Cut

sugarbear_1269

Rating: NC17
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 31/10/2003
Last Updated: 03/05/2004
Status: completed

Part 2 of 3 in the Who? Trilogy! Draco's decided to help bring down Voldemort and his cold, calculating father. When Lucius finds his son's weakness, Draco must fight to save more than just his life. NOW COMPLETE

Chapters

1. The Dark Mark

2. Battered

3. Burrowing

4. Father Knows Best

5. Underestimation

6. Surprises

7. Necessary Things

8. Bound

9. Trickery

10. Blood On His Hands

11. Jeweled Attacks

12. Cut

1. The Dark Mark

AN: This is part two in a trilogy. As you might notice, I’ve taken some liberties with the Death Eaters and their structure. I’m going to tackle Voldemort in this part, and it’s not easy, believe me. In fact, I’ve probably taken more liberties than canon would allow. So please humor me, and I hope you find Cut to be a more involved, much darker and infinitely more dramatic piece than Who? Also, please be forewarned that there will most likely be some Lucius/Ginny implied. I will alert you in the Author’s Note when/if this appears.

Draco watched her lazily, admiring both her body and her brazen decision to put on the cloak that he’d given her, effectively marking her as his. Choosing for the moment to forget the scandal that would surely ensue, he rose from the warm nest of sheets and kissed the back of her neck. He turned her around to face him and delighted in her blush when she saw that he was still nude.

“Come back, won’t you?” he said, half-demanding, half-pleading. She took her time answering, searching his eyes.

“Yes,” she finally said, turning on her heel. He watched the swing of her hips as she exited his chambers. He sighed and got back into bed, trying not to think about all the certain fates that would befall him.

Ginny entered the common room and all eyes turned toward her. Ron had a glint of fury in his. He advanced on her.

“Where were you? We were worried sick!” he blurted, just glad to know that his sister was safe. Ginny frantically scrabbled in her mind for a suitable explanation.

“I, erm, I woke early and decided to go for a walk around the lake, you know, just admiring the snow,” Ginny said, forcing a sunny smile. Ron didn’t look appeased.

“Where’d you get that cloak, Ginny?” Ron asked, suspicious to the core. She tried hard to look clueless.

“I have no idea, Ron, when I woke this was at the foot of my bed, no note or anything. I wish I knew who sent it, I’d like to thank him or her,” she said, hoping that Ron would leave her alone. He stepped forward, and she saw dim recognition in his eyes. He fingered the posh leather of the cloak wonderingly.

“Bloody hell, Ginny, this looks quite similar to that blasted Malfoy’s winter cloak.” Ginny hoped she looked convincingly bewildered.

“Who?”

Like the proverbial Muggle saying, all hell broke loose. From Harry, Hermione and Ron there had been threats, insults and furious questions. Almost-hexes. The rest of the Weasley family, save Mrs. Weasley, gave Ginny disapproving looks and disappointed shakes of the head. Mrs. Weasley, thankfully, told Ginny that just because one’s family was horrible didn’t mean he would turn out that way, too.

From Draco she received surprising support; he’d not gone and shown off like she thought he would when Ron and Harry angrily confronted him in a secluded part of the dungeon. Ginny secured his and the Trio’s secrecy, confining her relationship to those closest to her. In a searing moment of maturity Draco knew he couldn’t make demands on Ginny. He reasoned that the more he tried to get her to make time for him the harder it would be for her to keep her wits about her. So for the rest of his time at Hogwarts, he let Ginny come to him when she found it safe.

They made love the night before his graduation. Afterwards, she had stayed in his bedroom like the very first night, and he held her close to him as she tried to pretend she wasn’t crying. When Draco was forced to let her leave in the early hours of the morn a sharp pang of something indefinable crossed his chest as he watched his curvy redhead leave his chamber silently.

He’d told her that night that it was possible they could be separated until after her graduation. She’d nodded and he’d kissed away her tears. She knew that Draco had to be careful now; after all, he was to be made a Death Eater.

During his last term, his father had come and collected him almost every weekend for Lucius’ version of “tutoring.” Draco had learned a few things along the way. He’d noticed that his family ran a number of businesses that were merely fronts for recruiting new Death Eaters or used for selling items that were less than aboveboard. When Lucius had forced him to begin learning the bookkeeping for these various enterprises, Draco saw that there was great potential for making actual money.

Lucius was pleased when Draco showed interest in his legacy, planning Draco’s induction into the Death Eater ranks for two weeks after his graduation. Draco, on the other hand, had other ideas.

Lucius was just a pawn in the Dark Lord’s game, Draco decided. He wanted none of it. Oh, sure, there was the heady exhilaration of killing and being feared world-wide but Draco saw no money, no respect in that. He wanted more; more money, more respect, more freedom. His father and his father’s plans was the only damper.

Draco went to the only person he could ever talk to: Snape.

As a double agent, Snape knew and understood the difficulties of that type of life. Although he only allowed a slight curvature of his lips, Snape was secretly elated that Draco would not go the way of his father. He proposed to Draco that Draco become Dumbledore’s Ministry envoy, a legitimate position but one that allowed Draco to feed misinformation to his father and perhaps aid in Voldemort’s downfall and Lucius’ band of not-so-merry men could be punished. With Lucius in prison, Snape said, Draco could begin building his empire.

Draco knew that the sooner he was rid of his father he could rescue his mother from St. Mungo’s. Living under Lucius’ demands and perverted appetites had driven his surprisingly delicate mother mad. Draco often wondered if it was only a guise until Lucius was banished from society.

Snape and Draco went to Dumbledore with their plan. Dumbledore willingly agreed, seeing the advantage of someone who would be even more of an inside agent than Snape could ever be. It was agreed that Draco would go through the Death Eater ceremony. Although it went unspoken, no one was quite sure what would happen if Lucius Malfoy and his Death Eaters were captured. As it stood, Azkaban was in tatters and the Dementors were uncontrollable. Even the strongest of wards and charms would be no match for a group of dark wizards who welcomed pain for pleasure.

Ginny was informed and was nearly inconsolable. It had taken lots of kisses and hugs and explanations to convince her that he would be successful. Ginny’s heart sank when she realized she’d be seeing Draco fairly regularly at Hogwarts, untouchable. As much as she was loath to admit it, she thought that the “out of sight, out of mind” principle would assuage her pain over her lonely seventh year.

Graduation came and went. Draco steeled himself for the upcoming ceremony. Lucius had been beside himself with maniacal joy when Draco was hired by the Ministry to work with Hogwarts as a special envoy.

“You see the benefits of this, boy. You can collaborate with Snape when that addled fool Dumbledore confides his ideas on how to bring down Lord Voldemort. I say, you’ve landed a prime position. I’m proud of you because you are helping the cause.”

Draco’s guts had twisted. He’d never heard his father say he was proud. His nostrils had flared in distaste that his father’s praise had to come wrapped around something so diabolical.

When the night came, Draco found himself flanked by Crabbe and Goyle as usual, though he’d come to despise them for their stupidity. They too were being initiated. Although it was a huge coup, the sons following in the footsteps of the fathers, Draco was the uncontested heir apparent to the tribe.

Lucius instructed Snape to place the Dark Mark in a different place, because it was increasingly difficult for the Death Eaters to hide their mark. Upon instruction from Lord Voldemort, new Death Eaters were branded on their back, directly behind the heart. When the Dark Lord called them, new recruits would feel excruciating pain, spurring them to hurry to Voldemort so that they would be released from agony.

Beginning of Term, Ginny’s seventh year

There were no meetings or summons for a long while. Draco began his role as envoy, conducting Ministry business for all of Hogwarts and continually apprising Dumbledore and Snape if his father chanced to tell him anything. Draco had been given quarters near Snape’s in the dungeon, in the event that business would keep him overnight. He swore Dumbledore had winked at him when he handed over the password. What was that about?

Draco happened to be in residence on the first night of the new term. When Ginny came into the Great Hall for the Sorting Feast she squeaked in surprise when she saw him sitting at the head table, next to Snape. He wore emerald green robes, still Slytherin to the core. His hair seemed blonder than ever and it was slicked back just so. Ginny locked eyes with him and saw his answering smirk. She hadn’t expected to sit through dinner with inappropriate thoughts of their last encounter months ago. It was funny how you could be so intimate with someone yet still feel uncomfortable in their presence.

She choked down some food and made for Gryffindor tower.

Did she think she was going to get away when he’d not touched a woman in three months? His mouth was grim as he excused himself from the head table and strode in her direction. He could hear the clicking of her school shoes on the corridor floor. He picked up his pace and just before she could enter the portrait hole-

“Immobilus!” Ginny stood stock still, crouched. He’d only said it half-heartedly, and she could still move her eyes. She heard him walk up to her, felt his hands on her body.

“Mobilicorpus,” he said resolutely. She lifted a few inches into the air and he spun her around to face him, laughing at the murderous glare in her eyes.

“Ah, Gin, not so fast. Did you not miss me? Please tell me you weren’t going to deny me one of the few nights I’ll be staying at Hogwarts. His hand touched her behind possessively and guided her still-crouched, immobilized body down a secret passageway he knew to the dungeons.

“Well, I guess you can’t answer that,” he said playfully, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Ginny realized they were near Snape’s quarters. Draco noticed her fearful eyes.

“No, love, Dumbledore gave me rooms here. And when you’re safely inside, well, I can’t say for sure if I’ll let you out of this position.” Again she stared him down, rolling her eyes. He came to a nearly hidden door and muttered the password.

Draco floated Ginny in and let her hang there while he said the incantations for locking and silencing spells. The room was sparse but the bed was large and welcoming. Wall sconces provided flickering light. She was still feeling peckish, but her anger was dying down. With a prod of his wand she floated over the bed and he released the spell’s hold on her.

“Oof!” Ginny blurted, hitting the bed on her stomach, feeling her school skirt ride up her thighs. She spun her body only to be crushed by Draco’s warm mass. Feverish male hands touched exposed perfumed skin wherever they could. Ginny gasped when he tickled the back of her bare knees. Already Draco was breathing hard above her, his full lips forming a darkly sensual smile as he ground his still-clad manhood into the cleft of her thighs.

“How do you want it, Ginny? From behind, on top, in front?” he questioned in a raw, hoarse voice as he ripped her knickers apart with his bare hands. Breathless, she tried to reply. A cry rent the close air as he delved into her sex and plundered her with his tongue. He feasted on her soft flesh, curling his fingers into the curve of her hips, knowing he would leave bruises, knowing she wouldn’t care.

Ginny tore the fastenings off her cloak as she frantically searched for her wand. Though she could barely see the curve of Draco’s tight ass, she pointed her wand at it.

“Deshabiller!” she strangled out, feeling his clothing melt from his body and seeing it reform in a pile on the nearby floor. She swore she could feel Draco smile against her and she cast the same charm on herself.

He let up on her and she banged her fists on his shoulders in frustration, moaning and squirming closer.

“The wand I’ve got here at my disposal isn’t any good at casting contraceptive charms.” With a huff, she grabbed her wand again and began to say the incantation as well as she could, considering that Draco had gone back to his work. The last word went off with a scream as he took her over the edge.

Draco watched his fiery faerie writhe on the bed because of him. Truly there was no greater high. He grabbed her and shoved her to the side of the bed, getting himself into position. Grunting at the unceremonious move, Ginny rolled back to face him. He pushed her onto her back, then pulled her atop him, his member between her legs.

“You’d better brace yourself, Gin, because I won’t have enough hands once I’ve started.” His comment was punctuated by shoving himself up inside Ginny, a sensation the likes of which she had never known. A startled cry left her lips and she was boneless to support herself as he asked.

“Do I have to do everything?” he drawled, one hand creeping to the apex of her thighs and the other crossing her taut breasts.

“Rotter,” she gasped. “Harder!” A soft hand covered the rough one that was rubbing furiously on the knot of flesh that was sure to bring her to a rollicking finish. Draco felt her little fingers pressing his harder into her and growled his satisfaction.

Spurred on by her words and action, Draco used every fiber of every muscle to slide deeper within her slickness.

He began licking and biting her ear. Making a sound that was halfway between animal and human Ginny’s release took off like a rocket inside her. In a last moment of clarity, Draco smiled tightly and locked himself inside her, thrusting as deeply as possible while her wild shudders drew him over the edge as well.

They lay sweating, passion-slicked skin sticking together. Draco’s hands lazily teased Ginny when her breathing evened.

“Insufferable git,” she said mockingly. “Ruddy toad. Foul bastard. Had to cast a spell to get me into bed. Someone’s desperate,” she hissed.

“Would you like me to show you, Weasel Princess, Muggle-lover, exactly how desperate for you I am?”

Ginny rotated slowly on his chest until she was lying stomach to stomach with him, her elbow propped on his shoulder.

“No,” she sighed. “I misplaced my summer homework assignments and only found it today. I still have Advanced Transfiguration and Herbology to finish before tomorrow.” Draco’s eyes glinted

“Pity,” he said, letting his voice drop suggestively. She leaned down and kissed him briefly, then rose to dress. He watched her supple skin disappear beneath shirt, skirt and shoes. Stuffing her bra and panties in the interior pocket of her robe, she grinned cheekily at him.

“I’ll see you around, Malfoy.”

The first six weeks of the term went smoothly. The Ministry still wanted to keep a close eye on Hogwarts even though Harry Potter was gone, and they believed Draco was the perfect choice for the job. Although the Ministry was not privy to Dumbledore, Snape, and Draco’s secret rumblings they assumed all was well within the ancient walls of the school.

And it was going well, really, for the first six weeks of the term. Draco and Snape had discussed the proper ways for Draco to conduct himself in the presence of Death Eaters so as not to attract any undue attention. Both Dumbledore and Snape coached and challenged Draco to learn Occlumency and Legilimency.

Even he and Ginny had managed not to call any attention to themselves. Draco thought they had behaved very discreetly, really. They’d snogged once or twice in disused classrooms, but hadn’t seen each other in a carnal capacity since the beginning of the term. Draco hadn’t had reason to stay at Hogwarts since then, and the time he spent at Malfoy Manor was desperately bleak. He dared not pleasure himself because he just knew his bastard father would sense something.

Ginny had smuggled herself down to his chambers to celebrate the one year anniversary of the dungeon explosion that had brought them together. Draco let her in with the haste of a man who had not eaten in weeks. Slowly, they savored each other’s bodies. Ginny was making a point to lick every part of him, and he was lying back enjoying her sweet torture when it came.

An ear-splitting scream flew from Draco’s lips as he sat straight up on his bed, clutching his chest. Terrified, Ginny scrambled from her kneeling position to the center of the bed to comfort a heaving Draco.

“Sweet Merlin! Are you all right, Draco? Are you hurt? What can I do?” she asked frantically, automatically checking him for some sort of wound, feeling his extremities for an anomaly. Panting, he shook his head feebly, slowly putting his mouth in working order.

“My back,” he heaved with great effort, his heart beating so fast he feared it would come out of his chest. “It hurts so much.” Ginny moved and tilted him slightly forward. The Dark Mark seemed to be even blacker, the angry red skin around it almost visibly throbbing with pain. She touched her fingers to it to begin to heal it when his breath was sucked inward on a hiss and he twisted, grabbing her wrist firmly.

“You can’t heal it. Only he can.” Pausing, they stared at one another for a long moment. Painfully, he leaned forward to her mouth, feeling the residual spikes of agony slither down his nerves like firewhiskey. She came closer to her and surprised him with the ferocity of her kiss. Taking advantage of his slightly disabled state, she grasped his head firmly in her hands and ravaged him.

She released him with a tearful look and a single word. “Go.”

Draco hurriedly dressed and collided with Dumbledore and Snape outside his door. Snape eyed his reddened mouth and cheeks suspiciously and Draco tried to surreptitiously arrange his robes to cover the one thing that hadn’t been doused by the pain.

“We need to leave. Follow me.” Draco nodded and began to follow Snape’s long steps when he was suddenly stopped by Dumbledore’s hoarse, commanding voice.

“Mr. Malfoy, a word please.” Draco threw a look over his shoulder at Snape, who scowled but waited. Draco hurried back to the old man.

“I trust Miss Weasley knows her way back to Gryffindor Tower?” Dumbledore asked softly. Draco met his eyes, stunned, ashamed, frightened. He nodded mutely.

“Be discreet, my friend. For one day, you will end the feud.”

Horrified, Draco turned on his heel and almost ran like a little boy after the retreating form of Snape, all the consequences of Dumbledore’s discovery churning through his already scattered mind.

And as soon as those thoughts had been there, they were gone.

Sometimes Dumbledore felt that little memory charms were justified. Draco didn’t need to have Dumbledore’s knowledge weighing on his mind.

Ginny waited in Draco’s room for a long time, several hours at least. Deciding he might need her when he returned, she slid beneath his black satin sheets finally fell into a light sleep. When he entered some time later, he didn’t bother to strip off his robes, just fell into bed against her sleeping form. Whatever surprise he may have felt from her presence was outstripped by the physical pain he was nursing.

Ginny woke with a start. Draco lay beside her, moaning softly. She rolled over and whispered to him. His response was a grunt that approximated her name. Withdrawing from the sheets, she came round the foot of the bed to inspect him. Conjuring a few candles, she lit up the area, almost bursting into tears when his flesh was revealed under the deshabiller charm.

Any flesh that wouldn’t be covered by a normal robe was in perfect shape. His face was still glacially perfect, save for puffy eyes that told Ginny for certain he’d been made to cry in pain. His chest was a mass of bruises and red welts, and she moved her wand over them silently, doing the healing charms the best she knew how.

Gradually Draco’s discomfort began to wane enough that he could speak, his throat parched and gritty. He moved as Ginny softly directed, pausing only in his monologue to gasp in short breaths when she mended the bones of his fractured ribs., healed some slashes and scratches on his back.

“You’d never believe it, Gin, but Snape’s already given me three potions to help me heal,” he said weakly.

“What happened, Draco?” she asked quietly.

2. Battered

AN: Remember…I’m taking liberties. Things you find preposterous now will make sense later. Thanks to Manda for all her tireless beta-ing and chugging out ideas.

An hour later he was pretty much healed and done with his story. He’d told her of the Death Eaters’ wish to test the new recruits’ pain threshold, of his father’s special brand of sickness when he had aimed a Bone-Breaking curse at his wandless son to see how well he could withstand it. He spoke at length of the kicking and punching, and of the seemingly interminable time he’d been forced to endure not only the pain of the Dark Mark but other curses and hexes. Draco had fought back bitter bile in his throat when he related the look on Snape’s face during the entire process, knowing that he not only had to condone the behavior, but to suggest more and actively participate.

By the time Ginny got Draco to sleep, she had to leave his chambers or risk being caught. Casting a last look at his pale features, she shivered and swept out, hoping the calming charm she’d put on him would help. Blissfully, she was unaware of the terrors that swept through Draco’s sleeping mind and didn’t have to see him when he woke up later that morning, curled in a ball with tears streaming down his cheeks.

After Draco’s first taste of Death Eater culture Snape began to take pity on him when he saw that Draco was too still mentally and physically underdeveloped to face the challenges that would most certainly be thrown his way. After much whining Draco began strenuous workout sessions at Hogwarts and in the privacy of his chambers in Malfoy Manor.

Despite Draco’s mental and physical shortcomings, he still wanted to work on sharpening his business acumen. He’d decided that if he could make these businesses of his father’s into real storefronts, he could possibly expand into the Muggle market. Some of the fake businesses appeared to be selling footwear, toys, and books. As much as he hated doing it, he knew those sots loved to spend money. But the decision to sell to Muggles was far easier than screwing up the courage to ask Hermione Granger to help him learn about them.

Huffily, Draco stood in front of the front desk of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. He was being made to wait! He was hoping to avoid Arthur Weasley, because he never knew what that batty geezer would say or do. At least he knew with much certainty that Hermione would merely be disgusted by him and leave it at that.

“Miss Granger will see you now, Mr. Malfoy,” said the receptionist. Draco gave the woman a glacial glare and swept past her to Hermione’s inner office. Rushing in, Draco sat down and insolently stretched out in front of her desk before she could even invite him to sit.

“Nice to see some things never change,” Hermione said, giving him a beady-eyed once over. “Still as cocksure and bloody overbearing as usual.”

“Well, Granger, something has changed, although I’m sure you can tell it has nothing to do with my dashing good looks, social and financial status, or razor-sharp wit,” he said, smiling expansively.

“You take up my time and make me feel diseased. It appears that’s still the same.”

“Still eloquent, Granger. I’ll be forthcoming, though it pains me down to my toes to admit it. I need your help. I am requesting that you teach me Muggle Studies.”

Hermione was deathly silent, her brown eyes goggling and she was visibly trying to keep her mouth shut, although whether she was trying to keep from laughing or withholding disbelief he was not sure.

“Well?” he demanded imperiously. “Will you help me or not?

Some three hours later, he left her office feeling a bit as if he’d been bent over the table, but elated. He’d been forced to describe his role as envoy and its implications. When Hermione finally discerned that he was telling the truth, she was a bit more helpful. Of course, he’d had to nearly sign his life away to her, promising never to make fun of her, Ron or Harry and that she would get a cut of the action if his businesses became profitable and were no longer involved with dark magic.

In return, she promised only to tell Ron and Harry what his job was (so those two gits would cut him some slack) and keep Ron’s mind off what Draco was undoubtedly doing to his little sister. Grudgingly Draco admitted that if Hermione was anything she was shrewd.

He was laden with books that chronicled recent Muggle history, books that showed Muggle artifacts and their functions, plus something Hermione called a “dictionary” that was filled with the words of the Muggle dialect.

Draco began to spend more nights at Hogwarts, which became a necessity for studying. Lucius had encouraged Draco to stay close to the school just in case he picked up on something that Snape overlooked. Lucius was fanatical about his two “spies” telling him each and every possible item of conversation that could relate to the Death Eater cause.

“It’s time for your vocabulary lesson, Mr. Malfoy,” Ginny purred, sliding up the sheets to sit near his head. She sat cross-legged, a Muggle Studies book on her lap. This was vocabulary lesson number five. Draco was hoping that this lesson would merit him some return on investment, so he studied extra hard. Ginny was an ideal teacher, partly because she already had a background in this, thanks to her father, and partly because she captured his attention a little better than any other teacher could.

Draco had realized that many Muggle words were just the same as the wizarding vocabulary; he was just having trouble with what Hermione called “idiomatic expressions.” She told him that it was just something he’d have to hear in normal Muggle conversations, and that many of these sayings were based on history or popular culture. Hermione had promised Draco that next week they would make trips into Muggle London, so that he could visit “department stores” and have lunch in pubs. He was musing over how he’d have to hide his distaste for the non-wizarding masses.

Ginny’s voice brought him back to the present as she described how she would reward him if he got all the answers right. Suddenly his desire to learn was renewed.

By the Christmas holidays, the strain of juggling all his roles was beginning to wear on him. He was looking forward to retiring to Malfoy Manor if only to have a break from Muggle Studies, to forget about scheming to bring down his father. Ginny wouldn’t be staying at Hogwarts for the holidays, so there was no reason for him to stay there. He did know he’d miss her, though…he knew he’d never have another Christmas as long as he lived without remembering making love to her beside the Hogwarts lake and later in the dark warmth of his room.

When Ginny received her marks for that term, it signified that she’d be on the train the next day home for the winter break. They’d already said goodbye the night before, when he’d caught her just before she went to bed and kissed her senseless. He assured her that everything was going well and there was nothing for her to worry about. She’d huffed off angrily, telling him that if he didn’t think dying in this whole shenanigan was anything to worry about that maybe he ought to rethink his position. And so they had parted, angrily, and neither had made any move to make restitution before Ginny had to leave and go home.

She hated that they hadn’t made up before she left school, each one too proud to grovel for forgiveness. Even worse, they knew it would be an enforced separation once both were home. Ginny didn’t like it one bit, in fact, she rather wanted to be with him on Christmas Eve, though she knew it was impossible. And then there was buying him a present. What to buy a young wizard who had everything? She desperately wanted to buy him something Muggle. So she decided on something she had seen in the Muggle Studies book called a compact disc player. She saw that it was battery-powered, something her father taught her meant it could be used without “eckeltricity.”

With her mother’s permission, she went to Muggle London and wandered into a store, where she asked the proprietor where she could purchase a compact disc player. The storekeeper looked at her as if she’d gone off her rocker, but directed her to take the Underground to a station near a place called the Virgin MegaStore.

She’d been on the Underground a few times before with her dad as a special treat, so she had a rudimentary knowledge of how it worked. She obtained a map and a pass, and quickly located the station the storekeeper had indicated. Deducing the route, she chose the necessary train and boarded.

The Virgin MegaStore was swarming with people and decorated in and out with bright, nearly gaudy Christmas decorations. She’d never been around this many people. But she’d picked up more than a little in Muggle relations from the books and from her father and Hermione, so she willed herself to stay focused. Her pocketbook was filled with the British pound sterling and the assorted coinage that made up their money. She’d exchanged her Sickles and Knuts at Gringotts in Diagon Alley and was pleased to hear the goblin tell her that she really had quite a bit of Muggle money now.

Entering the huge music mecca, she was amazed to see rows and stacks of these compact discs, with a seemingly endless number of names of people and bands on the luridly colored covers. She had no idea where to start, where to go, so she waited for help to come to her.

“”Ello, luv, how can I help you today?” asked a handsome youth with a wild haircut. She studied him for a moment, then collected herself, trying to affect the young man’s relaxed manner.

“I am here to buy a compact disc player,” she said carefully. He regarded her strangely, but nodded.

“Have you any idea what brand?” he asked, steering her toward a room that was ostensibly filled with music accessories and equipment. An entire wall was covered with the devices she recognized from photos.

“Erm, no, I don’t. What can you recommend?” Again the strange looks, but he humored her. He plucked one off the wall and began explaining its features and benefits. She interrupted him hurriedly.

“Let me ask you, sir, would you buy this particular one?” Ginny asked quickly. He smiled widely.

“As a matter o’ fact, I’ve got one of these meself. Plays the music right clear and loud, it does. It lasts for a long time on battery power,” he said. Ginny was instantly relieved.

“Excellent, I’ll take it. Now, I need some suggestions on picking out some music. I’m not really familiar with much.”

They walked back into the huge room filled with the discs.

“What’re you familiar with, miss?” he asked. She looked down, unsure of what to say. When she lifted her eyes to speak he had a knowing smile on his face.

“You don’t have ter say anything, miss. I’ve seen your kind before!”

Ginny cringed. “You have?”

“Y’know, all you kids who aren’t allowed to listen ter music ‘cause your parents think it rots yer brain. I bet all you hear is that classical stuff.” Ginny brightened, relieved.

“Yes! I, uh, wasn’t allowed to listen to anything but. It was so tiresome. I want to hear some real music.”

The salesman beamed. He began taking her to different areas, representing different types of music.

“Wait,” she said, stopping him. “I’m buying this for my, uh, boyfriend.” The words felt alien on her tongue. “He’s a very dark kind of man.” The salesman pondered, then dragged Ginny in another direction.

“Well, I’m guessin’ he’d be a classic rock kind of man, then. Lots o’ this older music is like that, y’know, these bands were experimentin’ with sound and words and it’s really tops.”

He began to choose discs and explain his choice.

“This here’s the Rolling Stones. This album’s called Forty Licks. All their greatest hits. Be sure your man listens to “Sympathy for the Devil” One o’ the greatest songs o’ our time.” Ginny nodded, not daring to object. “This is a Beatles album, they’re about as famous as you can get. And here’s an Australian group, AC/DC. Lots o’ shouting, but the lyrics are brill.”

“An’ there’s some fine American bands too. Aerosmith, they’ve got a lotta songs you can do some snogging to,” he said, leering. Ginny rolled her eyes and the salesman went on. When she finally went to the counter, she was laden with several more CDs that were a mix of American and British rockers. As she was checking out, the salesman ran and fetched a pair of what he called headphones, which looked to Ginny much like little earmuffs. The cashier got two packs of the batteries that powered it and Ginny emerged quite a few pounds lighter and the signature shopping bag on her arm.

She knew he couldn’t listen to it at home or at Hogwarts, for at home he’d be caught and at Hogwarts these types of inventions wouldn’t work. She hoped he could indulge on the days when he was at the Ministry and could take his lunch in Muggle London. As she thought these things, a light snow began to fall over the city and Ginny boarded the Underground again to return to Diagon Alley. She made her way back home and excitedly showed the contraption to her father.

Arthur and Ginny sat up for many hours sharing the headphones and marveling at the music. Arthur particularly was enamored with the Pink Floyd disc the salesman had slipped under Ginny’s arm, and Ginny found that she rather liked the low, raspy growls of the Rolling Stones and the throaty yowling of Aerosmith. Using a repairing charm, the CDs rewrapped themselves and she took them to her room to prepare to give to Draco when they got back to school.

The time passed rather slowly for Ginny, seeming only to pick up on the day that they decorated the Burrow for Christmas. Garlands of pine boughs gave off a light fragrance and the twins’ Twinkling Everlasting Icicles sparkled in multicolor on their Christmas tree, the walls, and almost any flat surface. Ginny snickered when she saw the obvious delight they took in casting the charmed water all around the house. Once it hit a solid surface, it froze and began to flicker. It was really an ingenious invention.

By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, Ginny didn’t feel much like spending time with her family. She retreated early to her room and tried to recall the exact feelings she’d had one year ago in a secluded spot by the lake at Hogwarts.

Miles away from Ginny, Draco was in his family’s ballroom, dancing with some young lady that his father no doubt thought was suitable for him to court and marry. Although he was unfailingly polite, Draco couldn’t help but wish it was Ginny in his arms. This ghost of a girl was just as pale and blonde as he, and it made his skin crawl that his father was so obviously trying for another picture-perfect heir to the Malfoy legacy.

Wonder what he’d do if they had red hair? Draco mused. Just as quickly as the thought popped into his head, he banished it. Ginny was a lovely, passionate creature, but he couldn’t be sure that he wanted to spend his life with her. She was a Muggle-lover, poor, and her family was often the laughingstock of wizard society.

As the party began to wane in the late hours of the evening, the guests Disapparated and the house elves began clearing up the debris.

“Draco, my son, please come with me. I am interested to know how you’ve strengthened yourself, physically.”

Draco followed his father like a lagging child down the dank stairwell to the dungeon that lay beneath the cold stone manor. Stored here were ancient relics of Malfoys past, torture instruments of the Muggle variety that had been strengthened with dark magic and small creatures that would gladly feast on human flesh.

Lucius turned on him suddenly, cold gray eyes piercing younger ones. Draco had the uncomfortable feeling that his father was seeing more than he should, and he immediately called upon his Occlumency studies and shrouded his mind with dark thoughts, that, if discerned, would please his father.

When Lucius finally stopped the curses and the hexes, he dragged his son up to his room.

“You really ought to buck up a bit, Draco,” his father drawled in his inimitable voice. Hard, glittering gray eyes met older versions. No words were spoken, but Lucius could feel the palpable currents of hate and loathing emanating from his son and he was glad. No pansy boy could withstand the Dark Lord’s whims or carry out his wishes.

“While I’m here, I may as well give you your Christmas present,” Lucius sighed, as if it were a huge sufferance. Narcissa had always taken care of such things, and he had neither the time nor the patience to deal with something as mundane as Christmas.

“Accio gift,” Lucius said, and a black-wrapped, silver-bowed box fell into Draco’s lap. He was barely able to muster the strength to open it. Lying on black velvet was a jewel-encrusted dagger, inscribed with the Malfoy family crest and their Latin family motto. Draco removed it and weighed it carefully in his hand. It felt alive and warm. Replacing it, he nodded at his father who returned the gesture.

“I’m going out,” Draco said, his voice hoarse. Lucius merely nodded tightly. It wasn’t as if there was going to be any sort of celebration in the morning. Not that there ever had been, since his mother had gone.

Struggling to his feet, Draco walked unsteadily to the fire in the grate. Taking a handful of Floo powder, he took one last look at his father’s retreating back.

“Diagon Alley!”

Draco tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, but there weren’t many witches and wizards out on this night. He ducked into the Leaky Cauldron to get a measure of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey to calm his nerves. He sat at the dark bar for only a few moments after he drained his drink. Purchasing a handful of Floo powder from the barkeep, he stood dizzily in the flames again.

“The Burrow!”

3. Burrowing

AN: Sorry this took so long. I’ve been cramped by writer’s block and a busy schedule. For those of you who think I am rushing this, you’re partially right. I only wish for time to fly, and seeing as how I’m writing this, I’m going to keep in this vein. I am sorry if it aggravates you, but I have a purpose. Also, I hope that you don’t think this is fluff. It gets much more serious and scary. I have the ideas, just not the words yet.

Many thanks to where_is_truth (Come to Me and Even I have Pride) for her lovely beta-ing and permission to use “come to me” as a phrase. I appreciate all your reviews. I try to make this funny as well, so I hope you see the humor in each chapter, be it dark or blatant.

Arthur Weasley was rather rudely knocked aside when a long body flew out of his fireplace.

“Jumpin’ Jiminy!” he yelped (he was rather fond of the phrase; an American wizard had taught it to him) in surprise.

“What’s happened, Arthur, are you-oh!” Molly said, seeing her husband sprawling on the floor. Everyone but Ginny came from the kitchen when they heard the commotion. Their attention was turned from their prostrate father to the moaning, crumpled lump of humanity on the sooty floor.

“It’s Malfoy!” one of the twins said, waving the smoke and dust away. It was pandemonium. Ron was calling for his immediate emasculation for bothering them at home, the twins were mulling whether or not this was a good time to feed Draco a joke candy they’d whipped up in dis-honor of him, and Percy was trying to think of any Ministry rules he’d broken. Charlie was dispatched to get Ginny immediately, and Bill was honestly trying not to laugh at the whole situation.

“Clear out, clear out!” Molly yelled at the brood, pointing toward the kitchen. “The poor boy’s hurt and he needs help. Arthur, control them!” Muttering, Arthur shuttled them off as Ginny and Charlie came bounding down the steps.

“Draco!” Ginny shouted, leaping off the bottom step and almost losing her footing. She crossed the short distance and knelt at his head.

“Happy Christmas, Gin,” he said weakly. His body was wracked with a paroxysm of coughing from the dust and ashes in the grate. Molly Weasley shook her head, muttered a charm, and streams of compressed air shot from her wand and cleaned off the surface dirt. He struggled to sit up, and rested his forehead on his palm.

“Hold on a moment, just a bit dizzy,” he muttered.

The entire Weasley family watched their matriarch and their princess tend to a Malfoy.

Ginny was feeling his ribs, then his arms for any breaks. Finding them mostly uninjured except for deep bruises and gashes, she began working to stanch the small trickles of blood that were coming out of his nose, his lower lip, and near his hairline.

Molly was busily questioning Draco to ascertain if he’d sustained any sort of head injury. He seemed fine, but the wind had been knocked out of him and he had taken a pretty nasty magical beating.

He answered her incessant questions with some of his Malfoy airs, but there was no way to hide from nine pairs of eyes how much his body ached.

“It’s not as bad as last time,” Ginny whispered into his ear. Draco looked around at the scene and shook his head gently, not wanting to addle his brains any more than they had been.

“No, Gin, in fact I think it’s a little worse than last time,” he said ruefully.

Molly’s ears perked at the quiet words.

“Last time?” she demanded imperiously. “Who did this to you? More importantly, who did you let do this to you for a second time?” Her icy glare was intense upon her uninvited guest and her daughter, knowing that she too was probably wrapped up in this. Draco’s gaze shifted from Molly to Ginny, and back to Molly again.

“I think,” he said to the room at large, “that I’d better tell you the whole story.”

“Maybe you’d better,” Molly stated firmly. She beckoned her family in from the kitchen. Uncharacteristically silent, all of them save Ginny draped themselves over the clean but well-worn furniture.

Draco sat cross-legged, somewhat blearily, in front of Ginny, who was rubbing his shoulders reassuringly and peering around his head to glare defiantly at her family.

He sighed heavily and began.

“You must know that I’m a Death Eater.” A simultaneous gasp erupted and immediately heated words began to fly.

“Stay calm!” Molly barked. Sheepishly, they settled uncomfortably.

“I work for Dumbledore as a double agent. I’m a better looking Snape.” The twins sniggered. Draco managed a weak grin. Ginny patted his back and he forged ahead.

“My father thinks that I’m being a loyal little follower of the Dark Lord, when the reality is that I’m reporting his each and every move to Dumbledore in the hopes that the information will help bring down Voldemort, and yes,” he paused, letting his use of the name sink in to the still-squeamish Weasleys, “put my father away for a very long time.” He motioned pointedly to a rather nasty gash on his forearm.

The assembly began to murmur. He could hear Ginny take a breath behind him, to say something, but he turned his head and spoke from the side of his mouth to her.

“No, let me handle this,” he said softly, reaching back to touch her hand as her family muttered disbelievingly around them.

Draco’s eyes widened when he watched Ron stand and face his family.

“It’s true,” he said over the clamor. “He’s telling the truth.” Silence fell again as everyone assembled stared at Ron, then Draco.

“He went to Hermione for help in Muggle Studies, and as part of the deal for her to help him, she was allowed to tell Harry and me what he was really doing, not just skulking around Ginny.”

“You insufferable toad!” Ginny yelled, coming up from behind Draco and heading for Ron, intent on slugging him. Catching the back of her dressing gown just in time, Draco grabbed Ginny and pulled her back toward him. Ron glared at his sister.

“I resent that last bit, Weasley. You’ll thank me for keeping her from slapping you,” Draco said coldly to Ron.

“Boys, please,” Arthur said, exasperatedly. He turned to Draco. “Why on earth would you be doing Muggle Studies, Draco?” he asked, sounding suddenly interested.

Draco was a bit taken aback by how surreal it all was. He was sitting in the infamous Burrow, which was chock full of Weasleys, battered and bruised, on Christmas Eve. He gazed on the irregular walls, the crawly plumbing, the bright splashes of color that adorned the room and the happy family photos that smiled at him from the walls. So different from Malfoy Manor. He was loath to admit it, but he was definitely happier being here in this situation than being alone at home in his cold marble bedroom.

“Because, Mr. Weasley, if you must know, I wish to make the business fronts my father maintains into legitimate ventures, including selling to…Muggles.” He let this sink in for a long while; and indeed, it seemed like any minutes before anyone could say anything.

Bill, by far the most diplomatic of the entire bunch, stepped forward and strode towards Draco, his hand outstretched. Draco took it and allowed himself to be pulled into a shaky stance.

“We’ve not liked each other in the past, Malfoy,” he said, indicating his family, “but I’m willing to overlook it if Dumbledore trusts you this much and also for defying your father.” Bill gave him a crushing handshake and leaned forward to clap him on the back.

“And if you hurt Ginny,” Bill whispered, “we’ll kill you.”

Draco nodded tightly, and Bill returned to his seat. The twins, sensing that the main event was over, took a page from their brother’s diplomatic book and bid good night to all assembled. Quietly everyone left until it was just Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny and Draco.

Still standing, Draco began to feel silly about the whole situation. He wondered why he had come here.

For Ginny, you daft fool. You wanted her to take care of you, didn’t you? If it wasn’t for her, you’d be piss-drunk somewhere.

He shook away his thoughts, thinking only of escape, of embarrassment.

“I’ll just be going, then,” Draco said, reaching for his wand with a trembling hand. Arthur’s hand shot out and grabbed Draco’s shaking wrist.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, Draco,” he said gently to the young man who was struggling to remain defiant. “You’ll splinch yourself in this condition. You can stay here until the morning. Our bedrooms are full up at the moment, but you can sleep here on the sofa and Molly will get you some blankets and a pillow.”

Molly’s eyes sparkled for a moment. She hoped that maybe her husband was going to accept Draco, at least for the time being, and as long as Draco demonstrated that he wasn’t out to hurt Ginny.

“I can’t do that, Mr. Weasley; really, I must go.” Ginny dragged him to the sofa and shoved him into its soft recesses.

“Sit down, shut up, and listen to someone else for a change,” Ginny said, her tone reproving and laced with sharpness. He gazed up at her with knitted brows.

“Ginny, dear, why don’t you go back upstairs and go to bed? Your father and I will finish taking care of Draco,” Molly intervened. Throwing her mother a murderous look, she huffed upstairs.

An hour or so later, Ginny lay in bed listening to Draco take a shower in the bathroom across the hall. She had heard her father assisting him up the stairs and giving him a pair of Fred’s pajamas to wear.

It was simply unbelievable that he had shown up at the Burrow. Even more unbelievable that no one tried to do anything to him. Well, the twins had told her that Ron wanted to chop off his stones, but she disregarded that.

Hearing the shower cease running, she listened intently as he rustled around the unfamiliar bathroom. She knew when he opened the door because a wave of scented steam came underneath the crack in her door. That silly git, she thought, he’s used my apple shampoo.

The stairs creaked agreeably as he gingerly made his way down to the lounge. Molly Weasley had apparently been at work while he was showering, because a warm bed was made up for him. The couch had already been charmed to elongate, for the Weasley men were tall. It was altogether the most comfortable sofa he’d ever chanced to lie upon. He settled deeply into the cushions, tucking his face into the near corner of the sofa, feeling the worn warmth surround him.

He knew Ginny thought she was sneaking up on him from the time he heard her door open to her whispered silencing spell on the creaky stairway. He pretended to be asleep as she descended, dressed only in thin flannel pajama pants and a tee shirt that had gotten altogether too small to be worn in public. Crossing the trampled carpet, she took a seat with her back to the sofa, presumably staring into the fire.

“You’re daft, you know, using my shampoo,” she said. “When you go home tomorrow your father will smell it on you.” Draco hadn’t thought of that particular problem. Shaking away the nasty thought, he listened as she continued to speak softly.

“I am still infuriated with you for walking away angry on my last day at Hogwarts. If you don’t already know it, this little scheme you’re working on is deadly and I don’t plan on losing you, Malfoy, you great prat.”

“You didn’t apologize either, Princess,” he muttered roughly, turning his head toward her.

“I shouldn’t have to. You act like this is a walk in the park.”

Groaning, he said, “Excellent logic. Who am I to argue with logic like that?” He could see her cheek tense.

“Why did you come here?” she asked suddenly, in a somewhat mournful tone. Shocked, Draco tried to rearrange his thoughts. He was stunned that she seemed not to want him there.

“I can leave,” he said immediately, brusquely, and moving to kick off the blankets.

“No!” she said, stilling him with an outstretched hand. “I meant as in, I think you’ve jeopardized your position. Coming here can be traced back to you.” Sighing, Draco relaxed.

“I thought you were upset for a moment.” He let out a breath that he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, his next words spoken curtly to cover the embarrassment he felt at being so blatantly taken aback by her comment.

“I just couldn’t stay there after what he did to me. He hexed me to no end, dragged me upstairs and gave me a dagger as a Christmas gift. Then that bastard just stared at me as I said I was going out. He didn’t care where I was going; he probably thought I was going to get drunk. I Floo’d to The Leaky Cauldron and then here. So no, it cannot be traced back here unless someone had a reason to do so.”

“Draco, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. The more he tortures me, the stronger I become.”

Many minutes passed, and, unable to hold out any longer, Draco reached out and began to stroke the soft cinnamon fall of Ginny’s hair. She moved closer to his end of the sofa, wanting less distance between her and the warm, soothing caresses.

“A Knut for your thoughts,” Ginny said. Draco nearly choked. How was he to tell her that he had been lost in the memory of a year ago this evening?

His pregnant silence told her the answer.

“Come to me,” he whispered in a needy, covetous voice. It was something she had never heard, even when he had been far more badly beaten before. Its nakedness startled her and she was compelled to stand and turn to him.

He pushed back the blankets that had warmed him and surprised himself with his next action. He held his arms out to her, and begged with his eyes for her to join him, to make him whole.

Somehow, some way, they managed to divest themselves of their pajamas and she was able to whisper the contraception charm. Slowly, lazily, and mindful of Draco’s injuries, Ginny made love to him, allowing him what he wanted, giving him what he needed without words.

When she slowly ground her body down his shaft, he held her as closely as possible, kissing her in time to her thrusts, tracing her ear with his tongue. Although he longed to reverse their positions and cover her, he reveled in the release he brought her to and in his own completion. He found that afterwards as they lay together, he could not stop caressing her, bringing her many more climaxes. He could not stop kissing her, cuddling with her. With a minimum of effort, Ginny helped him to redress and then did the same. When sleep finally came, his body caged Ginny’s protectively, his hands laced around her soft midriff and a leg thrown over hers.

When Bill came down the unnaturally silent steps, he knew something was amiss. He had always been an early riser, and with an unexpected guest in residence, he wanted to make sure nothing out of the ordinary had gone on during the night.

When he reached the landing and found Malfoy’s body wound around his sister, he squelched the urge to cold-cock him. Although he suspected that Ginny had been a very willing participant in whatever full-contact sport they played, for Merlin’s sake, they were in the Burrow.

Crossing to the sofa, Bill chucked Ginny under the chin. She jerked awake and violently shrank back, knocking the breath out of Malfoy and instigating a chain reaction of waking.

Ginny fixed Bill with that patented little sister look, but he merely shook his head. At least Malfoy had the good grace to appear suitably embarrassed about being caught.

“You’d best get back to bed, Gin, before Mum finds you’ve stayed down here. And, reverse the silencing spell. That’ll tip her off.” Bill moved away and went back upstairs.

Ginny turned to Draco and smiled, a flush coloring her cheeks as she kissed him quickly and disentangled his hands from her soft breasts, where they had been hidden from Bill’s sight underneath the blankets.

Draco gave a put-upon sigh but grinned back at her. Watching her shapely bottom swing as she ascended the stairs wasn’t such a bad way to wake up. Plus, he surmised, the Weasleys wouldn’t hide their feelings. Of course, it was most likely bad form to shag in one’s parents’ home, but if Bill hadn’t punched him or done something else equally brotherly by now, he was probably home free.

He settled back into the sofa until he was woken for good when the sounds and smells of a home-cooked meal filled the lounge.

The twins woke Draco and ushered him upstairs, where he found that Molly had cleaned the clothing he had arrived in last night. He showered again and replaced his clothes. Fully intending to arrive back at the Manor post haste, he ran down the now-squeaky stairs and nearly collided with Charlie Weasley.

“Whoa, there, mate, where d’you think you’re going?” he asked congenially. Draco stopped short; no one had ever called him “mate” before. It was rather nice.

“Ah, well, I thought I’d best be on my way,” Draco said, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

“You can’t just leave. Mum’s set a place for you at the table. I think Ginny has a present for you. So do go into the kitchen and take a seat and make happy for a while.” Charlie shoved him firmly in the direction of the good smells and Draco went, only somewhat reluctantly.

Christmas with the Weasleys was a loud, noisy, bright affair. The twins had made special Christmas crackers with interesting gifts and Molly had cooked a mountain of food. Draco had been surprised and even blushed when he found his seat and a black sweater with a large D embroidered on it in silver thread draped over the back of it. Ginny confided to Draco that Molly had had her knitting needles working non-stop since before she went to bed.

The party had moved into the lounge at some point and Draco watched the family give and receive little gifts with great joy. When Ron (who was acting as the gift-giver) unearthed a sleekly-wrapped package with Draco’s name on it, he handed it personally to Draco without any qualms.

All eyes were on him as he unwrapped the contraption. Within twenty minutes or so, Draco was listening to Sympathy for the Devil and thinking that maybe Muggle music wasn’t half-bad.

Draco almost didn’t want to leave. But he knew it was nearly ten, and he should be returning to his cold home. Ginny promised to keep his gifts until the school term started and he could have them at his disposal safely. Molly plied him with leftovers until he was full to bursting. Finally, he was forced to shuffle backwards out of the front door, smiling and waving, as Ginny accompanied him and shut the door on her family.

Draco dropped his smile, although it had been genuine for a long time this morning.

“Thank you, Princess. For everything.” He leaned forward and dropped a quick kiss on her lips (quick only because he knew her family was most assuredly watching from the windows) and waved his wand, Disapparating.

Draco went to several locations before he arrived home, so as to throw off any trackers. Unfortunately he appeared directly in front of an unhappy Lucius in the main hall of the manor.

“Where have you been, Draco?” Lucius asked lightly, his tone belying the steely gray of his probing eyes. Draco did not answer immediately, and Lucius’ discerning nose picked out a sweet scent. As he concentrated on his son’s mind, the vision was suddenly occluded, affording him only of a dim, blurry scene of a woman with dark hair in front of a fire bending over Draco in ecstasy. Lucius smiled.

“No need to answer, my son. My eyes tell me everything I need to know.”

“Do they really?” Draco chanced caustically, feeling dead foolish about calling his father’s bluff.

“Of course,” Lucius smiled severely. “The same clothes you left in, a cloying scent. You’ve been with a trollop. It’s quite obvious. I only hope that you took great care in avoiding a Malfoy bastard. Do not do it again. If you do, you might be more discreet and let me arrange a suitable companion who is fit to see the light of day.”

4. Father Knows Best

AN: Many thanks to my wonderful beta, who helps and suggests like none other. Sorry for the long delay in chapters, but I try to do at least seven pages each time, because when I made shorter ones in Who? I got razzed too.

Some eight days hence, Lucius offhandedly informed Draco that the Dark Lord would be calling a meeting to discuss their plan of attack on, as Lucius so kindly put it, the “dregs of wizarding society.”

Draco took the news with mixed emotions. He would be unable to communicate any of this to Dumbledore, and of course, Snape most likely wouldn’t have an inkling of what was going on until he was summoned to the meeting. And with nothing to go on other than the news of the meeting, Draco couldn’t make any inferences on what would happen next. It was debatable if his father would suspect anything if Draco were to question him. Sometimes his father could be deadly keen and other times he was off in his own little mad world. Draco sulked.

He visited his mother in St. Mungo’s, though it pained him to do so. Seeing her tall but slight form sitting straight-backed in a chair, hands folded neatly but constantly mute, wore on him more than he let anyone know. He longed to banish his father’s marks from her and free her from her gilded but hopeless cage.

The routine was the same. The medi-witches and wizards knew him, and gave him his leave. He always brought that day’s Daily Prophet (even though he thought it was rubbish himself) and read her the news. When her lunch was served, it was he who helped her eat. Before he left he always put a daub of her favorite perfume on her wrists (he couldn’t remember her not putting it on) and gave her a kiss goodbye. It was the one thing between his mother and him that his father could not take away.

Draco didn’t have to wait long after his father’s announcement of the meeting. The excruciating pain led him to the Crabbe manse, a smaller, danker, and moldier version of Malfoy Manor.

The hooded figures arranged themselves around a hearth, where Voldemort would appear when he was physically able. He was surviving on close to nothing these days, and if not for Lucius Malfoy he’d most surely have perished. Lucius had procured the necessary bloods and potions that would bolster his lord’s strength, and he felt it was an honor to serve in such a manner. Lucius took great pains to record all his actions in a journal as a precaution should anything happen to him and Draco would have to take over serving the Dark Lord.

“Severus, my dear friend, please, tell me how Draco is faring at his new post?” Lucius smoothly asked Snape, who was standing beside him around the hearth.

Snape startled, but recovered so quickly that his surprise went undetected.

“Lucius, really. He’s a grown man now by any standards, and what he does daily is not my business.” Lucius frowned and looked at his friend.

“But Severus, as his godfather I would have expected you to be a bit more privy to his life at Hogwarts.” Turning the frostiest look possible upon Lucius, Severus replied,

“If he’s old enough to become a Death Eater, he’s old enough to look after himself. If you want any more details, Lucius, I suggest you buy him a keeper.”

Draco threaded his way through the throng of men standing by the fireplace. He ducked past them all to stand between Snape and his father, figuring that if something important were to happen it would be there. Suddenly, there was a flash of blue light and the tenuous form of Lord Voldemort appeared, floating slightly off the floor. His whole being was diaphanous, and it was hard to focus on what he called a face. Draco tried not to wince when he did catch the occasional glance at the papery, scarred visage. But Voldemort almost didn’t need his body; his voice could commandeer legions of followers.

His hissing voice issued forth from an orifice barely qualified to be a mouth. Instantly Draco felt hot and cold, like a sudden sickness racing though his body and settling in the pit of his stomach. He had to grab Snape’s sleeve to keep from falling. Snape nearly broke his neck whipping it around to see what was the matter. When he saw Draco’s face his expression softened for just an instant, which made Draco think that Snape somehow knew what he was feeling.

Draco worked hard to suppress these feelings; to clear his head and concentrate on what was said, what was happening. His blurry vision focused, and he heard Voldemort’s words ringing in his ears as if the Dark Lord was speaking directly to him at close range.

“I am confident that those of you who have been given preliminary assignments are close to executing them,” Voldemort said, “and that you will look forward to being given new ones when you succeed.”

Preliminary assignments? Draco had no idea what these were. He knew he didn’t have one. Did Snape? Did his father? There was no time to dwell on that.

“I remain alive thanks to one man here among us. The decision has been made that it is necessary for me to manifest myself in another body. You will all begin searching for suitable vessels for my inhabitation. Someone young, someone strong, and someone who does not follow me. Those who hate me give me strength. I shall rise again!” Voldemort thundered. The force shook the room. Paintings rattled on the wall, candles flickered and the weakest were extinguished.

Draco didn’t know if he could stand much more. The nausea was rising sourly in his throat and he would no doubt endure the wrath of his father should he faint. Voldemort’s form was nearly vapor now. Draco was sure that he had expended precious energy on his vociferous missives. Distantly, he heard the Dark Lord dismiss those gathered, save Lucius.

Snape grabbed him discreetly as soon as he staggered out of the meeting room and dragged him to a corner.

“Has the sickness passed?” Snape asked quietly, his eyes flickering over Draco.

“It has diminished some,” he said. “Why did I feel that?” Snape frowned.

“Every human feels that sickness in the presence of the Dark Lord. It is how he weeds out those who are not true believers. You must learn to suppress the nausea and dizziness. Death Eaters school themselves to do that, and the Dark Lord takes this as a sign of their loyalty.” Snape looked around to make sure they weren’t being watched or listened to.

“Perhaps I can arrange for you to fight a Voldemort boggart. You won’t feel as ill, but it is a good way for you to practice.” Snape swept off and Disapparated in the foyer.

Draco sagged against the wall.

Lucius stepped out of the meeting chamber and observed his son standing straight-backed against the cold stone wall. His head was tipped back, eyes closed. Lucius knew he was fighting off the effects of the sickness. Purposely he had not told his son about this peculiar affliction. It was Draco’s duty as a Malfoy to be prepared for the unexpected and be able to defend oneself against it, whether it was simple illness or the Imperius.

“Come, Draco, we must go.” Draco’s eyes popped open and he walked slowly towards his father. In the split second that they both stood there before Disapparating, Draco noticed for the first time that he was taller than his father. His father’s eyes were several weary shades darker than his own, and right now, Draco could see fatigue, something he was sure that only he could see and that his father would refute. Lucius frowned briefly at his scrutinizing son and disappeared.

The spring term began only a few days later. Ginny carefully packed Draco’s sweater (so she’d worn it a few times, so what?) and his compact disc player amongst the items in her trunk.

She was amazed that in a few short months she would be graduating Hogwarts. It didn’t seem possible. She hoped, although she knew it was rather naïve to do so, that after she graduated Voldemort would be vanquished once and for all, and she and Draco wouldn’t have to hide their relationship.

It was hard not to participate in her mates’ discussions about boys with her own information, though she’d heard enough of the girls’ dreamy talk about shagging Draco to last her until the end of time. She had wanted to elbow right into the fray and let them know exactly what it was like shagging the great, scary Malfoy. The very thought brought some unbidden images to the front of her mind and she blushed so much that one of her Hogwarts Express traveling companions asked her if she felt all right.

When she arrived at the school, she expected to see him sitting at the Head Table. He and Snape were conspicuously absent.

“Riddikulus!” Draco yelled at the hideous form in front of him. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he held his roiling stomach, watching the Voldemort boggart melt into the floor.

“Better, Draco,” Snape said. Draco collapsed into a nearby chair.

“I feel better,” Draco said bravely. Snape glanced at him edgewise and rolled his eyes. This boy had never been sick a day in his life. He’d never felt any pain.

“Don’t lie, Mr. Malfoy. It only hinders your progress. How do you really feel?” Draco lowered his head.

“I’m on the edge of a vomit cliff.”

“We’ve made some progress, then.”

“I call this meeting of the Order of the Phoenix to order,” Dumbledore said to the room at large. 12 Grimmauld Place had been expanded to thrice its normal space, and it was still crowded. The Weasleys (except for Ginny, who had been forbidden to come since she had class the next day) occupied one corner along with Harry and Hermione and Neville Longbottom.

Various other members of the Order fought for seats and others stood, all trying to catch a glimpse of Dumbledore sitting serenely in the middle.

“I have called this meeting for two reasons. The first is because we have new information from Severus Snape about the activities of the Death Eaters. Secondly, I wish to motion that Draco Malfoy be granted membership in the Order.” Dumbledore smiled as a murmur swept the room and began to elevate into a buzz.

“My friends, please let me explain my fervent wish that Mr. Malfoy be allowed to join. He currently functions as a special envoy from the Ministry to Hogwarts. He also works to gather firsthand information from his father, Lucius, which Professor Snape cannot. Draco risks his life as bravely as Professor Snape does (Snape held back an uncharacteristic snicker), and I feel that he will be a valuable asset to our defenses.”

“Who’s to say he won’t turn on us, Dumbledore?” came a voice from the back. “Merlin knows that people think he’s second behind his father to be the next Dark Lord. A bloody dark prince, he is.” Other people began to voice similar sentiments. Dumbledore silenced them all with a raised hand. The clamor died down and Dumbledore chose his words very carefully before he spoke, remembering a certain necessary memory charm.

“Young Mr. Malfoy has more that calls to him on this side than that of the Dark Lord’s,” Dumbledore said, looking in an unerring way at the Weasley entourage. “He trains daily with Professor Snape to learn methods of resistance to dark magic.”

Before anyone else could speak, Molly Weasley’s hand shot up.

“Headmaster, I second your motion to approve Draco Malfoy for membership in the Order of the Phoenix.” She paused, and took a deep breath. “Recently I became aware that he has been working for our side. And after the short conversation we had about it, I am more than convinced that he intends to do only good. I find him to be far different than his father. I respectfully request that those of you gathered here support him as well.”

The Order went completely silent. Dumbledore could see that the collective thought was that if Molly Weasley, of all people, supported Draco Malfoy that perhaps there was nothing to fear from him.

Slowly, Arthur Weasley raised his hand and voice to move the motion forward. Other hands began to rise and people chimed in. Dumbledore counted each voice. It was unanimous, however; sluggish.

“It is so. Draco Malfoy is now a member of the Order of the Phoenix. It is his duty to protect you, as it is our duty to protect him. I trust that none of you will fail him. Now, we must discuss new information that Professor Snape has from a recent Death Eater meeting. Severus, if you please.”

Snape cleared his throat and rose, strangely appearing a little less greasy and sallow than usual. His black robes swirled around him as he picked his way through the people to stand at Dumbledore’s side.

“Only a few days ago, the Dark Lord convened the Death Eaters in at the Crabbe mansion. Voldemort,” Snape began, then paused, sincerely relishing the palpable shudder that went through the room. “The Dark Lord,” he began again, “is searching for a new body to inhabit. He wishes it to be someone who is young, strong, and is not a Death Eater. As he proclaimed, those who hate him make him stronger.”

“Thank you, Severus. As you can see, this is clearly a grave situation. I implore all of you to be on a heightened alert. We will be strictly enforcing earlier curfews at Hogwarts, and anyone who wishes to visit must be cleared by the Ministry and me. Please be on the lookout for strange activity. Report it immediately. We cannot chance that one of our young people will be taken by Voldemort.”

Dumbledore looked the assembly.

“Please remember, my friends, that we are in a constant state of war. It simply has not escalated as of yet.”

“Where have you been?” Ginny hissed impatiently, snagging Draco by his robes and pulling him back into the secluded corner of the hall. He appeared to be utterly greenish and in a hurry to go somewhere.

“I’ve been training, Ginny, let me go,” he said, wrestling with her to release her grip. Astonished, she unhanded him and watched soundlessly as he rounded another corner and disappeared from her sight.

Ginny had had no contact with Draco for ten days. The winter nights were that much colder when she wasn’t around him in even the tiniest of ways. It was not much consolation that she knew he was obviously training hard for whatever role he might have to play in the capture of his father and the other Death Eaters. Curling up in his Weasley sweater, as she had nearly every night since returning for the spring term, she fell asleep without even dreams to assuage her mind.

“Father, if I may have a word with you?” Draco asked, peering around the heavy study door. Draco had made the trip home this night for the sole reason of ferreting out some information from Lucius.

“Of course, Draco,” his father said graciously, and it boggled Draco’s mind how Lucius could turn the charm on and off. “Come and sit.”

Draco crossed the cold tile, his boots echoing loudly against the vaulted ceilings. Arranging himself in the soft leather chair, he attempted to sit up very straight, to counteract any height he lost while sinking into the cushions.

“At the last…gathering,” Draco began, unsure of what to call the Death Eaters’ little consortium with Voldemort, “the Dark Lord spoke of ‘preliminary assignments.’ I was curious, Father; I don’t remember being assigned a task.”

Lucius steepled his elegant fingers, weighing the answers at hand.

“No, Draco, you were not given an assignment, for you have not proven your worthiness to the Dark Lord.” As Lucius hoped, Draco bristled. Lucius was banking on his bait to attract Draco.

“And how exactly does one go about proving their worth?” asked Draco briskly, hoping his face belied none of the circling emotions in his mind.

“Oh, there are several ways. The best way is to take the life of one who does not support us, in sacrifice to the Dark Lord. Another is to gather intelligence of great worth to our cause.”

“But Father, I am gathering intelligence!” Draco protested, clearly irked. Lucius glared coldly at him down his nose.

“You call what you are doing intelligence-gathering? Wool-gathering is more to the point!” Lucius said ominously. Draco swallowed hard and suddenly he forgot that he was an agent for the other side; now he was merely being indignant, as eighteen-year-olds were wont to do.

“And I suppose for Voldemort to like me I should just spear Dumbledore through the heart with my butter knife at dinner! Honestly, Father, these are things that I cannot do!” Draco burst out, running his hand exasperatedly though his hair.

“You are not fit to speak his name!” shrieked Lucius, gesturing wildly. “Perhaps if you were more of a man and less of a whoremonger I would have fewer troubles securing the Dark Lord’s acceptance of you! I am lucky that he allowed me to initiate you! You, who given half the chance, would have offed Harry Potter in a Quidditch match! Do you not see, my son,” Lucius seethed, “that keeping the Dark Lord happy should be your chief mission now? Obviously not. And if you cannot begin to show some sense in that fool head of yours, something drastic will have to happen.”

“Oh, really, Father?” Draco retorted. “Losing me means losing your damned legacy. Let’s not upset history in the making, shall we?” Draco rose and slammed out of the study, taking with him his father’s surprised expression.

Lucius sat as if Stupefied for a few moments in his high leather desk chair. Rising gracefully, he swept over to the small tray of spirits he kept handy when his nerves needed calming. He passed over the selection of alcohol known to the wizarding world for a bottle of something decidedly more Muggle. He poured himself a measure and felt the magically chilled clear liquid burn a path through his abdomen.

Some moments later he returned to his majestic desk and sat pensively. He, Lucius, had indeed been given a preliminary assignment. And with the Dark Lord’s announcement about needing a new body, Lucius found himself mulling over the advantages to changing his target.

His thoughts abruptly shifted to Draco’s impudence. Though he would never reveal it to anyone, he was less than entirely certain of Draco’s allegiance to the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. Worse, Lucius was sure that Draco was indifferent at best, which enraged him but rendered Lucius futile. He could not definitively test the boy’s mettle, especially since he had undergone initiation and he was collecting information. Proving that Draco was loyal would only publicly inform the other Death Eaters that he could not keep a firm hand on his son.

Worst of all, Lucius could not shake the niggling image of the woman he had gleaned from Draco’s mind. He was vaguely unsettled, but could not decide why. Perhaps it was the thought of Draco sullying himself. Perhaps.

Coming full circle, Lucius thought again of his new choices in targets. If they had been led to the dark side once, they could be led again.

All he wanted was some fragrant female flesh to keep him warm. Well, Ginny’s, to be exact. But she was having none of it.

“You skulk about in the dungeons with Snape and don’t bother to say a word to me in almost two weeks now. Two weeks, Draco!” Ginny said, barely controlling her voice. Draco’s head began to ache and suddenly he was confronted with a mental image of Ginny as Molly Weasley, hands on hips, berating him for some transgression. He groaned, trying to erase the thought.

“And what, exactly, was that groan for?” she asked him pointedly. He flopped back on his bed and draped his forearm across his eyes, trying to shut it all out. There was no use in lying.

“I have reason to believe that you sound exactly like your mum when you use that tone,” he said listlessly. He heard her vigorous harrumph and couldn’t even muster a smile.

“Ginny, I’m not asking for all that much. Look at me. I’m everything a Malfoy doesn’t want to be, right this second. I’m bedraggled like some peasant, I’m scarred like a bloody street urchin and my nose is becoming snotty from all the damp cold down here. Is it too much for you to lie beside me, look pretty, and eventually feel sorry enough for me that you’d just happen to shag me?”

“Yes. You ignored me.”

“I didn’t ignore you, you ungrateful petty wench! You try fighting a Voldemort boggart that makes you sick on both ends and see how social you feel.”

Ginny frowned. She was being petty, even if she knew that Draco didn’t mean what he said. He sighed, as if his speech had sapped his strength.

“Why didn’t you fix those scars?” Ginny asked softly, sitting beside him on the bed, taking his other arm and holding his hand.

“Because I’m not goodwhfgmrspells.”

“What?” she asked, straining to hear his rushed phrase.

“I’m not,” he said, clearing his throat, “any good at glamour spells.” He could feel Ginny looking at him quizzically. He had a feeling that any sympathy he may have built up in these last moments would be sorely lacking after his next words.

“Oh, sod it, I’m no good with them because I never had to cast them on myself,” he said. “I was waiting for you to do it, because you’re so much better at those than I am,” he said.

She dropped his arm like it was on fire.

“Oh, yes,” she sneered. “Because I’ve obviously had so much more practice using them.” He resigned himself to another lonely night when he heard the door to his chambers shut rather loudly.

5. Underestimation

AN: My deepest apologies in my tardiness. I’ve been working on another two fics (one that I can’t mention here and a companion fic to this one that will come into play later) and even some upcoming scenes that take place after the end of this chapter that I just couldn’t let get out of my head. To the person who reviewed a long time ago and wished for more hot sex, you were right, I’d blown my chances before, so here’s some to hopefully soothe ruffled feathers. I hope to post another chapter here in the next week or so. I’m home on Winter Break and am looking forward to tying up some loose ends. I’m also, for the first time, trying to include some asterisk to indicate changing points of view or important conclusions. I hope it helps.

“Mr. Malfoy…a word, if you please.” Dumbledore’s hoarse rasp stopped Draco as he walked the corridor towards the Owlery to mail his daily Ministry reports and papers.

“Yes, Headmaster?” Draco asked, mentally sighing. Much as he wanted to fight for this side Dumbledore never failed to irritate him in some small way.

“I wish to see you in my office when you finish your post.” Suddenly Draco began to feel very young and distinctly in trouble.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“No, Draco, no problem. Rather good, I would say.” With that Dumbledore disappeared round the corner, leaving Draco alone with his hands full of parchment. Picking up his pace, he entered the Owlery and ignored the pesky school owls who clamored to take his papers. Instead he searched out a particular own that was a deep brown, one that he had privately decided closely matched the brown of Ginny’s eyes.

Ah, Ginny. He’d barely spent any time with her or even spoken, for that matter. Surprising himself, he readily admitted that it wasn’t necessarily that he wanted her physical company (though Merlin, he missed that too) but just her. The feel of her hair trickling through his fingers, her delicate perfume, the crinkles around her eyes when she smiled. Longingly, he recalled their Christmas encounter before the fire and sighed. He wished to pull her into the overstuffed chair that was in his quarters and feel her sweet weight across his lap.

Reluctantly shoving the thoughts aside, he began the trek to Dumbledore’s office. He cursed as he took the wrong swinging stairway and ended up ten minutes away from his destination. Reaching the stone edifice that served as Dumbledore’s front door, he mumbled the password and mounted the stone staircase and ascended into the headmaster’s office.

Dumbledore met him at the entrance, offering tea and cookies. Draco declined, sitting quickly in the chairs and wanting to get the hell out of there.

“I apologize for taking so long, sir, but I…”

“I know. I always take the wrong swinging staircase,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. This dredged up a small smile from Draco, but mercifully Dumbledore began speaking.

“I have asked you here, Draco, to inform you that you have been accepted into the Order of the Phoenix unanimously one week ago.”

“Bet that was an interesting meeting,” Draco said, quirking his eyebrows and letting his voice become a bit rougher around the edges. “Bet they said that I’m the next Dark Lord or the new Heir of Slytherin or some prattle like that.”

“In fact they did raise concerns, Draco, of your loyalty. But I told them that I was sure that you had more that called to you on this side than the other.”

Draco smirked again. “I’d have loved to see how you swung that vote, Professor. Tell me, how many of them muttered that you bribed Snape to second the motion?”

“Professor Snape, Mr. Malfoy. And it was not Professor Snape who seconded the motion.” Draco stopped short of forming another thought, and his eyes focused intently on Dumbledore, running through the members of the Order that he knew and could not think of a single one besides Snape who would have supported him.

“Who was it? Who seconded the motion?” Draco asked urgently. Benevolently smiling, Dumbledore paused before delivering the news.

“Molly Weasley.”

***

The presence of your company is requested at ten o’clock in the deepest, dankest part of the Slytherin dungeons. A light, late dinner will be served. Dress accordingly.

Ginny smiled. What a charmer.

***

Wearing the winter cloak Draco had given her the year before, Ginny narrowly evaded the roaming prefects and hurried down to the dungeons. Coming to his door she whispered his password and entered.

The front of the room was ringed in candlelight, some candles floating and some not. She could see a small table sitting before the fire, laden with small bowls and several carafes. Draco’s bed was behind the ring of fire, and she could sense him, smell him in the room.

“Draco,” she said invitingly. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” The door latched tightly behind her and Ginny felt the slight disruption of the air near her cheek as another spell shot from his unseen wand and silenced the room.

Playing the silent game, she slowly unfastened her cloak and hung it on the wall. Underneath she wore a simple sheath of white crepe that clung to her breasts and skimmed her curves. She’d transfigured it beautifully and was proud when she heard a gasp come from the darkened portion of the room.

***

“You’re stunning,” he said simply, reclining negligently on his bed, just outside her line of sight. Her tumble of auburn locks fell over her bare shoulders, caressing the sides of her breasts like a lover. She turned a bit then, suddenly, and he was rewarded with a flash of a long, bare leg under a slit in the skirt that was thigh-high. Her delicate feet were encased in strappy white heels, accentuating her slender calves.

He moved restlessly on his bed, his lounging pants rustling on the luxurious thick cotton sheets. He could feel his erection beginning, but now was not the time. Sliding off the bed, he showed himself, networks of scars winding sinuously around his bare torso, reminders of training, of torture.

As he approached her, he was taken by how absurdly tall she seemed in those shoes. She stared him in the eye, and he knew that he was being dared to make the first move. He stared back into those brown, fathomless depths and then swept her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed. She squeaked a bit, but nestled her head in the crook of Draco’s shoulder.

He set her down gently on the plush duvet. Kneeling, he ran his fingers down her smooth bare legs to the tiny gilded buckles on her shoes. Deftly he opened them and slid her shoes off, returning to plant tiny kisses on her toes. Massaging the arch of her foot brought forth a low moan and he continued, placing her feet on his shoulders so he could kiss the sensitive ankles.

“Draco, please,” she moaned, though neither of them was sure what she meant.

“Draco, please what?” he asked teasingly, trailing his tongue up her calves. Groaning, she grasped at his hair with slim fingers.

“I don’t know, you smarmy git, just don’t stop.” Draco laughed, soft puffs of air ticking Ginny’s arches.

“Just for that, I’m going to make you suffer.”

“I already have,” she sniffed. “These many days, I’ve simply languished alone,” she said in an affected voice.

Stroking the backs of her knees, he placed tiny nibbles as he contemplated his response.

“I suppose you have been, and I’m sorry,” he said quietly. He could feel the shocked waves rolling off her.

“Yes,” he said impatiently, “the great Malfoy apologized.” He was only slightly mollified when he heard her soft laughter.

“What?” he demanded. “What’s so funny about that?” Her laughter turned into giggles.

“You always make everything so dramatic. Come on, Draco, slum with me for a while. It’s more fun when everything is simple. Like this. It’s just the two of us here, together for the first time in a while, and though the food smells delicious and the candles are beautiful, let’s just be simple.”

Simple.

***

Her words changed him, molded him, in a way he didn’t quite understand. But he felt an unknown weight wash away from his shoulders, as if he had been carrying some heavy burden about their time together. He tucked it away in the corner of his mind for further examination later. Now he would try to be simple.

“Come here, Princess, let me look at you,” he said, drawing her off the bed and into the ring of candlelight. Shyly, she slid down from his high bedstead, and with her diminished height came to chest level on him.

“Do you like it?” she asked, pirouetting slowly in front of him.

“Very much,” he said thickly, reaching behind her to find the zipper he hoped she’d transfigured in, because if not that dress had been applied by truly magical means. His fingers alighted on the small runner of metal and he pulled the tab down, down, and pulled the soft materials from her breasts and down over her hips to pool on the floor.

Ginny let out the breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding when the fabric scraped over her taut nipples, arousing them to a point of near pain. On instinct, her hands flew to soothe them and Draco suddenly became transfixed, watching her unconsciously stroke herself. It wasn’t until his strong fingers gently pulled hers away that she knew what she had been doing. A flush crept up her chest and Draco saw fit to trace its rise with his tongue.

Putting his arm around the small of her back Draco pushed Ginny backwards, bending her in half so that he could feast on her pebbled nipples. Her precarious pose presented her creamy throat and Draco could not resist trailing his lips up to suckle on the frail skin at the base of her throat, dropping hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake.

Suddenly he pulled her back up and found that he couldn’t wait to kiss her.

“Gin,” he said hoarsely. “Come here.”

When his tongue swept across the roof of her mouth Ginny thought she might die from the shuddery pleasure of it. His fiercely tender kiss made her whimper and crowd in closer to his consuming warmth.

The ever-present chill of the dungeons touched her skin and gooseflesh rose and she knew there was only one heat source to chase away the shivers. Hungrily she began to pull at his low-riding pants, teasing them down as far as she could without breaking her kiss. When she felt hot bare skin beneath the silky pants instead of his shorts desire flared inside her.

He took her cue and stepped out of his pants, allowing himself an animal growl when her small hands closed about his length and held him immobile, drawing out his heat. It had been so long since he’d had pleasure of any sort it was all he could do to keep from spilling himself in her hands.

Unexpectedly he had to break the kiss, the simple feeling of her soft touch taking his breath and forcing him to gasp for air. His head dropped to her shoulder and she could feel his great pants hotly stirring the hair on her neck.

“Ginny, no, please don’t,” he pleaded as he felt her begin to bend her knees and slide to the floor.

He was forced to raise his head as she dropped from his reach. “Ginny, no!” he mustered, trying to pull her back up. “I won’t be able to—“

A well-aimed stroke of her fingertips had him choking on his words.

“I don’t care. You need this. I’ll wait my turn,” she said softly but resolutely.

He groaned as his shaft slid into the deep, impossibly warm cavern of her mouth. She used her mouth only, taking her hands and caressing Draco’s buttocks softly while pressing her upper body against his legs.

“Ginny, you’re so beautiful, I need you, you’re so good,” he said helplessly, simultaneously hating his loose, weak tongue but meaning every word.

Her hands left his backside and searched for his. Long fingers twined almost painfully with shorter ones and he held her hands as she pushed him into the abyss and caught him all at once. His moan of completion was heart-wrenchingly sweet to her ears and once she was sure he could stand without her torso supporting him she rose to her feet and drew him down to whisper in his ear.

“The protectors need protecting, too.”

***

For a long while he stood there with her, digesting her conversational nugget. They kissed feather-softly, lips touching lightly, tongues brushing silkily against one another. His hands were on her breasts again, cupping her and rubbing his thumbs over her hardened nipples. The soothing motions served to calm Draco’s racing heart and his mind. He hadn’t felt more genuine in his life than he did now.

Ginny draped her body against his and leaned into his ministrations, letting soft and almost inaudible puffs of air signal her desires. He got the feeling that she could have left his chambers right now feeling as fulfilled as if they’d actually made love, and the thought of that humbled him. He had no intention of ever letting her leave him, any time, unfulfilled. Not because he had to, he realized, but because he wanted to.

The painful misgivings that had surfaced as he idly danced with another woman on Christmas Eve were slowly but surely becoming both embarrassing and woefully untrue every time he looked at her.

***

Slowly Draco eased them towards the fire. Summoning the chair, he picked up a slightly resisting Ginny and settled her into the warm, supple leather. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with the blackness of the leather, but the firelight muted the harshness. The gold shimmers in her hair sparkled as the firelight caught them, too.

“Draco,” she breathed, as he knelt before her. “I know you’re tired. Please don’t feel as if you have to give back. I’m all right, you know,” she said, her eyes brimming with affection.

He placed his hands on her soft thighs and squeezed gently.

“I’m never too tired for you, Gin. I’m not ‘giving back.’ I’m doing what I want to,” he said, kissing her thighs at the end of each fingertip.

He trailed his fingers in the crease created by her thighs all the way up to her apex. Kneading her muscles purposefully caused her to open her thighs bit by bit, her sweet breath washing over his hair as his head dropped lower and lower.

His hands latched in the small of her back and pressed her pelvis closer to him, making her recline and stretch like a lazy cat. Her motions opened her to him, and he took the opportunity to dip his head and taste her desire.

He could not believe as prodigiously aroused as she was, that she was willing to sacrifice her own pleasure. The thought of her becoming wet for him, because of him, was very heady indeed. He pulled her then to the edge of her seat and arranged her to his liking. His tongue danced long, slow circles around her pulsing center and he relished her whimpering.

Her cries led him on like no other aphrodisiac could. Though he was fully focused on his task he kept his touches light, trying not to bury her under swelling tension, wanting her to feel each nerve ending afire.

She was unraveling underneath him. It took a split second for him to rear up on his heels and gather her into his arms, sliding into her on her first wave of orgasm. She could not hold back near-sobs as he leisurely timed his thrusts with her clenching, fluttering muscles.

Gracefully, he stood with her clutched to his chest and reversed their positions. He sat deeply, comfortably in the chair, Ginny’s slender waist resting beneath his hands, his fingers spanning her hips. The sudden increase in his depth had brought her forehead down to his shoulder with a muffled yell, and he growled as her teeth sank into his shoulder to quiet herself.

Astride him, her powerful thighs clamped the outside of his as she finally trusted herself to move on him. Raising her compact body as far as she could, she startled him by slamming herself down him, causing both to take a sharp breath.

“Playing rough, Princess?” he asked her lazily, a smile curling around his lips as he met her straining body on her downward thrust.

“I wouldn’t have…to do that…if you…didn’t drive me crazy with…your tongue.”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to do that any more?” Draco inquired, meeting her with a particularly hard counterpoint.

“Sometimes, ooh, your tongue is so soft and wonderful…that one of us…needs to be rough.”

He let her use his body then, as a willing participant in her completion. Glad now that he’d spent himself earlier, he met the silent demands of Ginny’s body with no problem.

She threw herself down on him and nearly swooned when he met her fervor, when he sensed that she needed some well-deserved fire. She could not speak when her climax hit her, only let him continue thrusting through her pulses.

She sat pleasantly impaled upon him, but too pleasure-addled to comprehend that he was still hard and his need was unabated. A very feminine streak of heat shot through her when she realized that she was about to be thoroughly taken again. Opening her eyes, she stared fully into Draco’s turbulent eyes and gave a siren’s smile. A tight expression crossed his face as he rose, bouncing her purposely against him as he crossed back to his bed.

Hating to lose her warmth on his shaft, he groaned before he pushed her to the bed and pointedly prodded her to her stomach. She murmured assent as he pulled her hips high and moved her knees apart. Pausing for a few seconds to take in the sheer beauty of her in this position, he plunged into her core and relished the change of pressure they were surely both experiencing.

He held her hips tightly in his hands, kneading the round globes of her backside, growling as he used them to leverage his strokes. He began to hear her wanton mews and it spurred him on, pounding deeply. Reaching around, he found her and stroked at a furious pace until she was begging him to let her come.

He gave into a ridiculous urge to spank her, hard, once, and she writhed against his hand as the stinging slap pushed her firmly over the edge. Her sex contracted almost painfully around Draco and he smothered a yell as he pumped once, twice, three times and spent himself.

Some time later, after Ginny had rather spiritedly assured Draco she was completely fine and had enjoyed their last encounter enormously, they were seated at the small table sharing the sumptuous meal the house-elves had prepared.

“I found out something rather interesting today, Princess,” Draco said, regarding her gloriously nude form across the table. Lazily she plucked a grape from its stem and chewed it.

“What’s that?” she asked. He pondered for a moment how it was best to tell her; after all, he was certain she had no idea he’d been accepted into the Order. She wasn’t any good at keeping “good” secrets like that. Had she known, she’d very likely have bowled him over at dinner trying to tell him the news.

“Dumbledore told me today that I was accepted into the Order of the Phoenix at last week’s meeting,” he said between sips of pumpkin juice. Her eyes widened jealously.

“Oh, not fair. I’m not even a member yet!” He rolled his eyes and she glared impudently.

“Oh, rubbish. It’s not like you won’t be one; your entire crimson clan is practically the charter member.”

“I resent that,” she said childishly. “How many people did Snape have to threaten to get the motion through?”

“Interesting that you ask. Apparently, no one.” She frowned disbelievingly.

“Draco, no offense, but there’s no way that the Order would include you just because Dumbledore said so. They respect him, but you’re a little too close to the dark edge to let you in without some sort of a fight, or at least, proof that you weren’t going to murder us all.”

“There was proof given,” Draco said. “And in fact, someone you know very well did the honors.”

“Harry, I bet,” she said confidently. “I’ll bet that just honked Ron off to no end.”

“Wrong person, but probably the correct emotion.” She stopped eating to peer curiously at him.

“Then who was it?”

“Your mother. And your father supported her. I was accepted unanimously.” He allowed himself a smirk as she gaped at him.

Perhaps she’d underestimated him. Perhaps she’d underestimated her family.

6. Surprises

Very Important Author Notes!

It came to my attention that throughout this entire story, I had forgotten that at the end of OotP, Lucius was in Azkaban. It is not, however, a stretch to think that it would be easy for Lucius to escape Azkaban, for two reasons. It is clear in OotP that serious doubts about the loyalty of the dementors exist, and therefore prisoners could leave far more easily. The second reason is that Lucius had fewer crimes that could be definitively pinned on him, and the Ministry may decide to let him out with only monitoring. And of course, we all know how good Fudge’s Ministry is with criminals. (Sirius Black, anyone?) From this chapter forth, and in any new iterations of this fic, Lucius will have been out of Azkaban, and people are eager to throw him back in the pokey.

Also, a detail-oriented reviewer (Catianna Granger) picked out a spell that I should have cast in the previous chapter. There’s something just for you here!

If you’re reading Drunk please don’t worry, I am going to finish it, and don’t get too worked up about the gross girls in it. Just so’s you know, they have NOTHING to do with the story other than to show the debauchery of Draco’s life.

And finally, merci millefois (literally, mercy buckets…ha ha!) to my stalwart beta where_is_truth and to my new beta Rainpuddle13 who fix my “that” and comma problems. Ladies, you are simply wonderful. Go troika!

Although he was comfortably and rather negligently sprawled in a leather chair in a somewhat disused conference room in Hogwarts, Draco was able to fully convey his displeasure as the meeting at hand continued.

“Well, of course Harry has to be there, I mean, he is the only one who can defeat Voldemort,” Granger was saying. Draco rolled his eyes; the most brilliant witch in this century was taking up precious time by stating what everyone knew and did not need to hear again.

“Bloody hell, ’Mione, the way you talk you’d think Harry forgets he’s The Boy Who Lived,” the Weasel sighed. Draco suppressed a smirk; for once, Weasley had said something halfway amusing.

“I’m sure that Harry knows his role,” Dumbledore cut in gently. “We are not making any headway in this line of reasoning. Professor Snape, have you been informed of any plans other than the supposed Death Eater targets?”

“No, Headmaster, I have not. And I daresay Mr. Malfoy has not either…” Snape said, trailing off as he looked to Draco for confirmation. Draco shook his head. His father had been peculiar as of late, but it was something he could neither put a finger on nor question Lucius about. Snape nodded affirmatively.

“Headmaster, I propose we postpone this meeting until Mr. Malfoy and I can come up with something more substantial on which to begin forming these plans. Because neither of us has been assigned a target, finding out the particulars may be time consuming. I suggest that we continue our tightened security and wait.”

“And I suppose you’ll just wait until you’re a target and die,” Tonks said darkly from a far corner of the room. “We need Aurors to step in immediately and start doing more surveillance and monitoring activities.”

“Perfect idea, Nymphadora,” Snape said, knowing she detested her full name. “Put yourself in the open, tailing a Death Eater and see how long it takes you to be blasted into owl treats. Has it escaped your mind that these people are Death Eaters? Have you forgotten that these people and their leader have evaded capture for nearly twenty years? Honestly, Miss Tonks!”

Tonks’ face colored and she appeared to be ready to jump at Snape’s throat, but the nearly impassive Kingsley Shacklebolt merely grasped her forearm and muttered something to her.

Draco sat and watched these proceedings with a mixture of detached amusement. It was obvious he was inducted only because he could provide information; there was no way he could be expected to work with these twits. He was brooding when Mad-Eye Moody said something Draco nearly missed.

“We’ll have to drag that Lucius Malfoy out in the open,” Moody stated clearly, his rolling eye focused directly on Draco. Everyone in the room swiveled in their seats to gaze upon the lithe blond who was draped across his chair. Feeling the heat of their stares, Draco immediately sat up straight and faced that creepy bugger Moody square in his eye—eyes, whatever.

“Are you testing me, Moody?” Draco asked dangerously. “Because if you’re baiting me, it won’t work. Do you realize what I’m doing? I’m helping you put my own father back in Azkaban. At great risk to my own life, I might add. So spare me your scare tactics, and just do what you have to do, and I’ll do what I’m asked to do, okay? You might remember that it was your little Ministry who let him out. The only thing I ask is that you try and catch that bastard alive, because I’d like to see nothing more than him rotting in prison again, forever. Is that all?” Draco met the eyes of everyone that surrounded him, daring them to challenge him. “Because I’m leaving.”

Draco pulled himself to his full height and stalked out.

Erupting murmurs spread over the room, but Moody and Dumbledore shared a glance over the heads of those assembled. Draco was doing fine. He would not betray them.

***

Draco headed directly from his rooms to see if there was a carriage available for him to take to Hogsmeade. He planned to Apparate directly to the Ministry, drop off his reports and take his Weasley jumper and whatever it was—DC player—and go to a Muggle pub by himself. Hermione had taken him to several she knew in Muggle London, and the whole atmosphere was interesting.

Two hours later he sat in the front window of the Rose and Crown, eating fish and chips and drinking some pale ale he had grown fond of on his and Hermione’s excursions. She’d persuaded him to go to a Muggle clothier, a frightfully busy but exciting place called Harrods, where he purchased surprisingly comfortable pants called blue jeans, jumpers and shoes that Hermione said were named “trainers.” Because he’d gotten so many pounds sterling with his Galleons, she forced him to buy a long black wool winter trench coat—

“Granger, really, I can just use a warming spell,” he’d said. She’d given him that special glare that only a woman can and replied witheringly.

“Sure, Malfoy, prance around in thin clothes in the London winter. People will either think you’re poor or stupid. Take your pick…”—

and all the other winter accessories that went with it. Draco still took pride that even in his Muggle clothes, he still looked handsome. That much was evidenced by the barmaids who flirted with him and the covert gawks he got on the street. Nothing like a bit of admiration to bolster one’s self-confidence.

So he sat there, secretly enjoying the plain fare and listening to an American singer blast his ears. He was pleasantly warm in his Weasley jumper (no warming charm required) and reflected upon the day’s events.

He was positive Ginny would agree with his thoughts and actions. Though he was committed to putting away his father, it wasn’t as if it was going to be easy. Sure, he hated Lucius with all his might, but it couldn’t change the fact that the man was his father. Draco shook his head ruminatively. They all thought him so cold and unemotional; maybe they should have had a peek in his bedchamber the other night. He allowed himself a small smile.

He couldn’t even begin to believe that he’d been satisfied before she came along. Although he was sometimes forced to take care of himself, there was no shortage of events to replay in his mind that included her. A personal favorite--though it had been borne of evil, unsettling thoughts--continued to be flashing back upon their encounter in his father’s room above The Three Broomsticks. Gods, how hot and sultry she’d been. The taste of her, to watch her face almost constantly in the contortions of passion, had been the end of him. Had she not made her revelation, he thought he’d have probably taken her right there on the cold floor. But their actual coupling had been made that much sweeter by all that had happened in the meantime.

As of late, he had been spending an inordinate amount of time thinking of her and all that being with her entailed. Her bubbly smile had been splashed against his mind and he made no effort to purge it. He wondered what she felt for him. Was it love? Probably not. A deep attachment, sure, on his part, and probably a companionable affection from her. He imagined she was thinking about rich, beautiful babies with red hair waving to him from the front steps of Malfoy Manor as he Apparated off to work at the Ministry.

Of course, she’d not intimated this in the least. He chided himself for trying to get mixed up in the thoughts and wants of the female mind. Perhaps she felt the same way, a deep attachment that neither was ready to let go of yet. Much as he hated to admit it, he was forced to: she was the only solid thing in his life right now; he could not afford to lose her.

***

The abandoned shack in Godric’s Hollow brought back bitter memories for Voldemort. As his slightly stronger, more visible form sat in a ragged chair, he recalled failing those many years before by allowing a helpless baby to bring him to his feet. How he slavered over endless scenes of torturing Harry Potter and his little band of cohorts. They would all meet the same sticky end as the perfect elder Potters. He relished the thought of lining them up in a row somewhere, and making those at the end watch those ahead of them screaming, falling to the floor and dying slowly.

But these fantasies were always with him and it was time to turn his attention back to Lucius Malfoy. Lucius had long been an excellent minion, though he did sometimes have a propensity for bungling operations. The Chamber of Secrets incident came foremost to his mind. Though now, Draco was old enough to be one of them, Lucius was of greater importance. Voldemort had long thought of taking over the boy’s strong, handsome body with his own being. How he and his followers would flourish! Perhaps this was what Lucius was proposing. The Dark Lord sighed. He honestly had to pay more attention to the nattering Lucius.

“Repeat yourself,” Voldemort said coldly. Lucius was aghast…hadn’t the Dark Lord heard a word he was saying?

“I was saying, my lord, that I wish a change in assignment.” Voldemort laughed, a high, thin sound that never failed to jar Lucius’ mind.

“A change, Lucius? Is this assignment perhaps too hard for you to wrap your feeble mind around?” No matter how important Lucius was, Voldemort could not pass up the opportunity to belittle him.

Lucius sat straighter in the much smaller chair across from his leader, squaring his shoulders.

“Of course not, my lord. I have merely been thinking that by changing my assignment, I could better serve our cause.”

Voldemort appeared to think this over.

“Continue, Lucius, before I grow tired of you.” Hurriedly, Lucius nodded and cast his eyes down as would a supplicant.

“As you recall, my lord, you gave me Ronald Weasley as my preliminary assignment.”

“Of course I recall, you twit, get on with it!” Voldemort thundered, his form becoming wispier.

“Well, I believe you made a good choice in targets, my lord, for the young Weasley is certainly close to Potter, and his death would be an important victory for us.”

“Of course I chose well!” Voldemort shrieked shrewishly, making Lucius blink owlishly. “Do you think I am that daft, to choose a meaningless target? Taking out Weasley is the first step in infiltrating the ridiculous little troika that defeats my plans!”

“Of course, my lord. I did not wish you to presume otherwise. But as of late, it has come to my attention that perhaps you would be better served if I instead exchanged my Weasley target for finding you a body to inhabit,” Lucius said tentatively.

“And what, dear Lucius, makes you think I should change my mind?”

“My lord, there is a person, young and strong, who is perhaps the unwitting key to our success. This person has been led to you once and was devoted, but has gone astray.”

“Lucius, are you offering your son as my vessel? Do not tease me with that, because you know it has long been on my mind.”

Lucius’ eyes burned brightly, and the shadow of a smile brushed over his glacial features.

“My lord, if you will let me explain,” Lucius began smoothly.

***

Time wore on for Draco, but was also in increasingly short supply. He had successfully learned to fight the nausea that Voldemort inspired, and now he was continuing his Occlumency and Legilimency training.

Dumbledore, from time to time, relieved Snape of his teaching duties; in these instances, Draco was forced to search the cavernous recesses of the headmaster’s mind and in turn close off his own nearly constant stream of jumbled thoughts.

It came as no shock when Dumbledore suggested more training, specifically, fighting the Imperius and Cruciatus curses. This job again fell to Snape, who was unfortunately infinitely more familiar in casting the heinous spells.

Draco would report to Snape on Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays for his resistance training.

Draco had not been more nervous in his life. Knowing it was silly and weak to worry for his own safety, he tried to force the nagging thoughts from his mind. He stood in the middle of Professor Snape’s classroom, waiting for the man himself to emerge from the potions storeroom. With a wave of his wand, Draco stacked some of the desks and moved them to the side so that he and Professor Snape would have ample room to work.

Snape entered silently and was at his desk before Draco noticed him.

“That is your first lesson, Mr. Malfoy. Death Eaters are cunning, silent cowards. They will steal behind you and aim their curse at your back. Keep your back to a wall. If you are quick enough to dodge their curse, standing against a solid object will increase your chances of the spell being deflected back towards the caster.”

Draco nodded mutely, embarrassed at having been caught unawares.

Snape came round his desk and faced Draco, arms crossed.

“You do realize, Mr. Malfoy, that these two curses I am going to teach you to resist involve a great deal of pain and a great deal of mental power. Are you quite ready for me to begin this? Because as far as the Cruciatus curse is concerned, I will have to silence these chambers. You will scream like a little girl when you are first hit, even with low levels. But not to worry, everyone does that their first few times.” Snape delivered this line with relish, and was obviously reliving some sort of amusing memory. The professor’s usually dour mouth quirked at the edges and Draco swallowed reflexively.

“Could, well, perhaps we could start with the Imperius?” Draco inquired, hating the plaintive note in his voice. Snape nodded, his face now impassive.

“Very well, then. The levels of Imperius and Cruciatus are affected by the will of the caster and the precise tone of voice used. As you see here,” Snape said, unexpectedly flicking his wand towards Draco, “Imperio. Now, I said that rather lazily, didn’t I, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco felt heavy, as if his limbs were disobeying him. He blinked and gave Snape a wide-eyed stare and nodded his head as if an invisible hand were guiding it.

“That’s good, Mr. Malfoy, but I’d like to hear you say it.”

“You said that rather lazily Professor Snape,” Draco said in a flat monotone, barely recognizing his own voice, unable to really concentrate on what he was being told to do.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy, this is the lowest level of the curse I can cast on you. I wish for you to sit and to try and collect your thoughts.”

Draco plopped to the stone floor obediently and propped his chin on his fist. Thoughts, now, those were hard to lasso. Very slowly, he began to register that Snape had instructed him to do these things and that he must try very hard to resist this force. Perhaps think of something pleasant, because surely this cursing business was unpleasant.

He decided to stand, though somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Snape telling him that maybe he should sit back down. Draco shook his head negatively, feeling his brain slosh quite distinctly. He began to amble aimlessly around the room, peering at cabinets around the room that held each Potions class’s projects. He saw Ginny’s name on one of the drawers for the Advanced Potions course.

Ginny! Now that was pleasant, certainly. And he stopped there, thinking intently, trying to summon a particular thought, a particular scene.

There it was! Ginny on her knees in front of him as he took her from behind. He felt blood rushing through his veins and slowly became more aware of his surroundings, the oppressive force of Snape’s will being thrown off incrementally. If only he could continue to fixate on that lovely moment, her pink flesh weeping—

“Finite incantatem! Mr. Malfoy! Will you please keep your libido in check? Honestly, I should dock her points for questionable taste.”

Released from the spell, Draco stood shell-shocked. Oh, bloody fucking Merlin! He cursed Snape for his blasted abilities and tried to remain a cool composure.

“Forgive me, Professor.”

Snape’s lips twisted into a sneer as he spoke.

“You’d do well to shut your mind off every time you return to Malfoy Manor, especially if you’ve got your little trysts running amok in that head of yours. One glimpse of red hair and you’ll have no time to fend off Avada. That’s all. We’re done for today.”

***

Feverishly, Ginny checked the Baby Magical Beasts calendar she’d been given by Bill for Christmas. Underneath the adorable February baby puffskein were dates of quizzes, exams, and other miscellaneous appointments of note. Sitting squarely in the center, sometime around the 13th, a red triangle was drawn around the date.

It seemed she’d missed this appointment.

It was the 16th and her monthly meeting with menses hadn’t come yet.

***

A slender hand pulled him with surprising strength into an alcove in the dungeons.

“What the—“ Draco snarled before his mouth was covered with a delicately skinned hand.

“Ginny! What are you doing here? I know it’s been awhile, but do you really want to have a quickie here?”

“Oh, you!” she slapped him once and seemed to take perverse pleasure in watching him bite back a growl.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” he snarled, rubbing his cheek and crowding her farther into the small space.

“That’s to get your mind off sex for a minute! We have a huge problem.”

Death Eaters? His father? Molly Weasley found out they’d shagged?

“What’s that?”

“I’m late on my cycle.” He paled, visibly, and sagged, both horrified and relieved.

“Is that it?” he asked, wiping sudden beads of sweat from his brow.

“Is that it? Is that bloody fucking it? I could be pregnant, you toad! The last time we had a bit of how’s-your-father neither of us remembered the contraceptive charm!”

“How late are you?” he asked, trying to be reasonable, but unsuccessful at controlling the suddenly higher pitch his voice decided to take on.

“Three days,” she said, still glaring at him. “I’ve always been very regular.” She paused, letting him digest this, trying to convey her desperation.

“What are we going to do if I am?” she whimpered, diving into his warmth, arms locked around him.

What would they do? How would they do it? And, most importantly, how could he keep her safe? And amazingly, more fluidly than he would have liked, came his answer.

“Of course, you would graduate,” he said. “Then, I would like for you to stay with your parents until the baby is born, because I don’t want you mixed up in this war business. And after it was over and it was safe, you’d come live with me and we would take care of our child.”

She glanced at him curiously…it seemed like he had a pretty smooth answer. And oddly enough she was disinclined to argue with his logic.

“Do you honestly mean that?” she asked in a small voice. He responded by hugging her tightly to him.

“I would never let anything happen to you or our child.”

***

Draco was leaving Snape’s classroom late Thursday evening when a flying mass of Weasley launched herself at him.

“Draco, Draco!” she trilled. He regarded her suspiciously. This could go two ways. “Let’s go to your quarters!”

He nodded and she bounced down the corridor after him, positively glowing.

She had to be pregnant. There was nothing else she could be this excited over. Besides, she was practically born into mothering.

He said the password for his rooms and Ginny followed him in, attacking him with a forceful kiss. He returned the kiss for a scant few seconds, then pushed her away.

“Okay. What is going on?” he asked, heart alternately sinking and rising.

“I’m not pregnant!” she yelled happily. Draco frowned, but only for a moment. While he was relived that she was not with child, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a son of his own.

“I’m glad,” he said, smiling at her. She sat in his lap, sifting her hands through his hair.

“It was just a false alarm, I think, but from now on we need to take more precautions than just the contraceptive charm. I can brew myself a birth control potion, because the ingredients aren’t so conspicuous that they’d be missed,” she said, smiling triumphantly.

Draco shook his head emphatically.

“No way. If anyone’s going to take a birth control potion here, it’s me,” he said firmly. “I’m better at potions, and besides, I am infinitely more level-headed than you.” Draco thought that since there was no use in hiding from Snape his relationship with Ginny, that the potions master would allow him to use the rarer ingredients for male birth control potion without problem.

“More level-headed? Really? You think so? You didn’t seem so level headed that night when you were slapping my arse!”

Draco blushed furiously.

Some time later, after a languorous snogging session, a decision was made that both would take the potion.

7. Necessary Things

Author’s Note: Sorry this is taking so long to write. Thanks to all of you who are still reading! Just so you know, we’re going to have some major action in the next 2-4 chapters, so I promise this is leading up to something. As always, thanks to my betas where_is_truth and rainpuddle13 for their tireless work and wonderful suggestions.

***

***

***

February came to a close with snarling winter winds and no visible promise of Spring. Of course, Draco was just a teensy bit in trouble for forgetting Valentine’s Day. He remedied that a week later with the gift of both their birth control potions and a picnic in the Room of Requirement, which somehow knew they needed warm sun and warm breezes. They’d fallen asleep holding one another in the cozy atmosphere and awoke feeling refreshed and strangely sated.

March continued to feel like February for the first two weeks.

It was during this time that Draco had six lessons with Snape in resisting the Imperius curse. He was now able to throw off his mentor’s will in less than ten minutes. Snape was pleased with Draco’s progress.

“Tonight, Mr. Malfoy, we will break from your Imperius studies,” Snape said, watching his pupil carefully for outward signs of protest. He was pleased when he saw none, not even a quirking of the eyebrow. Draco had worked hard to perfect the blank face and even blanker mind and Snape thought he was doing very well, considering the stress and brevity of his training time.

“Very well, Professor. What shall I do?” Draco asked blandly. Snape prowled about the classroom, gathering his wand and a strip of cloth for a blindfold.

“Remember that the Death Eater is fundamentally a coward who works under the cover of night. I want you to put on this blindfold and stand here. You will stand still until you think you hear my movements, and then you are to move in the direction you think I am. You will only hear me speak the curse, nothing else. Do you understand?”

Draco nodded, cringing ever so slightly. He could not recall a single event or combination thereof that would even remotely compare with what he was about to experience. Although, perhaps if he kept his mind empty, the pain wouldn’t be as bad if he didn’t, or couldn’t, focus on it.

He folded the black square of cloth Snape had given him into a thin strip that wouldn’t interfere with his hearing. If there was something he prided himself on, it was his hearing. Like when he and Ginny were together, he could hear her barely whispered instructions and endearments…

“I’m warning you, Malfoy!” Snape said, disgusted. “Shut off your mind this instant!” Draco obeyed, and stood tall with his hands dangling at his sides.

It was many minutes before he heard even the slightest rustle of Snape’s robes. Draco froze, trying to force all his intellect into discerning the direction and distance from which the sound had come. He strained to hear it again.

Finally a snippet of sound circled the shell of his ear and delicately dropped in. Back, and to the left. That was it! Back, and to the left. He turned toward the sound and began walking blindly, trying to gain some sense of his surroundings, an aural clue that would create some bearings. But there were none. Snape’s robes didn’t even swish, at least not audibly. Draco found himself walking in what he thought to be a lopsided circle.

Snape walked side by side with his pupil, watching Draco’s face intently. Snape never failed to be amazed by exercises in sound, and how it could be so deceptive. It had only been ten minutes since this odd dance began, but Snape felt it was time to test Draco well. He turned and walked away from Draco. Draco turned around, obviously attempting an exact circle. He stopped just short and began to walk again, walking now in a smaller circle opposite Snape. They passed one another, his head moving this way and that, desperately straining to hear anything that could give him a clue.

It wasn’t until the hissed “Crucio!” came from Snape’s lips that Draco realized he was less than three feet away and facing his professor.

***

The scream that pierced the air could well indeed have been from a small girl. The force of the pain assailed Draco’s senses and there was no part of his body untouched. His fingers and toes burned as if on fire, his eyes were dry and gritty, while his torso felt like thin rods of nearly-molten steel were being pushed though him as if he were no more than a pincushion.

Now on his knees, Draco felt phantom cuts open on his skin; hair being ripped from their roots; tears dripping openly down his face and into nonexistent gashes that stung with the salt of them. His chest was being compressed, he was sure of it, and he gasped for breath, retching dryly. Bones were popping out of place now, his cheekbones crushed by magic fists.

After the last scream died on his lips, Draco crumpled to the floor in a huddle and lost consciousness.

***

Draco awoke to a cool cloth being pressed against his forehead and a vile-smelling substance under his nose. Snape hovered over him, obviously pleased.

“Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy. You’ve lasted the longest on your first try of any person I’ve ever taught. You were conscious for perhaps seven minutes. Bravo.”

Draco’s eyes rolled back in his head as he briefly considered fainting again.

His next words froze Snape as no one else’s ever had.

“Is that… that pain…is that what the Longbottoms felt when my aunt tortured them?” Draco rasped.

Snape didn’t speak for a long time, only watched as Draco struggled unaided to his feet and to a nearby chair. Draco touched his face, pulled up his shirt, touched his hair to make sure it was all there and intact. Snape pondered his next words, knowing they were true, knowing they were harsh, even by his standards.

“Mr. Malfoy, what the Longbottoms were made to endure by your aunt lasted for days and was fifty times worse. No one is quite sure how they managed to survive. To be sure, perhaps no other family of wands has caused so much torture and despair as that of the Malfoy-Black.”

Stunned and rooted to the spot, Draco could barely process what his professor, his godfather, had just said. It was unthinkable that his family could have caused so much death and destruction.

“More than Voldemort?” Draco choked, feeling his throat closing.

“Certainly more than Voldemort himself has tortured or killed, and dozens more by his orders.”

For a split second, one question burned brightly in his mind and he almost dared not ask it. Snape was the only person he knew who might tell him the truth, no matter how hard it might be to hear it.

“Please tell me, Professor, that my mother never did these things. I know she married a Malfoy, and it was her sister who did those things, but she didn’t, did she?” Draco asked, almost pleading for the answer.

Snape’s eyes took on a rare, contemplative look. He waited many moments before speaking again.

“Your mother never participated in any of the activities her family took delight in. She hated your father’s singular drive and how he was sure to force you to become a Death Eater. She wanted so much more for you, and she was incapable of giving it. Your father made sure of that.” A cold light glittered in his eyes and Draco could not recall any instance in which Snape had been so forthcoming or emotional.

“You speak as though you knew her well,” Draco said as conversationally as he could, wishing to know more about his mother, more about his family from a perspective that no one else enjoyed.

“I knew her well enough to tell you those things with absolute certainty.” Snape’s tone changed, allowing no room for further questioning. “You are finished here for tonight. I will see you again Monday evening.”

***

Lucius eyed the Daily Prophet with a snide smile.

Augusta Doral, 38, died early Monday morning in a vicious attack that can only be attributed to Death Eaters.

Her body was found prone and twisted into an unnatural shape by her husband, Idlewold Doral, near the edge of their property in Ottery-St. Catchpole. Mrs. Doral had gone out to tend their prized Nifflers and was gone longer than usual.

Neighbor and Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Officer Arthur Weasley, expressed his fears and condolences.

“We are shocked that such a horrible crime could have been committed this close to homes without anyone noticing. It is apparent now that Aurors must not only search for Death Eaters in London, but in the smaller towns too. The community here in Ottery-St. Catchpole extends its condolences to Mr. Doral and his family. We will be organizing a patrol to see that this sort of crime cannot happen again.”

Aurors are currently investigating the crime. Kingsley Shacklebolt, 1995 Auror of the Year, and his partner, Nymphadora Tonks, are handling inquiries and gathering evidence. If you have any information relating to this crime, please owl the Ministry of Magic office immediately or Apparate to the offices. The Ministry Floo network is currently down due to grate refurbishment.

A Celebration of Life is to be held tomorrow at the Doral cottage in Ottery-St. Catchpole. Friends and family are encouraged to attend.

The simple obituary in the Daily Prophet neglected to mention that Mrs. Doral and her husband were not only neighbors to the Weasleys, but also members of the Order of the Phoenix. Lucius smiled wickedly. The preliminary assignments were being handed in. Not that he still had one, of course. He was focused on quite a different target, thanks to his gracious and wise Lord Voldemort.

***

It was with some surprise that Ginny realized it was the last week of March, and Draco’s birthday would be coming soon.

What to do for him? Draco would be nineteen on the 8th of April. Obviously some sort of gift, but there needed to be something else. Her mind flitted over a beautiful wand care kit sold in the Ollivander’s catalogue.

She cut out the order form from the back and filled in the necessary information, which included the name of the recipient and if applicable their house in Hogwarts. The kit would set her back seven Galleons, but she’d earned three times that amount by handing out flyers the twins owled her. She did really love them sometimes.

Did she need another gift? Yes, probably. The last time she’d visited Flourish and Blotts she saw dragon leather carryalls that could be embossed with monograms. Then suddenly, achingly, it occurred to her she didn’t even know his middle name. Merlin, he didn’t know hers. How could they have been together this long and not asked these ridiculous but necessary questions of one another?

It was time to plan something.

By the end of the week, she had received the wand kit from Ollivander’s and the stately leather carryall. The carryall had a bold silver DM monogram and was accompanied by a note saying Flourish and Blotts had taken the time to consult with Madam Malkin’s shop to find out Draco’s measurements so they could customize the straps, free of charge. Ginny was heartened her gift would be that much more personal.

She’d also secured a place for them in Hogsmeade. The twins maintained a flat there and she’d successfully lobbied them to allow her and Draco to spend the night on the Hogsmeade weekend that followed his birthday. The twins agreed to spend a rare weekend at the Burrow. Of course, as randy as those two blokes were, they could probably sympathize with needing a place to shag.

They’d promised to clean up and take off any prank wards or charms that might be lying about. In return for their secrecy and generosity, Ginny promised to do inventory for them in the summer after graduation. The twins had been hinting not-so-subtly that they could really use her help in keeping the store’s affairs straight. They had been trying to bribe her with a higher salary than she could get as an apprentice medi-witch.

Now all she had to do was get Draco there without creating suspicion.

***

All he wanted to do was quit the exhausting curse-resisting training with Snape. Good gods, he knew it was for the best, but did he have to suffer so? The pain and fear the real recipients experienced must have been indescribable. He was growing stronger against both curses, but was considerably better at the Imperius. Snape was now teaching him to use his growing control over his own mind to help escape the horrifying Cruciatus. The little bit he’d been able to use tonight had helped some. In fact, once he realized he bore no physical scars after the first bout with the Cruciatus, he was less afraid. But he knew in his heart the chances were high someone could throw a much stronger curse on him, he might not be able to fight off. He was close to asking Snape for a vacation.

He dragged himself to his quarters later than usual that evening. Lying naked on his bed, he ignored the ever-present chill and merely pondered life. How had he come to this?

A Malfoy shagging a Weasley. A Malfoy turned against his father. A Malfoy defying Lord Voldemort. A Malfoy working for the light, he thought. It really was profound, he mused, when it was boiled down to the bare facts.

And being stuck at Hogwarts. It wasn’t like school, where he had the opportunity to go outside and have free time and be with his Slytherin companions. It really was work. He was still obligated to the Ministry, and spent the bulk of his day owling reports or flooing to Diagon Alley for a short lunch break in Muggle London. In between this ridiculously boring work, he had to make time for Snape’s lessons and of course, time to sleep. And then there was Ginny time, but she was immersed in her studies and he was bone-tired most always.

Which was why he was surprised when a soft knock interrupted his musings. He was not expecting anyone, and it was far past the hour when even a student would dare to venture out.

“Just a moment, please,” Draco said loudly, reaching for a pair of pants and his wand. “Enter!”

The door opened quickly and Ginny slipped inside, looking unusually somber. Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

“Gin, is something wrong?” he asked, hurrying to her. She didn’t speak, instead burrowed into his embrace.

“No,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “Nothing is wrong, exactly. I just wanted to come down here and hug you. To say hello, you know, since we’ve barely even passed one another for the last few days.”

It was rather nice to be missed by someone. He held her for a few minutes longer, soaking in her scent and her warmth. She pulled away, bestowing a light kiss on his neck.

“I didn’t come down here for…” she trailed off, stopping only when she saw his odd expression. “Is something the matter, Draco?” He shook his head, thinking slowly.

“Would you stay down here, Princess?” he asked, appearing wearier than his almost nineteen years. When Draco made no overtly sexual move to entice her to stay, Ginny realized perhaps they both just needed the comfort of being close to one another.

“You’ll have to cast a timing spell,” she said, slipping her hand into his. He nodded, and with his wand charmed his favorite quill to tickle Ginny’s nose five hours hence, when it would be time for her to rise in the morning.

Only after they were holding one another and wrapped in his heavy, soft bedcovers did either speak.

“I’m glad you came down here, actually,” Draco said quietly, content to keep their words confined to his bed. He pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

“I just felt like you needed someone tonight,” she said, as if puzzled by her own thoughts. “There are times when I fancy I know what you’re thinking. And I wanted to be near you.”

“Whatever sixth sense you may have, I’m thrilled about it,” he said, settling himself deeper into the mattress. “I feel more relaxed when you’re here.” She tucked his arms around her waist, twining her fingers with his.

“I also came to ask you a question.”

“And what’s that?”

“I wondered if you might accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend,” she said, sounding stiffly formal to her own ears and silently berating herself for it.

“Hmmm. Won’t that be a bit noticeable?” Draco asked, massaging her stomach the way he knew she liked.

Bah! She didn’t want to have to give away her plans.

“Well, I am allowed to stay overnight. And I’m sure Professor McGonagall wouldn’t have any qualms about me spending time with my dear twin brothers who just happen to have a flat in Hogsmeade,” Ginny lilted softly, hoping to entice him with just that. Unfortunately, even at one in the morning, he was still a tough customer.

“Let me make sure I understand. You’re asking me to meet you clandestinely in Hogsmeade, stay in your brothers’ flat, and not be able to touch you because I know they’re in the next room? You torture me, my lady, it’s simply torture.”

She shifted enough to punch him lightly in the chest.

“Of course not, you silly prat. They don’t actually live there, they just have a place in Hogsmeade. And instead of visiting for the weekend as they usually do, they’ve graciously agreed to visit Mum and Dad at the Burrow.” Draco was now even more incredulous.

“So they know we’re coming? Together? The two of us?” Draco asked unbelievingly.

“Well, we’ve never come exactly together, my lusty dragon, but to answer your question, they do know and have been amazingly accommodating,” Ginny said, giggling at her joke.

“Don’t say such things. One moment I’m envisioning us, ahem, coming together, and then you reintroduce your brothers. Give me a sentence or two in which to recover, all right?”

“Does this mean you’ll find a way to come to Hogsmeade?” she asked, putting a note of pleading into her voice that was sure to entice him.

“I will,” he said, thinking that a day away would be welcome. “And as much as it pains me to say this, can we just sleep now?”

***

Ginny kept quiet on his actual birthday. No cards, no owls, no sweets disbursed by Dobby in her name. She concentrated on packing a small valise and setting a meeting time with McGonagall to request that she be allowed to stay with her brothers.

Some time later on that pleasantly warm Friday, Ginny cornered her head of house outside the Transfiguration classroom.

“Professor, if I might have a word with you?” Ginny asked sweetly. Minerva McGonagall smiled beatifically at the youngest Weasley, who never caused trouble and would one day recognize herself as a distinct, talented part of her huge family.

“Of course, Miss Weasley, let us go to my office.” Ginny followed the professor down a flight of stairs and to a brightly lit alcove not far from the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

“Please, have a seat,” McGonagall said. “What is it you wished to ask me?”

“Professor, I wondered if I might be excused from staying at the inn this weekend in Hogsmeade. My brothers keep a flat there and have asked if I could stay with them,” Ginny said, her eyes hopeful. The wise but wrinkled witch took her time in answering.

“I suppose it can be arranged, Miss Weasley. You will be responsible for checking in with me before you leave for the evening and again Sunday morning before the carriages leave. Is that clear?” McGonagall asked.

“Crystal. Thank you, Professor. I so rarely get to visit with the twins,” Ginny said, her face lighting up with a smile. McGonagall returned the easy grin, and watched as Ginny prepared to leave.

“One last thing, Miss Weasley. Madam Pomfrey tells me that you are making the topmost marks in her Advanced Healing class. She is very pleased with your work, and says that you are far more advanced than even the course description calls for. I think,” McGonagall said, eyeing her carefully, “that you may have found your niche.”

8. Bound

Author’s Note: This chapter took a long time to write, and not only is it pivotal, but smutty too! Many thanks to SabineLaGrande, who graciously let me use the binding spell she created in her Restricted Section story, Tryptich. Though it’s not exactly as she uses it, I feel the idea is the same. Also, I am eternally grateful to where_is_truth and rainpuddle13 for their help, encouragement and beta services. Please read their stuff.

Just so you know, this story will probably be completed in the next 2-3 chapters. I’m writing Chapter 9 now, and the third and final installment of the Who? Trilogy is plotted and planned. Thanks for reading!

***

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***

***

Saturday morning dawned with a cloud-kissed sky that held the shining sun captive overhead. Ginny sat in the thestral-guided carriage with the Creevey brothers, pondering her day and constantly making adjustments.

She’d already put the first part of her plan into motion. Before she’d left Hogwarts that morning, she’d owled Draco with instructions to take the late carriage to Hogsmeade, and included directions and the passwords to the twins’ flat. He was to meet her at five that evening.

In order to kill time, Ginny would visit with her friends as usual, at least, until 2:00. Of course, before that she was still obligated to visit Honeydukes, The Three Broomsticks and Gladrags before she officially checked out with McGonagall for the afternoon. From the main street of Hogsmeade, she would be traveling a few blocks east to the market to pick up food for that night. As luck would have it, Ginny had stumbled upon a gourmet cooking guide in the Fine Arts section of the Hogwarts library. After poring over the tome, she had selected orange glazed roast duckling with herbed potatoes and fresh greens. For dessert, she would have a pan of dark chocolate fudge. She was excited, but apprehensive -- hoping some of her mum’s amazing ability to cook had rubbed off on her.

Ginny was especially nervous about making the fudge; Draco had a notorious sweet tooth. She remembered how the Malfoy family eagle owl delivered thick, sweet-smelling weekly packages for the Slytherin. Of course, he stopped receiving those packages near the end of his fifth year.

Ginny vividly remembered the evening her father came home with a dour look on his face and quietly announced Narcissa Malfoy had been remanded to the Mental Maladies ward at St. Mungo’s. A spark of sympathy had flared in Ginny then as she recalled being on the receiving end of Lucius Malfoy’s vicious brand of purification. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what Draco and his mother had surely endured in the storied Malfoy Manor. But she could not think about that right now. Perhaps she could get Draco to open up to her later, after they ate and relaxed.

The carriage stopped and Ginny alighted with Colin and his little brother Dennis. They had been sent money from home with which to buy new robes. Ginny followed them into Gladrags, browsing in the ladies’ section while the boys shopped.

Gladrags was known for the latest in wizarding styles, and Ginny found a beautiful robe that definitely wasn’t meant for school. From the looks of the robe, it would fit like a glove, showing off her best assets. She lovingly traced her fingers over the velvety soft hunter green material, knowing with certainty it would be something Draco would approve of.

Feeling impulsive, she snatched the green robe from the rack, inspecting the garment more closely. Delicate embroidery began over the bosom and flowed out onto the stylishly cut sleeves. This was definitely beautiful, and would be suitable for both graduation and more formal activities.

Dashing into the changing room, Ginny found the robe did indeed fit her well. Exiting just as quickly, she searched for the price. A sign overhead proclaimed her robe was on sale. Giggling happily, she rushed to the front counter, knowing she would still have plenty of money left to buy her feast for tonight.

Colin and Dennis caught up with her, having purchased several robes themselves. From there they ventured to Honeydukes and The Three Broomsticks, where Ginny got a light snack and a butterbeer to hold her until dinner that night.

The hours seemed to fly. At 1:45, she searched out Professor McGonagall to tell her she was leaving for the afternoon.

Ginny found her in Zonko’s, no doubt regulating the sales of Dungbombs to underage students.

“Professor, I believe I’m going to leave now,” Ginny said, smiling at McGonagall. The elderly professor smiled primly, but her eyes gleamed mischievously.

“Do tell your brothers that I’ve not thanked them enough for all the comic relief they provided. Though it was my job to reprimand them, I always thought they were an ingenuous pair.”

Ginny grinned, a full-on Weasley grin that was full of pride.

“Yes, I’m proud to claim them…well, most of the time.”

“Do have a nice evening, Ginny dear.”

“Thank you, Professor. I’ll return by ten tomorrow morning.”

Minerva McGonagall, watching graceful girl walk away. Albus had informed her of Ginny’s relationship with Malfoy, and her suspicions that the girl was going to her brothers’ flat for something far different than a family visit were confirmed when she spied Malfoy alighting from the last carriage into Hogsmeade.

Albus seemed to think it was a fine arrangement; Minerva was not so sure. She had strict orders not to speak to Ginny about her rather infrequent late-night assignations with the former Slytherin unless she showed outward signs she was suffering from the unlikely relationship. Minerva could only watch the blossoming couple. Albus keenly believed the two would be a key element to healing the rift between hard-line purebloods and those who embraced Muggle-borns. She could only hope he was right.

***

Ginny walked quickly to the market, purchasing everything on her list within a few minutes. Levitating her packages, she continued down the street until she came to Circe Circle. Following the twins’ directions, she came upon number 17 and stopped. Reciting the twins’ ridiculous gibberish passwords and charms to unlock the door, she stepped into the inviting flat with no explosions or trick wards.

The twins had redecorated since she’d seen it last. With their continued upward mobility in the joke market, they’d furnished the flat quite lavishly for Weasleys. Dozens of pictures adorned the walls and a homemade sign flashed “Welcome Ginny and Ferret!” Laughing, she entered the kitchen, finding a charmed Muggle refrigerator heartily stocked with regular food and containers labeled “Canary Cremes, Mint” and “Skiving Snackbox Puking Pastilles, Rotting Strawberry” pushed off to one side.

After she quickly organized her ingredients, she started a fire with her wand and set about cooking in an odd mix of both Muggle and wizard. When she got orange sauce on her sweater, she conjured an apron and continued. The duck was roasting evenly, thank the gods, and the dark chocolate fudge was sinfully good. Many herbed potatoes and thinly sliced greens later, the twins’ clock chimed 4:30. She hated to leave her food cooking while she cleaned herself up, but it wasn’t quite yet done.

Sighing, she dashed into the bathroom with her valise and showered. A drying spell later and her body and hair were dry. Hermione had given her some makeup for Christmas, and she used it sparingly.

She stood naked in the bathroom, foot hoisted on the toilet lid so she could slather on some lotion. It was vanilla scented, and Draco seemed to like it.

“Need a hand with that?”

She stifled her first reaction, which was to scream. Flinging her head back, she stopped in mid-stroke, covering herself with a towel as Draco lounged against the doorframe, watching her appreciatively.

He loved that after this long with one another, she still covered herself demurely as if they’d never made love.

“Draco! I had hoped to be finished before you arrived,” she said, feeling her cheeks turn pink. The towel suddenly seemed much too small under his wandering gaze.

“Much as I’d like to put that lotion all over you myself, I’m going to put this champagne on ice and stir your pots out there.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Ginny asked. Draco scoffed and began to walk away. “Honestly, Draco, please be careful.”

“You obviously underestimate me. One summer I was punished for insolence and Father made me work with the house elves. Dobby taught me far more than I ever needed to know about a kitchen,” said his disembodied voice.

Chuckling to herself, she shut the bathroom door and hurried to finish her ablutions. Dressed in a light jumper and Muggle jeans, she ambled into the kitchen, eager to see Draco’s prowess.

He was standing over the stove wearing her conjured apron, the front bewitched to say “Kiss the Cook.” He was a double-fisted stirrer, artfully swirling the contents of one pot then another with flourishes she’d never seen him make even with a wand. He’d pause to taste then abandon a spoon for a dash of this or that spice. It was enough to make her laugh out loud.

Doubling at the waist, she let loose a guffaw that drew an icy stare from Draco.

“Are you mocking me, my dear?” he asked coldly, nostrils flaring in distaste.

“No, certainly not, Draco, it’s just that, well, it’s that I never pegged you as having applicable skills, you know.”

“Are you saying that my considerable talent in the art of shagging isn’t an ‘applicable skill’?”

She grinned at him. “All I’m saying is that I had no idea you were so handy in the kitchen.” Nudging him aside, she removed the duck from its roasting pan and hefted it to the countertop.

“If you will set the table, I’ll have this ready in a few minutes.” He appeared forlorn, as if he had truly enjoyed his cooking escapade. Untying his apron, he placed it around her and whispered in her ear, “I’ll set the table, but you’re going to have a lot of making up to do on account of your prat brothers calling me a ferret.” He licked her ear and began to accio dishes and flatware from the cabinets.

***

Ginny sent Draco back and forth to the table, laden with plates and bowls of food. While he filled their plates and carved the duck, she took the pan of fudge out of hiding and carefully iced Happy Birthday, Draco! in metallic green icing she’d half-conjured and half-cooked before showering. Satisfied, she replaced the fudge in its hiding place and went to sit at the table.

Draco looked magnificent in Muggle clothing. He was wearing his Weasley-knit sweater, tailored black pants and low-cut black leather boots. She felt a bit underdressed, but knew in her heart Draco was so vain he’d never think of going anywhere without styling his hair at the very least.

“This is wonderful, Princess. What made you suddenly want to do this?” he asked over a mouthful of greens. Ginny suddenly wondered if she should come out with the exact truth right now.

“Well, I knew I’d be preparing for final exams soon, and getting ready for graduation. I figured we wouldn’t have much time to spend together,” she said. There, at least half the truth. Draco regarded her contemplatively.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said slowly, sipping his pumpkin juice. “After you graduate, there’s no telling what will happen. And Merlin do I rue the day that I brought you into this.”

Ginny bristled. “Are you saying that you wish to be rid of me when the war breaks?”

He shook his head negatively. “No, not that, calm down. I just sometimes think that had I not decided I had to have you that your life would have continued on in bliss with someone who was better matched to you than I. I feel guilty for making you wait for me and sneak around all the time.”

Tears glistened in Ginny’s eyes. “I’ll agree that perhaps the way we came together wasn’t normal, but I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I would have gone on and married some nice, bland boy and been expected to produce a litter. I don’t want that, at least not for a long while. And you don’t expect that of me. You make me feel alive.”

Draco appeared startled.

“Gods, Gin,” he said, his voice trailing to a near-whisper. “I don’t know if I can promise you anything. If I knew what was going to happen, maybe I could, but…”

She smiled even though a tear broke loose and trailed down her cheek.

“Just promise me tonight.”

***

Some time later, the dishes were cleared and the kitchen was rendered spotless.

“Draco, why don’t you pour the champagne? I’ve got to get a few things from my valise,” Ginny called from down the hall.

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten hold of some of those naughty toys, Gin,” Draco said, and she could positively hear the smirk in his tone.

“Absolutely not!” she said indignantly. “I’ll be back shortly.” She entered the twins’ guest bedroom, and as she shut the door she heard Draco yell one last thing -- “And you’re overdressed, too!”

Ignoring him, she used her wand to remove the shrinking spell on Draco’s wand kit and his carryall, transfiguring the past few days’ Daily Prophet into black and green tissue paper and wrapped his gifts. While still in the room, she removed her shoes and socks and then padded back out into the hall.

Entering the kitchen, she could see Draco had started a fire in the grate and closed the window shades. On a tray next to the fireplace sat two champagne flutes and the pan of fudge. She was about to get angry with him for snooping, but before she could open her mouth he turned to her, eyes apologetic.

“Sorry, love, I smelled it. You know I can’t resist chocolate.” Sighing, she carried the packages over to him.

“Happy Birthday, Draco. I know it’s a day late, I thought you’d appreciate it anyway,” Ginny said quietly, tapping her wand to the fudge’s metallic icing, setting it afire. The letters blazed and Draco appeared impressed by her trick.

“I could celebrate my birthday any day with you,” he said, pulling her across his lap and kissing her softly, sifting her hair through his fingers.

He couldn’t imagine anything sweeter than this, Ginny curled in his lap and kissing him, celebrating his birthday. He’d not had anything close to a birthday since his Mum left, and he wasn’t even quite sure if his father could pin down the exact day. But he knew and Ginny knew, and to him, it was all that mattered.

The fudge had brought back pleasant memories of his mother, and her weekly packages from Honeydukes. Again, something he hadn’t indulged in for a long time. He wondered if Ginny could even fathom how much it meant to him.

Breaking from her kiss, he scooped up a finger full of fudge from the pan and brought it between them.

“Let’s share,” he said, putting the sweet on his own tongue and daring Ginny to taste him. Rising to his implied challenge, she impudently stuck out her tongue and attempted to swipe the chunk of chocolate from him.

Pulling his tongue back just in time, he managed to rescue it from Ginny’s marauding advance.

“That’s not fair, Princess,” he gasped, feeling her tongue gain entrance to his mouth. Merlin! The velvety soft feel of her exploring the inside of his cheeks and the rough ridges of his own tongue made him forget all about the fudge that was quickly melting underneath his tongue.

Chocolate-flavored kisses went to Ginny’s head like a shock. She kissed Draco as he often kissed her -- hard, questing and stroking every available surface. Her boldness surprised him, but he let her continue her soft assault on his mind and mouth unchecked, secretly thrilling to her unabashed need.

When she pulled away from him, he felt as if the sun had gone down unexpectedly at high noon. Groaning his displeasure, he buried his head between her neck and shoulder.

“You know better than to tease me,” he said breathlessly. “I’ll only give as good as I get,” he said smugly, noticing she had not been unaffected by their kisses.

“I just want you to see your gifts,” she said, gesturing to the tissue-wrapped packages. Grabbing her shoulders, he turned her back to her, giving her a little shake.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Gin, please, but bugger those gifts, all right? You said so yourself; we might not be together for a long time. Can’t we just enjoy a long night?”

For a moment she regarded him with open, curious eyes, deciding perhaps he was right. Everything else could wait until morning. The firelight cast an ethereal glow on him. A stark thought of him going into battle bravely against his father and Voldemort zinged through her mind’s eye and for a second she was frozen, knowing in her heart every time they spent together could be the last time.

“Don’t think about it, Gin. I’ll be fine,” he said, puffing slightly with nineteen-year-old bravado.

“Just in case you’re not, you cock-of-the-walk git, you’d better undress me.”

Draco knew when to follow a direct order.

Taking his wand, he gave Ginny a clear ‘let me take care of this’ look and cast three spells in succession. After cushioning the floor, he summoned blankets and pillows plus locked the door with a complex locking charm that he assured her was one of his father’s best.

The tone of the evening considerably lightened and she giggled at his manly display of magic.

“You know, I think we’re steadily knocking down places in which to have sex,” she said, testing the newly cushioned floor. Draco frowned, but only for a moment. Her comment was correct, but he was a bit discomfited at the casual way she referred to their sensual explorations. Though he knew she placed a great value on their relationship, it rankled that she didn’t say “making love.” Of course, he’d never referred to it as such when they spoke.

He was drawn out of his dour musings as she bounced happily on the floor in front of him.

“You’d better not be starting without me,” he said warningly, removing her hands from the zipper of her jeans. “That’s mine and you know it.”

“I don’t know what you’re on about, sitting there looking forlorn. Who’s to blame a girl for taking things into her own hands?” she giggled, helping him ease the form-fitting denim off her hips.

“I was not looking forlorn!” he protested as he stroked her hips through the silk of her knickers. “I was merely pondering what I should do to you first.” She laughed at his obvious lie, not caring that he’d told it.

“Fine,” she said, her slender fingers working on the ridiculous, but sexy button fly of his trousers. “You keep thinking on that.”

Piece by piece, clothing came off and was discarded in a growing pile to their side. Ginny was suddenly drawn to Draco’s heat like a moth, drawing his body against hers in an embrace.

“I like the way we fit together,” she remarked frankly. “Everything just feels perfect.”

And it was perfect, Draco thought, stealing a glace at their twined bodies. Though he was long and lean-limbed, her compact, curvy body seemed to mold his just so. Her high, rounded breasts pressed against his chest, even with his heart. Cradles of hips met seamlessly, allowing him to easily raise her shapely leg and enter her, or throw his leg over hers as they slept. It was altogether blissful when they enjoyed one another’s bodies. Draco suspected perhaps she had been made just for him.

“I do too,” he said, thinking it a pathetic excuse to such a succinct comment.

“You have such a way with words,” she laughed, taking his earlobe into her mouth.

“I’m hardly ever, uh, hardly ever —stop that!—speechless,” he said, feeling her dainty teeth scraping over the soft flesh in a teasing way.

“But it doesn’t take much,” she mumbled in his ear before tracing it with her tongue. He was content to let her lick his ear, because, truth be known, it made him shiver delightfully. But when her hand reached down to wrap around his already throbbing member, he thought distractedly that a witch shouldn’t have that type of coordination.

She soon abandoned his ear for his mouth, kissing him softly. She was having a rough time concentrating on what felt better: kissing his hot, heady mouth or holding his glorious hardness in the palm of her hand.

She decided she’d better get down to that beautiful cock before her hands went too far. Slipping from his embrace, she slithered down his body and stalked him on all fours, moving between his legs to take him into her mouth.

He moaned throatily when she first touched him, swept away in the sensations that coursed through his body. It wasn’t until the distinct scent of her sex reached his nose did he realize she was just as aroused as he.

“Get on top of me,” he whispered, disengaging her mouth. She regarded him sharply, not happy to just hop on and shag meaninglessly.

“I’d like a little more time down here, if you don’t mind,” she retorted.

“You’ll get your time, just straddle my chest and do it from there,” he gasped as her tongue traced his weeping slit.

“Fine,” she said, not seeing why this was necessary. Crawling up beside him, she gingerly straddled his chest, leaning down to his member once again.

Draco was presented with an excellent view of her pouting folds. The heat rolled off her in waves, and he caught sight of a single glistening trail running down her thigh. He let his hands play about her knees where they rested hear his elbows, watching her flesh and listening to her ecstatic moans as she took down his erection.

When he could take it no more, he swept her knees out from under her, pulling her hips toward his face. The vibrating moan she made as he buried his tongue in her entrance buzzed his cock, making him swell even larger in her accommodating mouth.

She felt him smile on her. The dual sensations of his velvet-sheathed hardness touching her tongue and cheeks were powerful as his fingers and tongue straining to reach every crevice of her. Unable to curb the rocking motion that his questing tongue wrought from her, she fought to concentrate on the task at hand.

As he reveled in the taste and texture of her, her powerful lips and tongue made the muscles of his thighs bunch and release from the tension she was building in him. He felt a strong climax beginning at the base of his spine and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Intent on bringing Ginny with him, he began to work her over assiduously, thrusting into her with crooked fingers, bumping her clit softly with his nose as he licked at the bottom of it.

Ginny could barely see straight; her mind furiously trying to sort out sensations. Draco’s ministrations threatened to bring her over the edge before him. She fitted her mouth and tongue more tightly around him, guaranteeing that she would bring forth his essence.

Breathless moans spurred them on, both tasting, touching and teasing frantically to bring their lover to a bone-melting completion. Pleasure arced through Draco as Ginny made a particularly hard, but loving pull on his member, and he knew he was only seconds from spilling into her mouth. A scant moment later, he drew his fingers over the small nub inside her while tending lustily to the one outside. Ginny’s moaned release pushed Draco into the abyss as his seed shot forth. He tasted the sweet rain of her desire and let his head fall back, panting.

Lying atop Draco’s heaving chest was quite interesting for Ginny. His sharply indrawn breaths lifted her incrementally and she resisted the urge to bounce on him as she had the cushiony floor.

“Are you all right?” she asked finally, throwing him a saucy grin over her shoulder. He raised his head, peering past the curve of her buttocks.

“I’m fine. Come here and hold me,” he said. Ginny nearly laughed. He was the one who loved to cuddle, and his demand merely served to cover the fact that he could hardly keep his hands off her. Rolling haphazardly off him, she twisted and came to rest in his sweaty embrace.

Nosing his chest, she licked the salt from him.

“Someone got hot and bothered,” she smirked, kissing him and tasting herself.

“And I suppose you were a cold fish up there, writhing on top,” he drawled disdainfully, wrinkling his nose.

She sighed happily and spent a few minutes silent in his arms.

“Draco, may I tell you something?” she asked tentatively, loath to say anything that might disturb their idyll.

“You know you’d tell me anyhow, whether I said yes or not,” came the response. He earned a punch in the shoulder for his trouble and she wriggled up so she could be at eye level with him.

“Do you realize that we’ve been seeing each other for about a year and a half now, and I barely know anything about you?”

He quirked his eyebrow, but his expression was genuinely puzzled.

“What’s there to know about me?” he asked. “My father’s an evil bastard, my mother is in St. Mungo’s, and I spy for the good side. There’s honestly not much more than that.”

“Oh, come on. You have to have some fond memories of something. Your mother, surely. Please tell me you at least have that,” Ginny pleaded, her brown eyes soft.

His inwardly contemplative expression nearly broke her. Wanting to cry for her beautiful companion, she hid her face in the crook of his shoulder, fearing he had nothing to say.

“I guess I do remember some times with Mum, just the two of us. She’s got these lovely gardens, Ginny, you would go round the bend with all the colors and scents. She was rather clever with her hands, and when I was young and Father was away, she would twist flowers into a crown and put them on me. She told me I was her Sun Prince, that no one was fairer than me.”

Forgetting Ginny’s presence and her dripping tears on his hot, bare skin, he barreled on.

“Once in a great while, she ordered all the house elves to leave the kitchen. She only knew how to make one thing. Her grandmother taught her how to make chocolate chip cookies, and she would bake them for me magically. I was always impressed by how fast she could make them warm and chewy,” he said, nearly trailing off, but beginning again.

“I guess that was what gave me my sweet tooth. When I left for Hogwarts, Mum always took her weekly pocket money from Father and used it to send me sweets from Honeydukes. Sometimes she was able to enclose a note, but I suspect that Father found out and punished her for it. He always thought I was weak, that I needed to be more of a man. His idea of being a man was bullying my mother. I never saw it, never heard it, but I knew it happened. I hated Father for all he had done and for all that I didn’t know about.”

“And of course all of wizarding Britain knew when Mum went to St. Mungo’s. Suddenly, I was even more sinister, because how could a boy with no mother have any redeeming qualities at all? I swear, Gin, after this war is over, I’m going to get her out of that blasted hospital. I just know it all has to do with my father. Once he’s gone, she’ll be back to normal, I’m convinced.”

For a few moments, maybe less, he entertained a vision of his mother meeting Ginny and welcoming her into Malfoy Manor to see the brilliant blooming gardens.

As quickly as the image came, it was shattered by the shaking body of his princess.

“Gin, what’s wrong?” he questioned, turning her face up. Though it was tearstained, she smiled wanly at him.

“I’m proud to be with you, Draco.” Her next words were so soft that he nearly missed them. “And I’m honored that you’re with me.”

The misty pride in her eyes humbled him. But as much as he wished to bask in her adoration, he couldn’t let her get more serious. Couldn’t let the moment be more serious, lest they lose the playful momentum that always drove them.

“I didn’t tell you all that for you to feel sorry for me, love,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I just wanted to answer your question.” She nodded, then smiled.

“I suppose that when you ask someone to tell you about themselves, you get the good and the bad.”

“You’re absolutely right,” he mused, running fingertips over her nipples, making them stand in hard peaks. “You should tell me all about yourself.”

She sighed musically as his fingers plucked her delicately.

“I used to pretend the gnomes in the garden were my babies,” she admitted shyly, interspersing her speech with small gasps and moans. “Ron would put them in our old pram and I would wheel them around until they jumped out.”

Draco’s laugh started out quietly, nearly suppressed, but the image of a young Ginny pushing about foul-tempered gnomes was too much for him. He guffawed until he was gasping for breath.

“And I guess you were the perfect child? Somehow I see you pulling the wings off butterflies!” she retorted indignantly.

“Certainly not. Mum would have thrown a fit. She taught me how to draw and I often sat by the garden – the de-gnomed garden – and drew the flowers,” he said, tickling the slight swell of her belly.

“Do you always have to distract me?” she grumbled, licking his nipple. “I loved to play in the mud. Mum would scream bloody murder, but Bill enchanted my little mud puddle to stay wet all year. She never figured it out,” Ginny giggled, feeling her temperature rise as Draco kissed the line of her neck.

“Hmmm. How much would it take to convince you to get all muddy for me so I could wash it off?” Draco wondered aloud, thinking a muddy, adult Ginny was an erotic proposition.

She wiggled her finger in his navel to get his attention.

“Earth to Draco,” she called. “Certainly more money that even you have,” she said lazily, grinning lopsidedly.

“And I do have quite a bit of money,” Draco said. “Are you sure I don’t have enough for that?”

Any further thoughts on the subject became blurry as Ginny stroked his sac softly enough to distract him.

“Don’t mind me,” she said innocently. “I was just about to tell you exactly what I was picturing when you found me in the shower during the explosion at Hogwarts.”

Draco’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head. He’d always wanted to know that.

“And, uh, what was that, exactly?” he managed, trying not to moan as Ginny’s questing fingers massaged his nether region. Before she spoke, he prodded her gently to make her turn a bit so he could touch her between her legs.

“Well, actually,” she said, drawing in an excited breath as Draco’s thumb skimmed her swollen clit, “it sort of ended up happening, in pieces.” His tongue touched her ear, licking slowly.

“Go on.”

“I was fantasizing that you would come to my room, late at night, and, ah, take me and I wouldn’t know it was you until later, until you sidled up beside me in the halls and asked if I missed the knickers you’d peeled off me that night.”

Draco groaned into her ear, unable to speak for a moment.

“You really were getting yourself off thinking about me, about that?” he whispered intently. He felt her nod her head as her hand squeezed him gently.

Knowing he could not quench the fire that slithered through his veins any other way, he reached down and pulled Ginny atop him.

In the next second, she was impaled upon him; he saw whatever words were on her lips died in a silent O.

The siren’s smile that graced her lips grew as she spread her legs further apart and found him completely and unequivocally buried within her. She clenched her muscles around him before she spoke.

“You’re not getting off the hook that easily,” she breathed, eyes wide. A roll of his hips had her panting softly. “We’re still asking questions. What’s your middle name?”

He gave her one of his rare grins.

“Draco Black Malfoy, and don’t you forget it,” he said proudly, lifting her hips easily and setting their pace. “What’s yours?”

“Nothing quite so storied,” she said, her words punctuated by his thrusts. “Virginia Elizabeth-Anne Weasley.”

“How hoity-toity of you,” he laughed, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Two middle names, no less.”

“My grandmothers, you git,” she said, working on seating him to the hilt each time he lowered her. “Ever have a pet?” she breathed, trying to keep her voice steady.

“My mum had a cat when I was younger,” he gasped, feeling her muscles tightening around him. “You?”

“Puffskein. Twins used it for Bludger practice.” She paused and spoke unthinkingly. Who could think while being touched so deeply inside it made her shudder?

“We should get a pet,” Ginny said, hair flying around her like a nimbus, breasts heaving.

We. Us. Together. The implications of her words hit Draco full-force and spurred him on.

Draco flipped their positions then, and Ginny squeaked when the head of his member touched her cervix. He thrust almost roughly, getting her attention.

“Draco, what—“ she began, but the wild look in his eyes silenced her.

“I want to do the binding spell, Ginny, please, bind with me,” he pleaded; his tone a shade above wheedling and liberally splashed with need.

The binding spell was an ancient one; old, powerful magic. Those who wished to bind only had to repeat “I am yours, and you are mine” to one another three times. The deep, mystical powers of the spell often enhanced partners’ perception of one another, and truly committed couples could sometimes communicate mentally. In the wizarding community it was often used to arrange marriages, because the bound pair would always share a deep, underlying link with one another even if they rebelled, marrying another partner. If an act of true love was committed by one for the other, the bond could grow incrementally. The bond was only broken when one of the pair died or when it was formally dissolved by the Wizengamot.

Overwhelming emotions surged through her mind. She knew it wasn’t a marriage proposition, or even an outright declaration of love. But she took it as it was meant: the only way he could display his bond with her and still release her should he die in the war.

“Yes,” she said finally, glistening tears of happiness gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“Say it, Gin. Say you want to bind with me. I have to hear you say it,” he said, taking long, deep strokes of her, feeling her slick walls trying desperately to keep him within.

“I want to bind with you, Draco, with all my heart.”

She thought she saw tears forming in his pale gray eyes, too. When his purposeful thrusts dislodged some to land on her stomach, she knew this would be the most powerful event in her life.

He hunkered down atop her, pulling her to him, kissing her soundly.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly, feeling her muscles contracting along his length and knowing it wouldn’t be long before both of them exploded. She nodded, sealing it with a kiss.

Pulling back so he could look directly into her cinnamon eyes, he began to chant rhythmically in a low, husky voice.

“I am yours, and you are mine. I am yours, and you are mine. I am yours, and you are mine,” he said emphatically. He leaned down, kissed her once, and Ginny’s smile wobbled with tears and Draco’s strokes.

“I am yours, and you are mine. I am yours, and you are mine. I am yours, and you are mine,” she said clearly, just as forcefully. The light in his eyes changed, and moved his lips as if to speak. He was cut off by a sudden, small explosion of red sparks between them. When the smoke and their heads cleared, Draco was the first to notice the centimeter-wide red hearts over both of their own.

They were bound.

9. Trickery

Author’s Note: Sorry this has taken so long to get out. And just to appease you, I’ve already started work on Chapter 10. A few notes to reading this chapter…first, if you feel rushed reading it, you should. It’s my complete intention. Secondly, there are some events with questionable timelines. Just humor me, okay? Lots of hugs go to where_is_truth and rainpuddle13 for their tireless efforts and having no problem telling me when my characters became anemic. I am indebted.

***

***

***

Draco woke early the next morning. Cracking a sleepy eye and casting a glance at the clock, he saw it was 7:30. The night before, Ginny had mumbled that she had to be back at Hogsmeade Station at 10:00 so she could leave with the students. He wasn’t particularly thrilled to leave their warm nest of blankets, but extricated himself and made sure Ginny stayed covered. Grabbing his clothes, he made for the lavatory and a hot shower.

Ginny woke seconds after he left. Curiously, she could feel a sense of loss wafting off him. Unused to perceiving another human being in this manner, she sat still and tried to get a lock on what she was feeling, what he was feeling. Dimly, she got the impression that Draco wanted her to come to him. Determined to use the power of the binding spell, she rose from the blankets. Trundling slowly down the hall (for she was a mite sore) she entered the steamy loo. Pulling back the shower curtain, she stepped inside.

Draco turned from the spray, regarding her. Reaching out, he cupped her face in his hands and drew her near for an unhurried kiss. Pulling away, Draco smirked.

“I knew the moment you were awake,” he said, running soap-covered hands over her breasts. “Now you can’t ever fake sleep if I want you right then.” She laughed, the mellifluous sound filling the small shower.

“I think we will begin to see that the binding spell has some unusual qualities,” she said, tracing the tiny heart on his chest. He leaned in again, capturing her lips.

“You’re very dirty, Miss Weasley…stinky, even,” he murmured, smiling against the curve of her ear. Her haughty reply amused him.

“You made me that way, Malfoy, and the way I see it you ought to be the one to take care of it. Of course, I can’t believe a rich boy such as you could find it in yourself to share so much as a shower.”

“Hmmm,” he muttered, pushing her gently into the steaming spray. “Perhaps you’ve got an idea there.” Cupping his hands, he let water pool in them and then directed the stream over her breasts. His hands followed the water, brushing against her still-sensitive nipples. She leaned back into him, her hair sticking damply to his chest.

Letting the water sluice over him, he knelt and urged her legs apart. Gentle splashes from her body covered him as he cupped his hands and washed her center clean of their mixed essences. His intentions, though, quickly disintegrated when he saw the quivering of her flesh, the pouting pink.

The loss of his hands soothing and cleaning her was keen. He instead pressed his hand to her back, urging her to lean forward slightly.

He was drawn to her; touching, tasting her as if he was starving. His heavy erection went unheeded as he concentrated on bringing Ginny to release. Her mewling cries spurred him on and he was close to taking her over the edge when a faint image flashed in his mind.

Slowly he deciphered it, seeing what undoubtedly came from her mind. It was a snapshot of him making love to her slowly against the cool shower wall. Tasting her one last time, he moved up her body, pressing her back to the wall. Completing the snapshot he had seen so clearly, he pulled her left leg around his waist, lifting her into him. He slid inside her, her swollen sex crushing him. The incredible tightness was mind-blowing. A few passionate minutes later, Ginny was crying out her release and Draco lasted only seconds more.

The two sated lovers knew that this marked the end of their magical night in Hogsmeade.

***

An hour and a half later, after Draco had insisted on making hot chocolate for her and she insisted on giving him his gifts, they hastily cleaned the flat. Of course, Draco was most proud of his nifty transfiguration of the twins’ sign; it now read “Welcome Back Prats.”

Ten minutes late, they Apparated to Hogsmeade Station. Professor McGonagall was red-faced and angry for having been made to wait.

“Miss Weasley, I do believe we agreed on 10:00 for your appearance.”

“I found her wandering around Gladrags,” Draco sneered, pushing Ginny in front of him roughly. “But she was only window-shopping. They wouldn’t let her kind in.” Ginny turned and punched him in the gut.

“Stupid ferrety git,” she growled, smacking him again with her valise before turning to McGonagall.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I truly am,” she said, hoping Draco’s unexpected act would appease her. McGonagall ignored her and turned her piercing eyes on Draco.

“Please know, Mr. Malfoy, that if I catch you insulting or harassing my students, I’ll transfigure you into a ferret for good. Get in the carriage, Ginny. The Creeveys are waiting for you.”

Ginny’s face burned red, not missing McGonagall’s inflection. Without a backward glance at Draco, she hurried to the next to last carriage in line. The aged professor turned her icy stare to Draco.

“Let us take the last carriage, Mr. Malfoy. And by the way, that’s an exceptional carryall you’ve got there. Funny, I don’t remember you bringing that when I saw you arrive yesterday.”

Furious gray eyes met barely-concealed mirth in Professor McGonagall’s expression. Stupid hag. It was obvious that she knew what was going on, but did she have to throw it in his face? Making a noise like a snarl, he decided he’d rather ride than walk back to Hogwarts.

***

It was as Ginny said it would be; the next two months were incredibly busy. Draco was forced to spend more time at the Ministry, and he spent only some nights at Hogwarts.

Meanwhile, Ginny found her time stolen by exam preparations, friends and graduation activities. She’d only chanced upon Draco twice since their time in Hogsmeade. Though the separation wore on her, she tried to use the powers of the binding spell by projecting images of them snuggling or kissing to keep his spirits up. And of course, exams loomed ever-closer on the horizon. She was pleased with her preparations. With the old N.E.W.T. study guides Hermione had thoughtfully owled her, she often got ninety percent or more correct. Professor McGonagall had quietly mentioned Animagus training to her as a possible course of study after graduation, and Madam Pomfrey was hinting strongly that St. Mungo’s wanted her services.

All of these options were pushed aside when two weeks before graduation, Ginny received an owl from the twins.

Dear Sister Ours,

Because we’d like to have you work for us, we’re hoping to persuade you with a graduation holiday to France. It’s the least we can do for our favorite sister. Enclosed are your arrangements and Portkey times.

Much love,

Fred and George

She had squealed with ill-concealed happiness and kept the short note tucked in her robe pocket. After supper that night, she snuck down into the dungeons, hoping Draco would be there so she could share her news.

Shooting furtive glances around her as she walked, she soon found herself in front of Draco’s door. Knocking quietly, she backed away and flattened herself against the wall behind her, hoping to stay inconspicuous.

Her knock went unanswered.

Frowning, but not really surprised, she turned to trek back to Gryffindor tower when the door clicked open; Ginny pivoted quickly to see a sleep-disheveled Draco standing in the doorway.

“Well, Weasley, might as well come in,” he muttered tiredly. Rolling her eyes, she backtracked and entered his chamber.

It was obvious he’d been asleep for a while, though it was hardly late. Without waiting for her words, he unceremoniously returned to his bed and snuggled down in the still-warm sheets, eyes heavy with fatigue.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“C’mere,” he mumbled. “Wanna hold you while you talk.”

“I won’t be here long,” she warned, kicking off her shoes.

“Don’ care.”

Sighing, she turned against him, feeling his arm curl around her shoulders.

“I just had to come share my news. The twins are giving me a graduation gift of a holiday to France.”

“Y’need it,” he said softly, pulling her closer.

She went on to briefly explain about the particulars.

“And so I arrive two weeks from graduation, and I was wondering if you might be able to come to the Ministry to see me when I come back. My Portkey is due in at six that evening.”

“I won’ forget,” he said. “Six at the Ministry, second Saturday in June,” he said, committing it to memory.

She smiled.

“Thank you, Draco. I just thought it might be an opportunity to see one another before anything breaks out.” She felt him nod beside her.

“I’ll be there. Go study. I’m sleeping.” Holding back a laugh, she kissed him softly, then slipped off the bed and replaced her shoes. She took a long look at him as he snored softly. Shutting the door quietly, she went upstairs to prepare for her future.

***

Graduation was on a Saturday. Ginny had received an owl from her mum telling her that all the family would be in tow, including Fleur Delacour, who seemed to have begun dating her eldest brother. She was excited to see everyone, even that horrible git Percy, who had finally made peace with the family, and Charlie, who was bound to be singed in one place or another. Hermione and Harry would also tagging along.

The N.E.W.T.s had been completed last week, and she had passed with flying colors. Indeed, she had been surprised to see her marks were higher than she expected. She gratefully owled Hermione a thank you note for her helpful study guides.

The week had been full of graduation activities, including ceremonies for the top students from each house, awards for top marks in individual classes, and merit awards. Ginny had blushed furiously when she received a merit award from McGonagall and an award from Madam Pomfrey for top marks in her Advanced Healing class.

And here it was Friday already, and Ginny was cleaning her room idly, reflecting on her time at Hogwarts as she used her wand to fold her clothes and fill her trunk.

Seven years she had been in this drafty castle of a school, and in those seven years she had grown a lot. From chaos and destruction in her first year to deceptive silence now, she had learned to be always on her guard. She wished those months had been a little more peaceful, a bit more idyllic, and vastly different.

Of course, should the time have passed peacefully, she would have continued her crush on Harry Potter. And perhaps her adolescent love would have been returned, but it would have been fairly prim and most certainly proper. She never would have opened the Chamber of Secrets, never would have dated any other boys, and never would have hexed Draco.

Thoughts like these were the ones Ginny feel asleep to.

When Ginny woke Saturday morning, she found the house elves had finished packing and cleaning for her. Vowing to leave them some of her candy stash, she hurried to shower and dress before her family and friends would be arriving.

***

The lush lawns of Hogwarts had been decorated and manicured for graduation. With Dumbledore’s help, Hagrid charmed flocks of white doves to decorate the trees and several hundred comfortable chairs had been conjured for the graduates and spectators. Ginny and the gaggle of Weasleys (which ended up including the twins’ girlfriends, Angelina and Katie, and Percy’s fiancée Penelope) made their way to the Gryffindor section of chairs in front of Dumbledore’s podium.

Saying goodbye, Ginny found her assigned seat and sat, watching as all fourteen people in her entourage sat in the spectator section. Families and students began to file in. She watched a charmed dais lift the Head Table and podium above the crowd. Ginny almost did a double take as Draco walked out in formal black robes, taking a seat to Professor Snape’s right.

She was wearing the green robes she’d purchased at Gladrags, and she knew she looked better than nice. Her mirror had told her so. Even over the considerable distance, Ginny felt herself blush as Draco raised a sleek eyebrow and gave her a hooded but appreciative once-over.

To alleviate her blush, Ginny looked around at the crowd, immediately spotting a disgustingly familiar face. Lucius Malfoy stared right through her, making her feel as if her soul were being sucked out by Dementors. Nearly knocking over her chair in her haste, she whipped herself around, vowing to stay away from him. Gathering her wits, she concentrated on this final happy day.

At last, everyone was seated and Dumbledore ascended the podium. His bright eyes surveyed the crowd, who waited for him to speak.

After perfunctory introductions of Head Staff and Draco, plus reiterations of the week’s award winners, Dumbledore launched into his speech.

He spoke of simmering turmoil beneath the surface of the wizarding community, and of the importance of self-defense. His words morphed into praise for the graduates, noting seven years of teaching magical proficiency and character-building had produced as fine a class as he had ever seen. In closing, he spoke of healing ancient rifts in their society, and his fervent wish was perhaps the fresh graduates of today would be the diplomats and finest witches and wizards of the age.

After the speech, Ginny waited her turn to receive her certificate of graduation. When she proudly stepped onto the dais, the Weasleys and their girlfriends rose and applauded her loudly. Blushing, she walked past Draco, Snape, and Flitwick to take her certificate from a smiling McGonagall.

She returned to her seat amid more cheers from her assorted family, examining her certificate as the Hufflepuff and Slytherin graduates were called. She was so engrossed in reading and tracing the embossed lines that she had to be elbowed by her neighbor when the ceremony was over.

Tradition called for the last singing of the Hogwarts song and the graduates were allowed to shoot sparks of their house colors into the air. The song was, as always, muddled and off-key, but she enjoyed it anyway. And with nearly 200 other students, she shouted a special spell to shoot fountains of red and gold sparks from her wand.

Ginny Weasley was now an official graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

***

Ginny was folded into a mass group hug that left her breathless and smiling. The attention she was getting from her family was especially sweet in its relative rarity. As she had seen Percy, Fred and George and Ron do before her, she spoke to her professors one final time with her family in tow.

Professor McGonagall was nearly rosy-cheeked as she carefully explained to Arthur and Molly that Ginny’s aptitude for transfiguration gave her great potential as an Animagus. A quick trip to Madam Pomfrey had her calling over a Hufflepuff graduate whose arm Ginny had mended extremely well. Molly and Arthur beamed over their daughter’s achievements.

“Let’s go see Dumbledore, eh?” George said, walking toward the ancient wizard. “He’s not talking to anyone but Malfoy.”

Indeed, the headmaster stood near the shaded steps of one of Hogwarts’ stone staircases, speaking to Malfoy cordially. Albus was apprising Draco of his summer duties for the school at the Ministry when a veritable squadron of Weasleys bore down on them.

“Molly, Arthur, so good you see you!” Albus said, nodding at everyone else assembled. “And Miss Weasley, I am particularly impressed with your work as a Healer.”

Suddenly, Ginny was pushed to the front of the group to speak to Dumbledore. Underneath Draco’s inexplicably hot, languidly sexy gaze, she graciously received the compliments Dumbledore was bestowing upon her.

“You’ll never guess what Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes is doing for Ginny, Headmaster! We gave her a graduation trip to France!” Fred said excitedly, rubbing his hands together.

“It’s a two week trip, you know, sir, because we’re trying to bribe her to work for us,” George explained, his words running together and falling over his brother’s.

“She leaves tomorrow and comes back two weeks from today. Isn’t it grand? You reckon it will work?” Fred picked up, laughing at Dumbledore’s expression.

“Well, Fred, George, you’ll certainly have to bribe her heartily. From what I hear, she’s in great demand at St. Mungo’s.” Dumbledore looked up and his gaze rested on tall, burly Charlie. “Perhaps, Charlie, your sister could heal those burns for you.”

Charlie grinned cheerfully.

“Wouldn’t matter, Professor. There’s a new one every day.”

***

As the horde of Weasleys spoke with Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy stood some distance up the stone staircase, obscured by leafy fronds from nearby trees. None of them, not a single one, even chanced to look his way. Not even Draco felt his commanding presence.

With a pounding heart and soured stomach, Lucius watched his son smile at the Weasley girl. Hatred hardening within, Lucius focused very clearly on Draco’s eyes, for once being able to look at them without occlusion.

Through the connection Draco did not sense, Lucius saw erotic images of the girl melting into one another in Draco’s mind’s eye. Lucius was seconds away from dismissing the scenes as misguided lust when Draco unthinkingly replayed a scene that was obviously a favorite.

Through a haze of firelight, Lucius could now clearly see his son being well and truly fucked by a lithe, supple woman. Her flame red hair gave it away.

Lucius finally put a face to Draco’s Christmas whore.

***

Draco spent the next ten days at the Ministry, preparing for a boring summer. Apparently, someone decided he needed plenty of work to keep him busy, and his lunch trips to Muggle London were severely cut short.

He was forced to help Hogwarts and the Ministry select the coming term’s first years, which included drafting very sensitive letters to parents of Muggle-borns who would probably not react well to being told of their son or daughter’s magical abilities.

One bright spot was an owl from Ginny. He handled her note as if it were a pouch of Galleons. In it she sent smiles from France, regaling him with tales of her adventures and piquing his interest when she said she bought some interesting lingerie. She also wrote that she had decided to work at St. Mungo’s upon her return, as it was the only thing she could see herself doing. She wished to do Animagus training as well, provided her form wasn’t a weasel. She reiterated her travel arrangements and reminded him to be on time to her Portkey arrival.

At the end she sprayed a bit of French perfume she’d bought and kissed her lips to the signature; taunting him, he was sure. After inhaling the fragrance once more, he tucked the note into his robe pocket.

***

Lucius Malfoy did not gain his notoriety as a gentleman. He reminded himself of this as he rifled through Draco’s pockets and the things he’d left strewn about since his return to the Manor. Lucius was sure he would find something helpful among his son’s possessions.

After seeing concrete proof of his son’s impertinence, betrayal and degradation, Lucius wasted no time in coming up with a punishment. Of course, it did upset his plans. He’d so wished to present Draco to the Dark Lord at the next meeting. How could he, with his son’s flesh so irrefutably soiled with the filth of the Muggle-lover? And not just any Muggle sympathizer, but a Weasley! Draco could obviously sink no lower.

And now Lucius’ plan was simple. He no longer would present Draco to the Dark Lord. Miss Ginny Weasley would do fine, and would please and impress Voldemort like no other quarry. It would be a fitting punishment for Draco, to see his perfect dove sullied by the Death Eaters and Voldemort alike before the Dark Lord took her body and sucked the life energy from her.

Oh, yes, it was brilliant, and there was one last hurdle to clear. Thanks to the Weasley twins, he’d figured it all out.

Lucius kept a private potions room in the labyrinthine dungeons of Malfoy Manor that neither his family nor the house elves knew about. In it he kept several potions handy, the main one consisting of several constantly-bubbling cauldrons of Polyjuice.

Polyjuice had served him well over the years as a disguise of sorts. Every victim he’d ever had a hand on was relieved of a few locks of their hair. No matter if they were dead, or were much older now, the momentary change was enough to sneak him out of almost any situation. He had only to add the selected hairs and slip into someone else’s skin for an hour.

He was searching Draco’s room for a clue as to the girl’s arrival in London. He knew the date, but the time was the unknown factor. Perhaps he could show up as Draco, and escort her home. When he removed her from the Ministry, he could feed her a flask of tainted pumpkin juice that would sedate her for hours. It would be a short Apparation to Malfoy Manor, and in hours he could convene the Death Eaters in a meeting that would change the face of their crusade.

Picturing the Dark Mark above Malfoy Manor and the debauchery that would surely ensue slightly stirred his flaccid manhood. This could be the most important event of the century.

As his mind wandered, his fingers chanced upon a wrinkled piece of parchment. Withdrawing it, Lucius unfolded the sweet-smelling note and read the neat script announcing Ginny Weasley’s arrival at six on Saturday, two days hence. He frowned when he saw that Draco was meeting her there, but he would chance it if by some miracle her Portkey came early, or, even better, Draco was late.

And if he could only succeed in getting the Weasley safely to Malfoy Manor, perhaps he could return and collect Draco as well. No reason they couldn’t suffer together, was there?

***

Ginny examined the Muggle watch she had purchased in Paris. The Portkeys were moving faster than usual at the Parisian Ministry. She was due to return at six, but it appeared she’d be coming in fifteen minutes early. No matter; it would give her time to freshen up before seeing Draco. She’d told her parents that Draco was picking her up; allowing for some visiting time, she estimated she’d be home by seven thirty.

Hearing the Paris-London Portkey called, Ginny stepped onto the platform and felt the sickening tug behind her navel as she was deposited earlier than expected at the Ministry in London.

Her luggage appeared beside her a moment later and she tugged it off the platform, searching for Draco among the throngs of travelers.

She saw only a speck of blond hair as Draco approached her dressed in a hooded black robe. Smiling and making her way down, she met him and he guided her silently from the busy room.

Once outside, Ginny quickly threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

“I missed you, Draco,” she said, smiling at him. He returned the smile rather fiercely, as if he had something up his sleeve.

“I thought about you often,” he said, returning her kiss. Her attention turned to the heavy black robes.

“Why are you dressed in such heavy robes?” she asked quizzically as they descended to the ground level.

“I didn’t want to be recognized. Surely you didn’t want anyone to see us?” he replied curtly. “Come with me over here, out of sight,” he said, leading her skillfully into a disused hallway.

“What for?” she asked, peering at him closely. She couldn’t seem to home in on his thoughts, and it was distracting to her. But her distraction was overridden by her thirst. “Can’t I just go out to the refreshment lounge for a minute? I’m really thirsty,” she said. “I always get thirsty after taking a Portkey. I feel like I’ve not had a drink for days.”

She broke through his grasp on her arm only to have his hand close over her wrist, stopping her.

“We can’t go out there,” Draco said, his eyes oddly flat. “Do you want someone to see us? Besides, I’ve got some pumpkin juice in a flask right here.”

He removed a long, engraved silver flask from the hip pocket of his robes.

“Here,” he said, handing it to her.

“Where’d you get this? I’ve never seen it before.”

“Nicked it from my father,” Draco said, a bit of his old smile returning. Ginny smiled, thinking how Draco must have relished pinching the object from Lucius.

She took the flask from his outstretched hand and drank deeply of it, her slim throat contracting with the effort.

“Oh, I feel better now,” she said, giving him the flask. She opened her mouth to form more words of gratitude, but instead slithered to the floor, deeply and utterly unconscious.

Lucius let Draco’s refined features twist into a sneer. Hefting the slight girl to his shoulder, he shrank her luggage, collected her wand, and Apparated to Malfoy Manor without notice.

***

Draco’s timing spell had failed. He’d charmed his quill to tickle his nose at 5:50, but obviously he’d bungled it. Swearing, he picked up his robes and his carryall and headed out of his Ministry office. He’d chosen to work today because he saw no need in staying at the Manor and having his father question him when he readied to leave.

He hoped Ginny wouldn’t be too upset; after all, he was only ten minutes late. He made his way to the Ministry’s Portkey room and surveyed the witches and wizards crowding the area. There was no flash of shiny red hair, no eye to catch.

Thinking she had perhaps gone looking for some refreshments, he walked out the door to a small lounge area where travelers could pick out finger foods and drinks. Before he could inquire about Ginny, a familiar voice spoke to him.

“Draco, please come with me.” Draco spun on his heel, coming face to face with his father. Fear shot through him as Lucius was sure to ask him why he was in this part of the Ministry, buildings away from his own office.

Instead his father’s face looked drawn and pinched, and something like sadness crossed it. Following him out of the small room, Draco faced his father.

“Erm, what is it, Father? What are you doing here?”

“I am sorry to bother you at work, Draco, but something has happened to your mother. I need you to come back to the Manor.”

10. Blood On His Hands

Author’s Important Note! – This chapter contains violence and blood-related gore. I have not marked the sections; you’ll be able to tell which ones are which if you merely skim. They do, however, include important bits of information that pertain not only to the end of this story but also to the third and final fic in the series, Pieces (not yet written).

To give you a heads-up, after Cut is completed, there is a companion fic that comes with it that will help you understand upcoming elements in Pieces. However, it contains pairings that cannot be posted on Portkey. Therefore, after Cut is finished, I will complete the companion fic and post it on Restricted Section. When the companion is published, I will update Cut with a link to the story so you’ll be all filled in!

As always, hugs and whatnot to where_is_truth and rainpuddle13.

***

***

***

Even as he Apparated home with his father, Draco experienced a twinge of regret. He hoped Ginny would just go home once he hadn’t shown up. Perhaps he could send her an owl when everything was sorted out. And it was odd, too, that he couldn’t seem to connect with her. Torn between concern for his mother and worry for Ginny, he tried hard to collect himself.

“What has happened to Mother?” he asked stiffly, shaking slightly. “And why did we come here first? Why can’t we just go to St. Mungo’s?”

Lucius shook his head.

“I’m afraid she began having fits this morning, Draco. She fell out of her bed and managed to injure herself as well as two Mediwitches.” Draco narrowed his eyes.

“That’s impossible,” he said tightly. “Mother sits very still all day.”

“Apparently not,” Lucius said, his eyes flashing dangerously. “Perhaps they changed her medication. All I know is that she has suffered a serious head injury and is not expected to live.”

At his father’s grave words, Draco bit his lip and turned away. Ashamed of his reaction, he valiantly tried to curb the silver tears that threatened to flow.

Lucius laid an unexpected hand on Draco’s shoulder, turning his incrementally taller son around to face him.

“Here, drink this,” Lucius said. “This firewhiskey will take the edge off your nerves. This is why we didn’t go directly to St. Mungo’s, Draco, I knew you would be upset and we can’t show our faces there with you crying like a girl, can we?”

Curling his lip, Draco took the small glass his father had poured from a decanter on the sideboard. Throwing it back defiantly, he grasped the delicate glass so roughly it shattered in his fingers.

“By Merlin, Father, I…” Draco began, trailing off and abruptly falling like a sack of stones to the cold marble floor.

Lucius allowed himself a cold smile as he summoned a house elf to clean up the glass.

“Take Draco to the guest suite next to his bedroom. He should not wake for several hours. If he shows any sign of waking, you are to alert me immediately.” He paused, leaning down to rip several fresh hairs from Draco’s scalp.

“As for me, I have other matters to attend to.”

***

Lucius was beside himself with delight. How he had waited, no, slavered over this day, this time, these opportunities. He had sedated the flame-haired girl and put her in Draco’s bedroom. After going through her luggage he instructed a house elf to dress her in a specific garment. Delicious irony nearly made him giggle. How the tables had turned, indeed.

Entering his study, he went to his desk and removed a marked-up map of the world. He quickly located the destination he desired for himself and the Weasley girl should anything go wrong with his plans for this evening. The tiny dot on which he was fixated was apparently the most magical place on Earth, though he knew it was overrun with Muggles to a fault. No matter; he could blend in.

Lucius then took his wand and caressed it, thinking he was surely in possession of one of the finest pieces Ollivander had ever crafted. It never let him down when performing a horrifying spell; instead it seemed to become a part of him, warm and glowing, when he cast evil charms. And he used that wand to make an illicit Distress Portkey of his favorite crop. The people authorized to use it had only to touch it and it would transport them without a spoken spell. Lucius summoned yet another house elf to handle the Portkey until it was needed.

“Dear Virginia, I do believe it is your turn.”

***

Ginny was extremely muzzy, her limbs leaden and immobile. Weakly, she opened her mouth to speak, but found it full of cold ice water. The cool liquid soothed her parched throat, but she couldn’t remember what made it so scratchy and irritated.

Images swam blurrily in front of her eyes, and she distantly heard a laugh as she tried to focus. Long, cool fingers stroked her cheek and she turned her head in that direction. Draco! He would tell her what had happened. She remembered little, but was sure she was late in getting home.

Dimly, she realized her extremities weren’t just numb but restrained, and that she could see more of herself than she remembered being exposed by her traveling robes. She could hear a low, smooth voice speaking to her and struggled to make out the words. The ringing in her ears drowned out any chance of comprehension.

Exhausted, she lay back, hoping another nap might clear away the pesky cobwebs in her mind. Draco would take care of her and take her home when she was well again. She slid into unconsciousness.

***

His voice woke her for good.

“Ginny, Ginny…” Draco said quietly. “Wake up, my crimson beauty.” Her eyes opened and she was instantly aware she wasn’t at home and most likely was in Draco’s huge mansion.

She lay in the middle of a large bed in a room lit by candle and firelight, and the walls covered in heavy, dark tapestries. Silver scarves bound her tightly, but seemed to be anchored nowhere. She wore the barely-there Slytherin green French lace lingerie she had purchased with Draco in mind. Suddenly she was incensed. For her to be here, likely in Draco’s own bedroom, meant either Lucius had suddenly had a turn of heart about his son courting a Weasley or he was dead. Plain and simple, those were the only two options. And she definitely wasn’t betting on the former.

Looking up, she spotted Draco sitting in a large, black leather armchair, regarding her with an amused smile.

“Draco!” she hissed. “What’s going on? Is your father here? We could be caught, Draco, how daft can you be? He’ll flay me alive and do worse to you if he finds me here!” Ginny struggled against the bonds, and she was infuriated to see his long fingers drumming idly along the arm rest.

“Draco!” she said again, his silence increasing her fear exponentially with every passing second.

Suddenly, in the low light, his skin bubbled and his hair grew longer.

“Indeed, how daft is Draco?”

***

As Lucius advanced on Ginny, she felt the terror course through her like a sick reverse orgasm. She remembered the first time she met Lucius Malfoy.

Furiously, her mind sorted through images of their meeting in Flourish and Blotts. Before he spoke hateful things against her family, before he slipped Tom Riddle’s diary into her cauldron with slim, treacherous hands, she had been awestruck by his glacial beauty.

How Draco mirrored his father, in bearing and gesture. It was eerily terrifying how Lucius smiled at her and still she could see Draco’s face somewhere in his. The spare movements, the cool, appraising eyes. Even as Lucius began to neatly shed his clothing, Ginny stared at him, her terror allowing no other reaction. Somewhere in the back of her a mind, baser impulses fired, triggering survival. It was a shame, Ginny thought dully, that survival meant submission.

“My dearest Weasley, must you tremble and shake in that manner? I know that my presence can be commanding, but I’m only a man,” Lucius said, his dulcet tone deceptively light as he neatly folded his robes and shirt.

Ginny could see his chest wasn’t well-defined, but still spoke of power and poise. The crisp light hairs smattering his chest would rub up against her skin like Draco’s, and she would be reminded once more of this treason and her inability to remedy it. A tear squeezed from her eye and Lucius darted down to lick it from her cheek. Flinching, she tried to squirm away.

“Don’t touch me!” she managed through fear-numbed lips. He chuckled deeply in his chest, sitting next to her on the bed, still clad in his trousers and now barefoot. It was an odd picture, but it didn’t diminish his power. Stroking Ginny’s leg from pert toe to taut thigh, Lucius resisted a smile that threatened to break.

“I still cannot understand what possessed Draco to fuck you,” Lucius said, his subtle inflection on the curse making it ten times dirtier. “Obviously, it must be this above-average body. Tell me, Weasley, did you seduce him with knickers like these until he was begging for release?”

Ginny refused to dignify his crude comments with a response. Snapping her eyes shut, she felt him open the delicate catches of her lingerie. She could not stop the hot tears that leaked constantly as he divested her of the only protection she had against him. The false gentility he was showing made an absolute mockery of the care Draco showed her.

As he removed the lower part of her garments, Ginny gathered every bit of strength possible and vainly tried to summon her wand, not even knowing if it was in the same room or even intact. Opening her eyes for a split second, she saw it rise from the black chair and swish through the air toward her.

Following her diverted gaze, Lucius roared, snatching the delicate wand from the air just before it reached her hand.

“Foolish bitch,” Lucius raged. “Do you really think such a pathetic wand could harm me?”

He held her wand in both hands, rising from her body to break it over his trouser-clad knee. Ginny felt as if he had struck her when the wand cracked and she saw the core quivering, the wood trembling. He tossed it aside with a snarl on his lips.

Leaning down, he tore wildly at her bodice, ripping the ribbons and lace to the side, exposing her breasts. He almost missed the tiny heart that covered hers.

Wordlessly, he stared at the heart which quaked atop her left breast. When he traced it with a cold fingertip, she shuddered at his touch.

“You’re bound to him, aren’t you, little Weasley? This is how you trapped him.”

All at once, her memories of Draco rushed warm and pure into her mind. Defiance fueled by equal love for Draco and hatred of Lucius flared.

“Yes, I did it, you bastard. I tricked him into the repeating the spell.”

Lucius’ eyes turned a slate gray, a maelstrom of emotion flitting over them. Suddenly any sexual punishment just wasn’t enough. Only blood could atone for these grievous misdeeds. Frantically searching for a weapon, his eyes alighted on a black box sitting on Draco’s dressing table.

The silver bow told him it was the dagger he had gifted Draco with on Christmas Eve. Somehow it seemed a fitting instrument to mete out Ginny Weasley’s punishment. He carefully opened the box and removed the Malfoy family heirloom, admiring the way the blade flashed in the low light, imagining the beautiful contrast of blood and steel.

Turning around, he knelt over her again, ignoring her thrashing as he drew the tip across her skin, raising welts. Feeble attempts to dislodge him became more frantic and laced with screams as he effortlessly slit the remaining seams on her lingerie.

Before she could heave another breath, he sliced a vicious X over the red heart. Threads of dark blood streamed over her pale skin and she wailed piteously. Lucius raised the blade to his mouth, licking a slick path from hilt to tip, smearing her blood obscenely on his pale lips and the cold metal.

Her screams were in earnest now, less from pain than from fear. He swept his hand over the smooth expanse of her abdomen.

“What a pretty canvas,” he said pleasantly.

***

Molly Weasley had had a singular focus all day. With Arthur working late at the Ministry, she had chosen today to do her summer cleaning. She had scrubbed and scoured with the aid of her wand and some elbow grease. Even though most of her family had moved out, the Burrow was a very dusty place.

So when she finished in the early evening, she made herself a cup of tea and promptly sat in her favorite chair, a reward for a house well-cleaned. When Ginny returned home, she would wake and made dinner, she told herself. Arthur was due back soon after Ginny, and Ron was sure to have eaten while out with Harry and Hermione. She dropped off into an exhausted nap.

She didn’t hear the front door of the Burrow open. Sleeping peacefully, she was only awakened by her youngest son’s cursed exclamation and shrill cry of “Ginny!”

When Molly made it to the foyer where her hysterical son stood pointing to the family clock, she felt her heart seize as Ginny’s hand pointed to “mortal peril.” It was 8:30.

***

Lucius sent the girl off with a house elf. He wasn’t ready for her quite yet. No, he still had business with Draco. Entering the guest suite adjacent to Draco’s room, he strode over to the opulent bed where his son lay, groggy and bound. His work robes had long since been removed and he was clothed only in trousers and his pristine white shirt.

“Well, Draco, there is no way to hide my disappointment,” Lucius said, striving to keep his tone even and measured.

“What you mean?” Draco mumbled, eyes heavy-lidded, hair disheveled and lying over his forehead.

Without speaking, Lucius leaned over and cut a line up his shirt, splitting it effortlessly next to the neat row of buttons. Revealing an identical tiny heart, Lucius indicated it with the tip of the dagger.

“That,” he said disdainfully, pressing the point into Draco’s skin, puncturing it. A surprised yelp came from his son. Lucius ignored it.

“You allowed yourself to be tricked by that traitorous whore, Draco. You’ve sullied yourself for life now…that is, if the Dark Lord allows you to live.” Less precisely than he’d marked the girl, he slashed the same X over the sign of the binding spell.

Pain forced Draco to come to his senses through the heavy pall of sedation.

“It was I who tricked her, Father,” he ground out between gnashed teeth. “If I bound myself to her, I would always have someone to love me.”

Had he not been at the receiving end of his own dagger, Draco would have thought his father’s expression comical. Flared nostrils, bugged eyes and curled lips marred the icy perfection of Lucius’ face. Composing himself, he looked down, finding the same span of unmarred skin over Draco’s abdomen.

“How much are you willing to sacrifice for love, Draco?”

***

Arthur Weasley Apparated home to chaos. Ron was vainly trying to comfort and calm Molly, and it took Arthur a few moments to grasp that his only daughter’s clock hand was pointing to the most dire of straits.

“Molly, Molly, please!” he shouted. “Calm down! You have to calm down for Ginny. If she’s in trouble and she’s with Draco, it might be Death Eaters. If anyone will know what to do, it’s Dumbledore.” Surprising himself with his efficiency, he turned to Ron, whose face was blotchy with barely-restrained anger.

“We’re Flooing to Hogwarts,” Arthur said. “Stay here until we return.” With that, Arthur grabbed his sobbing wife and shoved her into the fireplace. Taking an absurd amount of Floo powder, he threw it down.

“Hogwarts!”

His parents disappeared in a flash of green light and for a moment, Ron was at a loss for what to do. He knew he couldn’t sit idly by without trying to help his sister. Exiting the Burrow, he grabbed his wand and Apparated to Hermione’s flat in Hogsmeade.

He arrived in a heap, his concentration so broken he couldn’t manage to appear correctly. Stumbling forward, he beat mercilessly on Hermione’s front door. Harry answered, wand drawn.

“Ron? What’s going on?” Harry said, his brow creasing as Ron shoved his way past.

“It’s Ginny,” he said, his breath reedy. “She didn’t come back, she’s with Draco, and, and, her clock hand says ‘mortal peril’ and Dad thinks its Death Eaters,” he rambled, wheezing.

It looked like the conversation Harry and Hermione had been having about her becoming an Auror was going to be put on hold.

Hermione swept to the door, eyeing Ron apprehensively. “Slow down, Ron,” Hermione instructed resolutely, but her pale face gave away her fear. “Slow down and tell us exactly what you know.”

***

Arthur and Molly stood in front of an aggrieved Dumbledore, who was stroking his beard and deciding on the best course of action. He did not doubt Arthur’s suspicions of Death Eater involvement, but since Severus had not reported any activity or even any pain from his mark, he could only hope they were wrong.

Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall had been summoned and questioned to determine if either Draco or Ginny had divulged any information about their intentions upon Ginny’s return from France. Neither provided any help.

Snape was of the rather snide opinion that the Weasley’s probably shabby old clock just needed winding, or was perhaps just over-sensitive to Ginny’s relationship with Draco. Wisely deciding not to voice it, he kept his mouth shut as McGonagall tried to comfort the Weasleys.

“We will organize a search party, Molly,” McGonagall was saying, an arm around the still-sniffling mother. A surprised gasp drew everyone’s attention to Snape.

Wincing, he held his forearm, sallow brow furrowed.

“Perhaps it isn’t necessary,” Snape said in as dignified a voice as he could muster. Removing his hand, he showed his black Dark Mark, the skin throbbing red around it. “I think I know where your daughter is.”

11. Jeweled Attacks

Yes, yes, I know. Not only is it long in coming but it’s the sort of cliffhanger you’d beat me about the head and shoulders for. If you’re confused about anything, refer back to the previous chapter. Keep faith, I am still writing. Look for a story called Agitation coming out within the next two to three days. Unrelated Draco/Ginny ridiculously smutty one-shot. Many thanks to where_is_truth and rainpuddle13 for handling the beta as always.

***

***

***

Several Aurors kept residence in the small village of Hogsmeade. When Harry, Hermione and Ron ran down the block to Nymphadora Tonks’ home, she was already preparing to meet Dumbledore, Snape, and the Weasleys.

“I’ve already heard the news,” she panted as she ran towards Hogsmeade Station with the trio hot on her heels. “There’s a group of Aurors and Dumbledore and Snape at the station.”

When they arrived, breathless and sweaty, Tonks and the three were accosted by a now-sober Molly Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody.

“What makes you think you’re going?” Moody and Molly yelled in unison at Ron, Harry and Hermione. Moody’s eye swiveled agitatedly and Molly’s face turned bright red.

“Did you allow them to come?” Moody thundered, aiming his wrath at Tonks while Molly spat, “You’re all going back to the Burrow and that’s final!”

A cacophony rose as the group debated the use of the trio and Harry planted himself in the middle of it.

“We’re all going, and that’s final,” Harry yelled above the din. “If there are Death Eaters, there’s Voldemort. I’m the only one who can fight him, and the rest of you will just have to concentrate on finding Ginny!”

The group instantly went silent. In the mottled darkness, Harry could see a nodding Dumbledore alongside the visibly suffering Snape.

“We will need their help, Molly. They will be the final line of support; you have my word on that,” he said, as much to Harry, Hermione and Ron as to Molly. Molly merely sniffed indignantly and gave them harrowing looks that clearly said stay out of trouble!

“Harry’s logic is correct,” Dumbledore announced. “If Miss Weasley is indeed in Death Eater hands, I fear they may be exacting revenge for the Chamber of Secrets.”

His words served as a call to action. Quickly, a plan was organized to raid Malfoy Manor. Aurors would be the first line of defense, and there were seven in the group assembled. Next would be Dumbledore, Snape and the Weasleys, followed by Ron and Hermione, with Harry if need be.

Dumbledore created Portkeys out of nearby sticks and twigs.

“Constant vigilance!” Moody cautioned as they prepared to depart. “Remember, we have no idea what the actual conditions will be.”

***

Lucius was disappointed. He had conjured the Dark Mark with a great deal of excitement. Now, his little playroom held fewer than twenty Death Eaters, and he didn’t count the traitors. Even Severus had failed to arrive, which sorely nagged Lucius.

Long before he brought Draco down to the dungeon in conjured shackles, he had seen to the girl’s arrangements. She hung naked from yet another set of magic shackles, which could be moved at Lucius’ discretion. Admiring his handiwork, he fed her a potion to wake her. With a roar, he summoned the diminutive house elf who was keeping his precious crop safe. After explaining the house elf’s role to her, he departed.

Ginny Weasley awoke nude and alone, hanging from a wall. A great pain wracked her body, and she struggled to look down to find the source of it.

Reading the bloody gashes that served as letters on her abdomen, she numbly picked out the words “muggle lover.”

She screamed to the sound of her blood dripping onto the floor until she fainted.

***

Draco could hear her screaming from his dank holding cell in the next dungeon. Gagged and hands bound behind his back, he had no way to either wipe away his tears or call out to comfort her.

Before his father had dragged him down here, he deduced what Lucius had carved into his body.

Blood traitor.

He only hoped Ginny had not suffered the same fate.

All he could do was sit and wait. Or perhaps die.

***

“Time for you to make an appearance, dear son,” Lucius snarled at him some time later. “Get up and walk to the next dungeon.”

The dungeons were identical squares that ran exactly north-south below Malfoy Manor. In all, there were two entrances, one in the upper right and bottom left corner.

Struggling to gain balance, he worked himself to his feet. Walking head-down in front of his father, he was marched into the same room as Ginny.

He couldn’t see her, not at first, but he could hear her.

And when he turned to see her, he wished he hadn’t.

Not even her thrashing or renewed screams could deter them. Her thrashing body hung left of the north door. Ginny was surrounded by five or six of his father’s brethren, stomach mutilated with the very phrase Draco had himself used in reference to her once upon a time. The Death Eaters were fondling her breasts and between her legs. One even chanced to lick the congealing blood from her torso and Draco fought to hold back the bitter bile that rose in his throat.

His father kicked him viciously from behind, and he tripped, almost falling. Lucius made quick work of securing his body to the wall right of the south door. Draco could hear muted laughs and jeers directed his way. He was fiercely glad; he would do anything to draw their attention away from Ginny.

Above Ginny’s agonized screams and the Death Eaters’ cackles, Lucius’ voice rang out loud and clear.

“Silencio!” he shouted, spearing the spell effortlessly through the crowd around Ginny to hit her directly in the chest. To her credit, when she realized she had been quieted, she immediately clamped her mouth shut as she struggled with the men around her.

“Get back, you dogs!” Lucius cried, pointing his wand once more. Draco was astonished to see him land his gaze on the knot that was touching Ginny.

“She is a prize, fools!” he hissed. “Take care not to damage her! She is for the Dark Lord himself!”

Shuffling and mumbling, the masked men ambled over to a corner of the room where the rest of the Death Eaters stood.

Lucius began to speak again. “Our Lord is coming! Can you not feel it? Be reverent in the face of our Lord!” As if on cue, the group of sixteen Death Eaters fell to their knees and began saying an incantation Draco could not make out.

All at once, Draco felt the overwhelming sickness that signaled the Dark Lord’s presence. Fighting the nausea with the strength gained from Snape’s intensive teachings, he was able to glance at Ginny. She was a miserable suspended lump, trying in vain to crumple into a ball to fend off the sickness.

Voldemort appeared with a crack sound and a burst of light. He was merely a specter now; his sole purpose was to feed off Ginny and her precious energy. In his frail, translucent hand, Draco could see him grasping his sinister wand, all the while wondering how he could accomplish such a feat.

Voldemort looked right at Draco, causing his stomach to twist in violent knots.

“Too bad for you, boy, that whatever you’ve done has landed you here. You would have been my successor,” Voldemort hissed, coming closer and examining Draco’s mutilated form.

“Well, well, what have we here?” the Dark Lord asked, reaching out one trembling, skeletal finger to touch Draco’s heaving chest. Draco gasped as Voldemort ran his finger over the bloody mess of his binding mark. Shivering, Draco thought perhaps Voldemort’s finger could not have been colder had it been ice.

“Let’s have your esteemed father explain this, shall we?” Voldemort shrieked, moving away, making the hair on Draco’s neck stand on end.

“Lucius, please explain why you have called this meeting. I am weak, and I wish to know now.”

The gathered Death Eaters rose from their knees and gathered in a semi-circle around Lucius and Voldemort, who stood directly in front of Draco.

“My Lord, my son has committed a most grievous misdeed,” Lucius began, clearly grandstanding. “You see, he allowed himself to be bound to her, and in doing so betrayed his family and his position with you.”

Draco formed his mouth into an O and forcefully spat on the ground, partially covering his father’s shiny boot. Skimming his eyes up his father, Draco sneered his Malfoy best and eyed his father defiantly. Despite the dire situation, Draco enjoyed seeing the purple rage mottling his father’s pale face.

Draco was completely unsurprised when his father unsheathed his wand again and hissed “Crucio!” in his direction. Feeling the spell hit him, he was able to throw it off in several minutes, his training insulating him from the pain. As Snape had instructed, he writhed and twisted in fake agony while his father smiled tightly above him.

“Forgive me, my Lord; he has been infected by the Muggle-lover.”

“Perhaps, Lucius, you allowed him too much free rein,” Voldemort snarled, eyeing Draco.

Over Draco’s whimpers and occasional screams for “My wand!” Voldemort stepped closer to Ginny to inspect her.

Because the entire assembly turned to see how the Dark Lord would deal with his new flesh and blood, no one saw the single-minded house elf who held the Distress Portkey tell Draco she would bring the young master’s wand to him.

***

When the frail form of Voldemort approached her, Ginny could only see one thing in her mind -- beautiful, cold, deceptive, deadly Tom Riddle. How he had charmed and enchanted her.

She opened her mouth to speak as Voldemort mostly glided through the air to her.

“Remove the spell, Lucius,” Voldemort said tautly.

A whispered incantation and suddenly Ginny Weasley’s voice was the strongest force in the room.

She had fought back her nausea long enough to speak. Drawing on a reserve of Weasley temper and strength, she lit into Voldemort as if she were Molly berating the twins.

“Tom Riddle, you ruined my life once, and you won’t do it again,” she declared, curling her bruised lips with disgust. “How do you plan to do it now, Tom? Do you want to seduce me again with your lies? I thought you were my friend!” she bit out venomously.

Voldemort did the unthinkable. He stepped one step back, blindsided by her short speech.

“Do not call me by my father’s name!” the Dark Lord screeched, the shrill sound causing several Death Eaters to cover their ears. “How dare you call me that!”

The room was deadly silent. Even the still-faking Draco paused in surprise for a moment before falling back into his wretched screams.

As if realizing he had reacted like a wronged girl, Voldemort struck out with his own words.

“Perhaps the Chamber of Secrets was perfect for you. Maybe the best thing that ever happened to you. It only made you stronger, and when I make your life mine, rest assured I’ll relish every screaming, thrashing and bloody second of it.” He paused for a moment to cock his head in a thoughtful manner, reaching out to cover Ginny’s mouth with his icy hand as she took a breath to spew his own trash back at him.

“I think a little punishment is in order tonight, my followers. And I believe we should first punish this blood traitor over here, right in front of this shoddy bint’s eyes.”

***

The house elf was named Toddy, though she was female. Young, dumb, and good for singular tasks only, she had mindlessly heeded her young master’s call for his wand. After she carefully stowed the magicked item Master Lucius had trusted her with, she scampered past Draco, through the dungeons and finally to the master living quarters.

Toddy had seen Master Lucius take young master Draco’s wand into his office. Using her limited magic, she screwed her eyes shut and reappeared on the other side of the heavily locked door. Summoning the young master’s wand from the pile of parchments on the desk was simple. Snapping her fingers, she appeared at Draco’s side and slid his wand into his back pocket a split second before the Death Eaters turned like a tide towards him.

***

Feeling her mouth go completely dry, Ginny tried to scream again to gain the Death Eaters’ attention, but to no avail. When a tiny house elf skidded to a stop with a riding crop in her thorny hands, she couldn’t form the words necessary to ask for help. The elf dropped the crop a few feet out from her body and scampered away.

***

Lucius turned to his Lord and the Death Eaters.

“My Lord, I request that you let me take over this foul task. I do not wish for you to sully your hands with the Muggle lover. And, if I may be so bold, he doesn’t deserve to die a wizard’s death, no. Let me finish it with this Muggle knife, so he may die the way he lived.” Lucius paused and throwing a look at his still-struggling, screaming son. “Shamefully.”

As Lucius looked to Voldemort for guidance, the waif nodded his agreement.

Lucius smiled terrifyingly and rustled in his robes’ pocket for the jeweled Malfoy dagger. As his hand closed around the hilt, he withdrew it and began advancing on Draco.

The Aurors attacked from behind.

12. Cut

Notes: All the pertinent author’s notes will follow, as I don’t want to spoil anything. I couldn’t have written any of this without the intense coaching and support of where_is_truth. So if anyone deserves thanking, it’s her. I’ve never written anything like this before and Who? is fluff compared to this. Rainpuddle13 came in about halfway through and provided excellent betaing services and humor. And honestly, thanks to all of you who read Cut and kept reading it despite my huge lapses between posts. It’s been an emotional time for me personally, and every review is like an ounce of gold.

***

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***

Draco had never been so glad to see his cousin Nymphadora. She came in screaming like a banshee with four or five other people he didn’t recognize, but knew to be Aurors. Voldemort shrieked and immediately retreated to the adjacent dungeon.

They attacked quickly, more quickly than the Death Eaters could react. In the time it took four Aurors to yell out the incantation for a full body bind, four Death Eaters were rolling furiously on the ground, trying to break out of the powerful spell. Draco’s last view of his father was of him dropping the dagger he’d been so eager to kill him with.

Finally, a thought broke though Draco’s hazy mind that he had his wand now and he could escape these bloody shackles. Summoning it from his pocket, he disposed of the offending magic cuffs and barreled towards the Aurors.

Evidently they’d been told he wasn’t a Death Eater, because he was able to get behind their line, all the while dodging spells and feeling errant sparks from missed hexes licking at his heels.

Careening around behind them, he was about to shout to his cousin that Voldemort was in the next room, but he was nearly knocked back by Professor Snape and Ginny’s parents rushing in from the north door to help defend the Aurors’ position. When the billow of Snape’s robes flickered out of his sight, he was amazed to see Dumbledore with Potter, the Weasel and the Mu--Hermione.

Gasping, he stumbled out into the hall next to them and came up to Potter, grabbing his collar and yanking him close.

“Vol…Voldemort!” Draco wheezed, pointing a long finger back into the dungeon. “He’s in the other room!” He pushed off from Potter and disappeared back into the fray, searching for his father.

***

Harry barely heard what Dumbledore and Hermione were strategizing. All he could think about was the pain pulsing beneath his scar and the very real threat of Voldemort in the next room.

Ron was directed to try to Apparate somewhere, anywhere in the mansion, but after several tries, his body remained in the same place and Hermione and Dumbledore were forced to come up with a new plan.

From the hurried words exchanged, Harry discerned Snape and Dumbledore would protect him and get him into the next dungeon without being discovered. The two wizards would cloak the three of them in a protective spell while they hugged the perimeter of the room, two walls away from the south door.

Maybe it would be easier this time, Harry thought wearily. Maybe he’d just have the courage to kill that bastard once and for all.

***

Ginny hung from her shackles, screaming with all her might, but Gods! Could no one hear her? The noise from spells deflecting off the hard stone walls was deafening, but she was sure her shrill screams would alert someone.

And they did.

Apparating so close to her their lips nearly touched, Lucius bared his teeth in a feral smile.

“Never fear, Miss Weasley,” he purred, deftly avoiding her attempt to bite him viciously on the cheek. “After all this is over, you and I still have an appointment.”

In a blur of magic, her shackles broke from the wall and she was placed in the dark, dank corner of the dungeon. As she gasped for a breath, Lucius’ silver-topped wand silenced her and then cast a cloaking spell.

It was ingenious, really, Lucius thought. His practice in creating a cloaking spell that matched the bricks of the walls made perfect. As he watched the terrified muddy brown eyes of his quarry, a quick flick of his wand had her bound in ropes that effectively curbed her struggles.

Drawing a line with his wand on the bricks that surrounded her, he muttered an ancient incantation. There were equally ancient spells lurking behind those walls and when he released them, he didn’t want the girl injured. He choked back a laugh of glee as he cast a protective spell over her and came so close his lips and tongue brushed her ear.

“Stay here, my little one, and I’ll be sure to come back for you,” he hissed, thrilled by the knowledge she couldn’t recoil from his advances. He prodded the small riding crop toward her and into the cover of the spell.

Silently, he backed out of the cloaked spot and all he could see were mossy bricks.

Enjoying the privilege of being the only person save the Dark Lord who could Apparate in the dungeons, he waved his wand and reappeared on the other side of the room.

***

Smoke and the metallic tang of blood in the air clouded Draco’s senses. He could see the Aurors had lost two men; one man was clearly dead and a huge black man had been hit in the arm with an impedimentia. The Death Eaters, having had more fighters to begin with, had suffered their losses as well. Though it hadn’t yet registered, Draco had aimed the killing curse at Dolohov, one of his father’s trusted cohorts. Dolohov had fallen immediately to the hard stones covering the floor, and if the curse hadn’t killed him, the crunch of his ribcage as another Death Eater tripped over him certainly would have.

One Death Eater had tried to escape through the dungeon’s fireplace, only to be thrown back to the floor by a rejection spell with a broken neck. Of course, four body-bound Death Eaters were rolling and jerking convulsively on the floor near where Draco had been shackled, trying to avoid any low-flying spells.

A red spark whistled past his ear and he ducked reflexively, trying to tell who had shot a badly-aimed jelly-legs jinx.

And he still couldn’t find his hiding bastard of a father.

***

The fight began to escalate even though the Aurors and the Weasleys seemed to be holding their own. All at once, multicolored sparks and steam began to emanate from the high ceiling and the walls of the room.
In shock, everyone who was fighting looked up to see what was happening. Lucius Malfoy’s chilling cackles echoed down from his perch atop an outcropping of bricks in the wall.
“You won’t last against this, you bloody traitors! How about some old magic, eh?” he screamed, aiming his wand very precisely towards the opposite wall and yelling out words no one could comprehend.
Red balls of sparks shot into the room from the walls. They acted as flaming balls of coal, meant to fall on and burn the enemy, distracting him long enough for one to get in the killing curse.
Draco didn’t understand the old magic bit of it, but he did know that when he saw an Auror get hit in the cheek with one, the smell of sizzling flesh nearly put him on his knees.
He didn’t see the Snape and Dumbledore covering Harry around the perimeter of the room, stooped low to the ground to avoid the spell balls winging around them.

***

With magic pouring from the walls and Lucius Malfoy directing spells from above the fray, Hermione was wringing her hands, unsure how to help or even proceed into the room.
It didn’t help one bit that she had to physically restrain Ron from entering the room. He was close to crying and swearing on Merlin’s name he’d personally kill anyone who hurt his parents or his sister. Even in the face of death, it was comforting to Hermione that Ron hadn’t lost his senses; he was placing the blame for all of this squarely on Draco.
“Hermione, we have to go in there!” Ron yelled at her when she tried to quiet him. She turned on her heel and slapped him once, hard enough to leave fingerprints on his cheek.
“I’ll apologize later! Now shut up and let me figure out what is going on in there!” she yelled right back. Speechless, Ron merely stared at her as she dropped to the ground and worked her head into the doorway.
What she saw momentarily froze her.
She had seen this before! But where? Never in a battle with Harry, but it seemed as though she’d read about it...
The Hogwarts library! The Restricted Section, back in the corner where the books were dated in Muggle time from about 1100 AD to 1500 AD. She’d had to sweet-talk Madam Pince to let her back there. She’d worn white gloves and was sent to sit in a special alcove that would prevent damage to the precious books...
The Malfoy dungeon was laced with medieval torturing spells! They’d been used by the witches and wizards of the time who faced persecution from neighboring Muggle groups. Wizarding folk had seen the Muggles mete out punishment, and incorporated it into their spells. During those times, the torturing spells were an effective way to coerce secrets out of a powerful wizard.
If only she could remember the mix of tiny scripted words that could stop the attack.
And then it came to her. Occludo terriculamenta. Stop the terror.
“Ron!” she said urgently. “I think I’ve got it!”

***

Snape prodded Harry with his wand.
“Get going, Potter! You want to be hit by these?” he sniped, dodging a particularly low-flying ball of fire.
Gritting his teeth, Snape covered Harry as they progressed to a corner of the room. One more wall and then Harry could enter the door.
“Harry!” Dumbledore rasped. “Go faster! I can feel something in this corner!”
Though she could not see the group that slunk in front of her, Ginny could hear every word.

***

Hermione was teaching Ron how to say the archaic Latin expression correctly. She only hoped they could get it right (and that it was the correct incantation) before they barged in to save the room.

***

Harry was shoved by Snape out into the open so he could dash the last six feet into the gaping southern door. He already knew that once they made it, Dumbledore and Snape would be needed to help fight the remaining Death Eaters. The Aurors appeared to have suffered some casualties.

***

Draco could see Snape and Dumbledore emerge from the darkness behind the line of desperately fighting Death Eaters.
Snape ran full-force through them and tripped over the dead Auror while trying to aim a shattering hex at Lucius’ legs as he stood on the brick ledge above.

***

Shrieks and screams emanated from the adjacent dungeon. Flashes of green and gold lights flickered though the doorway as if a Muggle telly was on in the next room. Nearly all of those who were fighting, both for the dark and the light, turned toward the sound of the Dark Lord fighting The Boy Who Lived.

***

Lucius’ ledge shattered beneath him and he fell the thirty feet to the hard stone floor, a sickening crack accompanying his landing. All heads swiveled back to the crumpled lump that lay on the floor.
At that moment, Ron and Hermione burst into the room. Taking advantage of the momentary stop in the fighting, they screamed in tandem the powerful incantation to stop the spells from pouring from the walls.
Draco felt like he was in a dream. He watched his father fall with his left hand below him to cushion the fall. In the back of his mind, he knew Lucius was not dead and that the awful crunch everyone heard was not his neck. As he stood in a direct line of sight with his curled up father, he watched Weasley and Hermione directing their wands. The fire balls and steam began to dissipate.
The action, stopped for five or six shocked seconds, began again when Snape shouted the killing curse and aimed his wand at a Death Eater who unwittingly stooped to help his supposed comrade.
The chaos swirled as Weasley and Hermione ran around shouting words he didn’t understand, and he saw the Weasleys, Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody aim another body-binding curse at a group of three Death Eaters.
Hurriedly, Dumbledore came from behind and stopped the attack of a fourth Death Eater who was aiming at Tonks. Kingsley Shacklebolt, having regained some of the use of his arm, began using the mobilicorpus spell to levitate both the injured and the dead out of the room as sparks still flew.
A deafening thud and a thundering scream issued forth from the neighboring dungeon. All at once, every current and former Death Eater fell to their knees and screamed as pain from their Dark Marks seared through their bodies, as bloody wounds sprang up from where the marks had been.
Draco’s chest constricted with the sheer agony radiating from his back, where his Dark Mark had been. Glancing dully in front of him, he was just in time to see his father forming the words Avada Kedavra. Green light shot from Lucius’ ebony wand towards Draco. Unable to move, he watched the spell tear through the air towards him.
“No!” Ron Weasley yelled, running the spell off course with a charm of his own. “Draco, move!”
In spite of the nausea that wracked his body, Draco scrambled to his feet and barreled toward his father, intent on finishing what his father had started.
Before he could reach him, he saw Lucius pull himself up from the ground and attempt to escape.
With the skill of a Seeker, he reached down and scooped it up, clenching it tightly between aching fingers. Drawing on speed borne of adrenaline, he ran towards his fleeing father. Reaching out, he snagged the back of his robes, jerking Lucius around violently to face him.
Without preamble, Draco thrust his right hand forward and drove the dagger straight into his father’s heart. When the trademark Malfoy gray eyes rolled up to look at him one more time, still filled with contempt to the very end, Draco’s lip curled and his eyes squinted in fury. Twisting the haft viciously, he declared to his dying father, “And I love her.”

***

When he turned around to address the chaos behind him, he saw only two things: Death Eaters trying to escape without fighting, being caught easily by the still-standing Aurors and Snape.
Ron Weasley, running toward him like a streak of red, his father’s silver-topped wand in his hands. Weasley pushed Draco out of the way and dropped to his knees by Lucius’ face.
“You fucking bastard, tell me where my sister is!” Ron screeched, breaking Lucius’ wand over his knee before Draco could reach out to stop him.
As if realizing what he had done, Ron turned to Draco, his eyes large and fearful. Neither of them saw Lucius drift to the otherworld with a smug smile on his face.
When the wand cracked, when the dragon’s heartstring slithered to the floor, the cloaking spell around Ginny Weasley broke violently and she screamed as she was ejected from Lucius’ conjured shackles and propelled towards the floor.
Draco only had time to see her fall on a small object and disappear.
In a fit of hellish rage, he hauled Ron off the ground and pulled him to full height, grabbing him roughly by the shirt and forcing their faces together so hard their noses slammed into one another.
“You broke his fucking wand! You fucking idiot!” he screamed, spittle flying and spattering a terrified Ron’s cheeks. “If he did something to her, we can’t fix it without his wand!”
Shoving Ron forcefully to the floor, Draco fell sharply to his knees and let out a primal scream that rumbled in his chest and seemed to be ripped out of his throat.
“I’m sorry!” he cried to the room at large. “I loved her and I couldn’t help her!”

***

In an austere room many miles away, a pale figure unknowingly joined in the scream, a scream that rent the small chamber with the sorrow of decades repressed.

***

~Finis~

Author’s Notes: Okay, before you throw things at me (or wish you could still give me a 1) please know that:

1. I’ve never written a battle scene before and I chose only to include the most important elements.

2. If this were a Harry fic, I’d have included more about him, but for right now just think happy thoughts.

3. There is a companion fic that will explain the background of the pale screaming person, and because it cannot be posted here, I will post the link as a 13th chapter in this space so you can read it.

4. The companion fic must be finished first, and then Pieces (the third and final installment) will come after. I am toying with the idea of answering some of your questions soon. But I sure would love it if you would e-mail me or ask me in a review any of your questions. Who knows, you might change the face of the fic! Also, if you’d like to guess where Ginny went, look for clues in Chapter 10.

5. I wrote this little thing called Agitation, and I only got 10 reviews and over 1000 people read it. If you did read it, could you follow the link and give me some feedback? It got rejected from another site and I’d appreciate any suggestions.

6. Finally, please review Cut below. Did you like it? Did you hate it? How can I make the next one better?

Smiles all around,

Samantha