Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.
A/N: This chapter is for you, Leigh. I hope you like it.
Black Halo
The manor was everything that Ginny had ever expected it to be.
Cold. Beautiful. Intimidating.
Just like him.
Her eyes flicked towards her captor as he led her towards the front steps of the mansion. In this light he appeared more like an angel from heaven than the Death Eater that he was; his hair glowing silver in the moonlight like a pale halo; his features transformed into something ethereal-something beautiful.
It would be so easy to believe this man with the deceptively angelic features was a figure of light, but Ginny knew it was all an illusion. His beauty, so painful, so alluring, could only disguise the ugliness that lived inside. Behind the façade this angel's halo was black. Black like his heart. Black like his desires.
Black like her own.
She was no better than him now. Her heart festered with ugly thoughts-thoughts of him. His corruption was a part of her. Try as she might, she could not stop thinking about what they had done. She could not stop thinking about the way he had touched her; the way it had felt when he kissed her; the way his body had moved as one with hers…
Warmth throbbed from somewhere deep inside her body. Quickly she tore her eyes away from his face, her cheeks heating with the embarrassment of her own twisted thoughts and feelings.
She was losing her mind. That was the only explanation for her sudden attraction to him. There was no sane reason for why she would want to be close to such a monster. He was a killer, a Death Eater. She hated him. She wanted to hurt him, and yet-
Her eyes stole another glance at his profile. She was surprised to find that he was staring right back at her. She flushed again, embarrassed that he had caught her staring, and lowered her eyes to hide from his penetrating gaze.
"What is it?" he demanded, glaring now.
"W-what?"
"I'm not stupid. You've been staring at me this whole time."
Ginny's blush ripened to a rich red. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."
He let out a soft laugh. "Oh, I see." He walked towards her in a lazy prowl, his steel eyes glinting mockingly. "You think because I slept with you that things are different now? That we have a connection of sorts?"
Ginny suddenly found herself trapped against the white marble wall, his arms locking her in like a cage. Her eyes darted up to his, the breath catching in her throat. This was not the first time he had caught her in this position, but this time she found that she was not afraid. Not really.
She should have been afraid. It would have been wiser to be afraid. He was capable of hurting her-that she already knew from experience-but where fear should have lived, a new emotion had taken its place.
Fascination.
Draco's cold eyes locked on hers. She met his stare boldly, though in truth she couldn't have looked away even if she had wanted to. He had her mesmerised-mesmerised and disgusted all in one.
An inexplicable power began radiating between them that grew more forceful with each silent second that passed. Her heart began beating faster of its own accord, her breath quickening with an expectant rush. She didn't know what she wanted him to do in that moment. She didn't even know what she wanted to do. All she could do was stare into those eyes-eyes that were so beautiful in their stormy mixture of grey, and yet still so cruel.
A slight frown gathered on his brow. His eyes narrowed, and then he was abruptly pulling away, leaving her standing breathless against the wall.
"Don't expect anything from me, Ginevra," he said harshly. "I don't give a damn about you. To me you're just another tool that will help the Dark Lord achieve his goal."
"I don't believe you."
"Oh?" He took a step towards her again, his eyes growing colder until they were like two slabs of unfeeling ice. "And why would you think that?"
"You don't care about the Dark Lord's wishes. If you did you wouldn't have refused him when he first asked you to take me. You wouldn't have told me to go away when I first came into your room." She met his grey eyes steadily, her voice quiet but determined in her conviction. "You don't care about him at all."
"I don't care about you either."
The words, so callously spoken, slashed through her like the brutal sting of a whip. There was no mistaking the venom in his voice. He was either a very good actor, or it was true that he was just as heartless as she had thought him before he had corrupted her mind with his seductive presence.
Her confidence wavered, the dormant fear prickling to life again. She swallowed, dulled senses finally sensing the danger of the beautiful monstrosity before her, and felt her heart pound in a new kind of thrill-the kind that sent unpleasant shivers to tremor down her spine.
Draco let out a derisive laugh. "That's what I thought."
Ginny looked away, humiliated and slightly hurt. Maybe it was foolish of her to have thought that things might have changed between them, but she couldn't deny that things had changed for her.
She had never been with a man so intimately before in her life. He had been her first. Her only. What they had shared together had surpassed all boundaries of what enemies were supposed to do together. This had been no rape, no passive offering to the sacrificial altar-though it may have started of that way.
In that moment when his lips had touched hers nothing had mattered at all. The world had simply ceased to exist. Prophecy and destiny had faded into darkness, and in their place was one illuminating constant.
Desire.
Everything had become twisted after that. Lust, hate-it was all the same. Enemy had become akin to lover; pleasure synonymous with pain.
Naïve as she was, her brain had foolishly clung to that distortion; her inexperience in the matters of physical intimacy leading her to endow the man before her with qualities that she realised now he did not possess.
Desire may have been enough to let him enjoy in the physical pleasure of her body, but it was not enough to save her from the callous nature of his own corrupted soul.
His repugnance to Voldemort's dark intentions did not coincide with a redeeming goodness of his own. This fallen angel was just that: fallen. He served Voldemort for his own purposes. Somehow that was more frightening than the thought that he might have served his master out of any real sense of duty.
Draco watched the emotions play on her face and indulged himself in a small smirk. "But how touching. You actually seem upset."
Her eyes flashed at that. "You make me sick."
"It didn't seem that way earlier. In fact, if my memory serves me correct, I seem to recall you moaning my name in anything but disgusted tones."
Ginny flushed, her hands clenching into two admirable fists. "You weren't so indifferent then yourself."
He laughed, really laughed, and Ginny was annoyed to find the sound incredibly attractive.
"Anyone can enjoy a whore when she's willing," he replied, smirking, "Especially one as exuberant as yourself."
Unbidden, humiliating tears stung at her eyes, but her glare remained fierce in its intensity.
An indefinable expression graced his handsome face, and then he reached up and caught one of her tears with his finger.
"It seems I've made you cry," he observed, examining the teardrop glistening on his pale skin with interest.
Ginny gritted her teeth. "I suppose you get satisfaction out of that too, you twisted bas-"
"Tut, tut. Language. Ladies should not speak that way."
Her eyes narrowed. "I hate you."
"The feeling is mutual, believe me."
Ginny's bosom swelled. "Take me inside."
"Excuse me?"
"I don't want to stand here with you any longer. If I'm going to be forced to stay at your horrible house, then I assume that I'm going to be given another prison to live in. I want to go there now."
"I don't take orders from you."
"So you're going to stand out here with me all night because you don't want it to look like you went in on my orders? That seems kind of ridiculous."
Draco glared at her. "Shut up!"
Ginny smiled a little smugly. He may like to think of himself as the big wizard on campus-and in some ways he had every right to-but he was still only a year older than her. Twenty-one years hardly placed him above being reduced to a petulant boy.
"Don't think that just because I've taken you here that I'm now going to be lenient on you," said Draco coldly. "You're only here because Voldemort wants you here; you're only safe because he wants you to be safe. When that child is out of you, I will be the first to wish for your death, but give me a reason to hurt you now and I will not hesitate. Remember that, Ginevra. Always remember that." His voice dropped an octave. "Or do I have to remind you what fear feels like?"
"I already know you're a monster. You don't need to remind me."
His eyes gleamed, his lips curving up into a cruel smile. "Ah, but I think you do. You seem to be under the delusion that you can treat me however you will. I am your superior, Ginevra; I am your captor, and I will have the proper respect that is due to me."
He advanced towards her, eyes glinting wickedly. Her breath caught, this time out of real fear, and then he had his fingers wrapped tight around her throat. She stared up at him through wide-eyes, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest, so that the blood seemed to throb in her ears. Already she could feel the strength in his fingers, the raw power hidden beneath that slender frame.
"Don't push me, Ginevra." He tightened his hold, the uncomfortable pressure taking on a more suffocating grip. "One wrong move and I can have you strangled in a heartbeat. It would be very quick, and very easy for me."
Feeling his hands pressing painfully down on her agonised pulse, she was quite ready to believe him, but she also knew this was an empty threat. He would not kill her. Not yet, anyway.
"You wouldn't."
"Oh?" He tightened his hold even more. "Why not?"
Ginny was beginning to feel sick. A roaring noise had started in her brain, and it was with a sort of nauseas disorientation that she met his sadistic gaze. "The Dark Lord wants me to be safe. You can't kill me even if you wanted to."
"The Dark Lord doesn't rule me. Nobody rules me."
"Then why do any of this?" she choked out. "Why follow him at all?"
Something flickered in his cold grey eyes. He abruptly released her neck and stepped back from her. Ginny slid to the ground, drinking in the air that had been denied her by his merciless fingers, her hands massaging her bruised throat.
"Tinky will take you to your room."
A house elf appeared as soon as he said the name, bowing so low to his feet that its nose scraped along the smooth stone. "Master called Tinky?"
"Take this girl to one of the guest rooms. I don't care which."
"Yes Master." Tinky bowed again and then tugged at Ginny's robe. "Miss is to come with Tinky. Tinky will show Miss to her room."
Ginny struggled to her feet. Her eyes flicked back to Draco's, but his were closed of all expression. She couldn't decipher his thoughts at all.
A surge of hate spread through her veins, still conflicted with the fascination that so dangerously pulled her towards him, but this time hate won out.
"One of these days, Malfoy, you're going to wake up and realise that your life is bound in servitude. Whether it's to your precious Dark Lord or to your own sadism, your life is not your own, and it never will be. You will always be ruled."
Tinky tugged nervously at her robe again. "Miss must come. Miss must come now."
Ginny tore her eyes away from Draco's seething ones, and allowed herself to be dragged off into the house. She didn't care if he hurt her for saying that. It was the truth.
"Miss should not talk to Master Draco like that," said Tinky. "Miss will be punished."
"I've already been punished," responded Ginny, touching her stomach where she knew a child would soon grow. "No fate can be worse than that."
She would give birth to the child of a monster; a monster she feared, loathed and was dangerously attracted to. There was no fate worse than that. No fate worse than living in her own insanity.
He was bound to power, but she was bound to him.
OOOO
Draco stared up at the pale moon, his hands balled into fists. He had a right mind to go in there and punish her for saying that to him, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction that she had hit home with those words.
He didn't even want to look at her right now.
Those eyes were dangerous. Nobody should be allowed to have such speaking eyes. He could see right into her soul through those eyes, and yet in reverse they made him see right into his own. She was always questioning, always forcing him to look at himself, but even more dangerous was the captivating power behind those brown depths.
He had lied when he said he didn't give a damn about her, but he had not been lying when he said that he would kill her if he had the choice. If he was handed a wand and told to kill the redheaded girl, there was no doubt that he would have done it with no hesitation. He was scared of her. Scared of her power, and scared of what she was doing to him. The only way he knew to counter fear was to kill.
She had made him feel pity, and now she made him feel doubt. Everything he knew; everything he lived for-she had thrown it all in his face and demanded why. Why did he do it? Why was it worth it? What was the point?
In that moment he was not sure of the answer.
"Draco?"
The voice was soft, calm, a welcome relief to the bitter and confused thoughts still echoing in his brain from Ginny's parting words.
"Draco, is that you?"
He turned his head and came face to face with his mother's concerned blue eyes.
Narcissa Malfoy, widow to one of the most notorious Death Eaters, and one of the only traitors to ever be given the grace of a pardon from the Dark Lord, was not a woman that often showed her feelings. Her flawless, pale skin was as smooth as the marble stone under their feet, perfectly cool and perfectly composed, and very rarely did it change from that. Only twice had Draco ever seen her cry in his life, and the smiles and laughter she had used to share with him had long since died.
Draco couldn't help but feel the disappointment she felt for him hanging around them like a dark storm cloud whenever they would see each other. She hated what he had become. She hated that he killed, tortured and fought for a man who had taken everything from her.
She never said it, but Draco could always see the anger, sadness and disappointment in her eyes; they were the only things that could not be hidden by her mask of impassiveness; the only emotion to be glimpsed in this coldly perfect woman.
Right now those blue eyes were filled with concern for her only son, something he had not seen her show in such a long time. Such a very long time...
It made his heart ache to see that soft emotion, and only made the confusion he was feeling stab more ruthlessly inside him. What would she think when she found out he had impregnated a girl so that Voldemort could sacrifice the child for its power? Would she hate him even more? Would she close off completely from him, hiding in her garden and refusing to see him as she had so often used to do when he'd first started his service to Voldemort?
He loved his mother, if there was even room for such an emotion in his contaminated heart, but he had not loved her enough to give up his ambition for power. Now he was not sure whether it had been worth it at all. He was so confused, and it was all her fault.
Ginevra Weasley. She was the epitome of everything he despised, but he couldn't deny the haunting power locked in her deep brown eyes. She made him see himself for what he really was. A monster. A disease polluting everything that was good in the world, and he hated it.
This was showing weakness though, and Draco was not weak. He hated the word just as much as he hated the feeling. He hated that he could not pull himself together right now; that a mere girl had caused such instability in his perfect little world. He had been fine until she had come into his life; he had been perfectly ready to do whatever it took to get the power he so desired, but now…
"Why don't you come inside and sit down?" Narcissa said, placing a hand gently on his arm, her touch so foreign to him now that he flinched. That seemed to sadden her, her eyes flickering with pain, but her face remained free of any crease to mar her impassive expression. "Come, Draco," she insisted, placing more pressure on his arm-the only sign that she was distressed by his strange behaviour.
Draco allowed himself to be steered into the house where he had grown up-a house full of memories both good and bad.
His mother's grip remained firm but gentle as she led him through the dusky lit corridors. She was silent and keeping to her own thoughts. It didn't surprise him. She was always silent to him now, always distant.
There had been concern though. There had been more than just disappointment in her eyes. He could cling to that as a memory now, for he knew that once she found out about what he had done that he would never see it again. He knew that once she discovered his part in the ritual that he would lose the last shred of respect and love he still had from his mother.
They entered another darkened room. Narcissa brought the candles to life with one graceful wave of her wand, releasing his arm so that he could only vaguely recall what her touch felt like.
A dim glow settled about them, lighting up the parlour where guests had once been brought to be entertained. Now the room was untouched and had a hollow feeling to it, with not a single extravagant object out of place. Somehow that saddened Draco.
Had everything really changed so much?
He sucked in a breath and once more met his mother's gaze. She was watching him cautiously, as if afraid to press him for anything in case he would lash out at her. It would not be the first time he had done it.
Violence was a bad habit of his, one he had inherited from his father. He did not want his mother to be afraid of him though. He hated that she was always afraid, always silent, always so disappointed.
This was why he had not wanted to come to the manor. It was bad enough with Ginny conflicting his resolve, but here he had to face his mother as well. She was a prisoner in her own home because she had tried to save him from going down a path of death, and how had he repaid that sacrifice? He had followed in his father's footsteps anyway.
Narcissa gestured for him to take a seat on the couch, taking a seat opposite him herself. He obliged.
She was still staring at him in that same questioning and yet cautious way. He found he couldn't face her gaze anymore.
Hanging his head, he ran tired fingers through his silvery locks, his brow furrowed in confusion. Normally he was so cool and collected, just like his mother in a way, but tonight he had been shaken.
Was glory really worth all this? Was power worth all this?
Those were the questions he had seen in his mother's blue eyes, and though she did not speak, her silent gaze was enough to let him hear her voice in his mind.
Truthfully, he was not sure if it was really worth it. Ever since Ginny had awakened his slumbering memory of him as a baby he had been plagued with doubt. Tonight had been the icing on the cake, as it were, and he just wasn't sure of anything anymore.
He didn't want to give up the benefits in being Voldemort's right-hand-man. He didn't want to lose that power. He could not break now. He couldn't. Not when he was so close to getting all he had ever wanted. Absolute, heady power was his to grasp; it was so close to his outstretched fingers that he could feel the gloriousness of it radiating tantalisingly close to his skin.
But he could not stop the painful confusion that twisted inside him. He could not forget those haunting chestnut eyes. He could not forget her, and he hated it.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
She had broken the silence, her voice smooth and calm.
"You wouldn't want to know," he replied quite truthfully.
Narcissa folded her hands in her lap, looking just like a perfectly still statue. Her eyes remained alive though, and they watched him with all the sadness a mother could carry in seeing her only son having strayed down a path so far away from what she had wished.
"Don't look at me like that!" snapped Draco defensively, feeling annoyed and like he had to justify his actions as he always did when faced with that expression. "I had no choice."
She seemed to hesitate, her mask crumbling just for a moment as her mouth descended ever so slightly into a frown; a line of worry creeping onto her normally smooth brow.
"I have not seen you like this since you set fire to that muggle orphanage." Her voice was soft, not calm as it normally was, but filled with genuine, heartbroken emotion. Her eyes locked on his, so alive, so filled with love and concern. "I'm worried about you, Draco. I'm worried about what is going to become of you."
Draco unconsciously shuddered at the memory. He had been eighteen years old, filled with bloodthirsty hopes to extinguish the mudbloods that plagued their society, and so had eagerly followed the band of Death Eaters to the orphanage; feeling no qualms in using his magic to set fire to the building.
They had all laughed as they had watched the smoke rise and the flames grow.
Then the screaming started.
At first Draco had been just as filled with sick delight as the rest of the people, but then the screams became more desperate; the children's shrieks becoming more clearer as the flames crept closer to their soft, little bodies trapped in the blazing building. That was when they started calling for the mothers they never knew or only vaguely remembered, and Draco had started to feel sick.
He had not stayed to watch the rest of the massacre; he had fled to his home, haunted by all he had seen and done.
After that he battled with his own doubts and feelings, but things happened and he soon forgot what it felt like to have pity and feel guilt. He soon forgot what it was like to meet frightened eyes and feel something more than sick pleasure.
Before tonight he had enjoyed what he did as a living. He had enjoyed hurting people and watching them cower before him. It made him feel so strong, and that was beautiful in a way that mercy could never give. He still wanted it, he had always wanted it, but she was taking it away from him. She was making him doubt.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" Narcissa suddenly asked, snapping him out of his reverie. "For years I have silently watched you changing from the son I knew to a cold and heartless man that would kill without remorse. I've watched you climb higher and higher in the ranks of the Death Eaters, and seen the decay of your soul with each new position."
Her eyes glistened with tears, the pent up feelings she had always kept from him finally spilling out in each fragile teardrop.
It shattered him more to see his normally composed mother breaking than to hear her heart-felt words. He hated to see her cry; he'd almost forgotten how painful it was to see.
"I'm tired, Draco. I'm tired of standing back and watching my son walk closer and closer to the edge. You don't even see how high the cliff you're standing on is, and you just keep walking blindly towards it. Please will you not stop? Please will you not just come back to me?"
Draco let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and clenched his eyes shut so that he would no longer have to look into those pleading eyes.
He was worried too. He was worried what was becoming of him. He was worried that he would turn out just like the man he so stiffly bowed too, filled with paranoia and unable to feel anything good anymore.
Already Draco had become so numb, but tonight had melted his cold heart and pierced the mercilessness that had so easily come to him. Tonight had brought back the human side of him-the side that he had so forcefully suppressed in his desire to be strong so that he could have the power and respect he wanted so desperately.
He just didn't know if it was enough.
There was no escaping the choices he had made, and he could not deny that even after all this he still wanted to have the power Voldemort promised him. It was his weakness, the only one he allowed himself to have.
"I can't," he said softly, so softly it seemed the barest whisper.
"Draco, you always have a choice. Do not follow your father and think that you must obey that man."
"Father was loyal to the Dark Lord."
Narcissa did not deny it, but Draco knew there was more to that story than his parents had ever let on. There was always more to every story, just as there was more to his.
He would never have become the man he was if he had not been bullied into it. Fear had driven him to accept the Dark Lord's orders so as not to be killed, and a sudden liking for power had done the rest, so that in the end he actually enjoyed what he was doing.
That was how Voldemort worked. He knew who would be tempted by his offers, even if they did not seem very delighted by the idea at first.
"I cannot force you to do anything," Narcissa said finally, her voice once more going back to the calm tones of the unruffled society woman; her face smoothing to the flawlessly impassive mask. "I only ask that you remember this night. Remember the feelings you felt and remember why you felt them. You are not a bad person, Draco. Do not feel that you are weak because there is still goodness in you."
"There is still goodness in you!"
Draco took a shuddering breath as he aimed his wand at the boy kneeling on the snowy ground in front of him, the thin piece of wood hovering just inches from those emerald-green eyes.
The snow was falling hard around them, drifting down like frozen tears from a shadowed face to slice ruthlessly at their skin. Even though the blood trickled down his pale cheeks in crimson trails, he continued to stare shakily at the teenage boy in front of him.
"You don't have to do this," the boy insisted, cradling his bloody arm to his chest where Draco had wounded him.
Draco said nothing, his hand wavering in the wind in his indecision. He was not ordered to kill this boy; he had been ordered to bring him in so Voldemort could do the rest. It would be so easy-a simple stupefy spell would do the trick-so why was he hesitating?
"You don't have to follow him anymore. We can help you escape. Please just let me go."
"You think you can, Potter?" yelled Draco angrily, his wand still hesitantly drifting. "You think you can protect me when Dumbledore could not?"
"Yes!" Harry gasped out, taking deep rattling breaths.
Draco stared at him; stared at him for what seemed almost an eternity, his eyes never leaving those green ones that pleaded with him so silently to just let it go. Let go of all the animosity and just help him.
He knew that if he did not let Harry go the boy would be killed by the end of the night. He knew that he held his old rival's life in his hands. It would be his first murder, though he himself would not have killed anyone personally.
The wand lowered slowly, and Draco reached out a hand to help Harry up.
"NOW!"
Frightened and confused, Draco glanced about to see wizards racing towards him with their wands outstretched.
It had been a trap.
His eyes met Harry's, who looked somewhat abashed and guilty. Arms grabbed Draco's body, holding him firmly in place, and someone punched him hard in the gut, the breath rushing out of his lungs from the blow.
Someone gripped his hair hard, twisting it painfully until Draco thought his whole scalp might be ripped off.
"Alright, Malfoy. Where's your master hiding? Tell us!"
Draco glared at Harry, watching as the boy slinked off to greet Ron and Hermione.
He had been betrayed. He had been exploited because of his pity. He had been caught because he was weak, and as he listened to the mocking laughter ringing in his ears, he knew he would never allow the same mistake to happen again. He would not be weak…
"No!" shouted Draco, standing up in his rage. "I will not be weak! I won't, Mother!"
Her expression remained calm, but he could see the fear staring at him from her eyes. She was trying not to show that she was afraid of him, and that only made him angrier.
She wanted to make him weak so that she could get rid of him; he could see it. She was afraid of him. She wanted him to die! She was just like everyone else!
His own mother was turning on him. He couldn't trust her now; he couldn't trust anyone. They were all jealous of him; jealous of what he was becoming; jealous of the power he held. He was so great, so admired, so respected, and soon he would be more powerful than Voldemort himself. He would not give that up for anyone. Not for his mother, and not for that stupid Weasley girl! He wouldn't! He would not be weak…
"Draco, don't do this," begged Narcissa. "You're better than this. Please!"
His eyes narrowed, and in two quick strides he had her pinned up against the wall, with his hand locked tight around her throat. Her eyes widened, her mask crumbling before his eyes as panic seized her.
"Shut up!" He tightened his hold, hearing her gasping for breath in a satisfying way. "I won't be made weak, not by you, and not by anyone else. I'm not that helpless boy anymore. I'm so much more now, and I won't let you take that from me! I won't let you make me doubt!"
"You doubt because you know what you're doing is wrong!" Narcissa cried out desperately, her hands scrabbling at his to release the sensitive flesh of her throat.
Frustration and confusion flashed in his eyes. He just didn't know. He didn't know anything anymore, but he did know that he did not want to be that weak, helpless boy. He didn't want to rely on other's mercy. He wanted to be the one in control. He wanted to be the one feared.
He would not be weak.
"Look what you've become," whispered Narcissa bitterly, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks.
His lips curled into a snarl, a defiant expression twisting his face. "I've become great!"
Releasing her neck, he turned on his heel and swept angrily out of the room.
Narcissa soothed her bruised neck and crumpled to the ground, tears slipping down her pale cheeks and bathing the cold stone beneath her.
For a moment she had taken hope. She had seen the doubt flickering in his eyes, but then it had gone. He was a monster now, and she knew there was no hope in getting him back.
He was lost.
A/N: Yes, I know this chapter is a lot shorter than the other ones, but I felt this was a good place to stop.