Tapping

Ron pretended to read the newspaper on the train, but he couldn’t focus on it. It would be good for Draco to go out to dinner. He was much better when he went out at night. Ron reserved his opinions about that.

He could remember a time when the head-shrinkers had Draco so doped up he couldn’t even walk a straight line, in an effort to ‘ease his neurosis.’ It had taken him months of legal arguments and fierce disputes in the chambers of the Wizengamot to get them off of Draco. In a Muggle court, a pardoned man would be immediately set free; in the complex system wizards dealt with, someone could be assigned to the psych boys at St. Mungo’s for ‘reintroduction.’ Finally Ron had threatened to resign from the Ministry and they quickly caved.

Even now he couldn’t understand why the threat had shaken the Ministry so much. His job was an endless parade of meetings. That day he had four. When he’d signed on as Secretary of Muggle Affairs, he thought he would be doing some real work. I used to think my father had such a fantastically cool job, Ron thought. Whatever happened to that? He mostly signed documents and listened to consultants’ reports. A stack of papers greeted him when he finally got back to his office. Ron balled up the latest meeting agenda and threw it at the far corner of his office. The waste bin leaned slightly to one side to catch the flying refuse. He had jokingly suggested that the spell might be used as a kind of updated Barnton trick, but few had laughed. The Muggle Affairs folks were notoriously dour.

His intercom buzzed and he pushed a button.

“Mister Weasley, your sister is here.”

“Send her in,” he said.

Ginny grinned at him from the doorway, and despite the remaining stack of papers he smiled back.

“I’m almost done,” he told her, re-inking his quill.


“Draco might come with us,” he told her, as they rode the elevator to the lobby.

“How is he?” Ginny asked.

“We went out for coffee this morning,” Ron said. “He did okay.”

“Don’t let him push himself,” she said. He nodded. They stood quietly for a moment.

“I had an owl from Mum this morning,” Ginny said.

“Is Barrett still sleeping upside-down?” he asked. This newest in the long line of quirky Weasley owls seemed to think he was a bat.

“Apparently.”

Ron let her chatter at him on the train, and as they walked up to the apartment door. He rattled the keys in the lock to give Draco a moment’s warning.

“Draco?”

“In the bedroom.”

He left Ginny in the living room. “Are you coming with us?” he asked, taking off his shirt. Draco gave him a quick kiss.

“I think a little evening air will be good for me,” Draco said. Ron patted him lightly on the ass and slipped back into the living room.

“He’s getting dressed,” he explained. Ginny nodded.

Colin met them in a quiet little place and they sat in a back corner. Draco mostly listened to their conversation, only chiming in when prompted.

“Oh, Hermione dropped by my office yesterday,” Ginny said. “She was in the building for something, I don’t remember what.”

“How is she? I haven’t spoken to her in weeks.” Ron asked. He glanced sidelong at Draco, who had begun to look a little green.

“She’s just fine,” Ginny reassured him, taking a sip from her water glass. “She wanted your Muggle post address, said she’d lost it and didn’t want to disrupt the neighborhood sending an owl in.”

“She could owl me at the office,” he suggested.

“Said she wanted to send you invitations. She’s throwing a little get-together at her house.”

Ron felt Draco’s hand tighten around his almost painfully.

“She was a little worried about finding a sitter for Kevin, but I told her at his age he should be fine. At least until it gets later, and then she can just put him to bed.” Ginny seemed unaware that Draco was breathing faster.

“How old is he now?” Colin asked.

Ron felt momentarily guilty; he didn’t know. Then again, he had eight nieces and nephews to keep straight, and he hadn’t seen Hermione’s son in at least two years.

“Kevin’s five,” Draco said softly.

Both Ron and Ginny looked at him. There was a long silence, and Draco smiled tightly.

“Are you feeling alright, Malfoy?” Colin asked.

“I need to go home,” he murmured. “I have a headache.” Ron nodded and got out of the booth, and Draco stood. “I’m very sorry, Creevey, Ginny, but I’m just not feeling myself. Perhaps it would be best if I left you and Ron to finish your meal.”

Ron watched his back as he moved toward the door. People stood aside to let the man with the cane pass. Crowds had always parted for Draco, even before he’d gone blind.

“You had to bring up Ginny and Kevin, didn’t you,” Ron murmured, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “He’s been doing so well.”

“What did I say?”

Ron waited for the waiter to clear the plates before he answered.

“I’m not sure if I should tell you this,” he said finally.

“Why?”

Ron sighed. She was his sister, after all. She should know.

“You remember that not all of the Death Eaters’ crimes were public knowledge.”

“Of course. Some were sealed to protect the victims’ privacy.”

“Several of the crimes Draco was convicted of and then pardoned for were sealed. The torture of Owen Cauldwell, for example.” Owen’s records had been opened a month earlier, after his death. Ron remembered the day the Prophet printed those records, if only because he had come home from work to find Draco sitting disconsolately in the bathtub, waist-deep in icy water. He had heard the reports on the radio. After that, he stopped listening to the wizarding news.

“What does that have to do with Hermione?” Colin asked. Ron sighed.

“There’s no sense dancing around it,” he said. He rubbed his eyes until he saw stars. “Draco is Kevin’s father.”

Ginny and Colin said nothing; their eyebrows gave their response.

“What, you never wondered where Hermione’s money came from?” Ron asked. “That nice house?”

“She got a lucrative book deal,” Colin said.

“After the money Draco gave her allowed her to quit that dead-end job at the Ministry and start writing. That trust fund was the first thing Draco took care of when they released him into my custody.”