The Radiant

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Ginny slid from the bed. Draco was asleep beside her, sprawled spider-like on his stomach, his arms reaching towards her even while he slept. She smiled and flexed her spine back and upwards as she stretched and then walked towards the bathroom. It was still murky outside – not quite the witching hours but not quite yet dawn. She hadn’t slept – at all. They had ended up fucking furiously throughout the entire night – not a rarity for them anyways, but not something that had occurred recently. Draco hadn’t thought to look a gift horse in the mouth and ask her why she had been initiating sex. Ginny wasn’t quite sure herself.

As she began to turn the knob for the bathroom, a tap made her head jerk up.

What –

She turned.

The grey owl was at the window.

Fuck.

Ginny recognized it immediately.

Lucius Malfoy’s fucking owl.

She sprinted over to the window before she could stop herself – not hesitating, not wondering why she was unlatching the window and lunging for the bird, grabbing the package that hung from its talons before absentmindedly ruffling its head feathers and latching the window behind it, watching it take off, a waved line in the dark purple sky until nothing.

The whole maneuver had taken under ten seconds.

She panted a little, placing a hand to the skin between her breasts, feeling under the palm the cudgeling of her heart, mellifluous. Looked down –

What the hell did she have in her hand?

She looked back up at Draco. He was nearly face down in the pillow, and his back was rising and falling in that sweet, heavy scoop of people deep in their sleep. He was not waking up any time soon. Ginny turned around once more to look out of the window, screwing her eyes up to try and see Xerxes, but the owl had long gone, and all she could see now were aubergine shreds of clouds melting into the dim sky.

Was Lucius still up?

She padded over the bathroom once more, this time slipping inside and latching the door behind her. Sitting naked, on the edge of the bathtub, she used the newfound light to examine what she held. It was rectangular, wrapped in a black leather square, bound by a ribbon with the Malfoy family crest on it. It had heft. In fact, it felt like –

It felt like –

A notebook.

Ginny made a clicking sound in the back of her throat, tore the leather wrap off of the package, threw the crest across the bathroom, not caring if it made a dulled clinking sound in the corner of her shower and then it fell out into her hand, cool and heavy and it was, it was a fucking notebook and she threw her head back and laughed, or maybe sobbed – the sound was too terrible and too magnificent to categorize.

That son of a bitch.

That bastard.

That fucking son of a bitch.

She didn’t even bother to look at it as she opened her counter drawer and yanked out all of the hair products and the brushes and combs and containers of blush and old tubes of lipstick and she hurled them all on the floor, not caring if she waked Draco, not caring if he heard and she shoved the blasted book back in there and then kicked the drawer shut, watching it bang once and then close all the way.

A note had fallen out on the floor.


Miss Weasley –

I do believe I owe you a notebook.



Ginny hissed, grabbing the matches that she kept on the bathroom counter – used for candles, for sweet bubble baths – and watched as the note burned in front of her eyes, that hard, slanted male writing curling and writhing, looking pitiful, until there was nothing but a tiny dusting of grey ash left.

She stood.

Walking out of the bathroom, she leaned against the doorframe for a second, her hand braced above her head, as she watched Draco. He had turned in his sleep – perhaps reacting to her sounds from the bathroom, perhaps not – and was facing her, one arm flopped over the side of the bed, the fingers dangling sweetly.

She extinguished the light behind her and walked around the bed, crawling in beside him – but not fitting herself to his back. Rather, she lay facing away from him, looking at the drawn window, trying to understand what had just happened, her eyes darting and her fingers curled as she thought, thought, thought –

Ginny placed the heels of her hands over her eyes and then she started to laugh.

In the morning, Draco would ask why the bathroom floor was so cluttered. He wouldn’t notice the stray ashes that were clinging to the tiled floor.

---

“No!”

Draco nearly stumbled over the ottoman as she shouted her decision at him.

“What do you mean ‘no’, Gin?”

Ginny ran her hands over her face again and again.

“I mean no – I don’t want to go to that Ministry ball.”

Draco scowled.

“Well, my father is essentially obligated to go – he can’t turn down another invitation. And we’ve been invited as his guests.”

“I don’t care!”

Ginny ripped off the pants she had been wearing and threw them, point blank range, into the hamper as she got undressed for bed.

He moved across the room before she could even take another breath to rant afresh – he was so like his father in that way.

Draco grabbed her wrists.

“Ginny! Be reasonable.”

His fingers loosened.

“My father…”

She looked up at his face from where she had been staring at their hands.

“My father – my father is nearly reviled in some circles. He absolutely deserves it, and he doesn’t mind it, but I hate it. He warrants better treatment than that – ” Here Ginny started to draw breath to speak but Draco noticed and spoke faster to cover her voice up – “- Somewhat better treatment than that. I just – I just want him to start to reintegrate into the public again. This ball would be just right for that.”

He let go of her wrists.

You fool – you fool! Grab me harder, hold me longer –

Ginny sighed.

“You are guilting me into feeling pity for Lucius fucking Malfoy.”

Even as she said it, she had a small smile stitched to her lips.

Draco kissed her briefly.

“Pick a damn dress.”

She widened her eyes. He finished:

“ – Please.”

---

Damn this bloody, bloody thing.

He hated wearing such tight, embroidered waistcoats as this.

Damn this bloody, bloody ball. Celebrating the first word of the Minister of Magic’s child or some tripe like that.

Who the hell was he going to dance with tonight?

Damn and damn.

Lucius pushed through the throng of women. Despite being that social pariah, he found that women were still easily attracted to him – while perhaps no longer a candidate for marriage, he was certainly a candidate for a good fuck, it seemed. The fact that he refused to be seen very often in public and that he chose not to go out so often made him somewhat more attractive. He was a curiosity – something to be collected.

He sighed.

“Pardon me, ladies.”

As he slid through the group of them, he could hear the muffled tittering and whispers.

Lucius

Remember me?

Lucius

Remember how the room around the corner from here is always unlocked?

Lucius
Lucius

Their voices trailed off into hisses as he walked away.

She was leaning against a pillar, her upper back touching the marble behind her, her body creating a 45-degree angle with the floor. Her hips were jutted out, her arms partially crossed. She looked every bit the petulant child, standing aside while the adults enjoyed themselves. Well, he noted, perhaps not a child. She was, after all, holding a wine glass, and the way she crossed her arms made her breasts lift to an exquisite level, pushed out as though shelved.

“Miss Weasley. Are you enjoying your grand evening out?”

“Bugger off.”

The words came out of her mouth without thinking.

Lucius’ eyebrows shot up and Ginny cringed. She had been lost in her thoughts and wanted to be deep in her cups, but that familiar voice had interrupted her and she had reacted without a second damn breath.

Ginny looked at him, half hidden behind her wine glass.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so sick of this damned thing. Draco’s associates and friends are, quite frankly, absolutely disgusting. And there are far too many old, lecherous men around. I can’t even get a bloody glass of wine without someone lunging for my bum.”

She looked at his face and nearly laughed at the almost-expression.

“Sorry. You’re not a lecherous old man. At least … you aren’t acting like one tonight.”

Lucius smiled.

“Yes, not tonight. Lechery and watch fobs are never a good match, I find. Has my hooligan of a son abandoned you?” Lucius looked down at her as she swilled from her glass and looked around the room. She looked utterly bored and it was delicious. Ginny had squeezed those lithe curves into a gold dress tonight – cut tight and low in the front, boned along the sides like a corset to her hips and then slinking down, down, nearly obscuring her feet. Lucius could see the outlines of her pelvic bones – of the muscles of her thighs and the ridges of her breasts, riding high above the sweet cupping of the material of the dress. If he just reached out and tugged –

“Yes. I don’t know who he’s talking to now. I don’t care really. I’d rather this be over. My feet are hurting.” She reached down to lift the hem of her dress carelessly and Lucius saw the shoes – the spike heels, the pale arch of her foot, the strong bones of her ankles. “Bloody things. Bloody dress.” She tugged at the bodice, trying to pull it to cover more of her breasts.

“Stop that.” His voice was clear and strong.

She stopped.

“What?”

“You look ravishing. Quit fooling about with the material. You’ll worry it and then it will be wrinkled.” Lucius looked at her from the corners of his eyes as he stood beside her, surveying the dance floor.

“Sorry, father.”

Ginny said it to be purely impertinent. It was a directed jab at his age and she had thought that it would be insulting more than anything.

Instead, she saw him swallow, the side crux of his lips curling up in a sort of smile. Ginny thought that maybe she could the increase of his pulse, cloistered as it was between the muscled cords of his neck. Lucius shift slightly on his feet and –

“That turned you on!” She was blunt – no use tiptoeing around it. Her voice was accusatory but not vehement and Lucius laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

As he laughed he turned to face her.

“Miss Weasley – ”

“You are a lecherous old man.”

“You shouldn’t be rude to your elders. Or your betters.” Ginny started to sputter but he slid the glass from her hand. “Don’t be pert. Come dance with me. At least I can hope to entertain you while my son gallivants about.”

He had a firm grip on her hand and Ginny followed him mutely to the floor. Righting her, he pulled her close to his body and instead of creating the dance frame by putting his hand near her shoulder blade, he slid his palm down her back until it settled just above her buttocks. Ginny narrowed her eyes.

“That is hardly appropriate.”

He took her hand and placed it on his shoulder.

“Shut up, Miss Weasley.”

She jerked in surprise, her eyes rounded, and he could see her tongue curling behind her top teeth, ready for a retort.

He twisted the fingers of their remaining two hands together and began a foxtrot.

She silenced. Ginny let him lead her for a few peaceful moments, concentrating on the fantastic warmth of his palm. His smallest finger was almost touching the top curve of her buttock.

She spoke, breaking the fragile, wispy détente.

“Thank you – by the way – for the new notebook. It’s delightful.” Her voice was so vehement it shocked even her.

Lucius tightened his hold on her waist as if he thought she would try to run.

“I did owe you a new one. Have you used it yet?”

“As kindling.”

“That’s no way to treat a gift from a kind stranger.”

“From a cruel figure from my past.” Her reply was so quick it nearly knocked the breath out of him. Lucius pulled her just a little closer, and she stiffened, as if trying to stop him, but then the tops of his thighs were brushing her hips and she yielded, if only for the moment, shocked by the feeling of skin near skin.

“I am cruel …” He sounded thoughtful. “I am cruel, and I am the spectre from your young past. But I am not all of those things. I am not only those things.” Ginny looked up into his face and saw him look thoughtful and grave.

She sighed.

“I don’t know about you. I certainly don’t trust you.”

He looked at her.

“Not even now?” He tightened his hands, nearly hurting her, nearly twisting her slender white fingers.

She looked unmoved.

“Especially not now.”

“Smart girl.”

“I am not a girl anymore. I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed that.” And here Ginny cast a scrutinizing look upon him. “Please. I don’t want to talk anymore. You’re going to end up upsetting me – and for Draco’s sake, I’d prefer if we kept it civil.”

Lucius sighed in return and molded his fingers harder to her lower back, pressing his palm flush against the fabric of her dress, and he felt the threads burn into him. Lucius looked straight over top of her head – his eyes fierce – as the crowd watched the two of them curiously, into the faces of the women who adored him, into the face of his son.


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