White Noise

Chapter 6: Secrets to Reveal

She arrived in Nottingham a good hour after her husband and the other rescuers had. Soundlessly, she surveyed the crime scene.

The house was buckling under the built-up pressure of the flames, swaying this way and that. She hoped and prayed as hard as she could that no one was still in it. It would be just like one of them, her husband in particular, to play the hero.

It didn't sit well with her, looking at her surroundings. She had been dreaming of this crime happening for a fortnight now-this wasn't what had been revealed in her dreams.

She breathed deeply. In her dreams, there hadn't been the acrid smell of smoke to burn her nostrils, but the deep, clean scent of the night instead. And there had been one murder in a field, not this messy catastrophe. No, no, no, she thought, this isn't right at all.

Just then she spotted her husband, bent over a small lump. Her throat clogged with helpless tears, as she knew the body was lifeless. From her vantage point she knew the body was that of a child's. With her heart in her throat, Ginny went over to Harry.

He saw her before she had taken ten steps toward him. "Gin."

"Oh Harry," she said mournfully.

He reached her, immediately pulling her face to his chest. She wrapped her arms around him, grabbing on to the fabric of his shirt.

He smelled of smoke and sweat even as she could smell the cologne he wore. Ginny pulled back to look him in the eye. The flames were dancing across him, turning his eyes into a heated green. Bending down, he kissed her lightly, leaving a mark of soot on her mouth. "Merlin, I needed that," he whispered when their lips parted.

Her smile was melancholic. "How bad is it?"

She needn't have asked--she already knew the answer. His eyes held his emotions in them, and tonight they spoke of weakness and inability. Harry always felt that way when he couldn't save the world.

"It's bad, Ginny," he replied wearily. "The adults...Mr. and Mrs. Perkins...there was no saving them... and their daughter..." His voice finally trailed off as he buried his face in the nape of her neck.

She rubbed his back soothingly for a moment and when they peeled apart, she was shaken to the core by the look of resolve in his eyes.

***

Draco slammed his hotel room door shut. He was livid; she had spit on him! Never had he been treated with such utter disrespect. Hadn't his mother trained him right, he might have been inclined to bring her down a notch or two.

Instead, he ripped off his shirt, two buttons popping off, and slammed it to the floor, as best as one could slam a shirt. It was all he could do to not ram his fist into the wall.

He paced across the room and at one point, turned his wand on the floor-length mirror and blew the glass to pieces. He didn't need to look at another reminder of his mistakes to remember them.

Eventually, he stopped at the pile of broken glass, and looking down he caught a glimpse of the thin scar that ran across his abdomen. Absent-mindedly he touched the scar. It was raised slightly, having been too deep to heal thoroughly. It was perhaps the most important reason he hated Potter to this day.

Draco looked away and with a flick of his wand, the glass had vanished, leaving the mirror's frame to stand all alone: the risk of seeing the ugly tattoo on his left arm would be too much.

He was about to throw another curse at a random object, when he heard a soft knock at his door. He growled and threw on a clean shirt from his knapsack.

Upon opening his door, he found the imp-like Ginny Potter standing there. She was so short he could see the roots of her hair. "What?" he barked.

She winced, but continued on as if she were the one in charge, rather than being his partner. "We're going to the former Perkins residence, correct? I thought that since the murders were committed at night, we should perhaps go there at night, too," she said reasonably enough.

"Is that all?" he asked, bored.

"Do you have to be like that?"

"Like what?" he snapped.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You're being impossible, do you know that? I'm not trying to be your enemy here, or make you my own, for that matter. We're partners. We might as well get on like partners," she pointed out.

"I'm not about to bed you, Weasley," he deadpanned. He would never have said a thing like that, never would have suggested it. She was beginning to act far too comfortable with him, though, and he needed to say or do something that would throw her off her firm footing.

In the blink of an eye, her mouth had dropped wide open and her face had turned the color of a ripe tomato. "Wha--? N-no," she stammered. Ginny clamped her mouth shut and then, with a look of absolute determination, opened it again. "Excuse me?" she asked, astounded. "Where the hell did that come from?"

Draco made sure he had his best bored look on, although he was enjoying her discomfort with a perverse pleasure. He tipped his head to the side, considering the small redhead in front of him.

"You and Potter were partners, correct? And, considering that you were married, I feel I may confidently assume he'd bedded you once or twice," he replied darkly.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "That's none of your business!" she exclaimed finally.

Draco couldn't help but watch her with an element of amusement. There was something freakily adorable at having a blushing, defensive Ginny standing in front of him. He pushed that thought from the front of his mind.

"I didn't mean partners in that fashion!" she managed finally.

He smirked. "You should learn to watch what you say. There are people out there who might take it wrong."

"Like you?" she sneered.

Draco shrugged. "No, I knew what you meant all along."

He could hear her stomping down the hall even after he'd closed the door firmly between them.

***

He had rapped on her door to no avail: she didn't seem to be answering her door. Irritated, Draco went down to the front desk clerk and asked if he'd seen anyone with red hair walk out of there recently.

The clerk, who didn't seem older than a mere eighteen, nodded happily. "Why yes I did, Sir. She left but not twenty minutes ago, even after I called out to her. I asked if there was anything I could do, but she only shook her head. It's so late...should I have stopped her?" he asked, looking worried.

Draco waved the younger man off. "No, no need to worry. She's an independent woman. She'll do what she wants. Well, thank you anyway," he said, nodding in the boy's direction before leaving the lobby.

He stepped into the nighttime, thinking she must be mad to go wandering about this late at night in a foreign town.

Rubbing his face wearily, he went round back of the hotel, hoping there might be a safe spot for him to Apparate. Once he found it, he concentrated hard and left with a crack.

He landed on his feet with a thud at the bottom of an incline. At the top, he knew, was the field where his partner would be.

The moon was big and round tonight, glowing so white it was very faintly blue. Shadows danced along the hill and when listening close enough, he could have sworn he heard the faint laughter of Moorish pixies up to no good. By the time he reached level ground, silence had won over the night.

He turned cold when he saw her standing in the middle of the field, her face upturned to the moon.

The pale blue moonlight washed down on her, illuminating her hair to the color of burning embers, her face a translucent white. Standing as she did, so still, Draco was struck by the sudden thought that she looked ethereal: an angel and she-devil all at once.

She turned her face toward him, half in the light, and half in the dark. Draco found himself fighting to breathe properly.

Her hand went up to her mouth. "Oh Draco," she murmured. "I was so wrong."

It was the first time she'd ever said his first name and something about the way she'd said it, breathlessly, jolted him to the core. He moved closer to her, coming to stand in front of her, morning and afternoon discourses forgotten.

Ginny's eyes were wide with disbelief. She was looking up at him in complete shock. "I was so wrong," she repeated quietly.

"About what?" He couldn't help himself: he wanted to know what she thought she was wrong about.

Walking away, her voice was laced with bitterness. "When I start with a case, I always start with what I've dreamt about that case." She motioned to her surroundings. "The problem was... I didn't dream about the fire. Not once. It was such a hard case because, well, I dreamt about this place. I was looking for a murder in a field; I never thought it was about to happen at a home.

She shook her head. "It doesn't make sense; why would my dreams show me a crime scene three years after the fact?"

Draco could think of a couple reasons, but didn't share his ideas with her. It was his viewpoint that she hadn't been casing the Perkins' murders like she thought she was. She was casing Potter's.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he whispered quietly.

Ginny looked at him strangely, momentarily silenced.

"What?" He shrugged nonchalantly as if it were normal of him to care.

She continued looking at him. "I don't know," she finally replied. "You almost seemed, well, normal to me." Ginny tipped her head and a couple of locks fell across her left eye, hiding half her face from him. "And then I remembered who you were." She smiled bitterly.

Unconcerned with her opinion of him, Draco crossed his arms over his chest. "Not everything is at it seems."

"Are you a prophet now, Malfoy?" she asked spitefully.

No, he thought resignedly, I just happen to be aware of information you don't have access to yet. "Don't be so snide, Weasley," he warned.

"Is it still considered snide if it is, in fact, the truth?" she questioned.

Rather than answering, Draco began walking back down the hill. He didn't even know why he had come out; it was late and he was tired. He wasn't going to get any work done, especially with her here pestering him.

"Wait!" He heard her yell for him, but did not stop his descent down the slope.

"Malfoy!" she yelled again, "I said wait!"

Draco could hear her scramble to catch up to him; his legs were long, hers were short. "Where are you heading off to?"

"Is it any of your business?" he snapped, stopping suddenly.

She stopped next to him, glaring up at him angrily. Her hands were on her hips, her chest was heaving with every heated breath she took. Again, Draco caught himself thinking she looked cute. For a Weasley, that is, he improvised.

"Yes," she finally replied. "Yes it is my business. We're partners, Malfoy. We're partners and we are away for work. You can't just leave me standing in the dark!"

Draco glowered. "Fine. I'm not leaving you. I'm offering for you to come with and you've decided to stay behind."

"You're a jerk."

"Yeah, and you're a Weasel," he retorted.

Draco began walking. He didn't have time for this, nor did he want to make the time for it. If she thought he was a jerk, he wasn't going to lose sleep over it.

***

Before going to bed, Ginny soaked in a hot bath.

She submerged herself as far as she could and closed her eyes. Her nostrils flared as the lavender-vanilla scent of her bubble bath filled the air. Her eyes drifted shut.

Today had been harrowing. After they'd settled into their own rooms, she'd gone, quite foolishly, to apologize to Malfoy, who had made fun of her in return. She'd stayed in her room for the next two hours until she decided to go to The Hill.

From then on, it had just gotten worse. For whatever reason, Ginny hadn't expected it to look like that. She had thought she would see the burning home all over again and smell the smoke, but looking at it, one would never know there had been a fire there.

Her fingers absently tapped against the cool porcelain of the bath. Something just didn't fit right.

She took a deep, heavy breath and shut her eyes, thinking of her last night with Harry.

They'd had a fight; she hadn't told anyone that. Not her mum or Hermione. She hadn't even told Dakotah, whom she felt akin to, if only because they'd both lost their husbands.

Ginny felt so guilty about it. Who fought with their husband the last night they were alive? She could still see Harry so clearly, defending his odd behavior. "Gin, there are some things a man needs to keep to himself."

"Like what?" She understood his point; what she didn't understand was why he wouldn't tell her who the man was she'd seen him talking to on the sidewalk.

"Harry, what is the problem? I know it wasn't a witch out there you were talking to." "Ginny, leave it alone, won't you?"

Needless to say, she had left it alone after that. She'd also left him alone that night and slept on the sofa, thinking all night about who that person might have been.

He'd been wearing an expensive cloak, that's what she remembered the most about him. An expensive, dark green cloak with gold buttons.

Ginny's eyes flew open.

Malfoy owned a cloak like that. She'd seen him wearing it once, a few days back. She remembered it now because it had seemed so expensive and looked so dark on him. "What the hell Harry...?" escaped from her lips before she could think about it.

Literally jumping out of the bath, she didn't even towel off before throwing on the fluffy white robe, that belonged the B & B, and running down the hall.

She pounded on his door.

It took a while, but a disgruntled and half-clad Malfoy finally opened the door. He leaned against the doorframe, his heavily lidded eyes not fooling her.

Ginny brushed past him stopping just in front of his bed. Then she turned on him. "Why did my husband meet you the night before he died?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he drawled lazily.

"Yes, you do!" she shot back. "I saw your damned cloak that night! The one you were wearing just a week ago! What the hell were you and my husband talking about?" she asked in a dangerously low voice. Ginny was trying to keep calm, but was finding it very hard to do.

He regarded her closely.

"Well?" she prompted.

"Potter never said anything to you?" he finally asked.

"No, Harry never mentioned it."

He looked away and began walking over to the window, buttoning up his shirt as he did. "You weren't meant to know."

She snorted. "Well, everyone's doing a fabulous job of being so secretive, because I don't know what I wasn't supposed to know."

"You're too nosy," he commented absently, then looked at her. "Why are you here in a bathrobe?" he queried.

Her cheeks warmed. She looked down at her clasped hands as a way to avoid his eyes. "I was bathing when I realized it was you."

"You were thinking of me in the bathtub?"

If she thought her cheeks had pinked before, they were flaming red now. Her chin snapped up and she was helpless to do anything more than meet his sarcastic gaze. "No. I was certainly not thinking of you in the bathtub. I was thinking of Harry and the man I'd seen him speaking with the night before he died. If I had known the man was you, I wouldn't have been thinking about that at all," she stated more calmly than she felt.

"And you came to my room before even getting dressed. Tsk, tsk, Weasel," he edged.

Her eyes closed as she tried to calm herself down. "I wouldn't suggest commenting any further on my dress or lack of it, Malfoy. I know what you are doing. You're trying to get me so befuddled that I won't be able to ask you questions you don't want to answer."

By now he was leaning against the wall. "Who said I don't want to answer your questions? Maybe I don't do it, because I'm obligated not to," he responded tiredly.

"Either way, you're not telling me. I want to know," she demanded much as a five-year-old demands for a cookie. "If it involves Harry in any way, I want to know."

"Look, Mrs .Potter, it's none of your concern at the moment. I will let you know what you need to know, when you need to know it."

Ginny came to stand in front of him, as close to him as she could get without actually touching. "Don't do this to me Malfoy," she warned.

"Do what?" he challenged.

Tears started blurring her vision and although she was embarrassed, she didn't back down. "I know what you're doing; you're starting to treat me like I'm a witness. Don't do that to me, Draco. Please? I deserve more than that," she pled despite her best intentions.

She could see that he was torn between himself and what she didn't know. It somehow shocked her: this wasn't how she remembered him. All of the sudden, he wasn't the self-assured ass she remembered him to be. Instead, the man standing in front of her seemed at war with himself and what was right.

He looked at her, his eyes melancholy. "I'm sorry Ginny," he said quietly. "I can't."

She swallowed hard and nodded. Whatever else could she do?

The tears that had been welling up were now a very real threat. Without giving him a second glance, she fled his room.

***

Draco swayed on the spot.

Potter had assured him his wife didn't know. He had said, no one knows.

Now he was left standing here, lying to Potter's wife, when he should had never had that conversation in the first place.

"Thank you, Potter, for just adding loads more misery to my job," Draco growled sarcastically, just before flipping the light switch off.

Tomorrow would be just another day in this living hell of his.