Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Chapter Eighteen – Swallowed the Light From the Sun

"Coming down, the world turned over

And angels fall without you there

And I go on as you get colder

But I knew someone was there."

-Goo Goo Dolls, "Black Balloon"

Friday, November 7, 2003

David Avery knelt before the glory of the Dark Lord, bowing his head in fealty. "I bring news of Malfoy, my Lord."

The touch of the man sent a shiver down his spine and without looking up, he could feel the cold gaze of Voldemort’s serpentine face. "I knew him to be a concern the moment he brought a Weasley to me, no matter the great loyalty of my spy... what have you uncovered, Avery?"

"I’ve found one who would be most useful in insuring Baron Malfoy’s return to you, my Lord." David grinned, picturing in his mind the glory the Dark Lord would bestow upon him for the tidings. "And she wears the Mark."

"I grow impatient. Rise, David Avery, and give your tidings." The black velvet cape slung across Voldemort’s shoulders swished as the tall figure turned and crossed the sitting room of Malfoy Manor, sliding easily into a cushioned chair.

David rose to his feet, giving another gallant bow before approaching the throne. "Duchess Zabini claims to be pregnant with his child, Lord."

And as anticipated – his time had come! He had more information, plenty of information about the activities of Draco Malfoy since the end of October, but equally had plenty of time to bind Voldemort’s needs with rank advancement for Avery himself before all the pieces were on the table. He imagined a little pawn marching across the board toward the majesty of the white king that blonde Malfoy had become. Voldemort’s face twisted in a cruel grin. "So he cries out in his pain for a Weasley, but spends his nights in the bed of a duchess? Perhaps Baron Malfoy requires more watching than I’d expected... thank you for the information, Avery. I would have you bring Duchess Zabini before me at the soonest chance you have."

He tossed out the line. "I have more news than just that, my Lord."

"More? Come, David, have at it." Voldemort propped his face in his hand, the smirk playing across his serpentine countenance enough to tell Avery that the bait had been swallowed up; hook, line, and sinker.

"One of my sources saw him at the burial of Fred and Percy Weasley last Friday. He stood beside George Weasley and Potter’s Mudblood friend, Granger. AND he was seen at the riot that Crabbe and Goyle began, though he disappeared before Virginia Weasley was taken by the brown-haired man." One final piece held back, and the strategy would be complete.

Once again, Voldemort stepped up to the challenge. "Proof that Malfoy is a spy, then... have you anything else to report? About the brown-haired man, or Malfoy’s appearance at the riot?"

Checkmate. "I saw Draco Malfoy duck into an alley. Moments later, a brown-haired man came out of the alley and pushed his way to the front of the mob... and grabbed up Virginia Weasley the moment he came through the door." David let his mouth curve into a smirk. "I’d say you were quite right about Malfoy, my Lord."

Despite Voldemort’s snort of derision and annoyed "But of course I was right," David knew he’d come out on top. "Leave a message for Baron Malfoy to attend me the moment he returns to the Manor. Send Narcissa to me now. And... make sure that Duchess Zabini’s whereabouts are known at all times. In fact..." Voldemort let out a cruel laugh. "Have Duchess Zabini escorted to the Manor and settled into a guest room. I’d like to keep an eye on the girl."

David bowed low, backing toward the door. "Of course, my Lord. Your will be done, my Lord."

"One more thing, David. You’ll be in charge of Malfoy’s unit in the Sunday attack. You’re dismissed, my loyal friend." Jackpot. David stood tall and turned to go.

As he left the sitting room, David heard the voice of the Dark Lord call after him. "Continue your work, David Avery, and the search for Malfoy’s successor may be a short one indeed."

~

Blaise looked up in surprise from her bubbling cauldron as Davie’s face appeared in the fireplace. "Blaisie!" he exclaimed, "I thought I’d find you over some potion or another. Have a moment?"

She took the cauldron off the fire to keep the Healing Draught from boiling all the water off. "I suppose, if it’s urgent." Smoothing her potion-splattered apron down over her ever-growing middle, she stepped over to greet her guest.

He stepped through the Floo-network in only a moment, bending over to plant a kiss on her cheek. "It’s extremely urgent, dear Duchess. Our Lord was overjoyed to hear of the coming birth of the Malfoy heir! However, he’s heard hints of a possible raid on your family’s home by the Aurors, and insists that you come to stay at the home of your child’s father until things have cleared up."

Blaise froze, unable to keep the look of shock from her face. It was over, then. One simple lie and Voldemort knew. "I... need time to gather things for my stay. Give me a day to ready myself?" She took a backward step for the door, mind racing as to places she might run to.

"There’s no time for trifles, Blaise," Davie responded, grabbing firm hold on her arm. Standing proud, she didn’t wince in pain. The cold and calculating glint in his eye gave all the explanation she needed.

~

After the last student filed out of Hermione’s 5^th year Defense Against the Dark Arts class, George slipped in, bearing a box and a grin. Hermione peeked out into the hallway, glancing around carefully for signs of anyone passing and closed the door again before speaking. "What are you doing here? I thought we were going to meet after dinner."

"No hello?" George countered, setting aside the box to slide his arms around Hermione and pin her against the wall beside the door. "I brought dinner, actually. I found a stash of Muggle money I had stuffed in one of my socks after some mission and decided to use it... I went down to the edge of the Apparition field and popped over to London for some Indian takeaway. I went to the best place in town... rice, nan, curry..."

"Oooh, Indian," Hermione grinned, trying not to drool at the heavenly smells coming from the box on her desk. "I miss good Indian takeaway. The wizarding world certainly is missing something. Now are you going to let me go so I can conjure up a few plates?"

Though the impish grin suddenly plastered on George’s face would’ve been enough of an answer for her, he gave a retort anyway. "Make me." His hands on her body and lips pressed to hers kept her from giving any answer.

She forced herself to pull back. "George, we shouldn’t be doing this in here. That was my last class, but what if a student comes down to ask for help? I assigned a rather long essay to the 3^rd years -"

George shook his head, moving his lips across her neck in kisses, which sent her sighing in pleasure. "L’Chaim," he murmured. She stopped protesting, not noticing which pieces of clothing had been shed or even the fact they were in the classroom she’d spent seven years as a student and three as a teacher learning in, lost in a haze of kisses and caresses and George Weasley.

And then the door banged open. They pulled apart with a start, turning sharply to face the intruder, both feeling the heat of embarrassment rising to their faces. "Mione, I brought... James..." Ron trailed off sharply, staring in shock at a rumpled and out of breath couple.

"Ron, um... I can explain," Hermione began, buttoning her shirt with as much speed as she could manage under the circumstances. She took a step toward him, trying to ignore George’s dive for his shirt.

Ron choked, staring bug-eyed at his brother and ex-fiancée. "I – explain? Hermione, that’s- that’s George!"

"No shit, Sherlock," his brother countered, stepping over to take a baffled looking James from Ron’s arms before the baby was dropped in the confusion. He turned and transferred the baby to Hermione’s arms before continuing. "Ron, this wasn’t what it looked like -" he stopped, let out a laugh and shook his head. "Alright, it was exactly what it looked like. Have something to say about it?"

"George -" Hermione hissed, but Ron cut her off. "Hell, yes, I have something to bloody say about it!" Ron yelped, blood rushing to his face in anger. "You’re snogging my girlfriend in an empty classroom! You’re a teacher!"

"Since when am I your girlfriend?" Hermione retorted, stepping up to stand beside George. "Four years, Ron. You walked out on me, and you expect me to be standing here waiting for you?"

"I was looking for Harry!" Ron howled, entire body shaking.

"So? You could’ve been looking for the bloody Ark of the Covenant for all I care! You still left me practically at the altar, wearing your engagement ring! Harry didn’t want to be found and you went off on some half-assed Crusade through North America -" Hermione stopped abruptly as James burst into tears, troubled by the yelling around him. She cooed at the baby, rocking him in her arms, before turning a glare on Ron. "You really do believe that Harry coming back fixes everything, don’t you."

Ron looked vaguely offended, though the shock on his face showed Hermione that her guess was the right one. "Of course not!" he stumbled over the words, turning a bit pale in panic before a fresh burst of anger turned him flushed red again. "I just thought that maybe you’d give me a second chance -"

George cut him off with a hiss of displeasure. "You deserve a second chance? You showed up for Fred’s funeral and left the next bloody day!"

"So you think Fred dying gives you a right to snog my girl?" Ron shouted, taking a belligerent step in his brother’s direction.

Unwilling to wait, George took the initiative and slugged Ron in the face. "Stop it, both of you!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping back as James screamed his displeasure. "I’m not ‘your girl,’ Ron Weasley! Oh, after you left, I waited. I thought for sure you’d come back after a few months and beg forgiveness for running off like that, but you didn’t! And then I opened the Daily Prophet one day and found a photograph on the second page of you and some tart at a Quidditch match in Cleveland! Well, that was the end of you!"

"I- Hermione, I’m sorry, I had a couple flings, but none -"

"Shut it, Ron," Hermione countered. "Go on, George, rough him up a bit. Maybe he needs to have the sense knocked back in his head! It’s been four bloody years, Ron, and if I want to go around snogging George or sleeping with George or – hell, marrying George, then that’s my business and none of yours!"

George’s gape was only matched in intensity by his brothers. Ignoring her beau’s shock for the moment, Hermione pressed on. "If you don’t mind, I’m a little busy, Ron. Go find Harry in the library and make sure he eats something while he’s doing research."

That suggestion seemed to prompt Ron to find his voice. "So you want me to just LEAVE, when I know you and George are going to-"

Hermione advanced, backing Ron out the door. "Sod off, Ronald Weasley!" she shouted, feeling almost giddy with pleasure at finally saying it. And then, she slammed the classroom door in his face.

She was fully expecting some sort of soap opera drama, with George running forward to sweep her off her feet and proclaim his eternal love, baby cradled in her arms or not. She turned instead to find him stammering in shock. "M-m-marry?"

With a sigh of exasperation, Hermione stalked over to the box of curry and rice and conjured up a fork. "Don’t press it, George. I had to say something to get him to shut up. Lemon curry?"