Mala Fide: In Bad Faith

Mala Fide: In Bad Faith - Chapter 6

Ginny relaxed in her tomato-red canvas folding chair, basking in the sun and watching her daughter make sand castles in the cool, moist sand. She smiled to herself, then once more cracked open the book that Dr. Winterbourne had recommended, "Learning to Live Again." She said it was written by a famous American muggle who helped other muggles solve their relationship problems and improve their lives. She seemed to set great store by him, as he had hosted a popular television show. Whatever that meant.

Two paragraphs into the seventh page - that's all the farther she'd gotten since first arriving at her seaside holiday with Rhiannon four days ago. She read a few more words then something beyond the top of the book caught her imagination, causing her to lose focus once more.

Getting a glimpse of the cresting pattern of the water, she soon found herself spellbound by the waves, mesmerized by their steady rhythm as they billowed gently onto the shore. Various shells, bits of seaweed, and tiny sea creatures rode in on the foamy tide as it lapped at the sand.

"Mummy, I saw her!" Rhiannon cried breathlessly, interrupting Ginny's already interrupted thoughts. "I saw a mermaid!"

"Really?" her mother quizzed, slightly suspicious of such an unlikely event this early in the year.

"Yes - she's really there!"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes . . she's out there," the girl insisted. She leapt up onto her tiptoes and spied the glistening water for the mysterious creature from the deep. Squinting her eyes, she flattened her tiny hand and pressed it to her pale eyebrows in an effort to cut the sun's glare as she studied the water.

"Well, she was there a minute ago . . . Wait!" she cried again. "It's her! Can't you see her, Mummy? There she is!" The enthusiastic child bounced on the balls of her feet and waved her arms, looking like she herself were desperate to be rescued from a deserted island. "Don't you see her? You must!"

Ginny, still trying to refocus on her book, sighed softly then peered in the general vicinity her daughter was pointing to. Not really seeing the alleged mermaid, she simply agreed, "Oh, yes, there she is. But I can't quite make out her hair color; what shade would you say that is, love?"

Mildly disappointed in her mother, the girl tutted, "Purple, of course - are you sure you see her?"

"Well, it's just that most merpeople have some regular hair color. Some are blond, like Daddy, or redheads, like me, and others have black hair, dark as ink--"

She stopped in mid-sentence; her little girl, intent on finding the elusive, purple-haired mermaid, took no notice of it.

In spite of the hot sun that was beating down on her shoulders, Ginny shivered involuntarily as her own words sent a chill through to her very soul. Soon her mind was replaying her worst nightmare, as stark images of a handsome wizard with black hair flooded her mind. He was hurting her, bending her to his will; all the while, he grinned at her wickedly as his eyes, his icy cold eyes, laughed at her . . .

It was a horror she had never been able to put fully behind her. The wounds were stingingly fresh and hurt more deeply than anything she'd ever known, even more than her muddled memories her first year at Hogwarts. That was foreign to her because she was unaware of it; she'd had to be told about that afterward. But this . . . this she remembered all too well. And with him, no less - her brother's best friend, her friend, the so-called 'hero' of the wizarding world - the deception was absolute.

The Boy Who Lived. She couldn't recall a time when she hadn't admired him or trusted him completely. The sharp pain of having that trust obliterated in a matter of minutes cut into her heart and had threatened to quash her spirit. Ginny believed that were it not for the quick response and treatment Brian Gilpin had employed, and the therapy that Dr. Winterbourne had encouraged her to seek, the bitterness she felt might have consumed her.

Rhiannon finally gave up on spotting the mermaid again. She exhaled loudly then turned to look at her mother. She stared at her, a worried look on her fresh little face. "Mummy, are you all right?" her tiny voice broke into the woman's private thoughts.

Ginny smiled with effort. "Of course, dear. Mummy's fine."

She drew herself up and looked at her beautiful, precious daughter, the one part of Draco that would remain with her forever, no matter how much time passed.

Suddenly, silently, she vowed that for her children's sake, she would move forward.

She did want to live again.

The young mother snapped her book shut and laid it aside. Laying a hand on Rhiannon's slender shoulder, she suggested, "Come on - let's go finish that sand castle. How many rooms did you say it has?"

"Fifty-seven, so it's almost as big as Hogwarts," she said brightly, taking her mother's sweaty palm, "only twenty of them are underground, so you can't really see them . . "

*****

Back at his sprawling, stately home, Lucius Malfoy slammed the door of his study shut. The servants who were standing nearby jumped; all of them knew master did not wished to be disturbed. In fact, the door would only open briefly to allow Toddy to bring the wizard his evening meal. Strangely, he had been taking all his meals alone in his study since his family had gone on holiday.

"Lumos," he said, lighting the room. He set aside the packet he had gotten from Nadine then took his place at the desk in the oversized leather chair. Intent on reading the letter that Gilpin had written to Ginny, he magically unsealed it.

Before he could begin, Toddy quietly entered the study. He walked as if on eggshells, carrying a tray laden with his master's dinner and a small pot of tea, perfectly steeped to the wizard's liking. The elf gingerly set it down on the side of the desk. Shooing his servant away brusquely, Mr. Malfoy started reading in earnest. He muttered parts of it aloud and occasionally laughed to himself.

"Dearest Ginny, I hope this message finds you well," he quoted. "Blah, blah, blah . . While I am happy that your personal ordeal is now over, and that you and your family are recovering, I would be lying if I said that I do not miss seeing you every day."

He rolled his eyes and scoffed once more. "Please," he mocked at the parchment, as if Brian could actually hear him. The letter rambled on and on, until finally, the writer reached his belabored point.

Lucius read aloud, "I was wondering whether you would like to join me in seeing a muggle play in London. There is one from America that is supposed to be quite good. I seem to have forgotten the name, but my receptionist assures me it is very entertaining.

"Please let me know at your earliest convenience when you would like to go so that I may acquire tickets."

His lip curled in utter disdain. "You presumptuous cur," he sneered as he rose to his feet. "When does she want to go out with you?"

Laying the letter out on his desk, he summoned a silver dagger that doubled as an opener. He stabbed it through the parchment onto the desk as he hissed, "Never! She's mine, Gilpin!"

With a satisfied flourish of his wand and a choice spell, the letter conveyed an entirely different message.

"Take that, lover boy," he scorned. Chuckling to himself, he repaired the rip in the letter where he had pierced it with his dagger then resealed it. "There, good as new," he surveyed. He placed it in the left-hand drawer of his desk then cut into his roast beef.

In between bites, he turned his attention to the file he had brought back from Saint Mungo's. He peeked inside, anxious to fill his head with its contents, intent on soaking up every detail . . everything there was to know. It intrigued him - what she knew, what her thoughts were. And mostly importantly, if the Healers believed they had exhausted all avenues. Soon, he was lost to all else, and his food and tea gradually grew cold.

Almost an hour later, there was a soft knock on the door of study. Vexed at the intrusion, his nostrils flared slightly.

"Master?" Shilla ventured with caution.

"Toddy already brought my dinner. I am not finished yet - and I do not want to be disturbed!!!" he shouted crossly. As he did, he continued thumbing through the random stacks of parchment, all of it littered with Gilpin's unkempt scribbling.

"Please, forgive Shilla, but Master's family is returned from holiday." The house-elf shook where he stood, fearing the wizard's retribution, as if it were somehow Shilla's fault that the lady of the house had chosen now to Portkey back home with young Miss Malfoy.

"Well," Lucius snipped, "I wasn't expecting them until tomorrow." Standing up, he stuffed the file into a desk drawer and then motioned for the elf to remove the dinner tray.

He straightened his robes and hair, tucking in the slender, pale strands that had escaped his ponytail during the day, and commanded, "Tell them both to dress quickly and come down for dinner. No, wait. On second thought - serve the girl's meal in her room; her nanny can look after her. Tell Ginevra to join me in the dining room in ten minutes. And see if she wants dinner or just dessert. Either way, bring some brandy and two snifters."

"Yes, sir, Master Malfoy," Shilla replied. He left swiftly, levitating the tray with the half-eaten dinner and cold tea above his head.

Taking another glance in the full-length mirror that stood behind the door, Lucius smirked at his reflection. He could feel his heart skip a beat at the thought of seeing her again. He had missed her terribly, more than he thought he would when he had first consented to her taking this little trip with his granddaughter. Picturing her warm, pretty smile, her glorious ginger locks, something stirred in him, something he had thought had died long ago. Just before he left the room, he turned his wand toward the desk and put everything back in its place.

*****

"Ginevra--"

"Grandpa!" a child's squeal came echoing down the long, wide hallway. "I missed you sooo much!"

"Hello, my little poppet!" he lovingly greeted his granddaughter. She gave him a kiss and an enthusiastic hug, which he returned as he patted her back. "How was the sea, angel? Did you have fun?"

She smiled widely. "Oh, the sea was wonderful. We built sand castles, we played in the water - I even saw a mermaid, with purple hair!"

"That's smashing, sweetheart. Grandpa is very glad you're home. You can tell me all about it tomorrow. But now I need to speak with your mummy alone, so be a good little girl and go on up to your room. Your nanny will get you ready for bed." She nodded then he whispered conspiratorially, "Your baby brother is probably asleep, but once you're in your pajamas, how would you like to take a peek at Lucas?"

The girl nodded eagerly then gave a wide yawn, and a house-elf guided her up the stairs and to her room.

He addressed Ginny once more. "My dear, you look ravishing. I trust you had a wonderful time," he said with a genuine smile.

He placed his hands on her shoulders then kissed her on both cheeks, the second one a bit longer than the first. She looked up at him, his grey eyes glowing at her, his nose just inches from hers; she was struck for a moment how very much his son had looked like him, how they were both strangely handsome in their unique way. And just briefly, she felt a secret thrill at his being so near to him--

But no . . that couldn't be right. She had only missed the man's company, that was all. After all, she'd had almost no one to talk to other than Rhiannon for the better part of a week, and she was simply ready for some adult conversation.

And yet she found she couldn't look away from his piercing gaze for several seconds. Nor could she ignore the way he was lightly squeezing her shoulders.

Did he just lick his lips? she wondered silently. No, I'm imagining things - must have gotten too much sun today. Anxious to put some space between them, she stepped back a bit; only then did he release his hold on her as his arms dropped to his sides. She looked away awkwardly, almost as if she were suddenly unnerved by his mere presence.

Feeling slightly foolish, her mind asserted, My father-in-law most certainly does not fancy me.

Nor I, him.

Despite the fact that he had let go of her, she could feel the weight of his gaze. She looked up at him again, and he took her hand and brushed his lips softly against it. With a faint smile, he offered, "Which would you prefer - cold roast beef sandwiches or blueberry pie?" Well aware of her soft spot for desserts, especially ones made with fruit, he knew before he asked her. She smiled at the gesture anyway, and they moved toward the table. He released his grasp on her fingers. When he did, Ginny felt relief mingled with a twinge of disappointment.

Toddy brought an engraved silver tray into the room. He set the two delectable-looking desserts on the table, one in front of the chair at the head of the table - which had always been reserved for only the Master - and the other at the chair immediately to his left. The late Mrs. Malfoy had usually sat at the end farthest from her husband, with their son somewhere in between. Where he sat would vary, depending on which parent he was less annoyed with at the moment . . usually, the one who had recently bought him the most lavish gift.

When Lucius pulled out her chair for her to sit down, she eyed him once more with a puzzled look on her face. He took his seat at the table then laughed softly to himself.

"What?" she asked as she picked up her fork and cut into her pie.

He shrugged. "Nothing, really. I'm just surprised how much I missed you two. It was so quiet around here; other than Lucas occasionally testing his vocal chords, the house was like a tomb."

They ate their desserts in a comfortable silence. Then out of the blue, both of them spoke at once, accidentally cutting each other off. Embarrassed, she said, "No, go ahead. What were you going to say?"

"No, you first," he insisted.

"I was just going to ask if there were any messages or letters for me."

Lucius looked down at his plate, feigning concentration, as if he were giving her question serious thought. "No, none that I can think of." Seeing her mildly dejected expression, he asked, "Why? Were you expecting any?" He took another nibble of his dessert then took a swig of brandy.

"Well, I thought that Luna might drop me a line. You know, about our next meeting with the caterers."

He shook his head. "Not that I remember. Why don't you Floo her tomorrow?"

Ginny said she would and proceeded to tell him about their seaside trip. "Of course, once we'd been there two days and Rhiannon was asking when she could go back and ride her pony. She just loves that animal! I promised to take her out tomorrow morning. It's Saturday; do you want to come along?" she offered.

When he hesitated, she sighed and said, "Oh, I'm so dense - what am I thinking? You must have a million things to do already."

"Actually, no - not tomorrow, anyway; it's tonight that's the problem. I'm committed to assist a few of my colleagues in some research, and I promised I'd send it over tonight. One of them is expecting an owl from me by midnight so that he and the others can proceed with their plans early in the morning. It's for Hobbes - you remember him from Lucas's welcoming party?"

She nodded as she took another bite of her pie, so he went on. "Well, he gets quite irritable when he doesn't get proper rest, so the group's success is now on my shoulders. I'm going to work a bit more on that tonight, so I may need a lie-in tomorrow."

"What sort of project is it?" she asked, swirling the brandy and bringing it to her lips.

"Oh, you know the Ministry. All they're saying to me is, 'Malfoy, you're a reformed Death Eater, an ex-prisoner - so we can't really tell you anything about it. But do give us all the information you can. There's a good man.' "

He polished off his brandy in one gulp. Frowning, he stared into the empty snifter in his right hand and sighed. "I wonder, Ginevra, will anyone ever trust me again?"

She placed her creamy, soft fingers over his other hand and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I do."

He set down his glass and enveloped her hand with his. "Just hearing you say that means so much to me." His eyes were glowing as they took her in once more. "You are a wonderful woman, Ginevra Malfoy, and I am honored to have you as my friend."

She felt an indescribable warmth course through her. Was she lightheaded from the sun she'd gotten? Was it because the man who was caressing her hands reminded her so much of her late husband? Or was it just the brandy?

Regardless, she knew she had to get away. She stood up and said, "I'm going to draw a bath and relax. Then I'll look in on Lucas and Rhiannon and go on to sleep. Good night, Lucius." And she turned to go.

When she was halfway to the stairs, he called to her. "Wait, there was a note for you. From Gilpin - let me get it." He summoned the letter from his study and unsealed it.

Looking at the salutations, he held it out to her and asked, "Would you like to read it? It's to both of us, actually."

"No," she said with a tired shrug, "you go ahead."

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," he read from the carefully fabricated letter. "I hope this letter finds you well, etcetera, etcetera." Scanning the page, he revealed more of its contents.

"I am writing to inform you that after extensive research, the hospital staff and I have come to the conclusion that there was no evidence of foul play whatsoever in Narcissa Malfoy's death. She died of pneumonia that was exacerbated by poor health habits."

Ginny fretted and bit her lip. "I was always after her to eat better . . take better care of herself, you know. But she wouldn't listen to me."

He stopped reading aloud and perused it to the end. "That's about it. He goes on with some closing pleasantries and the like, if you're interested," he added offering the parchment to her. She declined as she struggled to fight the tears that threatened to spill from her brown eyes.

She stunned him by running into his arms. Crying softly, she murmured, "I miss her . . so much."

Lucius wrapped his arms around her and drew her close to him. He shushed her gently then placed his hands on her soft auburn hair, fingering it tenderly. Never had he seen a shade of red so perfect, so fiery, so appealing. He inhaled deeply then took her face into his hands. It took all his strength not to devour her, but he knew that now was not the time.

Yet gazing into her eyes, he was painfully aware that it was becoming more difficult to deny his body what it wanted. The urge to just pick her up and carry her to his private chambers was becoming almost unbearable. He ached for her to touch him like she once did.

She felt it, too; he knew she did. Her thinly-veiled desire was palpable and more intoxicating than the brandy. Releasing her face, he wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing his body very close to hers. When he did, she nearly jumped from his arms, only to have him pull her back by the waist.

"What's wrong, Ginevra?" he whispered in a husky voice.

She stuttered, "P-please let me go."

He complied but not before briefly pressing his hips into hers. She gasped softly. The close contact was so sudden, so quick, that she wondered if it was the brandy that was muddling her thinking - for surely, she had to have only imagined that . .

She looked away nervously then turned to go. "Good night," she murmured.

"See you tomorrow, dear. Pleasant dreams."

Watching her ascend the stairs, he ground his teeth in frustration. He knew he would have her again, but when? And he was not without patience; being in Azkaban - twice - and working with Lord Voldemort for years had given him more than enough of that. Still, her coyness . . it was really starting to annoy him, the way she repeatedly left him alone, just when things were beginning to escalate.

Literally, he thought as he looked down his body and frowned. And bugger it all, it was Nicolette's night off.

Pacing toward his study once more, he decided, Time to step this plan into a higher gear.

He unlocked the lower right-hand drawer of his desk, the one that had a secret locking charm that only his voice would trigger, and slowly withdrew a heavy but small bag. It was made centuries ago, sewn out of a dense, green velvet material that was extraordinarily rare for its day. It had a gold drawstring pulled tightly at the top and the Malfoy crest emblazoned on the front. He carefully set the bag on top of the desk, loosened the strings at the neck, and took out its secret treasure: a crystal ball, four inches in diameter, that was flat on the bottom.

But this was not the everyday, Professor Trelawney, run-of-the-mill crystal ball. It had been a congratulatory gift from his father when Lucius pledged his own son to the Dark Lord, over twenty years ago. And it did much more than just 'unfog the future'.

Placing the iridescent orb reverently on his desk, he tapped it with his wand and muttered a few words. He gazed into the object and waited. Within a few moments, he was rewarded, and a smile flitted across his thin lips as two eyes peered back at him from within the object.

But they were hardly the red ones he expected to see.

"Pettigrew?" It was more a question than a statement of recognition. "Why the hell did you answer? Is He out of pocket?"

No sooner had Lucius said this when a shriek rang out from the ball. It was followed by a man's voice pleading for mercy then a high-pitched cackle. Frightened by the proximity of the curses that were being thrown, Peter Pettigrew turned his head sharply and sniffed the air like the rat that he was. He shuddered then cleared his throat nervously; turning around once more, he squinted his eyes to regain his focus as he stared back at him.

"Hello, Malfoy," the beady-eyed, balding man said as he scrutinized him warily. "He's rather busy at the moment. But hang on, I'll go get him. I know he wants to talk to you."