Disclaimer – I don't own any of the canon characters or concepts. Don't sue.
II
They released him into her custody.
Quite what she was supposed to do with him she didn't know. He was a far more powerful and experienced wizard than she, and a Death Eater to boot – what was she supposed to do if he suddenly decided to kill her?
Moody assured her, smiling quite strangely, that Lucius Malfoy would do his utmost to keep her alive for as long as possible.
A comforting thought.
But what was truly comforting was the silence and the emptiness of Malfoy Manor, when compared to the overcrowded Burrow, which exuded enough life, vitality and energy to drive her mad, if she was forced to stay there any longer than she had to. It was not home anymore, that cheerful reckless exuberance – home was (or had been) cool, soundless amusement; wordless understanding rather than spats and arguments at the top of her lungs.
The Manor House echoed not with the shouts of living, breathing family, but with whispers of past Malfoy glories – it was an empty, brooding house now, a symbol of centuries of power and intrigue and dominance, now reduced to housing only two.
In the gallery, the portraits of Draco's ancestors watched her with cool grey Malfoy eyes, calculating, measuring, evaluating – Brandon, the very first; Varis, who had fought off the Roman army; Julian, who had seen the value in a wizarding school and given Salazar Slytherin support in recruiting pureblood students; another whose name escaped her who had steered the House through the chaos of the Conquest…
Twenty-five centuries of power and influence stared down at her from the walls. The very stones of the Manor exuded it, and there was nowhere on this estate that was not shadowed – protected, some said – by the overpowering influence of House Malfoy.
Soon, it would all come to an end.
Some days – the worst days – she could not decide whether that was a good thing or not.
"Mrs Malfoy, you cannot continue to ignore this situation." Phineas Finch, fiddling nervously with his wire rimmed spectacles, avoided her eyes as he spoke. "You are the legal owner of the Malfoy estate; you have a responsibility to maintain it. And that means that you must take an interest in its running –"
"I don't have to take an interest in anything, Finch – Draco never cared about the estate."
"With respect, Mrs Malfoy," Finch polished his spectacles compulsively, "Master Draco did not have the chance to take over the running of the estate. But this is a different time, now, and we are at peace – in war, benign neglect may have been permissible, but in peacetime it is a death sentence –"
"A death sentence? What the hell are you talking about," she began angrily, but he interrupted her.
"Landowning is an anachronism, ma'am. Huge estates may have spelled money and power a hundred or so years ago, but today they lose money hand over fist – they are only rendered feasible and profitable by the family's investments and businesses. If they go under, then so too does the estate – you cannot afford to ignore the finances forever." He replaced his spectacles and turned his attention to the ledgers and accounts before him. "Now, if you will just turn your attention to…"
Ginny cut him off, rising from her chair and slamming her fist down on the desk. "How many times do I have to say that I don't care about the bloody estate? Can't you just leave me in peace? If you care so much about the estate, then bloody well look after it yourself!"
She stormed out of the study, leaving the ancient man of affairs to find his own way out of the Manor. His repeated pleas that she take up her responsibilities were enough to drive her mad – didn't they understand that she had absolutely no interest in such things? Worse than that – she had no aptitude for it.
She had been raised in a house that stood on no more than half an acre of land. In the Burrow, managing – juggling – their finances had meant ensuring they had enough to feed and educate seven children; here, on one of the largest wizarding estates in Britain, financial management meant a labyrinthine tangle of investments, funds, hidden accounts and a business empire the extent of which she could not even begin to guess.
She had tried, once, to make sense of it, but it had been like trying to read hieroglyphics without the Rosetta Stone. Lucius had only laughed at her, his lazy, remote amusement all too plain.
There were times, dark times, when she spied him in the distance, his back turned, and she would mistake him for Draco – a wild leap of hope and joy would lift her, she would begin to smile, and her faith in her husband would be confirmed –
He's the Malfoy Lord, and he's cunning enough to survive anything, strong enough to take care of everything, and so powerful that not even Death itself could overcome him…
And then the illusion would pass, and it would be Lucius she watched, Lucius who was still alive while Draco was dead. And her heart would break afresh.
TBC…