Chapter 7
“You’re four pounds over your intended weight for the year. I know you’ve been out though, not a bad thing. Just the carbs catching up to you.”
“Gee, Marvin. Thank you. That makes me feel wholeheartedly better,” Draco scoffed.
“I’m telling you as it is. Water weight not included so might get lucky, might be three pounds. Can’t do anything about it now but go on a cut. Your leg good?”
“Got signed off, yes. Why?”
“’Cause Coach will want you in that gym morning til night,” Marvin winced.
“Fine by me. Lot of anger to work off.”
“Grand. Step off the scales for me. I’ll see you in a week.”
Since Hermione had essentially discharged him, he was back in full time at training. Five days a bloody week. His leg was better yes, he could be training that hard yes, but he didn’t want to completely undo everything he had just done and have to return to Hermione’s office for another four weeks.
Four, not six. Because it was four weeks until the opening game. If he was honest, he was bricking it. Not playing fully for six weeks had him feeling on edge. Movements weren’t coming naturally anymore, his back hurt after a couple of hours and he needed to stretch more before he even looked at a broom. He was proud of his progress though, a complete comeback after a shattered bone was rare. Except he wasn’t calling it a comeback – he hadn’t left.
Sweden’s player Olsson was found of a serious after game foul, resulting in a six month ban for Sweden from National quidditch games and an automatic disqualification from the next World Cup in four years’ time. A result for the emotional and physical turmoil he had to endure. Unfortunately, the player was only eighteen years of age and would definitely still be playing come 2017.
“Sheesh, how many takeaways have you been eating?” Ginny asked, eyeing the fitness board.
“Not a lot, thank you, Red. Also, fuck you.” Draco threw his shin guards on the floor before throwing himself onto the couch. He could only sit for a few seconds before he got back up again to get his uniform on.
Ginny put her hands up defensively. “Calm down, ferret. Only playing. It’s only four pounds and it doesn’t matter that much. Not like you’ve gotten fat.” Ginny picked up the guards, sitting them on the couch.
Draco nodded absentmindedly, tying his cape and adjusting his elbow and knee guards. He did still have a full six pack, and his muscles had never looked so good. But he was bitter. “I take it you’re on target?”
“Yes. But Deakins will still be on my arse about it. You know what he’s like,” she scoffed. It was true Draco knew, Deakins had a bit of a 1930s mindset on him. Forgot women could do things now instead of cleaning the house. “Look, I’ve been thinking—”
“Oh Gods, a Weasley using their brain. Watch out world!”
Ginny threw him a deathly glare, one that did have him fearing for his crotch area. “I was going to say… Why not go to the Prophet again?”
Draco took a quick glance round the room to make sure no one else was listening in – it was incredible how many secrets could be spilled in a changing room – before saying, “Ginevra, I think you missed the part where Blaise and I had already done that.”
“Yes, you asked who sent it. But why not ask for the proof?”
It was like a light dinged in his brain. He was sick and tired of people being smarter than him all the time. “Go on.”
“Ask for the proof and see if there’s any clues. It might be a dead end but there could be something worth looking at. Plus, you’ll never know if you don’t try…”
“Don’t give me the philosophical shite, Red. I’ll go and have a look.”
“Great. Meet you after practise.” With that, she grabbed her broom and made her way out the changing room and presumably through the tunnel.
Draco followed eventually, coming out the tunnel at full speed and soaring high into the sky. The snitch was released, hastily flying straight up to the sun, then the bludgers and finally the quaffle. All substitute players were playing today, making up a team of ten players on each side. Instead of three chasers they had two, and instead of two beaters they played with one. Enough for a training match to begin.
By half time Draco’s team was up thirty points, Ginny’s trailing. “Come on boys, show them how it’s done!”
Draco swerved through the two chasers defending the middle of the pitch, passing back to Johanson. He made room far enough away from the bludger to catch Johanson’s throw and threw the quaffle straight for the left hoop. He was certain it was in, until Randall zoomed and blocked it with the oak twigs of the end of his broom. “Fuck!” Draco exclaimed.
“Ryan has the snitch!” Ginny screamed.
Draco slowly lowered himself towards to ground, sweaty and sticky. His cheeks were bright red, and he could feel the heat radiating off of the centre of his body.
“Malfoy!” Deakins called. “Come over here, son.”
Draco muttered under his breath something completely imperceptible, making his way to the bench Deakins was perched on. “Coach?”
“Have a seat,” he said. Gruff and low.
Draco did as he was told, sliding onto the bench next to Deakins but far enough away he probably – hopefully – couldn’t smell an odour coming off of him.
“You played great, Malfoy. First unofficial game back and it’s like you never left.”
Draco laughed a little. “Yeah, thanks Coach.”
“I erm—” Deakins stuttered, something he never done. “Just wanted to apologise for the vultures in that press conference the other day. I had a feeling they wouldn’t stick to the questions as much but, well, I hoped they’d maybe leave well enough alone.”
“Oh. No, it’s not a bother. Thank you for redirecting them though, I would’ve maybe had a bout of accidental magic and removed their voice box had they pushed anymore. I appreciate you saying that, truly.”
Deakins nodded, almost sorrowful. “Right, go get changed, hit the gym. Those four pounds need to be muscle.” He shook his hand firmly, clapping him on the back. Draco nodded, walking toward the tunnel, a small smile playing on his lips.
The positive interaction with the coach set Draco up for a good day. Training had gone well for the most part. His warm-up consisted of a five-kilometre jog, the incline increasing every 500 metres. Then onto the rowing machine, going as far as he could for twenty minutes, resting for five and repeating. Weights were in full swing, and he was back at his personal best. Sweaty, sore and in desperate need of a chug of water, Ginny arrived at the door of the gym.
“Daily Prophet probably shuts at five, do you want to head?”
Draco nodded, grabbing his towel from the bench and water bottle that was beautifully chilled by a charm. He showered, changed and met Ginny by the stadium gates. “Side-along?”
“As much as it pains me to stand so close to you, yes, it’s probably best.” Ginny looped her arm through Draco’s as he apparated and landed them round the corner from Diagon Alley.
As they reached the building Draco had been in not so long ago, dread filled him. He felt like he was doing it for a lost cause. Although he now had Ginny on his side, his witch was a stubborn mare at times – all the time really. Headstrong and always an answer for everything. He loved it, admired it, but not when it kept them apart.
Ginny pushed the door open, jingling the bell and alerting the entire floor of journalists to their entrance. “Who’s in charge here?” Her voice was stern.
A older looking man stood from the middle of the room. “I am for today. How can I help you Miss…”
“Mrs Potter. I’m here to discuss an article that was rather… debilitating to say the least to my friend here’s relationship.” The man looked between the two of them. “I believe you know of Draco Malfoy?”
“Mr Malfoy, how do you do?”
“Oh, fantastic,” Draco drawled. He was slightly relieved it wasn’t the woman they had previously talked to. This man looked more likely to break.
“Don’t mind him, he’s always grumpy. Anyway, I would like to view the original photographs that were submitted to yourselves.”
The man’s face contorted into confusion, as if it was a difficult request to comprehend. “For the article?”
“Yes,” Ginny drawled. Almost sounded like a Malfoy drawl there…
“Terribly sorry ma’am, we don’t keep the originals.”
“Are you sure? Because I happen to know you keep records for up to three years. So, I’ll ask you again… May we please see the original photographs submitted for a particular article?”
The journalists on the floor looked up at the commotion of the voices, prompting the man to stand in the way of them. “Why don’t we have a chat in my office?”
Instead of leading them through the floor, he guided them to the right and up a small set of stairs and through the door. His office was a lot nicer, decorated with bright colours and lush furniture. Editions of newspapers hung on the walls, framed and the pictures now still because of their age. All the columns on the front page seemed to have been written by a ‘Hugo Harminger’, who was presumably the man in front of them.
“Can I get you both something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Draco responded. As did Ginny.
The man took a seat behind the large wooden desk, pouring a coffee from the machine that was housed there. “I can’t say this is the first time someone’s come and asked to see the evidence submitted by one of our journalists and I sadly can’t say that it’s not the first time it’s been a problematic story. You see, when I came here, this newspaper was for the interests of the people. Not dragging out potential gossip for whatever reason.”
“Sir, I lost my wife due to one of those problematic columns. I just want to see the supposed evidence submitted because I know it’s fraudulent.” Draco sighed heavily. Hugo seemed like a good man, seemed like he could help because he wanted to.
“I know your wife, Mr Malfoy. She treated my own,” Hugo said, a fond smile on his face. One that turned sad in a split second. Nothing else needed to be said about it. He flicked his wand, and a filing cabinet opened, sending files up into the air and suspending them there. One file went higher than the rest, and then they all went back in neatly with the cabinet closing by itself.
The single file floated carefully over, landing on the desk between Draco and Ginny. The man gestured to it, and Ginny carefully opened it.
“I never saw this, so it never happened,” Hugo smiled. He walked over to the door, coffee in hand and left.
“Right, everything printed that day is in here. There’s stuff for the front page, gardening and—” Ginny stopped as she lifted two photographs. “Bingo.”
Draco looked at them, not seeing anything but the ones printed. “They’re definitely muggle then?”
“Looks that way. Here’s a letter.”
Draco unfolded the paper, realising it was printed not written. “Can’t tell the handwriting either apparently.”
I’ve enclosed photographs of Draco Malfoy – Captain of the Quidditch team – with a woman exiting his hotel room, and himself in nothing but a towel. Incriminating circumstances to say the least.
He is currently married to the heroine of the Wizarding World, Hermione Granger. This is sure proof he is cheating on her. Whether or not it’s Pansy Parkinson, I’m unsure.
- Anonymous
“There’s another letter here, looks like a response.”
Thank you for sending in this proof. We could potentially publish it in the gossip’s column. The price of this is thirty-five galleons.
- Mildred Nyland
I want it published in the middle of the paper, before the general goings-on. Not front page. I’ve enclosed sixty galleons.
- Anonymous
“You were right, Red.” Draco sighed. “Now what?”
“Look, we could probably ask Harry to see if there’s magical traces or something.” Ginny folded up the newspaper, ready to slot it back in the file. “What’s this?”
She held up an envelope, it had seemingly fell out of the paper. “Is there an address on it?” Draco asked.
“It’s faded, I can’t make it out.” She squinted at the small paper. “There’s a return stamp though,” Ginny realised.
Draco looked at it, trying to make it out. It wasn’t a UK stamp, the letters ‘R’ and maybe an ‘M’ could be made out faintly. At least he thought he it was those letters. “I have no idea. I don’t think I’ve seen this in my life.”
“You wouldn’t know it anyway,” Ginny stated. “Come on. I’ve made copies of everything; Hermione would be proud of me.”
They put the file back together, leaving it sitting on the table and taking the copies. Ginny stuffed them into her handbag as they left the office. Draco nodded a thanks to Hugo and the left without another word. The sun was shining, a rare occasion it seemed nowadays. When it wasn’t raining, it was blowing a gale, when it wasn’t windy it was hail stoning. No happy medium.
“A butterbeer in the Leaky?” Ginny asked. Draco was taken aback by the offer that Ginny may want to still be his friend out with trying to help her own. “I won’t hex you. It’s a nice, quiet day and they have that private garden out the back. I need to rack my brain and think of where that stamp came from.”
“Um, sure. Lead the way, Red.”
He had never been fond of butterbeer, always choosing to have a whisky or bourbon. Until he had met Hermione. She loved it, quite possibly an abnormal amount. One night, they had been reading in the Manor’s library and Hermione had a craving she couldn’t shift. Digby – the main house elf – brought two cups and Hermione wouldn’t let it go. Eventually, he had a taste for it if Digby had made it.
Since he knew Digby was not a new member of staff in the Leaky Cauldron – he ordered a Firewhiskey. “The writing on the envelope has been bugging me. I feel like I know it.”
“Like you know the owner, or you’ve seen it written before?”
“Both? Salazar, I don’t know.” Draco sighed, taking a healthy sip of his liquor. “This is going to turn my hair grey.”
“Ginger hair can’t go grey. I’ll look young forever.”
“Not the point, Red.”
“Sorry.” Ginny pulled the copies they had made out of her bag, laying them on the table and studying them more. “They obviously knew Hermione, knew how she read the paper and wanted to break you up. Who hates you that much?”
Draco scoffed. “Everyone in about a hundred-mile radius. I don’t know how to narrow that one down at all. Gods, you take a mark to follow a lunatic to protect your mother and suddenly everyone has a problem.”
Ginny snorted into her butterbeer. “Fair point, ferret. It’s the stamp that’s bothering me. I’ve received a letter with this on it, I must have!”
“Well, who doesn’t live here?”
“Plenty of people. Luna is abroad right now, Oliver Wood as well, my brother Charlie –”
“You keep in touch with Wood?”
“Sometimes, usually Harry. But he’ll send regards for the team and always sends a good luck before the Scottish friendly.”
Draco hummed. “Anyone else?”
“No one. It’s like it’s taunting me, and the answer is right in front of –”
Ginny stopped dead, her jaw hanging open. If it wasn’t connected to her face Draco would’ve surely been on the floor scraping it back up. Her breathing increased, her eyes darting back and forth from the letters sent to the Daily Prophet and the discoloured stamp.
“But he wouldn’t – maybe he would. But that would be crazy, unless it wouldn’t because –”
“Ginny!” Draco was desperate he hadn’t even realised he had yelled her given name. Sounded weird and funny on his tongue. “Do you know who it is?”
She nodded slowly, sadly. “I know who it is.”