The next evening, Ginny was still preoccupied with Voldemort's words: "The other chit is useful." Obviously, the Death Eaters had another captive. But who?
She forced herself to relive that horrible night. She knew that Fred was gone, yes. Malfoy had led her to believe that the rest of her family was dead as well, but for all she knew he was a lying prat. There were others, of course, associated with the Order. Luna, maybe—or Fleur. Ginny shivered at the thought. She replayed the conversation between Voldemort and Lucius in her mind for the millionth time.
"My lord, she is a pure blood. Despite her traitor status, I do not think it would be fitting to give her to that crowd."
"Yes, you are right. It is a shame though, because the other chit is useful, and after their work the other night they will grow angry if I deprive them."
"Let them raid, my Lord. It will only solidify the fear of the wizarding world if they continue to wreak havoc, and surely it will satiate them. I'll take this one back to Malfoy Manor. Mayhap she will be useful to another end."
Ginny sank down in front of the window, viewing the growing darkness absently. Voldemort had insinuated that the other captive was not a pureblood. Was Luna's mother a Muggle? Ginny couldn't remember. Ginny shivered and glanced out of the window.
The Malfoy garden was lit in the evening with small glowing lights, and the sparkles glinted in the black waste of the moonless night. Ginny leaned her head on the window frame and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and for the first time in three days, she smiled. Somewhere out there she had a friend who was still alive.
Of course, she realized, she was in danger. Though Voldemort had decided to spare her life, as long as she was in Malfoy Manor waiting for her captors to decide upon her usefulness, things could turn ugly quickly—very ugly. The younger Malfoy had made it clear that he had few scruples, and the older one was up to something, Ginny was certain. If Voldemort was truly in charge, she would be dead already. Yes, Ginny decided, something was up with the Malfoys, and she didn't feel like staying to find out her intended role. Fortified by the hope of finding a friend and energized with fear, the redhead began to plan her escape.
"Draco, darling, you'll muss my hair and no one has seen it yet!" Daphne's lithe arms rested around Draco's waist and she looked up at him with brilliant blue eyes. Draco grinned evilly at her.
"You consider me no one? I'm going to have to muss up more than your hair to make you pay for that," he hissed into her ear, pulling her body toward his own.
She moaned softly as he kissed her hard, but met him with equal passion. She sank into his arms obediently, leaning into his muscular chest. Holding her head in his hands, he deepened the kiss and she moaned again.
Daphne Greengrass was an intelligent woman. Underneath the perfect complexion and the flawless manicure, she knew that she had to play her cards carefully to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy and end up his wife and not his whore—or dead, since his connection to the Dark Lord wasn't exactly a secret. While he had never threatened her—no, Draco was a perfect gentleman—there was no denying the danger that he so carefully contained behind his polite manners.
"There, mademoiselle, you have been properly mussed." He smirked at her bright swollen lips.
"Really? I'm not sure, Draco." Daphne bit her lip and playfully widened her eyes. She turned so that Draco was at her back.
"Oh no? You want more?" he whispered into her ear, hands sliding over her satin encased waist.
"Well, you see, my hair is one thing, but you haven't even touched my gown." Daphne slowly slid off a satin strap, making sure that cool grey eyes followed its path down her shoulder.
"I see."
Daphne slid off the other strap and let the silvery gown pool at her ankles.
"Ah. In that case, I think I'll postpone our reservations."
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
Have received your correspondence. The ministry greatly appreciates your help during this time of need. Of course, the confidentiality you requested will be maintained per your conditions.
Sincerely,
Gawain Robards, Head of Auror Office
Lucius grinned, a terrifying visage. The stars must be perfectly aligned, he mused. Never in his life could he have planned things this perfectly. Of course, it was the fact that he had planned so meticulously that brought this about, for he was able to attack every opportunity that presented itself.
They would never know what hit them.
"Damn." Lucius pressed his left forearm. He had really wanted a little more time before visiting the Dark Lord again. Nevertheless, he picked up his walking stick and Apparated.
Voldemort was alone in his throne room, thank Merlin. He extended a deathly white hand and beckoned for Lucius to approach. The tall blonde man did so, kissing the disgusting limb with an air of total subservience.
"Lucius," rasped the snake-man, "there is a matter . . . a matter of grave import. You must be sworn to secrecy."
"My lord, you know your secrets will follow me to my death and beyond."
"Lucius . . . I am not strong. This body, while it contains what is left of my soul, is good for little else. Each time I cast a spell, it decays a little more." He wheezed, curling in on himself before rasping, "I have decided to name an heir, Lucius. I have decided to name your Draco as my heir."
Lucius felt uncharacteristically giddy. Apparently not only the stars were in line, but the moon and planets as well.
"I have only one stipulation for Draco, Lucius."
"My lord?" Lucius fervently hoped it wasn't some fool initiation practice. Draco would not be pleased if he found out that he had to rape and murder Muggles.
"I want my heir to be strong in body and mind, but stronger still in magic. Draco is my choice because he is exceptional, but I want him to be truly so. My successor must perform the Sang Primoris, a deep and ancient magic that will make his magic unsurpassable and everlasting. For years I have sought the spell, and at last I have acquired it, but it is too late for me."
"My lord, I know of the spell from legend. But my lord, the requirements of the spell include a marriage, do they not?"
"Yes. I trust that will not be a problem. Bella tells me the boy is desirable."
Lucius flinched. Bellatrix often displayed a little too much fondness for her nephew.
The Dark Lord held out a rolled scroll. "These are the incantations. I know you will carry them out to the finest detail. But," he hissed, "if you or Draco are unable to cast the spell, I shall select a different successor."
"I understand, my lord. I shall see this achieved."
"Then you may take your leave."
Lucius stood and bowed. After taking the aged parchment from the decrepit man, he Apparated immediately to his study. The yellowed manuscript was long and written almost entirely in ancient runes. He sighed and lit a lamp. It was going to be a long night.
Every few hours, Ginny calculated, a house elf would pop into the room to provide her with food, then Apparate out, presumably to the kitchen. Based on the increasing noise from her stomach, Ginny guessed one would be along shortly, and she was ready.
CRACK! A small house elf appeared in the room, holding a meager tray of food. It set the tray on the floor quickly and Ginny hurried over to the tray, but instead of hungrily grabbing the food, she latched on to the big ears of the little creature just as it was about to pop out of the room. Ginny willed herself not to be splinched, and when she opened her eyes she found she was in one piece in front of warm kitchen fires and about thirty pairs of wide, shell-shocked eyes.
Ginny stood made a beeline to the largest fireplace. A manor like the Malfoy's wouldn't have every kitchen fire connected to Floo, but the largest was tall enough for a grown man to stand in, and Ginny guessed it was her ticket out. Adrenaline coursed through the redhead's veins as she hurriedly located the Floo powder and tossed it into the fire, hoping against hope that the Floo was working again.
The flames began to glimmer with a green tint, and for a moment, Ginny faltered. She had come here from Ollivander's. Perhaps the Death Eater's influence spread throughout Diagon Alley. Perhaps even to Hogsmeade. Where else could she hide? Realizing quickly that every second mattered, she shoved her fear down and under her control. One of those little buggers was probably reporting her missing right now. Boldly, Ginny stepped into the fireplace. "FRANCE!" she yelled. Hopefully that would be good enough.
The grates whirled by faster than ever. Ginny had never Flooed internationally before, but she did remember that while the networks were connected, they were independently controlled. So if the fiasco that led to her capture was a result of Voldemort's influence on the British Floo network, she should be that much safer overseas.
Ginny spun out of a small fireplace and onto the floor of a small room. It appeared to be a little cottage.
"Mon dieu!" shrieked the room's only inhabitant, a wizened little woman. Ginny realized that her inability to speak French was probably going to be a problem. She hoped the woman was at least a wizard. If not, the French network needed some definite reorganization.
"Hello," said Ginny tentatively, "I'm, er, running away?"
She pantomimed running. The little woman cocked her head, uncomprehending.
"Er, do you have a wand?" Ginny seized a knitting needle and performed a swish and flick that would have made Flitwick beam. "A wand?" she repeated.
"Ah, un baguette magique?" The woman gave Ginny a toothless grin and waddled across the room. She slid a box out of a shelf and removed a thin piece of wood. Ginny almost fainted with relief—and hunger. The odds and ends the elves had been bringing her were barely sustaining her, and she was still recovering from that ugly Veritaserum incident. She lurched forward and caught herself on a chair, which unfortunately was a rocker that was covered in an afghan. The chair tipped forward, the afghan slid with it, and despite her best efforts to the contrary, Ginny toppled to the floor.
"So much for French sophistication," she muttered, the blanket covering her head.
The woman let out a quiet cackle and with a wave of the wand, set the chair to rights. Ginny stood up slowly, feeling more dizzy every moment.
"Can I have some food? Eat?" She mimed eating and the old witch's eyes gleamed with understanding.
After a hot bowl of stew and nearly a pitcher of water later, Ginny felt less dizzy, but terribly antsy. Chances were the Malfoys were out looking for her by now—maybe all the Death Eaters. They could probably track the Floo like they had done before, and Ginny looked guiltily at the kind old woman who sat knitting in the rocker. Had she endangered her life?
Ginny motioned for the wand and the woman handed it to her. Ginny marveled at her trust and wondered briefly if all the wizarding world beyond the reaches of Voldemort was so accepting. She thought for a moment and then cast Protego Totalum in front of the fireplace. The impenetrable shield might provide some protection from Floo-trackers. Next, she charmed her hair blonde and her eyes blue, and turned the thin green dress into a long black cloak. She thought better of that, though, and transfigured the robe into a Muggle pair of jeans and a black jacket. If she was going to hide, blending in with Muggles was her best bet.
Feeling uncomfortable and not at all like herself, Ginny turned to the old woman, who had watched her transformation with mild interest. Ginny knew that she couldn't take the woman with her and desperately prayed to the gods that Voldemort's band wouldn't torture the poor lady. Hesitantly, Ginny returned the wand.
"Merci," she said carefully, crossing her fingers that this was the right word.
The woman beamed.
Ginny stepped out of the cottage and into the dark French countryside. The stars shone against the velvety blackness of the sky, giving her just enough light to make her way down a rocky path and into a forest. Tired and full, Ginny sat at the bottom of a tree to rest. Her eyelids drooped.
"Stupid, really. Can't go to sleep in a dark wood, now can you? Look, I'm already going mad, talking to myself. Using a crazy lady's wand to change my hair blonde, probably putting her in danger, sitting in some foreign part of the world? Probably get eaten by wolves next."
A theatrically-timed howl cut off Ginny's muttering. She scowled and decided to climb the tree so that at least she'd be safe from beasts of the four-legged kind. She shimmied up the tree expertly and wedged herself between an up turned branch and the trunk. Wrapping her arms and legs around the tree, she stared at the pattern the dark branches made in the starry sky and drifted off to sleep.
"What the fuck do you mean, 'she's gone,' you stupid, bloody elf? Damn it to the ninth circle!"
A tossed pillow hit the house elf in the face, and it promptly picked it up and began repeating the action.
"Milly is sorry (WHAM) sir, for (WHAM) losing the girl (WHAM) traitor. She is very (WHAM) quick with her movings (WHAM)."
Draco groaned and sat up in bed. Daphne slept next to him, her hair cascading over the pillow, the golden blonde curls luminous against the dark silk. She moaned quietly in her sleep as Draco fought with the sheets and extricated himself from the massive bed.
"Bloody sheets. Bloody fuck. I'm going to kill her, absolutely bloody kill her."
He wrenched the pillow from the elf.
"Find me some clothes, then go find something harder than a fucking pillow to hit yourself with. Fucking elf."
Draco growled to himself and paced the room. He'd need to sever every single Floo connection in the Manor with this bloody girl here. How the hell had she managed to Apparate with an elf? He strode over to the fireplace and ran a hand through his hair. The girl needed to be taught a lesson. Or several. She certainly was a Gryffindor, planning an escape like that. Fucking idiots, the lot.
Grabbing his wand, he through a bit of powder into the fireplace and called forth the latest activity. He heard Ginny call "France!" and shook his head. Smart girl, to give such a broad location and overseas to boot. She'd be nearly impossible to track that way. But then, he didn't need to bother. He'd placed the Invenio Necto spell on her on the first day. Draco smirked, pleased with himself. He'd have her home and begging for forgiveness in under an hour.
Milly returned with clothing and Draco shrugged on a dark robe. He gave the elf a swift kick and uttered a spell under his breath, then tapped his wand to his wrist. The Malfoy crest glowed briefly and Draco Apparated away from the firelight of his bedroom into a dark, starry forest.
"I'm going to fucking kill her."