TW: continued threats of/references to sexual assault (of similar nature as previously). No one is assaulted.
CW: not sure how to include this. Pus? Medical grossness? If this bothers you, skip the italics scene at the end.
JUNE 5th, 1997
Draco Apparated to Spinner's End, still a little nauseous. He had puked twice before finally feeling settled enough to travel. He needed Snape.
He looked out over the dirty river and frowned. He had never been here before. Why would Snape choose to live among Muggles, especially such dirty ones? It was gross here.
It was irrelevant. In any case, Snape was here, and he was the only one who might be able to help. Draco shook himself, gathering himself back together, before moving between the Muggle houses toward the last house on the street, the one he knew belonged to Snape.
He knocked on the door, his stomach still in knots. Snape had to have ideas, he had to. Because if he didn't, Draco was lost.
Snape cracked open the door, his face set into the familiar glare he had worn at Hogwarts.
"Mr. Malfoy," he said, sounding for all the world like Draco had interrupted a Potions lesson. "I wasn't expecting visitors. To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?"
"It's urgent," Draco said. "It's about... well, I shouldn't say out here."
Snape actually rolled his eyes and opened the door.
"Get in here."
Draco did so, immediately taking in the cramped and untended nature of the house. His puzzlement grew. It was true that Snape had spent most of the last decade, if not longer, at Hogwarts, but he had been here for over a month now and the house barely looked lived-in.
"This way," Snape said, ushering Draco into a small sitting room.
"Are we alone?" Draco asked.
"Wormtail has taken up permanent residence with the Dark Lord, so yes," Snape said. He sat in the only chair in the room, leaving Draco to stand. "Speak."
"It's about Ginny."
"Why am I not surprised? What about her?"
Draco hadn't exactly expected a warm welcome from Snape, but this was downright hostile. His mind flashed back on their victory party, the way Snape had avoided him.
It doesn't matter now. Ignore it.
"About last night, obviously."
"Again. What about it?"
"She's in danger."
"Oh is she?" Snape said sardonically. "What a change that must be for her."
Draco bit his lip, holding back his growing frustration.
"The Dark Lord has plans for her, big plans, and I need your help."
"I know all about the Dark Lord's plans. As I recall, you told me you no longer needed my help a number of months ago. You were such a master Occlumens and Legilimens that my lessons had become redundant, and your work regarding Weasley was... what did you call it? Mine and mine alone? A bit ironic now, I suppose, but maybe you can add Seer to your list of talents."
"Are you angry with me or something? I didn't need your help then, but I do now- I've looked in Ginny's mind, and it's not like anything I've ever seen before."
"If this is some anomaly having to do with the gem, you should be reporting it to Rookwood, not me."
"It's not about the gem," Draco snapped, losing his patience at last. "It's about her. Her mind is just the sky- that's it. Nothing there at all, no landscape, no features, nothing. Just blue sky."
"And this bothers you because...?"
Draco remained silent, fidgeting a little.
"Speak up."
"There's nowhere to hide a memory in there. It's all just... open."
Snape raised an eyebrow. "You've been practicing Occlumency in other people's minds?"
"I practiced some on Blaise, and then I used a version of it on Kathleen Barrows before I left," he said. "Hiding memories, twisting others. It's useful. But only if the landscape allows for it, which hers doesn't."
"What exactly are you trying to hide, and from whom?"
Draco shifted uncomfortably.
Snape scoffed. "Don't tell me your new role is chafing already. The Dark Lord gave you everything you asked for. You should be over the moon."
"You know it's not like that," Draco said fiercely. "You saw my memories that day. All of them."
"And a fat lot of good your affection for Miss Weasley has done her," Snape deadpanned. "Forgive me if I'm not overly sympathetic. I don't know what you were expecting."
Neither do I, apparently.
"I don't want her to get hurt-"
"Is it that, or do you not want to do the hurting?" Snape interrupted, his tone suddenly sharp as a whip. "Ginny Weasley has been in the Dark Lord's custody for over a month, and you're only coming to me now. Why is that, I wonder? What could be different about today?"
"I couldn't do anything before-"
"Did you try?"
"What?"
"Did. You. Try. Even once, did you try to visit the Dark Lord's manor to check in on her? Or inquire about the testing she was undergoing, which was extensive, by the way- I had the honor of having to review Rookwood's notes."
"I wouldn't have been allowed-"
"Don't make feeble excuses to me. You didn't want to know what was happening, didn't want to sully your hands with the rot that the rest of us have to go through."
What the hell is he talking about?
"But now that you have to be the one, you come crying to me, asking me to make it all better for you," Snape continued, standing up. "I'm not your father, boy. I'm not going to clean up your mess."
"I'm not asking you to-"
"Oh you're not? You're not asking me to teach you some way to hide memories in Ginny's mind so that you can alleviate your own guilty conscience? Because what does doing that do for her, Mr. Malfoy? Absolutely nothing. No, her circumstances remain the same, but you get to feel better about your role in them."
Draco's cheeks were hot. "If she could understand, she-"
"Understand? Understand what? That you feel bad that you did this to her?"
"I didn't have any choice!" Draco shouted. "My parents and I would all have been killed if I hadn't delivered her, you know that."
"And after she was delivered? What choices did you have then?"
"None," Draco said fiercely, his hands balling into fists.
"Of course not," Snape said. "At least, none that were palatable to you."
"What exactly is it that you think I should have done?"
"Anything!" Snape shouted, with a rage that shocked Draco. "Anything, anything at all. Do you understand what was happening to her in there? I don't think you do. Here, let me read you an excerpt." He waved his wand and a sheaf of parchment appeared.
"Day eleven. Patient continues to scream for mother despite pain-relieving potion application. Severing Charm unsuccessful in altering gem response, despite application to multiple areas of the body. Day four. Acid unable to be applied to patient's skin- likely too corrosive, consider trying armadillo bile if able to obtain. Day five. Armadillo bile unsuccessful in altering gem response- patient required four applications of unicorn hair to heal skin lesions. Day seventeen, patient could not be consoled after testing completed, Silencing Charm applied-"
"That's enough!" Draco shouted, his whole body covered in a thin layer of sweat. His ordering Ginny to be quiet last night had taken on a whole new meaning. "That's enough. I get it." He felt dizzy, his vision unfocused.
Snape put down the parchment and fixed his gaze on Draco.
"There was a window of time where I could have helped Miss Weasley," he said. "I don't care about helping you, but I could have helped her. That window has closed. She is too important to the Dark Lord, too public of a figure within our ranks after last night. Even if you wanted to hide her away somewhere, get her away from this disaster, your Mark would be able to find her, as surely as the Dark Lord could find you should you ever choose to desert. She'll never be safe again." He paused, taking a deep breath. "As distasteful as I find your cowardice, she is at least not in the hands of someone like Fenrir Greyback or Amycus Carrow. Your job now is to keep it that way, as I'm sure you have realized that the Dark Lord's favor can change on a whim."
"Our Dark Marks are permanent," Draco said, feeling like he wasn't entirely in his body. "Doesn't that mean-"
"That your bond with her is permanent? Probably. But only if you're not dead. Surely you're not under the illusion that the Dark Lord would spare you if he really wanted to give dominion over Ginny Weasley to another, more competent Death Eater. Someone willing to actually do the job, not a soft-hearted sap who could pose a liability to the Dark Lord's great new design for our society."
Draco felt himself stumble back a step.
"That's what Macnair's spell means, did you know?" Snape said in a disinterested voice, ignoring Draco's obvious distress. "Complete dominion over the body. It sacrifices the subtlety of the Imperius Curse for absolute, total control. No fighting back, as I'm sure you found last night. Useful, when you don't care about people knowing that you're using the spell."
"I... I need..."
"What do you need? You have an honored place in the Dark Lord's ranks, the girl of your dreams forever beholden to your every whim, and as I understand it, you'll get to be a celebrity soon. No reason to be jealous of Potter now, hmm?"
Draco punched Snape in the face. His head whipped to the side, blood spurting from his nose. He didn't move to defend himself, and Draco didn't move to hit him again. Both men were breathing hard.
"Get out of my house," Snape said. "I've had enough of your silly temper tantrums, pampered little pureblood prince. You disgust me. You've made your bed, and hers- now lie in it."
Draco stumbled out of the room and out the front door, half-sure that he was going to faint. Was he going into shock? He had never felt this way before, like he wasn't seeing out of his own eyes.
He made it out of Snape's house and down the street a few houses before staggering into an alleyway, his breaths coming in quick, sharp gasps.
There would be no help coming. He had done this terrible, terrible thing, and now he would have to live with it forever. He didn't know what Snape thought he should have done to save Ginny from Rookwood, why he was so furiously angry at Draco specifically, but Snape would not help him. Would not help her.
Is it that, or do you not want to do the hurting?
Did. You. Try.
Patient continues to scream for mother... Silencing Charm applied...
Someone willing to actually do the job, not a soft-hearted sap who could pose a liability to the Dark Lord's great new design for our society.
You've made your bed, and hers- now lie in it.
The thoughts wouldn't stop coming. Snape's voice played in his head on a loop as Draco slumped down the side of a house and sobbed. Help wasn't coming. Somehow, he would have to do what the Dark Lord expected, both in public and in private, and not completely shatter Ginny or himself in the process. And he would have to do it alone. Completely, utterly alone.
JUNE 5th, 1997
Ginny glared at the spot where Malfoy had been standing just a moment ago, her mouth primed to finish an argument that had prematurely concluded. She made herself take a breath, her hands shaking a bit. He had told her so many things, her head was spinning.
More than anything, her thoughts were filled with Kathleen. How could Ginny not have realized she was under the Imperius Curse, and had been for months? It had slipped that night at the Valentine's Day party, Ginny was sure of it. If only she had pressed Kathleen about it, not accepted her feeble excuses about zoning out. Things would have been so different.
Poor Kathleen must have been terrified, Ginny thought, a tear escaping her eye. She was as trapped then as I am now.
She debated about whether or not to believe Malfoy's assurances that Kathleen and the others were all safe. Really, though, what reason did he have to lie? It wasn't like she could do anything about it one way or the other.
Unless he just wants to crush my hopes after lifting them up, she thought. This was a game to him- he had proved that this morning with all his stupid quips, teasing her and cajoling her along into having breakfast like this was in any way close to normal.
It didn't matter. Nothing he said really changed anything, though it did give her sickening clarity into the last few months and just how badly she had fucked up. But she could deal with her own guilt, her own culpability, later. Whatever had happened in the past, whatever was going on in the present, it didn't change the fact that she needed to get out of here, right now.
The Dark Lord promised you to me as an incentive if I successfully completed my assignments.
She would make Malfoy regret that promise.
"Let's see just how strong this modified Imperius is," she said as she stood up. She debated about eating her breakfast- she was hungry, she just didn't want to accept anything from Malfoy- but she didn't know how long he would be gone. She couldn't waste time.
She walked to his wardrobe, looking for any clothes that might fit her, or a pair of shoes. There were none. She pulled out one of his robes and looked it over. Could she make it work? No, she would be swimming in it. Not exactly useful for running away.
I guess these will have to do, she thought, looking down at her pajamas. I really need shoes though.
One look at Malfoy's shoes told her that wouldn't be possible.
Fine. She was no stranger to discomfort. So what if her feet got torn up in the woods? Nothing she couldn't live through.
She laughed as she realized the irony of that thought. What would happen if I got an infection out there? Would the gem cure it, and leave the wounds on my feet, or fix it completely?
"I guess I'm going to find out," she murmured, shutting the wardrobe door. Malfoy had said she was free to explore the manor. While she was loathe to waste any time, being thorough in her exploration made sense- she didn't have her magic. Ideally she would find a weapon or some other supplies like food to take with her, as she wasn't sure where Malfoy Manor was in relationship to anything else, and she would be trying to escape on foot. Her stomach twinged a bit at that thought- what if she got lost in the forest and couldn't find her way out?- but she reminded herself that she couldn't die. If she came across something dangerous, like wolves or something, the gem would protect her.
It'll protect you from life-threatening injuries, a helpful voice chimed in. If a wolf tries to take your leg, would the gem stop the wolf or would it just stop the blood loss after the fact?
She let out a shuddering breath. There was no use dwelling on hypotheticals- she had to get out of here. The longer she was here, the more time Malfoy would have to give her commands she couldn't break, and the slimmer her chances of escape would become. She had no way to know how often Malfoy would leave her alone, when she would get a chance like this again. She should at least explore the manor for possible weak points, possible things she could use to protect herself, even if she couldn't get out right now.
Determined, she marched to the bedroom door and swung it open before peeking her head out into the hallway. It was deserted. The morning sun streamed pleasantly through the long paneled windows, leaving pretty diamond-shaped patches of sunlight on the gleaming wooden floors. Ginny scowled at them. They had no right to look pretty in this nightmare of a house.
She stepped out of the room, purposely leaving the door open in case she got lost. The manor had looked absolutely massive last night, though she hadn't been in the right state of mind to really take in her surroundings. All she knew was that she was on the third floor and that Malfoy's window faced the back of the manor.
This hallway revealed itself to house a number of apparently unused bedrooms, along with a few bathrooms. Assuming she was still here tonight, she would be asking Malfoy to use one of these rooms rather than his- it wasn't like they didn't have the space. She grimaced to herself at the thought of asking Malfoy for anything, of him giving her permission, but the circumstances were what they were. Any win she could get, she would take.
His admonishment not to bother Tilly or his parents weighed heavily on her as she opened doors. What did bothering mean, according to the curse? Did running into them count? Speaking to them? Not that Ginny wanted to say anything at all to Lucius Malfoy, of course, but the instruction was vague. Would her body jolt her out of the room if she ran into them?
I suppose that's what this whole exploration is about, she mused. A different kind of testing than Rookwood's, but same principle. What are the constraints, and how do I get around them?
The third floor proved to be entirely useless. None of the spare bedrooms' wardrobes had clothes in them, and there was nothing that could be construed as a weapon except for a heavy ceramic vase, and Ginny couldn't fathom carrying that around with her in the woods. Part of her thought about trying to break it, but she felt certain that would alert Tilly, and fall under the umbrella of bothering. If Tilly found her wandering the house breaking random items, she felt certain that would be the end of her privacy for the day, and she had too much of the manor left to explore to risk that now. She would come back for the vase later if she had time.
Why did they need so many bedrooms anyway? Malfoy was an only child. Was there a period in the manor's history where they had more family members? Or regularly had long-term guests? Had Death Eaters slept in these rooms at one point? Had Voldemort? Hell, did Voldemort even sleep? He was so far from human now.
Although I suppose that makes two of us, she thought with a wry grin. In one way or another.
It was a disturbing thought if she let herself dwell on it. Not dying under an imminent attack was one thing, but not dying at all was quite another. Would she still age? Or would she forever be in a teenager's body?
Not important. Don't get distracted.
Ginny hurried down the hallway toward the stairs, passing Malfoy's bedroom on her way there. She noticed the bed was made- Tilly must have stopped in after she had left. Was the house elf following her now?
All this time alone has made you paranoid.
Shaking her head, Ginny bounded down the stairs to the second floor.
The rooms were slightly more interesting here. There were a pair of double doors that wouldn't open- Lucius and Narcissa's bedroom maybe? She hadn't come across it on the third floor- along with an absolutely massive library, a music room with a beautiful grand piano, a portrait gallery (which had promptly shouted her out of the room, calling her a blood traitor Weasley), a couple of powder rooms, a conservatory, a couple more bedrooms, and two different rooms whose purpose she couldn't determine- a sitting room maybe? Honestly, who needed this much space? Her family was three times the size of Malfoy's and even they could be here and barely run into each other.
The thought of her family pained her heart so badly that it momentarily took her breath away, making her hand stutter on the handle to the music room. She closed her eyes, drawing a shaky breath.
I'm coming home soon, Mum. Dad. I know you've got to be worried sick about me, but I'm alright- I'm alive and I'm coming home very soon.
Her determination fueled even further, she descended the stairs to the ground floor. There was still no sign of Lucius or Narcissa. Could they be out of the house for the day? Or was the curse inadvertently keeping her from bothering them? Could it know things like that?
Maybe I should try to run into them, to see. She recalled the way Lucius had looked as he had confronted her father all those years ago in Flourish and Blotts, when he had slipped her Tom Riddle's diary, unbeknownst to her. She shuddered. Maybe not.
The tattoo felt too much like the diary, like a sentient kind of malice bound up inside her. Her pajamas were long-sleeved, so they kept her from looking at it, but if she let her mind still for too long she could feel it, feel the magic wrapped around her arm just like the vines it had taken visual inspiration from. If she stayed with that feeling for too long, she would surely have a meltdown, and lose any chance of escape today.
The ground floor housed a large drawing room, a large dining room, two more powder rooms, an absolutely massive ballroom that reminded her entirely too much of last night and had her slamming that door quickly shut, a smaller sitting room, and several locked doors. It took her a little while to find the kitchen, at which point a startled Tilly ushered her out of the room, stating the kitchen was no place for guests and Ginny should wait for Master Draco to return.
Ginny had wanted to say that she wasn't a guest and she wasn't waiting for Master Draco for anything, but the curse apparently counted that as bothering, since she found herself nodding and turning away from the kitchen.
She cursed to herself as she walked away. There goes my chance of getting any food, or of picking up something useful like a knife.
She at least learned one thing- the curse wasn't subconsciously routing her away from Tilly or the Malfoys. So where were Lucius and Narcissa?
The manor had to have a basement, but Ginny couldn't find any sign of one. Its entrance must be hidden by magical means, which she had no way of investigating without her magic. Her hand twitched as she remembered the horrible dread that had filled her upon picking up a wand and not being able to use it. Voldemort had said the loss of her magic was temporary, but how temporary? How could she get it back? If she escaped, would the Order be able to help her, or would she be consigned to the life of a Squib, an immortal Squib?
Not helpful, Ginny. Not helpful. She had to get out of here.
She tried the front door, just to see, but it was as Malfoy had said- the door handle burned her hand when she tried to open it, even if she covered her hand with her sleeve first.
What else, what else?
The manor seemingly explored, she started back up the stairs. Wandering the manor and digging around in its various rooms had taken most of the morning- the sun was high in the sky now.
What else had Malfoy said? Don't bother trying to climb down from the windows- it's too high, it won't work.
Don't bother trying to climb down... what about climbing up? A thrill of excitement ran through Ginny. It had been dark last night, but if she remembered right, the very front middle of the manor had a flat section of roof. If she could get up there, she could get a running start to jump off the building, hard enough to activate the gem, and then she could make a run for it.
It was wild, crazy impulsive, but what was it that Fred and George had always said? Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve?
She hurried more quickly up the stairs, Alys's words echoing in her mind as they so often did. If you have some power, I suggest you use it. The only power Ginny had right now was the inability to die. And by Merlin, she was going to use it.
The third floor would be her best bet- least amount of climbing, highest distance to fall. She went room to room, looking out the windows this time, figuring out which room lined up most clearly with the center of the manor. Soon, she found one that looked to be nearly perfectly aligned with the front gate. This was going to be her best option.
She took a deep breath and closed the door softly behind her. Getting caught now would be a disaster. Quickly but quietly, she walked to the window and undid the latch. It opened right up.
Perfect, she thought with a grin. The tattoo wasn't stopping her, because she wasn't disobeying Malfoy's command. She wasn't going to climb down.
She stripped the bed of its sheets and tied them together, end to end, and made a loop at both ends. This would be much, much easier with magic, and much safer, but she would have to make do with what she had.
Now, what can I attach this to?
She walked to the window again and leaned out, looking up. The roofline had some spires on it, and there was indeed a flat section nearby. If she attached one end of her makeshift rope to a piece of furniture in the room and tossed the other one onto the spire, she should be able to climb up and swing herself over to the flat part. Probably. Maybe.
"Anything's possible if you've got enough nerve, anything's possible if you've got enough nerve," she repeated to herself like a mantra as she shifted a chest of drawers to the window and looped the rope of sheets onto one leg. It should be heavy enough to hold the rope down- right?
"Oh Merlin," she said, covering her face with her hands. What if this ended badly?
Although... really, what was the worst that could happen? She fell but not hard enough to die, and broke something? Either she could still try to escape, or Malfoy would find her, yell at her, and eventually heal her. He said himself he didn't enjoy torture. He wouldn't just leave her in agony on the ground. Probably.
"It's not going to hurt worse than anything you've already lived through," she told herself. "You're going to be fine."
Mind made up, she grabbed the other end of the rope and leaned out the window, facing the sky. It took four tosses, but she eventually got the rope caught on one of the roof's spires, thankfully very near the flat section. It would take a bit of a jump to get up there, but not much of one.
"I'm coming home, Mum," she whispered as she pulled herself up onto the windowsill and grabbed tightly onto the rope.
She had lost muscle tone over the last month, she realized as she began pulling herself up. She had always had strong arms and legs despite her petite stature due to Quidditch and many long summers spent outside, but laying completely still for days on end had wasted some of that away. This was much, much harder to do than it had been in her head.
Just don't stop, don't stop and don't look down. Keep going.
Her arms were screaming at her as she pulled herself up, using her feet against the smooth exterior of the manor as a brace. She could do this. She could do this.
She made it onto the slanted portion of the roof, below the spire. This would be the hardest part. Move a little to the left to get some momentum, and then swing hard to the right to grab onto the edge of the flat section.
Okay, don't overthink it. It's now or never. Malfoy could be back any moment, and you do NOT want to be caught wandering around on the roof.
She moved to the left, swinging a bit, before throwing her body to the right. She made herself let go of the rope and grab onto the flat part of the roof. Her wrists banged painfully against the sharp edge of it, making her grit her teeth in pain, but she had it- now she just had to pull herself up. She did so, expending more energy than she would have thought it possible to need. She hadn't eaten last night or this morning. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Too late now. You're almost out of the building.
She walked to the back of the flat section, where she could indeed see a hedge maze, a rose garden, a gazebo, and a forest beyond. She was probably parallel with Malfoy's room right now. Hopefully he wasn't in it- he would hear her footfalls on the ceiling.
Not giving herself time to second guess it, she ran as hard as she could across the roof and pelted herself off the top of it, arms flailing wildly.
Land badly so you'll die, land badly so you'll die-
It was very hard to try not to brace herself for impact, but Ginny willed her arms and legs to stay loose as she fell, tilting her head forward so maybe she would land on her neck.
It worked. She landed on the ground, on her hands and feet, and golden light shot up around her, absorbing most of the impact. She barely had time to acknowledge her victory before multiple women's startled screams broke the air around her.
"Miss Weasley!" came a voice that Ginny knew in her gut belonged to Narcissa Malfoy. "What are you-"
Fuck.
Not giving herself time to think, Ginny took off at a full run, arms pumping at her sides. She had wanted to take a minute to appraise the outside, figure out the best way to escape relatively pain-free, but that wasn't going to be possible now. She would have to go for the gate.
She ran as hard as she could, her lungs burning, Narcissa's shouts to stop echoing behind her. The gate was probably locked, but maybe she could climb it. Fuck, she didn't know.
She looked over her shoulder to gauge how close Narcissa was, if she was being pursued, and promptly ran into something.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" came Malfoy's voice as he grabbed her arms. She let out a frustrated yell and struggled against him.
"She jumped off the roof, Draco," Narcissa said, coming up behind them. "Didn't you tell her to stay inside?"
"Yes, Mother, but I didn't tell her specifically not to jump off the roof because I thought that was fucking obvious," he said through gritted teeth as he struggled with Ginny. In the heat of the moment, he seemed to have forgotten that he could command her to stop. She would use that to her advantage.
"I can't die, remember?" she said, looking up at him. He was furious. "And guess what else- my pain tolerance is higher than yours." Not giving herself a chance to think, Ginny jumped up a bit and slammed her face right into Malfoy's nose.
He cried out, hands going to his nose. That was all Ginny needed- she took off at a full run, her own face dripping blood.
"Leave it, Mother," she heard him snap. "Let her tire herself out. She'll figure it out soon enough."
Figure what out?
No time to ponder. Only time to run. Her lungs were screaming, but she couldn't stop now. She reached the gate. It wouldn't open. In fact, when she pulled on it, her tattoo burned on her arm.
"Ah!" she yelped, dropping the bars. "Fuck."
Just ignore it. Two attempts to scale the gate ended quickly, both due to the fact that she couldn't get traction and that the tattoo was incredibly painful if she persisted in trying to open it.
Okay, try something else. She ran along the hedge, looking for where it might end, any opening or other gates that might let out into the forest beyond.
There were none. She reached the back of the grounds, having run through the rose garden, and felt desperation clawing in her chest. She was caged like an animal, there was no way out.
Stop it! Keep trying.
Fighting a sob, she turned around in order to give herself a running start at the hedge. She had climbed the roof, she could climb this.
She jumped and grabbed onto the hedge and nearly dropped it from the pain. Her arm burned without ceasing, the tattoo like a vice, and her feet were bloodied from thorns hidden in the hedge.
"Fuck," she murmured, her voice shaky. "Come on, come on."
She pulled herself up, little by little. Merlin, this was agony. She paused, about two thirds to the top, her face contorted in pain. It was unbearable.
"Want some help?"
She glanced down and saw Malfoy standing below her, hands in his pockets.
"You're not high enough up to die, but you are high enough up to break your leg, and seeing as you just tried to break my entire face, I'm not feeling in a particularly generous mood as far as healing you goes."
She looked up at the top of the hedge. So close, and yet so far. She lifted her arm, trying to reach higher, and immediately pulled it back. The pain was too much. She stifled a sob.
"It's alright," he said, some odd emotion in his voice that she couldn't pinpoint. "Let go. I'll catch you."
She closed her eyes, her hands making furious fists in the hedge. She couldn't let go. That would be like giving in.
"Let go, Weasley."
She let go, and true to his word, he caught her, one arm under her legs and one arm against her back.
"Clearly I wasn't specific enough with my rules," he said drily. "Points for creativity. Climbing up rather than down, I'm assuming?"
Ginny nodded, unable to look at him. Adrenaline rushed out of her body like a deflating sail. She had failed.
"Very clever," he murmured, his chest rumbling against her body as he spoke. He started walking back toward the manor. She made to get down, but he tightened his grip.
"No," he said. "Your feet are torn to shreds. They need dittany, probably."
She winced, the stinging in her feet calling her attention now that she wasn't actively running away.
"Yes, I'm sure it hurts," he said, keeping his voice quiet. "We'll fix it in a second."
"I thought you just said you weren't in a generous mood for healing me."
"Maybe I was lying."
Ginny didn't know what to say to that.
"You gave Mother and her friends quite a fright," he continued. "I probably should have warned her about your propensity for recklessness. Or insanity, whatever you want to call it."
Ginny said nothing. She was exhausted. Exhausted and defeated.
His grip on her was strong and sure as he carried her back toward the manor. This close to him, she could smell the piney scent of his cologne. He smelled just like he had in detention. What a lifetime ago that was now.
She would never see Hogwarts again. Never be in a classroom again. Hell, after this, she would be lucky if Malfoy even let her back out onto the grounds.
Malfoy made quiet shushing noises as he walked, cuing her into the fact that she was crying loudly enough for him to hear her. She furiously wiped her face, belatedly realizing that it was bloody. Everything had happened so fast- she didn't even know what part of her face was hurt from colliding with Malfoy's.
He took her inside and up the stairs, back to his room. He didn't put her down until they were in the bathroom, where he waved his wand to conjure a cushioned stool for her to sit on.
He slid her onto it and squatted down in front of her, so that they were eye level.
"Let's start over," he said. "You can stop following any previous directives I've given you. Your new rules are these: you are not allowed to cause harm to yourself, whether that harm is lethal or non-lethal. You are not allowed to harm me or my parents. You may only leave the manor grounds with express permission from me and with me as your escort. You will not attempt to escape the grounds in any way, nor will you attempt to contact anyone to rescue you. If you receive any contact or communication from your family, Harry Potter, or anyone aligned with the Order of the Phoenix, you will not respond to it and will instead report it to me immediately. If someone attempts to take you away from me or the manor, you will focus on your tattoo and call out my name, and I will rescue you. When I ask you a question, you will answer me honestly. If you are in physical pain, you will tell me and I will attend to it. If you are thinking of doing something that you know would get you in trouble with me, you will not do it. You will not look for any loopholes or exceptions to these commands- you understand my intention behind them. If you think of a loophole or exception, you will not act on it and will instead report it to me immediately, so I may adjust my commands. Do you understand?"
"Yes." The word slipped out of her mouth involuntarily. She clapped her hands over her mouth.
"Alright, I think that's thorough enough," he said, standing up. "I should have done that from the beginning. Sorry- that would have saved you a lot of pain and suffering just now."
Ginny couldn't speak. Her mind was reeling with Malfoy's commands. There was no way out of them. Even if she found a way out of them, he would take it away. She had screwed up her one chance at escape, and just as she had feared, he had made it impossible for her to attempt again.
"Now," he said with a deep breath. "I'm sure you've undone any lingering effects from the cream you used yesterday, you're covered in cuts, your pajamas are torn, and your hair looks like a bird's nest."
He glanced at her, apparently looking for some reaction, but she just stared blankly ahead. This was too much. All hope of getting out of here, gone. Squashed in a few sentences.
He sighed. "Fucking hell, Weasley. I know this is a lot but-"
"Malfoy do you remember when I told you I wasn't scared of anything?"
"Yes."
"I'm scared now."
He was silent for a moment, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Scared of what?"
"Everything," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He squatted down in front of her again.
"Scared of me?" he asked softly, his eyes hooded.
"Yes."
"I don't want to hurt you."
"But you will. Right?"
He sighed again. "Not if I can help it, no. Hence all the commands."
She didn't reply. She supposed it didn't matter what Malfoy said. He was going to do what he wanted, and she couldn't stop him.
"Look at me," he said. She did, eyes bleary.
"I'm going to take care of you now," he said. "It's alright to be scared, but I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. Please don't fight me anymore today."
He stood up and opened one of the drawers in the vanity. He removed a vial that Ginny recognized as dittany.
"You have some thorns caught in your skin, and I'm going to magically pull them out," he said. "It'll be quick, and I'll put the dittany on right away, but it's going to hurt a little bit. Is that okay?"
"Yes," she said, the word again unconsciously leaving her mouth. She would never be able to lie to Malfoy again, not if he was directly asking her a question.
"Okay." He squatted down once again and waved his wand at her feet. She cried out as the thorns exited her skin, and he put his hand on her leg in apparent comfort. True to his word, he grabbed her feet and immediately began rubbing in the dittany, which had a wonderful cooling effect on her inflamed skin. She could feel the cuts knitting themselves back together.
"I'm going to put some on your face next," he said. "You didn't break anything, but you have a big scratch on your forehead and I think some of my blood on your face."
Ginny said nothing- he had not asked a question, so she was not obligated to respond. He conjured a small, damp cloth and wiped her face with it gently.
Her question from so many months ago echoed in her mind. Why are you being nice to me?
At the time, he was manipulating her. Leading her down this path to fulfill his quest for Voldemort. Was it the same thing now? What ulterior motive did Malfoy have now that he had her within his grasp?
Did it even really matter? Ulterior motive or no, she couldn't defend herself against him. Who cared why he did the things he did? It wouldn't stop her from getting hurt.
He applied some dittany to her face, and she felt a cut heal.
"Did I break your nose?" she asked.
"No, but not for lack of trying."
"Too bad."
He laughed before applying some dittany to her shredded hands.
"Okay, you pick what's next- muscles or hair."
"I don't know."
"Hmm," he said, considering. "You're probably not going to like this, but you can indulge me a bit. You scared the shit out of me."
He waved his wand, and her pajamas transformed. Her long sleeved shirt became a camisole, tiny little straps holding up the much thinner material. Her pants became shorts, grazing the top of her thigh. She sucked in a breath and pulled back from him a bit.
"They were ruined anyway," he said. "I'll have a tailor come by tomorrow so we can get you some new clothes- think about what colors you might like. This will do for now." He stood once again to grab the green container off the counter.
"I let you do this last time, but I'm going to do it this time."
"No."
"Yes. You were very disobedient this morning. You're going to listen to me now."
Ginny felt numb. He moved to kneel down behind her and she looked away, toward the vanity.
She did look a bit insane. Her skin was red in places where the dittany had healed her cuts, and her hair did indeed look like a bird might make its nest there. Worst of all were her eyes- glassy and dead. She looked like she had seen a ghost. She looked like she was a ghost.
Her conversation with Hermione came unbidden to her mind as Malfoy opened the jar of healing cream, its minty medicinal scent cloying in the air.
I'd be off having grand adventures- imagine, you have all the time in the world to see everything there is to see, things you couldn't see in your whole lifetime even if all you did was travel.
Wouldn't you get lonely though?
Forever would be an awfully long time to be alone, no matter how many cool things I got to see.
"I don't want to be a ghost," she murmured.
"What?"
"I don't want to be a ghost," she said again. "Never dying, always alone."
She saw his expression soften in the mirror as he dipped his fingers into the cream.
"You're not a ghost," he said quietly as he lifted her hair and started rubbing the cream into her neck. She gasped at the intensity of the sensation, the strength of the immediate relief. Malfoy's fingers were stronger than hers- it felt different than when she had applied it herself.
"You're very much alive," he continued, his finger strokes firm and sure along the back of her neck. "Thinking brain. Working lungs. Beating heart." His fingers lingered for a moment on her pulse point. "And I know you're loathe to hear this, but you're not alone either. I am going to take care of you. I know you don't want me to, I know this is the last thing on earth you would have chosen, but it is what's happening- there's no way to change it. I am going to take care of you, and if I have anything to say any about it, you're never going to be in pain ever again."
He grabbed a bit more of the cream and moved to her shoulders. She bit back a moan.
"Why?" she said.
"Why what?"
"Why do you care?"
"Do I need a special reason?"
"Yes," she said. "You asked me that once before."
He smirked. "So I did. You gave me the same answer, if I recall."
"Yes," she agreed, closing her eyes for a moment in unwelcome pleasure as he rubbed against a particular knot of tension.
He stayed quiet as he moved down her right arm, ignoring her flinch when he momentarily reached under the strap of her shirt.
"You said it wasn't a prank," she said.
"It wasn't," he agreed.
"You said it didn't have to mean anything."
He remained silent, angling her arm so as to rub the cream into her wrist.
"Did it?" she asked.
"What?"
"Did it mean anything?"
He held her hand, rubbing the cream into the palm and down each finger. He kept his eyes on his work.
"I think it did," he said after a moment. "What, exactly, it meant is up for interpretation, I'm sure. But it wasn't nothing."
He reached into the jar to get more of the cream before starting on her left arm.
"You're wasting that," she said. "You're almost out already."
He scoffed. "I can get more."
She did moan this time as he reached a particularly sore spot in her upper arm- a pulled muscle, perhaps. His hand stuttered across her skin and she heard him suck in a breath.
"Sorry," he breathed, reminding her so much of the Christmas party. "Did that... hurt?"
"No," she said, closing her eyes out of embarrassment.
His movements became more sure again, working his way down her arm.
"It's ok to enjoy it, you know," he said, a smile in his voice. "I've felt what this cream is like, it would be weird if you didn't enjoy it."
"I shouldn't enjoy anything," she said through gritted teeth. His hand stopped.
"What do you mean?"
"This is my punishment," she said in a shaky voice, voicing the thought for the first time out loud.
He grabbed her shoulders surprisingly roughly and spun her to face him. Her eyes flew open in shock.
"Punishment for what?" he said, his grey eyes bright and piercing.
"For giving Voldemort-"
"Don't say his name."
"For giving You-Know-Who the Deathly Hallows. For causing the end of the world."
His eyes were electric. "Listen to me. Never say that again. This is not your fault. You did not cause this. You are not being punished."
Ginny started crying. Why was he doing this to her?
"Shh, shh, shh," Malfoy murmured, reaching up to push her hair out of her face. "You don't deserve punishment, Weasley. At all."
"Then why is this happening to me?" she choked out. The depth in his eyes grew flat.
"The Dark Lord chose you," he said, his voice colder than it had been all afternoon. "He chose both of us."
"Not the gem," she said. "He didn't choose that."
"No, he didn't. But thank Merlin something did, or else you would have died in Godric's Hollow."
"I wish I had."
His grip on her shoulders tightened. "But you didn't," he said through gritted teeth. "You are alive, Ginny, alive right here in front of me. And I am going to take care of you."
"I don't want you to."
"Too bad."
He grabbed more of the cream and resumed rubbing it into her left arm, reaching the tattoo. It wasn't raised, but it was like it was alive under her skin. It seemed to purr in recognition of his touch, recognizing its master in the ink on his own arm. It made Ginny nauseous.
Malfoy turned her arm over to rub her wrist and sucked in a sharp breath.
"What?" she asked, her voice flat.
"Nothing," he said, turning her wrist over again quickly. Too quickly. She yanked her arm out of his grasp to look.
There, in a loopy script intertwined with the vines, were initials on the inside of her wrist, right over her pulse point.
DM.
She turned her arm over again, her vision going fuzzy.
"This is sick," she murmured.
Malfoy made a noncommittal noise before gently reaching for her arm again.
"Almost done with this one," he said, clearly trying to change the subject. He ran his fingers over her wrist much more quickly than he had done on the right side before moving to her hand.
"I suppose you got what you wanted though," she said, acidity creeping back into her voice. She had been on the verge of emotional collapse but seeing those two little letters inked into her skin had sparked the fire of her anger back to life.
Malfoy's hand stilled once again. "I suppose I did," he said, his voice flat.
She laughed cruelly. "I guess you really took it to heart when I told you that Umbridge made a whole rule about keeping boys and girls separated, just because you couldn't get a girl to come within eight inches of you."
Malfoy stood up abruptly. "You've had a very bad time, and I know that. You're still recovering. But understand that I cannot permit you to speak to me that way."
"So forbid me from doing it," she said with a sneer. "Command me, Master Draco, not to hurt your precious feelings."
"How's this for a command?" he said coolly. "Finish using the cream, all over, brush your hair, then come join me in my bed. It is my birthday, after all."
Ginny jolted as he shoved the cream into her hands and stormed out of the room.
Her hands shook as she applied the cream across her chest.
Why had she baited him? She got angry and reacted and now she would pay the price.
I figured you deserved a break.
Apparently that break was over.
The anger was gone. It was back to numbness, and a cold sense of dread that was too heavy to properly be called fear. Fear made you run or hide or fight back, fear had movement. This was resignation, this was despair.
Her fight was over. And no matter what Malfoy said, this was her punishment. Over and over and over again, she would be punished, in a thousand new little ways.
She thought of Harry's face as she finished using the cream down her aching back and legs. His kind eyes. She would never see them again.
Ignotus. That was the name of the man who resembled Harry, Malfoy had said it this morning. It suited him, somehow. It seemed right. His eyes were kind, like Harry's. Did he know what was happening to her now, what his gift had caused? Did he care? Could he even do anything about it?
If things were safer, she might have considered trying to contact him within the misty place instead of Alys, seeing as how Alys had apparently abandoned her- she hadn't seen her even in dreams since she had refused her plea for help. But Malfoy was a Legilimens, and he hadn't hesitated for a second to dive right into her mind last night. She couldn't let him see her trying to contact anyone, couldn't let him know that there was something more to the gem than never-ending revivification. If Voldemort found out… well, she didn't know what would happen, but it would be bad. Worse than things were now. She had already screwed up enough as it was. She couldn't screw this up too.
Brushing her hair was painful, even if she did it slowly. Taking it in little chunks made her think of Kathleen, and had her start crying anew, quieter this time.
How many tears can I possibly have left?
Too soon, her hair was brushed. She made herself look in the mirror. Her face and chest were blotchy from crying, and the very top of the scar between her breasts was visible over the edge of her shirt. Her collarbone was visible in a way that it hadn't been a month ago- she must have lost weight, in addition to muscle tone. The edges of her shorts were loose around her thighs, flowy like the pajamas had been. She looked weak, weak and frightened. Rookwood had ruined her, and Malfoy was going to finish the job.
Her mind blank, she opened the bathroom door.
Malfoy was not in bed. He was standing at the window, one arm leaned against the frame, staring outside. He had changed into another pair of pajamas, a baggy shirt and loose pants that hung low on his waist. His expression was difficult to read.
"Lay down on the bed, on your side, facing the bookshelves," he said without looking at her.
She did so. The bed felt just as soft now as it had last night, though not quite as shocking. She took a breath.
For a moment, he stayed by the window. Then, he walked over, his face pinched, and laid down across from her, facing her.
"Is this eight inches, do you think?" he asked, gesturing to the space between them.
It was a question so she had to respond honestly. "I don't know."
"Better get a little closer, just to be safe," he said. He scooted a fraction closer and Ginny flinched.
He reached out and grabbed her left arm, pulling it toward him. He began to absently trace his finger along the vines, following the pattern over and around. She shivered.
"I'm going to take care of you, even when you make me angry," he said, his eyes on the tattoo, his voice detached. "Mother taught me to always take good care of my things."
"I'm not a thing," she whispered.
"No, but you're mine, just the same," he said, tilting her arm so as to show her her wrist again. He traced his finger over his initials. "The point still stands."
"Malfoy, please-"
"Call me Draco from now on. I like the way it sounds coming out of your mouth."
Ginny took in a shaky breath and closed her eyes.
"Draco," she tried again. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry."
"Look at me."
She did, her eyes meeting his. How could they change this much moment to moment? Lively and expressive one second, flat and dead the next.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "I meant what I said before."
Ginny said nothing.
"Draco?" Narcissa was knocking at the door. Draco - Malfoy? - scowled.
"I'm busy," he said.
"Darling, your friends are here, they wanted to see you on your birthday-"
"Send them away," he said sharply. "I'll see them another time."
"But-"
"I'm busy, Mother."
Narcissa sighed audibly. "Alright." Ginny could hear the delicate swish of her robes as she walked away.
"You don't want to see your friends?" Ginny asked, hoping to navigate this situation away from danger.
"Not right now, no. As you can see, I'm busy."
"Busy with what?"
"Lying in my bed."
"Don't you mean laying?"
"Sure."
Ginny said nothing. Here again, Malfoy had some unreadable expression on his face, his eyes distant.
"Are you hungry?" he asked finally.
"Yes."
"When's the last time you ate something?"
"I'm not sure. There weren't any clocks. A while ago now."
Malfoy's jaw visibly tightened.
"Tilly."
Crack.
"Yes, Master Draco!"
"Ginny is hungry but she hasn't eaten in a while. I don't want her to throw up. Bring me something light for her to eat. Soup, maybe."
"Right away, Master Draco!"
Crack.
Ginny frowned. "I thought you wanted-"
"Don't finish that sentence."
She closed her mouth, more confused than ever. He rubbed his temple, closing his eyes for a moment.
"Let's just have a lazy day in bed, yeah?" he asked. "This is turning out to be a pretty shit birthday."
"Draco."
"What?"
"What day is it?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her almost sadly.
"It's June 5th."
"June 5th," she repeated.
Crack.
"Tilly has tomato soup for Miss Ginny, Master Draco!"
"Great. Put it on my nightstand please."
Tilly did so, her ears tall enough that Ginny could see them over Malfoy's frame.
"Oh, and Tilly? In the bedroom down the hall, you'll find some sheets hanging out the window. Ginny was practicing her redecorating skills. Can you fix the room please?"
"Oh!" Tilly said, clearly surprised by the request. "Yes, Master Draco, right away." She Disapparated.
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "My redecorating skills?"
Malfoy laughed. "No sense stressing Tilly out, though I'm sure she'll put two and two together once she sees the mess you made. Come on, sit up."
She did so, her muscles still loose despite her current stress. That cream worked miracles.
She went to stand up, but Malfoy grabbed her arm.
"I didn't say you could get up. Stay there."
Ginny frowned as he stood up and unfolded the covers. He slid under them and fluffed the pillows so he could sit up against the headboard.
"Come here."
She moved a little closer. Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"Must I spell everything out for you? I want you to get under the covers and sit in my lap."
Ginny felt her eyes widen even as she did as she was bade, her breath going shaky again. Malfoy was giving her whiplash. Was he being kind or cruel?
Maybe both.
He held the blankets back for her as she awkwardly maneuvered herself to sit between his legs, keeping herself from touching him. That didn't last long. He slung his arm around her torso, pulling her to him. Her back hit his chest and she let out a little involuntary gasp.
"Relax against me," he said. She didn't. "Relax against me." She did.
Malfoy grabbed his wand off the nightstand and conjured a lap tray for them.
"Please don't spill soup on the bed, or Tilly will have my hide," he said as he levitated the bowl onto the tray in Ginny's lap. "Hold still."
She went to reach for the spoon. He sighed.
"I stand by what I said this morning. You're not a very good listener."
She glared even though she knew he couldn't see it, but it was like he knew anyway. He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath her.
"Now who's spilling the soup!" she said as his moving legs made the lap tray tip precariously.
"You're right, my fault. Sorry, Tilly, in advance."
He picked up the spoon. Ginny froze.
"I can do it-"
"I know you can. But we're doing what I want right now." He dipped the spoon in the soup and brought it to her mouth.
"Eat."
It smelled so good, herby and rich and just a little sweet-
"Ginny I don't want to have to command you to do every little thing. You're hungry. Please just eat the soup."
Ginny did. She opened her mouth and he gently tipped the spoon in.
It tasted even better than it smelled. She let out a little involuntary sigh of pleasure.
"That's right," he murmured. "Have this now, and maybe by dinner time you can manage something solid."
He continued to feed her in silence. It was strangely intimate, his body around hers as he fed her. It should feel dangerous, but it didn't somehow.
Maybe my body's sense for such things is broken at this point, she thought. Overloaded.
The bowl was about three quarters empty when she said, "I'm full now."
"Okay." He put the spoon down, grabbed his wand, and vanished the tray and its contents. She started to sit up, just a little, but he pulled her back.
"I'm going to read now for a while," he said. "You may either also read something- I'll grab a book for you- or you can take a nap after your very exhausting morning. Which would you like?"
"Nap," she said, without even consciously choosing it. Apparently her body knew she was at her limit.
"Alright then. Rest."
"Like this?"
"Like this. You can scoot down a little if you want, but you're staying right here."
"I don't want-"
"Ginny. Take a nap."
He picked up his book- a mystery novel, from the looks of it- and began to read with her in his arms.
She was in a cottage, and the cottage was full of chaos.
"Hold him still, hold him still!"
There was Alys, rapidly tying an apron over her dress. Two women stood in the corner, one of them sobbing openly.
There was a little boy, maybe about eight, laying on the kitchen table, and three grown men- Henry among them- were holding him down as he thrashed. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and Ginny could see he was covered in painful, angry boils.
"It's spreading," Henry grunted, holding the boy down as he arched his back and wailed. They had to be agonizing.
"I'm going to have to cut them open," Alys said. "Get the infection out." She looked to one of the women. "Be ready with the yarrow root." The woman nodded, though her face was pale.
"I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to!" the boy wailed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
Alys's expression was sharp enough to cut stone.
This disease, whatever it was, was unlike anything Ginny had ever seen before. It was spreading rapidly, so rapidly that she could see it moving under the boy's skin. It moved and pulsed like a living, rotting thing.
Alys grabbed a knife and, without hesitating, climbed up on top of the table and sliced open the largest of the boils on the boy's chest. Blood spattered everywhere, splashing Alys in the face, and the boy howled, arching his back in an inhuman way.
"I won't do it again, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"It's not your fault, Gilbert," Alys said as she sliced into another boil, completely ignoring the blood. "The yarrow root, Godyth, NOW."
The woman stumbled forward and began applying an herby tincture to the open wound, her hand hesitant and shaking.
It seemed to help for a moment before the disease... rebelled. That was the only way to describe it. Like it sensed an enemy in Alys, the remaining boils swelled and pulsed before bursting all at once. Alys jolted in shock and the boy's body convulsed before going rigid.
"Gilbert? Gilbert!"
He wasn't breathing. Ginny could see by his eyes that he was dead. Still, Alys leaned down to listen to his chest.
"My boy, my baby boy," the other woman wailed, still huddled in the corner. Alys sat up, her mouth a thin line. She made no move to get down from the table.
"I'm sorry Anabel, Warin. I thought the yarrow root would work."
"It's not your fault, priestess," said one of the men. "Without you he would have died sooner."
"Perhaps that would have been a blessing, given his end."
No one seemed to know what to say to that.
"Will you perform the crossing for him?" his mother- Anabel- whispered. "Help him make it to the other side?"
"Of course."
Only then did Alys slide off of the table and remove her apron. She walked to a corner of the room and grabbed what looked like a strip of fabric- a scarf maybe?
"Alys," Henry said. "The lord will be by soon. To collect the tax. You shouldn't be here."
"I'm staying, Henry. Let the lord see."
She knelt down on the floor and looked right at Ginny, her gaze fiery.
Ginny gasped awake and found that her head was in Malfoy's lap. He was staring down at her, a piercing expression on his face.
"Have a nightmare?"
On Snape: I know we were all hoping to have Snape come in and save the day, but he's a complex person/character. He sees himself in Draco, and he doesn't hate anyone more than he hates himself. Ginny is very stuck, and Snape can't afford to blow his cover. We'll have to see what he decides to do next, but for now he's very pissed off and bitter.
Last scene: Ginny has a nightmare where Alys is trying to save the life of an 8 year old boy covered in strange boils. She is unsuccessful. The boy's parents ask her to "help him make the crossing," which she agrees to do, and Henry reminds her that the lord is coming soon to collect tax. She makes eye contact with Ginny in the memory and Ginny wakes up in Draco's lap, where he asks her if she had a nightmare.
I realized that I've written 30k in a week which is just insane- updates will likely slow down a bit now, but still be regular.