A/N: Yep, that's right. August 22nd Deadline will happen! J
Chapter Eleven
"Escape"
Ginny knew not if she were dreaming or conscious. The blackness held no light or sense of time. It might have been days that she lay there, fading in and out of sleep, but always vaguely aware of her failure, her surrender. The soreness left by Cruciatus was a dull reminder of the emptiness she knew she would soon feel before she died. But she welcomed the emptiness and the end.
As she gradually became aware of the cold stone floor and silence around her, signaling that she was waking again, Ginny heard a faint noise somewhere in the dark. Then there was the unmistakable sound of iron scraping against iron and wood. She held her breath, expecting her heart to start racing with fear as the heavy door creaked loudly open.
But her heart did not beat furiously and there was no echoing creak. Instead she heard the softest whisper of a spell and then silence again.
Yet light was glowing in a small, flickering sphere somewhere not so far in the dark. It moved slowly, cautiously towards where she lay, and Ginny squinted, expecting the towering dark shadows of the Death Eaters. However, there instead seemed to be a pale orb floating with the light. What terror had they brought her, believing that she had not yet broken?
I'll scream my obedience before they can do anything, she started to think, summoning her strength to speak. But before she found her voice, the light was above her and around her, however dim and sickly, and she could see a very pale, pinched face gazing stonily down at her.
"So you're alive. And awake. But are you mad?" said Draco Malfoy in a quiet but not soft voice.
Ginny could only stare at him. So they knew she was broken, unwilling to fight and endure more torture. They knew she needed no muscled, thick-bodied Death Eater to drag her through the winding dungeons.
It was . . . humiliating.
"Here. Drink this," said Draco tersely, suddenly thrusting a goblet under her nose. When she only stared uncomprehendingly at the contents, he sighed and said, "It's a Restorative Draught."
"I-I'm not taking it," Ginny croaked.
"Don't be stupid, Weasley."
Ginny felt tears prickle in the back of her eyes. Trembling, she whispered, "I don't need it. I'm not going to fight. I'm giving him what he wants." She stared down at her shaking hands. How proud she had been of her biting retorts to Malfoy's stupid jibes at her brother and Harry. Now she was paying for it by him witnessing her surrender, her lowest moment of weakness. She knew surer than anything that he would gloat, tell her family and Harry everything. How weak and stupid she was . . . and it would all be true.
"No," said Draco after a pause. "You're not."
"He got Harry, then! He doesn't need me!" Ginny cried out, but it barely came above a whisper. "It's my fault. If I had obeyed, he wouldn't have gotten Harry—"
"Don't be daft!" Suddenly a cold hand jerked Ginny's chin up, and she was staring up wonderingly at Draco Malfoy's cool gray eyes that did not quite meet her own. "Listen to me, Weasley. I'm leaving. It is up to you if you want to leave or not. It won't hurt my feelings."
"Leaving?" she whispered, feeling something other than defeat stir within her. A great deal of it was suspicion.
"That's right. Drink up. I'm not carrying you."
Ginny jerked her head, freeing her chin from his grasp. "Why should I trust you?" she demanded.
"You shouldn't," Malfoy said sardonically. "But if you stay here, you're sure to die."
Could she really escape Voldemort? Did she want to escape? Riddle had her; she could end her slavery to him, die and finally be at peace. If she somehow made it back to Hogwarts, Riddle would still be with her, and she would live with the knowledge that she had given herself to Voldemort, Harry's mortal enemy. How could she live with that? It would be better to die . . .
But then Voldemort would be that much closer to winning . . .
I was once a Gryffindor, she thought sadly, trying to stir up enough anger and bravery and righteousness to stop the Dark Lord from becoming immortal. Clearly in the darkness over Malfoy's shoulder, she saw Harry's body suspended in mid-air, drained completely of life and blood. If she stayed, then her dream would come true, and Harry would be dead because of her willing sacrifice.
And Voldemort would be unstoppable.
She had no true desire to leave, to make one more grasp at life. Yet as she stared at the goblet's foul contents, her body responded how her soul could not. The potion filled her mouth and her throat obediently swallowed it. Unwillingly she drained it, feeling Riddle's hot anger course through her veins along with the Restorative Draught.
"Think you can fly?" Malfoy asked when she wiped her hand across her mouth.
It was then that Ginny noticed he was also carrying a broomstick, which was nearly hidden under a black cloak draped over his arm. The bulb of light floated over his shoulder like a drowsy firefly, and she wondered if it were like Hermione's bluebell flames.
"I . . . I don't know," she answered, focusing on the question at hand. "M-maybe."
"Well, come on, then. We don't have much time before . . . well, hurry up!"
Having enough sense of herself to silently curse Malfoy, Ginny reached out trembling arms to brace against the walls. Slowly, she clawed her way up the wall, feeling dizzy on her feet. Her knees shook with the strain, but she could feel the potion restoring strength to her body even as she thought about collapsing. Pain shot through the back of her head, and she could almost hear Riddle screaming furiously for her to stop.
"Okay," she gasped.
"Put this on." The cloak dangling from his arm was thrust before her. Weakly, she took it and fumbled with the clasp before it was secured around her shoulders. After freezing in her torn, threadbare nightdress, the cloak felt very heavy and her body sagged under the weight.
"Oh for—" Rolling his eyes, Draco reached out and tightly gripped her elbow, steadying her. He shot her a scathing look of contempt and impatience, and then started forward across the dark cell, his light ball just at his shoulder. "Don't you say a word," he hissed when they stopped at the heavy door.
Ginny couldn't; she could barely breathe.
It was different being dragged along Malfoy Manor's dungeons with Draco than with an entourage of Death Eaters. She was more aware and jittery, despite her acceptance of the end. Did she actually care what happened if they were caught? The grip on her arm was just as brusque and unfeeling as before, except perhaps weaker and tenser. The icy floor numbed her feet, and she wondered vaguely if they would have to be amputated for frostbite. They traveled swiftly, without a foreboding, ponderous march to rattle her nerves, but it still seemed like forever through the labyrinth.
Suddenly, Malfoy stopped and pushed her against the wall, clamping a hand over her mouth and nose. He then flattened himself against her. Oh Merlin . . . he's going to rape me, Ginny panicked, moving to kick him in the groin and escape—but then Draco gave his head a sharp, small shake and held his breath as well.
And then Ginny heard it. Shuffling footfalls coming up the tunnel. As the pressure began to build in her lungs at the lack of air, Ginny caught a glimpse of two Death Eaters ambling towards them, looking rather bored as they talked in low voices, wands held loosely at their sides. They didn't seem to notice the ball of light hanging directly above their prisoner and youngest wannabe.
Her chest began to constrict and burn for air, and as the Death Eaters passed, she looked desperately to Malfoy, mentally screaming, "Let me go!" Draco's eyes, however, were focused intently on the retreating backs of the Death Eaters and seemed unaware of her asphyxiation. Unable to bear the thought of licking his palm to get his attention, she leaned her body as hard as she could into his.
Malfoy turned sharply and pushed even harder back. Ginny's eyes rolled and she felt her body starting to twitch. Just as she felt sure the pounding in her chest and head would end her life, Draco's pressing hold suddenly released, and she fell forward, gasping loudly. Her knees slammed into the stone floor, but she had no air to cry out. Bent on all fours, Ginny gulped for air, feeling nauseated but unable to retch.
"Y-you . . ." she breathed, tilting her head up to glare angrily at Draco's amused smirk.
"I couldn't have you breathing and give us away," he retorted in a whisper.
"What . . . about . . . that . . .?" She pointed at the globe hanging over his shoulder.
"It only gives light to me. Anything under it is draped in shadow."
"Still . . . you didn't . . . have to . . . do that." By now she could control her breathing, and Ginny shakily climbed to her feet, relieved yet resenting that Malfoy refused to offer her a hand.
"Believe me, Weasley," he snarled, "I took no pleasure from it."
"You almost did . . . last night," Ginny said softly, gazing down the black tunnel behind them. She shuddered. He would probably leave her here if he knew what she'd seen . . . if he knew what had happened inside her. Suddenly very self-conscious, she pulled the black cloak tightly around her frail body, remembering all too clearly how greedy and ravenous those pale gray eyes had traveled over her. How all of them had looked at her. How she had looked at herself . . .
Jerking out of her reverie, Ginny realized that Draco was staring down the tunnel they had not yet traveled, his body very rigid. He refused to look at her when he started down the passage, but she knew what he was thinking about, and it did not make him feel good or powerful.
They moved in silence. No one else seemed to be patrolling the dungeon. After what felt like hours, an incline was evident under their feet, and her calves began to ache from the strain. Trying to distract herself from the pain and weariness, Ginny studied Draco's back, wondering what exactly was happening.
What had possessed Malfoy to rescue her, if this was indeed a rescue? He hated her family, hated Harry, and seemed quite pleased that his father was prime Death Eater. She knew for certain that he took pleasure in the pain of others; but she also knew he did it to make himself feel better about his own insecurities. Over the years she had watched him watch Harry and Ron with jealousy and contempt. He was despicable to anyone who showed a weakness, always quick to prey upon younger students, making them completely unaware of his small stature with his vicious tongue. And although hexes had flown between Malfoy and Harry and Ron, Ginny had noticed that Malfoy touched no one else, and usually Harry and Ron were the faster draws. Or maybe Malfoy didn't really want to duel.
Because he knows when he's beat, Ginny speculated. So then why was he taking her out of the clutches of evil? Was he now finally realizing what a git he was and wanted to make amends? Or was it just another trick? After all, she was a Weasley, and he would certainly love to gloat about how she'd stupidly followed him to her death.
And more over, if Draco was afraid to pull a wand against Harry, then he certainly would not dare challenge Voldemort.
Suddenly Draco Malfoy was an enigma to Ginny, someone fascinating and intriguing, someone with depth. The hysterical idea of Malfoy being anything but shallow and mean nearly caused Ginny to burst into giggles. But just then Draco halted at what must have been a dead end.
Then she saw that the tunnel curved against what could have been the side of a stone turret disappearing into the darkness beyond, and that Draco was facing a cold, hard earth wall. He was feeling along it, muttering to himself. After a minute or two, he grunted and placed his hands, splayed, firmly above him, and pushed into the dirt. Abruptly he stepped back, and Ginny's mouth dropped at the silver ladder that had shot out of the earth like a tongue. As she gaped, it revolved to a vertical position and dirt fell around it but not on it. A perfect oval of dirt surrounded the ladder, allowing enough room for someone to pass up the ladder without being marred by soil.
"Come on." Draco was already scaling up the ladder, as if he'd done it all through his childhood. He paused once, only visible from the chest down, and then he was gone, his feet disappearing into . . . what, Ginny wasn't sure.
Uncertainly, but not exactly wanting to linger alone in the dark tunnel, Ginny climbed the ladder. She was first aware of fresh air hitting her nose, and then her head was above the breaking line of the ground. Pausing, she stared around, unsure of what she was seeing.
Malfoy Manor was clearly behind them, a black fortress thrusting up like an obscene gesture into the nearly black night. Few windows were lighted, and only then with a menacing, unnatural light. She quaked at the massive manor house, the dwelling of the Dark Lord who had done all of this to her, who had broken her. Falling away from Malfoy Manor was the smooth sloping lawn that must have once been beautiful to behold, but now had been claimed by evil looking plants that tangled and snagged with the hedges, trees, and earth. Many stone statues of frightening, deadly creatures seemed to stare accusingly at her, as if knowing exactly who she was and what she was doing outside of her prison.
She imagined this must be what Azkaban looked like.
"Ginny."
The soft use of her name nearly caused Ginny to topple off the ladder. Draco knelt down beside her, his eyes ghostly in the night as they darted all around them. She saw the tenseness in his gaunt features, the quickness in his nerves. He really did resemble a twitchy ferret. This did little to ease her jitters, but only made them worse.
"Ginny," Draco said again, his voice below the softest of whispers. He couldn't seem to look at her when he said her name, but kept his eyes moving over the threatening lawn that ended in a high stonewall. "I can get us out of here. I know the way through, the right spells. But you have to be fast, and you can't make one mistake."
Ginny nodded, and for the first time since she'd lost her will, she felt truly alive. Fear and anticipation pulsed like electricity through her, and she barely felt the cold wind that bit her skin. She didn't feel the heavy weight of the cloak on her thin shoulders. She didn't buckle under Riddle's presence, didn't have the oppressive knowledge of her willing sacrifice weighing down on her.
"Okay," she said tightly. "I'm ready."
Draco's face finally turned to her, and she could have sworn a corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. And then he was straightening up, helping her out of the hole, and pulling out his wand. Almost like an afterthought, but still deliberate, he grasped her elbow again, pulling her close but not against him.
He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and suddenly Ginny saw someone else in Draco Malfoy. Had he been fourteen with tousled black hair and brilliant green eyes, he could have been Harry Potter about to enter the Third Task. Compelled by the vision, she leaned closer and whispered, "It's there."
Draco did not turn toward her, but she caught the fluttery flicker of his eyes, so quick she almost missed it. Imperceptibly he breathed in, and she knew his evident fear would not overwhelm him. There was something very methodical and confident now.
And then he moved forward.
~*~*~
During the past hour, Draco had done precisely what he had so meticulously planned to do. He had plotted, thought everything out, so when the time came to act, he did not dwell on the situation in its stark reality, but dragged Ginny Weasley through the stony bowels of his home.
The same strategy proved true for his next step. Although he had to think carefully about what he was doing as he did it, he moved more on instinct and purpose than contemplation. Staying anywhere for more than a breath would result in his death. Of course, an untouched part of his mind snickered; if he died, so would Ginny, and his revenge would still be complete. However, he would rather taste victory in life than death.
Malfoy Manor was insanely warded by sinister plants and statues to focus an intruder's attention on what he could see, rather than the invisible, intricate tangle of spells, charms, hexes, and jinxes that surrounded the property like a spider's web. Only a wizard or witch learned in the Dark Arts could stand a chance, but only a very slight one. Draco knew he was lucky to have lived here and have traveled the perilous journey down his lawn; otherwise, he would be dead, either by the Dark Lord's hand or the walls of malevolent magic.
With his wand out, one hand gripping Ginny tightly, Draco faced the first obstacle. It was merely ducking under an invisible wall designed to decapitate the unaware, but it was a very important detail to remember. Just before he placed a hand over her ridiculously red head, Draco imagined the satisfaction of seeing a Weasley running around with her head cut-off like a chicken . . .
But he knew the truth of it would not be amusing.
Obediently, Ginny lowered her body to the pressure of his hand, and they passed safely under possible beheading. Straightening as he moved three steps to the right, then two directly north, Draco did not allow himself any relief yet. He would not relax until they were over the stonewall still far off in the night, and maybe even then he would still feel threatened.
As Draco neutralized another hexed wall, he glanced momentarily at Ginny Weasley. Although he hated to admit it, he was pleased with her lithe way of moving with him. Her eyes were wide and frightened, her breath misting in quick puffs, but she did not hesitate or lag uncertainly behind. He knew she didn't trust him, and he did not go seeking her trust. All he needed was her cooperation. Nothing more.
But she had to mention last night, he inwardly shuddered as he stopped a charging statue of a vampire with a Dark Arts version of the Impediment Curse. It glared angrily at him and flashed its fangs before Draco sent it swooping back to its perch.
Draco was certain that Ginny Weasley had read his mind. But what disturbed him more was the redness behind her eye. He had read about possessed persons before, but had never met one . . . until now.
"This next part is tricky," he whispered. He halted and gave his head a faint shake. This was no time to be thinking anything but what he was doing. "This is Devil's Snare."
Ginny almost let out a laugh. "So light a fire."
"Yes, and wouldn't that have everyone out here in an instant?" Satisfaction at her sheepish look filled Draco, but he did not revel in it as he would have liked. There was no time for that. Along with the forty feet of killer plant he had to avoid, there was the constantly changing Dimension Pocket that if stumbled into, would send them to only God knew where. Probably somewhere like Antarctica or the Sahara Desert. Maybe even a pit full of tarantulas.
It would be impossible, except Draco had his Thief's Light hovering just over his shoulder. Even though humans outside its light could only see shadow, the Devil's Snare would react to it as any other light or source of warmth. He only had to position and time his Heat Hex with the path of the Thief's Light, and the snarling plant would be as easy as playing Hufflepuff.
Now for the lurking, shifting Dimension Pocket.
"Be ready for anything," Draco warned, casting the Heat Hex as he began moving forward. Long tentacles recoiled as he began striding across the thick, expansive patch. His eyes were peeled for the faint silver shimmer and shadow that was the Pocket. It could sneak up behind him, or lay innocently in his path. The lack of moonlight or stars would make it even harder to detect.
"What's that?" Ginny muttered, pointing with only her hand to Draco's left.
Draco heard the faint whisper, but couldn't see anything moving amongst the tangled jungle of vine. And then there was a barely perceptible flicker, like a leaf twitching in the breeze . . . it seemed somehow darker, though not opaque, just there . . .
"Move!" Draco cried, pushing Ginny forward just as the Pocket yawned over them. She stumbled, but was on her feet in an instant and moving with him.
Glancing quickly over his shoulder, Draco saw the slightly darker shape rushing after them—
And then it disappeared.
"Stop!" He snatched her around the waist and pulled her hard against him, nearly causing him to fall backwards. Peering around her neck and over her small shoulder, Draco looked down to see the barely detectable shade not even a full step in front of them. The Pocket had flattened itself to the Snare, waiting for them to step right into it.
"Move sideways to the right. Do not step forward."
Ginny nodded, and as she looked directly ahead, he knew she couldn't see the Pocket. His eye had been trained to it. "Now," he murmured, still grasping her waist.
They moved. Draco winced as her heel came down on his foot, but he said nothing. There was no time. The Pocket was moving again, and so were they. It might have taken them twenty minutes, or maybe just five, to get through the Devil's Snare, and four times Draco's heart had leapt into his throat at the Pocket's tricks.
But then they were out.
Standing in the five feet of un-hexed lawn, Draco allowed for a short rest.
"Does that go all around?" Ginny asked, her voice tight and constricted as she waved a shaking hand towards the Devil's Snare.
"Yes."
"Oh." She paused. He could see her staring off at the stonewall, which was now closer, but still not close enough for comfort.
"Come on," said Draco quietly.
And, once again, they were moving forward as one, two enemies with the same immediate goal.