JULY 17th, 1997
Draco woke with Ginny in his arms, and it took him several seconds to process that he was not, in fact, dreaming. She was sound asleep, her hair splayed out behind her like a fiery halo and her head resting on his arm.
She had a nightmare. That's right.
She had woken up screaming, practically tearing the bed apart in her need to get as far away as possible from... whatever she was dreaming about.
Me?
It couldn't have been. She wouldn't have hugged him like that if he had been her nightmare. Perhaps yesterday had been enough of a nightmare on its own without needing to invent anything else.
Yes, nightmare was a good word for it. Draco had spent so much time at the manor these past few weeks he had almost forgotten what it was like to leave it as a Death Eater. Almost forgotten.
The mask was so suffocating. Thank Merlin he hadn't had to wear it very long. Wearing it mentally was bad enough, but feeling the cool touch of metal against his cheeks, his lashes scraping against the edges of the eye cut-outs, was enough to make him want to rip his skin off.
He hadn't, of course. He had been cold and detached, as he needed to be. He had maintained the persona he needed- at least he thought he had. He was profoundly grateful that the Dark Lord had not opted to look in his mind last night, though it had been agony to sit there while Ginny was under his piercing gaze instead. He was confident in his Occlumency abilities at this point, but the fewer times they were tested, the better. Ginny's secrets were safe thanks to some otherworldly magic, apparently, but Draco had no such luck. He would have to rely on his own skill to keep both of them safe.
It was exhausting just thinking about it.
The bedroom was darker than normal- he didn't normally shut the drapes. He wasn't sure why he had done it last night. Maybe because he had hoped that if he pushed things forward in the dark, it wouldn't be as bad as her having to watch it. But she hadn't been able to kiss him back anyway.
She was having a very bad night, and you weren't helping. She's kissed you back plenty of times. Plenty.
Me, or the other me? he responded, his mouth a thin line. He had gotten too comfortable these past few weeks. Once they had stopped fighting so much, once they had found a special thing to share together... it became easier and easier to forget that there was a world outside the manor walls, and that it had heavy demands for both of them.
Draco was about to learn one of those demands today.
His stomach twisted. He could guess what training with his aunt would involve, but having to actually do it was another matter. Had he been foolish to think that he would be allowed to just stay with Ginny permanently, and that be his only assignment?
Maybe I'm more of an optimist than I thought, he mused with a wry smile as he recalled how disappointed he had been when things had gone wrong in Godric's Hollow. Maybe that was part of how he survived- he protected himself, but always focused on the best outcome, or at least a good outcome. If he focused on the worst all the time, he would just curl into his cloud of a bed and never come out.
How did Ginny do it? She was never afraid to speak the truth, to call things out for exactly what they were, even if they were absolutely horrendous. Had she always been this way, or was this callousness a result of her time as the Dark Lord's prisoner?
Your immortal life belongs to me and me alone.
Draco's blood ran cold as he recalled the Dark Lord's words from last night. It wasn't news, exactly. The Death Eaters served the Dark Lord, Ginny was the Dark Lord's prisoner, and the Death Eater responsible for watching her just so happened to be him. But to hear it spelled out that way... The Dark Lord and Ginny both were operating on an almost incomprehensible time scale. What would it be like to truly live forever? To see whole generations rise and fall, and you remain the same, trapped with an enemy no less?
Draco couldn't protect Ginny if he was dead. He had been worried about dying in the war, which was still a very real fear, but even if he lived to be 150, there would come a day where he would die... and Ginny would keep on living.
You can't think about that today. You have to be ready for Bellatrix.
He would need his heaviest levels of Occlumency for whatever she had in mind, whatever was so heinous that even she didn't want to subject Ginny to it. He normally preferred to occlude in the bathroom- the tub really was a big help- but one look down at the sleeping form in his arms told him he wasn't going anywhere.
I'm doing this to protect you, he willed in her direction. I have to protect you, my parents, and myself. Everything else is a luxury I can't afford. I won't do anything that could get you taken away from me, not while I'm still breathing.
He closed his eyes, and let himself drift out to sea. It was warmer here today than usual. Still cloudy, but the water wasn't bitingly cold against his skin. It almost felt like the sun's rays were reaching through the clouds, even though he couldn't see them. It was nice.
How could he best protect himself here? Fear would have to go, that was obvious. Doubt, too- he couldn't second-guess anything today. But these were things he had to suppress any time he was amongst the Death Eaters… What did he need to lock away so that he could tolerate the intolerable?
Empathy. If there was one thing his aunt was lacking, it was empathy. She was clever, and devoted, and a highly skilled witch, but cruelty seemed as natural to her as breathing.
Draco knew what that felt like, sort of. How easy it was to lean into the impulse to tear someone else down, to make them fear you and be in awe of you at the same time. It was easy, and sickeningly satisfying. But while that was true, Draco knew that the cruelest things he had ever done wouldn't even register to his aunt, that she had done things he would never dream of doing in a million years.
Or would never want to do, at least. What would she do today? Teach him some type of Dark magic? Torture him, to "harden" him? Or, as was typical now, would he find himself in the role of the perpetrator rather than the victim?
He jolted involuntarily at the thought, and Ginny stirred for a moment before going back to sleep. He took a deep, steadying breath and called his attention back to the sea.
Fear. Doubt. Empathy. He had to let them all go for now. He could pick them back up later. He floated on the water, and one by one, let them fall away.
The water was cold.
The morning passed in a blur. Draco felt very far away from himself. Ginny had slept in his arms for a while longer before he had finally slipped out from under her in order to get ready for the day. They had followed their routine, and Draco remained detached but polite. She had frowned at him in the mirror while he brushed her hair, but she hadn't said anything- likely because she knew where he was going.
She was too observant. She shouldn't notice that he was different today, because then she would wonder why, and start digging just like she always did, and perhaps come to the conclusion that Draco really didn't want to train with Bellatrix at all. A dangerous conclusion for all parties.
It would be easier if he was just like this all the time- cold and detached, but not hurtful. But he couldn't manage it. He had tried, and tried, and tried, but she was too enticing. He would pull away and she would draw him right back in, like a whirlpool that wouldn't let go.
It was a good thing that she wasn't going to the Dark Lord's headquarters today. He couldn't get sucked into her allure in front of Bellatrix, at least not in any way that really mattered. She would stay home, and read a book, or perhaps go for a walk in the gardens, and he could know that she was safely waiting for him to return.
It would have to be enough.
His lips brushed against the top of her head in a quick kiss before he turned and left, not trusting himself to speak. His affection for her had to stay behind.
You should be very grateful that my son loves you very much.
Love. Was that what it was? His father had said it so casually, with so much certainty. Draco didn't know.
If you loved me you would help me. You would fight back. But you won't.
He winced, pushing the thought away. Now was not the time.
He walked out the front door and down the gravel path, sliding his Death Eater mask on as he went. He wasn't sure if he would need it where he was going, but the tangible reminder of his role served to quash any lingering bits of sentimentality that were trying to creep their way to the surface.
Draco the Death Eater did not love.
He walked through the gate of the manor and Apparated away, his mind on the Dark Lord's headquarters. It was a sunny day- pretty weather, and there was even a faint scent of flowers on the breeze floating up from the Muggle village below. A beautiful backdrop for whatever nightmare he was about to walk into.
He let himself into the house, not bothering to knock. Wormtail wasn't there to open the door this time- there was no formal event scheduled. This was only his second time coming here outside of such an event, though it sounded like it might become a regular occurrence now.
Bellatrix had said to come here, but where was he supposed to meet her? The front hall was empty, and he probably wasn't supposed to just go wandering around the house...
Ginny had been kept here, somewhere. Upstairs, maybe? Or did this place have a dungeon? It wasn't a castle, and couldn't be more than a couple hundred years old. A dungeon was unlikely-
"Ah! There you are. Right on time."
He turned and saw Bellatrix coming down the narrow staircase, her curly hair wild around her face.
"Hello. I wasn't sure where to find you," he said.
"No matter- I was just tending to something, but I'm here now. Follow me." She rounded the stairs and started walking deeper into the house. He followed, his shoes echoing loudly as he walked. The house was so quiet with so few people in it. That was maybe a good sign?
They passed several doors before entering a kitchen. Would they be making some kind of potion perhaps? Part of him sighed in relief- that wouldn't be so bad.
There goes that optimism again, he thought dryly as Bellatrix rounded the island in the middle of the room and pulled open a cellar door that he hadn't noticed upon entering the room. She conjured her mask and slid it onto her face.
"This way," she said, delight evident in her voice. He followed her down, the steps creaking underneath him, and wanted to throw up at what he saw. There was a family of Muggles down here, and they looked like they had already been through hell.
"Please, please don't hurt us, I'll give you whatever you want," moaned the man- the father- clutching his two children close to his chest.
"We won't say anything, please," cried the mother, her tear-stained face covered in dirt.
"Crucio," Bellatrix said, and the woman screamed and writhed on the floor. Her husband reached for her, a look of anguish on his face, and their children, who couldn't be older than ten, buried their faces in his chest.
This is sick.
Draco had no love for Muggles. He had never really even interacted with one before, at least not in any meaningful way. He had no desire to. But to lock them up like this...
"Well, what do you think?" Bellatrix asked, a little impatiently. "I got you easy targets to practice on- there's a bit of a learning curve, it's best to start on something that can't fight back."
"They're perfect," he said, his voice cold. "Where did you find them?"
"I caught the little one snooping around, too close to here," she said. "I made it lead me back to its family, and decided they deserved a taste of the Dark Lord's power."
Is that what this is? Power?
"Fitting," he said, not sure what else to say. "How should we begin?"
"Pick a target."
His stomach lurched.
"The man," he said.
"Sure you don't want to start with something smaller?" she asked with a cackle.
"No," he said. "I want to test my strength."
"Then let's get the others out of the way." With three quick waves of her wand, she tossed the mother and the two children away from the man, against another wall. They screamed as she threw them, her laughter mixing horribly with their cries. They smacked against the wall with a loud thump.
The man's face was steely, impassive. He knew what was coming. Draco could respect that he wasn't letting himself show fear. A useful skill in the Dark Lord's world.
Bellatrix walked up behind Draco and adjusted his wand grip, angling his arm just so. Her hands were cold even through his robe sleeves.
"You have to mean an Unforgivable Curse, nephew," she crooned in his ear. "Think of someone you hate, someone you hate desperately. Think of how badly you want to hurt them. And then cast your spell."
Who did he hate? No one. Everyone. He didn't know.
He settled on Potter. That was an easy answer, wasn't it? Potter had already tried to Crucio him. He was just returning the favor.
"Crucio," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. He felt a sickening surge of heat down his wand arm as the spell took effect, but it didn't seem to be very strong. The man grimaced in pain, his body jerking a little bit, but he didn't so much as cry out.
"Not bad for a first try," Bellatrix said, clearly disappointed, "but that's why you're here- to practice. Again."
She made him do it again, and again, and again, for what felt like hours. But the results were the same. The curse took effect, but it was weak, barely a tickle compared to what Bellatrix must have done to them before this.
"Pick a different focus," she finally snapped, losing patience. "Your hatred isn't strong enough- you have to mean it, Draco."
A different focus. Who did he hate?
After this? Himself.
"Crucio," he commanded, imagining his Death Eater self floating on the sea.
The man cried out, jerking against the stone wall as his back arched.
"Good, very good!" Bellatrix exclaimed. "But that's still not the best you can do. Really think, now. Think of who you hate most in the world, and focus on that."
Rookwood's smug face swam into view in his mind's eye. How had he not thought of it before?
His thoughts on Ginny's scar, he hissed, "Crucio."
The man screamed without ceasing, his body writhing in agony, and Draco made himself pretend it was Rookwood instead. After maybe ten seconds, he let the curse drop. He was panting heavily.
"And that's how it's done," Bellatrix cooed. "You've found your focus."
Indeed he had.
I'm sorry, he willed in the man's direction. It's you or me. You or the one I... love.
The man was unconscious, and he was a Muggle. He couldn't hear Draco's thoughts even if he wanted to. His family was sobbing distantly in the corner.
"Are you ready for your second lesson?" Bellatrix whispered.
Draco's stomach tightened. Second lesson? This wasn't fucking enough?
"Of course," he said, his breathing still a little uneven.
"We've worn this one out," she said. "No sense keeping it around anymore."
Oh no. Not that. Not that.
"You're not ready to do it yourself just yet," she continued, and he let out a silent breath. "But watch the technique. Avada Kedavra!"
Sickly green light filled the room as the man's life was extinguished.
"Greg? Greg!" his wife yelled, pushing her children behind her.
"He's dead, you stupid cunt," Bellatrix sneered, making the woman sob even harder. "It's what you Muggle filth deserve. You should be thankful I gave him a clean end. My nephew needs the practice."
"Please, just let us go, I won't say anything, I won't-"
"You're right about that. Silencio."
The woman fell silent. Her children looked at Draco with wide, terrified eyes. He made himself look at them. It would be better for them to die quickly. Could he do that for them, as awful as it was?
"Actually, I think I'd like to try," he said.
Bellatrix laughed. "I admire your eagerness, boy, but it's only your first day. You have to build up to the Killing Curse. Come back tomorrow, and we'll begin again."
Bellatrix turned away, the Muggles already forgotten, and headed up the stairs. Draco made himself follow her, made himself not look back at the whimpering, terrified, doomed children.
He usually wanted to take his mask off as soon as he could, but this time was different. Now he felt like it was the only thing stopping him from falling apart completely.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked as they reached the kitchen, making himself keep his voice light.
"That should be fine," Bellatrix said, removing her mask. "Wait for me in the front hall if I'm not already there."
"Alright then. Thank you Aunt Bella. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Let me know when you think the girl is ready to watch," she said, making Draco's stomach lurch.
"Ready to watch Muggle torture without a panic attack?" he asked, making his voice mocking. "You saw her last night- she's a long way away from that."
"You heard the Dark Lord- she needs to increase her tolerance."
"Which happens gradually. She's a long way away from this. And she has her own homework to do- I need to go over that script with her this evening. Her primary tolerance should be for publicly slandering her family, don't you think?"
Bellatrix scowled. "She can do both."
"Maybe. We'll see. In any event, I'll see you tomorrow." And with that, he turned and left, not trusting himself to continue the conversation.
He hurried through the house, out the front door, and Apparated away, but he didn't go to the manor. At least, not directly.
He landed in the forest, maybe a few miles from the grounds. The air was cooler here, under the shade of all the trees. His legs shook from all that he had held back for the last twenty-four hours, and he let himself fall to his hands and knees and scream. His fist pounded the earth again and again, the horror and dread and regret flowing through him like a river.
He had to do it all again tomorrow. How? How how how-
A crow cried overhead.
JULY 17th, 1997
Ginny had never thought she would say this, but she was bored without Malfoy around. They had slept in late and had a leisurely brunch, during which he had been oddly quiet. She had tried to fill the silence at first, but after a few failed attempts had opted to focus on her food instead.
Then he had kissed her goodbye and left, heading for Voldemort's headquarters to train with Bellatrix, whatever that would entail.
Was that why he was so quiet? Did he know what to expect? Was he nervous?
That response would make sense for Draco. But was he Draco today? He wasn't giving her a lot to go off of.
Maybe he would be back to normal when he came home. Or at least one version of it. Detached Malfoy was weird- whether he was being kind or cruel, he was always attentive to her. As much as it annoyed her, it had become... normal.
Her stomach twisted at that. Wasn't that exactly what she had been afraid of, when she had first arrived here? That all of this would become normal?
She had lost that fight, she supposed. She could only fight so much, for so long. And these last few weeks had been... she didn't know what word to use. Fine? Okay? Not awful?
Nice. They had been nice, by and large. Until last night. She could only hope that visits to Voldemort's home would be few and far between. Surely he would be too busy fighting battles to have house parties on a regular basis?
Then again, maybe it was better if he was having house parties and not off fighting battles...
Draco's words echoed in her mind. And I don't like worrying about things that aren't in front of me.
What a luxury that must be. To just turn it on and off like that. Ginny felt like all she did was worry, all the time. How could she not? The world outside these walls was falling apart, and she was about to bear witness to it. Participate in it, most likely.
Worrying without the ability to change anything was awful, though. She had no outlet. It was just a constant buzzing energy inside her, prepared for a threat that never fully resolved. Hadn't Malfoy said something about that too?
Considering you can't change your circumstances, accepting them seems a wise decision.
But the circumstances weren't acceptable. That was the whole problem. She couldn't accept them- at least not the circumstances outside the manor- and she couldn't change them. She was stuck.
She spent some time wandering the grounds that afternoon, but soon grew bored. What did Narcissa even do all day, when Draco was at school and Lucius was away on Death Eater duty? Play the piano?
I guess she invites friends over... She had had friends over the first day Ginny was here, but not since then. Was that because of Ginny? Or some other reason?
She could go find her, she supposed. But that seemed... weird. Too chummy, given the circumstances. She would accept what came her way within the manor's walls, more or less, but seeking out bonding time with Draco's mother was a step too far, even if she was bored.
Unsure of what to do, she went back inside, and found herself back in the bedroom. Malfoy had been gone a while now. Surely he would be back soon.
What if he was doing something dangerous? Worry tightened in her stomach, and she was surprised to find it wasn't only worry for herself.
What is the world coming to, if I'm worrying about my captor?
She would take a nap, she decided. The cloud-like bed was always so enticing. She would doze for a bit, and when she woke up, Malfoy would be back- back physically, and back to one of his usual selves, preferably the one who would take her to the oak tree.
She tucked in beneath the covers, stretching luxuriously beneath the crisp white sheets, and closed her eyes.
...
Alys was in a wheat field, a sickle in her hand. She worked alongside Henry, her brow covered in a thin sheen of sweat. It was the height of summer. The sun was swelteringly hot overhead, mercilessly beating down on the fields below.
Alys wasn't normally farming the land. Maybe she was helping Henry? Ginny knew that he worked the fields, along with his two older brothers and his father. A glance around the area told Ginny that Alys was the only woman out here.
Alys was never afraid of hard work. Ginny liked that about her. Whatever needed to be done, Alys jumped right in to do it, without hesitation, whether that was fighting some monstrous disease or making dinner. So many people relied on her.
In the village behind them, a church bell started ringing. Alys and the others stopped their work at once, rising to their feet in apparent alarm.
"But it's still three hours from sundown!" Henry said. "He said he would come at sundown."
Alys scoffed. "When have you ever known our lord to keep his word, Henry? Come on, let's grab what we have and go."
"But we don't have enough-"
"And we can't be late. Pick up that bushel. Let's go."
Alys hefted her own bushel onto her back and started to walk toward the village, leaving Henry and the others behind. Her mouth was set in a thin line.
"Great Queen, hear my vow," she murmured as she walked. "Let my hands do your work, let my mouth speak your words, let my feet walk your path. I fear no enemy, guided as I am by your love, will, and wisdom. As it was, as it is, as it ever shall be- let me guide my people to thee."
They were going to see the lord again- the wizard. He hadn't appeared in any dreams Ginny had had over the past few weeks, not since he had caught Alys in the forest. Would something important happen today? Or would this be just another nothing-dream?
Alys headed into the heart of the village, where all of the other villagers were assembled. There was a large pile of crops packaged and assembled in a great heap against one edge of the village square, and it was here where Alys unceremoniously deposited her own bushel of wheat.
The villagers congregated together, and many of them, men and women both, were busy straightening their clothes or otherwise trying to make themselves look presentable. Alys made no such effort. She had dirt smeared on her cheek, and her hair had partially come down from its tie.
They were waiting for something- the lord to arrive, apparently. Ginny listened hard, but she heard no sounds of anyone approaching. The bell ringing had clearly been a signal, but what had been the cue to ring it?
She didn't have to wait long. The sky grew darker, and as one, the crowd looked up and saw a carriage approaching, pulled by four winged Abraxan horses. It was just like Madame Maxime's carriage, Ginny realized.
I guess there's no reason not to show off with no Statute of Secrecy, she mused.
The carriage landed with a loud thunk as its wheels made contact with the ground, the Abraxans snorting and shaking their heads in displeasure at being forced to land. No one was sitting on the coach's bench at the front of the carriage.
Slowly, the door opened, and the lord stepped out, followed by a young woman who could only be his wife based on her elegant attire. She held a baby who looked about a year old, and behind her, a boy of maybe six bounded out of the carriage, his face lit up in delight.
The villagers, including Alys, all bowed or curtsied deeply. The lord paced before them, a smug look on his face.
"You may rise," he said in a bored tone. The villagers stood up again. The little boy was tugging on his mother's skirt, clearly trying to tell her something, but her eyes were cast toward the ground, ignoring him and everything else.
The lord walked toward the pile of crops and made an exaggerated tutting sound.
"Oh dear," he said. "The harvest looks a little light this season, doesn't it? How disappointing."
Multiple men spoke up at once, clearly trying to appease him as soon as possible.
"We can get more, my lord-"
"We will work harder-"
"I'll return to the fields right now, my lord-"
"If my lord had opted to arrive at the time he had previously stated, perhaps he would be happier with the land's yield."
Everyone stopped speaking at once and turned to look at Alys. Her head was held high, her arms crossed behind her back in a weak show of respect. She was looking straight ahead, her eyes focused on the horizon.
The lord's blue eyes lit up in wicked delight. He crossed his own arms behind his back, mirroring Alys's pose, and walked to stand right in front of her.
"Your neighbors are full of excuses and eager promises, but not you," he said softly, his eyes roving over her face. "Why is that?"
"I am happy to acknowledge my shortcomings and failures, my lord, when they are justified."
The lord tossed his head back and laughed. It wasn't a kind sound.
"Remind me of your name again," he said, brazenly reaching forward to tilt Alys's chin up with a finger. Her jaw tightened and her eyes blazed with a dark fire.
"Alys," she said.
"Alys," he repeated, rolling the sound around in his mouth. "That's right. Have you been staying out of trouble, Alys?"
Merilda, Alys's older sister, stumbled forward at that moment. "Please my lord, forgive my sister, she didn't mean any harm-"
The lord's face twisted into a mask of cold fury at being interrupted. He dropped Alys's chin. "Silencio. If I want you to speak, Muggle, I will tell you to speak."
Merilda clutched at her throat, alarmed at being unable to speak. Alys dropped her pose immediately and grabbed Merilda, eyes rapidly scanning her for any obvious signs of harm. She whipped her head around to glare at the lord.
"Don't punish her on my behalf," she snapped, all politeness forgotten. "She hasn't done anything."
"I will decide whether she has done anything that warrants punishment. And that goes for you as well. Now-"
But he was interrupted again. Isaac came shuffling out of the crowd, his brown eyes wide with worry.
"Auntie Alys, what's wrong with Mama? Why can't she talk?"
Merilda reached down to grab him, but the lord was quicker. He scooped a surprised Isaac into his arms. Alys started to reach for him but thought better of it, her arms rising and then falling again. Isaac's eyes remained wide, but he didn't cry.
"I made your mother be quiet because she interrupted me," the lord said to Isaac, his tone deceptively soft. "It's rude to interrupt others, isn't it?"
Isaac nodded uncertainly. The lord's son was watching them, confusion on his face. He started to walk toward them but his mother yanked him back surprisingly roughly.
"What's your name?" the lord asked.
"Isaac."
"Isaac. A good, strong name. For a good, strong boy, no doubt."
Isaac nodded again, making the lord smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"And do you know who I am, Isaac?"
"You're the lord."
"That's right. How did you know that?"
"You can do magic."
The lord's grin widened. Alys's face was coldly furious.
"That's right. I can do magic. Would you like to see some magic, Isaac?"
"No-" Alys started, reaching for him, but the lord took a step back, out of her reach.
"Ah ah," he said in a mocking tone. "It appears your whole family could use a reminder on proper manners. Now, Isaac, would you like to see some magic?"
Isaac looked at Alys. He looked very young here. His cheeks were still round with baby fat.
"I'm not asking Alys, I'm asking you," the lord said. "Let me show you some magic." He turned to face the pile of crops. "Incendio."
The whole pile ignited in flames, and cries of shock and despair rose from the crowd. Alys did not make a sound, though her jaw tightened still further. Her eyes were locked on the lord's face, who smiled at her.
"What a shame," he said. "There's even less yield than I thought. I suppose I have no choice but to ask for double on my next visit."
Anguish laced through the crowd, mixed with a thread of anger clearly directed at Alys. Isaac began to cry, and the lord stepped forward to pass him to Alys, who took him with stiff arms.
"Nothing to say?" he asked her.
"There are a great many things I would like to say, my lord," she said, placing sarcastic emphasis on the last word.
"And yet you remain silent."
"My words would not be welcome."
The fire started to jump from the crops to the building behind them. Several people cried out, and the lord, without looking, said in a bored voice, "Aguamenti." Water doused the flames, leaving the crops as a smoldering pile of ash.
"On the contrary," he said. "Your words were what sparked this entire conversation." He smirked at the double meaning. "You seem to have a great number of opinions, Alys. This village hasn't had an official speaker in over a decade- I hereby grant that title to you. You'll represent the village's affairs in an official capacity to my estate. You'll start by giving me a full report on the village's inhabitants, the state of its resources, and any recommendations for improvements. Be ready for my carriage at sundown tomorrow- you'll give your report at my estate."
Alys said nothing, and the lord's expression grew cold.
"I gave you an order, little world-walker. I expect a response."
"Yes, my lord," she said. "Sundown tomorrow. Or perhaps a little earlier."
He smirked. "Or perhaps a little earlier." He turned toward the crowd at large. "I will return at the end of the harvest season and I expect a full yield. See to it that I am not disappointed again, or else I am afraid there will have to be consequences."
The crowd murmured variations of "Yes, my lord," as they bowed and curtsied, and he turned to walk back toward his carriage.
"Come, Isolda," he snapped, and his wife hurriedly entered the carriage, hand clutching their son's, who was looking over his shoulder at the villagers.
"My lord," Alys said, taking a step forward. The lord paused and looked over his shoulder. "My sister."
"Oh, that's right," he said in a bored voice. "I almost forgot. Finite Incantatem." With a wave of his wand, Merilda gasped, her voice restored. He entered the carriage and shut the door behind him. The Abraxans spread their wings, and with thunderous footsteps pulled forward and took off into the sky.
"Gods above, Alys, look what you've done!" Merilda seethed, snatching Isaac from her sister's arms.
"What I've done?" Alys snapped. "I did not burn the crops, Merilda."
"You might as well have," she said. "Why can't you accept things as they are, not as you wish them to be?"
"The gods-"
"Don't you dare mention the gods to me," Merilda hissed. "The gods HAVE forgotten us, Alys. We do the rituals, and say the words, and pray, and pray, and pray, and for what? Nothing changes, because nothing is GOING to change. We are forgotten."
"You have the second sight too," Alys whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "You know that's not true."
Ginny's heart was pounding. The second sight!
"And what good has that done us?" Merilda asked. "So what, we can see? Do you know what I see right now? A suffering village, and a woman too proud and arrogant to bow to a power stronger than her. Their kind has won, Alys- they rule us, and we obey, or we suffer. You curse us all with your defiance. I am ashamed of you."
Alys looked like Merilda had slapped her.
"Remember my words when you go to the lord's estate tomorrow," Merilda continued. "Hold your temper, or you will doom us all. You want to lead us? Then lead us by obeying the lord of the land. I will be waiting for you at home. Spend some time reflecting on what you've done."
Merilda turned away from Alys, and the dream faded away.
Ginny woke up with a gasp, her heart pounding. Finally, finally, a mention of something connected to Alys's instructions for her! Not that she could do anything with it, but still- after weeks of nothing, this felt like a victory.
They hadn't really said much about the second sight though, certainly not how to gain it. But it was connected to their gods, somehow- Alys used the second sight as evidence that the gods had not forgotten her, that reaching out to them would have some impact on her circumstances. But Merilda didn't agree.
Alys's own words to Ginny echoed in her mind. In my time it was well-known that wicked men walked the earth. Those without power are doomed to be victims to them, if they do not yield or get out of the way.
Ginny now knew who the wicked man of Alys's time was. He delighted in cruelty, and it was obvious the villagers were terrified of him. Even his wife didn't dare to meet his eye, Ginny had noticed. Alys was the only one to stand up to him, and he seemed to take predatory delight in that fact.
Did Alys end up going to the lord's estate? What did he want to talk to her about? Surely not the village's resources...
"You're finally awake." The bathroom door opened and Malfoy stepped out. He was in the process of towel-drying his hair. "You've been asleep for ages. Are you sick?"
"No, I got bored so I took a nap," she said.
"Sorry for not leaving adequate entertainment behind," he said in a biting tone. "Get up. We have work to do."
So much for Draco coming back. She sat up, stretching her arms over her head, before rising from bed and walking over to one of the armchairs. Malfoy followed her over, a scowl on his face. He waved his wand and conjured a familiar-looking parchment.
It was Ginny's turn to scowl.
"Don't make that face at me," he said before she could speak. "This has been a long time coming. Here. Read it." He pushed the parchment in her direction, and she reluctantly took it.
Anger boiled her blood almost immediately. The text- written by Dolohov, she was assuming- described a terrified little girl being brainwashed to accept Muggles as her equals, and any dissent being swiftly punished by her cruel, abusive parents. They punished her regularly, badly enough to leave at least one scar behind. Scared little Ginny never came forward before now because of how close her parents were with Albus Dumbledore, a dangerous wizard who espoused similar ideals and ran Hogwarts with an iron fist. It was only her clandestine friendship with Draco Malfoy, a pureblood with sensible, respectable parents, that helped her finally break free. She ran away, right to a waiting Narcissa Malfoy in Godric's Hollow, who didn't hesitate to take Ginny under her wing and protect her from those who would abuse her. The Malfoys' names had been maligned by Dumbledore supporters in recent years, but Ginny would be quick to assert that the Malfoys had saved her life, and were worthy of the respect their name had carried for so long.
"Sounds like a job for Rita Skeeter," she said flatly, dropping the parchment on the table.
"She probably will be the one to write it, yes," Malfoy said, sounding bored. "You will memorize the contents of this parchment, and whenever you are speaking in any official capacity under the Dark Lord's orders- whether that is an interview, a speech, a public appearance, or something else- you will wholeheartedly act like the contents of this parchment are true. You will not give anyone any reason to doubt that you are telling the truth.Now, read it again, and tell me when you have it memorized."
Ginny glared down at the parchment and read it again, her mind wanting badly to drift to Alys, but her focus taken up entirely with memorization of a bunch of treacherous lies.
"Alright, I think I've got it," she said in a dull tone after a couple of read-throughs.
"Good. Now, tell it to me like I'm an interviewer."
"The whole thing? Interviewers typically ask questions first."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Fine. Who saved your life?"
"You did."
Hi friends! A few updates here- we have a bit of a shorter chapter this time as this chapter is a bridge before the Battle of the Seven Potters, which needs its own space. On a personal note, I had to put my dog to sleep unexpectedly after a serious injury earlier this week, so it's definitely been a slower than normal writing week (and also probably accounts for the shorter chapter). I'm handling things okay, but it's definitely been tough in my household this week.
In exciting news, I have not one but TWO fan-made video edits to show you, both made by the lovely aceurenard on YouTube. The first one, called "someone to stay," is an edit showing some key moments in Draco and Ginny's relationship thus far. The second one, called "restitution in absentia," is a trailer-style edit for the fic as a whole. I'll include both links here! They're absolutely amazing, you should totally watch them and share them far and wide.
First: /YHzXa-gBRZ4?si=CAIUm9pyvEsq-F1Lbr /
Second: /r3w5tk2W0dA?si=GvtV1rb4QyMvVbL4
Finally, I rewrote the summary for RIA and updated it on AO3. I think it's a better description of the story overall. Let me know your thoughts on the chapter, the video edits, the summary, or anything else you'd like to tell me! :D I appreciate you all very much!