As she was dragged inside, Ginny whipped her head to where the voice had come from, her eyes widening by what met them: Four unknown individuals occupied the Library, standing in the center and waiting impatiently. Quickly scanning their ragged appearances, she surmised they were most likely low-ranking Death Eaters or possibly Snatchers.
Malfoy merely scoffed from behind her, pulling her along as they ventured further inside the room, despite Ginny's vehement attempts to dig her heels into the ground and physically stave off the action. She had absolutely no desire to get any closer to the occupants of the room, dreading what was about to happen. Malfoy cursed lowly under his breath as she practically bucked and spun within his embrace, but it was to no avail. He was far stronger than her and there was a threatening presence in his grip that warned her off trying that again.
She whimpered faintly as she was hauled in front of the awaiting group. Their faces were sallow and stubbly, set in grim expressions, marking their ages as less determinable. They shot Ginny ogling glares before looking in various degrees of expectancy and skepticism towards Lucius, who presumably was the leader of the group.
"So, Malfoy. What now?" One of them spoke up, something in his voice that sent chills down Ginny's spine. "Shall we take turns on her?" The scrawny man turned his eyes towards her, a nasty smile forming on his lips. "See what makes her crack?"
For a second, Ginny felt physically ill.
"No," Malfoy bore down on the company with icy finality, "you shall not." There was no doubt about the authority in his voice and yet, Ginny wasn't entirely sure how safe she should feel about the intent behind his words.
A collection of protests buzzed among the group but was once again squashed by Malfoy who had stepped up beside her, granting Ginny a full view of the silver-haired wizard for the first time since… well, a long time. She was not surprised to see the effects of Azkaban lingering around the otherwise so proud and vain Malfoy patriarch. His impeccable countenance was disheveled, patience teetering towards exhaustion, and though that confident posture clearly had taken a beating he made an effort to keep his trademark sneer and intimidating aloofness in place. Or it simply came naturally to him.
"Enough. You want to convey to the Dark Lord himself that the prize he granted me was so carelessly treated, hm?" The petrified silence that followed seemed to answer the rather rhetorical question. "No? I didn't think so," he bit out with baleful mastery, and Ginny guessed by the ticking of his aristocratic jaw that he was growing increasingly low on tolerance with the lackeys, or whatever they were, as they fidgeted under his glare, downtrodden and disgruntled.
She, on the other hand, didn't know whether to feel relieved or more apprehensive by his words.
His 'prize'? Granted by Voldemort? Why?
What could Malfoy possibly want with her?
She side-eyed him in suspicion but he studiously ignored her, instead shifting the topic towards the current situation downstairs in a clipped, but pressing tone. He continued to relay some changes of strategy; his words much too roundabout for her to follow, and was immediately met by objections. Ginny stood oddly aside, anxiously awaiting her fate and positively hating her own helplessness.
Her eyes were automatically drawn to Malfoy's form, which – despite his somewhat immaculate alteration – still held a fearsome presence in the room. Watching his subtle, but growing exasperation with the group during their back-and-forth, she momentarily wondered why he attended present company since none of them seemed to be among the infamous crowd of Pureblood elitists that he usually hung around with. In fact, they seemed far below anything a Malfoy would ever choose to interact with. Had he been degraded? However, that seemed at odds with his earlier announcement of having been granted her as a 'prize' (she gagged at the thought) by Voldemort himself, didn't it? Perhaps he had grown tired of his former 'group' of individuals and gone rogue?
Her attention swerved. Somewhere along the line, the conversation had turned to her once more.
"I have no intention of doing so," Lucius answered in a low, tight voice to an unknown question. "This is simply how the Dark Lord would want us to prepare ourselves for, in case the Order comes looking for her."
"So? Why not ruffle her pretty feathers a bit before then?" one particularly ghoulish-looking Death Eater scoffed in an Irish brogue, gesturing towards Ginny. "Show her exactly how a prize such as her is treated by your 'Graciousness'?"
Her blood chilled at what he was insinuating.