Author's Note: Thanks for reading and for the wonderful reviews everyone left! This chapter was finished, edited, and posted from Vail, Colorado. I write best at home, but I wanted to get this posted as soon as possible after that last chapter. I hope this answers more questions than it creates. - fallenwitch
Chapter 7
A Good Wizard
"What the hell's wrong with her?" Draco stood with his arms crossed, staring at his mute and catatonic souvenir from Bulgaria, the one he couldn't return. She was having another one of her fits. "Why does she do this? I thought she was fixed." Healer Topman looked up at Draco from his vantage point, kneeling beside Ginny.
"Mr. Malfoy," he said, rising and crossing the room, "She is exhibiting symptoms of a Traumatic Stress Disorder. Right now she is experiencing a flashback."
"A flashback?"
"Her mind has taken her back to one or more of her traumatic experiences, and she is reliving them as we speak. They are as real to her as this conversation is to you and I." Draco looked over at her.
"Is she aware of us at all?"
"No, she is back at the scene of her trauma." Draco nodded.
"How do we get rid of this disorder?" Healer Topman shook his head.
"No magic can cure what ails her psyche."
"What?" Draco exclaimed, aghast. Was he going to have to put up with a mentally disturbed witch for the rest of his miserable life? How the hell did one get rid of a witch like this? No one would want to buy or marry such damaged goods. "There must be something you can do."
"There is nothing I can do. However, you can help a great deal."
"Me? I'm not a bloody Healer."
"Miss Weasley needs to be in a safe and nurturing environment, one in which there are no threats to her - emotional, psychological, or physical. And then, given time, she will heal herself to whatever point she is able."
"You mean she could have these fits for the rest of her life?"
"The mind is remarkably resilient organ, Mr. Malfoy."
After Healer Topman left, Draco walked around the disturbed witch several times before kneeling in front of her. He waved his hand slowly in her face - no response. Then he waved both hands in an all out flail - still no response. Fucked. Utterly fucked. Both of them.
----- ----- -----
She came to, sitting up and clutching the bedcovers to her chest while scanning the room, now bathed in a lethal silver sheen from the moonlight pouring in past the open curtains.
"I'm here, Ginny," Draco said, dragging his weary arse out of the chair in front of the fireplace. Was there a goddamn chair he hadn't been planted in? Merlin. If he wasn't careful, he would start growing bloody roots and never be able to move again.
She followed his voice and saw his familiar figure emerging out of the shadows. Then he was sitting on the edge of her bed, running his hand down the side of her pale face, sending relief through every terrified cell in her body, right down to her glorious toes.
"Are you okay?"
She nodded and reached for him. Draco wrapped his arms around her trembling form, enveloping her world in the comfort of his Slytherin warmth. "It's okay, Ginny. I'm here."
It had been months since her last episode. He thought she was over them. How, in Merlin's name, was he supposed to take care of the witch when she kept sprinting back to the scene of the crime without him?
"Draco?"
"Hmmm?"
"Where are we?"
"We're in Malfoy Manor. We'll be safe here."
Safe? Yes, safe because it was the last goddamn wizarding fortress in England. Lucius Malfoy had been many things in life, and one of them was paranoid about the wards and the security at the Manor. He believed his family's survival would depend on them one day. That day never came to pass, and both he and Narcissa met their fates elsewhere; however, he left Draco a safe haven in the midst of the wizarding chaos that erupted during the last dark days of the War, one that served his son well.
Once the War was over, Draco left his childhood home, never expecting he would need to return. But here he was, tucked behind its magnificent walls with his lethal crimson beauty.
"Draco," she whispered, leaning against him, "stay."
"What?"
"Stay." That's what he thought she said. It was then that he started untangling himself from her treacherous web, the one that was fucking with his tidy Malfoy world and his aching heart.
"No, Ginny," he whispered, kissing the top of her crimson locks, "not tonight." Then he excused himself and got the hell out of there while he could still walk. If she needed a security blanket, he would conjure one up for her. The days of their casual bed sharing on business trips were long over. There was nothing casual about what went through his body when she touched him, however platonic it felt to her.
----- ----- -----
The following morning Draco studied the owl sent by his Uncle.
Petar Romanov, the Bulgarian Ambassador, had been dispatched at the request of the Bulgarian Minister of Magic on behalf of Alexander Levski to obtain the escaped fugitive and murderess, Ginevra Weasley. Her presence in England was recently brought to the attention of the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic, and they were requesting her extradition back to Bulgaria. She was a known war criminal and murderer of Nikolay Levski, son of Alexander Levski and former General-in-Arms of the Dark Lord's Elite Squadron in Bulgaria. Draco Malfoy, nephew of the Assistant Minister of Magic, England and also nephew of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic, England, was said to be inadvertently harboring the fugitive. Ambassador Romanov would be in England in three days time requesting answers and the wanted witch.
Well, he thought, throwing the parchment aside, that just about covered it, didn't it? Should he lend the honorable Ambassador a "Sonorus" charm so he could announce that fact to the whole fucking wizarding world?
Draco ran a nervous hand over his face. Of all the goddamn wizarding clans in Bulgaria, why did she have to pick that one to assassinate? Merlin. The Levskis were a ruthless, old and powerful clan and holders of some of the most potent Dark Magic known. He knew the Levskis. Nikolay was an only child and sole scion to their wizarding empire. They would stop at nothing to get their claws into Ginny.
Groaning, Draco slid down into his chair, until he was hanging on by the grace of his uptight bum. Why did shit like this always happen to him? Did he have a sign around his neck reading, "dump life-threatening shit here"?
Yes, his infamous Malfoy arse was on fire again. As that familiar heat made its way up his body, Draco stood. Fuck the Levskis and their bloody political muscle flexing. He didn't give a damn. He had dealt with worse during the War. If they wanted her, they were going to have to come and get her, all of them.
Withdrawing his wand, Draco checked his watch. He didn't have much time to put his plan into action. Of course he had a plan, you idiot. What do you think he had been working on for the past month? After all, he wasn't suicidal, just intoxicated out of his heart and his mind with a certain wanted witch, god help him.
----- ----- ----
When he Apparated home that evening, hours after missing supper, he threw off his cloak and saw a folded piece of parchment on his pillow. It was from Ginny.
Alexander Levski was upon them, and she knew decisions had to be made. She was asking him not to turn her over to the Bulgarian, and she also said she wasn't the marrying kind. Instead, she wanted to be sold, overseas if he could arrange it. If not, she wanted to be killed. It was the kinder fate. He could sell her to Blaise and then kill her with no ill consequences for either wizard. She offered to speak to Blaise if he thought it would help.
Merlin, he knew his plan was a bit dodgy, but her plan sucked.
"Ginny?" He knocked a time or two before swinging open the heavy wooden door to her bedroom. It was dark. The only light illuminating the cavernous place was a dying fire, casting odd, reaching shadows across the scene. Her slight figure was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace. She was staring, transfixed, at the last glowing embers.
"Ginny," he said, dropping to the floor beside her. She looked up. "What's this?" He held out the parchment for her.
She glanced at it before turning away. "It's what I want for both of us." He sighed.
"No." She looked over. "I won't do it. I won't sell you, and I certainly won't kill you." Marrying her off was one thing, killing her was quite another.
She sighed before resting her tired eyes on his.
"What will you do with me? Turn me over to Levski?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Don't marry me off, Draco. To be owned by someone is one thing. To be married is an entirely different thing." He stayed his hand, the one that was aching to run down the side of her worried face, to ease her internal suffering.
"It's the only way to keep you safe. I have no choice." She shook her head. "I've spent the day making the appropriate arrangements." When she opened her mouth to argue, he put his finger to her lips, silencing her. "It's done, Ginny. I've made my decision."
"When?"
"Friday morning." That was the day after tomorrow. No, she never asked him the name of the wizard because he knew it didn't matter. They were all the same to her, objectionable. "He's a good wizard, Ginny. He'll care for you and keep you safe." She refused to look at him. "Perhaps in time you'll come to care for him as well."
He didn't give a damn if she preferred to be executed or sold into continuing slavery rather than be married. It was his decision, and he refused to let her die or suffer any more abuse. His Malfoy heart couldn't bear it. Yes, it was selfish, but altruistically selfish, at least that's what he told himself. Besides, he was the one making the decisions around here, not her. Look at where her decision making had landed her, in the goddamn disaster they were facing now.
"Ginny, I want you to have this." He reached into his cloak and took out a wand. She glanced over and then away without reaching for it.
"I thought I wasn't allowed to do magic. No wand. No potion making. Nothing." He sighed as she gave him a partial recitation of his Malfoy laws, the ones he laid down for her the moment she crashed into his life.
"Forget what I said. You need to be able to defend yourself. I can't have you walking around wandless with the Bulgarians on the march." When she didn't respond, he reached over and put it in her stubborn hand.
Ginny flung the wand out of her hand, inadvertently hitting Draco in the face with her fist, hard. His Death Eating reflexes seized her wrist in his hand with an iron lock. Her eyes went wide, and they both heard the wand hit the floor with a loud clatter.
What the hell was he supposed to do with a rebellious wanted witch, one who had forgotten that she was still his piece of property? Draco thought about this as he pressed his stinging red cheek against hers and whispered into her ear, "Don't be mad at me, Ginny. I couldn't bear it."
Who owned who?
She started shaking her furious head and trying to yank her angry wrist out of his hand. But he refused to let go. Instead, they struggled for a minute before her lips accidentally brushed against his, ending all movement on both sides. He slowly released her wrist, and she stopped pushing against his chest. Was it his imagination or had the room suddenly become stifling? Maybe that was the problem. His Ginny deprived body was now oxygen deprived as well.
Draco shouldn't have helped himself, but he did. He helped himself to her. He impaled her hot, moist lips with his, not giving a damn if she reached for that fallen wand and hexed the shit out of him. Only she didn't reach for anything. Instead, she let out an almost indecipherable moan and leaned into that stolen kiss, deepening it.
When he pulled her magnificent figure to his, she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her lips for him, giving him complete access to her. When he ran his aching hands through her silken tresses and over her generous curves, the ones he had watched for months and months, she matched him movement for movement, urging him on until they tumbled to the floor in a heated mass of entangled arms and legs, desperately grabbing at one another.
There was no hesitation in her, none.
Draco was acutely aware of his overheated groin, the one she was pressing her pelvis against until he was afraid it would explode and end everything prematurely. Good lord, she was made for him. Yes, she was. He was dizzy with her like this and afraid he would pass out from the intensity of his own ridiculous desire, the one that had caused him endless nights of sleep deprivation.
In a fit of desperation and fearing for his own consciousness, Draco broke away from Ginny, allowing her to come up for air as well. Attempting to calm his trembling body, he glanced down and saw her modest cotton nightgown pushed up past her waist with his hand under it and on her breast. That was when his crazy fantasy shattered and something snapped in him, causing a Knut of sense to roll out of his pulsing groin and into his hormone dazed head. What the hell was he doing?
Goddamn it, he was doing exactly what he told himself he would never do. He was a Thestral's breath away from gloriously shagging her. Of course she would shag him. She did any wretched thing he told her to do, and he suspected she would do this as well because that was her job in life. But that wasn't what he wanted. Not even close. Draco pushed the flush and breathless witch away from him and ran an unsteady hand through his tousled hair.
"Ginny," he said in a hoarse voice, "I apologize." Then he grabbed his robes and his shirt and left her where he found her, in front of the fireplace, now staring at him.
-->