Return Match
“Why are we here?” Delphine asked. “I know you are headmistress. You don’t have to show me your office.” She seemed calmer now, but tired.
“Because I feel safer in a glass-walled room,” replied Ginny. She was sitting in her headmistress’s chair, and Delphine was prowling around the room.
“Safer?” sneered Delphine. “From me?”
“From me,” said Ginny.
Delphine swung towards her. “You still love me?” she asked, puzzled. “Is that why I’m here, and not Mercy Island? Or Azkaban?” Mercy Island was the name of the French magical prison, a name heavy with French irony.
Ginny sighed. “No. It’s not love, and I don’t think it ever was. Not when you turned me into Tom Riddle for your pleasure.”
“You didn’t tell them,” said Delphine. “About Resurrecto.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s call it a hold I have over you.”
“Blackmail,” said Delphine, savouring the word. “I’m a blackmail victim.”
“Is Stonelake one of your victims too?” Ginny asked.
“I didn’t use Resurrecto on him,” said Delphine, looking through the glass wall at the lake. “If that’s what you mean.”
“Why should I believe that?”
Delphine turned to look at her, consideringly. “Because it’s the truth. I only like boys. And Stonelake is old.”
Boys, thought Ginny. Not men.
“So why…?”
“Why did I use it on you? That painting of you, I suppose. La Nue. Is it still here?”
“Yes.”
“I decided I had to have you then. But I don’t really like girls, so I turned you into a man. It was good, too, with you. And it was nice to see Tom again, after all these years. But inside him, that energy of yours. If you ever want to do it again, just say.”
“No, thank you.”
“I suppose you want me to stay away from that painter of yours, too,” said Delphine, mockingly.
“Yeah.”
“And the other rules?”
“You’re seventy-something years old,” said Ginny irritably. “You know what the rules are by now. And you owe me, so you’re going to behave.”
“Do I? Am I?”
“Does this make you feel better? This point-scoring?”
“I’m in a cage. I have been for six decades now. Aren’t I allowed to peck at the bars now and then?”
“Delphine, it’s too late if you want pity, OK? Yes, Voldemort made you a victim by stopping you ever growing up. Yes, I know that. He made a lot of us victims.”
Suddenly Delphine was screaming. “I don’t want pity, or understanding! I want life! I don’t want you sitting there, judging me. I want you to… to make love to me. To punish me. To hate me. Anything. Just something. Please.”
But she didn’t stay for a response. She was out the door, hurrying down the corridor, towards the Senate Room. Ginny sighed with exasperation, got up and followed her.
She found Delphine studying Ginny’s portrait. The girl seemed calmer once more. “This is better, hmm?”
“Better why?”
Delphine didn’t answer. She was still staring at the painting.
“How about teaching?” Ginny asked suddenly. Delphine turned to look over her shoulder, in confusion. “I need an English teacher. You could do that.”
Delphine continued to look puzzled. “Me? A teacher? No.”
“Teachers are like kids, really,” said Ginny. “Eternal kids who like to be listened to.”
“Marking homework? Lesson plans? I think not.”
“You must know everything already. Don’t you get bored, hearing it time after time?”
Delphine shrugged. “No. It seems familiar, what they say, but it is years since the last time I heard their speech about…” She waved her hands vaguely. “…Levitating. Transfiguring raccoons. One time, I remembered better, and I corrected the teacher. But it was lucky that was my final year, because he never forgave me. I remember he was quite handsome, for an old man, but every time he saw me after that he looked very ugly. So most of the time, I can sit and listen just a bit, and think about love, or my lover. It passes the time.”
Ginny couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
“So you, hmm? Are you happy with your lover?” Delphine asked, approaching her. “Does he make you happy?”
“Yes,” said Ginny feeling her face heat.
Delphine was standing in front of her now, studying her, her head on one side. “Yes, I think it is good. For now. You are both busy, with a school, with painting, so you don’t need each other’s company the whole time. And then you come together, and it is intense. I can see that. But perhaps you work too much. These lines on your face…”
She reached out an elegant hand, and her fingertips brushed the corners of Ginny’s mouth, and lightly caressed the skin around her eyes. Ginny shivered, and then flinched: The painted Ginny next to them was rising to her feet, suddenly, and her hands were flat against the canvas wall between them, her eyes intent on Delphine.
Delphine laughed, merrily. “You are well named, I think. La Nue. However hard you try, you can conceal nothing. That is how I know I can trust you.”
“You could use Tela Carbasum,” Ginny said between stiff lips. “You could visit her.”
Delphine’s dark eyes examined hers. “You would let me do that? I wonder if Resurrecto works in a painting?”
“Do not bring Tom Riddle to life in a painting!”
Delphine laughed. “I would not let anyone see. I am not like you. I do not understand how you can let Gosse paint you, and let everyone look at you.”
“I bet he’d like to paint you,” said Ginny, dryly.
Delphine shook her head with decision. “No. I have my secrets. And he is old now, like you. You are growing old together. Although there is Harry Potter, of course.”
“We’ve grown apart,” Ginny said, stiffly. “We’ve moved on.”
Delphine raised an eyebrow. “You believe that?” She turned away quickly, away from Ginny’s eyes and the painted eyes as well. “I need to go,” she said. “I can’t stay here. Not now. But you promise I can come back?”
“I promise,” said Ginny.
“Come with me,” said Delphine, suddenly.
“Come with you?” asked Ginny in puzzlement. “Why?”
“Because… because I need to go home, but my family don’t want to see me. They are old,” Delphine added. “And I am not. There are no young people there at the moment, and I have nothing to say to the others. Please…”
“I can’t stay,” said Ginny, uneasily. “Too much to do.”
Delphine reached out a hand, pleadingly. “Just a few hours. Just to distract them. And me.” She was tugging at Ginny’s hand. “Please. You can go as soon as you need.”
“OK,” Ginny yielded. She used her free hand to drag out her wand and send a rhino Patronus message to Gosse. “But I have to get back before Gosse starves to death…”
Delphine laughed, but then she was serious. “You can twist from here?” she asked urgently. “You have the charm still?” Ginny nodded. “Take me to the gate,” suggested Delphine, “And I will take you home from there.”
Delphine’s home was part castle, part palace, and entirely huge. It lay alongside a placid river, and was built of honey-coloured stone. There were endless narrow turrets along the wide front of the house, and further wings sprawled on either side. Stretching away from the house were lawns and endless flower beds.
“It’s amazing,” said Ginny in awe.
“It’s a prison,” said Delphine. “I like to come here sometimes, when school is too much, but soon I want to leave. I’m always happier at school.”
Delphine led her through an archway, and they were at the back of the house, which was plain unfinished stone. She opened a door. “What boot size are you?” she asked, pulling out a pair of dark blue wellington boots.
“Five,” said Ginny in puzzlement. Why do we need wellies? Delphine rooted around and produced another pair – green ones – and handed them to Ginny. Then she shut the door and headed off towards another archway. Here there were narrow brick steps descending amongst trees, and Ginny realised she could hear the river.
And there it was, its reflections bright in the shadowed sunlight. There was a low weir at the upstream end, which kept the river placid by the house, but below that the stream ran over rock, forming shallow pools and little waterfalls, lit by the sun breaking through the trees. Ginny was admiring this when she noticed that Delphine was undressing.
“Are you going to join me?” Delphine asked. “Trust me, it is very good for dulling the memories of the day.” She dropped her wand on top of her clothes and stepped elegantly into her boots. Then she was wading into the stream, a beautiful nude girl lit by sunlight and reflecting water. “The boots are for the sharp stones,” she said. “No-one can see, and I like it here.”
“No thanks,” said Ginny, stiffly. Even so, her senses were assaulted, by the sunlight flickering through the trees, the caressing sound of the bubbling river, and amongst that the slender figure of Delphine, narrow-hipped, small-breasted, exactly as she remembered her. Of course she is, Ginny said to herself, dizzily. She can’t change.
Delphine was wading slowly down the stream now, and Ginny had to stumble along the bank to keep up with her. The girl gave her a sideways look. “You could wade in the river, you know,” she said, with a whimsical smile. “I’m not dangerous.”
Ginny cleared her throat and stayed on the bank. I’m a headmistress. She’s a pupil, and I’m looking after her. “I have to go soon,” she said instead. There was something very beautiful about the coltish sway of Delphine’s hips as she waded through the shallow water.
“Not yet,” said Delphine. “It’s deeper here,” she said then. She lifted one leg, then the other, removed her boots and threw them towards Ginny. Then she was throwing herself forward, and she was swimming, with lazy strokes, her legs scissoring gently. Her body broke the water, the ripples dazzling Ginny as she stood and gazed at Delphine Bonnacord. She stepped forward to recover the boots – they were full of cold water now, and she mechanically emptied them and put them next to her on the bank.
Delphine was swimming on her back now, her arms elegant, the water lapping over her stomach, at her breasts, her loins.
“You’re staring,” Delphine taunted.
“No,” said Ginny, automatically, but it was hard to look anywhere else.
There was a noisy thrash of water, and Delphine was rising from the water, standing, then bending to splash water at Ginny. Something in Ginny wanted to step into the water, to splash Delphine in her turn, to play, but instead she shook her head, she stepped back further, out of reach.
Somehow I’ve missed my childhood, Ginny said to herself. Voldemort’s fault, probably. And Harry’s, and Mum’s. And my fault too?
Delphine didn’t argue, strangely, but continued to wade out of the water, careless of Ginny’s eyes on her. “My boots?” she asked. Ginny picked up the boots and stepped forward to give them to Delphine. The girl put one light hand on Ginny’s shoulder, to balance herself as she stepped elegantly back into the boots. She turned and looked at the stream, at the trees, and then her breath caught, and she was breathing out, slowly. “That’s better,” she said. “And for you?”
Ginny didn’t know; She knew she wanted to reach out and touch the lovely naked girl standing in front of her.
“Would you like to see the house now?” Delphine asked. Ginny nodded. She still looks like a sixteen-year-old. Like a pupil, even if she’s much older than me. I shouldn’t want her.
They were walking up alongside the stream now, and here were Delphine’s clothes, but the girl didn’t bother to dress. She picked up her wand and used it to dry her skin, then flicked it at her clothes, which disappeared. Then she was walking towards the house, a slender, inviting, figure dressed only in boots.
When they reached the house, Delphine led the way back around the front of the house, to Ginny’s discomfort, towards a massive pair of doors in the centre of the façade.
As they approached, one door opened. A figure stood in the doorway, blocking it. Thin, white haired, dressed in black and white. An elderly man, lantern-jawed, his unruly hair the only informality in his appearance.
“Miss Cadence,” the man murmured. “You were not expected.” He did not move, but Delphine ploughed through the doorway, and without any apparent effort he was standing aside so they could pass him. He closed the door behind them.
“We are not to be disturbed, Francis,” said Delphine, not looking at him. When Ginny turned round to see how he’d taken this, he had already gone.
“Scary,” Ginny said with feeling.
They were in a huge room, lined with pictures. Portraits. Delphine was leading her diagonally across the room. “Francis? No,” she said shortly. “I remember him when he was first here, taking all the pretty young housemaids into the cupboard. He had a reputation, that one.”
“But he didn’t…” began Ginny, then trailed to a stop in embarrassment. Delphine frowned at her. “Francis? With me? No! There is the social distance! Although one of my cousins…”
“I’ve been here before,” realised Ginny. “Noémie Plantagenet brought me here.” She’d brought her to see Cadence Demoulin’s portrait, she remembered, but it seemed tactless to say so.
Delphine scowled. “Noémie is a cow,” she said grumpily. “She is not a bad person, but she only thinks of herself.”
“Where is everybody?” Ginny asked, uncomfortably. She didn’t want to meet Delphine’s family like this, with Delphine naked.
Delphine shrugged. “They’re somewhere.” They were heading towards a huge painting that towered above them. It was a painting of a man, in a long formal coat, with a bulging green waistcoat beneath, his hands held out awkwardly in front of him. His face was chubby and cherry cheeked. Delphine flicked a hand in the direction of the painting. “The current baron,” she said.
“Very grand,” said Ginny, uncertainly. To her partial relief he kept his gaze in the distance, and ignored them.
“He is my nephew,” said Delphine, pausing briefly to examine him with a critical eye. “I remember he always had dirty knees, because we used to climb the apple trees together, but now he is old and fat, and his wife will not talk to him.”
The portrait stirred slightly, but the subject’s gaze remained as before, staring over their left shoulders. Ginny’s face was hot now, but Delphine was opening a small door beside the portrait.
Behind the door was a staircase, and she led Ginny upwards. Here was a wide corridor, of gleaming white plaster, lined with pillars decorated in gold leaf.
“It’s beautiful, Delphine,” said Ginny, and she meant what she said.
“I know,” said Delphine, but there was sadness in her voice. “Here,” she said suddenly. “This is my room.”
She led Ginny into a wide high-ceilinged bedroom. There was a row of windows, and she led Ginny to one of these. “When I feel trapped here,” she said, gazing out of the window, “This view helps.”
They were looking down on the gardens Ginny had seen earlier. The lines of the countless flowerbeds led the eye hypnotically to a distant column. In front of them was a circular pond that would have drowned The Burrow, with statues around it, gazing into the water.
Delphine waved her wand at the door, which clicked shut. “That will not stop Francis,” she said, “But as you are a girl, he may not be interested. He thinks it is politeness to enter my room when I am entertaining, and offer refreshments. He always seems to find me kneeling, but I ignore him, and he goes away.”
“Oh,” said Ginny.
There was a huge four-poster bed against one wall, facing the windows.
“You sleep in that?” Ginny asked. It seemed a stupid question, but it would have taken an entire Beauxbatons family, at a push.
“Would you like to try it?” Delphine asked, and Ginny shook her head, her face hot.
Delphine crossed to a door Ginny hadn’t noticed. “I need to warm up now,” Delphine said. “You too…”
“I can’t stay,” said Ginny, but her feet were following Delphine into the next room, a stone-tiled room with a central sunken bath. With no visible signal, the huge taps around the bath were filling it with water. Steam arose, and Ginny didn’t know whether the warmth she felt was from the bath, from Delphine or herself.
Delphine closed the door. “There,” she whispered, with a glint in her eyes. “Now we cannot be heard.” Her unclothed beauty was close to Ginny now, and Delphine was kissing her, a dry, tantalising kiss.
There were no blinds covering the two tall windows, but Delphine paid that no attention. Her hands were on Ginny’s sides. Ginny pushed herself back, giddily. “Is this why we’re here?” she asked, feeling stupid. “You said you didn’t like girls,” she added, annoyed at herself for her gaucheness.
Delphine laughed joyfully in her face, and Ginny’s self-control broke, and she was kissing Delphine urgently, her hands on that naked skin.
Delphine pulled back briefly. “You really mean it,” she whispered. “Such need… Show me what you need me to do…. Show me…”
Ginny’s long-buried dreams were alive now, from the times a year ago when Delphine had claimed her in her sleep, her beauty calling insistently to Ginny. But something fought within her.
“No,” she whispered, her head whirling, pushing Delphine blindly away. “No,” she repeated. “I won’t. I can’t.”
“You must.” Delphine’s hands were on her still, and she was whispering in Ginny’s ear. “I know how to make you,” she said, and she was breaking away from her, and despite herself Ginny wanted to cry out in frustration.
I shouldn’t be here, Ginny told herself angrily. I shouldn’t have come. Her senses were on fire, the room around her somehow dim. What am I doing?
Without warning, there was warmth behind her once more, to her relief, to her dismay, and there were hands on her, but not Delphine’s delicate ones. No, these hands were larger, stronger.
“I need you,” Delphine was saying, over her shoulder. “And I know what you need.” Her voice was different now, deeper, huskier, resonating deep in Ginny’s chest. She tried to turn round, confused now, but there were strong hands on her shoulders, preventing her.
“No,” Delphine whispered. “You must not see me. I am so ugly now. How can you love someone looking like this?”
Delphine seemed taller now, and stronger. Ginny tried to fight then, to be free, so she could turn round, and see her lover, because she knew, but she couldn’t believe…
Somehow she was against the tiled wall, her hands on the tiles, her torso pressed against them by the body behind her. Those hands were inside her clothes now, rough-skinned, powerful, almost as powerful as her own needs. In the sheen of the tiles she could see a tall, familiar shadow.
The Resurrecto spell, Ginny realised, her mind in chaos. This is the spell she tricked me with last year. When she was Delphine, and I was Tom Riddle. But now I’m myself. Is this what I’ve always wanted, without realising?
“Harry,” she managed to say.
“Now you can enjoy me properly,” said Delphine, with Harry’s voice, and they were both moving, with desire, and desperation.
We fit together so well, Ginny thought, when it was all over. Why did we never do this before? It had been quick, and desperate, and the lust was still inside her.
“Why?” she asked, panting, when she could.
“Because I love you?” said Harry’s voice.
“No,” said Ginny. “You don’t love me. You’re trying to own me. But you don’t.”
Harry’s laugh. “I know that. No, not love. Lust, yes. I want that lust of yours. I have other loves, so I don’t need yours. No. I need something else.”
“What? What did you need?”
“Freedom,” admitted Delphine.
“Freedom? From what?”
“From you.”
That puzzled Ginny. “Me? How?”
“You did me a great favour. You gave me freedom. And I hate feeling gratitude. Like ropes around me. This way you get what you wanted, and I don’t owe you as much.”
“This is about payback? Didn’t you enjoy it?”
“I did. But I won’t be grateful for that.”
“How did you know?” Ginny asked suddenly.
Delphine didn’t bother to pretend. “How did I know you wanted Harry Potter? I didn’t. But Resurrecto doesn’t allow you to choose. It decides for you, who you are desperate for. I was surprised when you became Tom Riddle last year, although I shouldn’t have been, perhaps. How can lust last half a century? No, I wanted to see who I would become for you. But it is inevitable, I think, that you need Harry Potter the most.”