A/N- WOW! So this chapter took me a long time to write! Things were super busy, and I had writers block on top of everything! UGH! But here it is! I worked really long and hard on this so please please REVIEW! Enjoy loves (:
"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good." - W.H. Auden, 'Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone'
It was a beautiful day.
The sun was shinning bright in the sky, drying the remaining puddles after the last rainstorm. Birds were out, chirping, bees were buzzing, and flowers were stretching their leaves, soaking up the welcome sunlight. The sky was blue, crisp, with only few fluffy white clouds gracing it, as if splattered across a portrait.
Truly, a beautiful day.
Alas, Ginerva Weasley did not have time to enjoy the lovely weather that was so rare at this point of year in England. She was far too busy, working.
She had awoken that morning in her cot, completely unaware as to how she had reached it. The previous night was a complete blur. She could not remember a thing. Her body ached all over, and she had countless bruises gracing her skin.
Yet after a few minutes of grogginess, and with an enormous struggle, she had managed to recall the night's events. The memories brought a chill down her spine.
The Death Eaters were searching for her brother, Bill. She did not know why, but it was not too difficult to guess. Bill was an important and treasured Order member. Surely, they did not seek his presence for a mere cup of tea and some biscuits.
Draco Malfoy had logically turned to her, to seek out her brother. But of course, who better to know his location but family?
And yet it was foolish of him to expect her to give up any information that would endanger her family or the Order. Did he really not understand the concept of loyalty?
Probably. He was a Malfoy after all. They were only loyal to the highest bidder.
Currently, that was Voldemort,
Ginny could not help but wonder if the scales were tipped, how would the Malfoy's fare?
If the Order ever shall manage to end Voldemort's reign of terror, then surely the Death Eaters would be hunted and persecuted, and thrown into Azkaban for the rest of their sorry excuses of lives. And the Malfoy's would go right along with them.
She could not help but smile at the thought. The three groomed and pristine Malfoy's in dirty cells, sleeping on straw for the rest of their days.
After fluffing the pillow of said youngest Malfoy once more, and smoothing out the duvet cover she straightened up to admire her handiwork.
Housework without a wand for assistance made the tasks all the more grueling and demanding, but she could not help but feel a deeper satisfaction at a job well done by her own two hands.
Glancing once again towards the open window and the bright blue sky, she felt the familiar pang of longing in her chest. How she wished to be in those skies again, just her and her broom. Nothing but the wind on her face, and the freedom in her heart. Adrenaline coursing through her veins at the sheer speed of it all… There was no feeling like it.
Turning her head sadly away from the inviting open window, she began to walk towards the door, to exit the grand bedroom.
A sudden fluttering and a dull hoot stopped her in her tracks. Spinning once more to the window, her suspicions were confirmed. Sitting at the windowsill sat a large tawny owl, which glared at her disdainfully and full of contempt. Was it really possible for an owl to posses such a look?
Apparently.
Upon closer inspection, she saw that a letter was tied to the leg of the owl. Not a surprise, and yet...
Whom could the letter possibly be addressed to? The Malfoy's were gone, doing god knows what for the next three days.
Shortly after awaking that morning she had received her usual task list, and a following short note by Draco, simply saying the family would be leaving for three days, her tasks were to continue, and warning her not to try anything stupid.
He could go fall in a hole. The ferret.
She was extremely happy with their leave. Firstly because things would become even more awkward with Draco now, after her outburst, so avoiding him was best. Secondly because she fully intentioned to take advantage of the Malfoy's absence to poke around. She wanted to try searching for the dungeons again.
Therefore, with Draco's leave, she did not expect any letters to arrive for him now. The owls would have flown straight to wherever it is he's at.
In conclusion, the letter was not for Draco.
But then, for who?
As she approached the owl, he stuck his leg out at her, waiting for her to take the scroll of parchment and send him off. She blinked in surprise. A letter for her?
Who could possibly write her? No. Not when she was here. It was a mistake. Must be.
And yet, her natural curiosity drove her forward, to gently detach the scroll from the owl's leg. Hooting once more, he took off, not waiting for a reply.
Ginny stared at the parchment in her palms. It was for her.
Ginerva M. Weasley
Malfoy Manor
She did not recognize the writing. It was articulate and neat, written in a deep blue ink.
Turning the parchment over, she was even more surprised to see the seal. It belonged to the Ministry. Her hands were shaking now. Whatever this was, this letter would not bare any good news. The Ministry belonged to Voldemort. She had no reason to be receiving mail from them.
She was afraid. But she was no coward. A true Gryffindor. And so, taking a deep breath she tore the wax seal, trying to prepare herself for what was to come.
It was enough for her to see the first sentence.
Her breath caught in her throat.
And then, she fell to her knees.
Denial
The red jet of light was shot out of nowhere, narrowly missing his left ear.
He cursed, and whirled around to face his new attacker. He could not see a face, but he knew this was a skilled opponent by his stance alone.
They stared each other down for a moment, studying one another, wands drawn.
And then, as if by some silent cue, they began in unison.
Their wands twirled, and they dodged, dipped, and rolled, in what an outsider might think was an odd dance. On and on it went, and it seemed as if the rest of the world had faded. He focused only upon this man, his adversary.
Yet, they were not alone. All around him, other lights were flashing. Reds, blues, purples, greens. Colorful. Beautiful. Deadly.
He dodged another red light and shot back a green one. Finally, he hit his mark.
His skilled opponent fell over, quickly, dead. Quick. Simple. All it had taken were two words. And this man was dead.
He could not help but wonder the skilled man's identity. Moving quickly, and impatiently fixing his hood over his platinum locks, he approached the man. With his wand as light, he shed it over the face.
His mouth dried. His heart skipped a beat. He could feel the blood drain his face. It was not possible. It could not be. This man was already dead. He had been there! Seen it!
Caused it.
Graying brown hair, and a scraggly beard. Light brown eyes opened wide. A lined face, with small scars in random places, along his neck as well. And a ghost of a triumphant smile, stretching across his aged lips.
It was the Auror, the one they had killed along with his daughter, in Ireland. Nearly a month ago. How could this man have been alive now? Fought now? He, Draco, had killed him!
It did not make sense. It wasn't possible. It was trouble.
And the Auror, he had known. All along.
He had known whom he was fighting. He did not care that he would die, because he knew something Draco Malfoy did not. Something that was not good for their side.
Bloody fuck Merlin's saggy trousers.
The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. Nothing existed but him and the Auror, just like in their battle. But this time, Draco was not twirling his wand, dodging spells. He was realizing he had made a grave error. They had missed something. Big.
And although it felt that all was quiet, he was wrong.
The battle had not ended.
Lights still flashed all around, the only source of light on the hilltop. People, masked and unmasked, fighting to the death. Screams of anguish or triumph everywhere.
Bodies littered the ground, the casualties were heavy. The night was cold and dark. He could not see faces, only outlines, and bright, skull white masks gleaming in the moonlight.
Still in an angry and confused dazed, he watched the battle continue around him. He heard something behind him, jerking him back to reality, but he was too slow.
The curse hit, and he instantly gasped at the pain in his right arm. His wand arm.
He glanced down, and his suspicions were confirmed. He was bleeding. Badly.
Swearing with all his might, he turned to his newfound attacker, who had made a mistake. He had hesitated after his curse hit.
This man's death was quick. He was not nearly as skilled as Draco.
After killing the man who had injured him, he quickly conjured a cloth, and with a wave of his wand, it tied itself tightly against his wound. He was not good at healing charms. It would have to do, for now.
Out of his daze, pissed, and ready to kill, Draco strode deeper into the midst of the battle. He moved with speed and grace, and took down every opponent who came his way. He was a great dueler. He knew. He used this. He won.
And finally, as the first rays of sun began to litter the skies, the battle was over. The Order members, who had not died, had fled.
Draco sighed, and then lifted his mask.
Suddenly, he was clapped on the back, and he couldn't help but jump. Beside him, someone laughed.
Blaise Zabini.
The wanker.
"Jumpy, are you mate?"
Draco glared at the dark man beside him, "Just tired. Not everyone is a morning person you know."
Blaise grinned, "No, but I think you are just naturally cranky. Cheers mate, we could be dead now!"
"At least then I wouldn't be seeing your ugly face Zabini," Draco grumbled. His head was pounding.
Blaise was not fazed, but his smile did drop upon noticing Draco's arm. "Crikey Draco, you're bleeding!"
"Yes, I'm aware," Draco drawled. He was too exhausted for Blaise's antics and he felt weak. Alas, he did look down to his arm, and his eyes widened.
In the heat of the battle, he had practically forgotten of his wounded arm. He saw now that the blood had soaked through his makeshift bandage, and had drenched the whole right side of his robes.
He cursed loudly.
Blaise looked grim. "You need to get to a hospital mate."
"No. I'm fine, really." Draco shook his head firmly. He despised hospitals.
Blaise raised an eyebrow, "You are injured, badly. Shouldn't you get over your fear of healers already?"
Draco scowled, "I'm fine, I'll patch it up at the Manor. And I am not afraid. They just like to prod their wands too much. Besides, we have much bigger issues to worry about." He disregarded his sudden dizziness.
"Enlighten me then."
Draco continued to glower, but grabbed Blaise's arm and dragged him away from the remaining Death Eaters, and their prying ears.
This fast pace walk made him dizzier, but he steadied himself, and turned to his dark haired counterpart. "Do you remember those two Aurors from Ireland?" He inquired quietly.
Blaise nodded.
Draco's head was still aching, but he needed to tell Blaise. Clutching his head, which was still spinning, he continued.
"Well today, during the battle I saw," Here Draco broke off, taking deep breaths, trying to control his sudden nausea.
Blaise seemed concerned. "Mate, we should really get you to St. Mungo's."
Draco shook his head, "No healers!" He hissed, and then continued in a more controlled tone.
"Take me to the Manor."
"But-"
"Now!" Draco said loudly, fighting the pain in his arm, head, and swells of nausea.
Blaise did not continue argue, but took hold of Draco's uninjured arm, preparing to apparate.
Draco sighed with relief, and closed his eyes, embracing the sudden darkness.
Anger/Depression
Rain.
It fell, clear drops from the sky, plummeting down to earth, leaving behind no longer a drop, but a splatter.
A splatter, which then slowly, joined with other splatters, formed a puddle.
She could not seem to look away, as the lightning flashed, or as the small droplets hurtled down from the black clouds. As they wet the earth, as they formed countless puddles.
She was mesmerized.
She might have been watching it for days, or hours, or maybe just minutes. Time did not matter. Not now. She had no strength. To calculate. To think.
Every muscle ached. Every movement sent a new wave of pain. She would not move. She had no strength.
She was not broken. Not yet. But she was splintered. Something small had shattered. She could not mend it. She had no strength.
She had always prided on her strength. It had been considered a good quality. Important. It helped her to focus when times were difficult, to continue on and keep surviving.
But now, it seemed lost, buried deep inside, where she could no longer find it.
No tears fell. Her dark eyes were dry.
She was numb. Cold. Indifferent. Nothing was real. Nothing mattered. Time did not pass, life did not go on.
How could it?
He was dead.
How was it possible to believe that the world continued to turn with him gone? It wasn't. She would not go on. She could not.
Her stomach felt hollow, as if emptied by magic. Her throat was dry, her heart beat dully, and her breath was shallow.
Her feet were cold. She was cold. But she did not shiver, or shake. It was meaningless if she felt slight discomfort, when he could no longer feel anything at all.
She knew he was dead. Gone. She knew there was no way he was alive. But she could not help but hope, dully, that this was all a nightmare. A terrible, tragic, nightmare.
Alas, she knew that this fantasy was only that, a fantasy. She was a logical person. Not one to dwell on fantasies, and fairy tales, and happy endings. She was realistic. She knew he would never return.
Never to smile warmly again. To embrace her in his strong arms. To make her laugh. Tell her tales of wondrous adventures. Hold her when she cried. Give wise advice.
No, she would never see Charlie Weasley again. His body would lay cold now, under the earth, blissfully unaware of the woes happening up above him.
Her stomach gave another lurch, and she gasped, letting in a rush of air. She had stopped breathing for a moment.
He would never breathe again.
It seemed so simple. To take a life. All it took was a curse. Two poisonous words, and it was all over. Yet, what happened after was not simple at all.
And for what? He had died for nothing. Nothing.
A war. A battle. A duel. A death.
Again, and again, and again, and again.
A vicious cycle. And for what?
Nothing.
Families torn apart. Friends lost. Spouses missing. The world in ruins.
All because of one man.
One cruel, malicious man. He turned the world upside down. He ruined everything.
Everyone.
No one was innocent. He had taken that too. Children, forced to see wickedness they had not though possible, growing up far too fast. Too fast. Even those who had taken a stand, to stop this menace, to save the world, were no longer innocents. They were forced to battle, and harm, and even kill.
All because of him.
Voldemort.
She loathed him like no other. She wished him dead. She wanted to cause him pain. She wanted to make him feel like she felt.
But how could she? She felt agony, over the loss of a loved one, whereas he did not love.
He did not care about the life or death of anyone but himself.
But she would find a way. She did not care if she wasn't the one to kill him. That was Harry's role. But she would cause him pain.
She did not know how, she did not know when, but she knew she would do it.
It was vindictive, and cruel, she knew. It was not how she was raised.
But she had changed. Because of him. She was darker, crueler, than she let on. Ever since he had tainted her, she had never been the same.
Not very different, no. But her innocent outlook on life had changed. She used to feel compassion for all, but now, that was lost.
She did not pity those who hurt her. She hurt them back.
He had taken so much, caused such horrors and sorrow, that she knew she must return the favor. She felt it in every bone in her body.
She must cause him pain.
She would avenge her brother, Charlie, sweet Charlie, so kind, and brave and strong. His death would not be in vain.
She did not care what it took, but she vowed to herself, that she would hurt him. She would make him feel this grief. This agony.
If the world must keep turning, then it must all have a purpose. And her purpose was clear now. She would avenge her brother. She would hurt Voldemort, somehow, someway.
She would inflict this awful feeling upon the monster.
Watching the rain, still lost in its natural beauty and her own wretched thoughts, Ginny Weasley swore that she would live to visit Charlie's grave, causing as much pain and sorrow among those who kept her from it on the way.
No, his death would not be in vain.
Bargaining
He opened his eyes to complete chaos.
House elves scurrying this way and that, a wooden coffee table in front of him covered with vials, potions and bandages by a dozen, and incessant shouting.
He felt dizzy.
Blinking again, he noticed he was on a sofa, and a familiar one at that. His.
He felt tired.
No. Worse.
Exhausted. Weak.
His throat was dry, and he had a foul taste in his mouth. His eyes were dry as well. His right arm was numb.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
Bloody hell. What was going on?
Suddenly, a pair of large, blue eyes met his. A house elf.
"Master Malfoy," It squeaked as it scrambled toward him, "You have finally woken! We's was so worried!"
He scowled at the elf's voice. It made his head throb.
He wanted to shut the creature up, but his voice was nonfunctioning, all that came out was a rasp.
Stupid throat.
He needed water. But how the hell was he supposed to get it? Mime?
Out of the question. Malfoy's do not mime.
And yet, how was he supposed to receive his much needed water?
His savior then came in the form of Blaise Zabini. Not that he would ever dare admit it.
Blaise approached Draco with a smug grin on his face and a tall glass of water in his hand.
"Thought you might need this mate," He said as he handed the glass to Draco, whom in turn clutched it carefully, and took long, satisfying gulps. Only after finishing the glass's contents, did Draco turn back to Blaise, who was smirking from an armchair across from him.
"So," Draco began, not really knowing with what words to begin.
"So," Blaise repeated, a knowing look twinkling in his eyes.
"What the hell happened after we left the battle?"
Blaise sighed and repositioned himself on the armchair, looking for a more comfortable sitting position. His jovial look was gone and he was rubbing his temples.
"We almost lost you mate," He finally replied.
"Are you taking the piss?"
Blaise shook his head, "You lost so much blood, it was a miracle you didn't pass out sooner. When we apparated it didn't affect you well. You turned completely white, more than usual mind you," Here Blaise paused to see if his joke had lightened the mood, but it did not.
Draco was shocked. He had been injured before in battle, but never had he reached such a critical state. His arm right arm felt completely numb. Could there be permanent damage to it?
"Blaise, mate, what's the damage?" He finally broke the silence.
Blaise sighed again. "After we managed to get you stabilized with a few potions, I sent for Healer Green, your family healer. He took over and managed to patch you up, but he said you're arm would take time to heal and fully function again."
"How long Blaise?" Draco asked slowly, his chest tightening.
"Could be weeks, or maybe months. It depends on each person."
"Months?"
"I know mate," Blaise sighed, "But it could be wore. You could have lost you're arm, or died."
"Well aren't you comforting," Draco grumbled to himself, and then turned back to Blaise. "Does the Dark Lord know?"
Blaise nodded, "As do you're parents. They will return tomorrow."
"You told my mother?" He asked disbelievingly.
"It's hardly something you can keep a secret."
"My mother hovers!" Draco hissed.
Blaise shrugged, "At least she cares about you. Look mate, you should be happy. It will take a while but you'll be fine. It could have been much worse, and all you need to worry about now is to sleep mate."
Draco scowled, "Don't test me Zabini."
Blaise chuckled and then glanced at his wrist watch, causing him to swear. "I can't stay, I have a meeting at the Ministry."
Draco nodded, "So I suppose I'm confined to this room eh?"
"For now anyway," Blaise replied as he stood up, "But you have the house elves if you need anything."
Draco scowled, "I think I know how to be cared for in my own home Zabini. But do me a favor, get the elves out of here."
Blaise raised a skeptical eyebrow, "I know you don't like them Malfoy, but you can't be alone, Healer Green's orders."
Draco's scowl deepened, "Tell them to get Weasley then," He said after a moment of thought.
"You want her, to watch over you, when you're sick and can take a turn for the worse at any time?"
"Really Zabini, I do cherish these pep talks of ours. But don't worry, I can handle Weasley."
Blaise studied Draco for a moment, before calling one of the elves. After telling him to fetch the Weasley girl, and ordering another elf to tidy up the room and bring Draco his wand, he bid Draco goodbye.
Just as Blaise reached the door, she entered.
Draco had forgotten how beautiful she was, even though he had seen her all but three days ago.
But she seemed different, paler than usual, her face hollowed. She seemed weaker. Broken even. What was the cause of this? Was it his torturing? Possibly. But there was more to it. Utter despair.
Her eyes met his and he shuddered. Her dark eyes were stone. Never before had he seen them so lifeless, so cold. And she was angry with him. She loathed him.
Usually, Draco would not give a damn, but now he was vulnerable. And she frightened him. The look in her eyes. He silently thanked Blaise for remembering to get his wand.
Though he knew it wouldn't be as useful in his left arm. Curse that bloody Order member who had injured him. And then with a sudden jolt, he remembered the whole reason he had gotten distracted and injured.
The Auror.
He needed to tell Blaise. But not now. No. When they would be alone he would tell him and Theodore. Then together, they would figure out a plan.
He was knocked out of his current daze by Blaise's voice.
"That outfit really suits you Weasley. Highlights you're, eh, assets."
Ginny did not answer. She simply gazed at Blaise's with a blank look in her eyes.
Draco scowled again. "Don't you have a meeting to get to Zabini?"
Blaise smirked, his eyes traveling between the red head and the blonde on the sofa. "Yes," He replied, "I must be off. Good day to you. And mate," He turned to Draco once more, "Get some sleep."
Draco nodded stiffly, and with that, his best mate was gone.
Ginny took a few slow steps toward Draco. "You needed something Sir?" She said her voice dull and hollow.
What was wrong with her?
Draco cleared his throat and repositioned himself on the cushions. "Yes, well as you can see I'm not in the best state, and I need someone to watch and make sure I take my potions and all that," He coughed.
She nodded.
"So," He coughed again, "Did you manage to take care of all your tasks lately?" Another cough.
She nodded again.
"Good," He replied and coughed once more. It then turned into a coughing fit, and soon he was gasping for air.
She simply stood there.
His eyes were watering, and he glanced around the coffee table searching, searching and… finding.
A cough potion. Perfect.
"Weasley," He panted, "Hand me that blue potion."
She just continued to stand there, while he coughed and coughed. The table was too far away for him to reach. And every racking cough shot pain through his body.
Bloody hell.
"Weasley please!" He gasped.
Her eyes narrowed, "If I give you that potion, you'll be perfectly fine, won't you?"
He nodded shakily, his cough continuing.
"Why should you deserve to be fine? You're a horrible person. Suffer a bit." She said coldly, her voice ice.
"Please!" He begged. He could not believe he was begging her, but he couldn't breathe.
Her eyes softened for a moment. She walked slowly, and lifted the blue bottle, holding it gently. Finally, she handed it to him.
He grabbed it quickly, and downed it in two sips.
It immediately took affect. His coughing ceased, and his breathing eased. He breathed in deeply and stared at her wide eyed.
"I could have died." He stated.
"Well, you did turn this awful shade of purple," She stated with a small shrug of her shoulders.
"What happened to you?"
"What did you expect," She hissed, "That I'd welcome you home with a smile and a plate of cookies?"
"Is this about the night I questioned you?" He asked carefully, gripping his wand tightly in his left palm.
She blinked. "You don't know?"
"Know what? In case you haven't noticed Weasley, I've kind of been out it for a few days."
She pursed her lips. "You've only been out through the night."
He scowled. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. "Details," He said casually, "What don't I know? What is wrong with you?"
"Never mind Malfoy, it's none of your business."
"You are my servant. I decide what my business is or isn't." He said stubbornly.
She gazed at him blankly. "Did you need anything else Sir? Or may I go now?" She asked dully, changing the subject.
He longed to throw the empty potion bottle he was holding at her head. Instead he took a deep breath, collecting himself.
"Tell me what's going on Weasley, or I swear to god I'll force it out of you." He said slowly, dangerously.
Her eyes traveled along his crumpled form. A shadow of a smirk appeared on her lips. "That seems highly unlikely in you're state." She finally said, her voice full of contempt.
Oh, she was loving this. Bloody bint.
His sneered, and pulled out his wand, pointing it directly at her abdomen.
She took a step back in surprise.
"Forgot you're place didn't you?" He spit venomously. He was in no mood for her games.
The look she gave him was so full of hate, he swore that for a second, he had seen a red spark in her eyes.
"Tell me what the fuck is going on!" He demanded.
"It has nothing to do with you, so leave me the fuck alone." She hissed, her tone chilling.
"Everything that concerns you has something to do with me!" He shouted, and at once realized his mistake.
She looked taken aback. He cleared his throat. "You are my servant, and therefore my responsibility." He added, trying to make his previous statement sound different.
She blinked again, sliding back into her dull mask. A mask which it seemed she had learned from him.
She did not reply.
He was growing extremely impatient. "Tell me what the fuck is going on Weasley!" Red sparks flew out of his wand, causing her to leap back, and her shoes caught in the carpet. She fell.
Immediately, he regretted his temper. He didn't even know why it was so important for him to know what was bothering her, but he could not stand seeing her like this. So cold and indifferent.
She did not move from the floor. She sat there, breathing slowly, gazing at his wand.
He cleared his throat nervously. "Are you alright?" He asked carefully. He didn't know why he cared.
Her eyes moved from his wand to his face, and they met his. Hers were wide, and filled with tears.
Draco swallowed. She was about to cry. Ginerva Weasley. He'd never thought he'd see the day. She had never shed a tear once near him. Even when tortured. She always seemed so strong.
And now she looked… shattered.
Her lower lip was trembling, and the tears were falling freely now. They were simply staring at each other. Grey met brown.
She was crying, he was shocked. The silence was heavy, full of words neither knew to speak.
And yet, she was the one to finally break it.
"My brother's dead," She whispered so softly, for a moment he was sure he had imagined it.
He swallowed again. Dead? A Weasley? When did this happen? During the battle when he had been injured? Before? By who's hand? And of course, which brother?
He wanted to ask, but he could not. He did not know what to say or how to say anything to her, without bringing on more tears.
She closed her eyes, taking a long shaky breath, her tears still falling on her pale cheeks. "Charlie," She continued, "He died during a battle, about a week ago."
Charlie Weasley. Draco had never met him, but he had heard stories. The second eldest Weasley. A great Quidditch player. Worked with dragons in Romania. Was an outstanding dueler and a prized Order member.
Now dead.
And Weasley was a wreck. Understandable. But still, he could not grasp how this strong spitfire was now put out, crying on his oriental rug.
The world was an odd place.
She continued to sit there on the floor, silent tears streaming, and he continued to stare at her, contemplating what to say.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "Take the rest of the day off Weasley, just send up a house elf," He said in a gentle tone. He actually felt pity for her! He wanted to slap himself, but more importantly get her far away, where he could not feel bad for her.
She blinked, her lips parting as his words sunk in. Then her eyes narrowed and in a flash she was standing, all previous tears gone, her mouth twisted in an unfamiliar sneer.
"I don't need pity Malfoy, especially not from you." She spat venomously.
He glared at her. "I don't pity the likes of you Weasley," He sneered, "I'm simply trying to be nice, since you look like you could use it."
She scoffed, "You're such a bad liar Malfoy."
He raised a taunting eyebrow, "Oh am I? Miss 'I lost my virginity to Potter but not really and I'm just pathetic enough to lie about it?"
She blinked in surprise for a moment, and then her eyes narrowed once more. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
"I don't know but you just proved you were lying about that," He replied nonchalantly.
"You are infuriating Draco Malfoy!" She exclaimed, and stomped her foot.
He smirked, "I try love."
She pursed her lips, "You know, I could probably just kill you right now."
He shrugged, "Probably, but Zabini knows you were the only one here. Then you'd killed for killing a Malfoy."
"Not if I take your wand after killing you and break out of here, and I'll hide somewhere where you're pals will never find me." She countered.
He smirked, "You don't have the guts to kill me."
"Oh, just try me."
He eyed her slowly. Her expression was daring, if not a little mischievous. There was color back in her cheeks. The only reminders of her previous breakdown were in her sad eyes and her tear stained cheeks. He loved that he had managed to distract her from her mourning, if only for a while.
Although previously, the thought of her breaking down and her fire diminishing humored him, but once it had actually happened, he could not stand the sight. He had always despised seeing girls cry, but Weasley was the worst. He could not help but wanting to make her stop crying, to bring her back to her stubborn annoying self. And he had succeeded for the time being. It pleased him, so he decided to continue his distraction.
He loosened his grip on his wand and held it out to her. "Go on then," He encouraged her, as her eyebrows shot up skeptically. "Take my wand. Do it Weasley."
She looked at him incredulously, but stepped forward timidly, and stretched out her hand, her fingers itching for the feel of a wand. But then suddenly, she snatched her hand back. "Like hell I'm going to take you're wand Malfoy. I'll just get tortured for it when you aren't all loopy from all the potions."
He smirked. "Normally, that would be the case. But I'm curious you see. Do you really have it in you, to hurt me? Kill me?"
Her eyes narrowed, "I think you'd be surprised of what I'm capable of."
He believed her. Yet he continued his actions, trying to get her to take his wand, he wanted to see what Ginny Weasley truly was made of.
"Take it. Go on, you must miss having a wand. The feel of the magic coursing through your veins, the power of it. I'm giving you permission. Take it."
She hesitated for another moment before snatching the wand so quickly, he had barely seen her move her hand.
Her fingers traveled over the wand, her eyes examining it carefully. Her lips curved up slightly, her eyes which had been completely cold now held some warmth.
He could not help but feel slightly nervous now. His wand, in the hands of another, someone who clearly hated him, and he was virtually defenseless. He felt like a complete prat. What was he thinking? Offering his wand over to a girl who had every reason to despise him and wish him harm? Not only that, but she was emotionally unstable after all the horrors she had suffered during this war. And he, he handed her his wand!
He wasn't sure what made him do it. He really wasn't. But now, he regretted it with all his heart.
She bit her lip and looked up at him, her eyes large and bewildered. "Why on earth would you hand me you're wand?"
"I don't know," He admitted.
She looked back down at the wand, then back at him. Her arm shook slightly as she pointed it at him.
"Stupid thing to do."
"Yes," He replied evenly.
"I want my own wand," She stated.
"You must be joking." He said, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
"I hardly think you're in any position to be disagreeing with me."
He gazed up at her, taking in her determined expression. She was serious. What the bloody hell had he done? He kicked himself mentally for what seemed the thousandth time.
He considered his options carefully before answering. "Alright Weasley, you'll get a wand," He paused noticing her eyes widen in surprise, "But it will be blocked, as in you won't be able to use any spells that can harm anyone, or help you leave the Manor."
She pursed her lips, "How do I know you'll follow through?"
"Because I will give you my word," He answered simply.
Ginny gave a hollow chuckle, "I'm supposed to trust your word?"
He looked into her dark eyes seriously, "Yes," He replied.
Her eyes seemed to bore holes in his face with the intensity of her gaze. It took another moment before she lowered his wand and gently set it on the small table. "Alright then," She replied, a shadow of a smile gracing her lips.
And then she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving Draco completely confused about the day's events. He scratched the back of his head, and then let it fall back against the pillow. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes.
Women were a mystery.
Acceptance
"Just do it."
"No, it's foul."
"You are such a baby."
"I am not!"
Ginny glared at the stubborn man before her.
Draco Malfoy was being exceptionally difficult today. She wanted to stab him with the teaspoon she was holding.
"Malfoy, just take the bloody potion already!" Ginny growled at him.
He scowled, "Don't you dare think you can order me around Weasley. You're still my servant."
She huffed, "You're impossible! First you make me take care of you for the past three weeks, in charge of your bloody health, and now you won't take this last potion that will make you heal, finally?" She raved, arms flailing in exasperation.
He smirked, "Exactly."
"I swear to God I'm about to murder you with this spoon."
"That wouldn't be very wise of you," He stated coolly.
"No I suppose not," She frowned, "But it would make me feel better."
He just raised a pale eyebrow.
She rubbed her temples in frustration. All she needed was to get him to take this one last potion, and by tomorrow he would be fully healed.
It had been three incredibly long and challenging weeks. She was exhausted. Draco was incredibly whiny and needy after his injury, and as she was being forced to care for him, it all landed on her shoulders.
On the other hand, it did provide her a wonderful distraction from grieving, and she could honestly admit, it was getting easier to forget the pain. Of course, she would never heal from it entirely, but it was becoming easier everyday to think about her brother without breaking down. During this period, when she was forced to spend an excessive amount of time with Malfoy, she had gotten to see many sides of him.
He was less guarded now, and she had witnessed the more vulnerable sides of him. Not that he'd ever admit it. Other than his arrogant, selfish, obnoxious self, she had witnessed him scared, in pain, truthful and then there were those few memorable talks they shared that had been like speaking to an actual friend.
They had been odd, and usually when he was slightly out of it due to his potions, but they had been interesting. They had shared stories of their childhoods, first kiss memories, bad relationship experiences… In those talks she could practically forget where she was and who she was speaking with.
She knew the moment he made his recovery, that would be over, and she could go back to hating him completely, just like before. But as of the moment, she could not bring herself to loathe him like before. He still annoyed her extremely, and she wanted to punch him often, but she did not hate him.
Something had changed between them after he had given her a wand. It had been two days after she first began taking care of him. After her breakdown. He had sent for a wand maker, one who Ginny had never heard of, but she had hardly expected Ollivander to be showing up.
The man was unpleasant, but he was quick, and good at what he did. He came with a large supply of wands, beautiful, all different. He had taken measurements quickly, efficiently and in seconds he had placed a wand in her hand. It was a match from the start. 10 inches, cherry, with unicorn hair at the core. It was not like her previous wand, which she missed very much still, but it was incredible all the same.
She had been surprised that Draco had actually kept his word, and that was where her hatred for him had dissolved slightly. Of course, the wand was blocked, limiting the spells she could use, to mostly ones that would help her with her daily tasks. She had not expected more. But still it was a wand and she could not complain.
After that, things had gotten, lighter, between them. Of course there was still extreme dislike, fighting, contempt from him, fury from her. But there was something less hostile there. Some sort of understanding.
His voice shook her out of her dwellings, "Weasley, you do realize you are sitting on my armchair?"
She shot him a glare, "If you would just take you're bloody potion I will leave and you won't have to worry about my sitting on your precious chair." Nonetheless, she stood up.
He smirked, appraising her. "Look at you Weasley, all obedient."
She scowled at him. "Don't test me Malfoy."
"Oh," He laughed, "Testy are we?"
"Yes," She growled, "After you kept me up all night."
"I know lots of ways that I can keep you up all night," He said waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Ginny's patience had run out. With a quick running step she pounced on top of the unsuspecting Draco, grabbing his flailing arms and pinning them with one of hers.
He stared at her bewildered.
"Six brothers," She said simply in answer to his shocked stare.
He blinked twice, and then suddenly smirked. "You know, if you wanted to straddle me so much Weasley, you could have just asked."
Ginny's eyes narrowed, "Just shut up, and open your mouth wide. You're taking this potion whether you want to or not."
His eyes narrowed, "I don't want too!" He whined, and began thrashing, trying to get the persistent red head off of him.
"Stop struggling," She growled, and held on to his arms tighter, while her arms darted around the room, trying to find something to restrain the writhing blonde.
She smiled when she saw it. On the small coffee table in front of her was a thin rope that had previously held closed the leather pouch that had held some of the potion vials. Quickly, with her leftover quidditch reflexes, she snatched the rope and tied it skillfully around Draco's wrists, tying them to the couches arm rest.
She grinned smugly at his outraged expression.
"The only reason you have the upper hand here Weasley is that I am fuzzy from these potions, and I'm injured." He said with an indignant huff.
"Probably," She admitted with a shrug, "But if you would just stop being a child and take the potion than you won't be injured anymore."
"Fine," He said finally with a slight pout.
Ginny scoffed and poured the potion dosage on the spoon.
Draco glared at her, and opened his mouth. She put the spoon in his mouth, and he clamped his lips tight around it.
Satisfied, she got off him swiftly and dusted herself off.
"There," She smirked, "Now you can stop acting like a whiney brat."
"Untie me Weasel," He commanded talking through the spoon.
She eyed his restrained palms and the spoon. Her smirk deepened. "I don't think I will Malfoy. You've put me through even more hell than usual these past three weeks. I'll see you in a few hours." And with that, she spun on her heel and left the room, for once feeling triumphant.
He called after her, but she continued on, ignoring him completely and giggling to herself the whole way. Oh, she knew she would get hell for it later, but she couldn't bring herself to really care.
It felt good to laugh, especially as it was in Draco's expense.
The past month had affected her deeply. Every morning waking up and remembering her brother's death had felt like a thousand knifes to her heart.
It was hard to imagine a world without Charlie. He would never be there for another family dinner, Christmas, weddings… But then she started to realize that that had been the case for a while. Even before the war had begun, which in itself was a reason for tearing families apart, Charlie had been living in Romania and she had barely gotten to see him. Sure, he came over once in a while, but with the Weasley's, money had always been an issue, so visiting him was difficult, and he had been working.
In truth, she had seen Charlie more after joining the Order than she had before the war. It was sad to know that was what had brought them closer, but this was a fact. Yet, they had gotten extremely close, and now with him gone, it was hard to imagine how to continue.
But here she was, a month later, and slowly the pain was dimming. When she was laughing, or mocking, or even angry at Draco Malfoy, it provided a wonderful distraction from the hurt.
She fleetingly wondered how she would continue to cope without taking care of him as a distraction. Then she decided not to dwell on it, and instead now that she had free time, she would continue to plan her escape from the Manor.
In the short periods when she hadn't been occupied with nursing the great ferret back to health, she had been carefully plotting an escape from hell, or Malfoy Manor, as some preferred to call it.
She had been getting reacquainted with the use of the wand, and figuring out ways to use it in her aid to escape, even though it was mostly only good for basic spells and household ones. It was actually coming along nicely. She was even close to finally figuring out where the dungeons were, and she felt in her gut that that was her key to get out of the gigantic prison.
With a sigh, she entered her small bedroom, and flopped on to the cot, suddenly exhausted.
She heard something crinkle under her, and looked to see it was an opened envelope, addressed to her, with a letter tucked inside.
Her throat suddenly went dry and her stomach flopped. Another letter? It could not be of good news. Was someone else dear to her lost? And why was it opened?
Attached to the envelope was a small piece of parchment, written in neat scrawl.
Weasley,
You have received this letter from the Ministry, which apparently belonged to you're brother. Seeing as he was an enemy to the Ministry they righteously had to check it for any concealed magic. It was addressed to you. I opened it to check it myself for any tricks. It must be your lucky day.
L. Malfoy
She could not help but feel a small sweep of relief upon knowing that no one else in her family was dead, or hurt. And then she felt a rising anger, for Lucius Malfoy.
How she despised him. The only perk of the Manor's ludicrous size was that she rarely crossed path with the elder Malfoy's. How dare he read her letter? After it had even been screened at the Ministry? He was vile and cruel. She took a deep breath to relax herself, trying not to think about the eldest Malfoy.
Carefully, she removed Charlie's letter from the envelope, sighing when she saw the familiar messy script.
To my dearest little sister Ginger
She smiled at the old nickname.
I am writing you this letter now, for your twentieth birthday, because I probably won't be able to enjoy it with you.
Tears welled in her eyes. Her birthday was another month from now. She would not likely be celebrating with anyone she loved, or celebrating at all. And she would never be able to celebrate with Charlie again.
It sucks that with this stupid bloody war, everyone is always busy with the Order, and we don't see each other much, especially since your still in 'Phoenix' and we are all in 'Fawkes'. (Don't get mad Ginger, you'll be here with all of us soon I hope. You kick arse, and they all know you're the best out there.)
I've seen you grow so much in these past years, even though I couldn't be there all the time, something I regret, and you have truly become one of the most amazing people I have met.
Well I mean, with a brother like me, how could you not eh?
Ginny laughed, although it was slightly choked by her sobs.
No but seriously Gin-Gin, we (the whole family, and anyone who knows you really) are so lucky to have such an incredible person in our lives. You keep us strong and united, you are focused and hard working, loving, caring and we know you would always have our backs (which of course applies the other way around, I'm always here for you).
I want to wish you the best of birthdays in case I won't be able to do it in person. Have fun, enjoy the good things, remember not to lose your temper on people who aren't worth it, and please if you MUST date make sure they know that they'll have to go through me if they EVER make you cry.
I love you baby sister, have the most wonderful of birthdays.
Lots of love,
Charlie
P.S. Make sure to save me a slice of cake!
She could not control her tears, or the racking sobs that shook her. She did not think this letter would make her react this strongly. She thought she was beginning to heal.
It seemed that acceptance was not that easily achieved after all.
A/N- So like I said, this chapter was incredibly diffucult to write, and it's probably not my best, but I really hope you enjoyed it, and please please please REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! XOXOXOXOXOX