Draco's Dilemma

'Your name, sir?'

'Draco Malfoy.'

Dead silence followed. He was used to that now and found it rather tiresome. He fixed the old, bearded wizard behind the counter with an icy grey stare.

'Is there a problem?'

'No, no, of course not,' said the man hastily, writing the name in the large, leather-bound hotel register, the scratching of his quill grating on Draco's nerves. Gods, every bloody member of the wizarding world knew his name it seemed. Ever since that day, ten years ago when - No! Stop! He wasn't going to think about that now. The past was in the past. Let it stay there, along with all the memories...

After carefully putting the quill back in its stand, the old man turned and reached up to the row of hooks fixed to the wall behind him on which hung the room keys; taking down a large, ornate, brass key, he handed it to Draco.

'Room 913, sir; it's on the ninth floor. Would you like help with your luggage?'

'No, thank you,' Draco replied shortly as he took the key and headed for the lift, his black silk robes billowing behind his tall, lithe frame. Five minutes later he dropped his expensive, dragon-hide travelling bag onto the large bed of his beautifully appointed suite which consisted of a bedroom, adjoining bathroom and large sitting room which led onto a balcony overlooking the city.

He walked into the sitting room, crossing it to throw open the large, high French windows onto the balcony before walking to the stone balustrade and leaning on it, gazing unseeingly out across the city.

He'd glanced at the grandfather clock in the far corner as he'd crossed the room to the balcony and noted it was ten in the morning. Damn! Another hour! Sixty minutes before she would be here... He continued to stare without seeing, wondering what he could do to pass the time more quickly. His whole body was tense with anticipation, feverish desire roaring through his veins, although his demeanour revealed none of this. She'd only been gone for a matter of days but it felt like a lifetime. In that short time, he'd come to know he'd never have been able to prepare himself for the extent to which he missed her.

He moved back to the bedroom and opened his bag, removing a framed photograph of a laughing woman with long, flowing red hair and bright brown eyes. The woman's image in the photograph threw her head back and laughed - the sound of that laughter supplied by his memory. Then she looked straight out at him, now with a warm, loving smile turning up the corners of her soft, full lips, her eyes glowing with an equal mix of love and desire. It had been taken by another - her laughter and smile had been for another - but she'd recently given it to him as a belated birthday gift. This treasured photograph was the last thing he looked at each night, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes each morning.

He walked back into the sitting room and crossed to the bar where he opened a bottle of a very old, very expensive Ogden's Firewhiskey and poured himself a glass. He would never normally drink at this hour, but today...well, today was different. And today - now - he needed something to calm his nerves. As he held the glass up to the light, he smiled. Who would've thought? he mused. How could he ever have imagined things would turn out the way they had? No one could ever have known, or guessed...

Ten years earlier he'd left England with both his spirit and his heart broken. His parents were dead - his father had killed his mother and Harry-freaking-Potter had killed his father. Despite the fact that his father deserved to die and he'd wanted to be the one to do it at the time, it hadn't turned out that way.

Thinking of his mother still caused him to feel a deep sadness. Lucius Malfoy had killed his wife, Narcissa; perhaps indirectly, but he was nevertheless responsible for her death. As always when he thought of his father, Draco got a tight, sharp feeling in his chest. His own father, who had publicly disowned him, dismissed him and disregarded him. His own father - who had planned to cold-bloodedly kill him and had said so in front of him. Aside from his memories of Ginevra from that time, he usually preferred to keep all the others locked away, unvisited.

He'd travelled around the world after the death of his parents, staying here and there for varying periods of time. Always, however, he stayed within the wizarding community; he still couldn't bring himself to associate with Muggles on a daily, social basis except when absolutely unavoidable.

His last move had been here, to Edinburgh, in Scotland. He'd been thinking that perhaps he'd like to settle here; he was sick of the constant travel, of having no roots and so he'd rented a well-cared-for country manor from an old, pure-blood wizard who'd been delighted that he, Draco, had also been in Slytherin at Hogwarts. The old wizard had wanted to move to London to be near his two children and their families and was more than happy to rent his mansion to Draco who, whilst not wanting to live in the city, didn't want to be too far from it or its conveniences, either.

'You'll need your own house-elf,' the old man had told him.

And so Draco had recalled Latro, the house-elf he'd inherited from his father. Just before leaving England, ten years earlier, Draco had sent Latro to be with Ginny but she'd refused to keep the frightened house-elf and had ordered him to go to Hogwarts where he'd remained until now. And now, he was once more reunited with his master and living at Magus Manor.

It had been during one of his regular trips to the city that Draco had encountered Ginny Weasley-Thomas for the first time in ten years.

He was in a highly regarded wizard bookshop just off the Royal Mile, the solemn and mysterious majesty that was Edinburgh Castle visible through the window. Draco hadn't been taking any notice of the constant tinkling of the bell over the door as witches and wizards came and went. He'd been standing in front of shelves which held "New Releases", an open book resting on one splayed hand and his other resting on top, holding the pages flat as his eyes skimmed over them; it was the latest novel by one of his favourite authors, Blagden Aylward.

'Draco?'

The sound of his name, those two short syllables, spoken by that voice, had galvanised him, instantly rendering him immobile and incapable of thinking. He'd never doubted that the last time she'd spoken his name would be the last thing he'd ever hear her say; and yet, here she was...

"Are you all right?'

With this question, he'd managed to force his head to turn a few degrees to the left to look at her. And it was her. Ginevra. The woman he'd loved for longer than he cared to remember. The woman who'd married another man - who loved that other man. The woman who didn't love him.

He stared at her, unable to comprehend that she was here, that she was talking to him. All those feelings for her, about her, that he'd managed to push into a dormant corner of his heart, mind and soul, now exploded from their "prisons" and he felt every single suppressed emotion once again, as if it had just been yesterday...

As he gazed down at her, he once again felt the love, tenderness, curiosity, desire - the need to protect and shelter her and at the end of it all, the sheer, overwhelming lust for this woman that consumed his whole consciousness - and had done so since he'd come to know that she'd been possessed by the Dark Lord, Voldemort, when she was just eleven years old.

'Ginevra?' His voice was a soft, incredulous whisper.

'You're still the only person that calls me that,' she'd said with a far away look in her eyes.

I'm still the only person who loves you the way I do, he'd wanted to say. But he didn't. He noticed she looked sad and a little lost.

'Are you all right?' he'd asked, concerned.

She shrugged, a small, sad smile crossing her lips.

'Do you remember,' she asked softly, 'that day at your father's house - the day he died...'

Draco closed his eyes, the pain from that day passing through him once again. 'I'll never forget that day,' he whispered harshly.

She picked up a book from the shelf in front of them, idly turning it in her hands, not really looking at it, putting it back again before she spoke.

'That Death Eater that Harry sent away - telling him to warn his "friends" - that he'd kill any of them if he ever saw them - you remember him?'

'Oh yes, Travers. The Dark Lord used him as an executioner as did my father. He loved killing -' He hesitated as he saw the look on her face - a look of pain and deep sorrow coloured by anger.

'He killed my husband.'

As the last consonant faded from hearing, he gasped, realising suddenly why she seemed so sad.

'Dear Merlin! When?' He snapped shut the book he held and replaced it on the shelf, turning to face her and taking her soft, unmoving fingers in his hands.

The shop owner glanced over at them, wondering at the tall, blonde, severe looking wizard in the expensive black silk robes towering over the striking, red-headed witch in black jeans and a tailored emerald green shirt - smart and attractive, perhaps, but Muggle clothing nonetheless, something he didn't approve of. Despite this, he couldn't help but admire her slender figure or her wonderful red-gold hair that tumbled down her back.

'A year ago. That Death Eater - Travers - he's been captured and sent to Azkaban.'

'As if that helps!' he cried impulsively.

Shaking her head as she looked down at their joined hands, Ginny shrugged. 'I suppose it doesn't really, does it? But at least he didn't get a chance to commit the other murders he'd planned.'

'He'd planned other murders?'

Ginny finally met his gaze and nodded. 'Oh yes,' she said softly, 'he was quite crazed and he told the Ministry that after Dean he was going to kill me, Harry, Hermione, Neville, Priscilla - all the Weasleys -'she stopped suddenly as though a knife had cut through her thoughts.

'Go on,' he urged her, 'tell me, please!'

Ginny drew in a breath as she fought against the overwhelming mixture of emotions that seemed to have been her constant companion for the past year.

'Well, aside from the fact that the thought of anyone even imagining they'd be able to kill Harry is just downright laughable and to think that Harry would allow anyone to hurt Hermione, of all people, is just plain hysterical - that Travers is an utter fool! He actually said he also wanted to kill you, too, for what you did to your father.'

'Me?' asked Draco blankly, taken by surprise.

'He said it would be taking revenge for your father.'

'But they've stopped him?'

She nodded.

'I'm sorry, Ginevra, really - I wouldn't wish for you to lose anyone you loved. Ever.'

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with tears.

'But I have! He did it! He killed Dean... and I haven't known how to go on without him...'

The desolation and heartbreak in her eyes and voice tore at his heart. Draco dropped her hands and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. He'd comforted her once before on that terrible day in Malfoy Mansion.

'I'm so sorry, my love, so sorry, I wish I could put your life back together for you - more than anything I wish I could do that...'

Despite having grieved for almost a year, Ginny found that Draco's unconditional sympathy and desire for her well-being seemed to release something inside her; she cried while his embrace remained constant, his consolatory murmurs soothing her. Somehow she knew that he would hold her forever if that's what she needed.

When she did stop crying he'd let her go, his hands resting gently on her shoulders while she wiped her eyes with the linen handkerchief he'd given her.

'I'm sorry - I just can't seem to help myself sometimes.'

'Ginevra,' Draco's fingers tightened their grip on her shoulders, 'nothing has changed for me. If you ever need to talk, or cry - anything - I will always be here for you.'

Ginny gazed up at him, her hands clasped in front of her. She felt far removed from the young woman who had said goodbye to this man all those years ago. She'd thought at the time she'd never see him again - she'd had no desire to.

For the past year, she'd felt like a small ship lost at sea, tossed and thrown about at the whim of the waves with no control over her own destiny. Encouraged by her friends and family, she'd begun to travel, writing about her experiences in a weekly column. Her boss, Bill Quillson, had been more than happy for her to do this as had the Editor-in-Chief of Witch Weekly, Ida Wordsmith. Initially Ginny been afraid to set off alone, but after a month, she found it was almost restful.

Draco's voice broke into her reverie.

'Come, we'll have lunch together. You can tell me everything.'

She nodded, slipping her arm through his as they left. The owner of the bookstore stared curiously after them; they both seemed familiar, somehow...

Twenty minutes later they were seated at a quiet table in an exclusive wizard restaurant, sipping an expensive red wine.

'Tell me,' he said. And she did. She told him how she'd arrived home from work on that dreadful Friday night a year past and found Dean dead in their living room. She'd come home late because she'd stayed back to meet a deadline and Dean had Flooed to tell her he'd prepared a special dinner for them. Her memory of the few days that followed was sparse and piecemeal. The fact that Dean was dead - murdered by a wizard or witch using the Unforgivable Avada Kedavra Curse - seemed to be the only things her memory retained. There were other vague memories of all her family and friends being there - she'd not been alone for a minute once they all knew, but she'd never been back to the flat she'd shared with Dean since that night. She'd lived with Harry and Hermione during the week, staying weekends at the Burrow.

Within weeks of Dean's death, the wizard - the Death Eater - who had murdered him had been captured. Ron and Harry had been with the Hit Wizards and Aurors who found him. Ginny had seen him only once, when he'd been sentenced to life in Azkaban with a unanimous decision by the Wizengamot under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore.

After being given leave from her job immediately following Dean's death, time that passed in a haze of pain and loss; she eventually returned to work but felt like an automaton. While she smiled, she felt no joy. While she thought and wrote, she felt no satisfaction. While she spent time with her friends, she felt no sense of care or joy. She was numb, and it had only been after she'd begun travelling that she felt as though she was regaining some part of herself, some sense of life.

Strangely enough, Draco was probably exactly the right person for her to speak to as he well knew the pain of loss, the suffering and the grief that followed. The guilt, too.

Ginny said little of it, but Draco knew she hid a kernel of guilt deep inside. He knew, because he hid the same sort of guilt. The "what if" guilt and the "if only" guilt. The "why didn't I do this" or "why didn't I know that" guilt.

He could empathise with her as no one else she knew could.

And what's more, he wanted to empathise with her. She was the most important thing in the world to him and he seized this chance to help her, to be with her.

After that first lunch, they saw each other every day. Draco, having basically been at a loose end for the past decade, now dedicated himself entirely to Ginny.

Ginny, so desperately in need of the unconditional love and understanding that Draco was giving her in such generous proportions, healed and blossomed within the warmth of his caring devotion.

And in the face of his dedicated, loving devotion she dismissed the doubts that did their best to surface. Her enormous need made her look past what she'd previously thought of him - she dwelt only on how he was now helping her, supporting her. Loving her.

It is a rare woman in such a vulnerable condition that can resist the irresistible: a man who loves you, who devotes himself entirely to you and your well being, to your happiness and needs and is happiest when you're happy. Irresistible indeed.

Ginny came to depend on Draco more and more: she leaned on him and he happily supported her, revelling in doing so. But still his first concern, as always, was her happiness. She'd been in Edinburgh for nearly two months and she'd seen Draco every day. He never allowed himself to show his indifference to news of her family and friends because he knew they were important to her and so he came to know that Harry and Hermione now had two children, a daughter and a son, that Ron and Luna had twin boys (not named Fred Jnr and George Jnr despite their uncles' vigorous campaigning) and that Neville and Priscilla had three children (two boys, one girl) and one on the way. Draco had inquired gently as to why she hadn't had any children. Ginny told him she'd simply kept putting it off because she loved her job and she loved having her husband to herself, that the years had flown by without them even realising it. They'd enjoyed the children of their families and friends and had just smiled and replied "some day" if asked when they were going to have their own.

As the days slipped by, Ginny gradually came to realise that Draco made her feel happier than she could remember being since Dean had died; she felt lighter in spirit and finally capable of facing life without Dean. Draco also gave her the gift of a renewed passion for living. And because she had always been a passionate woman, their relationship began to alter, very subtly, much to Draco's delight.

It began the night he took her out for dinner to celebrate her birthday; a typically cool August night despite the season.

'At least it's not raining,' smiled Ginny as they entered the exclusive wizard restaurant they regularly frequented for lunch.

'Och aye, and it usually is this time of year,' remarked the head waiter, bowing slightly. 'Evening, sir.'

'Good evening,' replied Draco, smiling, as he often did these days.

The head waiter led them to their table himself and when told they were celebrating Ginny's birthday he insisted on giving them a bottle of the restaurant's finest champagne.

Once their glasses were full, Draco lifted his in a toast.

'To you, Ginevra, on your birthday,' he said, 'and to happier times ahead.'

Ginny touched her glass to his. 'Thank you,' she said softly, smiling, wondering at the warm, close atmosphere that seemed to be surrounding them. Perhaps it was because it was night time; usually by now they would have parted for the day. There was something infinitely more intimate about darkness...and sitting at one of the best tables in an exclusive restaurant, sharing dinner with...a friend.

'You look even more beautiful than usual tonight,' he told her, his grey eyes glowing with appreciation.

'You picked the perfect dress, thank you - not something many men could do.'

A box had arrived at her hotel room that morning, the attached card containing handwritten birthday wishes for her from Draco. It was a beautiful, knee length silk dress in the palest mint green with long, fitted sleeves; it clung to every curve, the deep, v-shaped neckline revealing a glimpse of the creamy swell of her breasts.

'Here's another surprise,' he said, taking from his robes a small package wrapped in silver paper and holding it out to her.

With a slight frown Ginny took it. 'Draco, the dress was more than enough,' she admonished him.

'This goes with the dress - they complement each other. They're meant to go together. I didn't send it with your dress because I wanted to see your face when you opened it.'

She gave him a small smile of reproval as she removed the silver wrapping from the long, slender package to reveal a jeweller's box, inside of which nestled a stunning, white gold necklace with a sparkling, pear-shaped emerald glinting against the white velvet lining.

Ginny gasped softly; it was stunning and she could only stare at Draco as he rose smoothly to his feet, taking the box from her unresisting grasp and removing the necklace from its velvet bed. He stepped behind her, reaching over her shoulder to put the box back on the table, the necklace dangling from his hand. The beautiful emerald caught the light of the candles that floated above their table and Ginny sat perfectly still as he draped the necklace around her neck before doing up the clasp. The feel of his fingers, cool against her warm skin, causing her to shiver slightly.

As he took his seat once more, Ginny's hand instinctively lifted and she looked down at her fingers as they caressed the glowing stone.

'It's almost as beautiful as you,' Draco said softly as he gazed lovingly at her.

She lifted her eyes to meet his and what she saw there made her heart constrict.

I have to believe he really loves me, she thought. I suppose I did believe him in the past when he's said it, but now - now it seems more real, for some reason. And now that I'm alone - or am I supposed to think of myself as "free"? - no, I don't feel free. But now, now I no longer feel alone, either.

'Draco?'

'Yes, Ginevra?'

She faltered for a second then took a deep breath, her gaze dropping once more to the green gem she was still fondling with her fingers.

'Do you still love me?' Despite having seen it in his eyes, she needed to hear him say it. She realised she missed being told she was loved. By a man. She missed a lot of things. The sound and smell of a man - a man's presence ... the feel of a man, the touch of a man - she caught herself then; it wouldn't do to reminisce too much.

The focus of her gaze moved beyond the emerald to Draco's hands which were lightly clasped as they rested on the table. As she finished speaking, she watched his hands as they separated, each becoming a clenched fist, the knuckles almost as white as the linen tablecloth on which they rested.

'Are you playing with me, Ginevra?'

At the harsh sound of his voice, her eyes flew to his face.

'Oh, no!' she whispered. 'I just - I needed, I mean I wanted to hear - I'm sorry...' Her fingers left the necklace and her eyes followed them as they moved to her lap, twisting together.

There was silence for a long moment.

'No, I'm sorry,' she heard him say. You want me to say it? he thought. You want to hear it? You need to hear it? As I do, my love...

'Yes, Ginevra, I still love you. I've never stopped since the day I started. Whatever happens, I'll always love you.'

Ginny's hands become immediately still in her lap and she closed her eyes, a plethora of new emotions sweeping through her.

He sensed she was feeling overwhelmed and his instincts led him to lighten the moment, move away for the time being from the deep pool of emotion they were skirting.

'And despite loving you to distraction, beautiful lady, I still need to eat. I'm starving. You?'

Grateful for his understanding, Ginny smiled up at him and nodded, picking up her glass of champagne and taking a sip.

'Let's peruse the menu, then,' he said, smiling back at her as he picked up the leather bound parchment that contained the evening's offerings.

They passed the evening as they'd passed all the days behind them - in warm, friendly, comfortable talk. At the end of the evening, when Draco escorted her back to her hotel room, they stood outside it in the flickering candlelight from the wall sconces. Ginny stood with her back to the door, her evening bag clutched between her hands. Draco stood in front of her, close, but not too close.

'Thank you for everything - I've had a wonderful night, a lovely birthday,' she told him, remembering the owls that had arrived that morning bearing gifts and wishes from her family and friends.

'I'm glad I could help make it so,' he told her. Gods how he wanted to kiss her! Even just hold her. Touch her. His eyes swept over her from head to toe as she glanced down after speaking. Do you know what you do to me? he wondered. Do you have any idea how much I want you? How much I ache for you - for your smallest smile, your lightest touch...

He was caught unawares when she lifted one slender hand to rest on his shoulder as she stretched up, tilting her head to kiss him on the cheek. It was all he could do not to throw his arms around her, pull her to him and kiss her properly.

'I'm glad you enjoyed it,' he told her, his voice not revealing his secret strain. 'I'm staying in town tonight - here - why don't we meet for breakfast?'

Ginny nodded as she pulled her key from her bag.

'Eight o'clock?' she said as she inserted the ornate key in the lock and slipped into her room.

'Sharp,' he said with a smile before leaving, Ginny shutting the door softly behind her.

Leaning back against the door and whispering, 'Lumos,' Ginny couldn't help but smile. She realised this was the happiest she'd felt since before Dean had died. Yet she was torn. Torn between the agony of knowing that all her family and friends would hate the fact she was seeing Draco Malfoy, and between enjoying the unexpected happiness he'd brought to her life.

It was that night, the night of her birthday, when she admitted to herself that she would be staying here in Edinburgh for as long as Draco was here. She'd come to rely on him and his support - to need him. And she wasn't about to walk away from the first bit of happiness she'd had since she'd lost her husband.

TO BE CONTINUED...