Hello, readers! I bring you the next installment of Wilfully. Thank you for all the feedback I have been receiving, it means a lot to me.
Disclaimer: Potter world is JK Rowling's. Not mine.
WILFULLY: CHAPTER 4
Each passing day brought with it new conflictions, and Draco Malfoy found himself getting more and more entangled in all of them.
He should have known this was going to happen – truth was, deep down he did know, but for the first time in his life, he had turned a blind eye to his gut instinct.
What a stupid thing to do.
xx
Dawn came with a musical silence, causing the warm air to thrum with a life that was not quite living but never dead. Draco strolled down a narrow path between two rows of tall grapevines as he eyed hues of orange light break through the grey, clouded sky, admiring the simplistic beauty of nature that he had never quite paid any attention to in his youth, but now relied on to bring him some sense of peace in his life.
And Merlin knew he deserved some peace after the 'excitement' of the Quidditch match the day before.
For the dozenth time, he cursed Ginevra Weasley for being so reckless. And then reluctantly admitted to himself that her move, though fairly inconvenient to him at the time, had been a stroke of cunning that probably would have impressed Salazar Slytherin himself. He was surprised that a Gryffindor like her was even capable of thinking something like this, let alone going through with it.
By kissing him in the stadium, she had killed three birds with a single stone, so to speak. She had made their relationship public. She had shut him up for calling her a coward, and had done so in a manner that would certainly have him thinking twice before he ever dared to do so again. And lastly, she had informed her family of her involvement with Draco and invoked their very predicable wrath in a public space where it could be somewhat controlled.
Which is exactly what had happened.
Ginevra's parents had glared at him in disbelief, the twin had cracked his knuckles angrily, and Weaselbee had shouted something along the lines of "How dare you touch my sister, you ferret?" as he charged forward with his wand brandished. Potter had tried to hold the ginger twat back, albeit halfheartedly; it was obvious that the Boy Who Lived Twice wanted nothing more than to assist his best friend rather than stop him.
It was Granger, much to Draco's surprise, who had been the voice of reason. With a few choice words, she had promptly reminded everyone that they were in that moment under the scrutiny of almost the entire wizarding community in Britain, and therefore could not afford to brawl like a band of bumbling baboons in the middle of the Quidditch stadium.
They all had settled down then, with Weaselbee shooting him a dark look that promised retribution, and Draco had watched the entire match with his fingers firmly wrapped around his wand, ready to whip it out of his pocket and use it at a moment's notice if need arose. The need didn't arise and once the match was over – Puddlemere United defeated the Holyhead Harpies by 90 points, a result that pleased Draco doubly due to his irritation towards Ginevra – he was one of the first ones to leave the box.
Well aware that the Weasley clan was practically at his heels, he had hastened his steps as he headed towards the players' enclosure. If those ginger gits and their honourable hero friends wanted answers, they were welcome to get them from Ginevra. He would be damned if he let her trap him into this ugly confrontation, especially when he had made it quite clear that he was not going to fight her family for the sake of their relationship.
Ginevra had been standing outside the locker rooms, her shoulders sagged in dejection. "Well played, darling," he called out to her by way of greeting, watching with a sick amusement how she had jumped at the sound of his voice.
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure that the Weasleys were well within the hearing range – they were only fifteen or so feet behind him, and livid by the looks of it – Draco strode over to her. "Your family and I didn't have a chance to converse because we were so focused on your match," he said politely, too politely. "Now that it's over, you can answer their questions. I'd help, but I have a train to catch later this evening. I have to go abroad for a couple of days."
Her brows furrowed with a mixture of anger and trepidation. "Dra–"
He took her face in his hands, not allowing her to speak. "I have absolute faith that you will be able to handle this situation on your own. Take care, darling." A smirk of vengeance made its way to his lips; she may have been a lioness, but he was a snake and it was his bite that was fatal to most. She would do well to remember that. "Oh, and do not despair. Losing is just part of the game." With those dual meaning words, he had planted a quick but firm kiss on her lips and disapparated with a pop, not even staying behind to see the reaction of her family, which can't have been pretty.
There would be a reckoning for his actions, of that Draco had no doubt. Truth was, he would have stayed put for the drama; he was confident in his abilities to defend himself with words or wand, and was not afraid of that destitute, horrendously honourable ginger family, but he did actually have a train to catch.
Which brought him to the beautiful Italian countryside, watching the sun rise in the distance as he strolled through the vineyard that his family owned.
As Draco walked through the rows of vines, pausing now and then to touch the leaves, he mused that he had half-expected a bunch of howlers from Ginevra to reach him by now. The lack of screaming letters meant that she had indeed managed to handle the situation. Or perhaps, she was waiting for him to return so she could unleash her fury at him all at once. Or maybe the Weasleys had locked her up in her room to keep her away from him.
He nearly snorted at the last one. As if anyone could ever contain that she-beast. He had only known Ginevra for a few weeks, and was still learning things about her, but he knew that she was a talented witch and was perfectly capable of achieving anything she set her eyes on. It was almost a Slytherin quality, but the fact that her ambitions were so menial made her such a Gryffindor. That, and her reckless bravado.
Still, she had proven to be a worthy companion so far and he was certain that their mutual attempts at throwing each other in a den of angry hippogriffs will not jeopardise whatever relationship had developed between them.
"Draco."
A soft, feminine voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned around. Narcissa Malfoy stood a few feet from him, a vision of grace in a plain dress. "Mother," he greeted softly, feeling his heart brim with a tenderness that he always felt whenever he was around her. "You're up early."
"As are you," she pointed out, eyeing him from head to toe as if to see if he was alright. She had always done that, though back during his early Hogwarts years it had been to gauge how much he had grown or if he had been eating properly at school. Later on, it was simply to ensure that he had returned unharmed from his Death Eater missions. "Effie told me you arrived quite late last night."
"I did." He had reached the villa way past midnight, and Effie the house-elf had informed him upon his arrival that his mother had already retired.
"Then why aren't you in bed?"
Draco wondered if he should tell his mother that he had foregone going to bed in favour of roaming around the countryside all night. "Too many thoughts," he said, well aware that his response would still be met with disapproval. His mother had always expressed concern over his habit of wandering about in the dark hours and pondering over things he had no control over. She called it an unhealthy activity, he called it a necessary solitude. Still, he did not want her to worry, so he went on in a lighter tone, "Or perhaps, having missed seeing my dear mother last night, I wanted to ensure that I'd be able to join her for breakfast this morning."
His words did the trick: a smile slowly spread out on her lips, and she moved forward to place a soft kiss on his cheek. "I've missed you."
"And I you, mother," he murmured, eyeing the woman whose strength had awed him time and again.
Narcissa Malfoy had built a life in the Malfoy Manor, but her utopia had practically become a torture chamber during the war. After the Dark Lord's demise, Potter's statement had freed her of all charges and his interference at Draco's trial had resulted in a much lenient punishment – a probation and a fine that the ministry assumed was hefty but did not blow a hole in the Malfoy fortune. But when it came to Lucius Malfoy's trial, neither Potter nor anyone else spoke up, and the man was sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban.
Though he had been taken with his own healing and responsibilities at the time, Draco hadn't been blind to his mother's struggles. It had been difficult to resettle into the Manor that was not only empty but also tainted with much misery, and on top of that the wizarding community seemed hell bent on showing no kindness to the remaining members of the Malfoy family. She had endured the disrespect in silence, but he knew that it was slowly taking a toll on her, which is why he had convinced her to move to the Tuscan villa that his father had gifted to her when Draco had been born. It had a special place in her heart, and she was always happy here.
The mother and son spoke of small, inconsequential things as they slowly made their way back to the villa that stood atop a low hill. Effie had already set up their breakfast in the veranda; the house-elf was very good at her job and even better at making herself scarce when she was not needed.
A companionable silence fell between them as Draco delved into the freshly prepared meal while Narcissa enjoyed a cup of coffee and reached for the newspaper. He was childishly pouring copious amounts of maple syrup onto his waffles when he heard his mother clear her throat in disapproval. He looked up, ready to defensively state that he was old enough to decide how much syrup he could have on his breakfast, when he noticed her steely expression. "What?" Draco asked warily.
His mother pressed her lips together in obvious distaste and handed him the Daily Prophet. And he knew in an instant what was wrong.
Half of the front page of the newspaper was covered with a picture of Ginevra and him kissing rather passionately. Below it was a smaller picture of Potter looking at them with a shocked expression, his eyes wide and his brows drawn into a frown.
HARRY POTTER LOSES THE GAME OF LOVE TO AN EX-DEATH EATER
By, Rita Skeeter
The hero of the Wizarding World suffered a severe blow to his heart when his ex-girlfriend announced her relationship with ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy, 24, right before the Puddlemere United vs. Holyhead Harpies game at the Ellis Moor Quidditch Stadium yesterday afternoon.
Ginny Weasley, 23, who plays as a Chaser for the Harpies, initiated a passionate lip-lock with Malfoy right in front of her old flame, Harry Potter, who happened to be sitting only a few seats away, leaving the young and dashing saviour of our community completely heartbroken.
Potter, who had been involved in a serious relationship with Miss Weasley since before his infamous victory at the Battle of Hogwarts six years ago, had announced their amicable split only a year ago, but sources tell us that he had been looking forward to rekindling a romance with her.
"Harry is head over heels in love with Ginny, he always has been." a Ministry official who wished to remain anonymous told the Prophet exclusively, "He often said he was going to ask her out, was probably looking for the right time to do it. It's a shame she chose that Malfoy bloke over him. Harry and Ginny are soulmates; I never even understood why they broke up in the first place."
The reasons behind the break-up were never revealed. Though, it is now being speculated that perhaps Miss Weasley's fascination with the rich and enigmatic Draco Malfoy had something to do with it.
Malfoy, who is currently the CEO of the Malfoy Corporation and the sole heir to his family's vast wealth, has a dark past that everyone is aware of. He was convicted of being a member of the Dark Wizard Voldemort's inner circle by the Wizengamot, but only faced a lenient punishment due to his questionably helpful actions towards the Golden Trio. Though he has managed to keep his personal life private since the trial, it has now been revealed that his romance with Miss Weasley has been blooming for a while now.
"We saw them at La Nuit weeks ago," Bertha Jenkins, a 46-year-old witch who frequents the posh restaurant at Diagon Alley, said, "They were at the table next to us. He complimented her, and she made him laugh. They couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was very sweet, reminded me of the time I was young and madly in love."
The article went on to speculate more about the 'blooming Death Eater and Quidditch star romance' and how Potter would deal with this supposed heartbreak, but Draco did not bother reading it. There was only so much of Rita Skeeter's work that he could stomach; the woman was as credible a journalist as his aunt Bellatrix had been kind.
"Explain yourself," Narcissa demanded, her voice cool.
"What do you want me to say?" Draco asked with a shrug. His mother was the most important woman in his life, which is why he never lied to her unless he absolutely had to. And lying to her about Ginevra seemed like a foolish thing to do, seeing that the relationship was already in the limelight and would probably stay there for a while if that damned cow Skeeter had her way.
"Say that this is a false tale that the Prophet has concocted."
He pointedly glanced at the photograph on the front page. "Pictures don't lie, mother."
"A one-time action, then," she said. "A mistake that will never happen again."
It had been a grave error on his part, Draco realised, that he had spent such a long amount of time thinking of how the Weasleys would react to the reveal of his and Ginevra's relationship. He should have been more concerned with his own family's reaction, seeing that their utter dislike towards the red-haired clan had been no secret. "I can't say that, mother," he said.
Narcissa stilled as she studied him closely. He tried to stay as impassive as he could, but Salazar knew what she gleaned from his expression. "Do you love her?" she asked finally, apprehensively.
"No. Merlin, no!" Draco's response was instant, almost incredulous. As much as he enjoyed Ginevra's company, he was certain that he was not in love with her. He liked spending time with her, he was intrigued by her, but was definitely not in love with her.
"Your father would be so disappointed if he found out."
"It's a good thing that they don't deliver the Daily Prophet at Azkaban, then," he muttered, his tone more bitter than he had intended.
Narcissa shot him a look. "I will have you know that I do not approve of this nonsensical romance either."
"Yes, I can see that."
"With a Weasley, of all people!" She burst out, then paused to take a deep breath to collect herself.
He reckoned that the news must really have upset her if she was so quick to lose control of her emotions. "I understand your feelings about the matt–"
She held up her hand, putting a stop to his diplomatic response. "Draco, you are no longer a child, which means it is no longer my job to reprimand you for your stupidity." Her voice was cool, and painfully so. "That being said, even you must be able to see how mismatched your so-called relationship with the Weasley girl is. It will inevitably end in disaster that will not only undo the efforts you have made to restore the Malfoy name but also gain us new enemies, which is something we cannot afford. Therefore, investing any further in this folly would be unwise." She placed her napkin on the table and stood up with an air of finality, fierce eyes fixed on him. "You will put an end to this unhealthy affair when you return to England, and we shall speak no more of this."
And then she stormed away, leaving Draco conflicted.
xx
Draco stepped into the shower cabin in his bathroom back at the Manor, allowing the scalding hot water to run down his skin. It didn't feel uncomfortable; his body was accustomed to the high temperature that he had always preferred.
He had returned from Italy a couple of hours ago, having cut his visit short under the guise of some urgent business meeting that he had to attend. His mother probably saw through his charade, but he could not bring himself to care. They hadn't spoken of Ginevra or the Weasleys in the two days he had spent with her, but the air between them had been quite strained. Under the circumstance, Draco had deemed it best to return back home.
Was his mother right about this entire relationship being nothing but a fiasco? Of course, she was.
He had known it from the get go that pursuing Ginevra Weasley was going to be a risky move. They belonged to two very different worlds, held opposing ideals and there was a lot of history between them and their families that would be nigh on impossible to overcome. Hell, he didn't think he wanted to overcome it himself; the idea of referring to her useless brothers with anything but the aversion was appalling.
It was only Ginevra that he was accepting of, initially because shagging her against the bookshelf at his great-uncle's chateau had been a pleasurable experience, but mostly because she had managed to impress him with her fire at every turn of their somewhat banter-filled affair... But if this relationship was doomed to end badly, then perhaps it would be wise to end it as soon as possible.
Except he didn't want to. And for the life of him, he did not know why.
Engrossed in his thoughts, he allowed the hot water to soothe his muscles for a while before stepping out of the shower and walking back to his closet, a towel wrapped around his waist.
"Took you long enough."
The voice caused him to turn sharply, and his heart nearly stopped. Ginevra was sitting calmly in his armchair, leafing through an ancient looking book that she had picked off his shelf. Ill-mannered, nosy hag. "This looks awfully dull," she commented.
The 'this' she was referring to happened to be a manuscript detailing the unfinished experiments and untested theories of the great alchemist Paracelsus, compiled by his apprentice, Simonnet Thibault Leclère after his master's death in 1541. "That's because the ideas presented in this journal are too complex for your simpleton brain," Draco snapped as he strode over to her and plucked the precious item from her hands. There were only seven or so copies of it in existence and he had gone to great lengths to acquire one. Holding the book gingerly as if it were his child, he placed it in its proper place on the shelf (arranged both by alphabetic order and by height) before turning to face the redhead.
"Somebody is acting arseholey again. Well, more than usual," Ginevra stated, her voice laden with amusement. "Did your trip to Italy not go well? Your house-elf told me you were there, in case you were wondering."
He made a mental note to have a few words with Yugo. Just because he was romantically involved with the woman did not mean that she was allowed to know his whereabouts. "How did your post-match evening go with your family?" he asked.
That question dampened her spirits, thank Salazar. "Awful, as expected. Mum and dad have been shouting at me for two days. Bill checked me to make sure I wasn't under some sort of spell. Ron won't even speak to me. And Harry…" she trailed off, an oddly sad expression flicking on her face for a moment. Then, she shook her head and raised her eyes to meet his. "I had to get away. So, I came here in hopes that you'd returned."
"Which I have."
"Which you have."
They were still for a moment, then Ginevra walked over and wrapped her arms around him. The gesture surprised him; things at her place must have really been bad if she was this desperate for comfort. "You brought this upon yourself with that reckless public display of affection before the match," he said matter-of-factly as he returned the embrace.
"Everyone was going to find out eventually," she mumbled defensively against his bare chest, the tip of her nose trailing up his collar bone as she raised her head. "You smell nice."
"I always do." He smirked.
"Git," she muttered as she placed a chaste kiss on his lips and stepped away. "So, what were you doing in Italy?"
"Visiting my mother," Draco replied and upon noticing her mildly confused look, explained, "She has been living in Tuscany for almost two years now. I go to her whenever my schedule allows."
Ginevra's eyes moved around his room, as if to gauge the vastness of it. "So, you live all alone here?" She turned back to him with something akin to pity, as if the idea was unfathomable to her. "Why did your mother leave?"
He responded with a tight shrug. It was irritating to see her act so nobly concerned, especially when she knew nothing about his family dynamic. She could take this goddamned pity of hers and choke on it, for all he cared.
"Why didn't you move abroad with her?" she asked. "You once mentioned that the Malfoy name is not the same anymore. Surely, life would have been easier for you away from here."
This time her question was a valid one. It was something he himself had pondered many times over the last few years; the idea of leaving the country, leaving his dark past and all the judgments had had its appeal. Even his parents had encouraged him to make the decision, but he had stubbornly refused to do so for one very simple reason, which he told her with no hesitation whatsoever: "This is home."
And it was. He had grown up within the walls of the Malfoy Manor, and despite everything that had happened here, the place was close to his heart. He would have been damned if he let the Dark Lord win by tainting his memories of the Manor, of if he let Potter and his blindly heroic supporters win by driving him away from the place that had been a witness to his childhood.
Draco walked to his bedside table to pick up his wand and with a single swish, sent his towel flying off his body and into his closet room, where it hung on its allocated hook. He no longer saw the point in getting dressed; with his and Ginevra's record in mind, clothes always proved to be a hindrance between them after a certain amount of time. He had no doubt that the flowery short dress that she was wearing would be coming off quite soon.
The sight of Ginevra taking in his nakedness, her cheeks getting red not out of shyness but rather the dirty thoughts that were no doubt swirling in her mind, did boost his ego nicely. He shot her a knowing smirk, then pulled back the covers and slipped into his bed. "So, should I be expecting your useless brothers to come ramming at my door and demanding retribution from me for seducing you?"
"I'm not going to lie to you, Draco, it is a possibility." She kicked off her sandals and plopped onto the bed gleefully. Clearly, the idea of her brothers chasing after him with torches, shovels and wands brought her great joy. She scooted closer to him and propped herself up on an elbow. "And I'm not going to help you at all when they do. You deserve it for the little theatrical piece you did before leaving me alone."
"You're a horrible girlfriend, Weasley." He smacked her bottom playfully to get his complaint across. The reaction was instantaneous: her mouth popped open and she blushed so hard that her cheeks were almost the same colour as her hair, something the he found to be deeply amusing. "I take it you have never been spanked before."
Ginevra lowered her gaze and bit her lip nervously. He realised that this was probably the first time that she had truly been shy in his presence. It reminded him of all those instances at Hogwarts when he and his friends had made fun of her silly, jumpy little crush on Potter.
"Would you like me to introduce you to the practice?" he asked, leaning forward until their faces were only inches apart. "After all, you have been very naughty." Truth was, he wouldn't spank her even if she begged for it. The kink was simply not his cup of tea; he understood the fun behind a frisky smack on the bottom every once in a long while, but personally found the idea of proper spanking to be demeaning.
However, the opportunity of teasing her was too good to pass, so Draco reached out and started rubbing her bottom suggestively. Her breath hitched with trepidation – the girl was no doubt unsure of her own feelings towards the activity – and she eyed his hand as if it was a furious branch of the Whomping Willow. He couldn't help it, he started laughing at the ridiculous expression on her face.
Her body visibly relaxed. "I-If you spank me, I'll make sure you end up with bruised balls, Malfoy," Ginevra said with a bravado that had only come to her once she had realised that he was joking. When he continued to snigger, she glared at him. "My brothers were right about you being a sadistic wanker."
That helped him control his amusement to an extent. "Oh, really?" he demanded, an eyebrow raised, as he slipped his hand underneath her dress. His fingers fiddled with the waistband of her knickers for a few moments before slowly making their way up her abdomen. "And what other defamatory statements did your brothers make about me?"
She leaned forward until he could feel her breath on his face. "Let's not talk about my brothers anymore."
"Splendid idea, darling."
Their lips met in a passionate kiss, his tongue battling hers for dominion, while his fingers finally reached her breast. He tugged at her bra impatiently and, understanding the hint, she reached out behind her and undid the straps with practiced ease. Pulling it out from under her dress, she flung the undergarment somewhere over her shoulder.
Draco broke the kiss exasperatedly and reached for his wand, wondering if the girl had any manners at all. They were not rutting animals, for Merlin's sake! With a wordless swish-and-flick, he levitated her bra off the floor and neatly placed it on his armchair. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to her, ready to resume their snogging.
Only, it was her turn to pull away when he reached for her. She seemed to be deep in thought as her eyes moved rapidly from him to her bra, to his bookshelf and finally to the double doors through which his impeccable closet was still visible. A moment of silence passed, then –
"Merlin!" Ginevra exclaimed as she sat up. "You're a control freak." The conviction in her voice caused him to stiffen. "The signs were there all along, what with your over the top table manners, your calculated movements, your way of talking and your need to put everything in its proper place." Her wonder-filled gaze came to rest on him. "Draco, do you have - what's it called - OCD?"
His stomach clenched uncomfortably; he was caught completely off guard by her sudden deduction. Most people usually associated his mannerisms to his aristocratic upbringing and his somewhat dark and enigmatic personality; it was impressive that she had been able to perceive his behaviours beyond that. Impressive, but inconvenient. "Sort of," Draco admitted. Blaise had told him that he did indeed exhibit signs of obsessive compulsive disorder, and they had had several discussions on the matter. Though that was not all, was it? "But not quite. It's complicated."
Ginevra frowned, then gently lay back down next to him, her eyes boring into his. She did not say anything, and he knew that she was waiting for him to expand on his words.
Shit.
They had both learned things about each other in this relationship and it had been a pleasant experience so far, but there were secrets that Draco kept close to his heart and thoughts that he never bared to anyone. It was a simple strategy on his part: his loneliness was his self-preservation. If others discovered his thought-processes and weaknesses, they would either use him or judge, and he was not going to allow either.
In all fairness, what she had found out was not a secret; his behaviour was out in the open for all to see, and anyone with half a mind could figure out that he was indeed a control freak. But the explanation that she was currently waiting for was a glimpse into his soul.
He absently touched the Dark Mark on his arm and realised with a jolt that her eyes had caught the movement. Ginevra had seen the mark before, had even touched it during their throes of passion, but her general attitude was to pretend that it wasn't there. And he was perfectly alright with that. The war and their roles in it had been a topic of conversation that they both had religiously avoided.
Until now.
"I- I…" he trailed off uncertainly, unsure what to say or where to begin. Taking a deep breath, he tried again, keeping the words that came out of his mouth strictly contained while his thoughts ran wild. "I spent a large chunk of my life not being in control. During the war, the Dark Lord commanded me to… He told me what he wanted done, and I did it. After he fell, I was arrested and taken to Azkaban."
He had spent one hundred and seventeen days in a dingy cell, chained so heavily to the stone walls that he had barely been able to move. And the Dementors had been there – Merlin knew why the new regime had allowed their presence in the prison; maybe it had been their way of torturing Voldemort's followers – their cold seeping into his marrow, the fear chilling the blood in his veins, and all the horrible memories playing over and over in his mind until he found himself choking on the very air he breathed.
"Then, during the trial, I had to sit there while others decided what happened to me," Draco went on, curling his fingers into tight fists.
He could still remember Eloise Goldstein, the new Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, reading out the charges against him: 'Draco Lucius Malfoy, you are accused of serving the Dark Wizard Voldemort for a period of twenty-two months and thirteen days one of his Death Eaters. You are charged with thirty-seven counts of casting the Cruciatus Curse, two counts of casting the Imperius Curse, abetting in two attacks on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and for the attempted murders of Albus Dumbledore, Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley.'
He had had no defence; everyone knew that he had been willing – eager, even – to join Voldemort's ranks. If it hadn't been for Potter, he would most certainly have been incarcerated. The idea of spending years in Azkaban had haunted him and, for the first time in his life, he had truly contemplated suicide. Somehow managing to die before the verdict was announced had felt like a better option than being dragged away by the Dementors.
It hadn't come to that. Mercifully, they had decided to let him go with a fine and a twelve-month probation, during which they had placed a trace on him to monitor his movements and limited the amount and types of magic he was allowed to use. Though, that had been a cage of its own, a constant reminder that he was under their power.
Draco shook himself out of his thoughts and once again fixed his attention on Ginevra, who was listening intently. "Once my probation was over, I needed to feel like I was in control. Not over people; I don't think I can do that…" he told her, wondering if he was being too honest. Knowing what it felt like to practically be a slave to one master or the other, he didn't think he would ever want to dominate another living being for the sake of it. "All my mannerisms that you noticed earlier, they make me feel like I am in command of my surroundings. It keeps me grounded." He looked away, feeling ridiculously self-conscious, "Probably doesn't make much sense, but–"
"No," she interrupted, her voice exceptionally tender as she placed her hand over his. "It makes perfect sense."
He kept his gaze fixed on the wall, unwilling to meet her eyes just yet. The reasoning behind his controlling tendencies was hardly the darkest secret he kept guarded within him, but he had still bared a part of himself before someone else. It was an uncommon feeling, and an uncomfortable one; if he was being honest with himself, he would very much prefer to avoid such a tête-à-tête in the future.
"Besides," she went on in a lighter tone, "We all have odd little habits that others never understand. For example, my brothers have always judged me for eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans in pairs."
"Pairs?" Draco asked incredulously. He knew she had changed the topic of conversation intentionally and was grateful for it.
Ginevra nodded, a grin on her face, as she launched into an explanation of why she did so. It had something to do with balancing the taste in case she did accidentally pick up a bad bean with a good one, such as apple with earwax, but was doubly risky as well, since it was entirely possible to have the rotten luck of picking two horrible flavours, in which case her Gryffindor courage came to her aid.
Her voice was incredibly soothing, as were the lighthearted stories she was telling him, some of which were actually quite amusing. He didn't even realise when his own exhaustion caught up with him, but somewhere in the middle of her description of an incident that involved Weaselbee, her mother's special pudding recipe and a handful of Bertie Bott's beans that tasted of sour milk, Draco drifted off to sleep...
He was standing in the Main Hall of the Manor and all the Death Eaters seated at the long table were eyeing him with distaste. His aunt Bellatrix stood sneering at one end while Professor Snape stood at the other, his face impassive, but his presence a minor comfort.
"Draco."
A chill crept up his spine at the smooth voice that he had learned to awe and fear. "Draco," the Dark Lord repeated, his breath warm on his ear. "Severus tells me that you played a crucial role in Dumbledore's death. But you failed to carry out the command that I gave directly to you."
His heart was thudding so loudly that he wondered if everyone else was able to hear it.
"You disappoint me, and you leave me with no choice. Disobedience must be punished." Voldemort was now standing in front of him, his snake-like eyes observing him with interest. Decision made, he nodded towards his Death Eaters, who were always ready to please him. "The Cruciatus Curse will do. Make sure he understands that there is no room for weakness in my ranks."
And then Draco was writhing on the floor, his entire being on fire. It was an agony like no other, as if he was being pierced by a thousand blades at the same time, and the pain just continued to grow. He could not stop the screams that escaped his mouth or the tears that spilled from his eyes, noticing that there were three distinct red curses flying towards him, which would explain why blood was trickling from his nose and his ears…
There were other shouts of agony now, merging with his, and he noticed Granger lying not far from him. Her hand was stretched out towards him in desperation, eyes begging him to help her, to come to her aid; he could see the word 'mudblood' etched onto her skin.
The pain was excruciating, the guilt overwhelming, so he turned away from her, looked to the sky –
Professor Burbage was suspended in the air, her lifeless body so frail. Nagini clung to her, wrapping itself around her back tighter and tighter until the woman's spine started shattering audibly.
And the pain still wouldn't end. The Death Eaters were resilient with their Unforgiveables, he had to give them that. Had he known this was the agony awaiting him should he fail, he would have killed Dumbledore. It was too much, too much – Merlin, please make it stop! – and he swore he would carry out all his orders if it meant avoiding this fate. He would never be weak again –
"But you were." The Dark Lord stood in the middle of the hall that was now empty, save for them. "Weren't you?"
Draco looked at him, petrified. He was going to die. He didn't want to die. So, he turned around to run; let them call him a coward, he was perfectly alright with being a coward as long as he was a living coward. His feet weren't moving as fast as he'd like, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the Dark Lord raise his wand, a terrifying light emitting from its tip –
A blood-cuddling scream tore from his throat as he jerked up, his body trembling violently from head to toe and his gut wrenched in a fear so real that he was finding it hard to breathe. He could feel – by Salazar's blood, he could actually feel – the pain of the Cruciatus Curse in every muscle of his body.
"Draco?" A voice called out to him, so soft that he could have sworn its name was mercy but, for the life of him, he could not tell if it was real or just another cruel trick.
Gentle hands touched his cheeks and forced his head to turn to the side. He blinked rapidly and the red flashes that he had been seeing transformed into the red hair of Ginevra Weasley. "It's alright, Draco," she said, and it occurred to him that the voice had belonged to her all along. "It was just a nightmare." The room was dark, but he could make out the expression on her face. It was a mixture of alarm and pity, two things he did not need, least of all from her.
But she had witnessed him in such a sorry state, and the realisation caused shame to pool in his already unsettled stomach. He needed to get away from her, from here.
Pushing away the blankets, Draco scrambled towards the edge of the bed and reached for his wand. He summoned a pair of pyjama bottoms, but he was too shaken and somehow managed to blast half the contents of his wardrobe into a whirlwind. He watched with despair as his perfectly organised clothes were now strewn about his closet room; he was losing control. Damn it.
It was by some merciful miracle that his pyjamas did manage to fly to him. He grabbed at them and tried to slip his feet in, but his hands were still quivering quite badly, and his limbs seemed to have lost all sense of coordination. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, whether from fear or frustration, he did not know, but the sound of it was drowning out almost everything else, taunting him that he was a failure even when it came to such a menial task.
Arms wrapped around him and he flinched, only to realise that it was just Ginevra. She was kneeling behind him, her chin on his shoulder, her cheek brushing against his as she murmured nonsensical words of comfort in his ear.
Her embrace felt like a cage. He glanced around the room in panic, the walls were closing in on him and he was so, so suffocated. He needed to get away. Please, Merlin. He just needed to go there, to go and see… Draco worked his mouth, trying to tell her to not touch him, to leave him be, but the words were clogged in his throat. His thoughts were getting more and more disjointed by the second. And there were dots now, blurring his vision, dancing before his eyes.
Sweet Salazar! He was going to faint.
"Draco," Ginevra murmured.
"Draco," The Dark Lord had said.
Draco. Draco. Draco.
"No!" He shouted as he shoved her away rather violently, barely paying any attention to her cry of surprise as she fell back. He pulled on his pyjamas in one swift move and hurried over to the decanter of whiskey that sat atop his table. His quivering fingers fumbled with it for a few short moments and, upon finding no success in getting it open, he placed it back and dashed out of the room.
He stumbled down the corridors like a mad drunk, chest heaving as he gasped for air, until he burst through the large oak doors that led to the Main Hall.
Draco's eyes moved about the room. The chandeliers were new, installed right after the war ended, and there was a Persian rug before the hearth, but the rest of it was more or less the same. His mother had once suggested having the place renovated entirely, but he had flat out refused; some sick, sadistic part of him would not let anyone touch the grand table that had held so many Death Eater meetings, and he never understood why.
The table was empty now; there were no Death Eaters here, save for him. Granger was no longer writhing on the floor, and Burbage's corpse was not dangling ten feet off the ground. But most importantly, the Dark Lord was not waiting for him.
Draco was alone.
He was alive and alone and free.
The relief washed over him like a wave of icy water and he collapsed to his knees, eyes fluttering shut as the fear that had taken root inside of him ever since he had woken from his nightmare seeped out of him, leaving him blissfully empty.
In hindsight, he should have known this would happen.
He had gone to bed right after remembering some rather dark times of his life. He should have known that his sleep was not going to be peaceful, but he had been lulled into a false sense of security by Ginevra's presence. And he had paid dearly for it.
He opened his eyes, only to find a glass of whiskey blocking his view to the room. Frowning, he looked up and saw Ginevra calmly holding out the drink to him. She didn't look alarmed anymore, rather oddly understanding. The observation filled him with anger. What right did she have comforting him when she was the reason behind his panic attack? Well, that wasn't entirely true; his nightmares had become quite a common occurrence since the war and were hardly her fault, but her presence certainly hadn't been any help.
She had seen him as a broken mess of a man who wasn't even able to cope with a single bad dream. Would she tell her family about it over dinner someday? Would all those useless Weasleys have a nice laugh at how pathetic he was? The embarrassment that he had felt momentarily back in the bedroom returned to him in full force. And the fact that she was here, offering him a comfort drink that he hadn't been able to pour himself didn't do his wounded pride any favours.
He snatched the glass from her hand and hurled it across the room, where it shattered against the stone floor with a loud noise that echoed in the entire Hall. She still didn't seem surprised, only thoughtful, her brows drawn into a frown. It was infuriating.
With a growl, Draco jumped at her and they both tumbled to the floor. His fingers curled around her throat as he pinned her down, his eyes blazing with a raw rage. He should fuck her into the ground; she'd probably let him do whatever he wanted out of her ridiculously noble desire to comfort him. It would be a good distraction, if nothing else. The only problem was that he couldn't, his body was too shaken to perform like that, and they both knew it.
Well, there were other ways to get a reaction out of her. He had dropped his wand in his haste to make an escape from his bedroom, but hers was strapped to her thigh; she always kept it there whenever she wore a dress or a skirt that did not have pockets. In one swift move, Draco pulled it out of the holster and placed it against her throat, its tip digging into her soft skin. Maybe he should give her a taste of the pain he had suffered, see if she would want to be hugged and given drinks after that.
The thought, coupled with the sudden fear in her eyes, made him realise how badly he needed to rein his emotions in. He hadn't lied to her when he had told her that he would never want to truly dominate another being just for the sake of it, but nightmares about the past always left him in a dark place. Most of the time, he was alone to deal with the morbid thoughts – but Ginevra was here now and trying to help. It was not what he wanted at all.
Filled with self-loathing, Draco got to his feet and pulled her up along with him. "You need to leave," he told her as he summoned her belongings into the Hall; her wand didn't work very well for him, but it would have to do for now.
Ginevra eyed him stubbornly. "Why?"
"Because I said so," he said firmly, turning his gaze to her sandals and purse that flew in through the doors and landed neatly at her feet. He tossed her the wand back and gestured towards the hearth. "Take your things and leave. Now."
For a moment it seemed like she was going to argue, but instead she picked up her belongings and moved to the fireplace. As she took some of the Floo powder from the ceramic pot, she glanced at him once again, her lips curved incredulously as if she was finding it hard to digest his behaviour.
The look bruised his ego even more. "Ginevra," he said just as she stepped into the hearth. "Do not bother returning."
She let out a laugh at that; either she thought he was joking, or he was a joke to her. Most probably the latter. Before he could even think of inquiring the correct answer, she was enveloped in green flames.
And he was left alone, just like he wanted.
Shit.
xx
Each passing day brought with it new conflictions, and Draco Malfoy found himself getting more and more entangled in all of them.
He had known that the carefree relationship he had formed with Ginevra was not going to last; his fates had rarely been that kind to him, but that it would end in such a manner was rather disappointing.
She had seen what a feeble creature he was, and there was no way she – a lioness who had been at the forefront of Dumbledore's Army, always standing up for what she believed in – would want to continue having any sort of involvement with a coward like him after that. And he, whose prideful image was almost as sacred to him as his family name, would never allow himself to be in a relationship where he would have to face her pity at every step.
Her departure was one of the thoughts swirling madly in his mind, the others being the Death Eaters, the morbid war and the Dark Lord. Merlin, he wanted to be rid of all of that. He wanted some peace.
He headed back to his bedroom and downed an entire vial of Potion for Dreamless Sleep. The last thing he remembered before drifting off into the darkness was wondering if it was better that things with Ginevra had ended. And wishing, deep down, that they hadn't.
That was a dark chapter, wasn't it? Sorry about that. But it was necessary, I assure you. Please let me know what you thought of this installment. Your reviews matter a lot.
Until next time!
Cheers x