Ginny knew before she opened her eyes that something was very wrong. The thread-count of the sheets was too high, and—
"Alex!" she cried, sitting bolt upright in bed. She scanned the room, panicked.
Her child was not in the opulent bed in which she found herself, and as she blinked back bleary-eyed sleep, she quickly realized that he wasn't in the room with her at all. Ginny scrambled out from the covers, ignoring the foul taste of stale vomit on her breath. The chill of the room after the warmth of the bed made her shiver, and she looked down at her bare legs in dismay. Not only was her child gone, but half her clothing had vanished as well.
But Alex was more important than clothes, so Ginny grabbed the cover from the bed and fashioned a hasty toga over her knickers and camisole, then fled to the door. She half expected to find it locked, and sighed with relief when the handle turned. She didn't have a wand, so even Alohomora wasn't an option. The sudden recollection of her broken wand made her gag involuntarily, and she had the fleeting sense that the snapped stick was actually having a magic-related effect on her body—but worry for Alex won over her thoughts, and she drove the nauseated feelings out of her mind.
She half ran through the long corridors of the mansion, piecing together the floor plan from a memory that was almost three years old. It was hard to believe that she'd ever been mistress of this place—not that she'd felt much like a mistress at the time. She could barely remember where the kitchen was, much less what it had first felt like to live here.
The home was much smaller than the manor where Lucius and Narcissa lived in Wiltshire, but just as grand. It was one of the Malfoy summer homes in Scotland, and Draco and Ginny had made it their permanent home after their wedding. The spaces were all familiar; it seemed Draco hadn't done much to change the house since she'd gone.
She arrived at the top of the front staircase, a grand structure that opened out into the front hall downstairs, and cried, "Alex!"
The house was silent.
Ginny swore and flew down the stairs as quickly as she could without tripping over the loosely knotted coverlet. Her bare feet slapped the parquet floor of the hall as she crossed the large, sunny hall in order to tug on the door to Draco's study. It was locked.
"Looking for me?" he drawled from behind her.
Ginny felt all sorts of anger bubble up in her chest as she turned, clutching the huge sheet across her midsection. Draco was leaning against the balustrade at the foot of the stairs, his face unreadable. She allowed herself to indulge in a quick daydream of grabbing his white-blond hair and slamming his head into the hard oak railing, nose first.
"No. I'm looking for my son," she spat.
Draco nodded, still maddeningly calm. "You're wearing a blanket," he observed coolly.
"For fuck's sake, Draco, don't try to give me the runaround. Where is Alex?" Ginny demanded. Her face was hot with anger, and imagery of blood gushing from that perfect nose was more than a little tempting. She stalked toward him, her fists clenched around the fine cloth of the coverlet.
"Are you always this . . . volatile?" Draco said with a smirk. "As much as I adore your temper, darling, I'm not so sure it creates a good environment for a growing boy."
Ginny barreled into his chest so hard that both of them went crashing down onto the hardwood floor. Pain bit into her wrist with a sickening crunch, but she ignored it in favor of jamming her other elbow into his ribs, pulling herself up to sit on his stomach.
He groaned. "Gods, witch. Fighting like a Muggle, now? I could have you in front of the Wizengamot for assault."
"Where is my son?" she ground out. "And you've snapped my wand, remember?"
"Lucky for me, that." He sighed and laid his head back on the floor. "Alex is sleeping in the nursery, safe and sound."
"You're going to take me to him," Ginny demanded, ignoring the pain in her wrist and doing her best to look authoritative while clutching a blanket around her midsection. "Show me. And then give me my clothes back."
Draco arched an eyebrow. "You got sick on them, and they were falling apart besides. But your clothes are all in your closet, exactly as you left them. And you can direct yourself to the nursery. I have no need or desire to take you anywhere."
He pulled his arms up and pushed himself upright, causing Ginny to fall into his lap. She scrambled backward and pitched sideways, jostling her injured wrist. She couldn't help but cry out; it was clearly sprained or worse. Her sheet pooled around her waist as she clutched it to her chest.
"I suppose that needs healing?" Draco said, standing. "Would you like me to—"
Ginny looked up and gave him a thorough glower. "I will see Alex first. Perhaps you don't know what it's like, but I've been a parent for over two years and I put my child's safety and well-being ahead of my own."
He studied her coolly for a moment, then shrugged. "Fine. When you decide you need help, I'll be in my study." He turned and walked away, then called back, "The nursery is adjacent to the guest room I put you in—second floor, left hallway, third door."
Ginny picked herself up off the floor, wincing every time she jostled her wrist. She was fairly certain she'd broken it, and not having a wand of her own was going to make healing it very difficult; there was no way she was going ask him for help.
The nursery was easy to find, and she felt a slight blush creep up her neck for how panicked she'd become when Draco had obviously put her next door. Not that she'd ever been in here before. She'd had absolutely no need to think about children back then, much less decorate a room for one, and he certainly would have known that.
It was, however, a lovely room. The ceiling was enchanted like a sky on a lovely summer's day, with soft white clouds gently sailing across it. Delicately painted murals swept over the walls, featuring happy scenes Ginny recognized from childhood stories and rhymes her mother had told her long, long ago. Two child-sized beds were tucked into dormers, and in one of them, nestled under a snuggly, ivory-colored eiderdown, she found Alex sleeping soundly.
Something caught in her heart as she sank down next him and put her good hand on his small little head. It was silly to think that Draco would cause any harm to the little boy; not physical harm, anyway. No, he'd protect him from everything but his family.
Ginny brushed back the soft strands of blond hair that fell over her baby's forehead and kissed him gently. "I'm going to get you out of here, my darling. I promise."
The adrenaline rush began to fade as she watched him breathe peacefully, and she began to be aware of exactly how hurt her arm was. Her wrist had swollen and her fingers felt oddly numb, and just looking at it made her feel light-headed. She was probably going into shock.
She gritted her teeth and awkwardly used her good arm to wrap the blanket around her obviously broken one, immobilizing it as best she could.
"How do Muggles do this?" she muttered aloud. She stood carefully, biting back expletives as the pain hit her harder than ever, and tried to assess her options.
She could Floo to St. Mungo's, of course. But they'd want to know why she hadn't just healed it herself (this was hardly a magical malady). And besides, if Draco had the house warded, she might not be able to get back in. Perhaps Draco still kept House Elves? Ginny sighed. For all she knew, House Elves were incapable of healing magic. No, she'd have to either steal Draco's wand or ask him to heal it for her.
A wave of nausea hit her full force, and she gave Alex one last look before she left him in the peaceful nursery to go find Draco.
As she walked through the halls this time, she saw that Draco really hadn't changed anything, right down to the wedding photo that graced a console table at the top of the front staircase. A crystal vase of white tea roses bloomed in full force next to the picture, and Ginny cringed inwardly as she remembered the contents of her bottom drawer back at the cottage. He probably doesn't spend a lot of time up here, she thought as she watched the couple kiss.
She slowly trekked down the stairs and across the large, sunny foyer, through the morning parlor, and into Draco's day study, a warm room decorated in golden oaks and emeralds.
He was reclining on a low leather couch with a copy of The Daily Prophet when she pushed open the door with a half-hearted knock.
"I trust he was sleeping safely?" Draco drawled sarcastically, flipping the top of his paper down to look at her.
Ginny swallowed. "I think I broke my wrist when I fell," she said, touching her arm through the blanket. "And I don't have a wand," she added pointedly.
He arched an eyebrow and tossed the paper aside. She noticed that he was barefoot, and for some reason, this caught her off guard. "Let me see it," he said, gently prying her arm from the miles of fabric.
"Merlin, Gin," he said softly. "You did this when you fell?"
"We both know I have a high tolerance for pain," she said with a humorless laugh. He winced, but gently prodded her arm.
"It's definitely broken, but it's a clean break. I can—"
"I took basic Healing too. I'll do it."
He looked at her sharply. "With what wand?"
"Draco, you can't mean to keep me here, in your house, with no wand. I'm not your bloody prisoner."
He let go of her arm and slipped his wand back into his pocket. "Fine. Go get help elsewhere. I'm not keeping you here against your will."
"Maybe not this time," she spat. "But you're keeping Alex here, and you know I won't leave him."
"I also know that the second you touch my wand, you'll Apparate to the nursery, take my child, and Apparate out of the country."
"Don't be ridiculous," she scowled.
He smirked. "You always were a terrible Occlumens, darling."
She suddenly became aware of the odd, familiar sensation of him tickling the edge of her thoughts and she threw him out of her mind with sudden violence. "You promised never to do that again," she hissed.
"You keep all that venom on the surface. I hardly need to prod your thoughts; it's all over your bloody face. Besides, Ginny, you promised to be faithful 'til death, and then you kidnapped my child. I don't trust you within a yard of my wand, and as long as you are in my house, I'm not letting you have one.
"And besides, after everything that you've done today, I think every law and every tabloid would see the story my way," he said, calmly sitting back on the couch and picking up his paper once more.
Ginny's arm was beginning to tingle, and jets of pain had been shooting more steadily through her wrist and fingertips. Better to save her stubbornness for the really important battles, she decided.
"Fine," she said, holding out her arm. "You do it."
He shook his head but took her arm with both hands, unwrapping the sheet from her arm with gentle fingers. "Here, sit down," he said, unsheathing his wand and gently tracing it over Ginny's wrist. Pale blue lines glowed on her skin as he murmured minor spells to assuage the bruising and swelling. "Ferula," he finally said, and bandages and a splint formed from the air and tied themselves tightly around Ginny's arm, setting her wrist and holding it still all at once.
He lifted her arm carefully to examine his work. "How does that feel?" he said, meeting her eyes with concern. "Better?"
"Don't play games with me," she answered, wiggling her fingers. "Fake all the concern you like and fill the house with white roses. I'll still hate you."
He dropped her hand and gave her a hard stare. "I'll play whatever games I want," he said quietly. "And I will win them."
She wanted to smack him again. Or hex him. Or at least think of a decent reply. But her mind was too crowded with anger and adrenaline, and so she just met his eyes and glared until he looked down at her bandaged arm.
"You'll need a shot of Skele-Gro, but it should be fine by tonight," he said, and snapped twice. A House Elf appeared with a pop. "A drachm of Skele-Gro potion," he ordered.
The creature was back in a moment with a small spoonful of smoking liquid and Ginny drank it with one quick gulp. Even though the dose was tiny, it still felt like swallowing ground glass, and she gagged slightly as it settled in her stomach.
"That'll be all, Milly." The Elf disappeared with a pop.
"All better?" Draco asked, now with an unmistakable edge of sarcasm at the edge of his voice. He reached again for his paper.
Ginny nodded mutely, dropping her splinted arm to her lap. As she rested her fingers on the bare skin of her thigh, she realized that her blanket-toga had slid sideways, giving Draco a clear view of her knickers. She hastily wrapped it more tightly around her body.
"Honestly, Ginevra. I've seen it. There's living proof in the nursery," he drawled from behind the paper.
Cheeks hot from both anger and embarrassment, Ginny stood and let the cover drop. "Fine, then. Where are my clothes?"
"I told you," he said, turning the page. "I haven't moved your clothes."
Ignoring the temptation to grab the sheet, she turned and walked out of the room, glancing back just once to see if he was watching her leave—but his eyes were fixed on his paper.
Her clothes were in the master bedroom, then. What had Draco been doing for three years that he hadn't had time to get rid of her things? He must not have been living in this house the whole time. That would explain a lot.
"Fine," she muttered aloud as she walked up the stairs. "I'll play the stupid game."
She'd overcome the hell of a Malfoy prison once. She could do it again.
A/N: This took a bit longer than I thought it would, and it's not beta-read so please forgive my errors and rapid-fire pacing. I found out that we need to move this month, so all my evenings have gone to packing and apartment hunting. Bother. (Red Ember is forthcoming!)
Thanks for all the lovely feedback on the first chapter. I truly have the best readers. :)
