Questions and Answers

Draco stretched luxuriating in the feel of crisp cotton sheets against his naked body. His eyes flew open, stunned, as one hand collided with Daphne's bare hip. His head whipped around on the pillow. Daphne sprawled next to him, dark blonde hair fanned over her pillow, cheeks flushed rosily with sleep. Draco's nose twitched at the intoxicating aroma clinging to the sheets. Images began to flood his brain...

The gentle, almost tentative kisses quickly grew urgent. Nimble fingers turned clumsy as attempts to remove sodden clothing became frantic.

Wet clothes didn't slither and slip from a person's body. He'd had to peel away the rest of Daphne's clothes. He thought she would be chilled, but her skin was quite warm to the touch. He stumbled, dizzy and sank to hi knees on the plush rug, face pressed to her middle, arms winding around her waist

xxxxxx

Daphne's back arched and one leg, then the other slowly wrapped around Draco's hips. She cried out softly. Draco trailed the fingers of one handover her face. 'Did I hurt you?'

'Daphne shook her head. 'Mmmmm. No, but I'll hurt you if you stop.' Her hips surged upward, making her meaning clear. Draco obliged, in awe of the variety of noises Daphne was capable of making.

xxxxxx

Daphne roused from a light doze to Draco's hands roaming over her body. She pushed her tangled hair from her face, and threw a leg over his, shifting until she straddled him. The bedding slipped from her shoulders, crumpling to her waist, catching briefly on the arc of her hips, then slid away completely, leaving her exposed to Draco's heavy-lidded gaze. 'Do you trust me?' she asked, her quiet voice piercing the dimly-lit room. Unhesitatingly, Draco nodded.

xxxxxx

Daphne mewed softly, heavily rolling over, pressing herself to Draco. Her eyes fluttered open, and she smirked at him in satisfaction. 'Morning,' she murmured.

Draco fingered a lock of hair from her face and cleared his throat. 'I trust you slept well.'

Daphne chuckled throatily. 'When I did manage sleep. You?'

'I did, thank you.'

Daphne lifted her head from Draco's chest. 'What time is it?'

Draco peered over her head, searching for the clock that normally sat on the small night table next to her side of the bed. 'Where's the clock?'

Daphne sat up, and leaned over the edge of the foot of the bed. 'It's over here.' She reached for the softly ticking object, lying drunkenly on its side.

Draco frowned. 'How did it get over there? It's usually over there...' He gestured toward Daphne's side of the bed.

Daphne twisted to face him, the clock clutched in her hands. 'Well, if you don't know...' She turned the clock over. 'Almost noon,' she said in amazement.

Draco lunged for the clock. 'It is not,' he protested, arguments dying in his throat as he stared down at the clock.

'Are you hungry?' Daphne asked, combing her fingers through her hair. Draco's stomach rumbled noisily, gurgling in anticipation of a meal. 'I suppose that answers my question.' Draco flushed in mortification. Daphne giggled and slipped from the bed, quite unconcerned with her nudity. She stooped, moving aside the duvet, which had fallen to the floor, affording Draco an unobstructed view of her derrière.

'As much as I enjoy the view,' Draco began, 'might one inquire...?'

Daphne straightened, clutching an armful of violet silk. 'Like anything else that was on the bed, or in its vicinity, when we got into it last night this,' she held up her dressing gown, 'seems to have fallen to the floor.' She shrugged the dressing gown over her shoulders. 'I thought I'd try and cobble something together for breakfast... lunch...' She perched on the dainty chair in front of the vanity and picked up a well-used hairbrush and drew it through her hair, carefully teasing out the knots. When she could make even strokes through her hair, she tossed the brush back to the vanity and made her way to the door.

'Aren't you going to dress?' Draco asked.

Daphne paused, one hand on the door. 'I wasn't planning on doing so.'

'But...'

'But what?' Daphne tossed her head. 'Perri's still on holiday, so it's just the two of us. Why bother?' She continued out the door. 'Don't take too long to join me, hmmm?' she called over her shoulder, leaving Draco sitting in the middle of the rumpled bed.

The curtains over Daphne's bedroom windows were open. The previous night's rain had left Wiltshire sparkling and refreshed. Clear late summer light poured through the windows. Curiously, Draco turned his arm over, the index finger of his right hand tracing the lines of the Dark Mark inside his left forearm. The sunshine illumined the slivery tracings of the old tattoo. He flattened his palm over the Mark

Despite what Daphne had said, he could still see it clearly.

xxxxxx

Draco closed the door to Andrew's office, visibly agitated. Andrew studied him, face betraying nothing. Draco almost never displayed heightened emotions, even in the most impassioned of revelations. Before Andrew could say a word, Draco stripped off his jacket, and threw it over the arm of a chair. He pulled the silver cufflink from the sleeve of his shirt and yanked it back. 'What do you see?' he demanded.

'What am I supposed to see?'

'Could you just answer the bloody question?' Draco held his arm out to Andrew. 'What do you see?' he repeated. 'And for God's sake, give me a straight answer and not that circular shite that forces me to indulge in self-examination.'

'Very well.' Andrew drew his wand and lit it, holding it over Draco's arm. The narrow beam of light swept slowly up Draco's exposed skin. Andrew leaned closer. 'I know from your records, you received Voldemort's Mark as a boy,' he murmured. 'But...' He turned Draco's arm toward the large window. 'If you look closely, you can see traces of it, but it's hard to see, unless you have bright light.'

'I can see it.' Draco pushed his sleeve back down. 'I almost forgot you were a wizard,' he added, indicating Andrew's lit wand.

'Nox. Don't have much need for magic in my line of work.' Andrew shrugged as he put his wand away. 'Now then. Tell me what's really bothering you.'

Draco dropped into the armchair he had come to think of as "his". 'I slept with my wife.'

Andrew snorted, almost contemptuously. 'Please. You've been sharing a bed with her for how long now?'

Draco sighed. 'We... erm... we...' He felt his face burn. 'Had... well...'

'Spit it out, man.'

'I had sex with Daphne!' Draco blurted, then clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting around the room.

'Did you like it?'

'I... yes...'

'Did she?'

Draco pictured Daphne's hands, fingers grasping at the sheets. 'I believe she did.' Draco picked at his thumbnail. 'What does it mean?' he asked, a little desperately.

'What do you want it to mean?'

'I don't follow...'

Andrew leaned back. 'Is it merely sex? A little something to relieve an itch? Or is it something more than that? And expression of how you feel, perhaps?'

'It just sort of happened,' Draco admitted.

'That's usually the best kind,' Andrew said with a smirk. 'How was it?'

Draco drew himself up, attempting to convey a sense of wounded dignity. 'A gentleman does not divulge details,' he intoned with a sniff, unable to prevent a smug smile from tugging at the corners of his mouth.

'Does a gentleman smile like a Kneazle that's swallowed the canary?' Andrew shot back.

'Probably not,' Draco allowed. 'Daphne said she couldn't see it,' he said, abruptly shifting gears, gesturing to his left forearm.

'Do you believe her?'

Draco ran a hand through his hair. 'I don't know what to believe. I could be going mad.'

'Want to know what I think?'

'Why not?'

'Have you ever heard of the story of Macbeth?'

'Is that a wizard?'

'No. Scottish king. In some tales, he and his wife murdered the king of Scotland to take the throne. Afterward, his wife had a mental breakdown. Sleepwalking. Kept seeing blood on her hands where there was none. That sort of thing.' Andrew scribbled something in his notebook. 'When did it start to fade?'

'As soon as he died.' Draco dispassionately pushed his sleeve back. 'Within a year, it had faded to a sort of washed out grey,' he said, examining his arm. 'By the time my son was seven or eight years old, it had faded even more. It looked like an old scar. Thin, white lines. I didn't really look at it that often. I've tried to forget it.' He glanced at Andrew. 'You're saying I'm carrying around excess guilt from more than twenty years ago, and that's why it still stands out so clearly to me?'

'It's your psyche,' Andrew pointed out. 'The thing is, you can't hide from your past. It happened. You have to accept your actions - or lack thereof - and their consequences.'

Draco looked down at his hands, twisting his wedding ring around his finger. 'I helped kill a man. That doesn't go away.'

'Albus Dumbledore?'

'Yes.'

'Didn't you pay attention to anything that was said at your trial?'

'No,' Draco replied truthfully. 'Because it didn't matter.'

Andrew sighed. 'It does. Dumbledore was a dead man already. Or he would have been in a matter of weeks if Severus Snape hadn't hastened the inevitable.'

Draco shook his head stubbornly. 'There were other things...'

'The two students?' Andrew flipped through his notebook. 'Hmmmm. Katie Bell and Ron Weasley?'

'Yes.'

'I'll give you that. But you've apologized - to Katie at least -- and have attempted to answer for that.'

'And Vincent Crabbe.'

Andrew frowned. 'You didn't force him to participate in anything.'

Draco guffawed. 'He was an idiot who was too bloody stupid to even try to protest. And when I was younger, I exploited that. And we weren't friends. I needed someone I could lord over. And he and Goyle were perfect. Nothing more than blithering idiots.' Draco made a wry moue. 'Truth be told, I wasn't that put out when Crabbe died. Shocked, of course, because he was colossally stupid enough to set Fiendfyre when he did not know in the slightest how to control or stop it.'

Andrew bit his lip, trying not to grin. 'I see... Well, level of idiocy aside, he had a choice. You didn't make him use Fiendfyre.'

'The first battle at the school... If I hadn't...'

'Life is one enormous game of, "If I had only...",' Andrew retorted. 'You can either chalk it up to a learning experience, and move on, or spend your life wallowing in regret,' he said sternly. 'But you have to choose which path you're going to take.' Andrew set his pencil down. 'What choice did you have? Did you make the best decisions given the information you had? You had no reason to believe anyone would offer succor or refuge. And by the time you were told, it was too late.

'You can't change what you did. You can change what you're going to do tomorrow and the day after that, and the day after that, and so on.' Andrew retrieved his pencil. ' You can't change the fact you still carry the remains of that Mark. But you no longer have to abide by what it stands for.'

Draco stared out of the window. 'All right, then. So how does Daphne fit into all this?'

'You married her out of obligation to your old life. Now you've stayed married to her, because you want to be. That, my friend, is a decidedly firm step in letting go of who you were raised to be and becoming who you want to be.'

'And the tattoo?'

'When you realize you aren't able to control everything and let go of that guilt, it'll fade for you, and you'll be able to see it like other people do.' Andrew paused . 'Just one more thing...'

'Yes?'

'Do you love your wife?'

Draco's mouth twisted. 'I like her a great deal more than I ever imagined I would. I find her physically attractive. Obviously. And I enjoy her company.' He slipped his jacket over his arms and settled it over his shoulders. 'I haven't anything else in my personal experience with which to compare.' He pictured the end of the ballet he'd seen with her in France. 'If faced with the prospect of living without her, throwing myself into a lake might be an option. Not a practical one, but still... I'm not certain it's love. Stupidity, perhaps, but love?' Draco walked to the door. 'See you next month.'

xxxxxx

Daphne's appearance on the Quidditch floor of the -Prophet's offices didn't generate much of response. Most of the reporters were used to seemingly random people coming by. 'Excuse me?' Daphne tapped a young wizard on the shoulder.

'Yeah?' He spared her a quick glance before returning to his work.

'Could you perhaps tell me where I might find Ginny Potter?'

'Other side of the floor, missus.' He gestured absently with ink-stained fingers. 'The office...'

'Thank you.'

'Not at all...' he mumbled into his parchment. 'Could you tell her Appleby's sacked their Seeker? Changed my effing story, that did. And now I'm behind, sod it.'

'Certainly,' Daphne replied in bemusement. She wound through the random maze of desks scattered haphazardly throughout the room. Eventually she stood just outside Ginny's office. Ginny's back was to the door, and she gazed out the window while she spoke to a Dictation quill. 'England's chances of reaching a World Cup final would, in fact, be greatly enhanced by the addition of a capable Seeker. Surely there ought to be someone who can play the position with more skill and precision than Walter Connolly.'

Daphne rapped softly against the doorframe. Ginny turned and smiled, beckoning the other woman into the room. 'I hope I'm not interrupting anything.'

'Nothing that can't wait.'

'Oh, the young man in the rather eye-bending green shirt asked me to inform you his story will be late. Something about Appleby firing their Seeker...'

'Oh, damn.' Ginny spread a mock-up of the Quidditch page over her desk, winding a lock of hair around a finger. She checked her watch, using her wand to rearrange stories on the page. 'If I move the Montrose story here, I can put the Appleby feature there, and it won't irritate the Montrose owner too terribly much, but he'll just have to get over himself. That could work.' Ginny tapped the page with her wand and the outlines of the stories glowed and shifted their positions on the page. 'That's done. Fancy seeing you here in this rarified atmosphere,' she intoned deprecatingly.

Daphne extended a parcel. 'I just came to return the latest books you loaned to me. They were quite educational.'

'Oh?' Ginny's eyes sparked with laughter. It was the sort of excuse she bandied about when defending her choice of reading material.

'They were most useful. I added several new words to my vocabulary.'

Ginny's mirth took on a knowing mien. 'Am I to take it he wasn't such a wanker after all?' Daphne blushed, but nodded in reply. 'Brilliant!' Ginny found her bag under her desk and slung it over one shoulder, as she took the package from Daphne's hand and tossed it to her desk. 'Do you have plans for the next couple of hours?'

'I was going to... Well, no, not especially.'

'Have you had lunch yet?'

'No.'

My sisters-in-law and I get together one a week for lunch. Katie, Hermione, and I started doing it when the children were babies. And just kept doing it. I thought you might like to join us.'

'Oh, I don't know...'

'Come on,' Ginny cajoled. 'Have lunch with us. It's great fun. There's a usually something dreadfully sinful for pudding. And we always say we won't eat much of it, but it always disappears.'

Daphne blinked at Ginny's seemingly generous offer. It sounded like it would be a lovely and the idea of being in the company of other women was highly appealing. And Ginny was rather easy to talk to. 'If it won't cause problems...' Daphne began haltingly. 'I would love to.'

Ginny laughed. 'Come on, then.'

xxxxxx

Daphne tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket, matching Ginny's pace as they dodged the throng of witches and wizards. 'Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't your family eat lunch together nearly every Sunday?'

'Yeah.'

'At your parents' home?'

'Yes.'

Daphne walked for several paces then shyly asked, 'Doesn't your mother get weary of all the cooking? And having - how many people - at least thirty - invade her space each week?'

'You'd think so.' Ginny opened the door of the Leaky Cauldron. 'I think it was right around when the twins - George and Katie's twins - were born when someone raised the suggestion of only doing it once a month, or having it someone else's house. You would have thought we drove a stake through Mum's heart.'

'I take it she was upset.'

'Upset?' Ginny snorted. 'At the very least. Normally Mum shouts, has her say, then she's done. But she just looked at us, then got up from the table without another word. Dad just glared at us and said he'd never been more disappointed in us than he was just then. Turns out Mum enjoys all the fuss. And we help with cooking and washing up, so she doesn't have to do it all on her own.' Ginny led Daphne to the dark, narrow stairs that resisted Hannah's best efforts to brighten them.

'So if you do that, then why do this?'

Ginny opened a door to a private room. 'So we can talk about our husbands, of course.'

'Ginny, you're late...' Katie's voice faded as she took in Daphne's presence. 'Late...' she mumbled.

'Sorry. Something came up at work.' Ginny found an empty place at the table and ushered Daphne to it, urging her to sit, then grabbed an extra chair from the corner. 'Budge up,' she told Hermione, and squeezed between Daphne and Hermione. 'You remember Daphne,' she said casually, thinking Daphne would prefer to not have a fuss made over her joining them. 'So what did I miss?'

Penny passed a sheaf of photographs down the table. 'Just received an owl from Parker this morning. He's in Nevada right now, and says he ought to be in California by next week.'

Ginny fanned the photographs on the table. Most of them featured Parker engaged in some quintessential tourist activity. By the looks of things, he was having a roaring good time. Standing on a white sand beach in Destin in Florida. Grinning maniacally while he held a baby alligator in the swamps outside New Orleans, Louisiana. Posing in Times Square and at the Statue of Liberty. A round, brimless had, adorned with a pair of jaunty ears perched on his curly head. The tiny image of Parker turned to display his name embroidered in slanting, yellow script across the back. The last one displayed Parker astride a gangly brown-and-white horse, with a large cowboy hat on the back of his head. 'Where was this?' Ginny inquired holding out the photograph.

'Let me see...' Penny leaned closer. 'Ah. Texas. On a ranch. He had to leave or he wouldn't fit into his clothes. Between something called enchiladas and barbecued brisket.'

'You did a good thing letting him go,' Bronwyn said.

Penny accepted the pictures from Ginny. 'I know. He's happier than if he'd gone straight into the International Magical Law training program after school. Percy thought we could go meet him in California, but I told him no. He doesn't need us looking over his shoulder. Besides, he's promised to come home for Christmas, at least.'

Katie peered at Daphne quizzically. 'I think you've got something... Did you use the Floo, perhaps?'

'I've a handkerchief in here somewhere,' Bronwyn muttered, heaving an overstuffed bag to the table, and began to paw through it, unearthing plasters, tiny Quidditch action figures, small models of dragons, and odd stones. Fleur helpfully passed a small, silver compact mirror down to Daphne.

Daphne tilted her chin, while she fingered the dusky mark thoughtfully. 'Oh! That's not soot!' she exclaimed. Then, under her breath, 'I'm going to hex him for that...'

'Who?' Katie asked.

'Draco,' Daphne sighed, resigned.

Hermione spewed water into a serviette she hastily clapped to her mouth. 'Draco did that?' she spluttered incredulously.

Katie's face bore a strange expression. 'Somehow, I can't even begin to picture that.'

'Do you really want to?' Penny retorted. Glancing at Daphne, she murmured a quick, 'Sorry.'

Daphne merely smiled serenely, poking at a slice of lemon floating in a glass of water. 'I imagine it might very well be the first time two Slytherins have engaged in sexual intercourse that didn't involve poison.' Katie smothered a laugh, promptly converting it into a cough. 'Oh, come on,' Daphne coaxed. 'Everyone knows that one... What is a Slytherin's favorite aphrodisiac?' Daphne waited a beat. 'Poison.'

Ginny bit her lip, a sly grin breaking out. 'I always heard you had to have a third person in the room to provide a Shield charm in the afterglow.' She couldn't restrain the cascade of giggles.

'Because Slytherin women are like praying mantises,' Hermione supplied. 'If you can't distract them with something shiny, they'll hex you with something nasty.'

Bronwyn lifted an eyebrow. 'How do Slytherins practice safe sex?'

Daphne cocked an answering brow. 'How?' she asked, delighted.

A small smile curved Bronwyn's mouth. 'They leave their wands at the door.' She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. 'That one was making its way around the Healer trainees when I started the program.'

Katie stabbed a piece of lettuce. 'I'm about to be horribly rude and intrusive, and my mum would smack me into next Tuesday if she knew what I was about to say...' She met Daphne's eyes squarely. 'I was under the impression you and Malfoy didn't get on,' she said bluntly.

Daphne toyed with her fork. 'We didn't,' she replied, deciding honesty was the best approach with this group of women. 'He offered me a divorce a year ago.'

'But that would take years,' Penny gasped.

'Something else that needs to change,' Hermione muttered grimly.

'Be that as it may,' Daphne allowed, 'he left the decision in my hands. Then he was ill...' Before she could stop herself, it all came pouring out. The first year of their marriage when the extent of Draco's attention to her was to the sole purpose of producing an heir. His palpable relief when she'd gotten pregnant shortly after the first anniversary of their wedding. How once Scorpius was born, he left her alone. The way they passed their lives in that imposing mansion - rarely seeing each other more often than at dinner. Watching him cringe as he began to behave more and more like Lucius, and seemingly unable to help it. The struggle for him to try and salvage something of himself and his life, not to mention something - anything - of their marriage.

Between bites of a simple meal of a salad and chicken soup, as the tale unfurled, Daphne realized how much she missed having friends. She didn't have many in school. Correction, I didn't have any... she thought. Ginny's unconditional offer of friendship that past January had been a lifeline, now that she thought about it. And while the six other women clustered around the table may not have been willing to make the same offer - something for which Daphne didn't fault them for in the slightest, considering how horrid Draco had been to them in school - they listened.

'So we were out taking a walk when the weather turned, and we were caught in the downpour...'

'If it wasn't the ferret, I might swoon,' Katie said.

Bronwyn propped her chin in her hand, studying Daphne with the air of someone attempting to solve a troublesome puzzle. Slytherins, in her experience at school, were cold, aloof, and more interested in the pursuit of personal pleasure, rather than giving it. She didn't know Draco personally, nor his family, so she could almost appreciate Daphne's tale. Still, one detail eluded her. 'Was it enjoyable on your part at all?' she wondered.

Daphne paused, a spoon dripping with chocolate sauce poised halfway to her mouth. Thoughtfully, she slid the bite of chocolate cake into her mouth, and delicately licked the remaining smears of chocolate from the spoon. 'They say Slytherin males have forked tongues,' she replied idly. 'You do the math.'

Hermione's eyes rounded into perfect circles. 'Fascinating...' she murmured, checking her watch. She began to rummage in her bag, throwing a few Galleons to the table. 'Must go... Important meeting,' she stammered as she left the dining room.

Ginny leaned back so she could peer out of the window, overlooking Diagon Alley. Hermione strode purposefully up the street toward the shop. 'Important meeting, my arse.'

xxxxxx

Ginny anchored the towel over her breasts and plucked her toothbrush from the cup by the sink. Arranging the Quidditch section for the next day had proven to be more difficult due to the personnel upheaval in Appleby. After dinner, Harry shooed her upstairs so she could relax and have a nice, long soak in the bath. She squirted a blob of toothpaste on her toothbrush. Harry strolled in and copied her actions. Ginny bent over the sink and spit out the mouthful of toothpaste. 'I heard a new one today,' she remarked nonchalantly.

'Oh?' Harry examined the fraying bristles of his toothbrush and made a mental note to replace it.

'According to Daphne, Slytherin males have forked tongues,' Ginny chuckled gleefully.

Harry's toothbrush clattered in the sink as it slipped from nerveless fingers. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Slytherin males apparently possess forked tongues.' She flicked her tongue at him experimentally.

'Stop that,' Harry ordered. His brow furrowed. 'And how would Daphne Malfoy know about that?'

Ginny's expression grew sly. 'How do you think?' She tapped her chin thoughtfully. 'It could make certain... activities... much more pleasurable...' She flicked her tongue at Harry once more, this time much more suggestively.

Harry's mouth dropped open, and his hands flew up to cover his ears. 'Stop it! Just stop it right now! That's too much information! Too much! Do you hear me, Ginevra Potter? And thank you for that image. Because in January, when he's sitting across from me at my desk in his probation interview, all I'm going to be able to think is "Blimey, I wonder if it is true...".' He glowered resentfully at Ginny. 'I need a bleeding drink. A large one.' He stalked from the bathroom, but spun around and hovered in the doorway. 'And shagging! Lots and lots of dirty shagging! Just to clear that image from my head!' Harry turned away.

Ginny released the towel wrapped around her body and quickly twirled it between her hands, then let one of the ends fly, snapping Harry squarely on his bum. 'Make mine a double, and I'll see what I can do.'

Harry stared at her for a long moment. 'I'll be right back.'