The Radiant

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“Oh my god.”

Ginny resisted the urge to raise her wrist to cover her eyes as the flash bulbs popped with a frightening vigour.

“What the fuck?”

She could hear the hissing of the bulbs in symphony with the hissing of the photographers and reporters stationed outside of the gate for the ministry event. The words were mumbled and slithered low and heatedly, and she knew it was because of the man next to her—

“Get a picture of that.”

—The man who was subtly tightening his arm around her waist as he led her through the crowd of press people, taking care not to appear as though the two of them were rushing through in order to avoid pictures being taken, but making sure that they didn’t spend an inordinate amount of time in the media spotlight, either.

“Miss Weasley! Miss Weasley!”

“Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!”

The cries of the reporters were almost too much, and Ginny had to fight to keep from clapping her palms over her ears.

“Are you two involved?”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Are you, Draco, and Lucius in a triad relationship?”

“Does Draco know?”

“How did your family react?”

“Are you living together?”

“Does Narcissa know?”

“The divorce just came through. Does Narcissa know?”

“What does Narcissa have to say?”

“What does Harry have to say?”

Ginny didn’t even allow herself to sway as she continued to walk, not smiling, not frowning, just willing her feet to move one in front of the other, steadily, strongly, guided by Lucius’ broad hand.

“Will you kiss for the cameras?”

As they reached the doorway, she threw one last look back over her shoulder, and it was this picture that graced the front page of the society section of the newspaper, the long and lean white line of her body curved into the dark column of his, his arm braced solidly around her slim waist, the insouciant and aquiline profile of her face as she turned back to give the reporters an unfathomable and discerning look. If the public studied the picture hard enough, they could see the soft tracing that Lucius’ thumb was doing over the satiny fabric of her gown, the way her hip touched his as she walked alongside him, the determined set of his jaw even from behind.

They were emblazoned in black and white and print from that night onwards.

“What does Narcissa say?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, and she wanted to shrink at the shattered, quiet quality of it.

“She doesn’t know—” Lucius was cut off as he pushed a reporter firmly to the side. “Brace yourself.”

She wasn’t sure if it was him who murmured that into her ear, or the young man at the coat check, or if it was an echo from the reporters outside, or maybe—maybe—it was her own heartbeat, chanting a sort of clairvoyant refrain into the tunnels of her own ears.

She braced.

It was both worse and better than they had thought.


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Ginny leaned against the bar, balancing herself on her forearms while subtly rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She had shooed Lucius off to chat with the diplomat that had been panting to talk with him privately all night, and after a swift, covert glance, Lucius had kissed her cheek and left her at the bar—which is where she was now. The corner of the room was quieter than the rest of the revelry, and she rubbed at her wrists and forearms as she waited for the bartender to bring her whisky over.

The night had been exhausting. Thankfully, none of her family had been in attendance—she had suspected as much, what with the combination of the recent bombshell she had dropped on them and the effort of getting the many nieces and nephews into tiny, frustrating Halloween outfits. Many others, however, had been in attendance. Ginny had found herself trying to explain her relationship to Kingsley, to previous professors, to prior schoolmates, all with Lucius’ arm around her waist. Eventually she just blurred out, using the same script for every encounter, trying to impart onto old acquaintances and complete strangers the gravity and meaning behind her pairing with Lucius. It was exhausting, and Ginny had eventually loosened her arm from his. She figured that if the two of them spread out and explained themselves to people at the same time, they would cover more ground—faster—

She laughed softly at that thought, turning slowly and surveying the room. It really was a beautiful night—no true, close friends of hers present, but many old, warm allies and past mates. Everyone was so meticulously dressed, so lovely, and there hadn’t been as much vitriol as she had expected. Yes, the main amount of vitriol had come from her family, and from Draco. Maybe she should have expected that.

But a flash of light blue caught her eye, and Ginny realised that Hermione Granger was making her way across the floor toward her. She hadn’t noticed Hermione in the mass of people. In fact, Ginny had expected her to be with Ron tonight, instead of out at something that she was sure the older girl would have considered frivolous.

Ginny looked up and properly met Hermione’s eyes as she came to a slow in front of her.

Hermione stared back at her with such a look that Ginny’s mouth nearly faltered in its pace.

“Hello, Hermione. This is the first chance I’ve gotten to catch up with you all evening.” Even as she said the words, Ginny knew that they were useless. Hermione had such an expression on her face that she knew that they would not be making small talk—would not be discussing Harry, or the weather, or the dresses at the ball.

“Lucius Malfoy? Really, Ginny?” From a mother, the question could have sounded cartoonish and laughable, but from Hermione it sounded hurt and low and wounded and angry, all such complex things rolled into four solid and plain words.

“Yes—” Ginny tried to answer but Hermione wasn’t finished.

“Does he talk to you about his time in Azkaban?” Her voice had hit an intense, low range, and Ginny had to blink in order to keep from dodging backwards, trying to dart between the sharp edges of the words. The absolute heat between them was almost frightening her. The evening had been wearing on her so much that she nearly didn’t have the edge to fight back—nearly. Hermione continued. “Do the two of you sit and chat about that? Have you broached the topic of that diary that he gave you? Maybe the pair of you relax in his drawing room—do you remember that room?—and talk about that.” Hermione drew in a breath as if to talk again but Ginny shook her head.

It was in her nature to fight, and usually she would have tongue-lashed Hermione for daring to be so amazingly rude to her, but she understood where the other girl was coming from—Ginny had seen the destruction she had caused to her own family from telling them about Lucius, and Hermione would be feeling the ripples of that from Ron, as fiercely loyal as she was to him. And Ginny didn’t want to fight anymore—the night had wrung her so severely that she just wanted to sit down, or maybe to sleep, or maybe just to lean against Lucius and lull herself with his body heat.

He was watching her from across the room. Ginny could see the blond hair from the corner of her eye. Lucius was leaning against a wall, somehow having now escaped from every single person who had wanted to talk to him. He was holding a lowball of something—something that Ginny rather wished she was drinking right now, because it was bound to be strong and fortifying—and was absentmindedly fingering the cut crystal along the sides of the glass, surveying herself and Hermione. Ginny could sense that he was coiled, ready to move as fast as he could if the altercation became nasty or physical. She shook her head slightly at him, watching as he melted back a little more into the shadow, the resulting shift in light meaning that his chin and jaw were illuminated. She watched as he darted a tongue along his lower lip.

“Hermione.”

Ginny spoke the word while still looking over her friend’s shoulder, but slid her eyes back to Hermione’s face quickly.

“What?”

The word was snapped out, but Ginny realised that the fact that Hermione was acknowledging her was a good sign, and she continued on, nearly weary but needing to express herself.

“He makes me very happy.”

“What?”

This time the word was flatter, and Ginny noticed that Hermione’s face had gone a little slack, her eyes still having that brightness to them that had been there when the two had started speaking, and which Ginny had originally marked as the result of alcohol but was now re-evaluating as perhaps some form of intense emotion—perhaps tears.

“He makes me very happy.” Ginny spoke softly, not wanting to fracture the tenuous détente they had established. She avoided the use of Lucius’ name, instead continuing on in her low, soft tone, speaking almost as though crooning to a baby or to an animal. “I wouldn’t have risked what I did—my family, my friends, Hermione—if I hadn’t been happy with him. You have to know that.” Hermione blinked, and made as though to draw in another breath, but stopped midway through and instead exhaled, making an odd choking sound. Ginny tilted her head and watched the other woman before finishing up her thoughts. “I don’t know if my family will ever forgive me. I can’t be anything but honest in this situation, and it’s very scary, and I take full responsibility for it. But just know that—that—what you have with my brother—Ron—when he makes you happy, when he makes you sigh—that’s what I have.” Ginny made as if to touch Hermione on the arm, but dropped her own hand halfway between their bodies and instead inclined her head in a sort of salaam before walking away.

She didn’t look behind her.

Ginny could sense Lucius pushing off of the wall where he had been standing, beginning to follow behind her, and so she veered out onto the terrace, allowing herself a moment to breathe, bracing her hands on the stone railing and hanging her head down, forward, relaxing her neck.

It was a beautiful night. The warming charms from the main building extended out onto the terrace, but were tenuous, and therefore the air was a mix of warm and chill, refreshing and comforting. The moon was heavy and pendant, that bloody, candied orange colour that befits the harvest moon, and the glow was casting enough light that Ginny could see beyond the balustrade, right into the labyrinthine green of the gardens, tinted an odd reddish colour by the night and the stars and the cast-off light from the house.

She felt the resonating rumble of his voice almost before she heard it. He was behind her, his mouth on the back of her bent neck, his large hands closing over hers on the balustrade. Ginny rolled her head slightly to one side, allowing him a more unfettered access to her skin. She felt him breathing, solidly and evenly, and was calmed for a moment.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, liking the feeling of his lips tracking across her neck skin as she moved. “Yes. I just feel tired, mainly. Very tired. It’s been a draining evening. I’d rather be in bed with you right now.” He shifted against her body. “In bed—sleeping.” Ginny smiled into the darkness of the garden as she felt him laugh, tightening his hands over her own in an action of commiseration.

“I would like the same.”

“Why haven’t you told Narcissa?” The question spilt out of her lips and she couldn’t string the words back together.

Lucius exhaled.

“Are you—is it because I’m just a—why?” She kept talking, looking forward, glad that she wasn’t able to see his face.

The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable. She sensed that Lucius was picking his words perfectly, making sure that his ideas fit together just right. When he spoke, she didn’t draw away.

“I didn’t tell her because I just don’t care about her. I realise, how, to you, that would seem as though I was keeping you apart from a major portion of my life. It’s not that. It’s not that I’m keeping the idea of you away from her because I think you are some fling. I’m keeping your idea away from her because we are simply not married anymore. And she is not a part of my life anymore. Draco is an adult. There is no need for Narcissa and myself to discuss things about his life as we would have if he had been a child during the separation.” Lucius rested his chin on her head, inhaling. “That’s why I haven’t told her. She’s not pertinent enough to know. Is that fair?”

Ginny nodded, feeling his chin knob into the top of her head as she moved. “Yes. Very.” And they lapsed into a warm quiet, Lucius absentmindedly moving his thumbs back and forth across the tops of her hands.

They would have stayed like that, linked into each other like jigsaw pieces, warming each other and watching the Halloween moon hang orange and fat in the sky, if it hadn’t been for the gulping intake of breath that they heard behind them.

Lucius moved off of Ginny quickly, coming to stand beside her with an arm solidly around her waist, and Ginny turned to face the person who had made the noise—

“Harry?”

And it was – it was Harry, standing farther back on the veranda, looking as though he had just been coming out, sidling away from the party—he looked frozen, one foot a little farther ahead than the other as if he had been walking and had been struck motionless by what he had seen.

And the sound he had made—it had been almost choked, almost a sound of wonder, surprise, absolute shock.

Lucius’ arm tightened around her waist, his fingers digging almost painfully into the skin, and Ginny realised that this was one of the last people that Lucius wanted to confront tonight, because despite the bravado and the vitriol that he showed towards Harry Potter, Lucius was so exquisitely aware that it had been Harry who had put him back in his place again and again, Harry who had beaten his only son at everything that Draco had tried, Harry who had nearly condemned the Malfoy family, Harry the person that his wife had saved from the Dark Lord, Harry—the man who had been with her before himself, been inside her before himself, been Ginny’s love before himself, Harry, his antithesis, Harry, Harry, Harry.

Ginny slid a hand up to cover the hand that Lucius had at her waist, glancing at him sideways, seeing the drained and pure white of his face, no colour against his cheekbones, the grim and grinding set of his jaw.

“Say something. Say something,” she whispered to him and Lucius swallowed, his eyes narrowing.

“Potter.”

Harry’s eyes widened when Lucius spoke his surname, but he still didn’t move from where he was immobile, a mere few feet away from them.

“Harry?” Ginny spoke softly, unsure of what exactly was flashing in Harry’s eyes—she could still read him, even after all of the turbulence they had been through, and even through the lenses of his glasses, even from farther away, she saw something deep and unreadable flash in the green of his eyes. When he heard his name, Harry tilted his head to one side—subtly, very slowly, and seemed to focus more intently on the two of them. Lucius spread his fingers across Ginny’s ribcage just incrementally wider.

“Sorry.” Harry spoke slowly, shaking his head slightly as if emerging from some thick, sticky fog. “Sorry.”

Ginny cocked her head, too, speaking still softly. “For what?”

“For intruding—I suppose.”

Lucius shifted next to her and spoke. “What?”

“I—” Harry started and then took a step backward. “I—watched the two of you. Just now. Leaning against the railing.” Ginny took a deep breath and Lucius subtly ran his thumb over her dress, making her lean into him. “And you looked—you looked—good.” Harry looked as though he were going to gag or sob or maybe even faint, choking on the last word of his speech and then swilling down the rest of the drink in his glass, placing the crystal ware on the ground.

Lucius said nothing. Ginny’s mouth parted slightly.

“No-one is going to accept this relationship. You must realise that.” Harry kept speaking but was looking up, not quite meeting either of their eyes. “It’s going to be a real fight. But—” here he looked back at Ginny, smiling slightly, and Lucius wanted to snap his teeth at him but restrained himself “—but you’ve always fought, Gin. Ha. That sounds so cliché. God, the two of you are an odd pair. But when I saw you leaning on the railing—touching—each other, I thought that maybe—maybe—you worked.”

“Oh, Harry—” Ginny started to speak to him, and still Lucius remained silent, but Harry shook his head.

“Ron would absolutely kill me if he knew I had said that. Most of your family would, I reckon. I should go, anyways.” He looked helpless for a minute, his eyes tracking from Lucius’ face to Ginny’s, and eventually he gave up, nodding his head and walking away before either of them could properly acknowledge what he had just said.

Ginny and Lucius stood for a moment.

“Ironic that our one supporter thus far would be Mr. Potter,” Lucius drawled into her ear.

“Ironic…”

“Are you all right?” He asked the question again, suddenly very serious, and Ginny realised that she must have suddenly just been overwhelmed, looked ashen, crumpled in on herself. She shook her head. “Do you want to leave?” She nodded, suddenly reduced to childlike motions, an inability to speak for herself, a massive tiredness. He inclined his head. “I can go get our cloaks—you can stay here if you wish.”

Ginny nodded again, thinking that while she really didn’t want to be alone, at least the fresh air would keep her from swooning like some maudlin schoolgirl.

While Lucius retrieved their outerwear, she leaned back heavily against the balustrade, feeing the cool rasp of the stone on her forearms. Ginny watched the gleaming people inside the ballroom, tracking the movements of Hermione, Harry, Kingsley with her eyes, watching as people laughed and drank and danced and carried on blithely, unaware of the slight woman looking on from the terrace. Couples periodically glided outside, sparing her a quick glance before walking into the gardens, laughing, and all of a sudden Ginny felt leaden, turning her body to watch the groups of young people walk through the greenery, feeling unsure if she could ever had such blitheness in public with her own partner—

“Here.”

Lucius was behind her, helping her arms into her cloak, already dressed in his.

“I said our main goodbyes already. We just have to walk to the travelling point.” He reached out to link his arm with hers, but she grabbed at his hand instead, lacing her fingers through his and holding them loosely and warmly. He watched as she brought their two sewn-together hands to her lips and kissed them, closing her eyes as a cat might. “Come on, sweetling.” It was so rare of him to use endearments like that, and Ginny huddled into his warmth, partially sliding under his robe, as they began to walk through the gardens to get to the exit.

As they walked, Lucius looked down at her.

“Will you move in with me?”

Ginny was silent for a minute and felt him harden and stiffen beside her, preparing himself for another negative response. She knew that it was difficult for his pride—how many times he had asked her to live in the Manor, and how many times she had refused him—Ginny rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.

“Yes.”

Lucius said nothing but held her hand tighter, and when Ginny looked up at his face, she saw a type of brightness around his eyes that she hadn’t seen before—not tears, but something else, some sort of radiance that—she suspected—Lucius hadn’t displayed in many years.

“I’ll start moving my things tomorrow,” she murmured into his ear, and he turned quickly, kissing her hard on the mouth.


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Gr - I understand that the link for the dress may not have worked properly in my last chapter. Here is another link (it's only the sketch, but it'll do)(remove the spaces between the characters in order to copy and paste):

http://media.onsugar.com/files/ons1/166/1668379/09_2009/Picture_24.png