CHAPTER 4 Christmas Massacre
The new confirmation that her family was alive kept her mood up even during the Holidays. The elves had decorated the entire Manor until even Ginny could feel the Holiday spirit surrounding her. No matter which room she entered, the library or the dining room, her bedroom or the loo, she was encircled with trees and fairy lights and garland and mistletoe. Of course, it was nothing like the holidays at the Burrow, where none of the decorations matched because they'd been bought or made over the years, or where each room smelled like delicious food. It was more formal, and less personal, but she couldn't help liking it. She'd made the mistake of standing under the mistletoe, and blushed furiously when a slightly intoxicated Draco gave her a small peck on the cheek.
On Christmas Eve, Draco had the elves serve them wine with their meal; he drank it nearly every night, but she never joined him. The wine loosened her mind and her mouth, and it was the best time Ginny'd had since she'd been brought to the Manor.
They talked through dinner, and perhaps it was the wine, or perhaps it was the fact that she was growing calloused, but the cheerful talk of their family's Christmas traditions didn't dampen her spirits. They settled in the smallest of the parlors, sprawled informally on the couch beneath the Christmas tree, and half way through her third glass of wine, Ginny realized that she'd had a glass too many. The festive room grew hazy as she tried to hold up her end of the conversation.
She could see Draco's mouth moving, and the blond hair that fell carelessly into his eyes. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, it was untucked, and his tie had been loosened considerably.
"Why'd you do it?" she slurred, interrupting whatever he had been talking about. "Why am I here?"
There was a long silence, but she was too intoxicated to care.
"Tell me. It's Christmas, I'm drunk, and I'm not going anywhere. So tell me."
"To keep you safe," he answered finally, his voice clipped.
"Bullshit," she shot back, the words running together.
"Because no one else is ever going to have you." His voice was smooth and hard as steel, and his expression had firmed into a mask of an indifferent sneer, but Ginny pressed on, the wine soaking through her brain.
"Now we're getting somewhere," she slurred, pouring a fourth glass of wine. "Making progress."
"Maybe you should go to bed."
"Maybe you should tell me more."
"What else is there to say?"
"Why can't anyone else have me?"
"Because I have you," he growled, his teeth clenched and his eyes narrow.
"And that's why you brought me here?" she asked carelessly, finishing her glass and filling a new one. "Cause you want me? Tell me this. Do you want to kill me? Or do you want to fuck me?"
She slurped down her fifth glass while Draco watched her with eyes that could kill.
"You're not answering."
"You are drunk. This was a bad idea."
"No, no. I think it was a good idea. Truth serum," she giggled, holding up her glass. "Yup. You know, you could have just asked. Instead of kidnapping me, I mean."
"You wouldn't even listen to me when I tried to warn you," he snapped.
"Because you were such a prat," she garbled. "If you liked me, you could have approached it the traditional way, you know."
"Who said I like you?" he fumed.
The last thing she remembered before passing out was watching Draco clutch his arm.
When she woke on Christmas morning, she was surprised to find that she didn't have a hang over, but was even more surprised to see a stack of gifts at the foot of her bed. She rubbed her eyes and realized that it wasn't really even morning. She climbed from her bed and pressed her face against the window. The sun was barely beginning to rise.
An idea occurred to her, and quickly she wrapped herself in a heavy coat and stuck her feet into her slippers. She tiptoed down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door. Several minutes later she saw him coming, the owl bearing the Daily Prophet. She deposited the few coins that she'd swiped from the library into the owl's pouch and took the paper.
Ignoring the cold, and the new flakes that had begun to fall, she knelt to the ground and devoured the paper.
The headline on the front page was practically screaming attack. During the night, the Death Eaters had attacked several different locations, and survivors were few and far between. There had been an attack in Hogsmead, one in downtown London, and another in the country side of Faerie. Ginny felt sick. The houses in the photo were still burning, two people she didn't know frantically running across the grounds. But there was nothing about her family. Nothing specific, anyways.
At press time, the article stated, the death toll was 54 and still climbing. The biggest loss. The most devastating. So far, 62 injured. Everything is gone, one witch was quoted saying. My family, my house. How could they do this, and on Christmas Eve?
Ginny stomped into the house and up to the second floor. She headed for the door she had never opened, the door Draco had passed by when he had given her a tour of the Manor.
She watched her fingers reach for the doorknob, unsure of what to expect, not knowing if there were any wards placed on the room. Cautiously she turned the knob and pushed the door open. Draco's room.
She stepped inside, taking in the dark green décor, the enormous bed and desk, the huge bureau, the oversized chairs, and finally, the sleeping form in the bed.
Her heart caught in her throat, but another glance at the paper, and her resolve returned. Ginny marched to his bed, ready to rip him to shreds. But she paused as she reached the edge of his bed. There he was, sleeping, looking like some beautiful depiction of a fallen angel, his hair splayed messily across his pillow, his silver eyelashes floating at his cheeks. She realized with a start that his chest was bare, and then hated herself for admiring it; the way it was so clearly defined, smooth and pale, just like his arms. The way he was sleeping, she couldn't see the Dark Mark.
How easy it would be to kill him.
She could simply smother him with his pillow, or crawl across his bed and wrap her hands around her neck and refuse to let go until he had stopped moving. Better yet, she could simply pick up his wand, which lay unprotected on his nightstand. Then, tomorrow when the owl came with the newspaper, she would give it a letter for her family, telling them where she was. Dumbledore could break through the wards, and then she would be safe.
It could actually work.
Instead she felt a tear falling down her cheek and was surprised to find it there.
"Did you do this?" she asked, sitting at the edge of his bed.
Instantly his eyes opened. "What are you doing?"
"Did you?" She laid the paper down so he could see it. "Did you want me to pass out so I wouldn't know what you were doing?"
"How did you get that?" he demanded, his voice angry and severe.
"I waited for the owl," she admitted, another tear falling. "Don't blame the elves."
"You cannot be in here," he roared at her. "I gave you the entire bloody Manor, but this is my room!"
"I just want to know," she choked, trying to subdue her tears. "Why do you do this?"
"Because this is what I do!" he raged, grabbing her by the arms and shaking her. "I chose to dedicate my life to the Dark Lord, and if he wants us to massacre Muggles and wizards on Christmas Eve, I will!"
Ginny's head lolled back and forth uselessly as he shook her violently. She couldn't stop the tears. "I could have killed you," she gasped. "I thought about it, but I didn't."
"And I could kill you now," he snarled, giving her a violent shove off the bed. He picked up his wand and pointed it at her crumpled shape.
Ginny glanced up in shock, taking in his wand and the fact that he had just thrown her off the bed. She turned her face from him and cried harder, pulling her legs up to her chest.
When she had cried until she could cry no more, Draco was still standing above her and she was still alive. "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I won't come in your room again. And I won't get the paper." She pushed herself off the floor. "I just don't understand."
Draco lowered his wand, but continued to glare at her.
"Last night, I mostly had a nice time. I enjoyed talking to you. But I guess you're two different people, aren't you?"
She couldn't bear to see his face as she left his room, but as she reached the doorway she called softly, "Thank you for the presents."
Ginny went back to her room and sat on the couch, staring blankly at her gifts, wondering if he really expected her to enjoy them.
Sully didn't come with breakfast, and by mid-afternoon, Ginny had grown weary of pacing the floor and she was hungry. She slunk down to the kitchen, hoping to avoid Draco. She crept into the kitchen and had just pulled the refrigerator door open when Sully spoke.
"Master, he is waiting for you," she informed Ginny, her tone rather cool.
"I'm sorry," Ginny mumbled, "I didn't mean to get you-"
"He is in the dinings room," Sully interrupted.
"Oh. Okay."
Ginny forced herself into the dining room. Draco stood to his feet when she entered, pulling out her chair.
"I was hoping you would get hungry soon," he told her calmly.
"I'm sorry," she managed to say, inwardly cursing herself. She was the one who had been kidnapped. She should not be apologizing.
He waved his hand to brush her apology aside. "Have you opened your gifts?"
"No." She stared at her plate as two of the kitchen elves served them.
"I'd like you to. They are for you."
"Okay."
"Look," he said with a sigh. "I apologize for my behavior. I didn't want you to find out about that or anything else that I do away from here."
Ginny just nodded, taking a careful sip of her drink.
"I realize that . . . the circumstances that you are here under are not . . . desirable, but you're here. And I'd like it if we got along. So I think we should put all this behind us. The knowledge won't change anything."
Ginny glanced up at him, meeting his eyes, searching for sincerity, and finding . . . emptiness. Her arms and neck still hurt from the violent shaking he had given her, and morbid flower like bruises had formed where his fingers had been. "Alright."
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