By Ellipsis and Shiva.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Most of this isn't ours. Some of it is. We are making no money. Steal and die!
Warnings: Angst, violence, torture, drug abuse, coarse language, adult themes and situations.
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley
Story Summary: Ginny Weasley has watched Harry Potter save the world time and time again and wondered what it would be like. Draco Malfoy has watched the same and wished he could be the one to end Potter's winning streak. Ginny wants to make her mark on the world, Draco looses himself in the last place anyone would ever look for him.
Then Ginny accepts an assignment to hunt down the most dangerous Death Eater at large and when circumstances intervene she begins to realise that it may not be a world she needs to save.
Additional Notes: Um, yeah. Sorry about the wait. *slinks off*
* * * * * * * * *
It was dark outside; darker than it should be, considering the sun hadn't set, but heavy clouds covered the sky and promised rain. Draco, sitting on the bed in a bungalow in Vanuatu, didn't care about the sky outside. His concentration was directed elsewhere.
He had been released from hospital a few days ago, after only a one-night stay, with heavy bandaging around his ribcage and sixteen stitches in his abdomen. The doctor had admonished him to return after a week to have the stitches removed, but he was disinclined to endure another round of good intentions and probing questions. So, instead, Draco was attempting to remove the stitches himself.
Although the bed was possibly not the wisest place to remove stitches, it was comfortable. He was sitting propped up against the headboard, using the ambient light to see the stitches he was trying to remove with a pair of nail scissors.
It was attempt that seemed doomed to failure. It had taken him ten minutes to remove the first one, and he was having trouble keeping his hand steady. The strain of holding his body in one position for so long was starting to cause his arm muscles to spasm. He hissed quietly as the scissors tore at the stitches. He tried hard not to let his hand wobble but in spite of his efforts, it did, and the sharp point of the scissors dipped briefly into the healing wound.
Draco scowled. He would not give in. He was not so useless that he couldn't do anything for himself! With renewed vigour, he attacked the stitches, distracting himself from the pain by biting his lip. It was a different kind of pain, a kind he could control.
Finally, after another hour, the last stitch was out. Draco looked at the wound, now punctuated with pinprick points of blood. He knew it would scar, but he didn't care. It was not his first scar, nor his worst.
Getting carefully up from the bed, he walked gingerly into the kitchenette and rummaged for some food. Predictably, it was virtually empty. He pulled out an old Chinese takeaway container out and opened it up. Whatever had been in there was definitely off. He tossed it in the bin. There were a couple of mini bottles of alcohol on the countertop. He knocked back a cognac, not even wincing at the sinus-clearing afterbite.
Giving up on the idea of eating, he pulled a slightly-squashed packet of cigarettes out of his back pocket and lit one. He took a long drag, then grabbed his room key and left the apartment.
It was a very short walk down to the beach. He hadn't put any shoes on when he left the bungalow and the damp sand was rough beneath his feet.
At this time of day, and with a storm brewing, the beach was vast and deserted. In the darkness it seemed to stretch forever. As soon as he had left the shelter of the hotel compound, the wind had slammed into him with the kind of force only found on tropical beaches. It reminded him of flying. He hadn't been on a broomstick in over two years, and he hadn't played Quidditch since his Hogwarts days.
Draco's eyes narrowed. It was hard to think of Quidditch without thinking of Harry Potter.
Harry Potter, who was, as Aidan had so charmingly put it, alive, breathing and in full possession of his fingers. Of course, it was only a matter of time until Draco rectified that little piece of injustice.
Draco amused himself for a while imagining capturing Granger, , , strangling her, and forcing Potter to watch. The worthless wonderboy didn't have any proper family, but Draco thought that murdering a friend would be a suitable revenge. It almost invoke in Potter the same pain that watching his father die had caused Draco.
But, if and when Draco actually got a chance to strike at Potter, he would have to do so fast.. His only satisfaction would be a flash of green light.
Draco's hand crept up to his neck and found the chain he always wore. He followed the chain until he reached the oval pendant dangling from it. At least he didn't have to worry about that.
Ah now… what a pity that they had already killed Lupin. He could imagine the look on Potter's face if he had forced to watch what Draco and his father had done to the werewolf before they had sent him in care packages to Potter's doorstep.
It had begun to rain. Draco, uncaring, stood like that for a long time, lost in his hollow fantasies, holding the pendant and staring out to sea, until he was thoroughly drenched.
* * * * * * * * *
Ginny sat in the vinyl airplane chair and fiddled nervously with her seatbelt. The International Floo System was still being rebuilt after the war and it did not reach the more remote parts of the world, hence Ginny was forced to take the Muggle alternative. Outside the jet the sky was bleak, though not threatening—similar weather to the rest of her brief stay in St Petersburg. And it truly had been brief. She had barely stepped off the plane when she received an owl from Kingsley, notifying her that someone in St. Petersburg had information on Malfoy and was willing to meet with her. The tone of the letter was decidedly cynical; Kingsley seemed to think that this informant, a former Death Eater by the name of Tybalt Mephisto, was simply trying to curry favour with the Ministry and that his information was to be treated with severe caution. Still, a lead was a lead, and Ginny was thrilled to have it, as she hadn't quite been sure what she was going to do upon reaching Russia. The letter had instructed her that a meeting with Mephisto had been set up for her at seven o'clock the night after she arrived. A member of the Russian Ministry of Magic was waiting for her at the airport to guide her to the wizarding community in St Petersburg, which was surprisingly small for a city with so much history. She checked into a quaint hotel on the main street, which looked much like Diagon Alley apart from an elaborate fountain that stood at the top of the street. Her room was small but comfortable, with a large fire that kept the room at a pleasant temperature. She used her spare time to sort through her notes on Malfoy, as well as search the Ministry database for any information on Mephisto, she wanted to be as prepared as possible for their meeting. From the long lists of offences that appeared on his criminal record, it was obvious he was one unsavory character and Ginny knew she would have to watch her back.
At five minutes past seven the next evening, she pushed open the wooden door of a dank restaurant and stepped inside. At once she was hit with the rank smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol; this place was the epitome of seedy. She evaluated the scene before her: a few couples sitting at secluded candle-lit tables (why you'd go to a place like this for a romantic dinner, Ginny did not know) and a rowdy table of middle-aged men, talking in rapid Russian, in the centre of the room. A dimly-lit bar was situated in the corner and, on one of the stools, a thin man with a greasy black ponytail and a heavy coat sat with his back to her.
It's show time.
She walked to the bar and sat herself next to him. "Just a water please," she told the barman, who nodded and served her water in a glass that looked suspiciously grimy.
"Water?" the man next to her said in a slow and deliberate voice, not looking up from his glass. "This is Russia, honey. It's vodka or nothing."
He was unnaturally thin and pale, looking like he had never seen the sun, nor had a decent meal in his entire life. This, as well as his tightly stretched skin and dark, hollow eyes made his age impossible to determine.
"You're not drinking vodka," she remarked, gesturing to his glass of lager.
He looked up at her for the first time, with large hollow eyes, and licked his cracked lips. "I'm not Russian," he muttered, looking Ginny up and down in a way that made her decidedly uncomfortable, despite the fact that she was wearing a bulky winter coat over several other layers of clothing. "Weasley, right?" he said, turning his attention back to his drink.
"Yes," she said coolly, determined to establish the upper hand in their encounter. "Mephisto, right?"
He nodded and took another swig of his glass.
"So," Ginny said expectantly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, "What have you got for me?"
Mephisto's eyes traveled slowly down her body, a twisted smile forming on his thin lips. "I've got a whole lot for you, sweetheart… a whole lot."
Ginny threw him an icy glare and suppressed a shudder. "I'd watch it if I were you; I know you're banking on this information to win you some favors over at the Ministry and I'm not in a patient mood."
Mephisto rolled his eyes and drained his glass before leaning his elbows on the bar. He rested his chin on his linked hands and looked up at her from beneath his black eyebrows, as if she were an impatient child.
"Now," Ginny said, with more bravado than she was feeling, "how 'bout you give me the information on Malfoy, or I'm leaving."
He let out an exaggerated sigh. "All right, all right, keep your pants on," he muttered as he reached into the pocket of his heavy black coat, pulled out a small notebook and threw it on the counter. "I've been in St Petersburg for about a month now, sorting out some, er, business."
Ginny shuddered to think of the sorts of business this creep got involved in.
"I first saw Malfoy about a week ago and knew he was wanted by the Ministry, so I started to follow him. I took notes too; they're all in that book."
Ginny picked up the book and flipped through it. It was full of scrawling sentences such as "10.25 am- Malfoy buys coffee" and "11.03 pm- Malfoy returns to hotel". She put the notebook back on the counter and surveyed Mephisto carefully. He was, without a doubt, one of the most revolting people she had ever met; yet there was a silent desperation beneath all the grease and oil of his outward appearance that suggested he might just be telling the truth.
"As fascinating as Malfoy's daily schedule is, it doesn't help me a whole lot. Where is he now?"
Mephisto blinked, looking unsure of himself for the first time. "I'm not sure," he said.
Ginny stared at him in utter disbelief. "You're not sure?" she hissed. "You've been stalking him nonstop for a week—which, can I just say, is more than a little creepy—and now you're not sure where he is?"
Mephisto reached into his pocket and pulled out an expensive-looking packet of cigarettes. "I had to attend to some other matters, and when I came back he had checked out of his hotel," he said as he carefully chose a cigarette and lit it.
Ginny threw her hands in the air. "Well, that's bloody brilliant," she cried, shaking her head.
Mephisto picked up the notebook and turned to the last page. "Here are the details I got from the hotel," he said, thumping the page with his open palm.
Ginny looked at them and then back at Mephisto. "But how am I supposed to find him?"
He threw some rubles onto the bar and got up to leave. "You're the Auror," he said, leaning over her so his face was inches from hers and she could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. "You figure it out." With that he walked purposefully out of the restaurant, coat billowing behind him.
Thankfully, she had managed to figure it out, as Malfoy had booked his tickets under the pseudonym 'Marco Folday', another anagram. It was an easy enough pattern to follow and really quite careless of Malfoy to be so obvious.
Perhaps he's not the criminal mastermind we originally thought he was.
So, after two short days in Russia, she was seated in the economy class of a Muggle airplane, headed for a small island somewhere off the east coast of Australia. According to the information Ginny had gathered, Malfoy had arrived there a week ago after a roundabout trip, stopping at Tokyo and Australia. It was unfortunate that this information hadn't come through the Muggle banking system when she had talked to Albert; it would have saved her a lot of legwork. Luckily, however, Malfoy had used the same airline for each flight, making him easier to trace. Not that getting the information had been terribly easy; she had been forced to visit the airline's ticketing office and use her Magi-tronic reader, a newly developed device that could, in an instant, tap into Muggle computers and gather information on a certain subject. When the reader didn't find any information on 'Floyd Maroca, she tried a variety of other anagrams. This meant she had to keep revisiting the counter in order to get the reader, which she had transfigured to look like an ordinary pen, close enough to the computer to work its magic. After making the attendant believe she was a complete idiot (which in Ginny's opinion, was not far from the truth), she found what she was looking for and booked herself on the next flight to Vanuatu.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please take your seats and fasten your seatbelts as the cabin crew prepares for takeoff," the pilot chirped over the plane's sound system.
As this message was repeated in several different languages, Ginny resumed fiddling with her seatbelt and looked anxiously out the window. She hoped the low cloud cover would not equate to heavy turbulence; she hated turbulence. In fact, she hated flying in general, even though she had only been on a plane a handful of times. It was one of those Muggle things she would never understand and she would have rather taken her broom, if only it weren't such a long journey.
Attempting to calm the butterflies in her stomach, she looked over the in-flight magazine. The plane started down the runway as Ginny read about the variety of wines on offer to first-class passengers; as the plane took off and she dropped the magazine, gripping her knuckles into her armrest, she began to think that she could use a glass of Chardonnay herself. Eventually the plane straightened out and Ginny's heart rate returned to normal. Breathing a sigh of relief, she looked out the window. They were high above the clouds now, surrounded by nothing but blue sky. She settled back in her chair and let her eyes close. It would be best if she got some sleep; she had a big couple of days in front of her.
* * * * * * * * *
Draco wandered into the bar. He didn't usually visit at this time but he hadn't felt like doing anything else. A breeze whipped his hair around his face as he pushed open the door, but it was no longer long enough to annoy him. A nurse had trimmed it for him the day he was released from hospital. He had asked for a crew cut, but she had refused.
He made his way over to the bar to order a cocktail. As the barmaid was pouring it, the remarked casually, "There was a girl in here looking for you."
Draco tensed minutely.
"Indeed," he replied noncommittally.
"Pretty enough, I suppose. Red, curly hair, pale skin. Freckles. She said she was your fiancée and asked where you were staying."
"And what did you tell her?"
"I don't know where you're staying, do I? I told her that you are usually here at about seven. She said she'd come back."
Without another word, Draco turned and strode out the door, leaving his drink untouched.
Standing outside the bar, he checked his watch. It was 5:10 pm, though it seemed later because the sky was leaden with ominous-looking storm clouds. On a fine day it would to be light at this time, and the sun would be well above the horizon. He pulled his black sunglasses out of his pocket and put them on.
He wanted to see this woman who claimed to be his fiancée. Since she certainly wasn't what she pretended to be, there were two options. Either she was an angry Death Eater out for his blood, or she was a Ministry flunky out for his blood. Either way, he thought he could handle her.
Draco felt warm. His fingers were tingling and his blood was hammering through his veins, making his vision swim. It took him a moment to realise that he was angry. Very, very angry. He hadn't been enraged for a while, not since he left England, certainly. Yet apparently, a chin-high woman was parading around the town like she wasn't after the most dangerous Death Eater still at large. Draco was actually insulted. This was all that whoever sent her had thought would be necessary to catch him?
Draco stalked down the path. The sudden movement jerked at his injured side, but he ignored the flash of pain. As he walked, he distractedly pulled out a cigarette. As he took a long drag, he considered what to do with this insulting flunky.
Although his first instinct had been to be rather offended, he now wondered at it. He would not have been an easy man to track. He had left the Wizarding world without a trace. He had never visited anyone, never used magic, never taken any of the gold hidden deep in the bowels of Malfoy Manor. Yet someone had come looking for him. Obviously she had either gotten very lucky or someone had tattled. Draco was betting on the latter, and he was betting on either Ellivia or Tybalt.
Draco unlocked the door to his suite and went inside. Striding to the CD player, he flicked it on, causing the familiar strains of Tartini's Sonata in G Minor, also known as the Devil's Trill, to fill the room.
Draco let his anger drain slowly away into the music, replacing it with cold-blooded calculation. He resolved to be very careful with this person. She could be smarter than she sounded. He would come back, as the woman would expect him to. Then they would see.
* * * * * * * * *
As the sun set over Port Vila, Ginny sat cross-legged on her bed and flipped through her Ministry-issued book of Glamours. She had only been there for a few days, but was easily settling into things. Luckily, she never experienced severe jet lag and always managed to adjust well to new places, a handy attribute in a profession such as hers. She had spent the first few days checking out the major hotels and bars, feeling quite conspicuous with her fair skin, red hair and accent; it was ridiculously obvious that she was a tourist. Her persistence had paid off, however, as one of the bartenders at the Iririki resort, an amazing 69 acre resort situated on a private island only three minutes from the center of Port Vila, when told that Draco was her runaway fiancée, recognised a picture of him and informed her that he visited the bar regularly each night. This news delighted Ginny, and it was now only a matter of finding the right disguise for her appearance at the bar that evening. She was not planning on doing anything spectacular, just talk to him and gather a sense of where he was staying and how long he was going to be here for. She didn't want to lose him again.
So, there she sat, in her cheap bungalow, with a small pocket-sized book of Glamours in her lap. There was quite a selection, pages and pages of glossy photographs of all sorts of women (and men, but Ginny was fairly sure Malfoy didn't swing that way).
But who would Malfoy go for?
"Bingo," she cried as she reached Glamour number thirty-eight.
She pulled out the cartridge and placed the tip of her wand in the designated groove. Saying the quick spell, she felt the odd tingling sensation that accompanied the transformation wash dizzyingly over her. After a few seconds she looked down at her hands, now a light mocha colour, and smiled. It had worked as well as she had hoped. She walked over to the full-length mirror that stood next to the dressing table to check out her newly acquired appearance.
"Cor," she said to herself, admiring her reflection, "I am so hot!"
Her unruly red mane had been replaced by glossy black hair that hung just past her shoulders in loose waves, her pale, freckly skin had become smooth and glistening, the colour of hot chocolate and her eyes had narrowed slightly and lightened to a cornflower blue. Razor-sharp cheekbones, full lips and a body to die for finished off the look to perfection. The only thing that wasn't quite right was her clothes. A short cotton skirt and top may have been fine for Ginny Weasley, but Glamour number 38 needed something much more exotic. Luckily she had foreseen this and had raided Orla's clubbing wardrobe before she left.
She rustled through her suitcase until she found what she was looking for. It was a midnight blue top (well, as tiny piece of material attached by several pieces of string that Orla had assured her was a actually a top), with a slight silver shimmer. Paired with a short black skirt that her mother would never let her out of the house in and black strappy stilettos, it was the perfect man-hunting outfit.
Once she was dressed (it took her three attempts to get the top on correctly), she quickly ran a brush through her impossibly shiny hair and applied a lip-reddening charm. Ginny surveyed her reflection in the mirror, quite surprised as to just how good she looked.
So this is what it's like to be beautiful, huh? I could get used to this.
Satisfied, she flashed the mirror a heart-breaking smile and flounced out of the room on her ridiculously long legs.
Walking along the main street of Port Villa, she could feel the Muggles' eyes on her. Admittedly she quite enjoyed the attention, but at the same time was wary of being too conspicuous and was thankful when, at a quarter past seven exactly, she boarded the rickety old ferry that would take her across the crystal blue inlet to the Iriki Resort. The boat puttered along the water, leaving a trail of bubbles that disturbed the otherwise glassy surface as it headed towards the glittering mass of lights that was the resort. Breathing in the fragrant air, heavy with humidity, Ginny stepped off the ferry as it pulled up to a small pier. The island was beautiful. Small lights glittered in the row of palm trees that bordered the path leading up to the bar and everywhere she looked there were beautiful and exotic flowers. A small drop of water hit her shoulder and she hurried up to the bar so as not to get caught in one of Vanuatu's frequent tropical downpours.
She walked through the glass doors into a glittering marble room, buzzing with exquisitely dressed people. Her heels clicked on the polished floor as she walked across the room to the bar entrance. It was a large area, half of which was made into a restaurant while the other half was the bar—a gleaming room with stainless steel bar tops and tall stools, lined with enormous floor to ceiling windows that showed off the spectacular South Pacific views. Ginny quickly ordered a white wine and surveyed the room for her prey. It wasn't hard to find him, all slender and blond, his fingers lazily wrapped around a green cocktail. Her heart quickened at the sight of him, she honestly hadn't thought finding him would be this simple. His posture had not changed; she had watched him in the Great Hall all those years ago sit exactly the same way, with an effortless grace and particular carelessness. He looked like he owned the place.
Screwing up her courage she made a beeline for the empty stool that stood beside him. She carefully arranged herself on the seat so that one of her long legs dangled mere inches from his and turned to face him. She froze and held back a gasp. The man sitting next to her was the single most attractive man she had ever been fortunate enough to lay her eyes on. This man was stunning. Draco Malfoy always had been reasonably blessed in the looks department, even back in their Hogwarts days; but the sharpness of those cheekbones, the depth of those eyes and the softness of that hair was not something she had expected. She swallowed quietly and attempted to regain focus.
"Hi," she said breathily, pushing a strand of hair back from her face.
Malfoy raised his head for the first time, hitting her with the full force of his icy stare, looked her up and down with clear disdain and returned to his drink. "Hi," he said, the note of boredom unmistakable in his voice.
Hmm, not exactly the reaction I was after.
She swung her leg so it softly brushed against his. "Crazy weather, isn't it?"
Malfoy shrugged, but looked up at the window.
"I've only been here a little while so I'm still getting used to the sudden tropical storms." She leant over him and plucked the umbrella from his drink, playfully twirling it between her fingers. Malfoy looked at her, then to his umbrella-less drink, then back to her.
"You took my umbrella," he said in disbelief.
Ginny smiled flirtatiously, glad to finally have his attention.
"Put it back."
She stopped twirling. "What?"
He fixed her with a steely glaze, a mean glint in his ice blue eyes. "Put the umbrella back."
Not quite believing how this conversation was going, she dropped the umbrella back into his half-empty glass.
She sighed loudly, opting for a different tactic. "I love the rain," she purred.
There was no response.
"What about you, Draco? Do you love the rain?" she asked, taking a sip of her wine.
He looked out the window briefly and shrugged. There was a moment of silence before, to Ginny's surprise, he drained the rest of his cocktail and slammed the glass on the bar top. She watched in horror as he stood up to leave, putting his suit coat over his dark grey shirt.
Oh my God, I'm going to lose him!
He took a few steps before turning back to her.
"You coming?" he said, eyes glinting strangely in the dim light.
Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise, before jumping off the stool, grabbing her bag and following him out of the restaurant.
"Where are we going," she asked breathlessly.
"Away from here," he muttered.
Malfoy strode purposefully through the foyer and Ginny had to struggle to keep up. He pushed open one of the glass doors and went down one of the side paths.
"Hey hold up! I'm walking in stilettos, you know!" Ginny exclaimed.
But just then Malfoy rounded on her, grabbing her by the neck and pushing her against the hotel wall. Ginny gave a strangled cry as the cement, wet from rain, pushed painfully against her bare shoulders.
"Right," Malfoy said in a vicious whisper, his face pushed close to hers so she could smell the rum on his breath, "Who the fuck are you and how do you know my name?"
The combination of the pounding of her own heart and Malfoy's vice-like grip on her throat rendered her unable to speak, but her mind was reeling. Malfoy's knee was pushed hard between her legs and she could feel the heat of his anger pulsating off him in violent waves. The pupils of his eyes had contracted alarmingly and his mouth was twisted into an ugly snarl. She let out a gasp for breath as the grip on her neck tightened. Malfoy pushed his body hard against hers, crushing her against the cement and cutting of her breath entirely. Her vision began to blur at the edges just as an unfamiliar female voice came from behind them.
"Well, isn't this romantic?" the voice said, laughingly, obviously mistaking their position for something decidedly less violent.
Ginny saw a brief flash of surprise in Malfoy's eyes before he released her neck and slowly turned to face the stranger.
"Hello Aunty, long time no see," he said blandly, but with an undertone of venom.
The woman lit her wand, throwing the confused scene into bright relief, and Ginny's heart dropped. Standing before her, with her trademark raven hair and dagger sharp cheekbones, was Bellatrix Lestrange, the dangerous former Death Eater who had fallen from Voldemort's grace during the Second War. The tall broad shouldered man next to her was undoubtedly her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange.
"Oh, it has been too long, Draco darling, it truly has. I would have invited you to last years Christmas gathering, but I just didn't know where to send the invitation to, what with you being in hiding and all!" she smiled sweetly, running a long finger down Malfoy's arm that caused him to flinch and pull away. "Never mind, we shall have plenty of time to catch up." She made a signal to her husband, who shot ropes out of his wand that efficiently snaked around Malfoy's wrists.
Bellatrix then turned her attention to Ginny, who was standing behind Malfoy, partly obscured from view.
"Now, aren't you a pretty little thing?" she said with a smile that made the blood run cold in Ginny's veins. "Pity I'll have to kill you."
She rose her wand and Ginny's heart jumped.
"No!" she cried. "You can't kill me!"
Bellatrix smirked, the same smirk her nephew had perfected many years ago. "Oh? And why is that?" she said mockingly.
Ginny looked around desperately as a wild thought popped into her head. "You can't kill me because… because I'm Draco's girlfriend!"
Without thinking she grabbed the front of Malfoy's shirt and pushed her lips to his. She felt his body freeze briefly before he opened his mouth to hers. His hands, still bound, balled into fists, but hung loosely by his side as she instinctively reached out to touch the nape of his neck where his damp hair curled slightly.
Bellatrix cleared her throat. "Yes, alright, you made your point," she said coolly.
Ginny's eyes snapped open and she jumped away from Malfoy, who was staring at her with narrowed eyes.
"Fine, I won't kill you just yet. You may come in handy," Bellatrix said, flicking her hair over her shoulders.
At her signal Rodolphus shot another set of ropes at Ginny that wound tightly around her wrists. She gasped as the magical binds burnt a cold, white pain into her skin. How Malfoy could look so unaffected she did not know.
Bellatrix and her husband were in whispered conference when she felt Malfoy's eyes on her. She looked up at him, surprised to see a sardonic smile on his lips.
"What?" she spat, glaring up at him.
"That was a big mistake," he said almost gleefully.
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"
He looked her up and down for the second time that night and shook his head, causing a single strand of damp hair to fall in his eyes. "Once they're finished with you, you'll wish they had killed you."
* * * * * * * * *
Draco came-to when an invasive wand poked him in the cheek and a voice muttered, "Enervate."
That girl had kissed him. He remembered that instantly.
And well… that had been a shock. He had stood passive, analysing as she desperately brought a hand up to touch the nape of his neck. Then he started feeling something uncoil, viscerally rooted, snaking up his spine until it reached his brain and burst like a bomb, flooding his body with adrenaline. His heart started racing and, hardly knowing what he was doing, he had returned the kiss, taking control of her desperate action and absorbing it, as if he were trying to suck out her soul.
She had caught him looking at her, and he sneered and said something intended to terrify her.
This action had been his last for a while, because a flash of blue-tinged light had blinded him and he blacked out.
Now, beside him, the girl was being similarly brought to her senses. She immediately felt for her wand and Bellatrix Lestrange, standing over her, smiled.
"We've got it now, dearie," she said, patting a voluminous pocket in her robes. "And don't think to try any wandless magic either. Once you step through this door, the entire compound is warded as tight as the Dark Lord's lavatory. No magic at all will work."
Draco noticed the girl was starting to panic. He couldn't rouse himself to care. She had, after all, gotten herself into this situation.
They were in a dark, underground cellar. The walls were cement with wooden supporting beams.
Rodolphus Lestrange, on his wife's instructions, poked the girl in the back with his wand, forcing her to precede him out the door.
Bellatrix approached Draco and did the same.
"Gently, Aunty," he said sardonically as her wand jabbed one of his healing ribs.
They walked a short distance and up a flight of stairs and were suddenly in a much more lavish part of the building. The walls were covered with silk and the floors were covered in lush red carpet. Every few steps there was an expensive looking antique.
Eventually, they were ordered to enter another room. This room was clearly a guest suite, comprising of three rooms, as far as he could see. They stood in the middle of the living room, which was as opulent as the hallway. The walls were hung with tapestries and paintings and the couch and divan in one corner looked both expensive and comfortable.
Bellatrix smiled and gave them a mocking curtsey. "We will leave you two to get yourselves settled."
Then she and Rodolphus left the room and Draco heard the click of several locks being turned in the door.
Draco turned to look at his companion in captivity and noticed something odd. The girl, he was certain, had been a lot shorter moments ago. Not only that, but she had been darker and thinner, and had had black hair. Now it was long, curly and firey red; a very familiar colour.
"Fuck," he said. "You're a Weasley."
The Weasley obviously decided to brazen it out. "What if I am?"
Draco grinned ferally. "Well, nothing darling, but it makes everything so much more interesting. "So, what's your name? I expect you know mine since you have, presumably, been hunting me for quite a while. No wait, let me guess."
He paced in a circle around her.
"You're the Weasel's little sister, right? Hm… Granger? No, that was the mudblood. Ginger? Gina? Oh, I know. It's Ginny."
Ginny nodded stiffly.
"So, little Ginny Weasley went hunting for the big bad wolf."
Although his tone was light, his expression, eyes narrowed and glinting, made it obvious just how annoyed he was. He recalled the little Weasley, now that he thought about it. She had been at Hogwarts with him, but that wasn't all. There was something else about her he should remember.
"Ah," he said softly, with an edge of menace. "The bat bogeys hex in fifth year." Was that what he had been trying to remember?
Ginny looked uneasy.
"Oh this is too precious," Draco continued. "My aunt has kidnapped me, dragged me who-knows-where and immured me in a suite with one of the fucking Weasleys. Well, you're in for a rough ride, little Weasley. I wasn't lying when I said they'd make you wish you were dead."
Ginny flushed at this and began: "If you think—"
She stopped. Draco looked over at her and she was looking at the door. Finally he heard the telltale clicks that meant the locks were opening.
The door opened and through it swept Bellatrix and Rodolphus.
Bellatrix smiled when she saw Ginny. "So I see your glamour finally wore off. We knew, of course, that you were wearing one, but we didn't know what you actually looked like."
Her eyes swept over Ginny's red hair and freckles and her lip curled. "A Weasley? Draco, where are your standards?"
Draco looked at her coldly and didn't reply. Ginny made a hissing noise deep in her throat.
Bellatrix shrugged delicately and turned. "Come in," she said to the door.
It opened a bit wider and through it stepped two figures, a male and a female. Draco recognised them, of course.
"Ellivia and Aidan, a pleasure to meet you again so soon," Draco's tone was loaded with sarcasm. "And I suppose you're the ones who tipped Miss Teen Spy here off to my presence, aren't you?"
Ginny protested angrily that she was only a year younger than he was.
Ellivia frowned. "Why would we do that?"
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow and laughed. "Miss Teen Spy? Oh Draco, you're so adorable!"
"So," Draco said with a sigh, "What do you want with me?"
"Well," said Bellatrix. "I want the gold under Malfoy Manor and he—" she pointed to Aidan "—wants the key that can get me it."
Draco smirked. "You can never get that off me, Aunty."
Bellatrix smiled and glanced at Ginny. "We'll see."
