Unofficial Portkey Archive

DISCLAIMER: As many of my fabulous reviewers have guessed, and I have mentioned in previous chapters, this story line is not mine. The plot of Ginny being under Draco in prison and the idea of licking someone's shoes belong to the super wonderful story "While You Were Sleeping" which you should read! I love it! However, you will be disappointed to note that it has not been updated in a long time!

THANKS: to all my beautiful, lovely, super fantastic reviewers! I hope this chapter is sufficiently long enough for y'all!

CHAPTER 4 - Change of Face

Draco was shaking with fury as he dragged Ginny down the hall. He knew now that he would never get out of this forsaken prison, not while the war was still going on. Now that the Weasley boy had been broken, he would get a word of insincere thanks, and nothing more. Draco threw the girl into his room and slammed to door behind him. She fell to the floor and didn't attempt to get up, her body rising and falling rapidly with sobs.

"Get up," he roared. "Get up you filthy little mudblood loving bitch! You have work to do!"

Weeping, Ginny rose to her knees as Draco conjured a bucket of soapy water. He watched as she put great effort into making his floor clean, her small body quaking with silent sobs. His disappointment and disgust rose in him and for a moment, he wondered if he was going to throw up, but he swallowed hard and the feelings subsided. He was tired of being his father's sidekick; it was pathetic, really. His father expected him to grovel in his footsteps the way Wormtail did for the Dark Lord.

Draco rose and shut himself in his lavatory, turning on the water for the shower, and pulling off his robes, consciously aware of the still damp spot on the chest area, where Weasley had thrown herself into him, crying for her brother.

He felt no better when he was done showering, and paced the wooden floor wishing for the first time that he had no part in this war. The long hours spent learning of goblin wars and rebellions at Hogwarts had never included this side of war, the side that made people into things they weren't, made them do things they would never even dare think about.

"Malfoy?" a voice came from the other side of his door.

The door opened and Nott, one of the guards, stood in front of him. "You said to tell you if any of the prisoners died. One did this morning. Name's Brown. Lavender Brown."

Ginny's hand slipped as she dipped her rag in the bucket and she left out a short cry, spilling the water across the floor. Nott's eyebrow shot up and he glanced at Draco expectantly, waiting for him to hand out the discipline he preached about so regularly.

Wordlessly, Draco yanked her up by her hair, slapping her face over and over and over.

"I'm sorry Master," she whispered brokenly, as he dropped her back to the floor. "I'm sorry."

Draco sucked in deep breaths of air. Control. You must have control. His father had told him that a thousand times, and he had never needed those words more than he did now. He was better than this. He didn't have to beat the Weasley girl to prove anything. He didn't have to rape her in front of his father and her brother. No. There were other ways; there had to be. The others could do what they wanted, but he refused to be like them. Malfoy's always got what they wanted, and without having to sink to the level of those around them. He wasn't going to starve and torture and abuse her. MacNair had enjoyed the abuse of the prisoners, breaking down their minds and body by depriving them of food and forcing them to bury, abuse, and torment their friends and family. No. This might be war, but he was determined to hold onto at least one shred of his humanity.

Nott watched Draco hit her with a smile on his face.

"Just get rid of the body," Draco snapped, shutting the door. He watched as the Weasley girl tried to finish cleaning the floor, blood from her nose dripping onto it. His stomach was growing knotted, a tangled mess of confusion. "Scourgify," he muttered, cleaning up the water and soap and blood. He didn't know what was wrong with him. The most peculiar sensation was washing over him, as if he had just lost something very great. The way she was crumpled against the floor bothered him; she looked like a broken china doll. He had to control himself, stop taking his rage and disappointment out on her. She was nothing. She wasn't even worthy of it, he tried to remind himself. He lowered himself until he knelt beside her, and slowly, carefully he reached out his hand to touch her, and offer her an apology or some sort of comfort or something, but before he could, a sharp knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," he nearly screamed, jumping up and striding across the room.

The door swung wide, and before him stood a tall, slim attractive woman, long blond hair falling to her shoulders.

"Draco," his mother began, and then stopped, spotting Ginny on the floor. "Who is she?"

"What are you doing here? Father told you to stay at the mansion," he demanded sharply, fighting the humiliation that rose in him as his mother stared in disgust at the Weasley girl's broken form.

"It is lonely there," she said simply. "All the help has left. So I came to see your father before he goes tonight, but he is . . . otherwise occupied."

"He is dealing with our latest prisoner."

"Dealing isn't quite the word I would use," she said coldly.

Draco narrowed his eyes. Surely his mother did not mean what he thought she did. His father would never consort with a Mudblood lover. If he had said it once, he had said it a thousand times, that a Malfoy would never take up with anyone below their status. Besides, his father was married.

"Who is she?"

"My prisoner," Draco answered defiantly.

"Is that the Weasley girl?"

He nodded curtly.

"What have you done to her?"

His mother's voice was so cold with fury Draco didn't recognize it.

"Surely, you are not bedding your prisoners too, are you?" she asked, her tone a fierce mixture of repulsion and obvious disappointment.

Draco turned on his heel and left the room. She had to be wrong. His father would never, ever do such a thing. He forced himself to walk calmly down the hall to the quarters his father used, even stopping to congratulate Blaise Zambini on catching three more suspected spies for Dumbledore, and when he reached the quarters, he quietly eased the door open. To his horror and disgust, he found his mother had been right.

Draco's insides burnt with fire at the wicked scene before him and he turned and left the room. He knelt in the hall vomiting over and over until there was nothing left. His father was a worthless, cheating liar. All the lectures about being pure and upholding the Malfoy bloodline meant absolutely nothing. The reminders that Malfoy's would never associated themselves in any way what so ever with Mudblood's or anyone beneath them, they were all a bunch of lies.

***

Ginny tensed in fear as Draco's mother stepped closer to her. "Let me see you," she commanded.

Slowly, agonizingly, Ginny pulled herself up. She hurt. She hurt too much to resist anymore. Even inside her head, where her thoughts had usually kept her sane, reminding her that sooner or later she would find a way to be rid of Draco, but they were no more. Give up, they told her. Give up and give in. You haven't been raped. You haven't been Crucio-ed. Give in. You have a better chance of living if you do.

Narcissa cupped her face with one hand and stroked her cheek with the other. All Ginny really knew of Draco's mother were the occasions glances at Platform 9