Title: Bounty Hunter II: Black and White

Chapter Title: Witty Repartee

Author: Snippy of Snippy and Snarky

Pairing: H/D, Hr/SS, L/G (other pairings added as story continues)

Disclaimer: HP & Co NOT MINE – don't sue.

Synopsis: Note: Disregard sixth book as the first Bounty Hunter was written before it came out, and does not incorporate its plots and character arcs. The struggle between shades of grey is enough to tear a hero in two. . .

Rating: Mature, R, Adult – rated for language, explicit sexual situations and violence – reader discretion is advised. Not intended for underage readers.

A/N's: Please review? Pretty please? Pretty, pretty, pretty please?

Peace, love and a couple of sarcastic snakes!

Harry rolled his shoulders, a feral grin spreading across his face as he cracked his neck. He could feel his scarred psyche shuffling back together like a deck of cards, combining memories, emotions, experiences and the destiny of his own genetics back into a single being. He was himself again. He felt a momentary twinge of disgust for both of his former selves, but he dismissed it. He had no time for such useless emotions. Disgust, revulsion, regret at one's own actions were luxuries he hadn't bothered to consider in many years.

Draco stared at Harry. Almost without thought, his hand lifted and he brushed a lock of dark hair off Harry's forehead, revealing the scar, back in place.

Ginny gasped.

"Hands off, Malfoy," Harry snarled, knocking his hand away.

"Well, there's a turn around from last night." Draco smirked. "Have it your way, Potter."

"I always do." Harry pulled his wand, and with a crack, Apparated out of the room.

Ginny swallowed, still staring at the veil. "He's gone."

"He was only half here to begin with." Draco snorted. "Oh, you mean Death." Draco smiled grimly. "Don't worry, Weasley. I'm certain he'll be back."

"What's wrong with me?" Ginny whispered, sinking to the grounds beside the veil.

"I don't have the kind of time required to respond to that question." Draco crossed his arms over his chest.

"Do you think he's in there, somewhere?" Ginny barely seemed to register Draco's words or presence, talking almost to herself.

"Death? Well, as that's where he came from, and where he vanished to, one would assume he's in there somewhere. I don't think he's got a summer cottage in there or anything, but …"

"Tom."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. "Still mourning that old nightmare?"

Ginny bit her lip, and continued staring through the veil, watching the shapes shift in the mist. She lifted a hand as if to trace them.

"You want to know what's wrong with you?" Draco stepped back from the veil, some survival instinct in him desiring distance. "You let the darkness in. You embraced the invasion. Tom didn't take you over, you gave yourself up to him in a moment of weakness. When you make a deal with the devil, you should expect to lose your soul."

Ginny shivered. Draco stepped closer to her grimly, grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her to her feet. "And you let my father get his claws into you."

Ginny met his eyes suddenly, as if just then connecting to Draco's presence. "I invited him in, too."

"No, you didn't. Not your fault though, Malfoy's rarely wait for invitations." Draco searched her eyes, finding what he was looking for. "Did he offer you something to drink?" He found the confirmation in her face. "He infected you with dark magic, like a muggle vaccine. Opened you up to dark magic, numbing you to the loss of your innocence. That's why I was able to get to you that night. And he's been feeding it to you ever since."

"I haven't been innocent in a long time." Ginny twisted out from under his hands.

"You're addicted to the dark magic now. And you're not even fighting it much." Draco watched her staring longingly at the veil. "You've given up. You don't have that fierce hunger for power that sustains our venerable Mr. Potter through the dark. You want more than anything to step through that veil."

"Maybe." Inside, Ginny was at war with herself. If what Draco had said was true, then she was tainted. She might as well give herself to Death, as she had given herself to Lucius, given herself to Tom. Stop the pattern from repeating. But the new power that accompanied the darkness was screaming that she could fight, she could survive. She could let go of who she was and become somebody new, somebody that no one could take advantage of anymore. Time to stop giving and start taking – and who cares if taking felt wrong? It also felt good.

Draco sneered in disgust, stepping behind her to look over her shoulder. "You are what you are. Accept it or take a few more steps forward. I really don't care either way."

Ginny tilted her head, considering her choice.

"Don't stand on precipices if you're not prepared to jump." Draco shoved her viciously forward.

"No!!" Ginny pushed herself to the side at the last minute, hitting her temple sharply on the metal frame of the veil. Her magic pushed back, sending Draco across the floor. She lay gasping on the floor, holding her head, but still alive.

He looked up at her, wiping blood from his lip. "Guess you made your decision then."

"Fuck you." And Ginny was gone.

Draco didn't even flinch when Ginny Apparated away. He raised himself to his knees, staring up into the mirror reflecting the veil, but all he saw was himself, kneeling there, staring back at him. He sighed. And then his reflection winked at him, sending a frisson of fear through his body.

"It's you again, isn't it?" He asked, his voice sounding hollow in the echoing room.

"Told you I'd be seeing you." Death smiled and stretched, before settling back into matching form with Draco.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, so cold. You're speaking to me as if I'm a stranger. When I know you so well." Death gave him a mock wounded look. "What's the matter, Draco?"

"You know me?"

"You wear grief as beautifully as your mother did, Draco. I had thought Narcissa was the loveliest human I had seen in quite some time, but you in pain … it's excruciating and exquisite." At his mother's name, Draco had jumped to his feet, rage beneath his eyes. Death looked him over. "Perhaps because you show such naked emotion so rarely."

"Is there a point to this inane prattle, or are you just bored? Death of Voldemort alleviate your workload, did it?" Draco turned his back on the creature, wondering how Harry had been able to stand it, seeing this immortal creature where his own visage. Nothing had ever made him feel so small.

"Quite. Harry's little hiatus did a good portion, too." Death grinned. "But I'm not exactly taking a coffee break here."

"Then leave." Draco shuddered. A bony hand grasped his shoulder and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. He had never heard a whisper of movement.

"I meant, I'm here on business," Death whispered in his ear.

"Am I … going to die?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

Draco fell to the floor, his legs collapsing underneath him, dragging an icy breath into his lungs.

"Don't be upset, young Malfoy." Death looked down at him for a second before sprawling next to him casually. "Everyone dies."

"When? Now?"

"Not now." Death propped an elbow on his knee and perched his chin on the back of his hands. "Maybe not ever."

"What?"

"Are you interested?" Death stared at him. "It's a simple proposition."

"Wait – how long do I have?"

Death smiled crookedly. "An answer no man can know. But it will happen Draco. Someday. Tomorrow. The day after. Ten years from now. Fifty. You want to live right now?"

"Yes," Draco whispered fiercely.

"How many years do you think it will take that to change?"

"Along came a spider!" Hermione sat straight up in bed, chest heaving. She brought a shaking hand to her clammy forehead.

"What? What is it?" Severus sat up, his voice hushed and intense, the voice of a man who was used to waking up in danger, and thus instinctively cautious.

Hermione shook her head, her hair twirling about her shoulders. She climbed to her feet and stumbled towards the window, looking out across the Hogwarts' grounds as had become her custom. Severus appeared behind her, pressing a glass of water into her hand. She clutched it gratefully, pressing her forehead against the cool glass of the window.

"Another dream?"

"Yes," she whispered bitterly. "I hate this. This shouldn't be me. The words don't make sense, the images are insane. It's emotional and illogical and awful … and yet, I know it's true." She raised her hand to her heart, thumping her fist against it emphatically. "I know it's true in here. I can't deny it."

"I know this is difficult, but you've been through a lot worse than this," he reminded her gently.

Hermione gave him a wan smile. "Yes, but at least all of that made sense. Voldemort was crazy – prejudiced and crazy. He had a purpose, a reason. What is the purpose of this … this …"

"Gift?"

"Gift." She snorted. "Why is this happening to me? Why go through everything I have gone through, depending on my wits alone, and then develop this disability … this thing that makes me feel crazy. Like I can't trust my own brain."

"Does it occur to you that not many people could have made it through everything you did on their wits alone?" He asked, pulling her away from the window by her shoulders and steering her towards one of the overstuffed armchairs.

His touch was soothing and she leaned into, reflecting for a moment of how much had changed since she had been a student in his first year's potions class. "Thanks for the compliment, but I know I'm clever, Severus." She sighed.

"That's not exactly what I meant. I meant you're not clever – "

"Thanks a lot! You really know how to comfort a woman."

"Just listen," he remarked impatiently, the tone of authority in his voice. "You were always smart, great at tests, at finding answers. Did it ever occur to you that you might have some kind of advantage?"

"Like what?" She demanded imperiously. Severus hid a smile, the strength of his affection for this woman and all of her mannerisms regularly stole his breath, choked his speech and made his heart race. She was stronger than any potion he had ever made, affected him more than his dark magic addiction had.

"You knew where the answers were before you started to look for them. Knew what information would be relevant before you read it or heard it. Does it ever occur to you that you always have the right information for the situation because somewhere inside you knew what the situation would be?"

"That's ludicrous, Severus." Hermione frowned, sipping the water. "How could I possibly know that?"

"Because you had hidden Divination powers," Severus explained patiently.

Hermione started, staring at him and blinking rapidly.

Severus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and staring back at her in a satisfied way, as if to say, 'What? I'm just saying …'

"You really think so?"

"Our destiny isn't always what we thought it would be. Particularly after we're young." His eyes took on an intent quality. "When important things happen to us when we're young, and we live through them, we tend to think that's it, that nothing could be more important than this."

"And?" Hermione looked down at her hands in her lap.

"We didn't realize we'd live long enough to be wrong."

Draco Apparated into Harry's personal sitting room off the Slytherin Common Room to find Harry standing in the middle of it, but pointed towards the door.

"Not so fast, Potter. You and I are going to have a little chat," Draco drawled.

"No," Harry replied shortly.

"Back to your captivatingly monosyllabic self, I see." Draco sighed, dropping on to a chair in front of Harry gracefully. "That's why I hang around you, you realize. The witty repartee."

Harry stood still, crossing his arms over his chest and stared at Draco. "Leave."

"You first, Potter. I'm not keeping you from the door," Draco returned dismissively. "I have every confidence that you'll be back."

"Is that so? Why would I come back here?" Harry asked.

"Because your stuff is still here." Draco smirked pointedly.

"You're the only person I know who could smirk in a self-deprecating way."

"It's a gift."

"Why do you hang around me, Malfoy?" Harry's eyes narrowed.

Draco snorted. "Thought you knew. The world revolves around you, Potter. What other choice do I have?"

Harry fell silent.

Draco shook his head, then pointed to where Harry's meager belongings were gathered together in a battered old trunk. "So I take it you'll be moving to Black Tower. I'm sure that's going to work out well."

"What? You're going to miss me?" Harry swayed on his feet as he turned and headed towards the bar he seemed to have ordered for himself. Draco watched him knock the shot glass over and pick up an entire bottle of firewhiskey instead. He uncorked it with his teeth and spit it into the fireplace. Draco realized that Harry Potter was drunk, very, very drunk.

"You hide it well, old boy. But you really shouldn't drink alone."

Harry sniffed, taking a long swig of the bottle. "Hard not to. Most of my drinking buddies are dead."

"Did you kill them?" Draco snorted.

"Most of them." Harry's eyes flashed. "I really don't play well with others."

Draco laughed, the sound unpleasantly desperate. As he spoke, his tone was careless and doomed. "That's what you've been doing since you left the Chamber? Getting foxed by yourself?"

"You got a point?"

"Rarely, but this one might hold some substance." Draco looked Harry over with appraising eyes. "No sane person would go live in that creepy tower by themselves. Even the students aren't staying there yet. You're going to end up barricaded in there like the slightly crazy and drunk protégé of Mad-Eye you've been trying so desperately to be. It's so like you to cling to whatever pseudo-father you last came in contact with."

"Students will be there soon enough." Harry looked slightly shocked. He decided to hide it in the bottle, but Draco was more than observant. He was very nearly obsessed.

"Think about it. You played the part of the golden boy Dumbledore wanted you to be, and skipping over the line of now dead men that opted for the position, you eventually became what Moody would have wanted you to be, an emotionless, cold-blooded killer, obsessed with vengeance and fighting, lost without a battle, without an enemy. I'll bet you based your entire moral compass on how much you could sacrifice for the cause. But in the end, you could never live up to Moody's legacy. You're too much of a survivor to die for what you believe in. So what do you do now, Potter?"

"Touché." Harry swallowed. "You're in rare form tonight, Draco."

"I usually am," Draco drawled ironically, registering Harry saying his name like the warm rumble of thunder in the distance.

"Then again, you always could hit where it hurts. That rub off on you from the other Slytherin prats, or is that genetic defect from dear old dad?" Harry asked.

"Checking up on my family, Potter? Did you run out of disapproving father figures and now you want mine?" Draco shook his head. "No deal, Potter. Yours end up dead."

"And you don't want Lucius dead?" Harry took another long drink of whiskey, savoring the burn, before continuing bluntly, "Even though he used to beat you?"

Draco flinched. Whistling lowly, he summoned his own bottle and took a bracing swallow before he said softly, "That was a low blow. So much for Gryffindors always fighting fair."

"I'm a Black now," Harry said philosophically lifting his bottle to the light. "Maybe it's only the fighting part that matters now."

"Are you a Legilimens, Potter?" Draco asked sharply.

Harry laughed. "Worried that I read your mind, Draco?" Harry mocked.

Draco wished he would go back to calling him 'Malfoy', his name rolled of Harry's tongue like summer honey, and it didn't matter what excruciating things the voice said, as long as it was said to him. Merlin, that was sick. Draco had never shied away from kink, but he had never before pictured himself as masochistic.

"I didn't need to read your mind to know why the spoiled little son of a rich man was so angry all the time." Harry walked, a little more steadily this time, back to the chairs, perching on the arm of the chair opposite Draco's. He set a foot on the arm of Draco's chair, resting his elbow on his knee, and resting his chin in his hands to meet Draco's eyes. Draco's gaze locked with Harry's, but the blonde's eyes were glassy, focused on the past.

Harry smiled cruelly, as he reached out to trace the smudges on Draco's neck, bruises in the shape of Harry's fingers from the night before. "Did you really think you could hide bruises that dark on such fair skin?" Harry whispered. "Maybe you thought we'd think it was from Quidditch."

"You knew," Draco whispered, letting it sink in.

"Why didn't you tell me that he was still alive?" Harry asked, eyes unreadable.

"Tough question, Potter." Draco shrugged, tipping the bottle back again. Their conversation had taken on the weird, halting pattern of drunken indulgence. Draco liked it better that way. "Part of you already knew. Literally."

"Were you afraid I was going to kill him?" Harry asked. "Or that I wouldn't?"

"Would you kill him for me?" Draco thought of the scarves he used to wear in school that Pansy had never let anyone call 'poncey', and the reason he had worn them so often. The hickeys that she had planted over bruises too high on his neck. Draco shook himself.

"Is that a question or a request?" Harry's voice was even and emotionless, but Draco wasn't fooled. When Harry was quiet, he was at his most deadly.

Draco shook his head, not sure he knew himself, not knowing how to answer the question. "I honestly don't know. I honestly didn't know that … the whole school knew …"

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't the whole school. You put on a good show." Harry tilted his head to the side. "I paid more attention to you than you think. And after a Quidditch match once …"

Draco winced, he didn't have to ask which time by the look on Harry's face.

"I could kill him again for that alone." Harry's voice rang with sincerity and Draco's eyes flashed like lightning. "He's a bastard for putting his hands on you." Harry smiled wanly. "But then, so am I. I certainly understand his compulsion. I guess Lucius and I have something in common."

"You both love to hurt me." Draco sighed.

"Don't know any other way to love," Harry confessed. "Without pain … I can't imagine what that would feel like."

"Numb?" Draco suggested wryly.

"I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all." Harry stared intently at Draco.

Draco put his bottle aside, leaning over the arm of the chair to bring his face close to Harry's. "Do I hurt you, Potter?"

"Yes." Harry turned his face away to finish off his bottle.

"Do you like it?" Draco asked huskily, eyes hooded.

Harry chucked the bottle recklessly over Draco's shoulder, listening to it shatter with satisfaction, making the fire hiss and roar. "Yes."

Draco moved gracefully, shifting and bracing his weight to swing his legs up and over the arm of the chair, thereby positioning himself higher than Harry. He took Harry's chin in his hands, turning his face up to meet his eyes. "Do you want me to hurt you, Potter?"

Harry was on his feet in a second, hauling Draco up and against his chest by the Slytherin's shirt collars. Harry's eyes sparkled wickedly, a brilliant green framed by sooty lashes. He hissed in parseltongue, "Yessss…"

Draco shivered and was lost. He couldn't understand the word Potter had said, but he got the message just fine. Harry wanted him. Draco had no idea what he was doing, and frankly he didn't care. He wanted, so he did what any Malfoy would do. He took.

He took Harry's mouth with a savage kiss, feeling the electricity building between them. Draco wrapped his long fingers around Harry's neck, pushing him back towards the bed and toppling him onto it.

"It just occurred to me, Potter, that this is the first time I've had all of you since before Voldemort died," Draco whispered huskily in his ear. Harry drew in a sharp breath

"So certain you're about to have me?" Harry asked, oddly still.

Draco slid his hand down Harry's torso and Harry's abdomen quivered. Draco boldly cupped Harry in his hand, fingers caressing the quickly hardening member. Harry let out a low hiss between his teeth, body arching involuntarily. Draco gathered Harry's wrists together in one hand over his head. "Hold still, Potter."

Harry twisted his hands to test Draco's grip. It was firm, but he could break it if he wanted to. He looked up and his eyes met Draco's. He held still. Very still. Draco's eyes were swirling with undeniable fire and rolling smoke. It was hypnotic. It burned him straight through. The emotions were raw and exposed and strong enough to steal Harry's breath.

Suddenly he remembered the day he had captured Malfoy, how he had left Draco tied to a chair downstairs. Harry had watched for Hedwig out the window, considering how he was going to kill Draco. He had been so close to what he was working for, and Draco was just another pawn for him to move across the board. But something had tugged at him, something had stopped him from what should have been the easiest kill of his life. And it wasn't just Hermione's incredible timing. The conflict that had raged through his mind returned unbidden, but was as clear to him as the feel of Draco's hand on his cock.

Emotions consumed him like a wild brush fire in The Forbidden Forest. His fingers clenched impulsively. Harry's life was a hurricane and he had made it a point to always stand in the eye of the storm. Moody had taught him well. No matter the torrents of rain or gale force winds of turmoil that surrounded him, he stayed calm and in control. Until now.

Malfoy – Draco ignited emotions inside him, rage, frustration, hate, and desire. Harry was made of ice, and Draco was like heat lightning. When he looked into Draco's stormy eyes, he no longer wanted to be in the eye of the tempest. He wanted to step into the middle of the maelstrom, tip his head back and laugh as the power of it consumed him. Of course, Harry did dangerous, slightly reckless things every day. He walked on the edge. Nothing scared Harry anymore. Until now.

Harry shuddered as Draco's lips trailed over his neck, jerking him sharply back into the present and forcing him to think beyond the powerful haze of pleasure that had fogged his brain. Draco's nimble fingers undid Harry's pants and closed around his naked flesh. Harry felt the fear race through him again. He had felt nothing for so long, nothing but dull pain and anger and even that had started to fade. He grew increasingly numb. To have that mixed with something else – fear, desire, both – was a newly intoxicating drug to an addict with too high of a tolerance. He opened his mouth, but whether he was actually capable of speech, or whether he was simply opening his mouth in pleasure, not even Harry knew.

"Shhh … Harry." Draco whispered softly to him, his lips ghosting down Harry's shoulder. "This feels good, right?"

Harry nodded silently, closing his eyes as Draco's fine blonde hair brushed his face. He tried to tell himself that he was drunk, that none of this meant anything, mattered at all … but Harry was not good at lying to himself. He never had been. His life seemed to have beaten denial out of him.

"Then just lay there and take it. Have something that feels good for a moment." Draco stroked harder, his face hovering over Harry's. "Open your eyes."

Harry opened them, taking in Draco's face as another crashing wave of pleasure rolled through him. He remained silent, his breathing becoming labored, for all he tried to force it to be even.

"Look at me. I want to know that you can't deny where you are, what you're doing," Draco whispered urgently. "Feel me."

"I do," Harry breathed, his gaze locked on Draco's stormy eyes. "I always have."

"Does this hurt good enough, Harry?" Draco asked, the intensity of the moment roughening his silky voice.

"Yessss … Draco, yesss …" Harry hissed. And then, looking into Draco's eyes, feeling the pleasure pulse and gather, he knew what was coming. He surrendered and came apart in his rival's arm, calling his name.

Draco smiled in satisfaction.

"Hey there, little red riding hood," Bane purred, standing in the doorway of one of the parlor rooms of Malfoy Manor, where Ginny awaited Lucius. "Miss me?"

"Who are you?" Ginny was getting tired of asking dark haired boys this question. "How did you get in here?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Bane looked up at her through a fringe of sooty lashes.

"You're him. The real Bane Black." She raised a hand to her throat.

"You know me? How delightful." The man had a smile like a hungry lion. "Did you know that you are absolutely dipped in dark magic? I have to admit." He settled himself on the arm of her chair. "It's a little intoxicating. I can see why Lucius keeps you around."

"Lucius did this to me." Ginny ran her hand through her newly dark hair. After leaving the Department of Mysteries, Ginny had run straight to Lucius, craving for her fix. The result of which had been powerful enough to turn her hair and eyes black. Her eyes had since returned to their normal color, though they remained dilated like she was high.

"Did he?" Bane looked her over. "Could have fooled me. You don't seem much like the victim type." He met her eyes, reading something there. "Any more."

"What do you want?" She asked sharply.

Bane smiled and she swallowed hard. It was the same sun-bright smile that Harry had given her on the Quidditch pitch once. "What's your name, Red?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," he answered intently, with a solemn nod to his head.

"Ginerva Weasley." Her name sounded strange to her.

"So who isn't the *real* Bane Black?" He purred, perching on the arm of her chair.

"Excuse me?" Ginny thought she might be in shock. Here she was, alone in MalfoyManor, talking to a man who was supposed to have been dead for more than a thousand years. It seemed like the most unlikely situation ever.

"You said I was the 'real Bane Black', implying that you had encountered one who wasn't real."

"I just meant Harry."

"Harry?" Bane smiled again, but this time she caught the deceptive twist in the corner of his mouth. "Tell me about Harry."

"Why do you want to know?" She asked suspiciously. "And how did you get in here?"

"Lucius is an old friend."

"That's hardly a ringing endorsement," she commented.

Bane snickered. "I think Harry has something that belongs to me."

"I doubt it. He's not really much in the way of worldly possessions." Ginny folded her arms over her chest. On some level, she realized that she should be frightened of the wizard before her. While they didn't know his whole story, what they did know was less than reassuring. She had every reason to believe that he was a crazy, power-hungry dark wizard bent on world domination. For all she knew, Bane was seconds away from growing a snake face and sabotaging Tri-Wizard Tournaments. Yet, she felt oddly comfortable with him.

"Perhaps it's the company you keep that eases your discomfort with me." Bane studied his nails for a minute, before flashing another rakish grin at her through his sooty lashes.

Well, he was certainly more handsome than Voldemort in his snake phase. Ginny felt a delicious tickle down her spine as she realized that he could read her thoughts, and the vulnerability that presented. "Neat trick."

"I had thought you might be a little more intimidated," he confessed. More charming than Tom, too. Tom never quite mastered the emotional control needed for charm. His crazy leaked out too much.

"Guess you'll have to try a little harder." She smirked. Her mind was racing. She had no idea how to get away from Bane, couldn't find her way through Malfoy Manor well enough to escape. And where would she go from there?

Bane smirked. "Not too much harder though, little Red."

"What are you looking for?" She asked.

"This." He touched his fingers to her temple, and the image rose unbidden in her mind. An ebony wand, gleaming in moonlight. She could feel the dark magic in her stirring again, and she swallowed it down. "So, what do you think, Red? Can you get it for me?"

"Maybe," she answered shrewdly. "What can you give me in return?"

Bane let his hand slide back further into her hair, bringing his other hand up to cradle her skull. He smiled. "Care for a taste?"

She wet her lips and nodded. He lowered his mouth to hers, whispering some Latin incantation. As his tongue traced her lips, black sparks tingled through her body, tracers of dark magic. It lit her nerves on fire, burned like whiskey and was over too quickly. Ginny panted, staring at him with hungry eyes.

"Want some more, little Red?" Bane asked silkily, pressing his mouth to hers once more, this time kissing her deeply, building anticipation almost a moment too long before sending dark magic coursing through her again and then pulling it back into himself. She clung to him, her body begging for more.

Bane smiled. "As you wish."

Ginny screamed.

TBC …