Disclaimer: All things recognizable belong to JK Rowling.
Notes: This chapter serves more of a prologue than anything. I was aiming for a deadly kind of feel to it, where anything could happen in a matter of a moment-a very dangerous, suspenseful situation, and I hope the feelings came across the right way. Get ready for moodswings!Draco and Ginny, constant dreams and revelations, stealth, motives, and a very different sort of Christmas.
In other words, I hope you enjoy.
Roses In December
Part I
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A murderer, she thought frantically as she ran down the empty hallways. He's a murderer. Hot tears filled her vision, spilling over the edges to scald her cheeks.
Murderer, murderer, murderer….
The words seemed to echo in her mind, repeating over and over again, as if they meant to permanently engrave themselves there. Shivering uncontrollably, her books fell to the ground, a result of her clumsy fingers fumbling with the clasp of her book bag. Startled by the noise, she nervously bent down to retrieve it. She could not feel anything but raw fear; an immediate fear-the kind of fear that made all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, all of your muscles tensed, waiting for your nightmare to come alive right behind you.
Looking down past the hallways she had come from, there were no signs of anyone coming its way. Anyone else would have said it was completely deserted. But like a stealthy mirage, the edges of her vision blurred as if the hall was bustling with shuffling movement every few seconds.
Relax, she told herself firmly. He probably hasn't even noticed. Her heart did not stop pounding.
Her mouth ran dry, and her throat terribly parched as she thought of what she had witnessed only minutes ago. Her mind rewound despite not wanting to relive it, back to the dark, inky blood spilling out like tiny streams onto the floor. A fresh wave of nausea washed over her vision, remembering his filmy glass eyes staring at absolutely nothing; the cold look of death. And the tears would not stop coming. More and more in number, they fell rapidly, each one faster than the last. She struggled to keep silent as her chest quivered like a wounded bird.
Tell a professor. The voice came swiftly and suddenly. Her breath caught at the thought. Tell a professor? Could she?
You have to, the voice answered forcefully. You owe it to him. You owe it to everyone else. You can't pretend it hasn't happened.
Yes, she had to. Professor would take care of it. She took a hesitant step towards Professor McGonagall's office. That's what teachers were for. To console distressed students, and to help.
You can't! She gasped and drew back at the new voice of protest. If you tell her, he'll know.
The words sent chills down the entire length of her petite body, imagining the kind of fury he would be in if he indeed knew. Still, the tears came in barrages, and she hiccupped in fright.
But…surely, she could not just leave the boy for dead? Surely, she could not remain silent. How could she carry the guilt?
Nonetheless, fear had already marked its place deep within her as she weighed her options. The truth bore over her like a dark, ominous shadow.
If you tell him, it reminded her softly, like the gentlest of breezes, he would kill you too.
Ginny shrank away from the direction of Professor McGonagall's office. No. She could not tell her. She trembled once more as she crumpled to the ground, wrapping her arms around her knees.
She could tell no one.
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By the third day, she began losing hope that anyone would ever find out. She wondered where the body was now, where his blood dried-where his body slowly rotted, the stench of his consumed flesh rising in the air. What kinds of walls did his empty eyes stare at?
When she stopped in front of the classroom, she hesitated.
Perhaps, if she did not tell anyone-no one would ever find out…. She would be left to take the blame for leaving the murderer on the loose.
She had to spill. She simply had to inform someone-anyone-before she rotted away herself. A fierce determination grasped at her, compelling her away from her class.
Turning back on her heels sharply, she drove her way to Professor Dumbledore's office.
She would tell him, and he would comfort her. And who knew? She might be perfectly safe. Professor Dumbledore was a powerful wizard. He could give her protection, if the occasion arose. The murderer would be brought to justice, and wasn't that what really counted? She might be considered someone special, then. A hero, even.
With perhaps a little more confidence in her strides, she realized with a start of her heart that she was nearly to the gargoyles now. Her palms were coated with sweat as she approached the statues apprehensively. She was drilling over what she would say to him, exactly what she had seen, who it had been. He would ask her if she had been scared. She would say yes, she had been. He would smile and tell her she was a brave girl for coming here, and that everything was all right, and true to his word, they would be.
But a sudden billowing of black robes halted her fantasy.
Ginny cried out as a tall, dark figure faced her, bright gray eyes practically luminous in the dim light.
"Going somewhere?" Ginny's mind raced with thoughts. Make up a lie. Tell him anything other than the truth. You still have a chance-he may not know what you have seen….
But she could not lace two proper words together. Every part of her body was frozen with that same primal fear-her heart felt as if it would crack and shatter painfully any moment now.
"I-I was-I wasn't-" she stopped, her stutters fading off into the dead still air. He moved to trap her along the wall.
And in the next moment, she felt a distinct stinging sensation, before her eyes closed to submit to darkness, and relief.
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She woke up dripping with cold sweat. Feeling disoriented, she swiveled her eyes around, waiting for the surroundings to become clearer. Where was she? The gray décor was one she did not recognize.
"Nice of you to join the conscious world again."
Ginny jumped at the intrusion of words, turning to her left to find the source.
There stood Draco Malfoy, looking cold and indifferent-and indefinitely proud. Ginny's face slackened in horror.
"Bastard," was the first word she spat at him. "Where have you taken me?"
"My dormitory," he said simply, motioning to the room. She saw his thin lips tug into a nasty smirk. "All alone with me, Ginny. Does that scare you?"
It did, more than he could ever know. Ginny clumsily sprang up from the bed.
"I'm going," she declared. "This is insane." She shot a glare at Draco. "You are mad."
"You're not going anywhere, Weasley."
He stepped in front of her, before pushing her back onto the bed. "Not until we get a few things straight."
He loomed over her with a scrutinizing stare.
"You see? There's no one else here, Ginny. They're all off at dinner. And you know, I would let you go too, if you did not know my little secret." He shook his head slowly. "You must be hungry. I bet you'd agree to anything if I let you go."
Ginny's sniffles were her only answers.
"Why are you crying, Ginny?" he asked softly, his eyes narrowing at the strange flood of tears streaming down her freckled cheeks. She wished he wouldn't say her name. She could not answer at all, nor could she help crying. She was being held captive in Malfoy's dorm-it was surreal and so very real at the same time.
"Shame, perhaps?" he suggested smoothly. "Because that's what you should be feeling, Ginny." He was reprimanding her. "Shame, that you would even think about tattling on an old friend."
"You're nothing to me! Why shouldn't I tell everyone what you've done?" she burst out. Her hands shot out to push against him. He did not budge, and his own hands flew out to roughly grab her wrists.
"Let go!" she cried. "Let go of me!" His eyes narrowed into thin slits, with specks of gray peeking out. Ginny felt the hate radiating from his hateful eyes as he held her in place.
"I know what you saw, Ginny," he hissed. "You shouldn't have seen them."
Ginny took in a deep breath and struggled to look away from him. He answered by slamming her body against the wall behind the bed, her skull knocking against the hard stone. Dizzying colors appeared in front of her.
"Listen when I'm trying to tell you something important, Weasley," he whispered icily. " You better listen well." Ginny reluctantly turned to meet his cold, cold eyes again.
"If you ever even think about babbling our little secret," he breathed, cupping her chin. "I think I shall feel compelled to hurt you," he said languidly. "I'll rip every part of your little body with my bare hands, and watch you writhe in the excruciating pain. Who knows? Perhaps I will even laugh. Imagine what your mother would say when she sees you. Just imagine." He stopped, his eyes fluttering for a moment as if he himself were flustered. He was sweating profusely, his grip on her slipping as he shook.
Ginny's stomach heaved at the violent imagery. Her head leaned down, refusing to look at him.
"I don't care," she said bravely. "You're still a murderer. Nothing changes that." He seemed to panic slightly at the words. His grip tightened again.
"No, I'm not," he grit his teeth and slammed her against the wall. "Listen to me! I am not a murderer. You may have seen something, but you certainly don't understand it, you silly girl." Then, his voice was nearly beseeching. "Just don't tell a single soul."
"Understand?" he demanded, forcing her chin up again. She nodded quickly. Never tell. She would never tell. He would kill her, after all. As long as she knew, it didn't matter. It didn't matter, as long as he didn't hurt her.
"Never tell," she said obediently. His lips crooked up, and he reached up to wipe a tear away.
"Good girl." He seemed to have calmed down immediately at her compliance. His shoulders relaxed, and he even stepped away.
"I think," he said after a moment or two. "That it would be wise for you to stay with me during the holidays. No one will miss you, and coincidentally, all of my dorm mates have decided to go away for break."
Ginny glanced up, horrified. He wouldn't-he couldn't!
"Just in case you start getting any more ideas," he said with a grave face. "Just in case you think you can go play hero, like your little idol, Potter." Ginny glared and wriggled as far away from him as she could.
"I gave you my word! I told you I wouldn't tell anyone! Let me go!" she yelled. "I won't let you hold me captive; I've done nothing!" Draco gave a very nasty smile.
"Won't let me?" he repeated incredulously. "What gives you the authority to do that?"
"What gives you the authority to control me? I know something about you that could ruin you. I could ruin you. And, what? Going to hex me, are you?" Ginny said daringly, knowing better. Draco did not seem to regard her as a threat whatsoever.
"I don't need silly little spells, Ginny," Draco said softly. "But then, I've already told you what would happen to you if you told. I mean it."
Ginny gasped out in pain and drew back immediately, wondering at the small trickle of blood forming along her wrist. She had not seen Draco with the small blade. But this time, she saw from the corner of his eye, that he quietly snuck the knife back into a nearly invisible pocket of his cloak.
"Do I need to make myself clearer?" he asked, but his voice shook, nonetheless. Ginny mutely shook her head.
"No," she said quietly, with a touch of bitterness. She was rapidly beginning to realize just what she had gotten herself into. She gazed upon his bristling figure and answered again.
"No, you don't."