Her feet hit solid ground only a few moments later, her knees buckling from the force and leaving her sprawled on the hard ground. The first thing that hit her, after the paving stones, was the heat and she swiftly regretted remaining in her jeans. As he was apparently not going to help her up, she pulled herself to her feet and brushed the dust off her clothes. It was only when she pulled her hair back off her face that she realised where they were. They were standing on a deserted pavement, looking at the towering structure of one of the most famous hotels in the world.
Shaped like a sail, she knew that Muggles only gained access to the larger building that faced the city. The wizarding side of the hotel was thinner than its Muggle counterpart, catering for a smaller clientele, but it was still effectively a mirror image. The tip of the man-made island, where the hotel was situated, was fenced off and clearly marked as private property and something told her that Muggles would obey that rule meticulously.
The moment they stepped onto the deep blue carpet that led up to the entrance, they were met by a porter in a smart blue uniform who relieved them of their bags and led them towards the magnificent, plainly wizarding doorway. Flutterby bushes, cut into elegant spirals and waving in the light breeze, framed the glass and silver doors which swung open as they approached. The reception was equally as magnificent, with plush armchairs in various shades of blue and cream set in small clusters in front of the panoramic windows. Tiny silver lights illuminating the free rooms were on a board behind the desk and had a smiling witch seated before it. The great silver clock on the wall told Kathryn that they had gone forward four hours, as it was eleven o'clock at night.
Whilst Mr. Malfoy spoke to the witch at reception, she walked around the room; running her hands over the furniture, admiring the artwork on display and gazing at the view. She could hear the faint noise of a bar somewhere off to her right; conversation and the chink of glasses reaching her ears. Looking upwards, she could see right to the top of the building; the rooms situated on landings as opposed to floors. She head the sound of keys being handed over and, if she had any suspicion of anything untoward, the witch kept it to herself as they were shown to the glass elevators.
The elevator stopped on one of the topmost floors and the porter showed them in. Kathryn was stunned; the room was massive. In fact, it was at least three rooms with a huge balcony. On closer inspection it had two large en-suite rooms, both with queen-size beds covered in soft, richly coloured sheets. The rooms were either side of the expansive living area with its large sofas, plush carpets and attached dining room. The balcony, offering panoramic views of the Persian Gulf, stretched the entire length of the suite and had several comfortable-looking chairs waiting for occupants.
"Are you quite done staring?" he asked dryly as the porter left.
"Yes." She snapped out of her trance-like state and picked up her bag; hurrying into the room on the right and locking the door behind her.
She took her time to pack her things away, hanging each garment up to stop it creasing. In an effort to get rid of her nerves, and the tiredness of a long day at the Ministry, she took a long, cool shower and then just sat on her bed and admired the view.
Once she reappeared, refreshed but albeit still uneasy, it was past midnight and he was nowhere to be seen. She took a few minutes to look at the room properly; poking through drawers and smelling the flower arrangements that were dotted about. To tell the truth, the interior of the hotel had actually quite surprised her. She had seen pictures of the Muggle half and it was the epitome of tackiness; far too much gold leaf and baroque styling that was severely out of place in such a climate. From what she had seen this evening, the wizarding side was the complete opposite; a tasteful display of understated opulence. It truly was spectacular; everything she would ever have expected of him, and she was astounded that he was sharing it with her.
She had to admit that she quite liked it.
Venturing outside to the balcony; she leant against the railing, clad only in a small nightdress crafted from clinging indigo silk and lace, enjoying the balmy breeze that blew through her damp hair. The moon hung full and brilliant over the inky black sea. Another set of footsteps soon joined her, however, thoroughly spoiling the illusion.
"Beautiful." He murmured in her ear, slipping his arms around her supple waist and pulling her towards him.
"Me or the view?" she shot back dryly.
"Both, except I only get to have one all to myself." He replied, bringing his head down to kiss her neck. "I trust that you are still resolved to tell me nothing." He paused for a moment, waiting for her reply. She gave none, except a resigned nod of her head.
"Oh well," he sighed, although he sounded far from disappointed, "I would dissuade you from your choice, but why deny myself such a pleasure?" his hands slipped the silk of her nightgown up around her waist.
The pit of her stomach gave an awful lurch, as if she was about to vomit; her brain telling her to run. But she didn't. She had learnt during the summer that saying no, or even trying to impede his advances, was a mistake that only ended in pain. She knew that he would only force himself upon her; using her roughly and harshly as opposed to the usual tender caresses that she, to her disgust, had gotten accustomed to.
Instead, she allowed herself to be led back into the room; once again letting him use her as he wanted. And, yet again, she lay alongside him; silently hating herself for enjoying what he gave her. Waking up beside him an hour or so before dawn, she did her best not to rouse him as she tiptoed back to her room; wrapped in one of the richly coloured sheets. She collapsed onto her bed, closing her eyes and welcoming the empty black void of sleep.
She awoke quite late the next morning but was still showered and dressed before Mr. Malfoy was even awake. She scrawled a quick note on the hotel stationery, grabbed a key and went down to breakfast alone. The breakfast room was grand to say the least, with every kind of breakfast food available for diners. Taking a table on the outdoor terrace, making sure that she was facing away form most of the patrons, she ordered toast and tea and sat back to wait. Although it was only nine o'clock it was already warm with the same balmy breeze wafting through the air.
Looking around her, she could tell that everyone around her was considerably rich, and she began to feel slightly uncomfortable and out of place. She finished her breakfast quickly after that, leaving most of her toast untouched. As an afterthought, she made her way back to the spread of food and, after flashing a dazzling smile to one of the waiters, she grabbed a pastry and a small bowl of fruit salad to take back up to the room.
He was out of bed by the time she returned, her croissant clutched between her teeth as she pulled the small silver key out of the lock. He was lounging on one of the sofas, reading the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. She ignored him and walked straight past him onto the balcony, sitting on one of the pale chairs and looking out over the ocean whilst picking at her croissant.
"Good morning." He wandered out to join her.
"Hmmm." She said by way of reply, starting on her fruit salad. There was a light knock on the door and he disappeared back inside to answer it. This was followed by a slight clattering as someone entered and left what sounded like a breakfast tray, before the door closed again. He reappeared with a silver tray laden with coffee, toast, fruit salad and pastries and set it on the table.
"Help yourself." He said, pouring coffee and picking up a pain au chocolat. She pretended not to be hungry for a few minutes, but eventually relented.
"I'll have some coffee." It felt strange to have him pouring her a drink, to be sharing such an informal meal, but she supposed there were stranger things in life.
"Milk and sugar?" he asked.
"No," she shook her head, "I take it black." He looked quite surprised at this, as if he hadn't expected someone so young to drink black coffee. She took another pastry after a few moments, tearing it apart as she stared off into the distance
"So, why are we here exactly?" she finally asked after several minutes of silence.
"A Quidditch match."
"Quidditch!" She said incredulously. "The only match on today is Puddlemere United against the Winbourne Wasps, and that's being played in Wales." After this comment, he was in two minds as to whether he should reveal the surprise or not.
"It's a qualifier for the World Cup, England versus Australia if you must know." He finally gave up.
"Seriously?" she spluttered, nearly choking on a mouthful of hot coffee.
"Yes, seriously. And it was meant to be a surprise."
"Wow." She said quietly. "Not what I expected."
"I can see that."
"Why?" she asked after a few moments pause.
"You're far better company than my son." He shrugged, giving her a look that made her stomach churn.
"Well, I suppose the reason makes up for the company." Her voice was cold as she spoke and she did not meet his eye, standing up and walking back inside. She left, not because she was angry, but because she had no idea how to react to such a gesture. In the cool of her room, she changed into her swimwear and pulled on a long red sundress before grabbing her book from the bedside table.
"I'm going to the beach." She informed him, sticking her head around the doors that opened out to the balcony. He was immersed in the newspaper, settled comfortably in the shade.
"We have to leave at three, so make sure you're back." He did not look at her as he spoke.
"Ok," she hesitated a moment at the door, "and thank you, by the way." She was gone before he could reply, the door clicking shut behind her and leaving him to ponder the fact that she had thanked him; a gesture he had never expected.
She spent the rest of the morning, and a portion of the afternoon, lounging beneath a parasol on the section of private beach that the hotel kept for its guests. Clad in a plain black bikini, she got through several more chapters of her book whilst being served cool, refreshing drinks by the hotel staff. The sea was pleasant to say the least; cooling after the searing heat of the sun and for a while she walked back and forth along the beach, waist deep in the crystal clear water.
At around half past twelve she was brought a light lunch that she had not ordered, but she was sure that she knew who had. The food was sumptuous, as she would have expected from such a lavish establishment, but it also seemed to be something of a peace offering. Once she had eaten she was just content to bask. It was nice to have the warmth of the sun after the cold Scottish winter, but she was careful not to go so far as to ruin her naturally pale complexion. She retired back upstairs just before two, the cool, softly-lit corridors a shock from the bright heat outside.
"Thank you for lunch." She called once the door had closed behind her. Getting no response, she set her book down and meandered through the suite. She could hear footsteps coming from his room and assumed that he had not heard; the room was disproportionately large after all.
"I said, thank you for lunch." She called out again as she walked through the door.
"You're welcome." she lifted her gaze and stopped dead in her tracks. He was standing there, half dressed, with a white towel dangling from his hand.
"Sorry!" she jolted backwards and lowered her eyes, her face flushing deep red.
"Yes?"
"It's just that, well, I…" she tailed off, apparently unable to speak. Her eyes flicked up to look at him, but all she seemed able to do was stare at his chest. He chuckled and raised an eyebrow, prompting her to regain her senses. "I'm just off to get ready, I thought you should know." She finished her sentence quickly and practically ran from the room.
Doing her best not to think, she jumped straight in the shower and scrubbed and scrubbed; not just to get the salt off of her skin and out of her hair, but also a vain attempt to try and scour away the thoughts she's been having. She leant against the shower wall, crashing her fists against the tiles in frustration. She had seen him in far greater stages of undress, but she was ashamed because when she saw him standing there, she had wanted him. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she switched the water from hot to cold and forced herself to stand beneath the icy jets until she was calm.
Shivering, she dried herself off quickly; running a brush through her hair to control the waves, before making the decision between the two outfits she had packed.
She donned what she hoped was an elegant, yet understated dress for the occasion. It was black with a large, empire neckline that was slightly angular, starting at her shoulders and emphasising her curves. On the front of the dress, it looked like parts had been cut away to reveal sparkly fabric beneath. It was just a small triangle over half her bust, and then another, larger arrow-shaped portion that went across her waist and round the back of her dress where it fanned out in long pleats.
It clung to her every curve, from her shoulders to her knees; emphasising her slim waist and long legs in a way no man could resist. To this she added a pair of scarily high, elegant wedges that elevated her a good six inches above her normal height. When she exited her room, satisfied with her appearance, Mr Malfoy was already waiting for her; lounging casually on the large sofa. He was fully dressed now, in his usual expensive black suit, and had a large, dark blue velveteen box sat on the glass table before him.
"Well," she said, giving him a small twirl, "is this good enough for a Quidditch match?"
"You look exquisite." He said in an approving voice, privately wondering how she could manage to walk in her shoes. "There's something missing though."
"Let me guess, the something that is missing is in that box. You know you have got to get more imaginative." He did not reply, he only smiled.
Getting to his feet, box in hand, he stood before her. Her heart fluttered in anticipation as his hand slowly lifted the lid. She fought the temptation to pinch herself, just to check that she wasn't dreaming, as he presented her with one of the largest gems she had ever seen. It was a huge, pear shaped diamond, the colour of the deepest ocean. She guessed it was just slightly larger than a prune, but infinitely more impressive then the dried fruit she compared it to. With the pointed end downwards, a row of smaller diamonds snaked up the left edge, following the curve of the platinum setting right up to where it would sit at the back of her neck.
Lifting it carefully from its box, he opened the almost invisible hinge, and slipped it around her neck. The diamond sat square on her breastbone, the platinum cool to the touch. Unlike many necklaces, the platinum did not form a complete band. Instead, the platinum curved around the back of her neck and finished just above her collarbone. As if this wasn't enough, he slid a matching bracelet around her wrist and threaded earrings into her ears. They were all set with the same, inky blue stones as well as copious numbers of white diamonds.
"You can't be serious?" she said, slightly breathless from shock.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" he cocked an eyebrow, daring her to doubt him.
She stood before the mirror for a moment, admiring them and the way they sparkled in the light, before following him out of the door.
People could not help but stare as they walked through the atrium, most eyes directed towards her. Even Lucius could not help but steal a glance; drinking in her slender form and congratulating himself on his prize. His car was waiting right outside the doors, sleek and dark, with the driver holding the passenger door open ready. The interior was cool and spacious, a sharp contrast to the dry heat outside, and bore all the hallmarks of wealth. Sinking into the comfortable seat, Mr. Malfoy nodded to the driver and they set off on their way.
She watched form behind the darkened windows as they drove through the busy Muggle areas. The roads were congested to say the least, but that seemed to have no effect on the average speed. Mopeds whizzed between the cars and people seemed to be perfectly content darting between the traffic to get to the opposite side of the road. Unsurprisingly, their car easily matched the speed of the others around it; weaving through the traffic with significantly more ease that its Muggle counterparts and squeezing through the narrowest of alleyways.
It soon took them out along the coast, passing the thriving muggle tourist hubs with their towers of mirrored glass, before turning off the main road and onto a little used road of dusty tarmac. She was beginning to wonder if they were going the right way, as settlements became few and far between, until a large oasis appeared on the horizon. She could tell at once that this was no ordinary oasis you would find in the middle of a desert, as it was far too big.
As they got closer, she began to see lines of tents through the trees, many of them with English or Australian flags waving from the top. Smoke of various colours rose up in the air, some from open fires and others through chimneypots that protruded through the canvas. Flags were strung between the trees, fluttering in the breeze, and she could sense a generally jovial atmosphere. Beyond the trees, the stadium rose upwards; draped in dark blue banners and shimmering in the late afternoon light.
They were driven past the rows of tents to a more secluded area where a large pavilion had been erected close to the stadium. Stepping out of the car, they walked through the dappled shade towards the white structure. The pavilion seemed to have been the venue for pre-match drinks, as there were glasses left behind on the tables. As they passed, she helped herself to a pair of delicate Omnioculars, wrought from what appeared to be gold, that were sat on a small table.
Following the canopied path that led away from the pavilion, they arrived at a smaller, more discrete entrance to the stadium where they were stopped by what she assumed to be a Ministry wizard. He diligently checked the two tickets Mr. Malfoy handed over before nodding them on upwards. Once they reached the top of that staircase, they were met by another Ministry witch who checked their tickets for a second time. Once satisfied, she unhooked a blue velvet rope and allowed them to step onto a thinner, more elegant spiral staircase. As soon as their feet hit the steps, the whole staircase began to revolve and carry them upwards to the very top.
What she had assumed to be the top box actually turned out to be more like the top floor. It was a akin to a large balcony, furnished with tables of food, comfy seating and many waiters weaving their way through the crowd bearing silver trays of champagne. Even though they were so high, the breeze was pleasant; fluttering through the white canopy that shielded them from the sun. It was full of people, all of whom looked important. There seemed to be representatives from both sides milling around as well as those fortunate enough to have the best tickets.
Both teams were also here, posing for photographs with the various dignitaries. She hadn't realised that she was standing alone until she turned her head to find empty space next to her; Mr. Malfoy already mingling with the crowd and greeting various people whom she assumed to be important. She felt rather cut off, like she had done at breakfast, for she could not make out a single familiar face. After all, this was not the life she lived and it was not a life she had actively sought. Her life was one of secrecy, not of society. She grabbed a crystal flute from a passing waiter and moved, with some uncertainty, into the crowd.
She listened to snippets of conversation as she wandered, nibbling on a few hors d'oeuvres that were also being offered round by the smartly dressed waiters. She did get some looks; eyes flicking to her scar as she passed by. Opening her bag, she withdrew a fan that had been a gift from one of her friends back in France, and began to waft a light breeze over her face. The bright colours were a stark contrast against her black of her dress. Without really looking where she was going, she meandered forwards to the edge of the box with the intention of doing a spot of people watching with her Omnioculars. This was soon forgotten, however, as she bumped into a portly man carrying a lime green bowler hat.
"Why, Miss Potter!" Cornelius Fudge exclaimed, a look of complete astonishment on his face. "Whatever are you doing here?"
"Oh, excuse me Minister!" she apologised hurriedly, closing her fan. "Why I'm here," she struggled to come up with a reason, "well, I'm-" he cut her off before she could finish.
"Never mind, never mind." He said, waving away her attempt at explanation. "Well, you must join my party. We can't have you standing all on your own now, can we?" he insisted jovially.
"I'm terribly sorry Minister." She replied with a smile. "I mean, thank you very much for your offer, but I'm already here as someone's guest." She supposed that was a plausible explanation.
"Oh." Fudge looked slightly shocked. "Who?"
"She's here with me, Fudge." Mr. Malfoy appeared at her elbow before she could answer the Minister's last question.
"Ah, Lucius." Fudge said with a smile, greeting him affably with a shake of his hand. Despite what she knew about Fudge's refusal to see Lucius Malfoy as anything other than a pillar of society, she still could not believe that he was on such good terms with a Death Eater. "Family all well?" he enquired.
"Oh yes. Narcissa's at a spa in Italy at the moment, with a few of her friends. And obviously Draco's at school." He informed him, by way of explanation as to why Kathryn was his guest.
"I'm rather surprised that you didn't bring your son, I believe he plays Quidditch, doesn't he?"
"Yes, well. He may play Quidditch but his school marks do not warrant such a privilege." He replied in a curt tone, the lie more than plausible.
"Ah. Well, they have to learn." Fudge shook his head in the manner of a knowing parent.
"As you know, Miss Potter is doing work experience at the Ministry this week and I know her to be a great Quidditch fan." He gave her a smile before looking back at the Minister.
"How could I refuse?" Kathryn interjected, sipping her champagne, doing her best to sound content.
Once this was over, she found herself being introduced to most of the people there; Fudge almost dragging her around behind him. She was introduced to the Australian Minister for Magic, the Ministers from the United Arab Emirates and Dubai as well as both of the teams. The women there stared at her in a mixture of awe and jealousy; many of them pointing towards the jewel that hung about her neck. The men just stared.
At the mere mention of her name, the photographers were soon hovering nearby. She posed for photos with both the teams; the England squad all shaking her hand as if she would bring them good luck. Then it was the turn of the Ministers, the photographer insisting of doing separate ones of her with them individually and then one group photo. Then it was Kathryn on her own, then with Fudge and Mr. Malfoy.
She wandered over to the edge of the box once they were finished, in quiet conversation with Mr. Malfoy, but noticed one photographer still lurking nearby. Knowing that he only wanted a photo, they turned and smiled. The camera clicked emitting a puff of purple smoke and the photographer scuttled off.
The stands below them had started to fill up and, after a final few words with Fudge, they took their seats in the front row. The view was spectacular. They were situated right on the centre line, offering them an uninterrupted view of both ends of the stadium. The commentator's magically magnified voice filled the stadium and the great advertisement board that had just been advertising 'Quality Quidditch Supplies – for all your Quidditch needs' in Diagon Alley was wiped clean and was replaced by the golden words Australia 0, England 0. The teams sped out, the commentator announcing their names in rapid succession; the England squad in red robes and the Australians in blue with stars on the front. Unlike the final, there were no displays of things to do with either country and the match was soon underway.
It was like nothing Kathryn had ever seen before. She had thought that the pace of their Quidditch matches had been sometimes difficult to keep up with. But this, this was on an entirely different level; the players becoming red and blue blurs shooting round the stadium. She found herself using the replay function on her Omnioculars just so she could see what had actually happened. She also began to make mental notes for her own team with new moves and strategies for them to practice.
She liked the way the Australian chasers flew in a circle, passing the Quaffle between them as they moved in a Ferris wheel-like motion towards the England goal hoops. Although she was officially supporting England, she was disappointed when this goal failed to get in; feeling they deserved some points for pulling off that difficult manoeuvre.
Half and hour into the game, Australia were thirty points ahead and there was still no sign of the Snitch. England were now trailing seventy points to one hundred.
"Come on, come on." She said through gritted teeth as she watched the England chasers try to wrestle the Quaffle back from the Australian side. "You've got a Firebolt." She went on as the chasers finally got possession. "You should've caught the Snitch by now."
"This is international Quidditch." Mr. Malfoy quietly reminded her. "It's a bit harder than what you play."
"Yes that's all very well," she replied in a terse voice, "but if I can see the Snitch hovering by the goal hoop then why can't they?" she nodded in the direction of the England goal hoops where the Snitch was fluttering. He smiled, his eyes fixing on the Snitch before it fluttered away again.
"Anyway, Harry, Ron and I trained for a week with the England under-18 squad last summer. I know how hard international Quidditch is." They turned their focus back to the match where England were starting to pull back, the crowd roaring as the Quaffle soared through the Australian goal hoop.
The entire stadium went silent as the Australian seeker dropped into a steep dive, closely followed by his English counterpart.
"The Snitch has been sighted!" The commentator cried out. It seemed as if the entire crowd was on the edge of its seat, Kathryn was actually perched on the edge of her blue velvet and gilt chair; not sure which team she wanted to win. She fixed her Omnioculars on the two seekers, seeing the flashes of many other people doing the same, and waited with bated breath.
It was over in an instant. The England seeker, a red-haired girl just out of the under-21 squad, snatched the Snitch from underneath the Australian seeker's nose and pulled up into the air; waving it in triumph. The Australian seeker, however, ended up in a crumpled pile on the pitch. The stadium exploded with noise; red, blue and white confetti showering through the stands. Flags were waving, horns were blowing and people were shooting showers of sparks into the air with their wands. Kathryn was on her feet too; clapping and cheering as the team piled on top of their Seeker in mid air in their rush to congratulate her.
Slowly, both teams made their way to the top box; the Australian seeker being supported by two of his team mates, still dazed from his collision with the pitch. One of the English chasers was also being held up by a fellow player, having been hit in the leg by a Bludger, a grimace of pain etched on his face. They were congratulated by both Cornelius Fudge and the Australian Minister for magic and then by the various people seated in the top box. The photographer had reappeared and small puffs of purple smoke were soon wafting above the crowd.
The jubilant England team were quick to drag her into a photo with them all; laughing and smiling and dubbing her their lucky charm. The cheers of the crowd were still ringing around the stadium as she was pulled onto a broomstick. The next thing she knew, the chaser whose broom she was on was kicking off and she was and being flown round the stadium as the England team took several victory laps.
She laughed as the wind whipped through her hair, hanging onto the back of the chaser's robes; the raucous cheers filling her ears. Eventually they slowed, landing back in the top box with a soft thud where they were once more surrounded by people offering their congratulations. She could see Fudge conversing with Mr. Malfoy at the edge the crowd and, once she had swept her hair back into place and rearranged her dress, she fought her way out towards them.
"Well, I'll see you then Minister." He shook Fudge's hand. "You too Miss Potter, I do hope you'll join the Minister and myself for dinner tomorrow." She nodded, knowing that she didn't really have a choice.
"Of course."
"Excellent!" Fudge beamed. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Miss Potter." He took her hand and bowed slightly. "Lucius." With a final nod to Mr. Malfoy, he bustled back over to the England team.
"Shall we?" Mr. Malfoy swept his hand towards the doorway and, although he had voiced it as a question, she knew that meant it was time to leave. Politely, he let her go first, descending down the spiral staircase and back out to the ground below where their car was waiting.
She shivered as she slid down into her seat, the car cold compared to the balmy warmth of the evening. With the excitement of the match behind them, she suddenly felt quite tired; leaning against the window, not really aware of what they were passing, even though she was gazing out into the distance.
Her movements were automatic as they walked up to their suite and she barely noticed the few people who stared. She changed out of her dress and jewels; pulling on a pair of soft, neutrally coloured linen shorts, flip-flops and a thin red vest-top. She twisted her hair up into a loose knot to keep it off her neck and headed out onto the balcony to catch the last of the day's sunlight. Settling herself onto a comfortable chaise lounge beneath the shade of a large parasol, she began to read.
He joined her after a few minutes, settling himself in a chair on the opposite side of the balcony, also opening a book. She noticed that he was dressed far more casually than she had ever seen him. His shirt looked soft and well-worn; open at the collar and the sleeves were rolled up. His trousers were linen and looked similarly comfy, and his feet were bare. She did her best not to look at him, although she knew that he was looking more at her than at his book.
After a while she switched her attention to the Daily Prophet and began finish the crossword he had begun that morning, calling out clues that she could no answer as she worked through it. She found it very odd to be doing something so normal with a man that she had anything but a normal relationship with. It was finished quickly and, giving her wand a little flick, the paper began to transform itself into little origami birds that fluttered around the balcony.
Closing the parasol so she could make the most of the dying sun's rays, she picked up her book again. She heard the scrape of a chair on the wooden floor, followed by his footsteps. He heard him pull up a chair behind her and, seconds later, felt his hands on her hair. He pulled the long black waves free of their fastening, allowing her hair to tumble gracefully down her shoulders. She gave no signal that she had noticed his touch, her eyes remaining fixed on the text of her book.
"I like it down." He murmured in her ear, stroking his hands up and down her neck.
She set her book down on the table as he slid down next to her, burying his head in the curve of her neck and running his hands over the smooth lines of her body. Though she tried her best to remove herself from what was happening, she could not help letting go a small gasp as he pulled her in closer, his hands working her top over her head. She could feel his hands toying with the waistband of her shorts, pushing them down over her hips as his mouth traced the elegant line of her neck. Unable to wait any longer, he lifted her off the chaise and carried her inside, not even making it as far as the bedroom; taking his fill of her on the large sofa.
He left her there, naked and ashamed once he was through; disappearing into his room with a self-satisfied smile on his face. She heard sound of water against tiles and, after a few more minutes' contemplation, stood up. Picking up his discarded shirt, she shrugged it on and went in search of her underwear; finding her knickers abandoned not far from the chaise. Pulling these on, she leant against the balustrade; fingering the cuff of his white shirt and gazing out at the evening sky.
It was made of soft cotton that rested lightly on her skin, slightly crumpled from lying on the floor. It was still warm and his scent clung around the collar. Her fingers traced themselves around the cuff, running over the spot where the Malfoy crest was embellished in white thread; an almost indistinguishable mark of wealth and the seriousness of what she had gotten herself into.
They dined in the hotel restaurant later that night, discussing the match over exotic dishes and rich wine, not appearing more than friends. Their table was in a corner and he appeared to have chosen a time when there were few patrons, affording them some degree of privacy. Nevertheless, she made sure her hair fell in such a way that it obscured her scar. Considering that he was paying, she had more than her fair share of the expensive wine and took her pick of some of the most expensive dishes. By the way he raised his eyebrows; she guessed that he hadn't thought that someone of her age would have such a taste for red wine.
Once they returned to the privacy of their suite, she disappeared into her room without a word. He paid this no mind, assuming she was going to change, and made himself a nightcap from the substantial bar. As an afterthought, he poured a second for her. From what he had learned of her tastes over the past two days, her appreciating a fine Cognac would not be a surprise.
When she did not reappear, he picked up the glasses and went off to see what had become of her. Standing in the doorway of her room he saw what had happened. She was sprawled out on the bed in a blood red silk negligee. The sheets were thrown back but she hadn't even pulled them over her before she had fallen asleep.
"And she sleeps." He murmured to himself from his vantage point in the doorway. Setting the glasses down on the dressing table, he vanished for a moment and reappeared ready for bed. She hadn't moved from where she lay on the rich cream pillows. Extinguishing the lamps, he settled himself next to her, pulling the covers up around her bare shoulders. When he drew her nearer he was sure that, in the small sliver of moonlight that came through the fine gossamer curtains, he saw her smile at his touch.
They returned to England the following evening after spending a lazy day around the hotel; Kathryn making a small trip into the city to pick up a few knick-knacks as gifts. Fudge met them outside the hotel at seven o'clock, apparently not needing to return to the Ministry on a Sunday. If he had any questions as to their accommodation arrangements, he did not voice them. He greeted them jovially before he touched his hand to the same rabbit-shaped Portkey that they had used on Friday night. One minute they were standing in the balmy Dubai evening and, one sharp jerk behind the navel later, they were landing on the front steps of his Manor.
Kathryn shuddered as they entered the main hall of the grand house; a mixture of the cold and the bad memories the house held for her. Even though the fires were blazing in their grates, the temperature difference was noticeable compared to the balmy warmth of Dubai. They were soon settled in one of the upstairs drawing rooms; two fires keeping the high-ceilinged room cosy and warm. As it was only three in the afternoon, tea was sent for and Mr. Malfoy and Fudge settled in to talk business.
Looking out of one of the large windows, Kathryn could see that snow was still lying throughout the grounds. Digging in her bag for her winter coat, she excused herself and went for a walk; leaving Malfoy and the Minister to discuss whatever they wanted without fear of her overhearing.
She had never gotten the chance to explore the grounds of the Malfoy estate, although she'd had a good look at it the previous summer. The grounds were larger than she had expected, her limited viewing in august not really doing it justice. There were great, landscaped gardens filled with many exotic plants that were, at that point, covered with a fine layer of snow and frost. The sprawling lawns shone with frost in the weak afternoon sunlight and, beyond the formal gardens, she could see what appeared to be a sizeable wood that bordered the end of the garden. On reflection, it was really quite a fine place to be held captive.
From the upstairs drawing room where they were having tea, she was just visible from the window; a small figure in black that was a stark contrast to the surrounding snow. Lucius found himself watching her as he stood looking out over the grounds when he was supposed to be listening to the Minister.
"Lucius." Fudge's voice jerked him back out of his reverie. "Lucius, did you hear a word of what I just said?"
"Hmm?" he did not take his gaze from the window.
"What are you looking at that is so mesmerising?" Fudge bustled over to the window and saw what had been so enthralling him. Standing stock still by the edge of the small wood was Kathryn. Slowly edging towards her was a brilliant white unicorn. He had known that there was one roaming somewhere about his grounds, but he had never gotten as close as Kathryn was now standing.
They supposed from the way she was holding her arm out that she had sugar lumps in her palm. The unicorn took step after tentative step towards her and, after about a minute of this cautious behaviour, it seemed to relax and came right up to her; taking the sugar from her hand. Moving slowly, so as not to startle it, Kathryn raised a hand and gently stroked the animal's shining mane.
"It is amazing, isn't it?" Fudge said absent-mindedly, his eyes also fixed on the young woman in the distance.
"What is?"
"What she has gone through, I mean, what she and her brother have gone through. Yet you would think that she had not a care in the world."
"They are certainly resilient." Mr. Malfoy agreed, sipping his drink pensively. "Although some would call them imprudent." They watched as she walked back towards the house, her eyes fixing them both with a regal gaze as she passed beneath the window.
Once she returned and had a mug of tea cupped between her hands, she settled herself in front of the crackling fire and buried her nose in a book. They paid her little heed when she produced parchment and a quill from her bag and made a start on the essay for Snape. She was about halfway through when a house elf with large flapping ears and great, bulbous eyes appeared at the door; announcing that dinner was ready.
Whilst Malfoy and Fudge made their way downstairs she excused herself and retreated to a bathroom to change. From her bag, she pulled out the second dress that she had packed, just for an option of outfit. It was fairly similar to the dress she had worn for the match, at least in terms of fit. Made from deep blue silk and chiffon; it floated gracefully down her body, clinging to just the right places, and had relaxed, off the shoulder straps instead of full sleeves.
She added the same necklace, bracelet and earrings she had worn the day before and then made her way down the large staircase leading to the Entrance Hall. The heels of her shoes echoed off the polished floors as she headed towards the sound of voices; walking through an elegantly furnished drawing room to a pair of large, polished oak doors that were slightly ajar.
She stepped slowly through the opening into another grand room, this one with a long table stretching down the centre. Out of politeness, both men rose as she approached the far end where they were seated, Mr. Malfoy pulling out the third high backed chair to the right of him. She noticed, but ignored, the surreptitious looks their host was giving her as Fudge complemented her appearance.
The food was laid out on silver platters before them and she gladly helped herself to succulent roast shoulder of lamb and perfectly steamed vegetables as they talked, chasing it down with a rich, fruity red wine. Dessert was equally as magnificent, giving the Hogwarts kitchens a run for their money as they were presented with slices of perfectly cooked Tarte Tatin. Kathryn felt her eyelids beginning to droop as they sat and talked even more, the topics of conversation far more serious than the usual Sunday evening talk of the common room.
Excusing herself, she went to stand at the front door; letting the crisp, cool air wake her up. Mere minutes later, she turned to find Fudge bustling into the Entrance Hall; pulling on his pinstriped cloak and bowler hat.
"Urgent message. Got to go." She heard him say as Mr. Malfoy followed him out. "Terribly sorry Lucius, it was a wonderful meal." He apologised sincerely.
"You are very welcome, Minister." Turning away from the door, Kathryn made her way back over to bid him goodbye as well.
"Miss Potter, a pleasure as always." Fudge said, giving her a warm smile, taking her hand and bowing.
"Thank you Minister."
"Lucius, you'll see that she gets home safely, won't you?" Fudge asked.
"Certainly."
"Well, good, good." He mumbled to himself. "Good evening." With that he disapparated with a 'pop' and she was left alone with Mr. Malfoy.
Without a word she made her way back upstairs to where she had left her things. When he finally arrived, she was standing before one of the large mullioned windows, staring morosely out at the black countryside.
"You know," he began in a thoughtful voice as he came to stand behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders, "I do admire you for being so noble. Yet I do not understand why you would risk yourself in such a manner, merely to protect your friends."
"Some people value others above themselves." She replied stoically, gazing mournfully at her reflection in the glass.
"How very foolish." He said in an icy voice. "But why should I mind?" he slipped his hands down her arms and began to softly kiss the curve of her neck.
"Some people would call it bravery." She shot back, trying to discreetly pull herself away from his touch.
"Now, now," he pulled her even closer to his body, "I thought we'd gone over this little problem." He whispered in her ear. "As long as you say nothing, you belong to me and you stay." She hung her head as she yielded to his touch, feeling his fingers slide the zip of her dress open. The material slid from her shoulders, gathering around her waist, and she felt his hands slide over her skin. She quivered as he touched her, going limp in his arms as his hands moved lower. He gave a low chuckle, enjoying her inability to hide her intense reaction.
"You may try to hide behind a stoic face" he murmured seductively in her ear, "but your body does not lie." The moan that escaped her lips told him all he needed to know.
Without further ado he lifted her off her feet and carried her downstairs to a different room. The fact that all the paintings had been covered with black velvet curtains did not escape her notice as they passed. She would have bet anything that the curtains were completely sealed so the paintings beneath them would hear nothing.
The door clicked shut behind them and, moments later, she landed on the soft mattress of a large, opulently carved four-poster bed. The hangings were a lavish, deep green and matched the soft coverlet that lay over the rich cream sheets. Her heart skipped a beat when she realised that they were not in the small room that he had used in the past, but in the bedroom that he shared with his wife. These thoughts were, however, banished from her mind as he advanced upon her; practically tearing her dress away as he struggled to remove his own shirt.
A couple of hours later she lay awake in the giant bed; her head on the pillow, staring blankly at the far side of the room as he slept beside her. There was a look of abject terror on her face. What was she doing? She felt his arm slide round her waist and try to pull her closer, an arm that she knew bore the dark mark. She resisted for a moment, her grip tightening on the pillow. Fighting the urge to cry, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath before succumbing to the pull of his arm and rolled over to lie close to him; her black hair mingling with his blond on the pillow.
She rose early the next morning, disentangling herself from his arms and showering as quietly as she could before packing up her things; several items of clothing strewn across the floor from his frenzied attempts to remove them the previous night. She was back in Grimmauld Place, eating a large breakfast with Sirius by seven and was out the door at half past eight.
To her delight, she spent Monday with the Auror Office. She chatted for ages with Tonks who gave her stacks of material about how the Aurors used potions in the entrapment of dark wizards. It was easily enough to finish off her essay for Snape. Tonks, Kingsley and Moody all came over for dinner that evening too; all of them very eager to hear about the Quidditch match. They stayed up until the early hours of the morning just talking around the kitchen table, lazily swigging butterbeer or, in Moody's case, whatever he kept in his hip flask.
Her last day was spent with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It was a rather disorganised department, with posters of various Quidditch teams littering the walls along with the occasional signed set of robes or Quaffle. She was also rather self-conscious as she could see several photos from the England match in Dubai; one of which was of the team doing their victory laps of the stadium with her clinging onto the back of the chaser's robes. She would have imagined this job to be more exciting though, as she was put to the arduous task of reading the report on the annual general meeting of the Gobstones Federation and then drawing up a list of all that was needed for the upcoming British Championships.
Dinner was a more subdued affair that evening, with she and Sirius sharing a quiet meal before settling down to several games of wizard chess and plenty of Firewhisky. She swiftly regretted it in the morning, however, when she woke to a pale blue winter sky and the smell of bacon frying. Glancing at her clock she saw it was nearly eleven and she was supposed to have been leaving for Hogwarts at eight. Practically falling out of bed in panic, she ran straight for the shower; turning the cold tap until it would go no further and yelping as the icy water stung her skin and woke her up. Down in the kitchen, Sirius was humming to himself whilst standing over the frying pan when she came in looking more than slightly flustered.
"Brunch?" he asked casually, checking to make sure the toast wasn't burning.
"I was supposed to be back at Hogwarts this morning." She said with a groan as she slumped down into a chair.
"I thought I could let you sleep in, you needed more than five hours."
"Sirius!" She moaned, folding her arms on the table and laying her head down on them. "I've got double potions with Snape this afternoon. If I'm not back he'll kill me."
"It's none of old Snivelly's business when you get back." He waved his wand and orange juice and tea poured themselves into a glass and a mug sitting before her. "Now, get some food into you and then you can go back." He laid down plates of bacon, sausages, toast, eggs, tomatoes and a dish of baked beans. She tucked in greedily, realising how hungry she was when her stomach gave a loud rumble.
Despite her plans to eat and leave, she ended up having to sit for a good half an hour while her food settled; finally arriving at the main entrance to the castle just as the bell went for the end of lunch. Sprinting back up to the common room; she pulled on her robes over her jeans, grabbed her bag and hurtled back down to the dungeons, ignoring the protests of the portraits as she ran. She was only fifteen minutes late but she knew that Snape would not be sympathetic in any way.
She sidled quietly through the door and slunk along the back wall to her desk between Harry and Hermione. They whispered a quick hello as she began to unpack her bag. Snape had his back turned but she did not doubt that he had noticed her entrance.
"So, Miss Potter." He said in an icy voice, turning and walking towards her desk. "You decided to grace us with your presence after all." Malfoy sniggered across the classroom but Snape ignored him.
"I'm sorry-." She began but he cut her off.
"Although I see you don't seem to have bothered with the correct uniform." He cast a disapproving eye over her jeans and t-shirt.
"I've just got back." She explained quickly, not giving him a second chance to interrupt. "I thought you'd rather I was fifteen minutes late instead of half an hour." The classroom broke out in furious whispers at such a comment; hardly believing she dared challenge the feared potions professor.
"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Potter," Snape replied curtly, "do not e late again. Now get on with your work." Keeping her eyes down, she set up her cauldron and made a start on the day's potion. She gave a smile of hello to Harry, Ron and Hermione but did not dare speak. About halfway through the lesson, Snape again approached. Chancing a quick glance, she saw that he had a copy of the Sunday Prophet between his pale hands.
"I assume you had an interesting week at the Ministry, Miss Potter?"
"Yes." She was quite stunned that he was now enquiring about her week, but she did not look up from her work.
"But I take it that you've finished flaunting yourself for the society pages of the Sunday Prophet?" looking up, he was clutching the paper with a malicious look on his face.
"Excuse me, Professor?" she was now extremely confused.
"You mean, you haven't seen?" a look of glee flitted across his pale, pointed face. He tossed the paper down on her desk, already open on the society page. To her dismay, the photo of herself and Lucius Malfoy at the Quidditch match graced the front page. She rifled quickly through to glimpse more pictures of herself with Fudge and the England squad. Flipping to the back pages she saw the sport section with the commentary on the match also held, amongst several action shots of the match, a photograph of her with both teams and one from the victory lap round the stadium.
"Keep it. I'm sure you'll want to clip it out." He turned and stalked off to make snide comments about other peoples' work. Her face burned as she stowed the paper in her bag as fast as possible, although not for any arrogant reasons, but because she did not want Harry, Ron or Hermione to see before she did. It was the longest potions lesson of her life and she felt like everyone's eyes were on her, which she knew they probably were. She tossed her completed essay on Snape's desk when the bell rang and hurried out of the gloomy dungeon before anyone else could say a word.
That rest of the afternoon was taken up by transfiguration, Kathryn glad for the fact that Professor McGonagall did not say a word about her time away, giving her more time to practice the complicated Switching Spells. She again got out of the classroom as quickly as possible, ignoring the tempting smell of roast beef and Yorkshire puddings as she passed the Great Hall.
The common room was blissfully empty as she hurried through the portrait hole and ran up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. She threw her bag down onto Harry's bed and pulled the slightly crumpled paper out before pulling herself up onto the high window ledge. She sat cross-legged in the small alcove and spread the paper across her knees, taking the time to read what had been written and look at the photos they had published.
Snape hadn't been exaggerating; her face had been put on every page of the five-page special on the match. Apparently it had been quite a gathering of the 'great and good' of wizarding society. She was pictured with the Ministers, both teams and, of course, Mr. Malfoy. The worst was by far the photo that graced the front page.
Although she hadn't really been focused on the photographer at that point, and had just turned and smiled, they had got a rather stunning shot. They were both standing at a slight angle and Kathryn noticed several things that she had not registered four days ago. For a start, her fan was open, creating a splash of vivid colour on the black of her dress. She also noticed her other hand which was, unbeknownst to her, resting on the top of the silver serpent that crowned his cane. It was resting right on his hand, and even though it was not instantly visible, to her it stuck out a mile.
She flipped through the rest of the insert, checking the photos. The rest seemed to be all right. She did notice that, on the photo with Fudge and Malfoy, his hand had come to rest loosely on her waist. She pulled out the insert and laid it to the side, turning this time to the sports pages at the back of the paper. Here the remarks were more focused on the match, although there were some comments about the lap of victory that she took round the pitch with the team. This included a photo of her clinging onto the robes of one of the chasers, a wide grin on her face as they sped past the camera. She quickly folded the paper and hid it as the door creaked open and three figures walked in. It turned out to be only Harry, Hermione and Ron.
"Thought we'd find you here." Ron remarked in a disappointed tone. "I'd have hoped you'd have thought of better places to go when you don't want to be found." He flopped down onto his mattress and worked off his tie.
"Who says I didn't want to be found?" she raised her eyebrows at him from her perch.
"Well, you've been pretty keen to stay away from everyone since you got back." Kathryn and Hermione both closed their eyes as Harry and Ron pulled on jeans and t-shirts, although it was unlikely that anything they saw would astonish them. "You even skipped dinner, and we all know how much you love Yorkshire puddings." He finished with a grin, pulling his head through his t-shirt.
"We brought you some." Hermione handed up a golden plate piled high with thin slivers of beef, Yorkshire puddings and vegetables; all dripping in gravy. This was followed by a goblet of apple juice.
"Thanks Hermione." She stabbed her fork eagerly onto her plate and began to eat.
"What did Snape mean?" Harry finally spoke, giving his sister a confused look from where he sat cross-legged on his bed. "You were on work experience. What was 'flaunting yourself for the society pages' supposed to mean?" Kathryn held up a hand for him to wait whilst she finished chewing.
"I was on work experience." She said, taking a bite of Yorkshire pudding.
"So how could you be flaunting yourself for the society pages if you were working?" Harry pushed.
"I went to a Quidditch match."
"So, that's not that big a deal." Ron scoffed from his bed. "I mean, how many people go to Quidditch matches?"
"It wasn't an ordinary match, was it?" Hermione said in a quiet, serious voice. Kathryn took a deep breath.
"No." She threw the society and sport sections of the paper down onto Harry's bed. Ron scrabbled across to look as Harry's eyes widened in shock.
"You went to the England international against Australia!" Ron cried as he saw the title, Kathryn nodded by way of reply. "How? The tickets sold out an hour after going on sale."
"The Department for Magical Games and Sports." She recited, looking wistfully out the window.
"They weren't just any tickets, Ron." Hermione chided him. "Do you really think she would have been photographed if she was in the stands? She was in the top box."
"You're on every page." Harry said in a quiet but incredulous voice. "Snape wasn't lying."
"I didn't flaunt myself." Kathryn snapped back in an angry tone. "It's not my fault photographers were lurking."
"We know that." Hermione interrupted in a calm voice. "But it's true, they have put you on every single page."
"I'm a Potter; of course they're going to splash my face all over the place."
"Well, that is a fact, but-."
"But have you made it your mission to be continuously at the side of Lucius Malfoy whenever you can." The photo on the front page was lain out in front of them. Harry smacked the picture with his hand for emphasis, his voice taking on a dangerous edge as he stared intently at his sister, waiting for her reply.
"It's not my choice what they print. I was just talking to him and the photographer came over." Kathryn tried to make up a half-true, plausible explanation.
"And in this one," Harry turned to the photo on the middle page, "what is he doing with his arm round your waist?"
"He is posing for a photograph, Harry, it doesn't mean anything." Harry was about to open his mouth to argue back but she cut him off. "I know what you think and I will tell you again, I know what I am doing."
"You got to ride round the stadium!" Ron suddenly exclaimed, the tension in the room dissipating.
"Yeah." Kathryn blushed slightly. "I think I've become their good luck charm or something. They just pulled me on after the match, it was quite cool actually."
"Did you see James?" Harry asked; his bad temper forgotten and now interested in the match.
"Yeah. She was a bit off form though, I mean, I spotted the Snitch while they were all down the other end of the pitch."
"Well, what they really need is a bunch of Firebolt's, like Ireland has." He and Kathryn both knew the advantages of having the fastest broom available.
"True, still, it was a good game," she finished, "I've got some good ideas for new tactics that we can try out tomorrow night."
"What about Dubai?" Hermione asked. "I've heard its bazaars are amazing."
"Oh yeah, that reminds me." She summoned her bag up from Harry's bed and pulled out three small, brightly wrapped parcels. "I got you these." She threw them down and they tore open the wrapping, slightly surprised that she had thought of them.
For Hermione she had found an interesting set of bracelets that had glass beads filled with white smoke that changed colour depending on her mood and a small figurine carved from wood and set with polished black stone. For Harry and Ron she had found some moving models of the England players on their miniature brooms.
They spent the rest of the evening in their favourite chairs by the fire, talking over the match whilst trying to plough through their homework that included another particularly nasty essay from Snape. She also spent most nights that week training for their match against Ravenclaw that weekend. She tried out the move she had seen in Dubai and, thankfully, it worked perfectly. Although it would be a lot different on Saturday when there was another team on the pitch.
It did work well on the day, albeit they didn't get to use it much, as Harry once again gave them a quick match by catching the Snitch within forty minutes despite the heavy rain that soaked their robes and stung their cheeks and fingers. Kathryn had to admire him for that quick capture, as she knew that he didn't like playing against Cho; worried that his winning Quidditch would spoil the friendship they had managed to forge.
He'd gotten over it, however, and he had once gone so far as to pull a Wronski feint and let Cho crash into the muddy ground. She'd also had a stern word with Harry and Ginny when they started going out, telling them to leave their relationship behind when they play Quidditch. They seemed to have listened and did not betray the slightest hint of their familiarity when they were playing. They collapsed in the common room, exhausted and soaking but exhilarated; the Quidditch Cup wasn't far from their reach.