steadily.

'Would you mind telling me just exactly what you think your doing?'

'Ah,' said Ginny. 'Well, to be brutally honest, thinking didn't really come into it.'

'No...,' he said musingly, stroking his chin. 'No, I suppose it didn't, because if by some miracle you had given the matter an instant's reflection, you would not be here. Would you?'

'Well I don't know about that,' Ginny returned. 'It seems to me that if I hadn't been, you might be lying with a bullet in your head at this point.'

'Possibly. I'll take it into account, but I can't promise that my gratitude for your sharp eyes will weight too heavily in the scale. I have little tolerance for interference in my affairs.'

He turned his broom onto the heath away from the road before Ginny could respond. 'Follow me closely.' He dug his heels against the wooden sides, and the broom took off, a pale shape fast disappearing into the darkness.

Her broom flew after him. Ginny concentrated on keeping her seat while flying over the rough frozen ground, which the broom negotiated with the expertise of Magical knowledge.

A silver moon appeared between scudding clouds, throwing a cold, pale light over the black figure of Draco, sparking off his hair's shimmering silver fire. All around, trees and scrawny bushes rattled in the wind, dark hunched shapes across the flat ground.

Ginny had no idea where they were going as they plunged farther into the heath, leaving the road to fires and warm beds and mugs of warm milk behind. She had no idea of the time, except that the moon, when it showed itself was high. How many hours ago had she been locked in a lustful tangle of limbs with the man riding ahead of her? A man who was now like a frightening stranger leading her through an alien landscape that only he understood. A man she had agreed to partner in a diabolical enterprise of fraud and thievery and seduction. An agreement, that in this cold, dark hour of the night struck her as insane.

Draco's broom wheeled to the right and flew down a small hill. She followed, and at the bottom Ginny found herself on a narrow, rutted country lane. She heaved a sigh of relief at this return to some semblance of the ordinary world, but Draco's pace didn't slow and she followed stolidly in his wake. They rode through a night-closed hamlet and approached a tiny stone cottage standing by itself some half a mile farther along the lane. A light glowed in the downstairs window.

Draco slowed and turned to the back of the cottage, where he flew without hesitation through the open door of a long, low outbuilding. She followed and found herself in a dark stable, the frigid air heavy with the sweet scent of hay.

'All well, Luke?' Ben's voice spoke out of the darkness. Ginny jumped, totally disorientated. Where in hell were they?

'Bloody hell!' Ben exclaimed softly, making out the second rider behind Lord Luke. 'Ow d' she get 'ere?'

'Good question.' Draco swung of his broom. 'And one I intend to have answered quickly.' He lifted the leather satchel down from the saddle, and his teeth flashed white in the dark as he grinned. 'Morris is worth his weight in gold, Ben.'

'Fat pickin's then?' Ben took Draco's broom.

'Oh, yes, I believe so.' Draco slung the satchel over his shoulder and came over to Ginny. 'I'll leave you to put the broom back in it's initial state, Miss Morgan. Ben has made preparations for only one broom. You'll find wax and a towel in the corner. Put it in the end stall and clean it well. Don't forget to throw a blanket over it for prying eyes.' With that he strolled out of the room, whistling between his teeth.

Ginny accepted her responsibility with a shrug. If Draco expected her to react with irritation to his orders, he would be disappointed. She swung herself down. 'Can't we have a torch in here, Ben?'

'No,' was the uncompromising response.

Clearly not a man willing to engage in companionable discourse while they worked. Ginny peered around, her eyes gradually growing accustomed to the gloom. She lifted the broom to the end stall, listening to Ben singing to himself while cleaning.

She rubbed the wax over the handle. 'Is there a cloth, Ben?'

'Over yonder.'

Yonder where? She looked around and found a torn strip of blanket hanging from a hook. She used it on the broom.

Her arms were aching when she was finished; sweat beading her forehead despite the cold. Ben had finished with Draco's broom long before and had banged out of the stable with the curt instruction that she should make sure the door was bolted behind her when she left. She'd controlled the urge to consign him and his incivility to the devil and concentrated on finishing her task.

She found a blanket thrown over the gate to the stall and tossed it over the broom. Then she braced herself to face what awaited her in the cottage.

A flicker of candlelight showed in the single window at the rear end of the building. She pushed open the door and entered a square room that took up the entire ground floor. A narrow wooden staircase rose from the corner.

Draco was sitting in a wooden chair before a blazing fire, his booted feet resting on a footrest. Ben sat in a similar chair beside him. Both men nursed pewter tankards, from which rose an aromatic steam. A copper pan simmered fragrantly on the hob.

Ginny stood uncertainly at the door.

'Close the door, Miss Weasley, it's not midsummer.'

Her lips tightened and she kicked the door shut with her heel. She was now as chilled as she'd been heated with her stable exertions. The two chairs, a table and two stools provided the only furniture in the room, and yet it seemed a haven of warmth and comfort with the golden glow of the oil lamp on the table and the red spurting fire in the hearth.

Resolutely, she walked over to the fire and bent to warm her hands. 'I thought you had a horse, not a broom,' she commented casually. 'Deceiving you could say.'

'Do you think so?' he said with a careless shrug.

'Yes, apparently a black horse. A devil's combination to tempt the fates,' she said.

'One must spice one's life a little,' he said, keeping his eyes on the fire. 'You seem to understand the pleasures of courting danger, Miss Weasley.'

'On the contrary, I don't believe in taking foolhardy risks with my neck.'

'Ah.' He looked across at her then, that little mocking smile playing over his lips. 'And what do you think you've risked this evening, my dear Virginia?'

'Not my neck,' she snapped back.

He leaned back in the chair, rocking himself gently with one foot on the footrest. 'No, your neck's in no danger from me.'

Ben chuckled into his tankard, and Ginny regarded him with undisguised dislike. 'Must we have this conversation in company?'

'Oh, Ben isn't company... you are,' Draco declared. 'Ben is supposed to be here. You on the other hand, are not.'

'Ben didn't save you from a bullet tonight.'

'There is that.' He appeared to give this some judicious thought.

'Looks like she's bin' raidin' yer wardrobe, Luke,' Ben observed. 'I niver seen the like!' He chuckled again and buried his nose in his tankard.

'Good God!' For the first time Draco took in Ginny's garb beneath her cloak. 'Are those my pants you're wearing? If 'wearing' is the right word for whatever you've done to them.'

'I could hardly find my own,' she retorted. 'I would have asked if you hadn't sneaked out like a snake in the grass.'

'I hardly consider going about my private business to be sneaking like a snake,' he declared. 'And compared with making free with my clothes and my broom, it seems positively saintly behaviour.'

Nonplussed, Ginny shifted the angle of the subject. 'You knew that the satchel would be in the car. What's in it?'

'Rent rolls,' Draco said readily, stretching his feet to the fire. 'The Minister of Muggle Recreation's rent rolls. He's a stingy bastard, rich as a Croesus. He won't notice the loss except in his mean spirited soul.'

'And that man who came to the Mermaids Tavern earlier? Morris... he told you about it?'

'Precisely.' Draco smiled lazily. 'Morris spends a lot of his time in the taprooms around the heath. He keeps his ear to the ground to good purpose and overheard the Minister's servant trying to persuade his travelling companions to stay at the Whale and Pipe overnight, since he didn't wish to risk his precious cargo to the heath at midnight. Madam Cornelia, however, insisted on reaching town tonight.' He shrugged. 'So what could the poor fellow do? I'm convinced the lady was very persuasive.'

Ginny was too intent of making sense of the night's work to smile. 'But why didn't you take anything from that ghastly woman and her husband?'

Draco shook his head. 'It wasn't necessary. One mustn't be greedy. There's enough in that satchel to furnish you with a new wardrobe, even down to a pair of shoes with emerald studded heels and diamond buckles.'

'Eh... what's that?' Ben demanded, emerging from his own languid trance with a jerk. 'She's in yer keepin' then, Luke?'

'No, I am not!' Ginny declared, her eyes flashing tawny fire. 'We are embarked upon a joint enterprise. Isn't that right, Luke?'

Draco laughed. 'Yes, it is, Virginia. There's no need to look daggers at me. Your integrity is in no way under challenge. But I'll give you one word of advice. Ben is the best friend a man could ever wish for, and in this joint enterprise you may need him as much as I do. Remember that.'

'In that case, it might be well if he understands the true situation,' Ginny said tightly. 'I am in no way beholden to you, Lord Vlad.'

'Only as far as a pair of Versace pants, a shirt and a Firebolt Cougar,' he murmured. 'Do you care for some milk?'

It was such an abrupt change of subject Ginny merely blinked, although her stomach lurched with anticipation at the thought.

Draco gestured indolently to the simmering pan on the hob. 'Help yourself. You'll find a tankard in the cupboard beside the mantel.'

Ginny wasted no more time in pursuing contentious issues. If Draco was prepared to let bygones be bygones, then the least she could do was follow suit. She found the tankard and filled it with the creamy, fragrant contents of the pan. She hitched a stool over with her foot and sat down almost in the fireplace in her eagerness to get to the heat. The first sip made her knees weak. Someone knew how to make this drink to fell a grown man. The second sent her head spinning.

The two men behind her rocked placidly, were sipping from their own tankards. The room began to lose its contours in the most delicious way, and the creeping languor started in her toes and inched upwards, turning muscle and sinew to butter. She swayed on her stool, smiling into the fire, taking another sip from the tankard. She swayed and leaned backward, finding a pair of legs perfectly positioned as a backrest; a pair of knees perfectly positioned to receive her head. A hand moved through her hair in a languid stroking motion that blended with the warm, smudgy feeling in her belly as she drained the tankard.

'Such a busy night for a meddlesome little girl,' Draco stated, a rich laugh in his voice. Vaguely, Ginny felt she should protest such a statement, but she could find neither words nor energy- any more than she could resist when she was pulled upwards by her armpits and suddenly found herself dangling face down, sleepily gazing at the earthen floor.

Draco's shoulder moved beneath her belly as he mounted the narrow staircase. It was cold as they left the fire, and she murmured in faint protest, but then she was lying down, sinking into feathers and smothered in quilts, a great weight of them, and the cold air became a warm seal around her body. Hands were on her; deftly stripping her naked under the covers so the cold air didn't touch her exposed skin.

Vaguely she was aware of him sliding in beside her, his bare skin chilled by its brief exposure to the frigid air. She curled against him, sharing her own warmth as she fell asleep, her nose pressed to the now warm naked back, his scent invading her dreams.

Two hours later

Draco Apparated in front of his London townhouse. He took the steps two at a time. He was eager to end his tryst with Pansy, and the hassle with Virginia hadn't done his humour any benefit. Pansy knew how to soothe his ruffled temper.

As he thrust open the door, she came running to greet him; her small, lithe figure was in his arms and she was kissing him, murmuring soft endearments. Waist length black hair hung over one shoulder, and he could smell its sweet fragrance and feel the smooth as silk skin as her arms twined around his neck.

Pulling away from him, Pansy looked up at him from her diminutive height, staring at him with her mahogany dark eyes, her full moist lips parted over her dazzling white teeth. 'Come,' she said softly, her voice childlike, 'I will prepare you a cool drink.'

'It's not a drink that I want, Pansy,' he whispered hoarsely, pulling her back to him.

She giggled seductively, this woman that was more a child, and sighed seductively. 'Handsome Luke, tell Pansy what it is you want. Tell me, Luke,' she coaxed enticingly.

'You little tease,' he answered huskily, a familiar surging need coursing through his body and seeming to centre in his nether regions.

Playfully, she struggled away from him, skipping up the first few steps to the bedroom. Draco bounded after her in hot pursuit, laughing at her little game. This ritual never failed to amuse him.

He followed her to the top of the stairs and saw article after article of clothing being thrown through the open doorway in accompaniment to her squeals of expectation.

First her tiny slippers, and then her skirt- faster and faster the garments flew through the air. He dodged a high-flying top and marvelled at her agility in undressing herself so quickly.

When the assault of clothing ended, he strode into the dimly lit bedroom on cue; it was cool from the shutters being drawn against the morning sun. His eyes adjusted to the half-light and found her lying atop the bed, waiting.

Draco stood before her appraisingly, removing his shirt, deliberately fumbling with the buttons, watching her eagerness build. Through slitted eyes their gazes locked. His hands went to his straining trousers, his movements slow, watching, filling his senses with the sight, scent and anticipation of her.

The pink tip of her tongue moistened her lips and, as always, he was struck by her beauty. Her lean supple body never failed to excite him and her sensuous lips promised fulfilment; her oblique, almost oriental, eyes measured him knowingly, without coyness. Pansy recognized the impact her beauty had on him, and she capitalized on it.

He stood before her, fully aroused, wanting her, enjoying the sight of her small uplifted breasts with their chocolate-coloured nipples. Pansy lowered her eyes and held her arms out for him.

Later that morning

Draco stood in front of his shaving stand, trying to avert his eyes from the reflection that bore startling resemblance to his enemy, his father. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Pansy's image in his shaving mirror. Her eyes were narrowed as she studied him. He steeled himself against her onslaught of questions; he had heard them so often. 'Is not Pansy pretty? Why can't I go with you? Are you ashamed of your Pansy?' And on and on she would whine, until he was dressed and ready to leave. At that point she would change her tactics for fear he would order her from his house, and she would once again become his sweet, undemanding Pansy.

'I think maybe Pansy will be leaving.' A practiced sob caught in her throat.

Draco turned to face her, angry at her words.

Pansy's eyes were now mere slits. 'It is true. I think maybe Pansy will have to leave. My Luke has thoughts for another.'

'What are you saying Pansy? I have no thoughts for another.' Even as he said the words, he knew he lied. It was true; their lovemaking had been clouded by his thoughts of Virginia. At one point he had almost moaned her name in his desire.

'It is true. Luke has found another, I feel it here,' she said, dramatically touching her heart. 'Is it one of those milk-skinned, overfed ladies you see at the Ministry? No, Luke would not care for a fat lady. Perhaps,' she said shrewdly, 'it is the fire headed girl I have heard spoken of in the taverns.'

Draco ignored her bid for reassurance. 'Enough, Pansy,' he said angrily.

'It is,' she said whiningly. 'It is the fire girl! I knew it, I felt it. Now you will discard me like one of your dirty sheets.'

Angry at this insight of his Hogwarts peer, Draco snatched up his jacket and strode from the room.

Pansy followed him, small sobs catching in her throat. Anger welled up in him, and he felt the urge to slap her, to still the words that tumbled from her petulant mouth. Immediately, he was contrite and ashamed of the impulse. What's gotten into me? Have I gone mad? Within him beat the answer: Virginia Weasley.

'I have business, Pansy. I'll be back this evening. Have something light for dinner. Perhaps we can go to the gardens tonight and dance. Would you like that?'

He knew Pansy would like it. She was always begging him to take her out. 'Pansy has no need for these pretty gowns. Pansy never goes anywhere where she can be seen,' she would pout.

He watched her face light up. Another time he might have been pleased with himself. Now, he couldn't care one way or another if Pansy was happy or not. All his spare thoughts were of Virginia and the brief time they had spent together. If the truth were known or if he cared to admit it to himself, he was tiring of Pansy and her childish, clinging ways. For a woman of twenty she was often infant-like in her behaviour.

She came to him and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him gratefully. 'You make Pansy so happy!'

'Be ready when I get back,' he said curtly.

After Draco and Pansy's dinner.

He felt like an idiot. Another gulp of liquor made him feel better. Virginia Weasley and Hermione Granger were not going to torment him any longer. Did she have any idea what a sacrifice it was for him to give up Pansy? Did she have any idea of what it cost him to send the China doll packing? A goddamn fortune, that's how much. By God, he should demand his money back from her lawyer. The thought amused him, and he threw back his head and roared with laughter. He should just show her the list Pansy had presented to him. The Weasel would sing a different tune when she saw how much he had paid out. Perfume, makeup, clothes for the day, clothes for the night, shoes, toiletries. Shoes, lots of shoes the list had read. Jewels, jewels. A cape for the opera, a cape for flying, a cape for walking. By God, he had paid through the nose. And don't forget the goddamn spinet she demanded. The brandy bottle flew to his lips and he gurgled deeply. Well he wasn't going to let her get away with it. Where was darling, beautiful Pansy now, he wondered pitifully. Probably in some gaol starving to death, all because of Virginia Weasley. 'My ass she's starving,' he thundered drunkenly when he suddenly remembered the cash deposit the tiny girl had demanded. And he had just handed it over, glad to be rid of the tiny creature who had shared his townhouse for two years. He had suffered greatly when Pansy had pocketed the money and said in her best little girl voice, 'It is my pension, Luke.' It was goddamn outright thievery, was what it was!

He was drunk. If anyone had a right to get falling down drunk, it was he. He laughed again, a deep, booming sound that brought his butler on the run. His dark eyes took in the scene, and he smirked. The boss was drunk. Jessup couldn't wait to tell the others. Something good must have happened. It had been years since he had seen the boss so pie-eyes. It was good to see.

'Jessup, come in here. Fetch me another bottle of brandy and lets have a drink. I want to make a toast, and I want you to join me.' Jessup grinned as he uncorked the bottle. 'No, no, a bottle for you and one for me. We won't bother with glasses, takes too long to drink that way.'

'What are we drinking to?'

'To the biggest damn fool in all of England. Me!' he said triumphantly as he swallowed a hearty gulp of the fiery brandy. 'You must have made this rotgut yourself, Jessup. It would take the hide off a water buffalo at fifty paces. Just the stink! The real stuff would kill him.'

Jessup choked on the brandy and it dribbled down his chin. He wiped at the brandy with his shirtsleeve. If he was going to get drunk with the boss, he'd better do it neatly.

'And to... and to...' Jessup waited patiently.

'What was I saying?' Draco demanded. Jessup shrugged. 'I remember, we want to toast womanhood. Those goddamn creatures who make our blood boil. Don't ever look at a woman Jessup. They can kill you with their eyes. Do you want to hear a story? It's a sad story but I'm going to tell you anyway. Pay attention, because I don't want the same thing to happen to you.'

In between sips of brandy, Draco unburdened himself. 'I tell you there is no justice. Tell me the truth, Jessup. Do you think I'm a good man?'

Jessup leered drunkenly. 'A very good man.'

'Well, as one man to another, do you think the Weasel should pay me back for what Pansy cost me? I did it for her. Now she's going somewhere where they have to wear lots and lots of clothes.'

'For you, it is a big problem,' Jessup said knowingly.

'It begins soon.'

'You have a big problem.'

Draco drunkenly agreed.

Draco nodded his head. Christ, that was his head bobbing on his shoulders, wasn't it. Jessup looked strange; he couldn't have three ears. 'I know what I'm going to do, Jessup,' he said slurring his words. 'I'm going to get rid of my father. Isn't that fair, Jessup?'

'More then fair.' Jessup said toppling from the chair.

'Then everyone can pray from my soul. Mother loved to pray for my soul. So did Dumbledore, he prays for all the souls,' Draco said virtuously. 'Jessup, get up, we have to go to bed.' Loud snores ricocheted around Draco as he peered down at his butler. 'If there's one thing I can't stand, it's a man who can't hold his liquor,' Draco said in disgust.

Next Chapter

'Striking woman that Mistress Shickovavich.' The Minister of Dark Animals came to stand beside his father in law. He began to sneeze copiously into his handkerchief. 'I hope she isn't discriminated for her appearance. Takes some nerve to appear in public like that.'

'Ja'dores is not going to kill her.' His son in law didn't smile as he offered this curt comment. The Minister had correctly guessed that Lucius Malfoy was staring at the lady who'd just entered the ballroom at Ja'dores on the arm of her husband.

The three elegant salons at the assembly rooms were thronged with those fortunate members of the people of England to be approved by the fourteen- member committee of those behind Ja'dores whose draconian rules ensured that three quarters of England's rich, famous and powerful knocked in vain for admission. Among that made up and elaborately coiffured crowd at this subscription at this party, Mistress Shickovavich's appearance was remarkable.

She wore her hair simply, her complexion innocent of makeup.

Ginny paused instinctively in the entrance to the ballroom, and Draco taking his cue from her, paused too. A whisper rushed through the room; then every eye turned toward the double doors.