False Hope is Better Than No Hope at All

Draco Malfoy idly twirled the heavy silver ring he wore on his left hand as he surveyed the scene before him with dull, uninterested silver eyes. The sparse silver and black decorations fluttered limply as countless well-dressed house-elves quietly scurried around the room, making sure all the food was in order. Death Eater parties blow, he thought irratably to himself as the light tinkle of his mother’s forced laughter wafted through the Malfoy Manor ballroom. The “party” had been going for a full two and a half hours and at least a hundred and fifty guests were in attendance, yet the volume level had yet to reach above sixty decibles. All around the black and grey room, men and women dressed in matching immaculate black robes could be found chattering softly in small groups or waltzing robotically to the strains of a ghost orchestra Narcissa Malfoy had hired for the night. Even with everything going on in the past seven years, thought Draco as he straightened his robes, some things just never manage to change.

“Bored, Draco?” a voice out of nowhere enquired, snapping him out of his daydream. He turned to see a faintly smiling Blaise Zabini behind him, clad in the standard Death Eater black robes with a sash tied loosly around her waist. She was holding two glasses of red wine, and held one out to him. For a moment, the hundreds of floating candles lighting the ballroom flickered, distorting her signature flirtatious look to make her appear positivly sinister.

“Nonsense,” he said as he took one of the glasses she offered him. “How could I possibly manage to be bored at my own ‘Welcome Home’ party?” He raised the glass to his lips and took a much-needed gulp, draining half the glass.

“I don’t know,” said Blaise playfully, feigning uncertanity. She ignored her own glass and lifted a hand to toss a lock her sraight dark brown hair over her shoulder. “I thought that perhaps seven straight years of those wild Bulgarian parties would have forever changed your attitude towards these drab, formal English get-togethers of ours.”

Draco tilted his head back and emptied his glass. “You know what they say,” he said, setting his empty glass on a nearby table for a house-elf to collect, “there’s no place like home.” He realized the untruthfullness of this statement as soon as it had passed his lips. After being sent away to Bulgaria to head Death Eater operations there after his graduation from Hogwarts, he no longer felt at home in England. He had missed every event that had happened in the past seven years which went on to shape the current state of the wizarding world. He had missed the last great Hogwarts battle between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix, a battle that not only killed Voldermort and Dumbledore, but also resulted in the deaths many of his former classmates. Not that blasted Harry Potter, though; the git had somehow managed to survive the defeat of the Order of the Phoenix and the takeover by the newly-promoted Lucius and his minions. Merlin knows where he was now, however; he headed underground six years ago with a small group of followers to head The Resistance, a group which occasionally gave the Death Eaters trouble. 

“I’m glad you’re back now, Draco,” Blaise said. A breeze entered the room from the open balcony door nearby and circled around them before entering the room, ruffling their hair. “It hasn’t felt right here without you, you know? Your father makes an excellent Dark Lord, and you should have been here, assisting us as his heir, instead of being out somewhere in some rotting corner of Bulgaria training novice Death Eaters and drowning in seas of paperwork.”

Draco’s mood shifted. “If I had known you were so concerned for me, Blaise,” he whispered huskily, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her closer to him, “I might have arranged to come home earlier.” His gray eyes staring down into her copper ones, he leaned forward and tilted his mouth towards hers.

“Down, boy!” said Blaise, pulling away and swatting him on the shoulder. She sat her half-full wineglass next to Draco’s. “I would be careful if I were you, checking people’s backgrounds before you went around kissing them randomly. Time hasn’t stood still while you were gone, you know.” As she said this she raised her left hand and wiggled her ring finger, displaying a silver ring with an enormous pidgeon’s blood ruby which clashed violently with her dark purple fingernails.

Draco lifted his head and quickly scanned the faces in the  ballroom, letting his gaze come to rest on Adrian Pucey. The older former Slytherin was sending him a death glare from across the room, clenching and unclenching his fist by his side as if he were debating whether or not it would be considered taboo to take out his wand and curse the party’s guest of honor before dessert had been served. “Ah, I see,” he said.

Draco sent Adrian a smile and a nod before subtly lifting his hands in apology and taking a step back from Blaise. Blaise laughed and pouted her full red lips to blow a kiss across the room to her tall fiancé. Adrian’s dark eyes flashed in annoyance at Draco before giving Blaise a smirk and turning back to his conversation with the Nott cousins.

“Don’t be upset, Draco,” Blaise continued as she eyed Adrian. “Millicent is still more than available if you are in want of a girlfriend.”

“Draco Malfoy has never been ‘in want’ of anything, least of all a girlfriend. And what about Pansy, anyway?” He had seen her parents enter the manor earlier that evening, but hadn’t noticed her at the party.

Blaise became visibly uneasy, and began to fiddle with her satin blood-red sash. It was only then that Draco noticed that she had put on some weight while he was gone. She was nowhere near fat, but she certainly wasn’t a rail-thin as she had been at school any longer.

He waited patiently for her answer. “Pansy’s not with us anymore,” she finally said, her eyes fixed on the black marble floor.

Draco blanched at her words. Pansy, gone? Sure, she was annoying, but she had also been one of his good friends at school. “What? What happened to her? Is she dead?” he asked frantically.

Blaise shrugged, stating through body language that she missed her friend. “I don’t know. None of us do. She just – disappeared. She joined the Dark Lord along with the rest of us after graduation and was assigned her mission, but then, before the Last Battle, she vanished. The general consensus is that she was captured by the Order of the Phoenix and killed herself rather than be given Veritaserum – in any case, those were the instructions we were given should we have been captured.”

Draco had his mouth open to ask her another question when he was interrupted by the faint sound of hissing. He and the rest of the guests turned their attention to the base of the small stage where the ghost orchestra, oblivious to what was going on, continued playing. Green smoke had begun to appear from the floor, and was shaping itself into the form of a man. “Finally,” Draco heard someone mutter quietly, cutting through the silence. “You’d think he would have been on time for his heir’s homecoming, at least.”

Across the room, Narcissa Malfoy politely excused herself from a small cluster of people and made her way to the front of the ballroom. She was the only person in the room who was wearing robes of mauve satin rather than black, and they swirled gently around her tall, thin frame as she walked across the room. Blaise poked Draco’s side. “I’d best be getting back to Adrian,” she whispered. “It’s wonderful to have you home again.” She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand quickly before turning and disappearing into the crowd that was slowly pressing forward.

Draco allowed a small smile to flicker over his face before he turned to join his mother at the front of the room. He took his place to the right of the smokey figure, calmly staring out at the sea of faces as his mother did to his left. When the hissing stopped, the smoke disappeared and in its place stood Lucius Malfoy – the Dark Lord. The ghost orchestra finally finished their piece and stopped playing. There was a collective murmer of “my lord,” as every person in the room bowed their head slightly.

Dressed in black, gold-trimmed robes, Lucius looked about the same to Draco as he had when he had last seen him seven years ago, except for one thing. It wasn’t the scar down his cheek or the smile on his face (which Draco certainly hadn’t seen very often before this night) – rather, the difference he percieved in his father had more to do with his aura than his physcial appearance. When you looked at him, you couldn’t help but feel intimidated, for the authority he exuded was strong enough to knock you over. A big change from his previous House-Elf-To-Voldemort persona.

“My followers,” Lucius addressed the group in a strong, clear voice, “Tonight we have reason to celebrate, for my heir, Draco, has returned from Bulgaria to assist us in our strengthening battle against The Resistance. I have no doubt that with his help, we will be able to destroy Harry Potter – once and for all. The Resistance will be destroyed, and the mudbloods will finally realize that they have no place in our world. We shall succeed, and accomplish Voldermort’s goal when he could not.”

For a brief, insane moment, Draco though the Death Eaters were going to break out in cheers and applause. Surely in Bulgaria, any speech, even a short one, would have resulted with loud cheers and the mass consumption of alcohol in unhealthy proportions. However, this was England and the society purebloods prided themselves with being dignified and collected, if nothing else. The Death Eaters merely bowed once again to Lucius, and muttered together “we will serve.”

Hmm, thought Draco, a motto. That’s something new.

Lucius turned his back on the room and raised a hand towards the orchestra. Expressionless, the ghosts raised their dusty instruments and once again began to play. Taking this as a sign that they were to go back to the party, the guests turned away from the stage and continued with their talking and dancing. Draco was searching for Blaise to ask her more questions about Pansy when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Draco,” his father said in his ear. “I trust you are well?” 

“Yes, father,” Draco replied automatically. Of course, his father didn’t really want to know how he was. He was intrested in the situation in Bulgaria. “I wrapped up the necessary business in before I came home,” he added. “Everything is as you wished it to be, and they are ready for you arrival next week.”

Lucius’s normally dull eyes sparkled a bit at this news. “Very well,” he said. “We can talk business later. Go enjoy your party.” He turned towards Narcissa, and the two of them stepped down to join the other couples waltzing. Draco sighed and subtly rolled his eyes before clumping off the platform. Blaise was nowhere in sight – probably off in some dark corner snogging with Adian. He decided to leave the party for awhile, just to clear his head. He strode across the marble floor, opened the heavy oak doors, and exited the ballroom.

The chatter and laughter became fainter and fainter as Draco wandered through the halls, deeper into Malfoy Manor. The faint moonlight flickering through the windows cast distorted shadows over the walls, and the portriats on the walls glared at him as he passed, as if they were condemning him for choosing to walk out on the reigning Dark Lord’s party. Draco didn’t care.

He continued stalking down the poorly-lit hallway, his footsteps barely making a sound on the thick carpeting. It was just like his parents to stick him in the middle of a party the minute he came home after being away for seven years. Not even giving him a chance to reunite with some of his good friends from school, friends he haven’t gotten so much as an owl from, probably at his father’s insistance. Draco passed a window seat and threw himself against the green velvet cushions. Leaning against the wall, he stared out the window, seeing nothing but darkness, and let his mind wander.

Draco knew the reason why his father had sent him away so quickly and kept him away for so long. He didn’t want to share any of the limelight with him. Lucius had planned and carried out all of Voldemort’s wishes to perfection after he rose again during Draco’s fourth year. Lucius had been his right-hand advisor throughout the war against Dumbledore. Lucius led the Death Eaters to victorty at Hogwarts after Voldemort had been destroyed by Potter, and finally Lucius had succeeded the Dark Lord himself. It was not until five years later, when Lucius had firm control over all his followers, did he finally allow Draco to return to England and present himself as the Dark Lord’s heir. When people heard the name “Malfoy,” from now and into the future, it would be Lucius they would think of, not Draco.

Something caused Draco’s ears to perk up, jolting him out of his thoughts. It sounded like a door shutting – no, not just any door shutting. It was the sound of someone closing a door who didn’t want to be discovered. Draco tilted his head slightly. Someone was walking down the hallway. He couldn’t hear footsteps, but he could feel the presence of another. They were walking this way. In a minute, they would pass the window seat and see him. Slowly, Draco reached inside his robes and grabbed his wand. 

With a yell, Draco lunged out of the seat and into the middle of the hallway. He whirled around and pressed the tip of his wand to the throat of the intruder. He heard a gasp, but no scream. “Who are you?” he demanded. In the dark hallway, he could just make out the figure of a tall young woman with long hair. She didn’t answer. “Who are you?” he repeated angrily, pressing his wand into her neck.

She coughed. “Put your stupid wand away, Malfoy,” he heard her say. “I’m unarmed. See?” she held up both her hands. “Besides, even if I wasn’t, it’s not like I’m trying to do anything to you…”

That voice…it was vaugely familiar. She sounded like someone he knew, only not quite…he pulled his wand away from her neck and lifted it up to her face. “Lumos,” he commanded.

Immeadiatly the hallway was illuminated, and they both blinked by the sudden brightness. Draco took several steps back and from her. She was wearing a long butter-yellow cloak which, though covering her entire body, could not hide what had to be a perfect figure. Her straight red hair fell naturally around her shoulders, and her brown eyes flashed at him with irritation, a look which was mirrored perfectly on her face.

“Keep your hands in the air,” he ordered, walking up to her again. She sighed, but did as he ordered. He leaned forwards slightly and squinted at her face, as if he were trying to place a name with it. Red hair, freckles…Suddenly, he laughed and straightened up.

“You know, Weasley, for a transvestite you look pretty damn good. What did you do, go to one of those Muggle…” He was cut off as she shoved him in the chest.

“Bastard,” she muttered, stalking past in a swirl of yellow.

“Hey!” he grabbed her arm as she tried run by. “You were sneaking around my house. That makes you an intruder. And I haven’t said you could go yet. I want to know, Weasley, what sparked this change. Did the mudblood turn you down one time too many? Or did you finally realize that this was the only way you were ever going to catch Harry Potter’s eye?”

With an exasperated groan, the woman wrenched his arm from hers. “I’m Virgina, you git, not one of my brothers! Honestly, and to think I went to school with you for six years…anyway, I have permission to be here.”

“Permission? Not likely. I doubt my father would ever knowingly allow a member of The Resistance into Malfoy Manor.” She was quiet for a moment, just staring at him. Then-

“I’m not a member of The Resistance.”

Draco snorted. “Not a member? Please. Like I’d believe that. I remember you now, you were that skinny little redhed who worshipped Potter all through school, almost as bad as that Creevy guy. How could you possibly not join The Resistance?”

“I have my reasons, and they’re none of your business! I’ve already gone through all this crap with your father and his minons, and they’ve cleared me of all Resistance involvement. Don’t you dare think you can just show up here after seven years and start making assumptions about me based on ‘facts’ you picked up ages ago!” She glared at him, challenging him to say something.

To his amazement, he found himself trying not to laugh. She was definitely different from the scared little mouse of a girl he had seen back when he was still attending Hogwarts. How did she get this confident? “Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?” he asked menacingly, trying to break through her confidence. “I am Luicus Malfoy’s heir.”

She rolled her eyes in irritation. “Well pardon me,  your majesty, but you could be Salazar Slytherin himself, and there’s not a woman in the world who wouldn’t get a bit

shirty with you if you accused her of being a transvestite.

“Anyway, if you’re quite done with your interrogation, I’ll be going now,” she said as she bent to pick up her wand, which had apparently fallen from her pocket at some point.

“What if I’m not done?”

Ginny snapped at him. “This isn’t the war! You have no right to detain me! You can trace my bloodlines just as far back as yours, Draco Malfoy. I have every right to be here, and what’s more, I was invited to your house. I’m leaving, and if you don’t like it, you can take that wand of yours and shove it right up your - ”

Draco laughed. He couldn’t help it. That was her version of a threat? “Such language, Miss Virgina,” he said through chuckles. “What would your mother have to say about that?” Far in the distance, he could hear people talking and the front door opening and closing. The party must be breaking up.

She looked at him, her face expressionless. Something about the way she held herself made him stop his laughing. They stood silently in the hallway, staring at each other and not moving for several moments. Then, she tucked her wand back into her pocket, turned her back on him, and walked off.

He didn’t follow her.

Instead, he turned back and sat down on the window seat. Now thathad been a strange encounter. What was she doing wandering around the hallways of Malfoy Manor? Even if she had been invited as she claimed, wouldn’t she be in the ballroom? And, more importantly, why wasn’t she a member of The Resistance? His father must have been extremely conviced of her innonce, otherwise she probably would probably be locked away in the newly-populated Azkaban. A Weasley, a die-hard Gryffindor, and a Harry Potter adorer to boot. What could have possibly happened to make her change sides like that?

The foremost question nagging at his mind, however, was how on earth did she get so beautiful? He wasn’t just trying to vex her when he had said he remembered her a skinny little runt. Perhaps he was just too busy during his later years at Hogwarts to notice her growth spurt. He slouched down in the window seat, stretching his legs in front of him. Closing his eyes, he allowed her face to enter his thoughts. That waterfall of firey red hair and those big, expressive brown eyes. Her small, ski-jump nose. And, of course, her delicate pink mouth, which appeared to be just the tiniest bit crooked when she shouted.

He realized he was smiling, and gave himself a mental shake. What was he thinking? He had spent the last six years with the most beautiful, vivacious women Bulgaria had to offer at his beck and call. How could he possibly be going all batty over plain old Virgina Weasley?

Draco lost track of how much time he spent sprawled out on the window seat thinking, but eventually he heard a musical voice from above him ask, “Draco?” He opened his eyes lazily. Shit! he thought, registering the face floating about him and slamming his eyes shut. He’d known Millicent Bulstrode since he was eleven years old, and he still got a shock every time he heard her speak before he saw her. While the tall, muscular dark-haired girl wasn’t very attractive, she had the voice of a choir of angels. She had wisely joined the Wizarding Wireless Network after graduation.

“Hi, Millicent,” he said, keeping his eyes closed.

“Your mother is looking for you,” she told him, apparently unaffected by his rude behavior. She probably got a lot of it. “Most of the guests are leaving, and she wants you to say goodbye to them.” When he didn’t move, she forcibly pulled him to his feet.

“Alright, alright,” Draco muttered. “No need to get touchy.” He and Millicent started their long trek back to the Main Hall of the Manor. “Millicent,” he said after a couple moments of silence, “Did you know that Virgina Weasley was here a few minutes ago?”

“No,” she answered, keeping her eyes straight ahead, “but it doesn’t surprise me. She’s doing that piece on the Manor for the Daily Prophet, after all.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s right, you don’t know about any of this,” she answered. She kept walking. More silence ensued.

Draco was irritated. Damn her for deliberatly keeping him in suspense. “Well, are you going to tell me about it, or what?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Millicent finally smiled. “She’s a reporter with the Daily Prophet,” she explained. “She writes just about anything, really. Right now she’s writing a story on the Manor, it’s history, and it’s current occupants. She should be coming by to interview you in the next couple of days, in fact.”

“You mean she’s not with The Resistance?”

“Yes, it’s funny, isn’t it?” Millicent said without a hint of puzzlement on her face. “She’s an Indifferent, and a pretty influential one at that. Ginny doesn’t support The Resistance, but she doesn’t give a damn about the Death Eaters either. As long as both sides leave her alone, she’s happy to coexist.”

“But why?” Draco was about to ask, when they suddenly reached the Main Hall.

“Oh Millicent, you darling, you’ve found him!” exclaimed Narcissa. She held out her arms to Draco, who obediebtly went towards her. “He was walking around the Manor reminiscing, I expect. Poor boy, he’s been away so long.” She and Isabella Lestrange laughed. “Come now, dear, everyone’s leaving…you’re already missed the Parkinsons.” Draco allowed himself to be led away, biting back comments about how he was twenty-five and shouldn’t be treated like a child anymore.

****

Ginny sat alone in her flat, staring at her blank parchment and absently twirling her quill in her fingers. It was late, she had just gotten home from Malfoy Manor, and she was tired, but she still had to work on her article. “Headline, headline…” she said to herself absently, leaning back in her chair and staring at the plaster ceiling.

“What do you guys think?” she asked, picking up a picture of her brothers. They ignored her, prefering to torture Percy, who was fighting valiantly to save his picture of Penelope Clearwater from Death by Tearing. “Eh, never mind,” she said, setting the frame down on her desk. “You’d probably come up with something like ‘Malfoy Manor: Home of Gits Galore.’” She frowned. Maybe she should just go to bed.

Dropping her quill on her desk, she walked from her desk to her closet and shrugged off the muggle t-shirt and jeans she was wearing beneath her robes. Reaching into her closet, she grabbed a random nightgown and pulled it over her head. “Nox,” she muttered, turning off the lights before getting into bed. Wrapped up in her quilt in the darkness, Draco’s words kept coming back to her.

“Such language, Miss Virgina…what would your mother have to say about that?”

She gave an annoyed huff as she drifted off to sleep. Draco Malfoy may be an Adonis of a man, but he was just as insufferable as he had been when they were children.

***