Tender the Storm

The patch of sunlight brought out the golden streaks in Jackey's mop of hair as the boy sat quietly listening to the new tutor's instructions. Ginny watched them from the large windows of the gallery overlooking the walled formal garden.

The teacher was to come from his cottage in Malfoy Village several mornings a week, and the arrangement suited both parties very well. Dan, the ghost butler, had suggested him, and Ginny had approved of the choice. Standing now in the gallery, she smiled at the sight of the teacher's white hair sticking wildly in all directions from beneath his hat. There was nothing that was intimidating about this man, she thought, and her observation of Jacky's reaction to the scholar now reinforced that perception. Small of stature, with bristling eyebrows above kindly eyes, Mr. Clarke was the perfect person to introduce Jacky to his new home and his future life.

"Mr. Clarke will not be leaving the boy alone, Miss Weasley. And Dan has a house elf keeping an eye on them."

Ginny turned at the voice and smiled at its owner. She hadn't even heard the housekeeper approach. "I'm not overly concerned, Mrs. Trent. I simply wanted to be certain that all was going well. I believe Jacky likes him, but what do you think?"

"Of course he does!" the woman spoke brightly. "Mr. Clarke is certainly a good fellow. I've known him since we were children. I came to tell you, Miss Weasley, that a woman has already seen to making the new shirts you wanted for Master John."

"Thank her for me, please," said Ginny, her gaze returning to Jacky. To her delight, he was actually speaking to Mr. Clarke, who was nodding his head vigorously at the boy's responses.

The housekeeper nodded. "Very well, Miss Weasley."

"Oh, and Mrs. Trent?"

"Yes?"

"Can you ask the kitchens to prepare a picnic basket for me?"

***

Carrying a basket of food between them, the walked to the old mill for a picnic.

Jacky had been the perfect child for all of the morning, paying attention to Mr. Clark's instruction, and later spending some time with Dan, learning his way about the large house.

The two of them found a stretch of soft grass near the ruined mill. She put down the basket near a clump of willow trees, delighted to see the look of mischief in his eyes.

"May I ruin these new clothes?"

"You most certainly may not." She smiled at the upturned face. "Though I don't believe a bit of dusting would hurt . . . but give me that jacket!"

Shedding the garment, the boy threw himself with a loud whoop on the grass and rolled down the long slope toward the lake. It was too late to mention that grass stains were a little different from a bit of dust, so she just sighed and then laughed at his antics.

Ginny pulled a small blanket from the basket that Mrs. Trent had sent with them and spread it on the grass. Kneeling down, she began taking out the food and watching Jacky as he climbed on a boulder at the edge of the water.

She sat back on her feels, frowning. Ginny had not questioned Jacky about what he had done and where he had gone three days earlier. Hearing his murmurs of apologies and sensing his fears of being left alone, she had made a pact with herself simply to look ahead and to continue to encourage him during the adjustments he had to make. He was only a boy, and running away was the most natural thing to do in a moment of stress. After all, hadn't she herself done the same thing so many years back?

"Can I go swimming?" He had doffed his shoes and stockings, and was standing in the water.

"No. The water is too cold."

Jacky gave Ginny a wry look and then ran up the slope, throwing himself in her arms. The two sprawled on the blanket. His sleeves were already wet.

"I'm sweating and the water's fine. Please, Mama. Please let me go in! You know I'm a good swimmer."

It was true. Thanks to the Wright boys, Jacky had been swimming in the Verrick River for the past four summers. They had spent a great deal of time down at the waterfront playing.

"Come and feel the water yourself, Mama. Come and see. It's really warm."

Ginny let him pull her to her feet and walked with him to the edge of the lake. The water, so gray and muddied but a day before, now ran clear.

"Please, Mama!" he tugged on her arm. "I've been a good boy. You saw it yourself. I gave no trouble to Mr. Clarke, even though I wanted to. Please!"

Ginny couldn't resist the upturned face. The eyes turned mischievous when he saw that he had her convinced. He knew exactly how to melt her heart.

"I've nothing to dry you with."

He quickly began stripping off his clothes. "Who cares."

"What about all the food we've carried down here?"

"We'll eat it later."

"You be careful . . . not too far out!"

***

As Draco rode toward the abandoned mill, it occurred to him that his reawakened interest in Virginia Weasley conflicted with his plans for John. He'd had every intention of ignoring him. But John's defiance - the boy's obvious desire for independence - had surprised him.

This had been the reason for his visit to the boy's room that night. Draco had wanted to look into that face and be reminded again of Madeleine. He'd wanted to wash away the growing confusion and focus on his wife's cowardice, on her lack of honor. But he hadn't been able to see any of that in the sleeping face. The son had looked nothing like his mother.

Instead, he'd seen a reflection of himself.

The ruins of the old mill came into view, and he spotted the bright flutter of a woman's dress dancing in the wind. She was walking to the edge of the lake, her back to him. A few strands of her red-gold hair had escaped their confines and were teasing her slender neck.

She must have heard the horse's hooves on the path, for Draco saw her raise a hand to her eyes to block the sun as she turned in his direction.

He reined in the hunter and tethered him to a dangling willow branch.

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion, but it's too hot a day to be spent indoors."

She shook her head and cast a quick glance at the lake. "I - I - I'm glad to see you, sir. If - if you're hungry, I believe there is enough food in that basket to . . . . to feed a regiment."

Her faltering stammer indicated that she must have noticed his silent but admiring appraisal of the way she looked.

He found that he was indeed feeling hunger, but not for anything in the picnic basket. He knew he had to curtail this growing obsession with her. She was a prize worth savoring, and he had no intention of frightening her away.

"Plenty of food, you say. Well, the elves here are generally known for valuing quantity over quality." He walked casually toward her.

She gave a little shake of her head in disagreement. "You're being unjust. The elves cook wonderfully. I've been very impressed with the quality of everything I have been served."

"And you are simply being a gracious guest. Considering the perfection of your manner, you might be starving here, and you would say nothing in protest."

"I assure you, my stay at Malfoy Manor has been most enjoyable."

"I'm pleased to hear that." he spoke the words gently, stopping only an arm's length from her.

Wisps of her hair danced in the breeze, and Ginny tucked them behind her ear. He was standing so near he could feel her skittishness. Draco turned to look at the lake, the sky, the stretch of the trees curving up and over the crest of the hill on the far side of the valley. Then his gaze returned to her face.

"Dan tells me that John began his lessons with a tutor this morning."

"He has." She smiled, but a second later, a fearful gasp escaped her lips as she stepped sharply toward the lake. "Jacky!"

"Where is he?" In an instant, Draco had shed his jacket, cursing his stupidity for not bringing a wand.

"In the lake. He was . . ." The boy's head bobbed to the surface for an instant some fifty yards from the shore and immediately disappeared again.

Draco took a few steps toward the lake and dove into the water.

"No!"

He heard the cry from the shore, but he did not turn. He knew where the boy had gone down. He immediately dove again, gliding along just beneath the surface of the water toward the spot. He'd swum the length and breadth of this lake from the time he was a boy. And he knew very well that the shallows around the shore had deceived many in the past. The sandy edges dropped off so quickly and so deeply that the lake seemed to have no bottom in places.

His strokes were strong, and he reached where he'd seen the lad only moments ago, but the calm surface of the lake lay unbroken. He took a deep breath and dived downward.

The water became painfully cold only a few feet beneath the surface, and Draco looked about him wildly for any sign of the boy. There was nothing. He surfaces again, and took another deep breath, but this time - as he started to dive again - he glimpsed a splash of water thirty yards or so closer to the dam.

He swam furiously in that direction, but again found no sign of John beneath or on the surface. He dove again, directing his strokes closer to the dam.

Nothing.

Draco treaded the water for a moment, suddenly fearing the worst. His heart hammered in his chest. He glanced toward the shore. There he saw Ginny had stepped back from the water's edge and was waving in his direction. Before her, near the shore, he saw the scrawny body of a half-naked boy stand up in the shallows. The water splashed around him as the boy ran toward the woman.

He did not know whether it was due to the cold or the lake water or the scare of John's disappearance, but an angry pounding began to drum in his temples. Thoughts of thrashing the boy ran pell-mell through his head. He was angry enough to do that, he was certain. He started for the shore.

Ginny must have sensed his state of mind, though, for as he swam toward them, Draco saw her hand John a bundle of clothes and send him running toward the Manor.

Each of his boots weighed at least fifty pounds. His shirt clung to his body as Draco finally stepped out of the water. Glaring at the boy as he disappeared into the trees, he growled a curse under his breath and focused his anger on Ginny. She had picked up the blanket from the grass and was holding it out to him.

"You told him to run away, instead of facing the consequences of his actions."

He saw her take a step back as he stalked up the slope.

"He was cold," she faltered.

"He saw me swimming after him. He could have waited and told me he was in no danger."

"He is a boy. He just thought it was a game." Her eyes were dancing with laughter, and he cursed her under his breath. "I'm sorry," she said, repentantly.

"You raised a coward."

He'd hit a sore spot. "John is no coward," said Ginny, her temper flaring to match his. She shoved the blanket into his chest. He let it drop to the grass and took another step forward - only to have her take two back. Her gaze traveled down his chest before fixing again on his face. "It was just a mistake. He went to the house to change. He was dripping wet - as you are."

As her voice trailed off, Draco felt the heat of his anger turn into something entirely different. He continued following her, and she continued to back toward the mill.

"I won't let this pass. When he ran away, I did nothing, but not this time. He needs to learn the meaning of responsibility. He needs to know that there are consequences."

"He didn't know he was doing anything wrong. He is a good swimmer. In fact, an excellent one. If anyone is to blame, it's me." She was so distressed as to be ungrammatical. She stopped abruptly as she backed against the wall of the old mill. "I - I overreacted."

"Stop protecting him, Ginny."

"I tell you it was my fault," she pleaded.

He watched her rapid breathing. He took a step closer, his eyes lingering on the wild beat of her pulse against the translucent skin of her throat. He took another step, and felt her wince against him as his cold body came in contact with her warm one.

Ginny swallowed hard. Her breath hung suspended in her chest. Her head, her back, her palms - all pressed against the hard, stone wall behind her - could create no distance. Even if she could have moved back, some instinct told her that he would follow. Even if she were to move mountains at this moment, she knew he would come after her.

His mouth descended up on hers, and her eyes closed.

She was shocked to find that she liked the feel of his fingers on her skin as he held the sides of her face. She couldn't move - couldn't breath - but her heart was beating so hard that she was afraid it would explode in her chest at any instant.

Clarity and sanity returned instantly as their voices from ten years before echoed in her ears. Words that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

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.

She pushed at him. To her surprise, he immediately released her. She drew in her breath sharply.

"I - I'm so sorry." Her face burned. Her entire body trembled as she edged herself away from the man and the wall. She turned away. 'I shouldn't - I was wrong - this is all - all my fault."

"Ginny!"

She stopped but didn't look back. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't move. He wasn't coming after her.

And suddenly she knew. This man would not hurt her to appease his lust.

Nevertheless, he was still a man.

"I started this." His words spoke of his conviction.

"No." She started walking away. "You aren't to blame, but this is wrong. It won't happen again."

Turning, Ginny ran as fast as she could toward Malfoy Manor.