Hesperides' Apple

28. Persephone's change of mind

June , 1^st 2001

Malfoy Manor, England.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Ginny called as she haphazardly tried to put on her second shoe, walking down the stairs as quickly as possible. "Dra--ah!"

She tripped as she had countless times before, and the fear of hurting her unborn babies shot through her eyes before Draco, surprised, but never one to let a woman fall, leapt and caught her.

"Why do you always fall down these stairs?" he growled, unwilling to admit that his heart had stopped when he saw her balance failing.

"I don't know! They're simply too steep! I--"

"Why aren't you in Clervaux?"

She looked up at him, stunned, and her eyebrows knit in anger.

"Well hello to you, too." Draco wondered for a second whether the displeasure he saw in her eyes wasn't hurt. "Just--never mind." She made to turn, but he held her securely--a fact for which she had been grateful but moments before--and did not allow her to move.

"Allow me to rephrase that," he whispered in her ear. "Who do I have to thank for sending such a beautiful witch to me, one whom I presumed to be safely tucked away in a bedroom of Clervaux?"

"Blaise," Ginny answered in one breath, relishing the proximity her clumsiness had afforded them. Draco hadn't given her more affection than required in public functions since the night of her flight, a fact that hadn't perturbed her until now. Yet somehow this moment evoked the memory of times before he discovered her imposture--of nights when, having prevented her from splattering herself down the stairs yet again, he would "kiss her better" until the portraits hanging on the wall complained that they hadn't seen such debauchery since the night Samaël Malfoy had brought his new wife, Lilith, home, back in 1873.

"Well then, I'll be sure to thank him profusely. Although you do realize this is just another long, boring dinner, with annoying hypocrites, and--"

"Why, Malfoy, if I didn't know you better I'd think you're trying to get rid of me," Ginny said coyly, naturally reverting to his surname in an unwilling reference to their school years.

"Now what could give you that idea?" he asked softly, his lips trailing down her neck, the feather of his breath caressing her exposed skin.

She shuddered and instinctively tilted her head back, closing her eyes with delectation. He felt her entire body become attentive, tensing like the string when the bow is bent, ready to respond to his touch in a heartbeat. When his lips met her flesh, a shudder coursed through both of them, and within milliseconds he had pulled her against him. He hadn't held her--nor any other woman, for that matter-- so freely, so genuinely, since the night she had run away from the Manor. The understanding that, this time, she was absolutely in his power didn't even cross his mind as he relished the softness of her skin, the fruity, sugary perfume she liked to apply on the nape of her neck, and the way her fingers felt when they tangled themselves into his hair.

Draco bit her shoulder gently, and her sigh was followed by her demandingly pulling his face closer to hers. When Ginny looked at him, her eyes widened slightly, her gaze acquiring that meaningful quality that she used when trying to convey a point, but he couldn't decipher it, for she had already brought his lips to hers and he stopped thinking straight.

He kissed her feverishly and she repaid him in kind, desire churning through her like a blaze. Unused to the separation her belly created between them, she clung to him avidly, all the while shifting to afford their bodies as much contact as possible. She rubbed against him, and he thought he would go mad from want. Following a particularly languorous movement on her part, Draco picked her up--she wrapped her legs around him easily--and staggered back to the stairs, sitting her on top of him. Only when he tried to divest her of her dress, freeing a round and freckled breast in the process, did she find the will to form coherent sentences.

"Draco. Drac--ah!" she squealed when his mouth closed around her nipple.

"Yes, darling," he said, smirking ever so slightly. "That's my name."

"No, I--Draco, stop!" she said, pushing him back and resisting the urge to laugh at the look of chagrin that crossed his face as he stared longingly at her breast.

"Did they grow?" he asked, looking at her as a child would forbidden ice cream.

Self-consciousness quickly replaced groggy pleasure in her eyes. She folded her arms over her torso, unable to cover the blush covering it.

"That's none--"

"Of my business?" he said, gently pulling her hands away, and biting his lip when he got a good, lengthy look at what they were dissimulating. "I'd say it is. My wife, my son..." He placed her arms around his neck, noting the sharp intake of her breath when her nipples brushed against his robes.

"Mine, mine, mine," Ginny whispered huskily. "It's all you know, isn't it?"

"It's all I have," he said, shrugging--a gesture which caused her to shudder, lean in, but pull back.

"We have to go."

"Why?" he asked, in a way that could almost have been described as "whiny" had he been anyone other than Draco Malfoy.

"Because, uh... It's your duty," she said.

"Screw duty."

"The only person you get to screw is me," she said without thinking, then looked surprised at her words. She smiled sheepishly. "I mean--"

"Really?" Draco wondered, and his face grew serious, his eyes boring through hers intently.

"Well. If you want, I guess," Ginny amended, feeling oddly vulnerable.

He helped her get up and quickly straightened his robes as she rearranged her dress, then took her by the hand and hastily led her toward the door. Surprised by his reaction, Ginny followed, not comprehending his earlier, blatantly apparent desire and what she feared might be rejection. Draco seemed to sense this, and he turned to her, rooting her to the spot with that look of his that sometimes could mean so much more than he said.

"If we don't go now, Ginevra," he intoned slowly, "I will show you exactly how thoroughly I would prefer spending the night cheating on Duty with you. And tomorrow the paparazzi would be at our door, wondering how exactly it is that Lady Ginevra Malfoy can keep her beloved husband away from public functions."

"Beloved?" Ginny teased.

"I suppose 'intensely desired' would suffice," he retorted, an eyebrow raised mockingly as he saw pink marks appearing where he had kissed his way down her neck and clavicle.

They got into the carriage and Ginny snuggled against Draco, her head easily finding its place on his shoulder. Her spontaneous gesture filled them both with peace, as though desire could meld into affectionate comfort without threatening the feeble edifice of their relation. Uncertain of where their words would take them, Ginny took the lead in initiating a discussion she knew needed to take place.

"So, I was thinking--" she said softly.

"Imagine that," he interrupted her, and caught her hand when she tried to punch him lightly, then pressed feathery kisses on her knuckles.

"--about the boys' names, and Izha suggested Roman emperors when I said I didn't want names of stars. Because, Draco, about those constellations--"

"I know, Gin, I know," he whispered. "And I was looking forward to calling our sons Castor and Pollux so much."

Ginny made a grimace, having expected a suggestion of the sort and disliking it entirely.

"Although, I wouldn't mind redirecting our, ah, efforts to another type of names," Draco went on. "To please you, evidently."

"Always," Ginny said, smirking.

Draco grinned and bit the tip of her fingers, one after the other.

"Most of the time. How about Cassius?"

Ginny pressed herself closer to her husband, and then, as though she wished to burry herself in his arms, she said, very softly.

"I would prefer something that didn't end in 'us'."

"Hmm. I suppose you find it too archaic," Draco said neutrally, although he had no illusion regarding the provenance of her dislike for names ending like his father's had.

"Yes," she breathed out, sounding tremendously relieved. "Exactly. That's precisely--"

"What you thought?" he offered. "I figured as much."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco shrugged, smiling, looking particularly pleased with himself.

"Educated guess, I suppose. Caligula?"

"Please," Ginny snorted, and let out a rather undignified snicker. "Why not Nero while you're at it?"

"Well, now that you mention it--"

"No! Let's keep it simple and nice, please? Like Alexander, and--"

"Too common, love," Draco said, shifting so as to hold her better.

"Philippe?" Ginny attempted. She looked up to him and gave him the wide, puppy eyes she had seen Tonks use so effectively on Remus. Draco smiled tenderly, and made to kiss her. He stopped a millimeter from her lips.

"Maximian."

"No."

Draco kissed her.

"Constantine."

"No," Ginny said, and giggled. After he had kissed her and seemed about to suggest an additional name, she asked, "How do you know all their names, anyway?"

"Don't tell me you don't know the history of your ancestors," he said, his voice laced with mock surprise.

"Your ancestors were French, Lord Malfoy," she pointed out. "If you're so keen on knowing your ancestry, I'd look more in the Vercingetorix and Asterix area if I were you." (1)

"Comic books were never my thing," Draco said absently. "And while my family does indeed come from France--I congratulate you for knowing your history, Lady Malfoy--I'll have you know that we quickly sided with the Romans, and eventually granted them a few emperors."

"Figures."

"Indeed," Draco all but purred, sending shivers down her spine.

The carriage chose that moment to stop, and its door opened to reveal the elaborately illuminated doorway of what Ginny knew to be the Clearwaters' home. While it did not approach the Malfoy or even Nott manors in terms of size and elegance, it was an undeniably beautiful house. A thought suddenly struck the young woman.

"But aren't the Clearwaters of Muggle desc--"

"Are they?" Draco asked, stepping out of the carriage and sticking his hand out to help her. "I never noticed. And they are frightfully influential, so... I doubt it."

The meaningful look he gave her, however, belied his words, and she was surprised by his reaction. After all, if Draco Malfoy was having dinner under the roof of a Muggle-related family, there was either more to him, or more to said family, than Ginny suspected--and she couldn't figure out which it was. She took the proffered hand and emerged from the carriage, looking absolutely radiant in her elegantly cut black dress, her cheeks and lips still pink from their earlier snog.

"Aurelian," Draco said as they walked toward the front steps.

"Meaning," she said rather than asked, barely moving her lips.

"Golden one."

"Fitting," she smirked, although she rather liked the sound of that name.

"Why of course," Draco retorted, sending a polite smile in the direction of some couple Ginny didn't recognize. "Malfoys never choose their offspring's names lightly."

"Ah, Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy," Mrs. Clearwater--recognizable by her impressively curly mane of white hair--greeted them as soon as they had set foot inside the house. "I was just speaking with Miss Parkinson of Aurora's teaching methods; I always found she managed to teach her students well, without involving the nonsensical rubbish that astronomy sometimes brings forth."

"Aurora?" Ginny said, trying to ignore the look of undiluted contempt Pansy shot her.

"Professor Sinistra," the brunette filled in haughtily, "has indeed always been exceedingly professional. Rather unlike Trelawney. Or other, ill-bred teachers who roamed the corridors back in good old Dumbledore's time."

Mrs. Clearwater, stunned by the aggressiveness lacing Pansy's voice, shot her a surprised glance. Draco, sensing Ginny's hand tense on his arm, made to answer, but she looked up at him and shook her head softly.

"Draco, would you mind getting me some water, please?" she asked, although her voice was stern and it was not a request so much as an implicit order. "My head hurts a bit, and I think that should help."

He eyed her placidly, knowing her enough to discern what was going on in her mind, but incapable of guessing how she would act, the Weasleys having always been famous for their unpredictability.

"I'll fetch an aspirin," Mrs. Clearwater said and quickly vanished into the crowd as Draco walked away, phlegmatically making his way toward a valet.

Ginny turned back to Pansy who had remained silent since her snarky comment, idly tipping her glass of champagne and amusedly eyeing her detested schoolmate. They stared at each other for a few seconds, enough time for the redhead's strained smile to vanish.

"I don't suppose you would know what aspirin is," Ginny said, her voice kept neutral. "In fact, you probably think that Dumbledore's idea to teach Muggle Studies was an utter waste of time, but--"

"Most of what that fool and his friends did was, indeed, an absolute waste of time," Pansy answered smoothly.

"Lucky none of your time was wasted, then," Ginny retorted, her hands balled into fists at her side. Both women knew they were arguing about more than Dumbledore's choice regarding his students' education, but it was merely a matter of who would broach the topic first.

"Oh, I lost much more than my time."

There was a flaw in the way Pansy looked then, the hint of something amiss in the crease her smile made in the soft whiteness of her skin. Ginny saw it because she had learned to avoid it during her years at Hogwarts, not because it portended horrendous things to come, but because it meant they were already upon her. However, she was not one to back down, and curiosity as much as exasperation pushed her to go on.

"Is that so?" she asked, managing to convey both skepticism and contempt in a faint pout.

"I think," Pansy said softly, very softly, as though she were about to indulge Ginny with the secret of a lifetime, "that we should go outside."

Ginny nodded and headed for the first exit she could find, finding herself lucky enough that the balcony she chose was not yet occupied by guests. Pansy followed her shortly. She had gotten rid of her glass, and while the look Ginny quickly cast her did not reveal where she might have been hiding her wand, it left the young woman with the bitter certitude that Miss Parkinson, clad in a ravishing black dress, looked stunning. Ginny thought of her own figure--of her engorged breasts, impressive belly, and nearly as impressive thighs--and was glad that she, unlike Pansy, had chosen an ankle-length dress.

Pansy, aware of the other witch's rapid scrutiny, did not even revel in the triumph of her body's condition, blissfully--or so she thought--bereft of pregnancy's torments. She walked over to Ginny.

"Figured it was time to climb out of the dirt, Weasley?" she hissed.

Ginny looked at her, her eyes round with surprise, and then laughed.

"This isn't about us back then, Pansy," she said, unsure of why she used the other woman's first name rather than her last. "It's about us today, isn't it? It doesn't matter that I'm a Weasley, or that I was poor, inelegant, and embodied everything you despised. All you care about is the fact that Draco married me. So you can dispense with the insu--"

"Is that what you think?" Pansy interrupted her. "That we are here because of Draco? That it means nothing to me that you are a Weasley?"

There was an almost inhuman chill to her words, an abhorrence that filtered through the tone of her voice and that appeared more than excessive given the circumstances. It unsettled Ginny, who found herself slowly, instinctively, understanding that there was more to the story than she had believed at first. She stood her ground, waiting for Pansy, who was clearly beside herself, to reveal just what had her shaking with barely contained fury.

"Oh, I know what you're imagining," Pansy hissed, her otherwise distinguished features twisted in a lugubrious mask. "That I still haven't gotten over Draco, that my pride is wounded from seeing your miserable filthy little self accede to a position I have long coveted. Well guess again," she snarled, having by that point backed Ginny against the balcony's railing.

The redhead belatedly realized that, wand or no wand, and even with the supposed protection of the crowd in the next room, she was in a rather precarious situation. Only the knowledge that Draco had seen them leave together instilled a feeling of safety in her thoughts, which otherwise hovered between weariness and morbid curiosity.

"This probably doesn't mean a thing to you, princess," Pansy spat, "but on the night of March 23^rd 1999, Aurors raided the Crabbe estate during a rather important ceremony." Her voice was kept low but carried a bitter, cutting edge that felt to Ginny like nails sliding down a chalkboard. "They came upon a handful of Death Eaters, some of them well on their way to demonstrating their loyalty to Lord Voldemort in a very, very old fashioned way."

Pansy's gaze was steely and Ginny barely suppressed a grimace at the implications of the other woman's revelations; after all, even as a book-bound ghost, Tom Riddle had been rather explicit when it came to all sorts of Dark ceremonies, and the frightened little girl she had once been found herself awakened by the memories.

"The Aurors arrived well into the ceremony, and, as per usual, proceeded to blast everything in sight. I believe the correct, official term for that 'everything' is 'any object that may threaten an Auror's safety or mission', but they usually went by 'any object in sight'."

"I'm sure you would know," Ginny muttered grimly.

"Oh, I do know, because one of the families offerings to Lord Voldemort, one of the tributes so readily surrendered to him, one of those 'objects in sight', happened to be my sister, still under the effect of some ancestral curse, killed by a Slashing Curse sent her way by Ronald Weasley."

Though Ginny was not granted recollections or thoughts of the moment, she saw the murder buried deep in the other woman's face, wrapped and folded around every fiber of her being, left to rot in the confines of her memory and to take Pansy's quietude away with it.

"Ron wouldn't--" Ginny began.

"What do you think Aurors do, Ginevra?" Pansy interrupted her sharply, an edge of hysteria creeping into her voice. "Throw petals at their enemies?" She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and the double gesture made it look as though she were about to collapse onto herself. "I blamed my parents for it, of course--for taking Violet rather than me because she wasn't engaged to the future Lord Malfoy--but when I learned of your family's fate, make no mistake. I--was--glad," she enunciated slowly, viciously.

Ginny stared at her levelly, calmly, and then, before Pansy even had a chance to suspect the slightest movement, Ginny punched her in the face like her brothers had taught her, with full force and her hand appropriately fisted. The dark-haired witch fell back, although she managed to keep her balance, and pulled her wand out, staggering; Ginny had hers already trained on the other woman's chest.

"Are you calling a blood debt, Parkinson?" Ginny asked coldly.

"And taking a stab at ending the Weasley and Malfoy bloodlines in one duel?" Pansy retorted, wiping the blood from her mouth with the hand that wasn't holding the wand. "Do you really believe Draco would let me?" Her smile was wistful and feral, as though measuring the mirthless irony of the situation.

"Do you think I would let you?" Ginny retaliated.

Pansy smirked, conveying a supreme amount of disdain, though the effect was somewhat lessened by the growing puffiness of her lip. And then, suddenly, as though a particular thought had occurred to her and she saw at last all the futility of their situation, she shrugged and lowered her wand. It disappeared smoothly, and Ginny wearily put hers away as Pansy casually headed for the ballroom. Unable to discern the cause for such a change in attitude, the younger woman was too surprised by the sudden reprieve to expect the chilling, inhuman carelessness in Pansy's voice when, without turning, she said:

"That night the Weasleys became my enemies. Consider yourself lucky to be a Malfoy, but have the presence of mind not to expect anything from me. For society and in society, you are nothing more than Draco's wife; in my heart, you will always remain Ronald Weasley's sister; do not allow me to bare my heart as you did tonight, Ginevra, or the one of us who isn't a puddle of bloody flesh on the carpet of a boudoir will be sent straight to Azkaban."

Pansy walked on and disappeared into the crowd, having first cast a potent Healing charm on her swollen face. She left behind her a stunned, but admiring woman, one who wondered at the effort it had taken to let go of hate and honor, to abandon the pursuit of revenge. But she had seen the other woman's shoulders drop into relaxed inattentiveness, and she had the distinct feeling that, had she perused Pansy Parkinson's pointy, doll-like face after her last words, she would have found it serenely vacant of all anger.

Slowly, surely, Ginny understood.

"The difficult part isn't letting go of the hate," she said to herself, envying Pansy for the minutes of tranquility she had gained on her. "It's letting go of the vengeance..."

But before she could let the realization envelop and soothe her, she saw a thin, frail shadow profiling itself on the terrace's tiles. She turned around to find a little girl with hair like a nest of brown, coppery snakes, standing in the doorway. She wore a bright yellow nightgown. She clearly lived here. She--

"You're not Penelope or Telemacchus' sister, are you?" Ginny asked dumbly.

The girl looked at her, flabbergasted, then started laughing, laughing so hard she looked like she would never stop. There was a frankness, a freedom in that laughter, that Ginny couldn't help but recognize without being able to place it.

"No," the little managed to say between two giggles. "No." She laughed some more, an adorable little piece of a girl, and when, finally, she sobered up, she acquired a very proper dignity that somehow clashed with her earlier display of mirth. "Mummy said you should come. Come," she repeated for good measure, holding out her hand expectantly.

Ginny did not bother to ask why the girl's mother--whom she assumed to be Penelope, if the hair and homely slippers were any indication--wished to see her, for she doubted that she had divulged her intentions, and took the girl's minuscule hand into her own.

"So what's your name?" she asked as she allowed herself to be lead down a corridor, past several doors.

"Pandora (2). It's a silly name, really," she added immediately, utterly nonplussed by the fact.

"Not as silly as Ginevra," Ginny said offhandedly, relishing the surprise on the girl's face, shortly replaced by what could only be a smirk, the hint of a repressed smile, a guilty giggle, and, at last, a burst of laughter.

They reached their destination, a room protective by two massive, oak doors. Agitated voices flowed from the slightly ajar entrance, and Ginny held Pandora back, leaning forward to listen. She almost laughed when she saw a similar look of stealth and concentration on the girl's face as she leaned forward, and was about to start wondering when she recognized Penelope Clearwater's voice.

"--don't want to tell her yet. She's too young to know, and allowing her to spend more time with Ginny will soon point out the obvious, Malfoy," she said, sounding annoyed but not reproachful. The casualness with which she called him by his last name clearly went back to their school years. "The reporters have been following you too eagerly not to see the resemblance, and I won't have Pandi in danger!"

"Miss Clearwater," Draco said, maintaining his cool demeanor and conveying the sincerest kind of respect, "I understand your fear, but I am convinced that both Ginevra and Pandora should be aware that--"

"It won't make up for his death!" Penelope said sharply.

The silence in the room was palpable, instilled with Penelope's nostalgic pain and Draco's secret, but unrelenting, guilt.

"Look, Malfoy," Penelope said, her voice softer--a mother's voice--"I'm very grateful for the, ah... support you have shown my family, but--"

"I didn't--"

"Please. You and I both know that the Clearwater's blood is not as clear as they would like it to be, and I can find no other reason for the enforcers of the Blood Purity Act to have spared our family all this time. Truly, I still don't understand why you would--"

"The reason is mine and mine alone," Draco said coldly.

Pandora could almost see the intelligent, compassionate smile that lit her mother's features when she spoke next; Ginny, meanwhile, was too busy devouring the little girl with her eyes, understanding at last why she had seemed familiar, and hesitating between fervently thanking the Weasley fertility or hugging her niece on the spot.

"Whatever role you may have played in Percival or anyone else's death," Penelope said softly, "you have more than repaid your debt in my eyes by enabling me to raise Pandora as I wanted to. Even if it was without a father."

There came another, pregnant pause, and Pandora decided she had learned enough, although she still couldn't make much of the words overheard. Taking Ginny's hand, she pushed open the doors as though nothing had happened, and walked in, saying, "Mum, I found her."

Penelope shifted her gaze toward the newcomers while Draco, impassible as ever, felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, one he had barely been aware of: the shame of taking a woman's husband and a girl's father from them. Ginny smiled at both of them, and heard the other woman whisper, quickly, quietly, "It's the only way to keep her safe," before greeting the redhead.

"Ginny, I'm glad to see you," she said warmly, as though she hadn't seen her since her last visit at the Burrow a few years earlier.

"I'm happy to see you, too, Penny," Ginny said and they kissed, easily sealing, with pecks on the cheek and recourse to nicknames, the gap dug between Weasleys and Clearwaters following Percy's disagreement with Arthur.

With the strategic and disciplined intelligence that had enabled her to become Head Girl, Penelope was all too aware that calling Ginny for no good reason would seem odd, but, despite her discussion with Draco, she did not wish to divulge what, for her daughter's safety, would remain her life's secret. So, before the silence could become meaningful or pressing, the green-eyed witch spoke again.

"You are probably wondering why I wanted to see you alone," she began, and then saw the glance Ginny shot her husband, so she added, "or with Draco. I--I just wanted to say that some people blame you for marrying him"--subconsciously Ginny stood straighter, her chin raised defiantly and not a hint of remorse in the planes of her face--"but I don't. I don't, because I think you, of anyone, deserve a chance at happiness, and I think--I believe Malfoy can give it to you."

"Naturally," Draco said self-satisfiedly, and rose with feline grace, walking over to where Ginny stood.

"So I wanted to tell you that, and that I'm sorry for not coming to you earlier. It was... Quite a shock..."

"I understand," Ginny said softly. "Don't be sorry. Besides, it gave me the chance to meet an adorable little girl whose name is... Wait, I can't rememb--"

"Pandora!" Pandora squealed, then realized what she had done, and clapped both her hands on her mouth.

When Ginny laughed she did too, and the stern expression immediately vanished from her mother's face while a slow, subtle smile crept on Draco's lips.

"Yes. Pandora. That's it!" Ginny pretended to recall. "Tell me, Pandi, do you like stories?"

The girl nodded so vehemently her head looked like it would unhinge. Draco kept his eyes trained on his wife, too attuned to her manipulative skills to believe her question was pointless.

"I have this amazing story-book my grandfather gave me when I was a child no bigger than yourself, and I took it wherever I went, even as a grown woman. It speaks of worlds beyond ours, of princesses and magic carpets, of might-clubs and eclectricity..." Pandora's eyes burned with untarnished desire as Ginny went on. "If you want, I could lend it to you so you can read it."

Pandora was about three years old. Ginny could tell.

"I don't know how to read," Pandora said sadly, looking utterly miserable; getting her mother or grandparents to read her stories would be a harrowing process, for they themselves tended to be too engrossed with their own books to deign lower themselves to peruse hers.

"Well, you could come to our home once in a while," Draco suggested, oblivious to Penelope's murderous glare, "and maybe Ginny will read it to you."

"Of course," Ginny said, glad to see he had caught on. "I would love to."

Instinctively the little girl turned to her mother, who was able to hide her scowl just in time.

"Please, Mummy," she said. "Then I wouldn't have to bother you for stories. Please?"

"But honey, you never bother me--" Penelope began, and saw, or rather understood, her daughter's loneliness. Her own parents had never been doting, so that she had quickly found refugee in books; who was she, so absorbed in her work that she barely saw her daughter during the week, to deny the apple of her eye an aunt who would, in the privacy of her home, give her the key to the most beautiful worlds imagination could create?

Penelope had heard of the book: Percy often spoke of how few of their childhood nights had gone by without a bed-time story. The book never ended; the tales were countless and always new; they had lulled countless generations of Weasleys to sleep. So Penelope nodded, eliciting a cry of delight from Pandora.

"Well then," Penelope said, "now that you found yourself a new victim, I believe it's time for you to go to bed. Say goodnight."

"Goodnight, Gineva."

"It's Ginevr--" Penelope began.

"Ginny will do just fine," Ginny said, smiling; she had had her name butchered enough as it was and understood how difficult it must be to pronounce it, particularly for a toddler.

"Goodnight Ginny!" Pandora said as she preceded her mother in the corridor.

"I will see you soon," Penelope called to Ginny, clearly ignoring Draco who remained standing regally.

Draco and Ginny remained alone in the study, hearing, despite the humdrum of the party, Pandora's insistent voice, "But please, Mum, just one story!" The office was rather small, and the wall seemed to be lined with inches of strong wood, so that the stately furniture, thick tapestries, and stuffed deer-heads made the room appear stuffed. Draco placed his hands on Ginny's shoulders, and allowed himself to breathe in the smell of hair before he spoke.

"So you heard us."

She turned around, wide-eyed innocence replacing the absent-minded smile of maternity that had lit her face.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can see when you lie, love," he said tenderly, although there was, as always, a strength, an edge to that tenderness that had her bound but protected, captive but willingly so. "It took me a while, but I can read you," he ran his fingers down her neck as one would caress the back of a precious book, "like," her blood ignited under his touch, "a," he tangled his hands in her short hair, pushing it back from her face as though separating two pages, "book," he whispered against her lips.

"You're right, I heard you," Ginny said, her voice huskier than she would have liked, although it did somewhat free her from the spell of his presence.

"It was crafty of you to bring up story-telling, Lady Malfoy."

"It was cunning of you to suggest she come to our house. Penny nearly burst a vein. She blames you, too, which is rather fitting... and convenient."

She took a step back, smiling deviously, because it was the only way she could keep her thoughts straight. He laughed softly, acknowledging her trick, although both were aware that they had, in a way, played into each others' hands. Draco closed the gap between them.

"I wanted you to meet her. Pandora, I mean." He said the girl's name seriously, almost deferentially, and Ginny thought she could see it as he did see Pandora's quiet life as a chance to redeem himself. More than that, she was also a present to Ginny.

"My niece," she murmured happily. "First Harry Arthur, now her... I have a family."

"Oh, and what am I? Cat liver?" Draco growled.

"No, you... You're more than family. You're... You, of course. And me, too. I think... I think we've become--" Incapable to voice her thoughts, she looked down to her heavy, round belly, surprised, but not completely, to find Draco's hands resting there already.

"Valerian," he said.

"What?" she asked, startled from her admittedly errant thoughts.

"It means strength. He was a Roman emperor, too."

"Oh," was all she could say, although as she had earlier that evening, she appreciated the sonority, the spirit of the name. "So it's going to be Valerian and Aurelian?"

It felt so right, so impeccably appropriate all of a sudden, that she was surprised it had taken them so long and required so many disagreements.

"I spoke with Pansy," she said suddenly, but he didn't budge, his chin resting on her shoulder peacefully. "She said Ron--"

"I know," he interrupted her. "I was hoping she'd spare you this piece of information, but she doesn't spare anyone--least of all herself. " He sighed. "Should I have her followed? I'll get you some bodyguards. I could--"

"No. It's settled."

He manipulated her so that she faced him and stared at her, an emotion between fear and anger blazing in his eyes. She had rarely seen him so blatantly emotional.

"You fought? Did she hurt you?"

"No, Draco, no," Ginny said, wincing. "Let go of my arm, will you? If it bruises people will start wondering.

He let go reluctantly, questioning her wordlessly. She could tell he was relieved and trying rather desperately not to show it.

"We talked, that's all," Ginny explained. "Well," she added as an after thought, "I may have punched her, but--"

"You socked Pansy?"

"She deserved it," Ginny said grimly.

"And she let you get away with it?"

Ginny shook herself free from his lingering grip and, annoyed, placed her hands on her hips, glaring rather menacingly.

"What do you mean, 'She let me get away'? I can take care of myself, and she knows it. It's about time you understood that, too."

Draco stared at her, an eyebrow lifted to mark his incredulity, and then he frowned.

"What about the boys, Gin? Do you think you could have handled her without hurting our sons?"

"Yes," she said, her voice strong and purposeful. "Yes, yes, and yes. I am strong enough for three."

"But will you let us be strong enough for four?" he asked meaningfully.

She saw the questioning in his eyes, the grey of it tinged with anger still, blazing with a concern wary of revealing itself. So she looped her arm around his neck and pressed herself against him--to the extent that their progeny would allow--and kissed him soundly.

"Yes to that, too," she answered, beaming.

Draco gave her his arm, and she laced her around his with ease, as though they had both been born to do this. They stepped out of the room, making their way back to the crowded salons, back to the British wizarding intelligentia, comfortably nestled in the chandelier-lit dining rooms and boudoirs.

(2)Sadly for France's admittedly grandiose History, Asterix never was the king or leader of Gaul. He is but an (incredibly funny) figment of Rene Goscinny and Albert Uderzo's astounding imaginations.

(3)Pandora was, according to Greek mythology, the first human woman; she was given by Zeus to Epimetheus, bearing little more than a box which she was told not to open. Being a woman (or so the story goes, because I would say "being a human"), she opened it, and all the ills escaped from it: hate, despair, greed, disease, etc. (i.e. she is the source of human misery). Only hope remained at the bottom of the box, and that is, in a way, all that is left to us mere mortals. Why Pandora? Well, for one, her name starts with a P, like Percival and Penelope. And Pandora, like Percy, was the agent of her peers' downfall through innocent betrayal. But she also symbolizes hope, and that is why (I believe), her parents named her that.

(4) Valerian was Roman emperor who met a tragic end--as did most emperors. His name has an interesting meanin, though, so I chose to keep it.