Author's Note: Glad for the readers! Don't worry, guys. This whole story won't take place in Draco's bedroom. There is much more going on here than just Draco and Ginny… as delightful as those two are.
Despite the exhaustion he felt following dinner, Draco was very reluctant to retire to his suite.
Unfortunately, he had little choice, and so the young wizard made his way out of the dining room and down the manor's antiquated hallways. Long lines of white crown molding followed Draco down the corridors, and the elaborate black and silver carpets muffled his footsteps against the dark hardwood floors. The manor had looked mostly the same for as long as Draco could remember, though that Lucius and Narcissa had allowed it to fall somewhat into disrepair during the war.
This deterioration was something else Draco planned to address, sooner or later. Unfortunately, the many aesthetic updates needed for the manor would have to wait. More pressing matters lay ahead. As Draco stopped at the tall doors and prepared to enter his suite, he made certain to clear his features of any anticipation or anxiety.
Remarkably, Ginny Weasley was right where he had left her for once.
In fact, she looked positively demure, curled up on the hardwood floor with her hands bound at shoulder-level against the wall, her bright auburn hair soft and flowing prettily against her shoulders. She even peered up at Draco with a strangely placid expression, free from the hostility of the past few days.
"Enjoy your quiet day?" taunted Draco, pointing his wand at her. With a quick charm, the silencing spell was lifted, and Ginny shifted in his direction.
"I did, actually," she murmured, and Draco blinked at her unusual tone, caught off guard. He quickly recovered, pulling off his cloak and hanging it in his wardrobe. "It gave me a lot of time to think," went on Ginny, turning her knees until they sat modestly in front of her.
"And what, dare I ask, were you thinking about?" inquired Draco, moving to stand in front of her with his arms crossed.
The littlest Weasley blinked up at Draco with a small smile. "Now that I've eaten and rested, I think my head is starting to clear," she said lightly. "And I believe I'm ready to learn all you have to teach me about this… new society."
Draco raised a brow.
"So, you see," Ginny went on, and oh, her voice could be quite persuasive when she wanted it to be, "you can just… release these binds," she tilted her head at him, batting her lashes. "And I'll do whatever you like, Malfoy. Really."
Draco eyed her, well aware Ginny Weasley was a thorn doing its very best to disguise itself among roses. Rather than let her know he was on to her, Draco pretended to think it over, giving her time to watch him. He even caught a glance of her in the reflection of his mirror, and it was only when Ginny thought he wasn't looking that her eyes flashed with true meaning.
What a sneaky one, he thought, with just a hint of admiration. She would have made a mighty fine Slytherin.
After making her wait for a few moments of thoughtful silence, Draco moved to stand directly in front of her and peered down at her face. "I'm glad you're starting to see things my way, Weasley," he started, before continuing just as sweetly, "…But there is absolutely no way I'm taking off those binds, you loon."
Ginny's serene features instantly transformed into a sharp mask of anger and she shrieked, kicking with all of her strength at the large bookshelf next to her, which she had, some hours ago, sawed the front right leg off of using her dinner knife. The huge case toppled forward with a loud groan.
Draco barely managed to scramble out of the way before the solid oak bookcase and all of its contents could crush him under its weight. Instead, it fell to the floor with a great thundering crash, spilling pieces of wood and books all over the once pristine floor.
"BLOODY HELL, WEASLEY!"
Whirling to face her, Draco found Ginny Weasley still in her spot, looking at him without an ounce of surprise, sympathy or remorse - a bit of disappointment, though. A furious growl built in Draco's chest.
"Everte Statum!"
Ginny's body flew back against the wall with a loud painful thud, and she gasped before collapsing to the floor, her full weight falling to her bound wrists, as they would not reach the floor. She let out a cry of pain before Draco grabbed her binds and dislodged them from the wall, moved her across the floor, and tossed her into the bathroom once more. He locked it with a ridiculously strong charm.
"Bleaker!" snapped Draco to the air.
A house-elf appeared instantly, apparating from within the house. "Watch this door," ordered Draco furiously. "If this bloody witch gets out of this room, I will string you up by your intestines, do you hear me?"
The house-elf's eyes widened and he nodded furiously.
With that, Draco grabbed his things and swept out of the room. He'd sleep in one of the manor's many guest bedrooms tonight.
He didn't want to be anywhere near that Gryffindor scum.
In the desolate English moor where the Malfoy Manor had sat for generations, the morning light dawned dull, grey and dreary.
Draco Malfoy left the house as he did nearly every morning, cloak drawn over his shoulders and wand in its pocket. Normally, he carried a briefcase with him, inherited from his father and bearing a silver snake head on its latch. However, today he left it behind and ventured, not to the business districts where he frequented, but instead to a once familiar alley.
As soon as the required steps had been taken away from the Malfoy Manor's doors, Draco disappeared in a wisp of swirling color, only to reappear moments later just inside the entrance to a cobblestone street which seemed to dead-end at a wall.
It did not, of course, end at the brick wall. But Draco found no reason to use that entrance.
Instead, he started off in a rapid step, hands in the pockets of his cloak. The noises of his boots against the dusty streets were muted by the occasional passing trash, not so frequent as to cause disruption, but certainly more common than it had ever been before. Window after window showed broken glass and black, empty storefronts, and even though a low-hanging sign welcomed shoppers to Diagon Alley with a jovial image of a witch and a broomstick, its efforts were in vain.
None of the faces Draco saw in Diagon Alley were the least bit pleased to be there.
Each witch or wizard Draco passed walked quickly and nervously, eyes averted, each face set in anxious lines. The grey sky from the manor had carried over to the magical district, Draco noticed, his own grey eyes casting upwards to look over the brooding clouds. A wind kicked up, carrying stale scents from the unused buildings, and Draco wrinkled his nose and pulled his scarf further up his face.
"Daily Prophet!" called a wizard, perhaps the only one on the street who dared to make a noise. "Get your copy here!"
Draco paused and pulled out a galleon, which he tossed to the wizard before picking up a copy of the paper. He quickly tucked the rolled up paper into his cloak instead of reading it. The Prophet was nothing more than propaganda for the Ministry – and honestly, in that way, it wasn't much different than from before the war – but as the Ministry was now controlled by a very different entity, the content of the Prophet wasn't news at all, just a set of ominous warnings for the general public.
But the Ministry expected everyone to read the paper anyway, if only for efforts at normalcy, and so Draco always bought it when he could manage. After all, if there was anything Draco knew how to do well, it was play along when told to do so.
Turning a sharp corner to yet another bland and listless street, Draco glanced to his left and spotted Ollivander's Wand Shop. For a moment, he dared to stop and watch. The old wizard wasn't in there, though where he was, Draco couldn't say, because he knew Ollivander had survived the war. The shop was open for business, too, though it was some young apprentice managing the front, rather than the old wizard himself. As Draco watched, the apprentice glanced up at Draco and the two made eye-contact.
The apprentice's eyes widened and he immediately looked away. Draco did the same, turning and walking on.
Finally, he managed to find an open storefront, the one he'd been looking for. It had a few small tables out front, though no one used them. CROSS YOUR TEAS, read the storefront sign, and a metal silhouette of a teacup being stirred by an elaborate capital T moved in slow, lazy motion. Draco ducked inside to the dim tea room, eyes squinting as his vision struggled to adjust.
"Oi, Draco," called a voice.
Draco peered across the small round tables and their tiny centerpiece lights, moving only when he saw the source of the voice. His companion didn't bother to wait for him, instead turning and heading down a set of stairs to a more private area, away from the entrance.
"Take a seat, my friend," said Blaise Zabini, gesturing to the cushioned seats.
Draco did so, falling rather heavily and ungracefully into one and leaning back against the plush fabric. "That bad, eh?" asked Blaise with a smirk. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but a black-haired witch came in at that moment, eyes downcast.
"Good morning, sirs," the waitress greeted, hands running over her serving apron. "What can I do you?"
"Honey lemon," ordered Blaise, eyes still on Draco.
Draco glanced at her. "Earl grey."
The witch nodded once before taking off, moving past the curtain. The shimmer of magic around its edges, which stifled all outsiders from eavesdropping, glimmered as she moved past. As soon as the waitress was gone, Draco dropped his hand heavily to the table.
"Sorry I'm late. Took a bit to find this place," said Draco. "Nothing around here looks the same."
"Is that so?" murmured Blaise. "I hadn't noticed."
At that moment, the witch re-entered with their tea. As she set it down on their table, Draco's eyes flickered to a tattoo on her arm – H.B. The waitress caught him looking, but she only lowered her eyes and straightened, asking them if they needed anything else before disappearing. Blaise drank his tea. "This place is rubbish," he commented.
"It's the only tea shop open right now." Draco sipped at his own tea. "Half of Diagon Alley is gone."
"It'll come back," said Blaise, as many others had said a thousand times. Draco only made a small grunt of agreement. "As the lovely Headmistress of Hogwarts says," continued Blaise, lips quirking at a sardonic smile before he affected a high-pitched tone, "we must all – ahem – do our part!"
Draco rolled his eyes, but he did chuckle just a bit. "Merlin's beard. She is atrocious."
"I agree," remarked Blaise lightly, before setting aside his cup. "Now, come on, then." At Draco's raised brow, the darker wizard leaned back in his chair leisurely and gestured. "Tell me about your new friend," implored Blaise with exaggerated patience.
Draco's features instantly shifted into a scowl. "What? How did you hear?"
"Oh," said Blaise, "it's all the talk. They're the first trial, you know, of the blood traitors. If this reintegration thing works, it'll be the first decent news the Ministry's had to report since the war ended."
"Not if they're reporting on me, they won't," muttered Draco darkly. "I have Weasley."
Blaise's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Ginny Weasley, you mean?" At Draco's grunt, Blaise reached up a hand and tapped his chin thoughtfully. "My, my. That is interesting, indeed." He tilted his head in Draco's direction. "Well? How's it going?"
"Bloody awful, how do you think it's going?" snapped Draco. "That filthy little blood traitor is an animal, I'm telling you. She's wild, like a centaur or something." At Blaise's chuckle, Draco's scowl deepened. "Think I'm joking, do you? Yesterday's homicidal efforts involved a bookcase. She's completely mental."
Blaise's amusement only seemed to grow. "Resourceful," he admitted. "You have to give her credit for that much."
"Shut up," groused Draco, sipping at his tea again. He lowered his voice as he continued. "I have enough to deal with as it is, Blaise. I never asked for a bloody pet. And out of all the pure-bloods being released, the Dark Lord should have known better than to give her to me. She already hates me."
"That's true," conceded Blaise without much sympathy.
Silence fell over the two for a moment and Draco traced the lid of his cup. "Do you think he did it on purpose?" asked Draco after a moment.
"What?"
Draco studied his drink. "Do you think the Dark Lord gave me Weasley because he knew I would fail? Like he did with Dumbledore?" The atmosphere of the small lounge grew considerably more solemn and the amusement faded from Blaise's features.
"You don't know that's what he was doing."
Draco turned his cup slowly in its saucer, eyes on the porcelain. "Yes, I do."
The two young wizards sat in silence for a moment before Blaise waved a hand and said, "I very much doubt the Dark Lord would have done that with Weasley, of all the blood traitors. She's far too important to the cause." When Draco didn't seem convinced, he went on, "Buck up, Draco. If he was willing to risk your failure, he would have used someone far less valuable than Weasley, and you know it."
Draco's eyes flickered up to Blaise before he nodded vaguely. "I suppose you're right," he admitted, only a little comforted.
"Still, though," said Blaise, returning to his normal, unaffected tones. "You'd better figure out something. Because it sounds like whatever you've been doing so far has been – ah, not so successful."
"Well, what am I supposed to do?" whined Draco, annoyed once more. "The bitch is already used to being dirt-poor and starved, so there's nothing I can take away from her. And bribery and torture aren't looking all that promising, either."
"Is that your idea of being convincing?" asked Blaise, amused at Draco's glare. "Bribery and torture? How did you ever land a girlfriend, I wonder."
Draco huffed. "It's not the same, you git – "
"Oh, but it is," cut in Blaise, before he let himself chuckle at Draco. "I mean, you do realize you're probably going to have to marry Weasley, right?"
At this, Draco coughed on his tea, slamming the cup rather forcibly back on the table. "What?" he swiped at his face with a napkin. "Who in the name of Merlin told you that?"
"Well, no one," admitted Blaise, as though Draco were very slow, "but it's a bit common sense, isn't it? I mean, yes, we need pure-bloods back for loads of reasons, but the most basic one is reproduction."
"I know that," seethed Draco, "but not with me. Let the filthy blood traitors marry each other!"
"Right," remarked Blaise dryly, "So they can all continue exactly the same as before, convening with one another whenever they wished and possibly congregating to rise up against the Dark Lord. Honestly, Draco, no wonder no one ever puts you in charge."
At Draco's glare, Blaise continued airily, "The Dark Lord isn't going to let known supporters of Dumbledore just jump right back into their lives without supervision. They're being paired off with trusted Death Eaters, of course. So they can be watched."
A curious mix of fury and panic wormed its way into Draco's blood. Surely his parents wouldn't allow such a thing. "You don't know this for sure."
"I don't, no," admitted Blaise with a casual shrug, "but it makes sense."
It did, as furious as it made Draco to admit, even to himself. Still, no one had told him that, not even when they'd been given their brief overview on how to handle the captives, so at that moment, he chose instead to believe that Blaise was an idiot and ignore him.
"Why haven't you gotten anyone?" grumbled Draco instead. "You're not doing anything productive at all."
"Perhaps the Dark Lord knows I prefer wizards to witches," responded Blaise with a smirk, and Draco rolled his eyes.
"Oh, yes, I'm so sure the Dark Lord is concerned with your sexual preferences."
"Probably not," admitted Blaise. "But really, only a few of the captives have been released. Best not to put them all out at once, you see." He sighed heavily. "Still, I'm sure I'll get one eventually. And I'll be glad for it, because nearly everyone else who's left in this crippled society is closer than a second cousin to me."
At Draco's wry smirk, Blaise continued darkly, "I know some families around here are fine with babies carrying around an extra limb, but I would like to avoid it, if at all possible. I mean, have you seen the Gaunts lately?" Blaise waved his tea cup. "I think they gave up on wizards altogether and just started shagging trolls instead."
At this, Draco actually chuckled, and he and Blaise shared an amused glance before they took their time finishing their tea. "Yes, well," said Draco after a few minutes of silence, "just be glad you don't have to deal with what I have waiting for me at home."
"Oh, I would gladly take Weasley off your hands," quipped Blaise, snapping his fingers. "Like that, mate. She's a fine looking witch, so far as witches go."
Draco sighed heavily and stood, tossing a few galleons onto the table. "If I thought the Dark Lord would allow it, I would deliver her to your front door without a second thought."
"I'm sure," smirked Blaise. With that, the two wizards gathered their things and made their way outside at a leisurely pace. "Hope I helped."
Draco paused on the sidewalk. "By laughing at my expense and giving me a bunch of gossip?"
Blaise paused and nodded. "Well, yes, of course."
"No, you didn't," deadpanned Draco. "You probably just made things worse. But I'll allow it, considering my options for friends are few and far between."
"Heartwarming," responded Blaise with a sly smile, unperturbed. "So where is she, by the way? Weasley?"
Draco shrugged on his coat. "Locked in a bathroom," he started, before his features clenched and he groaned. "Bollocks," Draco scowled. "I left that bloody house-elf in charge of her. He's probably been standing in front of the damn door for twelve hours now."
Blaise snorted. "House-elves are so stupid."
"I know," grunted Draco. "I have to go." As he moved to leave, though, Blaise stopped him.
"Just give it some thought, Draco," said Blaise, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Your problem, I mean. You do know this girl a bit, after all... Use your brain to get to her." At Draco's pensive stare, Blaise quirked his lips and started off, before disappearing with a crack.
"Right," Draco muttered bitterly, before he, too, disappeared.
In the bathroom of Draco Malfoy's suite, Ginny Weasley wondered, briefly, if anyone planned to feed her that day.
The house-elf was lingering nearby, but he didn't seem to have any notion at all of moving away from the door, much less fetching her some food. She thought about just asking – he could probably hear her, after all – but she didn't want to get him in trouble, so she simply stayed where she was on the floor.
Her hands were still bound, but at least she wasn't chained to a wall anymore, which meant she was free to walk around the impressively large bathroom. She gave herself another bath, more out of boredom than anything, and she took her time carefully combing through her hair, though it was difficult with the restraints on her wrists.
Sometime in the evening, she heard the doors open, and Draco Malfoy's voice echoed outside, barking at the house-elf, whose shadow disappeared from under the small gap between the door and the floor. Ginny scrambled to put the porcelain tub between herself and Draco, instantly defensive as the doors opened and he stepped through.
Draco paused in the entryway, eyes glancing around suspiciously before he looked to her.
"Get out here, Weasley," he said simply, when he wasn't immediately beheaded by some kind of contraption. Ginny paused, a bit unnerved by his calm tones. Stepping out of the bathroom uncertainly, she took a moment to stretch out her legs, kicking them under her grey robes. She'd finally put on the slippers, too, and her feet felt pleasantly warm and cozy.
Draco turned to face her, and she moved to dart away, but he simply tapped his wand on her binds. They disappeared, freeing her hands and wrists. Ginny blinked in surprise, moving instantly to rub her sensitive skin. As she watched, Draco Malfoy took a very long time evaluating her. Then he stepped back, removed his cloak, and moved over to his bar of liquors and potions.
"Do you play wizard's chess, Weasley?"
Ginny raised a brow, eyeing the row of shining glasses a bit distractedly before she processed his question. "A bit," she said at last. "Why?"
"A bit?" repeated Draco, bringing a tumbler to his lips and sipping at something. "So does that mean you're rubbish at it, then?"
Ginny narrowed her eyes, her pride instantly kicking up in response to his words. "No, of course not. I'm very good. Just haven't played in a while, that's all." In truth, Ron was far better than her, even though he had been the one to teach her. Still, she opted not to mention that. Best not to show weakness to the silver snake.
Draco approached her. "Good," he said sharply. "Because you and I are going to make a little wager." Before Ginny could protest, he brought up a hand to silence her. "One game of wizard's chess. Right now. And if you win, I will … " he paused, meeting her eyes, " … let you leave here. Freely, without a fight."
Ginny stared, her heart suddenly pounding hard in her chest, try as she might to make it slow. A curious burn pushed its way up her throat. "Stop lying."
"I'm not lying," Draco promised evenly.
"Shut up."
"I won't help you escape, Weasley, but neither will I stop you or alert anyone else to do so. I swear it on my grandfather's grave."
Ginny's features, drawn with suspicion, studied him for a moment as she paced. "And what do you want if you win?"
Draco drained the rest of his drink and set it down rather loudly. "Honestly, I'm hoping you win, so I don't have to look at you anymore," he told her bitterly, before adding, "but if I do win, I want you to shut up and stop fighting me all the time. Understand?"
"Why would you do this?" asked Ginny sharply. "Why would you risk having to let me go, if that really is what you intend to do?"
"Because, Weasley," snapped Draco as he rounded to face her, eyes flashing, "I don't want your filthy blood traitor corpse lingering around here anymore than you do. Not to mention the fact I don't much relish the idea of having to constantly babysit a lunatic. Oh, and – " he made himself another drink, " – I would also like to be able to use my quarters again without worrying about getting crushed to death, so there's that as well. Really, Weasley, take your bloody pick. I can go on if you'd like."
Excellent points, in Ginny's opinion, and they were, at least, consistent with his character. Draco Malfoy was nothing if not selfish, and he'd grown up as an only child. It was quite obvious he didn't appreciate having to share his space with her. Still…
"If I escaped, Voldemort would be furious with you," the young witch reminded him, eyes narrowed.
Draco meandered over to the corner of his bedroom, where a square table sat, a chessboard waiting and ready. Draco took a seat and studied his glass. "Yeah, well, what else is new," he muttered lowly, eyes on the amber liquid. When Ginny remained standing, unmoving in the center of the room, he looked over at her with raised brows.
"So are we playing this game or what, Weasley? I don't have all night."
A heartbeat passed in silence. Then Ginny walked over to Draco's shelf of liquors, picked up the bottle he'd poured his drink out of, and then grabbed a glass of her own before coming over and promptly dropping into a seat opposite him. Draco stared, dumbfounded, as Ginny poured herself a drink and then tossed it back in one gulp.
For a moment, she managed to control her features. Then Ginny let out a low whooshing breath.
"Bugger, that's strong," she coughed.
"That's because it's not the cheap swill you're used to drinking, you classless swine," pointed out Draco bitterly, snatching the bottle and refilling his glass. Still, he left it on the edge of the table where their chessboard sat, and Ginny got herself another half-glass before turning her attention to the table.
After a moment, she pointed. "I want white."
"Fine," Draco turned the board around. "Ready to lose, Weasley?"
"Not a chance, Malfoy," she responded, her eyes raking the board eagerly. A competitive instinct kicked up in her chest then, and it was exhilarating. For a moment, Ginny's heart fluttered to life, and she glanced up in time to see Draco watch her face for a moment before he gestured and leaned back in his seat, glass in hand.
"Your move, Weasley."
The game started with a flourish, and with every movement made by the players, the chess pieces seemed to grow more animated and combative. Outside of the player's commands to their lively pieces, the conversation was held to a minimum, with only the occasional passing comment made. It went on this way for quite a while, with each of them working against one another with intense focus.
"Knight to E5," said Ginny nearly a half-hour later, her fingers twitching at her glass. She wanted more, but she and Draco had made it halfway through the bottle of Firewhiskey, and she needed to keep her wits about her. She watched as her knight piece called out its battle cry and hurried forward, straight into the fray.
"Interesting," noted Draco with only a hint of sarcasm. "Despite the fact that you have almost no strategy at all."
"Just make your move, Malfoy."
He did so, eyes lifting to hers. "Check."
Ginny's eyes widened, and her chest suddenly tightened, pulling in on its center with terrifying strength. Fighting to keep the panic off her face, Ginny quickly moved her pieces to block his. Still, three moves later, he was in check again, and she knew, even without making a move, that he'd beat her.
"Checkmate," he said when she didn't move, and his piece wiggled into its proper winning position, smashing all the opposition in its way.
Ginny sank back in her seat, deflated. Her furrowed brows and crumpled expression stayed on the board, even as her broken pieces cried out against their defeat. After several long seconds of silence, in which neither of them said or moved at all, Ginny leaned forward and picked up the Firewhiskey again, filling her glass and taking one long gulp.
"Would you really have let me go?" she asked dully, when Draco didn't speak.
Across the table from her, Draco raised both brows. "Yes," he said. "Does that make you feel better or worse?"
"I'm not sure," she murmured, eyes still low.
At this, Draco leaned forward and swept the pieces away before taking in a deep breath. "Look, Weasley. I would have let you go if you'd won, but truth is, you would have never made it out of this house, and I know that. Besides me and my mother, there's always other Death Eaters hanging around, coming and going, and one of them would have stopped you for certain."
Ginny responded to this by drinking more of the Firewhiskey from her glass.
Draco continued, "Not to mention the loads of magical barriers and defenses around this place. Even if I hadn't lifted a finger to stop you, you would have never made it off the property."
"So I'm really trapped, then," Ginny noted quietly.
Draco studied her from his spot. "You don't have to be."
At this, Ginny looked up slowly, her eyes searching out his. What an unusual shade of grey, she noted apathetically. Like stone. "What am I doing here, Malfoy? Really?"
Something seemed to cross Draco's mind at her question, but after a moment's consideration, he appeared to dismiss it. "You're here" he said, leaning on the table with his elbows, because the whiskey was starting to get to him, she imagined, "because only twelve of the twenty-eight pure-blood families left in Great Britain are represented in the Death Eaters. Without reintroducing the other families who managed to survive the war, our population would die out much too quickly."
"And what if we don't want to take part in Voldemort's society?" asked Ginny, lifting her chin. "What if all the prisoners would just rather see it burn?"
As she expected, Draco scowled at this, though it was without any real venom. Instead, he just looked tired. "Then he'll kill you, Weasley. What do you think?"
"Surely he'd want to try his hardest, though," Ginny mused aloud, taking a swig of her own drink, her head a bit cloudy. If she'd felt fearless before, it was because death would have been a blessing. Now, she could hardly seem to care about whether she lived or died at all, despite her hunger for information. "If he's this desperate, he wouldn't just kill us right off for refusing. He'd want us convinced."
"Hence why you are with me," intoned Draco dryly, leaning back in his chair again. "And I've got news for you, Weasley. You're one of some sixty pure-blood prisoners, but you're lucky enough to be part of the very first group. Most others are still languishing in cells, just like you were." Ginny's jaw tightened and her eyes dropped once more. She put down her half-full glass and let her hand fall, no longer content to hold it.
"Which means," continued Draco pointedly, "Their potential freedom is entirely contingent upon your successful reintegration."
"I don't want to do this," she admitted in a low whisper. "Why can't I just be cast off? I just want to be done with all this."
At her words, Draco reached forward and nudged her glass back at her with a single long digit. "Because," he said pointedly, with only a small bite of irritation in his tone, "you were the second half of Harry bloody Potter, that's why."
Ginny's eyes flickered at the name, but the rest of her face remained impassive. After a moment, she took the glass again at his suggestion, bringing it to her lips as Draco continued, "If the Dark Lord can show everyone that even you, Ginny Weasley, are willing to accept the way things are, it will help bring everyone else around."
A soft noise of distress made its way up Ginny's throat, and she stared hard at a distant corner. "All the more reason not to do it."
"Possibly," conceded Draco. "Would you like to know a reason why you should?"
Ginny cast him a disbelieving stare at this, but she gestured for him to go on. Draco swirled his drink in his glass and waited a long moment before speaking. "It's bad out there," he told her quietly. "For everyone."
That wasn't what Ginny had expected to hear, and certainly not in such a soft, sincere tone. Draco didn't elaborate, and so Ginny leaned forward cautiously, her eyes finally moving to his face again. "What's happening?"
Before answering, Draco finished off the rest of the Firewhiskey, dividing it between their two glasses. "Well, let's see," he said, and Ginny watched as a dark cloud formed over his features, so sudden and transformative, her hazy, addled mind had trouble believing it could be insincere.
"The economy is in shambles, what with everything that needs to be repaired and reordered. Pure-bloods aren't always the best at operating on a mercantile scale, so well over half of the businesses in Diagon Alley are closed. There's too few consumers and even fewer suppliers, and the result is that unless you work directly for the Ministry, your clan is losing gold, and fast."
"Yes, I can imagine the Carrows wouldn't care much for shopkeeping," commented Ginny wryly.
"Course not," agreed Draco, slurring just a little. "And really, that's what the half-bloods are supposed to be for, but there's not enough of them, either."
"Why not?"
Draco shrugged. "Most died in the war or fled. The Dark Lord is allowing them to marry pure-bloods, of course, but they're marked, and not many of the Death Eater families want to take a risk at marrying them."
"Marked?" questioned Ginny, brows furrowed.
Draco responded with another shrug. "Mm, there needed to be some kind of distinction, some sort of class system. So, half-bloods carry tattoos on their arms now. It means they're allowed to live here, but until they can purify their bloodlines - and that would take generations - they're still the … lower."
"That's ghastly," said Ginny flatly.
"They're not supposed to leave," went on Draco, "if they get caught leaving Great Britain, they'll be imprisoned. But some still do. There's just too little here for them right now."
"And you really expect me to believe that my siding with Voldemort will somehow make things better for them?" asked Ginny sharply. "What kind of fool would believe that?"
Draco scowled. "The kind of fool who realizes that the more witches and wizards there are to operate within the society, the better the chances of any kind of growth. If we keep at it like this, with just the Death Eater families, the magical population of Great Britain will die out, Weasley. Gone. Centuries of magical families left with nothing."
Ginny leaned forward and hissed, "Well, Voldemort should have thought of that before he started killing everyone. And one of you idiots should have reminded him!"
"Oh, right," said Draco sardonically, "because even we love a chance to correct the Dark Lord. Think, Weasley. Sure, we'd hoped more wizards would survive the war, but they didn't, and now we're stuck with this."
"This is all just – just fucked, Malfoy," snapped Ginny, before reaching for the bottle of Firewhiskey, only to find it empty. "Oh, bloody hell."
"See what you did, Weasley," said Draco with a scowl. "A hundred and twenty Galleons, that was."
"And I could have gotten just as drunk off a cheap bottle of Giggle Water," Ginny snarked in reply, before staggering to her feet. Draco did the same, making no motion to help her as she ambled over to the couch in front of the fireplace and collapsed onto it.
"I hate this new world," she murmured blearily, face pressed against the velvet.
Behind her, Draco staggered over to his bed. "Well, get over it," he told her before yanking off his boots. "Because it's the one you live in now."
