JUNE 7th, 1997
The sky was a memory. Of course it was. Blaise's mindscape was a happy memory, and so was Draco's. Of course Ginny's was too.
Only Ginny's happy memory was defined by being surrounded by nothing and no one.
It surprised him still, even after he had slept on it. She always seemed like she was at the center of everything, though Draco supposed he was a biased observer. But she was popular at school- lots of friends, across multiple Houses- and was the Gryffindor team's top Chaser. Between that and her big family, it was probably rare for her to be alone at all.
Maybe that's why the memory was happy? She was flying, and she was alone, but in a safe, familiar place.
He would have to watch the memory again, even though she would be spitting mad about it. Last night he had just taken in the memory as it stood, but he hadn't tried to interact with anything. Could he stretch the memory, maybe? Change her mindscape to include the orchard? To include her house, a short distance away? If he could do that, there would be lots more options to hide memories. Hell, at least there would be options.
If that didn't work, maybe he could identify exactly what emotion she was feeling that had caused her mind to hold onto this particular memory, and then look for other, similar memories to hopefully trade with. If she could get the same feeling met by being in the Great Hall, for instance, that would be a much more helpful mindscape for Draco's intentions.
As with everything, he couldn't be too obvious though. He couldn't appear overly fixated on that one particular memory- it would create too many questions for Ginny and for anyone else who happened to look in her mind. Just like his work in bringing her to the Dark Lord, he had to manage the pacing.
I set the pace.
Draco's heart skipped a beat as he recalled the kiss. His heart had been pounding out of his chest when he had finally touched his lips to hers, but- luckily or unluckily- she had been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice.
Why the hell had she decided to try to kiss him? Taking some control back, maybe? Trying to convince him that she was done fighting back, that she had given in to his advances?
He couldn't let her do it again. He hadn't planned on kissing her for a good while- he needed to stretch this out as much as humanly possible, to give himself time to hide her memories. He needed to always appear to be pushing the line, when in fact he was holding it quite firmly. Not kissing her because she could barely stand his touch looked a lot different than denying her a kiss she was offering. She had inadvertently added kissing to the list of "acceptable" activities, which meant the line had shifted way more than Draco had wanted it to. How would it make sense for him to only kiss her once, and barely at that?
Draco covered his face with his hands. He would have to kiss her again. "Have to" kiss her again.
What a tragedy, he thought drily. He had imagined that moment so many times. So many times. He had never imagined it in his bathroom, so that was a twist, but she felt just like he had dreamed- soft and warm, and a little delicate. She had just stood there, frozen, but the feel of her lips had been enough. More than enough.
It had to stop here though. No more shifting the line. He could stretch kissing out for days and days. Weeks, maybe. Kissing her wasn't so bad in the grand scheme of things, was it? Even if she didn't want it?
Draco's heart pinched in disappointment. That moment in the garden could have been so beautiful. She had been laughing- actually, full-on laughing- and the setting sun had hit her just right, making her positively glow. In another reality, she would have reached for him just as she had last night, and he would have embraced her, his hands running through her hair just like he knew she liked as he kissed her long and slow, savoring the absolute gift it was to be chosen by her.
Chosen. Would Draco ever get to feel that way? Or would he always just be taking, taking, taking?
She couldn't reach for him again. That much was certain. She was too unpredictable. He had to hold the line, and he couldn't do that if she kept shifting it. Kissing. That was the line.
And massaging her, he supposed. But that felt different. Less inherently sexual, even though he knew that his words said otherwise. He could say whatever filthy thing came to his mind, but that wasn't the same thing as acting on it. Words were safe, even if she didn't like them. Maybe especially if she didn't like them- it painted the right impression.
Disgusting. This can't be my life.
The water in the bath was growing cold. He had been in here too long. Delaying starting the morning.
He didn't want to wear the Death Eater mask. He wanted to crawl back in bed and not come out. Tilly could bring him his favorite sweets and he could read silly books that didn't matter, to use Ginny's words, and he could just rest. How he longed to rest.
He couldn't rest. Not yet. Ginny needed him, even if she didn't know it. Needed him to be awful, to protect her from worse things, and needed him to look through memories she would never want to show him, in order to find a safe place to hide.
Blaise was coming in three days. He could manage for three days.
He took a deep breath, and fell away inside himself.
JUNE 7th, 1997
Ginny woke up and immediately reached to the nightstand for the Draught of Peace. She noted with a scowl that it was a bigger vial than yesterday's- maybe two doses instead of one. She drank it, unable to stop herself from finishing the dose, and felt her muscles loosen dramatically. How could being relaxed be so unpleasant?
"Good morning."
"Good morning," she said automatically. Malfoy wasn't standing over her this time- he was leaning near the windows, looking down at the grounds.
She was tired. She had just woken up, but she already wanted to go back to sleep.
"How did you sleep?"
"Fine."
"That's good," he said before pushing himself off the wall and walking toward her. "It should be a quieter day today. No visitors."
Ginny said nothing as he approached the bed. She was still angry with him for going through her memories. What the hell had he even been looking for? Why a random memory about Quidditch of all things?
He smirked at her silence. "Let's see if you're going to stick to our deal, hmm? Tell me- what are you supposed to do after drinking your potion, if you're following your morning routine?"
She gritted her teeth. "Take a bath."
"Very good. And what tap are you supposed to use?"
She closed her eyes. "The fourth from the left."
"Eyes open."
She opened them and glared at him. His smirk grew.
"Don't shut me out. You're right, the fourth from the left. Where do your clothes go?"
I hate you.
"On the floor."
"That's right. Not such a bad listener after all. Don't dawdle- we aren't in a particular rush this morning but I'll get lonely out here without you. If I think you're taking too long, I'll be forced to come check on you- for your safety, of course. So spend your time wisely."
She stood up and stomped toward the wardrobe.
"Where are you going?"
"To get a change of clothes."
"Where did I list that in my list of steps?"
Control. It's all about control.
"Sorry for assuming," she said sarcastically. "You spent all those Galleons on fancy clothes for me, I assumed I was supposed to wear them. Should I ask you if I can breathe next?"
"Careful, darling, or I'll take those fancy clothes away. No reason to wear them in here."
She took a deep breath. Don't set him off already. Pick your battles.
"If this is too hard I can always use the tattoo. Maybe having the choice is too much, this early on."
"No," she said. "I can..."
Can what?
"Can what?"
"Listen," she chose. She wasn't about to say obey.
"Good. Then show me."
The panic and dread of using the soap again was screaming at her from a long tunnel, though the double dose of the Draught of Peace dulled it remarkably. It felt like it would almost be impossible to have a panic attack in this state. She walked to the bathroom, not bothering to even look at Malfoy, and shut the door.
"Don't dawdle," she whispered to herself, mocking his stupid drawl. She mimed kicking the door, knowing she couldn't make contact but wanting to feel the motion anyway. It felt good. She thought about doing it again, but the last thing she wanted was Malfoy walking in on her in the bath.
She plugged her nose, turned the tap on, and hurried away to the water closet to go to the bathroom. Yes, doing this without the commands was infinitely better than with them. At least she still got to feel like a person this way.
Which unfortunately meant she needed to do her best to not piss Malfoy off. Deal or not, he could revoke their agreement at any time. She needed him to be in a good mood, not only for her own sanity but to make sure they made it to the library this afternoon. Fairy tales. She had to research fairy tales.
She finished in the bathroom, washed her hands, stripped quickly, and plugged her nose as she walked up to the tub, which was about three quarters full now. It didn't work very well. The smell was too familiar. She could still smell it- home.
Tears pricked her eyes as she remembered Ron's voice calling her home last night. Mum's calling us. Us. Mum's calling us.
She wanted her mum so badly it was like a physical pain in her core. Molly Weasley always knew how to make everything better, even when things seemed impossible. She would wrap Ginny in a hug so tight she couldn't breathe, and not let go until the world was right again. She needed that hug. But she couldn't hug her mum now. In order to stand any chance of getting back to her, Ginny had to survive Malfoy. She contented herself with imagining the absolute litany of hexes that her mum would rain down on him as she made herself step into the bath.
Perfectly warm water. So much room in the tub that she could float if she wanted to. A lovely smell, if she was anywhere but here.
She was having that thought a lot lately, she realized as she began washing her hair. This would be lovely, if I was anywhere but here. A bed so soft she could melt into it. Delicious food three times a day. Beautiful but comfortable clothes, made especially for her. A massive library, with a comfy couch and peaceful music floating through the warm half-light. Twilit walks in a garden of roses.
Maybe that was its own kind of torture- being made to hate things she would normally enjoy. Comfort was no longer comforting. Malfoy had said that if it was up to him, she would never be in pain again, but what use was that if she couldn't enjoy pleasure?
Speaking of. She spent extra long working her fingers through her hair with conditioner, hoping to make brushing it a quick affair this morning. Another thing that she would normally enjoy but was absolutely ruined by the one who provided it.
She tried telling herself it didn't matter. And it really didn't, in the grand scheme of things- Ginny was immortal, whatever the hell that meant, and she had a mission to try to save the world, something only she could do. That was important. Stupid little arguments and unwelcome touches and even more unwelcome pleasures didn't matter. They weren't important.
But she had to live through them anyway, and they sure as hell felt important as they were happening. The more she tried to pull away from those moments, the tighter Malfoy held on, and then her temper would flare, and they would fight, and he would make her calm down, and then it would gradually build again in an ever-repeating cycle.
He wants control, she reminded herself as she washed her body, eyes avoiding the tattoo. That's the only thing that makes sense with him giving you the "choice" not to use the tattoo, and then freaking the fuck out when you tried to kiss him. He wants to give a command and see you follow it- you have the illusion of agency, not the real thing.
That was going to be harder. Not picking a fight with Malfoy was one thing (and hell, she couldn't even consistently do that), but she had been contenting herself with finding ways to get the upper hand, ways to manipulate him. It seemed like the best manipulation here was going to be strict compliance- doing exactly what he wanted, the way he wanted it- which felt like the deepest betrayal, no matter how she spun it.
She needed his trust. She needed time in the library. She needed more alone time, or at least not to be forced to sleep by a potion. She couldn't convince him to give her these things- he had to decide on his own.
A thin place. The ritual of the two who move as one. The second sight. If she kept those front of mind, could she keep her temper? Could she completely yield control of the present in exchange for a future far away from this awful, beautiful place? She wanted to say yes, but she honestly wasn't sure.
I guess I'm about to find out. Her bath was over. She pulled the tab, grabbed a towel and wrung out her hair, then dried her body and wrapped the towel around herself. At first she thought she would have to open the door in the towel, but at some point during her bath a turquoise bra and matching knickers had appeared on the counter.
Choosing what I wear. Can't let me choose. He has to choose.
Anger simmered in her chest, but she willed it to be quiet. The library. You want to go to the library. She dropped the towel and slipped the underthings on. They were pretty. Overly lacy for what she would have chosen, but pretty.
You want to go to the library, she thought as she walked to the bathroom door and opened it. Malfoy's eyes raked over her, slowly. Appraisingly.
"When I said green was your color, I was imagining the emerald, but maybe I was wrong," he said. "This suits you."
He saved her the trouble of having to come up with a response by walking toward her and into the bathroom.
"Shut the door," he said. She did so, and went to sit on the stool. He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Look at you," he said. "So well-behaved after your bath. Maybe the scent of your old life is working after all."
And this is the part where he tries to get you to cave in and fight back, she thought, her eyes on her reflection. But you're not going to, because you want to go to the library.
He picked up the hairbrush and moved to stand behind her. He watched her for a moment, apparently waiting for some reaction, but she kept her eyes on her reflection.
"So stoic all of a sudden," he said as he began to brush slowly enough that she shivered. "What are you thinking?"
"That I'm tired of fighting all the time," she said, and was surprised to find it was true. She was tired, so deeply tired that her bones ached. Giving up wasn't- couldn't be- an option, but she was so, so tired.
"That makes sense," he said as he continued to brush. "You've been fighting for a very long time now, even before you came to me."
"Yes," she said quietly. She didn't like to think about it. Hadn't had time to think about it. Didn't want time to think about it.
"But that's all over with now," he said, his eyes on her hair. "The quiet life from now on, right?"
You want to go to the library.
"Right," she said, shivering again as the brush ran along her scalp.
He smirked at her in the mirror. "You really do like this. I'm glad I saw it in Kathleen's memories. Doesn't seem like the sort of thing I'd have figured out on my own, and you certainly wouldn't have told me."
And now he's bringing up Kathleen just like he brought up Harry yesterday. But you're not going to react, because you want to go to the library.
"Are there other things like this?" he asked quietly. "Things that feel so good they make you shiver?"
"I don't know," she said. "I don't think so."
"You don't think so, but you don't know for sure," he repeated back, apparently considering. Dread filled her stomach and she fidgeted a bit in her seat.
He noticed, of course. He always noticed.
"What's wrong, little lion? Worried I'll find something you like even more than this?"
"Yes," she said, and wanted to bite her tongue off. The command about truthfully answering questions was the worst one of them all- maybe tied with not being able to pull back from his touch. Sometimes the answer came out before she even knew the truth herself.
He smiled at her in the mirror. "I'll take that as a challenge then. Gives me so many things to explore." He put the hairbrush down. "Are your muscles sore today?"
"Not really," she said. "You gave me a double dose of the Draught of Peace."
"Yes, I think we'll do two in the morning and then one in the afternoon if you need it. Doing only one yesterday when you woke up was a mistake. I'm glad it's working, but you're being so good this morning, I think you deserve a reward anyway." He stepped away and picked up a familiar green container.
Ginny flinched. She had forgotten about one of Malfoy's other commands, but he clearly hadn't.
If something I do feels good, don't hold back your reactions.
A thin place. The ritual of the two who move as one. The second sight. You need to go to the library. You need him to leave you alone in the library.
"You don't look happy about this," Malfoy said, a fake pout in his voice. "You loved this the first couple of times you used it. Tilly replaced the jar, see? You were right, I was almost out."
He walked up to her right side, opened the container, dug his fingers in to pull out some of the healing cream, and reached out to rub it into her right arm.
Ginny moaned. She had forgotten how amazing this felt, how she could feel its magic sink deep into her muscles in a way that the potions couldn't touch.
"Oh my god," Malfoy said. "What a fucking gift you are. That was with one stroke."
Ginny flushed and glared at him. He smirked.
"There you are. Good. Stay present for this- like I said yesterday, I want to hear you."
Control and humiliation. It's both.
Anger bubbled up in her.
No no no, the library the library the library-
She moaned again as he used both hands to rub the cream down her upper arm, along her forearm, and over her wrist.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "So good."
Nothing that felt this good should be this horrible. It sent very confusing signals to her brain.
"I changed my mind," he said as he rotated her wrist and rubbed her palm. "I don't care how expensive this cream is. I'll buy the whole damn company. We're never going to run out."
"Draco," she said, but it came out breathier than she intended.
"Fuck," he murmured. "Yes, what is it, love?"
Yesterday he had told her she would be in trouble if she asked him to stop. And she wasn't allowed to do things that she knew would get her in trouble.
"Nothing," she whispered, her face warm.
"Tell me."
"I was going to ask you to stop, but you said I would be in trouble if I did. Yesterday."
"You're completely right," he said, pausing what he was doing to reach for more cream. "I'm just getting started. I think the best part is next though."
He walked to her other side. She started to stand, her legs ready to run out of the room. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she sat back down.
"Your self-control is remarkably improved today," he said. "I'm impressed."
Happy to entertain, fucking arsehole.
He began to rub in the cream, staying on her upper arm. He was saving the tattoo. Waiting to take his time with it.
Letting her dread it.
It wasn't fair. None of this was fair, but that especially wasn't. The mark of her captivity, of her enslavement, sang under his touch, radiated satisfaction like there was nothing more right in the world than this. So at odds with the rest of her, which just wanted to run.
His fingers skated along the top of the tattoo and her breath grew shaky. So much sensation in that one little touch.
"It's too much," she said. Not exactly stop, but close.
"Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Then I'm not stopping."
"What if I said it did hurt?"
"Then you'd be lying, wouldn't you?"
"Yes."
He smirked. "Naughty of you. You aren't supposed to lie. Relax, darling- it's alright. Enjoy this. Let me take care of you."
He moved down her arm, slowly rubbing against the lines of the tattoo, and she felt her eyes momentarily roll toward the back of her head. He laughed.
"You poor thing," he said in a mocking tone. "So overwhelmingly good you can barely stand it. It's alright- you're allowed to feel good."
His words from the first time they did this came rushing back to her.
You don't deserve punishment, Weasley. At all.
She gasped a little as tears suddenly pricked her eyes.
"My poor darling," he said, less mocking this time. "It's alright. You're not doing anything wrong-"
"Don't say that." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Malfoy slowed his movements but didn't stop completely.
"Don't say what, darling?"
"That I'm not doing anything wrong."
Oh no. Her heart felt like it was breaking all of a sudden.
"Why would this be wrong?" he asked quietly, moving to her wrist. Where the initials were.
"I can't say it."
"Why?"
"You told me not to."
Malfoy frowned. "I don't know where you got this idea that you're supposed to be punished for something, but it stops now. I think you've had quite enough punishment as it is. This is not your punishment. This is just your life. You didn't choose it, I know you don't want it, but it is the reality. This is your life, from now on, and you don't have to spend every second of it absolutely miserable. If something feels good, you're allowed to enjoy it. I want you to enjoy it. Life is hard enough without denying yourself every scrap of pleasure it offers you. Let yourself have something good."
Ginny closed her eyes, even though he had said not to. He continued to rub her wrist and on to her palm.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Enjoying it is like accepting it." Another painful truth she would have rather not said.
If it were not for the double dose this morning, she absolutely would be panicking at this point.
"What's wrong with accepting it?"
"Everything," she snapped, opening her eyes to glare at him in the mirror.
"Considering you can't change your circumstances, accepting them seems a wise decision." He mercifully let go of her wrist and stepped away to grab more cream.
"Accepting my circumstances means giving up," she said, steadying her breath.
"Also a wise decision," he said. "But perhaps one that will be made for you, in time."
"What do you mean?"
"It's only day three. You really think you'll still be holding out at day thirty? A hundred? Three hundred?"
Ginny scowled. "Yes."
He laughed. "That seems optimistic to the point of foolishness."
"You don't know me."
That made him pause. "Not as well as I'd like, no. But I'm getting there." He moved to stand behind her shoulders. He waved his wand and a clip appeared to hold her hair out of the way.
"Shoulders next," he said and pushed her bra straps down her arms before starting to rub.
Fuck the library.
"You say this isn't my punishment," she said before gasping just a little bit at the exquisite pressure between her shoulder blades. "But I think this is just your version of it. A palatable form of torture."
His fingers dug in sharply all of a sudden- right when she said the word palatable, she noticed. "How do you figure that?" he asked.
"If it was just about feeling pleasure, you would let me do this myself. Alone," she said. "Like you did the first night. But it isn't about that. You want to humiliate me. You want to see me fight as hard as I can against this and have to cave in anyway. You want to see me hate myself for it."
"I never want you to hate yourself," he said, though he didn't deny the rest of it. "Did you ever consider that this could be about mutual pleasure? That I enjoy seeing you feel good, that I enjoy causing it?"
"I don't care."
"That's fine. You don't have to. But if you find yourself confused, think more about that."
Ginny said nothing as he moved down her back. Would she still be holding out at day three hundred? Merlin, she hoped so. But the very thought of it made her absolutely exhausted. How long could she keep fighting when her defenses were slowly being commanded away one by one, and some of these things felt so good-
Alys's face flashed in Ginny's mind, the icy determination in her eyes as she had climbed on that table to cut out the rot from a little boy's writhing body.
Forever. She would keep fighting forever. She might grow weary, and her fight might wax and wane, but she wouldn't give up. Never ever.
A thin place. The ritual of the two who move as one. The second sight. Crows cawing overhead. The gods remember.
She relaxed. Malfoy was right about one thing- her fight wasn't in this room. Whatever this was between them, whatever Malfoy's intentions were, it was a distraction.
"There you go," he cooed, oblivious to her thoughts. "So much better."
He moved away to grab more cream and walked to her front.
"Left or right, you pick," he said.
"Right."
He knelt down in front of her and began massaging her right foot.
"What are we going to do this morning?" she asked. Say you want to go to the library early.
"I need to brew some Draught of Peace," he said. "Guess you'll get to see the basement after all."
The basement. There must be a potions lab down there. And other things Lucius Malfoy didn't consider fit for guests to see. Could there be anything useful for her down there?
Up the right leg.
Not important, not important, not important...
"We're going to have breakfast first, though," he continued. "A proper breakfast."
"Where?" Ginny asked, suddenly dreading the thought of having to see his parents. He laughed.
"In here," he said. "My parents are early risers- they've already been up for hours."
"What time is it?"
"A little past nine, I think."
"You're not an early riser then?"
"Ha. No. Drives my father mad. If he's not up before the sun, he considers the day half wasted."
Onto the thigh. Ginny held her breath.
"You're alright," he murmured. He moved up the thigh and stopped the same distance up he had the day before. He stood up to grab more cream and she let out her breath.
"This is about routine, remember?" he said. "I'll tell you if we're changing the routine."
Don't get mad, don't get mad, don't get mad-
He started on her left foot.
Maybe today won't be so bad. This, breakfast, potion brewing, then probably lunch, then the library. And then... I don't know what else. Dinner with his parents, ugh.
"The rest of your clothes should be here tomorrow," he said as he moved up her calf. "I'll cast an extension charm on my wardrobe so there's room."
"Okay."
"Is there something else you'd like?"
"What do you mean?"
"Something else you'd like me to buy you. Clothes are taken care of, obviously, but anything else?"
"Um." She hadn't thought about it- hadn't even occurred to her to think about it. "I don't know."
"Think about it and let me know. I'm good for it." He winked and she struggled not to roll her eyes.
"Anything I want?" she asked.
"Within reason. Murder weapons are off the list, obviously."
"Damn."
He laughed. "Sorry to spoil your fun."
Up onto the thigh. She made herself breathe evenly.
"Very good," he said. Farther up the thigh, then a pause. He removed his hand and stood up. "Do you remember what's next?"
Ginny was stony-faced. "Yes."
He moved to stand behind her again, hands on her shoulders. He removed the clip and her hair came tumbling down. "I think you might need the tattoo for this part. What do you think?"
"I don't want the tattoo," she said, her jaw tight.
"Alright then. Go. Three times."
A thin place.
"Malfoy Manor is..."
"Malfoy Manor is?"
"My home," she whispered.
"That doesn't count. Try again."
She glared.
The ritual of the two who move as one.
"Malfoy Manor is my home."
"That's one."
The second sight.
"Malfoy Manor is my home."
"Two."
The blood of my enemies is everywhere found.
"Malfoy Manor is my home."
Malfoy sighed. "Good."
Does he actually think that's going to make me believe it? Ridiculous.
She moved to stand up but his hands on her shoulders pushed her back down.
"We're not done yet," he said. "I told you we would add more, remember?"
Oh for fuck's sake.
"I debated about what it would be, but you came up with this one for me. Repeat after me- Draco Malfoy is the perfect pureblood male."
"No." That was a step too far.
"Alright. Repeat after me. Draco Malfoy is the perfect pureblood male."
"Draco Malfoy is the perfect pureblood male and I hate him."
He glared. "Only repeat after me- don't add to it or change it. Draco Malfoy is the perfect pureblood male."
"Draco Malfoy is the perfect pureblood male."
And I hate him.
"Why thank you, darling, that means so much coming from you. Say it again."
"Draco Malfoy is the perfect pureblood male."
And I'll kill him. Somehow. Someday.
"Can you say it once by yourself?"
"No."
"Alright, that's fine. Repeat it one more time."
"Draco Malfoy is the perfect pureblood male."
He smiled. "Very good. You can thank yourself for that one."
Or kick myself.
"Can I stand up now?" she asked irritably.
"Sure. Brush your teeth." He removed his hands from her shoulders.
That's his stupid morning routine done, she thought as she brushed. Hopefully a quiet breakfast.
He watched her brush her teeth and she ignored him. She spat out the toothpaste, put the toothbrush down, and turned to leave the bathroom.
"Wait," he said. She looked over her shoulder at him.
"I'm changing our routine," he said.
Oh no.
"It's not a routine if you keep changing it," she pointed out.
"Adding to it, then. Come here."
Dread of the unknown filled her stomach as she approached. His expression was difficult to read, his eyes stormy.
"If you need the tattoo's help, let me know," he said, and grabbed her by the waist. She shrieked as he picked her up and set her down on the counter to face him.
"What are you doing?" she asked. She was eye level with him this way- a weird perspective.
"Nothing new," he said. "Mostly." He brushed her hair out of her face. He was so close to her now.
Run.
But she couldn't.
"You're alright," he murmured again. "Nothing dangerous here." He leaned forward and kissed her.
This was a different kiss than yesterday. Yesterday had been almost hesitant, the barest touch of his lips to hers, and only for a couple of moments. This kiss was surer, firmer. His hand slid to the nape of her neck and gently grabbed her hair, holding her still, as his lips explored hers.
Again, she wanted to be repulsed. Wanted to be gagging, wanted to be horrified. But it didn't come. His other hand cupped her cheek, tilting her face up a bit to give him better access.
It was a tragedy that Draco Malfoy was a good kisser. She had had bad kisses before- Michael Corner's had always been far too sloppy, and Dean never seemed to know what to do with his mouth. Harry's had always been the best…
Are still the best! she reminded herself quite firmly. Are still the best because you wanted to kiss him! This doesn't count. It means nothing.
But her body felt tingly all over nonetheless. White-hot shame raced through her immediately after this realization and she gasped a bit from the intensity of it, her cheeks growing hot. Malfoy took the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.
Is this some fucking side effect of the tattoo?
It would be unusual if it was. He wasn't touching it. It normally only reacted when he touched it. But maybe it could sense what else he was doing?
That was the only explanation.
He took his time, lazy and slow. She could almost hear the message implicit in the movement.
I can take my time because I have you forever. You belong to me. You're mine for the taking, whenever and however I want.
She squirmed, and he pulled away, breathless.
"Alright, that can be enough for now," he panted, his cheeks tinged pink. She covered her face with her hands.
"Shh, it's alright-"
"Please just leave me alone for a minute."
To her surprise, he removed his hands. "Alright. I'll order us breakfast. Come out in a couple of minutes."
He left the room, and as soon as the door shut she started crying.
She was fucking sick of crying.
It all mattered. She was lying to herself when she said it didn't. It all mattered so, so much, it was unbearable. Every touch, every… what did he call it? Scrap of pleasure. He was chipping away at her bit by bit, and he was winning. She was tired, and had been fighting so hard for such a long time. How could she possibly get through this alone, when everything he did beckoned her surrender?
Think of your family. Think of Harry. Think of all the innocent people out there suffering.
She did think of them. All the time. All the ways she couldn't help them, and, when her thoughts were darker, all the ways they hadn't helped her. Was Malfoy really so good at covering his tracks that no one could find her? She was at Malfoy fucking Manor, for Merlin's sake.
It didn't matter that they wouldn't be able to rescue her if they found her. It didn't matter that she wanted them to stay away in order to avoid being captured or killed. The fact was that they hadn't come. They hadn't come. She was alone. Might always be alone.
You really think you'll still be holding out at day thirty? A hundred? Three hundred?
She was so tired.
"Ginny," Malfoy said through the door. "Breakfast is here."
She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. She had to gain the second sight and soon- before her own willpower finally gave out and she became a glorified doll for Malfoy to play with.
You can read this afternoon. It's alright.
Alys fought. Ginny could fight. But maybe not right now.
She pushed herself off the counter and walked out into the bedroom. Malfoy had laid the navy blue robes out for her on the bed. He was sitting in one of the armchairs, the breakfast tray laid out in front of him.
"Can I put these on?" she asked in a dull tone.
"Yes."
She did. The material of this one was slightly thicker than the emerald one, and more cotton-like than silky. She fastened the buttons and went to sit in the other armchair.
She wasn't particularly hungry, but she knew Malfoy would make her eat anyway. He kept telling anyone who would listen that she had lost too much weight. She picked up her fork and took a bite of eggs.
"What's wrong?" Malfoy asked softly.
"I'm tired," Ginny said without looking up from her food.
"I thought you slept fine?"
"I did," she said. "Not that kind of tired."
"Mm." He took a sip of tea. "How do I fix that?"
Please just fucking leave me alone.
"I don't know."
"Hmm."
They ate in silence for a little bit.
"If you were this kind of tired…before," Malfoy said carefully. "Before all of this. What would you have done?"
She started to say that she had never been this kind of tired before, but that wasn't true. The diary. The diary had made her this kind of tired.
"Listen to music, probably," she said before taking a bite of potatoes.
"What kind of music?"
"The Weird Sisters."
He didn't say anything for a long moment. Finally, he put his fork down.
"You've been very good this morning," he said. "I'm almost afraid to trust it. But I think I'd like to give you a reward."
Oh no.
"Don't you want to know what the reward is?"
"I'm sure you're going to tell me either way."
He smirked. "Almost like you know me or something. Brewing the Draught of Peace is finicky and takes a couple of hours- you're just going to be bored sitting down there, and distracting me to boot. I'll have to use the tattoo to set up some parameters- can't have you blow up the house or something- but you can have some alone time this morning."
Ginny looked up from her plate, her hope rekindled. Was it going to be that easy?
"Thank you," she said, and he smiled. "Can I spend it in the library?"
"You can't listen to rock music in the library."
"Please?"
He laughed.
"No. But I can set up one of the sitting rooms for you."
She bit her lip. How much to push?
"What is it?"
"I know you said library time would be in the afternoons," she said carefully, "but I think I'd like to explore in there. There's so many shelves, I could be reading for a year and not finish everything. I could explore this morning and pick some books for this afternoon."
All true. Not a lie.
Malfoy drummed his fingers on the table.
"Hmm. And that would make you less tired?"
"Yes."
"Well, I suppose you don't have your magic. What could it hurt?"
She smiled. Yes! "Thank you, Draco."
He took a sharp intake of breath. "You're welcome. Are you done eating?"
"Yes."
"Then let's go."
She stood up and made herself wait for him to walk forward first. She couldn't look too eager. One wrong breath felt like it could jinx everything.
Was this all because I sat there for his kiss? she thought as she followed him down the hallway. Perhaps her shame would be worth something after all.
Soon, they reached the library. Malfoy put his hand on the door handle but didn't open it.
"Ground rules. Do not damage or break anything in this room. Do not leave this room- wait for me to return for you. If you need me, focus on your tattoo and say my name. Clear?"
"Clear," she said, not even annoyed. All perfectly reasonable rules. She bounced a little on the balls of her feet. Malfoy laughed.
"Are you excited?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I want to look around."
"Have at it then." He opened the door and she hurried inside.
"Be good, Weasley," he said. "I'll be back in a couple of hours. Don't make me regret leaving you by yourself."
"I won't," she said. He closed the door and she held in a squeal. A couple of hours alone. Perfect. She walked to the nearest shelf to explore how the sections were organized.
The only trouble, she mused, was that she wouldn't be able to take notes on anything she found. She would just have to remember it. And she probably couldn't continuously look at the same books, at least not when Malfoy was here- that would look too much like research. This needed to look like casual reading- whiling away the hours with things that didn't matter, like she had told him yesterday. She needed to maximize her time today as much as possible.
She meandered deeper into the library, looking for books on fairy tales.
JUNE 7th, 1997
Draco sat in Malfoy Manor's potions laboratory, grinding up porcupine quills with a mortar and pestle. This stupid potion was devilishly tricky- he had made an acceptable batch of it on his O.W.L., but he needed to take extra care here for obvious reasons. If he accidentally put Ginny into an irreversible sleep he didn't know what he would do with himself.
She would have been distracting down here, but she was also distracting being away from him. The last time he had left her alone for more than a few minutes, she had jumped off the roof. Well, that wasn't strictly true- she had had some time by herself last night, while he had cooled off from his meltdown in the garden. And she hadn't blown anything up that time. She had just been patiently waiting for him to return.
My commands have been more specific since that first time, he reminded himself. She can't harm herself, she can't harm anything in the room, she can't leave the room, and she can't use magic… what could go wrong up there? Nothing, right?
"Hard at work, I see."
Draco looked up to see his father standing in the doorway.
"Hello, Father."
Lucius swept into the room, closing the door behind him. He walked to the table where Draco was stationed and inspected his ingredients.
"Porcupine quills, syrup of hellebore, unicorn horn, stewed Mandrake… Draught of Peace, I'm assuming?"
"Yes. She needed three doses yesterday, so I wanted to be prepared."
"Good," Lucius said. He walked to a shelf, grabbed a second mortar and pestle, and sat down across from Draco. He picked up the unicorn horn, chopped off a small bit of it, and began to grind it into a powder.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I appreciate the help, Father, but I can manage- I made this potion for my O.W.L."
"And I made this potion for your mother every week for the first six months of your life," Lucius said, not looking up from his work. "I thought you might appreciate a more expert hand."
"Mother took the Draught of Peace for six months? Why?"
Lucius looked up at him like it was obvious. "You know she had a difficult pregnancy with you- she's told you that story a hundred times. She was understandably worried about something happening to you."
Draco knew the story well. His mother had almost miscarried twice- she had been put on strict bed rest for the last three months of her pregnancy, and his father had had healers here around the clock in the weeks leading up to Draco's birth.
"Was I sick as a baby or something?" Draco asked as he checked the consistency of the porcupine quills.
Lucius scoffed. "Not at all. But you were small, and your mother… has a delicate constitution, as you know. The Draught of Peace calmed her enough that she could enjoy your first few months of life without constantly worrying about you."
Draco nodded. "Well, thank you for helping, then."
"Of course. How is the girl?"
Draco fidgeted. "Fine."
Lucius raised a brow. "Just fine?"
"She's… a handful, even with three doses of potion in her system."
"Where is she now?"
"The library. Under strict orders not to destroy anything and not to leave until I fetch her."
"You think it wise to leave her unattended?"
"I think my constant attention was smothering her."
Lucius smirked before grabbing more of the unicorn horn. "I can imagine so. Is she what you imagined?"
Tread carefully here.
"Yes and no," he said. "Just as beautiful, obviously, and just as wild, but I've been surprised by how resilient she's been after a month with Rookwood. Most people would break under that kind of torture, but she's still as strong as ever."
Mostly. Her eyes had been so glassy this morning over breakfast. She wasn't just tired- she was weary, at the soul level. In some ways, Draco knew the feeling well.
"Will you be able to keep her contained?" Lucius asked.
"Yes," Draco answered immediately. "I've already been able to get her to obey some of my commands without using the tattoo's power- she just needs the proper motivation applied."
"And what motivation is that?"
Draco considered how to phrase it. "She doesn't like being caged. I told her that for situation-specific commands- things like eat your breakfast or sit in this chair- I will give her one chance to obey without the tattoo, and only use it if she's disobedient. If the disobedience is a pattern, it's back to the tattoo for everything, which I know she doesn't want. So she's motivated to follow commands she doesn't like, because at least she's choosing to do so, in her mind."
Lucius gave his son an appraising look. "You understand her well, then. That's good. Very good."
"Mmhmm." Draco was done grinding the porcupine quills. He emptied out his mortar into a glass bowl before grabbing more of the unicorn horn.
"I assume you're remembering to use a Contraceptive Charm."
Draco flinched. "Yes. Of course."
"There's also a potion you could brew, if the charm becomes inconvenient."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Why do you look so uncomfortable?"
"Talking about these things with your parents isn't exactly pleasant."
Lucius smirked. "No, I suppose not. But as you know, the stakes are higher here. We must take every possible precaution. It probably wouldn't hurt for her to take the potion on top of the charm."
If I try to give Ginny a contraceptive potion right now, she really will murder me, commands or no commands.
"I'll make sure she doesn't get pregnant."
"Until the time is right, of course."
Draco's pestle scraped against the mortar as his hand jerked. "Unless the Dark Lord commands otherwise, I was going to put that off for a good long while."
"Surely you can see how short-sighted that is."
Draco was at a loss. "What do you mean?"
Lucius sighed dramatically and put his own pestle down. "You want to keep the girl, don't you?"
"Obviously."
"The best way to do that is to make it… complicated to remove you from the situation. A very public engagement, no less than a thousand wedding guests, a baby shower exclusive photo shoot in Witch Weekly… you get the idea. Make yourself as valuable to this immortal pureblood line image as she is, as irreplaceable as she is."
Draco's jaw was tight. "Do you think it's likely that I could be… replaced?"
"Not at the moment, no, but you know as well as I do that the Dark Lord's favor can change quickly, and he isn't forgiving of mistakes. I can't believe I'm saying this, but Ginny Weasley is the key to securing the Malfoys' place of power in this new regime- the more tightly bound she is to you, and publicly, the better. Think of it like an insurance policy- you'll continue to serve the Dark Lord well, as you have for the past year, but if you ever should falter, you will have bought yourself some protection. And your mother and I by extension, I should add."
Draco's heart was pounding in his chest. This was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. He didn't want it. Not like this.
"You said when the time is right," Draco said, fighting to keep his breathing calm. "When is that?"
"If you're prudent, you'll get her pregnant on your wedding night. The sooner the better."
The room spun a bit.
"Don't be so dramatic," Lucius said. "You're young, but your mother is here to help you, and Tilly will be thrilled to have a baby in the house again. Though I do have to say, I don't know if I can forgive you if I have a red-headed grandchild. Honestly, Draco, why a Weasley?"
Draco didn't respond for a moment, but reached under the table to pinch himself, bring himself back to the present. The still-healing cuts on his right arm stung as he dug into them. His breathing was shallow.
Lucius didn't seem to notice his son's distress, or was choosing not to notice. "Although I suppose your mother is right- you did always want what you couldn't have. Perhaps my ranting against her idiotic father added to the appeal. Forbidden fruit, and all that."
That wasn't why. It wasn't.
His father stood up and walked to the shelves to grab more ingredients.
"Let's make two big batches," he said. "I can brew one and you can brew one."
Draco wasn't in the headspace for brewing a complicated potion. His mind and heart were racing. At this rate, he was going to need the Draught of Peace. He mindlessly reached forward to grab more porcupine quills.
"What have I always taught you about what's most important, Draco?" Lucius asked as he resumed his own work.
"Malfoys first," he whispered.
"I beg your pardon? I didn't quite catch that."
"Malfoys first," he repeated, louder this time.
"That's exactly right," his father said. "Malfoys first. You excelled in that in the last year. You've made me very proud. Don't lose your way now. The girl will be a Malfoy soon enough- her interests become our interests, and ours, hers. You will do what you must to protect her, won't you?"
"Yes, Father."
Lucius nodded. "If it eases your fears at all, I take those words as a code of honor, just as seriously as the words on our family crest. I will protect her as I protect you, regardless of her maiden name. You don't have to shoulder that burden alone."
Part of Draco wanted to collapse, wanted to run and hold onto his father just as he had in childhood- let Lucius wash all of his problems away, just like he always had. But another part- an older part- knew that if Lucius found out about what Draco was attempting with Legilimency, he would put a stop to it at once. Any hopes of Ginny not absolutely despising him for the rest of her life would crumble away, and they would be consigned to their fates forever. Draco wasn't ready to give that hope up yet, not after talking with Blaise.
"Thank you, Father. I will do what has to be done."
JUNE 7th, 1997
Ron stood at the kitchen sink, washing dishes. Or attempting to wash dishes. He kept getting distracted. His eyes kept wandering away, looking out the window at the garden. It was a sunny day- nearly summer. He could see the colony of gnomes plotting their way back over the fence, their stubby little bodies stomping around in the tall grass.
He couldn't focus on anything. Hadn't been able to focus on anything for weeks. He did his best, for Mum. But his best didn't feel like it was very good.
The sink was overflowing. He cursed and shut off the tap, water slopping over the side. It splashed down the front of his robes, leaving a big soapy stain.
"Fuck," he muttered, before waving his wand to cast a Warming Charm- it should work, right?
It worked alright. Not great, but alright. Like everything.
Why didn't Hogwarts teach household charms? That seemed like a major gap in his magical education at the moment.
He took a deep breath and started again, waving his wand over the dishes. The scouring pad lifted itself up cheerfully and began scrubbing away, oblivious to his mood.
That was what the world felt like. The sun kept on shining, the gnomes kept on plotting, the house kept on needing to be cleaned. They didn't know that Ginny was gone.
Gone. Not dead. She couldn't be dead. She was just... gone.
Maybe the house knew, though. Their clock had her hand pointing at "mortal peril," but that wasn't exactly useful- ever since You-Know-Who had returned, all of their hands pointed toward "mortal peril." But it felt like things were... subdued, somehow. Nothing too loud, nothing too bright. Even the ghoul was quiet, in honorary mourning of the littlest Weasley.
Mourning. Was that right? Was that what it was? Mourning sounded like giving up. The Weasleys hadn't given up, not by a long shot. Dad was at Grimmauld right now, working with Mad-Eye and Lupin on... well, he didn't exactly know. But Dad didn't come back home until after ten most nights- out there looking for Ginny. The Ministry had given up- even tried to imply she might have run away voluntarily, since her broom had been found in Godric's Hollow- but the Weasleys would never give up.
Bill and Charlie had come home and were looking too. Fred and George took turns running their shop so the other could help out. Percy had fucked off with the Ministry, but that wasn't surprising. He had blamed their parents for everything for years now- it made sense that he would blame them for this too.
And that left Ron here to take care of the house, and take care of Mum, who was always one wrong word away from breaking down in complete hysterics. He couldn't blame her, of course- he felt like breaking down in hysterics himself half the time. He loved his mother and would do anything for her. But being alone in the house with her felt like being knee-deep in quicksand and trying to pull someone else out at the same time. He tried, but he wasn't sure he ever made any progress.
Where could Ginny be? The Ministry had searched Malfoy Manor and found no sign of her. Dad had wanted to go back, but Mad-Eye had been quick to remind them that it would take a boat-load of cursebreakers to breach the manor's defenses if Narcissa Malfoy did not want to let them in, and without the Ministry's backing, they didn't have the wizard-power for it. So they had searched other places, turned over Godric's Hollow top to bottom, and even interrogated a low-level Death Eater they had managed to capture. He hadn't known anything, the idiot. That was weeks ago now though. Things had grown quiet, and no one wanted to say what they were all thinking- they were running out of ideas of things to try.
The crack of Apparition made him jump. Hermione Granger was in the yard, hurrying up the pathway to the back door. He quickly dried his hands and hurried to the door to open it for her.
"Hermione," he said a little breathlessly as he did. She had clearly been crying.
"I did it," she said. "My parents. I did it."
"Oh, 'Mione," he said as she threw her arms around him and he embraced her tightly. He rubbed her back and buried his face in her hair, taking in the scent of her perfume. "You did the right thing. They're going to be safe now. I'm so sorry."
She cried and he held her there in the doorway, and he was sure in that moment that he was never going to let go. Life was too fragile. People could be taken away in an instant. As long as she would have him, he would never let go of Hermione as long as he lived.
"Come on, let's go inside," he murmured and gently nudged her into the kitchen. She sniffled but moved into the room.
"Anything new with the search for Ginny?" she asked, clearly wanting to avoid the subject of her parents. Ron winced.
"Nothing. It's like she's vanished."
Hermione hung her head. "This is all so awful, and we're still just at the beginning. How are we going to get through this?"
Not giving himself a chance to overthink or get embarrassed, Ron reached out and grabbed her hand.
"Together. We get through this together."
She smiled, and for a moment, Ron could actually believe that it was true- they would get through this together. Somehow.
Ginny, we'll find you. Don't give up.