Mad-Eye and Frank vowed not to let this one slip through the cracks. Frank had taken this one on as his personal project and worked on it night and day with the young man Gideon had met beside the Fountain of Magical Brethren. His name was Kingsley Shacklebolt and he showed an excellent promise. Gideon took full advantage of his accumulated leave. Tired of him lying around, Lily had pulled him out of the bed and tidied up the master bedroom after she’d forced him into the shower. In any case, Gideon had drained his house of drink and walked around the neighbourhood in a stupor. He left only to report to Ministry officials, and he continued to ignore the growing mountain of letters on the table.
He left the door unlocked and Lily took the spare key. She came in whenever it pleased her, which was all the time, and Gideon barely acknowledged her. Tonight, as usual, she hung her bag in the armoire and knocked up something for dinner.
“Your sister says this is your favourite,” she said, placing a bowl of hot soup on the coffee table. She stirred it and placed chunks of fresh bread on a plate. “The tea will be done in a minute.”
He pushed the plate away and left the spoon on the napkin.
“All right.” She took the hint and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. She helped herself to the strawberries and froze when he stared at her. “Yes?”
“Those aren’t yours,” he said. “I don’t want any of this.”
“Gideon, you haven’t eaten all day,” she pointed out, “and you have to eat something because the drink is just going to ruin your liver.”
“Fine.” He picked up the dishes and snatched the plate away from her before he headed into the kitchen. She stared at him, speechless. Gideon tipped the plates into the sink and looked round for a bottle; there was nothing left in the cabinet. “I’ve got Chardonnay somewhere.”
“I threw it out.” Lily crossed her arms when he turned around to face her. “You’ve had enough. You need to get out of here. Shave. Read a book and go for a run. Something.”
Gideon’s patience ran out. “Leave.”
“No.” Lily grabbed the leash and hooked it on Pip’s collar. “Come with me to get some fresh air.”
“He’s not my mutt,” he said, glancing at the dog. “You can take him with you. Get out.”
“No.” Lily wrapped the leash around her wrist and Pip let out a low growl when Gideon approached. “Sit, buddy, Pip; sit down.”
“He doesn’t understand you,” said Gideon coldly, reaching over the dog’s head to grab the leash. Pip, who had always been protective around Annette, sunk his teeth into his arm. “Damn it, you fucking ... Non. Assis! Ici, Pip, Ici!”
Pip sat down and walked towards him with his head down.
“He’s nervous,” said Lily. Gideon took the leash and walked over to the tap to clean his wound. He dressed it with a tap of his wand and pulled the leash. She took that as an invitation and followed them to the door. “I’ll follow you.”
“If you ever bite Maman, you’re in trouble,” he told the dog, grabbing a coat. The slender Labrador went off when they reached the door. “Pip, I will murder you.”
The door opened and Lily smiled at René, who muttered hello and rounded on Gideon. “Sit.”
“René,” Gideon sighed and hurriedly prepared an excuse. “We’re headed out ...”
His words evaporated when René’s bony fist met his jaw. Gideon stepped back, surprised.
“I don’t give a damn what you want.” He glared at the dog, who shut up immediately. “My wife shows up at my school in the middle of the night, fucking ‘ysterical, begging me to fix zis ...”
“René,” said Gideon, massaging his jaw and sitting down with Lily.
“René, René!” The man was livid and took out his wand. “Where is she?”
“I...” His words melted in his throat.
“Annette Nadia Gabrielle Marceau, ma petite fille!” René’s voice rose an octave. “You’ve got about thirty seconds. Speak, boy!”
Gideon couldn’t find any words.
“Sir,” said Lily, shocked. “Lower your wand.”
“What did I tell you?” René pointed his wand at an afghan, which shifted into sharp thorny vines and slithered itself around Gideon’s wrists. Gideon’s tongue twisted itself into a knot. Gideon threw his head back and gagged. “Keep her safe and honour her. Love her. You handed her over to the Death Eaters! Anything to push your treaty through, right? What say you and I have a little chat in the closet?”
Gideon thrashed his head around and gasped for air.
“Release him!” Lily ordered him. She, too, drew her wand. “Leave him alone!”
“Quiet, mademoiselle!” René rounded on her. “Do not tell me zis is your lover. I’ll fucking break you.”
Gideon thrashed round harder, and tears flooded his eyes. He dropped Lily’s hand, panicked, and breathed sharply through his nose. When René approached him, he flinched and his heart raced. René had forced one of his grandsons, Auguste, into a tiny shower when the young man had denied him at school. Auguste had shouted that René wasn’t his father and didn’t have the right to order him, and René had responded by throwing him on the tile floor and blasting ice cold water down from the tap. Gideon didn’t laugh when he’d heard this, though at the time, he didn’t believe the old man got that angry. All doubt had evaporated.
“Oh, yes, you remember zat story,” said René, his voice dangerously calm. “You don’t like tight spaces, do you, boy? Well, I’m just going to let her brothers teach you a lesson.”
Gideon gasped for air the second the man lowered his wand and released him the spell. “Thank you.”
“Shut up.” René took a lighter and a packet out of his robes. He flicked the lighter, lit a cigarette, and took a drag. “If I hurt you, I hurt Annette, and I won’t do that.”
Gideon watched him leaf through the evening paper.
“France stepped out of negotiations at the last hour?” René look mildly interested and shook his head. “Did you hear that? All that gold down the drain? Shame. Where’s Auguste when you need him?”
“He signed,” said Gideon hoarsely, glancing at his bag. “They all signed.”
“Did they?” René pointed his wand at Gideon’s bag and snatched it when it zoomed towards him. He dug through it and fished out three rolls of parchment with blue wax seals. The old professor smiled at Lily and walked towards the fireplace; the rolls slipped from his hands and the flames devoured the texts. “Sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”
With that, he scratched the dog behind his ears and took his leave.
Gideon took things for sleep. Nothing too heavy, but it’s the only thing that did the trick. Whenever he lay down at night, Gideon’s mind raced with a thousand questions; the dog slept on Annette’s side. Pip didn’t like Gideon, yet he’d definitely picked up on the fact that Annette was no longer there. He lay around like a stubborn boulder until Lily arrived to take him for a walk and spend time with him. So, on nights like these, Gideon stared at the ceiling for hours until he got up and started drafting a proposal. When things got really bad, he fell back on good, old double translation; he drafted texts from French into English or vice versa to keep his mind sharp. Plus, the activity was dead boring, so, with any luck, he’d beat his brain into a deep slumber.
“I know I’m supposed to do this outside,” he said, looking at the dog when he turned his head. Pip stared back at him with a blank expression, like he’d caught Gideon in the act. Gideon reached over and placed his cigarette in the ashtray lying on the bedside cabinet. “But she’s not here, and you won’t say anything, will you? We should toss Auguste over a bridge.”
Earlier that evening, Gideon had been handed his fifth revision of the same, old negotiation. He’d been in the business for a while now and knew what he was doing. All in all, Gideon found that this was simply nitpicking, going over word for word, because none of them dared debate the figures. No, just as long as gold traded hands and everyone plastered their faces with these fake smiles, everything was fine. Ever since Gideon had showed up with nothing to give Mr. Davies, the heavy man had jumped down his throat and harped on him about everything. Gideon felt as though he shouldn’t even bother with returning to work, but he had to push something through, despite the fact that the world saw it as a shitty draft.
Pip raised his head when there was a knock on the door and Gideon threw off the covers and peeked out the window. Rain pounded against the windows. Who would visit him at this time of night and in this weather? Gideon took the burning taper off the bedside cabinet and walked slowly downstairs, Pip following at his heels. The sofa bed was open, although nobody had slept there for a month now. Gideon thought that Fabian had perhaps forgotten his key. He was out on some assignment with the Order. When Gideon unhooked the deadbolt, he was surprised to see a thin woman with drenched blonde locks standing there.
He stepped aside and let her in without question.
“I probably shouldn’t be here,” she said, glancing around the room.
“You shouldn’t,” he agreed hoarsely. How did she know he lived here? Gideon ran a hand over his chin and took her travelling cloak. He waved his hand, offering her a seat, and hung her wet garments in the armoire. “Is there anything I can do for you, Madam?”
She shook her head. It took a moment for her to gather herself, (comma) before she struck up a conversation. She wiped her hair out of her grey eyes, glanced at the crib standing against the wall, and said, rather conversationally, “How is your wife?”
Gideon was sure his emotions escaped him because Narcissa raised her eyebrows. She had sprung the question on him and caught him off guard. This missing report had not been floating in the papers. Although Annette was not a member of the Order, Dumbledore and Mad-Eye had insisted that this be kept secret, and Frank Longbottom headed the investigation, covering their tracks. The officials who Gideon had run to in a panic had apparently assumed that he had lost his cool for a moment and found his wife. Gideon had reason to believe that Narcissa knew nothing, for her husband might have kept her in the dark.
“She’s well,” he said shortly, inventing an excuse. “She’s on h-holiday in France, in M-Marseille visiting her grandfather.”
“Is that wise?” Narcissa nodded at the crib.
“No, not really, but she needed to get out of the house, and they miss her, too.,” Gideon curbed his rambling when she encouraged him with a cold smile. “How’s your husband?”
“Well.” She threw his vague answer back in his face.
Gideon stared at her. It was a strange feeling indeed that whilst his wife had disappeared, Annette wasn’t the one who he’d longed to have in his bed at night. Narcissa was an attractive woman, but it wasn’t her beauty that he drew him in. Truth be told, the woman had married into enough gold that she could realistically be whoever she wanted. He missed Annette’s company, and he loved her deeply, and yet, this woman was like a refreshing drink.
“Mr. Prewett.” She waited until Gideon met her eyes. She had been talking, and her lips had been moving, yet he hadn’t caught a word. She patted the empty spot beside her and the dog wandered off to someplace else.
“Tea?” Gideon stayed, rooted on the spot. He sat beside her when she shook her head, surrendering like an eager puppy. When she took his hand, he leaned in and kissed her. Then he thought better and tried weakly to sway her…and himself. “Maybe you should go.”
“No.” Narcissa rested her hand on his leg, which made it really hard for him to think straight. “Tell me about the Madame. There are rumours in certain circles that she’s left you.”
“No, no, she loves me and I love her,” he said quickly. Their marriage had never before sparked interest in the magical community; they were just another couple. He laughed shakily, though he felt sure that his reaction didn’t go off as nonchalantly as he’d planned. “We are fine. She’s ... she’s just on holiday. I would have gone with her, but I’m anchored down with work and René ...”
“Isn’t too pleased with you?” she guessed, reading his expression. Narcissa got dangerously close.
“How do you know?” he demanded, suddenly harsh.
“I know nothing,” Narcissa said innocently, playing with him. “Do you miss me, Mr. Prewett?”
“Ah. Don’t.” He took her hand. “I am a married man, and you’ve a husband at home, Madam.”
“What if I could offer you something?” she asked, waiting until he got to his feet and headed towards the staircase. Gideon put his hand on the banister. “Let’s say I overheard some news that may interest you about Madame Marceau.”
She reached inside her robes and took out a jewellery box. She opened it and showed him a silver pair of dangling ruby earrings. “Ah. They look familiar? Weren’t they crafted by her grandmother’s hand?”
“Where the hell did you get those?” Gideon strode back to her and made to snatch them away from her. Narcissa slapped his hand away. “She was wearing those the night ...”
Narcissa waited for him to continue, and when he shut up, she rolled her eyes and got to her feet. She held his face in her hands. “Don’t play me as a stupid woman, dear. You don’t love her.”
“What do you want?” Gideon, struck by an idea, reached in his pocket and handed her a colourful pouch full of Galleons. He let her wrap her hands around his neck and kiss him. “Narcissa.”
“You take me for a whore?” She laughed softly and turned his gold away. “You think I can’t do better? You are nothing. What? A translator with a refined tongue? You are nothing to me, you desperate fool.”
“You found me,” he pointed out, kissing her neck. “What will it take? We both know you and your husband aren’t exactly faithful to each other, either, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t see where or why you’re placing the fault here. Walk right out that door, if that’s what you want.”
He played this game with one thought driving through his mind; he’d get his wife back one way or another, morals be damned. He’d actually considered giving Narcissa the benefit of the doubt; chances were, though they were slim, her husband could have kept her in the dark. Gideon had no evidence to back this up, but he felt in his heart that Narcissa was no Death Eater. True, like her sister, she probably lived by the beliefs of this pure-blood mania. He could throw her out and forget the whole thing. She’d be angry because there would be no shoulder to cry on or someone to keep her company for the night. Gideon, who was never one to pass up opportunity when it came knocking, realised he had an advantage.
Gideon cleared his throat and switched tactics. He waved his wand and two crystal goblets and a bottle of deep red wine appeared. They said nothing for a while and he poured out healthy measures of wine.
“To love and to life,” he said, toasting her. He’d always opened any toast in the same fashion. “Your husband knows how to get around and delegate the blame whilst he is unnoticed, I hear.”
“Don’t do that,” Narcissa advised him as she nursed her drink. “Don’t act like we’re friends. You don’t know me, and I don’t want to know you.”
No strings attached: it suited him well. “Do you want children?”
This was something he’d picked up from Auguste along the way. In order for you to get what you want, people have to like you, especially your competition. It was the only sure way of twisting a sharp knife. Taking advantage of a connection didn’t reveal weakness; it prepared the dedicated ones for the chopping block. Common ground, however shaky, opened doors to read people and provided a weapon to use against them.
Her hated her, a stranger, and he despised himself to resorting to this.
“You’re a fucking fool,” he muttered to himself. Narcissa, thinking Gideon had insulted her, slapped him. Gideon picked her up, and she wrapped her legs around him as he played with her hair as she did whatever she pleased. Gideon closed his eyes, trying to strike up their conversation again, though it took him a good minute to remember why it mattered. “Don’t you marry for an heir? Give him a son, maybe even a daughter, and after that, you cease to matter. A pawn.”
“You want me to tell you I love you?” She laughed as he laid her down on the covers. “Is it fun anymore?”
Gideon slipped his hands underneath her robes and slipped off her undergarments and kissed her again and again, playing with her tongue. This was a twisted way of looking at things, yes, and he found it easier to pretend she was his wife.
“She taught you that,” said Narcissa, as their lips parted. She spoke in a dead tone, so it was difficult to decipher how she felt. Apparently, Narcissa found the whole thing a joke because she laughed it off. “She hasn’t let you touch her? Oh, and I bet you beg her like a pinning dog, and it took you long enough to figure it out.”
“It’s just sex, nothing more,” he said, kicking off his shoes as she undressed him. “Where is she?”
Gideon thought he saw a flicker of panic, of doubt, cross her face, but he passed it off as a trick of the light. She mumbled a response he didn’t catch, and Narcissa composed herself.
“Even if I knew, and I don’t, perhaps you should be looking elsewhere,” she said, irritated, “and tended to her needs. You’re not as happy as you appear, you and Madame Marceau.”
“You know something,” he hissed through his teeth, moaning when she swayed her hips. Nobody had to know; they were alone. He locked her face in his hands and took a deep breath. “Tell me.”
Frustrated, he rolled onto his side and tossed her things at her. Narcissa laid there, waiting, and when he didn’t make a move, she sighed and got off of the couch. He stared at the wall and listened to her gather her things. An invisible calendar ticked off the running toll in his mind: twenty-nine days. Gideon knew in the back of his mind that Annette wouldn’t last long without a defence. They’d kill her over nothing because she meant nothing; she, too, was a pawn.
Gideon closed his eyes, swallowed a lump in his throat, and offered a last plea when the door opened. “Narcissa, please.”
“Lucius will be out tomorrow night.” Her footsteps stopped as she froze. “Meet me at seventy-thirty. Come alone, unarmed. Do not keep me waiting.”
Gideon couldn’t concentrate at work the next day. He showed up to get out of the house he’d had been knocking at the door with this deadline. Mr. Davies no longer granted him extensions because his patience had run dry. Gideon had submitted a request for when the baby arrived, which was why he had been stacking his leave, but Mr. Davies merely had to look at him and smile. It was almost as if the man tempted him, dared him to ask, and Gideon refused to give him the satisfaction.
“Sit down,” Mr. Davies advised him. “You’re pacing again, too, and it looks like your slipping into a nervous breakdown. I wouldn’t think you’d take a double shift with your wife””
“We’re not talking about this,” he said shortly, taking the coffee mug from his boss. “Thank you. Have you approved the proposal to Marseille?”
They weren’t on good terms, and they spoke to each other only when it proved downright necessary. Mr. Davies’s favourite page had abandoned him earlier that evening to attend a bachelorette party, and there weren’t that many people scheduled on the night shift. Desperate for a little extra gold, Gideon had banked his success on this treaty because its agreement opened many doors in future; he’d seriously considered working with France as a liaison. Annette would have been closer to her family, for one thing, and he would have earned more. René’s move had been a cold and callous one, but he had taught Gideon a good lesson: asking the page or the scribe to make copies saved lives.
“No.” Mr. Davies glanced over Gideon’s shoulder. Gideon melted blue wax over a flame when Mr. Davies snatched the parchment roll from underneath his nose. “This is shoddy work, Prewett; I’m surprised at you. A fifth revision that starts, ‘Our friendship runs so deeply ...’ I ask you.”
Mr. Davies had suggested they fall back on old tactics in the first place. “But, sir, you said ...”
“Do it again,” cut in Mr. Davies. “You sound like you’re about to drop on one knee, and they’ll just laugh at us. Merlin, he’s your fucking brother-in-law. Get his signature.”
“Auguste won’t sign,” said Gideon.
“So you’re just giving up,” said Mr. Davies, nodding. He started to walk away and backtracked, furious. “A year and a half of negotiations and drafts and promises, and you’re throwing it all away? Just like that? If there is some personal thing going on between you two, I suggest you fix it. This isn’t just your arse on the line”though, let me tell you, you’re pushing it” it’s me, it’s Marceau, it’s the government. You settle it, you grovel at his feet, and you do whatever“”
“It’ll do no good to beg him,” Gideon sighed, interrupting him. The personal and professional lines had been blurred since the day he’d invited Auguste’s sister to a wedding years ago. At this point, those lines had erased themselves completely. “It’s not that simple.”
“Make it simple.” Mr. Davies threw up his hands. “I’ve pages who spin better nonsense than you these days, and I don’t let them put quill to parchment unless they copy down words from another’s mouth. You were a successful page, too, which is why I let you head over to France for study. You meet contacts, Gideon, and you keep them happy and close. What’s so hard to understand?”
“I did not marry his sister for an easy agreement,” hissed Gideon, slamming his fist on the desk and causing blue ink to splatter everywhere. “France has been our trusted, unwavering ally for years. You want to get rid of me, sir?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Mr. Davies nervously, glancing around at the scribe sitting in the corner of the office.
Gideon had moved out of his cubicle a couple weeks ago and shared this place with his boss, for he’d been handed a promotion and they both shared the same rank. Gideon didn’t want the supervisor responsibilities because he was good at weaving treaties. A team in France had been promised to him, though Gideon felt sure that meant mud now.
“Look at you. You walk in here dressed in a wrinkled shirt and trousers? What at you playing at? Merlin, you’re better than me and you damn well know it.”
Gideon bit his lip and nodded. There was no point in disguising the truth; he’d saved Mr. Davies’s reputation in Barcelona, Marseille and Cairo. He’d even travelled to Salem, Massachusetts on a day’s notice to cover up a grave mistake. Mr. Davies was at least thirty years his senior, and somehow, had managed to slither through these promotions by cascading through the minimum requirements. He’d handed Gideon free reign recently, and perhaps this was why: Mr. Davies had been deathly afraid of losing him.
“I’m not keeping a track record anymore, not a good one,” Gideon confessed, sitting down. He truly felt sorry that he couldn’t pinpoint his errors. “I’ve been looking around.”
“Why?” Mr. Davies asked, taken aback.
“It’s not you,” said Gideon, holding up his hand. “I need a change of scenery, I think.”
“You’re tired of France,” guessed Mr. Davies.
“And she tires of me,” said Gideon with a sad smile. “I don’t know. It’s just Auguste and I are so alike, so in sync, that when we clash”and we do that all of the time;, you just don’t see it”. It gets cruel. I can’t do it anymore, sir. The whole family gets involved, and then there’s Annette, and it’s “ it’s bad.”
Annette had discussed relocating hundreds of times. It usually was a far off dream that they placed somewhere in the distant future. If Gideon didn’t get the okay from her first, it just wasn’t going to happen. Yes, he’d have to leave his family behind. His nephews, and sister and brother were all here. Crossing the Channel was one thing. Moving across Europe or even to Africa, for he’d received offers from Cairo, Johannesburg and Jerusalem, was another thing altogether. Since Annette worked at an ice cream parlour, it really wasn’t a sacrifice for her, except that she’d leave her family behind, too.
“What are three offers?” Mr. Davies dropped the row and opted to look at this realistically. He passed a hand over his face and pressed, “Three good ones, because I’m trying to figure out which directors I’m going to have to haggle with or knock off in order to get you back.”
They both burst out laughing.
“Er, well, there’s Cairo.” Gideon grinned when the man rolled his eyes.
“The fucking desert?” Mr. Davies nodded and waved his hand, telling him to go on.
“Barcelona and Geneva,” said Gideon apologetically, “and I’ve been on holiday there. Annette just loves it because there are French communities, and the moment I suggest either Zurich or Geneva, she’s sold.”
Mr. Davies looked as though he was trapped between disappointment and fear. When Gideon had first walked into the department, he had been a nobody. He owed a lot of that to both Edward Davies and Auguste Marceau; they had shaped him and pushed him towards a challenge.
“Your wife.” Mr. Davies opened his desk drawer and took out a French newspaper. He nodded at the scribe, who inclined her head. “She translated this for me. Hasn’t Madame Marceau left you?”
Gideon bit back a response and watched the scribe get to her feet and answer the door. Fabian poked his head inside and told the scribe that he’d wait. Before Mr. Davis dismissed him, Gideon gave a rushed apology and left the room. Fabian walked beside him in silence and followed him down corridors. They were on the fifth floor, and it was rather easy to find an empty conference room at this late hour. Gideon let him inside before he performed a Silencing Charm and bolted the door.
“I grabbed spaghetti at the eatery,” said Fabian, tossing him a carrier bag. Gideon fished out plastic silverware and dug in. “You’re starving yourself in there? We eat all the time.”
“Transportation,” Gideon grunted. “Well?”
“Did he sack you?” Fabian asked him. “You look like hell. Ever heard of a razor?”
Gideon took a bite out of a chunk of bread and waved it at him. “How is she?”
“Good, tired, but good,” said Fabian, watching his expression. “I got past the house-elf, which was fine, but then Malfoy’s wife kept looking at me, almost as if she knew I wasn’t you, which was weird.”
Gideon choked and gagged. He’d thought that he’d misunderstood him at first, but there was no mistaking that name. Fabian conjured a cup with cold water and walked over to hand it to him. Gideon spit into the bag and took a deep breath. She knew. Narcissa had looked him right in the eye and lied. That’s why she had showed up while her husband was out. What if she had dropped some hint to make Fabian suspicious?
“Mould,” Gideon invented wildly.
“That’s ... nasty.” Fabian gave him a sidelong glance before he continued. “Anyway, she wouldn’t go away, so I kissed Annette, and Malfoy’s wife got really pissed and stormed off. Sorry bout kissing Annie, by the way, she knew it was me. That’s the first thing she said when I let her go.”
Gideon smiled. When Fabian looked at him again, he said, “I tease her about choosing the wrong one all the time. She just laughs.”
“Yeah, secretly, though, she wants me,” added Fabian. He took that back a second later. “Nah, Annie would find a way to kill me or bore me with speaking French because I couldn’t understand a damn word she says. ‘What’d you say? Woman, give me a divorce so I can die in peace.’”
Gideon showed him a familiar hand gesture and chuckled when Fabian checked him with a double take. “No, Annette’s not like that. You want to know what she thought of you when you two first met? Well, first off, Annette thought you were me, and it angered her when you didn’t respond. She told me you asked her out again and again.”
“She lies. That wrench!” Fabian dropped his pretence and a grin spread across his face. “Yeah, all right, whatever, so I flirted with her a little and chased her down the street. It all fell apart when I realised she’d caught every word. What can I say?”
“Annette said you talk too much and you pine after women,” said Gideon, letting his brother prove his point, “but she enjoyed your pathetic act.”
“Never liked her,” he spat, mock angry and crossed his arms. “Get rid of her; find another. It’s me or her, my friend. I let your happy wrench beat me at chess, and she took my watch.”
“Did she now?” Gideon sat in one of the comfortable leather chairs. “Is she eating? Sleeping well? Getting exercise? Is she comfortable?”
Fabian nodded and answered all of Gideon’s questions with patience. He looked tired, too, yet he, Fabian, was glad that he’d passed up a date with Marlene McKinnon to visit his sister-in-law. Gideon had struggled with letting his brother go in his place and was pleased that this had turned out to be a good decision. Gideon knew that he would have been unable to keep his composure the moment he’d stepped into that small room. This was no simple everyday negotiation; this was his life. If the Death Eaters had the slightest notion about the Order, he may have exposed them to get his family back.
Gideon finished his meal and lit a cigarette.
“It’s not like they’ve locked her in a cold cellar or anything,” said Fabian, “and I think Mrs. Malfoy made the arrangements because she told Annie that the house-elf would help her with anything she needed. We ate vegetable stew and bread for dinner. Not with her, of course, because she was annoyed, but it was a good meal. I waited till Annie fell asleep and slipped out before Lucius Malfoy returned.”
Gideon nodded and blinked his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Fabian’s face fell and the humour left his eyes. “She’ll be fine. I took the treaty and burned it right in front of Narcissa Malfoy, just like Dumbledore said. The Death Eaters know that you’ll compromise for nothing till you get your wife back. The treaty’s null and void; France will not come to our aid. Did the Professor not fill you in on the finer parts? You did pour hours in that project for it to become mush, but it’ll work out in the end.”
“No, no,” said Gideon, shaking his head and losing his cool. “It’s all my fault. Don’t you see? I did this. I “ I slept with her.”