The Yellow Brolly Rebellion: Part 9
Rhi Marzano
PG-13
[A/N: damn. Welcome to my longest fic ever. This part is kind of serious and not fun, but that's the way it goes sometimes. Thank-yous to everyone who has reviewed! special thank-yous to sky & AII for the advance read.]
Draco sat on the bathroom floor next to the toilet.

The tile was cool beneath his body, intricate and beautiful. A pattern near the sink was a gorgeous mosaic of the family crest.

It was all his. The money, the power. The land. There was nothing more to want; nothing more to dream. He had his inheritance and everything should be fine.

On some level Draco knew he was dreaming; he'd been here before, thousands upon thousands of times. Sitting on this precise spot. And he knew that if he reached around behind the toilet, he would find a knife.

On that same level, he knew he shouldn't be having this dream. He'd fled Malfoy Manor with his wife; they lived in a townhouse, which was still bigger than her childhood home. He knew he was asleep in her arms.

But on a different level, the dominant level, Draco retrieved the knife and positioned it over his wrist. What if... what if he ended it. Right here, right now.

Why am I dreaming this? that other level screamed.

"Because you're still not listening."

He dropped the knife and whipped his head towards the bathroom door. A man dressed in white leaned against the wall.

What the hell, he thought. Who let him through? People didn't just "show up" at Malfoy Manor. Especially people he didn't know. He did have good security- could have sent a small, charmed beetle at that very second to Howard or one of the guards. But he didn't. He didn't move, didn't speak. He simply stared.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here. I'm always here, I always have been. I've tried to talk to you before, and your father before you, and his father before him. But you've all made the mistake of not listening."

This isn't how the dream goes, said the other self.

"I'm here because you have a dilemma. Everything you've been brought up with screams for you to attribute your newfound contentment to your patrimony. And please don't feed me the line of not believing in happiness. Malfoys used to believe. In love and happiness and forgiveness. In the well being of man.

"But somewhere along the line, power seduced you into a different life. And so it went, each generation having a little more of their humanity eaten away. Your family has made the same mistakes over and over again--but you have a chance to clean the house." The man turned his gaze to the crest on the floor. "You might be different, just might be. But if you repeat those mistakes, I can assure you that you, your wife, and your child will all be dead."

Who's trying to kill Ginny?

"You broke free of the skein. Surely you didn't think those who'd been weaving would allow that so easily?"

Tell me what to do, said the other level.

"Tell me what to do," Draco said to the man.

The man bent down and took the knife from him. "Everything's tainted, Draco. Clean it up."

"Draco."

His eyes snapped open. Ginny was poised above him, her arms on his shoulders. "You were dreaming," she said softly. "Thrashing round and such. Was it that bad?"

"I'm okay," he lied.

She yawned and rolled off him and onto her side. "Then let's go back to sleep."

She was so beautiful, the way the moonlight struck her pale skin. His fingers trailed through her hair, stroking lightly until her breathing became slow and regular. Only then did he relax his shoulders and let himself drift off as well.

He wasn't particularly disturbed when he awoke at ten to find the bed empty. He dressed on his own; checked the kitchen, but found only an empty teacup; looked at the table for a note but found none. She'd gotten good about leaving notes, so he concluded she remained in residence somewhere.

It didn't take that long to find her--their new place was remarkably smaller than Malfoy Manor.

She was in a spare bedroom, painting the room a soft blue.

Draco stood in the doorway and watched her. She was like a pixie, glowing and energetic. He would have excluded the rabidly bearing teeth and tendency to destroy things from the pixie-like qualities, but then he recalled how she'd been yesterday without her morning tea.

"Gin," he said softly.

She stopped humming and cocked her head at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Decorating the nursery." Careless, cheerful, she set down her paintbrush in a little pan. "Could you do me a favor and run by my old flat? There's a little dresser that would look nice in here. And a cedar chest."

"Are you sending me on an errand? Malfoys don't do err--"

"A favor," she repeated, smiling and somehow making her eyes even bigger.

He sighed and kissed her paint-splattered face. "Alright."

"Take an umbrella," she said. "It might rain."

He knew what he had to do to make the dream go away. And he'd decided that he was going to do it. Once he'd gotten his thoughts organized, he went to his right-hand man. He found Howard at Malfoy Manor-- which was a good thing, because that's where he was supposed to be. He'd left Howard in charge of managing the manor. The house looked good and his study was undisturbed. Howard closed the door behind him and listened to Draco's plans, occasionally saying "hmm."

"You can't do this," Howard said when he'd finished.

Can't was a dangerous word for him. "Why not?"

"Because this is how Malfoys have made their money for centuries. You can't just eliminate that on a whim."

"I can do whatever I want," Draco snapped. "And last time I checked, Malfoys are supposed to use their cunning and their money and their power to amass more money and power, and if this is the way my cunning drives me, that's the way I'm going to do it."

"But you've given your word..."

"I've changed my mind--because I can." Draco handed him a sealed envelope. "Either learn to be a stockbroker, or I find someone else."

Howard tucked the envelope under his arm, tacit agreement. "You're going to make quite a lot of people angry."

"That is part of the fun," Draco replied, and set out for Ginny's old flat.

He entered the flat, set down the umbrella, and began to look around for the furniture. A shrinking spell would be the way to go, then he could slip them into his pockets and return home.

Home. Odd, they'd only lived in that townhouse two weeks, and here he was calling it home. Best not dwell on it.

A jacket lay on the floor next to the couch.

This shouldn't have been amazing; Ginny was innately messy. What was disturbing was that it was a jacket distinctly male.

Draco stepped towards the couch--one foot, then the other, repeating until he was right there. He took a deep breath and peered down over the side.

Potter's green eyes stared back. "Hullo, Malfoy."

He wanted to punch him, but instead smiled over clenched teeth. "Haven't seen you 'round in a while. Ministry pimping you out again?"

"I'm on assignment, yes."

"Since you did so well on your last one. Tell me, Potter--how hard was it to kill my father?"

He didn't answer, just gave a slow blink.

"Who're they sending you after now? My wife? I mean, considering she's been nearly killed twice now and you're skulking around her old apartment."

"I'm hardly skulking," Potter snapped. "And the Ministry has no reason for Ginny to be killed. You, on the other hand. Dark arts object trading and being the Death Eater leader- they want your ass for that."

"Ah, but you won't find any evidence," he said.

"Don't I know it." Potter rolled up into sitting position and crossed his arms. "I've been researching for weeks, and not one scrap of anything to prove you're actually involved in the black trade. But as for being a Death Eater, I think I can get conclusive about that."

"Let me save you the trouble." Draco rolled up his sleeves and held out his arms. "I've no intention of being one of Voldemort's toadies. I've stopped illegal trading--would you like to hear the angry grumblings of my butler? As for actually practicing the Dark Arts, which I note you didn't even bring up, I can tell you I've done quite a lot less than you have."

Potter looked almost crushed.

"You're... you're not a Death Eater?"

"No," he replied firmly. "My priorities are my own."

He ignored Potter's bewildered gaze and collected the chest and dresser. Both were in Ginny's old bedroom, and he promptly shrunk them to the size of a galleon. He was nearly out the door when Potter finally said something else.

"Do you love her?"

Draco had not been expecting love for his marriage.

Malfoys didn't believe in love. Mal foi- bad faith, and wasn't that the truth. As far as they were concerned, if it couldn't be achieved somehow with money, it didn't exist. Love was for fools--intangible nonsense for those without money, or without enough sense to be satisfied.

Draco had heard that speech so many times in his life, and it was dogma. It was something he lived his life by, and marriage would not be able to change that.

But things crept up. Jealousy and monogamy and possession and infinity and maybe he had lost his mind, because he suddenly knew what all those lovesick fools were talking about.

Draco picked up the umbrella he'd carelessly dropped on the floor, and looked back at him. "Yeah," he replied, "I do."

"So do I," Potter said. "So you have to know I don't want her hurt."

"Well, clearly, someone does," Draco retorted.

"Then instead of fixating on her ex's, how about thinking about yours?"

Draco sent a glare at him, then actually thought about it.

"Oh, God--Pansy."

Ginny finished painting the nursery in the afternoon. Upon brief reflection, she was pleased with how it had turned out. She was feeling relieved overall; the townhouse was really a comfortable size. It was also theirs, free and clear, so she could paint and wallpaper and do whatever she liked.

I think we should get a dog, she thought. A dog would be nice. Something for the kid to play with until brothers or sisters came along.

She heard the front door swing open.

"Draco," she called down the stairs. "Do you think we could get a dog?"

She waited a few beats, but the silence did not sound promising. She sighed, wiped her hands on her shirt, and went downstairs to offer a more convincing argument.

"A dog. A puppy. Something cute and cuddly. Wouldn't that just liven things up?" she offered.

No answer.

"Draco?" she said louder. Where was he?

She went into the living room, and found a woman sitting on her couch, legs crossed.

"Parkinson?" Ginny said in disbelief.

He'd left her alone--how dumb could he have been? If something happened to her--
"What are you doing here?" Ginny balanced herself against a shelf. Her knees shook something fierce, and it took a lot of energy to sound calm.

"Why do you think?" the other woman said irritably. "I had plans--twenty years of unspoken agreement, and you stuck your impoverished freckled nose in and screwed everything up."

"I assure you that wasn't my intention," Ginny replied weakly.

"Intention or not, you are standing in the way. It would have been easy enough to organize some sort of scandal to make him divorce you--but then you had to get pregnant, didn't you? Now you've just forced me to get rid of you permanently."

She's a complete nutter, Ginny thought. And this did not bode well.

Apparating quickly was never a good idea--clear presence of mind was necessary so that you didn't accidentally splice yourself. But Draco didn't have time to be rational.
"Maybe it just wasn't meant to be," Ginny said, inching towards the table where the wand lay. "Maybe fate had something different in store."

"Fate doesn't exist," Parkinson spat, snatching her wand and clutching it.

Well. What was she going to do now?

I can't believe Pansy could be capable of something like this, Draco thought. He'd made it only a block from the townhouse, which was a miracle considering his brain was going to explode from the tension. I knew she was slightly unstable--and catty--but homicidal? I just...
Her tactic became just to keep her talking. Thankfully this was easy to do. The way Parkinson was ranting, Ginny was surprised she wasn't frothing at the mouth.

It wouldn't work forever, but she hoped it would last until she thought of something else.

Draco burst through the front door of the townhouse and raced up the stairs to the main floor. "Ginny!" he yelled.

"Draco!" It sounded fraught with relief.

Living room, living room--she had to be there. He ran in and whipped out his wand. "Petrificus Totalus!"

Then he took a deep breath. And another. And then he looked at the assailant.

"Mrs. Parkinson?"

Ginny flung herself into his arms and began to cry. "I'm so glad you're here."

"So let me get this straight. Your husband's ex-girlfriend's mother was trying to kill you."

Ginny rubbed her forehead as if that would clarify what Percy had just said. It didn't really help at all, but it looked cool, she supposed. "Pretty much, yeah."

"And you're okay with this?" Tim raised his eyebrows.

"Well--she didn't succeed. So yeah."

It had been a week since Draco had apprehended Mrs. Parkinson and turned her in to the Ministry; the charges were filed quietly and settled the same. Parkinson was instructed to seek refuge in France or Russia, as she would no longer be welcome in Britain. Thank god was all Ginny could think. Things were back to normal; Ginny had dragged Draco to Sunday dinner. Hopefully things would go better this time.

Percy gave her a level look. "Well. I hope, for your sake, that this has given you two a little lesson in locking the doors."

Ginny placed her hand over that of her brother's. "Don't tell Mum. It'll just worry her."

Her mother, of course, had superhuman abilities that enabled her to jump into situations when she was least wanted. Molly popped in the kitchen not two seconds later. "What will worry me?"

Ginny sighed. "Nothing, Mum."

"What will worry me?" Molly repeated dangerously.

"Got an answer for that, Mr. Efficient?" Percy said under his breath.

"Of course," Tim whispered back. He cleared his throat. "Well, it's just a little troublesome that we don't have a nice vintage of wine."

Molly frowned. "Why would that be?"

"To toast Ginny's pregnancy, of course," Tim said smoothly.

"Oh," said Percy admiringly while Molly squealed. "That was good."

"When were you going to tell me!" Molly exclaimed.

"Today," Ginny replied, even though she hadn't given it much thought.

"Grandchildren," her mother said wistfully.

Get me out of here, Ginny mouthed.

Tim nodded and tapped Percy on the shoulder. "As a matter of fact, Mum," said Percy, "I was thinking of adopting..."

Ginny slipped out of the kitchen to find her husband. He sat amongst the twins, looking bashful. It was really odd, how he'd become so much more at ease with her family. He had been absorbed into the laughter and the conversation, instead of being a source of discomfort for all.

George was babbling at high speeds. "--can't believe you bought all that stock for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. That was really faboo of you."

"Thanks," Draco muttered. He appeared to be trying hard not to blush.

She'd come at the right time; he definitely wanted to be rescued. "Hey," Ginny said, kissing him on the hair. "Want some air?"

"Yes," he replied fervently.

They went out into the garden, holding hands. Ginny couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this way. She thought she'd loved Harry, but it was nothing in comparison to now. "Draco," she said softly, "I know you probably don't want to hear it. Rigid Malfoy rules and all that. But I wanted to tell you that I love you."

She was greatly surprised to hear him say gruffly, "I love you, too."

Maybe happily ever after might be a bit much to ask for. But they were off to a great start.

[The End. Thanks to everyone for reading along the way!]