The Radiant

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The study was empty. She walked out into the hall, marveling at the fact that he had left the connection open, her eyes darting around at the whispering portraits –

Where –

And then she walked by a solarium and caught the definite sweet scent out outside in the air and her feet turned right without her even thinking and she was walking through the glass-room, through an open set of French doors, out into the most fantastic set of gardens she had ever seen, and the sun was so bright –

She began to walk towards the areas of the garden with the most colour.


---


That was where Lucius found her, thirty minutes later, standing in the afternoon sun. He had seen the lighthouse, the iridescent rich beaming of her hair as soon as he had entered the garden for his walk, but hadn’t truly believed it was her until he neared and saw her lithe figure standing among his tiger lilies, her head tilted back, eyes closed, face toward the sun. And that sun – that sun that was glinting, hard and alternatively soft off of the braided hair, the red deepening to a burgundy in the oranged glow of it. Ginny had taken off her shoes – they lay beside her in the dirt – and she was curling her toes into the ground, sighing, just standing, standing still, enjoying, eyes still closed.

He was in front of her now.

“Ginevra?”

She wasn’t startled but instead opened her eyes slowly, the traces of a smile on her face. He saw her eyes focus on him.

“Lucius.” He wanted to tell her how much he liked the way she said his name – half sighing and half statement, not breathy but firm and soft at the same time, but he just wasn’t sure where they stood. He had perhaps brushed her off after the second time they had had sex, but she had ignored him for the past three days and he hadn’t heard a thing from her. It seemed so precarious to him – he was hesitant to even step further toward her, afraid that his movement would splinter the orange-rose glow that was around them, the later afternoon sun, the warm, still air. “I couldn’t find you in the Manor. I couldn’t resist the gardens – the lilies… what beautiful lilies.” She ran her palms absentmindedly over the plush flower petals, the heads bobbing in her wake. “You sent me that flower from your personal gardens.”

He stood, his hands in his pockets.

“Yes.” They stood for a minute, and then he decided to break the boundary of personal space, risking rupturing that glow… he stepped toward her and deftly unbound her hair, carding it out with his fingers before she could even blink. “Better. You look like a Fury when you have your hair down like this.” The wind made it eddy around her shoulders and she smiled and then frowned.

Lucius made a sound in the back of his throat, looking as though he were choosing his words meticulously before speaking. “Perhaps you’d best come inside. The sun will be going down soon. I have a feeling – I have a feeling we need to sit and talk.” He held out a hand – strong, steady – and she picked up her shoes and placed her hand in his, following him into the Manor.


---



They were seated – Lucius sitting on the couch, the top two buttons of his shirt opened, his palms at his temples as he let his eyes shut, and Ginny in the wingback chair, her legs curled up under her, dwarfed by the enormity of the furniture, her fingers tracing patterns on her leg. He lifted his head and looked at her and she couldn’t help it, she had to blurt out the one thing that had been making her sick to her stomach above all else.

“What are we going to do about Draco?”

Lucius thought for a second and then answered. “I don’t know.”

“He’ll go mad.” And she was right in that regard – that Draco was so quick to ignite, so goddamned incendiary, that it was entirely probable that he would go insane, fight tooth and nail if the situation weren’t handled exactly properly, like defusing a bomb.

“Draco – I will deal with Draco.”

“This – he won’t take this lightly. He’s your son. You’re his father.” And she tripped on the word, that strangled sound being her tell, and his head snapped over to look at her, his eyes narrowing.

“I am aware. And I love him very much so when the situation occurs – when it occurs because right now I hear he’s at one of our homes in Côte d'Ivoire, on a business trip for the next month, and is also sleeping with anything that walks, possibly both male and female – when it occurs I will know what is best to do.” He paused. “You choked on that word.”

“What word?”

Here his nostrils flared slightly and she could see the corners of his eyes set. “Father. Father. Like I was some sort of invalid. Some sort of curse. An old man.” He was almost spitting now, the polished veneer worn down for a brief minute. She had him in a moment of openness and how he would react to her would all depend on her ability to keep him splayed like that for as long as possible so she could pick at him, so gently, yet thoroughly. Ginny hummed a little before she answered.

“No – not a curse.” She unfurled her legs like white sails and stood, just wavering slightly, walking over to stand in front of him, slipping between his slightly parted legs. “Not an invalid. Never that. Not an old man. Could never be an old man.” She sank to her knees and placed her elbows on the tops of his thighs, not pressing herself to him sexually but instead need to make a form of physical contact. “Forgive me, Lucius.”

“Why.” The word was not a question but was snapped off.

“Because of my momentary panic.”

“I figured as much when you didn’t come for dinner that first night.” And for one instant she saw that he was hurt by that though he would never, ever say that to her. She rested her chin on his knee. “I figured you were sickened by it.”

“Yes, I was. I was.” His breathing slowed briefly and she had to continue on with her brutally honest approach. “I didn’t get out of my bed for three days. Not even to eat. I would ask you if you knew how hard it was to fuck someone who has been classified as one of your enemies since birth, but I think maybe you know how that feels too. I thought of my family – my family, Lucius – and how distraught they would be –” She reached up a hand to brusquely dash away the tears that had started to fall – “and I thought of Draco, and how angry he would be, and of my friends. How sad they would be. How betrayed everyone would feel. And I lay in bed, not even crying, just lying there, deadened and stupid and asleep.” He was staring at her now, not speaking, just watching, and she continued on fearlessly. “And then I thought fuck – fuck it – I am so sick of hiding and of trying to tamp down my true self and you –” her hand clenched his thigh – “you are so smart and so cruel and so beautiful, and you interest me. You make me wet. You make me want to spend time with you, and it’s so soon, and I don’t know why I want it the way I do, which makes me feel sick to my stomach sometime, but I know that if I never try this, I will regret it forever. I will have been stupid and cowardly, and nothing like that little ten-year-old who stuck up to you.” She finished, looking up at him.

Lucius was breathing slowly – deep, measured breaths – and then he reached his hands down to her and swiftly pulled her up onto him, her legs curled to one side, her body snug into his lap.

“Foolish girl.” His voice was low against her temple. “I am old and set in my ways. I cannot change for you.”

“Good.”

“I cannot change for you and I will not change for you, and I will probably hurt you very badly – many times over.”

“Fine.”

And this was it – the exchange of little acceptances and promises and concessions. They both could feel it, that they were building the true, strong foundations of something right there on the couch in the sitting room, replacing moldering bases, perhaps being given a chance to begin fresh, perhaps not, but hoping for the chance regardless.

“I cannot be lady of the Manor.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I cannot fanny about in dresses and read sonnets and host dinner parties every night and I will not do it. I can’t be a kept woman and be relegated to specific rooms of the house, told to amuse myself – ” she felt him flinch so subtly – “and I won’t. I don’t want that.”

“Good. You’re much too forceful for that anyway – spirited.”

“I’ll argue.”

“I argue.”

“I’ll hit.”

“My sweet, rude, girl. You have no idea what will happen to you if you ever dare to strike me, but rest assured that I will have no qualms about striking back just as hard and many times more.” She rubbed against him, willing herself to remember that statement.

“I want to get to know you.”

“We’ve certainly gone about this backwards, haven’t we?”

Ginny nodded. “Maybe… maybe we should try to refrain from having sex until we can answer questions about each other. Proper questions –”

“No.”

“ – No, wait, I wasn’t finished, Lucius. Not for a long time. I’m not trying to push you away, you stupid man. But I think we should stop moving so quickly. As least for a little while. Until I can answer questions about you. You know – things such as when your birthday is or what your favourite colour is. Do you understand why I want that?”

He sighed, pinching his nose. “Yes, I understand. How irritating. But if it means that you won’t skitter away again then fine. Fine. I consent. No intimacy for a while. A short while. Until I learn that your favourite colour is pink.”

“It is not pink. Don’t be rude.”

“Mm. Sorry.” He was obviously not sorry, his head tilted back, his eyes rolled upwards, face a grimace of a man who decides to put up with a woman’s inane idea. An age-old expression, really.

“Can we start now?” He inhaled heavily through his nose at her words, making as though he loathed the idea of it, but Ginny had a feeling that he was more than pleased at her proximity, more than pleased that she was still resting against his chest, humming softly into his body, and perhaps even pleased at the thought of an evening of discussion, as inane as it might be. She trailed her fingers over his cheekbones. “Please?”

“Unfair.”

Her fingertips sailed over his mouth.

“Please?”

He looked at her.

“Fine.”

---


She was seated cross-legged on an ottoman, the remnants of a buttered dinner roll on a plate beside her, her fingers swirling mindlessly in a bowl of raspberries. Lucius was on the couch again, his dinner plate on the side table. He was looking down at her, down the sloping line of his nose, his eyes shelved by the harsh cut of his cheeks.

“Name?”

“Lucius Abraxas Malfoy.”

“Occupation?”

“Terrorist.” Ginny’s head sharply rose, and she gave him a withering glare.

“One – that is not funny because I lost a … we lost… people were lost.” He raised his eyebrows at her – not mockingly, but as if he were inviting her to continue. “We should probably never talk about the war.” She looked down, murmuring to herself, as if she were taking notes. “Never.” Looking back up, she glared. “And two – stupid humour doesn’t suit you. Current occupation?”

“Avoidance never leads to good things, Ginevra.”

“Quiet. Quiet, please. If I want to avoid the topic, I will avoid the topic. Current occupation?” He looked back at her and she sagged a little. “Come on – please. If we can’t get past knowing the basics, how are we going to ever make it farther? Please don’t make me fight you.”

Lucius stretched his arms over his head. “Philanthropist, financier, advisor.”

“Favourite colour?”

He sat up. “These are ridiculous questions. This isn’t a dating service.”

“Do you realize, then, Lucius, that I’ve fucked you and I don’t even know your favourite colour? That might not be disturbing to you but it’s a little odd for me. I don’t know your birthday –”

“December 28th” Ginny gaped. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Holy Innocents’ Day.” He nodded.

“Yes. Red.”

“What?”

“My favourite colour. Red.”

She laughed suddenly – a sharp bark. “No it isn’t.”

“Yes. It is.” His eyes rested on her hair and she was silenced. “It always has been, long before I knew it was associated with that fool house of yours in school.”

“You never wear any of it.”

“I don’t look quite right in red.”

Ginny found that hard to believe. “Red,” she repeated.

“Yes. Your precious colour of bravery –”

“Bravery – no. Red has never truly been the colour of bravery. It’s so much… it’s… Anger and passion? Yes. Fire and pain and blood and brimstone? Most certainly.” She laughed, high and clear, and clapped her hands once. “It makes perfect sense now.” Ginny smiled at him to assuage his irked look. Suddenly her face shifted, tectonic, and she sobered. “Green.”

“What?” Now it was his turn to ask her.

“My favourite colour is green.”

He sat silent for a moment and she was afraid that she had someone unknowingly offended him until he suddenly looked at her and smiled – bright, crooked and rusty, big and blinding, the corners of his eyes warmed and the thaw spread to his face and she just couldn’t sit up straight for a moment.

“Hope. Green is hope.”

Hope.


---


They had taken a break and come back to it and now Ginny held a glass of whisky, sitting against the arm of the couch with her legs extended, calves lying across his lap as he sat up straight, nursing a snifter of brandy. It was his turn to ask her.

“Composer?”

“Tchaikovsky. Mussorgsky. Holst.”

“That was an answer consisting of three composers.”

“I couldn’t choose.” He sighed at her but absentmindedly began to rub his thumb across her ankle.

“So impertinent. Biblical figure?”

“Absalom.”

“Place?”

“Delphi.”

“Book?”

“Can’t choose.”

“Try.”

“Paradise Lost.”

“That is not a book. That is an epic poem.”

“Arcadia.”

“A play. Stop being pert.”

“I can’t choose just one. The Theogony.”

“Another poem – alright, fine. Month?”

“November.”

He was running his hands up and down her legs now as far as he could reach without shifting his torso. Lucius looked at her. “The month of the dead.”

“The month of purgatory.” She willed away the tears. No time to think about death or the lot of it now. She had cried enough in front of him and there would be no more.

“One more.”

She struggled a little in sitting up. “Okay. Ask.”

“Crop or flail?” Ginny looked at him and smiled.

“Crop.”

He grabbed for her, pulling her to straddle him. “Good answer, sweet.” Ginny laughed breathlessly against his mouth and then kissed him hard, her fingers of her left hand grabbing at his chin, distorting and crumpling the flesh there, the pads of her fingertips leaving red marks on his white skin. She hummed against his mouth as he cupped the back of her head.

“No – no.” Her words were murmured and soft against his mouth. “No sex.”

Lucius kept his hand at the back of her head, layering damp kisses on her mouth, cross-hatching them on her lips. “This isn’t sex.” Ginny shook her head, trying to dislodge her mouth from his.

“It will lead to it. It will!”

“Mmm.” He unwound his arms from around her waist and she slipped off, standing, holding out her hands. Lucius looked at them and looked up at her.

“Bed.”

He stared.

“Are you sending me to bed, Ginevra? I’m not a six year old child.”

“Thank god for that.” She brandished her hands at him again and he was brought back to when he was standing in her foyer, shaking her errant books at her. “I’m exhausted. I’d like to sleep now.”

He eyed her. “Can we sleep in the same bed?”

“Do you promise to keep your hands to yourself?”

“Fine.”


---


She had to wear one of his soft cotton short-sleeved shirts to sleep in because she hadn’t thought to bring anything.

He walked naked out of the washroom and stopped at seeing her.

“What?”

“I like that.”

Ginny looked around. “What?”

“It looks good on you.” He nearly smiled at her and then frowned slightly, saying no more and instead climbing beneath the bedclothes.

“Oh.” Her word was a puff and all of a sudden she felt awkward.

“For Scylla’s sake, Ginevra” – she nearly laughed out loud at his outdated language – “get into bed and turn out the lights. I’m exhausted from the question-and-answer period.” His voice was muffled, as he was turned on his far side.

She extinguished the lights and slid into the bed beside him, turning onto the same side as he was lying on, staring at the stiff muscles of his back. Placing her palm between his shoulder blades, she pressed. He hissed.

“What are you doing?”

“Just touching.”

“Stop. Unless you want to rescind your bloody rule.” He remained turned away from her and she sighed, turning onto her back and falling asleep.

Lucius lay beside her and stared at the wall.


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