A/N: I know. It's been awhile. It's been a rough six months. I promised I wouldn't abandon this story, though, and I won't. I hope this offering is sufficient.
Sunlight streamed through the sheer white curtain, and Ginny cursed the house elf who had opened the drapes. She'd been having a lovely dream, and the light was unrelentingly bright. She tried to roll over in an attempt to avoid the harsh light, but with no luck—she seemed to be twisted in the sheets. She had a tendency to be a bit of a violent sleeper, but this was unusual. She struggled for a moment, incoherent frustration interrupting the remnants of her dreams, when a groggy male voice forced her to wake up—quickly.
"You're staying there until I figure out what happened last night, love. Be a good girl and go back to sleep. I'm not ready to deal with you yet."
Ginny whipped her head around and discovered, to her horror, that her eyes were inches away from Draco's. The last remnants of her lovely dream flitted away as she recalled the dark magic spell—and the events preceding it—from the night before.
Sullen with sleep, he stared back at her with a slight pout, as if willing her to be quiet. He lazily lifted an eyebrow and hinted at a smirk.
Ginny met his gaze for a moment and then tried again to sit up. She struggled for another moment before her mouth fell open as she realized that the sheets weren't the problem.
"Why am I tied to the bed?"
The blond met her outrage with a calm, sleepy grin. "You mean you don't like it? Pity."
Ginny stared at him indignantly.
He sighed. "I can't have you running about until I figure out what that spell did to you. And I couldn't use magic to keep you here for the same reason. But you aren't leaving my sight until I figure out what happened, so you better get used to it. Now, be a good girl and go back to sleep. It's not even eight o'clock.
"But this is—" she began, but he reached his arm over and clamped his hand over her mouth.
"I'm sleeping for at least another hour. Probably two. Do you want to spend that time gagged, too?" he said irritably. Ginny shook her head. "Then be quiet," he ordered, and pulled away from her, snuggling in-between two pillows so massive that Ginny couldn't see his head from her limited vantage point.
She was wide-awake and hungry to boot. The nerve of him.
She tried in vain to remember what had happened after Draco had begun the spell. It was all a blur. She remembered the sensation of the magic being sucked into her skin, and the electric crackle that had filled the air. He had been surprised, too. After that…she struggled to remember, but nothing more came to mind. She must have been knocked unconscious, because she couldn't recollect the foggiest memory. She supposed that Draco must have tied her arms to the bedpost and gone to sleep, too.
She lay in bed for what felt like forever, listening to him breathe. If she turned her head all the way to the side, she could see the slow rise and fall of his bare chest nested in the downy white sheets. The sun, which was now streaming in with the full force of an early fall morning, didn't seem to bother him in the slightest.
She realized, for the first time, that they were in her old room. Perhaps that was his way of making her a bit more comfortable. Her mind wandered through the events of last night, and Ginny felt a tinge of shame grace her cheeks. She had enjoyed it, even asked for it. But he was the enemy—what he had done was criminal. And yet she'd kissed him of her own accord. She was complicit.
But was that so wrong? What other choice did she have? She frowned as she watched him sleep. Certainly she hadn't given him an easy time of it. And he hadn't hurt her. Not in the way she thought he would.
Or had he? Ginny shivered underneath the heavy blanket. No good wizard would perform a spell of that nature. This was stuff of the blackest magic, and now she was caught up in it—she'd had ancient magic performed on her, the type that required something great. She swallowed. Maybe as Malfoy's wife, rather than his prisoner, she'd be able to find out exactly why the man who slept next to her was willing to risk such evil, dark magic.
Except that she was tied to the bedpost. That certainly didn't bode well.
Ginny realized that she was glaring so hard at the slowly moving torso that she was giving herself a headache. With a sigh, she pulled herself toward the headboard so that she could turn onto her side. The sheets slipped off her chest, and the cool air across her back made her realize that she was still unclothed. Annoyed, she attempted to kick them higher, which only resulted in a groan from Draco.
Instead, she rolled onto her stomach, spent a fruitless long minute trying to arrange her elbows comfortably, and sulked until she fell back to sleep.
"Ginevra," Draco said, running his nails lightly down her back. "Time to get up."
Groggily, Ginny tried again to roll over before her drowsy mind recalled her predicament. With a groan, she craned her neck to look at Draco. He was sitting up in the bed next to her, running his hand through his hair, which was wet. He must have already showered, she thought.
"I need clothes," she muttered.
He looked down at her and grinned wickedly. "You wouldn't rather spend the day in bed getting better acquainted, love?"
Ginny glared at him. "I don't seem to have a choice at the moment, do I?"
His grin turned into a smirk. "There's a good girl. Pity we need to take care of more important matters first."
He snapped twice and a house elf appeared at the bedside. "Clothes for myself and a robe for the lady," he ordered.
"Are you going to untie me, then?" Ginny asked sharply, slowly turning to her back. Not only was it more than a little humiliating to be tied up, but also her wrists were beginning to hurt.
Draco glanced over at her quickly, then looked again, and this time his eyes stayed. He cocked his head, as if considering her suggestion. "Maybe in a moment. For now, I rather like you like that."
The elf re-appeared with a garment bag and a silky robe. Draco set the latter on the bed, stood up, and began to dress. Ginny watched him slip on boxers and a well-washed pair of denims. A Malfoy in jeans? What would Narcissa, the mistress of Malfoy decorum and propriety, have to say?
He left the shirt on its hanger and grabbed his wand, drying his hair with a simple spell and arranging it with a much more complicated one. As he finished, he turned to Ginny and opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a knock at the door, which he went to open.
"You called?" Blaise stepped into the room and flashed a grin at his shirtless friend. "Still enjoying the spoils, hm?" he chuckled, then followed Draco's smirking gaze to the bed and laughed aloud. "Why, Mrs. Malfoy, you do play that role well, don't you?"
Ginny rolled her eyes and tried to wriggle further under the sheets, a difficult maneuver.
"I called nearly twelve hours ago, you degenerate," Draco complained. "We have a situation, and I do not want to get my father involved unless I absolutely must."
Blaise's eyes flew to Ginny again, but there was no smirk in them anymore. "Did she lie about—" he began, looking at her darkly.
"No, no. That part was fine. It was the spell itself that I'm not so sure about."
Blaise kept his eyes fixed on Ginny, who had managed to wriggle far enough under the sheets so as to consider her position semi-modest. "Are you sure she should hear this?"
"There isn't really a way not to let her hear. I don't want her out of my sight, and I don't want to use a spell, in case it has…unwanted effects."
Ginny's alarm was growing. Smirking boys were one thing, but dangerous men worried about dangerous magic was something else entirely. The two had dropped their voices to a low hush, and try as she might, she could only hear snatches of their conversation.
"Did she interfere—"
"—but unintended side effects—"
"—interpretation—"
"Keeping your ability intact—"
"He won't be pleased if we tell him—"
"Ginevra," Draco called, "go get dressed. I think my mother has left you some clothing choices in the closet." He waved his wand in her direction and the rope that bound her arms to the bedpost loosened. She wriggled free, carefully staying underneath the sheets as she pulled the robe under the covers and slipped it on before standing up.
She was relieved realize that she didn't feel any more magic as she walked to the bathroom and stepped into a gloriously hot shower. She felt dirty and more than a little sore, but any palpable feeling of magic was gone.
Still, as her fear about the dark magic's lasting effect ebbed, it was replaced by memories—memories of skin, and buttons, and hair, and fingers, and lips, and fireworks. Ginny shivered despite the hot water. She'd never be able to purge those sensations from her memory, and the thought made her want to retch. No matter how hard she scrubbed, by the time she got out of the shower, she still felt disgusting.
The closet was just as Ginny remembered, with shelves, cupboards, and racks filled with ridiculously expensive trappings. Sure enough, two complete outfits were laid out on the chaise in the corner. One was a berry-red wrap-around dress and the other was a royal blue form-fitting sheath. Ginny couldn't help but pout over having to wear such dresses, particularly ones chosen for her. Draco got to wear denim.
She thought for a moment about rebelling. There had to be a comfortable pair of trousers in this gigantic closet. But she was wet and cold, her robe was just flimsy silk, and she was on shaky enough ground as it was. She settled on the red garment. At least it didn't look like a tightly tailored torture device.
She slipped into the matching heels that Narcissa had set out and studied herself in the mirror. Without a wand, drying her thick hair was going to be difficult.
"Very nice, darling," Draco drawled. "Though I think I liked the blue better."
Ginny bit back a retort and turned to find him leaning against the doorway. "Is Blaise gone?" she asked.
Draco nodded. "He had a meeting scheduled with someone else, apparently." He watched her from behind as she rubbed the towel on her head. "Do you want me to send for Jacques?" he chuckled.
"No, I just need it dried," Ginny gritted out, shooting a glare at him in the mirror. "And don't you have better things to do than watch me do that?"
Draco smirked. "Ask nicely."
Ginny seethed. She'd be damned if she asked him to do anything at all, she thought. A sudden, vivid memory reminded her that she'd asked him to do many, many things the previous night, and the fact that he shared that identical memory made her flinch. But inspiration struck rather conveniently.
"Draco, would you please leave the closet so that I can dry my hair in peace?" she said sweetly.
She watched as his smirk faded. "It would serve you right to leave you to dry that mane for the next few hours, but I'm in a hurry," he complained. "Let's go." He flicked his wand in her direction.
Ginny reached up to towel her hair one last time and realized that it was dry. She marveled for a moment before following him out of the dressing room. She hadn't just actually won. Had she?
Blaise Zabini adjusted his collar, exhaled, and knocked loudly on the solid oak door. It opened for him, and he stepped inside. Though he kept his eyes low, they still sparkled.
"Master Zabini, welcome," Lucius said from behind his desk. The older man did not stand in greeting, but he did motion to the chair opposite his. Blaise crossed the rich carpeting and sank into the low leather seat.
"My Lord," Blaise acknowledged, smiling roguishly. "At least, I assume that's what we're supposed to call you these days."
Lucius leaned forward, resting his elbows on the edge of his desk. His grey eyes pierced through the younger man's façade, and the smile faded from Blaise's face. "Is it?" he asked. "What leads you to assume that?"
Blaise's eyes didn't betray any fear, but Lucius's shone with confidence all the same as the younger man was silent for a moment. "I've heard of some interesting doings, sir. Through your son, of course—all things that shall not be named."
"Ah," breathed Lucius, sitting upright again and gently brushing his fingertips along the rim of his brandy glass. The crystal hinted at a ring before he lifted it to his lips for a sip of the amber brandy. "And if you would call me Lord, then you certainly will affirm your loyalty to me, will you not?"
"You wish me to prove my worth, sir?" Blaise said, another cavalier smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "I'm certain I can think of a few ways."
"Don't be a fool, Master Zabini. I know about you and your little…indiscretionary vices." He noted the rapidity at which the young man's eyes flew to his. "But don't think that blackmail is the name of the game. I know better what makes true loyalty, Blaise. That is why I am standing before you—and why Riddle is dead."
Blaise swallowed. Pity he hadn't better control, Lucius mused, but dismissed the thought. Poor boy hadn't had a father, after all. "Now, Master Zabini, I understand that you've had a young Mudblood in your control these past months?"
"Yes, my lord," he responded quietly. "Hermione Granger. She was given into my express care after the incident at Draco's engagement," Blaise said quietly.
"You've been playing with her, then?" Lucius said, gazing past the leaded glass and out onto the green lawn of the Manor. Even eye contact contained a transaction of power.
Blaise squirmed slightly. "No, sir. I was instructed to keep her hungry and lonely. I only questioned her when Ginny—Ginevra—went missing a few weeks ago."
Lucius sighed and stood, walking to the window. "If I told you that I wanted information from the girl, could you get it?"
Blaise licked his lips as Lucius turned back to him. "Yes, my Lord. I think so," he said, his voice full of bravado despite the older man's deepening frown.
"Roll up your sleeve, Zabini." Blaise undid his right cuff and began to fold the smooth cotton over. "Your other arm."
Blaise's eyes again darted to Lucius's grey ones, but he obeyed silently.
"I never took the mark for Lord Voldemort. He thought it better if—"
Lucius's lip curled in an elegant sneer. "As if his actions are precedence for what I'm about to do."
He moved to stand directly in front of Blaise, who had bared his arm up to the elbow and was now doing his best to try to look everywhere but at his friend's father.
"You asked what you needed to do to prove your loyalty."
Blaise swallowed again and nodded, cringing ever so slightly as Lucius unsheathed his wand and began to slip it idly between his fingers. He realized suddenly that the skill that Draco had in manipulating fear in others had a direct line of ancestry.
"You don't need to prove it. You just need to give it." Lucius said darkly, and muttered a spell in an ancient language, foreign to Blaise's ear.
Not that he would have remembered. The second that the cool wood of the wand touched his bare arm, Blaise's body was flooded with unbelievable, inescapable pain. From underneath his fingernails, inside his teeth, and emanating from every scrap of marrow in his entire being, pain coursed through his body.
Coherent thought disintegrated instantly. He was aware that he was no longer on the chair—this was carpet, not leather—and then, how much later he could not say, he realized that his mouth was full of his own blood. He spat wildly before another wave of death overcame him. This was not like the needles and blows of the Cruciatus Curse. This pain was birthed within his body, and in another strange moment of consciousness, he wondered if he was being slowly ripped open and flayed.
The pain subsided slowly, in gradual waves that ebbed and flowed. He spat out more blood and managed to bring the back of his hand—it was his hand, he thought—to wipe the thick liquid from his face.
He lifted his eyes to see that Lucius was standing over where he lay crumpled in a heap, and he appeared completely emotionless. Cautiously, Blaise moved to a sitting position, but as he leaned on his left arm, another jolt of pain shot from his fingertips to his heart. He grabbed the limb with his other hand and examined it; there were faint red lines quickly fading just under his skin.
"What—" he rasped, choking. "What is—"
"You're familiar with spells of this nature," Lucius interrupted brusquely. "I think you have a much kinder one on the head of a young French girl that may come in handy soon."
Blaise heaved. His lungs still weren't cooperating properly, and his mouth was still bleeding. He guessed that he'd lacerated his tongue, and probably his cheeks, without realizing it. Lucius aimed his wand at him again, and he cried, "No—no, my lord, please, no!"
Which was perfect.
Lucius levitated him back into his chair and walked back around the desk to sit directly in front of him once more. He took another sip of brandy and smiled kindly at the bruised, bleeding boy.
"I'll need all the information you can get out of the Mudblood. You'll deliver it to me, in-person, as it is available."
Blaise nodded quietly. His right hand was pressed against his lip in an attempt to stop the bleeding.
"I trust that I have your complete devotion and undying loyalty?"
The young man's eyes flew to his once more as the gravity of the situation fell with a thud of realization. Lucius had just enabled himself to torture him on a whim, and who knew what other powers the curse wielded.
"Y-yes, my Lord," he said, bowing his head.
"Good lad. Now, out of my sight."
Blaise limped out of the room, a fraction of the debonair man who had entered it not an hour before. Lucius sighed slowly, an expression ribboned with aloof disgust and exasperation. The boy would recover and go back to his devil-may-care life, following Draco around and chasing after pretty faces. Except now he would know that the devil did, indeed, care very much.
As the door clicked shut, Lucius snapped for a House Elf. He hated it when the nice, Oriental carpet in his office was stained with blood.
A/N: This was a bit of a transitional chapter--which is a good thing. The story is going somewhere, and that means I'm dying to write it. Actually, I AM writing it. There may or may not be a forced honeymoon involved, and more about what happened to Bill, Charlie, and Fleur.
Of course, if you want, I could make that spell make Draco and Ginny fall eternally in love as soon as they kiss, at which time they will have twin babies with pink hair. I'd name them Castor and Pollux, of course, because all fanfic Malfoy babies MUST be named after constellations. And they'd have pink hair. Of course, I love it when Draco is a dad to girls, so I'd actually name them Castora and Polluxi (Luxi for short). And Lucius, upon holding them, would resign his power-hungry Blaise-torturing ways and become a doting Grandpa.
Or not.
Happy very, very late birthday, scubarang. Sorry about Blaise. I'll make it up to you.
Thanks to Gidge8 and Boogum for thoughtful beta work.
Reviews make me write. So make me write.