Tender the Storm

The Storm

It was crowded in the sumptuous, high-ceilinged room, a crush of London's wealthy and elite. The music came from a fashionable string ensemble that played only at the very best parties. The women's gowns were expensive and treasured jewels had been taken from vaults and places of safekeeping to grace the throats, fingers, and wrists of nearly every woman there. The low murmur of talking and the clinking of wineglasses intermingled with the sound of a melancholy violin.

In one corner of the room three people were chatting amiably, while several witches hovered on the outskirts of their cozy circle and cast longing glances at the two young men. Oliver Wood was lounging carelessly against the wall, while Harry Potter stood to his right, his arm around his wife's waist.

"Wood," said an ominous voice, and the three turned to find Draco striding toward them. "Assure me, my fine-finned gudgeon, that bringing Blaise as your guest tonight was done purely for your own entertainment."

Oliver lifted an eyebrow and looked at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head. "You certainly know better than to insult me this way, Malfoy. You know I like my women beautiful but unpretentious. I like 'em innocent, or at least with the ability to put on a good show of it. But the truth is, Malfoy, that since I have yet to meet my ideal women, I find that I also prefer to wile away my time with rich ones. And by that I mean far richer ladies than dear Mrs. Drake and the paltry ten thousand a year her dearly departed husband left her. Why, she can go through that - without anybody's help - in six month's time. Blaise came here tonight as my guest because she gave me the distinct impression that you wanted her to be here."

Draco's glare was withering.

Oliver threw up his hands. " I didn't say that I believed her. But seeing the foul mood that's laying claim on your already vile disposition, I thought it might just prove diverting for you." He looked down at the somewhat shorter Draco. "Neither Harry nor I have yet asked you as to what went wrong at the Manor, but if you've murdered off Ginny Weasley - "

"I didn't, though I was sorely tempted to."

Oliver knew Draco too well by now to take him seriously. He merely shrugged and continued, carefully skirting around the issue of the other man's son. Oliver had the tact of a turtle, but he knew the topic to be a sore one. "I know the value of a willing woman when it comes to improving a man's mood . . . even if said woman has been complaining openly of late about being neglected and privately hinting of her fears of having offended somehow."

"It never ceases to amaze me," said Draco dryly, "how indiscreet Blaise can be."

"You're the one who chose her as your mistress," said Hermione severely.

"And if I remember correctly," grinned Harry, "a month ago you weren't quite as sensitive to Mrs. Drake's lack of discretion."

An image of Blaise's bright smile and warm greeting when he'd arrived at Hermione's birthday party tonight came back t o him. He was almost sure he'd been civil enough in his greeting, though perhaps a little distant. What else was to be expected? He'd been both surprised and displeased to see the damned woman.

And what of it if his disposition was a bit surly these days? Draco wished he knew why he'd been feeling so damnably off lately. No, that wasn't entirely true, he thought, watching the pale purple misty smoke that hung over the room.

It was Ginny, of course. It was the look of her - the wounded way she'd looked at him out the window as he'd prepared to leave Malfoy Manor. That was an image that he simply hadn't been able to shake. He scowled fiercely, downed the wine in his glass, and turned his glare on Oliver again.

"You brought Blaise here tonight," he growled, "and I expect you to bring her home."

Before his friend could answer, one of the serving maids Harry had hired for the occasion came to him. "Owl post for you, Mr. Malfoy," she said, handing him a folded piece of paper. "From Malfoy Manor. It's most urgent."

Draco took it, frowning as he recognized his majordomo's handwriting. He'd only been gone for four days. What the devil could have gone wrong at Malfoy Manor?

***

She had spoken quietly and steadily until she could say no more.

Jacky simply stared. His lower lip quivered. His young face flushed from emotions that were, no doubt, churning in his heart. His gray eyes showed his distress and confusion as he struggled to take her words. In them, she could see his doubt and his desire to deny what she was saying. Finally, he simply turned away and stared out of the window that had served as his bedroom for the past three days.

The sobs crowding in her own chest threatened to rise into her throat and choke her, but she continued. She had no choice but to tell him as much of the truth as she could. Ginny spoke as long as the words carried her, but Jacky's continuing tears and the sense of utter despair afflicting him soon checked her.

She reached a tentative hand. He didn't flinch away from her touch, and she released a soft breath. Summoning her courage, she took him into her arms.

"Jacky," she said softly to him, taking hold of his chin. He turned his weepy eyes from the window and looked into her own face. "Jacky, please talk to me."

"How long?" he asked, wiping off his face with his sleeve.

Ginny felt her heart catch in her throat. She had expected his questions to be about the father. Yes, more than anything else, she had hoped he would want to know about the man who had supposedly been searching for years for his lost son. A man, she thought, her heart twisting painfully, that she had once loved. But his question - the anguish that she could so plainly see in his face- had to do with her.

She forced herself to look truthful as she searched for another lie.

"I'll - I'll stay as long as you want me to, Jacky. I'm" - she forced herself not to stammer or hesitate - "I'm sure that Dra - that I'll be permitted to stay as long as you like. You are not losing anything that you have right now, Jacky. You've got to see this change for all that you are gaining. For all that Dra - your father is offering you."

His face showed how unconvinced he was, and Ginny felt vaguely ill, knowing that she herself lacked conviction on that score. If only Draco had shown some warmth toward Jacky! If he had shown any sign of welcoming him!

"Jacky." She held his chin and encouraged him to open his eyes. Frightened gray eyes pooled immediately with tears. "I am here with you. I love you today the same as I loved you yesterday, the same as I will love you forever."

"But I'm not your son."

She flattened his hand against her chest. "You are my son in here, and that will never change."

He shook his head. "But . . ."

"Don't mourn a loss where there is none, darling," she pleaded. "Don't torment yourself or me by acting as if I were already gone."

There were more tears, and Ginny forced back her own bursting emotions as the young boy wrapped his arms around her.

"I'm afraid. These people . . . I don't know them."

She pulled him back just enough to use her own sleeve to wipe his face clean. She then smiled into his face and clutched his hand tightly in his own. "I'll give you some of my strength, and you give me yours."

***

The sky was edging from black into gray, and Jacky knew that the storm clouds would not delay much longer.

They'd only arrived yesterday and he already knew he didn't want to be here. The room they'd given him was larger than the small cottage he and his mama used to occupy. And the bed was so huge that all four of the Wright children could have slept in it and there would still be room for more.

He hated this room. he hated his bed. He hated the people that wore all those starched and proper clothes and tired not to stare at his hand and kept calling him "Master John." He hated the fact that he was separated from his mama and that she no longer wanted him for a son.

The things she'd told him yesterday. About his real mama dying years ago and how it was time he started spending time with his real father. It couldn't be true. Someplace deep in his chest, Jacky knew that he had to be her real son. He loved her so much. Just the thought of her going away made him hurt to the point of bursting.

Even now he could feel the ache in his gut. He choked back the knot in his throat and peered past the curtains toward the closed door. She was sleeping in the room next to his. But what if she'd decided she didn't love him anymore and left him during the night?

He hadn't been the best of boys last night. He hadn't touched his dinner. He'd pretended not to hear anything anyone said. He'd even been rude to Mrs. Trent, the heavyset housekeeper, flinching when she'd put a friendly hand on his head. That had really put his mama out. She hadn't said anything, but he could tell it from her eyes. Her eyes told everything.

He had a scolding coming, no doubt. But, sitting in the window, he realized that even this was a good thing. It gave him as good a reason as any to go and wake her. And make sure she was still there.

Jacky pushed the curtains back and silently slipped out of the room.

"All this fuss over such a small lad."

"Mind your tongue, Liz . . . the master's son . . . whatever we can do . . . worth the fuss . . . away for as long as the poor thing has . . . It's a shame we can't do more."

Pausing at his open door, Jacky listened hard to comprehend the snatches of talk between two women. At least, he hoped they were women. They might be ghosts. They were busy working in a chamber across the hall. If he turned his good ear to it, he always heard much more than people thought he did. But he'd always kept this secret to himself. It was a special thing to have his mama think she was the only one who could say anything to him and he could hear.

"This woman . . . Weasley . . . the lad's nursemaid?"

At hearing his mamma's name, Jacky strained hard to listen, inching closer to the room.

" . . . I heard Mrs. Trent say in the kitchen last night, that's about what she's been to the child for all these years."

"What do they know about this woman?"

"Not much. She's a painter, they say. Mrs. Trent says she's only staying a short while. So the way I see it, she may very well be long gone before Mr. Malfoy comes down from London."

"Going? And then who's to care for the child? It won't be me, I tell you . . ."

A slight noise by the doorway drew both women's gazes, silencing them immediately. Liz moved quickly to check the hall, but saw no one. Listening carefully, thought, she thoughts she could hear someone running in the distance, down the servants' stairs toward the kitchen wing.

***

At first glance, Draco could see that the entire estate was in turmoil. Handing his soggy cloak to Dan, he strode through the huge doors into the entry hall. The ghost butler dogged his heels, his apologies and explanations tumbling out in a rush.

" . . . and Miss Weasley discovered Master John was missing first thing in the morning, sir. We searched everywhere . . . we turned the house upside down . . . and searched the grounds immediately surrounding . . . and the stables . . . and the servant's quarters. I'm so sorry, sir. When we could find no sign of the boy, I sent for you.

"Have you sent someone to Malfoy Village?"

"Yes, sir. Six men, spread out and stopped at every cottage from here to the village. No one has seen the boy."

Draco stalked into the library and immediately found himself looking at the lake through the large windows of the room. He stopped abruptly, a mysterious tightness gripping his chest. Two years ago, the son of one of the servants had drowned in the lake. They'd found the body a week later by the dam at the old mill. His steward spoke quickly, obviously reading the frown on his face.

"We - we haven't started searching the lake, sir."

An image of a red-haired woman embracing a child came to him. He could see the brown eyes that had looked at him beseechingly, the boy standing beside her in the open window.

"Bring Miss Weasley to me."

He turned his back on his steward. John drowning on his return . . . no, on his first coming to Malfoy Manor. It was just not possible. Fate had played him too many tricks in his life, but surely it would not deal such a cruel hand.

He cursed himself silently. He hadn't known about John's existence - had thought that Madeleine still lived all these years. He hadn't known that she was dead for nearly a decade, leaving behind a son . . . a son that by some stroke of twisted luck, had come into the care of Ginny Weasley.

Ginny Weasley, whom he'd once loved.

Their voices came to him from across the years.

When I marry, it will be a woman, not a scrawny carrottop not even out of her teens. She'll be a woman with breeding and money, not some schoolgirl without even two beans to boil together to make soup.

But I love you.

Too bloody bad, Weasley. Because I don't love you.

Dan tapped him lightly on the shoulders, and he jumped. Mrs. Trent stood in the doorway, wringing her hands.

"Miss Weasley is still out there searching, sir." The housekeeper cast a nervous glance at the window and then looked down at her hands.

"What do you mean, she is out there searching?"

"I told her to stay put, sir," Dan mumbled desperately, cutting an accusing look at the portly woman.

Mrs. Trent shot the ghost an answering glare before speaking. "She was beside herself, sir. Anyone taking a step out or coming back . . . and she was rushing after them. She was near mad with worry. There was no holding her back!"

"When was it that she went out?"

Embarrassment colored the ghost butler's silvery face. "She set out on foot . . . a little before noon, sir."

"that's hours ago," Draco spat as he started for the door. 'Which direction did she go? What does she knew about where a boy could get lost around here?"

"Sir, she was even wilder than Mary when she'd lost her Johnny tow years ago." The housekeeper nodded toward the rain pelting the windows. "There was no stopping her. It was as if she were missing her own son."

"Idiots!" ground out Draco. "How else was she supposed to feel?

Damned woman. She could be in the bloody lake herself. Whirling around, he began barking orders on his way out of the room.

In the long servants' corridor and into the kitchens, Draco found himself surrounded by anxious faces. House servants, grooms, gardeners, serving maids - everyone not already out on estate grounds were immediately organized into search parties and quickly dispersed.

A charmed coat was waiting for him by the time he reached the front door. A horse stood prancing on the graveled ground, awaiting his use.

The storm worsened, the wind rising as flashes of lightning illuminating the Malfoy lands. Draco spurred his mount across the lawns and meadow to the path around the lake. One of the maids had apparently been stupid enough to mention Mary's lost boy to Ginny. She had even told her of the mill and how they'd found him there.

The wind and rain stung his face as he mad his way along the shore, but his mind was focused on finding his son . . . and Ginny.

As he rode, he continually swept the trees with his gaze for signs of anyone taking shelter there. The storm was nearly a gale by the time Draco reached the mill. Coming out of a grove of trees, though, he saw through the pouring rain. The green-cloaked figure, her back to him, had just fallen on the muddy bank and was struggling to get her feet beneath her. He spurred his horse toward her.

"Ginny!"

She straightened and turned toward him. The wind whipped the long wet hair across her eyes and she pushed it out of her face. The dark green cloak was stained with mud and rain, and torn from the brambles she had been traipsing through. A look of hope flashed across her face.

"You found him!"

Though the mud dragged at her sodden shoes as she started upward toward him, he could hear the note of relief in her cry. As he reined up beside her, he was struck by the paleness of her face.

"No. They have not found him."

The brown eyes fell and her face immediately took on a haunted look. He saw her thing frame waver in the force of the wind, and he leaped to the ground, thinking that she was about to fall. But she turned away from him without another word and began slogging through the storm toward the dam.

"Wait!" he ordered, pulling his horse behind him. "Where the devil do you think you're going?"

Her gaze was directed ahead toward the dam and the old sluice leading to the mill wheel. She looked like a madwoman.

"There is nothing you can do that we can't do better - nowhere that you can search that my people can't cover more thoroughly than you."

She was deaf to his words and did not even look up as a bolt of lightning lit the sky. Draco's horse, however, reared nervously, and he turned momentarily to steady the animal.

"This is madness, Ginny," he shouted just as her feet slipped from under her. HE cursed under his breath as she slid down the embankment to the edge of the water.

She wouldn't accept his outstretched hand as she stubbornly crawled up again. Covered now in mud from head to toe and shivering like a leaf in December, she was perhaps the most pathetic-looking thing he'd ever encountered. But nothing about her situation seemed to damper in the slightest her will to go on with her search.

"If this isn't the stupidest . . ." He found himself trailing after her as she continued on without giving him even a look. "Ginny. Don't you see that I'm losing time chasing after you when there is a graver matter at hand?"

Again, she ignored him, and Draco found himself becoming genuinely angry at the mulishness of the woman. Catching up to her, he took hold of her elbow and turned her around.

"You are returning to the manor this instant."

She pushed the wet hair out of her face and her eyes flashed with anger. "Let me go, Malfoy," she said, through gritted teeth.

He paid no heed to her temper. "Like it or not, you are a guest at Malfoy Manor, and I am responsible for your safety."

"Save your concern for the one that truly matters," she snarled at him. Then the look in her eyes changed and tears mixed with the rain on her face. "Your son is missing. Don't you understand, you pompous fool?"

"You're blaming me?"

"Yes!" she cried, and he caught a fist as it sailed perilously close to his jaw. "Jacky is missing" -

"Has run away, you mean."

"Because you failed even to introduce yourself to him or acknowledge him when you had a chance. He ran away because he was afraid" -

"Have you ever considered, Weasley, that maybe your own shortcomings in raising him with some sense of discipline" -

"Don't you dare criticize me. He has grown and thrived in my care, you bastard."

"A weed thrives on the roadside with very little tending."

"Insult me as you wish." She jerked herself free of him. "Let me go. By God, I will find him. And when I do, I'm taking him back home with me. It is obvious to me - and to Jacky - that you have no real wish for him to be here. If I had known sooner, I would never have allowed you to uproot my child."

She struck off in the direction of the old mill again, leaving him cursing himself bitterly for unleashing his temper at her.

"Weasley!"

She trudged on, giving no indication of having heard him.

"Ginny!" he shouted again, reaching her side with a few long strides. This time as he took hold of her elbow, he spun her around and grabbed her other arm, as well. He wasn't forcing her to stay put, he reminded himself, but he would damn well intimidate her if that's what it took to hold her long enough to make her see reason.

She turned her face away, refusing to look at him.

He opened his mouth to apologize. But no words came out. He'd never been good at apologies, had probably never made an apology in his life.

She began to struggle in his hold, but he only gripped her arms harder.

"It'll soon be night, and I'm wasting time not helping with the search."

"Then go!" she cried, twisting around in his grasp, so that now her back was to his chest. He tightened his arms around her.

"Not when you're running around in this storm, endangering yourself without purpose."

"I'm not the one you should concern yourself with. It's Jacky who - "

"It's Jacky who'll need you when he is brought back," he interrupted. His hold gentled. He didn't want to think about the gray water beside them. About the possibility of a boy gone forever. He needed her back at the house, where her situation would not prey on his mind. "Have you considered the predicament you might be creating? What happens when John - Jacky returns and you are not there to greet him. You're the only one that he really knows. The only one who will be able to comfort him."

The fight left her. Her body sagged slightly in his arms. "But I - I can't just stay there . . . waiting. I feel so helpless . . ." She looked up at him with pleading eyes set in a face suddenly showing her weariness and vulnerability. The wind blew wet strands of hair across her pale face.

"Think of him! Think of how you can help him most," he said reasonably. He finally had the woman's attention. "I'll take you back to the house. I grew up here, Ginny, and I know every hiding place a boy of his age can go. I know how far he can run and in which direction. I'll go after him myself . . . but I need you at the house to care for him when we bring him in.

She didn't answer him but Draco took her silence as assent. He half dragged, half carried her to his horse. Her steps were heavy, resignation written in ever movement. He removed his coat and wrapped it around his shoulders.

He didn't trust her to hold on, seated behind him. So instead, he lifted her onto the back of the giant animal and swung up behind her.

She didn't utter a word as Draco wheeled the horse around. She was as limp as a rag dog against his chest. The hands that clutched at his coat were nearly blue beneath the mud, and he could see the shiver trembling uncontrollably on her lips. He pulled her closer.

"We'll be there soon." His chin brushed the soaked strands of hair. "Let Mrs. Trent see to your needs when you get back. Dry clothes. Some butterbeer. You can't let yourself get ill, not when the boy needs you most."

Silence was her only answer. In a few minutes, the Manor came into view, standing solidly against the storm. Draco pressed a hand against her shoulder, drawing her more tightly against him to protect her from the whipping rain.

This was not the Ginny that he remembered, that had begged him not to leave. This Ginny was obstinate as a rock. And yet, right beneath the pale skin and guarded eyes, there was a vulnerability still that he doubted anyone saw.

He hadn't even dismounted from his horse when Dan and several of the footmen rushed out into the rain. He lifted Ginny from the horse.

"Any news?" he asked, as he helped her gently into the house.

"It appears fairly certain that Master John did not go to Malfoy Village. Shall we begin to search the" -

Forestalling the words on his tongue, Draco stopped him with a warning glance. "No. We've more places to search yet. See that Miss Weasley is attended to."

Ginny held his coat up to him. He reached for it, and their gazes met in the pouring rain.

"You'll bring him back, Draco?" she whispered, looking like a lost child.

"I've said I will."