The Price of Payment

by occasionally-maybe-never

I am not guilty; I want you to know that. Not of this. - AU Post Hogwarts Oneshot. Dark, Angsty story with scenes of violence, torture and some mature adult content. Some redeeming DG content.

-Oh, my reputations kinda clouded with dirt,

That's why you sleep with one eye open.

That's the price you paid.

I said, hey, girl with one eye,

Get your filthy fingers out of my pie.

I said, hey, girl with one eye,

I'll cut your little heart out cause you made me cry.-

Girl With One Eye – Florence + The Machine

/x/x/x/x/x/

I stare at the wall before me without blinking. I have been robbed of everything except the ability to consciously inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. They will rob me of that too, but for now, I breathe.

I am not guilty; I want you to know that. Not of this. I'm sure I'm guilty of other, less notable things. I have been a great many things to a great many people, but I have never been a monster. They lie to me; tell me I've committed atrocities. Me! I, who screamed defiance into the face of death and threw myself at the ranks of the oppressors in battle after battle. I, who kept fighting for the safety of others when friends fell all around me, and I was swamped in a sea of black.

I am not fooled. I know my mind, and I know that I am no more capable of hurting innocent people than I am of raising the dead.

A key jangles in the lock, and I do not deign to turn my head as they enter my cell. I have been visited thrice daily since they brought me here, whenever that was. Was it a week ago? Two? Time seems to move differently here, on this island of fog, and pain. I never thought to see the inside of Azkaban.

They have brought chairs in with them; plain, ladder-backed affairs that look nearly as uncomfortable as the narrow cot I have been sleeping in. He is middle-aged, greying, portly, a smile that I'm sure is meant to be reassuring hovering around his lips. She is younger, groomed and polished. Coifed blond hair and dangerous eyes are always my lasting impression of her hours after they have left my cell.

I stare at the wall, and say nothing.

He smooth's down his robes nervously, and turning my head slightly to fix him with my stare, I allow a predatory smile to curl my lips. I see his face turn a little grey and I know that I am not helping myself. I do not bother to look at Her. She won't be intimidated by my looks, so trying is a pointless waste of effort. He looks meaningfully at her, and with a disdainful sniff she re-crosses her legs and leans forward slightly.

"Ginevra Weasley, do you know why you are here?"

I say nothing, and continue my study of the stone walls of my cell. It is the same questions, three times a day, every day.

"Do you admit to conspiring with a known Death Eater to murder innocent muggles?"

I admit nothing, for there is nothing to admit. The bitch knows the truth, and I won't feed the other the lies he has been led to believe.

"Do you admit to conspiring with the Death Eaters to bring about the downfall of the Resistance?"

There is heat in her voice now, frustration. She also seems to have a real fondness for the term 'conspiring'. It's irritating, but I think I can live with it for a little while longer.

"Have you no sense of decency? No self-respect? After all you've done, can you not at least give the families of those needlessly dead the comfort of a confession?"

There is open anger in her voice, and I take pleasure from it. The bitch framed me, so the bitch can take her confession and stick it where the sun has no business shining. I know what happens next, it's the same routine time and time again.

He stands and advances forward cautiously, as though I am a wild animal he has cornered by accident. He withdraws the vial of clear liquid from the deep pockets of his robes, and I open my mouth without complaint to accept the drops of Veritiserum on my tongue.

We go through the questions again, and I am compelled to answer.

"Yes."

"No."

"No."

"I have decency and self-respect in countless measures. I feel for those families as keenly as any decent person would."

He looks helplessly at her, probably as tired of hearing my repetitive answers as I am of giving them.

"She must be speaking the truth Annette; nobody can counter the effects of Veritiserum!"

She stares coolly at me with those wicked eyes, and I feel hatred boiling up in me. Somehow I tamp it back down to a simmer, but I know she can read the burning hatred in my eyes. She smiles. Oh, I loathe her.

"Do not be so sure, Albert. We have known for a long time that the Death Eaters have been working on a counter to Veritiserum. Who better to make use of it than their very best double agent?"

He nods uncertainly, as always, and as always the tiniest flicker of hope that he will deem this nonsense and set me free is ruthlessly extinguished.

They leave, and I go back to staring at the wall. The key jangles once more in the lock, and the sound of the bolt sliding home seems particularly ominous on this occasion.

I want to cry, but I have no more tears left. I feel empty, as though the Dementors have already sucked out my soul and left nothing but an animated corpse.

I was happy, not that long ago. As happy as one can be when one is living in a time of strife and uncertainty, granted, but happy nonetheless. I am veteran of more battles and raids than other members of the Order twice my age. I have fought ardently for everything I hold dear, and I wish that I had the energy to bitterly resent what has been done to me. But I can't.

The only thought that brings me peace is that of Draco. I did not expect to love him. But then, as my current situation proves, life rarely delivers the expected. He has been a double agent for us for two years, alongside Snape, and I smile just at the thought of him perched uncomfortably on the edge of his seat in Order Headquarters. He may have switched allegiances, but nothing short of a miracle could make him like the people he's had to side with.

He liked me though.

I didn't want to fall in love. I had a hard enough time keeping myself sane when a family member was in the field, never mind adding somebody else to the list. Draco changed that.

/x/x/x/x/x/

I arched an eyebrow at Hermione, rolling my eyes slightly in the direction of the far end of the table. She repressed a small smile, following it immediately with a look of mild disapproval, probably at my cavalier attitude towards our valiant leaders.

The door banged open, admitting the lithe figure of Draco Malfoy, shadowed by Snape. I couldn't work out what was really the deal with these two, but Harry spoke to them as equals, if with an undercurrent of distaste, so I wasn't going to waste energy worrying over it.

Malfoy's dark grey eyes swept the room, seeming to rest on me for a moment, and then he started delivering his latest batch of intelligence in brisk, clipped tones. I took more interest in the meeting from that point on, but no doubt for all the wrong reasons.

After the meeting I stayed behind at Harry's request, sharing a bemused look with Hermione as everybody except myself, Harry and the two Slytherins filed out. Harry looked haggard, and no wonder. He was pushing himself too hard, in my opinion. Sometimes I worried that he was going to just walk out into the open one day and announce that he was ready to duel Voldemort and be done with it. I very much feared that if he did that, he would die.

"Ginny," he began, sounding wary. That usually didn't bode well, in my experience. "I have a favour to ask you, one that I have no business asking. I will understand completely if you say no. Hell, I'll understand if you say no and slap me."

I arched an eyebrow, very baffled as to what could next come out of his mouth. I was uncomfortably aware of the two Slytherin men watching me intently.

"Go on, Harry," I said gently. "I don't bite." His expression was of frank disbelief and I was reluctantly forced to amend my statement. "Often." I think Malfoy almost smiled, but when I glanced at him his face was a mask of indifference as usual. Harry sighed, visibly bracing himself with the air of somebody about to do something deeply unpleasant."

"Very well, Ginny, I… I need you to betray the Order," he said, rushing the last part as though that way I might not take in the full implications of it. I blinked at him, calmly trying to process what he was saying to me. "As a Double Agent of course, but nobody can know."

My mouth dropped open, what was to stop me getting killed by Order members if they didn't know I was acting on orders?

"Harry, I understand why you need more Double Agents, I do. Snape and Malfoy are spread thin as it is. But the Order needs to know that I'm Doubling, you're going to end up getting me killed by my own friends!" If my voice had a touch of hysteria in it I think I could be forgiven. For his part, Harry looked wretched.

"I know," he whispered.

My mouth went dry, and I stared at Harry in incomprehension. I could feel Malfoy's eyes boring into me, but I pushed that to the back of my mind. "Why, Harry? Why are you doing this to me?"

He flinched as though I really had slapped him. "We have a mole, Ginny. Somebody has defected and nothing we do seems to throw up who it is. Snape and Malfoy have made some progress, but whoever it is… well, they're as slippery as an eel." He leant forward and looked hard into my eyes. His bright green eyes were dark with self-loathing and pity. "We've strong evidence to suggest they're a woman. We've turned this problem over every possible way, but there's only one thing left for us to try, and that's plant a woman in the Death Eaters ranks. Maybe they'll reveal themselves to you." He pinched the bridge of his nose as though fighting off a headache. "There are only two women in the order that I not only trust enough, but that have the necessary skills to do this; you and Hermione. Out of the two of you…"

I held up a hand before he could finish; I knew exactly where this was going.

"I've been possessed by the spirit of Voldemort. So you think they will buy my story of succumbing to the darkness I was exposed to as a child, then?" I couldn't help it, my voice was hard, but for Harry's sake I tried to keep the bitterness out of my voice. I always knew that my time with Tom Riddle would come back to haunt me.

"It's more likely that they believe that than they would Hermione defecting. Plus, I can't see them welcoming a muggleborn. Even if you have been deemed a bloodtraitor for now, you are still a pureblood. I don't think Voldemort would turn you away." Harry sounded utterly miserable, and despite my inner turmoil I reached out and squeezed his hand.

"I understand, Harry. I don't like it, I'm terrified, angry… but I do understand." He squeezed my hand back, and then I withdrew, conscious of Malfoy's eyes on me. "So I suppose no one can know in case the, uh, mole, finds out." Harry nodded solemnly, and I drew in a deep breath. I wanted to fight against this, and I knew Harry would never make me do it if I said no. In fact, he probably wouldn't even try to persuade me.

"I'll do it," I declared, valiantly trying to keep my voice steady. "My only condition is that I leave a letter explaining everything for my family. I want you to keep it safe, and in the event of my death, or your own, I want it delivered to them so that they'll know I wasn't really a traitor." I was really doing this. I must be crazy.

Harry nodded his acquiescence, and then we were both standing. He drew me into a tight embrace, holding me close for a few minutes. "I can never repay you for this, Ginny," he whispered roughly into my hair. I patted his back awkwardly and then gently pushed him away. His eyes looked suspiciously bright, and I fervently hoped he didn't start crying, because I was only barely keeping my cool. "I'm going to leave you with Snape and Malfoy, they're going to be your team out there, and they'll fill you in on everything you need to know. Voldemort knows that they're Double Agents, but he think they're on his side. Nothing you do can jeopardise their positions, remember that. You'll leave straight from here to the safe house you'll be sharing with them." He hesitated once more, and then pressed on. "You won't be able to take any of your personal items, nothing that can prove you still have a link to us. Any information you gather will have to come through either of these two."

"What will you tell the others?" I asked, "Surely they'll see it's a bit of a big coincidence, me running off to join Voldemort after you kept me back after the meeting." I told myself I wasn't subconsciously trying to find a get out. He shook his head.

"No one need know you're gone till tomorrow. I'll tell them I questioned you on some of your activities after the meeting; that something wasn't adding up. You evaded my answers, and in the morning, you were gone. The next thing we hear, you've joined the Dark Lord." I shivered at his matter of fact tone more than the fact that he'd already planned it all out. I sat back down in my seat; my knees didn't feel too reliable.

"Goodbye Harry," I whispered, and he forced himself to look into my eyes, I could see the effort it cost him.

"Leave your letter with Snape, he'll get it to me. Good bye, Ginny." And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him with a click that seemed to suggest finality. I tore my eyes away from the door, I didn't want to be thought a mooning fool by these two.

"We'll be leaving by Portkey," said Snape, speaking up for the first time. I nodded in numb silence, this couldn't really be happening. I was leaving my family, my friends, everything. The people I cared about most in the world would believe me a traitor, would curse my name and wish me dead. I took a steadying breath and reached out to put a finger on the glazed bowl Snape had set down on the table. I was leaving, and all I had to my name was the clothes on my back and the wand in my pocket.

As the familiar jerk behind my navel heralded my departure I glanced up, Malfoy was studying me intently with what appeared to be a hint of compassion in his features. Then the world spun out of recognition, and I closed my eyes and prayed.

/x/x/x/x/x/

I am brought back from the quiet of my reverie by the sound of the keys in the lock. I frown, this feels too soon, they haven't been gone from my cell for more than an hour or two I'm sure. I sigh and go through the mental exercises Draco taught me so long ago, seeking the inner calm that will help me accept whatever is about to come my way.

It is him, Albert, scurrying through the door with an air of panic about him. He leans his back against the door and watches me. In my state of unruffled calm, I am aware that he is breathing quickly, too quickly. I hope he doesn't hyperventilate and collapse, no doubt the blame for that would fall at my feet, too.

I wait quietly for him to compose himself, I'm not going anywhere.

"Ginevra Weasley," he begins, stuttering slightly over my last name. "It has been ruled that you will receive the Dementors Kiss this evening."

Even wrapped up in the shield of indifference that I have sought refuge behind, I feel a spurt of white hot anger. "Without a trial?" I demand, and he flinches at the ice cold anger in my voice, so at odds to the raging fire I feel inside. Calmness, I must seek calmness and acceptance.

"It has been ruled that your crimes are too heinous to go unpunished for any longer. As the War prevents us safely gathering the Wizengmot to hear your words, a panel has voted and decided your fate." He licks his lips, and I watch silently as he nervously dips his hand in and out of his pocket. Nobody is allowed to bring their wand onto the main island, and evidently he is feeling its lack. "According to procedure, you have one last request that we may grant you, as long as it is reasonable."

I sneer at him, a bad habit I've picked up from Draco, but quite fitting for this moment. I phrase my question carefully so that it cannot be taken for a request. "Is Draco Malfoy still in captivity?" I ask casually, knowing that to see him one last time is my only real wish. Albert gulps audibly and the cold hand of dread closes around my heart in a crushing fist.

"Mr Malfoy was sentenced to the Dementors Kiss last night," he stammers, and I stop breathing. No, not my Draco. Black spots dance on my vision and I suck in a breath on reflex. My vision clears, but nothing dulls the roaring in my ears. I sit absolutely still, staring unseeingly at the cowering form of the officious little toad by my door. I know who is to blame for all of this. Annette, how I will make you rue the day you double crossed me.

"My last request before I am Kissed," I begin, my voice a cold, distant thing somehow connected to me. "My last request is to speak to Annette, alone. Tell her I am ready to tell her the things she wishes to know – but they are for her ears alone."

He looks surprised, and then triumphant, and I know he thinks I am broken. I can feel wetness on my cheeks and I do nothing to wipe it away, the weaker he thinks I am the better. Like this, I am irresistible bait for Annette.

I do not see him leave, or hear the keys rattling in the lock as he seals me away. Tears run unchecked down my cheeks as I drown myself in memories. Oh, Draco!

/x/x/x/x/x/

I'd been at the safe house with the two Slytherin men for over a week. That first evening Malfoy had shown me to a room and left me to reconcile myself to my fate in solitude. The days that followed were spent bringing me up to date on the workings of the Death Eaters. Snape put me through a rigorous Occlumens testing before declaring that if I was careful, I would pass muster. Malfoy procured me a wardrobe of plain black attire from somewhere; I didn't bother to find out how.

Both men were surprisingly cordial, if not exactly warm, and I found myself contributing thoughts and suggestions to the intelligence they brought home more often as the days progressed. I'd fought it for the first few days, but by the end of the first week, I could no longer resist; I waited until I had Malfoy on his own (I still found Snape slightly intimidating) and asked him the question that had been occupying my mind. He listened in grim silence, and the look he gave me wasn't so much pity as regret.

"Weasley, I don't think you want me to answer that," he'd replied, avoiding looking into my eyes. My stomach clenched, but it was something I needed to know.

"Yes I do Malfoy, I really do." He'd sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"Nobody wanted to believe it," he said finally, staring into the bottom of the mug of coffee in his hands. "But Potter was… convincing. He reminded them of your first year at Hogwarts, intimated that you had been acting suspiciously on raids lately. Nobody wanted to believe it, but by the end they were convinced." He paused, frowning as though something had just occurred to him. "Potter is more Slytherin that he would like to admit, I think."

I sat silently in dumb shock. What had I been expecting? That the plan would fail because my family and friends would never believe the worst in me? I knew that the plan had relied on Harry convincing everybody, but I couldn't help the anger that welled up inside me at the betrayal I felt. Surely they knew me better than that. Malfoy watched me in silence, no doubt guessing my thoughts judged on the emotions flying across my face.

He got up and went to the cupboard, bringing back two tumblers and a bottle of Firewhiskey to the table. Pouring out generous measures, he recapped the bottle and pushed one over to me.

"To friends and family," he said wryly and, despite the inappropriateness, I snorted and raised my glass to clink softly against his.

"Hear, hear," I agreed, closing my eyes as the amber liquid trailed fire down my throat.

After that, mine and Draco's relationship became a slightly obscure, yet rewarding variation, on friendship. We talked in the evenings, when Snape had retired to his bed, and I certainly found comfort in the companionship. He was certainly a steady presence when I attended my first Death Eater meeting.

They both took me, Draco and Snape, and I was strung taught, unable to calm the frenzied beating of my heart. This was it; there would be no turning back after this. I took deep calming breaths, making sure that the mental barriers I had put up would stand up to the hammering the Dark Lord would surely give them.

They frogmarched me through a set of heavy doors, and I wanted to turn tail and run at the ranks of masked figures waiting for us, for me. I peeked at Draco out of the corner of my eye and his face was its usual mask of icy indifference. If he sensed my eyes on him he didn't show it, but a few moments later his hand grasped my elbow to halt me in front of the diesis, lingering a moment to give it a reassuring squeeze. I found a surprisingly amount of comfort in his touch, and as I bowed low before Voldemort I was able to calm my breathing and school my features into something approaching anticipation.

"Rise," came the voice from the diesis, and I shuddered slightly. As we straightened I forced myself to look upon the most feared man in Wizarding Britain, fought hard to fight the revulsion that rose like bile in my throat at his grotesque, unnatural appearance. If there was anything left of Tom Riddle in him, then I could not see it. His slanted, red eyes stared down at me in consternation, and I felt the dark brush of his mind against mine. I held the barriers firm for a moment, until I saw him frown with displeasure; thinking quickly I dropped the barriers quickly and let his presence fill my mind. I flung memories at him quicker than I could blink. Finding the diary in my spellbook, writing in it for the first time, waking up in the Chamber with the semi-corpulent form of Tom crouching over me, tucking a strand of red hair behind my ear. I followed those with slightly modified memories of my time at Hogwarts, glimpses of me following the Trio to try and discover what they were up to; a fake memory of me at Order Headquarters, arguing with Harry on the inclusion of muggle-borns in the Order.

Gradually I felt the cloying presence of his mind extract itself from my own, and as I came back to my sense I realised that I was breathing heavily, my heart pounding a taboo against my ribs.

"So eager to please, Miss Weasley," purred Voldemort, smiling slightly as murmurs filled the hall at the realisation of who I was. "So tell me, what brings you here, to our little… gathering?"

I raced over the dialogue I had worked on with Draco and Snape, but it didn't seem to fit this situation. My gut was screaming at me to move in an unexpected direction, and I decided to trust it. I sensed Draco stiffen next to me as my knees thumped the hard wooden floor. I made myself stare up into the face of the Dark Lord. I had been told I was a good actress, I hoped fervently that it was true.

"My Lord Voldemort," I began, allowing my voice to ring with the zeal of the faithful. "I am not worthy to stand before you, so I shall kneel until you tell me otherwise." His smile widened, but I knew that he was enjoying himself. No hint of Tom may have visibly remained, but I remembered just how vain and petty he was. "Once I was your confidant, as you were mine. Once you guided me in orchestrating the downfall of Harry Potter, and willingly I complied." There was a swell of shocked noise from the crowd, silenced abruptly by a fierce look from their leader. "We were defeated that time, and in the long years since then I have fought against my desire to join you. I loved my family, I will not deny it, but they cannot see the truth! Harry Potter is destroying us, just as Dumbledore tried to, by allowing this sordid association with muggles!" I didn't dare stop, the air seemed weighted with the baited breath of a hundred people, but I had His attention. "I realised that Draco and Severus were not really Order men a long time ago, their information was never quite good enough, yet your forces always seemed to know the Order's next move. I begged them to bring me here, and they obliged." I strived for an expression of eagerness. "I am yours to do with as you will, My Lord."

Voldemort stood, the hem of his long robes trailing behind him as he stepped down from the diesis. His unnaturally long, spidery hand caressed the side of my face, the cold fingers twirling an errant curl of hair. "I do remember you, Ginevra," he said after an endless minute of silence. "Prove to me that you are loyal. Prove, and I shall award you the Dark Mark."

"Anything, My Lord," I said promptly, hoping against hope that I wouldn't be made to kill an innocent child. He was still idly petting my hair, and I fought tooth and nail with the urge to run screaming from his vulgar touch.

"Accept the Crucio, welcome it, and endure it. If you can do those things, you will be mine." Sweat beaded on the back of my neck, I had been on the receiving edge of a weak crucio once before, and it had made every other pain I had ever experience pale by comparison. I did not doubt that the one I received from the Dark Lord would risk breaking me. I knew why he chose it, for who could stand up to the pain when babbling your secrets, any secret, could make it stop?

"Please My lord," I implored, matching his red eyes with my own brown. "Let me prove my loyalty." I was glad I had chosen to kneel, my knees were trembling violently against the hardwood flooring, and I did not think I could have stood if I wanted to.

The malevolent smile he directed at me made my blood turn to ice, but I made myself stare adoringly up at him, like a dog that knew it was about to be beaten, but wanted only its Masters approval.

"Crucio!" he snarled, and then all I knew was pain. I don't know for how long I writhed on the floor; all I was aware of was the feeling of a thousand white-hot knives carving up my flesh, of the sensation of acid flowing through my veins, burning all in its path. I screamed until I ran out of breath, and all that came out of my mouth was bloody foam. Eventually it stopped, and I lay panting on the polished floor, lacking the strength to open my eyes. I drew in ragged breaths, aware of the coppery taste of blood in my mouth; I must have bitten my tongue. The feel of clammy fingers on my cheek brought me back to the moment; forcing my eyes open I came face to face with Voldemort as he crouched over me. I was taken back to a similar instance nearly ten years before, where I lay weeping on the Chambers floor; gradually the handsome image of Tom as he leant over me blended with the present one of his older self.

"Well Ginevra," he spoke, his sibilant voice carrying easily through the hushed hall. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

I wanted to sob, to admit to everything, to beg for death. Surely death would be better than risking that kind of pain again? My eyes snagged Draco's for a half of a second, stormy and full of concern. I reminded myself that any confession on my part would condemn more than just me. I looked into the blood red eyes above mine, and reached a shaky hand up to rest lightly on the sleeve of his free arm.

"If I am worthy, My Lord, then mark me as yours," I whispered, my voice a hollow croak. He threw back his head and laughed, manic light filling his eyes. I could do nothing but lay sprawled on the ground, conserving my strength. He stood abruptly, and I forced myself up onto my hands and knees, swallowing back a cry of pain as my nerve endings sparked and sputtered at their rough treatment. Slowly, gingerly, I levered myself backwards until I was sat on my heels. I could feel every muscle trembling from the exertion, but I could not show weakness now.

"Behold the endurance of the faithful!" he thundered to the onlookers. "Our cause is just, and worthy! Ginevra is but the first of the Resistance to come; soon others will see the sense of our actions!" He gazed down at me with a feral smile, withdrawing his wand from his robes. Everybody seemed to press closer as he continued in a near whisper. "Ginevra does but herald the next phase of our battle for dominance."

He stepped forward and grasped my left arm, roughly sliding back the sleeve to bare my forearm. I felt sick to my stomach, but could not bring myself to look away. The tip of his wand dug painfully into my pale skin, and he uttered a spell in a dark, guttural tongue.

I couldn't help but let out a hoarse cry as the ink flowed from his wand and seemed to burrow into my flesh like a living thing. When the tattoo was complete, it started to burn, hotter and hotter, until it glowed ember red. I realised a high, piteous whine was forcing its way out between my teeth, but nothing I did could stop it. So much pain, all in one go; too much to bear. Suddenly it stopped, and he withdrew his wand with a flourish. A thick, black scab covered the Dark Mark, and as I watched it began to crack and flake away, disintegrating to ash with a soft sigh as the pieces hit the floor.

I was too numb to feel anything at that moment, never mind revulsion. A distant part of me noted clinically that I was in severe shock. Somebody was speaking, and it took a moment to realise that the words were coming from my own lips. "Thank you, My Lord." The world seemed to be dipping and swaying, the solidarity of certain objects being called into question as their once sharp lines lost their definition.

"Take her and see to her, young Malfoy. I expect her at tomorrow's gathering. Severus, stay awhile, I have things to discuss with you. You have both done well, I am… pleased."

The words washed over me, my head sinking into my waiting hands, my fingers tightening around my scalp as I tried desperately to hold myself together. Suddenly, I was on my feet, Draco curling an arm around my waste to keep me upright. I managed a jerky bow in the direction of Voldemort, but he was already turning away, dismissing my presence as though I was nothing. With Draco's help I made it to the doors of the Hall, but once they were shut, my knees buckled; the need to appear strong in front of the Death Eaters vanishing with the hollow boom of the doors closing.

A cool pair of hands were cupping my face; willing my eyes to focus I blinked repeatedly for a few moments, eventually making out Draco's pale, fraught features through the haze. "It's okay," I managed to stammer out; very aware it was anything but. "It's okay."

His lips were moving, his perfectly sculpted mouth making the most enticing shapes. I'd never noticed what an attractive mouth he had before. I frowned, his hands weren't on my face anymore, they were on my shoulders. He was shaking me gently, I knew that. I frowned again, I couldn't hear him very well at all, his voice was a muted buzz that seemed to be originating from somewhere at a great distance. He was pulling me close to his chest, and despite the lingering pain, I allowed him to take my weight against him. The word 'apparate' dimly registered on the fringes of my mind, and then blackness claimed me as he whisked me away.

/x/x/x/x/x/

Nothing except the deepening ache in my chest disturbs me from my recollection this time. I press a thin hand to my ribs, hoping somehow that it will help, like applying pressure to a wound. I always scoffed at the term 'bleeding hearts', but I know what they meant now. My eyes feel grainy, and I almost wish that more tears would come. The gnawing, insatiable emptiness inside of me is starting to consume me, and I am scared. I have always been a person of passion, this lack inside of me is foreign and unwelcome. Grief is not enough, so I fill it up with anger. I allow the simmering hate to boil over, to consume me so completely that I feel as though I am seeing the world with new clarity.

The bitch will pay.

The door is opened, and somebody hand pushes in a tray. I dismiss it out of hand; I have no desire to eat. I have only a few hours left until I am incapable of extracting my revenge. I assess my situation; I am locked in a small cell, I have no weapon to hand; I will have Annette in my grasp at some point, but I have nothing to hand to use against her. My eyes travel around my bare cell once more, cataloguing everything. I pause, my eyes swinging back to the covered tray. With energy that I have not possessed since my capture, I spring over to the tray. Whipping back the grey cloth, a predatory smile touches my lips. A bowl of quickly cooling gruel sits next to a cup of water. Alongside the bowl rests a plain, metal spoon. Removing the water and the spoon, I rearrange the cloth so that it looks mostly undisturbed. I fervently hope that the guard just assumes that I have taken the water and left the gruel, surely it is not unlikely that I would not be able to face food. I just hope that they don't miss the spoon. That could raise more questions than it's worth.

Settling back down on my bed, I pull back the sheet slightly, exposing the metal edge of the cot. Dipping the spoons handle in the water, I set it against the edge of the metal. Applying firm pressure I strike it downwards, ignoring the faint screech of metal on metal. Methodically I set about my task, adjusting the angle every now and then to put a finer point on the tip of the handle. I'm going to need it to be nice and sharp.

I work, unworried about being heard – they place silencing charms on all of the cells so they don't have to listen to the ranting and raving of prisoners. I wet the metal once more, glad that Bill took the time to teach me about this kind of stuff as a child. The shrill screech is a soft wsk wsk now. The repetitiveness of my task lulls me into a sense of calm, and my mind drifts from the task at hand to the memories crowding in the fore of my mind, begging to be indulged. I allow myself to succumb to them; it is not long till I will be no more aware of them than I will be my own name.

My breathing falls into rhythm with the steady wsk wsk of my spoon against the bed frame. I breathe, and I remember.

/x/x/x/x/x/

"Voldemort has requested you especially this evening." I glanced up from the report I was reading as the sound of his voice, taking in the casual way he was leaning against the doorframe, so at odds with the anxious worry I could read in the corners of his eyes. I leant back against my headboard, indicating with a wave of my hand that he should sit on the bed. He frowned, pushing lightly off the door and closing it behind him as he made his way over, sinking down onto the mattress with that kind of refined elegance that I always envied him for.

"Draco, stop worrying," I said gently, setting the thick sheaf of parchment aside. His pale eyebrows drew together in a heavy frown at my words, but I held up a hand to forestall the gloomy prediction that was coming my way. "Honestly, don't you think I'm terrified enough? I want to run screaming for the hills, I want to run back to Order headquarters and tell Harry I can't do this anymore… but I can't. So stop trying to scare the shit out of me, because I'm doing a good enough job of that on my own."

He stared at me with that unreadable expression on his face that I was no closer to puzzling out than I was to finding Harry's mole. "I'm sorry," he said, never taking his eyes of my face. "I don't mean to scare you. It's just… I never wanted you to come here, to do this." A flash of hurt seared through me, flitting across my face before I could stop it. "No! I don't mean because it was you. I mean, because…" he trailed off, visibly flustered. I cocked my head to the side, waiting for him to continue. "Well, no, actually – it was because it was you. I can't believe Potter has put you in this situation! I told him with a bit of time Severus and I would find his traitor. But he was too impatient! He was so willing to throw you away in his haste to find them!" His voice had grown heated, his burning gaze trapping me in my place against the headboard. "Ginny, I've tried so hard throughout this bloody war to not get attached to anything, anyone. I didn't want any added complications. But when I saw…. When I saw you at the mercy of Him, risking losing your sanity for the sake of finding a fucking traitor… Ginny – I couldn't breathe. I could do nothing to help you, and I hated myself for it."

I drew in a deep breath, knowing that I was staring at him in wide-eyed amazement. He leant forward, intensity rolling off of him in waves. He had a strange, magnetic effect on me, Draco. "Ginny… I didn't ask to care," he whispered, the strain in his voice calling to me to comfort him. "But, Merlin help me, I do. I do care, and every time you have to put your neck on the line it kills me." I was dimly aware of kneeling up on the bed, my hands reaching out to rest on his.

"Don't be sorry, Draco," I murmured, "never be sorry for caring." He stared at me, and for once I could read the emotions flying across his face; uncertainty, desire, fear, worry, affection. I felt my heart racing, hoping that the patented Weasley blush wasn't rising up my face. "Draco-" I began, but I never got to finish.

Quicker than I could follow, he closed the distance between us, those perfectly formed lips meeting my own hesitantly. I realised he was giving me an opportunity to push him away, to call a halt to his actions. My hands reached up to bury themselves in his soft, silvery tresses, pulling his head down more firmly to my own. I felt him smile against my lips, and then he was biting down gently, causing me to gasp. He took advantage of the opportunity to deepen the kiss, shifting himself further up the bed. He pulled away after a moment, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glittering with desire. He'd never been more attractive to me than he was at that moment.

"Ginny," he growled, the huskiness of his voice putting my body on high-alert. "I can never seem to control myself around you." I can't say that I'd noticed that before, he always seemed so enviably self-possessed. "I'd better go, because if I stay… well, I don't think I'll be able to keep it to a few kisses." Desire, hot and heady, rushed through me at the implication in his words. I didn't care whether it was too soon, or what he might think of me afterwards, all I knew was that I needed him. Picking up my wand, I cast a locking and silencing spell on the door without taking my eyes off of his. I read the shock on his face with a deep sense of satisfaction. Snape wasn't due back for another few hours, but I wasn't taking any chances.

"What were you saying?" I asked, aiming for coy, but ending up just sounding breathy. He didn't bother to reply. Next thing I knew he was on me, his weight bearing us backwards into the mattress, his mouth seeking mine out for a bruising kiss. Any semblance of control I had fled as his hands went to work on my body, setting my blood to singing even through the barrier of my shirt. "Too… many clothes," I managed to gasp out in between kisses, and he hummed his agreement against a particularly sensitive spot on my neck. Abruptly his weight was gone from my body, sitting up I frowned at him in consternation. His eyes bored into mine as he attacked the buttons on his shirt, those beautiful, pianists' hands of his making short work of them; I felt my cheeks flush darkly at the thought of what they would feel like on my skin. He smirked knowingly at me, already starting to divest himself of his trousers.

I scrambled out of my clothes, making no attempt to emulate his predatory grace. I flung them away with no thought to where they might end up; I would worry about them later. My mouth went dry as I took in the fully unclothed sight of Draco in all his resplendent glory. I went to draw the sheet up around myself, feeling suddenly inadequate and embarrassed. Tsking quietly, he caught my hand at the edge of the sheet, moving up the bed to hover over me.

"No need to be shy, Ginny," he purred, guiding me back down until I was laid out fully beneath him. "You are… delectable." I shivered at the dark promise in his voice, pushing my self-doubt to the back of my mind. If he didn't find me attractive, we wouldn't be here. "That's better," he said approvingly, feeling my body relax against his. "Now, where were we?"

As his mouth occupied mine, his hands started their leisurely exploration of my skin. My own hands itched to touch him, but when I raised them to the smooth expanse of his back, he caught them, pinning them to the pillow above my head. He raised himself up enough to look down at me. "I think I know just what to do with idle hands," he drawled, grabbing my wand off of the bedside table. With a slight swish and a word uttered too quietly for me to hear, shimmering lengths of black silk shot out of the end of my wand, wrapping around my wrists and fastening them to the headboard. I gaped indignantly at him, despite the rush of arousal I felt, but he just smirked at me in that infuriating way he had. "You're not going to make me gag you as well, are you?" I shook my head quickly, making my eyes as large and doe like as possible. His eyes flared and he dipped his head to give me a kiss. "Good, I have better plans for your mouth than that."

And then he was back to his exploration, his hands following the curves of my body, his tongue trailing hot kisses down my jaw, my neck, between my breasts… I mewled piteously, wriggling beneath him to try and encourage him towards what I wanted. He chuckled against my skin, his breath ghosting over me, my sensitivity to his touch rising with every second. His hand glided back up my body, his fingertips brushing against the swell of my breast, trailing back down the sensitive skin of my sides. "Please," I begged, wanting more, needing more.

"All in good time," he promised, shifting down my body to lay a trail of kisses over my stomach, his artists' hands following a meandering path down to the soft skin of my thighs. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I realised his destination. My legs parted eagerly for him, welcoming him. I pressed my head back into the pillow, unable to bear the building tension inside of me. I wanted to beg again, but I couldn't quite seem to be able to articulate the words. He fanned the fingers on both hands at the apex of my thighs, the nearness of him doing untold things to my sensibilities.

He dropped his head and laid a soft kiss on the skin by his fingers. "I'm going to kiss you, Ginevra Weasley," he whispered, and through my pleasure addled brain I felt a moment's confusion.

"You've already kissed me… oh!" I gasped as I realised what he meant. I felt him smile against my thigh, and then those deceptively strong hands were parting my legs, and he was kissing me there. I cried out, back arching off of the bed as he gently held my hips down. I wasn't exactly inexperienced, but nobody had done this to me before… I was aware that I should be disgusted, but surely nothing that felt so good could be that wrong. I could feel my body building, climbing ever higher and higher. I knew that I was close… and then he stopped. I groaned in frustration, bucking my hips up into nothing. He leaned over me again, mischief shining in his eyes. He lowered his head to kiss me, and the ever fainter voice in my head protested at what I knew was coming, but was soon silenced by the skill with which he claimed my mouth. I wanted to object to the taste of myself on my own tongue, but it was erotic, and he was orchestrating my body too skilfully for me to summon the willpower to do so.

"I'm going to claim you, Ginny," he said, so matter of fact, that I felt a wave of heat rush through me again. "I'm going to make sure you never forget this." His voice was serious, and I was very sure that I believed him. He pulled my body further down the bed, moving my legs further apart. I let out a loud moan of satisfaction as he filled me, taking his time to let me adjust. He held himself poised over me, face a mask of ecstasy, and I tried desperately to gather my wits to me.

"My hands, Draco, I want to touch you," I demanded, foregoing mentioning that my arms were also getting sore. He grabbed my wand and moments later my hands were gloriously free. My hands flew to his back, nails gently scoring their mark into his flesh.

"No more playing," he growled fiercely, and after that there was no room for speech. I had always enjoyed sex, finding it a pleasurable way to get close to my partner of the moment. But this… this wasn't sex. It was discovery, it was Draco showing me planes of pleasure that I had never know existed before. I want to say it was beautiful, like poetry in motion – that's what it felt like – but the reality was, of course, anything but. We were scared, desperate people in a time of uncertainty, and the need to let our emotions go, for just a blessed interlude, overwhelmed us. By the end, Draco set a punishing place, always withdrawing just when I was ready to let go, making me beg, demand, and beg again before he would start all over again. I do not know how much time had passed, but eventually he lowered his head, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Let go for me, Ginny."

His hand slipped unnoticed between us, and then I felt him touch me in that most delightful of places, and my body sung. I've never been a noisy lover, but my wail of pleasure later made me glad that I had placed a silencing charm on the door. I have read my fair share of trashy romances, and ever I had rolled my eyes when I read of the unforgettable moment of climactic release. But I do not lie when I say that I have never felt such intense, such inescapable pleasure. It seemed to last for an endless moment, and then he was following me, and I somehow took even greater pleasure in that still.

I was floating in a fog of bliss, my only tangible connection to reality the solid feel of Draco wrapped around my body. His heavy breathing against my neck had given way to softer breaths, the small tremors that had rocked him finally trailing off. Slowly he withdrew from me, taking a moment to gather up the rumpled sheet at the end of the bed to pull over us. In my cationic state, I just about had the presence of mind to wriggle over onto a fresh part of the bed, leaving room for Draco to fall in next to me. He wrapped an arm around me, my head drawing in naturally to his chest, his chin resting atop my crown as though we had lain like this a hundred times together. I felt his lips press against my hair, and I smiled into his chest.

"We have a few hours, yet," he mumbled drowsily, and I nodded. I felt contented, as though I had fulfilled something inside of me that had been wanting for a long time. Whatever happened that evening, I could accept. Living life like I was, I learnt to live for the moments as they came my way.

I pressed closer to Draco, eyelids heavy, and let sleep wash over me.

/x/x/x/x/x/

I sit up straight and hold my spoon up to the dim light filtering in through the barred windows. It has taken me a good hour, but I think that I have finally gotten the point sharp enough. I think I will still have to put some force behind it, but that's okay. I have always been strong. I slip my new weapon up my sleeve and settle myself down to wait.

Throughout the long months I have spent as an undercover agent, I have learnt patience. After what seems an infinite amount of time, the familiar sound of keys in the lock rouses me from my thoughts. I feel alert, ready. Anticipation courses through me, but I school myself to stillness. She must not suspect a thing.

By the time Annette steps through the door, ladder backed chair in hand, I am sat on the edge of my bed, staring calmly at the wall before me, hands folded neatly in my lap. She sits down directly opposite me, and in the small space of the cell, our knees are almost touching. I feel a sense of satisfaction settle over me, how dim-witted can one be, to sit directly in front of somebody you know wants your blood?

"So, Ginevra, you have decided to talk at last," she says, flashing me her sickly sweet smile that has never fooled me for a moment. "Although, I can't say I approve of your demand to speak to me alone. However, what with it being your last request, I have decided to let it pass." I ignore her attempt to make me squirm. The minutes tick by, and I wait. I wait until she is squirming in discomfort, and then I speak.

"It was a clever glamour that you used, Annette. Or should I say, Sabella?" I begin, watching the way her eyes widen before she takes control of herself. "Yes, I thought so. You look so different to the woman I saw at Death Eater meetings, very good glamour indeed." She opens her mouth to angrily protest, but I will not be stopped. I speak over the top of her, and she pales as I deliver blow after blow. "Yes, another clever move, dating Charlie. Who would suspect the partner of a Weasley? All that time you were drip feeding information back to the Death Eaters, coming back to warm my brothers bed, to keep him believing in you." A cruel smirk twists my lips. "Just like the whore you were before you decided there was more profit in spying." She gapes at me, looking for all the world like I have slapped her.

"I never caught sight of you at those Death Eater meetings, never even suspected that you were the same woman that I had sat next to at Order meetings time and time again. Clever of you, I'm not too proud to admit it." I lean forward, taking grim pleasure from the way she presses herself back into the chair to escape me. I have learnt a great deal from Draco on how to intimidate people. My eyes blaze, but I keep my voice smooth, quiet. "Yes, you're really just such a clever person, Annette. You guessed that Harry had planted me there. You knew that not another soul in the Order knew I hadn't truly defected. Most clever of you, indeed, to take photos of me at the meetings, made sure you got one of the Dark Mark on my arm" Her jaw has gone slack, her eyes darting to the door as she licks her lips.

"You set up that raid on the muggles, didn't you Annette? You knew Draco and I would go there in the aftermath, to save who we could. You knew, and you had the Aurors ready and waiting." She starts to shake her head in denial, and I stand, looming over her. I feel my lip curl in disgust as she squeals in distress. "Hmm, not so brave, now that you know I know your secret, eh Annette?" I place my hands on the back of her chair, entrapping her with my arms. Leaning down so that we are eye to eye, I speak in calm measured tones. "There's only one thing I want to know Annette, how? How has Harry not put a stop to this?"

She gathers enough of herself together to glare venomously at me, although the effect is ruined slightly by the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"He's off hunting Horcruxes at the moment. He doesn't know. I wanted you out of the way before he got back," she stammers, the loathing in her voice making me smile. "Your family don't know either, exactly. They know you're in custody, just not that you're going to be Kissed. It didn't take a lot to convince everyone that Malfoy wasn't really on their side, nobody really trusted him except Potter, anyway." I nod, it's quite a neat little plan really.

"Were we really that close to discovering you, Annette?" I ask, genuinely curious. She shrugs, trying to tear her eyes away from mine, but I tilt my head to trap her gaze once more.

"I couldn't risk it, I knew what you were there for – I didn't buy your cock and bull story that you fed the Dark Lord – and I knew it was only a matter of time." I shook my head, something still didn't add up.

"Then why not just tell Voldemort?" I pressed. "Why not leave him to deal with it, and keep those precious little hands of yours clean?"

"Because I hate you," she said, with such stark sincerity that I believe her without hesitation. "I knew it was risky, but I wanted this to be… personal."

I stand, crossing my arms casually across my body. She is eyeing me warily, and I let a genuine smile shine through. "In which case, Annette, I am going to take great pleasure in doing this!" I cry, as I slipped the sharpened spoon out from my sleeve and drive it forward, through her right eye. Blood spurts everywhere, and I grimly twist it, using my other hand to fend off her flailing arms. Her hoarse scream seems to drag on and on, and too late I realise she is definitely clutching a glowing token in her hand. I step back calmly as the door is flung open, the sound of an alarm bellowing through the air. Two guards seize me and slam me up against the wall, whilst a third rushes to Annette's aid.

Turning my head I regretfully note that whilst her eye is definitely beyond repair, I didn't get the spoon in far enough to pierce her brain and kill her. I let it go, that's revenge enough for me.

I start to laugh as they drag me out of my cell and down the corridor. It starts as a quiet giggle, but by the time we reach the Dementors enclosure, I am full out howling with laughter. I hear the guards muttering about prisoners going crazy more often than not, and I nod in agreement.

They shove me forward through the iron gate, and then lock it behind me. I jauntily salute them through the grill, and then turn to face the oncoming pack. Just passed them, I see a hint of silver blond, and my heart clenches. Hugging the wall, I dart around the perimeter, fighting the cold lethargy that is starting to take root in my limbs.

"Draco!" I call desperately. "Draco!"

He sits slumped against the wall, his head lolling against one shoulder. I slide down next to him, tears springing to my eyes. His beautiful silver eyes are vacant, no sign of the wit and charisma that I am so used to. "Oh, Draco. I love you," I whisper, pressing my lips against his unreactive ones. I clasp his nearest hand in mine, and prop his head against my shoulder. The Dementors are upon me now, hoods being thrown back to reveal their gaping maws. Cold terror grips me, and I squeeze Draco's hand as hard as I can.

I am freezing, my teeth can't stop chattering. I'm sure if I could find the energy to look down at myself, frost would be forming on my clothes.

Why did it have to end like this?

I love him!

I can't feel Draco's hand in mine anymore. I am tired, so tired.

I am slipping… drifting… leaving… g –

/x/x/x/x/x/

A/N: Well, I hope that you all enjoyed that! I have no idea if it makes sense, but I couldn't wait to post it and see what you guys made of it, so I apologise for any SPaG errors etc.

I would love, love, love your comments on this. It's a bit of a twist on how I usually write my angst. It's definitely morphed into something else, other than what I quite intended but I think I like it! Review would be VERY much appreciated, good and bad!

Dominatrice