Chapter 6
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Ginny was expecting him, though the longer time stretched from his visit prior to his wedding, the more she found herself on edge. She knew Draco would be coming. It was just a matter of when.
While he'd been gone, she had made herself busy though. It seemed like forever that she had been courting Draco to no avail, had even gotten more comfortable in their arrangement than she should, enough to feel sick at herself, but the pearl of knowledge he'd unwittingly shared had put her eye to the society pages. She'd watched for the announcement of his marriage, had sent the ripped page off to eyes that would know what to do with such an announcement – to a man who waited for every shred of knowledge of his sister with quiet intensity. Ginny loved him for that, for caring so deeply. War and death had a way of doing that to a person; she hated what they had suffered to get here, but Michael was beautifully strong for it.
Without Harry, her brothers and father gone, most of the Order killed or in Azkaban, and Hermione gone, disappeared for over a year now, he was one of the last pillars of strength any of them had to hold onto. Ginny had known he would know what to do.
There were plans now. It wasn't the overthrow of Voldemort, but it was something. It was subversive and it would drive them mad. Perhaps they would slip up then, expose their jugular. It was a long-shot, but what wasn't anymore?
Her hips swayed to the music and the warm light pierced through the dimness to touch her freckled skin in all the right ways as the gauzy harem girl's outfit slid over her body. It was the only time she was glad her brothers and father were gone, that her mother was yet comatose in Mungos, so that they couldn't see what she had been reduced to.
Michael hadn't wanted her to do it, nor Luna or Roger and all the others, but someone had to do something. It had been a risk to expose herself, but her gamble had paid off.
She'd slipped into society, gotten herself a job at Nightshade and a dingy little flat in Knockturn.
It hadn't taken long for Voldemort's minions to find her when she'd purposefully surfaced at one of the high class brothels in Knockturn. She didn't turn tricks for a living, but she did dance - with her bits covered, mostly - and she served drinks. She had been roughed up a bit, threatened within an inch of her life and nearly raped for her trouble, but they'd let her stay. They had let her exist in her squalor – befitting of a Weasley, they'd said; serving at the pleasure of others.
No, none of her friends had wanted her to do it, but she'd been the only one who could. Her family had prevented her from coming to the Battle of Hogwarts and after the massive loss, she'd been completely underground for nearly a year. She was a Weasley, yes, but there were no charges against her other than the fact she had disappeared. She was pure, as well, and though her family was long known as blood traitors, the status of her blood did make a difference.
It had been risky, but it was something. She was a main attraction - an example of what a once respected family had been reduced to - at the upscale lounge. She made money, most of which she sent on, and she had an ear on some of the most prominent men (and some women) in the new order. It would have been better, likely more informative to bed them and learn their secrets between the sheets, but Ginny hadn't been able to lower herself to that.
No, not when she already danced at their pleasure, to their sneers and their leers.
The base line of the music changed and her hips swung in a languid circle as she slid her hands up her body, into her hair. And that's when she saw him. Or moreso, felt him. Draco's gaze was heavy and had been since the first he had come to Nightshade's to watch her. Perhaps that's why she'd chosen him as the lone man to break her rule with. Sleeping with one man for his secrets couldn't be as bad as sleeping with any and all for the information they might hold. At least it's what she told herself, how she was able to look at herself in the mirror.
She knew why he was there. It would not go as he liked. Part of her was sad for it - she'd gotten much more comfortable in their arrangement than she should have - but another, stronger part of her felt free for the first time in longer than she could remember.
He did not move from the shadows where she knew him to be, and because she could, and because she knew it would make him irritable, Ginny danced and writhed, sinuous sexuality embodied in curves in time with the music.
If he was angry to start, this would be easier.
Draco's eyes were hard and dark. She knew he was there and he'd seen her become aware of his presence, had seen her glance in his direction just before she added the extra saucy sway to her hips as she finished her number.
He hated that she danced for others.
His gray gaze followed her as she headed for the stairs and sent a smile to one of the men sitting near the stage. Nightshade was shadowed for many reasons, but anonymity if one wanted it, was certainly one of them. It was definitely in the gentleman's favor that Draco couldn't see more than his tailored pant leg and Italian leather shoes.
He had only come to Nightshade the one time for Blaise's stag party. It was the first time he'd see Ginny since school and she was the only reason he'd come back. He hadn't talked to her, not for months, but somehow when he had ... whatever had driven her to hex him and spit nasty words in return for his own when they were younger, had put them in bed. Many, many times.
Draco had made a point to only visit her dingy little flat after that. He didn't like watching other men watch her. He'd had fewer opportunities to see her of late, however, and it was either track her down where she worked, or wait another several weeks until he would have time to slip away. He knew Astoria likely suspected as they had yet to consummate their vows and magical binding, but it was one thing to suspect and another to have it put in front of one's face.
He knew it would likely make it easier if Astoria hated him on some level, or had reason to, but he was reluctant to be another cause of that hurt, lost look she often got when she thought no one was watching. Not yet at least.
When Ginny finally directed herself towards him, Draco found that he was angry. There was the obvious reason - that she all but whored herself out - but something else too. Perhaps the defiant look in her eyes, the stubborn tilt of her chin.
"Ginevra."
"Did you enjoy the show then?" Good. He was mad. That part of her was displeased with this made what had to be done all the more necessary.
His features hardened. "Perhaps. Though so did every other gentleman present." And a few women, though it didn't bother him half as much.
He hadn't come to fight with her. There was so little time to see her now, and Draco forced himself to push the anger away, features clearing.
"Come with me," he said then, not quite a question.
"There's a room open upstairs," Ginny said, gaze steady on his. He wouldn't like it. He had only come to Nightshade in the first place because of the others, and then her, but his first choice was always to spend time away from the house of ill repute. It was part of why she had chosen him; he wasn't like the others.
"No, you already know-"
"No," she said, cutting him off. "I'm working and you chose to come here. If you'd like to see me, then you can see me on my terms."
Anger sizzled to the surface again and Draco's eyes went dark and hard. He didn't know what he wanted, didn't know why he hadn't come for her sooner, didn't know the why's of much of anything anymore, but just now he knew he wanted to take it out on the stubborn, beautiful ginger woman glaring at him.
"Fine," he said, the tone brooking no further argument. "We will go upstairs and perhaps I shall pay your employer for the time spent in his room when all is said and done."
He grabbed her arm then and jerked her about, led her towards the stairwell. He knew they were watched - there had been eyes on his activities with her since the beginning - but just now, this show would suit both his mood and the purpose of keeping the spies satisfied with his unnecessary roughness.
Ginny pulled at his grasp, her own anger bubbling to the surface. He was a moody son of a shite bastard and though for a moment she'd regretted the words she had to say, he was making it particularly easy to wish his temperamental self gone.
He swung her through the door even as she finally jerked from his grip, but not seconds later, the heavy wood slammed shut and she was up against it, his knee sliding between her legs as he fisted his hand in her hair and stole her breath.
She was most definitely still angry, but her body did what it had from the beginning; she raked her nails down his neck none too gently and surged up his body, hands sliding roughly into his hair as she fought for dominance in the kiss, drank him, bit at his lips.
Draco growled, knew there would be welts on his neck, but he pinned her against the door, caught one of her hands and held it up above her head pressed against the wood. This was the easy part. So good, and yet his thoughts tumbled over one another. No, yes, no, no, yes.
He cared for Ginny, but what was this? He was married. He was married to a woman he was to damn.
Astoria had taken him despite it all, magically bound herself to him. It was a thing only negatable by death or very dark magic. Even knowing the uncertain circumstances of how she came to be with him - she had as much as told him her suspicions - Astoria had cleaved to him.
But he loved Ginny. Didn't he? The uncertainties of himself, the role he was to play, of this fiery, mysterious woman who made it difficult to think and too easy to be angry, and the questions he could not answer had a storm brewing in him that would find some kind of release.
He bit her lip, sucked on it. Pain inflicted for his own doubts, and then he pulled away, gray eyes dark as he looked down her. Ginny's lips were swollen with kisses, but her expression was mutinous and defiant.
"Would you have married me?" He glared back, the storm he so rarely could let out thundering in his gaze, striking the air with an electric intensity. "Would you have let yourself be my wife despite all of it? Would you have finally let me take you away from all of this?"
He had tried to give her more. She had only ever turned him down for everything but his company. It had been because she would have been a whore then, a kept woman. It had become part of the reason he kept seeking her out, Ginny had realized later; he was sought for everything but himself - something she almost felt sorry for as she, too, was using him.
And marriage? Marriage had never been an option. It was ludicrous in the world they lived. They both knew that.
Her jaw was set and she tugged at his grip on her wrist. "It's a moot point now, Draco. You are quite married. I read it in the papers, even."
"Would you?" he repeated, nearly growling it as he tightened his grip on her wrist and pressed her harder against the door. "Would you have?"
For some reason, it was immeasurably important that he know the answer to this question. Part of him dreaded it, but another part of him knew whatever answer she gave would change everything. The truth was a dangerous thing, but he could no longer afford illusions.
"Tell me, dammit."
"No!" she spat, glare hot and cold all at the same time. "No, I wouldn't have married you, Draco. You're everything that killed my family. Maybe it wasn't you, but you're with them. That I like your hands on my body disgusts me," she said, voice low. He wanted truth? She was happy to give it. The affair was well and truly over. She had what she needed and as every word passed her lips, she felt freer. "When I'm with you is the only time I'm glad my family is dead or crazy. At least they can't see what I've been reduced to."
"A whore," he hissed, voice low and gravely as he tightened his grip around her wrist. He knew he was hurting her now, but she was glaring up at him with mutinous triumph in her whiskey eyes and he wanted her to feel some of what was roaring through him. "At the pleasure of every man who walks through these damned doors. Perhaps you've convinced yourself that your body is your own, but it, too, has been traded away."
He smirked then, let the vindictive, righteous anger shine in his eyes as he saw her features shutter slightly at his own words. "Your treasures are lovely, Ginevra. It has been a true pleasure."
He released her then, torn in so many ways as he watched hurt flash across her features when she clutched her wrist to her chest. The glare she aimed up at him not moments later was angry though, wet with unshed tears, and before Draco had a chance to react, she'd slapped him hard enough to whip his head to the side.
"If you ever say anything like that to me again, I will kill you," she promised, whiskey gaze hard and full of the truth she believed in her words.
"Words of a true farewell," he said, half bowing to her even as the sting of her strike was pinkening his pale skin.
When he straightened, he met her gaze and held it for long moments. He still could read nothing but the anger there, the righteousness of it. Ever the mystery.
Now, however, he knew one truth. "Goodbye, Ginevra."
His cloak swirled as he swept out of the room, and when he was gone Ginny sank to the floor, back against the door, and cried. Damn him. Damn him for telling the truth of it. Whore. Damn him.