Dark Before the Rising Sun

"Ginny - are you all right? Here, have some of this - it'll make you feel better. Stephen, be good enough to prepare a room for Miss Weasley, I believe she'll be staying here tonight."

The austere ghost butler Stephen bowed himself out of the dimly lit living room of Draco's townhouse, where Draco and Ginny had Apparated to after they had left the scene of the accident. Ginny's appetite had long fled, but she took the cup of coffee that Draco offered her.

The leather couch was very comfortable, and she swung her bare feet up. Her head did not spin, exactly, but she felt as though it were filled with water. She made a valiant effort to smile, and failed miserably. "I'm sorry I'm such a coward," she said wearily. "I shouldn't have let a small accident get to me like that."

Draco let out an exasperated sound. "Don't be silly, Ginny. That wagon almost ran us over, of course you're upset."

She smiled weakly. "If I were less sensible," said Ginny, attempting a joke, "I'd think that someone was trying to kill us."

When he remained silent and did not move, Ginny's smile faded and she asked slowly, "Draco? You - you don't think that's it, do you? Why - why would somebody want to kill us?"

He stood slowly and began to pace the length of the carpet. At last, he answered quietly, "I don't know. Don't let it trouble you, Ginny. I give you my word that I will protect you at all costs."

And strangely - or perhaps, not so strange as it once might have been - she believed him. There was something about Draco Malfoy, something about the quiet, assured strength of his movements and the set of his shoulders and the steadiness of his eyes that inspired trust.

Slowly, she let out the breath she had been holding and nodded.

His smile was unreadable. "You'd best get some rest, Ginny. I'll show you the way to your room."

"I hate putting you through so much trouble. It really wouldn't matter if I Apparated home - "

Draco waved his arm impatiently. "No trouble at all, this house has twenty-three bedrooms and the house elves are probably all delighted at the chance to be useful."

She forced herself to sit up from the depths of the couch and struggled to put on her shoes. They were high-heeled, strappy sandals, and in her fatigued state she fumbled with the clasps, her fingers clumsy.

He knelt down at her side and laying his big hand on hers, said softly, "Allow me."

Her breath caught in her throat as he gently fastened the clasp, his breath warm on her leg. She felt surrounded by him, his scent, his voice. But when he placed his hand under her right foot to slip on her shoe, she let out a breathy laugh.

"Ohhh," she gasped, wriggling out of reach. "I'm ticklish, don't touch me there."

He raised his head, and that strand of hair fell over his forehead, making her fingers itch to brush it back. His gray eyes gleamed with mischief, and he asked, "Are you ticklish - here?"

He laid his hand on her belly, and instinctively she kicked her leg out. He laughed out loud as her bare foot came harmlessly in contact with his arm. She scooted as far from him as she could, her eyes wide but her generous mouth laughing. In her haste her yellow skirt had gotten caught under her, and her legs were bare to the knees, showing neat calves and trim ankles.

He moved toward her again, and she scrambled back, but with only one shoe on and her skirt tangled with her legs, she lost balance, and would have tumbled off the side of the couch if he hadn't caught her around the waist. Half-kneeling on the arm of the sofa, she looked down at his perfectly sculpted face with her lips parted in surprise, her breath coming quickly. Her hair had come undone from its yellow ribbon, and at the angle they stood it fell forward and teased his face and neck. Her perfume was maddeningly faint.

His voice had a husky quality as he asked, "And what about your throat?"

Afterwards, Ginny would always blame her answer on her fatigue. If she had been in her right mind, she avowed, she would never, ever have said what she did.

"Come and try."

***

His eyes were so dark that they were almost black, and for a half instant Ginny was horrified. What, oh what had she just said? Then his lips touched her throat and there was no room for thought, no room for anything but the softness and heat of his mouth on her skin.

Fire burned through every vein, and heat pooled somewhere deep in her belly. Instinctively she arched her neck, and his lips moved up. He was not exactly kissing her; his mouth brushed her collarbone, the hollow in her throat, her jaw. Then he settled his mouth over hers.

Ginny was not a bold woman. She had courage, yes, and plenty of strength, but there was nothing about her that suggested brazenness. She had been brought up to be modest, decent, mannerly, and kind. Her clothes were neat and proper, her voice was moderate, even her very poverty was genteel.

But there was something wild and primitive burning her as Draco Malfoy kissed her, and nothing, nothing mattered except for the feel of his mouth on hers. With an instinct that had guided thousands of generations of women, she opened her mouth and touched his with her tongue.

The jolt of sensation swamped her. His tongue responded, curling around hers. His hand was cupping the back of her head, and somewhere along the way she had put her arms around his neck.

Ginny gave herself up completely to the delicious, disturbing sensation of his tongue seeking, caressing, entwining with hers. She pressed herself against him and ran her hands up through his hair.

With a muffled oath, he lifted his head and stared into her face. In their position, they were eye to eye.

"My - my shoe," said Ginny stupidly.

They stared at each other for a second longer and then hastily drew apart. Ginny pulled her skirts straight, her cheeks flaming, and Draco knelt back down to help her with her shoe.

As he bent over her foot, gently clasping the buckle of her shoe, Ginny thought of Cinderella.

Cinderella had had Prince Charming. Tentatively, Ginny held out her hand and brushed Draco's hair out of his face. He looked up at her and smiled.

And she, Ginny, had her own prince too.

***

Ginny woke very early the next morning. Putting on the silk bathrobe that had been left out for her - Draco's, gauging from the silver dragon embroidered down it's back - she sat down at the window seat and curled her feet up under her.

Her mind was in a turmoil. Barely a week had passed since Draco had walked back into her life, and yet it seemed like he had been there forever. Barely a week, and he had given her mother her life. Barely a week, and they were to be married.

Ginny harbored no illusions. There was to be no love in this marriage, though if she were lucky there would be friendship and respect. There would be children - her children, and Draco's - and there was to be easy living and comfort.

Somewhere deep inside of her Ginny knew that though Draco might learn to care for her, and though there might be affection between them, he did not have the ability to love.

You learned your lesson long ago, Ginny Weasley, she told herself. Men are all cads. Don't let this one deceive you with soft words and jewelry and clothes. You mustn't let yourself get hurt. You mustn't love him and give him the power to hurt you.

But a part of her wondered if it weren't already too late.

***

The next day and a half passed in a blur. Both Draco and Ginny were too busy to think about the kiss - and its implications. They ate together at mealtimes, treating each other with cordial politeness. Draco was witty and entertaining, Ginny was charming and modest. There was no real camaraderie between them, such as that which had existed on their trips both to Tinkernon and Diagon Alley. A gulf was slowly widening between them, subtle but nevertheless there, and neither cared to try to bridge it.

Ginny was too uncertain as to Draco's feelings. She knew he liked her, certainly, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Draco was probably fond of all women under the sun.

She concentrated on the task at hand. The engagement party was to be that night, and for the time being Ginny was more concerned about her family and friends' reactions than her relationship with Draco.

***

Ginny looked around the table and tried to ease her fluttering heart. She'd been a nervous wreck all day and all yesterday, anticipating the reactions of her friends when she and Draco made their announcement.

She was dressed in her blue gown, with the silver star in her burnished hair and the charm on the necklace Draco had bought her nestling in her throat. Draco was at her side, his arm resting supportively at her waist.

When Ron and Harry and their families had shown up on Draco's doorsteps, they had not yet sensed that something was amiss, even though the townhouse was one of the largest and most elegant on a street noted for its large and elegant houses. The invitation that Ginny had sent them had not mentioned any reason for the dinner party, only that Ginny and a friend were to be having a small party at said friend's house. Ginny had cleverly avoided mentioning her 'friend's' name and gender.

But when Stephen the butler had shown them into the living room, where Draco and Ginny were sitting on the elegant leather couch, she had seen little light bulbs and questions marks flashing on.

However, the children -George Arthur Weasley, Frederick Charles Weasley, Lily Clare Potter, and William James Potter - had been so excited at seeing their Aunt Ginny that there had been no time to answer any questions. But the tension that had descended upon the air was unmistakable.

Now, as they sat preparing to eat dinner in the enormous Malfoy dining hall, Ginny stood at the head of the table and swallowed several times nervously. The faces of her brother and her friends were turned toward her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

The scene was less preposterous than Ginny could have imagined thirteen years ago. To think that Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter could sit calmly in a Malfoy home without attacking its owner with Avada Kedavra! Ginny would have smiled if the situation hadn't been so serious. But the War had changed everything; a line had been drawn, and Draco had chosen his side - their side.

They say that if you ever save a person's life, that person becomes your responsibility. And they were friends because of this responsibility; they had given their lives into each other's keeping. The old feud was over. They had looked death in the face together; their friendship had been forged in fire and water.

Thinking of these things, Ginny looked around. Harry sat directly to her left, with Hermione opposite him. He wore a shabby suit that had been inexpertly mended (Hermione might have been a science genius, but she was impossible with domestic magic), and his hair stood wildly on end, as always. He sported a dashing new scar down his cheek, which Ginny assumed he'd acquired on his latest mission tracking Dark Wizards in South Africa. He was thirty, and in some ways he looked it: the lines between his brows, the wrinkles around his eyes. But when he laughed his laughter was like a child's, and his eyes were clear and gentle and loving.

Hermione was a slender, beautiful woman currently working as a severely underpaid mediwitch at a Cornish hospital. Before the stock crash she'd been on the verge of a major breakthrough on Chandler's, and now there was a secretive, haunted look in her eyes that Ginny recognized, having seen it before in her own mirror.

But in spite of her lost dream, Hermione was happy. She adored her four-year old twins, Lily and Will, and though it was hard to make ends meet on the salaries that she and Harry received, they had a small house on the beautiful Cornwall moors. There was no money for anything, and both her children wore patched robes, but in the eyes of all of them Ginny saw a happiness and a serenity that she envied.

Little Lily Potter had her father's eyes and her mother's long, curly hair. She was a beautiful child, gentle and contented, and her brother was fiercely protective of her. Will was tall for his age, Harry's spitting image, though lacking the scar, of course.

Ron sat next to Hermione. Ginny had never blamed him for his inability to help her all these years. Back in the days that the Weasley Research Institute had been struggling along, he'd sent her checks every month - 100 galleon, 200 galleon, 300. It had helped, though it was certainly not enough to meet the medical bills. And then the stock crash had come, just when she had needed money most, but Ron had been so deeply in debt that he'd ended up going bankrupt.

Anna Knowles Weasley was a tall, blonde, fabulously beautiful witch with a notorious temper and a brilliant mind. But she adored Ron and he adored her and they both adored their two sons, Fred and George (named for their uncles, of course). She had been out of work since the days of the crash nearly two years before, and had spent her time babysitting both her own children and the Potter twins. Ron's measly salary from his at the Ministry was all that kept the family alive, and even then it was just barely. No, Ginny did not blame Ron at all for not helping to care for their mother. He had done his best, coming to see them whenever he could squeeze in the time, bringing with him whatever he could. But Ron had a family, and Ginny did not. Though she regretted all those lost years, there was no one to blame.

All of them were over thin and wore shabby robes, and Ginny had stood by and waited for Draco's reaction. He'd given none. Clearly, he did not mind their poverty; in fact, if Ginny were any judge, that gleam in his eyes was respect for their strength to survive in this time of hardship.

The previous night the two had been discussing how to best help the two struggling families. "They're proud," Ginny had said. "They won't accept charity, even from me."

"I know," Draco had said calmly. "And you're not going to offer them charity."

"I doubt they'd take it from you, either," said Ginny dubiously.

"I'm not going to give them charity," Draco answered. "I'm giving them jobs."

His voice echoed in her head as Draco pulled out her chair for her before taking a seat at the other end. As the house elves served the food, he broke the awkward silence by saying, "I'm so glad that you could all make it here today."

"We're very glad that you invited us," said Hermione warmly. She and Draco were good friends. When you spend three months in the same dungeon trying to crack a code, you're bound to become friendly, and twelve years before the two had done just that. "You have a beautiful house."

Draco smiled. "Thank you. Apart from wanting your companionship tonight, I wanted to tell you about a new endeavor that I wish Malfoy Industries to undertake. Why don't we eat as I talk."

There was a murmur of assent; one of the children said in a loud, high-pitched tone, "I don't like spinach!" There was a ripple of laughter, and then Draco continued slowly.

"As you, Harry, and you, Ron, know, my mother died of Chandler's Disease nearly three years ago. Since then, I've made it a personal crusade of mine to find a cure for this monstrous disease."

Hermione stilled for a brief second, then set her fork and knife down and eyed Draco with such hope and uncertainty that Ginny wanted to shout, "He wants you to work for him, Hermione!"

She did nothing of the sort, of course, merely sampled the excellent sirloin steak.

"Then the stock market crash came, and Malfoy Industries suffered a severe blow to its finances. I had to put this project aside. But now that we have the financial capabilities to start a new research institute, I wish to begin."

Anna made no pretense of eat; a stifled sound escaped her lips.

"Before the crash, the Weasley Research Institute was on the verge of a major breakthrough, under the leadership of one Ron Weasley and his two head researchers."

"Ron - Anna - Hermione - I wish to establish a new research center with the sole mission of finding a cure for Chandler's. There are few in the wizarding world who could help me accomplish this goal, but I believe with your help I can."

Hermione had tears in her eyes. Ginny let out a long, painful breath.

"It is my hope that we share the same dream. I am asking your help not only because you are my friends, but because you have the capability. I will have no favoritism in my company."

He paused and looked around. Harry had slipped an arm around his wife and was running his fingers soothingly through her hair. Anna was taking long, deep breaths; she refrained from a public display of emotion. Ron looked like someone had hit him on the head with a Bludger.

"I will understand, of course," continued Draco slowly, "if you do not wish to leave your current positions. But I am prepared to outbid your employers, should that be your wish."

Oh Draco, thought Ginny. You've not only given them back their dreams, you've given them back their pride.

"There will be time to consider my proposition. I'm not going to force you to make a decision right away. For now, please do enjoy your dinners."

Ginny was smiling foolishly. Idiot, she thought fondly. You should have waited until after dinner. All this good food wasted.

***

They ended up eating after all. The steak and the chicken and the goose were devoured. The mashed potatoes vanished. The mince pies disappeared, the pastas were consumed, even the spinach was gone. Desert followed, and was similarly disposed of. Ginny became aware that she was eating mindlessly, but found herself unable to stop. Her nervous anticipation was making her jumpy.

At last dinner was over, and they all went into the salon, where fine French wine was served. The children were sent to play in the entertainment room under the watchful eye of the housekeeper. Small talk was made and conversation passed back and forth like a ball. Nothing important was addressed, and Ginny felt like she could cut the tension with a knife.

"All right," said Ron abruptly, at last, when another awkward silence descended onto the room. "Let's get to the point, little sister. Since the proposal that Draco just made us has nothing to do with you, what are you doing here?"

The room fell silent as all eyes rested on Ginny. She turned three shades of scarlet, then muttered ungrammatically, "I was made a proposal too."

The room remained silent. All eyes swung toward Draco, before resting back onto Ginny again.

"Oh for heaven's sake, don't look at me like that!" exclaimed Ginny irritably, going to stand beside Draco. She needed his support. He smiled encouragingly and slid his arm around her waist.

"Last week," said Draco calmly, "I asked Ginny to marry me."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring that had arrived that morning from the Diagon shop. Taking hold of Ginny's thin, work-hardened hand, he slipped it onto her finger. As he kissed her palm, he added, "She said yes."

Another moment of stunned silence. Anna and Hermione looked at each other. Ron and Harry looked at each other. Then Ron's wide mouth broke into a huge smile. "Congratulations, Malfoy."

Draco looked stunned for a second at this easy acceptance of their engagement. He was disabused of this illusion when Ron continued pleasantly:

"If you hurt her, I swear I will hunt you down and kill you."