The Different Shades of Grey

moogle

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 6
Published: 20/10/2008
Last Updated: 08/02/2010
Status: in_progress

He was as black as she had painted him: cruel, heartless and deserving of hatred. Then circumstances began to change, and what was previously black and white became a confusing muddle of grey; forcing her to question her own heart and her loyalties.

Chapters

1. The Swan Loses Her Wings

2. A Forgotten Memory

3. Feast For A Dark Appetite

4. Black Halo

5. Crimson

6. Disturbance

7. To Feel

8. The New Prisoner

9. The Dissenters

10. Suspicion

11. The Pawn Makes Her Move

12. Apology

13. The Greater Good

14. Important: Please Read

1. The Swan Loses Her Wings

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

Warning: Adult themes, graphic violence, some sexual references.

A/N: Some of you may remember parts of this fic under the name “Salvation,” and indeed much of the beginning of this fic will be taken from that older story of mine. However, it occurred to me the other day that I could make the story so much better by adding and taking away certain things, so that is what I intend to do with this story.

I know I am more known for my comedies and such, so I will warn you now that this fic is very dark and will feature a very different Draco from my usual fanfics. I also apologise to my faithful readers of A Marriage of Convenience. I have not forgotten that fic, but I felt it was time I took a break from frantically writing chapters so I can mull over things and sort out exactly what I want to do next. It will help in the long run, I promise.

The Swan Loses Her Wings

A lone woman dressed in a black cloak walked up the steep slope of a craggy hillside, her steps fast and purposeful, and her head bowed as if in silent prayer. Clutched in one hand was a dimly lit lantern, allowing the menacing shadows of decaying trees and twisted plants to chase along beside her in a frenzied dance, but not once did she look up to see what shadowy companions had decided to follow her on such a bleak night. She just continued in her stooped over walk, moving as silent as the deathly silent trees that surrounded her which had long ago lost their rustling leaves.

The night seemed to let out a long, mournful sigh, brushing the hood off the woman’s face with a small gust of wind, and tugging insistently at her cloak. Strands of golden blonde hair slipped out and caressed her pale, surprisingly youthful, face, and only then did she pause in her hasty walk to pull the hood back up to cover herself.

Her eyes, shadowed by the hood, peered out into the thick darkness with wary intent, looking this way and that, but everything remained just as dark, silent and still as it had before. The dead world was not disturbed by the revelation of her face, and feeling comforted that she was safe for now, the woman continued to walk up the steep slope; though this time with more urgency in her step.

A few frail stars watched her progress in melancholic silence, but the unhelpful moon had had enough of bearing light to such an ugly, silent world and sleepily hid his face beneath a blanket of dark clouds. The darkness suddenly became smothering in its intensity, and the woman hastened her step at the frightening prospect of being left in such a barren wasteland with only the feeble light of her lantern for sight.

“Almost there,” she whispered to herself, more to break the terrible silence than to reassure herself of how far she had to go.

And then she heard it. The sound she had been dreading to hear. Someone was running towards her.

Feeling her heart freeze in panic, the woman quickly extinguished her light and started running blindly into the darkness, inwardly praying that she was not running straight into her hunter. She could still hear the horrible footsteps crunching towards her and felt tears begin to burn her eyes.

“Please, not yet,” she whispered. “I can’t die yet!”

A dead tree branch snagged at her cloak, abruptly pulling her to a halt as the cloak tightened around her throat and choked what little breath she had left. She gasped in pain and frantically scrambled to undo the clasp so that she could free herself, her fingers fumbling in clammy fear.

“Oh, please, Oh Merlin, please!” she muttered fearfully, still trying to free herself from the branch’s hold, while hearing the footsteps coming closer and closer.

Finally the clasp broke free, and hurriedly she quickly threw the heavy cloak off her shoulders and continued running for her life. Her breath started constricting painfully in her chest as she ran, and her very heart seemed to be about to explode from the sheer pressure of pumping her blood in her frightened state.

Something sharp flashed past her face, just grazing her cheek and allowing warm, sticky blood to ooze out onto her pale skin. She clenched her teeth to stop herself from screaming, biting her tongue in the process, and kept running in sheer desperation. She knew it was probably safer to stop running, as her feet were making just as much noise as whoever’s was following her, but she also knew that her hunter was close behind her, judging by the knife he had just thrown, and would realise straight away what she had done.

A cold laugh echoed around her from the darkness. “You can run all you like, little witch, but we will find you, and when we do we’re going to show you what we do to demonic whores like yourself.”

Now she realised why she could not escape from the footsteps. There was more than one man following her.

Other menacing laughs joined in an unholy throng around her, and it was with sickly dread that she realised she had been surrounded. She stopped running and gripped her unlit lantern tightly in her clammy hand, wondering what she could do now. She was no fighter and never had been, but her options were wearing thin.

Torches burst to life around her, ghoulishly illuminating the grizzled faces of her hunters with an ominous light. She could see the lust for murder written on their faces and felt her heart give out in defeat. This was the end. She was going to die.

One of the men walked forward clutching a thick rope in his hand. “Let’s see if your magic will save you from this one,” he taunted gleefully, while another man descended on her and grabbed her roughly by her arms, pinning her against his chest.

“Please don’t kill me,” the woman begged in a frightened voice. “I’m not a witch, I’m a herbalist in the village!”

“Lies!” One of the men shouted. “I saw you creating those satanic potions in your house! You were going to poison us all!”

“No,” she cried desperately. “I swear it was nothing!”

The man with the rope smiled. “We’ll soon see. If you really aren’t a witch, God will protect you and you won’t die.”

Her eyes widened in fear, realising what was about to happen. “Please don’t,” she whispered, tears now slipping down her face in scalding trails.

The man ignored her and placed the noose around her neck before pulling it tightly so that it was already strangling the breath out of her throat. Gasping and spluttering, she was suddenly yanked forward and led towards one of the dead trees, where the expanse of remaining rope that was tied around her throat was tossed over one of the higher branches and held tight by one of the other men on the other side of the tree.

People had already started up the frenzied cry of “Kill the witch!” and the woman suddenly found herself being hauled up off her feet as the man holding her rope moved further and further away from the tree; dragging her higher and higher towards the branch.

Struggling with all her might, she tried to break free from the noose that was slowly and painfully strangling her, but it was impossible to get loose, and soon all thought started to slip from her mind completely as the cold blackness of death crept into her heart with each failed breath she took.

It seemed like hours she hung there on that branch, slowly dying while the men below laughed and hooted with twisted glee. The sky grew increasingly darker, as if the stars could not bear to face such wickedness below and had removed all light to hide the evil act, and still the men celebrated to the sinister light of their flickering torches.

Suddenly a man dressed in a green cloak appeared out of thin air, holding a thin piece of wood in his right hand. The celebrating men paused in their gleeful shouts and stared at him in stunned horror; the man who had been holding the rope dropping it to send the hanged woman to the ground with a heavy thud.

The cloaked figure’s dark eyes quickly took in the hanged girl and then fell back on the men, where they narrowed in pure hatred.

“IT’S A DEMON!” One of the men shouted. “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!”

With a snarl curling his thin lips, the green-cloaked man started shooting powerful bursts of green light from the piece of wood in his hand. Every time the light connected with one of the men they would fall down dead to the ground, much to the surprise and horror of the others. The men tried to run away, but the newcomer was quick with his curse and was determined to kill every last one.

Once the final body had dropped dead to the ground, he silently walked forwards until he was standing directly before the still body of the young woman. Tears slowly crept from his eyes and fell one by one down his face, and silently he knelt down beside her and stared down into her pale, twisted face; disgusted at himself for being momentarily repulsed by the strangled expression etched onto those once beautiful features.

He shakily reached out and touched her pale cheek and was surprised to see her eyelids flutter in response. Hope surged through his chest, bright and strong, and suddenly he was clutching her limp body close to his chest.

“Katherine,” he exclaimed tearfully, holding her body close to him. “My sweet, Katherine, it’s me, Salazar! Please speak to me!”

Her head lolled back sickeningly, and it was then that he noticed the glassy texture to her beautiful grey eyes. He was too late; she was already dead.

The hollowness that descended over him was as bleak as the very world surrounding him. He felt dead: as dead as the twisted, gnarled tree that had helped kill her, but there was anger too.

Shaking in fury, Salazar placed her body back down on the ground and clenched his fists in fury. It was those disgusting muggles’ fault. They were so jealous of magic; so frightened in their pathetic, stupid little way, and now they had killed his only love: a squib nonetheless, who could never have protected herself against their cruel attack.

An ugly expression contorted on his otherwise handsome face. “I’ll kill them all,” he whispered fiercely to the dark night, tears streaking down his face. “I’ll kill every last one of them and the mudbloods that share their blood too! They have made me suffer, and so I shall make them suffer tenfold!”

Clutching his wand tightly, he stood up and glared through the night, his eyes gleaming with the deadly glow of the killing curse. He would have his revenge, even if it never happened in his own lifetime; he would make sure of it.

“There will be no rest for those of dirty blood…”

OOO

“Ginny, Ginny, wake up!”

Ginny opened her eyes dazedly, groaning slightly as her body suddenly realised all its aches and pains, and looked up into Ron’s concerned, freckled face. His long nose was burnt pink in the sun and premature wrinkles were already gathering at his melancholy, blue eyes. No more was her brother that smiling, carefree boy. Too much had happened; too much had happened to everyone.

Sitting up from the dusty ground, she winced as a sudden, sharp pain shot through the back of her head, and tentatively placed her fingers where a bruise throbbed. “What happened?” she asked faintly, still gently probing the delicate flesh.

“You collapsed,” Ron answered, holding out a rough, war worn hand to help her up.

Ginny accepted his help and was pulled to her feet. She swayed weakly and then quickly regained the strength in her legs to stand again, though she still felt a little shaken.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” she confessed with a frown tugging at her lips. “It’s been happening more and more.”

Ron’s eyes grew even more concerned. “Do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey?”

Ginny shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Really,” she added, seeing Ron’s disbelieving expression. “It’s probably just exhaustion. We’ve been fighting for years now.” Her warm brown eyes gave a tired smile, an equally drained smile settling on her lips. “I think I just need a break from it all.”

“Yeah,” Ron breathed out with a sigh, his expression once more descending into its normal, gloomy sadness. “The war could have ended long ago if I hadn’t—” He broke off and sighed heavily again, shaking his head in disappointment.

“It’s not your fault Harry was hit, Ron.” Ginny said quietly. “No one could have predicted that would happen.”

“I was right there, Ginny!” he exclaimed heatedly, throwing a hand out harshly towards the dusty distance, as if gesturing to some unseen battle only he could see. “I saw the curse hit him! I watched him fall, and I did nothing to stop it!”

”You couldn’t have stopped it! This is Voldemort we’re talking about!”

“Yeah, well now the only person who could have stopped this war is an inch from death thanks to that curse,” Ron muttered bitterly, his face twisted into a dark scowl.

He clenched his fists and suddenly kicked a stray rock, his emotional pain so evident in the hard lines of his face that Ginny felt a rush of compassion. She did not blame Ron for what happened, but he could never forgive himself for not doing anything to help Harry, and so continued bitterly struggling in life laden with an imaginary guilt. She wished he could just understand that Harry would never have blamed him. He would have understood why; he always had...

Ginny bit her lip and touched her brother’s arm hesitantly, a small, comforting smile drifting over her cracked, dry lips. “We may pull through yet, Ron. Just have faith.”

Ron laughed hollowly and stood away from her. “It’s been four years, Ginny. Nothing is going to change. Our world is going to continue being a wasteland. Just look at the people around you! Look at all the broken smiles and shattered dreams. We have no hope! We have nothing but this rotten camp with all its rotten dying people!”

Her heart clenched in pain. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she whispered shakily, “Harry will come back to us.”

Ron shook his head in disbelief and walked away into the dusty distance, his shoulders hunched forward and his feet scuffing at the dirty ground. He did not believe that Harry would come back. No one seemed to believe that Harry would come back.

Ginny looked towards a dirty, frayed tent swaying forlornly in the wind. Slowly made her way towards the ugly tent and stopped outside its flapping door. She stared at the shadows dancing across the brown material and took a deep breath that did little to comfort her, and then pushed through the dusty material and entered the tent.

Inside lay a few healing odds and ends littered about on make-shift cabinets, but it was the man lying silently in the bed that caught her attention. His black messy hair hung limply around his pale, sunken face, and Ginny could see the vivid outline of the lightning bolt scar still etched deeply into his forehead. She sighed softly. He was like a skeleton, and Ron was right; he was inches from death, but no one knew how to help him. He had been cursed with a spell Voldemort himself had created and she had tried everything she could to heal him all to no avail, as had Madam Pomfrey.

Maybe Ron was right? Maybe there was no hope anymore? Maybe they needed to find a new saviour?

Ginny sat down on the small, rickety chair and stared down at his face, reaching out her hand to gently caress his cheek. “Harry,” she whispered shakily, tears creeping down her face, “please come back to me. I can’t live like this anymore.”

He remained just as silent and still as ever. He’d might as well have been dead already for all the movement he made. Ginny couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t take staring at his wasted face each day, knowing that the man she had promised so much to was slowly dying.

“So you’re going away again?” Ginny said quietly, not turning around from staring out into the distance where a bloody battle had just been fought. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Harry standing behind her, and truth be told, she was afraid of what she would see in his face if she did. He had already let her go before; she did not want him to let her go again, though she knew that she would never be able to tell him so. This was his battle, and she was resigned to be the pretty maiden waiting for her prince to come home from slaying dragons. She hated it.

“I have to go, Ginny,” Harry explained in what he must have thought was a comforting voice, but only made her heart break that little bit more. “You understand, don’t you?”

Ginny swallowed back the tears that burned her eyes and turned to Harry, giving him a single, brave nod. “I understand. You’re the only one who can end this.”

Harry seemed to sense that she was not happy and quickly grasped her hand, looking searchingly into her eyes. “Ginny, when this war is over we’ll be together. It will just be you and me, I promise.”

Ginny looked down at the makeshift engagement ring on her finger and smiled slightly. Her eyes flicked back to his, a more reassured expression on her face. “I know Harry. Just come back to me.”

Harry smiled warmly and kissed her lightly on the lips, leaning his forehead against her own as he broke away. “Don’t worry. I will.”

“But the war never ended,” Ginny whispered bitterly, clutching the ring around her neck, which was now hanging on a silver chain, “and I’m still waiting for you to come back to me.”

The tent door opened and Madam Pomfrey walked in with a basket of medicines clutched in her ample arms. “Oh, I didn’t know you were in here, dear.”

Ginny quickly wiped her eyes and stood up, hoping that Madam Pomfrey had not heard anything. “I was just checking on him,” she explained agitatedly. “You’re going to administer the medicine now?”

Madam Pomfrey nodded and then proceeded to give Harry the medicine that never seemed to work. “It’s getting harder to get medicines with the Death Eaters swarming everywhere. Did you know that the wastelands were attacked again last week? As if those poor people haven’t been through enough.”

“I can’t believe that people still live there,” Ginny mused out loud, momentarily forgetting her own problems. “London was destroyed two years ago. Why cling to a barren land that is no better than a pile of dust and ruins?”

Madam Pomfrey looked at Ginny with an odd expression, the kind a mother gives to a child when asked why they cry. “Maybe it’s because they have nowhere else to go? Or maybe it’s just because no matter how bad things get that place is still their home.”

Ginny shrugged and looked down at her hands. “Maybe.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled slightly and then picked up her basket again. “Well, I’m off to do the rounds. The poor muggles are being attacked left, right and centre, and there’s only so much I can do.”

“I’ll help too.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled gratefully and both she and Ginny left the tent to head towards the camp.

Four years had indeed changed the Wizarding World—No, the whole world had changed. The secrecy of the magical folk had been broken just months after the final battle and then muggle and wizard alike sought refuge from the growing war. This camp was one of the few safeguards left in Britain; the constant threat of Death Eaters made people frightened and wary to go anywhere alone, and even Ginny was reluctant to leave the campsite.

Guards stood at the outskirts of the campsite all day, and the few remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix were seen patrolling the camp itself to keep an eye on things. Trouble happened frequently, as people fought over food, water and medicine, and even the smiles and laughter of innocent children had been quickly stifled with the arrival of a problem more sinister than just lack of supplies. A strange disease seemed to be spreading through the camps, killing off muggles and muggleborns one by one and no cure could be found.

”Old Mrs Jenkins has caught the virus.” Madam Pomfrey commented as they headed towards a large, white tent. “We moved her in today.”

Ginny pulled back the tent door and stared at the hundreds of beds in rows from one end to the other. Women, men and children lay dying, and slowly Ginny and Madam Pomfrey made their way to each person with the help of a few other medic-wizards and witches, trying to ease their suffering.

“How are you feeling, Elise?” Ginny asked a raven-haired woman who had been in here for three weeks. When she had first came to the camp, she had been a beautiful woman with bright blue eyes and healthy rosy cheeks. Now she was no more than a shadow of her old self, and Ginny knew she was close to passing, judging by the hollow glow in her eyes.

Elise weakly turned her face towards Ginny and stared up at her through eyes chilled with disease. “I…I feel strange… It’s like my body is on fire.”

Ginny frowned and touched the woman’s forehead. “You have a temperature. I’m sure a cooling charm will help.”

Elise shook her head and grasped Ginny’s hand feebly with her own clammy hand. “My daughter, is she okay? Have you seen her?”

Ginny nodded and sat down on the bed, giving Elise a tender smile as she gently returned the pressure on the hand that held hers. “Isabelle is doing fine. She will grow up to be a fine witch.”

“I’m so glad I met you, Ginevra. I would never have understood how special my daughter was otherwise.” Elise smiled weakly and tears started slipping down her face. “Tell her I love her.”

“You can tell her yourself if you’d like. I can bring her in to you.”

“No,” Elise exclaimed feebly. “I don’t want her to see me this way.” She froze suddenly and Ginny saw what little colour she had left drain from her face.

“Ginevra….I feel so strange,” Elise whispered, a scared expression on her face. “It feels like I’m just floating away, only a don’t want to. Can’t you stop me from going? Can’t you tell them to give me a bit longer?”

Ginny held back a sob and shook her head. “I can’t do that, Elise. I’m sorry.”

Elise stared at her in frightened silence, still with that terribly hollow expression in her eyes, and then the hand that had been holding Ginny’s dropped to the bed with a soft thud, her eyes glassing over with the passing of her spirit.

Crying softly, Ginny closed Elise’s eyes and pulled the sheets up over her face to hide the dead expression that was quickly imprinting itself in her mind.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny whispered softly and then stood up. She noticed Madam Pomfrey staring at her with a worried expression and quickly looked away to hide her tears.

“Are you alright?” Madam Pomfrey asked kindly, coming to stand beside her.

“I just don’t understand,” Ginny exclaimed bitterly. “Why is it that I am still here, while people like Lyra—who are so innocent—are killed? I’m the one who has fought and hurt in the war! I should be the one dying, not them!”

Madam Pomfrey sighed and placed her hand on Ginny’s shoulder, “The innocent are always the ones to die, Ginny. Don’t worry, we shall find a cure for this.”

Ginny wiped a tear angrily from her eyes. “How long will that take? How many more children will become orphans? How many more parents will lose their children, their wives, their husbands? Those of muggle blood are being wiped out, and I just can’t sit here and watch them die!”

Madam Pomfrey gripped Ginny firmly by the shoulders and looked at her through grim eyes. “Look at me, Ginvera. You have a great gift inside you. You were blessed with magic and have the ability to heal. If you give up now, who will help all these people?”

“I—I just feel so helpless,” Ginny confessed tearfully.

“I understand, but right now all we can do is help ease their passing until a cure is found. Have faith, child, and all will be well.”

Ginny sighed and nodded, if a little reluctantly. Wasn’t that almost the same advice she had given Ron earlier? Sure, it was easy to tell someone to have hope but to actually live that way yourself was so much harder.

“I’ll try.”

Madam Pomfrey stared at Ginny with a critical healer’s eye. “Hmm, maybe you’ve been working too hard. Why don’t you go take some food to the soldiers?”

Ginny nodded again, relieved to get away from all the death and misery of the tent. “Okay.”

She quickly gathered the precious food from the ration’s table and then headed towards the ‘fort’, as they called it, but it was really more a shack where the soldiers ate their meals and slept.

Ginny knocked on the wooden door and entered. She smiled as she saw Remus Lupin sitting on a frayed chair with a cup of cocoa in his hands. He waved kindly at her with his free hand.

“Ginny, haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been busy with healing duties.”

“You look worn out,” Remus commented, pulling out a seat for her with his foot. “Care to have a chat with an old wolf for a while?”

Ginny smiled gratefully for his cheerfulness and took the proffered seat in some relief. “How’s guard duty coming along?”

Remus scratched his head slightly and placed the steaming mug on the table. “So far it’s been quiet; too quiet if you ask me. We saw some scouts here last month, but so far nothing has happened to cause alarm.”

“Maybe they weren’t scouts?” Ginny mused out loud with a frown.

“They were scouts, alright. We recognised one of them. Does the name Draco Malfoy ring a bell?”

She nodded. He was one of the most prominent Death Eaters and Voldemort’s right-hand man after his father’s death one year ago. Draco had been forgiven from his past mistakes because Voldemort had recognised his tactical abilities. He had been impressed by how smoothly the operation had gone in Hogwarts five years ago and had decided to make the young Malfoy a battle strategist for the Death Eaters. From there Draco had continued to move to the top, and the boy who had cried in a bathroom because of his fears was quickly lost to the lust of power, or so they said.

Ginny knew all of this information because she had been a fighter for the light; that is until two years ago when her brother Charlie had died in her arms. He had been injured, and Ginny had been forced to watch as he slowly faded away, helpless with her own lack of knowledge. It was at that point that she had decided to become a medic so that she would never have to experience such horrible helplessness again.

“Ginny?”

“Sorry,” Ginny said apologetically, breaking from bitter memories. “I spaced out.”

The door suddenly burst open, and a young wizard came running inside, his eyes wild with fear. “Remus, we’re under attack. The Death Eaters are here!”

Ginny and Remus exchanged startled glances, and then Remus was pulling on his coat, wand in hand. “You coming?”

Ginny nodded and followed the men outside, the frightened screams just starting up as the unsuspecting refugees realised what was happening. Jets of red and green flashed through the dull skies and wizard and witches could be seen fighting ferociously against the swarm of black robes and masks that oozed in like a deadly plague.

“They’re coming from the other side! We’re going to be surrounded if we don’t do something!” Tonks yelled, valiantly fighting two Death Eaters at once.

Ginny ducked a curse and tripped, gasping as she fell to the ground and scratched her leg on a particularly jagged piece of rock. She was close to the edge of the campsite, where the blue, shimmering barrier that was supposed to protect them had been breached. A Death Eater walked through the barrier and walked purposely towards her, almost as if in a slow prowl.

Scrambling to her feet, and wincing at the sudden pain that shot through her leg, Ginny clutched her wand in her sweaty hand and met the silver eyes peering calmly at her through the slits in the nightmarish mask.

“Long time no see, Weasley,” a cool voice said amiably. She could almost picture the smirk that must have followed that remark.

”Malfoy,” Ginny growled, clenching her wand even tighter.

“Come, come, that’s no way to treat an old school friend,” he mocked tauntingly, while circling her in a predatory fashion, his silver eyes still watching her intently.

No one else seemed to be bothering them; in fact, if she had really cared to notice, she would have realised that the other Death Eaters were doing their best to attract attention away from the two, lone figures standing by the barrier.

“Ha! Old friend, as if!” Ginny spat back at him, her heart pounding in fear as she watched his lazy movements. He seemed too much at his ease for her comfort, and she knew full well that her fighting skills were rusty from dedicating her time to being a healer. Not only that, but she knew that Draco Malfoy was not the weakling they had once thought him. He had made quite the name for himself on the battlefields, and it was not for anything good.

Malfoy laughed, the sound sending a chill up Ginny’s spine. “Still as feisty as ever, I see.”

Just in that moment, a purple light flared up from further down in the campsite, causing a satisfied smile to creep into the cold, grey eyes that had been watching her. “Perfect,” he muttered to himself, and then turned his attention back to her. “Now we can play.”

He aimed his wand at her face and without warning shot a strange spell towards her that seemed to consist of white mist. Ginny screamed at her brain to move, but her legs seemed to be frozen to the ground. It was like some terrible dream where everything goes wrong and you can’t move at all, and yet she knew that this was as real as the pain searing in her leg.

“GINNY!”

Blinking in surprise, Ginny suddenly found herself being hauled roughly out of the curse’s path, the heat of the magic burning past her face. She glanced up to see Ron glaring down at her.

“What are you doing just standing there like that?” he demanded, releasing her in frustration. “You could have been killed!”

“Ron! Look out!” Ginny cried, instinctively pushing him out of the way as she saw another jet of white mist coming towards them. The spell hit her square in the chest, making her fall back to the ground in a sickening rush; all the breath knocked out of her so that she was gasping desperately for air. She could hear Malfoy’s triumphant yell and Ron screaming her name, but she could do no more than stare dizzily up at the grey sky swarming with black dots.

Her fingers clasped around the ring at her neck, and vaguely she saw a figure falling in front of her as easily as domino, but then her eyes were clouding over and soon she was swirling into darkness.

OOO

Ginny opened her eyes painfully, squinting at the sudden light that filled her vision. She sat up dizzily and held a hand to her head, which was throbbing painfully, feeling a horrible sense of déjà vu. It seemed like only a few hours ago that she had done just the same.

Her eyes darted about the room she was in, noticing that it was not a tent like she had been expecting to see, but a fully furbished room; complete with an old, mouldy dresser, a wooden stool, and a chamber pot that reeked of human waste. Even the bed that she was lying on stunk of stale sweat and a strange scent that Ginny was quite certain she did not want to know the cause of. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why there were scratch marks in the wall where nails had ran down in sheer pain and desperation.

Feeling a sticky fear creep over her skin, Ginny pushed herself off the sordidly stained bed and walked towards the door, trying to ignore the way her body swayed dangerously. It seemed that she had still not recovered from being hit with Malfoy’s curse.

She turned the door handle but the door remained stubbornly closed. Furious and frightened at the same time, she tugged desperately at the door, but it refused to budge and seemed to mock her with its battered wooden frame.

Groaning in frustration, Ginny looked through her robe pockets for her wand but her hands scrabbled over thin material. Her wand was gone.

“I’m trapped,” Ginny muttered to herself, staring at the locked and probably magically sealed door in angry defeat.

She sighed and walked back to the bed, collapsing on it in exhaustion and tried not to think about how dirty the sheets felt against her skin or how bad the room smelt. It would not do to dwell on what had happened in this room.

Her head refused to stop throbbing and her whole body seemed to tingle with some strange, burning situation; not to mention the overwhelming dizziness that threatened to steal her consciousness again. She realised there was no point trying to struggle right now, as she had no strength at all and had already wasted too much precious energy just trying to open the door. She would just wait until her captor revealed his or herself to tell her what was going on.

Ginny’s brow creased into a frown as she lay on the bed. What had happened before she fell unconscious? Surely that would tell her why she was here?

She vaguely remembered talking with Lupin in the fort, when suddenly the Death Eaters had started attacking the camp. Everybody had been running around like headless chickens, and she had fallen to the ground and hurt her leg. That was when Malfoy had showed up.

Ginny clenched her fists at the thought of Malfoy, remembering the way his cold eyes had lit up with pleasure at the thought of being able to hurt her. Ron had stopped him from hitting her with his curse the first time, but then what had happened then? It was all so confusing, and she vaguely remembered seeing someone fall in front of her but she was not sure whom it was. What she did know, however, was that she had been hit by some kind of curse, and so far it only seemed to have shaken her body but had not caused any real physical damage.

The door opened and Ginny’s eyes quickly darted to the opening to see who would come in. She stared at the tall, muscular man who entered, noticing his mean, beady eyes and leering smile. She unconsciously shivered, knowing that his hungry expression was not for food, and sat up stiffly as he closed the door behind him and walked towards her.

“Well, well,” the man said in a gruff voice, the unrefined tones grating at Ginny’s ears. “Looks like your finally awake.”

Ginny stared at him in horror, feeling much like an animal caught in a cage. He was still watching her with that horrible greedy expression, and it made her feel sick to her stomach to think about what disgusting thoughts were going through his mind right now.

“You’ve been unconscious for nearly two days now. I was getting worried,” the man said with a small laugh. “I wanted to have some fun with you before our leader came back.” His eyes misted over with a scowl. “He never lets us have our fun.”

Ginny stiffened at his words and glared at him. If looks could kill this man would have died instantly, but he merely laughed at her fury and walked even closer towards her, reaching out one grubby hand to cup her face hard in his strong fingers. Ginny knew she was too weak to resist him and could only sit there in horror as the man leered down at her through his beady little eyes.

“You’re better looking than the others we have had,” he commented in a low, excited voice. “I know I’m going to enjoy this.”

He suddenly grabbed her roughly by her shoulders, causing her to let out a frightened shriek, and pushed her down onto the bed, his large, strong hands holding her tightly pinned underneath him. She struggled as best she could, knowing what he was going to do, but she just felt too weak and already could feel her mind buzzing in protest at the energy she was using.

Desperation seemed to give her strength, and Ginny angrily bit down on his arm. He let out a yelp and then slapped her hard in the face, causing her head to swing back against the bed with such force that she almost passed out.

Dazed and in pain, she lay there helplessly as he ripped her robe open and tore at her under garments so that her bare flesh was suddenly attacked by the cold, night air, sending goosebumps running up his skin. He gave a lustful laugh and started running his dirty hands over her smooth skin, and Ginny suddenly took a sharp breath as his rough hands travelled in places no man’s hands were allowed to go; places where even Harry had dared not touch her.

Crying bitterly now, she once again tried to struggle against his hold but he just pinned her down with his body and pushed apart her thighs, his other hand fumbling with his own robe. Ginny could only squirm under his bulky body, weakly trying to push his hands away from her in desperation, but it was all to no avail. This disgusting, smelly man was going to steal her innocence; the last shred of virtue she had left in this decaying world. He was just too strong and she was too weak.

Suddenly the door burst open and with a few quick strides someone yanked the man off Ginny with surprising ferocity. She stared up at her saviour with a terrified expression, her heart beating rapidly and painfully, and her chest rising and falling with her heavy breathing. Cold, grey eyes that not so long ago had stared at her through the slits of a black mask, now glanced at her briefly before they turned to the man cursing furiously on the floor.

“Get up you disgusting pig,” Draco Malfoy spat in a chilling voice, his fury so evident that Ginny almost shuddered herself.

The bulky man sat up, his mean little eyes glaring malevolently at Draco. “What’s this all about, aye? I’m allowed to do what I like to her.”

Draco’s mouth curled into a snarl and he reached down and snatched the bulky man by the throat, his cold eyes narrowing with intense dislike. Though Draco was only twenty-one at the most, there was no question in who was ruling the show here.

“I thought I specifically told you not to touch her,” he growled dangerously. “She is in my care until the Dark Lord tells me what to do with her, which means you are not to go near her.”

The man’s eyes flickered with fear, his face going slightly purple from the lack of oxygen getting to his brain. He nodded to show he understood and Draco released the man’s throat, letting him collapse to the ground again gasping for breath. The man quickly stood up and started massaging his throat.

“Forgive me, sir. It will not happen again,” he apologised greasily, though his eyes still lingered with malevolence.

Draco laughed softly, the sound making the hair on Ginny’s neck rise. “No, Baldren, you will not be making the same mistake again, for if you do, I will personally show you what I do to those who displease me. Do I make myself clear?”

Baldren nodded and quickly left the room, shooting a final dark glance at Ginny, who was still too shocked to move, as if it was all her fault that he had gotten in trouble.

Draco watched the door shut and then turned his chilling, grey eyes to Ginny, a disdainful expression on his face. “Cover yourself up, unless you want to prove what a whore you are,” he ordered scathingly, his eyes briefly passing over her exposed body.

Ginny swallowed slightly and clutched the ripped robe to her body to cover her nakedness, still feeling very shaken and scared. She stared up at him through fearful eyes, wondering what he was going to do to her. She had no fear that he would try and rape her, but she was not stupid enough to think that he would be kind to her either.

“W-what do you want with me?” she stammered, her eyes burning slightly from unconscious tears. She had never felt so afraid in her life as she did in this room. She couldn’t understand why he had captured her, but knowing that he would be her captor did nothing to soothe her fears. Draco Malfoy was as ruthless as he was cold, and she doubted her womanly charm would save her from his wrath.

Draco laughed his soft laugh and walked lazily towards her, reaching out his hand to grasp her face in a hard grip. He forced her face towards him painfully, so she had no choice but to look into his pitiless eyes.

“Don’t cry, Ginevra,” he taunted cruelly, the use of her name only making his words seem even more sinister. “I’m not going to rape you like Baldren tried to. In fact-” he lowered his voice so that it became twistingly soothing in an odd way- “I don’t want anything from you at all, but it seems my master has plans for you. You should be grateful,” he added bluntly, not sparing a single shred of pity for her. “If I had my way you’d be dead.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in fear, realising just how dangerous her position was.

Draco laughed suddenly, as if he found her amusing, and released her face to step back from her. “Don’t look so upset,” he mocked in his smooth voice, “At least you’re not already dead like your brother.”

Ginny gasped and clutched her mouth in horror, her eyes instantly filling with scolding tears. She could see the amusement he was getting at her expense and felt like tearing out the cold eyes that mocked her sadness so ruthlessly. How dare he laugh at her pain?

“Y-you killed him?” Ginny demanded, voice shaking with suppressed rage.

Draco smiled cruelly and nodded his head. “He made a heroic job in trying to protect you, but really the odds were against him.” He smoothed his hair back arrogantly and met her teary eyes through his own cold grey ones. “What hope did a brainless oaf like that have against me?”

Ginny glared at him, her anger swallowing up any words she could have uttered. If she had had a wand in her hand at the moment she was sure that she could have cast the perfect cruciatus curse. She would have meant every word of it.

Draco merely smirked at her, knowing what she was thinking, and then walked away towards the door. “Don’t bother trying to escape,” he said casually as he opened the door. “I personally will punish you if you even attempt anything.”

Ginny watched as he closed the door behind him, leaving her once again to be alone in the filthy room. All of a sudden she felt like her whole body had broken, with all the pain inside her bursting out from her rib cage in terrible screams. She pulled her knees closer to her, hugging them to her chest as she rocked backwards and forwards; desperately trying to breath through the tears that spilled down her face, but it was all becoming too much. Her life was over; there was no way she could escape from this place now. She could see it in Draco’s cold eyes.

Deep down, in amongst all her fear and pain, she also had to wonder what was left for her out there. Ron was dead, who knew who else was dead, and Harry—Ginny let out a fresh sob and clutched the ring hanging from the chain around her neck—Harry had might as well be dead for all he could do.

Voldemort had stolen everything from her, and now he was going to steal her life too. She didn’t know what he wanted from her, but she doubted it was to give her an enjoyable time. She just wished she knew so that she didn’t have to spend any longer with Draco Malfoy or the disgusting man who had tried to rape her. Death would have been better than facing them every day.

Ginny sighed bitterly and forced her mind not to linger in such depressing thoughts. She just had to persevere and keep that hope that someone would come to save her. She could not give up now, no matter how much her body longed to. She couldn’t; she had to fight, if not for herself, than for Ron who had died trying to protect her.

OOOO

Draco picked up his drink, his fingers sliding against the cool glass as he frowned to himself. He had been surprised to walk into the room only to find Baldren trying to rape his prisoner, but that didn’t explain why he had gotten so angry. Many of his Death Eaters did enjoy taking pleasure in the spoils of war, the female prisoners being one of them.

Though Draco himself never indulged in such crude acts, he generally allowed his men to have their way with the woman, if only to keep the peace between them. They seemed to feel it was their ‘right’, though Draco felt sickened every time he saw them doing it; even more so when the captive was no more than a girl. However, this time he would not suffer it to happen, and not just because the Dark Lord had made it clear he would be held accountable for whatever happened to her.

He didn’t understand it, and truthfully he did not want to. Seeing her struggling so helplessly had triggered something inside him that had slept for a long time. His fury was overwhelming and it had taken all his self-control not to kill Baldren right then and there.

It disturbed him to know that his indifference had been overthrown, for when he had seen Ginevra’s eyes meet his, the fear and relief so evident in the chestnut depths, it had almost been like someone else’s emotions had taken control. He had never so much as considered her in any light before except for his own amusement to see her suffer, but in that moment he had had no choice but to help her. It bothered him, for he had promised to rid the world of all blood traitors, and she was one of them, so why, then, had he come to her rescue? Why did his rage flare so easily when he saw her struggling so helplessly?

Draco sighed and took a sip of his wine, letting the intoxicating liquid slip down his throat to dull his sense. He could still remember the way her creamy skin had screamed at him to run his hands along, to feel her smooth flesh under his…

He swallowed and took another gulp of wine, trying to ignore the way his body was heating up. It was only because she was sitting there exposed for anyone to see. Anyone would have felt tempted with the way she didn’t even try to cover herself, as if she were inviting him to take her. It wasn’t anything other than lust, and he was just grateful that he was not weak enough to give into such base desires. To even think of touching such scum as her was treacherous. All he had to do was clear his mind and he could go back to happily despising everything about her, just waiting for the time when he would be allowed to erase the life in her eyes and finally end the Weasley line.

Draco frowned again, wondering what it was that the Dark Lord wanted with her. He didn’t see anything special about her, and the sooner she was killed the better. He didn’t particularly want to be her captor and had been furious when he had received the missive to capture Ginevra Weasley specifically from the camp. Still, he could at least be satisfied that he had managed to kill Ronald Weasley; that had truly been a delight to carry out.

Smiling in a satisfied way, an amused expression crept into his eyes as he remembered the way Ronald Weasley had screamed in agony, while he, Draco, had tortured his body into grotesque shapes until the very last scream had been released. Oh yes, he had taken great delight in that death.

He was very good at torturing and prolonging suffering, thanks to the tuition of his loving Aunt Bellatrix. It was a shame his father could not have been here to see him take up the family mantel. He was sure Lucius would have been proud.

Draco drained the rest of his wine and placed the empty cup on the table, his cold grey eyes staring about the room, pausing when they ran over the form of an unconscious man lying on the bed before him. He stood up and walked over, his eyes trailing along the wasted body, pausing slightly when he saw the lightening bolt scar slashed across the man’s forehead.

“Look what has become of you, Potter,” Draco mused out loud in a soft voice. “Ironic, isn’t it? That it should be you who is inches from death, while I walk triumphantly along the path you detested so much.”

Draco pulled the blankets up over Harry Potter’s emaciated body and stared down at him with an almost defiant expression that did not quite hide the trouble in his eyes. “You showed me pity once, but do not expect me to do the same for you. You should have killed me that day, but I will not make the same mistake. The ones who kill, they are the people who make things happen. Mercy is for the weak, and I am not weak!”

The door opened, causing Draco to turn and glare at the cowering man now standing in the doorway. “What is it?” He snarled, annoyed that he should be disturbed when he had specifically asked not to be. The man shifted uncomfortably and Draco couldn’t hide his amusement at seeing a fully-grown man cringing in front him. It was proof of his power and superiority and made him burn with excitement to see the way he could manipulate people all through fear. Why would he ever give this up?

“Sir, the young lady will need some clothes.” He coughed slightly and looked at Draco hesitantly. “She also asks if she is going to be fed at all.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course she is going to be fed, you imbecile. What do you think we are going to do? The Dark Lord has made his orders very clear that we are to look after her unless she gives us reason to punish her.”

“Of course. I will go give her some clothes and food right away.”

“Forget it,” Draco exclaimed impatiently and walked past him. “I’ll do it myself. You’re all a bunch of incompetent fools, and I don’t trust any of you with her.”

The man flushed slightly but Draco was not blind. He could see how the men were getting excited at having another female prisoner, but he was not going to let any of them touch her. She was a disgusting blood traitor, but she was under his care and that meant none of their filthy hands were to go near her.

Draco picked up some plain black robes and then made his way to the kitchens to grab some food before heading back to the room where Ginevra Weasley was being kept. He glared suspiciously at the men walking down the hallway and briefly wondered if he should change the wards on the door to only recognise him; at least then he would not have to worry about his men trying to rape her.

Deciding that he would do just that, Draco opened the door, muttering an incantation as he did so that the door would only open to him. He then walked in and spotted Ginny still sitting on the bed, her hands clutching the torn robe to her body to cover her nakedness.

Draco casually walked towards her and placed the food down on the bedside table. He held out the robe to her, his eyes blank from all emotion.

Ginny took the robe silently, her fingers unwillingly brushing against his. She glanced at him with a sideways look and Draco realised that she wanted him to turn around so she could put the robe on. He merely stared at her coolly, his eyes showing nothing but disdain.

“Can you turn around?”

Draco raised an eyebrow, allowing his eyes to mock her and degrade her just that little bit more. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen, Weasley.”

Ginny glared at him, her head tilting defiantly as she stood up and let the robe fall to the ground, revealing her naked body. She never once took her eyes of him as she pulled the robe he had given her around her petite frame, a furious expression burning in her eyes.

“Satisfied?” She asked contemptuously, now doing up the robe. Draco couldn’t help but admire her strength; she was obviously made of more than he had given her credit for.

“Your food will be brought to you three times a day,” Draco began in a smooth voice, deciding to ignore her taunt. “You have no need to fear being poisoned, as I’m sure you have already guessed that if I wanted to kill you I would have done it already. I suggest you eat it, as you will need your strength.”

Ginny said nothing and merely stared at him with undisguised loathing. Draco gazed back coolly, completely unfazed by her hate. He had already resigned himself to being in charge of her, and now it seemed he would have to wait on her himself since he couldn’t trust his other men. He doubted any of the others would be able to handle her anyway.

“I’ll leave you now, but tomorrow I will be back and you’d best remember who is in charge here,” Draco threatened dangerously. “I’m expecting your cooperation. I’m sure you will prove useful to me when I next decide how to destroy your pathetic fighters of light.”

Ginny only glared at him, causing Draco to give a small smile at her feistiness. He knew that he would have fun breaking her, if only the Dark Lord would let him have his way.

Draco smirked tauntingly at her and then left the room, not even bothering to give her a backward glance. As soon as the door had shut, Ginny let out a frustrated yell and threw her tattered robes at the door. She hated him so much and now it seemed she would be subjected to him everyday.

“Oh Merlin, please let me get out of here! Please!”

2. A Forgotten Memory

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

Warning: Adult themes, graphic violence, some sexual references.

A/N: I apologise for the massive amount of typos and weird grammar in that last chapter. I’ve had very little sleep lately, so my brain isn’t as quick to recognise my mistakes. On a high note, I’ve finished university!! Hopefully I will now have more time to write, but if I still take forever, please understand that I have my reasons for that.

A Forgotten Memory

Three days had passed. Three days spent in this rotten, depressing room, with no one to keep her company except for Draco Malfoy, and all he ever did was demand information from her anyway. It was enough to drive her insane.

Ginny let out an exasperated breath and leaned back against the wall, her knees pulled up tight against her chest. She stared at the wooden door, her only escape out of the room, and wondered how long it would be before she got out of this place. Was someone coming right now to rescue her? Did anyone even know she had been captured? Maybe they thought that she was already dead?

She rubbed her eyes tiredly, feeling her frustration building. She hated not knowing what had happened; she hated not knowing what was going to happen. All of this confusion and anxiety was becoming almost too much to bear, and there was always the worry that something may have happened to Harry. Their camp had been protecting him, and if he was gone, then their last chance in destroying Voldemort was also gone. Everything had rested on him getting better, but now her camp may have already unknowingly allowed the war to end all because they had been unprepared for the attack. It would all be their fault.

“It’s just not fair!” Ginny suddenly screamed, throwing the lumpy pillow hard at the door. She watched it fall with a satisfying thump to the ground, feeling some release in having vented her anger out on the pillow, but then the overwhelming reality of her situation flooded back into her mind and she was once again left to brood on how hopeless her situation was.

She was a captive to the Death Eaters; people who showed no mercy and killed without a second thought. What hope could she possibly have in surviving this hell when the only person who had known what had happened to her was dead? Surely they would have come by now if they had known what had happened to her?

Angry tears started to well up in her eyes, slipping one by one down her face in painful trails. Tiredly she banged her head back against the wall, wincing slightly at the small surge of pain, and closed her eyes so that she would no longer have to stare at the miserable prison she had been locked in. She just couldn’t take this anymore. It was all just too much, and even though she desperately wanted to cling to that hope that someone would come and save her, deep down she knew that even if someone did realise what had happened to her, her chances in surviving this prison were slim.

No one had ever survived being caught by the Death Eaters before. Why should she be any different? She was nothing special, no one important. She was just Ginny Weasley: a healer—nothing more and nothing less. What could possibly cause the Death Eaters to spare her life any longer than they needed to?

A small sob broke free from her throat, the sound pitiful and weak, and almost a mockery to her own ears. She had used to be so strong, so indestructible in her courage, but what was she left with now? Nearly raped; her family brutally murdered; her fiancé slowly dying with each breath, and now captive to the Death Eaters—how could she possibly ignore her pain any longer? What was the point in putting up a brave front when her very dignity had already been thrown to the dogs and left to rot along with all her hopes and dreams?

Burying her face into her knees, Ginny softly began to cry to herself, indulging in the self-pity and weakness she so despised. There was no point in pretending to be brave anymore. She was a fighter, there was no doubt about it, but she was also human, and it was only human to feel frightened and upset by her situation. She was not delusional; she knew that her time was running out. The longer she stayed in this prison the less likely it was that she would be rescued. Every day spent here was like taking one step closer to the edge of a perilous cliff. Death was just waiting for her; it smiled at her every day from those cold grey eyes.

Her hands clenched into fists at the thought of her captor. He encapsulated everything that the Death Eaters stood for to her. He was the face of her misery, and she couldn’t stand looking at him any longer—even more so because he had murdered her brother, the last of her family.

She hated him so much, and she hated not being able to do anything to hurt him. All she wanted was to make him bleed inside as she did; to make him feel that gut-wrenching pain in his heart, so that he could feel the pain he had given her. She wanted him to suffer as she suffered, but her dark wishes would always just be wistful dreams. She was in his mercy; he had made that all too clear.

Three times a day he came in with her food, sat down on that stupid wooden stool, and then started interrogating her. She had not disclosed anything yet, but she could tell his patience was wearing thin. He seemed to be itching to find an excuse to hurt her and probably would the next time she refused to say anything. She almost welcomed the pain, thinking that it would numb some of the emotional agony that she was feeling, but her more practical side realised that if he did hurt her she would not feel any better. If anything she would just be in more pain.

The light shifted in the room, breaking from the suffocating darkness to become a dull sort of grey. Ginny glanced at the barred windows, watching the moth-eaten curtain flap lazily in the small breeze seeping through, and, judging by the shadows being cast on the walls, she angrily realised that Draco would be coming soon with her breakfast.

A sudden itch to just do something began to spread over body. Only for so long could she wallow in self-pity, but once again she could feel that stubborn fire burning inside her, forcing her to keep trying; to keep fighting.

Something had to be done. She could not stand sitting around like this every day, just waiting for her death to come. If no one was going to save her then she realised that she would just have to save herself. If she failed, well, at least she would know that she was truly trapped and could comfort herself in the fact that she had at least tried to break from her prison.

Realising that she didn’t have much time before Draco would come with her food, Ginny quickly stood up from the bed and glanced about the room for ideas for her escape, while running her hands through her greasy, matted hair in an agitated way. She was intelligent enough to know that her only option was through the door, and that meant she could only do it once Draco had open it. She judged that he took about five seconds to close it and place the magical locks back on, which meant that she had very little time to get him out of the way and escape. It would be a close call, but she was sure that she could do it.

Having no wand did make things difficult. She was not stupid enough to think that she could fight him in unarmed combat, as he had a wand anyway, but there had to be something she could do. She was not the daughter of Arthur Weasley for nothing. If Muggles could find ways to fight without magic, then surely she could too!

Her eyes fell on the wooden stool; the same one that Draco always sat on while interrogating her. Ginny walked over and picked it up, feeling the hard wood under her hands and running her fingers along the splintered edges. This could work. It was strong enough to give a blow that would at least knock him out, which would give her enough time to hopefully escape before anyone noticed she had gone. She wasn’t sure what lay outside this room, but she hoped that there wouldn’t be guards swarming all over the place. If she were to do this she would need to have as little obstacles as possible.

Footsteps sounded outside the door, and Ginny recognised them straight away as Malfoy’s lazy gait. She panicked, realising that she wasn’t ready for him yet, but then the footsteps paused and muffled voices could be heard. It seemed, much to her dismay, that there were guards outside her door after all. The question was, how many?

Creeping closer to the door, stool in hand, Ginny placed her ear to the wood and listened closely, trying to determine how many voices could be heard so she could figure out how many men were actually standing guard. They were speaking too quietly for her to really tell, but then the voices began to raise in anger, and feeling just a little curious, Ginny began to listen more intently on as to what they were saying.

“Are you daring to question me, Harkins?” Draco’s cold voice demanded.

“Everyone else is saying it too,” another man’s voice replied defensively, which Ginny assumed belong to Harkins. “You just think you can do what you like because you’re the Dark Lord’s favourite, but we all know what your family is like, Malfoy. You’re traitors the whole lot of you! Don’t think we don’t know about your past! We know you saved that brat’s life before! Who’s to say that you won’t help him again?”

For a moment there was silence and then Ginny heard a loud yelp of pain and something heavy drop to the ground. Her heart started thudding hard in her chest as she wondered what had just happened and what on earth they were talking about. What had Malfoy done? And who was this boy he had saved?

“Get out of my sight, all of you!” Draco ordered in a deadly voice. “And take this imbecile away with you! I don’t need to waste my time on fools.”

Ginny jumped in fright as the door handle began to turn next to her. She quickly clutched the stool tighter in her hands, her whole body practically throbbing with her heartbeat and her hands sweating slightly. If this went wrong, she was going to be in terrible danger, but at least she could take some comfort in knowing that the guards had gone. Apparently Draco came in handy after all.

The door started to open and Draco walked into the room muttering something darkly under his breath, while holding her plate of food. Ginny quickly seized her chance for escape before he could set the spells to close the door again, and swung the stool with all her might at his face. She heard the wood connect with a loud crack, one of the legs of the stool breaking from the sheer force of her attack, and for a moment could only stand on the spot in silent shock, surprised that she had actually succeeded in hitting him.

Draco let out an agonised groan and stumbled backwards, the plate of food dropping from his hands and smashing with a loud crash on the ground. He clutched his face where the chair had hit him, and Ginny could see a deep gash across his forehead where a particularly jagged part of the wood had caught his face and split the skin open.

It was at that point that Ginny realised how many precious seconds she had just wasted. Finally pulling herself together, she quickly dropped the remnants of the stool and started to run out of the room, only to feel a strong arm come out of nowhere and encircle her waist; pulling her back roughly into her prison. Her body slammed up against the concrete wall, her head cracking against the hard surface with a sickening force, causing all the breath to vanish from her lungs and her head to start ringing in blinding pain.

Dizzily, Ginny opened her eyes and looked up past the black swarming dots blurring her vision to see Draco glaring down at her, a large, angry lump already forming on his face. Blood was dripping down from the wound, making him look even more sinister, but that was nothing to the cold hate burning in his eyes. In that moment she felt more petrified than even what a basilisk could have done, and felt her hands begin to moisten with clammy fear. Now she was in for it.

“That,” Draco ground out in a deadly voice, pinning her body hard against the wall, “Was a very stupid thing to do.”

He flicked his wand briefly at the door, sealing them both in the room with an ominous bang, and then pressed the tip of his wand threateningly to her neck. His eyes narrowed darkly down at her, looking just about ready to murder, and not a trace of soft emotion could be seen on his harsh face.

Ginny swallowed in fear, feeling suddenly every bit as stupid as he had called her. How could she have been so idiotic as to want to risk this man’s anger? He did not care about her; he had even admitted that he wanted to kill her, and she had no doubt that he would enjoy it too, judging by the dark, almost eerie glow in his eyes. He seemed to be filled with concentrated hate, and she had just turned all that hate onto herself.

He pushed his wand further into her neck, almost to the point where she thought it would pierce her skin, and unwillingly she let out a small whimper, unable to stop her fear from surfacing. She could tell that he was furious and honestly she didn’t blame him. She could have killed him with that attack, but, unfortunately for her, he had managed to still stay conscious and stop her from leaving. Now, as she looked into his swollen, blood-covered face, she knew that she was going to pay for what she had done.

“It would be so easy to kill you right now,” Draco said in a deceptively soft voice, his eyes never leaving hers. His wand was still digging into her neck, becoming even more painful as he increased the pressure, as if to prove just how easy it would be. He seemed determined to make her feel the full sense of how very much at his mercy she was, and Ginny had to admit that it was working.

She could feel her heart beating faster and faster, as if the agonised organ knew how close it was to death. Angry tears mixed with fear started stinging at her eyes, but not once did she remove her gaze from that hateful face glaring down at her now. She knew how much he wanted to kill her, and it almost felt as if looking away would trigger him to say those deadly words. She didn’t want to die. Though she had little left to live for, even the barest chance of happiness was enough for her to keep fighting. She just couldn’t die yet.

For a moment they just glared at each other and then Draco finally lowered his wand from her neck and wiped the blood that had started dripping down to blur his vision. He let out a small hiss when his fingers brushed the sensitive skin above his eye, and Ginny couldn’t help but smirk at her handy work. At least she had managed to hurt him and spoil those perfectly cold features of his.

He noticed her expression and narrowed his eyes hatefully at her, his fingers clenching tightly around the wand in his hand. “I wouldn’t look so smug,” he snapped dangerously. “Death would have been far nicer than what I have in store for you.”

That stopped Ginny’s smirk very quickly. Immediately images of torture flashed into her head, but then she remembered him saying that she was in his care until Voldemort came. She assumed that meant that she had to be looked after and all her body parts and mental capabilities kept intact. That meant that all of his words were just empty threats at the most.

“You can’t hurt me,” she declared triumphantly, feeling her courage rising with her sudden epiphany. “You said yourself that you wouldn’t kill me, and I’m sure Voldemort wouldn’t want me damaged by Cruciatus or any other torture spells.”

Draco’s thin lips curved up into an amused smile. “Oh really?” he queried and reached his free hand down to take her hand in his, his eyes flashing in a dangerous way that did not bode well for her. “Are you so sure of that?”

She shuddered at his touch, revolted by the feeling of that hateful creature’s skin on hers, and felt a shiver of fear slither up her spine. What was he planning to do? She had no doubt that he had not taken her hand for nothing, and felt a deep sense of foreboding rising inside her. It was clear that she had been wrong about him in not being able to hurt her.

He leaned his face down closer to hers so that she could feel his warm breath brushing against her ear, causing her body to stiffen at his sudden proximity. Her heart quickened instinctively and her gaze riveted itself to his chest, unable to bear facing him for fear of what expression she might see on his face. She knew he was not like those men who tortured their prisoners in a sexual way, but for some reason that only made her fear grow. He was so unpredictable, so mysterious; it frightened her that she did not know what he was going to do.

“You’re right that I cannot kill you,” he said softly into her ear, the tone almost like a lover’s whisper. “And you are even right that I cannot torture you with Cruciatus, but there are other ways to hurt a person; ways that can be easily disguised.”

His fingers, which still tightly trapped her hand within his, now relaxed their hold slightly. There was a pause, and Ginny could almost feel him smile his malicious smile—even though she could not see his face—and without warning he suddenly grabbed one of her fingers and pulled it back hard. She felt the bone snap with a sickening crunch and let out a loud shriek from the sudden wave of pain that flooded over her. It was so intense she could barely think.

Her body swayed weakly, and with tears burning in her eyes, she fearfully raised her gaze up to his cruel face. He was smiling fully for her to see now, in all his twisted satisfaction, and Ginny began to feel truly terrified at the thought of what else this man would do to her. It seemed like he had no feeling at all.

“Does it hurt, Ginevra?” he taunted in a falsely sympathetic voice, knowing very well that she was in a great deal of pain. “Does it make you want to cry?”

“You’re insane!” Ginny whispered in horror, staring up at him through wide, tear-filled eyes.

Draco gave an unfeeling laugh and yanked back two more of her fingers, causing Ginny to let out another fresh scream of pain, her eyes squeezing shut in agony. A roaring sound rushed through her ears, her mind slipping into a dizzying sensation of disoriented distress, and then once again she was seeing black dots; though this time white flashes started appearing before her closed eyes as well. Her stomach twisted sickeningly, but all of this was nothing to the mind-blowing pain surging through her broken fingers.

Shakily she opened her eyes and stared down at her hand, noticing the odd angles her fingers were now shaped into. A sudden wave of nausea swept over her, the roaring becoming louder and louder, and before she knew it, she was falling forward and collapsing into his chest in a weak, helpless heap; only stopped from falling completely to the ground by Draco instinctively wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her.

Feebly she tried to break free from his hold, but her mind was clouding over with a thick darkness, giving her no choice but to rely on him for strength. She could almost feel her consciousness slipping away, her eyes fluttering shut in tired defeat, and then she had the strangest sensation sweep over her body, as if she had suddenly become weightless.

Dazedly, she realised that Draco must be carrying her, and mentally willed him to put her down this instant—not wanting him to touch her or hold her in anyway—but he did not seem to receive her telepathic protestations, and simply continued walking with her until they reached the bed. He threw her roughly down on top of the mouldy blankets and then grasped her wounded hand once more in his, though he no longer seemed to desire to break any more of her fingers.

Ginny blinked dizzily and finally dared to glance up at his face, just getting a glance of him aiming his wand down at her hand and muttering something under his breath. A warm glow surrounded her warped fingers, the bones mending back together, and then slowly the pain started to fade until there was only a dull pain to remind her of what had happened as well as her own shaken nerves.

Draco released her hand again and then glared coldly down at her, not a trace of pity in his cold, unfeeling gaze. It seemed he had not healed her out of compassion for her pain, and she was not stupid enough to think that he did out of guilt either. While the sick delight that had made her feel so ill was finally gone from his face, the pure hatred he felt towards her was still lingering in the depths of those steel-like eyes. She knew that he despised her with every fibre of his being.

“Don’t push me again, Ginevra,” he warned nastily, threatening her more with his frighteningly cold eyes than his words. “Or it will be more than your fingers that I break.”

Ginny said nothing and turned her face away from him, tears spilling down her cheeks. She felt stupid, sore and terribly alone. She just wanted to leave this place and never have to look into those cold eyes again, but that was just a foolish hope. She was trapped here, and even worse was that she was trapped here with him.

Draco repaired the stool that she had broken and summoned it to sit back in its proper position next to the bed. He wiped some more blood away from his eyes and then raised his wand to his face, sealing the cut to stop any more blood from seeping out. The wound had been healed, but his face was still swollen, bruised, and covered in blood. He looked like a monster, which Ginny thought rather fitting considering the circumstances.

Grimacing slightly from the pain, Draco turned his attention back to her and calmly conjured chains to extend from the bedposts, securing her wrists and ankles tightly to the bed.

“What are you doing?” she demanded shakily, frantically trying to break free from the chains. She did not want to be anymore at his mercy than she needed to be, and felt that same old fear creep over her skin. It was like a slither of cold wind brushing across her bare flesh to send goosebumps prickling all over her.

“I’m making sure another episode like that doesn’t happen again,” he replied bluntly, shooting her a dark look through his cold eyes that told her all too well how much she was in his black books.

Ginny struggled against the chains binding her and realised in defeat that she was indeed trapped to the bed. Her eyes darted back to his face suspiciously, and she had to remind herself that he was not going to rape her. He would hurt her, but it seemed he was not monstrous enough to actually degrade her in that way. No doubt he probably thought it would degrade him.

Draco sat down on the stool and stared at her composedly, calming down back to his usual smooth-mannered self. “Now then,” he began evenly, “we’re going to continue our discussion, and I would ask you to remember that I am not feeling particularly disposed towards you right now, so don’t try my patience and let’s just get this over with.”

“I already told you; I don’t know anything,” responded Ginny emptily, just as she always did.

He stared at her for a moment, his jaw twitching in frustration. “Is that all you are going to say?”

“There’s nothing else to say.”

Draco let out a frustrated growl and stood up off the stool. “Fine! If you won’t tell me then I’ll just have to find out for myself!”

Ginny stared up at him warily, wondering what he was going to do now. She could see his piercing grey eyes sparkling with anger and frustration, and felt a prickle of apprehension shoot through her. She had learnt very quickly to be afraid of him when he got that reckless anger in his eyes.

He raised his wand and Ginny felt only the briefest moment of trepidation and fear before he suddenly cried, “Legimens!”

It was the most defiling experience she had ever been subjected to. She could actually feel him probing her mind, sorting through her memories and thoughts to find whatever it was he was looking for that would help him. She, on the other hand, could only watch helplessly, unable to stop this breach into her privacy or block her eyes from viewing the painful memories that passed before her like a slideshow.

At first the memories started off harmless, with such trivial things as spending time with her family at the Burrow passing before her eyes, but then Draco moved closer to her memories of the war, and all the bitter memories that came with it began to float to the surface.

Charlie’s dead body imprinted itself into her mind, forcing her to relive again how she had watched him die in her arms, unable to do anything more than weep and wish she had the knowledge to help him. She was forced to listen once again to the agonised screams coming from her tortured mother, though she had not been able to see what was happening due to the fact that she had been hiding in a cupboard, and had only known death had come when the screams had stopped.

On and on it went, with each memory becoming more painful; passing through death after death and battle after battle.

Black swarmed before her eyes, a pause in the painful recollections, and then Ginny could see Harry kneeling on one knee, proposing to her much younger and happier self. He gave her the ring that now hung around her neck, his kind emerald eyes lighting up with that warm glow she loved so dearly. The memory changed suddenly, and this time she was left to stare in horror as Voldemort cursed Harry on a battlefield strewn with bodies; watching that agonising moment as his body fell so gracefully to the ground, his eyes fluttering closed in a final, death-like manner.

The memories started coming faster and faster, almost as if Draco was getting impatient with his inability to find just what he was looking for. Elise’s wasted face flickered before her mind, but that soon changed to the people at the camp screaming for their lives as the Death Eaters swarmed in. Ginny was running desperately, and then Draco Malfoy was walking towards her with his wand outstretched, his cold eyes meeting her own with dark intent…

Everything began to blur, until Ginny found herself trapped in a dark chamber with snake statues leering down at her. Her eyes lifted fearfully to stare up at the handsome, dark haired boy kneeling over her. He smiled and placed the small, black book in her hands—

”NO!” Ginny screamed, unable to handle it any longer, and for a moment she caught a brief glimpse of Draco’s surprised face, when suddenly images began to surge before her eyes that she knew were not her own memories.

A skinny little boy with pale blond hair was running and shrieking with glee down a beautiful white corridor; running with that carefree happiness that only childlike innocence can give. A pretty woman, with equally blonde hair, soon caught up to him and stooped down to pick him up in her arms; claiming her prize with a triumphant “I’ve got you now!” Both the woman and the boy fell into a peel of happy laughter, the sound drawing a tall, blond man out from a nearby room. His grey eyes were narrowed slightly, but when he saw the woman and child laughing the stern expression softened into an amused smile.

The image started distorting, the people’s faces fading in and out in a warped fuzziness, as if something was trying to hold the memories back. Bits and pieces of memory flittered together in a chaotic mess, becoming muddled and confused in their strange amalgamation, so that Ginny could barely tell what was happening at all. She could see black robed figures standing in a circle; lightening clashing around a tall tower on a dark night; green lights from the Avada Kedavra curse darting through a battlefield; dark marks burning on pale skin; a large building burning while the people inside screamed desperately; the blonde woman laughing, but then her laughter turned to loud, pained sobs—

Screaming, death, blood; everything was flashing before her eyes in distorted scenes, until finally a memory burst forth so clear that Ginny felt her brain protesting in pain.

A small, baby boy was lying naked on a stone altar, his loud cries echoing unheeded into the night. Stars gleamed in ghostly white up in the inky sky, and the full moon shone down in an unfeelingly beautiful way; not even caring that a child was twisting in desperate fear down below under its silvery light.

There was a circle of black robed figures surrounding the altar, each wearing the nightmarish mask of a death eater, with only their emotionless eyes showing through the slits. The circle parted suddenly and a tall man walked towards the altar in the middle, all the eyes behind the slits of the masks following him in silent devotion as if he was a very god himself.

This man was also cloaked in black but he was not wearing a mask, allowing his snake-like face and crimson eyes to be seen clearly through the night. He stopped in front of the altar and stared down at the baby boy, his red eyes smiling triumphantly in dark satisfaction. Silently, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a jade stone that had been carved into the shape of a coiled snake and gently placed it on the altar in front of the crying baby, where it began to glow in a dark, sinister green.

Raising his arms up to the sky, as if to bring the very heavens down to his fingertips, the man started to chant in a strange language, making odd hissing noises with his tongue, his red eyes locked on the crying boy. The jade stone began to glow brighter—the colour oddly reminding Ginny of the green flash that accompanies the killing curse—and continued to grow in its brightness until the sickly green seemed to surround the whole altar. The snake-like man’s chanting became louder, the stone’s light grew all the more brighter, and then suddenly the light shot out from the stone and buried itself deep inside the baby boy’s heart; leaving the jade stone once again dull and lifeless.

For a moment there was silence. The chanting had stopped and even the baby had stopped crying, but then a cool gust of wind slipped through the circle and seemed to awaken the people to life once more. The snake-like man picked up the baby boy and held him out for all of the circle to see, a twisted smile forming on his face—

“ENOUGH!” someone shouted distantly in her head, forcing the vision to distort once more into a confused muddle of people and images. A violent pain surged through her mind and then the visions stopped completely.

She blinked and saw Draco stumble backwards, holding a hand to his head with a pained expression on his face. He was breathing heavily, and placed his other hand against the wall to steady himself.

“Enough,” he muttered weakly, still not looking at her and taking deep, calming breaths.

Ginny said nothing. She was too frightened to speak, knowing that she had just witnessed his memories. She hated to think what he was going to do to her now and was just waiting for him to lash out at her. He seemed to be too shaken to do anything right now though. He was still leaning heavily against the wall, and she thought she could see the faint glimmer of tears glistening on his pale cheeks; something that disturbed her more than anything she had seen in his mind. How could a monster like him feel pain, let alone cry over it?

Draco finally looked up at her, his face even more pale than usual, and aimed his wand shakily at her face. She felt her heart leap up into her throat, and quickly closed her eyes; bracing herself for the inevitable curse that would come her way, but the pain never did come. Instead, she felt the chains remove from her hands and feet, leaving her free once again and perfectly unharmed.

Surprised, she opened her eyes again in the expectation of meeting his own, but he was already walking towards the door. He paused, standing silent for a moment as if contemplating something. His face turned towards hers, and for a moment she caught the deep sense of fear and confusion he was feeling shining through his steely-grey eyes, but then he tore his gaze away in anger and quickly left the room; the door slamming behind him with a loud bang.

Ginny let out a breath she didn’t realise she had been holding. What had just happened then? She had seen into his memories, there was no doubt about it, but that didn’t make her any less confused.

Why hadn’t he punished her? What could have possibly caused him to look so shaken and upset that he had practically fled from her presence? She just didn’t understand it, and she felt just as confused by his strange behaviour as he had looked when he had met her gaze for those few seconds.

Something was definitely wrong about all of this. For one thing, she didn’t even understand how she could have penetrated his mind without a wand or even casting a spell, and there was just something so terribly disturbing about the last memory she had witnessed.

Ginny did not know where Draco had been in that memory, but as she had witnessed it, a dark presence had entered her mind that she had only experienced once in her lifetime. It was the same feeling she had felt while being possessed by Tom Riddle’s diary, an indescribable evil that seemed to suck the very life out of her soul and left her feeling hollow and cold.

She did not understand why his memory had caused her to feel that way, but she knew it had something to do with that stone. Whatever ritual the death eater’s had been performing, they had used the most darkest of magic to do it.

But what did it all mean?

OOOO

Draco entered his room and slammed the door shut behind him, his fingers fumbling slightly with the latch as he locked the door. He banged his head against the hard wood and let out a deep breath, just standing there for a moment as he allowed his nerves to finally calm down.

His brain was in turmoil from everything that he had just experienced. The power of her mind had been overwhelming, and not only had she managed to send him out of her mind without the use of a wand, but she had also penetrated his own mind with complete ease. He knew that he was excellent at legimens and occulemency, and so he could not understand how it had happened. She should not have been able to see anything at all, and it had taken all his energy to stop the memories from surfacing; something he had never had to do before. He doubted even the Dark Lord had as much effortless power as she had shown. It was a disturbing thought.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block his mind from the painful images that kept replaying over and over in his mind. The memories had brought back so many suppressed feelings, but it was the last memory that truly frightened him. That memory should not have been there. He had never witnessed such a ritual, and though a small voice hinted at the fact that there was one explanation as to why such a memory would be in his mind, Draco firmly pushed the thought away. He refused to believe that he might have been the baby. It was just ridiculous!

Then why was it in your mind? The voice questioned with malicious superiority, taunting him with the fact that it was the only explanation that made sense.

Draco clenched his fists and slammed his fist against the door. He wouldn’t accept it. There was just no way he could have been that baby.

He could almost hear that irritating voice laughing in his head, and letting out a growl of frustration, he pulled himself abruptly away from the door and glared at the window opposite him. The sky was a dull grey, looking no more welcoming than a cold slab of concrete, and did nothing to soften his dark mood. He simply could not rid himself of the doubt and fear that now lingered inside him.

What if he had been that baby? What if he was the one that had been crying on that ominous altar under the unfeeling moon? What if he did have that strange light still inside him, and what did it mean for him if he did?

His eyes narrowed, seeing beyond the room to something only he could see. He knew what he had to do. There was only one way to find out if that memory truly belonged to him, and the answer was sitting conveniently in his master’s bedroom.

Silently Draco turned and unlocked the door, now oddly calm in his movement. He turned the handle and exited the room, making his way stealthily down the cold, dark hallways, with a grim expression on his face. Further and further he went into the bowels of the Death Eater headquarters, until he came to a single wooden door.

Draco paused for a moment, staring at the handle in some doubt. He hesitated, not really sure if he wanted to know what that memory meant, but if he didn’t do this now then he would never know if he had been that child or not.

“Get a grip,” he muttered firmly to himself, and closed his fingers over the cold metal of the doorhandle. His heart was pounding in his chest but he did not hesitate again and quietly pushed opened the door, his eyes greeting the shadowy depths of the unoccupied room. Slowly he walked forward, pulling out his wand and lighting it to give some more light to the room, before quickly shutting the door behind him. It would not do to have people know that he had been in here.

His grey eyes scanned the room, resting on the large cabinet pressed up against the back wall. A small breath escaped his lips, and silently he moved forward and pulled open the black doors to reveal a curious stone basin with ancient runes sketched onto the top.

For a moment he just stood there staring at the seemingly innocent object, knowing that everything could change from the discovery he was about to make. It was a frightening thought, but he could not back down now. He had to know.

His hands closed around the smooth edges, and carefully he lifted the basin out of the cabinet and carried it over to where a table chair sat conveniently for his use. Placing the basin down on the table, he took a seat and then once more pulled out his wand. In a fluid movement, he pressed the wand up to his temple and closed his eyes, searching for the memory that Ginny had forced him to see. Once he had it firmly imprinted in his mind, he gently pulled his wand away and stared down at the silvery thread now hanging from the tip.

The same hesitation prickled at his senses, but he quickly regained his courage and thrust the memory into the basin, where it swirled around like liquid silver. His heart began pounding in his chest, and closing his eyes in deep foreboding, he reached out and touched the strange liquid, where he was pulled in from the power of the pensieve to relive the memory once again…

Draco sat up from the ground and stared around the clearing. It was a hilltop he recognised not far from his home in Wiltshire, known to be a place of worship for the pagans who had once roamed the lands so long ago. This did not bode well for him, but, then again, it was not that surprising that the Death Eaters would use one of the sacrificial altars by his home. There were many, after all, and Voldemort was the kind of person to take a fancy to old pagan altars.

He turned his gaze towards the circle of robed figures and slowly started walking forward, pushing through the circle to stand in the middle next to the altar. The baby was crying, just as it had been before, but his eyes were more interested in finding out who was standing around the circle. It was true that he could only see their eyes, but he had not lived with the Death Eaters for nearly six years to not know how to recognise them.

As he had thought, these were the Death Eaters that had thrived at the height of the old war. Macnair, Avery, Goyle, Crabbe, his aunt Bellatrix and her husband, his father—

He paused on his father, feeling a sudden pang in his heart. How long had it been since he had seen his father alive? It must have been almost four years now. Four years, and even now he could still see the bloody face and glassy eyes that had stared up at him from a body lifeless and cold.

Angry with himself for getting sentimental, Draco quickly tore his eyes away from his father’s masked face and stared at Voldemort who was moving through the parted circle. Draco knew what was going to come next, but that did not stop the deep sense of dread from curling inside him as soon as he saw the jade stone being placed on the altar. There was just something so evil about it, as if it was filled with all the malice of the world.

Voldemort began his ritual, and Draco could only watch once again as the stone’s eerie green light grew brighter and brighter until it shot out from the jade snake and forced itself into the baby’s heart. His eyes narrowed, watching intently as Voldemort picked up the baby boy in his arms and held him out for the circle of Death Eaters to see.

“Behold, our future!” Voldemort cried out in a voice that made the hair on Draco’s neck prickle unpleasantly.

The Death Eaters swarmed forward like flies to rotten meat, fawning at their master’s robes and touching the child’s naked body in deep reverence. Only one Death Eater had not moved, and Draco realised with a jolt that it was his father.

Voldemort’s red eyes fell on his father’s face and his smile became even more twisted. He beckoned Lucius forward. “You look troubled, my young friend,” he remarked silkily, still holding the baby securely in his arms. “Surely you are not having second thoughts?”

Lucius lowered his gaze uncomfortably to the ground. “It is nothing, my lord.”

“Liar,” taunted his master cruelly. “I can smell your fear as easily I can see the lie in your eyes.” He laughed and then turned his red eyes down to the baby in his arms. “The child will not die, if that is what you are worried about. He would already be dead by now if his soul had rejected the magic, but I believe I was right to have picked your son.”

Draco felt his breath cut short, and all of a sudden the memory stopped.

He blinked, finding himself back on the chair in the master bedroom, and stared through narrowed eyes at the penseive. So it was true then? He had been the child.

“What are you doing in my room, Draco?” A silky voice asked, neither angry nor amused.

Draco jumped in fright and turned his face quickly to see Voldemort staring at him through contemplative red eyes. No doubt his master had already seen the pensieve and knew very well why he was in his room, but Voldemort always did take a delight in scaring people—as if his snake-like face was not frightening enough.

Standing up abruptly from the chair, Draco walked forward to his master, an angry gleam creeping into his eyes. “What did you do to me?”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, but he did not curse Draco for his impudence as he might have done to anyone else. Draco always had received more license than the other Death Eaters, and the angry young man now glaring at his master finally had come to realise why. It was all because of the stone, or rather, what the stone had done to him.

Draco could feel the red eyes boring into his own and knew that Voldemort was reading his mind. He did not bother to put up any barriers, thinking that it was easier for his master to just see it than for him to explain it.

“I see,” remarked Voldemort after a moment of silence. “You’ve learnt about the stone.”

“Yes, I have,” growled Draco, feeling very ill-used and upset. “And I want to know what it does!”

“Do not fret, my child. You are in no danger from the spell that was placed on you.”

Draco eyed him suspiciously for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he believed Voldemort, but he knew that he had little choice but to. His master was far too skilled in occulemency for him to even get a glimpse of any thoughts.

“Well why did you choose me?” he demanded finally. Even if the magic could not harm him, he didn’t see why it had to have been him to carry it. There must have been plenty of other children who could have done it.

Voldemort poured himself a glass of wine and stared down at the crimson liquid in his glass. “It was your destiny to carry the magic of the stone. You should be honoured you were chosen for such an important task. Many Purebloods would kill to have such magic.”

“Destiny?” Draco repeated with a scornful laugh.

“You do not believe in destiny?”

“I believe in myself.”

Voldemort smiled, his red eyes gleaming with amusement. “I see.”

Again Draco stared at his master suspiciously. He had a feeling Voldemort was not telling him something.

“How is my young Ginevra?” Voldemort asked, before Draco could question him any further.

“She’s fine,” answered Draco truthfully. He did not count breaking her fingers as anything worth mentioning, and he was reluctant to admit that he had infiltrated her mind and had his own invaded in the process.

“Good. I want her to be in good condition for the ritual.”

“Ritual?” queried Draco curiously, momentarily forgetting about his own frustrations with his master as he looked at Voldemort with some interest.

The smile increased on Voldemort’s snake-like face, his blood red eyes going even more sinister. “Yes, a ritual. Why else would I want her kept intact and safe?”

Draco frowned but said nothing. Voldemort took a sip of his wine and then placed the glass back down on the table. His eyes seemed to look past Draco, a small smile passing over his thin lips.

“Ginevra Weasley is a very special woman,” he said softly, still lost in silent reflection. “She is of an ancient family that very rarely gives birth to female children. In fact, it just so happens that Ginevra is the seventh female in her family line to be born in the past seven centuries. Curious isn’t it? That she is the seventh female to be born in the seventh century, and also happens to be the seventh child.”

“What are you saying?”

Voldemort’s red eyes locked onto his. “She’s bound by the magical number seven, giving her powers far beyond what any of us could achieve. If she had the tuition she could very well overpower all of us. Of course she probably has no idea of this herself.”

“Then we should kill her,” said Draco bluntly. If she was really that powerful they should get rid of her now before she did anything drastic. He’d already experienced her powers of legilemency; who was to say that she didn’t have even greater powers hidden up her sleeve?

Voldemort smiled slightly. “You are too rash. I do not wish to kill her, not yet anyway. She is far too useful to me, or at least her child will be.” His eyes levelled on Draco. “That is where you come in.”

“I don’t understand,” said Draco warily, not liking where this was going.

Voldemort’s eyes gleamed ominously in the candlelight. “Ginevra has a special vulnerability to dark magic ever since she was tainted by my soul. You, Draco, are a living force of dark magic, thanks to the powers I placed on you at birth. If you were to fuse your magic with hers, her womb would be easily contaminated with that darkness, allowing her to give birth to the most powerful dark wizard or witch our world has ever seen. Of course, I would not allow the child to live. It is very easy to take the magic from an innocent if one knows the right spells to do it.”

Draco felt his stomach twist in disgust. He had a feeling he knew what Voldemort was asking of him now, but he still clung to the hope that he might be wrong. “Just what are you saying?” he demanded, while inwardly hoping that his fears were not true.

“I want you to get Ginevra Weasley pregnant.”

For a moment Draco just stared at his master with an unreadable expression on his face. Many thoughts were racing through his mind right now, but the most obvious was the complete revulsion he felt at the thought of even going near her in such a way.

“No.”

“No?” Voldemort repeated, his eyes narrowing in irritation and some disbelief. Never had a Death Eater refused a task before.

Draco shook his head firmly. “I don’t want to. I’ll kill for you, torture people if I have to, but I will not do that.”

Voldemort laughed softly. “Admirable sentiments, my boy, but your scruples are meaningless to me. You will do as I say.”

Again Draco shook his head. “I won’t.”

He knew it was dangerous to push things in such a way, but he had a feeling that his master would not kill him for it. He was too precious, he knew that now, and he was going to make well use of that knowledge.

Voldemort’s red eyes narrowed in anger. “You are making a grave mistake, Draco.”

Draco remained silent. He had made his decision and he was not going to move from it.

“Very well, I have no choice.” Voldemort raised his wand and aimed it at Draco’s chest. “Perhaps the Cruciatus curse will soften your resolve.”

OOOO

Ginny awoke with a start and rubbed her side where she was sure she had just been kicked. Her eyes wildly fluttered around the room and fell on a tall woman she had never seen before, who was standing by her bed and glaring down at her through fierce blue eyes.

A frown tugged at Ginny’s lips, and for a moment she just stared stupidly at the woman.

“Stop staring and get up!” the woman snapped, grumpily placing a hand on her hip. “I haven’t got all day, you know.”

“Where’s Malfoy?”

“That’s none of your business,” replied the woman bluntly, eyeing Ginny in considerable dislike.

Ginny decided not to say anything back. She was just relieved that she did not have to put up with her usual captor, though this woman didn’t seem to be much better. She was rather fidgety, a complete contrast to Draco’s relatively calm disposition, and kept tossing her silky brown hair over her shoulder in irritation.

“I can’t believe he made me do this,” the woman muttered bitterly to herself, now folding her arms crossly. “It’s not my problem he got himself in the Dark Lord’s bad books, and yet I’m the one who’s left to do his dirty work all because he’s afraid the men might do something to his precious prisoner.”

Her blue eyes flashed back on Ginny. “You’re lucky you got him, you know? The others wouldn’t give a damn about you, but he’s so finicky about things like that.” She laughed and once again tossed her hair over her shoulder. “He says it offends his sensibilities or some such rot. Funny that; he’d rather we kill the girls than let the men rape ‘em.”

Ginny said nothing.

The woman laughed again and started twirling her wand in her hands. “I don’t care myself. Our women get it just as bad from those so-called Light Fighters. S’pose it just gives ‘em a taste of their own medicine.”

“They would never do that!” retorted Ginny, goaded into speaking. “You’re the evil ones who go around raping and pillaging! We’re just trying to protect ourselves!”

“Ha! That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all day!” The woman chuckled to herself and looked down at Ginny with a pitying expression on her pretty face. “Do you honestly think that your men are so perfect and good? This is war, girlie, and war will make monsters out of everyone. Give men a bit of power and it doesn’t matter who they were before, they’ll all turn into unfeeling pigs sooner or later.”

“That’s not true.”

The woman leaned forward and levelled her intimidating blue gaze on Ginny. “Oh ain’t it? And how do you know, Miss?”

“I—I just do,” stammered Ginny, though she couldn’t deny that she felt a small prickle of doubt filter through her mind.

“Well let me tell you something, girlie. I’ve been to your camps and I’ve seen what your men do to the captured Death Eaters. They torture ‘em just we like do, and if the prisoner happens to be a female, you can bet that they’ll have a bit of unholy fun with her too. Your soldiers ain’t saints; some of them are worse than the brutes we’ve got here.”

Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t, but you’re living in a dream world if you think the world can be divided into black and white. I’d say it’s more grey myself,” her eyes gleamed in amusement, “but I don’t deny that there are different shades of grey.”

“Lara! The Dark Lord wants to speak to the girl!” A male voice called out through the closed door.

The woman, who Ginny assumed must be Lara, stepped back and gave another of her irritable huffs. “Always so demanding. Well c’mon on then. Looks like the master has finally decided to see you. He came back yesterday, took us all by surprise to be honest, but it was Draco who got the brunt of his black mood. Poor boy is still recovering.”

“Lara!”

“I’M COMING!” Lara bellowed in exasperation. She sighed and looked bluntly at Ginny. “Well, hurry up! You don’t want to keep him waiting, do you?”

Ginny quickly scrambled out of the bed and followed Lara out of the room. They walked down some corridors, and all the while Ginny could feel her heart beating painfully in her chest. She was going to see the Dark Lord, though what for she couldn’t guess. She knew, of course, that he had been the one who had requested her kidnapping, but that did not make things any clearer on what it was he actually wanted with her.

Her mind idly strayed back to Draco, and vaguely she wondered what it was he had done to get into his master’s black books. Perhaps Voldemort had found out about yesterday and had punished him for breaking her fingers? Or maybe it was something else?

“Here we are,” Lara remarked, stopping in front of a door. She knocked three times and then waited patiently.

“Come in,” said a smooth voice from within the room.

Ginny shivered. She knew that voice very well. Though it was older and more mature now, she could still recognise the lilting tones Tom had used to use on her when she was young.

Lara gave her back a small push. “Go on.”

Shakily, Ginny reached up her and turned the doorhandle. The door swung open and there, standing in the middle of the room, stood Voldemort, a chilling smile curving his mouth and his eyes gleaming with dark mischief.

“We finally meet again, Ginevra.”

A/n: Just thought I should apologise again if there are lots of typos. I have read over this a few times now, but, as I said before, I’ve had very little sleep lately, so it’s more than likely that I have missed them.

3. Feast For A Dark Appetite

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

Warning: Adult themes, graphic violence, some sexual references.

A/N: This chapter is going to be about as graphic as I will get in terms of sex scenes, which isn’t really much, as you will see. Having said that, it is still enough for this story to be R rated, so please don’t read it if it offends you.

Feast for A Dark Appetite

Ginny stared at the man before her, eyes riveted to the waxy face with the gleaming red slits for eyes that had always chilled her heart. It was the face of nightmares, and no matter how brave she thought she was, there was no denying that right now she felt like a wounded bird caught in the sharp, merciless claws of a cruel cat; completely helpless and completely terrified.

The door closed behind her, sealing them in the room together with an ominous bang. Her eyes flickered to his in fear, her heart pounding uncomfortably in her chest with the deep sense of foreboding rising inside her. There was no doubt that he wanted something with her, but what it was she could not say. He had not made any move to do anything to her; instead he closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, an expression of deep satisfaction creeping onto his snake-like face.

“Ah yes,” he whispered to himself, still with his eyes shut and a slow smile curling his lips. “I can feel the power sleeping inside you.” His eyes opened again, falling on her face with a covetous gleam. “You have no idea how truly special you are, Ginevra.”

Confused, and feeling more than a little frightened, Ginny eyed him warily, a crease forming on her brow. “What are you talking about?”

He laughed lightly and walked slowly towards her, his eyes gleaming sinisterly in the soft candlelight. “Exactly what I mean. You don’t understand your magic at all, but I,” his eyes darkened with a lustful fervour, “I have seen what your power can do!”

Alarmed by his proximity, Ginny instinctively backed away from him until her back hit against the wall. Her eyes darted up to his nervously, meeting his hungry expression in sudden trepidation. He was practically devouring her with his gaze, and the predatory smile curling his lips did nothing to ease her panic.

She pressed herself further up against the wall, almost as if hoping the cold concrete would swallow her whole and take her away from the disgusting man before her, but the wall remained stubbornly solid. She was trapped.

Voldemort moved closer and stopped before her, allowing one pale finger to stroke her cheek; sending unpleasant shivers to prickle up her spine. Her body seemed to become paralysed from his touch, freezing her into place, although she desperately wanted to push him away. She couldn’t stand the feel of his cold skin touching hers. He felt like ice, as if his touch was the very touch of death itself.

“I have waited for this moment for such a long time,” he whispered, trailing his fingers down her neck caressingly, while keeping his eyes firmly locked on hers. “Ever since I realised who you were I knew that I had to find you, and now you’re finally here.”

“W-what are you going to do to me?”

He laughed softly, the sound sending another chill down Ginny’s spine, and stepped back from her to move towards the far table. Ginny let out a breath of relief, glad that he was no longer leaning over her, and tried to pull her trembling body together; her eyes warily following the tall man’s movements.

“I admit it did not come to me at first,” confessed Voldemort, settling himself comfortably down on the chair. “At first I thought I could manipulate you into serving me, but then that does little to help me, now doesn’t it? You would still hold all that power yourself, and I did not want that. I knew I had to come up with another idea, and then it came to me…”

Ginny stared at him in growing apprehension, feeling the deep sense of foreboding inside her only increasing with each word he spoke. She knew that she did not want to hear what he was going to say next, but she had little power to stop it.

“You see, Ginevra,” continued Voldemort in a pleasant voice, “there are only three people on this Earth who carry ancient magic in their veins. You are one of those people, as am I, and the other is my servant, Draco Malfoy. Unlike you and I, however, his power was given to him while he was still a baby and not at birth, and that power cannot be used through the means of spells and enchantments. He is, in effect, a living force of dark magic;” Voldemort chuckled to himself, “You could almost say that he is an enchantment, and that, Ginevra, is where I realised how I could manipulate your magic to my advantage.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ginny warily, watching him with a frown creasing her brow. He was speaking in riddles to her, but something about what he was saying struck a chord with her. She realised now that the memory she had seen in Draco’s mind must have been the ritual when he had been given his ‘ancient magic’, but what on earth did Voldemort mean by the Death Eater being a living force of dark magic, and what did that have to do with her?

Voldemort smiled at her bewilderment. “Think of it this way. If Draco can be considered a form of dark magic, what would be the effect if I used that magic on you? You would be cursed, just as you would if I had used any other spell, but because his magic is special, the effects are much different to any normal curse.”

“What are you saying?” Ginny demanded, not liking the sound of this at all. It was all so confusing, but she knew that he was telling the truth. There was no reason for him to lie, after all.

“It’s really quite simple. By cursing the root I will be cursing the fruit, and every seed that could come from that fruit. Draco’s magic works like an innate curse; it touches and corrupts everything vulnerable to it, and as you have already been tainted by dark magic, you are even more susceptible to the powers of his magic than you would have been had you not. His magic could have a myriad of effects on you, even eventually kill you, but what I do know is that your womb will be cursed upon contact with him, allowing you to produce the most powerful dark mage this world has ever seen. There would be no surpassing the magic of a child born from a witch such as you, as part, if not all, of your magic would pass on to your child. Imagine, then, how powerful that child would be if enhanced with Draco’s own dark magic!”

“And how do you hope to gain from that?” demanded Ginny, sensing a flaw in his grand scheme. “Surely it cannot help you if my child has all that power and you do not; the situation is just the same as it is now.”

Voldemort smiled slightly and stood up from his chair, moving towards her with careless grace. “Have you ever wondered why witches were stigmatised as having sexual relations with the devil?”

Ginny shook her head, put on edge once again by his sudden movement. “I thought it was just Muggles exaggerating things,” she admitted cautiously.

“In some ways, yes, but it is true that it was once a common practise for witches to offer themselves to the darkest of wizards in order to have his magic planted inside them through the means of a child. Once the child had been born, the witches could sacrifice the baby by using the ritual of the Hadem Rhi, empowering them with an even greater magic than what they had wielded previously. However, nothing but the purest of dark magic can enhance inherited magic to shape it into becoming greater and darker, and, as you know, only Draco holds this certain type of magic.”

He stopped in front of her, his nightmarish face as emotionless as a waxwork. “Not even I could shift the attributes of a baby’s magic from neutral to dark, even with all my learning, but then my magic is not as pure as his. It is for that same reason I knew I could not take on the stone’s power myself all those years ago. I would have died that day—as would any other wizard who had tried to claim the magic of the stone—but Draco was born with just the right requirements needed for his soul to withstand the power of the stone’s magic; allowing him to take the magic upon himself as a living part of him. He is the stone, just as the stone is a part of him; they cannot be separated, or both will be destroyed.”

Ginny almost felt sorry for Draco upon discovering this, remembering the way he had reacted to reliving that memory in her cell. He had been so frightened by what he had seen, and she realised now it must have been the confusion he felt in not understanding why such a thing was in his mind. She wondered if he knew what Voldemort had really done to him.

Her sympathy could not last long. Though Draco’s situation was indeed pitiful, his character was enough for her to banish feeling any more sorry for him than she needed to. He delighted in evil, had taken satisfaction in her pain, and seemed to have an insatiable appetite for power. It almost seemed fitting that he should be a living curse, for in a way he already was a curse to her.

Something about Voldemort’s words troubled her though. She had a feeling she knew what Voldemort was asking of her now, but she still hoped that she might be wrong. From what he had said about the witches, however, she was unsure how she could be.

“Think about it, Ginevra,” Voldemort continued in a voice of seductive persuasion. “You have the potential to create a magic this world has never seen. Even the four founders of Hogwarts never wielded such power. You would be making history!”

“Making history, yes, but at what cost? You must be insane if you think I would consent to such a thing!” spat Ginny, her eyes burning with hate and disgust.

“My dear, you should be grateful I am only asking this of you. Believe me,” Voldemort assured her, a sinister smile flittering across his lips as his white teeth gleamed in the firelight. “I could do much worse.”

Ginny shook her head. “You’ve taken everything from me, and now you expect me to obediently bow to you, allowing some heartless monster to impregnate me, and then, if you please, I must meekly hand over my child at the end of it all so you can sacrifice it for your own greed? I don’t think so!”

Voldemort closed his eyes, his patience thinning. “This is the second time I have been refused now. I warn you my patience is not infinite. I cannot force Draco to do my wishes—” his face contorted in cold frustration— “He has a stubbornness I did not perceive, and I cannot afford to risk the sanity of his mind or his physical health by punishing him further. You, on the other hand, I know I can break.”

“You’re wasting your time!” retorted Ginny, feeling quite emboldened in her anger. It was a foolhardy thing to refuse the Dark Lord, but she was furious with what he had said and was in no mood to be grovelling at his feet. “Perhaps you should just give up now, since it seems clear that Malfoy doesn’t want me anymore than I want him.”

Voldemort’s eyes flashed with an intense concentration of malice. “Oh no, Ginevra, you will do this for me. If I cannot force him to take you, then I will force you to take him. Either way, I am going to get that child!”

Before Ginny even knew what was happening, she was writing on the floor in pain, clutching her head where scorching needles pierced her skin from the Cruciatus curse. It was a pain beyond pain; an unbearable torture that seemed to pierce her very soul with its agonising touch. She would have done anything in that moment to make it stop.

Voldemort removed the curse and stared coldly down at her trembling, battered body, not a trace of pity in his eyes. “Now then, perhaps you would like to reconsider your decision?”

Ginny shakily pushed herself up off the ground, tears trailing down her face, and stared up at the cruel, unfeeling man before her. He would probably try to keep torturing her until she gave in—and a part of her wanted to give up now, if only to ensure that she would never feel such pain again—but at the same time she could see that she was far too important for him to batter too badly. Like Draco, he needed her, and that gave her some leverage and at least put her in a more secure and safer position.

Physical pain she could handle, but losing her innocence and bearing the child of her sworn enemy made her feel far more sick than the excruciating pain the torture had inflicted her with. How could she ever willingly allow that foul creature that had murdered her brother to give her a child? It was unthinkable. She just couldn’t do it, no matter how terrified and wounded she felt.

“I will never help you,” she spat hatefully, glaring up at him through malevolent eyes. “You’ll just have to kill me.”

Voldemort knelt down in front of her and grasped her chin firmly with his long fingers. His eyes sought out hers, forcing her to meet his cold, composed gaze. “You will help me, Ginevra, because I am going to give you no choice. I can see into your mind as clearly as I am looking into your face right now, and I have seen your weaknesses. You are far too open, my dear, and that will cost you.”

He smiled grimly then and shifted his hand from her face to grab a handful of her hair, yanking her up to her feet. Ginny stumbled weakly after him, tears escaping her eyes from the stinging pain shooting through her scalp, and was dragged roughly out of the room.

She twisted against his hold, shouting insults and gasping in pain, but Voldemort held her tight and pulled her deeper through the dark twisting corridors until they came to a set of wooden doors.

He stopped and roughly yanked her face down so that she was looking up at him, his eyes glinting menacingly down into her face.“Do you know what is in this room?” he asked in a surprisingly pleasant voice, despite the ruthless hold he had on her hair.

Ginny shook her head, her vision blurring with tears.

“Then I’ll tell you. Through these doors are the scum of my followers; they are the kind of men who would take great delight in giving you their own personal welcome.” His red eyes gleamed maliciously, taking in her youthful face and the soft, feminine curves of her body. “Oh yes, Ginevra, they would take great pleasure in you.”

Her eyes widened in horror, realising what he was implying. She stared at the closed door, hearing men laughing and talking from within, and felt her stomach clench up painfully in revulsion. Not for a moment did she doubt the truth of Voldemort’s words. She remembered all too well how eager Baldren had been to rape her, and she knew there were probably many more just like him in that room. Just because Draco chose not to rape his prisoners did not mean that the others would be so courteous.

“Think wisely,” warned Voldemort, watching her closely through his nightmarish eyes. “I will not give you another chance. One more word of denial on your lips and I’ll leave you to the wolves beyond those doors to do with you what they will. You are not so precious to me as you think, though I do admit that I want the magic you store in abundance inside you. However, my need is not great. I am already the greatest sorcerer alive, even with you and Draco’s presence on the earth, and as he—despite his fits of rebelliousness—can still be controlled, it would be nothing to me to kill you after letting my men have their fill of you.”

His eyes gleamed sinisterly down at her. “You are only useful to me, Ginevra, depending on how far you are willing to cooperate. I do not keep people who burden me for no reason. I am not a merciful man.”

Ginny let out a shaky breath, still staring at the heavy doors. This was it. She now had the choice in obeying Voldemort and having a child with Draco Malfoy—a man she hated with all her bitter heart—or she could refuse the Dark Lord once again and probably suffer the painful rape of a whole gang of Death Eaters before suffering an equally painful death. Either way she was going to lose the last shred of innocence she had in this world of nightmares.

She clenched her fists and turned her blazing gaze back on Voldemort. “What do you want me to do?”

Voldemort smiled pleasantly. “I knew you would come around eventually.”

Ginny said nothing. She was practically shaking with fury in knowing what she would have to do, but she had accepted defeat—at least for now. It was better to be with one man she hated and still live than be raped by several and die. Voldemort knew this; that was why he had brought her here in the first place. He knew that she was not the kind to give up through physical torture, no matter how much he hurt her, but desperation could drive a person to do anything, and the threat of being raped by several men was enough to drive anyone to desperation.

Reaching into his pocket, Voldemort pulled out a small bottle filled with a misty blue potion and handed it to her. “Drink this, and then Lara shall take you to a room where you will be bathed and clothed. If I know Draco, he will refuse you immediately, but I have faith that you can change his mind with the right persuasion.” A twisted smile curled his lips. “You know what will happen if you don’t, and just to make sure—”

He yanked open her robe, bearing her naked body, and—still clutching her by the hair—pushed opened the doors and dragged her into the room, where all the men paused in what they were doing and turned to discover who had intruded.

The sudden hoots of glee and crude comments that erupted upon the men realising a beautiful, practically naked woman, was now standing amidst them almost deafened Ginny, and she could feel the hungry eyes burning into her bare flesh in a ravenous way that made her skin crawl distastefully. One of them made a rude movement at her with his body, giving no illusions on what it was he wanted to do with her, and feeling increasingly sick, Ginny had to close her eyes and will the disgusting voices to fade into oblivion.

“Now you know what your options are,” said Voldemort from somewhere up above her spinning head. “And believe me, I will know if you have failed at your task.”

Ginny’s eyes flashed angrily, knowing very well what he meant by that. “I understand,” she said bitterly, clenching the potion in her hand. “I will not fail you.”

OOOO

However little Ginny desired to think about the upcoming mission placed on her, she could not deny that the sight of a welcoming hot bath had done much to restore her spirits. She had not washed in nearly five days, and the mud, grease, blood and grime that caked her body and hair had only added to her frustrations. Now, as she lay relaxing in the steamy waters of the bath, watched over by the strange, almost eccentric, Death Eater Lara, Ginny felt strangely calm.

So little seemed to matter to her in that moment and yet she was conscious of a dull ache in her heart that would not go away. She kept feeling like she was betraying everyone by helping Voldemort, and it almost seemed like all the ghostly voices of her family were ganging up on her in her mind, accusing her of being selfish and a coward.

I have no choice, Ginny thought to herself, more to alleviate some of her own guilt and stop the incessant accusations than because she really believed it. She was doing what she thought was right, but she knew that there was still the choice not to help Voldemort. There was always a choice; it was just a question of figuring out which was the better and having the courage to go through with it.

Ginny wondered if this was what Harry had felt like when he had been faced with the discovery that he held the world’s fate in his hands. Did he also experience the unexplainable weight crushing his chest, knowing that whatever decision he made could either help them win or lose the war?

Faced with such a dilemma, Ginny wasn’t sure if she was ready to take up such a responsibility. She was not as selfless as Harry—try as she might—and could not bring herself to let go of her own fear and feelings for the sake of others. She knew very well that she was now a key in divining the fate of the Wizard World, as was Draco, and through her actions tonight, she could potentially destroy what little hope they had left for victory.

However—and this was what she was counting on—by following through with this heinous act she may yet discover a way to use it to her advantage. There was no knowing what lay in the future, and even the greatest of seers could not predict everything accurately. It was all chance, and Ginny was more than willing to try her chances if it meant escaping the demoralising punishment she would have had to face if she had refused. Surely people would understand?

Besides, forcing Draco to give her a child was more than harsh punishment for her. It killed her inside to know that she was actually willingly going to try and force a man who hated her to have sex with her, for Voldemort had given little doubt that Draco was very against the plan. She wondered why, not really understanding any of the motives that drove Draco to behave the way he did. He was an enigma to her—more so than the Dark Lord who she at least understood somewhat.

Her eyes fell on the blue bottle sitting innocently on the table next to the bath, and once again she pondered over what potion could possibly be in it. She had sniffed it earlier and had discovered a pleasantly sweet smell of honey and juniper. It seemed unlikely that Voldemort would poison her, and yet she could not deny that the tiny bottle made her feel just a little anxious.

“Merlin, girlie, you do take you time!” exclaimed Lara impatiently, apparently having had enough with just standing and watching Ginny bathe. “Stop your worrying over things and get that dirt and grime off your body. If you’re hoping to seduce the young Malfoy brat, you’re going to have to look a lot better than what you do now. He’s not someone to accept the dregs just because they’ve been offered to him.”

Ginny felt just a little offended at that. Was Lara calling her dregs? Then again, Lara was very beautiful; much more beautiful than Ginny could ever hope to aspire to be that was for sure.

Lara’s hair was long, silky, and a rich brown that forced her fierce blue eyes to stand out even more. Her creamy skin was flawless, except for the skull tattoo imprinted into her left forearm, and nature seemed to have designed her body with the goddess Venus in mind. No one could be proportioned so perfectly as Lara, but Ginny did not feel jealous as she might have. It seemed so trivial to worry about things like that now.

Sighing heavily, Ginny absently washed the dirt out of her hair and cast weary brown eyes up to the older woman. “I doubt anything I do will get him to have me. I am not experienced in such matters and I have the disadvantage in being a prisoner that he hates deeply. My chances in seducing him are about as great as my being able to click my fingers and spirit myself out of this dump.”

A chuckle escaped the older woman’s lips. Ginny decided that she liked it when Lara laughed. It made her seem somehow softer, younger, and more like the woman she was supposed to be rather than the woman war had made her to be.

“You clearly don’t know anything about men. No man, not even the most hardened cases, can withstand a pretty face and the inviting offer of a warm body to lie next to.”

Lara leaned forward, her eyes taking on a suddenly serious expression that seemed to suggest a state of urgency in her words. “You need to make him believe you want him and you need to freely offer yourself. That is the only way you will ever get him to relent towards you. He is still young, not quite experienced in these matters as he would like to think, and has all the disadvantages of being a hormonal young man stuck in a war surrounded mostly by brutish men.”

Her lips curved into a sly smile. “Play your cards right on this one, girlie, and you’ll get him. He’s a passionate man, that Malfoy. I have a feeling he will not be able to resist you for too long; you just have to make sure you seize the chance when it is offered to you.”

Ginny nodded her head, drinking in this wise wisdom without question. She frowned suddenly and looked up at the older woman with a curious expression on her face. “Why are you helping me so much?”

Lara tossed her hair over her shoulders. “Are you so sure I am helping you? Perhaps I am merely ensuring the success of my Master’s plan.” She smiled enigmatically and levelled her blue gaze on Ginny. “You can never know for sure, and that, Ginevra, is why I recommend you not to trust anyone more than you need to. I am no threat to you now, but I would not hesitate to hurt you if you gave me a reason to. Are we understood?”

Ginny nodded, though she still sensed that Lara was not as malicious as the others. Cynical, yes, but she was not malicious. Still, she was just as enigmatic as Draco, with her cryptic phrases and odd ways.

Still curious about the strange woman before her, Ginny once again looked up at her inquisitively. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?” said Lara shortly, losing some of her confiding tones with a return to her natural impatience.

“Why do you serve the Dark Lord?”

Ginny thought it prudent not to use Voldemort’s name. It had occurred to her a long time ago that Death Eaters got unreasonably cross when one did.

“Why do you serve the Order?” retorted Lara, not batting an eyelid.

Ginny did not hesitate. “Because they fight for justice and the good of our people.”

Lara smiled slightly. She seemed to have expected no less.

“You have just answered your own question, Ginevra, and now I think our confidences are at an end. If you want to catch Draco before the morrow, you should go to him now. He is resting in his room. I shall take you there, if you like.”

Ginny nodded again, though still not satisfied with Lara’s answer; knowing that the woman was not telling her the full truth.

She quickly dried herself with the offered towel and then slipped into a loose robe of black fabric (though thankfully this one was clean) and picked up the bottle from the table.

For a moment Ginny just stared at the tiny bottle in her hands, and then throwing caution to the winds, uncorked the stopper and downed the whole lot. It tasted vilely sweet, despite its pleasant scent, and reminded Ginny of jelly lollies over-coated with sugar.

Pulling a face of distaste, she pocketed the empty bottle and then quite suddenly felt a soft flutter of warmth pass through her abdomen. Her hand instinctively felt the region, but the feeling faded as quickly as it had come.

Vaguely she recalled reading about just such an effect from her healing classes, but she could not remember what the potion had been called. It had something to do with the moon, and—

Ginny abruptly paused in her thoughts, the answer slamming into her mind with such sickening force that she actually recoiled. It had been a fertility potion, created to ensure that a child would be produced no matter what complications arose. Voldemort had been well prepared indeed.

“Guess there’s no turning back now,” muttered Ginny to herself, following Lara out of the room.

OOOO

Draco lay on the top of his bed in nothing but a loose pair of black pants, one arm draped over his eyes and the other resting casually against his bare stomach. His body was still tingling unpleasantly from the torture he had gone under the day before, but he could at least take some comfort that he was no longer wincing with every movement he made. His mind, however, was far from easy. There was a deep bitterness twisting inside him, only added to by the knowledge of how much he was being used by his master.

If Voldemort had never used that stone to place the dark magic inside him, Draco knew that he would not be trapped in this situation. There would be no need for him to degrade himself and rape a girl he wanted nothing to do with, but that stupid stone had forced him to take on the role as her corrupter—if he so desired to go through with it that is.

According to his master, the stone gave him the ability to curse her womb with dark magic, giving the child she would bear powers far beyond what any could imagine. It would be an awe-inspiring sight, but Draco felt far too bitter to let it happen.

He and Ginny were both being used—he for the magic that had been given to him through the stone, and she for the powerful magic that lived inside her. Voldemort wanted both of their magic for himself, but Draco was not going to give it to his master if he had any say on the matter.

If Voldemort had been stupid enough to give Draco powerful magic at birth, thinking that he could control him like some mindless puppet, he was well and truly wrong and Draco would stop at no lengths to learn all about his powers and use them against the master who had so foolishly given them to him. He did not serve his master out of fear or out of blind worshipfulness; he served his master because he wanted power, and power he would have.

Right now Draco knew he was too weak to go down his own path, but, like a parasite, he bided his time, slowly leeching off the power Voldemort’s protection gave until he knew that the time was right to deal the final blow.

Yes, Voldemort had made a grave mistake in telling Draco about the secret powers placed on him at birth, and an even bigger mistake in explaining Ginny’s importance in the grand scheme of things; for if Draco ever did give in to the Dark Lord’s command, it would not be to dutifully hand over the child to his master afterwards for the sacrificial ritual. Draco would take that magic himself before he let anyone else have it—that was just the way he was.

Even now he found the thought of wielding such magic tempting, and the only thing stopping him was his own scruples. He would not force her to give him a child. It just seemed too degrading to lower himself into raping a woman for power, no matter how seductive that power may be.

Draco heard the sound of the door handle turning and lifted his arm away from his eyes to glare at whoever was stupid enough to disturb him, only to see none other than Ginevra Weasley herself walk into the room. His eyes narrowed, watching as she shut the door behind her and advanced purposely towards him.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, standing up from the bed to stare at her suspiciously. She was a prisoner; she was not supposed to be wandering around wherever she liked, let alone in his room. Her sudden arrival could not be a coincidence, but Draco was in no mood to entertain Voldemort’s whims right now.

Ginny paused in front of him, knowing reluctantly what she had to do, and silently reached one shaking hand up to her chest to undo the clasp that held her robe together. The thick material fell to the ground in a bundle at her feet, leaving her standing utterly naked before him, and it took all of her self-control not to give into the tears that were threatening to fall.

She was not foolish enough to let her weakness show. Lara had been right in saying that she needed to show him that she wanted him. If he really did despise the thought of raping a girl, he would never so much as touch her if he thought she was unwilling.

Goosebumps slithered up her skin with the cool rush of air, but she did not rub her arms to ease the warmth back into her flesh. Instead she just stood there silently before him, her eyes locked on the grey ones before her, and desperately trying with all her might to keep her expression devoid of disgust and fear so as not to betray her natural feelings.

Draco swallowed hard, unable to ignore the tempting picture she presented and the heated feelings she was creating inside him, but at the same time he felt a sudden surge of anger pass through his veins. Just what game was she playing at? Did she honestly think he was foolish enough to fall for such a cheap trick? He had far more self-control than that.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded in an angry voice, only heightened by the natural frustration in having to suffer the full force of restraining himself in front of her alluring proximity. “Put some damn clothes on now and get out!”

Realising that Voldemort had been right in saying Draco would refuse her, Ginny decided it was time to take matters into her own hands. She swallowed her revulsion and silently took his hand in hers, placing it firmly against her naked breast. Her eyes did water a bit then, but she managed to disguise her conflicted emotions by channelling her determined desire to get through this into her gaze, creating a captivating effect of fierceness and yet vulnerable sadness.

For a moment Draco was stunned out of his initial anger. He could feel her heart rapidly beating against his palm and let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, very conscious of where exactly his hand was resting. His eyes darted to hers, pulled into the mesmerising torrent of emotions swirling in the chestnut of her eyes, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have said that she had somehow caught him in some terrible enchantment.

He felt trapped, as if in a trance, so that he could do no more than stare into her dangerously captivating eyes with no thought or feeling beyond the woman before him. Was it really possible she could have such an effect over him? She, a woman he despised with all his bitter heart.

Wordlessly she moved his hand along her body, allowing him to feel the seductive softness of her bare flesh, her eyes inviting him to take his pleasure in her where her heart refused him. It was all too tempting, and being just a man, Draco could feel the very real yearning to satisfy his lusts; yet even amongst all the heady feelings he was experiencing, he could still recognise the wrongness of the situation.

This wasn’t right. She was not supposed to behave this way, and he had no doubt that Voldemort had put her up to this; though how his master had succeeded was a mystery to Draco.

He wanted to push her away; he wanted to scream at her, but his tongue had been silenced and his body paralysed by the power of her body and eyes.

It was his own male weakness that made him surrender to her charms, though he desperately tried to fight the feelings growing inside him. He hated to lose control, and he knew that right now he was losing what little rational thought he had left. It had been too long since he had been with a woman, and he could not deny that her offer was extremely enticing to him right now.

“Just give in,” she whispered softly, moving his hand down to caress her hips.

Those words seemed to trigger something in Draco’s mind and abruptly he pushed her away from him, an expression of real panic flittering across his face. “No!” he shook his head and took a step back from her. “I don’t want this!”

Sensing that she was about to lose him, Ginny quickly took a step forward and kissed him full on the lips, pressing her body hard up against his. She was too desperate to let him come to his senses, afraid of Voldemort keeping his promise in giving her to the other men, and knew that if she ruined things now she would never get that chance again. She had to seduce him into sleeping with her, even if it killed her to do it.

Draco groaned against her lips, unable to handle it any longer, and returned her kiss with a sudden fervour. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, the other wrapping around her waist to pull her even closer; deepening the kiss until Ginny herself began to lose her calculating control with the dizzying rush of pleasure spreading through her body.

Up until this point she had acted with the knowledge that she was simply trying to seduce him so that she would not have to suffer Voldemort’s other form of punishment, but now, as she felt his lips trail down her neck in burning hot kisses, the reasons for why she had started this dangerous game of seduction began to blur in her mind, and the seducer became the seduced.

Her eyes slid shut in pleasure, her hands clutching at his back instinctively, while feeling his own hands caressing her bare flesh in hungry lust. She felt strangely exhilarated by it all, and was quickly losing her head to the overpowering desire burning within her. It was all so new and intense, and even she was not immune to the intoxicating feelings pure physical contact could give.

He once again claimed her lips with an electrifying kiss; causing what little rational thought she had left to slip away from her grasp. It no longer seemed to matter that she hated this man or that he had hurt her; nothing seemed to matter to her anymore. She was lost to all sense, her brain clouded with the lustful yearnings of her body, and she knew she would not be satisfied until she had immersed herself in him.

Pulling her down with him onto the bed, Draco moved on top of her and fumbled with his pants to remove the rest of his clothes, all the while letting his lips silently speak of his growing need.

Ginny looped her arms around him, running her hands across his bare back, while returning his impassioned kisses with enthusiasm. She just couldn’t get enough of him, or, rather, she could not get enough of the feelings he was arousing inside of her, and was just as anxious for him to lose the clothing that stopped their bare skin from meeting.

Finally having removed the last of his clothing, Draco pulled his lips away from hers and stared down at her through eyes darkened with desire. He knew that he was insane to do this, but he could not stop himself now. He was already lost to her, and though he knew that he was doing just as Voldemort wanted—for he had already gathered that his master had sent her here in the hopes that she would seduce him—he found that very little of that mattered to him right now.

Ginny trailed her hand up his back and ran her fingers through his hair, bringing his face back down to claim his lips with her own. Any hesitation Draco might have felt quickly melted away, and the game of seduction finally drew to a close as the two enemies became one.

OOOO

The room was bathed in shadows. Ginny could hear the steady breathing from the man beside her, though it was not even enough for him to be asleep. She was glad he had not spoken to her, and nor had he demanded she leave straight away. He had simply rolled onto his back and stared up at the roof, lost in his own thoughts that she would never be privy to, ignoring her completely.

Ginny rolled over the other way and curled her trembling body into a defensive ball, biting on her fist to stifle a dry sob that threatened to escape from her tainted lips. A sickly feeling was twisting inside her, clenching her stomach between cruel fingers of guilt and revulsion, and her eyes, that burned with her own disgust, wept tears of sorrow for the death of her innocence.

Now that she was no longer lost to the heady lust that had ensnared her mind, she felt the full reality of what she had done hit her with a staggering force.

It was one thing to sleep with a man she despised to save herself from further punishment, but to actually enjoy it? That was just sickening, and with the realisation of her own betrayal, a sudden surge of hate swept over her—hate for herself and for the man who had caused such dark lust to twist her thoughts.

How could she have betrayed herself like this? How could she have enjoyed what he had done to her? Was she really that twisted enough to take delight in the physical pleasure a monster like him could give? This man had killed her brother, wounded her pride and her spirit, and yet she had willingly, even desperately, moaned out his name in dark pleasure with the orgasmic rush her body had experienced—a far cry from the businesslike manner she had first started this disgusting seduction with.

Perhaps she was the monster? Perhaps she was the one with no decency and no feeling? She was the one who had agreed to seduce him, after all, and had pushed him to the point of defeat even with him saying no. She was the one who had taken dark delight in his touch and his kiss, though she had not needed to.

All of it was her choice, and she was ashamed and disgusted to admit that even now she still felt that dark attraction for the man next to her.

Voldemort had been right. Draco had corrupted her. He had corrupted her body, her soul and her mind. She was contaminated with more than just his magic; she was contaminated with him.

Something had changed inside her. It was like a part of her goodness had died along with her innocence, and try as she might, she could not find that light inside her again. All she felt was darkness; all she saw was a looming blackness stretching out forever in her bleak horizon. There was no hope of returning to that girl she used to be—she had been lost forever.

Ginny knew she would never be able to face those she loved again. If they ever knew what she had done, what she had felt—she could not face their judgment. They would never understand why, for even she did not understand it, and she could not bear to see their smiles turn to disgust. They would look upon her as some common whore, and the sad thing was that she knew that was exactly what she was. She had sold her body to Voldemort, given in to the physical pleasure Draco had given her, and revelled in the satiating of her dark lust with indecent satisfaction. What hope did she possibly have in being forgiven after that?

Tears choked her throat and slipped freely down her cheeks. She thought of Harry—sweet, selfless Harry—and felt even more pained in her heart. He would never love her now. How could he, knowing that she had slept with his enemy and enjoyed it? It would be too much to ask, and in a way she felt like she didn’t deserve him now. He was far too good for her—far too pure for her tainted soul.

Her body started trembling even more and a small sob escaped her lips, which she quickly smothered with her hand, gritting her teeth together until it hurt. She had not been fast enough to stop Draco from noticing, however, and felt him shift as he sat up in the bed, his piercing gaze burning into her back.

Draco made a scornful noise in his throat. “Isn’t it just like a woman to cry over something she caused herself.”

Ginny only sniffed.

Draco rolled his eyes and glared down at his hands. No doubt she was sitting there blaming him for everything, but he’d be damned if he let her turn this back on him. He had not asked her to enter his room, nor had he demanded she take off her clothes and force her to let him touch her. She had done it all of her own accord, and he didn’t care what persuasions Voldemort had used on her; she had still brought this upon herself.

If anyone was the victim here it was him, which was about as laughable as the fact that the woman who had seduced him was now crying over it. He couldn’t believe that he had actually given in to her, but he could not deny that there was something about her that no one woman he had met possessed.

Perhaps it was an effect of the magic burning inside her, but there was a fire in her eyes that he found hard to ignore. She was fierce, but there was more than fierceness to her. She was just so alive, and becoming one with her had been like becoming one with all the colours of the world. His soul had been opened to see beyond the dull and dark, immersing in the beauty painted within her; like a blind man viewing the world for the first time.

It had been nothing like anything he had experienced before, and he had been with women enough to know what he should have felt.

Was it possible that he had come into contact with the very same power Voldemort so desperately wanted? Was that bliss he had experienced inside her the key to causing the destruction of all that was good in the world? Could such beauty really cause so much misery?

Draco’s eyes swivelled back to her trembling form, watching her in silent scrutiny. His curse was already inside her, but no one knew what the true effects of that curse would be. The only surety was that their child would be born with powerful dark magic.

Their child.

Strange. Draco had not really thought about it in that way before. He had heard Voldemort talk about it of course, but he had never really considered the child as his own. Now, however, he realised for the first time that the child was going to be a part of him too. He wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

Draco sighed and leaned his head back against the headboard. Never did he think he would find himself in such a situation. If he had the choice to go back and erase what had happened, he knew that he would without hesitating. It had been a mistake on his part—a moment of weakness that he knew he would live to regret for the rest of his life—and because of this one mistake his life would never be the same.

“Tell me something,” Draco said softly to the shadowed room. “What did Voldemort do to make you do this?”

“What does it matter?” came the bitter reply.

Draco fell silent. He supposed it didn’t really matter; he was just curious to know what could have driven a woman who despised him so much to willingly seduce him. There was no doubt that Voldemort had been the perpetrator behind this, and yet, for all her tears and bitterness, he knew that she had enjoyed it just as much as he had.

How strange it was that even hate could be blinded by lust, or was it more than lust? He didn’t know; he didn’t know anything anymore. She had confused him, and he hated to be confused. His heart was so conflicted now.

Ginny let out another small sob. Draco gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the piteous noise coming from the woman beside him.

Why did she have to keep crying? He couldn’t stand it! The soft sounds were so pitiful, sounding no more pathetic than an abandoned kitten desperately meowing for its mother. It made him feel a feeling he had not felt in so long that he had almost forgotten it existed.

Pity.

That couldn’t be right. He was not meant to feel sorry for her. She was the one who had trapped him into this situation, and yet—and yet he couldn’t deny that somehow he did pity her. Her tears spoke to his heart in words long forgotten, unleashing something weak and disgustingly good. The cold stone he had placed over his heart was finally cracking; chipping away one bit at a time with each small sob she uttered.

Why was this affecting him so much? Why did hearing her cries stir his unfeeling heart?

He’d heard it all so many times before. He’d seen the tears on countless faces, falling from eyes of many different shades and colours; women pleading for him not to kill their children; men begging him on their knees and sobbing their pathetic little hearts out as they clutched his fine robes; and children—those poor, innocent children—that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, looking up at him through frightened eyes, small sobs catching in their throats, not really daring to believe that he could abandon them to their fates.

Not once had those pathetic cries stirred a shred of pity in his heart. He’d only felt contempt for their weakness. Why then did her sobs trigger those suppressed feelings he had not felt for nearly three years? Why did she pull at his pity when no one else could?

He was known as Draco the merciless; Draco the ruthless, but now that infamous and unfeeling young man was actually feeling pity for a girl he had hated his whole life. It was almost disturbing, and he did not like it one bit. Pity was for the weak, and he was not weak.

Someone knocked at the door.

“What is it?” Draco called out, his eyes still watching Ginny’s shadowed form.

“The Dark Lord wishes to see you,” Lara’s voice replied. “I’ve come to take the girl back to her cell.”

Draco cursed under his breath. “What can he possibly want now?” he muttered darkly to himself, his brow furrowed in frustration.

Knowing that he could not escape this meeting, Draco got out of the bed and pulled on his clothes. His eyes flicked towards Ginny. “You should get dressed. Lara is an impatient woman, and I don’t plan to leave you in here.”

Ginny wiped the tears from her face and scrambled out of the bed, quickly pulling on her robe again.

“Hurry up!” Lara ordered, giving the door an impatient kick.

“She’s coming!” shouted Draco, casting an irritated glare at the door.

Ginny heard him mutter something about impatient women and his loathing of the whole female species in general, and then he turned and looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Don’t speak of this to anyone, Weasley. There are a lot of people who would kill to get their hands on you if they knew how important you are to the Dark Lord, and even more if they realised what the child inside you has the potential to do. It’s best if you keep all of this to yourself.”

Ginny nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.”

Draco ushered her out of the room and shut the door behind them.

“Took you long enough,” muttered Lara, standing with her hands on her hips. “You’d best hurry, Malfoy. The Dark Lord may be gleefully kicking his heels at the success of tonight, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to be any happier to be kept waiting.”

“What do I care? He can’t do anything to me.”

Lara shook her head. “You’re playing a risky game, Malfoy. Don’t bank on him always being lenient on you. One of these days your attitude is going to get your killed.”

Draco shrugged a careless shoulder. “I’m not afraid of the Dark Lord.”

Ginny looked at him curiously. There was just no working this man out. He served Voldemort, yet he didn’t seem to care about the man at all. It made no sense.

“Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” said Lara grimly.

Draco only rolled his eyes and stalked off down the hallway.

Lara chuckled to herself. “Boy can’t control his temper at all.” She turned her eyes to Ginny and twirled her wand in her hand. “Well, shall we go?”

Ginny nodded and started following Lara down the hallway.

“I take it you succeeded. I would congratulate you, but I hardly think that would be welcome,” said Lara, while watching her keenly.

Ginny said nothing.

Lara let out another of her small chuckles. “That bad, huh? I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you, girlie. Now that you’ve done the deed you’re going to be well looked after. The Dark Lord wouldn’t risk the child being hurt.”

“How did you know about the child?” asked Ginny, a frown creeping onto her brow.

Lara smiled slightly. “I tended to Draco after the Dark Lord had punished him for refusing to rape you. Let’s just say that he was very vocal in his frustrations.”

“Oh.”

Somehow that discovery made Ginny feel worse. Draco had suffered torture because he refused to rape her, and yet she had given in and ruined both their lives. Of course, back then she had believed she had no choice, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Time had given her a moment to reflect, and in that reflection she had wondered if Voldemort had been lying to her when he had said that he would give her to those men. It certainly seemed possible that he had lied in order to get her to do what he wanted, but now she would never know for sure.

She sighed to herself. There really was no point dwelling about it further. The deed had been done; nothing could change that now.

They stopped at the familiar wooden door that led to Ginny’s prison.

“This is where I leave you,” said Lara, lowering her wand and opening the door. “You should try get some sleep while you can.”

Ginny nodded and entered the room, the door shutting and locking behind her with a snap. Though sleep was far from her mind, Ginny was so mentally exhausted and physically drained that as soon as she collapsed on the bed she fell fast asleep.

OOOO

Voldemort stood like an aging piece of wax work, his unnaturally pale face dancing with the flickering shadows cast by the flames floating near him, giving a sinister glow to the deathly tones of his skin.

“You called for me, my Lord?” asked Draco, inclining his head in a stiff bow.

For all his mutinous words, he had decided to heed Lara’s advice. His master would already be unhappy with him; there was no point pushing his luck.

A smile curved Voldemort’s thin lips, and he walked slowly towards Draco, black robes hanging around him like a dark shadow; the candles flickering as if unable to stay alive in such pure evil.

“I have seen you grow to a fine Death Eater, Draco. You are the youngest in my ranks, and yet you have proven yourself again and again to be more thorough than any other. You do not hesitate; you do not take pity—” His voice lowered to the barest whisper, the crackling of the fire becoming louder with each moment— “And yet when I specifically asked you to help me with this great task, you refused.”

Draco said nothing.

“However, thanks to Ginevra’s determination, or should I say desperation,” he corrected with a low laugh, “The deed has been done. Her situation is delicate, and I would not have her put at risk while she carries that child. That is why you, Draco, are going to watch her.”

“My lord?” exclaimed Draco, momentarily surprised.

“You hate her, and therefore I know it will be punishment enough for you to look after her, but I also trust that you will protect her. I know you will not rape her, and I know that you will not directly disobey my orders and kill her. She has already been in your care while I was away, and therefore knows what to expect of you, and in a way it is almost fitting that you should look after her, considering the child is also yours.”

Draco gritted his teeth. He could feel the dread filling inside him, his stomach lurching uncomfortably as he thought of being stuck in the company of the pale faced girl with those intense chestnut eyes; eyes that even now haunted him.

There was a power in her eyes that just stole all his breath and made him feel like he was falling into oblivion; falling deeper and deeper into his soul where he could not hide from any of the suppressed feelings he had tried so hard to ignore.

She would destroy him. She would ruin everything he had tried to create. There had to be another way. He couldn’t do this. Not now, not when he was so weak and confused!

“My Lord, surely there is someone more suitable? She cannot stay here, and-”

“She can stay at the manor with your mother.” Voldemort chuckled to himself. “The two of them can be bitter together.”

“And of my men? Who will lead them?”

Draco knew there was no point arguing, but he would try all the same.

“There is always someone else to lead your men. I want you to stay at the Manor and protect her. There are enemies even in our own ranks, and you know just as well as I do that they would do anything to get their hands on her. I trust that you will deal with them should they come to you.”

Draco silently nodded, knowing the matter to be closed.

Voldemort smiled in what could almost be called an affectionate way, except his eyes could never quite grasp the warmth of human emotion. There was always something wrong—something off. Everything was twisted, a layer of evil always creeping in to ruin the softness of his voice and expression.

“Do not look so bitter, Draco. Protect Ginevra for me and I will reward you greatly for your service.”

“I will not fail you, my lord,” said Draco with an ironic display of obedience.

“Good. Then you will take Ginevra to the Manor tonight and protect her there until the child is born. You may leave now.”

Giving another stiff bow, Draco turned on his heel and swept out of the door, his rage building inside him with each step he took.

Voldemort was the one who had wanted the stupid girl. He was the one who wanted the magic inside her, and yet it was he—Draco—who had to do all the dirty work. He was the one who had kidnapped her and taken care of her; he was the one who had to be intimate with her and give her a child, and now the Dark Lord had just foisted her onto him once again! .

Storming down the hallway like a dark storm cloud, Draco burst into Ginny’s room and froze upon seeing her sleeping on top of the bed. A crease formed on his brow, and silently he walked forward and gave her a small shake. She stirred and glanced up at him groggily, gasped in fright, and then quickly sat up to stare at him through wide eyes.

“What do you want?”

“I’m taking you to Malfoy Manor,” answered Draco shortly.

Ginny frowned. “Why there?”

“Because the Dark Lord wishes it, now hurry up. I want to leave here before anyone notices what we’re doing.”

He grasped her by the wrist and pulled her to her feet, dragging her none-too-gently from the room. Silently he led her down the hallways to the disapparation point, and then pulled her with him inside the booth.

His eyes briefly met hers in an almost threatening manner, as if warning her not to try anything, and then he tightened his grasp on her wrist and lifted his wand in the air, pulling her with him to turn on the spot; the both of them vanishing with a loud crack.

A/N: Sorry if there’s lots of typos and stuff. I haven’t had much sleep—as usual—and even though I’ve read over this plenty of times, it’s still likely I would have missed something. Plus, I’m in agony right now, so my brain isn’t at it’s full functioning—wisdom teeth and all. *sigh*

Anyway, hope you enjoyed the chapter, and, of course, reviews are most welcome.

4. Black Halo

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.

5. Crimson

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.

6. Disturbance

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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7. To Feel

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

A/N: My apologies for the wait. This chapter has given me hell, so I’m sorry if it doesn’t turn out so well.

To Feel

“Where’s Ginevra?”

The question remained unanswered. Just in that moment the door opened and Draco Malfoy strode into the room. He checked on the threshold, grey eyes widening in faint surprise when he saw both Lara and Voldemort standing in the middle of the room.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, echoing his mother’s question.

It was Lara who replied.

“I need to see Ginevra. Something is wrong with the child.”

Narcissa paled and instinctively gripped her son’s arm. “Draco, go bring Ginevra here. She should still be in her room.”

He nodded, the slight tightening of his jaw being the only sign that he was disturbed by this news.

Without a further word he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, his mind buzzing with what he had just learnt.

There was something wrong with the child. Something no one had expected, judging by the worried gleam he had caught in Lara’s eyes. He knew his life was now hanging by the barest thread. His survival, not to mention his mother’s, was linked to the welfare of that child. If it died so did he. Voldemort would make sure of that.

Draco clenched his hands into fists. How could this have happened? Hadn’t his mother taken perfect care of Ginny? Hadn’t he restrained himself from hurting her even when the stubborn redhead had pushed her boundaries?

His eyes narrowed. If she had done something to cause this problem he would not show her mercy this time. He didn’t care what confusing feelings she made him feel; he knew what he wanted in life and he would not have her or her stupid fits of rebellion ruining that by putting his life in danger.

Draco stopped outside Ginny’s bedroom and opened the door without knocking. This time, however, there was no biting remark to greet him from the impertinent prisoner.

He frowned, pausing as he took in the seemingly empty room and the discarded dress set out on the bed.

That was when his eyes fell on the pale form lying by the foot of the mirror.

His breath caught. Not even stopping to contemplate what he was doing, he swiftly moved towards the unconscious girl and knelt down beside her body; looping an arm underneath her as he lifted her into a sitting position.

“Ginevra,” he murmured, giving her a gentle shake. “Ginevra, wake up.”

The girl remained silent, her head lolling to the side from the movement.

Draco could feel the panic rising inside him. This was not good.

He reached into his robe to grab his wand, intending to cast the enervate spell to awaken her, when fingers suddenly tightened around his wrist. His gaze darted down to the girl in his arms, just catching the flutter of her lashes as the deep brown of her eyes were revealed.

She stared up at him, awareness dawning on her face, and then a faint tinge of pink stole to her cheeks.

“Malfoy? What—”

“What happened?” cut in Draco ruthlessly, ignoring her blush and her stammering.

“I—” She held a hand to her swimming head. “I think I fainted.”

“You’re not hurt?”

A slight frown creased her brow. “No,” she said slowly, “No, I’m fine, but” — she stared down at her stomach, words trailing off.

Draco followed her gaze, his eyes widening as he took in the small bump. It was bare for him to see, as Ginny was still only wearing her undergarments, and looked disturbingly unnatural against her thin frame.

“Merlin,” he breathed, forgetting himself for a moment as he brushed his fingers against the stretched skin.

“What do you think it means?” asked Ginny, trying and failing to appear as if she was not affected by his gentle caress.

Draco’s eyes caught hers, his hand rising and falling with her erratic breathing, though he seemed to pay no mind to this. “I don’t know,” he replied truthfully, “but it seems Lara was right.”

“Lara?”

“She’s in the morning room with the Dark Lord. She believes that something may be wrong with the child. They want to see you,” he added, staring at her with sudden suspicion.

Ginny’s eyes blazed. “If you think that I did something to make this happen, you’re wrong. I told you that I don’t want to die any more than you do. Do you honestly think that I would jeopardise my life by damaging the child now after putting up with having sex with you in the first place?”

“Having regrets, Weasley?”

“You know I regret it,” she gritted out bitterly.

“Funny. You didn’t seem to find it so terrible before.”

Pink spread across her cheeks.

“You don’t need to tell me how much of a whore I am for having enjoyed being with you. I already know what you think of me.”

Draco wasn’t sure why the waspishness of her tone bothered him, only that it did.

He was the one who had called her a whore—and had taken malicious satisfaction in doing so—but hearing her so honestly admit that she had enjoyed being with him made quite a different emotion stir inside him.

After all, hadn’t he enjoyed being with her too?

Shaking away such dangerous thoughts, he put his mind back to the matter at hand. This was not the time for discussing their twisted relationship—if relationship was what one could call it. The Dark Lord did not like to be kept waiting, and Draco knew all too well how impatient Lara could be.

“Can you stand?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Ginny glared owlishly at him. “Well, I can’t if you keep holding me like this.”

And it was true. He still had his arm looped around her while his free hand was resting on her bare stomach.

Making a show of raising his eyebrow at her, as if to remind her that he was still the one in charge, he pulled his arms away from her and allowed her to move away from him.

Ginny stood up—Draco following in tow—but swayed as soon as she made to take a step. Immediately he was there, grasping her by the waist to steady her with his capable hands.

Silver collided with deep brown.

His heart gave a jolt, unsettled by the inexplicable power that always seemed to radiate between them whenever their gazes met. It was as if his blood, quickened by the rush of finding their bodies closer than expected, had somehow become magnetised to hers; drawing the two of them closer with an invisible force.

Draco couldn’t understand it. He hated her—he knew that just as well as he knew his own name—but being close to her like this always seemed to trigger something inside him. It was so indefinable, so unnerving, but it was there all the same.

Why did she have this effect over him? What did he even want from her? She was just a girl. Just a stupid girl. There was no sane reason why he should feel this way, and yet he knew there was something there.

Something that he wanted.

Ginny stared up at him through those bewitching brown eyes, her lips parting slightly as she sucked in a small breath. He found himself transfixed by the simple action, his eyes lowering to that tauntingly soft mouth. It would be so easy to close the distance between them; so easy to get a taste of the sweetness he knew that her lips could give...

Panicking at the sudden direction his thoughts were heading, Draco abruptly tore his hands away from her waist and turned away from her.

“Can you walk or not?” he asked roughly. “Or do I have to carry you now?”

Ginny’s cheeks once again blossomed with her ever-ready blush. “I’m fine,” she snapped, looking half confused, half aggravated by his sudden show of temper. She stalked past him and grabbed the silk dressing gown hanging on the door and slipped it on to cover her exposed body. “There, I’m ready.”

Draco said nothing to this announcement and continued to say nothing as they walked back towards the morning room. He was still unnerved by the stray thoughts that had infiltrated his mind and was too busy trying to convince himself that he had not been indulging in thoughts of kissing the redhead by his side to actually pay any attention to her.

“Took you long enough,” muttered Lara by way of greeting, scowling as the two made their silent way into the room.

“Go get her yourself then next time,” retorted Draco.

“Enough of that,” said Voldemort dismissively. He turned to the brunette by his side. “Well, Lara, what do you sense?”

Lara threw a final scowl at Draco and then walked forward to stand in front of Ginny. She let out a deep breath, eyes closing, and then reached out her hand towards the redhead’s stomach, as if searching for some invisible object.

Silence closed in on the room, the only sound being the collective breaths of anticipation coming from its occupants. No one moved. They just waited; waited and watched to see what would happen, though Ginny herself could only stand in frozen fear.

A slight frown twisted Lara’s calm expression. Her hand began to tremble and a few beads of sweat could be seen gathering on her brow. She took in a sharp breath, the trembling in her hand becoming so violent that her whole arm quivered in protest at the energy she was using.

It was disturbing to watch. Ginny could actually see the vibrant woman withering before her eyes; see the strength dying as Lara’s expression became more of a grimace, the steady breathing becoming more erratic.

No one dared move. No one dared speak. The silence was suffocating in its intensity, smothering them in a thick veil of nerves, and then Lara let out an agonised gasp and stumbled back, her eyes snapping open to meet Ginny’s own horrified gaze.

Ginny remained frozen in place, her heart pounding in her chest, just staring into those blue eyes; eyes that right now were mixed with fear, wonder and…triumph?

“What happened?” demanded Voldemort, stepping forward in his impatience. “Did you find out what is wrong with the child?”

“The magic is too strong,” panted Lara, holding a hand to her now throbbing head. “The child is protected by a barrier that shuts out everything. It’s almost as if her womb is using an advanced form of occlumency against me.”

“But did you manage to find out anything?” repeated Voldemort, his tone leaving no doubt that there would be serious consequences if she hadn’t.

Lara held her master’s unforgiving gaze briefly and then locked eyes with Ginny. The girl in question swallowed nervously, but Lara only closed the distance between them and—much to the surprise of everyone—wrenched open the silk dressing gown that was covering the girl’s body.

Ignoring the gasp of protest and shock that escaped the redhead’s lips, Lara focussed her eyes on the small bump now visible to see. “I knew it,” she whispered, the same mixture of emotions filling the blue of her eyes, though this time the gleam of triumph was impossible to miss.

Ginny could only stare, too frightened to move and too stunned to speak.

Lara turned away again to face her master. “My lord, the child is in no danger, though I was right in thinking that there was something wrong. If you look closely you will see that her stomach has already swollen to the size of where it should be in about one or two months.”

“I don’t understand,” exclaimed Ginny, finally finding her voice. “Are you saying this thing inside me has already developed to a two month year old baby in just one week?

“Yes, Ginevra, that is exactly what I’m saying.”

“But you say it is in no danger?” interposed Voldemort, watching the brunette with piercing eyes.

“Logically it should be,” admitted Lara. “The magic the child holds is too powerful for such an underdeveloped human. There’s a reason why most wizards and witches only discover their magic upon coming close to the age of eleven, and even those who show signs of magical ability earlier on in life only manage it in small bursts of uncontrolled magic.”

“The mind and the body are too weak to control it,” murmured Draco, catching on.

Lara nodded. “Exactly. Magic is supposed to mature with the human body. The nature of your encounter with Ginevra, however, allowed an overwhelming amount of concentrated dark magic to be infused into her womb, only becoming stronger once it fused with the powerful magic she herself would pass onto her seed. No embryo could survive such an onslaught of power; it’s just not developed mentally or physically enough to contain such a force.”

“Well then why is this monster still growing inside me and at such a rapid pace?” demanded Ginny, becoming just a little hysterical.

“Because the magic has somehow found a way to speed up the process of the embryo’s growth in order to compensate for the deficiency,” explained Lara. Her eyes shifted to Draco. “It’s no different than when your soul accepted the jade stone’s magic. You could have easily been killed from the power infused into your body, but your soul embraced it as a part of you, allowing the magic to transform you into something more than just a normal wizard.”

Draco paled imperceptibly at this casual reference to the magic placed on him but his expression remained as impassive as ever. “And so the child is going to keep growing at this pace?” he asked calmly, though there was a faint edge to his voice.

“I’d give you two months at the most before the child will be ready to be born.”

“Two months?” echoed Ginny, feeling suddenly ill.

Voldemort’s eyes lit up with satisfied glee at this pronouncement. “This is good news, indeed. Two months instead of nine makes a vast difference. You’ve done well, Lara.”

Lara bowed in acknowledgement at this praise. “Thank you, my lord.”

Ginny, however, could not contain her panic. Two months instead of nine did indeed make a vast difference, but unlike Voldemort, who looked on the birth as something to anticipate with enthusiasm, she could only feel a nauseating dread at the thought.

Once the child was born she would have no further use to Voldemort. Her child would be taken from her and sacrificed so that he could glut his thirst for power, and she would in all probability be murdered.

She had hoped that an opportunity to escape would present itself over the next nine months but now she only had two, if even that, to form a plan and make her escape. It wasn’t enough, and with this sickening realisation came an even more sickening sensation of dizziness.

Black swarmed before her eyes. The muffled roaring in her ears became louder until it dominated all thought, and then she was drifting into nothing, welcomed by a smothering darkness that consumed all.

For the second time that day Ginny Weasley had fainted.

Draco noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye and on reflex caught her before she could hit the ground. He frowned down at the girl in his arms, a strange sort of feeling twisting inside him. She looked so vulnerable in that moment.

“What happened to her?” asked Voldemort.

“Hyperventilating,” observed Narcissa, speaking for the first time. She stepped forward to stand beside Draco. “If that is all you need from her, I shall take her back to her room so that she can regain her strength. She is clearly under stress from everything that has happened and needs to rest.”

“Very well,” said Voldemort, not really caring about anything else now that he knew his plans were in full motion and very close to being achieved. “Make sure that she stays in full health. We can’t afford to have any mishaps happen between now and the birth.”

Narcissa inclined her head. “Of course.”

His red eyes flicked to Lara, who nodded, and then with a swish of his cloak he was gone.

“Watch her close, Draco,” advised Lara. “More than your life is depending on her safety now.”

Draco barely had time to digest these parting words before the brunette disapparated with a loud crack. His eyes flicked to his mother, who stared right back at him through emotionless eyes.

“Will you carry her for me?” asked Narcissa, gesturing to the unconscious redhead.

He nodded, swallowing back any words he might have said, and slipped an arm under Ginny’s legs so that he was holding her bridal-style. Narcissa led the way back to Ginny’s room, holding the door open so that Draco could carry the redhead inside without any difficulty.

Draco gently placed Ginny down on the bed then stood back. He felt his mother come stand beside him.

“You never told me that the child was yours,” said Narcissa quietly, the faint tones of reproach just hinted in her voice.

“There was no need. It’s going to be sacrificed as soon as it is born.”

Narcissa gave a somewhat bitter laugh. “I see. So this is what my son has become? A tool to breed children for the Dark Lord.”

“I didn’t rape her on the Dark Lord’s orders, if that’s what you’re thinking,” retorted Draco, stung by her words. “It wasn’t like that at all…”

He stared down at the unconscious girl, the memory of her coming into his room and offering herself to him playing once again before his eyes. She had been like a virgin on the sacrificial altar then, but whatever their strange encounter had started out as it had finished as a mutual yearning to be together.

Even now he could recall very vividly the way her kisses had become more demanding; the way her body had practically begged him to enter to satisfy her growing need, and the soft sound of her voice breathing out his name as they had moved as one.

No, that had been no rape and nor had it been a mere game of seduction. She had wanted him, and though he would never admit it, he had wanted her too.

Draco turned to see his mother watching him intently and felt his hackles rise again. He could tell that she was doing some deep thinking. Knowing what his mother thought of him, he knew that it wouldn’t be about anything good.

“What?” he snapped. “Are you going to accuse me of something else now? I told you that I didn’t rape her, so you can stop looking at me like that.”

“I can see that you didn’t rape her,” came the calm reply. “I’m just…surprised.”

Draco blinked, momentarily thrown out of his stride. “I—what?” he stammered, looking suddenly very boyish in his confusion.

“You know that the Dark Lord will kill her once this is over, don’t you?”

His brow creased. “Yes.”

“And that doesn’t bother you at all?”

Draco glared at his mother. “Just what are you implying?”

“I don’t know,” said that maddeningly calm woman. “You tell me.”

Silver flashed with anger. “If you think that I care about her, Mother, you’re wrong. I don’t give a damn about whether she lives or not. What happened that night between us means nothing to me. Nothing.”

He suddenly clenched his mouth shut, furious at himself for saying so much.

Narcissa merely raised an eyebrow.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Draco stalked out of the room without a further word and slammed the door shut behind him with a loud snap. A slight smile curled Narcissa’s lips as she heard his footsteps stomping off down the hallway.

It seemed her son had learnt to feel.

She was not so naïve as to believe this somehow made everything well again, but it was a step. He was not the soulless monster anymore. He had been forced to feel, and in that she found something that she had believed almost to be lost.

Hope.

OOOO

Something warm and slightly damp was gently brushed against her forehead, a few trickles of water escaping to trace her closed eyelids. Her eyes fluttered, slowly opening to see the familiar pattern of her ceiling staring back at her.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a cool but oddly soothing voice murmured from beside her. “Are you feeling better now?”

Ginny blinked and sat up, almost collapsing again at the sudden rush of dizziness that overwhelmed her. Gentle hands quickly came to her rescue.

“Careful now,” said her companion, as the hands eased her back down on the bed. “Don’t push yourself.”

There was something about the woman’s voice that made a lump come to Ginny’s throat. It was so concerned, so genuine. She almost felt like the woman actually cared about her.

“What happened?” whispered Ginny, closing her eyes again.

“You fainted. I thought it would be best to just let you get some rest, so I had Draco bring you up here. Merlin knows you’ve had more than enough to deal with today.”

There was a pause. Ginny heard the sound of something being sloshed in water and then wrung.

“Of course, they would never think of that,” the woman muttered more to herself, continuing to bathe the redhead’s face.

Ginny felt the lump begin to burn her throat and the telltale sign of tears stinging at her eyes. She knew who was sitting beside her now and felt oddly conflicted by it all.

Narcissa had never been outwardly rude to her before but then the woman had never treated her so affectionately either. It was almost frustrating. There was no reason for the blonde to behave in this way, as if she were a mother simply tending to a sick child. It was too hurtful, too mocking.

Ginny would have given anything to have her own mother bathe her face again like this, but Molly Weasley was dead. None of her family remained now, no one who had loved her and cared for her. She was alone, alone and abandoned, and yet here was the mother of her captor treating her with a tender sincerity that was almost overwhelming in its unexpectedness.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the tears that threatened to escape.

Narcissa placed the flannel back in the bowl of water. “Are you alright, Ginevra?”

“No,” choked out Ginny, unable to contain it anymore. “I’m not alright. I’m not alright at all.”

Everything was just too much. Her family and friends were dead; she was being held captive against her will, forced to sleep with a man she hated and in doing so became pregnant to him, and now—unless a miracle happened—she had barely two months to live because of said child. Add in the confusing mixture of feelings she felt for her captor and it was no wonder that she had reached breaking point.

Her body trembled as the suppressed tears began to force their way out of her tear-ducts, her chest constricting painfully with the sheer force of emotion coursing through her. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to cry like this. She had been forcing everything in, trying to push all her woes to the back of her mind, but Narcissa’s concern had unlocked something inside her. She couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Ginny curled her body into a ball, shaking and choking on her tears.

There was a sigh and then hands calmly pulled her closer. It was then that Ginny realised she was being held in the arms of Narcissa Malfoy.

For a moment Ginny was too stunned to do anything, but then a pitiful sob broke free from her throat and she buried her face into the older woman’s shoulder, her tears now spilling freely as she relaxed into the warm embrace.

Narcissa seemed to understand that no words needed to be said and simply held the sobbing girl close, allowing her fingers to glide soothingly through the red tresses cascading down the girl’s back. Her own expression was troubled, as if deep in thought, but she said nothing to disturb the girl in her arms.

It was some time later before Ginny finally quietened down. Narcissa gently eased her back against the pillows and then pulled the covers up to keep her warm.

“Thank you,” whispered Ginny, grasping the woman’s wrist, the earnestness in her brown eyes saying more than what words could have ever expressed.

Narcissa’s expression softened slightly. She tenderly smoothed back the hair from Ginny’s face and then stood away from the bed. “Get some rest, Ginevra. I’ll have Tinky bring you some dinner later.”

Ginny nodded and watched the woman leave the room, the crushing weight that had been troubling her heart lifting slightly.

It was strange. Her situation hadn’t changed at all and yet the future no longer seemed so bleak to her, or maybe it was just that the present had become easier to bear? Ginny wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that she was no longer in this alone.

OOOO

The next morning Ginny made her appearance at the breakfast table and was surprised to see Draco there as well. His eyes briefly flicked to her and then returned to the parchment in his hands. The act could not have been any more dismissive.

Ginny slid into her seat, feeling just a little uncomfortable. It was the first time they had eaten together in the breakfast room and the casualness of the situation was rather unsettling. She wished he could have just stayed in his room like he usually did.

“How was your sleep?” asked Narcissa, her voice just as smooth and indifferent as it had been when the two women had first breakfasted together.

If Ginny was disappointed at this cold reception she did not show it. In some ways she thought it was to be expected from Narcissa, who very rarely showed her emotions to anyone. The connection from last night was still there, though, and perhaps it was that which made Ginny relax a bit more.

“Fine, thank you,” said Ginny.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Ginny took one look at the food laid out on the table and felt a wave of nausea twist inside her. Of course, she had been feeling increasingly ill at the sight of food over the past week, as well as the frequent dizzy spells and vomiting, but now she understood why. The child was growing inside her at a rapid pace, and that meant all the symptoms were being thrown at her before she could even prepare for them.

She picked up a piece of toast and started nibbling, hoping that it wouldn’t later end up being regurgitated in the toilet. She could feel Narcissa watching her and managed to force a smile at the older woman. They wouldn’t let her get away with not eating this morning, so she would just have to grin and bear it.

Draco sighed and crumpled the parchment in his hands, drawing both women’s attention to him. He looked tired, Ginny thought.

“What’s wrong?” asked Narcissa.

“The dissenters are getting more active again. One of our bases was raided last night but no one was killed. It seems like they’re looking for something.”

“Do you have any idea what?”

“I have a few,” admitted Draco, “and what I can think of is not very comforting.”

His eyes briefly flicked to Ginny and then back to the crumpled parchment in his hands. “I have to speak with Lara,” he muttered, standing up from his chair.

“You know that the Dark Lord doesn’t want you to leave the manor,” reminded Narcissa, giving a pointed look in Ginny’s direction.

Draco’s jaw clenched. “Fine. Then I’ll send her an owl.”

He left the room on the words.

Ginny frowned to herself, thinking over Draco’s words. Who were these dissenters? Was it possible that the Order had discovered that she had been taken and were now looking for her?

She stared at Narcissa. “Who are the dissenters?”

“People who have betrayed the Dark Lord,” explained Narcissa. “They’re either ex-Death Eaters or people who were neutral before the war but still believed in blood purity.”

“So they’re good?”

Narcissa gave a tinkling laugh. “Good? Don’t be naïve, Ginevra. Just because people oppose the Dark Lord does not make them good. The dissenters are brutal, more brutal than the Death Eaters in many ways. These are people who didn’t get as much power as they thought they would under the Dark Lord’s reign and so decided to take matters into their own hands. You’d just best hope that they never find out about you.”

“Why?”

“Because the child inside of you holds the most powerful magic ever to exist on this Earth and is pivotal to the Dark Lord’s plans. Think about it, Ginevra.”

Ginny paled. “Oh.”

She was nothing but a pawn in this war, whether it would be to Voldemort or these dissenters.

Her hands clenched into fists. She was just so sick of being used. Ever since she had been kidnapped she had felt powerless to everything happening around her, but not anymore. She’d show them. There was no way she was going to give up and let them take her child from her for their sick plans, even if she did hate the thing.

Even a pawn could take down the king if the game was played right.

A/N: So this ended up being a lot shorter than I thought it would. Think of it as ‘part two’ from the previous chapter.

8. The New Prisoner

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. They were greatly appreciated.

The New Prisoner

It had been two weeks since the day Ginny had discovered the truth about the child. Two, miserable weeks. She was still no closer to escaping from the manor, and the sight of her rapidly growing stomach was just a constant reminder of how little time she had left.

At first she had considered enlisting Narcissa’s help. The woman was still the mistress of the manor, after all, and she had comforted Ginny that night. But just before Ginny had opened her mouth to request the blonde’s help, something had whispered that it would be wiser for her to keep quiet about her plans for escape.

Narcissa was being more friendly towards her lately, but that did not mean that the woman would be willing to jeopardise both her own and her son’s life just so Ginny could escape from the manor. It was Draco that Narcissa loved; Draco that she would protect in the end.

So Ginny had kept her thoughts quiet and tried her best to come up with a plan. She had discovered, after many walks around the grounds, that the manor was warded in such a way that she could not escape unless she had a wand. Since the only way she could get a wand was if she stole Draco’s, Ginny knew that this was going to prove extremely difficult.

Not only that, once she had achieved the impossible feat of getting his wand, she then had to determine what wards he had used so that she could break them. Ginny may be a powerful witch, but she was no genius. It could take weeks to figure out what wards were used to keep her a prisoner. Weeks that she did not have.

Then, still, she had to consider what she would do after she had broken the wards. She was not a fool. She knew that every Death Eater in England would be hunting for her once she escaped. She would need to get somewhere safe very fast, but after spending so long as a prisoner, she had no idea where the order would now be stationed or even if anyone was still alive that could help her.

Everything was resting on chance. She would need more than luck to get Draco’s wand, a brain she did not have to get past the wards, and the intuition of a seer to find the rest of her people if she wanted to succeed.

It was a plan doomed to the impossible. Unfortunately, it was the only option she had.

Ginny sighed as she stared out her window. The sky was painted a dark grey, becoming almost black in the distance where a storm brewed. It was going to be a horrible day. She just knew it.

As if on cue, a deep growl of thunder rumbled through the sky. Rain started to fall from the thick shroud of clouds, slow at first, and then it was pelting down in heavy droplets, so that all Ginny could see was the dagger-like jets of water slicing through the air.

“Just perfect,” she muttered to herself.

She had been hoping to go for a walk outside today but there was no way she was going to trek through that weather. Not that Narcissa would let her anyway. The blonde still liked to treat her like glass and was very insistent that Ginny take extra care of herself. Walks in the rain were most definitely prohibited.

Ginny tore her eyes away from the window and made her way towards the door. She had barely opened it an inch when she heard voices coming up the hallway from the direction of the stairs.

“Someone in the inner circle has betrayed the Dark Lord,” came Draco’s familiar voice. “That’s the only way they could have known about Potter.”

Ginny gasped. They were talking about Harry.

She leaned forward to listen more closely.

“Or they managed to kidnap a prisoner of their own,” suggested a male’s voice Ginny did not recognise. “There was a whole camp-load of people at that base you attacked. Any of them would have been able to tell the dissenters that Potter was taken.”

“Then how did the dissenters know where our base is?”

There was a pause. Ginny took the chance to open the door a bit more to get a better view.

She could see Draco standing with his arms folded and wearing a frown on his face. His companion, an unremarkable man with brown hair and sallow skin, was more relaxed in his stance and yet at the same time more agitated in expression.

“I don’t know how they found it,” admitted the man. “The dissenter we caught killed himself before we could get any more information out of him, but at least we know it’s Potter that they’re after.”

Draco shook his head. “Something just doesn’t add up. I know these men. I know they would never attack the base they knew the Dark Lord to be residing in, even on the off chance that Potter was also there. They don’t take risks like that and they’ve never been known to attack head-on before, which you say they did.”

“I suppose it is out of character for them, but it is plausible that they decided to take a risk this time. This is Potter we’re talking about. They’ve been wanting to get their hands on him for years.”

“Yes, but you also said that it was an easy win and that only three of our men were killed. I know we’re good, but we’re not that good. Something’s not right about this, Nott. I can feel it.”

The man, whom Ginny assumed must be Theodore Nott, gave an amused laugh. “I never would have pegged you for the tea leaves and crystal ball type.”

Draco scowled. “Laugh all you want. I know I’m right.”

“If you say so,” shrugged Nott. “In any case, the Dark Lord thinks it would be wiser to have Potter moved to the manor here with you. We’ll be bringing him by side-apparation in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll have to remove the wards for that. I had to put anti-apparation wards all around the manor after the dissenters started acting up. I can’t have them coming here unannounced.”

“You’d best sort that out now, then. The Dark Lord won’t be happy if anything happens to his precious Potter.”

“I know,” murmured Draco, glancing away from the sallow man. To Ginny’s horror, his gaze fell directly on her, grey eyes narrowing as he easily pieced together that she had been listening.

Ginny quickly shut the door.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, though it was not so much out of fear from being caught. She was more concerned with what she had just overheard and what she now knew she had to do.

The wards were going to be removed. This was the perfect chance to make her escape from the manor, and yet, in order to succeed, she would have to abandon Harry—her Harry—to Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

It was an impossible choice to make, but one that could not be avoided.

There was once a time when she would have stood by him no matter what the cost to her own life. She wouldn’t have even paused to consider fleeing when he was about to become a prisoner in her place, but things had changed since then. She had changed.

War made monsters out of everyone, Lara had said, and in that moment Ginny knew it to be true. The moment she had discovered the wards were going to be removed she knew, deep down, that she had already made her decision. This was too good an opportunity to pass up, and she had enough common sense to realise that even if she did stay, she would never be able to help Harry.

There was no room for bravery and loyalty here. In this world one had to fend for oneself. She had to escape, even if it meant using Harry to do it.

Ginny clenched her hands into fists. She hated herself for what she was about to do, but she knew that she had no choice. She couldn’t let Voldemort win. She couldn’t just give up; not when she still had a fighting chance.

“Please let this work,” she muttered to herself.

Ginny opened the door and stepped out of the room. Draco and Theodore Nott were no longer in the hallway, much to her relief.

Having already learnt her lesson from the last time she had hung around when given an opportunity to escape, she quickly began to make her way down the stairs to the doors that led outside; thanking her lucky stars that Narcissa and Tinky were nowhere in sight.

By her calculations, she now had about ten minutes to get to the edge of grounds and wait for the wards to be removed. From there, it was simply a matter of running as far away as possible until she could figure out a new plan.

Not having a wand certainly made the ‘getting away’ part difficult, but she wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. All she needed was a bit of luck. Either way, she had to try. She knew she was never going to get a chance like this again.

Wrenching open the doors to the grounds, she ran through the pounding rain towards the hills in the distance, her dress becoming steadily more wet until it was sticking uncomfortably to her like a second layer of skin.

At any other time she would have been annoyed by the discomfort her impractical clothes afforded her, but this time she could spare no concern for the fancy—and now soaked—dress she had been forced to wear. Soon she would be away from it all. She would be away from everything.

Her spirits lifted at the thought, giving her an extra burst of speed as the rush of adrenaline surged through her. She could do this. She just had to stick to the plan.

It was several minutes later before she finally reached the boundaries of the manor. She felt rather than saw the barrier keeping her in. An uncomfortable tingling sensation jolted through her body at the contact, forcing her back, but just in that same moment the feeling lifted.

A laugh of delight escaped her lips. The wards had been removed. She was free.

Ginny began to run again, her heart soaring as she passed through the boundaries and into the surrounding countryside, revelling in her escape. She had actually done it. She had actually managed to get away from the manor.

Spotting a wood not too far ahead of her, she started making her way towards it, knowing that even if she had managed to escape the manor itself, there was still a long way to go before she could call herself safe.

That was when something red flashed past her face, coming so close that she could actually feel the heat of the spell against her cheek.

Ginny let out a gasp of fright. She turned her head to see a man sprinting towards her; a man with blond hair and grey eyes that she knew would be no less menacing than the dark clouds above her.

“No, no, no!” Ginny muttered under her breath, forcing her legs to run faster. “How did he know?”

Another curse soared past her, again missing her by a hairsbreadth. She felt her stomach lurch and abruptly changed directions in the hopes of throwing off his aim.

Draco cursed loud enough for her to hear, a fact that gave her little comfort. He was unbelievably fast and was catching up to her quickly. It didn’t help that she was three weeks pregnant, which, in her case, meant somewhere between three to four months.

Ginny could feel the tears streaming down her face, but she refused to give in. She had to keep running. She couldn’t go back. Not when she was so close to being free. The forest was right there…

Maybe something would happen to help her escape from him? Maybe someone would come out of those trees right now and hex him?

Or not.

She could hear the heavy thud of his footsteps coming closer and then something hard and very wet collided into her from behind, dragging her down onto the ground. For a moment she was too winded to do anything—not to mention trapped under the much stronger body pinning her down—but as soon as the air rushed back into her lungs, she began to fight back with everything she had.

“Get off me!” she screamed, kicking, scratching and hitting at any part of him that she could reach, not even caring that she was hurting herself in the process.

Draco let out a string of curses as he struggled to pacify her into submission. His wand had slipped from his hand when they had fallen to the ground and now lay a few feet away from them. He reached out for it now, but Ginny saw what he was trying to do and gave an almighty shove that sent him sprawling backwards. With greedy eyes she began to scramble her own way towards the fallen wand.

“I don’t think so,” growled Draco, yanking her back by her leg before she could close her fingers around the wand.

Ginny immediately began kicking at him again, hearing the satisfying thwack when her foot collided with his face. He groaned in pain but did not release her leg. Instead his grip tightened and, before she knew she it, she was being dragged with an alarming degree of speed towards him, fingers leaving muddy trails where her nails had dug into the ground.

She shrieked in panic, trying to break from his hold, but it was like he had suddenly gained the strength of a giant. The next thing she knew he was straddling her hips, one hand holding both her wrists securely above her head, while the other pinned her body down by a firm hand on her shoulder.

Ginny glared up at him through the merciless rain, still trying to catch her breath from their struggle. He was breathing just as heavily, his eyes narrowed with unrestrained venom. It was a look that would have made a lesser person beg for mercy, but Ginny had never been the begging type, and nor was she going to cower before him now.

“Looks like I’ve caught you again, Ginevra,” he taunted, allowing his lips to curl into a dangerous smirk.

The effect was somewhat ruined, considering he was dripping wet and splattered with mud—though Ginny knew she would look no better—but that didn’t stop her from letting out a small snarl of frustration as she tried to shove him off her again. Draco did not budge; only using more force to keep her down to the point where she could actually feel her body protesting in pain.

Ginny couldn’t take it anymore. With tears streaming down her face, she collapsed back against the ground, breathless and defeated.

It was over. He had won.

Draco stared at her suspiciously for a moment and then finally relaxed the death grip he had on her, though not enough to let her escape.

“Had enough?” he asked, voice filled with satisfied mockery.

Ginny replied to this taunt by spitting at his face.

His eyes flashed, and he actually raised his hand to strike her, but then something shifted in the grey, and he abruptly let his hand drop back to his side. They stared at each other for a moment, like two cats with arched backs, both expecting the other to suddenly pounce, and then Draco let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re a real nuisance, you know that?” he muttered, dragging them both to their feet, while still keeping a firm grip on her arm so that she could not run again. It was obvious that he didn’t trust her to cooperate with him.

Ginny wasn’t quite sure that she even trusted herself to speak. She was still trying to come to terms with what had just happened.

He had been going to hit her, she had seen it written all over his face, but then he had just let it go. He hadn’t even shouted at her. It was just so strange…

Of course, she should have been pleased he had decided to go easy on her this time, but Ginny had experienced Draco’s temper more than enough to know that this behaviour was very out of character for him. She didn’t understand it, and she wasn’t sure that she liked it either.

Draco finally took the time now to wipe the spit from his face, shooting her another dark glare, and then he dragged her roughly by her arm to where his wand lay on the muddy ground.

He bent down to retrieve it. In that split-second, Ginny realised that this was the chance she had been waiting for.

She kicked him hard in the leg, sending them both sprawling to the ground again, thanks to the vice-like grip he had on her arm. With triumph gleaming in her eyes, she closed her fingers around his wand.

The magic throbbed through her blood, the dormant power awakening with an overwhelming thirst for release, and it was with great satisfaction that she levelled the wand on Draco’s now stunned face.

“Well, well,” said Ginny, slightly breathless. “It seems the tables have turned.”

“I wouldn’t do that, Ginevra,” warned Draco, watching her warily as he slowly got to his feet.

“Do you think I’m scared of you? I’m the one with the wand!”

She looked half-crazed brandishing the strip of wood at him, but Draco was unmoved by her ravings and continued to stare at her in a cautious but calculating way.

Ginny’s brow creased. Something wasn’t right. He seemed too calm for someone facing the tip of a wand.

Draco took a step towards her.

“Stay away from me,” spat Ginny, aiming the wand more firmly at him. “I’ll kill you, I swear I will.”

He laughed as he took another step forward. “You won’t kill me, Ginevra. You don’t have it in you.”

“I said stay back!”

Sparks flew out of the wand. Draco paused in his steps, though there was still that calculating gleam in his eyes that made her feel just a little uncomfortable.

Ginny knew she had to get rid of him. It was the reason she hadn’t disapparated yet. If she left now he would just go tell Voldemort that she had escaped with his wand, and then they would trace it back to her and catch her. All her efforts would be wasted because of him.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t even know where to go. All she knew was that Draco Malfoy now stood between her and her freedom, and it was up to her to get rid of him.

For a moment she just stood there, hesitating in her indecision, and then Draco let out a low laugh.

“You Gryffindors are all the same.”

Ginny frowned. There was a flash of silver, and then her wand-arm began to sear with pain, as if someone had just impaled a hot poker right through the limb.

She dropped the wand in shock and fell to her knees, a half-stunned moan breaking from her lips. In one quick stride Draco had claimed the stolen wand and levelled it at her face.

“You shouldn’t have hesitated,” he stated, smirking at having ousted her yet again.

Ginny could only gasp in pain. She stared at her arm and felt a rush of nausea twist inside her at the sight of the silver dagger sticking out of her flesh, watching as the blood oozed out from the wound like a crimson snake.

“Are you going to stop trying to escape now?” asked Draco threateningly, his voice leaving no doubt that he had well and truly lost his patience with her and would not be held accountable for the consequences if she kept pushing him.

She nodded, swallowing back her tears.

He knelt down and without preamble wrenched the dagger out of her arm. A fresh cry of pain escaped her lips. She swayed dizzily on the spot, clutching at the wound, which was now seen to be bleeding profusely.

“I did warn you,” reminded Draco, wiping the dagger clean on his pants before slipping it back into its hidden sheath up his sleeve.

“Just shut up and get me back to the manor before I bleed to death,” gritted out Ginny, closing her eyes as her arm began to throb violently.

Draco laughed, genuinely amused by her answer, a fact that would have surprised her had she not been in so much agony. He took her wounded arm in his hand, examining it closely. One healing spell later, the deep gash in her flesh had closed. He then helped her to her feet.

“I’m not going to thank you,” announced Ginny, stubborn to the last.

“I never expected you to,” replied Draco, rolling his eyes. “Now hurry up. I need to put the wards back on.”

She allowed him to pull her back into the boundaries of the manor and watched as he performed a few complicated spells. The air crackled with magic and then went quiet again, the only sound being the storm growling in the sky and the rain falling from its darkened face.

Ginny knew the wards were back in place.

Draco looked considerably paler after this display of magic and actually swayed a little in his exhaustion. He let out a breath and then turned back to her. “Come on,” he said gruffly, yanking her forward again. “My mother will start fretting if we don’t get back soon.”

Ginny was silent as they began their slow trek back to the manor, neither having the energy to do much more than drag their feet. She was still frustrated that her plans had been foiled, and shot another fuming glare at her captor.

“How did you know I was out here?”

“I saw you when I was removing the wards,” he replied shortly.

Ginny fell silent again. Her eyes fell on the sleeve where she knew the dagger was hidden. She found it strange that he hadn’t just threatened her with the dagger as soon as he had realised his wand was out of his reach. He’d never shied against using violent methods on her before.

“If you had that knife all along, why didn’t you just use it on me to begin with?” she asked, voicing her thoughts. “It would have saved a lot of trouble for you.”

Draco sighed in some exasperation. “Because you’re a psychotic wench that needs a good whipping and probably would have got yourself stabbed. I wouldn’t have used the dagger at all if you hadn’t been so stupid and stolen my wand.”

Ginny blinked, surprised by his honest, if brutal, answer. “Why not?”

“It is not in my best interests to hurt you while you are pregnant. You, however, make it very difficult for me not to. I’m surprised you’ve managed to live this long with the way you carry on. Even a Saint would be tempted to commit murder with you around.”

“What do you expect?” retorted Ginny, stung by his words. “You kidnap me and treat me like I’m the dirt under your boot, your stupid Dark Lord forces me to have sex with you so that I can get pregnant with the spawn of Satan here, and then, when I finally get a chance to escape, you come along and ruin it. Don’t you think I’m just a little justified in my frustration?”

“You’re the enemy. Why should I care about your frustrations?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “So what if I’m the enemy? The world isn’t split into black and white, you know? You can’t tell me that you haven’t felt the connection between us.”

Draco came to an abrupt halt, his eyes narrowing as he swung around to face her.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Ginevra. There is nothing between us. Nothing. All this nonsense you keep spouting about connections and feelings is all in your head. I don’t care about you, I never will care about you, and the only reason I slept with you in the first place is because I haven’t had a woman in a while and you just happened to offer yourself.”

“You know, I might have believed that the first time, but I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re just insane,” retorted Draco irritably.

“Maybe you’re right? Only someone completely insane would enjoy being with you, but you know what, Malfoy, at least I can admit it! I hate you, believe me when I say that, but I’m not stupid enough not to realise that something changed the night we had sex. You can deny it all you want, but I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I know you’ve felt the pull just as much as I have.”

“You’re delusional,” spat Draco, walking ahead.

“Delusional?” cried Ginny, stomping to catch up with his longer strides. “The only one delusional here is you!”

“Shut up!” he growled, rounding on her again. “You have no idea how close I am to losing my patience with you, Ginevra, so unless you want to resemble a pincushion by the time we get back inside, I suggest you keep your stupid mouth shut.”

Ginny scowled at him, but she swallowed back the number of retorts that came to her tongue and said no more.

They walked in fuming silence back to the manor, the tension between them so high that one could almost see the sparks crackling around them. Draco threw open the door to the entrance hall for her, glowering after her as she walked inside, and then slammed it shut behind him.

Their eyes met again, each matching glare for glare. Ginny lifted her chin haughtily and stalked towards the stairs, leaving a trail of mud and dripping water everywhere, and nearly collided with Narcissa, who was coming from the other direction.

“My word, what on earth have you been doing?” exclaimed Narcissa, stunned out of her usual calm by their odd appearance. “You’re absolutely soaked to the bone, and is that blood on your arm, Ginevra?”

Ginny glanced down at her blood-smeared sleeve and gave a bitter laugh. “I almost forgot about that.”

And he called her psychotic. She wasn’t the one throwing hidden daggers at people.

“Ginevra tried to escape, Mother,” explained Draco, scowling at said redhead. “I had to take drastic measures to ensure her cooperation.”

“I hope you weren’t too rough on her, Draco. You know she’s in a delicate situation at the moment.”

“I had no choice,” snapped Draco, losing his patience. “It’s not my fault she’s stupid enough to try run away and refused to comply.”

“Well, I suppose there’s nothing we can do about that now. Come, Ginevra,” said Narcissa, taking her by the arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You’re going to catch your death if you stay in those wet clothes any longer.”

Ginny threw one last glare at Draco and then allowed herself to be steered up to her room by the masterful blonde, where she was then stripped naked and dumped unceremoniously into the bathtub of hot water.

Narcissa herself washed Ginny’s hair for her as the redhead grumpily cleaned the grime from her body. The water had turned a horrible murky colour, but Ginny didn’t seem to care. She was too busy glowering at the telltale marks on her body left by her latest dispute with her captor. Already she could see the bruises forming on her pale skin, and a thin, red line now remained where the dagger had pierced into her arm.

How she hated him, though at the moment she was just as furious with herself.

Why did she do it? Why couldn’t she have just kept her stupid mouth shut? It wasn’t as if she liked him. For all she knew the great ‘connection’ between them might be credited all to lust. He certainly didn’t seem to care much about her. When he’d looked at her after she’d said that she knew he felt the pull too, his contempt for her had been all too obvious.

Ginny inwardly sighed. This was ridiculous. Maybe he was right? Maybe she was insane? Why else would she have feelings for a man who threw daggers at her and kept her prisoner? Only someone completely sick and masochistic would do that.

And yet, however improbable the idea might be, she just knew that there was something between them. It couldn’t just be lust; it couldn’t just be because she was insane—as she was beginning to believe that insanity for her was unavoidable at this point. There was something there, and she found herself incredibly irritated by the fact that he refused to admit it.

“Something is bothering you,” observed Narcissa, rinsing out the shampoo from Ginny’s hair.

A scowl twisted Ginny’s lips. “I hate your son.”

“He was only doing what he had to do, Ginevra. You have to understand that if you had escaped, Draco and I would be executed by the Dark Lord without a second thought.”

“Draco wouldn’t have cared about that,” retorted Ginny, though she did feel a stab of guilt for having put Narcissa’s life in danger. She’d been so caught up in her selfish thoughts for freedom that she hadn’t even considered what would happen to the blonde.

“Maybe not,” allowed Narcissa, able to admit that in many ways it was wishful thinking that her son still cared about her safety, “but it is true that we would both be killed if you escaped. I hope you consider that the next time you decide to get some harebrained notion into your head.”

Ginny stiffened, her ready anger boiling to the surface. “I’m sorry, am I supposed to just sit here and wear fancy dresses, having this spawn inside of me making every day of my life rotten, just waiting obediently for it to pop out so Voldemort can perform his stupid sacrifice and kill me?”

Narcissa sighed. “You know I don’t want that to happen to you, Ginevra.”

“But that is what will happen if I don’t escape. Don’t you see? No miracles are going to happen to get me out of this mess! Voldemort isn’t going to suddenly choke and die from a chicken bone or turn into a hippie and start spouting world peace.”

“Now you’re raving.”

“That’s because I’m sick of this! I’m so sick of being a pawn for people to shove around wherever they like. I’m not an asset, I’m not a damn vessel for demon spawns, and I’m not going to let myself be killed by some lunatic that has an obsession for power!”

“Things will change for the better, Ginevra. Just be patient, and for Merlin’s sake, don’t go running off like that again. You know my son has a temper. The last thing we need is for him to hurt the child.”

“The child! The child! The child!” exclaimed Ginny. “That’s all I hear about now. I hate this bloody child!”

Narcissa frowned. “I think you’re clean enough now.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like my outbursts,” muttered Ginny mutinously, though she did feel a little subdued by Narcissa’s icy calmness. The woman always knew how to put her back in her place.

“Yes, Ginevra, I am. I think you’re being ridiculous, as you well know. Now get dressed, and maybe I shall take you to see the Potter boy. He is a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

Ginny’s eyes immediately lit up. “You’ll take me to see Harry?”

“If it will stop these infernal ravings of yours, yes.”

Ginny beamed, taking that as a compliment, and immediately began to dry herself. She quickly got dressed and then announced to Narcissa that she was ready. The blonde took in her sloppy appearance, barely repressing smile, and motioned for Ginny to follow her.

They walked down the hallway towards the other side of the guest chambers. Narcissa paused outside one of the doors and opened it carefully.

“Draco hasn’t exactly forbidden you to see the Potter boy,” she said quietly, “but I have a feeling he would not be happy if he knew I had brought you here. You’d best keep this to yourself.”

Ginny nodded.

“Good girl,” said Narcissa, and then pushed the door the rest of the way open. “I’ll wait here. Don’t take too long.”

Nodding again, Ginny entered the room and heard the door click shut behind her. She stared at the bed, her heart clenching as she saw the familiar face of her fallen lover, with his iconic, lightening bolt scar still standing out vividly against his forehead.

It had been so long she had seen him, and she was surprised to see that he actually looked healthier than the last time she had gazed into his face. He was still emaciated, but his cheeks were less sunken somehow, his body less thin.

Was it possible that the Death Eaters had been healing him? And, if so, why?

Ginny shook off these troubling questions and sat down on the bed beside him, her fingers lifting to gently stroke his cheek. Her eyes began to sting, and once again she found herself swallowing against the uncomfortable lump in her throat.

“Oh, Harry,” she whispered, “I’ve done something terrible.”

There was so much she needed to confess to him. The guilt was almost too much to bear, and before she knew it, she was revealing all that had happened between herself and Draco, as well as her own selfish actions that very day.

“I was going to leave you, Harry,” she choked out, tears trailing down her cheeks. “I was just going to leave you here and escape myself. I betrayed you; I’ve betrayed everyone. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I feel like I’m losing myself to the Malfoys, as if I’m becoming one of them, and I’m scared...”

She gripped his hand, her head bowed. “I wish you were here with me now.”

“As touching as this is,” said a cold voice that Ginny had no trouble recognising, “I will not have you coming near my prisoner.”

Ginny released Harry’s limp hand and spun around to see Draco leaning against the wall, surveying her coolly through hard, grey eyes.

“What happened to Narcissa?”

“I sent her away. My mother may be my mother, but you forget, Ginevra, that she is just as much a prisoner as you.”

“I don’t know how you live with yourself,” responded Ginny spitefully. “After all your mother has done for you, sacrificing everything so that you can be safe, you just go and throw it back in her face by keeping her a prisoner in her own home.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t my decision.”

“And yet you still lord over her and go on power trips every moment she crosses you.”

“My mother has been branded a traitor. It’s because of me that she is still alive, but you wouldn’t understand that, Ginevra. You’re nothing but a naïve little girl.”

Ginny lifted her chin. “Naïve I may be, but at least I’m not breaking my mother’s heart and treating her like a whipping boy.”

“No, you aren’t,” agreed Draco, “but then you don’t have a mother.”

For a moment Ginny just glared at him, tears welling up in her eyes, and then she ran out of the room without another word, no doubt to go sob her pathetic little heart out on her pillow.

Draco knew it was a low blow to mention her mother, whom he knew she had witnessed dying from the memories he had seen in her mind, but he had already used up his patience quota for her that day, and she had dealt a low blow herself by bringing up his own mother.

His eyes flicked to the man lying on the bed and a scornful look came onto his face. Why was she crying over Potter? He had known she had held a crush on the idiot during their school days, but she couldn’t surely still have feelings for the raven-haired man now?

Not having the answer to this question, it was with a decidedly disquieted mind that Draco left the room.

A/N: Phew. That one took a lot out of me. As usual, I must apologise for typos, etc. I haven’t had much sleep, and since I was determined to get this chapter out, I decided to just write when I probably should have gone to bed.

Anyway, your thoughts and feedback will be most appreciated, and I’ll try update asap.

9. The Dissenters

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! I apologise for the wait. This chapter has been a mission to write, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

The Dissenters

“Are you almost finished?” demanded Ginny, wearily staring up at the roof.

She was currently lying on her bed, her nightdress pulled up to bare her protruding stomach, while Lara did the usual weekly check-up to see how the baby was progressing.

Ginny hated these checkups. A sticky potion was spread over her belly that was supposed to allow the magic to sense the baby’s development easier. Ginny just found it cold and annoying.

Then there was the sensor, a magical instrument that looked like a handle with a smooth ball at the top, which Lara ran over her stomach to sense the baby inside. The image was then projected on a clear surface, much like a mirror, for Lara to see. Ginny wouldn’t have minded this part so much, except that it tickled and left her feeling unpleasantly tingly all over her stomach.

Lara pulled the sensor away from Ginny’s stomach. “Everything looks well.” She wiped away the remaining potion with a cloth and stepped back. “The child is coming along fine.”

“That is not what I wanted to hear,” scowled Ginny, tugging her nightgown back down to cover herself.

“Be grateful that your baby is healthy, Ginevra. The Dark Lord would not be happy if it started having complications, especially now that you’re so close to the birthing stage.”

“He never seems to be happy about anything,” muttered Ginny, sitting up on the bed, “but thank you for reminding me of my impending death.”

Normally Lara would have made a joke at this, or at least one of her usual blunt comments, but she only gave a distracted smile and started collecting her things together.

Ginny frowned at the brunette. Something wasn’t right here.

It was true that Lara was a rather enigmatic woman, but she had never been so quiet and distracted. She had yelled, laughed, mocked and given advice, but Ginny had never seen her as distant as this. There was no impatient hair tossing, no secretive laughs and smiles, no mysterious comments. She just did what she had been ordered to do.

Ginny realised somewhat sadly that Lara hadn’t even called her ‘girlie’ once today since coming to the manor. It was a nickname that, to Ginny at least, allowed the two women to have a more friendly relationship. Lara always used it when she was teasing.

“Is everything okay, Lara?” asked Ginny, if a little hesitantly.

Their relationship may be a little out of the ordinary, but Ginny was still wary of the woman. Lara was a Death Eater, after all, and even if she was different to the others, she had never once shown that she did not faithfully serve her master.

Lara blinked, as if suddenly realising that Ginny was still there. “Oh. It’s nothing, really. I just have a lot on my mind right now.” She laughed a little ironically. “Very much so, in fact.”

“You’re not just talking about a few problems troubling the brain, aren’t you?”

Lara stared at her in a measuring way, as if determining whether to tell the truth or not. “No,” she said finally, a wry smile twisting her lips. “I’m not.”

Ginny waited expectantly for Lara to go on.

“You’re a curious little thing, aren’t you?” observed Lara, somewhat amused. She once again gave that scrutinising stare and then laughed to herself. “Well, why not? What harm can it do to tell you, after all?”

Not having a clue what Lara was talking about, Ginny saw fit to remain silent at this speech; barely containing the curiosity she felt to learn more about the woman in front of her.

Lara leaned forward, blue eyes locking on Ginny’s. “I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that I have magical abilities one might consider rare in the wizarding world?”

“Yes,” admitted Ginny, “but I’m not exactly sure what those abilities are.”

Lara smiled. “Well, it is hard to define. In many ways I am much like a seer, except I don’t see or predict prophecies like seers do. I sense things instead.”

“Sense things?”

“Yes. It’s hard to explain, but I suppose one way to look at it would be to imagine the world as a canvas of lines. If the lines are straight, it means that everything is normal and progressing as it should be; if the lines are wavy, it means that something is wrong. My powers allow me to see those lines.”

“So you can sense everything that is happening in the world?”

Lara chuckled. “No. To take on that much at once would kill me. To sense a disturbance in the equilibrium of the world is not a comfortable experience. Often I will get headaches—migraines, depending on how powerful the disturbances are—but always there is some unwanted side effect. That’s why I have to limit my focus to a few people at the most. It’s just too dangerous otherwise, but lately the Dark Lord has been asking more of me.”

There was a definite scowl at this, which Ginny couldn’t help but smile at. She could just imagine how irritated Lara would be by Voldemort’s requests.

“That’s how I knew about the child’s unnatural growth,” continued Lara. “I could sense a disturbance in the equilibrium surrounding you and the baby, which could only mean that something that was not meant to happen had happened. The limitation of my power is that I can never sense a clear picture of what is happening; I only get the feeling that something is wrong.”

“So you can only sense the present?”

“It’s easier to sense the present, but if I focus enough I can catch glimpses of the future. It’s only a feeling, of course, but it would be enough to sense if danger is coming.”

“Wow.”

“I assure you, it’s no picnic,” said Lara grumpily. “It was bad enough before when I was just following the Dark Lord, Draco, the child and yourself, but now I’m being forced to track the Dissenters movements as well. They’ve been suspiciously active over the past two weeks, and because I have no clear figure to follow, it makes it even harder for me to pinpoint what their next move will be. That means a whole lot of headaches.”

Ginny frowned. The Dissenters were the ones who had been searching for Harry and attacking the Death Eater bases, but Harry was at Malfoy Manor now…

Lara rubbed her temples tiredly. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this. Draco was the only other person besides the Dark Lord who knew the real truth.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” promised Ginny earnestly. “Anyway, it’s not like I have anyone to tell. I’m a prisoner, remember?”

“I suppose,” chuckled Lara. “I hope you aren’t planning any more escape acts?”

“You knew about that?”

Lara rolled her eyes. “Really, girlie, after everything I just told you, you’re still daft enough to wonder how I know about everything? The disturbances aren’t just limited to unnatural occurrences, you know? I can focus on what I want to find out. In your case, my sole focus is to ensure that you remain at the manor and that the child and you are both healthy. Naturally, I am going to notice if you try to escape and get hurt in the process.”

“That’s some gift,” remarked Ginny, reluctantly awestruck, even though she had just realised that escaping was now very much out of the question with Lara around.

“Perhaps. Right now I’d rather not have to deal with it.”

“Are the headaches that bad?”

Lara sighed. “Sometimes. It’s more than just headaches, though. Trying to follow too many things at once may be dangerous in the sense that it uses too much mental power, but it also means that it’s harder to focus in general. It’s like trying to spread a small amount of butter over a large slice of bread. It’s just not possible to cover everything satisfactorily; the best you can hope for is a very thin coating.”

“So there are gaps in what you can sense?”

“Yes, there are gaps,” murmured Lara, turning her face to stare out the window. “And right now I get the feeling that I’m missing something important. I just don’t know what it is.”

OOOO

Ginny was still frowning over Lara’s words when she came down for dinner that night. It had taken a lot to process everything, but she guessed that she should have seen it coming. Lara always had carried that air of omniscience about her. She was much like Dumbledore in that respect. Ginny wondered if he too had been able to sense things like Lara had.

“Is everything all right, Ginevra?” asked Narcissa, noticing the furrowed brow and downcast lips.

“Oh,” said Ginny distractedly. “Yes, everything’s fine.”

She sat down at her usual seat and poured herself a glass of water, trying to ignore the way a pair of grey eyes followed her every move. As with everything when it came to Draco, this proved difficult.

They had not spoken much since the day she had tried to escape. Ginny felt her temper flare at even the thought of all the things he had said and done to her, but there was more than anger there. She felt embarrassed, too. Embarrassed that she had confessed her feelings to him, while he had simply thrown everything back in her face.

Her eyes darted involuntarily to his, bidden by that commanding stare. He caught and held her gaze, the grey an unrelenting force piercing into her brown. She felt naked before him, like all her defences and airs of defiance were as transparent as the glass she held in her hand.

The tension grew, her heart sped up, and then, as if he could hear the beating organ thumping against her ribs, his lips curled slowly into a smirk.

Ginny felt her cheeks grow hot and quickly took a sip of her drink, averting her gaze from the handsome man opposite her.

Draco’s smirk grew, so that his eyes were glinting with his malicious humour. “You’re looking a little flushed, Ginevra. It’s not too hot for you in here, is it?”

She almost choked on her water but, thankfully, managed to swallow it just in time before she started coughing uncontrollably. Her cheeks were now very red, and her eyes were like daggers when she finally raised them back to his.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Silver gleamed with silent laughter.

Ginny had the sudden urge to throw the rest of her water at his face. She knew what he was trying to do. He had always delighted in humiliating her, and it seemed that now was no different.

She should never have told him that she was attracted to him. He was a Slytherin, it was just in his nature to take advantage of other people’s weaknesses, and why should she be exempt from that? She should have known better. She should have kept a greater control over her tongue. If anything, she should have known that he was not to be trusted.

Draco turned his attention back to his mother, apparently having had his fun. Ginny found this open act of dismissal even more annoying than his taunts. It made her feel insignificant, as if she was nothing more to him than a source of amusement that he easily tired of.

He did not look at her again during the dinner. Ginny was fuming by the time she returned to her room.

She slammed her door shut, muttering a string of derogatory names under breath that told all too well what she thought of the handsome blond and his behaviour. One of these days she would put him in his place. She would make sure of it.

Ginny got changed out of her clothes and into one of the silky nightgowns, and then did the usual routine of washing her face and brushing her teeth. She let out her hair from its plait and began to drag her brush through it, a scowl still twisting her lips.

“Stupid Draco,” she muttered, glaring at her reflection as she tugged the brush through a particularly knotty part of hair. “Thinks he’s so clever…”

A scraping noise sounded outside her window. Ginny frowned and placed her brush down. She stood up from the stool and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtain to peer outside.

The moon was completely hidden by black clouds. She could only see the grounds bathed in shadow, forming odd shapes and figures in the misty darkness. No sign could be seen of the thing that had made the noise.

“Strange,” murmured Ginny, and though she would never admit it, felt just a little unnerved by it all.

She pulled the curtain back over the window, blew out the candle, and then clambered into her bed, pulling the covers right up to her chin. It was a warm night, but somehow she felt safer when fully covered.

Even though Ginny told herself not to listen, she found herself straining her ears for any sound of that strange noise again long after she had climbed into the bed. She didn’t hear it.

“Get a grip! It was probably just an owl.”

Yes, she thought, just an owl. There was no reason to panic.

Comforted by this common good sense, Ginny finally began to relax. Her eyes closed, her breathing steadied, and then she was slowly drifting off to sleep.

She did not stir when the scraping noise started up again. Nor did she wake when the curtain fluttered with the cool breeze let in from the previously closed window. She just slept, completely oblivious to the dark figure now creeping stealthily towards her.

The moon slipped out from behind the clouds, extending its silvery fingers right into the room to touch Ginny’s eyelids. She made a sleepy noise and rolled over in the bed, hugging the pillow more closely to herself.

Her intruder, which was revealed to be a man dressed head to foot in black, complete with black mask, paused for a moment, waiting to see if she would wake or not. Satisfied that she was still asleep, he moved closer and leaned over her in the bed, his hand getting ready to clamp over her mouth.

It was in that moment that Ginny’s eyes snapped open. She got a brief glimpse of a hideous, black mask, shaped with no features at all except for the eyes peering out through the slits, and then she let out a bloodcurdling scream and pushed with all her might at the man leaning over her.

The man fell back with a grunt. Ginny wasted no time and leapt out of the bed, her feet thumping on the floor just as loudly as her heart as she raced towards the door. She wrenched it open, almost skidding as she ran out into the hallway, and just barely managed to dodge the curse the man had thrown at her.

Ginny didn’t stop. She just kept running, barely able to see in the darkness, but knowing that if she hesitated now it was all over. Her body was pumping with adrenaline, her heart pounding so hard that it felt like her ribs were going to splinter any moment from the pressure.

She could hear the man still chasing her, his heavy feet thumping down the hallways like an ominous war drum. It was the sound of defeat, and Ginny knew it was coming for her.

Her eyes fell on a vase resting on one of the cabinets. She grabbed it, and without even really thinking about what she was going to do, threw it back as hard as she could. The resounding smash and loud curse was enough to tell her that the vase had found its mark, but Ginny didn’t pause to check to see how much damage she had done. She just kept running.

Turning down another hallway, she was just deciding whether to hide in one of the rooms or keep running, when an arm came out of nowhere and yanked her into the shadowy alcove. She let out a yelp of surprise, but a hand was swiftly clamped over her mouth, and she suddenly found herself trapped against a man’s body.

Ginny began to struggle desperately against the strong arms holding her in place, tears spilling freely down her face. She was so scared she could barely breathe.

“Relax,” whispered a voice firmly from somewhere near her ear; a voice that Ginny had no trouble in recognising, and one that she thought could never give her so much relief as it did now.

Her body instinctively obeyed the curt command. The hand was removed from her mouth. Ginny turned to see Draco staring down at her, his grey eyes just visible in the semidarkness.

She couldn’t explain why she suddenly felt safe in that moment. All she knew was that feeling his arms around her like that made her feel like nothing in the world could hurt her. She was safe. She was with him.

“I need you to stay quiet,” said Draco, giving her a warning look.

Ginny nodded obediently.

He adjusted his hold on her, keeping one arm around her waist to hold her close to him, and then gripped his wand more firmly with his free hand. He pulled her with him so that they were both flat against the wall, and then very carefully edged closer to where the hallway they were in curved to connect with the one Ginny had just fled.

Ginny’s heart was still hammering against her ribs, but she felt less afraid now. His presence had a calming effect over her, as strange as it was to believe, but she was still well aware of the danger they were in. She was just glad that she was with him and not facing the unknown man alone.

“Come out, come out, little witch,” called a smooth voice tauntingly. “I know you’re hiding around here somewhere.”

Ginny tensed and held onto Draco more tightly, her eyes staring fearfully towards the darkened hallway. She could hear the man’s footsteps coming closer and was once again grateful for the solidness and reassuring warmth of the body shielding her.

“Very well,” said the man, his voice so close now that Ginny knew he must be just around the corner from them. “I’ll let you play your little game of hide and seek, but I will find you, little witch. I always do...”

The footsteps came even closer. Ginny wondered why Draco wasn’t doing anything. Was he really going to just let them get caught?

Just when she thought that they would be discovered and killed, the blond suddenly moved with deadly speed. There was a blinding flash of white, a heavy thud, and then everything went still once more.

“Unfortunately for you,” murmured Draco, a half-smile curling his lips as he stared down at the black heap on the floor. “I found her first.”

Ginny let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding and stared at the lifeless man. “Is he dead?”

“Not yet.” Draco eyes suddenly fastened on hers. “Were there any more of them?”

“I—I don’t know. There was only one in my room, but—”

He suddenly started running again without another word, dragging Ginny along with him. They were heading in the direction of her bedroom, and she could tell by his clenched jaw that he was worried.

She was still trying to catch her breath when they stopped, not at her door, but at the one where Harry was being kept. He blasted open the door with his wand, just catching sight of another black-clothed man holding what looked like an old necklace in his hand, reaching out towards Harry’s unconscious figure.

Draco didn’t hesitate. Ginny heard the two, deadly words hiss from his mouth, and then the room was filled with a sickly green light. Once again there was a thud, but this time she didn’t need to ask whether the man was alive or not. She already knew his fate.

Harry remained on the bed, still as oblivious as ever to the world around him. Ginny didn’t think it could ever be possible, but she was glad in that moment that Draco was such a ruthless killer. If he had hesitated even a second, she knew that Harry would have been portkeyed beyond their reach by now.

“Do you think that was the last of them?” she asked, turning her face to look up at the blond.

“I don’t know.” He frowned to himself and then glanced at the dead man. “Tinky!”

The house-elf immediately appeared in a low bow. “Master called?”

“Check the rest of the house for any intruders. Kill any that you find.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Make sure my mother is safe while you’re at it. No doubt she would have been disturbed by the commotion, but she’s smart enough not to leave her room while we’re being attacked. Tell her I’ll come see her later.”

“Yes, Master,” said Tinky, bowing again, and then vanished with a loud crack.

“Come on,” said Draco, tugging Ginny forward.

“Wait! What about Harry? We can’t just leave him here! They might come back for him.”

Draco glanced back at the raven-haired man and cursed under his breath. He released Ginny and walked over to Harry, picking the emaciated man up easily and slinging him over his shoulder. He gripped his wand more tightly and turned his eyes back on her.

“Right, let’s go, but stay close to me. I won’t be able to protect you if you’re too far away.”

Ginny nodded and followed him out the room. They managed to get back to the man Draco had cursed in the hallway without any further trouble. Draco stopped and levelled his wand at the unconscious man, using a simple levitating charm to lift him up from the ground.

“Alright, I need you to open that door,” said Draco, gesturing to the closed door a few feet away from them.

Ginny obliged, holding it open for him as he guided the man into the room with his wand. He gestured for her to go inside, following her in himself, and then shut the door behind him with a snap.

Draco dumped Harry down on one of the couches and then turned on the masked figure now lying on the floor again. He dragged the man over towards one of the armchairs, hauling the man up so that he was sitting on the chair, and then calmly conjured chains to keep the man in place.

“What are you going to do with him?” asked Ginny, watching the blond in some trepidation.

“Interrogate him.”

Ginny didn’t like the sound of that, but she was so exhausted from everything that had happened that she simply collapsed into a chair herself and watched as Draco used the enervate spell to wake the man.

Immediately the man began to thrash against his chains. Draco walked forward and pulled the mask of the man’s face, revealing a rather handsome young man with dark skin and slanted eyes. Ginny knew by the openly surprised expression on her captor’s face that he had not been expecting to see this particular person under the mask.

“Blaise Zabini?” exclaimed Draco, eyes narrowing. “You’re a Dissenter?”

Blaise smiled as soon as he realised who was before him, showing every one of his perfectly white teeth. “Long time no see, Draco. I do wish we could have reacquainted ourselves under better circumstances. How about you just let me go now and we can try again?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Well, you have sided with the Dark Lord. I would say that rates pretty high on the idiocy levels.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And yet you’re the one chained to a chair. Funny that.”

Some of Blaise’s arrogance flickered, but he tried to cover his worry by plastering a mocking smile on his lips. “What? Are you going to kill an old school friend?”

“Yes,” said Draco bluntly, “but first you’re going to tell me what you know. If you cooperate, I might even kill you quickly.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“Oh, I think you will,” replied Draco, smirking somewhat maliciously. “I’m very gifted at getting information out of people.”

Ginny saw the fear shining in Blaise’s eyes and knew that she didn’t want to watch this. She averted her face, but nothing could stop the loud snap of bone being broken or the scream of pain that followed.

“Tell me how you knew Potter and Ginevra were here,” demanded Draco, staring calmly into his old friend’s eyes.

“No.”

There was another crack of bone snapping. This time the scream turned into more of a sob.

“Let’s try that again, shall we? How did you know they were here? Is there someone in the Dark Lord’s inner circle working for you?”

Silence.

Draco sighed and snapped two more of Blaise’s fingers. “You have four more fingers left, Blaise. You do not want to know what happens when I run out of fingers to break.”

Blaise groaned in pain, his breathing ragged. Ginny knew exactly how he was feeling, having had her fingers broken by Draco herself. Still, though she was sickened by the violence the blond was displaying, she found that she had little sympathy for the man chained to the chair. Blaise had been going to kidnap her. If she was going to be anyone’s captive, she knew that she would prefer to be Draco’s.

“Still not up for talking?” taunted Draco. “Very well.”

Another finger was bent back.

“Let’s start small. How did you get past my wards? You have three seconds to answer before I break another finger.”

Blaise remained silent.

Draco wrenched back the middle finger, holding it down just a little longer so that the pain was increased. Three more seconds passed and then another finger was broken, and then another.

“Well done for lasting this long, Blaise,” praised Draco with mocking amusement. “Your leader would be so proud.” He slipped the dagger out of his sleeve and calmly placed the tip at the corner of Blaise’s right eye. “Let’s see if I can get your tongue loosened with this. I’ve never quite managed to pop an eye out in one go, but I’m sure we can gouge it out if it proves difficult.”

“All right, all right,” sobbed Blaise, as Draco began to place pressure on the blade. “I’ll talk.”

Draco stepped back and folded his arms, his expression grim. “Then talk.”

“There is someone in the inner circle who has betrayed the Dark Lord. I can’t tell you whom, I don’t know myself, but whoever it is has been feeding us information. They told us about how you and your men attacked one of the refugee camps and kidnapped Potter and some girl. Later we found out that both the girl and you had gone missing from the Death Eater headquarters.”

“Go on,” prompted Draco, watching him intently.

Blaise swallowed. “We decided that if the girl was important enough for the Dark Lord to kidnap, then she’d be useful to us too. Our correspondent suggested we check Malfoy Manor. We did, but we couldn’t get inside because of the wards you have around the place. That was when we decided to plan an attack on the headquarters to make it look like we were going only after Potter.”

“I see,” murmured Draco. “You were hoping that they would move Potter here with me, knowing that I would have to remove the wards to receive him.”

“Yes. We knew that if we attacked the headquarters directly and tried to get Potter that the Dark Lord would send him to you here at Malfoy Manor for safekeeping until things settled down. Myself and another man were stationed here to see if we could ascertain what wards you had used and break them ourselves.”

“Well, obviously you succeeded. I do wonder how, though.”

“It was by mere chance,” admitted Blaise. “We saw the girl trying to escape and you following her. We knew it would be stupid to attempt anything with you there and all the Death Eaters that were bringing Potter over, so we waited. Luckily for us, you put the wards back up right for us to see and hear.”

Draco inwardly cursed at his own stupidity. Of course he should never have put the wards back up while so vulnerable to prying ears and eyes.

“So you managed to get past the boundary wards,” he continued, changing the subject. “How did you get in the house itself?”

Blaise smiled. “You have this place warded against magic only. It took us a while to figure it out, I admit, but we managed to work out that if we came in at night when you would all be asleep, it would simply be a matter of scaling the wall, forcing the window open, and then getting the girl and Potter out via portkey. As long as we didn’t use magic, no one would know we were here.”

“But that didn’t work out to plan, did it, Blaise?”

“No. That stupid girl woke up before I could portkey away with her and started screaming her head off.”

“And that’s when you lost your head and fired that curse,” remarked Draco amicably. “Silly of you, really. I might not have even realised what was happening at first, except your spell alerted me to your presence and gave away your exact position.”

“It doesn’t matter. There’ll be more of us to come.”

“Oh no, Blaise,” said Draco calmly, “there won’t be any more of your little friends coming here. You see, from what I can gather, you and your friend were the only ones who knew how to get past my wards. Since I’ve already killed your friend that leaves only you with this vital information.”

Blaise swallowed hard. “You’re wrong. I went back and told the others how to get past the wards.”

“I think you’re lying,” responded the blond. “I think you’ve been hiding in those hills for a week, just waiting for your chance to sneak in here. It didn’t even occur to you to tell the others how to get in should your plan fail, as I know that you’re far too arrogant to even assume that something could go wrong with one of your plans. You truly thought that you were going to succeed, didn’t you, Blaise? But Ginevra is my prisoner, and I will never let you have her.”

Blaise’s eyes widened in fear at the possessive and very threatening expression that came to Draco’s face at these words.

“Malfoy, wait! Don’t kill me,” he begged desperately, knowing what that frightening expression meant. “I’ll join you. I’ll tell you everything you need to know about the Dissenters. We can get them together.”

Draco laughed coldly and pulled out his wand, aiming it calmly at the other man’s head. “Do you really think I would trust someone like you who betrays their own at the first sign of death?”

“I—”

“Avada Kedavra.”

The green light shot from the wand and buried itself in Blaise’s head. The life vanished from his eyes in an instant, his head drooping into his lap as he went limp against his chains.

Draco turned and met Ginny’s horrified gaze.

“You just killed him,” she whispered. “Even though he was begging you to let him live.”

“Don’t be naïve, Ginevra. He would have killed us both if he got the chance. I know what that scum is like.”

“I know, but to just kill him like that, and the way you tortured him…”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m a Death Eater, Ginevra. That is what I do. Deal with it.”

Ginny frowned down at her hands. She knew she should have expected something like this. She wasn’t even sure why seeing him torture and kill Blaise had unsettled her so much. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him kill and torture before; hell, he had even tortured her.

It was stupid, really. She realised that now, for how could she have expected a man like him, who was so ruthless, so efficient in his ability to hurt, to not behave that way towards a man who had just invaded his house and nearly stolen his prisoners?

Draco was the perfect Death Eater. He didn’t hesitate; he didn’t squirm at the thought of having to be cruel. He just did what he had to do, and he did it well. Ginny had to admit that even if his methods were not what she could condone, they were effective.

Still, somehow she had been expecting more from him.

“I need to go check on my mother and put the wards back up,” Draco announced, moving towards the door. “Wait here with Potter. I’ll be back soon.”

“You can’t leave me here with him!” shrieked Ginny, pointing at the dead body in the chair.

Draco’s lips twitched almost into a smile. “You’ll survive, I’m sure.”

Ginny started to protest but he was gone before she could even finish her sentence. She sighed, glancing at Blaise’s body, and was barely able to repress a shudder at the bent fingers she could see sticking out in odd angles.

Her stomach twisted sickeningly. Ginny quickly turned her chair around so that she was not facing the body and instead stared at Harry’s unconscious form. Normally she wasn’t so squeamish—this wasn’t the first dead body she had seen, after all—but after witnessing Blaise being tortured and then killed, she felt a little justified in her nausea right now.

“Draco had better hurry up,” she muttered, clutching her stomach.

Not only did she not like the fact that she was trapped in a room with a dead body, but she was still rather shaken from everything that had happened. Waking up to see a masked man leaning over her was certainly not the most thrilling experience; neither was it fun to be chased down dark corridors without any means of protection.

She could still remember the immense relief that had swept over her when she had heard Draco’s voice telling her to relax, and wondered idly to herself why it was she had felt so safe in his arms.

The cold, rational side of her brain suggested that it was simply because he was the lesser of the two evils. Though her captor, it was likely that he at least would protect her from other enemies. The less pragmatic part of her brain wondered if it was because of something entirely different; something even that dreamy little voice was afraid to name.

Ginny was still lost in these musings when Draco returned back to the room.

“Is Narcissa okay?” asked Ginny, standing up at his entrance.

“She’s fine. We’ve both agreed that it would be better if you and Potter are moved over to our area of the manor, just in case anything happens like this again.”

“Do you think more people will come then?”

“The Dissenters are very determined.”

“But you said that they won’t be able to get pass the wards. You said that only Blaise and that other guy knew, and both of them are dead.”

“The manor isn’t impenetrable. They won’t be able to use the same plan again, but you can be sure that they’ll think of some other way to get in here. They always do.”

A cold chill crept down her spine at the thought.

“How did Lara not sense this?” muttered Draco, more to himself. “You and Potter could have both been kidnapped and none of us would have known any better.”

Ginny’s eyes flicked towards him and then fell quickly back to her hands. She knew about Lara’s secret, but Draco didn’t know that she knew. It was probably better that it stayed that way as well.

“Didn’t Zabini say that there was a traitor in the Dark Lord’s inner circle?” asked Ginny, suddenly remembering this fact.

“Yes,” spat Draco, his eyes narrowing at the thought. “Someone has been very sneaky to manage that one without being suspected. I’m going to have a lot to chat about with Lara tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving the manor?”

Draco shook his head. “No. The Dark Lord and Lara will be coming here. She would have come now, but if I know anything about the Dark Lord, he’ll be showing her his personal displeasure at her inability to realise what was going to happen sooner.”

Ginny understood now. Lara must have sensed what was happening a bit too late and was unable to give them any warning beforehand.

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway,” sighed Draco. “It’s over and done with, and there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment.”

He flicked his wand at Harry, who levitated off the seat, and then began to guide him out of the room. “Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. “I’ll take you to your new room.”

“Okay.”

They walked in silence down the hallways to where the master bedrooms were kept. Draco deposited Harry in one of them and then led Ginny to another room. He used his wand to bring the candles to life and then turned to face her.

“The rest of your belongings will be brought here tomorrow. You should get some sleep for now.”

“Are you kidding?” exclaimed Ginny. “I’m never going to be able to sleep after what just happened. I’ll be terrified that someone is going to come creeping in through my window again.”

“No one is going to come through your window.”

“It doesn’t matter! I still won’t be able to sleep!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Then don’t sleep but I, on the other hand, am tired and do want to sleep.”

He started moving towards the door at the words, but a small tug on his arm made him stop. “What?” he said shortly.

Ginny chewed on her bottom lip, her eyes ridiculously vulnerable as they stared up into his cold grey. “Could you—I mean, would you please stay with me?”

Draco blinked, genuinely surprised at the request.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she hurriedly went on to explain. “I just—I just don’t want to be alone right now. Not after everything that happened.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Draco slowly. “You want me to stay here with you so that you don’t feel scared?”

She nodded, faint tinges of pink blossoming on her cheeks.

“That is ridiculous.”

Ginny’s blush deepened. She knew it was a rather odd request, considering that he was her captor and had just killed two men before her eyes, but right now he was the only thing close to security that she had. She just couldn’t stay alone in this room tonight, not after everything that had happened.

No matter how strong or brave she could be, she was still just a nineteen-year-old girl.

“Please,” begged Ginny, throwing her pride to the winds.

Draco stared at her for a moment and then gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay. It’s going to be morning soon anyway.”

Ginny ignored his grumbling and instead bestowed him with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” muttered Draco, shrugging off the hand that was still gripping his arm. “I just don’t want the Dark Lord to have any more excuses to punish me because you have bags under your eyes or something.”

Ginny almost laughed at this, thinking that it was so typical of him to ruin things by making a comment like that. Instead she just nodded to show she understood and then headed over to the bed. She clambered in under the covers and once again pulled them right up to her chin.

Draco extinguished the candles, sending the room into darkness. She didn’t hear him after that.

After a while she began to panic, wondering if he had just lied and said he would stay so that she would stop pestering him.

Her breathing quickened again, coming dangerously close to hyperventilating.

“Draco?” she whispered wildly to the darkness. “Are you still there?”

“Relax,” came the calm reply, and she could almost imagine him rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to leave you.”

Ginny let out a deep breath, her eyes closing as she relaxed back against the pillows. For the second time that night she felt enveloped by the reassuring knowledge that she was safe.

There was no need to fear now. She was with him.

A/N: I’m still not sure I’m entirely happy with this chapter, but after scrapping a whole draft copy for the fifth time, I’m really quite tired of trying to make it how I wanted it to be. I’m afraid you’re stuck with it as it is now.

In any case, thoughts and feedback will be appreciated, and, as usual, I shall try update asap. I am starting university up again, though, so the next chapter might take a bit longer.

10. Suspicion

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

A/N: I apologise for the long wait. I’ve been ridiculously busy with university, and then I hit an absolute roadblock with this chapter. It’s been frankly painful to write, but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

Suspicion

Lara let out a shuddering gasp, tears slipping down her cheeks as she clutched her arms around her aching body. Her knees were stinging from the impact of being crippled to the ground, but that was nothing to the pain that had forced her into the humbled position in the first place.

A harsh laugh echoed around the room, the malice held within the raspy chuckles gliding up and down her spine like the cool touch of a knife. Her eyes lifted, meeting the hooded obsidian staring back at her from a face ravaged of its once infamous beauty. It was the face of a madwoman, Bellatrix Lestrange’s face, and in her dark eyes one could see the true form of insanity.

Bellatrix lowered her wand. She was panting, her eyes glowing with excitement, as if inflicting pain and watching another suffer was somehow erotically stimulating to her. Knowing Bellatrix, it probably was. It was obvious that the woman could barely contain the greedy delight she felt in being able to torture Lara.

Lara could see it, feel it all. The loathing that Bellatrix felt for her ran so deep that it would have painted the skies black with its dark intensity. The woman hated her; wanted nothing more than to peel her skin off with just her fingernails and then rip out her organs and bones one piece at a time. It was amazing that Bellatrix had not already attempted to kill her, but Lara knew that however insane Bellatrix might be, the woman was not stupid. Bellatrix would never openly defy the Dark Lord, but the itch to kill was still there.

That itch was always there.

It was jealousy that had done it. Bellatrix was jealous of Lara, jealous because for years it had been she, Bellatrix Lestrange, who had served as Voldemort’s right-hand woman. There was no one more important to the Dark Lord than her—save her nephew—and Voldemort had given her the honour of training Draco. He had trusted her with all his most important tasks and secrets, and had given her the honour of being his personal torturer for those servants who had displeased him. He had needed her, but then Lara had come along with all her special powers and Bellatrix had found herself thrust to the side. No more did the Dark Lord call upon her, no more did he confide in her. She had become second best, almost unnecessary.

Bellatrix raised her wand to fire another curse, her expression oozing with years of pent up hate. Lara knew she would be lucky to make it out of this unscathed.

“That’s enough, Bella,” said Voldemort, stepping out from the shadows. “Her mind is far too precious for you to damage.”

Bellatrix lowered her wand obediently, though her eyes continued to glare at Lara with sadistic promises of pain.

Voldemort moved forwards and stopped before the brunette kneeling on the ground. “You have failed me, Lara.”

It was a speech that Lara had heard him give many times to his Death Eaters when they had displeased him. This was the first time it had been directed at her.

She had always thought herself as clever, far cleverer than him. It had been so easy to gain his favour, so easy to remain confident even under the face of his suspicions and paranoia. She had skirted and deferred his displeasure, using her powers to protect her own thoughts and plans, but she had not been prepared for this. She had never thought that she could actually fail.

“I am sorry, my lord,” said Lara meekly. “It will not happen again.”

There was nothing else she could say. She could already sense that he would not listen to her explanations.

“Being sorry does not change the fact that you almost caused Potter and the girl to be taken by Dissenters!” spat Bellatrix, her hooded eyes wild with hate. “Everything could have been lost because you failed to do your job!”

“Bella is right,” said Voldemort, smiling rather nastily. “Your failure to recognise what was going to happen could have been catastrophic to our plans. To lose Potter is one thing, but to lose the girl is unforgivable. She holds the child that will give me the greatest power the world has ever seen. Because of you, I almost lost that.”

Lara’s eyes flashed. “What would you have me do? I told you it was dangerous to ask me to follow too many things at once. I can’t sense everything; I’m not that powerful.”

“Then what use are you?”

Her heart leapt in her chest as she felt the equilibrium of her own life begin to destabilise. Things had suddenly become desperate.

She stood up from her knees, head held high. “Was I not the one who told you who Ginevra was and what her powers had the potential to do? Did I not tell you that you had simply to force Ginevra to offer herself to Draco to ensure their having a child together? Was I not the one who helped you find the Order’s base in the first place so that you could even get Potter and Ginevra to bring them here?”

Voldemort considered her through his crimson eyes. His expression was unreadable, even for her. She felt a moment of panic as the feeling of impending death became stronger, but then his lips curved ever so slightly into a smile.

“Indeed, you were.”

Immediately, Lara felt the threat lift as the equilibrium surrounding her life fell back into place.

Voldemort’s eyes flicked to Bellatrix. “I am sorry, my dear, it seems that you will not get to kill our friend Lara today, after all.”

Bellatrix’s disappointment could not have been any more obvious.

“That being said,” continued Voldemort, turning his attention back to the brunette. “Another mistake like this, Lara, and I will have no further use for you. I’m sure you don’t need your little powers to figure out what will happen then.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

His lips curved up briefly into a chilling smile, and then he strolled out of the room; Bellatrix trailing behind him like a fawning dog shadowing her master’s footsteps.

Lara waited until the door had shut behind them before allowing a small frown to pass across her lips. She needed to think, and she needed to think fast. Tomorrow she would be going to the manor with the Dark Lord, and she knew that he was sure to discover through Draco that there was a traitor in his ranks and would wonder why she had not told him of this fact earlier.

Her eyes stared down at the dark mark burned onto her forearm. It was the brand of a Death Eater, the sign that proclaimed her allegiance to Voldemort, as well as his ownership over her body. Only those of the inner circle actually received the mark; the ones who had proved that they were worthy enough to be considered his most trusted servants.

Lara’s lips curled into a twisted smile. She allowed her sleeve to cover the tattoo on her arm and then moved towards the bed. The candle flickered beside her, spluttering and crackling as it desperately tried to cling to life. One, soft breath extinguished the flame.

And then there was darkness.

OOOO

Draco opened his eyes slowly. He sat up, automatically stretching to ease the stiffness out of his neck and shoulders. The sun was streaming in through the closed curtains, giving enough light for him to see the young woman still sleeping soundly in the bed, her long, red hair surrounding her face like a burning halo.

He stood up from the couch and walked over to the bed. Ginny made a sleepy noise and rolled over towards him, a few strands of her hair slipping to caress her face.

There was something absurdly youthful about her appearance in that moment, something so open and innocent. She looked peaceful, and yet, at the same time, he had never seen her look so vulnerable. It made him feel strange.

Tearing his eyes away from the sleeping redhead, he frowned and ran an agitated hand through his hair. What was he even doing here? He was the most feared and ruthless Death Eater in all of Voldemort’s army, and yet he had willingly slept on the couch to play watchdog for a silly girl so that she wouldn’t be frightened of boogiemen. He had even kept his promise to stay with her the whole night. It was ridiculous.

Ginny shifted again in the bed. He turned to see her eyes slowly open, revealing the hidden brown beneath the closed lids. For a moment they just stared at each other, and then a slow smile began to spread across her features.

“You stayed,” she said softly.

She looked so pleased, so warm and affectionate in that moment. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t normal.

Something snapped inside him.

“Don’t get carried away with yourself, Ginevra,” he spat harshly. “I only stayed to stop your whingeing so that I could actually get some sleep. I couldn’t care less about your silly fears of being alone.”

Ginny’s smile faltered. Her eyes flashed with sudden frustration. “Why do you always have to be this way?” she demanded, slamming her hand down on the blankets.

Draco frowned at her outburst. What in Merlin’s name was she going on about now?

“My gosh, you don’t even realise that you do it, do you?”

“Do what?”

“What you’re doing right now!” she exclaimed heatedly. “As soon as I feel like I’m making any progress with you, you suddenly turn into this heartless bastard and try to make me hate you again! Why can’t you just be normal for once? Why can’t you just drop the bastard act and let me see you?”

Draco’s eyes hardened until they were like two chips of ice. “This isn’t an act, Ginevra. This is who I am. I’m not secretly hiding a soft side under an icy exterior, or whatever nonsense it is that your romantic little brain has come up with. I am cruel, I am heartless, and you’re right, I am a bastard.”

Ginny shook her head. “But you’re not. I know there’s more to you than this.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Oh? Like what? Do enlighten me on this secret side of myself that only you seem to be able to see.”

“You mock me now, but you must feel it. You must feel the change.” She slid off the bed and walked towards him, her eyes staring searchingly up into his. “You can’t honestly tell me that you stayed with me last night simply because you wanted me to stop pestering you.”

“Can’t I?” A sneer twisted his features. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ginevra. I meant what I said.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s because you want to delude yourself into thinking that I’m something that I’m not.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

Ginny averted her face, unable to meet his eyes when they were staring so piercingly into her own. Draco closed the distance between them and reached out to take her chin lightly in his hand. He guided her face back up towards his so that she had no choice but to look at him.

“You wish to believe that I’m nice deep down so that it doesn’t seem so wrong for you to want me,” he answered for her, his voice lowering to the caressing tones of velvet. “But you do want me, Ginevra, and we both know that it has nothing to do with my being secretly good.”

Her eyes widened, whether out of surprise that he had read her thoughts so easily, or from the simple fact that he had finally acknowledged her desire for him.

She licked her lips nervously, unsure now what to say or do. Draco had to repress a smile. She really was so very easy to read.

Letting his fingers trail slowly down her neck, he leaned in close and had the distinct satisfaction of hearing her breath hitch at his sudden proximity. His eyes stared deep into hers, his hand travelling lower, until he could feel the flutter of her heart under his fingertips.

“Don’t,” she whispered, her eyes torn between desire and panic.

Draco raised a mocking eyebrow at her plea, and slipped his hand underneath the silk of her nightdress to tease her swollen breast. “Don’t what?” he taunted, even though his own body was racing with excitement at what he was doing.

She gasped, her breath quickening at his touch. “Don’t do this.”

He ignored her feeble protest and leaned in to place an open-mouthed kiss on her neck, revelling in the sweet taste of her skin.

“I thought this is what you wanted?” he whispered huskily, now trailing his lips up to her ear.

“I—” She swallowed, hard. “Not like this.”

“Don’t be coy,” he murmured, bringing his face back around so that he could stare into her eyes. “If you really wanted me to stop, you would have pushed me away by now, but you don’t want me to stop, do you, Ginevra?”

Crimson stained her cheeks.

He smiled at that—if a little cruelly—and leaned in so that his lips were hovering just inches from her own. There he paused, long enough to take satisfaction in the shaky breath that escaped her lips, and see the way her eyelashes fluttered with anticipation before lowering to veil the brown of her eyes.

Another smile, and then he closed the small gap between them.

Her lips were just as soft as he had remembered them, completely yielding to his own. He deepened the kiss, his hand moving up from her breast to tangle in her hair, and then he had her backed up against the wall, control fast slipping as the old desire ignited inside him.

Everything was fire; everything throbbing with an overwhelming, intoxicating heat. He gripped her hip with his free hand, fingers digging into her skin, his mouth moving with hers in a way that would have made any chaste-minded person blush. She was so warm; so soft. He had to immerse himself in her, but then a low moan escaped her lips, snapping him back to his senses, and he was suddenly reminded of why he had kissed her in the first place.

Draco abruptly pulled back, triumph and something far more malicious glinting in his eyes.

“Well,” he observed, noting the way the strap of her nightdress had slipped down to reveal a bit more of her breast than was decent, as well as the flush blossoming on her cheeks. “I think that just answered my question.”

Ginny’s eyes flashed as she suddenly realised what he had done. “You’re sick,” she said in disgust, dragging her strap back up to cover herself, her cheeks now burning with a mixture of shame and anger.

Silver danced with wicked humour. “At least you’re finally starting to get it into that pretty head of yours that I’m not your golden hero.”

“Is that why you did this?” she demanded angrily. “To prove your point?”

Draco simply raised an eyebrow at her, as if to ask how she could have expected anything less from him. Her chin lifted, and then there was a loud slap as her hand collided with his cheek.

“How dare you!” she spat, breathing heavily now. “You—you bastard!”

His hand instinctively rose to touch his stinging cheek. For a moment he looked like he was going to lash out at her for daring to hit him, but then he just started to laugh.

Ginny glared at him, face red with anger, but this only succeeded in making him laugh even more. It was too precious seeing her so outraged at his having proved that he was nothing more than the bastard she had refused to believe he could be. The girl really was so naïve.

And yet, as he stared into her eyes, seeing the hurt reflected in those brown depths, he felt just the smallest prickle of guilt.

It had been a malicious action on his part, a way to punish her for even daring to suggest that he was not the man that he professed himself to be. Violence and cruel words would not have been enough to let the lesson sink in. He had needed to truly hurt her, to humiliate her in such a way as to make her loathe him entirely.

But looking into her eyes now, the laughter dying on his lips, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had taken things too far. There was no denying that he didn’t find the irony of her situation amusing, nor could he say that he did not glory in her humiliation. It was cruel of him, perhaps, but then that was the point, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Ginny continued to glower at him, still with that same guilt-inspiring quality to her eyes. Draco suddenly realised where he had seen that expression before. It was the same look his mother gave when she was disappointed with him; the same that had always made him feel like he was breaking her heart. Seeing it in Ginny’s eyes made the expression take on a whole new meaning.

He folded his arms, feeling suddenly defensive. “What?” he snapped. “You know what I am, so don’t look at me like I’ve somehow crushed your heart. You were the one who fooled yourself and let me take advantage of you.”

She shook her head, disbelief and frustration etched into her face.

“You just don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“Forget it,” she muttered. “I can see that I’m wasting my time.”

She made to leave, but his hand shot out and latched around her wrist, pulling her to an abrupt halt.

“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you, Ginevra. We’re not finished here.”

“Let me go!” she spat, trying to wrench her wrist free.

He was still struggling to restrain her when the door opened and Lara walked into the room.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked Lara in an amused voice, her eyes quick to take in their dishevelled appearances, as well as the hand still closed tight around Ginny’s wrist.

“Lara,” exclaimed Draco, quickly releasing Ginny’s wrist. “I wasn’t expecting you so early.”

“Clearly.”

He frowned. “Where’s the Dark Lord? I thought he was supposed to be coming with you.”

“He’ll be here later. I have some things I want to discuss with you first. Alone,” she added, giving a pointed glance at Ginny.

Ginny didn’t need telling twice and stalked out of the room, making a point to slam the door shut behind her.

“She seems rather angry,” observed Lara. “What did you do?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Oh?” Lara stared at him for a moment, and then her lips curved up into a knowing smile. “I see.”

Draco scowled. It was impossible to keep Lara out of his head, and not for lack of trying. No amount of skill at occluding could stop her powers from slipping under his barriers to sense what he was feeling. It was one of the things he hated most about her. He liked his privacy, thank you very much, and did not appreciate the way she ignored this fact.

“What do you want, Lara?” he asked warily.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell the Dark Lord about the traitor in the inner circle.”

A crease formed on his brow. “Why not?”

“Because the Dark Lord isn’t feeling very charitable towards me right now after last night, and I don’t think he would appreciate the fact that I didn’t tell him of this traitor earlier.”

“And why didn’t you tell him of the traitor earlier? Isn’t that your job, Lara? To sense all threats to the Dark Lord’s plans and inform him of them?”

“I didn’t know about the traitor until you told me. I must have missed it when the betrayal first happened.”

“You seem to be missing a lot of things lately.”

“It’s not that easy, all right?” exclaimed Lara irritably. “Do you have any idea how many Death Eaters want the Dark Lord dead so that they can take his place? They all hate him, Draco—even you. Trying to single out one person amongst that is like trying to find a stone in muddy water. You can’t see it just by glancing at the surface. You have to search deep, and with everything else going on, I haven’t been able to focus enough to do that.”

“Well, surely you must be able to find out who the traitor is now?”

Lara shook her head. “My powers work based on feelings. I can’t just close my eyes and get a picture of the traitor. I have to feel their identity, and that takes time; time I won’t have if you tell the Dark Lord that I failed to recognise a traitor in his ranks.”

He stared at her suspiciously. “Why should I believe you? Because of your habit of ‘missing things’, Ginevra and Potter were almost taken last night. For all I know, you could be the traitor and are now just trying to protect yourself by asking for my silence.”

She laughed. “Don’t be absurd, Draco.”

“Absurd? I’ll tell you what’s absurd. Last night two Dissenters, who had been planning their mission for weeks, managed to not only infiltrate the manor, but also very nearly succeeded in kidnapping my prisoners from right under my nose. It’s by mere chance that Ginevra and Potter are still here.” His eyes narrowed coldly. “Now you tell me how you, with all of your powers, failed to notice that something as major as this was coming.”

“Believe me, I’ve been asking myself that same question, and I wish I could give a better explanation as to why I didn’t, but I can’t. I just didn’t sense it. I’m human, Draco. I make mistakes.”

“You expect me to believe that after you’ve just been telling me not to tell the Dark Lord that he has a traitor in his ranks?”

“I know it looks suspicious, but you just have to trust me with this.”

Draco leaned forward, looking her straight in the eye. “Give me one good reason why I should do this for you.”

Lara met his gaze unflinchingly. “When have I ever led you wrong before? Without me, you would be dead right now, and you know it.” Her eyes took on a more earnest expression. “I need you to do this for me, Draco. I saved your life—the least you can do is return the favour.”

Draco was torn. A part of him wanted to believe that she was telling the truth, but he couldn’t ignore that niggling feeling which cautioned against trusting her too much. It was hard to trust a woman whose mind was completely impenetrable to all forms of legimency, and he didn’t need to have sensing powers to know that there was far more to her than she let on.

He could still remember the day she had first came to them. He had been nineteen then, still fresh in his role as battle strategist for the Dark Lord, and had just been going to show his master a plan for their next attack. The door had opened before he could knock, and both Lara and Voldemort had exited the room. The Dark Lord hadn’t paid any attention to him at first, too pleased with his newly acquired servant, but Lara had seen him. Her eyes had locked on him as soon as she had passed through the door, a knowing look creeping into the blue, as if he had been the one that she was looking for all along.

In that moment, as he had stared into those electric-blue eyes, Draco had known that this was a woman who just knew things. If Mona Lisa could claim to hold the secrets of the world in her smile, it was Lara who held the secrets of the world in her eyes. She knew too much and revealed too little, and in that she was dangerous.

But she had helped him—that he could not deny. She had warned him of danger countless times, and had just recently told him of the Dark Lord’s change of feeling towards him to protect him from behaving too rashly and incurring his master’s wrath. Then, too, there was the fact that she had become a sort of friend to him over the years, though he was not quite sure how that had happened...

And now here she was asking him to lie for her to the Dark Lord so that she could be protected. She wanted him to pretend that there was no traitor because she had failed to notice there was one; because she had already slipped up and was now in danger of losing her life as a consequence.

Lara closed her fingers over his. “Trust me, Draco.”

He stared into her eyes, eyes that still held too many secrets for his comfort. Slowly, he let out a breath. “This had better be worth it, Lara”.

A smile pulled at her lips. “It is.”

OOOO

Ginny was sitting on the bed in her old room when Narcissa found her later that day. If it weren’t for the telling red rimming the younger woman’s eyes, one would never have known that she had been upset. She seemed perfectly calm, if a little listless.

“You’ve been crying,” observed Narcissa. Her eyes took in the shards of glass scattering the floor. “And, it seems, throwing my vases.”

Ginny averted her face, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “What do you want?”

“The Dark Lord will be arriving shortly. He wants to speak to all of us, including you. We’ll be greeting him in the parlour.”

“Fine,” huffed the younger girl, standing up to walk towards the door.

Narcissa placed a hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong, Ginevra?”

“Nothing,” snapped Ginny, shaking off Narcissa’s hand. “Everything is perfectly fine.”

She made to leave again.

“Was it my son?”

Ginny froze.

A sigh escaped the blonde. “Tell me.”

Ginny closed her eyes, holding back the tears that threatened to escape. She didn’t want to think about it anymore, though even trying not to think of it made everything that had happened that morning replay before her mind. She could not forget the way he had kissed her, the way he had touched her, but that was nothing to the hurt she felt in knowing that he had only done it so that he could prove his point.

She had thought he was finally softening towards her. She had thought that last night they had somehow breached the boundary of prisoner and captor and had closed the gulf between them. He had held her so protectively in his arms, had soothed her fears so easily, and he had stayed for her. It was more than what she could have ever expected from him, and she, in her foolishness, had thought that it meant something.

But he had thrown it all back in her face. He had mocked her; humiliated her; had cruelly used her own feelings for him against her. It hurt so much—much more than it should have, given the situation. It was only natural to feel angry at his vindictiveness, but she had never known that it would cause such a deep pain inside her, as if her heart was somehow being squeezed with invisible fingers that only tightened the more she protested that it was too much for her to bear.

She should have known better. She should have remembered what he was like and what he always had been, but she had caught those glimpses of kindness in him and had refused to believe that they could mean nothing. She had clung to those moments, clung to them with all her might, and now she had her reward: a punctured heart that refused to be healed.

And yet, perhaps the most hurtful thing of all, the one thing that truly crushed her, was that she knew it had been a lie. He had wanted to prove a point, but in the end he had only proven hers. There was no deceit in his kiss, no lie in his touch. No one could fake something like that, not even him. It had all been an act of retaliation, a defence mechanism to keep her out, and it hurt; hurt, because she realised now that he would never change. He would just keep on lashing out at her, and she would remain helpless to his power and cruelty; for nothing, not even the pain he had made her feel today, could stop the sick fascination she felt for him.

Arms suddenly closed around her. For the second time in her life, Ginny found herself being hugged by Narcissa Malfoy.

“I’m sorry,” murmured Narcissa. “I’m sorry that he hurt you.”

Tears stung at Ginny’s eyes. She buried her face into the older woman’s shoulder, wishing more than ever that she could just escape from this place and the man who had made her life so difficult. She just wished it would stop. She wished that she didn’t have to feel this way about him. She hated him, hated him with every fibre of her being, but she also couldn’t deny that there was a part of her that longed for him. It wasn’t until today that she realised just how deep that attraction went.

Narcissa pulled Ginny closer, surrounding her in a cocoon of motherly protection and warmth. She didn’t speak, but then there really was no need to. Her actions said all that was needed. No one knew more than Narcissa how cruel Draco could be to those who cared for him. It was enough just to show that she understood.

Ginny wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, but after some time Narcissa gently pulled away.

“We should go. The Dark Lord will be here by now.”

Ginny nodded, quickly wiping the tears off her cheeks, and followed Narcissa out of the room. They walked down the lonely corridors and then entered the parlour together. As expected, Voldemort and Lara were all ready there.

Voldemort broke off mid-conversation and turned to look at them. “Ah,” he said smoothly, “so glad you could finally join us.”

Narcissa said something in reply, but Ginny wasn’t listening. She was staring at Draco, frustration and longing clawing at her chest. It wasn’t fair that he should be so detached while she was forced to suffer like this. It wasn’t fair that he was allowed to be so achingly beautiful when his heart was so ugly. It just wasn’t fair...

His eyes locked on hers. She felt like someone had punctured a hole in her lungs. The air seemed to vanish inside her, the pain in her chest growing. She wanted to yell at him, scream at him, but her mouth remained shut. She could only stare, caught by the power of those cold grey eyes.

Draco turned his face back to his master, but Ginny continued to watch him long afterwards. She barely heard them discussing what they were going to do about the Dissenters and whether it would be safe to keep her and Harry still at the manor. She didn’t care when Voldemort started probing her stomach, checking to make sure that the baby was still healthy and unharmed from last night’s adventures. She was completely lost to her own thoughts.

“I believe that is all we needed to discuss?” said Lara, giving a questioning glance at her master.

“Yes, though there is something that has been bothering me.” His eyes narrowed on Draco. “How did the Dissenters know that both Potter and Ginevra were at the manor?”

“I don’t know, my lord,” responded Draco smoothly, causing Ginny’s eyes to snap up in surprise. “I’m afraid that they made it impossible for me to spare either of them so that we could get any information.”

He’d lied. Why had he lied?

“Hrm,” said Voldemort, twisting his lips in thought as he stared piercingly into Draco’s grey eyes. “That’s funny. Someone here doesn’t agree with you.”

Ginny saw the way Draco paled ever so slightly, saw the way Lara’s eyes widened in open alarm, and then Voldemort was smiling at her; smiling in a way that made goosebumps shiver up and down her arms.

“Come here, Ginevra,” he ordered gently.

Ginny obediently walked forward. There was nothing else that she could do.

Voldemort took her chin in his hands and tilted her face up towards his. She felt his crimson eyes searching her own, felt the faint prickles of his presence touching at her mind. He was using legimency on her. With that realisation came the sudden urge to hide whatever it was that he was looking for.

Ginny had never learnt occlumency before, but somehow she just knew what to do. She pushed all thoughts of the Dissenters to the back of her mind, covering them with thoughts of her family, and then set up a wall of emotion that allowed Voldemort to see only her fear and confusion. He tried to push through her barriers, sliding up along the wall she had created to search for any cracks or weak points, but there was nothing for him to find.

Voldemort left her mind, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. “I see you’ve learnt to block your mind. No matter, I saw enough to know that young Malfoy was lying to me.”

He thrust her away from him, sending her straight into Lara’s arms—who immediately caught her and steadied her—and then turned to the impassive blond.

“Well, Draco, it seems that there’s something you’re not wanting to tell me about the Dissenters. Now why would that be?”

Draco’s jaw clenched.

Voldemort moved closer, calmly bringing out his wand from his robe. “Come now, Draco. You don’t want to displease your lord.”

The blond looked past his master, past Ginny’s bewildered gaze, and met Lara’s eyes. Ginny could feel Lara tense behind her. There was a moment where the two Death Eaters just stared at each other, as if having some kind of telepathic exchange, and then Draco turned his eyes back to his master. He gracefully knelt down on the ground and lowered his head into a subdued bow.

“Forgive me, my lord. You are right, I did lie, but it was only because I failed to get any information out of the Dissenter that I had caught.” He raised his face, his expression one of complete contrition. “I was ashamed, my lord, and in my weakness I lied, hoping that you would not learn of my failure.”

“Is that so?”

Draco nodded. Ginny was amazed at how genuine he appeared to be. If she didn’t already know the truth, she herself would have been fooled by the sincerity he seemed to surround himself with.

Voldemort’s lips curled up into a nasty smile. “A pity.”

Everyone knew what was coming next, but that didn’t stop Ginny from flinching when she heard the sharp gasp that escaped the blond’s lips as he was struck by the cruciatus curse. She could see him struggling to contain himself, to not show his pain, but all too soon beads of sweat were gathering on his brow, and his face began to twitch in a horrible, sickening way.

It was unbearable to watch. She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand seeing him like this.

Her eyes darted to Narcissa, but the woman seemed to have become like stone. Lara was still tense behind her, but she, too, seemed to have been struck frozen and made no effort to stop the sickening torture going on before them.

Ginny looked back at the man on the floor, watching the strength slowly sap away from his body. He was leaning forward now, gasping and groaning openly in his pain. Voldemort seemed irritated that Draco had not screamed yet and intensified the curse.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Her eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the torture going on before her, but that did nothing to block out his groans of agony. Tears slipped down her cheeks, her heart aching in her chest. It had to stop.

It had to stop now.

Ginny stepped forward. “Stop it! Please, just stop it!”

Draco’s head snapped up at the sound of her voice. He stared at her incredulously, confusion and anger flashing in his eyes.

“Don’t interfere, Ginevra,” said Lara quickly, reaching out to pull her back.

“No, Lara,” said Voldemort, red eyes gleaming unpleasantly. “I think our dear, little Ginevra is upset that I’m punishing young Malfoy here. By all means, child, go on.”

Ginny licked her lips nervously. She hadn’t meant to call out. It had just happened. She hadn’t even known what she had been doing. All she had known was that she couldn’t handle just standing there and watching him suffer like that.

“Don’t be shy,” taunted Voldemort. “I’m very interested to see what you have to say.”

“I…”

“Yes?” he prompted.

She swallowed, her eyes falling back to Draco. He was glaring openly at her now. It was obvious that he wanted nothing more than to yell at her, but he didn’t dare say anything with Voldemort right there.

“I just,” she began again, hesitant now.

What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t very well tell the Dark Lord that she wanted him to stop because she fancied her captor and didn’t like to see him hurt, not to mention the fact that she knew it was an unjust punishment that he was receiving. She didn’t understand why Draco had lied to his master about the Dissenters, but she did know that it was not his fault that he was being cursed now.

Lara caught her gaze and very slowly shook her head.

Ginny wasn’t quite sure what Lara had meant by that, but she understood that telling the full truth was out of the question.

She turned her eyes back to the waxy-faced man before her. “I just…don’t like watching people being tortured.”

Voldemort’s eyebrow—or what was left of it—lifted slightly. “You just don’t like seeing people tortured?” he repeated, seeming to find this amusing. “How quaint.”

Ginny felt her cheeks warm. She knew she would be blushing.

He considered her for a moment through his red eyes, a slight smile curling his lips. Then he turned to Draco, who was still kneeling on the floor.

“You’re in luck, young Malfoy. It seems that your little prisoner is offended by my methods. She’s even crying for you.”

Ginny quickly wiped away the traitor tears on her cheeks. Voldemort just laughed.

“Oh, don’t be ashamed, my dear. It does your Gryffindor heart great justice. You people always were too noble for your own good.”

Ginny didn’t know what to say to that and so said nothing.

Voldemort turned back to Draco, all smiles vanishing as his eyes took on their nightmare gleam. “I have shown you mercy tonight. Do not disappoint me again.”

“Yes, my lord,” Draco gritted out with forced respect.

Voldemort glanced at Lara. “Finish up here. I’m heading back to headquarters.”

Lara bowed dutifully to show that she understood.

Ginny was pleased when Voldemort finally left the room, though it was a while before anyone spoke. She knew that they, just like her, were afraid he would somehow know if they said anything potentially treacherous while he was still on the premises.

Draco slowly got to his feet, wincing slightly from the lingering effects of the curse. Lara was immediately beside him.

“Are you all right?”

He gave a wry smile. “I’ll live.”

“I’m sorry, Draco. I didn’t realise that this would happen,” said Lara, looking truly remorseful. “I should have realised that he would be able to see the truth in Ginevra’s mind.”

“You should have, of course, but it makes no difference. He never discovered the full truth.”

“You’re right.” Lara smiled, her eyes flicking towards Ginny. “Thank you for doing that for us, Ginevra.”

“What I want to know,” interposed Narcissa, speaking for the first time since her son had been cursed, “is why Draco had to lie in the first place.”

Draco and Lara exchanged glances.

“That was my fault,” confessed Lara. “Draco was only trying to protect me.”

Ginny felt something hot surge through her blood. Was it jealousy? Jealousy of Lara?

She didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation, too absorbed in her own thoughts, and so didn’t realise when Draco moved towards her.

“Why did you interfere?”

Ginny jumped, her eyes wildly searching for the source of his voice, and almost jumped again when she realised that he was standing right next to her.

“I—what?”

His eyes narrowed. “You heard me. Why did you tell the Dark Lord to stop?”

She flushed. “You heard my answer. I just don’t like seeing people tortured.”

And it was true. She really didn’t, though she was not delusional enough to not know that there was far more to it than that.

Apparently, he wasn’t as well.

“Never do that again, Ginevra,” he ordered in a low, threatening voice. “Do you hear me? Never do that again.”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t think.”

“Of course, you didn’t. You never think. That’s your problem. You’re too impulsive for your own good, and one of these days that impulsiveness is going to get you killed—that is if you don’t kill us both with your stupidity before then. Do you have any idea what would have happened if the Dark Lord had realised why you really called out like that?”

Her eyes flashed with embarrassment and hurt, but there was anger too.

“What difference does it make?” she retorted. “Whether I’m killed now or three weeks later, I’m already dead, or have you forgotten about why I’m really here?”

Draco’s expression changed so quickly that she wasn’t sure it had happened at all, but she was almost certain that she had seen a flicker of distress pass over his face.

“Three weeks?”

“Maybe four. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “The baby is growing a lot faster than expected.”

His eyes fell to her stomach. He absently ran a hand over the bump, an unreadable expression on his face. “It’s really going to happen, then,” he murmured more to himself.

Ginny wished he wouldn’t touch her like that. She had almost forgotten everything that had occurred between them that morning in the excitement of what had happened, but everything was rushing back to her now.

She took a step back from him, breaking the contact. “Don’t touch me.”

Draco’s eyes snapped back up to hers, a different kind of unreadable expression coming to his face now. They stared at each other, both knowing that there was still so much that had been left unsaid between them. Then he simply turned and walked away.

Ginny let out a breath as she stared at his retreating form. He did not look back.

A/N: Sorry for the typos, etc. Haven’t had much sleep.

In any case, your feedback on this chapter would be much appreciated. As much as I dislike sounding like one of those authors who demand reviews, I do find it very helpful in terms of getting motivation and inspiration to read your thoughts and impressions. As this fic has been driving me nuts lately, you really would be making my day by taking the time to write a review.

Just think, it takes me over 24 hours to write a chapter. It takes you less than 5 minutes to write a review. I think you’re getting the better end of the deal here. :P

Once again, you have my promise that I will try update the next chapter ASAP, but, as it is a busy time for me at university, I sadly cannot make any promises that it will be as soon as you all would hope.

11. The Pawn Makes Her Move

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

A/N: I only ever seem to be apologising for taking so long to update in these notes. How depressing. In any case, here is the promised rewritten version. The next chapter, I hope, will not take so long to write.

The Pawn Makes Her Move

Ginny stared absently at the ceiling. Once again she had found herself lying on the bed, dress pulled up while Lara scanned her heavily pregnant belly. She tried to ignore the ticklish feeling of the magical scanner and, instead, cast her eyes back at the brunette. Like the last time, Lara was not in the mood to talk. Ginny couldn’t help but note the trouble shadowing the older woman’s eyes. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been able to sleep over the past week.

“Have you discovered the traitor yet?” asked Ginny, wondering if this was the cause of the witch’s disquiet.

Lara gave an involuntary twitch. “Not yet.”

“Oh.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Ginny shifted on the bed and stared back at the ceiling. She had not forgotten that it was Lara who had wanted Draco to lie about the traitor, but it would not do to dwell on that. It would not do to dwell about anything that had happened that day.

Lara finally pulled the sensor away and started wiping the sticky potion off Ginny’s belly.

“You’re doing well, Ginevra,” said the brunette with a smile, if a little forced. “The child is progressing exactly as it should. I’d say you have about a week left before the baby will be due. Perhaps a week and a half if you’re lucky.”

Something cold and very hollow settled in Ginny’s stomach. The way Lara had said the words sounded far too much like a death sentence for her comfort, which, when she thought about it, they indeed were. There was no question of her not being killed once the child was born, but it had always seemed like some faraway thing, almost a dream that could never become real.

“A week?” repeated Ginny, her voice hushed as if saying it louder would somehow make the words a more concrete fact.

Lara said nothing and simply began to pack away her equipment. Ginny pushed herself into a sitting position and stared at the brunette. It was obvious that Lara didn’t want to talk about it, obvious that she was ignoring the redhead completely in the hopes that her silence would settle the matter, but Ginny was not one to be ignored, not when her own feelings had been so unsettled.

“You’ve sensed it, haven’t you?” asked Ginny, her voice surprisingly calm. “You’ve sensed what will happen once the child is born.”

Lara closed her eyes, an infinitesimal sigh escaping her lips. “Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I’ve sensed it.”

“And?”

The black lashes lifted, vivid blue meeting Ginny’s own brown with no trace of sympathy or indeed any feeling at all.

“You die, Ginevra.”

And that was it. In three simple words her future had been decided. There was no uncertainty in Lara’s voice, no murkiness to give the redhead even the slightest fragment of hope. This was the cold truth. Her baby would be born and then she would die.

Death seemed to smile at her then, as if it could already feel the warmth of her body fading into its cold embrace. Not long now, it seemed to say, but Ginny refused to accept it. This just couldn’t be all that her life would amount to.

“I don’t believe you,” said the redhead, shaking her head.

Lara gave her a pitying look. “No one ever does want to accept their own fate, but all things must come to an end at some point. You cannot escape your destiny, Ginevra.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I now?”

Ginny gritted her teeth. “You talk about fate and destiny as if it’s something irrefutable, but you forget that we are the ones who make our own choices. Fate may deal the cards, but I’m still the one who plays them.”

“You’re right,” agreed Lara, “you do play your own cards.” She leaned forward and looked Ginny squarely in the eyes. “But what happens when your opponent has the winning hand?”

Ginny faltered at that, but then the answer she had desperately been searching for ever since she had discovered her situation finally manifested itself.

“You cheat,” said Ginny softly, more to herself than the woman in front of her.

Lara’s eyes widened a fraction. “I see. And how do you plan to do that?”

Ginny offered no answer to this. She did not trust Lara. The brunette may have united with Draco against Voldemort in regards to the traitor working with the Dissenters, but who knew the real reason for that? Ginny certainly didn’t. Lara was still just as mysterious to her as she had been when they had first met. It was too risky to confide in her now.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Ginevra,” said Lara seriously. “You’re mistaken if you think you can overset the Dark Lord’s plans. He will kill you once he has your child in his grasp, no matter what you do.”

“Then I guess I have nothing to lose, don’t I?”

Lara’s eyes flashed with an unreadable emotion. “Foolish girl. Why can’t you just accept your fate?”

“Because that would mean giving up, and I’ve come too far to simply let him win now.”

“You do realise that I will have to tell the Dark Lord what you’re planning, and that he will take measures to ensure you don’t obstruct his plans?”

“I know.”

It was a risk Ginny would have to take, but anything was worth the risk now. Hearing that the baby would be born in a week had given her a new drive, a new desire to break free. She had been lost in the shades of grey, confused and conflicted by twisted feelings of love and hate, but now there were new shades colouring her view, shades that made her realise just how stupid she had been behaving.

While she had been struggling to make sense of her feelings for her captor—the same man who had murdered her brother and caused her so much pain—there were people that she loved dying, people, long dead, crying from the dusts of the earth for her to get back on her feet and keep fighting for the cause they had given their lives to. It was her child that the Dark Lord wanted, what everyone wanted, and she, in all her selfishness, was practically handing it to Voldemort on a silver platter. She was handing him victory, and it was this realisation that made her want to fight back, to beat him at his own game. But she knew she would need help, and it was not Lara who could help her, though having the brunette as her enemy would make things difficult.

“Don’t think I don’t know that you’re planning something, Ginevra,” said Lara, interrupting her thoughts. “I can sense it all ready.”

“No one wants to accept their fate,” responded Ginny, “you said that yourself so why should I accept mine? I’ll make my own fate if I have to.”

Lara laughed at that, much to Ginny’s surprise.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that people make their own fates,” explained the brunette, amusement quivering in her voice. “He didn’t want to accept his fate either, and for a while I almost thought that he could change the path that destiny had decreed for him.”

“What happened?” asked Ginny, curious even with all her frustration and hopelessness.

“In his stubbornness to prove me wrong, he did exactly what Fate had decided for him. You see, Ginevra, you’re right in saying that you can play your cards however you like, but the outcome still remains the same. Fate always wins in the end.”

Ginny didn’t miss the bitterness lacing Lara’s voice at those last words, and she wondered if there was more to the story than the brunette was letting on. Had Lara perhaps cared for this man who had tried to change his fate?

“Who was he?”

“The man?” Lara gave a wry smile. “I believe you know him well yourself. He is your captor, after all.”

“Draco? You’re talking about Draco?”

Lara simply gave one of her enigmatic smiles in reply, and then she turned and left the room without a further word. Ginny stared at the closed door, confused and conflicted all over again. What had Draco been trying to change about his fate, and why did Lara tell her about that anyway? Did the brunette want to scare her off from trying to ruin Voldemort’s plans because of how futile it was? Or was she trying to hint at something else?

It was impossible to tell, just as it was impossible to tell where Lara stood. Ginny knew that if Lara had really wanted to stop her from rebelling against Voldemort’s plans, the brunette could very easily do it herself. But Lara had not stopped her. She had only warned her.

Why?

Ginny sighed. She knew that she could think about this question all day and be no closer to an answer. Lara was determined to remain a mystery, and Draco—he was best left forgotten, even if the thought of never seeing him again did make her heart ache.

In a way it felt like everything had been building up to this moment. Draco had pushed her to the edge, stripped away all the armour of hate that had protected her heart from him, but now she had to be strong again. She had to stop clinging to those moments of kindness he had occasionally shown and break free from the insanity he had thrust her mind into. No matter how much her heart refused to let him go, she had to do it. She had to break free.

Ginny walked to the dresser and picked up the chain that held Harry’s ring. She had not worn it since the day she had sex with Draco, feeling that it would only betray the man who had given it to her, but now she needed the strength that it could give her. She needed to feel his memory close to her heart, to feel the cold metal against her skin. It was a reminder of everything she and her loved ones had fought for, and now she hoped it would give her the courage she needed to let go of all that was holding her back.

The door opened. Ginny turned abruptly, her breath catching when she met those steely-grey eyes. It was as if Fate had already sensed what she was going to do and was now testing her to see if she could really break from the chains it had placed on her.

“Draco,” said Ginny coolly.

“Ginevra.”

He closed the door behind him and walked further into the room.

“I see Lara has already been. How long until the birth now?”

“A week, maybe a week and a half.”

“I see.”

His eyes latched onto the ring hanging loosely at her chest. A small laugh escaped his lips, though his expression was far from pleasant.

“So you’ve returned back to Potter, have you? How easy you women switch from one man to the next.”

“What do you want?” demanded Ginny, gritting her teeth. “If you’ve come here to insult me, you can leave.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Oh, did I hit a nerve?”

She glared at him, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with her anger. His smile grew, and, like a cat stalking its prey, he walked slowly towards where she stood, stopping barely an inch away from her so that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

“Tell me, Ginevra,” he murmured in his low, velvety voice, “do you really think Potter would want you wearing that after everything you did with me?”

He touched the ring at her chest, his fingers just brushing against her breasts where the low neckline did not cover. She let out a shaky breath, half-submitting to the seductive charm he emanated, but his words quickly had her snapping back to reality.

“That’s none of your business,” spat Ginny, pushing his hand away.

He laughed, a cruel, mocking laugh. “Please, Ginevra, acting like the maiden of outraged virtue won’t work for you now, and neither will this pathetic display of loyalty for Potter.” He stepped closer to her, dominating her space until she felt her heart drumming wildly in her chest. “Don’t forget that you were the one who came to me. It has always been you that wanted more. I simply gave you what you wanted.”

Ginny suddenly found her back pressing against the wall. She hadn’t even realised he had been manoeuvring her backwards, let alone that she had been moving at all. He leaned in close to her, his warm breath brushing against her ear like the lightest of kisses.

“You can’t tell me that you don’t want it still,” whispered the blond, shifting her hair away from her neck with one graceful movement to expose the sensitive skin. “You can cling to that piece of metal all you like, but it won’t give you what you need.” He pressed a kiss just under her ear. “Warmth.” Another kiss on her pulse. “Emotion.” He brought his face back around to hers, his eyes dark with desire as he stared intently into her own. “Pleasure.”

Ginny gave an involuntary shiver at the expression in his eyes. It would be so easy to give into him, so easy to let him swallow her up in his madness again, but deep down she knew that his words meant nothing. He would only hurt her, and though there was a time when she had allowed him to do so, even welcomed the pain he gave her in all her twisted desire and starved need for affection, she knew better than to trust him now.

“What do you want from me?” asked Ginny, glaring at him now. “Do you really love tormenting me so much or is it simply because you can’t bear the thought that I might actually move on and forget about you?”

His eyes flashed, and Ginny knew by the ugly expression that came to his face that she had struck home. The insecurity was all there, baring his vulnerability for the first time. He did not know how to love, and so he had pushed her away, hoping to crush her intentions and hopes, but like a possessive dog with its bone, he could not bear the thought of not actually having her there when he wanted her. He could not bear to have her deem him as nothing, to have her leave him alone.

Draco’s mouth curled into an unpleasant sneer. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” Ginny mocked in his own derisive tones from earlier. “Did I hit a nerve?”

His expression darkened dangerously. He didn’t even look remotely handsome right now. It was somehow satisfying to her. She had always hated the fact that he was so beautiful to look upon, but now his face reflected the ugliness that she knew painted his soul. She could see that he hated the fact that she had found his weakness, and with all the spitefulness of a broken woman, she wanted to dig her hands deeper into that wound and force him to feel the pain he had made her suffer so that he too could know what it felt like to have his heart scorned and crushed.

Ginny leaned in closer to him, her eyes glinting maliciously. “You thought you could play with me at your will, that you could string me along and beat me like some begging dog at your heels, but we all grow tired of games, Draco. You wanted to drive me away? Well, congratulations, you’ve succeeded, because there is nothing you can do now that would make me want to spend another minute in your hateful presence.”

She made to walk away, but he gripped her hard by her shoulders and pushed her back up against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he stared darkly into her eyes.

“Are you forgetting that you’re still my prisoner?” growled the blond. “You’ll go when I say you can go.”

“I may be your prisoner, but I’m not your whore,” snapped Ginny. “Now take your hands off me.”

Draco glared at her, still with that ugly expression on his face, and then he crushed his lips against hers in a ruthless kiss. She gasped in surprise, and he quickly took advantage of her open mouth and deepened the kiss, not even letting her have a chance to say otherwise. Her hands pushed at his chest, trying to get him to release her, but he only gripped her tighter, practically suffocating her in his possessive embrace. Everything about the kiss was raw and angry, filled with the loathing that he felt for her and the undisclosed need that always pulled him back, but she was too enraged to take delight in the fact that she had, at last, succeeded in shattering his control.

She finally managed to wrench her lips away from his, and then she slapped him hard in the face, her eyes blazing with unrestrained anger.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” spat the redhead in a low, shaking voice.

“You can’t tell me that you didn’t like it,” retorted the blond with an unrepentant smirk.

Ginny could only glare at him, knowing that she had enjoyed it. He laughed, sensing his victory over her.

“Face it, love. You’ll never be rid of me. You just can’t help yourself.”

“You’re wrong.”

His eyes narrowed, and Ginny winced as he tightened his grip on her shoulder, his expression darkening in such a way that she felt a shiver of trepidation travel down her spine. Was he going to hurt her?

The sound of the door opening again had them both jumping in surprise, so caught up were they in their emotions, and Ginny turned her face to see Narcissa enter the room.

“What are you doing, Draco?” demanded the blonde in freezing accents. “Do you have any idea what the Dark Lord would do if you hurt Ginevra?”

Draco abruptly released Ginny as if he had only just realised how aggressively he had been holding her. He took a step back, his expression an odd mixture of contrition and impenitence.

“You can leave,” ordered Narcissa, staring coolly at her son. “I think you’ve done enough damage for one day.”

The blond stared at Ginny as if he were trying to decide whether it was worth it to stay or not, but then he simply turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Ginny let out a deep breath. She was glad that was over. She didn’t like that her resolve had almost wavered simply because he had shown an interest in her again. It frightened her just how much power he had over her, for the longing to be in his arms was still a very real part of her. She realised now more than ever how imperative it was that she get away from him. He would consume her, destroy her even, and it disturbed her to think that she had almost let him. She needed to get out, and she needed to get out now.

“Are you all right?” asked Narcissa, snapping the redhead from her thoughts.

Ginny nodded. “It’s nothing he hasn’t done before.”

Narcissa frowned. “I don’t like him being alone with you. He’s become so unpredictable of late. I’m worried for your safety, Ginevra, especially with the birth so close.”

“I’m worried too,” said Ginny truthfully.

She knew that another encounter like that could break her, not to mention the fact that she had only a week left before the monster inside her was born and she was killed.

Ginny looked at the blonde intently. She knew that Narcissa was the only person who could help her now, but would she be willing to do it? There was still so much that the older woman kept back from her, and though she had sympathised with Ginny more than once, there was no telling if that really meant anything. It would be a risk, but Ginny knew it was a risk that she had to take.

She stepped forward towards the blonde, grasping the woman’s hands impulsively in her own.

“I need your help, Narcissa.”

“What?”

The astonishment and discomfort in the older woman’s eyes was unmistakable. This did not bode well, but Ginny pressed on, knowing that she would never get a chance like this again.

“Lara tells me that I have a week, maybe a week and a half left before the baby will be born,” explained Ginny in a rush, “and then they’ll take the child and kill me, and everything I’ve been fighting for will be in vain, everything you’ve suffered for your son will be in vain. I know you’re not like them. I know you don’t care about the Dark Lord and his plans. I’m begging you to help me escape now before they can get my child. Please, Narcissa. I can’t bear to sit back and let him win, but I can’t do this alone. I just can’t.”

“You’re asking a lot from me, Ginevra.”

“I know. I know it’s selfish of me to even ask you to risk your life like this, but what if there was a way to stop him? Don’t you wonder what it would be like to live in a world that he didn’t control?”

“I’m afraid that there wouldn’t be much of a world left.”

Ginny shook her head, frustrated. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand, Ginevra, but you need to understand that what you’re asking for is a miracle. Even if I could get you out of the Manor, what hope do you have in stopping the Dark Lord? You’re just a simple girl.”

“I have to try,” whispered Ginny. “I’ve been fighting against him for four years, I’ve watched my whole family be slaughtered before me because of him, and in a week that will all mean nothing. He’s going to kill me, Narcissa, and he will use my child to become the most powerful wizard on this earth. I can’t let that happen, not while I still have a chance to do something.”

“And if it fails?”

“At least we would have tried. At least we would have done something to stop that man controlling us. I—” a small sob broke from the redhead’s mouth, the tears stinging at her eyes “—I just can’t bear to let it end this way. How can I embrace death when I know that it will mean the end of everything I love? How can I just sit back and let fate take its course when there’s still a chance to change it?”

Narcissa considered the redhead for a moment through her cool blue eyes. Her lashes closed, veiling whatever thoughts were hidden behind that mask of impassivity, and then she stared back at Ginny with a face that was so emotionless it was as if there was no life left in her at all.

“I cannot help you, Ginevra. I’m sorry.”

Ginny couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She had thought for sure that Narcissa would help her—she had to help her—but here the blonde was refusing to do a thing. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when everything was about to slip beyond her control.

The redhead slid dazedly to the floor, unable to withstand the crushing weight that bore down on her. She was barely aware of her surroundings, simply staring before her with unseeing eyes.

“So that’s it, then?” whispered Ginny.

“I’m sorry,” repeated Narcissa.

She sounded genuinely remorseful, but what did that matter? Ginny didn’t want her apologies. They were of no use to her now, not when she knew she had barely a week left to live.

“Please,” said Ginny in as dignified a voice as she could manage, “just leave me.”

There was no response: only the sound of retreating footsteps and the soft click of the door sealing shut. She squeezed her eyes tight, fruitlessly trying to hold back her tears as she curled up into a ball on the floor and clutched her arms around her swollen stomach.

Now what was she going to do?

OOOO

Narcissa stared at the empty chair in front of her, the same chair where she had last seen her husband’s slumped over form. Even now she could vividly recall the ambience of death that had clung to the room when she had found him two years ago, though at the time she had not understood the feelings assailing her body. She had thought him asleep and, ignorant as she was of the situation, she had scolded him for being so at his desk. When he had not responded to her reprimand, she remembered how an unnameable panic had attacked her chest, how the sight of him so still and silent became somehow ominous to her eyes.

It was strange how one’s body could sense when something was wrong before the mind could fully fathom the reason. She could recognise that now, but at the time she had not considered the oddities of that sixth sense. She had simply reached out a trembling hand towards him, disturbing the silvery strands of hair that had shielded his face from her view, and there she had seen his grey eyes staring back at her, eyes that were empty of all life. That was when the truth had sunk in. Her husband was dead. Murdered. Gone.

Draco had comforted her that night. She could still recall the way he had held her in his arms after discovering her sobbing and clutching her husband’s dead body, the way he had muttered soothing nonsense to her that neither of them had probably paid much attention to at the time but which had given both mother and son a sense of solace all the same. When Lucius was buried the next day in the family cemetery, Draco had held her still, and he had continued to do so for the rest of those dark days while she struggled to come to terms with the loss of her husband, as if he had sensed that her body could no longer hold itself up when the organ keeping it alive was so crushed.

He had been her rock back then, giving her the strength she needed to keep living in a world so mundane and meaningless without the man she loved to share it with. She had never seen her son so affectionate, so open with his love for her, and though it was true that in just four months he started to degenerate into the unfeeling monster that he now resembled, she had known from that point on that she could never abandon him.

The truth was that she could have fled any time during the past three years. Though her own wand had been snapped, she had always known that a spare lay in her husband’s desk. Lucius had let her in on all the secrets of the manor, which is how she also knew that the anti-Apparation wards that kept Ginevra and herself trapped in the manor did not apply to his study. Unfortunately, neither the wand nor the lack of wards had helped Lucius—traitors never do make their identities known until it is too late—but Narcissa knew that it could help her aid Ginevra in escaping from the manor.

It was for this reason that she now found herself once again in the study that had seen the last moments of her husband’s life. The image of the young girl crumpling to the floor before her like a wounded bird had continued to haunt her, damning her for her lie. She had never held another’s life in her hands, never felt the guilt of knowing that her selfishness could be the cause of another’s death. For all her position as the Malfoy matriarch, she had been a mere spectator to the war, kept like a fragile flower behind a wall of glass that was only allowed to observe the chaos happening around her.

But now that war was intruding upon her, forcing her to choose between what was comfortable and what was right. She could not deny that she wished she had never bothered to be kind to the girl, that she had never forged those bonds of friendship. It would have been so much easier to let fate take its course then, to let Ginevra die. But she had built those bonds, and she could not ignore the agonised promptings of her conscience.

She knew that this would probably be the only genuinely selfless thing that she would ever do in her life, for she had never cared about the war, and she had certainly never risked her life for anyone but her own family before simply because it was the ‘right’ thing to do. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Ginevra had become almost like a daughter to her over the past two months. It was true that her love for the redhead was certainly nothing compared with the love she felt for her own son, but those motherly instincts had still been inspired and, in the end, it was those instincts that now prompted Narcissa to help the redhead escape.

Narcissa walked to the desk in the middle of the room and opened the top drawer. Out of it she pulled a thin piece of wood, which she pocketed in her robe. It would not do to have her son see her with it while she was walking around the hallways.

She took one last look at the empty chair, consolidating her resolve, and then she left the room and made her way back to Ginny’s bedroom. She opened the door without knocking and saw the redhead sit up from the bed and stare at her through red-rimmed eyes.

“Follow me,” said Narcissa.

Ginny blinked in surprise, but the blonde was already leaving the room. She quickly scrambled to her feet and caught up to the older woman, a frown on her face.

“Where are we going?”

Narcissa just continued walking.

Ginny knew that she would get nothing more from the older woman and simply followed the blonde down the maze-like corridors until they came to a part of the mansion that she knew was near the kitchens. This was the same area that Draco had told her she was not allowed to wander around. She wondered if she was about to discover why.

She watched curiously as Narcissa stopped before a painting and muttered a few words under her breath. The painting swung open, revealing a darkened room.

“Quickly,” urged Narcissa, “before anyone sees.”

Ginny scrambled in through the portrait hole, Narcissa following behind her. It didn’t take long for Ginny to realise that she was standing in someone’s study.

“This was my husband’s office,” explained the blonde. “He conducted all of his important business with the Dark Lord here.”

Ginny glanced towards Narcissa in surprise. “Your husband?”

“Yes.”

Narcissa wordlessly pulled out the thin piece of wood from her robe pocket and handed it Ginny.

“He always kept this here just in case something happened during one of his meetings. It’s of no use to him now, but I believe it can help you.”

Ginny took the wood from the blonde’s hands, not even needing the familiar shock of magic that thrummed through her veins to know that she was holding a wand. Lucius Malfoy’s wand, at that.

“This room has no anti-Apparation wards on it,” continued Narcissa, allowing her lips to form into a small smile. “You are free to go, Ginevra.”

For a moment Ginny wasn’t sure that she heard right. It just seemed so impossible after everything that had happened that day, but there was no denying it. She really was free to go.

Ginny clutched the wand in her hands with renewed hope, but then she shook her head, remembering something.

“I can’t leave without Harry. I won’t leave him again.”

“To get him now would be to risk discovery. You must go now if you want to escape.”

Ginny shook her head more fervently. “I can’t.”

Narcissa sighed in exasperation. “Fine. I’ll create a Portkey to get into his room. I have enough magic to remove the wards for that.”

She took the wand back from Ginny, not having a wand of her own, and began chanting a few incantations under her breath. Then she grabbed a paperweight from the desk and tapped it with the wand, muttering a few more incantations.

“All right, it’s ready.”

Ginny quickly placed her finger on the paperweight that the blonde was holding. Within seconds she felt the familiar pull at her navel, and then the world was spinning around her and she found herself standing in the middle of Harry’s room. There he was on the bed, looking surprisingly healthy from the last time she had seen him, but Ginny didn’t have time to consider that further as Narcissa was already handing the wand back to her, urging her to hurry and take the new Portkey she had made for the redhead to get out of the manor.

“Wait!” exclaimed Ginny, pausing in the act of grabbing hold of Harry’s hand as she stared at the blonde incredulously. “You’re not coming?”

Narcissa shook her head. “I could have left a long time ago if I had wanted to. I have no wish to leave now.”

“But you’ll die if you stay here. They’ll know you helped me, and I can’t just leave you here!”

“Then that is a risk I will have to take.”

“This isn’t the time to be noble, Narcissa! What good is it to stay here? Please, come back with me. We can find the Order together!”

“My son is what matters to me in this world, not the Dark Lord and the war. But you—” Narcissa placed her cool hand against Ginny’s cheek. “You must fight for all of us.”

She pulled her hand away and stepped back. “Now go. You don’t have much time left before someone realises what has happened.”

“You aren’t going to come with me, are you?”

Narcissa shook her head. “I made up my mind a long time ago that I would stay with Draco until the end, and that is what I intend to do.”

Ginny stared at this cool, impassive woman who had done so much for her, and it was then, as she looked into those determined blue eyes, that she finally understood. Narcissa was not trying to be noble by staying behind; she was just doing what was natural to her. It was the same reason why Molly Weasley had placed a silencing charm on her daughter before stuffing her into a cupboard when she had heard the Death Eaters coming to attack the Burrow, the same reason why Lily Potter had sacrificed herself for her baby boy on that fateful night all those years ago.

Narcissa loved her son, and she would do anything, anything to protect him.

Ginny let out an odd sob and threw her arms around the older woman, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears already spilling down her cheeks as she was enfolded in the blonde’s familiar embrace. The thought that this might be the last time she would see the Narcissa made her tears come all the more freely, for she knew that the older woman’s life now lay in a very precarious position.

“I wish you were coming with me,” choked Ginny, still struggling with her tears.

“You’ll be fine,” said Narcissa reassuringly.

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

Narcissa paused. “You don’t have to worry about me, Ginevra. I know what I’m doing.”

Ginny knew that there was nothing she could say to change the older woman’s mind, and so she simply hugged the blonde all the more fiercely.

“Thank you,” whispered Ginny. “For everything.”

Narcissa gently pulled back. “You should go now.”

Ginny nodded and took hold of Harry’s hand while grasping the Portkey with the other. She took one last look at Narcissa’s regal, ever-imperturbable features, and then she felt the familiar pull at her navel and she was gone.

OOOO

Lara sat up with a jolt, cold sweat clinging to her skin. She brushed the sticky hair off her face and stood up from the chair, her heart pounding in her chest as she ran towards her master’s room. She didn’t bother to knock, bursting right on through the door and stared at the Dark Lord with her face a ghostly white.

“What is it, Lara? What’s wrong?”

“Ginevra,” gasped out Lara. “She’s gone, and she’s taken Potter with her.”

Voldemort’s eyes flashed a deadly red. “How is this possible?”

“I don’t know. I checked to make sure she couldn’t do anything to disrupt your plans. Everything seemed normal. There was no possible way for her to escape by herself.”

“Then she must have got help,” observed Voldemort in a chillingly calm voice. “Hand me my cloak, Lara. I think it’s time we pay a little visit to the Malfoys.”

12. Apology

Author Note:

My apologies for the very long wait. I’ve been struggling with this fic for a while, and then it got to the point where I realised I couldn’t continue it unless I went back and fixed up chapter eleven. As such, chapter eleven has been rewritten, and I do encourage you to go back and re-read it. Nothing major has been changed in terms of the plot, but what I have added will explain a lot about Narcissa, which will be important for the next chapter (which, by the way, I am determined to get written as soon as possible).

So, like I said, I do recommend you read the revised version, and I apologise for being so hasty and not taking the time to get it right the first time. You’ll be pleased to know the lovely Aerileigh has agreed to be my Beta for this story, so we won’t have any problems like this again in regards to future chapters.

This note will be deleted when I upload chapter twelve.

13. The Greater Good

Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to JKR.

A/N: This chapter has been dedicated to the wonderful Jack Tamara, whose encouraging reviews helped inspire and push me to get this chapter written. As you can see, I kept my promise. :P

That being said, I would like to apologise for the wait. I moved house, and then I had to wait longer than expected to get the Internet going again. After that, I was just busy with Christmas and New Years in general, and then my laptop decided to die on me. It’s just been woe after woe, I’m afraid. In any case, here is the promised new chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

The Greater Good

Ginny wasn’t sure how long she had been walking. The Portkey that Narcissa had made for Harry and herself had dumped them right in the middle of the Nomad Plains. The redhead had Apparated immediately to where she knew her camp had last been stationed, but there had been nothing to find there except a few wanderers who looked a bit too shifty for her likings, especially when she was the equivalent of being eight months pregnant and had an unconscious Harry Potter for excess baggage.

She knew that there was no point staying in a deserted wasteland, and so she had Apparated again and again, hoping to discover the campsite that she had once called home. Unfortunately, the only people she did find were a squad of Death Eaters. That was when she realised that randomly Apparating to places where she guessed the camp might be was probably not the smartest thing to do. It had been pure luck that the group of Death Eaters she had stumbled across hadn’t seen her, and the last thing she wanted was to be taken back to Voldemort.

So here she was, walking back into the Nomad Plains with Harry Potter hovering beside her like an eerie, life-sized marionette. The pair looked ridiculous against the bleak landscape—Ginny with her swollen belly and fine clothes, and Harry with his black cloak fanning out like giant bat wings as he drifted along. It would have been almost comical were it not for the desperation of their situation, a desperation that became all the more urgent when she thought of how quickly her captors would realise that she was gone thanks to the uncanny powers of a certain blue-eyed witch. Still, desperation didn’t make levitating Harry any easier.

“Why do you have to be so damn heavy?” muttered Ginny as she waddled along. “I hope you realise that even magic can only make things feel effortless for so long.”

She wiped the sweat off her brow and clutched Lucius’ wand tighter in her fingers. The magical strain of using a hover charm for such a considerable extent of time was well and truly beginning to take its toll, and she was not ignorant of the fact that it was not wise to do any heavy-lifting while pregnant, whether physical or magical. She could only hope that carrying Harry would not have any adverse effects on her child. Though monstrous and unwanted the baby may be, it was still the only leverage she had with her enemies. Without the child, she was nothing; without the child, she was dead.

Ginny paused in her slow trek, leaning her head down as she tried to catch her breath. To say that she was frustrated was an understatement. She had no idea where the refugee camp might be. She was tired, hot and hungry, her legs ached, her back ached, her head ached—everything seemed to ache. It was as if being pregnant had somehow intensified the misery she now faced. The worst part was that there was no saying when she would find the camp. She was completely relying on luck now, which was not particularly comforting when she considered her past record with that flighty force named Fortune. But Ginny knew that she couldn’t give up. She had to keep trying, no matter how tired or disheartened she felt. Too much had been risked for her to give up now. There was no way that she was going to allow Narcissa’s sacrifice to be in vain.

Ginny held her head up high again and continued walking, feeling the hot sun beating down upon her, its warmth licking at her skin with scalding flames. In the distance, she could see nothing but barren wasteland, the remnant of a world that had once bustled with life before it had fallen victim to the decaying fingers of war. It was so different from the cold beauty of Malfoy Manor, so ugly and brown. There was nothing to comfort her in this bleak landscape, nothing to stop her from dwelling on what she had left behind.

If only she knew what was happening to them. She thought of Narcissa, so proud and beautiful, and she felt sick to think that the woman she loved so much might be suffering at the hands of Voldemort at this very moment because of her. Ginny wasn’t sure how she would ever be able to live with herself if something happened to Narcissa, but it was quite a different feeling that arose inside her when she thought of him.

Ginny could see him now as he had stood before her that last time: desperate, vulnerable and yet still so full of hate. He had openly revealed his need for her then, and it had taken all her courage to resist him and find the will to leave, but there had been no victory. She did not feel the relief that she had thought she would, and even now her heart literally ached at the thought that she might never see him again, this fallen angel who was so twisted and malicious in all his dark glory, and who had hurt her so much.

It was wrong that she should still feel this way, wrong that she should have ever felt this desperate longing to be close to him, but she knew that even if he was no longer in her presence, she could never truly leave him. Not really. He was a part of her now, whether she liked it or not, and though he may be cruel and undeserving of her sympathy, she could not help but hope that he was safe. He was all she had left, after all—he and his mother. She had to hope for them.

Ginny suddenly froze. Something was shimmering in the distance, almost blinding her with its sapphire sparks. It took her a moment to register why that particular shade of blue was so familiar to her, and then she sank to her knees, tears of genuine relief slipping down her cheeks as she realised that she had finally found the camp. Harry dropped to the ground beside her, no longer held up by her hover charm, but she was too tired to care if he had been hurt. They were safe, and that was all that mattered now.

It is a strange thing that when one finally takes a rest after pushing oneself for so long, all the exhaustion and pain comes in a rush. It was no different for Ginny. She had been walking for so long that even the thought of standing up now made her blanch, but that did nothing to dull her sense of self-preservation. She instinctively clutched Lucius’ wand tighter in her hand when she heard footsteps come crunching towards her followed by the gentle murmur of voices. Her eyes darted towards the sound, and she spotted two men drawing closer.

“Hey, you!” called one of the men in a brusque voice. “What do you think you’re doing out here?”

“Don’t frighten her,” the other admonished. “I don’t think she is from the camp.”

Ginny stared up at them with wild eyes, still clutching the wand tightly in her hand. She knew it was probably just the scouts who normally skirted the campsite coming to investigate, but she was not going to take her chances. It was difficult to trust even the most harmless of people after being held captive by Death Eaters for two months.

The men faltered at her threatening expression, but then the brusque man noticed who was lying beside her and let out a sharp intake of breath.

“Is that Harry Potter?”

“Don’t you touch him,” hissed Ginny.

“Calm down, Missie. I’m not going to hurt him.”

Ginny just glowered at him. She didn’t like the look of that brusque man. He reminded her of Baldren, the man that had tried to rape her. They both had the same mean little eyes, and his attempt at a placating expression was just as sickening to her in that moment.

“Listen” said the other man, stepping forward. “There’s no need for us to come to wands.”

His intention, no doubt, was to assure her that they were not her enemies, and she watched him warily as he drew closer towards her. He smiled reassuringly at her, and then, quite suddenly, his jaw went slack and his eyes widened with recognition as he saw her face closely for the first time. Ginny also immediately knew who the man before her was. The light brown hair adorning his head, though it was more streaked with grey than the last time she had seen it, and his kind but scarred features were impossible to forget.

“Remus,” whispered Ginny, hardly daring to believe her eyes.

“Ginny,” breathed Remus, his face a mask of open disbelief and shock. “How did you—I thought you were dead—and Harry—” He broke off and stared at her in wonder. “How is this possible?”

She just shook her head, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks as she realised she was not alone any more. She was finally with those she loved again.

“Never mind,” said Remus quickly. “I can see that you’re in no condition to be answering questions.”

He turned and gave a quiet order to his brusque companion, who Ginny discovered was named Gordon. Gordon said nothing in response and simply scooped Harry’s prone form up into his arms. Both men ignored Ginny’s angry protest.

“I know you’re worried about Harry, Ginny, but he’ll be fine,” said Remus soothingly. “Gordon will take care of him.”

Ginny didn’t bother to explain that was exactly what she was worried about. She knew that Gordon probably wouldn’t do anything to Harry, but that didn’t stop her from feeling edgy and distrustful.

“All right,” said Remus, cheerfully oblivious of her thoughts as he wrapped an arm around her waist to help her up, “let’s get you back on your feet.”

He had not even pulled her fully upright before her pregnant state was made obvious to him. It was easy to miss the way her stomach protruded unnaturally from her slim body when she was hunched over on the ground, but now the ugly truth was bared before his eyes. He abruptly released her in his shock, his face pale. Ginny could see his confusion and felt her heart sink. He was not stupid; he would have realised that there was no way she could be that pregnant in such a short amount of time. It had only been two months since she had been kidnapped, after all. Whatever was inside her was definitely not normal.

“What is this?” asked Remus in a hushed, disturbed voice.

There was something accusing about his horrified gaze, something that made her want to run away and hide like the fair maidens in the fairytales who had been transformed into hideous hags and so were shunned by those who had known them. It was a shock to her, for Remus had only ever been kind and understanding towards her, but she knew it was no more than what she could have expected. She probably did look like a freak to him.

Ginny looked at him pleadingly. “I know it looks bad, but you have to trust me.”

“Tell me everything,” came his grim reply.

It was the last thing she felt like doing, but Ginny knew that there was no point in arguing with him, so she pushed her weariness behind her and began her tale, starting at the battle that had occurred at their old camp when Draco had first come to kidnap her. Remus was surprised that Voldemort had specifically ordered her to be kidnapped, but it soon made sense to him when Ginny disclosed that the Dark Lord had learnt of the magical powers she held and sought to have them for himself. She then went on to explain about the magic Draco had been given when he was a baby, and what that magic would do when it was fused with her own inside her womb.

“You mean that Malfoy brat raped you so that he could create some dark magic spawn?” growled Remus, looking suddenly more wolfish than man.

“No!”

He blinked, and Ginny suddenly realised how very impassioned her answer had been. She blushed and looked away, not wanting Remus to know how far she had actually fallen for that same ‘Malfoy brat.’ Just the thought of how much she had wanted Draco that night brought a flush of crimson to her cheeks, so it was no surprise that she didn’t deceive her old friend for even a second.

“You care for him, don’t you?”

She shook her head, but she looked so pathetic doing so that it only served to confirm his suspicions.

“He murdered your brother, Ginny.”

“I know.”

The words came out in the barest whisper, filled with the disgust and shame that she felt for herself. Her situation was indeed a hopeless one, but she knew there was no point in dwelling on it. There was enough going on without her wallowing in self-pity. Remus seemed to agree and did not press her for any more information about Draco; instead, he asked her what Voldemort wanted to do with the child when it was born. Ginny explained that Voldemort wanted to perform a sacrifice known as the Hadem Rhi that would allow him to take on the child’s powers, making him quite literally the most powerful dark wizard to ever walk the earth. She would then be killed, most likely with Draco, so that no more children could be created to threaten his power.

“I see,” said Remus. “Thank you for telling me that. I think we can come up with a plan now.”

He must have seen her hopeless expression, for he took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry, Ginny. Everything will be alright.”

“I hope so.”

“It will.” He smiled and then placed a steadying hand on her back. “Come, you must be tired.”

Ginny was, in fact, ready to collapse, and so she was more than happy to allow herself to be taken off to one of the tents so that she could get some rest. Of course, the bed she was given was nothing compared to the one she had slept in at Malfoy Manor, but after walking for several hours on dusty, uneven ground, she was not going to complain.

She lay in the bed, thinking of how strange it was to be back in the refugee camp and wondering what would happen to her now. So much had happened that day, and so much was yet to happen, but the image that stayed with her as she fell asleep was not of the future, but of the blonde woman she had left behind.

OOOO

Narcissa let out a shuddering breath, one hand clutching her chest as the other held her trembling body up from collapsing completely to the ground. It was an agony beyond agony, and she would be lying if she did not admit that she wanted nothing more than to beg for the pain to stop.

She gritted her teeth and tried to hold back her screams, but she could not prevent the small cry of hurt from slipping from her lips. The curse was abruptly lifted, and her eyes, burning with suppressed tears, glanced up to meet the chilling face of her torturer. He stared back, his crimson eyes cold and calculating, though his smile was disconcertingly pleasant.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” observed Voldemort.

His voice was warm and friendly, a complete contrast to the merciless brutality that he was inflicting upon her. Narcissa said nothing in response, just as she had said nothing as soon as he and Lara had first entered the room and demanded where Ginevra was. There was no point in lying since they already knew the truth, but she also knew that there was no point in surrendering all her knowledge to them either. Distraction was the key.

Voldemort smiled even more as he circled her like a lazy cat waiting to pounce.

“I know you helped our little friend escape, my dear Narcissa,” continued Voldemort, “so let’s not waste any more time. Tell me where the Portkey has taken her and I might let you live.”

Again, Narcissa remained silent.

He sighed. “Your display of nobility is getting rather tedious.”

“You already know all I can tell you,” responded Narcissa with cold civility. “There is nothing more to say.”

“Is that so? I wonder if your son would agree.”

Her eyes flashed with emotion, and the fear she had kept so well hidden seeped out into her expression for the first time since the Dark Lord had started his interrogation. Draco had always been the one to shake her calm, and the thought of him suffering in her place now because of her choice to help Ginevra was enough to drive her to desperation. She had hoped to protect him, and she hadn’t even told him what had happened, for she had known that he would be unlikely to approach either her or Ginevra after the events of that morning. But now her plans were all falling apart right before her eyes. This was not the quick punishment that she had been hoping for.

Voldemort looked down at her in some amusement, seeming to sense her thoughts. He turned and faced the restless witch next to him.

“Lara, go and bring me Draco.”

Lara’s eyes briefly flickered to Narcissa with an unreadable expression on her face, and then she left the room.

“Wait!” cried Narcissa, reaching out an imploring hand towards Voldemort. “My son has nothing to do with this. I was the one who helped her escape. He is completely innocent.”

Voldemort smiled with lazy amusement. “I know.”

Her eyebrows drew together into a frown as she puzzled over his words. The feelings of unease that had been prickling inside of her ever since the formidable wizard had entered the room suddenly intensified. She stared at him in suspicion, but he only smiled enigmatically, clearly pleased with whatever it was that he had decided.

Draco suddenly burst through the door, with Lara following much more serenely behind.

“What’s going on?” demanded the blond as he took in the scene before him.

It was clear by the harsh curl of his lip that he was not pleased.

“Your mother is keeping secrets from us,” explained Voldemort in a voice of painstaking patience. “I thought a more personal touch might break her reticence.”

“I don’t understand,” said Draco slowly.

“Didn’t she tell you?” asked Voldemort with mock surprise. “Your mother helped Ginevra escape with Harry Potter and now no one knows where she, or he for that matter, is.”

“Mother?”

It was not a question. It was an accusation. Narcissa could almost hear Draco’s silent hiss of ‘traitor’ whispering over and over again in her ears, and the betrayal he felt was glaringly obvious in his expression. She had hoped that maybe he would understand, but she saw now that he was just as selfish as ever. It would have never occurred to him to help Ginevra. He would have left her to die rather than risk his own life, but Narcissa could not hold it against her son. She would have done the same herself once upon a time.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” said Narcissa, genuinely remorseful. “I never meant for you to get involved.”

“Well, it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, it is, young Malfoy,” interposed Voldemort with another of his unsettling smiles. “You cannot have forgotten that I placed Ginevra under your care, and since your mother is proving difficult, you now have a choice, and I do hope you will choose wisely.”

Narcissa felt another shiver of unease slip through her, though this time she knew why, for she understood the Dark Lord’s plan now. He did not think that Draco knew the answers; he wanted Draco to get the answers from her. He must have realised that pain alone would not have made her confess, but there were other weapons besides physical pain that he could use. That was why he had brought Draco in, the ‘personal touch,’ for He knew that it would hurt her far more deeply if Draco were the one to torture her for the information she held. If that failed, or if Draco refused, then the Dark Lord would simply use Draco against her by punishing him instead. It was a foolproof plan, for neither option was something she could stomach.

Draco did not seem to catch on to his master’s intentions as fast as his mother had, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to believe it was possible, and so he merely frowned at the crimson-eyed man before him.

“What choice is that?”

“It’s really quite simple,” responded Voldemort. “Get me the information I need and I will spare your life. Refuse and your mother’s fate will become your own.”

Draco’s eyes darted to his mother’s, a moment of real panic flashing across his normally impassive face. It was clear that he had not been expecting such an ultimatum and that he was reluctant to choose either option. Somehow, this comforted Narcissa. It proved that he still cared.

“Surely there must be another way,” began Draco, glancing at his master with as close to a pleading expression as he would allow.

“Your mother has already proven herself a traitor and you have failed me more than enough,” cut in Voldemort ruthlessly. “Do not think that I will spare your lives out of mercy. I do not keep servants who are of no use to me.”

Narcissa would have laughed had the situation not been so desperate. She knew that this had nothing to do with being useful; this was simply a case of the Dark Lord getting his sick satisfaction out of turning family members against each other. It would be considered entertaining for him to watch Draco torture her and force her to reveal where the Portkey had taken Ginevra, just as it would be equally amusing for him to punish Draco in her place and watch her reaction. He was sick and twisted, and he made everyone around him sick and twisted. But he was not going to have her son. Not this time.

“Enough!” cried Narcissa.

She struggled to her feet, not wanting to look as if she were grovelling on her knees before him.

“Yes, my dear? Are you ready to speak?” asked Voldemort politely, as if he had not just been threatening to kill her and her son.

“I am.”

“Then by all means, speak.”

“I cannot tell you where the Portkey took Ginevra because I do not know myself, but I will say this: I do not regret what I have done, and I will give no excuse for my behaviour. I am every bit the traitor that you call me, but you and I both know that my son is neither worthless to you nor to be blamed for my choices. You will gain nothing in killing him, especially now that Ginevra has gone with the child, so if you want someone to punish, then punish me.”

Voldemort considered her with a calculating expression.

“You’re either very brave or very foolish.”

Narcissa stared into her tormentor’s red eyes, her own features set in their usual impassive mask. It would be a lie to say that she was not afraid. She was not inherently noble. She could not fearlessly look upon her fate and welcome it with open arms, but whoever said that courage could only be found where there was no fear? She knew this was the only way to protect the ones she loved, and in that she found her resolve.

“Perhaps I am foolish,” said Narcissa softly, “but at least I will have a clear conscience. You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never felt the need to protect someone other than yourself.”

Her eyes drifted to her son, and a sad sort of smile touched her lips.

“I could not have done anything else.”

Draco gave an involuntary twitch as if he was restraining himself from reaching out to her. Their eyes met, and though Voldemort was speaking again, neither paid any heed to his words; the world only existed in the face of the other.

That was why Narcissa did not see the flash of sickly green that buried itself into her chest only seconds later, but Draco did. He saw the way her azure eyes, so filled with love, suddenly stilled and became hollow, and he watched, helpless, as her body fell backwards in a graceful arc to the floor, where he knew she would never move again. For a moment they had understood each other, they had shared a connection, and now that moment was gone, vanished with the breath that was stolen from her lungs.

His eyes began to burn, and there was suddenly a hard lump constricting his throat, making it difficult to swallow. His chest felt so tight that he could barely breathe, and as he looked down at his mother’s lifeless body, the sense of loss pounding into his heart with each painful breath, he felt a surge of poisonous hate for his master run through his veins.

Draco tightened his fingers around the wand in his hand, the deadly magic locked inside of him begging to be released. He fixed his hateful gaze on Voldemort and saw that his master was utterly defenceless. There was no question of hesitating, no need to doubt. Draco simply lifted his wand and hissed the two deadly words. A jet of green exploded from the tip of the wood, stretching out its ghostly fingers towards the crimson-eyed man.

And then it was over.

Voldemort’s body slumped to the ground, somehow looking more like an abandoned shell than Narcissa’s had. It was slightly unsettling to look at, but then Draco realised with a jolt that he had just killed Lord Voldemort. It seemed so surreal, so ridiculously easy, and yet there was no denying that the man he had once called master was now dead.

His eyes drifted past the deformed body of his master to his mother’s more graceful form. The way she was lying made her appear as if she were a bird that had fallen from the sky, her arms spread out like broken wings. There was something so weak and fragile about her, though he knew that she had been anything but when she was alive.

When she was alive.

Odd how he could think that but he refused—could not, in fact—think the word that truly described her condition. He knew it could not be denial. He had known as soon as the green light had touched her porcelain skin that she was no longer part of the living, and yet it was still so hard to grasp the fact that she was really gone.

His eyes burned once again with the tears that would not fall, and somehow he wished they would, if only to ease some of the pain. He felt so helpless, so utterly defeated. He felt just like the twenty-one year old boy that he was and not at all like the fearsome wizard he had come to consider himself. His mother was gone. The one person who had loved him and cared for him even when he knew he had not deserved it was gone. She had stood by him, she had believed in him, and now she had died for him. It was all just too much.

He knelt down beside his mother’s body and reached out hesitantly to touch her cheek. It was still warm, but he knew it would soon be cold. A sigh broke from his lips, and he closed his eyes, hoping to shut out the reality that was now threatening to overwhelm him. He had never really realised how much his mother had meant to him until that moment when he knew there was no way to call her back, but the worst part was that he had done nothing to help her. She had sacrificed herself for him, and he—he had just let her die.

“Well, well,” said a calm voice, “I did wonder how it was going to happen, but I never thought it would be like this.”

Draco turned in alarm and found himself face-to-face with Lara, who was regarding him with a half smile on her lips. He had completely forgotten that she was still in the room.

“What are you talking about?” growled Draco, standing up.

He was in no mood for her riddles.

“Come, Draco, do you really need to ask me that or did you honestly think I am so blind as to not be able to sense when the Dark Lord is going to be murdered, especially by you?”

“You knew this was going to happen?”

“Naturally. I’ve known this for a while now, though I don’t deny there were moments when I wondered if you would actually do it. I see that you all you needed was the right incentive.”

“Incentive?” repeated Draco furiously. “So my mother’s death was nothing but an incentive for me, was it?”

“That was unfortunate, and I am sorry for that, but getting angry with me will not bring her back. I was not the one who killed your mother.”

“You knew this was going to happen and yet you did nothing!”

“Why should I? She’s your mother, but I didn’t exactly see you stepping in to help her.”

“Shut up!”

“Oh, is the poor baby upset? ” mocked Lara in tones that were horribly reminiscent of his aunt Bellatrix.

Draco felt the poisonous hate surge up in him again, shredding at his insides as it tried to claw its way out and lash at the woman before him. He couldn’t believe that he had protected her, couldn’t believe that he had thought of her almost as a friend. She was every bit the traitor that everyone had called her, and right now he hated her.

“Now, Draco, don’t look at me like that,” said Lara calmly. “Even if I had been able to help your mother, it would not have changed anything. She made her choice when she decided to help Ginevra escape, and she had to face the consequences for that. It was out of my power to save her.”

“What do you want, Lara?” snapped Draco, changing the subject.

He didn’t want to hear her excuses right now. Not when the pain and guilt was still so raw inside him.

“I want you to help me find Ginevra.”

Draco let out a harsh laugh. “You have got to be joking? I help you find Ginevra? That girl is the reason my mother is lying on the floor in a lifeless heap right now, and you want me to help you find her?”

“She is in very grave danger.”

“What do I care? She means nothing to me.”

“Your mother loved her.”

“Don’t you bring my mother into this,” hissed Draco threateningly.

“Why not? There’s no point in trying to deny it. Your mother risked your life and her own so that she could help Ginevra escape, and she was killed because of it. Don’t you think she would want you to help me keep Ginevra safe now?”

“Do you take me for a fool? I may not have been the most loyal Death Eater, but I’ll never help a Dissenter scum like you.”

“What makes you think I am a Dissenter?” asked Lara quite calmly.

“How about the fact that you neglected to inform us about Dissenter attacks and raids? Or that you cared nothing for Ginevra’s safety until you learned what Voldemort wanted with her? And you just stood back and let me kill the master you were supposedly so loyal to, and now you want me to find Ginevra again, no doubt so that you can take her back to your leader and claim your reward.”

“That’s quite a list of accusations, but I am being perfectly honest with you when I say that I am not and never have been a Dissenter.”

“You expect me to believe that?” retorted Draco sceptically. “Especially after you got me to lie for you that day?”

“Let me put it this way. I have never been a Dissenter, but I have also never been a loyal Death Eater. In some ways, then, you were quite right when you called me a traitor. However, I am not the traitor.”

“Then who is?”

“As to that, I have my guesses, but the person is very skilled at avoiding my powers. I believe whoever the Dissenter spy is was far deeper in the inner circle than we realised, but that is not the issue right now. Draco, we must find Ginevra.”

“Just because you’re not a Dissenter doesn’t mean I trust you,” retorted Draco bluntly.

“Then don’t trust me, but we are wasting time talking like this. We must find Ginevra before it is too late.”

“Why should I help her? Why should I help either of you?”

“Because she is the only person in the world who can remove the curse on you.”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Draco, ignoring the shiver of unease that slid up his spine. “What curse?”

Lara reached inside her robe pocket and pulled out a small jade stone.

“But that’s—”

“We don’t have much time, Draco,” said Lara grimly, cutting him short. “It’s up to you.”

Draco stared down at the stone in her hands. He had no reason to trust Lara, but he also knew that he had little to gain by not trusting her. There was nothing out there for him now, and if she was right in saying that he was cursed and that Ginny was the only one who could remove it, then what choice did he have?

“Fine,” sighed Draco in resignation. “If you say that she can get the curse off me then I’ll go with you, but there’s something I have to do first.”

“Draco, we don’t have time!”

“We have time for this!” growled Draco.

Lara met his dark look with a warning glare of her own, but then he turned and knelt back down beside Narcissa’s body, and a small ‘oh’ of understanding escaped her lips. She made no further protest after that and watched as he picked up his dead mother and carried her out into the manor grounds. He buried Narcissa beside his father in the family graveyard. He made no speeches and not a single tear fell from his eyes, but Lara knew it was not because he didn’t care. He had always had difficulty showing his emotions.

After Draco had said his final goodbyes to his mother, she watched him burn Voldemort’s body until there was nothing left but ash. It was not a new man that turned and looked at her when he was finished, for Draco was no phoenix ready to be made beautiful again. He could never be the hero, but then, she did not need a hero. She needed someone who did not care about good and evil, someone who would not hesitate to kill or feel pity for those in his way. His reason for helping her may be selfish, but he was willing to fight for Ginny, and that was all that mattered now.

Lara could only hope that they would not be too late.

OOOO

Rufus Scrimgeour stood before the members of the council, a grim expression on his old lion face. He was no longer the Minister of Magic, but people had continued to look up to him and view him as their leader long after the Ministry had fallen and Voldemort had taken control. Rufus knew this, and he planned to make full use of the advantage tonight.

“My fellow members of the council,” boomed Rufus in his loud voice, “it is a sad day when we must come together to decide the fate of one of our own, but let us not be blinkered by our own compassion. Miss Ginevra Weasley may be an innocent, but the demon inside of her is not. There is no saying what it will grow to be if we let it live. The only definite we do have is that it will be an extremely powerful dark witch or wizard.”

“What are you saying, Rufus?” croaked a wheezy old woman.

“I’m saying that we must destroy the child before it has a chance to destroy us.”

“And the girl?”

Rufus met the woman’s eyes steadily. “You-Know-Who sought to use her as a weapon against us. How do we know that he will not try to do it again? I do not want to take that risk.”

“And so you would kill her?” demanded one of the younger members of the council.

“Some sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”

“The greater good?” spat the same young man. “What you’re proposing is murder.”

“Alan is right,” said another in a smooth voice. “There is no reason for us to kill Ginevra. Indeed, she is far more valuable to us alive. After all, if You-Know-Who wished to use the child as a weapon against us, then why can’t we use it as a weapon against him?”

There were some murmurs of assent at this. Alan and a few of his supporters looked on in disgust while Rufus simply watched them all like a parent humouring a small child.

“You seem to be under the impression that we can control the child, Vincent,” said Rufus with a harsh laugh, “but what if we can’t? Would you be willing to take that risk?”

“Enough of this squabbling,” declared the wheezy woman. “Let’s take our vote.”

Remus, who had remained silent throughout the meeting ever since he had given his account, watched as the verdict was passed with a sinking heart. It was not the outcome he had been hoping for, but even he had his misgivings. There was no denying that her child was not normal, and he had not forgotten about the way she had risen to defend the man who had held her captive. He knew Stockholm syndrome when he saw it, and he also knew that it never led to anything good.

“Ah, there you are, Remus,” said Rufus, stopping in front of him. “I want you to take Ginevra to the Isolation Chamber. It would not do to have her get wind of what we’re planning and escape from us too.”

“You really believe this is the only answer then?”

“For the safety of our people, yes I do. That child is dangerous, and any fool knows that you cannot trust a person who has spent two months with Death Eaters and survived to tell the tale. They always come back traitors.”

Remus had nothing to say to that, and so he simply nodded his head and then left without a further word to carry out his order. He found Ginny in a dead sleep, and so he scooped her up in his arms and then carried her to the only concrete building in the campsite.

They called it the Isolation Room but, in truth, it was more of a prison. People who misbehaved or were seen as a danger to the community were sent there to be held in lockdown until it was deemed safe enough for them to mingle with the rest of the camp again. Remus did not like the thought of taking Ginny there, but he knew that he did not have much choice in the matter.

The steel doors to the chamber opened at his command. He adjusted his hold on the redhead and then carried her inside, the doors closing behind him like the jaws of a monster snapping shut. The interior was not welcoming. The walls were made of concrete, making everything cold and grey, but right at the end was a glass room, completely sealed, with a steel door identical to the one at the entrance.

Remus moved towards the room and gave another spoken command. The magic held within the walls registered the sound of his voice and, with a groan, opened the tightly sealed door. He walked inside, the feelings of claustrophobia already tickling at the hairs on the back of his neck. There was only a bed and a chamber pot in the room, both in poor condition. It was doubtful that anything more could have fit in the tiny space.

He placed the sleeping redhead carefully down on the bed, noting how vulnerable and defenceless she looked lying there like that. Perhaps that was why he felt the sickly feelings of guilt churn his stomach. She was completely oblivious to what was happening to her, and what was about to happen to her, but even genuine affection could not stop him from acting out his duty. He knew what he had to do.

“I’m sorry, Ginny,” whispered Remus.

He turned away from her and then left the room without a further word, the steel doors snapping shut behind him with ominous finality. The deed was done, but he knew he would forever be haunted by his actions that night.

And somewhere out in the dusky night, a witch and wizard continued to search.

14. Important: Please Read

I will no longer be updating/posting my stories at Portkey. I'll admit, this is mostly because the lack of feedback I receive for my fanfiction is more than a little disheartening, but it also just seems somewhat pointless when I keep forgetting to update my stories here anyway. There's also the fact that I'm beginning to feel the limitations of the Portkey rules for DG fics, which is what I mainly write, so many of my fics can't be posted here anyway.

I do apologise to those readers who have been reading and reviewing this story, and I, by no means, want to leave you hanging. You can find all my DG fanfics, including The Different Shades of Grey, at Fanfiction.net and the Fire and Ice Archive, and I will be updating regularly on both accounts. I hope to see you there. ^_^

Here are the links to my other accounts:

http://www.fanfiction.net/u/1001659/Boogum

http://www.dracoandginny.com/viewuser.php?uid=19906

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