"She's but a girl. A child," Malfoy scoffed, haughty features glazed in cold disdain, refusing to look at her, unlike the Death Eater who let his beady eyes roam her body and made her skin crawl.
"I see no child or girl," the Death Eater smirked. "She's obviously of age, isn't she? Despite the treacherous Weasley-blood running in her veins, she's quite the looker, am I right?" His brethren sniggered and she visibly flinched under their unmistaken stares. "Well, I, for one, wouldn't mind having a go at her. See how she felt, ya know? I always wondered." He made a lewd gesture and got a couple of extra laughs.
Another one responded with a sound of disgust though he still seemed fairly disturbingly entertained by her current dire circumstances. "I bet that Potter kid has already been there more than a few times. I'd rather kiss an Acromantula than touch any of his filthy leftovers! Blood-traitorous scum!" He shuddered with exaggerated gusto and the others chuckled salaciously.
"We'll have none of that now, Roscoe. Cavanaugh." Lucius' smooth drawl addressed them both as if he was merely placating a couple of minors for inappropriate behavior. Despite the mask of indifference, there was a distinct note of warning in his voice that made the sniggering pipe down immediately.
While Ginny had no intention of disagreeing with them on the matter of her age, given the precarious situation and utter nitpicking of the subject, she was surprised how their words struck her in the moment. The fact that they actually discussed raping her only made her feel oddly numb; as if her body was mentally warding itself from breaking down or go into hysterics. Instead, her mind latched on to those two words.
Girl. Child.
If this was truly to be her end, she felt mileages from the girl she had once been before Voldemort and Lucius chose to insert themselves in her life with that bloody diary! Back when the biggest worries she had in life were not mucking it up in front of Harry and somehow getting a foothold within professional Quidditch one day.
But she was not that girl anymore. She wasn't gone, but… that girl had gone through so much, Ginny wondered if she'd ever return the same.
But I am practically a child! a naïve, protective part of her mind protested. They wouldn't really harm me… Would they?
Another part vehemently balked at the idea of identifying with such a crude term; stubborn anger coursing through her body, surprising her.
No. No, I am no longer a mere child.
Her brow furrowed at the peculiar feeling of pain, as if she was shedding a skin too early but out of necessity, followed by a sense of melancholy.
And then, oddly enough, also… strength.
Unconsciously, she straightened her back and squared off her shoulders; her surroundings coming into clear view again as her battered head regained a couple of ounces of energy. Her eyes focused in on the haggard, leering faces around her. Taking a deep, controlled breath through her nose and clenching her teeth, her mind frantically analyzed the situation.
OK, Gin, OK. You can do this. Five. They're five. Five against one. OK, odds aren't good. Escape routes? Two. Both blocked. And no one can hear us here. No one knows I'm here. Even if someone is already looking for me, there's no knowing how long it'd take before they eventually look here, much less will be able to break in and not get everyone killed in doing so.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!
She hated herself for saying it, but she had to play along; drag it out a little while longer, whatever Malfoy's intentions were.
As she debated with herself, she was aware of the loaded, sneering attentions of the Library's occupants directed towards her as they quarreled about how to go about the outcome of her captivity along with everything else. She had zoned out of whatever they were discussing.
However, one pair of eyes remained consistent, prickling her senses more than the others.
Chancing a look to her right, she discovered, to her horror, that Malfoy had turned his head infinitesimally in her direction. And though it was an understatement to say she had ever enjoyed his particular gaze, she felt even more ill at ease with the one he was currently regarding her with. There was something in that grey cold boring into her; almost as if he hadn't bothered to take the time to properly notice her before, and now, suddenly, had found something worth exploring.