The Radiant

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The trip back was uneventful. Ginny had returned to her flat to keep up her correspondence and to water the plants, throw out the rotting fruit from her windowsills, send in journal articles that she had been working on prior to the trip. The newspaper seemed pleased enough with having her work from home. There had been a few letters from her mother – replied to with due diligence and enough vagueness to keep suspicions at bay – a few letters from Hermione and Harry – replies scribbled back on scraps of paper, begging off from invitations to dinner and lunch because of work – and various newspapers left at her doorstep.

Malfoy Heir Back In Country.

She shoved the papers aside with a foot, telling herself to remember to burn them later. She couldn’t think of him now. Instead, she packed an overnight bag.

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“You’re back faster than I had anticipated.”

Lucius, sitting in one of the wingback chairs in his library, now had a lap full of lithe young woman, Ginny being looped loosely around his body, kissing softly at the corners of his mouth – which, she noticed, were slightly upturned.

“Do you mind if I stay?”

“I would have you move in if you would do it.”

She shook her head.

“I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” He palmed her back, her buttocks, kissing her back once. “I have to go off to a meeting for a short while. I’m not sure when I will be back. The bed is turned down.” He seemed tired, but Ginny thought that it was maybe just the stress of traveling. Or maybe he had seen the headlines as she had seen them. Had Draco contacted him? She left Lucius lift her and deposit her back in the chair, watching the broad back of him stride off, out the door, and then the Manor was quiet.


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Ginny was still in the library, trying to organize a pile of books that Lucius seemed to have left on the floor next to his desk. She picked up a tome on the ancient histories of the oldest Pureblood families, sighed lightly, tried not to be impressed by the beauty of the book or the intricacies of the words inside.

Honour. It really was all about honour and tradition, about respecting the family and maintaining the blood ties. So what, then, would happen about Draco? She was scared about that – scared about what would happen when it all came out, scared of the devil within Draco and the greater devil within Lucius, and what would occur when both of these devils released themselves in anger and in honour-fueled rage.

She hadn’t heard the library door open.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were seeing my father?”

The voice made her freeze, her blood roiling and rollicking inside of her, her heart pumping a startling throb. Ginny stood straight and stayed facing away from where the voice was coming from –

“My father, Ginevra.”

And he had never called her that before, never really used the formal version of her name. He had always referred to her using pet names and nicknames, shortened, loving versions of the formal name she had been given.

Draco was leaning against the doorjamb, and she could see even from the distance the way his jaw was clenched so tightly she was afraid his teeth would shatter from the pressure of it.

“My father. My father.” He was repeating himself and then his arms dropped down from where they were crossed and he looked so defeated and so childlike that Ginny felt a swell of compassion and sadness boil up in her.

“Draco – I never… not during us, never. That’s not why I dated you and I never did it during… didn’t think – god, I thought of you, I always thought of you –” she was babbling but she didn’t care.

Draco’s jaw ticked and his eyes looked glassy as he moved off from the doorway and walked closer to her.

“Gin –” and the word was so full of anguish, such high-pitched grief that Ginny couldn’t help it – she reached for him and pulled him to her and he fell to his knees, taking her with him, and she ran her fingers through his hair. “Fuck you. Fuck you.” His words were whispered and vitriolic but still she held his head, pressing into him. He pushed up, raising his head, and he grabbed at her upper arms, shaking her hard. “Fuck you!” The words were screamed into her face and still she didn’t flinch.

“Draco. You’re hurting me.” He held on still and squeezed harder yet and Ginny knew that there would be bruises, and then all of a sudden he let go, exhaling hard. “Draco –”

“No.” The word was green and black with hate and anger. “No. You and my father. My father!” The last word was yelled at her and Draco scrambled to his feet, backing away from her.

That was when Lucius returned.

When the door of the library opened, Ginny closed her eyes for a moment in fright and in acceptance of what was to come. Draco stiffened, his spine incredibly straight, and didn’t turn around to see who was at the door, instead remaining facing her. His expression was furious and his face pale.

She couldn’t see Lucius as Draco was standing directly in front of the door, eclipsing him.

“Draco.” And this time the name was not from her but was from Lucius, the low syllables rolled into the battlezone. Ginny watched as Draco’s eyes, too, slipped shut for a moment and she wasn’t sure if he was struggling to keep from running to his father, or to keep from crying, or to keep from screaming at him as he had screamed at her.

Draco finally turned and Ginny could no longer see his expressions.

“Father.” The epithet was spat out like shrapnel.

The two of them stood, silent and still, just a few feet away from each other. The moments were thick and hot and Ginny watched the two of them, unsure of what was to happen, unsure –

Suddenly Draco moved, fast as a whip-stroke, and Ginny watched as his fist connected with Lucius’ nose, Lucius standing unmoving and almost expectant, and then the blood came, red and spattered and flung across Draco’s knuckles and smeared down Lucius’ face, and Ginny still didn’t move. Draco stood in front of his father, panting slightly, staring, staring, and Lucius stood stock still, the blood streaking down his lips and chin, staining his shirt and the tips of his hair, and then Draco turned. The look that he gave Ginny was so anguished and so heated that she started to cry silently, and when he finally strode out of the room in silence, leaving the both of them immobile, only then could Ginny let out a gasping, long sob.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, fallen back on the ground the moment the door closed, but she felt exhausted and listless. When she finally turned her head to look, she saw that Lucius had not moved either except to lean against the wall, his body sagging. His nose was still oozing slowly, and the red was exceptional.

“Oh, Lucius.” The urge to help him overrode her own self-pity, and she pushed to her feet, staggering over to him and pulled him toward the couch. He did not speak but allowed her to lead him. When she sat him down, Ginny grabbed his handkerchief and pressed it to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and tilting his head, coaxing him to take over the task of holding his own nose.

“I’ll clean you up a bit.” When she came back from the bathroom with a moist towel, he was still bent over on the couch, holding his face. “Sit up, please.” She hoped that her forced cheerfulness would not expose her raw insides.

Lucius lifted his face up to hers and for the first time she met his eyes. They were full. If he blinked, it was possible that tears would fall. Ginny dropped the towel in shock. She knew he was not crying about the pain. She placed her hands on both sides of his face and moved in to kiss him, nudging his own hand out of the way. She didn’t care that his blood was smearing now onto her own face. She could taste it as she kissed him hard, trying to impart onto him strength and affection and power.

When she pulled back, she grabbed at the towel that had fallen to the floor.

“Please.” He closed his eyes and moved his face, acquiescing, and Ginny gently cleaned all of the blood off, removing the ruined shirt, scrubbing at the ends of his hair. She wiped at her own face, too, removing his red from her skin.

“Ginevra.”

“Lucius. Lucius.” She ran her hands through his hair, pressing across his scalp.

“Oh, god.” Lucius’ voice was strained and nearly broke in the middle, and Ginny bit her lip and made as if to move away, but he reached out, eyes still closed, and pulled her onto him, cradling her body against his bare chest, her head tucked under his chin.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered the words into his chest and he gripped at her harder.

“Don’t be.”


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She had ran them a bath, helping Lucius into it, concerned about the way he was leadenly moving, face dulled and devoid of major emotion. Ginny situated herself behind him, leaning him forward, kneading at his back softly, combing his hair with her fingers, sliding her hands up and down his shoulders. She tried to be as physically close to him as possible, pressing her slicked skin up against him as often as she could, trying to warm him.

Lucius sighed softly in front of her as she resumed the rubbing of his back.

“That feels good.”

“Good.”

They didn’t really need to talk, and Ginny layered her mouth across the skin she was touching, feeling the warm wet of the bathwater against her mouth. The water around them was so hot that both of their skin was turning blushed and pink, and the heat was helping Lucius’ muscles loosen under her hands.

He leaned back against her, sliding farther down in the tub so that the back of his head rested against her bare breasts. He still said nothing, breathing quietly, and Ginny resisted the urge to crane her head to try and see his face. She didn’t want to know if he had tears in his eyes. She didn’t want that image to conflict with the powerful, beautiful image she had of him.

“Try to sleep.” She murmured the words into his ear, and he shifted in acquiescence, settling against her.


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