Chapter 8
SMASH! Draco dodged the picture frame and it crashed into the marble mantelpiece, shattering.
"I can't believe you, Draco! How dare you! How dare you ask for the hand of that nasty little bitch! You said that you loved me, Draco. ME!"
"I do as I please, Daphne."
"And your promises to me, they mean nothing? Your profession of love? My fucking virginity, Draco? My virginity?" Angry tears streaked Daphne's heavy make up.
"Your virginity was nice. But you don't fit into my future." He dodged a heavy spell book as Daphne cried,
"Nice? It was nice? My innocence, my honor, were—nice?"
"Daphne, if you don't stop throwing my things about I'm going to make you leave. Be a good girl and get into bed."
"You have got to be kidding me. After that stunt tonight—getting engaged to a blood traitor and parading it in front of everyone I know—you want me to get in bed with you?"
"Why do you think I summoned you?" Draco poured himself a glass of brandy.
"Perhaps to apologize for humiliating me? For lying to me? For all your broken promises? Stop acting like this is blasé, or par for the course. Merlin, Draco, show some…show some emotion!" The anger faded from her eyes and was replaced by hurt. "I loved you. That has to count for something."
"Either get into bed and show me how much or go home." Draco downed the glass and began to pour another. Daphne stood wide-eyed in the middle of the room, a glass vase hanging limply in her arms. Silent tears drifted in her eyes. She set down the vase and picked up her wand.
"If you make me leave you right now, Draco, like this, I will never come back. Ever."
Draco stared at her in silence for a moment, the light blue crystal gaze desperately trying to get past the steel gray. After a long moment, she lifted her wand and disappeared.
"You'll be back in a week, princess."
He nonchalantly waved a charm that set the room back to rights and poured himself a third. That had gone surprisingly well. Draco sighed and toyed with the idea of calling Pansy, but decided against it. He'd had enough trouble with women for one night.
--
Ginny woke to sunshine pouring through the curtains in her new room. A house elf was drawing them open, and when Ginny sat up the creature was at her side in a moment.
"I'll take misses' breakfast order now, and then be back to help miss dress."
Ginny stared in shock at the creature.
"Er, give me a minute." It bowed and backed away.
Ginny looked at her hands, bending each finger wonderingly. She searched her mind for any signs of control, but Draco had released her from the Imperio completely. Sighing, she flopped back onto the pillow. Malfoy had complete control of her last night, and she finally understood why the imperious curse was so unforgivable. She had danced with him, conversed with others, even laughed at anti-muggle jokes. She grimaced.
She had kissed him too, a memory that, shockingly, didn't make her flinch. It had been pleasant. She vaguely remembered that she liked it. Shivering, she wondered if Malfoy could control even those feelings to an extent. That was deeply frightening.
"Ahem."
Ginny sat up to see a large pair of eyes staring at her.
"Oh, yes. Er, I'll have, er, what do you have?"
"Anything, miss," said the elf politely, if a bit patronizingly.
"Oh. I'll have, er, pancakes. With strawberries. Please."
"Very good miss."
The little creature vanished with a pop and Ginny stepped out of bed. She couldn't remember going to bed, or even changing into the luxurious silk pajamas she had on. She froze—had Draco? That was impossible. He would have had to obliviate her, and she didn't feel confused enough for that. Her hand went to her hair, which fell around her shoulders in loose, messy curls. Both wands were gone.
She strode over to the closet to see what the elf meant by 'dress' later and spent several moments gaping at the closet which was bigger than her room at The Burrow. It was filled with the most expensive clothes Ginny had seen in her life. She gingerly reached out to touch the sleeve of a gauzy top, captured for a moment by its beauty. Then she dropped it just as quickly. All of this extravagance was paid for with blood. She slammed the door and stomped back toward the bed.
The elf popped back and laid breakfast on the small circular table near the window where she had shared tea with Narcissa. The tray was loaded with eggs, sausage, toast, fruit, porridge, and strawberry pancakes. Suddenly hungry, Ginny hastily took the matching silk dressing gown the elf handed her and sat down to eat.
"Mistress. Malfoy, miss." The elf trotted over to the door to open it.
"No! I'm not—" Ginny stood to stop him, only succeeding in knocking her coffee into her lap just as the door opened.
"Well. I see table decorum is not among your strong suits."
Narcissa strode into the room and sat opposite her. Perfectly coiffed and dressed and pouring a perfect cup of tea, Narcissa made Ginny feel rather small. She still had bedhead, for one. Hesitantly, she poured herself another cup of coffee and breathed with relief when she didn't spill again. She felt a strange need to be poised around Narcissa Malfoy and she wondered where it came from.
"I've scheduled the day to build your wardrobe."
"But, er, the closet had, er, I don't…"
"Cease this stuttering immediately. Shut your mouth and only open it when you can give me a coherent sentence." To her own surprise, Ginny obeyed.
"There are so many lovely clothes in my closet, Mrs. Malfoy."
"Ah, yes. Those are temporary, until your things can be prepared. They're off the rack—not fitting for your station."
"I'm afraid I don't understand. They seem perfectly, er, acceptable."
"I understand that in your previous life you probably enjoyed any new clothing, even something used by a relative." Narcissa sneered disdainfully. "However, in a short time you will be a Malfoy. We don't purchase clothes off the rack, my dear. We have them made."
"Even the men?"
"Especially the men. Can you imagine formal attire fitted to the shoulders of a sewing dummy? Ridiculous." She laughed. Ginny stared at her uncomfortably. And she had thought that the cost of the clothes in the closet was obscene.
"Well, where do we go? To Madame Malkin's?" Narcissa laughed again.
"For a young lady's wardrobe? Hardly! We're off to France, Miss Weasley. My dressmaker, Madame Tallieur, is the best in the world."
--
"Come in, Draco."
The younger Malfoy entered the elder's study and sat down across from his father, who tossed him a copy of The Daily Prophet.
"So have we done it?" Draco's voice was disinterested, but his eyes betrayed his eagerness to his father, who smiled smugly at his son.
"First, turn to page eight."
There, front and center, was a large portrait of Draco Malfoy, his arm around Ginny Weasley. Draco's eyes darkened.
"What is this?"
"Your engagement announcement."
"I can read that. Why is it in here? I thought we were keeping this quiet. I had to bloody Imperio the girl in order for mother to get this picture. I was planning on being able to end this at my leisure, Father. Unless I have a very backward idea on your plans for my future, I'm not going to be able to do that now."
"No. You and Miss Weasley need to maintain the appearance of a happy marriage. The public is already in love with the idea."
"Are they?" Draco asked dryly, flipping the paper to the front cover and read aloud,
"Ministry stable thanks to generosity of Draco Malfoy" He grinned slowly.
"So we do have them."
"Yes."
"All of them?"
"Yes. The Prophet and Witch Weekly and the others in that conglomerate were easy. A little threatening and a lot of money went a long way, but we now control every word in every publication. The Quibbler was a little harder, but that fool couldn't stand to see his daughter undergo the Cruciatus. I've marked her and if he ever goes against us, well…" Lucius drifted off suggestively as Draco, half listening, scanned the paper.
"Excellent. But my little bride—I can't have her disappeared very well now, can I?"
"I'm afraid not. Everything depends on you, Draco. Don't let your distaste of the Weasley girl ruin years of careful work."
Draco cocked an eyebrow.
"Actually, Father, she tastes quite nice." He smirked.
It was Lucius' turn to raise an eyebrow.
"Very well. Just don't get…carried away…before the spell can be carried out."
"I won't disappoint you."
--
"I need a complete fall wardrobe for Miss Weasley. She is marrying my son and needs to be outfitted accordingly."
"Ahh, yes Madame. I have seen this in Le Prophète this very morning. Madamoiselle Weasley, would you please slip out of your clothings so I can take your measurements?"
Ginny wondered exactly how much clothing she was supposed to take off. Narcissa wasn't moving, and Ginny didn't feel like getting naked in front of the incredibly proper woman. Narcissa looked pointedly at Ginny and she slowly unbuttoned her shirt and unzipped and stepped out of her skirt. To her chagrin, she'd discovered earlier that the closet was also completely stocked with the fanciest undergarments that Ginny had seen in her life. Right now she was standing in only a lacy black bra with matching underwear.
"Shoes off, cher, and onto the stand."
Ginny did as she was told and a charmed measuring tape began to fly around her, taking measurements that Ginny didn't know she had.
"Madame Tailleur, Miss Weasley is also in need of a wedding dress and trousseau."
Madame Tailleur gave a little chuckle.
"That can be arranged."
"I would like your mother to create the dress."
Madame Tailleur looked thoughtful and made a little clucking noise with her tongue. She was not a young woman, and Ginny figured that her mother must be ancient. The lady before her had more than a few gray hairs and her brow was furrowed with the wrinkles of examining seams day in and day out.
"Yes, I think my mother is up to this. She grows old, Madame, but her fingers are sharp even when her mind wanders."
"Indeed? How does it wander?" The dressmaker waved dismissively.
"You know this is one of the oldest wizarding towns in France, yet she insists on living, how do you say it, on the edge? With her talents she would be respected by all, but she lives alone. However, I can assure Madame that her work is still most excellent in all France. All the world."
"I see. Well, she has made the wedding gowns of every important witch over the past fifty years. She will make Miss Weasley's."
"When is the wedding, Madame?"
Ginny looked up. Of course the offending event had a date, she realized.
"The ceremony will occur a month from Sunday."
Ginny blanched. Without a wand or access to floo, she wouldn't have much time to execute another escape plan.
"Ah, then perhaps you can return in a fortnight for the fitting of the dress?"
"One week."
"Very well, Madame. I shall see that my mother is ready."
Madame and Narcissa sat for what felt like hours with a large sketchbook and a pad of paper. Ginny stood in her underwear in the center of the room. She felt rather cold and definitely humiliated. She hunched her shoulders in, hugged her arms to herself, and watched as the two women cooed over the designs in the book, ignoring her completely.
She wondered if she could flat-out run. The front door of the Manor had opened for her that first day, and she hadn't sensed any wards about her own room. The grounds were large, and if she took off in the middle of the night, it was likely she wouldn't be seen. Of course, she would also have no idea where she was and the Malfoy's probably had all kinds of scary wards on the grounds and other protective spells. Ginny chewed on her lip. She was definitely growing desperate.
"Miss Weasley, stop that at once!"
Ginny jumped and cringed.
"Gracious, girl. Stop eating your lip and get dressed. And stand straight! You look like an gutter urchin standing like that with such an expression."
Ginny took back her clothes and put them on as Narcissa arranged the delivery for the following day. Madame Tallieur was all bows and smiles, but her staff looked harried. Ginny guessed they'd be putting in a long night.
Narcissa guided Ginny over to the fireplace.
"Now, Miss Weasley, to do something about your bourgeois table etiquette."
--
Hours later, Ginny returned to her room to find that her private little table was set for dinner. Exhausted from Narcissa's drilling about forks and goblets and appropriate conversation, Ginny felt like flipping the table on its head and crawling into bed, but the aroma of steak changed her mind.
"To hell with the rules," she muttered in her haughtiest voice as she purposely speared the meat with her salad fork, "I shall cut thee as I please." She chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and turned to her right. "Yes, Crabbe, how are your bastard sons doing these days? I hear one is a squib, though I'm not at all surprised. And Parkinson, how much are you charging for a night these days, what with all the competition?" Ginny giggled at herself. "And Narcissa, how is your arrogant prick of a son? When I last saw him he was acting like he fucking ruled the world. Is he the spawn of Satan or is that just the result of your perfect breeding?
"Definitely the latter."
Ginny jumped. The arrogant prick himself walked over from her doorway and sat opposite her, stretching out his legs so that they touched her own. Ginny scooted back rather ungracefully and glowered at him.
"So, my little comedienne, have you enjoyed your time with my mother?"
He gave her a sardonic smile and poured himself a glass of wine.
"Hardly. I have a headache from her so-called rules and before that I stood in my—I was at the dressmaker's forever."
Draco smirked wickedly.
"Stood in your whats, little Weasley?"
Ginny shifted uncomfortably. He smiled like a smug cat toying with a bird.
"Answer me, little traitor. Stood in your…"
"That doesn't matter."
"Ah. And if I demand to see what you were standing in, would that matter?"
Ginny turned pink with embarrassment, and anger quickly followed.
"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Why can't I enjoy a peaceful dinner without being tortured by an arrogant, self-serving, son of a –"
Draco reached across the table and slid his hand over her mouth, calm fury pooling in his eyes.
"Don't you dare."
He stood, keeping his hand on her mouth, and stepped next to her. Ginny grabbed her steak knife.
"Drop it. Remember what I said about obedience? Or do I need to teach you that lesson again? Come to think of it, I never really finished the first time, did I?"
With his free hand he wrenched her arm back and twisted it, hard. Tears formed in Ginny's eyes as the knife slipped out of her grasp. She bit down on Draco's hand.
"Damn it, witch! Why do you have to be so fucking stubborn?"
Ginny stood quickly and glared sullenly up at him. She wished she had another rock.
"I don't know. Maybe for the same reason that you have to act like a fucking bastard."
He growled and pushed her back so that she was against the bed, grabbing her head with one hand and pulling it close so that she could hear him whisper,
"You have no idea what I could do to you, do you Ginny Weasley? Shall I give you a taste?"
His breath was hot in her ear and Ginny could smell the expensive cologne he wore. She could feel her anger evaporating rapidly as a chill of fear took its place. Draco pushed her back and she fell onto the bed, but instead of climbing on top of her, he sat beside her, leaning back casually with his head propped up on his elbow.
"Do you remember your lesson in the woods, little one?" His voice was laced with heavy saccharine. "How about we play a little game?"
He ran a finger down her cheek, along the curve of her jaw line and down her neck, over her collar and down the row of pearly buttons, stopping at her waist. Ginny shivered.
"I ask you a question, you answer. Easy enough. Answer wrongly, and I undo a button."
He flicked open the lowest button of Ginny's shirt and ran his thumb over the soft creamy skin at her waist. Ginny gasped at the small invasion, and Draco smirked.
"Question one. Who do you obey?"
Ginny cringed and desperately wanted to smack him. Either way she was going to lose some dignity, and she decided she'd rather do it with her clothes on.
"You."
"Good girl. Two. Who do you respect?"
"You"
Draco shook his head in mock sadness and opened another button. Ginny's blouse fell open to reveal more of her stomach and he slid his palm across her stomach, making her gasp again.
"You respect me, my family, the Dark Lord, and his followers. Clear?"
"Yes."
"Good. Three. Who decides what obedience is?"
"You do."
"Very good. Four, who decides what respect is?"
"You do."
Draco smirked.
"Five. Who do you belong to?"
Ginny bit her lip in anger. He was humiliating her and enjoying it, the sodding git. She sighed.
"Is that one difficult, Miss Weasley?" Draco mocked, toying with her next button. Ginny looked away.
"No. I belong to you."
"Six. Are you planning to run away again?"
"No."
Draco slid the third button out of place and ran his fingers lightly along her bare skin. Ginny shivered.
"How was that incorrect?"
"Silly little girl. You think I don't know that you're going to plan to run away again? I think you've forgotten my rule about not telling lies." Draco's voice still dripped with sweetness, but a definite sarcasm rode underneath.
Ginny didn't like where this game was going at all. Draco's eyes were dark with anger…and another expression that Ginny tried to ignore. Three more buttons and he'd have her shirt off.
"Seven. Did you see someone in the dungeon last night?"
"Yes."
"Did you know who it was?"
"No."
Draco arched an eyebrow and undid another button. Ginny's bra peeked out and he slid his thumb just under the fabric between her breasts. She gasped, barely holding back a whimper, and earned another smirk from Draco.
"Try again."
"Hermione."
"Good girl."
"What happens to the mudblood if you continue to break my rules?"
Ginny stared at him, confused. He reached for her second-to-last button.
"I don't know!" she cried, panicked. Draco smiled as he slipped open her shirt, her chest fully revealed. Ginny gasped reflexively.
"And that was before I touched you. You're fun to play with, little one. Why don't you try again. What happens to the mudblood if you keep breaking my rules?"
"You'll…you'll hurt her."
"Good girl." Draco ran a long finger from her navel up her stomach and between her breasts, eliciting a whimper from Ginny. Draco smirked at her.
"Final question. If you really do belong to me, why should I not undo this last button?"
Ginny suddenly felt very cold. Either way she answered that, he had her.
"Because…because…it's…I…"
Draco popped open the button and smoothed back the cloth. His gaze raked over her bare skin, eyes dark.
"No 'because,' my little Ginny. You're mine."
--
A/N: What? Is that a cliff? Oops...
Thanks so much for all of your lovely reviews. I'm having such a terribly fun time writing this, in part because I've been able to connect with so many D/G shippers and read their work as well. You are awesome, and I'm not going to threaten you with awful plots (this time around...)
I did have trouble with this chapter--just couldn't get things exactly right. Please give me feedback and feel free to critique, because I have a feeling that this one needs some editing. I'm still hunting for a beta for this.
Finally, many of you have pointed out that there is no way I'm finishing this in ten chapters. I went back to my original outline and according to that I've just finished chapter four, and especially as the later chapters get so much more complicated as the story unfolds, I think it's going to be closer to thirty chapters. I hope that doesn't scare anyone away (especially potential betas). I suppose I could try to divide it into separate fics, though I personally prefer to read longer ones...anyway, I'm shooting in the dark here, so if you have a preference let me know.