The trees stood like knives
And claimed us for their own
I'm sold down the river
Before I knew I had enough
Before I knew I'd sink deeper
Than where you'll stop
But I look up
Until I lose the light
- 'The River' by The Darcys
Ginny spent the day in the gardens. They were beautiful, and the sun was warm, but she felt cold and hollow. She hadn't seen Draco or Narcissa since that morning. Runky appeared just after three with a tea tray, but she could only pick at it before giving up and staring into the distance.
She felt listless and depressed. She wanted to go home. She felt bad for hurting Draco's feelings, which was odd, but she wasn't sure what, if anything, to do about it. If she apologised, would he even accept it? She wasn't sure.
She sat there on the stone bench, surrounded by Narcissa's immaculately kept white roses. With a hint of vindictiveness she began to pick some, plucking off the thorns before weaving the stems together.
It was starting to get dark, which brought a chill to the air. Autumn was coming, and the nights were getting colder. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, wondering if she would be expected to join the Malfoys for dinner, and decided she couldn't stomach a meal with them.
It was fully dark when she heard footsteps in the garden. She knew who it was without turning, but carried on with her flower crown.
"It's getting cold out," Draco said from somewhere behind her.
She didn't reply, but picked another rose with a quick snap of the stem.
He sighed and came closer, sitting on the bench next to her, facing back to the house. She looked surreptitiously sideways at him, saw the contemplative look on his face as he stared at the Manor, the way his fingers were steepled in his lap, and wrinkled her nose. She didn't know what to do with this Draco. He was surprising her at every turn, and she felt off-balance with the entire situation. The angry Draco of her sixth year she had been able to handle, but this man next to her was a stranger. He had depths that she couldn't see, couldn't understand. His attitude seemed to change by the minute, and she couldn't understand why, except to think that perhaps his niceness was an act and the bursts of temper were his true nature, as they had been before.
But that didn't feel right anymore. And in his seventh year he'd been nothing but a scared boy. Now he was a grown man, running a Manor and being an adult while most people their age were enjoying a carefree life without the threat of Voldemort looming over them.
She shook her head, and he turned towards her. "Here," he said, standing again, and wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. At first she felt the urge to protest, to shrug it off and let it become soiled on the ground, but it was warm and she was acutely aware of how childish that would be.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
"I'm sorry," he said, and she reflexively twitched. "I shouldn't have snapped at you this morning."
She waited, but that appeared to be it. A snide comment welled inside her, and she squashed it down and cleared her throat. "Thank you. I shouldn't have snapped either."
Silence fell over them again, and she shifted uncomfortably before picking another flower, mentally daring him to say something. He didn't, so she began to weave it into the crown. A sharp pain in her finger made her hiss, and she watched as blood welled from the cut of a missed thorn.
He tutted at her and before she could protest he had taken her hand in his, healing it quickly before vanishing the blood. "Thank you," she muttered, wishing he would stop being so nice as he let go of her. It was harder to know how to act. She was trapped here, though it didn't appear to be his fault, but she was still angry about it and wished she had a good excuse to take it out on him. But no, he was being kind and understanding and noble, inviting her insane mother to breakfast and conversing kindly with her father and giving her his cloak… It was all too much for her mind to comprehend.
He held out another rose to her and she blinked in surprise. She finished the circlet and held it in her lap, admiring the beautiful roses and avoiding Draco's eyes. Then he was taking it gently from her, reaching over her to place it on her hair. As his hands dropped he brushed a piece of hair behind her ear, and she blushed furiously. "Will you come inside? It's supper time, and you should eat."
"Have you heard from your father?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"No. Nor any news from St Mungo's. Please come and eat… I don't need your mother coming back to accuse me of mistreating you," he said wryly, and that drew a small smile from her. "She's terrifying," he added, and Ginny fully grinned at him.
"Definitely not wise to get on her bad side. I guess I'll come in… but should I change before I eat?"
Draco laughed, that dimple appearing again on his cheek. "No need, we aren't that posh."
"Could have fooled me," she teased. "Honestly I was expecting evening gowns and black tie."
"Only on Fridays," he said with a serious tone, but his lingering smile told her he was kidding. Maybe. He stood and offered her his arm, and she wasn't sure why she accepted, but she did. He led her back to the house, and she found herself examining his profile. The light from the windows cast a golden sheen on his pale skin and white hair, giving him an ethereal glow that blurred his features and made him look almost kind.
Almost.
She smirked to herself, unable to completely forget the pointy, awful boy he had been in his youth, knowing it would annoy him.
When they entered the dining room Narcissa raised an eyebrow at the flowers in Ginny's hair, but said nothing. She felt momentarily abashed, but then decided she didn't care. It was Draco's fault as much as hers, after all. The table was laid beautifully, cream silk runners over the dark wood, porcelain plates edged with gold and crystal goblets everywhere. It was set for eight, and Ginny hesitated. "Are you expecting guests?" she asked.
"No," Draco answered in a tone that suggested she was the strange one for asking. She rolled her eyes, and then he pulled her chair out for her and she rolled them again. She had dreamed her whole life of being part of a family with money, of not having to wear hand-me-downs and to go without, and now that she was seeing a tiny bit of what it might be like she was completely bored of the idea.
Dinner was a lovely roast with all the proper trimmings, and she did her best to be politely involved with the small talk, even though it was all dreadfully tedious.
Narcissa excused herself before dessert, and Ginny wished she hadn't. Now she and Draco were left staring at each other from across the table, nothing but the light scraping of cutlery on china to fill the silence. Well, her cutlery was scraping. Draco seemed to have mastered some Pureblood technique that made no noise whatsoever, and she found herself staring in curiosity.
"Can I help you?" he finally asked, and that damned irritation flared again.
"Can you go just five minutes without being a total arse?!" she said angrily.
He sneered at her. "You're staring while I eat, and it's rude. Someone ought to teach you some manners."
Ginny laughed with derision. "And I suppose you would be the one to do it?"
"No," he said with a sniff. "It would be a waste of my time."
"Oh, that's it," she cried, standing and slamming her palms on the table. "You're insufferable." Then, surprisingly, she burst into tears. Mortified, she tried to calm her heaving breaths, eyes burning with anger and sadness.
"Ginny-" he began, looking stricken.
"Shut up! I'm sick of you and this ridiculous house and I want to go home!" Then she turned on her heel and made to leave, but stopped at the door to get in one last barb. "You're a fake and a fraud. Everything nice about you is just you wanting to be adored again but I've seen right through it from the beginning, and once I get out of here I'll make sure that everyone knows what you're really like!" She glared through her tears, wishing she could punch his stupid nose in, and then stomped off to her room.
When she finally got back, she flung herself onto the bed without bothering to change, and was asleep in minutes.
Breakfast the next day was awkward, to say the least. Whatever that moment in the garden had been the night before had passed, and now they were unable to look each other in the eye. Ginny pushed her eggs around on her plate morosely, eyes still feeling swollen and angry after the emotional day she'd had yesterday.
Eventually, Draco folded his paper and eyed her levelly. "There's a broom in the shed, if you wanted," he said, and she blinked in surprise.
"A broom?"
"Yes, for flying," he said with the air of someone who thought quite a lot of himself.
She rolled her eyes. "You're such a prat. I'm aware of what brooms are for. Professional Quidditch player, remember? Better than you at it, anyway."
"Well nobody was clamouring to get their hands on a Death Eater, exactly," he bit off, and Ginny felt momentarily abashed before remembering that she was still unbelievably angry with him.
"Maybe just to kill you," she said coldly.
"Maybe," he replied in a matching icy tone.
They glared at each other for a few more tense moments before he suddenly stood and exited with a muttered 'excuse me,' and Ginny was left feeling very guilty for some reason. It wasn't as if she felt she was wrong about the things she had said, but he did seem to be somewhat hurt.
Then, out of nowhere, she thought of Harry and how different he was to Draco. Harry was kind and thoughtful, but Harry had also broken her heart. He had never come back to her, never even after the Battle of Hogwarts, and she had made a fool of herself for months over it. Draco was abrasive and rude and didn't seem to actually care about anyone but himself.
He had also offered her a broom to go flying. Not quite an apology, but still an olive branch, and they had somehow ended up lashing out at each other instead. Or, rather, she had lashed out at him. She chewed her lip, feeling horrible. She could be just as angry and quick-tempered as he, and did that make her a selfish person? Or perhaps she was wrong about him after all. They did seem to have the uncanny ability to get under each others' skin, and when she thought back to how he'd talked to her and held her while they danced, she couldn't make herself believe he was all bad.
Which meant she owed him an apology.
Setting her jaw, Ginny left the dining room and decided to find Draco.
After an hour of searching and getting nowhere, she remembered that they had house-elves. "Runky!" she called out in some dark abandoned wing of the house, and a loud crack announced the elf's arrival. "Runky! Where's Draco?"
"Good morning, Miss! Master Draco has gone out, and won't return until supper," she squeaked, wringing her hands.
Ginny felt her stomach sink. "Alright then. Can you please tell me when he returns? And, uh, perhaps lead me back to the main part of the house…? I'm not sure how I got here," she added sheepishly.
"Of course, Miss! Follow Runky!" Ginny followed the little elf as she tottered through the halls, and when they returned to the grand staircase she made a split-second decision. Thanking Runky, she sprinted up the stairs to her room and quickly changed. Her mum had sent over some clothes, and her old Quidditch gear was included. She would fly, and hopefully that would distract her enough to ignore the pit in her stomach until she could apologise.
She had been flying for a couple of hours when she happened to look down and see Narcissa staring up at her. Immediately she angled her broom downwards, zooming to the ground and jumping off before she had even stopped completely. "Is there any news?" she panted, nearly stumbling as her feet touched the ground.
The look on Narcissa's face could have curdled milk. "Yes and no. The Healer is here, so you should come in and hear for yourself." Ginny followed her back to the house, unsure if Narcissa's ire was for her or the Healer or the news that she brought.
Healer Davis was waiting for them in the drawing-room. Ginny was beginning to detest that room even more with its pastel sterility and its tendency to play host to bad news. She briefly considered lighting a pastel pink chaise on fire, but decided against it as Narcissa was already so tense.
"Ginevra!" Healer Davis greeted her warmly. "You're looking well! Have you been feeling alright?"
"Yes, thank you," she said.
Then, the door opening distracted them all. Draco strode purposefully into the room, all swirling black robes and sharp features. He looked tense as well, and Ginny felt a bolt of fear pierce her. Was there something going on that she didn't know?
"Have you discovered a way to break the enchantment?" she asked hoarsely.
"I'm afraid not," replied the Healer. "I do, however, have some questions before we proceed. Mrs Malfoy, do you know who the last one to touch the flowers was before Ginevra's mishap?"
"I- no. Perhaps one of the elves…?"
"It was me," Draco interrupted. "I'm the one who put them in the cabinet. Why?" he asked in a demanding tone.
"We'll come back to that," Healer Davis said dismissively, and Ginny grinned. "Are you sure nobody else touched them since you did, Mr Malfoy?"
"Well, I suppose I'm not completely certain, but people aren't usually in there snooping about," he said snidely, and Ginny's grin fell from her face. "The elves clean the office, but they know not to go into any of the cupboards. And even if they did, elf magic is different."
Healer Davis nodded. "It is, that's true. And Mrs Malfoy, have you heard at all from your husband yet?"
"No, not yet," she said in a clipped tone. "Our letters often take days…"
"Of course," the Healer said gently. "Well, after much research and testing, we have a tentative hypothesis. We believe the flowers are a very old type of wedding gift. They would be given to a new bride on her wedding night, as they were given to you, Mrs Malfoy. They would help to foster a sense of love and connection between the newlyweds. However, we aren't sure yet of the full extent of the enchantment, except that it appears to have tethered Miss Weasley to your home. Knowing that Mr Malfoy was the last one to touch them leads me to believe that the enchantment is treating her as Mr Malfoy's bride."
Ginny's skin prickled and a wave of nausea nearly overwhelmed her. "I'm sorry, what?" she asked weakly. Draco looked just as horrified as she did, and she wasn't sure if she was comforted or insulted.
"Don't get upset just yet," the Healer cautioned. "If you've had no other symptoms then that may be the extent of the enchantment."
"May be?" Ginny squeaked. "That's quite bad enough I think! What else could there be?"
"Well…" the Healer looked quite uncomfortable. "Some of the research team believes that the enchantment could compel you to stay closer to each other. A manifestation of physical symptoms that might become increasingly uncomfortable the longer you're apart."
"Physical symptoms," Ginny repeated dully, then sat down hard on the couch behind her. "Like what?"
"Dizziness. Nausea, perhaps. If the separation is too prolonged you may faint. How are you feeling now?"
"Dizzy and nauseous," she snapped. "How else am I supposed to feel? And what, exactly, am I supposed to do about this?" She was aware that her voice was getting more shrill and hysterical, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. "We can barely stand to be in the same room, let alone- well, whatever it is you're suggesting!"
"Please, Miss Weasley, I'm only trying to help. If you have any symptoms like that, simple skin-to-skin contact should be more than enough to assuage the enchantment. It is, after all, not a curse."
"And you know that definitively, do you?" she sniped.
"As a matter of fact, we do," Healer Davis replied. "If you do start having more symptoms, please inform us. And until then, we'll continue to do our best to get you home. Thank you, Mrs Malfoy," she finished stiffly, and a moment later she was gone in a flash of green fire.
The silence was oppressive. Ginny's face was burning with indignation and she could hear her pulse pounding in her ears. The thought of being magically tethered to Malfoy Manor was awful, but the thought of depending on Draco Malfoy for her health and well-being was so detestable that she wanted to scream.
"Are you alright?" Narcissa asked, and Ginny found herself surprised by the gentleness in her voice.
"I- no. I mean, yes, I'm just… This is all such a shock and I suppose I don't know how I feel." She chanced a glance at Draco, who might as well have been carved from marble for all the expression on his face. How unhelpful. "I think… I think I just need to lie down for a bit."
Narcissa nodded and helped her up from the chaise, directing Draco to escort her to her room before she could protest.
They didn't speak, at first, until they were halfway up the staircase.
"You went flying," he said in a curious sort of tone.
"Yes," she ventured carefully. Then, she remembered the reason why. "I'm sorry. For this morning, I mean. I was terribly cruel."
He seemed at a loss for a moment. "I'm… I apologise, as well. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. Ever."
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, which persisted until they reached her room. "I suppose… if you start to feel ill… have Runky fetch me," he said, looking somewhere over the top of her head.
"Yes, thank you," she said just as awkwardly in return.
He left, and she heaved a huge sigh of relief as she shut the door and flopped onto her bed.
She cannot die, but she becomes weak. She doesn't move from the bed, doesn't explore her opulent prison, does not seek the company of her captor. The trays of food continue to appear and then get replaced, until one day they don't. She wonders if he has gotten bored of her already, if he'll leave her now to languish forever. There is no sunlight to tell the time, but she guesses that three days pass with no food before he returns.
"You're weak," he states when he enters her room. "You must eat."
"I must do nothing," she says weakly, wishing she could summon more ire. He sits on the edge of her bed and pins her with his smouldering grey eyes. She isn't sure if he's angry or something else, at first, until he speaks.
"Will you come and see something? I'll help you." He sounds genuinely hopeful, and before she can change her mind she's nodding. He reaches for her, helping her from the bed with a firm grip and an effortless ease, but when she tries to stand her legs are too weak to hold her. He lifts her then, bundles her into his arms like she's little more than a rag doll, and carries her gently from the room. She can do nothing but cling to him, her arms wrapped around his neck and a pretty blush colouring her cheeks as he walks down endless dark halls.
She thinks of how easy it would be to get lost in the winding corridors and tightens her grip, wondering if perhaps he means to leave her somewhere. She would like to think he couldn't be so cruel, but she knows nothing of his true nature.
Then, they turn into a cavern, and she gasps aloud.
He must be powerful indeed to have done what he has done. Although there is no sun and no rain he has made a garden. The plants are thriving despite the lack of soil. She knows what they all mean, from red roses to purple hyacinths, knows that this is a garden of love that he has made her, and it nearly brings her to tears. "What… what is this?" she stammers, looking up into his face with a hesitant sort of joy.
"It's for you," he says, reticent. They're dancing around each other, hiding their feelings in fear of the other's reaction, and she decides that it's a game she doesn't want to play. She hugs him as tightly as she can with her shaking arms, burying her face in his neck to hide her tears of joy, and feels him heave a deep breath against her. His hands tighten, fingers digging into her - although not enough to hurt - and a curious thrill shoots up her spine. Whatever she does to him makes her feel powerful somehow, alive in a way she's never felt before. She angles her face, breathes against his neck, and he shudders.
When they pull away, she feels shy and abashed. There's a part of her that understands the want, but she is also frightened of what it means. He doesn't reach for her, doesn't push her, but she sees how his pupils are blown wide and the way his jaw is set and she knows that he would do anything to make her happy except let her leave.
She wants to cry, both from joy and sorrow, as she turns away from him and sits amongst her flowers. She hardens her heart; she will not let him win her over so easily.