Chapter 2:
It had been a week since she had eaten and Draco was now thoroughly annoyed. He suspected that she had been munching on whatever scraps she had found in the cell, although he tried not to think of it often as it was severely disturbing and upsetting to his own appetite.
The fact remained that for the first time his destiny lay in the hands of a Weasley, just as his destiny also lay in the hands of Harry Potter. It seemed as if they had all come back to bite him in the ass, and he wondered in what way Longbottom and Lovegood would catch up to him to punish him in whatever sick and twisted fashion the universe would allow. Sometimes, Draco wondered if Dumbledore was punishing him from beyond the grave, moving the Children of the Order (as he liked to call them) as an expert chess player would move his pawns and placing them strategically at the turns and corners of Draco's life to catch him by surprise and stall his progress.
There was once a time when he respected Dumbledore, when he thought the wizard to be an idol, someone who could do no wrong. But over his years of Hogwarts he had come to realise that Dumbledore, like every other wizard, only had one heart. But his heart was dedicated wholly to Harry Potter. Everything he did was done in a way to protect the apple of his eye, his bosom buddy: The Boy Who Lived. To everyone else Dumbledore did not give a second thought. Did that make him better than anyone else? No. Not in Draco's book. In fact, that made the old bastard worse. Worse that all the death eaters put together. Worse than The Dark Lord himself, and especially worse than his father, who was rotting in Azkaban thanks to the likes of Dumbledore and his followers. Draco was the only hope left for the family, the only one who could keep the Malfoy name alive. The only one who could bring glory back to the Malfoy's.
And he stood there holding a plate of gourmet food on a silver platter, serving it to the red-head girl and watching her deny it, he could see her collar bone sticking out, the skin stretched tightly around it, and he could see the rise and fall of each rib in her chest. Her fingers were long and bony, her cheeks sunken and deep. She was starving herself because of the hatred she held for him. She would have rather died than help him in anyway. And why? What was his capital punishment? Protecting his own. Fighting for his family. Fighting for the man who did everything he could to provide for them and the woman who had showed him the most love he had ever experienced in life. They all hated him but why was he so worse than any of them? Draco would have rather not had a war; he would have rather been sitting in his house minding his own. Did they think he liked killing? No more than them. Truth be told, it was either him or them. Given the chance they would all have loved to perform a crutatius on him. They would have all jumped for the chance to finish him off. To make themselves feel better they invented their labels, the dark side against them: the light; the evil ones against them: the do-gooders. That's why he liked the dark side. They didn't use any labels to hide the truth. They saw the war for what it was: a war. As sugar coated as the likes of the Order tried to make it that's what it would always be: a war. Not a war against good and evil but a war against wizard and wizard. A war consisting of people who just wanted to survive. Draco would have rather dealt with it that way because that was exactly what he was trying to do – survive. Everyone was losing loved ones. Everyone experienced casualties. There is no good and evil in a war, there are simply people fighting for their survival and fighting for their tomorrow.
He placed the tray down noisily on the ground. His back hurt from the fighting he had been through last night. He and a select few were chosen to raid an ex-Minister of Magic's abode. As expected there was a struggle to get in, his house was guarded by magical traps, creatures of all sorts, hidden weapons and bodyguards employed by the government. People were beginning to be more and more careful in these hard times and that made his job even harder and less enjoyable. He came back from his task successful – the Minister had been murdered and his pensive stolen for the delights of the Dark Lord. But Draco hadn't come out there without injury. His pale skin was spotted with black and blue spots now, a few gnashes on his elbows and knees had been repaired by Snape, he had twisted his ankle fighting an aggressive troll and suffered a black eye from the Minister himself who instead of using his wand for magic, had apparently been trained to use it as some kind of poking stick.
Needless to say, Draco was not in the mood to coax the Weasley into eating only to have her spit at his feet and insult him with every crude and hurtful statement she could think of. So, when she stared at the food long and hard for what seemed for an eternity, then stared at him for what seemed an even longer time, he sighed in annoyance, picked up the platter and walked himself to the door.
"Wait…" she called out. Her voice was feeble and almost non-existent, her throat sounded dry and scratchy.
He turned around and looked at her tiredly, "Yes, Weasley?"
"You didn't try to talk me into eating. Don't you realise if I die you're in big trouble?"
"After having you rub that little fact to me all week? I think you made it quite clear. But if you wanted the food you would have eaten the food. Now I am not in the mood to play your servant today if you haven't noticed, I will see you tomorrow where I may just be in a good enough mood to ask you if you want a drink."
"Malfoy," she called out to him.
"Yes. Weasley." He sneered.
"I-I'm hungry."
He raised an eyebrow in surprise, "Is that you admitting your hunger I just heard?"
"I want something to eat," she continued, "a-and drink."
He placed the food at her feet and watched her practically leap towards it, eating it in a fast and almost primitive motion. "What made you change your mind?"
She looked up at him, her mouth filled with unchewed food and Draco thought he had never seen anything so common in his life. She opened her mouth to speak but he silenced her raising his hand as a signal, "Never mind. I'll let you eat. I will be back later to collect your tray. Maybe we can clean you up today. You only haven't had a shower in… what's it been? Six days or so?"
XX
Draco almost ran to The Dark Lord's lair, eager to tell him of Ginny's improvement. All week he had been called regularly to give a report and all week he had to think up new ways to make the fact that he was making no progress look like good news: 'she hasn't eaten anything yet My Lord, but I think I know why that is. I think she likes chicken more than beef… I remember it from school' – Lie. 'She hasn't touched a drop sir, but when I brought it to her today I could see her look at it with longing, she's almost ready to crack' – Lie. 'Oh I expect she will have some tomorrow, I promised to bring her whatever she likes, I think an assortment of dishes will do the trick' – Lie. Voldemort was no fool; he knew Draco had no idea how to deal with the Weasley,
"You fail this one Draco, and there will be some serious repercussions. She is our key plan to defeating Potter. Do not fail as your father did."
Finally Draco had something positive to report. He stood eagerly in front of Voldemort's frail figure and said in a booming masculine voice, "My Lord, I am happy to report that the Weasley has finally eaten. She is making progress."
There was a long silence, and for a moment he was unsure of whether The Dark Lord had even heard him. Then he heard the wheezing of Voldemort's intake of breath, signalling that he was about to speak. "Is that all?"
"My Lord?" Draco asked confused.
"Is that all you have to report?"
"Sir… this is a big improvement for her. It's-It's miraculous considering her situation, locked up in a cell all day-"
"What would be a miraculous situation is if she was up and about, and being pampered by our people so she can look her best for her debut with Potter."
"My Lord-"
"We don't have time to waste Draco. So what if she has eaten! Of course she's eaten! She wants to survive does she not?"
Draco stood rigid. No, she did not want to survive up till now. She had seemed quite happy to sacrifice her life so that he would suffer.
"The point is Draco what will you do now! What will you do now that she's eaten? Take an initiative. Put your best foot forward and continue the plan."
"What do you want me to do My Lord?"
Voldemort seemed thoroughly annoyed. "Well," he began, "For starters, does she have any clothes to wear?"
"No sir."
"Has she had a bath?"
"No sir."
"Has she been out of her cell to get proper exercise?"
"No sir."
"Then get on it Draco."
"Right away My Lord," he bowed slowly and turned to exit the room.
"And Draco?" the Dark Lord called after him.
Draco stopped dead in his tracks; he could feel his left arm burning up, a red hot heat emanating from the dark mark all the way down to his fingers. "Yes My Lord?" he fought to keep the steadiness in his voice.
"Do not fail me as your father did."
"No, My Lord. I will not fail you."
XX
Shopping in these times had become hard and troublesome for the dark side. There were ministry scouts all around monitoring the movements in Diagon Alley. They raided shops for dark artefacts, and stopped wizards on the street to verify their identity. It was not rare for a wizard to be arrested simply for forgetting his I.D. There was even a new law against being idle on the streets as that evoked suspicion and caused uneasiness.
It was for that reason that when Draco headed out to buy the Weasley new clothes as the Dark Lord instructed, he did so with an invisibility cloak in hand and an appointment with a friend of the Dark Lord who also happened to be an up and coming designer for Witches.
As he slipped on the invisibility cloak before apparating into Diagon Alley, Draco chuckled at the ignorance of his youth. For years he wondered how Harry Potter managed to get away with sneaking out of the Hogwarts Castle into Hogsmeade or managed to hear things he should not have been around to hear. It was only in his third year of joining the Dark Side, when he had become one of Voldemort's most trusted and eager to please, that he was introduced to the Invisibility Cloak. There were not many left in the Wizarding World. In fact, there were so few of them that the Ministry of Magic almost ignored the possibility of any dark wizard owning them. All the owner had to do was to slip it on and he was invisible to the naked eye; able to walk side by side with other wizards and not be seen. It proved what he always knew about Potter – The Boy Who Lived was no miraculous child, no skilled wizard, he was just a lucky fool with an invisibility cloak. And as Draco entered Hugo Orfice's Robes and Wear for Ladies sneaking in behind a fat old witch, he wondered just how well Potter would do in a fight against him now, when they were equipped with exactly the same tools.
Draco walked into the back room where he was told Orfice himself would be waiting to tend to him. Orfice was an old death eater, one of Voldemort's most trusted before the day he fell from power. Then Orfice, like the others, fled from the Dark Lord's side and denied his name. The Old Wizard was terrified upon Voldemort's return, but he was one of the lucky ones. Voldemort realised the importance of having a contact in the outside world, one no one suspected to be a death eater. A little old man like Orfice interested in fashion design was the least of the Ministry's worries. And as Orfice greeted Draco with a regal wave and a cheery 'Good to see you darling," Draco noted that it helped that he was a little bit on the puff side. So Voldemort spared Orfice's life. But not out of charity. Orfice was allowed to live if he promised to help the dark Lord in any way he could, with information and to provide the Death Eaters, like many other merchants in Diagon Alley, with goods.
"I saw your mother this morning," Orfice informed Draco, "What a star she is! Oh I adore that woman. She is simply stunning! And when she tried on three of my newest collection I almost fainted! I said to her 'Narcissa, if you don't buy them right now I will simply die!' They looked like they were made for her! But there is nothing that woman can put on that doesn't do her justice. Oh I envy her, those legs-"
"Orfice," Draco interrupted. He did not come here for a chat; this was a job to him, not a leisurely shopping trip. "I came to purchase some attire. For a girl."
"Well of course!" Orfice replied. "I hardly think you would come here for yourself. Although one time, I did try on that silk button-up shirt right there, not the yellow one that would look absolutely ghastly on me – no, the red one. I wore it with these khaki trousers I own, oh it looked marvellous!" Noting the look of disgust on Draco's face he stopped himself. "Right well, a girl you say? What size is she?"
Draco looked as if it was the most ridiculous question he had ever been asked, "How am I supposed to know what size she is!"
"Well is she skinny? Short, tall, a little on the chubby side?" Orfice offered.
"Well, she hasn't eaten in a week so you figure it out."
"Well that's hardly uncommon these days if you ask me. These young girls seem to go months without eating. You should hear them talking around here, 'Oh I ate a whole sandwich today, I need to go on a diet, look at how fat I've gotten!' And then they tug on nothing but skin! Skin and bone is all they are! I say to them I make my fashion for women of all sizes, but all my size 16's stay on the shelf for months! It's more 0's they want. One said to me, 'Orfice have you got anything smaller than XS?' I said 'darling I make clothes for women not walking sticks!' But it's the media if you ask me –"
"Skinny, she's skinny Orfice," Draco barked, his patience wearing thin.
"Ah well I would have guessed. And her height?"
Draco thought for a bit. How tall was Ginny? He hardly ever paid notice to her. And so far she had been sitting on the ground willing herself to die. He remembered the first day he visited her in the cell when she was screaming and kicking standing up. How tall was she then? "A little about here," he said indicating his shoulder area.
"Oh she sounds fantastic! Being a woman is all about being petite now-a-days. It's a pity you never see any 5'5 models. I tell you the 6 foot ones look good on the catwalk but I have seen them in person and let me tell you-"
"The clothes Orfice, if you would be so kind."
"Yes, yes of course. Give me one second."
He left with 2 dresses, three trousers, four skirts and seven new tops. He hardly took a look at them and just nodded whenever Orfice sad 'oh that is fantastic you must take this one!' He suspected they were all the expensive ones. He left more than enough gold for the old man and urged him to keep the change. He could not take any more darling's or fantastic's for the day. He slipped his cloak on and stepped out of the shop.
He entered the Leaky Cauldron to get himself a congratulatory drink on having survived that ordeal (Voldemort was good with the bartender too) when he heard a familiar voice in the back. He turned (still disguised by his invisibility cloak) to see the likes of Ron Weasley, along with his brothers, his mother and father. It seemed like a family reunion. They all bowed down over a table, talking quietly. Draco inched towards them till he could almost make out what they were saying.
"When last did you hear from her Mum?" Ron asked.
"I sent her a letter last Thursday but I didn't get a reply. She's usually quite quick with replying to my letters. She knows how much I worry."
"I tried calling her from one of those muggle things – the phone and what not, it just kept ringing, I left her a message to call me back urgently, she hasn't yet," Fred offered.
"Now everyone calm down, she might have gone on holiday. You know how hard she's been working recently."
"But Arthur, if she had gone on holiday surely she would have told us."
"Exactly dad," Ron added, "She's pretty responsible."
"Well nothing has been reported, I've been checking the muggle papers. If she's disappeared she hasn't been noticed to be missing yet."
"She's the manager isn't she?" George said, "She's allowed loads of holidays whenever she feels like. No one would bother to check on her."
"I'll ring one of her friends first thing in the morning and ask her to pass by her flat. Oh I'm so worried!"
Draco smirked as he listened to the conversation of the Weasley's. Finally it was hitting home. All the pain Arthur Weasley had caused him and his family was finally coming back to him. He did not have time to gloat for long though because a fat old wizard entered the shop and a strong breeze accompanied him, blowing his cloak with it, and it brushed against Ron's skin before Draco tugged it tighter to him.
Ron glanced around curiously about him and whispered softly into the air, "Harry?"
No Weasley, Draco thought, quite the opposite. As much as he would have enjoyed to have stayed and listen he took that as his cue to leave. Quickly he exited the Cauldron and made his way back.
XX
