Tender the Storm

Chapter Two: The Solicitor from London

The white silk slid upward over the golden back of her lover. As he pulled the shirt over his shoulders, however, Blaise's lips curved into a practiced pout. She stretched like a cat between the rumpled sheets of the giant bed and watched him dress.

The familiar sight of Draco Malfoy leaving her bed and her house never failed to diminish her spirits. Even now, the acrid, metallic taste of disappointment was in her mouth, but she forced herself to look casual, soft, alluring.

She was not above asking him to stay. She was not even above pleading with him. But she refused to yield to such a fatal inclination. She was far too clever for that. Blaise Zabini had no wish to join Draco Malfoy's long list of castoff paramours. He was openly disdainful of women who swooned at his feet, and drinking, gaming, and whoring were beneath him. Most importantly, though, Draco could be incredibly generous with his friends. And this was a virtue that Blaise valued highly - particularly in light of her highly developed taste for spending and gambling.

"About Pansy Flint's invitation for Friday night . . ." she gathered her long mane of blond hair in one hand and rolled back onto the pillows. "Could you come for me here at six-thirty? I would much prefer to arrive there with you . . ."

"I've already declined Pansy's invitation."

"But she is such a good friend of mine. She'll be so disappointed if we don't go."

He moved away from the mirror. "I only spoke of my own plans regarding her party. You are, of course, free to do as you wish."

"I cannot understand what you have against her. This is the fifth invitation from Pansy that you have declined in the past month."

"If it were the fiftieth, I would still decline. I have no interest in attending."

Blaise heard the change in his tone. It was a subtle shift, imperceptible, but she'd heard it before and recognized it. Draco rarely raised his voice, but the note of danger was unmistakable.

"Very well . . ." she said, sliding gracefully off the bed and walking slowly toward him as he pulled on his jacket.

She knew that a little time was called for. Time for his flash of temper to subside. Time for his eyes to focus on her body once again and appreciate the display of her charms. But he seemed distracted, if not disinterested, and this alarmed her even more than she wanted to admit.

Blaise picked up her dressing gown of sheer silk and draped it loosely around her.

"Actually, darling, I have a much better idea." She ran a finger along his face. "You and I . . . Saturday evening . . . strolling through the gardens - "

"No, I think not." Gently but firmly, he pushed her away and turned toward the door. She reached out quickly and took hold of his sleeve. "We don't need to go anywhere," she said, working hard to keep the note of panic out of her voice. "Perhaps here . . . we can . . ."

"I'm leaving London for Malfoy Manor for a few days. Perhaps I'll see you sometime next week, Blaise."

She stared at him for a moment. Take me with you, she nearly cried out as he leaned down to place a kiss on her forehead. But she knew better and bit back the words, instead sliding her arms around him and lifting her lips to be kissed.

Again, he disengaged himself from her and started for the door. She felt the color flood into her cheeks.

"I understand. You're restless because you're impatient with the waiting. It's been several months now, hasn't it?"

He came to an abrupt stop at the door and looked back at her. His eyes were gray, but she could see that distinctive light gleaming deep in their depths. She felt the danger heat the air around her. She had overstepped her position, but now she knew she had to hold her ground.

"What exactly has been several months, Blaise?"

His voice was even lower now than it had been before, and she pulled the sheer gown around her tighter as though the flimsy garment could protect her from his wrath.

"I've . . . I've heard things." She could not maintain eye contact, so instead she picked up the silk belt to the gown and made an elaborate show of knotting it at her waist. "I just wanted you to know . . . well, that I understand . . . and that I am here if you need me."

She gave him a smile that she hoped was convincing.

"What is it exactly you have heard?"

There was no escaping it. He wanted an answer.

"I heard rumors. I simply heard that you had sent someone to search for - to search for - your wife. Everyone is talking about it. You know how people talk. Everyone knows how hard it must be on you after ten years and . . . of course, if Madeleine decides to return . . . well . . ."

The words withered on Blaise's tongue as a hardness she had never seen crept into Draco's slate gray eyes. He looked cold and formidable. Blaise took an unconscious step back.

"I only . . . I was only concerned for you," she said nervously, running her tongue along her lips.

"Concerned?" His voice was cool, even, mocking. "We have taken pleasure in each other's company, my dear Blaise, but do not presume that there is anything more between us. Make no mistake about our connection." He turned sharply and pulled open the door. "In the future, you will not concern yourself with my affairs. Not now. Not ever."

Blaise Zabini watched him go and then sank against the edge of the bed. She stared at the door for a long moment and then stood up. She had erred in that skirmish but she was hardly defeated.

No, she thought. She had been formulating her strategy for too long now to throw it all away. Conquering Draco Malfoy might require doing battle, but it was a campaign she had no intention of losing.

Not now. Not ever.

***

"You shouldn't have done that." Ginny Weasley gazed down at her son and tried not to laugh. He looked so conscious stricken and guilty as he wrung his crippled hand and shuffled his feet.

"I didn't mean to, Mama. Honestly, I didn't." He looked so miserable that Ginny relented. Holding out her arms, she gathered him to her and patted his fine pale hair.

"It's all right, darling, so long as you don't do it again, ok? Run along now, Jacky dear."

"Can I go play with Joe Wright?"

"Of course. Just come back for dinner, ok?"

She stood in the doorway with a tender smile on her lips and watched him run across the bridge, through the grassy, flower-bordered path, and across the street to the Wrights.' As soon as he was out of sight, she closed the door gently and sat down to begin the day's work.

Her latest project was the cover of Tales from Camelot. Dreamily, she began to sketch a design - knights on horses, scarlet banners, bloody fields. A beautiful chatelaine beneath a pointed arch, leaning on the parapet, chin in hand. A cavalier galloping up out of the distant countryside on a black charger. A lady on a lounge, with an opened letter beside her, gazing dreamily at the moon through an open window half-veiled by a velvet curtain.

She drew Arthur last. Her pencil moved idly across the paper - high cheekbones, refined features, soft hair falling over his forehead. How often this face stared up at her from her sketchbook, she thought, wistfully. Sometimes it was the eyes, or the curve of the lips, or the little quirk of the eyebrow. Arthur, and Achilles, and Caesar, it did not matter - it all came back to one man.

She had never actually drawn him, as himself. It would have been too painful. But he was always there, smiling up at her, as he used to.

There was a knock at the door. Ginny stood up and went slowly to answer it, expecting one of the neighbors. To her surprise, it was a well-dressed young wizard that stood on her porch.

"I'm Samuel Carlisle, ma'am, a solicitor of London."

Ginny nodded and smiled. "And what can I do for you, Mr. Carlisle?"

"I'm here on behalf of Draco Malfoy to collect and accompany his son, John Malfoy, to Malfoy Manor."

Ginny stared at him for only an instant before slamming the door in his face.

***

Harry Potter tossed his cloak to the footman and scrutinized his reflection in the mirror, focusing on a fresh cut just above his right brow. A ghost butler hovered patiently a step away.

"Good morning, Dan," Harry said, turning. "Did you and your master have a pleasant time down at Malfoy Manor?"

"Indeed, sir. Master Malfoy is in the library, sir."

Harry fell in step with the floating steward.

"Did your master fall ill while you were at the Manor?"

"No sir," the ghost responded with a turn of his head.

"Did he suffer a fall from his horse? Sprain an ankle?"

"No sir," Dan answered in his immutable monotone.

"Hmmmm. A new colt then has been added to the stables?"

"No, sir."

"It must have been a beautiful woman. Out with it."

"No, sir."

"Then, it had to be an orgy of wantonness! That rogue master of yours has secretly assembled an entire harem of women down there! Is that it, Dan?"

"No, sir."

Harry paused on the top of the stairs and looked sternly into the ghost's bland expression. "Then tell me this, Dan. Does anything ever make you smile?"

"No, sir."

Harry turned and strode through the massive, elaborately detailed doors into the library. As the door closed behind him, he spied his friend at a huge desk by the window.

"Your steward," he said by way of a greeting, "is by far the most miserable old bugger I've ever had displeasure of knowing."

Draco Malfoy looked up and smirked at his friend. "Of course! Dan is Dan. You'll only be the more miserable for it, if you think you can change him."

Harry glared at him. "Your majordomo, Malfoy, has only known me for the past ten years or so. Don't you think he could greet me with a 'good morning'? Or, 'what a fine day it is, sir?' Or, 'whatever was the cause of that nasty cut on your handsome forehead, Mr. Potter?'"

"Why, that is a fine mark on your head, Potter. What was it this time? Did you run off with some other man's wife?"

"I most certainly did not!"

"Ah, I see. Hermione has run off with someone and you challenged him to a duel."

"She didn't!"

"Then it was Hermione herself. She chased you with a kitchen knife."

"Actually," said Harry pleasantly, "it was a rusty coat hanger."

"I assume she was trying to get the clothes on your body onto that coat hanger?" Draco lifted a fine eyebrow.

Harry choked. "Sod off, Malfoy. You know, during your absence from London, the latest paramour of yours was quite distressed. The word about town - not that I ever listen to it, of course - but the word is that this same lady has consoled herself by losing immense sums of money at a variety of gaming establishments - more so than usual."

"Blaise and I have an agreement. I refuse to settle her gambling debts."

"Say what you will. But be warned, my friend, the siren is, I believe, a bit desperate."

"I didn't ask for you to come so that you could spread gossip, Potter."

"The devil take me. There's something troubling you, isn't there? Tell me what's wrong."

"I received news of Madeleine while I was away."

Harry straightened in the chair and stared at his friend's grim profile.

"Samuel Carlisle was indeed able to track her." Draco's glance in his direction was brief and hard. "He owled me with the news."

"And?"

"Madeleine died nine years ago."

Harry knew better than to offer any sympathy. He had never approved of Draco marrying Madeleine Saint André, despite her lovely face and bright eyes. But Draco had paid for the fancy that though passing, nevertheless hit him with full force. He had lived to regret the day when he had first set eyes on the selfish, shallow French girl he had met on the Rhine. Not three months after their wedding day she had run off with Douglas Avery, but eight months later she had mysteriously vanished.

Draco's voice was passionless as he continued. "But according to Samuel, there was a son. My son, apparently. It was the child that had caused Madeleine to run away from Avery. Samuel's letter concludes with an intention of traveling south to where the lad is currently residing with a woman that had helped Madeleine the night she died."

"Does Carlisle know who the woman is?" Harry watched his friend walk away from the window and move toward the large fireplace dominating one side of the room.

"Yes."

"Who is it?"

Draco turned and looked intently at him. "Virginia Weasley."

***

Ginny glared at the closed door, surprise, rage, and fear clawing at her throat. There was another knock, but she ignored it.

He was lying, she told herself, rocking on her heels. He was lying. Jacky wasn't Draco's son, he couldn't be! Draco didn't have a wife -

How do you know? asked a small voice. How do you know that he didn't have a wife? It's been twelve years since you last saw him. Just because you didn't marry doesn't mean that he didn't.

Questions tore at her relentlessly. Who had the woman named Madeleine been? Why had she been running? Who was Jacky's father, really? And, most importantly, had Draco really been married? Or had Madeleine been his mistress?

The seconds ticked by. Minutes passed, maybe hours. There was a pounding at the door, and Jacky's boyish voice called to her. She opened the door blindly and let him in.

He threw his arms around her, shocking her out of her reverie.

"Don't let him take me away, Mama. Please don't let him take me away."

Ginny gathered him close. "I would never do that." She lifted his head until he was looking into her face. "I would never let anyone take you away." She clutched him to her as the tears flowed down his cheeks. "What happened, darling?" she whispered.

"There was a man," he said. Fear gripped Ginny. A man! Oh, damn that Samuel Carlisle, damn him to hell and back for doing this to her son. Damn him for walking into their lives and with a few words shattering their world forever.

"What did he say? What did he want?" She caressed his pale hair, pushing it away from his brow.

"I love you, Mama. I promise to do my best. Just don't send me away."

"I love you too, darling. And you are not going anywhere without me. But I need to know," she said more firmly, "what that man said to you."

"He said . . ." Jacky hiccuped. "He said he was going to take me away. But you won't let him, will you, Mama?"

"No, sweetheart. No one is taking you away. You and I are family."

Fresh tears spilled from his gray eyes. All these years, thought Ginny, sure her heart would break, all these years and she had looked at the resemblance between her son and the man she loved and dismissed it as coincidence. His fingers tightened on her shoulders and he looked into her eyes with the piercing intensity that cut straight to her soul. "You promise! You promise to keep me safe . . . keep me with you!"

She could feel her heart being clawed open, but she swallowed her anguish and nodded. "I promise, my love."

He melted against her, guided by the trust that she had so wrongfully instilled in him. No, she thought fiercely, not wrongfully. It is not wrong for a child to trust his mother, and Jacky was her son as sure as the sun rose in the east. He was her son because Madeleine herself had made her promise to love him as her own. He was her son because she had nurtured and cared for and loved him from the time his life was still measure in hours.

And he had been hers from the day she had watched the dirt fall on his mother's coffin and the tombstone with the single word MADELEINE etched on it had been erected over the narrow grave.

Her hand shook as she caressed his soft hair, stroked his small back, and soothed him as she had done for nearly nine full years. He was her son, and she had never loved anyone and anything more than she loved him now.

But she felt herself strangling with the thought that she might lose him.

***

When Samuel Carlisle again knocked on her door the next morning, Ginny was ready for him. After making Jacky promise to stay quietly in his room and not come out, she opened the door and in her frostiest tone invited him into her living room.

"Thank you for letting me in, Miss Weasley. To begin with, ma'am, I sincerely hope that you will accept an apology for the reckless manner in which I approached you last night. Doubtless I should have owled you first."

He was a young man, tall and well built, with nut brown hair and eyes as blue as the summer sky. He was a rather nice looking fellow, but Ginny resented his presence passionately.

"I have invited you in," said Ginny quietly, "to tell you that Jacky is my son, and no power on earth can compel me to give him up. You may tell your employer that, with my compliments."

"Your love for the boy is admirable, Miss Weasley. But with all that love, how can you sit back and deny him what he deserves?"

"He lacks nothing. He has a home, good food, good clothing, people that love him, and when the time comes, he shall have good schooling - the best, in fact. What more can you give him?"

"A father."

"He has a mother."

"Master John's wand hand is deformed, Miss Weasley. All magic schools, Hogwarts included, would deny him entrance. Can you afford to hire him a special tutor?"

Ginny pressed her fingers to her eyes. Suddenly, her head was pounding painfully.

"He is deaf in one ear as well, Miss Weasley. After all this hardship, must you refuse him this too?"

She was selfish. She wanted him forever. But Samuel Carlisle's words were battering at her defenses. And cutting her heart into a thousand pieces.

"Miss Weasley, I am fully empowered to act on behalf of Mr. Malfoy and my primary aim is to accomplish fully the undertaking which he has entrusted me. That includes expressing his gratitude for the manner in which you have cared for his son. Allow me to also to explain his desires with regard to his son, and speak briefly of the reward you might expect for you - "

"Let me make something clear to you right now, Mr. Carlisle. What I have done for Jacky these past years - what he has meant to me - it is not something that I ever expect to be rewarded for, beyond what I have already received." Ginny tried desperately to fight back her surge of emotion. "I have loved Jacky as my own son, and I am the only mother he has ever known. There is nothing that you could ever pay that would replace the joy he has brought into my life."

The lawyer stared at her, a thoughtful look gradually working across his face as she continued.

"Now, with regard to your client's desire . . . I must tell you straightaway that as yet I have seen no proof to support your claim that Jacky is Draco Malfoy's son."

"I should be more than happy to provide you with documentation, if you wish to see it," he responded quietly.

"Later, if you please," said Ginny. "I will tell you that I see no reason why anyone would make such a claim if there were not some basis for it in truth. What I would like to know is why it took Mr. Malfoy nearly nine years to seek the return of his son?"

"Mr. Malfoy did not know of his wife's death, or even the existence of a child, Miss Weasley, or he would have sent for his son sooner, I assure you."

Ginny did not hear anything beyond Mr. Malfoy did not know of his wife's death. So he had been married, she thought dully. While she had hid herself in the countryside to nurse her broken heart he had gotten married. He evidently felt none of the deep, wild, passionate love that she had harbored for more than twelve years. She did not feel as horrible as might be expected. When you are bludgeoned on the head repeatedly, you naturally and mercifully become more or less insensible.

"If I might pose a question for you, ma'am . . . if you knew the boy's mother was Mr. Malfoy's wife - "

"But I didn't know." Ginny let her temper boil over to the surface. "The only name she gave me before she died was Madeleine. It's the name I knew her by and it's the name on her gravestone. Mr. Carlisle, I desire that you place yourself in my position for a moment and answer this. What kind of a husband would be unaware of his son's existence? What kind of husband would a wife run away from with so young an infant to care for?"

"You assume, of course, that she was running away."

"Very well. But if she were not running away, why would her husband wait ten years before even inquiring after his wife?"

The lawyer did not hesitate. "I must tell you, ma'am, I am not at liberty to answer all your questions."

"Then we are at loggerheads, Mr. Carlisle. Though I most certainly did not bear Jacky, I tell you now that I will not allow my son to be taken by a stranger to an unknown father, no matter what potential advantages this new life might hold for him."

"I will confide something in you, Miss Weasley, that normally I would not. But under the circumstances . . . Madeleine Malfoy had run away with a lover eight months before the birth of her son. At the time, neither party was aware that she carried a child."

Ginny stared, at loss for words. She could hardly comprehend everything that was being said. Words of reason kept forcing themselves over and over into her awareness. He would be better off with Draco. He will be happier. He will have a wealth and position I can't give him. But she didn't want to be reasonable or logical. She wanted Jacky. Panic began to rise again within her.

"Miss Weasley, allow me to make a suggestion that might ease the situation for all parties. Why not accompany the boy and me to Malfoy Manor? Come see for yourself that the boy is satisfactorily settled."

Ginny swallowed hard, forcing down the knot in her throat. She rose slowly to her feet. Twelve years, she thought. It had been too long.

"I have no choice but to accompany you."

***