24 – Under Pressure
Ginny's spirit was renewed.
The few hours talking to her mother about her family and James' experiences in the last years had been a balm for her tormented soul.
And as soon as Molly left – hurried by a message from Percy's Patronus saying she must not lose the Portkey he had prepared for her – Ginny got up from her bed, took an invigorating bath, went to see James (who could not be happier at seeing her well, what caused her some considerable regret because of her previous behaviour) and sent Olivia a message, asking her to come as soon as she could.
It was time to move and get Draco out of prison, after all, he had ended up there because of her, hadn't he? She pushed out of her mind any additional reasons for her efforts and force herself to be guided only by her instinct to settle the score with him.
She owned him that much.
Plus: she could not fix things her way – Ginny Weasley's way (notably boiled down to breaking into the prison and hexing every Death Eater until she got to Draco). No, she needed to be smart about it. Needed to use the weapons she had at her disposal.
Living with Draco had taught her a valuable lesson: sometimes the subtlety, the influence, and a name's weight were far more effective than the blind, intemperate bravery.
She would get Draco out of prison by being a complete Slytherin.
And after that, they would talk as he had promised her. She would tell him about their baby, it was past time for her to be open about it. Like her mother had said – fairly so – Draco had the right to know.
And then… Well, the future belonged to the universe, but for once, Ginny was hopeful, even though she did not know exactly for what.
When Olivia arrived and was welcomed into the comfort of Ginny's cozy living room, the redhead was already properly dressed, her hair pulled back in a bun that gave her a professional, resolute look.
"Thank you for coming, Olivia." She greeted the older witch with a smile. "It's very important to me."
"I'm glad to see that you survived any gossip you may have heard." Olivia smiled her big smile and this time it had a hint of mischief in it.
"I did survive." Ginny blushed automatically. "Not completely unscathed though."
"Calm down, dear." Olivia hurried to say, noting Ginny's embarrassment. "It wasn't as bad as it could've been. It seems to be in You-Know-Who's best interest that Draco's arrest remains anonymous."
"And why is that?" Ginny asked, suspicious of any potentially benevolent attitude from Voldemort.
"Draco has been playing a satisfying role in his Department and such a scandal could undermine the image people need to have of those who run the Ministry."
Ginny was grateful that her friend understood so much about Death Eater's politics. That knowledge – and burden – was a natural consequence of living for so many years directly with them and Ginny could not help but wondering whether it was her destiny to carry that responsibility as well.
Focusing on her most urgent problem, Ginny sat in her sofa one more time, now a little more relieved. The situation might not be so bad after all.
"I must get Draco out of prison. I can't stand the idea that he was arrested because of-" Ginny searched for the right word for a while before completing. "- a misunderstanding. A carelessness of mine."
Sitting gracefully beside her, Olivia regarded her with a glint of amusement in her tourmaline eyes.
"Let's just say everyone was careless. There were no innocents in this story..." However, in the next instant she regained her seriousness. "But you do well to want to get him out of there. There were few people in the hall at Hogwarts that day and, luckily, no one who could be more harmful or a blabbermouth. The matter was duly hushed up under orders from above - and also due to the influence of Blaise's connections - but you have to understand that Draco has an enviable position at the Ministry. And he has enemies, dear, never underestimate that."
"But..." Ginny murmured more to herself than to Olivia, trying to organise her ideas. "I thought they all shared the same goals."
Olivia smiled somewhat sadly at Ginny, as if the younger witch were still a girl full of innocence about the world.
"It doesn't mean that they don't betray and aim to destroy each other sometimes." Olivia put her hand on Ginny's, comforting the younger witch. "This is politics, after all."
Politics, she thought with disdain.
Ginny had definitely never liked it. She had not been made for cold courtesies, for alliances based on interest, for impending betrayals, always on the prowl waiting for the slightest slip.
"It's wonderful to live in a world where the basis of alliances isn't respect and affinity, but the union of their hatred in the name of a common goal." Her bitter laughter reflected her mood.
"And yet this is how the system works." Olivia stated, trying to illustrate her point. "Have you ever seen how Goyle looks at Draco, for example?"
When Ginny shook her head slightly trying to push away the unpleasant memories she had of Goyle – of his body on top of hers in the Forbidden Forest, of how he had groped her when he robbed her shop –, the older witch continued her warning.
"Then open your eyes to the things around you, my dear. Smile, but never let your guard down. Talk, but never reveal too much. Listen and always be alert."
Ginny leaned against the sofa, sighing tiredly and Olivia released her hand, standing up to peer through the curtains that covered the large windows, as if she were afraid of being overheard.
"Just like Goyle, other people also might want to get rid of Draco. They think he's too prestigious as the Head of Ministry's main department and has more autonomy than would be appropriate."
"And autonomy and independence were never concepts that pleased You-Know-Who regarding his subordinates." Ginny completed absently, thinking of Snape not for the first time in all these years. And that did not help her at all.
"Exactly." Olivia nodded, pleased that Ginny was following her reasoning correctly. "A whispered word is likely appear here and there, maybe an insinuation... And if this kind of thing can get the elusive mind of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to start looking at your husband's situation differently, maybe it'll be Draco's doom. The people at his service don't retire, as you may know. They are simply discarded."
"This is the perfect opportunity to discredit Draco in front of You-Know-Who..." Ginny paled and Olivia nodded slightly.
"The longer he remains in prison, the more powerful the argument become that he isn't needed and that he betrayed the Ministry's trust with a childish transgression… We were lucky that it didn't spread or fall into the hands of unscrupulous people like Rita Skeeter."
Ginny knew this was all true and felt a surge of sympathy for the witch who had become her safe haven, full of sensible advice. Still, she blushed again as forced herself to bring up the other subject that was bothering her.
"About Blaise, he-" Her voice died when she could not come up with an ideal sentence to express her concern about her friend.
Olivia chuckled at Ginny's reaction.
"He'll be fine and free in no time, dear. Mr. Zabini has the most important weapon in the world, whether wizard or muggle: he works with information. There are a lot of people who want to get him out of there; not because they like him - even though he is a very charming and attractive young man," She peered at Ginny playfully and the redhead felt like hiding her face under a pillow. "but because these people owe him a lot of favors."
Ginny could not contain her sigh of relief. Even though Blaise had been a bloody idiot going after Draco and defying him, she would have been mortally devastated if he got imprisoned too.
"And what can I do for Draco?" Ginny asked, biting her lip unconsciously.
"There's only one thing you can do, to be honest. You need to talk to Pius, give your version of the story, tell why Draco got into an illegal duel. Basically, you'll have to transfer Draco's blame to you and be willing to assume all the consequences of it."
"That I can handle." Ginny stated, involuntarily raising her chin and bracing herself for what was to come. That was nothing but fair, she had made a mistake with Draco and it was her duty to make amends.
"I believe there will be no special punishment to you, after all, you are just a Death Eater's wife." Olivia said, snorting discreetly.
"And their mistake is to underestimate us." Ginny completed and the older witch nodded in silence.
"Probably, they will consider that your behaviour is a problem that Draco himself will have to deal with... By their logic, if he isn't able to control and punish his own wife, he isn't able to serve greater causes that require more control. In the end, it will end up being a challenge for him."
"I'm aware that sometimes I can be quite a challenge." Ginny joked half-heartedly, bringing her hand to her forehead. She was still feeling slightly nauseous and the prospect of going through that situation was not very encouraging. "Can you help me arrange a meeting with the Minister?"
Olivia's cheeks turned a little pinker. "I could, if it weren't Draco we're talking about, the second in command at the Ministry. There are a lot of people who are interested in his arrest. People capable of... influencing my husband." Olivia sighed in a mixture of shame and sadness. "Obviously I'm going to talk to Pius, but given his condition, I don't think my voice will be enough. You will need more."
Suddenly, the embarrassed one was now Ginny. She knew very well that Pius Thicknesse was being controlled by the Death Eaters and asking Olivia for that was a bit much, but she had to try.
"I will have more." Ginny affirmed.
"And there's something else." Olivia's gaze was so meaningful that Ginny held her breath, anticipating what was to come. "Possibly, you will have to do all of this in the presence of You-Know-Who."
Instantaneously, Ginny felt an intense shiver run down her spine and an almost uncontrollable urge to go back to her bed and sleep for the next ten years. "Why do you say so?"
"An educated guess based on what I've seen before. You-Know-Who controls his Death Eaters in an iron grip. And, for that, he likes to know everything about them in order to know what buttons to push, when the time comes. I suppose he will be quite interested in knowing what lead Draco to behave like that."
Ginny closed her eyes briefly, giving herself time to feel the fear coursing through her body.
When she opened them, she had already reinforced her resolutions.
"Explain to me everything I need to know to get Draco out of prison and leave the Ministry intact, Olivia."
As Olivia had instructed, the one who dealt with these matters was her husband, who was under Yaxley's Imperius. So it had been on the Minister's office that Ginny concentrated her efforts.
She had fervently hoped that the curiosity aroused by the fuss would be an incentive for them to agree to talk to her, to hear her version of the story. Death Eater or not, people were driven by the need of knowing other's affairs and never had a good deal of gossip been easily dismissed.
But the delay in making any progress with the Ministry almost made her lose hope; every hour ticked by made her more distressed at the thought of Draco being trapped, injured and in need of help.
Only her fierce willpower forced her to lift her head and keep sending owls, asking for meetings and using to her advantage the 'friendship' of the women she had gathered at the Thestral rendezvous. They, in turn, harassed their husbands to intercede on behalf of young Mrs. Malfoy.
So, after endless teas, meetings, smiles and compliments, she had played well the role of a committed woman, who just wanted to fight for good family values.
And, after two days of living in intense contact with the people of high wizarding society in search of a favor – a situation that Ginny affectionately dubbed as the seventh circle of hell – she got the fucking interview with the fucking Minister.
On the morning of her interview, Ginny woke up as if a Jelly-Legs curse had been permanently cast on her, and her throat was itchy at the prospect of talking to the Minister.
At the prospect of talking to Voldemort, she corrected herself and took a deep breath.
Obviously, she was not sure if he would be really there, but as she gleaned from what Olivia had said, the curiosity to know more about the people he commanded, to know their vulnerabilities and weaknesses, was quite a pastime for the Dark Wizard.
Anyway, if he were really present, she knew she would not see the young man in the diary who had haunted her memories and still gave her nightmares, but that did not improve her situation because she would inevitably run into the snake-like, red-eyed creature who had killed Harry and Neville, ending her old life.
And, in a way, that creature had also killed Ginny Weasley.
Between the memories of Tom Riddle and Voldemort, Ginny shivered involuntarily.
She would not be a coward, but neither would she avoid fear; it was useful to her because it would keep her under constant surveillance. Cowardice, in turn, would not.
She breathed in to gather courage, put on an elegant dress that occulted her condition, threw a thick cape over her ankles and tied her long red hair so that it was hidden under a discreet hat - she did not need to draw more attention to something that was naturally flashy.
Ginny spent a few more moments with James, trying to ease her tension through the boy's vivacity, and mentally preparing herself to leave.
However, just before she left, a yellowish and strangely flashy owl began to peck insistently at her window. Ginny walked over to it, bracing her spirits for more bad news.
Leaving James excitedly feeding the owl, she sat down in the nearest chair to read the parchment.
Dear Redhead,
I'm sure you're dying to know about me and with a guilty conscious since I was arrested due to the attempt to give Draco and you a little push in the direction of marriage bliss.
Rest assured now: I was released last night, thanks to the help of some interested friends, and I'm already at my Mansion. Merlin knows how much I missed my firewhisky.
The bad news is that I won't be able to help you in the near future - and, given the demonstrations I've already had, I would be delighted in doing so, believe me - because it's wise that I leave the scene for a few weeks, to get me out of focus.
I think that you, more than anyone else, will understand me and will be able to forgive the absence of your dearest friend.
We'll see each other soon enough.
P.S. I can feel your heart overflowing with joy because I'm a free man one more time.
P.S.2 I'm sorry for the intensity of the Cutting Spell I cast on Draco. Perhaps drinking doesn't improve our magical abilities, however much I try to prove otherwise.
Always yours,
B. Z.
Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, then blushed with anger at Blaise's boldness. He had tried to seduce her and now he was coming up again with that 'little push' thing.
And, to her eternal chagrin, she had actually become calmer and lighter-headed because of her friend.
Bloody reckless idiot! She crumpled the paper and threw it far away, pushing the image of Blaise out of her mind. She would have time to settle her scores with him later.
So, with one less problem to fix, she said goodbye to James, got up, straightened her immaculate clothes, and Apparated near the Ministry's visitor entrance, a silent prayer on her lips.
Ginny hurried through several shabby office buildings to the red phone booth that gave access to the Ministry of Magic. Looking around nervously, she crept inside and punched the number 62442 on the phone in front of her.
Magic.
The combination of numbers with that meaning could be considered a harbinger of things to come, since she would need every bit of magic in her body to block her mind. Slowly, she began to lift her mental barriers, one by one, in an exercise Draco had insisted on practicing.
Thank you, Draco, she thought gratefully. Without his insistence – the one she had judge so harshly – she would be much more exposed right now.
Taking a deep breath, Ginny held the mouthpiece tightly, remembering her experience living among Muggles because of the object.
"Ministry of Magic, good morning." Said a tepid voice coming from the other end of the line that made Ginny jump in fright, as if she had been caught red-handed committing the grave offense of thinking about life with Muggles upon entering the Voldemort-dominated Ministry. "Say your name and the reason for your visit."
"Ginevra Malfoy." She spoke with a confidence she did not feel. "I came to see the Minister for Magic."
There was a momentary silence on the other side, until the voice came again.
"You just received your visitor badge." At the same moment, a silver badge was spat out through the coin return slot and Ginny tucked it into her robe.
"We ask you to wear your badge all the time you are at the Ministry. Have a nice day."
And with that the line was muted.
The cabin shook completely and Ginny felt herself moving down slowly for what seemed like an eternity until magically light began to pour into the cubicle and, after a few seconds, the movement stopped.
The cabin door opened and Ginny stumbled into the sumptuous Ministry Hall, with its dark wood floor and peacock-blue ceiling, which instantly brought back aching memories of her father.
The movement was frantic as it had been in the pre-war era, with witches or wizards emerging from the fireplaces every minute and lines forming in the Floo Network area. However, she noticed that now everyone was moving with more restlessness and urgency, as if they had a huge wizard-eating creature chasing them and did not want to look back to see what would happen if they slowed down.
She did not allow herself to watch anymore – it was all a painfully part of her past – and concentrated on what she had come to do, walking over to the table under the Security sign and stopping in front of the scowling wizard who sat there.
"Your wand." He asked unsympathetic.
Ginny reluctantly handed him the object and the wizard placed it on a strange plate, which analyzed her wand by emitting a strip of parchment through the device. The man read it aloud.
"Hmm, 9 ½ inches, flexible, mahogan, in use for eight years. Is it correct?"
"Yes." She responded nervously and mentally thanked Mr. Ollivander for making a new wand for her at Aunt Muriel's house, when the old one had exploded in one of the first accidents she had had while creating potions. She could not risk having her wand associated with her old life.
With Ginny Weasley.
"It will be returned to you as soon as you leave."
Ginny nodded politely and headed towards the elevators.
Thinking back to her interview, she was aware that her power was limited and that they had only agreed to this meeting out of curiosity, to know what she would say, how she would react. She could still remember Olivia's words echoing in her mind as she explained how Ginny was supposed to behave.
You-Know-Who has always been curious about the people around him, use that to your advantage.
She would do her best, clear her mind.
In that day, she would be Ginevra Malfoy, body and soul.
She entered the elevator feeling terribly foreign in that environment and unable to recognize any of the people. Even the flying interdepartmental memos – once so frequent in her father's time – were now scarce and almost… timid.
Level 7, Level 6, she was getting really nervous and resisted the urge to bite her nail and put her hand on her tummy, Level 5, Level 4, had the elevator stopped somewhere? Level 3, Level 2, that was Draco's floor and people came and went until-
"Level 1, Minister for Magic and Support Staff and Muggle-Born Registration Commission." Said an omnipresent voice inside the elevator.
Ginny shivered but forced herself to be firm. Stepping out of the elevator, she addressed the Minister's secretary who gave her a ridiculously snobbish look and motioned for her to enter with an indifferent gesture.
She entered the dimly lit room of the Minister and, inside, there were three creatures - two men and something else.
He was there.
Merlin, Ginny thought feeling dread invade her mind, don't let me falter now.
She stopped in the middle of the large office under a chandelier, positioning herself in the only spot with more light, putting herself in evidence. She waited, discreetly looking around her surrounds.
Olivia's husband was seated behind a huge mahogany desk, staring blankly at a point behind Ginny's shoulder, his hands clasped together on the surface that actually glowed even in the half-light of the room.
Behind him, practically hidden in the shadows, a large, ugly man sat with his long legs stretched out comfortably, looking at Ginny with his eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief.
And you must be Yaxley, she registered the information automatically.
In the far corner of the room, she noticed in her peripheral vision a figure moving with two red orbs and a sickly pallor, sending a wave of unease that she had to hold back with effort.
She could not under any circumstances think of the additional presences in the room; then she lifted her chin and focused on the Minister, even though she knew it was Voldemort she was supposed to convince, not his puppet. Whatever the decision, it would be the dark wizard's and not Pius Thicknesse's.
One step at a time, she thought and forced herself to smile sweetly.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Malfoy." Thicknesse greeted mechanically nodding his head, his voice cold and unfamiliar. "I hope you don't mind the presence of guests."
"There is no problem, sir." She replied slavishly, knowing that Voldemort and Yaxley were measuring her every move. "The life of a pureblood wizard or witch has no secret to the Ministry."
Thicknesse looked happy and Ginny relaxed a little more, even though she felt Voldemort's eyes on the back of her neck. She could imagine him twisting his thin, lipless mouth, his red eyes gleaming with curiosity and fixed on her; she had to put a lot of effort into barring the memories of her first year at Hogwarts, knowing that it could further disrupt her.
"Happy to hear that, Ms. Malfoy." The Minister stated with his clouded, dead eyes roaming over her. "And to what do we owe the honor of your visit?"
As if the son of a bitch didn't know why I'm here, she thought scathingly. However, her response was soft and contained a particularly feminine, helpless tone.
"It's very kind of you to ask, Minister." She sniffed, showing a false fragility. "I came to intercede for my husband."
Thicknesse gave a slight condescending smile, as though Ginny were a teenager asking a professor to go to Hogsmead without formal parental permission.
"I consider your attitude quite thoughtful, but the Ministry has to deal with transgressions all the time and if we are to make concessions to every devoted wife who comes to intercede for their husband-"
I can't let Yaxley go that way, she felt a rush of despair. Boldly, she did not let Thicknesse complete his sentence, making her first mistake.
"But you must agree that this is not a case that happens all the time."
She looked directly at him, clear eyes opaque, lifeless. She suddenly felt sorry for Olivia, for having to see her husband daily in that state. The Minister – Yaxley – waited politely for her to finish.
"Must I?" the Minister asked impassively, with an underlying note of displeasure that did not escape Ginny's ears. "I hardly must do anything, young lady."
No rush, Ginny!, she mentally scolded herself, taking a deep breath to keep her cool.
That was the only time in her life that she wished she had more Slytherin characteristics: cunning, ingenuity, and coldness would suit her at that opportunity. However, in the obvious lack of them, her reckless bravery should have to be enough.
And it was exactly this bravery that shifted Ginny's focus away from danger as the redhead gave a shy smile full of fake sweetness.
"Of course, you are right, Minister, and I humbly apologize. I just wanted to reinforce your acumen – and of those around you - to deal with facts that are evident." She waited a moment for the compliment to settle in their minds and then went on. "Draco has undeniably been of good service to the Ministry and he is a necessary face for our regime."
"I see." Thicknesse spoke and his voice sounded uninterested. "And that leads us to...?"
Ginny was firm. "I came to ask for Draco to be released for all these reasons, and mainly, because the I am to blame for incident that led him to the prison. The fault was only mine."
She expected reactions that did not come the way she had anticipated and, to complicate matters, she could feel Voldemort's eyes on her. Being the only fully lit person in the room and standing right in the middle of a circle of light, Ginny could not help but feel more than uncomfortable.
She forced herself to continue, interrupting the silence that followed.
"I was talking to Mr. Zabini – a friend of ours-, in a far corner of the Hogwarts' Celebration, and to avoid gossip, Draco had to defend my honor, which is what every high society wizard should do, defending the values of a pure, clean and traditional family." She said quickly and lowered her head. "And I'm deeply sorry for my behaviour."
Now the Minister looked amused and she knew Yaxley was having fun behind his puppet.
Then she heard something hiss behind her in Voldemort's first intervention and Thicknesse quickly knew what to do, her posture suddenly stiffening in her chair.
"Ah, that reminds me to ask: which one of them did you really come to intercede for… Mr. Zabini or Mr. Malfoy? Because it would be appropriate for me to inform you – in case you change your mind about who to defend – that Mr. Zabini was released last night."
Ginny blushed so hard it looked like someone had thrown a cauldron of boiling potion in her face.
"Sir!" She exclaimed, knowing she had to control herself and lowering her voice. "My only interest is to defend my husband. Nothing else matters more than him." The words came out strange from her mouth, as if they should not be there under normal conditions.
And yet...
Focus, Ginny!, she thought and heard the hiss again, coming from the darkest corner of the room.
Yaxley's marionette seemed to understand Voldemort's will again.
"A pity you have not thought of it that way before." He insinuated and Ginny thanked deeply that she did not have her wand with her.
Distracted by homicidal instincts, she was totally taken aback by the Minister's next question.
"Do you love each other?"
Ginny considered whether passing out would be a good option at the moment.
When coming to the conclusion that it would not, she realised she needed to think fast.
"We're married." She murmured neutrally.
"So have I been informed." The Minister responded casually. "But that wasn't the question."
Ginny wrung her hands nervously. If she answered that they did not love each other, she could lose everything, would raise questions, curiosities. She would expose Draco and herself even more to ridicule and would have no stronger arguments to get him out of prison.
If she replied that they loved each other, Voldemort would certainly use that as a pressure point for Draco, putting their relationship in his sights. Maybe he could even hurt her to attack Draco when necessary – and that was a scenario that Ginny did not appreciate under any circumstances.
Voldemort had already experienced the consequences that love – in the case, from Lily for Harry - had brought to him. And Ginny was certain he could not stand the idea of this particular feeling around him, not after he failed to kill Harry the first time.
Besides, answering that they loved each other was simply a stupid lie.
And she had no choice.
"Yes, we love each other, very much so." Ginny responded quickly and without hesitation. And knew she must look convincing. "I've loved him since he started frequenting my shop a few months ago, on behalf of the Ministry. We fell in love in the moments we passed in the complicit silence of my Potion Room, through the looks we exchanged, in the times we rubbed our hands in unintentional, subtle touches..."
Ginny closed her eyes and invoked the image of Draco, to give more truth to her lie. She saw his askew smile, caustic and attractive. She saw his eyes that changed their colour depending on the ambient light. She saw his arrogant stance she loved to despise. She saw Draco being exactly who he was.
And, inevitably, she smiled.
Like a stupid teenager in love, she smiled.
Ginny gasped, not knowing whether to congratulate or punch herself for being so convincing.
An awkward silence permeated the room, and she caught a glimpse of Yaxley rolling his eyes in a clear gesture of exasperation.
"Bloody women!" He snorted softly and contemptuously, in his only direct expression so far.
But Ginny's attention was focused on something else; she could hear Voldemort's robe rustling as he circled the dimly lit room, his movements light, almost graceful.
She could only use her peripheral vision and, after a light pressure into her head, she realised he was trying to use Legilimency without making any visual contact.
She was not even sure he could do it without looking her in the eye, but she guessed it was time to put her training into practice anyway.
Even without meeting her eyes - and Ginny thanked Merlin for that, otherwise she would have been damned - his advance was infinitely superior to the attacks Draco used to perform in their training and she felt the familiar tingle of someone circling her mind, trying invade and subdue it, like an expert thief trying to open doors and windows.
Ginny stumbled.
"Something wrong, Mrs. Malfoy?" The Minister asked politely.
Under pressure, Ginny cleared her mind. As if she were in the middle of nowhere, looking at an endless horizon. There were no good or bad feelings. There was nothing but a hole where Ginevra Malfoy's mind used to be. And with that, she knew she had built the barriers against unwanted invasions well.
"Not at all, Minister." She whispered feeling the sweat trickling down her back.
"Very well."
She did a silent prayer when the Minister cleared his throat to resume the conversation, drawing the present's attention. She still felt that Voldemort was trying to get inside her head, but with a little less intensity, as if his attention was not fully focused on her anymore.
"I believe a few more days of meditation at Glastonbury would do Malfoy good." He said with a hand under his chin, falsely pensive. Ginny instinctively glanced at the other man in the shadows, wanting to hex Yaxley painfully.
He also wants Draco out of the picture, Ginny thought, growing restless and distressed once more.
"I ask you to reconsider, sir." She dared once more, this time knowing how to handle the conversation. "Keep in mind that my husband is a key player in the fight against the Resistance. And that he's been doing an outstanding job."
Instantly she knew she had hit a key point. Voldemort stopped moving suddenly, still in the shadows, and Ginny felt the confines of her mind finally being left alone.
She was able to prove the veracity of Olivia's words – the destruction of the Resistance was a real obsession for Voldemort, even though the reason for such fixation was far from her understanding.
"Lovely Mrs. Malfoy is right." Ginny heard that unfamiliar, soft voice, and felt a shiver ruffling the hairs on her forearms. "Draco must be released to fulfill his most primordial obligations."
Ginny felt such relief that it seemed like the world had come off her back, despite the still dangerous situation.
However, Voldemort kept talking and brought her out of her reveries.
"Evidently, it does not mean he does not need to be reminded how to behave. Some time away from the comforts of England and from his gracious wife will do him good and perhaps help him to control his intemperance."
Ginny lowered her head humbly, knowing there was nothing more to say.
Voldemort thinks he's going to punish Draco by taking him away from me, just because I told him we love each other?!, she was surprised and had to hold back a humorless smile. It would probably be some kind of reward for Malfoy, not the other way around.
And she forced herself not to pay attention to the feeling of emptiness that descended upon her at the knowledge that Draco had never wanted anything more than distance from her, especially after what had happened at Hogwarts...
In the end, everything had turned out better than expected: Granted, Draco would be out of the country for a while – and away from me, the impertinent small voice added in her head – but he would be free.
"Nonetheless, I feel compelled to emphasize to the young Malfoy couple that tolerance is the virtue of the weak." Voldemort added softly, before continuing in a cold, lifeless voice that sent unpleasant chills through Ginny's body. "And I do not accept weaknesses around me."
An explicit 'no more tolerance for the two of you' was clearly ingrained in the air.
It was an obvious message that this would be Draco's last mistake. And that if he were to be complacent with Ginny's behavior, he would be in trouble too.
Ginny gulped and nodded once more, not trusting her voice to say anything more than a whispered "Yes, my Lord."
And that simple phrase tasted like rust and decay in her mouth.
"You may go, Mrs. Malfoy." Thicknesse spoke after a moment of tense silence. "I believe we are all satisfied."
"Thank you, Minister." She stated, her voice weak. "The Ministry has the gratitude and loyalty of the Malfoy family."
And that was not a lie, at least not on the Draco's part.
Leaving the office, Ginny practically flew to the elevator, not caring if she was bumping into someone or if she had not said goodbye to the snobby secretary. When she exited the elevator, she grabbed her wand without waiting for official permission from the employee and nearly ran across the Atrium like a quick and relentless Bludger.
In the street outside the Ministry, she leaned against the nearest wall, sweating cold and shivering. Occlumency had been crucial for her not to be unveiled.
Through his teachings, Draco had saved Ginny's life. Once again.
This was becoming a very unpleasant habit, she had to admit to herself.
She pushed away thoughts of what could have gone wrong in that terrifying encounter with Voldemort, knowing that what mattered was that Draco would get out of prison and everything would be okay.
It had to be.
Too busy leaving the Ministry like a Grindylow fleeing a cage, the young Mrs. Malfoy was totally oblivious to a pair of small, dark eyes watching her intently, whose owner was leaning lazily beside a fireplace in the Ministry Hall.
They caught her fluid, catlike movements, her plumper body that was hidden under layers and layers of clothing, as if she had gained weight but not lost her grace in any way. Her flashy hair was hidden by a pretty hat and he thought it was a pity. For some reason, he liked when it was free and loose.
Gregory Goyle scratched his head as that nagging feeling of nostalgia and desire hit him again.
Why is different with this woman?, he thought and took a deep breath, uneasy as to why the answer to that riddle still seemed so unattainable.
"Oy, Malfoy." Someone with a familiar voice barked. "Wake up!"
Draco listened to the sharp words in the distance, slowly coming back to consciousness. He struggled unsuccessfully to open his eyes and for a moment he just lay there, lying on the cold stone floor which, strange as it might seem, was a more appealing idea than getting up.
Salazar, there is pain everywhere!, Draco grimaced but finally managed to open his eyes, taking a moment for them to get used to the dark surroundings.
He tried to steady his breathing and felt the air enter his lungs like a thousand needles piercing him. He soon discovered that this had been a bad idea: the movement ended in a coughing fit that did nothing to ease the pain in his body. When his vision finally came into focus, he remembered where he was. Everything that had happened.
Draco Malfoy, he thought mockingly, you are the definition of someone fucked up.
He had known from the start that he was not just going to spend time at Glastonbury.
And Ginevra had known it too, that was why he had to stop her from doing something foolish to protect him, even though that thought alone – that she was willing to step up and defend him – had the power to give him some strength.
No, he was not just somebody to simply spend a few days dealing with incarceration like a grounded child, hoping that You-Know-Who's outraged fury would somehow subside.
He would have to receive his share of the Dark Lord's wrath.
For a split second, he envied Blaise – certainly not for the scene he still had vividly in his head, of his best friend hovering seductively over Ginevra, so surrendered, so docile – but rather because Zabini would certainly be free soon, without major complications. Mainly because Blaise was a bastard who knew how to do favors but also knew how to collect them on time.
And he was not a Death Eater after all. He was not one of the Dark Lord's top Death Eaters.
Blaise, like other normal people, could afford to fail.
Suddenly the man – Rodolphus Lestrange, Draco recognized as he rose up on his elbows and lifted his aching head – nudged the side of Draco's body with the toe of his boot and Malfoy shivered violently from the pain of some broken rib.
Draco jerked Lestrange's foot away, trying to get into a position where he maintained a modicum of dignity.
"He really went all out with you this time, boy." Lestrange commented watching Draco sprawled on the ground with the indifferent curiosity of someone who had seen similar scenes over and over again. "I'm mildly surprised."
"Hello to you too, uncle." Draco replied, his voice hoarse from lack of use – or from shouting too much, he could not tell – stressing the kinship sarcastically. "It's always a pleasure to meet you."
Rodolphus ignored the insolent tone as Draco tried to sit up, feeling all his limbs tense from the pain of the movements. He traced his fingers to the cut Blaise had caused, noticing that it was the only place on his body that was not hurt. He made a mental note to thank Ginevra for her first aid, invaluable at the time.
"Can you walk?" Rodolphus asked, walking around the tiny cubicle – a more dimly lit and dirty example of the cell where Draco had thrown Ginevra a few months ago – to analyze the state of the younger Death Eater with more propriety.
"Sure thing!" Draco responded by trying to put as much cynical excitement as he could into his voice. "I'm feeling so willing since the Dark Lord took the time to bring his pale arse to Glastonbury, just to personally torture me with the most creative spells he could devise."
"Boy-" Lestrange scolded him in a warning tone.
Draco made a dissuasive gesture with his hands, knowing that was a dangerous conversational tone to have. He made an effort to contain his anger and put his wits back together.
Finally, he managed to lean his back completely to the nearest wall, shivering slightly from the cold.
"What you want?" Draco deflected politely as if he were in the living room of Malfoy Manor and not broken in a Glastonbury cell.
"I came to take you to the prison healer." Rodolphus studied him coolly as if he were calculating how long it would take to get him completely fixed. "You need to be healed and healthy to continue playing your role at the Ministry. You shall be released today."
Malfoy could not be more surprised even if Lestrange had said that Draco would be the new lead singer of The Weird Sisters and was late to go on tour right now.
Had he not lost track of time, he had only been in prison for four days and still would be tortured for quite some time. After all, the Dark Lord's intransigence with the mistakes of others was not that easy to be dispelled.
"Why?" Draco croaked, unable to hide the suspicious note from his voice.
"Dark Lord's Orders." Lestrange walked to the cell door and opened it so that there was another source of light for the dreadful place. "Looks like your wife was quite... persuasive."
Masking his initial surprise at the idea that Ginevra was fighting to get him out of prison, Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously at the man in front of him, even though his expression was unlikely to be intimidating under the circumstances.
"If you have something to say, please do so." He stated coolly, feigning indifference and averting his eyes from Lestrange with the excuse of seeking support to get up. "As you can see, I'm engaged in making my body obey me properly and I don't wish to waste time with you dropping hints."
He would rather cut off his wand hand with a slug knife than demonstrate his insecurity to a Death Eater of his level, especially when it came to doubting what Ginevra could have done to get him out of there.
"Why, Malfoy. What could I say?" Rodolphus asked in a tone of condescending malice that irritated Draco to no end. "The information isn't as complete as we would like. Merlin knows what she had to do..." He looked at Draco - clearly enjoying himself - before completing. "Or whom."
Draco did not know if it was the pressure of the past few days, the pain, the fatigue, the loss of control over his mind or the poisonous words themselves, but the truth was, suddenly, Draco Malfoy was no longer in control of his actions.
Not even bothering to understand what he was doing and ignoring all the pain he was feeling, he lunged forward towards Rodolphus' face.
Rationally, he did not understand where he had gotten the strength to jump up, much less what he would do if he managed to catch the other man.
He had never been the type to use physical aggression as a recourse – he had had Crabbe and Goyle for it as a kid, then his own Aurors and Death Eaters in adulthood.
Even without fully understanding what he was doing, he thrust his clenched right hand towards Lestrange's face and threw his body forward, wanting to knock the man down and roll with him to the ground, aiming to sate some primal lust for blood and revenge.
However, the other Death Eater, despite being more than twice Draco's age, had an immeasurable advantage: he had a wand. With a startled flick of his wand and a non-verbal spell, he threw Draco into the far wall, sending him crashing to the surface with a dull thud.
Malfoy felt as if suddenly all the air in the world had been kidnapped and put in a place he had no access to. His eyes stung as his back hit the wall and all he could see for a few seconds was a black smudge where Lestrange should have been. His ears rang as the world whirled and whirled. He turned to the side to vomit, but caught himself with a last sigh of dignity.
"If you try any funny stuff again, I swear the Prison Healer will have a lot of work to fix you." Rodolphus said in an agitated voice after a moment, as if he was amazed at Draco's reaction.
He watched Draco struggle to compose himself for a moment longer, before continuing to speak, his voice filled with disbelief.
"Salazar! Malfoy, you're here because of her! People are talking about what led you to duel, about how Zabini and her were fuck-"
"I shall not be at a disadvantage forever." Draco cut him off politely when he managed to speak again, as if he had met the man in a park.
He knew it was exactly that cold, impersonal attitude that unnerved and frightened his interlocutors, a posture he had perfected over the years.
"You will not." Lestrange agreed cautiously.
"So, I suggest you don't finish this reasoning in front of me. Or rather, in front of anyone else. Otherwise, when I return to the place I shouldn't have left – my rightful place-, I shall make a point of remembering every word and everyone who spread them."
"Are you threatening me, boy?" Lestrange crossed his arms and glared at him coldly.
"I am not a boy anymore, Lestrange. And I don't threaten. You would do well to remember these two things." Draco replied calmly, not changing his tone. "I'm just letting you know there shall be consequences for those who don't respect my name and my wife."
The two stared at each other in tense silence, charged with an underlying threat. Lestrange looked away first.
"The choice is yours, Malfoy." He shrugged, as if he did not care what had really happened between Mrs. Malfoy and Blaise Zabini. "But since I don't want to hear the name of the Lestranges associated with slips made by distant relatives, I'll give you one last piece of advice: do tame your wife and put her in her place before it's too late."
"I gladly accept your advice, uncle." Draco responded promptly, rubbing his bloody, dirty hands on what was left of his black slacks, as if it could make him cleaner. "After all, you are a great expert at taming your wife and making her behave, aren't you?"
A flash of anger crossed Rodolphus' dark eyes, but he did not respond. He simply turned away with his black robe billowing behind him, stepping through the doorframe and clearing the way for Draco to follow him towards the Healer, not caring if the young man could walk or not.
The subject of Bellatrix Lestrange still seemed to be a great taboo among Death Eaters, even for the man who had been her husband for so many years. It was like that for Draco himself sometimes.
Her death, alongside the death of that loathsome giant snake, seemed to have been the only things the Dark Lord mourned. And that alone left margin for a lot of gossip and comments about his aunt and You-Know-Who's relationship. Comments that would certainly not please Rodolphus Lestrange.
He had to repress a shiver as he thought about where and how everyone would be if his aunt were still alive. For a lapse of second - which he duly hid in the innermost recesses of his subconscious- he mentally thanked Weasley-Mother for having the courage and ability to do what no one else had. And obtained success in her attempt.
"Come on now." Rodolphus walked away quickly as Draco tried to take his first steps after getting up with the help of the wall. "You have orders to go to the United States today."
Draco raised an eyebrow at the news, but it took a few seconds for him to understand what was going on.
I'm going to be exiled for a while until the scandal is over, and at the same time I'm going to improve the British Ministry of Magic's diplomatic relations with a strong ally, he thought with a lifeless smile. Ingenious. Two Hippogriffs with one spell.
Lestrange chose that exact moment to interrupt his reasoning.
"It seems your wife is going to be lonely for a while, poor thing." He turned his head to face Draco for the first time since they had left the cell with a smirk tattooed on his face. "Well, perhaps not that lonely. By the way, have you heard that Zabini has already left prison?"
Draco felt his jaw tighten, but he did not know if it was from the pain or from the innuendo of his bloody uncle. He took a deep breath, controlling all the explosive fury that was screaming for him to throw himself once more at the man in front of him, catching him off guard.
He could not give Voldemort and the other Death Eaters the idea that he cared more about Ginevra than would be socially acceptable within the standards of marriages made almost like political alliances, so common among purebloods.
And the truth, which made him even more grumpy, was that he cared.
Much more than it would be wise.
And he would not give them the chance to attack him through her. The idea of seeing her hurt in some way was almost suffocating. When she had been attacked by Dementors, he had almost lost the control he had struggled so many years to maintain.
He had promised Ginevra that they would talk, but the best course of action would be to obey Voldemort without reservation and get away from England and her for a while, first to get her – and himself – out of the spotlight.
Second, to organize his own ideas. Draco had not felt like himself in a while. As an adult, he had never been given to public outbursts of temper, much less so much indecision about his own feelings and thoughts.
All that had started to change when Ginevra had come back into his life as a catalyst for chaos.
And Draco Malfoy hated chaos. He needed to retake power over himself.
And, above all, he needed to protect Ginevra.
When all of his emotions were properly hidden under countless layers of indifference, all Draco did was give his uncle a cynical half-smile, as if whatever was going to happen from then on had no power over him other than to bore him to death.
"I couldn't care less about what my wife does, as long as she is discreet in what she wishes and honors the Malfoy name." Draco replied in an irritatingly drawl and shrugged carelessly. "Carrying my name is what makes her special."
"Do you really want me to believe that?"
"Couldn't care less about what you believe too." Draco chose the most unpleasant superior smile in his vast collection to present to his uncle and received one last skeptical and appraising look from Lestrange, as if he was trying to decipher the truth behind the young's man words and attitude. When he failed, he shrugged and turned to face forward.
Draco's face lost all its bored expression and the smile died as soon as Lestrange turned away. Instead, it assumed a blank expression, almost painfully abandoned.
Perhaps it's not such a bad idea to leave England for a while after all, he decided, pushing his thoughts away from anything that might hurt him.