Dark Before the Rising Sun

Ginny bent over Molly Weasley's bedside, taking her mother's cold hand in her own. The older woman was still asleep, as she was to remain in stasis for at least two days after the operation.

"She's passed the crisis," Dr. Clark was saying, as he scribbled notes down onto his clipboard. "The operation was hugely successful. She should be up and about within a few days again." Due to the wonders of medimagic, patients did not need to lie abed for months on end after operation. The longest someone had ever taken to recover was a week. "Of course, you realize that this operation will only have temporary effect. Every five or six years she'll have to return for another one."

"Yes," said Ginny softly. "Yes, yes, but she'll live. Oh, she'll live."

She did not try to halt the tears flowing freely down her face. Her mother was spared. She would see the sun rise and set for years to come, she would bounce her grandchildren on her knee, she would cook and scold and laugh - and live.

"There, there now, child," Dr. Clark said kindly, patting her on the shoulder. Ginny sank into a chair, feeling the weight that had been pressing against her for so many years slowly easing.

Molly Weasley would live. Molly Weasley would live, and all Ginny's troubles were about to come to an end.

The air had never tasted so much like champagne.

There was only one man to thank for this. If it had been ten years ago, that man might have been her father, or one of her brothers, or Harry. But it was not ten years ago, and her father and all her brothers save Ron were dead. The man that had burned across the latter days of her girlhood was back again, and like before he brought salvation with him.

Who would have thought? Ginny wondered wryly. The same rat-faced boy that had challenged her name so many, many years ago was now offering her the protection of his own. A name that had once been an enemy to hers. The boy that had despised Ron, and then saved him, that had hated Harry, and then helped him, that had worshipped his father, and then turned against him, that same boy who was now a man, a man that offered her not only her mother's life, but all the lost dreams of her girlhood.

Love and hate, she thought again. They ran side by side; the line between them was thin.

And as the tears fell, freely and easily down her thin, hollow cheeks, she knew that she would find a way to make him happy. She owed him as much. She would do as he asked, become whatever he wanted her to be, follow him to the ends of the world if he needed her.

Even though what he had given her could never, ever be repaid.

***

Draco had not slept well. He woke up with a massive hangover, feeling irritable and out of sorts with Ginny, himself, and the whole world in general.

He worked at the office all morning, determined to finish the day's work before three so he could check up on Ginny and her mother. Draco was an efficient man. He was not founder and CEO of the largest company of the wizarding world for nothing. Malfoy Industries was a multi-billion galleon industry that included everything from factories, laboratories, and retail stores to a publishing house, five newspapers, three magazines, and sundry other enterprises.

He lunched at noon, while writing various owls to the Ministry, asking for permission to develop new lands for a research institution he wanted to set up. Then he examined the construction plans, as well as the people he intended to hire to work there.

Draco smiled softly. Few of his business associates would have recognized him if they had caught him smiling such a tender, gentle smile.

He wanted to be the one to find a cure for Chandler's. Not only would it do wonders for his profits, but he would also be vanquishing the dread disease that had destroyed his life so many years ago. It had become a personal crusade of his, ever since he had watched helplessly the one person on earth he had loved most die.

And there were only two witches in the world that could help him accomplish his goal.

Hermione Granger Potter and Anna Knowles Weasley.

Draco smiled again. He'd ask Weasley to head the whole thing - after all, Ron's Weasley Research Institute had been quite a formidable force in the wizarding world before the stock market crash - with Hermione and Weasley as head researchers.

With the Malfoy money backing them, they would succeed. They had to.

***

Worn out by her relief, Ginny fell asleep by a chair at her mother's bedside. The clock was ticking quarter to four when a soft knock at the door woke her. Tugging hastily at her hair, she smoothed out her skirt as she swung it open.

Her heart leaped at the sight of Draco. He gave her a half grin. She gestured to her mother sleeping on the bed, and he nodded.

"Let me grab my purse," she mouthed. He nodded, and she tiptoed to get her purse, then slipped silently out of the half-darkened room.

As they stepped out into the winter sunlight, Draco tucked her hand in his arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world, asking, "And how is your mother?"

Ginny looked up at him with a tremulous smile, her eyes shining with tears. "She'll make it," she said, and there was so much joy in her voice that his heart throbbed with the thrill of it too. The intensity of her emotions so overwhelmed her that without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder.

He gave her hair an awkward pat, looking so startled that she laughed and drew back, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Malfoy - I don't know how to thank you. I can never repay you for what you've done . . ."

He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them lightly.

"I'm very glad that your mother's operation was successful," he said, quietly, against her fingers. Her skin prickled at the feeling of his lips moving under her hand, his breath warming her. "My mother's wasn't."

Ginny stopped short and looked up at him. His eyes had welled into pools of darkness, and his hands had tightened around hers. She couldn't help it - she traced the shape of his lips softly.

"Tell me about her," she breathed.

He took the hand he held in both his own, and looked blindly down at it, his own fingers tracing the lines of her palm as he spoke.

"My mother was diagnosed with Chandler's several years ago," he said, in a dull, flat tone. "Her operation failed. She died the next day."

Ginny didn't say anything. What was there left to be said? She reached out her other hand and gently brushed the hair from his forehead, her heart aching for him, and he lifted his eyes. Smiling a little at her sad, solemn face, he said, "But what's over is over. It's no use dwelling in the past."

She nodded wordlessly. Her hand still in his, they continued walking.

"I was thinking that I should take you to Diagon Alley," he said. "We can buy you a dress for the party on Saturday, and you can also take a look at the rings. I'd give you the Malfoy ring, but . . ." He stopped her and traced a finger down the soft skin of her face, and she shivered at his touch. "It brought sorrow to so many generations of Malfoy women, and I should not like you to be like them. If someday you can love me, I should wish your love to be purer than theirs. They were poisoned by their love."

Ginny looked earnestly up at him. "They loved deeply, if unwisely," she said, softly, "I would be honored to wear it if you should wish it."

He smiled. "How about this. The Malfoy ring is noted for its diamond. I'll buy you a new ring and set it with the old jewel. Would that please you?"

"Anything you like would please me," Ginny answered, her smile soft.

He nodded, looking away. "Diagon isn't far from her, and I was hoping we'd just walk, but if you'd like to Apparate - "

"Oh no," said Ginny quickly. "I should love to walk."

Talking quietly of many things, they started toward Diagon Alley. The December day was cold, but pleasant, and the brisk air brought a healthy color to Ginny's pale face. She was quietly content, walking alongside her fiancé, and she thought that if only every day could bring with it such serenity and comfort, life would be perfect.

And Draco Malfoy was a remarkable man. He was always dressed and groomed impeccably; his manners were irreproachable and if his character were a trifle faulty, the sincerity of his kindness made up for it. The added bonus of wealth, prestige, and intelligence made him exceptional, and that he was charming and handsome seemed like an overindulgence on the part of his maker.

Diagon Alley was all ready for Christmas. Shops were hung in red and green lights, and there was an enormous tree dominating the square. Though the season's snow would be starting late, weather wizards had promised a white Yuletide. There were carolers standing at every corner, and as Draco hustled her into Madame Malkin's, the windows burst into a noisy rendition of 'We Wish You a Merry Christmas.'

"Why, if it isn't Draco Malfoy! And Ginny Weasley! Welcome!" A squat little witch in bright cerulean robes flitted towards them. "And how may I help you today, Mr. Malfoy and iss Weasley?"

"Party robes, if you please," Draco was saying, as Ginny looked around the shop she had not entered since nearly six years before, her eyes falling on an extensive collection of Hogwarts robes.

"Ah, yes," she said, ushering them toward the back of the store, past magically suspended racks of robes, sorted by color and size. "Party robes for the lady? Or for you?"

"For Miss Weasley," Draco said.

"Why don't I get your measurements first," Madame Malkin suggested. Ginny nodded assent.

"Step this way, please."

As they entered the curtained dressing room, Ginny, blushing hotly, turned toward Draco. "Why don't you - er - just - uh - go - go stand outside?" she asked. He grinned wickedly, but did as she told.

"Hmmm - hmmm," muttered Madame Malkin, as the measuring tape did its work. "I believe I have just the thing. Any color preferences?"

"Green," Draco shouted from outside the curtain. "Miss Weasley would look quite fetching in green, don't you agree, Madame Malkin?"

"Quite so, but I have a wonderful blue dress that Miss Weasley would look wonderful in. If it does not please you I will find her a green one, but I believe Miss Weasley would be ravishing in this one."

Draco, standing outside the dressing room, heard Madame Malkin whisper Accio, and then a box came whizzing from across the shop, missing his nose by an inch. A hand - Madame Malkin's, probably - reached out from behind the white curtains and grabbed it. He heard the sound of rustling silk inside, barely making out the shadows of the two women within. More boxes were summoned from various parts of the store, one hitting Draco squarely in the arm and another whizzing dangerously close to his ear.

He was feeling quite sulky by the time he heard the mirror inside squealing in delight and Madame Malkin exclaiming, "Oh, it is perfect, Miss Weasley! Step outside to show Mr. Malfoy."

Draco caught his breath as she appeared from behind the curtains. She smiled nervously at him, and asked timidly, "Do you like it?"

Like it! Like it! Draco felt his jaw drop open as he stared at her, all breath knocked out of his body. In his twenty-nine years of life, he had seen scores of beautiful women, but never anything quite like Ginny Weasley as she stood before him that day.

The dress was in layers of deep, electric blue, jaggedly cut, so that the skirt swirled unexpectedly, shifting with every breath, making soft whispery sounds as the brilliant blue fabric slid over itself. The neckline was not symmetrical, and Madame Malkin had performed a Coifferus charm on Ginny's hair so that it was swept to the side, and offset the unusual neckline. A necklace with an art-deco star trembled just below her throat, and another one in her richly colored hair. The sleeves were long strands of beads that went half way down her upper arm, tiny beads of exactly the same color as the dress that sent rainbows across the room as if she were hung with prisms.

"My God," he breathed. "My God."

Madame Malkin beamed.

"We'll take it," he murmured, gazing so fixedly at Ginny that the color crept up her cheek. "We'll take it as well as whatever else you stuck on her. The necklace. That hair thing. Everything."

"Mal - Draco," said Ginny suddenly, "I haven't - "

Forestalling what she was about to say, he said dazedly, "It'll be an engagement gift."

After everything had been wrapped up, and Draco had arranged for it to be sent to Ginny's apartment, they headed to Randolph Jewelers. Somewhat recovered, Draco took out the Malfoy ring and showed it to Mr. Randolph, a slight, stooping, balding old man.

"We'd like to set the diamond in something new," he said. Mr. Randolph examined the ring, his brows furrowed, while Ginny looked around, firmly suppressing her desire to stare with open-mouthed awe. The gems, jewels, and exquisite works of art that surrounded her were breathtaking.

"My, my," Mr. Randolph softly. "This is quite a treasure."

"It's been in the family for fifteen generations."

"Hmmmm. Hmmmmm." The old man prodded at the ring with a microscope and tweezers. "Hmmmm. Hmmm."

"It's to be an engagement ring for my fiancée," explained Draco, nodding toward Ginny, who was gazing at a rose made entirely of beaten gold and crusted with rubies and emeralds. Her eyes were the approximate size of saucers.

My fiancée. The name still felt strange to him. Pretty soon he'd be saying wife. And how would that feel?

Either way, he discovered that he liked it when Ginny was his.

"Hmmm," Mr. Randolph said again. "Is there anything specific you would like to request, Miss Weasley?"

She turned and looked askance at Draco. He nodded slightly, indicating for her to say what she wished. "I'm quite partial to white gold," she said, looking back towards the old man.

"I believe I have just the thing," said Mr. Randolph, disappearing into the back of the store. He reemerged with a small case. Sitting down, he put it on the counter and opened it. Ginny didn't bother to suppress her gasp this time.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it up to examine more closely. Draco frowned a little.

"Pearls are for tears," he objected, indicating the small formation of pearls that supported the diamond.

Ginny bit her lip and looked at him. "Tears can be for joy as well as sorrow," she said softly. His slate-gray eyes met hers, and held.

Time stood motionless. A small tremor passed through her body and left her feeling weak and giddy and terribly strange. But even after he looked away, she could not tear her gaze from his face.

"If it pleases you," he said at last.

"These pearls," said Mr. Randolph softly, "are not normal pearls, wrenched from the unwilling hearts of clams. They were fashioned from unicorn horns."

Ginny recoiled, looking at the ring as though it were a spider. "Unicorns were killed to make this ring?"

"Oh, no, Miss Weasley. Unicorns shed their horns the way we shed out baby teeth."

Ginny relaxed again.

"The white gold is from an albino Austrian Goldhorn," continued Mr. Randolph. "And this was fashioned by a master-craftsman - a dwarf."

"If you like it, Ginny, we'll take it," said Draco. She looked down at the ring in her hand and back at him. It was probably horribly, horribly expensive.

"Don't worry about the money," Draco added, as though guessing her thoughts. "This ring will last you a lifetime, so buy something you like."

"If you don't mind - I truly like this one."

"Very well. We'll take it, Mr. Randolph. Be good enough to transfer the diamond. I'll need it by Saturday afternoon."

"Certainly, Mr. Malfoy. It shall be ready by then."

"Thank you."

As Mr. Randolph bowed them out of the shop, Draco took her arm again. "Let's go to my house for dinner," he said. "I'll have my carriage brought around."

A coach bearing the Malfoy crest and drawn by four black horses pulled up before them, and they got in. Ginny sat back against the coach and looked out at the crowd outside.

Turning out of Diagon Alley, they come onto Birmingham Street, which was crowded with coaches. Halfway down the road the carriage jerked to a halt. After a few minutes the coachman popped his head in from the roof. Ginny started in surprise.

"Bit of a snarl-up, Mr. Malfoy," said the coachman, a portly-looking ghost. "The wagon in front of us lost a wheel."

"Very well, but do try to hurry us before I need another shave," said Draco dryly. Ginny, a little tired, curled up on her side and closed her eyes.

Another coach pulled up behind them. Directly to the right a narrow street joined a busier one, and it was on this one, opening directly onto the place where the Malfoy carriage now sat wedged and immobile, that a runaway wagon careened out of control, heading straight toward the big black coach with the Malfoy crests boldly emblazoned on the doors for all to see.

Draco heard the cries of terror and warning blending with a rumbling sound, and glancing up curiously, looked out of the coach window to see a wagon, heavily laden with supplies and gaining tremendous speed, rolling down the narrow side of the street toward the coach.

He reacted on a surge of adrenaline. "Come on," he said to Ginny, pulling her roughly up. She gave a start, but there was no time fore explanations. Draco grabbed her and dove through the window, hitting the cobbled street in a hard, tumbling fall, shielding her with his own body.

He heard the loud crash of splintering wood as the two vehicles met. His horses panicked and pawed the air in fear, their screams piercing the moment of stunned silence before the crowd reacted.

Draco stood, pulling a badly shaken Ginny to her feet.

"Mr. Malfoy!" called his coachman, a look of relief on his transparent face when he saw his master and his fiancée standing in the center of the gawking crowd. "Thought you'd been finished off."

"So did I."

With a shocked and trembling Ginny in his arms, he made his way with his coachman towards the remains of his coach. His team of horses ha been released, and was being quieted by the grooms. The wagon had split in two and practically upended over his coach. As they stood there, one of the cages full of rats that had been precariously off-balanced by the crash, fell from its perch, the door opening and the rats running free.

"Whose wagon is this?" he demanded, as he realized how close they'd come to being trapped underneath the twisted wreckage.

"No one will claim it," said the coachman gently. "But I don't see how the wagon could have been going so fast. That street isn't that steep."

One of the ghostly grooms drifted above the heads of the crowd and said excitedly to Draco, "Bloke over there says he saw two rowdies pushing the wagon down the street and just standing and watching as it gathered speed, then took to their heels and disappeared."

"It seems as though someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to insure my death," Draco said in a soft, dangerous tone. He cradled Ginny's limp form closer.

"We'll be Apparating home," he said to his coachman. "You take care of everything."

"Yes, sir."

Looking back down at Ginny, he lifted her chin with his hand. Her face was the color of chalk and her eyes were wide with shock and terror. She sagged against him bonelessly.

He'd been told by more than one woman that he possessed a heart of stone. At that moment he could rightly have differed with them. That particular organ welled with compassion as he drew her closer.

"It's all right, darling," he said gently. "I'll take you home now."