2. Fortune Favours The Brave

Ginevra

The more we find, the more we see
The more we come to learn
The more that we explore
The more we shall return

Nothing is an accident
We are free to have it all
We are what we want to be
It's in ourselves to rise or fall

This is easy to believe
When distant places call to me
It's harder from the palace yard
Fortune favours the free

At just seventeen Harry Potter died while murdering Voldemort; as the green jet of light shot from his wand and struck his foe squarely in the eyes another beam of emerald erupted from the tip of Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand and Harry too passed away. After their leaders, their saviours, had been killed the entirety of Wizarding Britain went into chaos. It was utter devastation everywhere, however several month later the Death Eaters, or rather The Purebloods as they’d coined themselves, found themselves to have won…they now held power over everyone. Remaining members of the Order went into hiding, some survivors escaped and fled the country, while others were rounded up and sent into slavery or to receive the Dementors Kiss.

Currently in power was Sebastian Greengrass; he had been Voldemort’s right hand man towards the end of the second war and it was widely acknowledged by all that he was the best man to lead them. Lucius Malfoy, while resentful that he had not been seen fit to run England had insured he’d become Sebastian’s advisor and confidant, slowly infiltrating the new Ministry and gaining respect amongst his peers once more. Greengrass was a fair leader, he did not condone the killing of innocents but he did demand loyalty and as many would not accept him as their Minister they became fugitives to the law, mutiny was punishable by execution. His wife had died long ago but he remained with his two daughters Daphne, the eldest, and Astoria - the former was due to marry Draco Malfoy in a years time, at which point both would become joint leaders and relieve Sebastian of his duties. But in recent times the Minister had been ill; he was weak, tired, slowly dying and Daphne could not help but think that the responsibility of running the country would fall to her sooner than expected. A responsibility she never wished to endure. A responsibility she did not want to accept.

She was young - only eighteen - and beautiful and rich and spoilt. She loved life, she was pampered and pandered to, she had never known hardship or strain as both she and her sister had been shipped out to Italy for the duration of the wars, then sent back once all had been resolved. In fact, at that exact moment she was in the midst of a grand party; a party held by the Malfoy’s in celebration of their son’s return, he was to arrive back at any moment and Daphne had done all within her power to be beautiful for him. She had donned a Zabini original; an elegant scarlet set of robes which were backless and fell to the floor, leaving a small trail behind her. Her blonde her was tied up in a knot at the nape of her neck and her make-up was flawlessly applied. Appearance was everything to Daphne, she was renowned for her exquisite clothing and her pleasing-to-the-eye presence. Never was she not smiling, beaming to the world, even if the pearly whites she flashed were just covering up a knitted brow or a heavy heart.

She had been most inconvenienced when her father had informed her of his marriage arrangements for her, why should he dictate with whom she spent her life with? However, upon discovering it was Draco Malfoy that was her betrothed the future did not seem quite as bleak. He was attractive, strong and rich. His arrogance rivalled her own and he held the same things she with the utmost importance; appearance, social politics and the rich comforts in life. She had fallen in love with the beautiful blonde man with whom she was to live, rule and die beside. She hated it when he left for great periods of time to explore the world or to round up the renegades who plotted against her Father and the new society. And, although she knew he cherished his escapes away from London, that this would all cease once they were married and that he could no longer continue his philandering ways; he would remain faithful to her and to his post a as leader. Oh yes, Daphne was aware the selfish nature of her thoughts - to want to crush the passions of the man she loved - but if he remained where she could see him and bound to her by a unity of marriage he would never stray to the bed of another woman. She knew he would grow to love her, she would make sure of it.

“My son!” Narcissa Malfoy threw out her arms as the doors to the grand ballroom swung open to welcome her only child. He looked strong and brave and striking. Draco was simply clothed, his icy blonde hair long and shaggy and his face set with victory and arrogance. All these people were here to welcome his return to London. At the top table sat his mother and father alongside Sebastian Greengrass, his two daughters, his aunt Bellatrix and several other politicians that were in his father’s pockets. Daphne Greengrass. His wife-to-be, looking beautiful and captivating and thoroughly pleased by his return. She would make a perfect wife, his father had been right to push them together and to convince Greengrass that a Malfoy would be the ideal companion for his daughter.

Draco accepted the embrace his mother had rushed to bestow upon him and walked her back towards the top table. He brushed passed his wife to be and her sister whereupon he greeted them accordingly not allowing for chitchat and completely ignorant to the slightly reproachful look Daphne allowed herself when she realised he was not going to greet her with a kiss or at the least a comforting touch. He gripped the should of Sebastian - he’d always liked the old man, he was powerful, impressive and daunting and yet thoroughly likable and fair. He was the kind of man Draco would have liked his father to be influenced by more. The other guests were almost silent, a hushed excited whispering being the only sounds. All were waiting to hear of Draco Malfoys latest excursion - had he caught more rebels? Discovered a plot to ruin their perfect world? Thwarted as assassination attempt upon Sebastian Greengrass?

“It’s good to see you again, Son. Tell me; was the expedition fruitful?”

He observed his father briefly over the top of his goblet of wine which had just been pushed into his palm by his mother. He hated his father’s pleasant façade; he knew the man cared for him but it seemed odd for him to be so sugar coated around others, Draco often wondered if even Narcissa had seen the true colours of Lucius.

“It was...profitable,” decided Draco. “We discovered the reason we’d only ever caught wizard rebels, they’d sent all the women off together led by one, Ginevra Weasley.” There was a great break out of murmurs and intrigued whisperings. Ginevra Weasley was one of the people that had been closest to Harry Potter. One of the youngest witches involved in the war and one of the fiercest warriors. “Yes, we stumbled upon their camp. She fought hard, I have to commend her - she saved countless women from our grasp but she was unable to protect herself a three others. We took them prisoner and they are currently being held in the dungeons…I shall be seeing which of them carry any worthwhile merits before sending the rest off to be questioned and sentenced.” In truth, he’d barely had anything to do with the women he’d helped to capture; they’d fought with them and finally taken four captive - the other twenty escaping thanks to the youngest Weasley. He’d actually only seen Weasley from afar as he’d duelled with Granger - she’d always been his number one most hated female, he’d had no quarrel with the redhead apart from the fact she’d picked her sides wrongly.

“Odd,” spoke Sebastian Greengrass, coughing slightly - the man was looking ever so tired. “That she was picked to lead them at such a young age.”

Lucius sneered, “do not underestimate her simply because of her age. I fought with her during the third war -- she’s stronger and more fierce than you’d presume.”

“Aye. Merely making a point, Malfoy, merely making a point.”

Draco nodded, agreeing, “yes, Flint said she put up a better fight than he’d have thought…all the women were looking to her. Even Granger seemed to follow her orders.”

“Maybe worth holding on to this one then, Draco. She may have bargaining power…clearly an important figure to the other side.” Draco watched as the Minister turned to engage his youngest daughter in conversation. He really did look tired, wrung out and utterly exhausted. Perhaps he was ill? Or, perhaps he’d been under greater strain than usual.

“Draco, I shall accompany you to inspect the new prisoners once the festivities have finished.” He nodded at his father, knowing the look Lucius was shooting him; there were private matters to be discussed which were not fit for the ears of the respectable people currently seated around them. Must his father become involved in shady dealing once more? Was it necessary? Surely the world was as it should be now…Purebloods in power, they were involved with the highest ranking people, their riches and wealth restored, the Malfoy reputation slowly redeeming itself mainly thanks to him but partially to his mother and father for knowing whose arses to kiss. Draco was a golden boy in the eyes of the Minister, he believed in Pureblood supremacy, was able to deal with his issues like a man, fought hard and long to succeed and was enamoured by the thrill of the chase, the seeking out of enemies. What’s more, he was due to marry the Minister’s daughter and was never anything but a cordial gentleman to her.

Almost as if the Fates had heard his musings upon Daphne the orchestra began to play a tango and his betrothed looked at him pointedly, his mother nudging him slightly indicating that he should be asking the blonde beauty to dance. It was clear everyone in the room too was waiting for the youngest Malfoy and his future bride to begin the dancing. Once his goblet of red wine had been drained he stood and strode towards Daphne, his hand extended and waiting for her much smaller one to fill it.

“Miss Greengrass, would you care to dance?” He smiled seductively and she tittered.

“Of course, Draco.”

He led her to the vast expanse of dance floor where upon he place a hand against the exposed flesh of her back and took one of her hands in his while she placed her spare hand upon his shoulder. He drew her exceedingly close, you could have barely dropped a knut between their bodies, and they began their elaborate, well practised dance. Each had been tutored in the art of dancing for a as long as they could remember and it really was a magnificent sight; to beautiful people robotically in sync with one another. This was the reason they were perfect to be joined in matrimony - they were so alike, so groomed to be the crème dela crème of their society.

Their children would be very blonde and very pale, Daphne thought, and of course, very beautiful. He really was a beautiful man but not in a conventional sense. His features were all so strong that they seemed to fight for which would be noticed first…he was more striking, more charismatic and sexy than simply being “good looking”. She, Draco thought, was divine looking. No one could deny he was to marry one of the prettiest women society possessed, her body was toned and constructed to perfection, her face held a pretty charm to it and her lustrous hair begged him to tug at it. His only issue was that something was missing…something was not there and maybe it would manifest when their relationship became more solid. More substantial but right now he could not see her matching him in compatibility.

“How have you been, Daphh?”

“Good, thank you. Missed you --that is to say -”

Draco laughed, deep and rumbling in his chest; she didn’t like to give much away, didn’t like being as exposed as she’ just made herself…he, however, knew that she appreciated his presence a great deal more than he ever had done hers. He further had a sneaking suspicion she fancied herself in love with the Malfoy heir. Which, of course, was slightly ridiculous; the two barely knew one another. He’d remembered her from Hogwarts, of course, she’d always been known for her fashion, for her looks - her Hogsmede outfit were the talk of the Common Room amongst the girls. Pansy, he recalled, had always been particularly jealous of Daphne’s daring and yet undeniably impeccable clothing choices. He felt a little sad reminiscing over Pansy. She’d been a good friend and had been struck down by an Auror in the third war. It was safe to suppose said Auror had died swiftly afterwards at the end of Draco Malfoy’s wand.

“Ahem. Father’s fallen ill recently…he only came tonight because it was for you.”

Draco nodded as he twirled Daphne then returned her back to the close hold he’d had her in before the extravagant dance step, “I thought he seemed a little off…give him my condolences.”

“Yes, well, he’s been ailed with whatever it is for about four weeks, Healers don’t know what it is yet…but I-I’m sure it’s nothing. I hope it’s nothing.” She coughed to hide the fact she felt awkward once more, “anyway, you’ve yet to say anything on my new robes. Zabini made them for me -- did you know he’d taken over his mother’s business . . .” Just as he’d perhaps dared to think he was going to have a conversation with the girl which was slightly deeper than a puddle she seemed to have pulled the plug and reverted back to paddling into trivial waters.

As The Pureblood danced and drank within the confines of Malfoy House (Mansion, would be more appropriate. Their manor still resided in Wiltshire, however, Lucius had felt he needed to be nearer the buzz of activity that was London.) many floors beneath this knelt Ginevra Weasley at the feet of two large guards. Her long crimson hair fell in disarray about her shoulders, robes were torn and dilapidated and her face, arms and legs were littered with gashes - war wounds. Her wrists and ankles were shackled and men before her were taunting the restrained redhead.

“Fascist bastards! Get off of me!”

“Look, Red, there’s two ways we could do this --”

“Or we could not do it at all, eh?” Screeched Ginny. “Get these fucking manacles off of me now!”

“You know your brother…which one was it, Ed?”

“Ooh, err, Percy it was. Or ‘Perce’ as we liked to call ‘im.”

“Aye, Perce didn’t cause half the trouble you have, little’un.”

“Wanker! What did you do with my brother? What? Tell me!”

“My, my a regular spitfire. Think she’s a hellcat in the sack too, Reg?”

“Fuck you.” Hissed the redhead. She’d been struggling for what seemed an age. She was so stupid…she should have told Hermione, Luna and Hannah to get out of there too, should have just let them take her…now four of the resistance will die…she could have stopped it at one, but no they’d convinced her to let them stay, to let them help. Idiots. She was snapped out of her inner rant to find the so-called “Ed” blundering towards her and attempting to rip off the remains of her robe. She began to scream and scream and scream. He succeeding in ripping a scrap off of her shoulder, leaving the skin exposed. He bent over her and sniffed at the exposed skin.

“Ugh. She fucking reeks mate.”

Twat. She’d been on the run for as long as she could recall, had been held captive for four days and walked for hours on end, not to mention was stuck in a dungeon which, itself, smelt like it had seen airier days.

“Piss off, you cunts!” Her voice appeared amplified somehow, as though her inner magic had taken over in her desperation for someone, anyone, to hear her.

“Piss off, you cunts!”

The words reverberated throughout the entirety of Malfoy House. Every pair of ears heard the words loud and as clear as if Ginny Weasley had been there herself, whispering it into each of their ears. It was this that Draco took as his signal to go and sort out the prisoners himself. They needed to be kept under control, not allowed to spout off sonorous charms whenever they felt the urge.

“I have to go, Daphh.”

“Wait!” Called the blonde, “I want to…to come with you. I want to see, to see them…” She didn’t know why she’d requested such an odd thing. From the look on Draco’s face he couldn’t quite grass her reasoning either but he grabs the crook of her elbow all the same and practically dragged her from the function, shouting that everyone should continue their party and that he was to sort it all out.

“You need a job doing right then you should do it yourself!” He quipped before shutting close the large doors.

“I can’t imagine why you’d want to witness the snapping of these women’s wands, Daphne. It’s not a sight -- a, well a sight I can imagine you wanting to see.” And with that he let go of her arm and began to power walk towards the dungeons, Daphne hot on his heels. She, too, was baffled by her decision to watch these women at what would probably be the lowest point of their lives And yet she had to see, had to see what it was truly like to suffer…to see what Draco dealt with everyday. She loved her betrothed and wanted him and her to hold more in common.

“Oh go get shagged, fatty!”

“Reg, grab ‘er arms. For fucksake just do it, yeah? It’s the only way to put the bastard disabling charm on her magic.”

“You do it then! I already got stunned.”

“You fucking bitch, when this is on” he indicated a golden bangle in his hands, “and your magic is gone, that’s when the real fun begins.” His face looked dark and menacing and full of sinister promises.

“That the only way you can get your leg over, eh, Ed?” She sassed at him. She knew it wasn’t the smartest way to react. She’d watched her three friends before her go through the exact same, the stripping of their powers, the snapping of their wands and she’d watched each of them just take it. Watched as three of the strongest women she knew turned to kicked dogs, too afraid to even look the two men in their eyes.

“You little whore!” Without thinking he backhanded her across the cheek bone and she fell, however as she hit the floor he sprang back grasping his finger which looked as though they’d suffered three degree burns. He should have known better and Draco said as much as he strode into the small enclosure, observing the scene before him. Daphne had stopped at the door of the cell, watching through cast iron bars.

“Rookie mistake there, Simmons.” The guards knew, had been trained, that sometimes when a powerful witch or wizard was backed into a corner they became a positive powder keg of magical energy, sending out wandless and accidental curse left right and centre.

“Malfoy, nice of you to join us,” greeted the redhead sarcastically as she lay on the floor, unable to correct herself due to her restraints.

“Now, now Weasley.” He bent to her eye level and it happened in a instant, it felt as though a spiralling heat had zapped its way through his blood; he was inexplicably drawn to the filthy, vivacious red haired female. She was beautiful…just utterly beautiful. No make up, no false smiles, nothing…just pure natural magnificence. Her spirit was like fire and yes…he was completely connected to her. She intrigued him. So young, so strong, so brave. Like him.

“Should we just off this one, Malfoy?”

Draco looked as though he were almost considering their suggestion as he gazed into her brown eyes. Eyes that showed not fear or remorse but anger and a defiant will. “No…Sebastian thinks she may be useful. Bind her magic will you.”

The tow men made their way once more towards her. “Unhand me! Get off! You fucking plebeians!”

This time, however, the men seemed not to forget their training and did not attempt to goad the Gryffindor princess further. Once the golden band was placed around her wrist Ginevra felt her power drain, felt her magic sap from her veins, felt part of her heart leaving her vessel. “You Neanderthals. You bastards!”

“Now, now, Weasley , lets not get too colourful with our language, hmm? We’ve heard enough profanities escaping that filthy little mouth of yours today.” Lucius Malfoy had swept into the room as Ed and Reg pulled the redhead into a standing position, and as Lucius reached the point where he was stand not six inches from the fiery witch he reached out to place a finger upon her aforementioned mouth and ‘shh-ed’ her. Her only response was to spit directly in his face.

Daphne watched as Lucius wiped the saliva from his face and whacked the redhead with the metal serpents head of his cane, she fell unconscious immediately, once more crashing to the floor, blood leaking from the gash on her temple.

“Kill her.”

“But, father, Seb--”

“I said, kill her.”

“She may have some important knowledge…”

“Boy, you saw what she’s like. She would not speak out against her people no matter how much pain you subjected her to.”

“Truth potion, then.”

“She’d have bit her tongue off before you had chance to uncork the vial.”

“I really don’t think --”

“You, Draco Malfoy are not required to think!” Barked Lucius, “I said kill her!”

“NO!” This time it had been Daphne whom had spoken out.

“Miss Greengrass?”

“I - I don’t want you to kill her.”

Lucius bowed his head slightly. “As you wish.” He swept from the dungeon hissing that he and Draco need to talk later.

Their was a strange, pregnant silence in the air.

“Ed, Reg, come on.” And with that he too left the dank cell, the two guards sealing the door behind them. “Daphne - you coming?” His voice was hard, like granite.

“No…I’m staying here…just for a while.”

The men shrugged and quickly exited up the stairs, leaving the two women. She fell to the floor, she didn’t know why she’d saved the girls life, didn’t know why it had seemed important but she just wasn’t going to allow Lucius Malfoy to kill such a spirit. The girl - Ginevra, was it? - had been magnificent. She’d never witnessed such an act of strength and pure will. Never once had she seen self pity in her eyes. She was envious of her and at the same time utterly in awe of her bravery and as her father often said “fortune favour the brave”…but Draco’s motto was that “fortune favoured the free” and that was something Ginevra would never be again. In fact, Daphne mused, it was something that not many, even herself, could claim to be.

First chapter and we have our three protagonists introduced. I quite liked writing this chapter it had little foreshadowings for various future plotlines within the fic.

Love to hear your opinions, as always. I shall begin work on the next chapter of Painting Her Portrait too, this weekend!

Tasha.

3. Another Pyramid

Ginevra

While you've been away cavorting
Matters here have moved apace
Now I need you home supporting
All the plans I've put in place

First of all this means your wedding
You'll recall your future bride
For the way that Pharaoh's heading
Time's no longer on our side

There are many who'll be tearful
As our leader fades away
But our architects are cheerful
And each dog must have its day

If our country is to flourish
Then my son must take the lead
Be our inspiration, nourish
All our hopes our dreams our creed

Soon our monarch will have filled a
Tomb just like his fathers did

It was the wee hours of the morning by the time everything had quietened down in Malfoy House, the House Elves were finally resting, guests had returned home and it had been decided that the Minister and his daughters were to stay at the house that night. The night, of which, had been through it’s darkest hours and was now relenting to the persistent dawn that was lightening the sky more and more every minute. The morning had an eerie silence, as though it knew three condemned witches lay in the bowels of the Malfoy’s dungeons, birds did not yet chirp, no hustle and bustle of Londoners rushing to work; it was a few moments of perfect silence for Draco, who felt he never heard such a soundless time unless he was off with his men, his troops, exploring and scouring the lesser known parts of not only Britain but the world.

He was sat, back ram-rod straight, behind his father’s desk, awaiting Lucius’ return. He could feel his spine tense and begging to sag under the intense pressure the formality of his home put him under. He missed his travels already…he wasn’t ready to be sat behind an office desk all day, like his father seemed to be. He wasn’t ready to feel suffocated by four walls for the majority of his day, dealing with trivial matters and allowing others - as he did now for the Ministry - to carry out his orders and have adventure while the most mystery he had was what the House Elves were cooking for dinner that night. He did not envy his father’s way of life, or in fact, envy Sebastian’s either. For a long time he’d been content, comfortable. Nothing particularly ailed him anymore, then she had arrived. Ginevra Weasley. A strong and fierce witch, a witch so unlike the pureblood wives, a witch so different to Daphne: She was an incessant reminder of Potter and the Order and self-righteous goodness practically oozed from her very soul. Why had he not just killed her? Why had he not sent her execution slip to be signed by the Minister, along with her comrade‘s?

Truthfully, he didn’t know.

“Draco.”

Without turning to face the direction of the voice, Draco knew it was his father. His father standing tall and opposing; long, sleek, blonde hair tied back with a sapphire ribbon, decked in the finest robes even though no one was here to appreciate them and looking impassive and unimpressed, as usual.

“Father,” greeted the younger Malfoy, feeling slightly nervous as he always did with his back exposed to another, let alone a ruthless wizard who did not prevaricate over shooting the odd Cruciatus

curse at his son, just to show him who to respect, of course.

All black silk, long limbs and white blonde hair, Lucius swiftly returned to his favoured position - sitting behind his mahogany desk in his tall, dark green chair - and silently observed his son for a few moments. Everyone said Draco was the spitting image of him; they were wrong. While his son had adopted his colouring from his father - pale skin, blue-grey eyes and platinum blonde locks - his features, the curvature of his face, the shape of his eyes had come from Narcissa’s Black family genes. Draco was more effortlessly handsome than his father, stronger of stature and taller than most Malfoy men reached. His hair was shaggy and would become wavy were it not tended to, whereas Lucius’ was pin-straight regardless of what was done to it. But the aesthetic was irrelevant, Lucius was certain that on the inside, Draco was his father’s son.

“Sebastian’s ill --”

“Yes, Daphne mention --”

“Do not interrupt, Boy.” Hissed his father. An awkward silence followed his words, Draco refusing to look down but not willing to defiantly meet his father’s eye either. Lucius glanced out of the window and seeing there would not be much time before the insanity of daytime ensued, he continued. “As I said, Sebastian is ill. He’s dying, Draco. Within about ten days there will be no leader on our thrown. I know you were due to leave again in a couple of days but you are now required to stay here.”

“What?”

Lucius smiled, slowly and cruelly. “Draco, while you have been ff gallivanting for weeks I have been here putting plans into place that will benefit out family. You are going to be a leader, son. Malfoy’s will once again command respect and we shall have the supremacy we deserved after the Dark Lord’s death.”

“For months Voldemort had not planned on making you his second in command!” Draco whispered harshly, being unafraid to call The Dark Lord by his preferred name, he’s even once or twice called the man Tom, but the punishments had been so severe he’d not dared do that for years. It was amazing, he thought, how even at nineteen - two years a man - his father could still hold such a power over him. Yet, Abraxas Malfoy had held Lucius under an iron fist until the day he died of Dragon Pox.

“No.” Glared his father, flint eyes flashing with malice. “But I deserved it. For years I was his most loyal servant, I performed tasks he trusted no one else with. I deserved that title of Minister.” He felt himself begin to fume before his son’s very eyes. Lucius had always maintained, even out of the public view that he’d thought Greengrass a great leader, a strong Minister and someone he respected, now the man before him looked manic and bitter and resentful. “You do not understand, Draco. I had such power…such power; respect, and protection.”

Lucius had been seduced by Voldemort’s words and plans at the tender age of sixteen. He finished his last year at Hogwarts sporting the very first Dark Mark. It had burnt all the time, oh dear sweet Merlin how it scalded and blistered continuously; his master always wanting Lucius, Voldemort’s most trusted confidant, at his side. Seven years later the Dark Lord had gained enough followers, enough notoriety, to begin purifying the world against those of less than pure bloodlines. During this time Lucius and the Malfoys had enjoyed a privileged existence, never fearing returning home to see the Dark mark hovering above their houses. Knowing their families would always be provided for.

At the age of twenty-three Lucius Malfoy learned he would become a father; his young, beautiful wife, Narcissa, had, had her pregnancy confirmed by Healers that afternoon and Lucius couldn’t have felt more proud. He was practically bursting with his jubilance even as he felt the dark mark upon his arm burn - a telltale sign trouble was stirring. The Dark Lord meant to begin his first attack of the month, the wedding of Lily Evans and James Potter, the Ministry’s Golden Couple. Two of the most promising Aurors of their class, Head Boy and Girl jus that previous year at Hogwarts, rich, beautiful and noble through and through. Pure Gryffindor to the core, scoffed Lucius. He’d always hated the Potter’s…nearly as much as he hated the Weasleys. Arrogant and always so sanctimonious; it made him sick.

Everyone who was everyone was invited to the Potter’s wedding reception. They hadn’t wanted a grand affair but it was insisted upon by friends - people needed cheering. Something, anything, to lift the spirits. The Dark Lord had been unrealities in his attack recently. Becoming more vicious, obvious and sadistic. Even Muggles began to notice. Good, thought Lucius, why should they be forced to hide? They, the wizards, were not the inferior race, after all.

“Lucius, the loyal.” Voldemort hissed. The man he’d once been - Tom Riddle - had been handsome, pale skin and thick dark hair, but the man whom Lucius now knelt before looked waxy and corpse-like, his hair lank. However, although he lacked his ocular attractiveness his charisma was still very much so intact. His skills of persuasion and his ability to chill a crowd to the very core with his words. Lucius could not help but be enamoured by him. “Look at me, Malfoy. A child? Interesting. Pass on my congratulations to …Narcissa.” He smiled, but not a smile of pleasantries and good will. He didn’t think his Master had the ability to smile an altruistic smile any longer.

“Touching.” Sniped Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius’ sister-in-law. “Tell me, Lucius, when did ‘Cissy think about revealing to me the news of our newest addition to the Black family tree?”

“Malfoy. He will be a Malfoy, Bella.” She cackled slightly and Voldemort silently sent a hex flying towards her. The pink light hit her directly in the abdomen, winding her it seemed. She began to cough and choke.

“Silly, Bella, do you think we have time to trifle with your pathetic jealousy that you are no longer the pinnacle in your youngest sister’s life?” She shut up. Lucius smirked and cheered inwardly; regardless of the Dark Lord’s words, he’d silenced her to protect Lucius. He may have not been humane but he knew loyalty did Voldemort, he rewarded those which had always been there. Lucius meant more than even he knew to the Dark Lord, more than even Bellatrix, a woman consumed with her adoration of Tom Riddle. And oh, how he loved to be adored.

Lucius pulled down his mask as the rest of the Inner Circle began to Apparate in. They too were decked in black robes and long masks, each of their arms burning as though set aflame. They stood in a circle, in the same places every time, the Dark Lord in the centre watched with reverence by all. A place in the circle, however, was broken; Severus Snape, he was not going to be there at this attack, he could not bear to watch. And it was not that Lily Evans could be killed this day, though that certainly factored into it, it was that by the time they arrived she would no longer be Evans…but Potter and how, how could he stand to see the woman he loved in a dress of ivory having taken his enemies name.

“Calm yourselves.” The high voice cracked the air, “I want your focus, I want your dedication to this cause. Many Mudbloods and Muggle Loving fools will be present this evening and I want the world irradiated of their sort. I want to be pure, I want our world to be pure. We take away their leaders, their heroes, and the rest will lose their faith. Lily and James Potter…the shortest marriage ever known!” He cackled loudly. “Go!”

The resounding crack of twenty apparating witches and wizards echoed throughout the hall, proclaiming the arrival of a score of Death Eaters, along with their leader. However, the screams of hundreds of panicked guests never came, nor the gasps of horror or screams of terror, in fact the only sound was that of more apparating, fifty Aurors standing around the edge of the vast hall, barricading the exits, their wands pointed, their stances poised - ready for the attack.

“We had bought the date of our wedding forward, Tom, did you not receive the memo?” Jeered a cocky James Potter. The rest of the Aurors, although a majority thinking it unwise to provoke such a large group reckless and vindictive wizards, shared the laugh at their expense.

“You dare, Potter, you dare to make fools of us?” Spat Lucius, standing before his master, soon joined by Bellatrix, Barty Crouch Jnr. And Rudolphus. But, of course, all identities hidden by the insidious masks about their faces.

“Idiots.” Hissed the Dark Lord so only they could hear him, “Bombarda!” He pointed his wand directly at the ceiling and suddenly everyone watched for a moment as though frozen in time, staring as the roof began to crack and cave in. “Fools!” Voldemort clung to Lucius and Bella while they clutched to Barty and Rudolphus. Everyone else had began running, apparating to different points of the enclosure and hexing one another in the pandemonium, desperate to cause casualties to the other side regardless of their impending doom. Suddenly the Dark Lord had apparated away with his most loyal.

That night Lucius lay beside his wife, secure that he would always have his idol. His leader. A man he could guarantee needed him as much as he needed him. He would forever be strong at the right hand side of the Dark Lord, he would always hold so much power in his world.

“I was prized above all others, Draco, and because of children I was sent to Azkaban and the Dark Lord never trusted me again…and you, my Son, you had the opportunity to rekindle that when he gave you your first mission but you failed and now you owe us this! Yes, me and your Mother, Draco. You owe it to us to stay behind, to stay in London and fulfil any duties asked of you. Do you not want to live the life we once loved and held so dear?”

Draco swallowed hard, not knowing what to say. Lucius stood and poured himself a fire whiskey from the decanter by the window, he swallowed it in one gulp and then breathed in loudly, frustrated. He turned to his son and threw the glass with great malice on the ground at his heir’s feet. “All to be replaced, Draco, replaced!”

“Father…”

“Out. Get out!”

Daphne brushed her long, lustrous hair as she sat at the vanity, gazing at her reflection without really seeing. On her mind was the redhead in the dungeons, floors below her. The woman had not left her mind all night. She’d never met someone that made her question her world, that made her wonder if everything was, in fact, okay. She didn’t think she could ever recall watching such a horrific act - draining the magic of a witch, a Pureblood, no less. Weasley. She knew them, of course, who had missed the trouble making, quick tempered redheads at Hogwarts. Those who praised goodness and loyalty and strength of heart and character over appearances and society.

She had, however, never paid any heed to the young girl. She was not in the same year and not older and certainly nothing special. The only time the girl had registered on her radar was when she’d begun dating Harry Potter. Oh, and Zabini had mentioned her looks once or twice, in passing. But now it baffles her how she’d never witnessed the pure fire the girl seemed to possess. Draco, too, had been impressed by her, she could tell. He admired strength. That was why she tried so hard to remain strong in front of him, in front of everyone. Daphne had not cried in the view of someone else since she was nine.

Draco…he’d seemed so attentive last night. So there with her. She could count on one hand how many times she’d felt she held Draco’s attention and she could also probably count the minutes each incidence had lasted on the other hand. They were short, brief moments in time that flitted infrequently in her life and she cherished each one lovingly. Caressing the memories in the night when he had been absent for weeks or days at a time and although she’d yet to kiss him or even touch him in a way that was less than chaste, she longed for him. Yearned for him. She heard the bedroom door open and found herself blushing at being caught thinking such things about a man she wasn’t even properly engaged to yet. It was her sister. She was as tall as Daphne but thoroughly resembled their Mother’s side of the family with her dark brown hair and olive skin, starkly contrasting her pale and blonde sister.

“Astoria?”

“Morning, Daphh.” She yawned and curled up, looking extremely reminiscent of a cat on her sisters bed. She was two years younger than Daphne and had always looked up to the girl, looking to her to act as a mother-figure.

She was wearing a set of casual, but impeccably well-made robes. “You’ll crease your clothes - sit up.” The younger girl complied with her sisters words and continued to watch as she beautified herself, applying a glamour to hide the bags she’d acquired beneath her eyes after a sleepless night.

“Now,” she stood. “Do I wear these?” She held up a set of burnt orange robes which, you could tell, would be fairly busty, “or these?” This time she switched the robes for a midnight blue robe that had a little scoop neck and were fashioned of Chinese silk.

“The blue.” Replied her sister, looking unconcerned. “Why is it so important? You normally wear what you like whether it causes astir or not.” This was very true. Daphne had long ago given up on adolescent insecurities about her appearance and wore daring, dramatic robes and dress to shock and impress and enthral the people around her.

“I’m out with Draco today, I would rather not gain too much attention…I want time alone with him.”

“Draco.” Sneered her sister, “he barely talks to you, Daphh. Why do you waste your heart on him?”

“How dare you!” Gasped Daphne as she was halfway through pulling off her dressing gown, “I will be married to this man eventually. And - and I love him, Astoria. It’s better I love and not loathe him, isn’t it? If I am going to be told who to marry I should at least make the best of it…and anyway, I have always loved him. For years I watched him.”

“Merlin. You shouldn’t have to change who you are for him either. Wear what you’d normally wear - you’re so afraid of upstaging him aren’t you? Afraid you’ll dent that impermeable ego of his.” She sighed loudly as she watched her sister pull the robe over her underwear-clad body and readjust her hair once more, back to it’s former perfection. “You look beautiful, Daphne.” The blonde straightened her back and looked at her sister’s reflection in the mirror, stared directly in her eyes.

“Thank you, Astoria,” her voice was cold, unfeeling. “Now, go and eat your breakfast.”

Straightening the imaginary wrinkles out of her robes, she sniffed, held her head high and walked out of the Malfoy’s guest room.

“Draco.” She greeted her betrothed, looking elegant and composed, as usual.

“Morning, Daphne.” He chastely brushed his lips against her cheek and she smiled, warmly. He felt her smiling and took her hand in his. It wasn’t her fault they were to be engaged and, after all, he still had a year did he not, before they tied the knot. The least he could do was, like her, make the best of a less than satisfying arrangement. She was attractive, pleasant and well-behaved; nice. Yes, nice was the best way to describe the eldest Greengrass daughter, and cute. Nice and cute. She would be an excellent wife.

“I thought we could walk through London, perhaps stop at a patisserie?” He suggested.

She nodded, smiling. That sounded wonderful.

Photographers were out in force, snapping pictures of the young coupe everywhere they went. Snapping images of them shopping together, Daphne giggling as Draco modelled a large hat that was about as tall as it was wide. Draco snickering when Daphne fell out of a changing room decked in the most atrocious outfit he’d been able to find. It was nice, he decided, spending time with someone of his ilk. His standing. They snobbishly laughed at the same things. People that looked as though they’d be hit with a confounds charm before pulling on their clothing for the day. She looks as though she battled with a Boggart before falling out of her wardrobe! Daphne had cattily remarked, Draco had to agree.

They were both sitting in the window of a little chocolatier, tasting the different confectionaries at the end of their date, Daphne sipping a mocha and Draco a black coffee as they suggested various chocolates for one another, trying to find their favourites. Daphne discovered Vanilla Caramels were her favourite and although Draco tried to hide it, Spiced Maya Hearts had been his preference (although, he’s said laughing, it was hardly the most masculine choice!).

Silence had enveloped the couple or a moment. Then suddenly Daphne voiced what had been in her mind all last night and what had been niggling her throughout the day, “what will happen to Weasley?”

“Hm?” Draco had been broken out of his reverie, wondering if he’d been muttering his thoughts aloud for he too had been focusing on the redhead who was currently residing in his family home’s dungeon. “Honestly? I don’t know. I can’t see father letting her work in our house. And it wouldn’t be proper for me to take her into my service, and, well, she wouldn’t exactly be loyal in my troops.”

They sighed in unison.

“So she is simply to rot in jail, is this what you’re saying?” She snapped, hating him suddenly.

“No, no.” At least, he added silently, though not really knowing why he‘d thought this at all, I hope not.

“Sebastian?”

“Lucius; come in.”

The tall, long haired man strode into the Minister’s office and smirked as he handed him three death warrants. Hermione Granger, worthless-know-it-all-Mudblood. Luna Lovegood, laughable and naive. Hannah Abbott, half blooded bitch who’s stupid mother should have had better taste in men. The Minister read the papers carefully and Lucius examined his impeccable fingernails as he did so, the only sounds coming from a likely crackling fire.

Half an hour after entering the eldest Malfoy left the office a smug, self-satisfied grin plastered across his features. Three down, one to go. Ginevra Weasley would not hold Daphne Greengrass’ attentions for long. She’d soon forget about the girl when the new season of robes was revealed and then, then he’d have the red haired bint executed too.

Hey.

Second chapter up. I’m actually so excited about this fic -- I haven’t felt like this about a plotline or characters in ages! So, I hope you’re enjoying reading it as much as I’m enjoying writing it.

Not too much Ginny in this chapter, but as you can see she certainly is already causing a stir.

Next chapter I introduce another new character - an original one - and I love him lots (:

Is currently being proof read by the wonderful Alexandria Malfoy - so, I shall post the lovely grammatically correct one later!

I’d love some reviews, if you’d be so kind.

Tash.

Ginevra

1. Prologue

2. Fortune Favours The Brave

3. Another Pyramid