Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.
A/N: Thanks for the encouraging reviews. This chapter may not feel as `dark' as the others, but I do have my reasons for that. Just putting that out there before you all start screaming at me and wondering what the heck I'm doing. *laughs*
Disturbance
For a moment no one moved, their eyes still transfixed on the spot where Voldemort had only seconds ago stood. It was Narcissa who came to herself first. She turned to face Draco, hesitating in her need to embrace him, and so contented herself by laying a hand on his arm.
"Are you all right?" she asked, fixing concerned eyes on his face.
"I'm fine," snarled Draco, shaking her hand off.
Narcissa seemed hurt but not surprised by this treatment. The mask of marble crept back onto her face and any trace of soft emotion soon vanished. "I see," was all she replied, hand dropping back to her side.
Draco averted his eyes from his mother's face and found himself confronted with Ginny's questioning gaze. "What are you looking at?" he demanded, shooting her a glare.
Ginny opened her mouth wordlessly and then quickly lowered her eyes, a dull flush spreading across her cheeks.
It was the first time she had not jumped at the chance to give a retort; he felt his hackles rise in defence.
Draco knew exactly what she was thinking. It was written across the pink staining her cheeks. She pitied him, or at least she felt that he deserved some sympathy for being punished.
He could have laughed at the thought. She had no idea. The stupid girl was probably endowing him with some brave heroism for defying his master and earning punishment. She didn't understand that the only reason he had been punished was because he had gone off to slaughter innocent people instead of following his orders by staying to look after her.
It didn't matter that he had only done it to drown his own fears and doubts; it didn't even matter that he still felt sick at the thought of all the deaths he had caused. What mattered was that he had killed them. He had killed them all, and though it sickened him, he knew that he would do it again if it meant keeping the power he had been given, if only to smother the weakness twisting inside him.
Her pity was wasted on him. No matter how confused he felt right now it could not change who he was. Nothing could change that.
"What are you going to do now, Draco?" asked Narcissa, snapping him from his bitter thoughts.
"Exactly what I was ordered to do," responded Draco, focussing his attention back on the downcast redhead. "I'm going to make sure Ginevra is kept safe and sound for the Dark Lord."
Ginny's eyes darted back up to his.
"You'd better cooperate," he threatened, grey eyes piercing into her chestnut. "I don't plan on dying any time soon."
"That makes two of us," replied Ginny, returning his gaze with unruffled calm.
He gave a low laugh and then turned back to his mother. "I'm leaving you to take care of her personal needs. You heard the Dark Lord; if she gets sick it'll be on both our heads."
"I understand," said Narcissa, expression impassive.
"Good; then it's settled." His eyes flicked back to Ginny. An inscrutable expression crept into the grey, but he said no more and simply stalked out of the room.
Narcissa sighed and turned to Ginny. "Come. I'll take you back to your room."
Ginny nodded and quickly followed the graceful blonde. They walked in silence down the hallway, Ginny's eyes occasionally glancing up at the perfectly composed woman in front of her.
She felt uncomfortable around the older woman.
Narcissa had been agitated when she had first collected Ginny, clearly worried about her son, but now the blonde was as cold as the walls surrounding her. It was unnatural. No one should be allowed to shut one's emotions off like that, but Ginny realised she should have been used to it by now. Draco often did the same.
Still, Narcissa was a difficult woman to define. As a mother it was clear that she loved her son, but it was also obvious that their relationship was strained at best. Draco showed no respect to his mother, and Ginny was not blind to the bruises blossoming on that porcelain neck.
It seemed that she was not the only one who had suffered from the temper of Draco Malfoy.
"There," said Narcissa, stopping outside Ginny's bedroom door. "If you need anything you need only call for Tinky."
"Okay."
Narcissa nodded and then made a motion to leave, but instead she paused, her face turning slightly to capture Ginny's gaze with azure eyes that were no less piercing than her son's.
"I know I need not remind you," she said coolly, "but I hope you understand that while I wish you no harm, I cannot help you if you put our lives in danger by being stubborn. You are not the only prisoner here, Ginevra. I would be grateful if you did not make life any more unpleasant for us than what it needs to be."
"I understand."
"I hope you do. Fighting against your captive state may make you feel like you're not giving up but it will get you nowhere in the end. Sometimes it is better to be patient and appease those who would hold you down."
Ginny glanced up at the older woman in surprise but Narcissa was already walking away and did not look back.
Letting out a small sigh, Ginny entered her room and lit the branch of candles by her bed to give some light. Her brain was buzzing with everything that had happened but for all that she found that she had little desire to dwell on it. Everything was so confusing now. It was beginning to give her a headache.
Sighing again, she got undressed into one of the nightdresses Narcissa had provided for her and then did the usual routine of washing her face and brushing her teeth before clambering into the bed.
For a moment she just lay there staring up at the darkened roof, her mind idly straying back to the parting words Narcissa had given her now that her brain had relaxed enough to take in what was actually being said.
The message was simple. Don't waste energy on a losing battle.
Ginny had already gathered that Narcissa was a prisoner in her own home, judging by the way both Voldemort and Draco had treated the older woman, and perhaps it was that which made her seriously consider the blonde's advice.
She knew that Draco would not hurt her if she stopped provoking him. It was one of the few saving graces that she had discovered about him. He was ruthless, but he was not mindlessly cruel like some of the other Death Eaters she had faced, no matter how much he might wish her to think so.
A wry smile twisted her lips. "A gentlemanly Death Eater. Who would have thought?"
It was an amusing picture but an accurate one nonetheless. The more she found herself in his presence, the more she realised that Draco Malfoy was indeed not as black as she had painted him.
There was no escaping the fact that he was a horrible person, but she also knew that he was not completely evil. He was, as Lara had hinted, simply one of the many shades of grey that made up the world.
She just had to wonder how dark that shade of grey actually was.
OOOO
The next day went much more smoothly than Ginny might have expected it to go. She had breakfast with Narcissa-Draco having eaten earlier that morning-and then after that began exploring the manor to get a feel for her new prison. She did get lost a few times, much to her chagrin, and it was during a particularly frustrating mission of trying to find her way back to the grand staircase that she stumbled across the library.
Row upon row of books reaching right up to the ceiling greeted her awe-struck eyes. She was sure Hermione would have had a field day had she ever been allowed into well-stocked room. It seemed to hold a little bit of everything, but it was the shelf of romance novels that really delighted Ginny. One of the female Malfoys had obviously been a romantic.
Discovering a very comfortable armchair seated by one of the windows, Ginny picked out one of the dusty novels from the shelf and settled herself down on the chair; all ready to pass the morning away with her book.
No one bothered to disturb her during her fictional adventure. Narcissa was naturally a reserved person and seemed to prefer her own company to Ginny's-something Ginny could not complain about-and Draco had never been one to inflict his presence on her unless he particularly needed her for something.
As such, Ginny was left to amuse herself for the day, perfectly comfortable, and free from any annoying interruptions or demands.
If this was what her time with the Malfoys was always going to be like, she almost felt like she could handle being held prisoner here. It certainly made a nice change from the disgusting room she had been kept in back at the Death Eater's headquarters, where she had nothing to entertain herself with but her own bitter thoughts.
Her stomach began to grumble but Ginny was so absorbed in her book that she ignored the demands. The novel she had picked out, written by what she assumed must be a muggle author (the irony brought a smile to her face), was very addictive, and also happened to be about a girl who had been kidnapped against her will.
Ginny was particularly struck by the similarities between the dashing Marquis of Vidal, who featured as the hero and villain of the novel, and her own handsome captor. Both were rude, controlling and had dangerous tempers. However, unlike the Marquis, Draco had not kidnapped her out of a fit of pique, and the very thought of him demanding she become his wife was laughable.
Handsome kidnapers may be all very romantic and exciting in fictional novels but in reality they were far less appealing. It was true that Ginny knew she was attracted to Draco, but she was not delusional. There was no chance of her falling in love with her captor. He was far too horrible to allow that to happen.
Her stomach became more vocal with its grumbles. With a sigh Ginny placed the book down on the chair. She would have to finish it later.
Venturing once again into the maze that was the manor, she headed down the long corridors in search of the kitchen. It was nearly half an hour later when she finally found it.
To her annoyance Draco was already in there, drink in hand, and showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. Ginny could have screamed in exasperation, but she had come this far now and so decided to just suck up her courage and face the confrontation. What was the most he could do, after all?
She wisely ignored the answers that came to her head.
Draco glanced up at the sound of her footsteps, grey eyes widening with mild surprise. It was obvious that he had not been expecting to be interrupted, let alone by her.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, face closing off once more to become just as cold and aloof as it always was.
She would have thought it was obvious, but since he was playing dense today she decided to enlighten him.
"I was hungry."
"You could have just asked Tinky to bring you some food."
"I didn't think of that," sighed Ginny, a bit annoyed at herself for not having realised this fact sooner. It would have saved her a lot of trouble, not to mention an unwelcome conversation with her captor.
"I suggest you do that next time instead of coming down here. You shouldn't be in these parts of the manor."
"Why not?"
His eyebrow rose slightly at her daring to ask a question. "That's none of your business."
Ginny had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes-it wasn't like she hadn't seen that answer coming-and decided to just ignore him and get the food that she had come down here for. If he wasn't going to kick her out then she wasn't going to waste the opportunity to satisfy her hunger pangs.
She could feel his eyes following her every move but stood strong in her resolve to ignore him and continued to make her sandwich. Draco was not one to be ignored, however, and stood up from his chair to make his languid way towards her.
Ginny tensed when she felt him stop behind her, her heart speeding up as it always did when he came in close proximity.
"Look at me."
There was no point disobeying him. She slowly turned to face him, her eyes rising helplessly to his. He leaned forward against the bench, trapping her within his arms, his face now hovering inches from her own.
Ginny couldn't help but suck in a breath. Her heart was beating so hard that her very body seemed to be throbbing with the erratic pulsing of her blood.
He was so close. Too close.
"Let's get one thing straight, Ginevra."
His voice was gentle, almost like a caress, and yet she felt the danger lurking within the velvet shiver up her spine.
"You may have more freedom here than what you did at headquarters, but I am not going to tolerate your impertinence."
"I wasn't trying to disrespect you," defended Ginny.
Honestly, what was his problem? She was only trying to make a sandwich.
"Really?" replied Draco, sceptical.
Her chin lifted. "I think you're just annoyed because I wasn't paying any attention to you."
Oops. Now that was impertinent.
Draco stared at her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. She tensed, her body anticipating the pain that would surely come, but instead of lashing out at her like he usually did, he simply stepped away from her.
"Eat your food," he said shortly, "but I don't want to see you down here again."
Ginny watched as he stalked out of the room without another glance her way. She let out a breath of relief, not quite daring to believe her luck. He was obviously in a more lenient mood today, though she did have to wonder what that had been all about.
She really hadn't been trying to offend him. In fact, she had been on her best behaviour, but trying to placate him was like walking on eggshells. No matter what she did he always cracked.
"Stupid temperamental Death Eaters," she grumbled under her breath.
It was all very well for Narcissa to say that she should stop wasting her energy on a losing battle, but Draco was impossible. He couldn't even let her make a sandwich without getting upset and going on a power trip.
Her stomach gave another growl.
Speaking of sandwiches, Ginny picked up said sandwich and took a hearty bite.
That was one good thing about their little tiff, she supposed. She now got to eat in peace. It was a small sort of victory, but a victory nonetheless.
Now if only she could remember how to get back to the library so she could finish her book…
OOOO
Draco stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him with such force that the doorframe rattled. He was furious. Furious and confused all in one.
He didn't know what had come over him in the kitchen just then, but he did know that Ginny had been more right with her assumption than what she had probably realised.
There had been no real rationale to his actions. He had simply been piqued that she was ignoring him and so had forced her to take notice of him in the only way he knew how, by invading her space and using threats to make sure that she continued to fear him.
It hadn't worked. In fact, his master plan had backfired on him so that he was the one left feeling unsettled.
He could think of plenty perfectly rational reasons as to why he had been so bothered by her indifference, but he was not stupid, and he knew that none of them were the real reason.
The truth was that he had done it because he wanted her to look at him; because he wanted to see the small spark of exhilaration and fear that always came into her eyes when he moved too close to her; and because, for all his own indifference, he could not bear the thought that she could dismiss him so easily.
Perhaps it was vanity; perhaps it was something else. Draco didn't know, and nor did he want to.
This was getting dangerous. He couldn't afford to slip up now, no matter how confused and frustrated she made him feel.
He needed to get a grip. He needed to stop dwelling on these insignificant matters and focus on the task at hand. All he needed to do was ensure her health and safety for nine months and then she would be gone. Dead.
The thought almost made him sigh in relief. He did not appreciate the way she was turning his world upside down with her questioning eyes and impertinent ways. Her very presence seemed to make his foundations tremble, but he refused to let her or anyone else ruin what he was trying to achieve.
He had come so far. He couldn't lose it now. He couldn't go back to being that pathetic boy; helpless, scared, and crumbling under the pressure of the demands placed on him.
Nobody had feared him then, nobody had listened to him. They'd laughed at him, mocked him; called him a coward. But no one laughed at him now. Everyone feared him. Even the Dark Lord felt threatened by his power.
And what was the price you paid for that respect? a nagging voice whispered in his mind.
Draco closed his eyes, banging his head back against the wall.
So what if he was a killer? So what if he was every bit the monster his mother called him? This was his life now. This was who he was. Even if he did leave the Death Eaters and gave up on all his hopes for power, it would never change what he had done. He would never be able to remove the blood that constantly stained his hands.
"The Dark Lord would just kill me, anyway," he muttered to himself.
The first sign of rebellion he showed would see his death. He was now just as trapped and pressured as he had been when he was first forced by his master to kill.
A twisted smile came to his lips. He certainly wouldn't forget that day.
Draco breathed deeply, still staring at the marble floor from his kneeling position. His body was trembling, and though he desperately tried to contain himself-if only to stop the mocking laughter emanating from his Aunt Bellatrix-he found he could not stop the shivers that racked his body.
"Look at me, Draco," commanded the smooth, caressing voice of the Dark Lord.
He shivered at the sound of that sickeningly loving voice. The unnatural tenderness made his skin crawl with disgust. He knew the Dark Lord used it on purpose to lull his Death Eaters into a sense of false security, but Draco was not fooled. He knew he was going to be punished.
His breath started coming in short, frightened gasps, but he lifted his eyes in obedience and met the amused crimson staring back at him.
"M-my Lord."
He winced at the stutter. He had tried to act tough, flaunting the fact to his classmates that he had become a Death Eater, but underneath the bravado he was terrified and he always had been terrified. Right now he couldn't even maintain the appearance of composure.
He had failed his master. He had failed to kill again, and this time there was no Severus or Harry Potter to save him.
A smile curled those unnaturally thin lips. "You know why you're here, don't you?"
Draco closed his eyes. The burning sensation had started but he refused to cry in front of the Dark Lord. He had enough pride for that.
"Yes, my Lord," said Draco, still trying to keep himself together.
"And you know that you deserve what I am about to do to you, don't you, my child?"
"Yes, my Lord."
The words came out in the barest whisper.
Voldemort smiled, aiming his wand at the young boy's face. "Crucio."
Pain. There was so much pain. It was beyond anything Draco had ever experienced in his life; like burning needles piercing into every inch of his skin. He screamed and screamed until he thought his voice would go hoarse, and just when he felt like he was going to pass out from the agony, it suddenly stopped.
The curse had been removed.
Draco slumped into a trembling heap on the ground. Something soft brushed against his cheek. Robes. A hand took his chin and forced his face upwards.
Once again Draco found himself meeting those nightmarish, crimson eyes.
"Do not fail me again, Draco." Voldemort released him and straightened to his full height. "Stand up."
Draco pushed his trembling body into a sitting position and then hauled himself shakily back to his feet, wiping the tears from his face. He felt oddly twitchy after suffering from the curse, and he could still feel the burning pain travelling through his limbs.
"Take your wand," commanded Voldemort.
Draco obediently took the wand from his master's hand.
Another chilling smile, and then Voldemort turned to Bellatrix. "Bring him in."
Bellatrix's eyes lit up with mad glee. She left the room and returned a few minutes later with a very frightened Neville Longbottom in tow. Draco's stomach plummeted sickeningly. This was the boy he had failed to kill.
The fear in that round, absurdly childish face was pitiful, but Draco was also terrified, and as their eyes met, the sickening feeling inside him grew all the more stronger.
Somehow he just knew what was going to happen next.
"Now Draco," said Voldemort, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I want you to kill this boy as I ordered."
Draco swallowed. His wand hand trembled like a frail leaf in the wind. He couldn't disobey his master again. He would be punished, maybe even killed, but he didn't want to kill. He couldn't kill. It sickened him. Frightened him.
It was all too much.
Neville stared at him with wide eyes; eyes that pleaded for mercy, pleaded for Draco to spare him.
"Kill him," commanded Voldemort, placing more pressure on Draco's shoulder.
The weight was unbearable.
Draco's heart pounded faster.
Thump, Thump.
It was all he could think; all he could feel.
Thump, Thump.
Two words. That was all it took. Just two words.
Thump, Thump.
"Do you dare to defy me again?" hissed Voldemort.
Draco stared into the round face of his old classmate. An eerie silence seemed to fall over the room. Even the painful beatings of his heart had stopped.
He held his wand more firmly.
There was a whisper, a flash of green, and then it was all over.
Draco stood transfixed, his eyes locked on the glassy face of the boy he had often teased during school lying motionless on the ground.
Neville Longbottom was dead. He was dead.
"Well done," praised Voldemort, finally removing the weight off Draco's shoulder. "You have killed your first blood-traitor." His voice softened. "Next time it won't be so hard."
Draco stared up at his master in horror. The man was actually trying to comfort him, telling him that next time-Merlin forbid there should ever be a next time-it would be easier, as if it could ever be easy to kill his classmates; to kill anyone!
"Well there certainly was a next time," mumbled Draco to himself, stepping away from the wall. "And it did get easier."
And yet he seemed to have lost that immunity. Even now when he looked at his pale hands he could almost see the crimson staining them of all the lives he had taken.
It had been so easy to be ruthless when he was numb, when he was dead to all feeling of remorse. He had felt nothing then. It was as if he had shut off every emotion inside him. Now, however, those emotions had been unleashed again and a new form of hollowness had taken over him.
The price, it seemed, had been too much. He had gained power, gained all the respect he had wanted, but to do this he had given up his innocence, his integrity, as well as the other half of respect he had once held; the kind that cannot be inspired by fear but rather through love and goodness.
Draco didn't know if there was any love left in him now. If it still existed it was probably bitter and twisted, only able to take the form of violent and threatening outbursts.
But he accepted this. He had no choice but to. It was the only way to stop from going insane. He just couldn't let go of that anxiety of becoming weak, and the more he felt tempted by the thoughts of betraying his master, the more afraid and unsettled he became.
He was losing his mind. He could feel it. This-everything-it was driving him insane. It frightened him, and in that he knew he had to drown the doubt; he had to smother the feelings of guilt once more, even if it destroyed what little goodness was still left in him.
No matter what the cost he could not be weak.
It had just never been so hard before. Especially since she had come into his life.
OOOO
The days passed by with no further disturbances until a week had passed since Ginny had first come to the manor. She barely saw Draco now. He never ate with them, and as she had taken to shutting herself up in the library all day with romance novels, the chances of their paths crossing had become very slim indeed.
Ginny couldn't really complain. She was plagued enough with thoughts of him without having to see him in person as well.
The few times they had collided in the hallways she had been unsettled by the tension that had seemed to smother him, a feeling that was only heightened by his silence, for he didn't speak during these encounters-though once he did tell her rather curtly to get out of his way.
He was such a mystery to her, such a source of frustration. She wanted to make sense of him, she wanted to understand his motives, but he was like an impenetrable wall. There was just no getting in.
No doubt he would call her a fool for even trying. She almost smiled at that thought. Yes, he probably would call her a fool, but she was his prisoner, and, unfortunately for her, both the attraction and hate she felt for him only served to increase her fascination.
She couldn't help but think about him, and thinking about him lead to a desire to understand him, if only to make sense of the contradictions he seemed to encompass.
Ginny sighed. She really needed to get a life.
Placing down yet another romance book, she stood up from her bed and made her way to the bathroom. She turned on the taps for the bath and started undressing, humming tunelessly as she did so. Once the bath was full she hopped into the water and closed her eyes as she leaned back against the bathtub.
She tried rather fruitlessly to direct her mind to something other than her captor, but even her brain was rebelling against her today and stubbornly dwelled on the handsome man with the piercing grey eyes.
A sort of passive languor came over her body as she relaxed. Her thoughts were becoming jumbled, as if all the strings had tangled themselves in her brain to the point where she couldn't have separated them had she wanted to.
Then the door opened.
Ginny sat up in fright. There, standing before her with his hand still resting on the door, was the same grey-eyed man that had been plaguing her thoughts only moments ago. A jolt shot through her stomach when she saw the expression on his face.
She had seen that expression only once before, and at the time he had not been wearing any clothes.
A delicious warmth filled her body, spreading right up to her face to cause an immoderate flush to come to her cheeks.
"W-what are you doing here?"
Draco said nothing. He just walked towards her and hauled her up to a standing position, pulling her close to his body, and then he was crushing his lips on hers.
Ginny gave a half-hearted struggle but was easily pacified as the old longings surfaced inside her once more.
A small moan broke from her lips. She wrapped her arms around him and then she was kissing him with everything she had. They stumbled backwards into the wall, his clothes quickly becoming drenched from her dripping wet body, but neither of them seemed to care. In fact, to Ginny, this seemed a good excuse to take his clothes off.
His shirt was removed, the skin-to-skin contact sending shockwaves through her blood. She indulged in the feel of his chest, lips still locked with his own, but then he growled low in his throat and pressed her hard up against the wall. She winced slightly from the pain but was too dizzy with pleasure to care, merely wrapping her legs around his waist to get into a better position.
Draco pulled back from her lips, trailing kisses down her jaw, where he proceeded to assail every inch of her neck with his mouth. Ginny leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closing with the sensations he was creating on the hypersensitive skin.
The pants would have to come off later. She was too distracted right now.
"Ginevra."
"Mm," she breathed out in a moan.
"Why are you lying naked on the floor?"
Ginny blinked.
About three things were suddenly made clear to her. Draco was not in the bathroom, her body was in a lot of pain from where she had somehow fallen out of the bath, and Narcissa Malfoy was staring at her like she had just grown an extra head.
Two pink spots of embarrassment came to Ginny's cheeks. "I, uh...I think I fell asleep."
"I see," was all Narcissa replied, still watching her in that disquietingly way.
Ginny really hoped she hadn't been moaning out loud. That would just be embarrassing, and the dream-pleasant as it felt-was disturbing enough without having Narcissa find out about it.
Sitting up gingerly from the ground, Ginny took the towel the blonde was offering to her and wrapped it securely around her body. "Did you want me for something?"
"Not particularly. I was just worried when you didn't come down to breakfast. I wanted to make sure everything was all right."
Ginny felt oddly touched by that.
"Your health is of great importance to Draco and I."
Scratch that. It seemed both Malfoys had a selfish streak.
"Sorry. It won't happen again," Ginny apologised.
"You'd best make sure it doesn't. You don't want to put the child's life at risk."
"Right."
Ginny watched Narcissa leave the room, a scowl coming to her face once the door had closed behind the regal blonde. The woman was treating her like she was made of glass. It had only been a week. She doubted the baby could be harmed by a little fall like that.
Grumbling to herself, Ginny made her way back to the main part of the bedroom and began rummaging through the wardrobe for a dress to wear. She picked out a blue one and tossed it on the bed, letting the towel drop to the floor as she moved towards the drawers and got changed into some fresh undergarments.
She suddenly froze.
Turning back towards the mirror opposite the wardrobe her eyes widened as she stared at her stomach. It was-there was no other word for it-bulging.
"Merlin," she breathed, letting her hands feel the small bump.
It would not have been recognisable at all on a normal person, but Ginny's body had become unhealthily thin of late. There was no rational reason why she would have excess fat around her stomach. It could only mean one thing.
"But it's only been a week!"
She may have never been pregnant in her life before but she was not so clueless that she didn't know it was at least a month later that one started to show even the smallest signs of pregnancy, and even then it was hard to tell.
There was only one conclusion to this strange situation. She really was breeding a monster.
Ginny then did something very unexpected for a girl of her calibre. She fainted.
OOOO
The room was silent except for the steady breathing coming from the young man lying in the bed. He did not move when the door opened and a man with crimson eyes glided in, nor did he make any protest when the long fingers of his intruder caressed his face, tracing the lightening bolt scar on his forehead. He had might as well have been dead for all the movement he made, a fact that seemed to amuse his unwelcome visitor to no end.
"To think I was ever scared of a boy like you," murmured Voldemort, a half-smile curling his thin lips. "You see how the tables are turned, Potter? Now it is you who clings to life and I who am protected."
The candles flickered, the door opening and shutting with a soft click.
"What is it, Lara?" asked Voldemort smoothly, still staring down into the emaciated face of his old rival. "You know I don't like to be disturbed."
Lara tossed her brown hair uneasily over her shoulder, her restless eyes flickering from the snake-like face before her to the boy lying on the bed. "Something is not right."
Voldemort looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing into a frown. "What are you talking about?"
"The child. Something is not right with the child."
"What do you mean?" he almost growled.
Lara shook her head. "I don't know. I would have to see Ginevra to find out what is wrong. I just sense a disturbance. It's giving me a headache," she grumbled, rubbing her temples.
"Very well. We shall both go to the manor and you can find out what this `disturbance' is. I don't care what you have to do to make it right; I need that child. No cost is too small."
"I understand."
"Good," said Voldemort. "Oh, and Lara?"
"Yes?"
"Stop trying to help that worthless brat."
Lara's fine eyebrows drew into a frown. "My lord?"
"There's only one Death Eater you would go out of your way to help and you have been leaving without explanation more frequently lately. Don't think I haven't noticed."
"I thought you would be pleased," said Lara, cautious. "I'm only ensuring the continuation of Salazar's curse."
"The curse has served its purpose. I have no further use for Draco, though I don't deny he is a great asset to our ranks, but he is getting too dangerous to keep alive. He can take care of Ginevra for now but after that I shall have him removed."
"Then you are going to kill him?"
He laughed. "Why, Lara, you seem almost upset. Don't tell me you actually have feelings for the boy?"
Lara tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous."
Voldemort gave a dangerously charming smile. "Good, because if you even think to use your powers against me to protect him, I will not hesitate to dispose of you as well."
"Of course, Master," said Lara, bowing in an ironic display of dutiful respect. "I would not dream of going against you."
Voldemort did not believe her, but unlike Draco, whose thoughts he could still vaguely sense, Lara's mind was impenetrable. She was too useful to kill on a whim of paranoia, but he knew that he would have to watch her carefully from now on.
It seemed his most powerful servants were getting restless. He could not have that happen just yet.
I need that child, he thought angrily to himself.
Once he had the child he would no longer have need for rebellious servants. He would be invincible. For now, however-and his eyes flicked back to the boy with the lightening scar-he would just have to rely on other means until the child was ready for the sacrifice.
But first he needed to ensure all was going smoothly. This disturbance could not have happened at a worse time.
"Let's go," said Voldemort shortly.
Dissapparating with a loud crack-Lara following along tow-they reappeared in the middle of the morning room at Malfoy manor.
Narcissa stood up in surprise, a questioning frown in her eyes. "What is going on?"
Voldemort's red eyes swept over the room and then rested on her face. "Where's Ginevra?"
A/N: Don't you just love me right now? :P
There's lots going on in this chapter, which may make it feel a bit jumbled, and I do apologise for that. I tried to get it as smooth as I could, but I do realise the transitions aren't the greatest. I just hate `filler' chapters, so I tend to cram everything in.
Oh, and the novel with the "dashing Marquis of Vidal" is actually a real novel written by Georgette Heyer, called Devil's Cub. I highly recommend it to anyone who loves a good, light-hearted and witty romance.
In any case, your thoughts on this chapter are always welcome in the forms of reviews (hint, hint) and hopefully it won't be too long before you see the next update. I'm busy with exam preparations, so it probably will be a bit longer.
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