AUGUST 4th, 1997

Narcissa was right— the roses really were lovely this time of year. They were in full bloom, the sun highlighting the beautiful reds and pinks and oranges, and even an occasional white. Ginny could imagine the smell of them if she got the chance to actually walk through the gardens. Maybe after.

Right now though, she was in one of the Malfoys' many sitting rooms, staring out the window and waiting for the reporter to arrive. All four of them were dressed in varying shades of green— a not-so-subtle nod to Ginny's supposedly shifted allegiances. Narcissa had fussed over Ginny's hair, putting it up and then taking it down and then putting it up again, reminding Ginny of Draco's own nervous habits. Lucius was lounging comfortably on the couch, looking every bit the lord of the manor; his name had officially been cleared of any wrongdoing as of yesterday, according to the copy of the Prophet resting on the coffee table, along with Draco's. She hadn't seen the edition that showed her own family getting arrested, and she was glad of it. It would be hard enough to maintain the façade in front of the Malfoys and the reporter; thinking about her family would only make it harder.

A façade within a façade, really. It was so strange to be aware of the bridge, to be aware of the real Draco, and to watch him pretend to be some cruel, cold version of himself instead.

"Enough of that, Mother," he snapped as Narcissa fiddled with Ginny's hair clip. "She looks fine."

"I just want her to be prepared, Draco," she said in a deliberately calm voice. "You know as well as I do how important this is."

"She's plenty prepared. Watch. Ginny, come here."

Ginny fought back a scowl as the tattoo spurred her to walk towards him, across the room. He leaned against the bookshelves, arms crossed over his chest and a smug expression on his face.

"From the moment the reporter arrives, and until they leave," he said, reaching up to tuck a stray bit of hair behind her ear, "you will play the role assigned to you by the Dark Lord and Dolohov. You will give the Daily Prophet staff no reason to question your behavior or your story. You will refer to my parents as Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, and be happy and appreciative that they've welcomed you into their home and provided for you. You will follow Dolohov's script for answering questions, and stay in character. You will not give me any reason to need to use the tattoo in front of the Daily Prophet staff."

Ginny's face was hot as Draco's eyes swept over her, his smirk widening.

Sorry, he sent down the bridge. Better to be thorough.

You're right, she replied. And better for me to look embarrassed in front of your parents.

She felt the flicker of surprise through their connection, though he didn't say anything.

You're not the only one who can play this game, she said before turning her face away, looking down at the floor.

"See, Mother?" he asked, cruel amusement in his voice. "You have nothing to worry about, and neither does she."

They both knew that wasn't true. Surprising everyone, Voldemort had chosen to accompany them to the manor, making the trip much more unpleasant than Ginny had been anticipating. He was in another wing of the house at the moment— it wouldn't do for the Prophet staff to see him, even though they would certainly suspect something was going on— but just knowing he was here polluted the place in Ginny's mind.

"Come sit down, Ginny, darling," Narcissa said, moving to sit on the same couch as Lucius. "Between us, I think."

Like she was their surrogate daughter. Which, for the day, she supposed she was. Or was it not just for the day?

Wait, she sent to Draco as she did as Narcissa bade. You said the manor would recognize the soul bond. What does that mean, exactly?

Draco stayed by the bookshelves, pretending to skim the titles. Well, for one thing, you could go to the oak tree by yourself if you wanted to, although I can't promise I wouldn't feel excluded.

Ginny bit the inside of her cheeks to stop herself from smiling.

Sorry, I shouldn't make you laugh.

Do you think we'll get a chance to go today?

Not with the Dark Lord here.

Excitement turned to disappointment.

Speaking of, he continued. Er. This is awkward, but probably necessary and useful— with you being a Malfoy, technically, the manor will provide you protection, should you need it. If you press your hand to the stone wall by the kitchen, it will reveal the stairs to the basement. In the basement corridor, there's a painting of Armand Malfoy— the one who brought my family to England from France, nearly a thousand years ago. Just to the right of the painting, if you press your hand to the stones and say Sanctimonia Vincet Semper, it will recognize you as my… as a Malfoy, and let you enter our family vault. It's the oldest part of the manor, the only thing left standing after a fire a few centuries back. It's the safest place on the whole grounds.

Ginny's eyes bulged. A fire? You know about a fire that happened here, centuries ago?

Yes? Why?

"Ginny, are you alright, darling?" Narcissa asked.

"The reporters have arrived, Master and Mistress!" Tilly announced as she opened the door, and three people shuffled in, Rita Skeeter among them. Ginny felt the tattoo kick in at once as she put her hand on Narcissa's leg— a nervous girl seeking reassurance from a confidante. Narcissa stiffened for the quickest instant before clasping Ginny's hand in her own.

Please let this be over quickly, she wished. She didn't dare speak to Draco with so many people in the room. She realized with a start that one of the men with Skeeter wasn't a reporter at all; it was Corban Yaxley.

Rita wasted no time, slapping on a dazzling smile as she swept into the room and shook hands with Lucius, who had risen to greet her.

"So lovely to meet you at last, Mr. Malfoy," she said, her eyes sweeping over him before glancing down at Ginny and Narcissa. "I had the pleasure of meeting your son a couple of years back— such a charming young man, very well-spoken, and so brave for speaking out."

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. Skeeter," Lucius said, making Ginny want to gag. "Welcome to our home, and thank you for agreeing to conduct the interview here. And for agreeing to the extra security." He nodded at Yaxley, who had moved to stand against the far wall, near Draco. "Such a sensitive topic, you understand. I'm told the Ministry is working very hard to ensure everyone's safety as the truth comes to light."

The truth. Ginny glanced at Draco, who was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His face betrayed nothing.

"Oh please, call me Rita," Skeeter cooed. "And it's no trouble at all— a good reporter is able to exercise discretion, and when I heard the nature of the allegations… well, you can imagine I'd be willing to meet in the middle of the North Sea if it meant getting this story firsthand!"

Lucius's practiced smile turned sad; Ginny was very grateful for the tattoo in that moment, which did not allow her to laugh. "I'm afraid they aren't just allegations, Rita. I've seen the evidence myself— terrible, nasty business. But we'll dig into all of that in just a moment. May I introduce my wife Narcissa?"

Narcissa rose to her feet, letting go of Ginny's hand and clasping Rita's in both of hers. "So good of you to come, Rita. I'm glad you're here."

Narcissa had missed nothing, including Rita's less-than-subtle attempts at flirting. Rita smiled brightly— too brightly— at Narcissa and shook her hand.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Thank you. I'm sure you remember my son, Draco?"

Rita turned toward where Draco was standing. "My, my, how you've grown up! It's been too long."

"Hello, Ms. Skeeter," he said, stepping forward to shake her hand. "I trust you've been well?"

Can I please just disappear? Ginny thought.

"Quite well, quite well," Rita said, lingering a moment too long on the handshake.

"Ginny, do you want to say hello?" Narcissa asked kindly. Turning to Rita, she added, "She's a little shy after her ordeal, but it was her idea to reach out to the Prophet— I know she's very eager to speak with you."

Barf.

Ginny hesitantly rose to her feet and took a step forward to shake Rita's hand. The woman's nails were sharply pointed and dug unpleasantly into Ginny's skin as she clasped her hand over Ginny's.

"Hello," Ginny said, hating the small, quiet voice the tattoo had adopted for her.

"Thank you so much for your bravery, Ginny," Rita said, holding eye contact with her. "I promise to make this as painless as possible, and we can take as many breaks as you need. Without you, the truth would stay buried, and the public deserves to know about the injustice you've faced."

Ginny nodded, grateful that Rita hadn't asked her a question yet.

She has to know this is fake, even if she doesn't understand why yet. She's not an idiot.

"Bozo, what do you think about lighting?" Rita said, turning to face the other man— a cameraman, judging by the large bag he was carrying. They began discussing the merits of different placements in the room and, not knowing what else to do, Ginny went back to sit down on the couch between Narcissa and Lucius.

"We're very proud of you, darling," Narcissa said, clasping Ginny's hand in hers immediately. "You're being so brave. When this is over, I'll have Tilly bring us some pastries and you can rest, is that alright?"

Speaking truth without really speaking truth. Ginny nodded at her, and Narcissa squeezed her hand.

Ginny tried very hard not to think about Mum, and how Narcissa's hand was narrower and longer than Mum's, but it didn't entirely work. The tattoo did not allow her to cry, but she could feel the emotion building behind her eyes.

Mum was in a Ministry cell, probably terrified, along with the rest of her family except for Ron, who was probably equally terrified on the run with Harry and Hermione. Would she ever see them again? Was Voldemort telling the truth about protecting them, or was he just telling her what she wanted to hear?

"Alright, I think we're ready to begin," Skeeter said, walking back over to the group. "We'll do photos last." She waved her wand, and a scroll of parchment and a Quick-Quotes Quill wriggled out of Bozo's bag and floated in mid-air.

"Let me grab you a chair, Ms. Skeeter," Draco said, and with a wave of his own wand, sent a chair from the corner of the room closer to the couch, so that Rita could sit across from them.

"Lovely." Rita plopped down in the chair and crossed her legs, making herself at home. "Let's begin. Ginny, why don't we just start by you telling us, in your own words, why we're here?"

Ha. In my own words.

In a hesitating, soft voice that sounded nothing like her, Ginny recounted the basics of Dolohov's script to Rita— despite outward appearances, the Weasley family ran their household with an iron fist, tolerating no dissent against their blood traitor ideals. Her parents worshipped the ground Dumbledore walked on, and followed his messaging absolutely. They discouraged their children from making other pureblood connections, citing the old magical families as outdated and even dangerous compared to those who were closer to Muggle origins. Her father, whose strange obsession with Muggles was well-known in the community, secretly advocated for greater restrictions on magicals' abilities to self-govern, believing Muggles to be the superior race.

"You poor, poor thing," Rita cooed, though her eyes were alight with interest as the quill rapidly skimmed over the parchment. "You must have felt so isolated and confused."

Ginny nodded, thinking back for a moment to her time with Rookwood. That was certainly an isolating and confusing time. It was easier to draw up those emotions if she thought of something that was actually real.

"And it sounds like at Hogwarts, you didn't feel any safer?"

"No," Ginny said. "Dumbledore was there, and he would tell my family if any of us were stepping out of line."

"I believe— forgive me if this is difficult to talk about— but I believe there was an incident your first year? Could you talk a little bit about that?"

Ginny froze. That wasn't in the script.

"Dumbledore covered it all up," Lucius interjected, putting his hand on Ginny's knee and making her freeze even more. "I believe you reported on the Potter boy's involvement with the whole thing?"

"Why, yes, your son in fact—" Rita looked over her shoulder at Draco, "—is the one who told me about it, during the Triwizard Tournament. Ginny, do you feel that you were personally targeted with this attack?"

"Yes," she breathed, knowing that she had, in fact, been personally targeted, and the one who had targeted her currently had his hand on her knee.

The injustice of the whole thing rankled so badly that she wanted to pull her hair out. In the long run, she and Draco were taking steps to defeat Voldemort and return things to some version of normal, but having to participate in this plan, knowing the intent behind it, made her want to scream.

"You poor thing," Rita said again, clucking her tongue. "Your family was quite close with Harry Potter, isn't that right?"

"Yes," she said again, her throat dry. "He spent every summer at our house."

"How did that feel for you, knowing he was responsible for the attacks you suffered? Knowing how close he was to Dumbledore? Did it feel as though he were spying—"

"I—"

"Forgive me, Rita, but I think we're getting a little off-track here," Narcissa said with a tight smile. "The Prophet has done a wonderful job reporting on how dangerous the Potter boy is, and I'm sure you'll bring that story to light as only you can. But Ginny wanted to have this interview to talk about her family, and the terrible abuse they put her through. Not to talk about Harry Potter."

What did that mean? What had the Prophet been saying about Harry?

"Couldn't you argue though, Narcissa, that exposing her to someone as unstable as Potter was its own form of abuse?" Rita said. No one missed the change to Narcissa from Mrs. Malfoy. "That their loyalty to Dumbledore blinded them to the dangers they were putting their children in? Your brother Ronald, as I understand it, Ginny, is reported to be on the run with Harry Potter right now. Surely Potter's relationship to the family is relevant."

Please, someone, get me out of here.

Give her what she's looking for, Draco sent down the bridge. I know it's awful, but the sooner it's over, the better. Don't make her drag answers out of you.

"Trouble did always seem to follow Harry wherever he went," Ginny said, making all the adults turn to look at her, "and my family always ended up in the middle of it. My brother Ron… he and Harry were inseparable, and now he's run off… My family tried to lie for him, and now they're behind bars. Where they belong." She took a shaky breath.

I'm sorry, love, Draco said.

"I understand that that's why you were willing to speak out now," Rita said, her attention back on the Quick-Quotes Quill. "But how did you get away in the first place? Your family reported you missing a few months back."

Ginny glanced at Narcissa before launching into her script. "I didn't feel safe at Hogwarts, but even Dumbledore couldn't monitor everyone all of the time. During my third year, I… made a friend."

"What friend was this?"

"Draco Malfoy."

The Quick-Quotes Quill scribbled faster. "Did anyone else know about your friendship?"

"Oh no," Ginny said. "It was a complete secret. He helped me a lot, and eventually made me feel brave enough to try to get help. I ran away from school, and met Mrs. Malfoy in Godric's Hollow; his family has taken care of me ever since."

Please let this be over soon, please let this be over soon…

"When Draco told me about what Ginny had gone through, I was just shocked," Narcissa said before Rita could ask another question. "It's such a self-loathing attitude, to worship Muggles the way they do— and poor Ginny was the only one who questioned the narrative, and she paid the price for it more than once."

"What do you mean, paid the price?"

"Show her, darling," Narcissa said to Ginny. "It's alright."

Ginny flushed. She hadn't thought she would actually have to show the scar.

"Could… could some of you turn around?" Ginny asked shyly, hating how the tattoo made her sound so weak.

"The men, please," Narcissa said. Rita, having no idea what they were referring to at this point but sensing a salacious bit of information, sat up straighter in her chair.

Yaxley turned around, though not before rolling his eyes, and so did Draco and the cameraman. Lucius looked away. Her hands shaking, Ginny pulled down her neckline to reveal the top of the scar between her breasts. Rita let out a theatrical gasp.

"Your family did this to you?"

"With a Muggle knife," Narcissa said tremulously. Ginny pulled up her neckline at once. "Horrible, inhumane punishments. I can only imagine what the other children have been through. And I for one am sure that Ginny's family isn't the only one following these practices— the rot all traces back to Dumbledore, as you were saying, Rita. You just published that biography of him, and I have to say, it was very well-researched."

If the Quick-Quotes Quill wrote any faster, the parchment would be likely to catch fire.

"I can see why security was needed," Rita said. "If this is true, there could be other children suffering the same way, with parents who would do anything to cover it up."

"That's… that's why I wanted to do the interview," Ginny said. "To help others who might feel voiceless."

"So very brave," Rita said. "Together, we can change things, Ginny— that's the power of the printed word."

"The Ministry is doing a full-scale investigation as well," Lucius said. "Between them and you, I'm hoping to see some real positive changes in the near future."

"Absolutely." Rita leaned over to look at the parchment. "Ginny, just one more question and then we can move to photos— for any other children out there who may be suffering as you were, what would you tell them if you had the chance?"

Ginny took a deep breath. "To not give up hope. To keep fighting. To look for safe people to be around, even if you're scared— they're there, and they can help you."

That's all true, at least.

"Such wise words from someone so young," Rita said. "Lovely." The parchment rolled itself up tightly and her quill vanished with a pop. "Wonderful job, all of you— let's move to photos now."

It was done. She had said these horrible lies, and this time tomorrow, all of magical Britain would have read them. Except maybe her family, but that was because they were already imprisoned. She felt dizzy.

The photos passed in a blur, with Ginny mutely following Rita's directions to pose, both by herself and with the Malfoy family. All she could think of were her parents' smiling faces, and how absolutely destroyed they would be to read the article. They would know Ginny had been coerced… right?

Rita said her goodbyes, shaking all of their hands vigorously and thanking them all for a wonderful interview before bustling out the door, Bozo and Yaxley in tow. Yaxley winked at Ginny as he closed the door behind him.

The tattoo released its grip, and Ginny immediately threw up all over the carpet.

"Wretched girl!" Lucius cried, stepping quickly out of the way. "Disgusting."

Narcissa rubbed her back. "It's over now, darling, you did great."

"Evanesco," Draco said, and the vomit vanished. "What did I tell you, Father? Dramatic."

Ginny glared up at him, her breathing ragged.

"Come with me," he said. "You need to brush your teeth."

"Draco, I'm not sure that's wise—"

"It will be fine, Mother," Draco said, walking to the door. "We'll be right back."

Ginny followed behind him, her stomach still seizing. The vomiting, though well-timed, had not been faked.

Time to fight? she asked him.

Time to fight, he agreed, keeping his back to her as he walked down the hall toward the stairs. You're sure about this?

As sure as I can be. Don't hold back— it needs to seem real, so I need to be upset.

I have a fair bit of practice with making people upset.

I can't believe you let Rita Skeeter think Harry was responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets.

Not my finest moment. It was petty.

Ginny thought it was a good deal more than petty, but she needed to save that energy for their actual fight.

It was such a strange mix of feelings, to be back in the manor. It had been her prison, but at some points it had been a source of comfort as well. Returning here over Voldemort's hideout would be a massive improvement, but she realized now that she had romanticized it a bit in the last few days. Being physically back here reminded her of just how angry and scared and defeated she had been during her stay. She could understand Draco's actions with the new context she had, but being here made them feel much more present, like at any second Draco would disappear and Death Eater Malfoy would take over for real.

I… can sense it's hard for you to be back here, Draco said hesitantly as he walked up the stairs.

More than I thought it would be, yes. Still infinitely better than the alternative, though.

I'm sorry.

We'll get through it, Ginny said after a moment. No sense dwelling on the past.

They reached Draco's room, and he smirked as he opened the door for her to enter.

"Well this is familiar," he said as they went inside and he shut the door behind them. "Happy two month anniversary, love. It was exactly two months ago that I brought you here for the first time, did you realize? Time really has flown."

Ginny looked around the room, and flashed back to that first night. She had stood in this exact same place, absolutely terrified. Draco stepped closer to her, close enough that their chests were nearly touching. His eyes were dark— he was Occluding. He reached up and ran his thumb along her jawline, a soft smile on his face.

"Some things have changed so much since then, and some have stayed remarkably the same," he said. "Just as beautiful as you've always been, but you're broken in now."

Ginny stiffened. "Broken in?"

"Isn't that what you would call it? I know the tattoo did the heavy lifting down there, but you barely put up a fight at all about having to do this interview today. You two months ago would have been kicking and screaming all morning, but you today? You just sat back and let me brush your hair, same as always. You're broken in. You've learned your place at last, little saint."

It was masterfully done. Hitting on a truth— she hadn't fought back this morning, and though she knew why she hadn't, it was true that the Ginny of two months ago would absolutely be screaming at her right now. And then those two hated words… little saint…

Only half having to fake it, Ginny's hand flew toward Draco's face, and the tattoo stopped the movement right before she could make impact. He threw his head back and laughed.

"Did I hurt your feelings, Weasley?" he said in a mocking voice. "Sorry— I'm just telling you the truth. That's what you're always asking from me, isn't it? Sometimes the truth hurts, I suppose." He grabbed her wrist roughly and pulled it away from his face. "It's been a very long time since you've tried to hit me though. Maybe you need a reminder that you don't actually like to play rough. Go brush your teeth."

Her heart pounding, Ginny walked to the bathroom; some small part of her knew all of this was fake and was happy to see it again, was relieved to not be in the black bathroom of her nightmares, but another, very real part of her remembered every single time her adrenaline had kicked in here, and how very not safe she had felt.

She brushed her teeth, keeping her eyes away from her reflection, wondering what excuse Lucius and Narcissa were making to Voldemort about where she was. They didn't have a lot of time up here, and maybe in some ways, that was a good thing.

I'm going to make it physical, he sent down the bridge. Tell me what the boundaries are.

Her stomach tightened. Not completely naked. And no… no overtly sexual touching. Not like this.

Is grabbing your arse okay?

What a strange conversation to be having. Yes.

What about the tattoo?

Ginny made herself take a deep breath through her nose as she brushed. Yes.

Okay.

She spat out the toothpaste and, her palms sweaty, walked out of the bathroom. Draco was waiting for her right outside the door, and he immediately snaked his hand into her hair and crashed his mouth down onto hers. She let out a startled yelp and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. His grip on her hair was tight, almost painful as he tilted her head back.

"Merlin," he murmured when he finally pulled back. "Has it truly only been a week since we left home? It feels like an eternity."

He kissed her again, but this time he grabbed her arm with his free hand and pulled her further into the room, walking backwards. When he broke away, his cheeks were flushed.

"Being back here again brings it all back for me," he said, a little breathless. "What it was like those first few days."

A truth hidden within a truth— he was thinking about those first few days, just as she was, and that was why he was hidden away inside this shell of himself.

"You were so, so sure that you would escape somehow," he said. "That you would hate me forever. I wonder what that version of you would say if she could see you now. She'd probably be ashamed of you, don't you think? Call you weak, maybe. But she's the stupid one— you understand things perfectly now."

Tears swam in Ginny's eyes, and he let go of her arm to bring his hand up to cup her cheek.

"Shh, it's alright, darling," he whispered. "You were always going to end up here."

"No," she blurted, letting herself forget for a moment that this was an act— it would be better, after all, if she really leaned into it.

"No? How do you figure that? The Dark Lord explained it to you already— you were fated to be his."

It's not real, Ginny told herself, but her blood ran cold nonetheless.

"Maybe you need the reminder. Who do you belong to, Ginny?"

"The Dark Lord," she whispered.

"That's right," Draco said, and leaned down and kissed her again, biting her lower lip gently. He dropped his hands down from her face to her shoulders and turned her around, so that her back was to his bookshelves, and pushed forward slightly, making her take a couple of steps backward. He kept going until her back hit the shelves.

"Who do you belong to?" he whispered against the corner of her mouth.

"The Dark Lord."

"That's right. Put your arms around my neck."

She did as he commanded, and he slid his hands down her form, grabbing her arse before picking her up and pinning her against the wall, his hands gripping her upper thighs. Ginny yelped as he pressed his weight against her.

"So many firsts still, for us," he said, smirking at her. "So many things to try." He brought his mouth to her neck and kissed it. "I slowed down some in the last couple of weeks, but being away from you made me realize what a mistake that was."

He moved up to her lips again, pressing down hard enough that she wondered if her lips would bruise. His fingers groped along the lines of her arse, making her squirm in his grip and him laugh against her mouth.

"She begged me to fuck her, you know," he whispered, and Ginny felt a sharp jolt of agony from across the bridge. "That Muggle whore. As if I would touch her when I have you."

Ginny's mind was blank as Draco shoved his tongue back into her mouth. His words echoed again and again, like they were the only thing there at all.

"Who do you belong to?"

"The Dark Lord."

"That's right. Who are you?"

"Ginny Weasley."

"Very funny. Try again."

Oh no.

I'm sorry, came Draco's voice, but it was faint.

"The Dark Lord's saint," she said, her voice breaking.

"That's right," he whispered. "The Dark Lord's saint. You're being so good right now—"

Crack.

Tilly appeared, looking incredibly nervous. "Master Lucius sent Tilly to fetch Master Draco and Miss Ginny right away. The D-dark Lord doesn't want any delays."

Draco sighed. "I got carried away, I suppose." He slid Ginny out of his grip and let her stand. "We'll be right there, Tilly."

Tilly didn't leave. "Tilly is to escort you down. Tilly is not to come back without you."

Draco scowled. "I didn't realize Father thought I was so untrustworthy. Fine. Come, Ginny."

"I hate you," she breathed, pretending the cherrywood door didn't exist for a moment. "Every time I want to trust you, you prove me wrong again and again. You're good at making me forget who you really are, underneath it all, but you can't hide it away all the time. I hate you."

He smirked at her. "So you still have some fight after all. That's good. You might have become boring without it. Follow me."

Tilly was pulling on her ears at this point, incredibly stressed that they were taking so long, and raced ahead of them out the door once they started walking.

I'm sorry, Ginny said.

Don't be, you were brilliant. It went well, I think.

I'm… sorry you had to bring up Jane.

He was quiet for a moment as they went down the stairs.

I had to think of something you would hate me over. Something you couldn't forgive.

You did a very good job of pretending to be awful.

You're not truly upset with me?

Not with the real you, no.

Why were you asking about a fire earlier?

I think Alys might have caused it. Talk more later.

They had arrived on the first floor, and an impatient-looking Voldemort was standing by the front door, where Narcissa was trying and failing to occupy his attention.

"I'm sorry for the delay, my lord," Draco said, his voice cold. "Ginny wasn't feeling well after the interview."

Voldemort did not respond, but Ginny felt his Legilimency in her mind immediately. He skated over the memories, and Ginny tried to sense his reaction to them but it was… complicated? Too layered for her to understand in the instant he took to examine the thoughts.

"Draco, perhaps you'd enjoy a night off from your duties," Voldemort said. "I know your mother has been missing your company. You'll stay here tonight, and return to my home tomorrow morning."

Panic seized Ginny's gut, but Draco merely inclined his head toward Voldemort.

"Yes, my lord. Ginny, you have my permission to leave the manor grounds with the Dark Lord. You do not need me as an escort today."

Don't panic, he sent down the bridge. We thought this might happen, remember? Not ideal, but we planned for this. I'm always with you. You're not alone.

"Come, Ginny." The front door opened, and Voldemort started walking away, down the front steps. Ginny made eye contact with Narcissa, who looked nervous, and then Draco, who was stony-faced, before turning away and following Voldemort down the steps.

This was much easier to plan for than to actually do, she sent down the bridge, knowing she wouldn't be able to talk much until she was alone.

I know, Draco said in a soothing tone. But anything's possible if you've got enough nerve, remember?

Relief flooded her as he repeated the twins' words. He remembered. And he was right. She could do this.

They had reached the front gate, which swung open for them. Would she have been able to walk through it, now that the bridge existed? Now that the manor would recognize her… as a Malfoy?

"You should say thank you, if your relief is any indication," Voldemort said, not looking at her.

"Thank you, my lord." He thought she was relieved Draco wasn't coming with them. That was… good, hopefully.

He extended his arm to her for Sidealong Apparition, and her chest tightened. He could take her anywhere, in theory.

"I could do that whether you chose to grab my arm or not," he said with a smirk. "But you're practicing being compliant, so I'm giving you the opportunity."

She grabbed onto his arm, holding her breath, and they Apparated away, landing outside his house.

"Lucius tells me that you did well today," Voldemort said as he walked toward the front door. "No trouble holding up your end of our agreement."

"Yes, my lord."

The front door swung open for them, Wormtail bowing toward them and murmuring greetings as they entered.

"Your family is in a safe house now," he continued, ignoring Wormtail completely and walking toward the stairs. "I'll take you to see them tomorrow."

Ginny's heart skipped a beat. "You… you will?"

What's the catch?

"No catch, little saint," he said, amusement in his voice. "Merely proving to you that I'm keeping my word. You would like to see them, wouldn't you?"

The very thought was overwhelming. "I… yes. I would. Very much."

"Then it shall be so."

"Do I… need to play my role, in front of them?"

He glanced over his shoulder at her as they went up the stairs. "Somewhere in between, I think. Perhaps similarly to how you behave in front of the Death Eaters."

That was easy. She could do that.

They walked down the second floor hallway, Ginny fighting back suspicion that she was somehow being tricked into something, and stopped in front of her door.

"In," he said, and she opened the door and walked inside. "Enjoy your afternoon alone. Sleep well."

She nodded at him, and he closed the door, after which it promptly disappeared. She had been expecting it, but just knowing that it was gone, knowing she was trapped in here once again, made her breathing shallow.

Okay, I'm alone, she sent back down the bridge. I'm back at the house. With no door, of course.

I'm glad you're alright, came Draco's voice, and she could feel the relief through the bond. Assuming he keeps his word, I'll see you tomorrow— just one night alone.

It sounded so manageable when he said it like that.

He said he would take me to see my family tomorrow.

He did? That's… that's good, right?

I think so. I worry about it being some kind of trick, but… part of me didn't think I would ever see them again. If I get to see them, even just for a moment, and they're alright… it will be worth it.

I hope you do get to see them.

How are things at the manor?

Fine. Mother is happy I'm home, of course.

Tell me about the fire you mentioned.

There's not much to tell, to be honest. The records don't say how it started, just that there was a terrible fire, and Nicholas Malfoy, the head of the family at the time, died during the blaze. His wife and the two children made it out because they were able to hide in the vault.

Nicholas Malfoy. That was his name.

You said you think Alys caused it? he asked when she didn't say anything. How do you know?

Well, I haven't seen her directly cause it. But she was in the building as it was burning, and she was covered in blood. And she had plenty of reason to want to kill Nicholas Malfoy.

… do I want to know?

Typical abusive wizard lording his power over Muggles. But he was very interested in Alys. The very first time I ever talked to her, she talked about wicked men and not having power to fight back against them— she had to have been talking about him. I wish you could see those memories— maybe it would help you with research.

We can experiment, maybe, if I run into barriers with trying to find information. Do you want me to still focus on the Morrigan? Or should I look more into Nicholas Malfoy?

Ginny bit her lip as she walked to the wardrobe, intent on changing into something more comfortable.

The Morrigan, I think. What happened with Alys and Nicholas Malfoy is more a personal curiosity— learning that is not going to help me gain the second sight.

Got it. And what words am I looking for again?

The second sight. A thin place. The ritual of the two who move as one. There may or may not be any association with crows, but crows are connected to the Morrigan, so maybe. Alys and the other villagers did their rituals in a group of standing stones in the forest surrounding Malfoy Manor, and that's where Alys received the gem as well. Alys also mentioned a special type of mushroom, but I have no idea if that's connected to any of this, or any other details on it, but if you see something about mushrooms, maybe look at that too?

Merlin's beard. You really were just throwing things at the wall and hoping something would stick.

I was working with what I had! Alys is profoundly unhelpful most of the time, and when I see her memories I can't interact with them at all. And I did have a slight handicap while researching.

I resent being called a slight anything.

Ginny giggled, biting her lip to muffle the sound. Alright, a major pain in the arse.

That's better. As long as I make an impact on you.

I don't think there's any doubt of that.

No response.

Draco?

Sorry. This is still just a little surreal for me sometimes. I'll get started on research tonight, and let you know what I find tomorrow. What are you going to do for the rest of the day?

I guess just relax? Merlin, that feels weird to say. But keeping my thoughts neutral is probably the best thing I can do. Maybe I'll read a novel. Weird.

Enjoy, then, he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. Good night, Ginny. I'll see you tomorrow.

Good night, Draco.

AUGUST 4th, 1997

The wind ruffled through Ginny's hair, making a strand of it tickle her face. She blinked, coming to awareness and, after a moment, realized she must be dreaming. She was outside, sitting on a small, grassy hill under the shade of a tree, looking out on a magnificently beautiful lake. Forest lined the far sides of the shore, the trees a great emerald mass against the azure coastline, but the side Ginny was sitting on was almost entirely grass and wildflowers. She was wearing very pale blue robes, the color of the summer sky, and had a sketchbook in her hands. Her right hand held a charcoal pencil, and she was mildly taken aback to see that she was already mid-way through sketching the scenery.

The question was, was this a Tom dream or a regular dream? Ginny was never embodied in her Alys dreams, so it couldn't be an Alys dream.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

A Tom dream, then. She looked to her left and was unsurprised to see him sitting a few feet away from her, looking out at the lake.

"I spent many years here," he continued, "though of course I didn't get to enjoy most of it."

"Where are we?" Ginny asked.

"Albania."

Ginny looked out at the lake again. The weather was perfect— warm, with just the lightest breeze.

"Why didn't you get to enjoy it?"

He laughed. "Because I didn't have a body. Or if I did take a body, it was that of a rat."

This must have been where he had hidden after failing to kill Harry.

"That… must have been very painful," she said, not sure what else to say.

"You can't even imagine. I'll never allow that to happen again."

Ginny said nothing, and directed her gaze back to her sketchbook. It had a thick black leather cover; it was almost bound like a printed book. It reminded her of something, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what.

For a little while, Tom seemed content not to say anything either. He leaned back on his arms, half-reclining, and watched the water.

"Nearly fourteen years here, altogether," he said eventually. "Almost your whole life, I was some bare scrap of existence, clinging to the chance to live again. Fourteen years where I had nothing but time to think."

Ginny glanced at him, cautious. There was always a point to these dreams, or so it seemed to her. What was the point of this one?

"To think," he said, his eyes still on the water. "The point is for me to think."

"To think about what?" she asked.

He smirked. "You, among other things."

Ginny looked away, not wanting to know what that meant.

"I don't understand the point of you," he said.

She scoffed before she could stop herself, and she clapped her free hand to her mouth to stifle it. As she did so, her robe sleeve slid back some, and she saw the initials LV on her wrist, interlaced among the vines of the tattoo. She scowled.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he said.

"Why? You can hear it either way."

"Because I told you to," he said, irritation creeping into his voice.

"I don't have some specific point. I'm a person."

"That's what I don't understand."

"You don't understand that I'm a person?" Ginny said, incredulous.

He shook his head. "I don't understand why the fourth Hallow is a person."

"Maybe I'm not a Hallow. Maybe I'm just… a person."

"Don't be ridiculous. We've been over this."

Ginny said nothing. The breeze picked up a bit, ruffling the pages of her sketchbook, revealing drawings she had apparently done and didn't remember doing.

"What am I supposed to do with you?" he asked. "In all my plans, I never once intended to bring someone with me— I didn't need to. But fate apparently has different ideas. I want to understand why."

"I don't know," Ginny said. "Don't you think it could just be… a coincidence? An accident?"

He tossed something at her, making her flinch before she realized it was a wand. Suddenly greedy, she grabbed it, hoping against hope to feel the spark of magic in her hand.

There was nothing.

"You haven't earned it yet," he said. "You're a long way from that. But look at that wand."

She did, not sure what she was supposed to be seeing. It was unfamiliar to her.

"Thirteen and a half inches long," he said. "Yew, with a phoenix feather core."

She looked up at him, and he smiled.

"Yes, little saint— your wand is a mirror of mine."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"It's what you are. Unless you'd rather be called princess?" He laughed. "You never seem to like those dreams as much as I think you're going to."

"They're a lie. I prefer things that are honest."

"Is this honest enough, then?"

"I suppose so. I remember who I am, and who you are. You aren't pretending we're something different."

"Then a saint you will remain," he said. "Since we're being honest."

Ginny grimaced.

"The wand grants me unbeatable power," he said. "The stone gives me control over departed souls, should I ever want it. And the cloak gives me a foolproof way to hide from danger, though other magics grant the same protection— it's more about having the three together at that point. You, in theory, open doorways to other worlds, and apparently also exist to dangle true immortality right before my eyes— the promise of power to come, maybe? Perhaps that's the point of you. To incentivize me to keep going forward."

Of course her reason for existence had to be about him.

"But what then?" he continued. "I eventually gain a similar power and then… what? There you are, still unkillable, still one of my Hallows. What am I supposed to do with you then?"

"I don't know," she said, fighting back irritation. "Maybe you'll figure it out when you get there."

"Cheeky," he said, though he didn't sound annoyed by it. "I can't jump too far ahead, though. I have to kill your dear Harry Potter before I can think seriously about anything else. I can't use you to open gateways before then. So what am I supposed to do with you in the meantime?"

"Maybe nothing," Ginny tried. "Maybe you can just leave me alone."

He smirked. "You say that, but if I left you locked away in your vault, you would be very unhappy."

Her stomach clenched at the thought, and his smirk widened.

"The thought is tempting, don't misunderstand me," he said. "Knowing you're safely tucked away, out of sight, is soothing. But, as I told you, holding the Hallows is not enough." He turned to look at her, his dark eyes meeting hers. "They have to be won."

Ginny felt frozen under his gaze, like she wanted to run but her muscles had turned to stone.

"The cloak doesn't care if I lock it away, even for years at a time, but you are, as you say, a person. How do I win you, Ginny?"

"I don't know what that means."

He sighed before looking back at the lake. "I don't either. So here we sit."

Ginny said nothing, fighting the urge to get up, reminding herself of her dad and his Muggle magic tricks.

"Have you traveled out of the country before?" he asked, as though they were having a perfectly ordinary chat between friends.

"Once," she said after a moment. "To Egypt."

"Ah yes. I think Wormtail mentioned something to that effect."

Ginny grimaced at the reminder of Scabbers.

"You see? Another sign of fate— of all the wizarding families he could have ended up in, he ended up in yours. Of all of my followers, he was the one who was instrumental in my return, though I would never have anticipated it. We're connected, you and I. You can't get away from it."

With a start, she realized what the sketchbook reminded her of— the diary. She tossed it away from her, its pages flapping erratically as it tumbled a bit down the hill. With a wave of his wand, Tom sent it back to her.

"Don't throw away my gifts, it's rude. That seems to be a trend, have you noticed? You enjoy them until you realize what they are."

"I don't want them," she said.

Annoyance flickered over his face. "No, you don't want them when you realize I gave them to you. Before that, you're perfectly happy to accept them."

"Why did you take away my pain?"

He blinked. "What?"

"You said it was a gift. Why?"

He smirked. "Am I not allowed to reward you?"

"You don't do anything without a purpose. The tiara reinforces my role in front of your followers. But this isn't something anyone else would know about."

"The purpose was to reward you."

"Why?"

"You have to be the first person who's ever asked me that. My followers would be falling all over themselves to thank me, and all you can do is ask why."

"I'm not much for groveling," she said, wrinkling her nose.

He laughed. "Don't tempt me. I would enjoy it. I know you saw the initials on your arm. I could make you."

She grimaced again, which only made him laugh more.

"When everyone knows you're a monster, you needn't waste time doing every monstrous thing," he said. "You know who I am and what I'm capable of. I don't need to spend every second proving it to you."

"Is that why you're letting me see my family?"

"Yes. I told you before that if you cooperate with me, I will give you what you want— within reason, of course."

"Forgive me for not trusting your word," she said with a sneer, and the wind grew colder for a second. "Given my past experiences with you."

"You know, you really are either remarkably brave or remarkably stupid. No one out in the waking world would speak to me that way."

"This is my dream world, isn't it?" she asked, her stomach tightening. "I can do what I want."

He smiled at her, though it was cold. "Yes. Your little dream world. But I have power here too. Stand up."

She felt the tattoo activate at once, even though his voice didn't change. As though pulled by a string, her body yanked to her feet. He stood as well, and walked closer to her. She unconsciously took a step back, her adrenaline overtaking her.

"Don't run away," he said, and her feet became rooted to the ground. "There's nowhere to go, and I have no desire to chase you."

He walked closer to her, and she held her breath. This was just a dream. Whatever happened here wasn't real.

"What have I told you about that?" he asked.

"This is real right now," she whispered.

"That's right," he said. "Draco calls you a bad listener, but maybe you just don't listen to him. You listen to me."

She said nothing, her heart pounding, as he conjured the snake locket in his hand.

"I forgot to give you this at the beginning," he said, a cruel smile marring his handsome features. "I was distracted."

He stepped behind her, out of her line of sight, and she couldn't stop herself from whimpering. She couldn't move, she couldn't see him…

He grabbed her hair and moved it to one shoulder, then slid the locket around her neck and fastened the clasp. She gasped as the pendant touched her chest— it was so cold it burned.

"Don't fight it, and it won't hurt," he said, lingering for a moment with his hand on the back of her neck.

She tried very hard not to fight it, whatever that meant. She stood still, and made herself look out at the water. It was such a vibrant shade of blue— shocking, in a way. Not at all like the flat grey of the ocean.

She shouldn't think about the ocean here.

"What is it for?" she asked. "The locket."

"It's a gift." He walked around to face her again.

"I know, but why? What is it doing that I'm fighting against?"

He tilted his head a little, considering. "You could think of it like a symbol, I suppose. A sign of my power, of who I am and who I descend from. You're fighting against that."

That was not something she could stop fighting against.

"Sure you can. You're choosing not to."

Ginny looked away, but he didn't let her—he reached out and pushed her face forward again.

"I have much more practice with eternity, Ginny," he said softly. "Nearly your whole life, I waited here, waited for my chance to strike back against my enemies. Your little three months of imprisonment don't compare. If you think you can outlast me, you're sadly mistaken." He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Go back to sleep now, and enjoy your visit with your family tomorrow. Remember who is giving you that time, and who can take it away."

Ginny woke up, breathing hard but not in a panic. It was the middle of the night— Draco was probably sleeping. She would have to wait until tomorrow to tell him that their plan was working.

I will freely admit, I shamelessly stole the monster quote from Leigh Bardugo's Six of Crows because it is just *chef's kiss.* Enjoy, friends!