Mala Fide: In Bad Faith

Mala Fide: In Bad Faith - Chapter 4

On an unseasonably warm afternoon the following March, Ginny sat at her mother-in-law's bedside, watching her rest. The once-vibrant woman now lay in a comfortable bed at Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Her breathing rattled as her pneumonia seemed to worsen by the day. The rumblings in the poor woman's chest sometimes made Ginny think of a Dementor; on the occasions when she herself would doze off, the sound of it would often startle her awake.

The dull afternoon wore on. Growing tired of just sitting while Narcissa slept on for what seemed like hours, Ginny picked up her handbag and her well-worn copy of last Sunday's Daily Prophet and headed out for the hospital's combination cafeteria/tea room. She moved toward the front of the line of visitors, Healers, and hospital staff who were also waiting for their afternoon tea; she gazed listlessly at the pastries and sweets that peered back at her from under the unbreakable glass, tempting her to try just one . . little . . . scrumptious bite.

No, I really shouldn't, she scolded herself, or I'll end up with my mother's hips. It was a fate she had battled for years.

Giving herself a mental pat on the back for denying one of her favorite guilty pleasures, the cafeteria's delicious chocolate mousse, she settled for a simple cup of Earl Grey with a thin slice of orange floating at the top. She showed it to the clerk, paid the requested eight sickles, and then went in search of a table, preferably somewhere out of the spotlight.

She sat in silent reflection, nursing her tea, wondering what her children were up to with their nanny this afternoon. She briefly thought of George and Katie's youngsters and how Rhiannon would have dearly loved to go there today, and Lucas - but it was not to be. Not while I live and breathe, she told herself sternly.

"Ginny?" a passerby said. "My god, is that - Ginny Weasley, it is you!"

"Neville," she replied in a friendly tone. "What a pleasant surprise."

"W-well, how in the world are you?" her old housemate asked enthusiastically. "I guess it's no longer Weasley . . but Malfoy, isn't it?" On seeing her face fall, he remembered too late that Luna had reminded him only yesterday not to bring that up, if he ran into Ginny. He kicked himself mentally.

"Sorry," he mumbled, clumsy and out of place as he ever was. "Luna told me not to mention it, and now I went and forgot. I'm so sorry, Ginny." He paused then added, "Your husband turned out to be a rather decent chap, didn't he? Not what we expected in our early years at Hogwarts, eh?"

"Yes, he surprised us all - what, with testifying against his Aunt Bellatrix to extend her sentence to help protect his mother and her assets. And he was none to kind to his father, either."

Neville agreed readily, "That's true. He put a few nasty hexes on the old boy during the final battle; Lucius finally got out of prison in my seventh year, only to turn around and go right back. Serves him right, the cad!"

She smiled, saying, "But he's not that way anymore, Neville. You wouldn't believe it if you saw him. He's the epitome of a perfect grandfather to Rhiannon, and he simply dotes on little Lucas. Since their father can't be here - well, I'm so grateful that they have a wonderful, positive male role model."

Neville's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but Ginny assured him, "I know what you're thinking. But sometimes, it's amazing just how much he truly has changed."

"If you say so, Ginny," he mumbled. "But he can never replace their real fath--"

Seeing the tears in her eyes, he could tell this wasn't helping. He seemed to be digging himself into an even deeper hole than if he'd just said a simple 'I'm sorry' and went on.

She sniffed. "It's all right, Neville - really," she assured him, patting his hand gently. A brief spell of nervous quiet followed, during which time, Ginny stared into her half-empty cup, and Neville found his fingernails immensely fascinating.

Then she asked him, "I expect you're here to see your parents? How are they doing?"

"Oh, you know . . Mum, she comes and goes. Seems like somedays, she know who I am. I live for those days. But Dad, he'll - he'll never come back," he murmured.

The air between the two old friends had become even more tense, so he wisely changed the subject. "What are you doing here, anyway? Did you become an aunt again?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "No, nothing like that. Not that I know of, anyway. My mother-in-law - Narcissa - she's quite ill. The Healers can't seem to do anything for her." She paused then looked at him seriously. "I fear the worst, Neville. And I don't know if you were aware, but I'm not speaking to my family . . "

"Not speaking to them? Why?"

"Oh," she sighed, "that whole 'Harry-Potter-the-Noble-Hero-Would-Never' business. They don't believe me, and I-I can't forgive them. I know, it sounds horrible, but . . well, anyway - it's all right. I've got Narcissa and Lucius. And my children." She added in a whisper, "Thank God for them."

"That . . that's awful, Ginny." Neville swallowed and looked down nervously, wanting desperately to change the subject. This reunion hadn't gone as well as he had hoped it would.

"Say," he asked, "have you got any photos of your little ones?" She showed him a copy of their most recent snapshot; Rhiannon smiled precociously as she alternated between waving madly and trying to keep her little brother, who was propped up on a cozy chair, from falling over.

Looking down at the table, Neville noticed her newspaper. As if he'd suddenly remembered something, his face brightened, and he remarked excitedly, "Oh, you've got this Sunday's Prophet! Then I imagine you've heard the news."

"What news?"

"Of my engagement to Luna."

"Congratulations, Neville!" she said, and she meant it.

"That's why I was hoping, somehow, that I might get a chance to run into you someday. Luna wants you to be her matron of honor . . or at least, a bridesmaid. Would you? Would you, please?"

She stuttered, "I-I'll have to think about it. When's the wedding?"

"In the fall. November 20th. My mum's birthday."

Coming to her senses, she dropped all hesitation. What was I thinking? This was Luna and Neville, for Merlin's sake! "Oh, Neville - it sounds splendid. Of course, I will. Tell Luna she can count on me, and if she needs any help with the preparations, I would be more than happy to lend a hand."

Ginny figured that with neither of them having a mother around to help, she was probably the closest thing they could ever hope to find. After all, she'd helped all of her sisters-in-law with their wedding plans, and she and Luna had been practically sisters back in school. She'd be a fool not to offer.

"Brilliant!" Neville beamed. "Hey, listen - I gotta run now. I'm meeting Luna for an early dinner. Hermione's coming, too; it's a double date. I think she's bringing one of your brothers, but I don't know which one. How many of them are still unattached?"

"I really don't know, and honestly - I don't care," she snipped. "I'm sorry, Neville, but that's the way between us now."

"Oh. Okay," he said glumly. "Well, goodbye, Ginny. Luna will be in touch. And thanks again."

*****

Shortly after Neville left at her the cafeteria, Ginny returned to Narcissa's room to find her still fast asleep. Good, at least she's resting peacefully.

She checked the wall clock. It's 3:00. Almost time.

Brian Gilpin, the Healer in charge of Mrs. Malfoy's case, was due to make his daily visit to update any family members who might wish to speak with him. Just five years older than Ginny, he was very young for a fully-certified Healer; in fact, he had been one of Percy's classmates and, like him, was extremely serious and bookish. Had Brian been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw, the two wizards might have become lifelong friends.

Once she found out that he and her Ministry official brother had been chums in their early school years, she struck up a natural friendship with Brian. She somehow found their relationship comfortable - probably due to the familial ties that she thought she had severed, though evidently, not entirely.

Over the past several days, Brian had come to realize something about Narcissa's disease: It was not only defeating her but utterly baffling him as well. He had briefly considered transferring her to another hospital, one more equipped to deal with mysteriously stubborn illnesses such as the one she seemed to have contracted, but he had yet to do actually recommend it. Time dragged on as she struggled to get well.

Ginny withdrew her yarn and two pairs of knitting needles. Raising her wand, she resumed her most recent project of making new sweaters for her children. The little woolen garments would be two sizes too large, so they would fit them perfectly at Christmas time.

Knitting sweaters for her children was practically the only Weasley tradition she had carried on. As she had told Neville, she remained bitterly estranged from her family; nearly three months had passed since the birth of her son, and they had yet to lay eyes on him.

If she only knew how it broke Molly's heart, maybe she would consider reconciling. But the young mother was not ready to cross that bridge. She sighed heavily.

When Brian knocked gently on the door to Narcissa's room, Ginny looked up and met his eyes, silently indicating that he was permitted to enter.

"Good afternoon, Ginny," Brian greeted her warmly.

"Hello, Brian," was her soft, sleepy reply. The young man's heart fluttered when she said his name. He found her quite attractive, especially when she laughed, which he felt she didn't do nearly often enough.

"Well? What is your expert opinion?" she asked, eyeing him closely. "Is she indeed getting worse, or am I simply imagining things?" Glued to the spot by her intense stare, he very nearly melted. Still, he fought down the urge to just grab her and snog her senseless.

After all, he was nothing if not a consummate professional.

Since early in her sixth year at Hogwarts, Ginny had a fiery spirit that men seemed to find irresistible. Although not a ravishing beauty, she was certainly easy on the eyes, and with her raw nerve, she had no trouble attracting suitors. Some had wanted to tame her, like Harry Potter; others just wanted to see if she was as good in bed as they had imagined in their lust-filled, teenage dreams. The rumors at school had run rampant . . . but only Draco knew, and he wasn't telling.

Yes, Brian was the latest in a long line of male admirers. She could tell he was interested in her; men were always so patently obvious. She secretly suspected that this was a good part of the reason he had never insisted on transferring her mother-in-law out of his jurisdiction.

But sadly, she returned no such feelings for him or any man.

Still dwelling on what might have been with her long-dead husband, Ginny had been unable to move on. Insurmountable tragedy weighed heavily on her lonely, troubled heart: The bizarre circumstances that surrounded Draco's death, the bittersweet birth of his only son, one he would never know, and the heartache she felt as her dear, dear mother-in-law came closer to death's doorstep by the hour. Some days, it was all she could do to get out of bed.

The click-clacking of her knitting needles had stopped, her half-finished work hanging suspended in mid-air. Brian cleared his throat nervously, calling her out of her daze and back to the present. "Ginny?" he began. "I believe . . professionally speaking, of course . . . that your mother-in-law may--"

He faltered. Exhaling nervously, he spoke bluntly. There was nothing else for it.

"I'll be frank, Ginny. She may well be beyond our aid. The illness does not respond to any treatment - and yes, she does seem to grow worse. I am very sorry; I wish had better news."

Her needles and the little half-knitted sweaters fell to the floor, landing on a pile of unused yarn.

Then he said what he had never had to say to a family member or patient before, and he definitely didn't want to say it now. But he couldn't mislead her; he just couldn't do that to Ginny. He spoke slowly, choosing each word carefully. "I think it might be best if she were to just . . go home, where she can be made as comfortable as possible, while she . . . waits."

Ginny's eyes spilled over with tears, and Brian's heart went out to her. He longed to take her hands into his, tenderly touch her face and hair - anything to help ease her sorrow. He said with compassion, "I'm very sorry, Ginny. If there's anything I can do, please . . . owl me anytime, day or night." She nodded weakly, attempting to collect herself.

Backing away slightly, he added, "If her husband agrees, I'll arrange for her release in the morning. See you tomorrow, Ginny."

*****

In his own private bedroom back at the manor, Lucius lay alone, flat on his back and fully exposed, his grievously ill wife the furthest thing from his mind.

He inhaled deeply as he looked down the length of his hardened body. He ran his fingers through the pale hair on his chest, stopping briefly to caress one of his nipples. As if moving of its own accord, his hand slid across his taut stomach and down to his groin; he watched his erection as it grew in response to his touch. To enhance the intensity, he closed his eyes and reminisced over a few of his favorite, most pleasurable memories.

Just a few . . featherlight strokes, he promised himself, the same way she touched me.

Soon, he was boiling up inside, his climax approaching fast. Yet he somehow managed to keep from it, thus ensuring he would be able to keep his next appointment.

But she was late. Again.

Frustrated, his body ached for the release it had been promised. He hissed impatiently, "Where is that blasted girl? I told her 3:00, on the dot!"

A soft knock on the door answered his question.

"Monsieur?" came a timid whisper. Another gentle knock. "Monsieur Malfoy? It is I, Nicolette; I have come."

Not yet, but you will, he thought with a smirk.

He sat up and covered his lower body with the deep green satin sheet, pushing his hair back and over his shoulders. "Enter," he commanded.

The young French woman, a 19-year-old pureblood who was born a squib, opened the door just wide enough to admit her thin frame, and then closed it swiftly behind her.

"Did you bring her brush?" he asked her in a clipped tone.

"Oui, Monsieur. I 'ave it 'ere." She held up an exquisite silver brush with medium-soft bristles that were laced with flame-red hair. He involuntarily licked his lips as something deep within his body stirred.

"Now, you're sure this one is her personal brush. She doesn't use it on the children?"

"Non, Monsieur; she keeps zose in a separate cabinet. Zey are softer. Zis one lies on zee vanity, zee vun viss zee large mirror."

"Good. Pull out two or three of the longer strands and bring them here," he said eagerly. "But--" he paused. "First things first, my dear."

Withdrawing his wand from the nightstand, he pointed it toward her throat and whispered huskily, "Voca: Ginevra."

In a voice and accent that were completely foreign to her, she purred, "Are you ready for the potion's last ingredient now, Lucius?" Watching him complete the mixture with fascination, she knew exactly what her master desired.

He filled a glass with the thick potion then held it out for her. She took the proffered glass, drinking it obediently. The taste was disgusting, and it tended to make her feel a bit queer. But the way she saw it, becoming someone else for an hour wasn't so bad; she even enjoyed herself at times.

At least Monsieur Malfoy isn't fat or ugly, nor does he stink like a pig, zee way my last master did - who included oral sex under zee category, "Ozzer duties as assigned."

Lucius looked at her, his silvery eyes smoldering. He slowly removed her maid's apron and her black dress; no longer hanging on her slight frame, the garment now hugged her newly-added voluptuous curves. And for the next sixty minutes, she fulfilled his fantasy.

*****

Ginny left the hospital a short while after Brian's pronouncement. On entering the front door of the manor, she could find no sign of Nicolette. That lazy girl! She's always missing when I need her! Lucius really should sack her.

So instead she called for Toddy the house elf. The eager little chap appeared and gathered Ginny's things to take them upstairs to her room. Once there, she planned to rest for a bit then take a hot bath; afterward, she would check up on her children and then dress for dinner.

As their evening meal was ending and the desserts were being served, Ginny quietly told Lucius what the Healer had said about Narcissa's condition. He looked so sad that she thought he would cry; when he broke down in quiet sobs, she found that she couldn't keep from crying herself.

Damn - I thought I was ready for this, she thought.

Rhiannon looked at them, slightly bewildered at why two grown-ups would cry like little babies. Her mother took her tiny hands in hers and explained as best she could.

"Rhiannon, sweetheart . . . Do you remember when I told you that Daddy wasn't coming back because he had gone on to the next great adventure?" she asked, quoting the Headmaster of her old school. Her young daughter nodded, her eyes glowing in the soft torchlight. "Well, darling, it . . it looks like your Grandma . . . may be joining him, very soon. And she - she won't be back, either," she whispered as another tear trickled down her freckled cheek.

"No, I don't want her to go. Grandma can't leave me," Rhiannon insisted. "She promised to take me to the beach in June. And how can she do that when she's gone off with Daddy?" Her fervent appeal touched Ginny's heart, and she tried to put on a brave face for her daughter.

"But, princess, it's not up to us when we are taken from this Earth. Because believe me, I don't want her to leave either. I love Grandma, as if she were my own mother."

"You mean she's not?" the girl quizzed, as if the thought had never occurred to her. "Then who is your mummy? Where does she live?"

Ginny sighed and looked over at Lucius. He knew that this was not going to be easy for her. He patted her hand then gave it a tight, reassuring squeeze; she returned it, grateful for his support.

He took a different approach to the task of putting all of this into terms a five-year-old child would understand.

"Rhiannon, my dear, your Grandma and I, we are - were - your daddy's mummy and daddy. He sat in that very same chair and looked at me the way you're looking at me now. He was happy here. When he was a little boy, he had servants, ponies, and all sorts of fun, just like you."

"My daddy was a little boy?" she giggled. "That would have been funny!"

"Yes, he was. Now, your mummy's parents live somewhere far away. Their house is very small, and they have no house-elves or nannies to play with or ponies to ride. Mummy knew you wouldn't like it there. That's why you live here, with us."

The youngster looked at Ginny and stated resolutely, "I still want to go to the beach." Then she was struck by inspiration. "Can your mummy take me instead?" she asked excitedly.

"I-I don't think that would be a good idea, angel," Ginny replied as she looked into her glass of wine.

"But why not? Isn't she nice?"

"Yes, she is - but it just wouldn't, that's all." That was not good enough for the girl, who started to pout.

Once again, her grandpa explained patiently. "Rhiannon, do you remember your friends Daniel and Luther Crabbe?" She nodded, a sad frown fixed firmly on her face. "Their mummy and daddy don't live together anymore. They got 'un-married' by something called a divorce. Do you understand?"

The girl nodded slowly, and he went on. "Well, in a way, your mother has separated from her parents - your other grandparents - and that's rather like a divorce. They never see each other, and they rarely talk to each other. Your mother still . . loves her mummy and daddy, but the three of them disagree too much to be friends. Does that make sense, poppet?"

She rubbed her eyes and whispered, "I think so." Turning to Ginny, she pleaded earnestly, "Mummy, will you take me to the beach? Just you, and no nannies?"

"Of course, darling; if that's what you want."

The girl smiled and looked back down at her plate. She finished her desert - only she found that, for some odd reason, it didn't taste quite as rich and sweet as it had before.