Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.
A/N: It's been a while, but this will be the fic I am now mainly focussing on.
Crimson
Blood. There was so much blood. It painted the skies, splattered the ground in glistening drops of rain, and as she stared at her hands she could see that they too were stained with the murderous red.
There was no escaping it. Everywhere she walked a trail of crimson followed her in bloody footsteps, damning her in evidence of her own treachery. Eyes, glassy with death, stared up at her from expressionless faces-faces that had once inspired warmth and happiness inside her.
These had been her friends, her companions; now their bodies littered the ground like the fallen leaves of autumn, left to rot along with the masked enemies she had so mercilessly slaughtered.
Friend, foe-there was no distinguishing between the two. All opposition had to be destroyed, and with death perched on her shoulder like a grinning demon, she had succeeded.
The world was dead. It lay in its own cesspool of blood, murdered by the very hands that had been destined to save it. Only one had survived the massacre, and he stood before her now in all his painful beauty, holding out his hand for her to take.
He was her fallen angel, the snake that had whispered in her ear, and now he was tempting her with the most dangerous temptation of all.
Himself.
There was no escaping that alluring smile, no fighting the entrancing force of his grey eyes. His silent call was more captivating than the sirens of old, and just like the first time she found herself surrendering to his powers.
Her hand found his, and as his fingers closed over hers, she knew that there was no going back.
She was his.
Ginny sat up with a gasp, her heart still beating violently from the adrenaline that had surged through her veins.
Swallowing against the scream that threatened to escape, she took a few calming breaths and clutched a hand to her clammy head.
It was a dream. Only a dream.
Collapsing back against the feather pillows, she stared up at the shadowed roof and waited for her heart rate to go back to normal.
Her new prison was very different to the last one she had occupied. The bed was soft, softer than any bed she had ever slept on, and the sheets were like liquid against her skin, they were so silky. Beautiful paintings and hangings adorned the walls, chosen with taste and elegance, as were the mahogany dresser and table that made up the rest of the furniture.
It was a luxury she had never dreamt of finding, especially after spending nearly four years living in refugee camps. She had even been bestowed with a fine hairbrush and a few other necessities needed to keep her at least presentable.
If circumstances were different she was sure she could have appreciated all this elegance and luxury. However, as she was only here because she was Draco Malfoy's captive and was acting as a breeding vessel for his dark spawn, it was more a mockery to her sufferings than anything else.
The room was exquisite, but it was still a prison nonetheless.
Ginny sighed. It was impossible to sleep now. The dream, so vivid, was still fresh in her mind. No matter how much she tried, she could not get rid of the image of her taking that hateful creature's hand out of her head, nor the accusing eyes of her friends staring up at her from decimated bodies that she herself had snatched the life from.
It was sickening, but it was frightening as well. The dream-or nightmare, as she was beginning to call it-had seemed all too real.
She could still smell the acrid scent of blood staining her hands; taste the death that polluted the air; feel the longing in her heart when she had looked into his entrancing grey eyes…
Ginny shivered in the darkness. Was it possible that such a thing could happen? Could she really become so twisted and corrupted that she would murder all of those dear to her? Could she really betray everything she had fought for and take the hand of that monster now keeping her prisoner?
"I won't give in to him," Ginny whispered to the darkness, clenching her hands so fiercely that her fingernails left red crescents on her palms. "I won't!"
And though she said the words with conviction, the images of her nightmare continued to haunt her long until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
OOOO
Draco wiped the blood from his cheek and stared out into the barren distance. The sun was rising in a sinister red, a fitting image after the spectacle he had just made of himself.
Like an angel of death he had swept through the small encampment of refugees during the night, butchering every man, woman and child who had come in his way. The killing curse was too easy. He had wanted to hear them scream, and scream they had.
Now he stood alone, the silence deafening after the symphony of pain that had only minutes ago serenaded his ears. His skin was glowing with the deathly crimson of his rage, but his eyes, although still dark with bloodlust, were oddly empty.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
"Do you feel satisfied now?" a smooth voice asked, slightly mocking.
Draco stiffened. He knew that voice.
"What do you want?" he snapped, turning to glare at the intruder.
Lara walked out from the shadows and came to stand next to him, an indefinable smile gracing her lips. "I could ask you the same question."
He scowled, turning away from her to face the bloodied sky once again.
"If you've come here to play your mind games on me you can leave. I'm not in the mood."
"Clearly, agreed Lara, eyeing the collection of disfigured bodies at his feet. "You seem to be quite the murderous one at the moment."
His jaw tightened. It was the only show of emotion he displayed.
"Leave," he said curtly, fastening his cold, emotionless eyes on her with unrelenting force. "Now."
Lara gave an involuntarily twitch. The hollowness of his eyes was disturbing. Eyes were supposed to be the windows to one's soul, but Draco Malfoy's eyes revealed no soul. He was empty. Empty and cold. Looking into his eyes was like looking into a void.
A low laugh vibrated in his throat at her reaction. "Scared of me too, Lara?"
She quickly pulled herself together. "Is that what you want? For me to be scared of you?"
The amusement flickered, a flash of vulnerability passing over his face. He quickly looked away.
Now it was her turn to laugh.
"You don't even know what you want, do you?" Her blue eyes danced with mockery. "Poor little boy. So confused."
"Shut up!"
Lara smiled. "Why don't you ask yourself why you're here, Draco?" Her smile widened until it seemed more of a feral grin. "Or are you too afraid?"
His hand trembled slightly. He clenched it into a fist to stop it.
"Well?" she persisted, moving towards him in an almost predatory fashion. "Why did you come here against the Dark Lord's orders? Why did you kill all of those people when you had not been given any specification to do so?"
His eyes darted to hers almost involuntarily, a haunted expression creeping into the grey.
"It's a simple question, Draco. All you have to do is ask yourself why."
Draco clenched his fists tighter.
That was the one question he had been avoiding; the one question he had been trying to drown out ever since she had asked it.
He had sworn to his mother that he would not be that weak, helpless boy anymore, but no matter how defiantly he proclaimed his greatness, or how great he had yet to become, he could not stop that question from festering in his mind.
Why?
He didn't want to face the answer. He couldn't face it, and so-unable to bear being in either Ginny or his mother's presence any longer-he had fled like the coward he was, hoping to drown out his uncertainty in the screams of his enemies; needing to consolidate his reasoning through the heady power he knew he would feel when bathed in their blood.
He had might as well have stayed at the manor.
On the outside he'd seemed just as unfeeling as he always was when attacking an encampment of nomads, but on the inside he'd been falling apart.
He'd felt sick, each death staining his hands only making the decay of his soul worse, and yet like a drug addict he hadn't been able to stop.
It was a vicious cycle of death and pain; him lashing out at the weak and innocent to hide his own insecurities, while at the same time only feeling more ill with every spark of life he quenched.
He hadn't known what else to do. He still didn't know how to stop the feelings growing inside him.
He hated it. He hated everyone. He would kill them all, leaving nothing left but a bloody, body-littered world, and yet he knew it would never be enough.
No matter what he had sworn to his mother, no matter how hard he tried to re-claim that heart of stone, he could not stop the cracks that chipped away from the inside to slowly shatter his resolve.
Doubt had crept into him again like a poison, and this time there was no cure.
"Well, Draco?" continued Lara, stopping directly in front of him, her eyes trapping him in place. "Why did you do it?"
His knuckles burned white.
"That's none of your business," he retorted coldly, narrowing his hollow eyes on her-eyes that had become steadily hollower with each life he had stolen.
"Oh, but it is," smiled Lara. "You forget who I am."
Draco made a frustrated noise. "What do you want from me?" he demanded, taking a hasty step towards her, wand tightly gripped in his hand. "I'm sick of this! I'm sick of your mind games!"
Lara stood her ground, not a tremble creeping into her expression to disrupt her equanimity. If anything she seemed rather satisfied to see him finally cracking under the pressure.
"Why do you keep running, Draco?" she persisted, pressing her advantage. "What are you so afraid of?"
"Shut up!" He levelled his wand on her face, his eyes wild with emotion and yet still holding that horrible emptiness.
Her lips curved into a smile. "Are you going to kill me too? I wouldn't try that if I were you."
He held her amused gaze for a moment and then wrenched his wand away, his expression closing off to become like stone.
"I'm leaving."
"Stop."
Draco paused, his eyes flicking back towards her. "What?"
"I want you to promise me something," said Lara seriously, all trace of amusement gone in her expression.
"I'm not promising you anything."
"Fine, then at least give me the assurance that you won't leave Ginevra unprotected again."
A crease formed on his brow. "Why? What do you care about her?"
"It's too dangerous for her to be alone like that with only your mother for protection. She's important, Draco. She must not be harmed."
"What do I care? She means nothing to me. It's only the Dark Lord who cares about her."
"All the more reason for you to protect her."
"I'm not afraid of him."
"You should be. I've warned you before not to take him lightly. You would do well to heed my counsel."
His eyes narrowed. "I'm not afraid of your cryptic messages either. Men make their own fates. I don't need you to divine mine."
Lara gave a tinkling laugh. "I don't need a crystal ball to tell you that the Dark Lord is tiring of your disobedience. He knows you left the manor against his orders, Draco, and he isn't happy about it either. You're not the most important pawn in his games anymore. All he cares about is Ginevra. Screw this up and he will punish you."
"What are you suggesting I do?" sneered Draco. "Go back and beg him on bended knee for forgiveness?"
"No. I'm suggesting you stop running from your own demons and return to the manor to make sure Ginevra has settled in comfortably. The Dark Lord is coming to see you later. He will not be so angry with you if he sees that she is being well looked after."
"As if he cares. He'll kill her after this is all done, anyway."
"That may be but for now she is the vessel that will carry the child he wants. That means her needs must be met and she must be kept safe." Lara levelled her eyes on him with a grim expression on her face. "You're in a precarious position, Draco. Don't push the Dark Lord by acting stubborn now or you may just find yourself as the one lying disfigured in a pool of blood at his feet."
Draco met her grim stare coolly. "Fine," he relented. "I'll make sure she's comfortable to satisfy the Dark Lord, but don't think I'm doing this for you. I'm tired of your mind games, Lara."
"You'll thank me for it one day."
Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, he simply raised his wand and then disapparated with a loud crack.
Lara stared at the spot where he had stood, her mask of calm shattering to reveal true worry.
"Prove me wrong, Draco," she murmured to herself, thinking of the hollow expression she had seen in his eyes. "If men make their own fates, then prove to me that you can change yours."
OOOO
Ginny groaned, fighting against the tickling fingers of the day trying to lift her eyelids. The warm cocoon she had made for herself was far too comfortable to leave, but a chorus of twittering birds soon had her sitting up in the bed, if a little grudgingly.
Her gaze took in the room, noting again with reluctant admiration just how fine everything was. It was too beautiful in a way. Certainly nothing she was used to.
Sighing to herself, Ginny shoved the covers off her body and slid out of the bed. She opened the curtains and for a moment was held spellbound by the view that greeted her sleepy eyes.
The grounds were magnificent in all their tragic beauty, still clinging to the colours that had all but faded from the world, but there was a loneliness painted on this canvas of nature. This was a dream living on its last breath, abandoned, nearly forgotten, and steadily sinking further into the decay that was holding the rest of the world captive.
She stared out into the distance, admiring the rugged hills that seemed to go on forever, fittingly shadowed by a veil of grey. The sky was always on the verge of crying lately, but today there was something touching about its sadness. Today it seemed fitting when embracing the forlorn landscape below that was not quite ravaged of its splendour.
It was then that she remembered that this was his land, and it was this same land that was keeping her prisoner. She couldn't bear to look at it then-finding the tragically beautiful landscape reminded her too much of him-and quickly turned away from the window.
Hugging her arms to herself, she moved back towards the bed and sat down, a glum expression settling on her face.
What on earth was she supposed to do now? For nine months she was expected to stay here, and then what? Hand over the child and die? Just give up?
"There has to be a way to get out of this," Ginny muttered to herself. "I refuse to believe I'm stuck here."
But no brilliant plans were coming to her mind on how to escape. Her creativity was all dried up, for even if she did escape, she had no wand to disapparate. She would be forced to travel like a muggle, and who knew how long that would take. She might even get caught again and then she would be in an even worse situation.
Ginny sighed and collapsed back against the bed. It was then that she noticed there was a note sitting on the bedside table that she knew had not been there the night before.
Frowning, she reached over and picked up the note. It was written in an elegant hand, one she did not recognise at all, and had only one line:
You will find everything you need in your room. The bathroom is also yours.
Her frown deepened. The note sounded far too polite to be Draco's, but then who else could have written it?
Screwing up the note with a dismissive shrug, she stood up again and headed towards the promised bathroom, which she guessed must be where the door to her right led. Once inside, she was quite ready to forget the fact that she had been kidnapped and was being held prisoner by Draco Malfoy. Even someone as stubborn as Ginny could not resist the temptation of relaxing in a bath that could have comfortably fit four grown adults, not to mention was the cleanest tub she had seen in several years.
Almost lovingly she turned on the gleaming taps, watching the water-not brown or slightly murky, as she was used to-rushing forth in a natural flow to start filling up the brass tub. In less than a minute it was full, helped by the magic that had been stored inside it, and was already beginning to fog up the room with steam.
She slipped off her robe and stepped into the bath, letting out a contented sigh as she immersed herself in the hot water.
Closing her eyes, she just lay there, letting all thought melt away from her mind. This time she was just going to relax and not worry about anything. If she was going to be trapped here anyway then how wrong could it be to indulge in a little luxury?
It was only when she was beginning to resemble a shrivelled prune that Ginny finally decided to get out of the bath. She grabbed the bath towel from the rack, holding it to her dripping body for a moment just to feel its softness. She didn't even think she'd used a towel this fluffy before in her life.
Drying herself in a leisurely way, she wrapped the towel around her body and then headed back to the main part of the bedroom. She opened the drawers and almost cried in delight when she saw the underwear and bras-all, surprisingly, in her size-along with some petticoats and stockings.
"Thank Merlin!" exclaimed Ginny, pulling out a matching pair of undergarments from the drawer.
She had gotten rather sick of wandering around in only a robe-it did get rather breezy, after all-and was even more delighted to find that the undergarments were very comfortable. No ridiculous bits of lace that barely did a thing. No, whoever had bought these items for her had chosen them with practicality and taste.
A rummage through the other drawers revealed a variety of nightwear, but Ginny was more than a little disappointed to find that there were no jeans, or indeed casual clothes of any kind.
Her eyes swung around to the wardrobe. She walked over, pulling back the wooden handles on the doors, and felt her jaw drop as she took in all the dresses that had been put up for her use. It was like she had just walked into a fairytale, only this was a rather twisted one.
Fingers lightly trailing along the expensive materials, she stopped when she came to a straw coloured dress. She pulled it off the rack and was all ready to put it on, when she suddenly hesitated.
It did seem stupid and immature to keep wearing her robe, especially as it wasn't even hers anyway, but somehow it felt wrong to wear these dresses. They were beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful dresses she had ever laid eyes on, but these dresses did not belong to her; they belonged to the Malfoys, and the thought of wearing them seemed almost as if she were allowing herself to be seduced by their luxury into submission.
The dresses may not be the striped outfits of Azkaban, but the message was the same. These were the garbs of a prisoner, and she refused to be anyone's prisoner.
Ginny put the dress back on the rack and stepped away from the cupboard, knowing her mind was made up. It was a small form of rebellion, but it was all she had left to fight with now. She would use the bath and the underwear-she didn't think she could give those up-but she would not wear these dresses.
She slipped her old robe back on and then started brushing her hair, smoothing out all the accumulated knots in the red tresses.
A frown gathered on her brow as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. There was something on her neck.
The crease on her brow deepening, Ginny moved closer to the mirror and peered at her neck. It was only faint, but there, bruising her now pale skin from where the lack of sunlight and nourishment had stolen its colour, was the unmistakable outline of her captor's hand.
Her fingers lightly traced the handprint, following the splotchy bruises that were blossoming in purples and browns where Draco's fingers had squeezed too hard on the sensitive skin.
It was not the first time he had hurt her, but seeing that creature's hand imprinted on her skin made her feel even more sickened than when he had broken her fingers. This was like being branded, as if he had marked her as his own.
Clenching her hands into fists, she abruptly turned away from the mirror and sat back down on the bed. Tears were burning in her eyes, furious, hateful tears, and once again she could feel her nails piercing the soft flesh on her palms.
"I hate him," she whispered, her eyes burning holes into the carpet. "I hate him. I hate him. I hate him."
She hated what he had done and what he was still doing to her. More than that, she hated the fact that she could not get him out of her head.
The door swung open. Ginny stood up in surprise, quickly rubbing her eyes to hide her tears, and felt her stomach drop as she found herself face-to-face with the one man she had not wanted to see.
"Don't you ever knock?" she demanded by way of greeting, throwing him a glare.
"No," replied Draco, shutting the door behind him and advancing into the room. "Not for you anyway."
He stopped in front of her. Ginny had to fight the urge to take a step back.
"What do you want?" she snapped, folding her arms tightly across her chest. The move was defensive but it made her feel more in control. She didn't like to feel weak around him.
His cold grey eyes swept over her body and then narrowed in on her face. "Why are you still wearing that robe?"
"I don't want to wear those dresses," retorted Ginny, lifting her chin to meet his hard gaze with what some might call foolish defiance. It was almost as if she were taunting him to punish her.
Draco took a step closer towards her. "Are they not good enough for you, Ginevra?" he asked, voice dangerously soft.
She took an involuntarily step back, her resolve wavering under the power of his piercing eyes and the subtle threat lacing his voice, but she clenched her fists tighter and met his gaze steadily enough.
"I'm not your doll to be made up. I refuse to wear those dresses."
Draco took three more steps closer, effectively trapping her against the bed. Ginny knew that if she took one more step back she would end up toppling over backwards herself.
"You will wear those dresses, Ginevra," he ordered, voice still disturbingly soft. "The Dark Lord is expecting you to be well-looked after and that means dressing in a way that would gain his approval." A smirk tugged at his lips. "Besides, my mother chose those dresses for you herself, and we wouldn't want you to hurt her feelings now, would we?"
"I'm sure you do a fine job of that yourself," responded Ginny, falsely sweet.
Draco's jaw tightened. For a moment Ginny thought that he was going to hit her, but instead he yanked at the clasp holding her robe together. The thick material dropped to the floor with a soft thud, leaving her standing only in her newly acquired undergarments.
Furious and humiliated, she raised her hand to slap him but he caught her wrist easily and tugged it roughly behind her back, drawing her close to him with his free hand until her body was pressed up against his.
"Let me go!" exclaimed Ginny, struggling against him. She winced as he dragged her arm up higher against her back, and had to bite down on her lip to stop from making a noise.
"What have I told you about disrespecting me?" said Draco smoothly, his face so close she could feel his warm breath brushing against her cheek
"I don't respect monsters," spat Ginny, desperately trying to wrench herself free and yet only succeeding in causing herself more pain.
Draco pulled her wrist up just that little bit further until she thought her whole arm might pop out of its socket. She really did let out a whimper then and her eyes began to fill with hot, stinging tears.
"Let me rephrase that," he said calmly, increasing the pressure on her arm bit by bit. "Do that again and I will break every one of those pretty little fingers of yours. Do you understand?"
"Go to hell," panted Ginny, too immobilised now to even break free had she wanted to.
He laughed and yanked her wrist up even further until he heard her sharp gasp of pain. "You may just get your wish, Ginevra," he whispered, lips almost grazing her ear, "but not before I take you down with me."
Ginny stood frozen, her eyes wide and her heart pounding violently against her chest. He was so close that she could feel the very warmth of his body feeding into hers, but then he released her from his hold and she found herself falling face first into the bed.
"Find a dress to wear," he ordered, watching her dispassionately as she sat up properly on the bed and glared at him. "And just to make sure that you don't disobey me again-"
He calmly pointed his wand at the robe on the floor and instantly it burst into flames. Ginny watched the orange heat licking at the black material until there was nothing left but a few cinders.
That was it. Her small fit of rebellion burned to nothing in a mere matter of seconds, and all she had to show for it was a bruised wrist and an aching arm.
Draco cleaned up the remains and then pocketed his wand again. "Get dressed," he said shortly, "or do I have to make you do that as well?" A smirk tugged at his lips. "Who knows? I might even enjoy it."
That got Ginny standing up. She stalked past him to the wardrobe, her cheeks warming with pink at the low chuckle that followed her. Wrenching the straw coloured dress off the hanger, she slipped it on over her head and began doing up the back, her teeth clenching in her frustration.
Draco watched her with a somewhat amused smirk playing on his lips. He could see her struggling with the higher buttons, and, deciding to take pity on her, walked over and pushed her hands away.
"I can do it myself," she gritted out, making a move to step away from him.
"Don't be ridiculous," he retorted impatiently, holding her in place, and then finished buttoning up her dress.
Ginny turned around once he had finished and glared waspishly up at him. "There. I'm wearing the dress. Are you satisfied now?"
Draco was about to reprimand her again for her lack of manners when he spotted the same collection of bruises on her neck that she had discovered earlier. Frowning, he leaned forward and pushed her hair away from her neck to examine the marks more closely.
"What are you-" Ginny began, but stopped when she felt his fingers gently glide over the bruises.
Her heart gave an odd sort of flutter at the feel of that soothing touch against her skin, but she ignored this and instead stared at him warily. He was not supposed to behave in a tender way towards her. It was just wrong.
His eyes flicked to hers and she was relieved to find that they were just as cold and emotionless as ever-almost hollow, in fact. It was somewhat disturbing when she thought about it.
Draco reached his hand into his pocket and drew out his wand. Ginny wondered if he was going to hex her-it was just like him to be gentle and then rough-but he simply conjured a small jar.
She stared at him questioningly, watching as he once again pocketed his wand before unscrewing the lid of the jar. There was some sort of strange cream inside it and she was surprised to see him dip his fingers into the mixture.
"What's that?" she asked, feeling just a little bit nervous now.
Draco met her gaze coolly and then tilted her chin up with his free hand, holding it there firmly as he started applying the cream to her bruises. He was unnervingly gentle. To Ginny it was almost as if he were caressing her.
As if on cue her heart started beating faster. Her breathing quickened, and she knew he would be able to feel the pulse in her neck throbbing with the rapid flow of her blood. It was embarrassing in a way, but apart from shooting her a calculating glance, he took no more notice of her body's behaviour than he had for her previous glares and merely continued with his gentle ministrations.
Ginny found it all very disorientating. There was just no placing her finger on him. He was so unemotional, so horrible, and yet there were times like now where he could be so gentle. It was as if he were two completely different people.
She found herself staring intently at his face, admiring the strong jaw line, the sharp, handsome features, and those cold grey eyes. Everything about him was piercing, almost painful, and yet still so inexplicably beautiful. It was easy to see why she had been so fascinated by him; why she was still dangerously attracted to the enigma that he presented.
His fingers paused on her neck and his eyes once more flicked to hers. Ginny found that she could not look away.
They exchanged no words, no glares, they just stared at each other; stared with an intensity that seemed to draw their bodies closer even though they made no movement at all.
Finally he let his hand drop from her neck and took a step back.
Ginny let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and placed her fingers against the spot where he had just been touching. "What did you do?" she asked, still trying to pull herself together after the intensity of their silent exchange.
"I removed your bruises."
"Why?"
She hadn't even meant to ask him, but it just seemed so strange that he would go out of his way to heal her that she'd ended up blurting it out.
He laughed. "Don't think I did it for you. The Dark Lord is coming here later today and he wants to see you. He wouldn't be very happy if he saw those bruises on your neck, and I rather like my body the way it is."
"Oh."
She should have known it would be for something selfish.
Draco placed the jar of bruise salve on the dresser and considered her through steely eyes. It was strange how easily he lost all emotion.
"My mother tells me that you haven't eaten today. You should know better than to starve yourself. I'll have Tinky prepare you some food, and in future I expect you to come to meals when they're served."
Ginny blinked. "You're allowing me to leave my room?"
"The door was never locked, Ginevra," responded Draco, rolling his eyes. "I don't need to keep you locked in this room to stop you from leaving the manor."
Not even waiting for her reply, he turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Ginny standing a little foolishly beside the dresser.
Her brow wrinkled into a frown as she stared at the door. She just didn't understand him and somehow she doubted she ever really would. He truly was an enigma.
Sighing, she sat back down on the bed. Well, one thing she knew for sure was that she was not the only female living in the house. Apparently Narcissa Malfoy was also here, and Ginny guessed it must have been her who had written the note.
A small pop sounded in the room. Ginny turned to see the same house elf that had helped her yesterday bearing a tray of food in its scrawny hands.
"Your food, Miss," squeaked the elf, offering her the tray.
"Thank you," said Ginny, taking the tray. She really was quite hungry.
Tinky bowed to her and then vanished again with another pop.
Ginny began picking at the food, her thoughts idly straying back to her captor. He had seemed different today, though she couldn't quite place why. It was true that he was still his usual hateful self, despite those odd moments of gentleness; it was also true that there had been many moments where she would have dearly loved nothing more than to hex him into oblivion.
But something had been different.
She didn't know what it was. All she had really managed to pick out was that he had seemed more tired than usual, and there was that brief moment where she had felt like she was being sucked into a void when meeting his eyes.
A chill ran up her spine at the thought. Normally she found his eyes so entrancing, despite their coldness and cruelty, but seeing that hollowness in the grey had unsettled her. It was like staring into the eyes of a person who had suffered a dementor's kiss.
Shivering again, Ginny promptly directed her thoughts to less disturbing matters. Unfortunately that only led her to fret over the fact that she was going to have to face the Dark Lord later.
She may not necessarily be frightened of her captor, but Voldemort was a completely different story. Ginny was not looking forward to seeing him again at all and could only be thankful that he could not do anything to her now that she was carrying Draco's child. It was a small comfort, but it was a comfort nonetheless.
Her eyebrows drew together into a frown. Draco never did tell her what Voldemort actually wanted her for. Actually, when she thought about it, he didn't seem too enthusiastic at the thought of seeing his master either.
She had no idea just how accurate she was.
OOOO
Draco lifted his face from the stiff bow he had been stooped in and stared into the red eyes that watched him, noting the small smile curling those unnaturally thin lips. It was a smile that would have chilled anyone else into cowardly grovelling, but Draco did not fear his master.
Maybe once he would have fearfully knelt at his master's feet in the hopes of being spared punishment, but one does not gain the title of ruthless and merciless by being filled with such useless fear. Draco had become immune to it all. He was, as his mother and Ginny had called him, a monster, and monsters did not fear other monsters.
Voldemort seemed to admire that in him, though, rather than punishing him for it. Anyone else would have understood why, but Draco was far too proud to see that the real reason Voldemort enjoyed the change he had gone through was because he himself was the one who had corrupted the young Malfoy.
It was like an artist looking at the finished portrait, admiring and praising his own skill in glowing terms. Draco was Voldemort's finished work of art, and the darkness and corruption that oozed of the young man was just what Voldemort had wished for.
He was a masterpiece. Unfortunately, he had also become rather rebellious as of late.
Voldemort stared at Draco through nightmare eyes. "You have disobeyed me, young Malfoy."
It was not a question, nor was it said angrily. He was just stating a fact; a fact they both knew to be true.
Draco said nothing, for Voldemort expected nothing. The man preferred to do all the talking, and Draco was more than willing to let him. He did not wish to explain himself. He did not wish to explain his moment of weakness or the sickly hollowness that even now lingered within him after all those deaths, creating a gnawing doubt in his mind.
"I gave you specific orders," continued Voldemort. "I told you to stay here and take care of Ginevra Weasley, and yet" - his eyes narrowed - "and yet you chose to leave the very night I told you to take her to your home, leaving her alone when she was at her most vulnerable."
Draco's jaw twitched. He could have given plenty of justifications but he knew they would all be worthless.
"I'm beginning to wonder if you're even worth keeping," commented Voldemort, watching him rather like a scientist choosing where to start dissecting. "You're a wonderful asset, I don't deny that, but I don't like disobedient servants. Do you know why I don't like disobedient servants, young Malfoy?"
Draco remained silent.
Voldemort gave a soft laugh and gently took the young man's chin in his hands, twisting the handsome face up to meet his crimson eyes. "I'll tell you why I don't like them. It's because these servants, these insignificant maggots that I so tenderly took under my wing, always have a habit of thinking that they can take my place as the Dark Lord." Red stared intently into grey. "But you wouldn't do that, would you, Draco?"
"No, my lord," said Draco, careful to keep his voice even.
Voldemort considered him for a moment. "I wonder?" he mused out loud, still staring intently into Draco's eyes.
Draco began to feel the first prickles of panic. What if the Dark Lord saw through his carefully laid barrier of thoughts?
"You've always been a slippery one. Just like your father," observed Voldemort, an indefinable expression on his face. "I almost think it would be better just to kill you now. It would be a shame to waste all that talent, but I'm beginning to sense a rather unpleasant thought in you, dear Draco. Why, I'm beginning to believe that you might actually be a threat to me."
Draco's stomach lurched. No matter what he had said to Lara on the nomad plains earlier that day, he had no wish to die. Not at age twenty-one, anyway.
He was not afraid of Voldemort, but then he had never truly felt threatened by his master either. Now, however, he was forced to realise that Lara had indeed been right. His position was precarious and he knew that he would now have to do everything in his power to stop his master from taking that final step.
"My lord, you must know that I would not betray you," said Draco, hoping he didn't sound too desperate-that would only consolidate his master's suspicion. "It was foolish of me to leave Ginevra, but you know that no attacks were made and she is perfectly well."
"That is true," acquiesced Voldemort. "Perhaps I will give you another chance. It would be such a shame to waste your magic, after all."
Draco almost sighed in relief but kept his expression impassive enough. "Thank you, my lord."
Voldemort smiled a rather disturbing smile and patted Draco's cheek. "There, young Malfoy, you see how merciful your lord is to you." He pulled his hand away and stepped back from the younger man, aiming his wand at Draco's face as he did so. "Nevertheless, one must let the lesson sink in."
Draco barely had time to gather his faculties together before he was crippled to his knees, clutching his head in pain at the burning needles stabbing over and over again into his brain.
Voldemort watched him suffer for a moment, somewhat impressed that the boy hadn't screamed yet. He increased the power behind the spell.
It was too much. The sheer agony of the curse stripped all pride from Draco and he found himself writhing on the ground, so disorientated by the pain that he barely realised the screaming was coming from his own mouth.
"Ah. It's like music to my ears," remarked Voldemort, smiling in twisted satisfaction.
The door burst open. Voldemort turned, rather surprised, and saw Narcissa enter the room. She took one look at her son twitching uncontrollably on the floor and then turned desperate eyes on the man before her.
Draco was the only one who could crack her mask of iron calm and right now that mask of impassivity had well and truly cracked.
"Stop it!" she cried. "You're killing him!"
"Save the dramatics. I'm not going to kill him."
Narcissa winced as her son let out a fresh cry of pain. It was clear she wanted nothing more than to rush over to him and take him in her arms, but her eyes remained fixed on Voldemort. She'd already learnt her lesson about interfering.
Voldemort smiled cruelly at her, enjoying the way she twitched every time Draco made a noise, but he didn't really want to kill Draco, and nor did he feel like having a vegetable for a servant.
Still with his eyes locked on Narcissa's pale face, he finally removed the curse. Draco remained breathing raggedly on the floor.
"There," taunted Voldemort, nightmare eyes gleaming. "He's perfectly fine."
Narcissa's gaze flicked from Draco's crumpled form to Voldemort's nightmarish face and then back again.
"Leave him," he ordered, reading her thoughts. "He can suffer for now, but you, my dear, can make yourself useful and bring me Ginevra. I need to see her."
Anger flashed in the azure of Narcissa's eyes but her expression remained composed enough. "Very well."
Voldemort watched her leave and then turned to Draco, who had finally managed to drag himself back onto his knees. He looked pitiful. The sight brought a smile to his master's lips.
"Well, Draco, I do hope we have learned our lesson."
"Yes, my lord," gritted out Draco, raising his eyes to meet his master's face.
"Good."
The door opened again and this time both Ginny and Narcissa entered the room. Ginny was quick to note Draco's humbled position on the ground and wondered what had happened. He looked badly shaken.
"Ah, Ginevra," greeted Voldemort, smiling. "So pleased you could join us."
Her eyes flicked towards Draco. He glared at her and stood somewhat shakily to his feet. Apparently he couldn't stand the thought of being on his knees and looking so obviously weak in front of her.
"Come here, girl," ordered Voldemort, gesturing for her to come towards him with one long finger.
Ginny shifted her gaze reluctantly back to the crimson-eyed man before her and walked somewhat cautiously towards him. He reached out and grasped her chin with his long fingers, tilting her face up towards his so that he could inspect her more easily.
She barely repressed a shudder at his touch, but she did not try pulling herself away. Even she was not stupid enough to do that, no matter how unnerving it was being scrutinised by those red eyes.
"Excellent," he murmured, tilting her face this way and that. "I see that you have been taking good care of her, Draco. Perhaps I shall have to reward you after all."
Draco said nothing. He just stared at the two of them with an unreadable expression on his face.
Ginny was rather struck by the irony of it all, knowing that Draco hadn't treated her all that well, but then she did know that it could have been worse. He was ruthless, but he was not deliberately cruel to her unless she provoked him. It was something she had come to realise about him.
"You'd best stay healthy, my dear," said Voldemort, releasing her face. "We need you to be in good condition for the duration of the pregnancy."
His eyes flicked to Narcissa and Draco. "That goes for the both of you. I have entrusted you with taking care of her, but if anything goes wrong it will be with your lives that I will take my retribution."
Neither Draco nor Narcissa said anything to this pronouncement. Voldemort seemed to expect no less from the stony-faced Malfoys and turned his attention back to Ginny.
"Until next time, my dear," he said in a disturbingly loving voice.
He was gone on the words.
A/N: So this chapter isn't my greatest, but it will get better. I hope. *laughs*
I also want to apologise for any typos, etc. I have gone over the chapter quite a few times, but I'm sure you understand how easy it is to miss things.