Dark Before the Rising Sun

Ginny awakened slowly, uncertain for an instant where she was. She was warm, her body surrounded by a solid, unyielding heat, yet the blankets had been kicked off during her restless night.

Her fingers moved across bunched muscles. She started, opened her eyes, blinked and blinked again. A small squeak of outrage erupted from her lips as she shot bolt upright in the huge four-poster bed and glared at Draco, who was lounging quite calmly with a mocking smile on his lips.

"What are you doing! How dare you - "

"Take it easy, sweetheart, I'm not on your side of the bed - you're on mine."

She saw that he was right, that she had shifted him in her sleep. Her face flamed. Quickly she slid away from him over the opposite side of the bed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize . . . I didn't mean . . . to . . ."

"I'm sure you didn't," he said dryly, reaching over to grab up his robe. Ginny stared as he slipped the black silk over his shoulders. Her mouth went dry.

"Keep looking at me as you are and my penny will be as worthless as a bent Knut."

She flushed again and dropped her eyes, and slipping from the bed, started toward the door and her own room across the way.

At the door she paused and turned slowly. With her two braids, one over each shoulder, and her white silk pajamas, she looked deceptively child-like.

"Draco," she said softly, "thank you for keeping your word."

He looked up, startled. Then his face softened. "Thank you for taking the risk."

Guilt assailed her. He didn't deserve a wife who didn't want him, a woman unwilling to submit, even in order to bear him a child. Without looking back again, Ginny darted to her own room.

That he had kept his promise gave her hope - more than she'd had in years. If she was honest with herself, she had liked waking up curled up against him. When she was younger, she had imagined lying next to a husband she could love and respect.

Love. The girlish fantasy had died at eighteen. And even if she believed it could happen, it would never happen with Draco. The man she had wed wasn't the type to fall in love, and yet she had a chance to make something of the tentative friendship that existed between them. And if Draco succeeded in his efforts, if he could teach her to accept him in her bed, she could have the children she wanted so much.

She bathed quickly, washed and dried her hair, dressing it into a soft, trailing coiffure with a quick spell. Going downstairs, she found him in the breakfast room, looking sinfully handsome and far more relaxed than he had been earlier that morning.

He rose at her approach. "Good morning, my lady wife. You're looking exceptionally pretty today. Apparently a night spent in my bed didn't leave you any the worse for wear."

Ginny flushed. "I slept well enough, I suppose. Considering . . ." Considering it had taken endless hours to fall asleep. Considering the fear she'd had to battle. If she had known she would snuggle against him in the night, she would never have been able to close her eyes.

"As soon as you've eaten, I'll introduce you to my staff." He seated her in a high-backed chair next to his, then pulled out his own chair and sat down. "Then I'll show you around the house and gardens. Afterward, since it's such a nice day, I thought you might like to go riding so I could acquaint you with your new home."

Ginny hesitated. "Riding?"

Draco nodded and helped himself to the eggs. "Yeah."

Ginny was sure her face had taken on a scarlet as permanent as her hair's. "I don't know how to ride," she mumbled.

Draco looked up in surprise. "Don't ride? Well, that's all right. I'll teach you. There's a lovely gray mare that would suit you beautifully."

She felt a glow of pleasure suffuse her. "That sounds lovely," she said, smiling.

He looked pleased at her excitement. "Good. In the meantime, the house elves have prepared a wonderful breakfast. If there's anything special you need, just let her know and she'll see that you get it."

"I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm not a particularly fussy eater. Heaven knows how much I'll weigh when I get older."

Draco flashed a roguish grin. "Then I shall have to make sure you get plenty of exercise."

Ginny flushed yet again. She started in on her eggs and would not look up.

As promised, Draco took her through the house and introduced her to his staff. She especially liked the housekeeper, Molly Smith, a woman in her fifties with hair even redder than Ginny's.

"It's a pleasure to be meetin' ya." She smiled and cocked her head toward Draco. "Ye've yer hands full with the likes o' himself, but I'll wager you're up to the challenge."

Ginny laughed, but her smile slowly faded. Was she up to the challenge of a man like Draco? She knew what he wanted from her, but even if he got it, it would never be enough for him. Draco was an extremely virile man. Women were wildly attracted to him, and it was no secret how many of them had warmed his bed. One woman - even if she was his wife - would never be enough for him.

As she walked beside him through the house, she told herself it didn't' matter, that she might as well resign herself, that Draco was no different from the other high-power executives of the wizarding world.

He would do whatever pleased him and she would have to find a way to please herself.

By the time he had led her to the stables she had almost convinced herself.

It was a diamond hard winter day, suited admirably for riding, and Draco led her down the winding paths of Seven Oaks. They spoke only occasionally, Draco pointing out the landmarks of the ancient estate, and interjecting his remarks with instructions on how to ride properly. The mare she rode was gentle, and Ginny was a quick learner. Soon, she was cantering happily along, tendrils of hair escaping its knot at the base of her neck and curling around her bright, delighted face.

An hour or so later, they settled for a picnic lunch by the river on the fringes of the grounds, and Draco looked appreciatively at his bride, admiring the fine, clean lines of her face and the flush of color on her cheekbones. When they had polished off the meal, they mounted once again, following a path that led along the river. The unpaved way ambled lazily, haphazardly following parallel to the channel of the river. Heavy foliage obscured the river occasionally, but during other stretches, the edge of the road was not twenty feet from the frozen water. There were places where the rampant greenery, in defiance of the icy weather, pressed close to the narrow trail; other areas were more broad and open, the vegetation growing low and sparse.

Suddenly, several things happened almost simultaneously; a ground-nesting bird at the edge of the road erupted into flight, startling the horses; Draco's stallion shied, and the crack of pistol fire rang out. Draco owed his very life to that nesting bird; the bullet merely grazing his arm instead of finding his heart as it would have if the horse had not swerved so unexpectedly. He took a deep breath. Though he did not yet realize it, a few inches to the right and he would have been a dead man.

"Run," he yelled at Ginny, and she reined her horse around and was off at a gallop. He followed her, a second bullet lodging itself in the picnic basket secured behind his horse.

Too close for comfort, he thought.

The horses responded like the thoroughbreds they were, their long necks outstretched, their powerful legs gleaming in the winter sunlight. Within minutes they had cleared a bend in the path, but still they did not slow their pace. It was not until a mile later that Ginny reined her horse in and demanded to see Draco's arm.

"It's just a scratch," said Draco, smiling.

"A scratch!" exclaimed Ginny, and made a rude noise that sounded very much like men. "It's - it's pouring blood."

But a closer look proved Draco to be right. The bullet had ripped a gash in his upper arm, but beyond a burning sensation, he seemed none the worse for his ideal. But both of them had left their wands behind, not expecting to need them, and Ginny, who had some small skill with medical magic, could only bend her head over the wound to exam the extent of the damage.

Helping him so gently out of his jacket that one would have thought him near death, she undid his shirt, and scrupulously avoiding the tantalizing expanse of chest, cleaned the wound with her handkerchief and a bit of water. Draco carefully swallowed at the feel of her small hands on his torso.

"You might have been killed," said Ginny softly, lifting her eyes to look at him.

Draco lifted her chin. Unable to help himself, he dropped a kiss on her mouth. "And would that have bothered you, hmm? You would be a very rich widow."

Ginny scowled at him. Impatiently slapping his hand away, she answered irritably, "I don't want to be a widow! I've barely begun to be a wife."

Draco grinned and kicked his horse into a canter. Not for the world would he admit that he would suffer a hundred wounds, ten times worse than this, just to have her looking at him as she was right now.

With her jacket, Ginny made a sling for him, and said earnestly, "You must be very careful and not joggle it."

"If it pleases you, sweetheart," Draco replied meekly, beginning to think rather fondly of the gentleman who had shot him.

They continued on, and in an hour had reached the manor. Ginny helped him gently from his horse, while Mrs. Smith hastened to hand her her wand so that she might patch him up.

After murmuring a quick spell that healed the skin, Ginny asked anxiously, "Do you wish to lie down and rest? Shall I help you to your room? Or should I ring for your valet?"

Taking full advantage of her tender concern, Draco sighed and murmured in a suitably weary tone of voice, "I am somewhat exhausted. If you will just let me lean on you a bit, I should be able to make it to our room."

Draping himself comfortably around Ginny, he managed, with her help, to totter up the stairs. The sensation of feeling her arms around him, even if he'd had to practice guile and craft to accomplish it, was sheer delight. It was worth getting shot, he thought cheerfully, to have Ginny's slender shoulders tenderly supporting his drooping body and her arms locked securely around his waist.

He managed to maintain his air of suffering all the way up the stairs and into their rooms. Closing his eyes as he sank down onto the scented sheets of their freshly made bed, Draco sighed with bliss.

After awhile, he carefully opened one eye a crack. Ginny's concerned face filled his gaze as she stood uncertainly by the door to the main hallway. His wife. That was what he wanted.

Preferably, his wife, in his bed, lying right by his side.

Draco groaned with heartrending realism. "Ginny?" he asked weakly.

She sped to his side. "Are you all right? What can I do to make you more comfortable?"

A particularly vivid and explicitly erotic image floated across his mind. A rush of heat charged through his body, and he was conscious of the sweet biting ache of desire churning low in his belly. If Ginny's eyes happened to fall on a certain part of his anatomy, she would have no trouble, he thought wryly, guessing what would make him more comfortable.

Half propping himself up on his good arm, he murmured pathetically, "Perhaps you could help me out of my shirt and pull off my boots for me?"

It never occurred to her that a servant or house elf could do all that as well. "Of course!" she replied as she set to work to accomplish his request.

His boots were easily discarded, but she seemed to have an inordinate amount of trouble getting his shirt off of him; his arms kept sliding around her, his hands, accidentally, she was sure, kept brushing against her hips, the back of her neck, and the sides of her breasts. He seemed to have trouble controlling his head, too, his lips moving over her temples and hair. By the time his shirt was finally laid on the end of the bed, Ginny was flushed and thoroughly flustered.

The occasional scrape of his warm face against her cheek as they struggled to remove the offending garment, the musky intoxicating scent of his body, and the accidental brush of his lips on her skin, had a stunning effect on her, and she was mortified by her response to his nearness. He was wounded! He had been shot!

It was all well and good to remind herself of those things, but she was very conscious of the half-naked man on her bed. "I - I'd best go," she stammered, and fled the room. Draco watched her go regretfully.

***

Lying there in bed, Draco began to tally up the murder attempts against him and Ginny, beginning with the flooding of the ship yard at Tinkernon. The carriage ride in Diagon. And now this.

There was no doubt in his mind as to what the would-be-killer's identity was. That part was easy. Terence Higgs had sufficient reason to want him - and Ginny - dead. Both Malfoy Manor and a not inconsiderable fortune were at stake. There was no question, either, as to why a pistol had been used in this afternoon's attempt. The Seven Oaks estate had been warded with magic, but Draco had not thought to protect it from Muggle weapons - a mistake which would soon rectified, he thought grimly.

Before he could continue with his thoughts anymore, however, there was a tap at his window, and a sleek black falcon flew into the room. Draco recognized it as belonging to his grandmother.

Taking up the parchment that the falcon dropped on his pillow before flying away, Draco tore the seal and scanned the short lines quickly.

My best wishes for a happy marriage, my boy, she had written. I see that you have kept the first part of the bargain. However, do not forget I require an heir before the next new year, or Malfoy Manor may still go to Terence.

Grandmother

Draco scowled darkly. Couldn't the woman leave him alone for even one day? His wedding had been yesterday, and she was already talking heirs.

That settled it. He would not hang around England to be hounded, nagged, shot at, or murdered. Tomorrow, after a few discreet words with Mrs. Smith and Stephen the butler, he and Ginny would be leaving for a honeymoon on the Continent. And no one - not his crazy grandmother, not his homicidal and equally insane cousin - would be able to find them.

***