Traitors

By Theresa Tezengi

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters, only the plot.



So many words could explain how she felt, and yet she still could not find the right one. Who was she; did she understand what was happening? Or was she still that stupid little girl who was able to be lured into the chamber by the young, handsome and charming Voldemort?

All she knew was that she couldn’t help it, temptation had got the better of her, and she couldn’t fight no matter how hard she tried. It had become painfully obvious who was winning the war, and it wasn’t her side. So did it matter that she wasn’t being faithful to the Order? Most of her family was either dead, dying or injured and all her friends were tired and losing heart.

So if the only way to rid the feeling was to fraternise with enemy, did it matter, could she still be called a Gryffindor, courageous and proud? It felt like she was losing herself in the battle of self, that every day was a fight to keep her spirit, her mind, her love alive. And she knows, deep within her heart, that she wants the battle to be over, for whomever to win so she can find a proper bed and go to sleep and never have to wake up again, never have to feel the pain and distress that loss and war brings.

To see her loved ones eyes glaze over, their empty shells gazing up at the sky never again being able to see its beauty. Beauty, what was that anymore?

All she knows is that she needs to be touched, kissed frantically like the world doesn’t exist so for one moment as she can rival in the sheer intensity of it all. And to her, it doesn’t matter anymore that he wears a dark mask, that his eyes are the only things visible to her when they stand across the room from each other just looking at each other, just wondering how much more the other can take.

But neither gives in, neither breaks down, no that would be showing weakness so instead they just let loose of their emotions in the passion that binds their bodies together. She knows that without it she can die, as it’s what gets her heart pounding, faster, her pupils dilated, it shows her she is alive.

And she knows he is feeling the same too. His eyes become filled with something unknowable, something that wasn’t there when she was just looking at him, maybe it is lust. She doesn’t care though, for as long as she lives another day, feels another day, kills another enemy, and then she is happy. She has nothing to lose anymore, not her innocence, her youth, her happiness or her dignity.

Only her pride which he, neither, can let go of as it makes her fierce, fiery and the red head she was born to be however much the hair dyeing charm may beg to differ. What never ceases to amaze her is their inability to talk to each other, they may spend hours in each other’s arms, holding onto the warmth that the other radiates, but no words are exchanged.

Why, she because she knows, she’s afraid, that if she speaks everything will fall apart, all the lies she whispers to herself at night will be just that-lies. The fragile thing that could be labelled as a relationship will shatter and everything that she needs from him will be destroyed. She needs him as he needs her, so she will not talk if that’s all that’s necessary.

And she never replays the times at Hogwarts were he would ridicule her and her family, she forgets the things he said to her on their first meeting during the war, she doesn’t remember who is, who he was and what he does. Because it doesn’t matter anymore, nothing does, only the feel of his blood pumping, the sound that shows her that she’s not a ghost. In a strange way she loves him, and for that she is willing to forgive and forget all his faults and just move to the pace he creates.

She’s scared though very scared, not for the missing Luna, not that Harry won’t kill the Dark Lord or that she could die if her side fails, all she cares about is that he holds her; so she can fill his eyes with emotion and remove his black hood, for one more night.

The first time it had been more of a coincidence then anything, Harry bloody Potter had put her in a safe house so she ‘could be safe’ with the promise of a ‘make it up to you later’. Well that was good and all, but she really didn’t want Harry to make it up to her, but it didn’t matter she was stuck in that house until someone remembered that she was there. Suddenly there was a loud bang from the door being blown down. Death Eaters. She didn’t move because the first thing that went through her mind was Charlie, and that’s was when she saw his eyes boring into hers, his arms circling her waist and her body realising that she was apparating away.

It all seems like a dream now, that she looks back at the dramatic way he seemed to come and take her away, but she soon realised it was no act as she fell into dirty old room with a thud. As she turned to find her capturer, he left the room with a flourish of robes with the same dramatic air about him.

She must’ve been in that room for at least three hours, where she sat debating her fate, wondering what had happened to her brother Charlie, the secret keeper for the safe house, and what was happening to Harry. But when he returned, she lost her voice, her courage, her want to yell and fight him until he gave her answers, she fell silent because his essence seemed to lull and calm her, even though she wanted to rip his throat out. He walked towards her each step bringing her closer to his being, and yet she could not scream only silent tears poured down her cheeks as she stayed rooted to the spot as he made his descent towards her.

‘Ginevra’ he muttered roughly.

Something in the way he said her name brought her out her stupor, and she realised who she was looking at, a person who she never thought would know her name, yet alone say it. He came to stand before her, only inches away from her, his eyes looking deep into her and as hard as she looked, she couldn’t tell whether his eyes were blue, green or grey; his pupils were so large in the dark and dirty room that she couldn’t clearly state their colour.

‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered ‘its war we all die.’

‘Charlie? What did you do to him,’ she said quickly becoming hysterical. ‘What do you want with me, what’s happened, why have you brought me here?’

And before she could even raise her hand to take a swipe at him, he hit her, slapped his opened palm in the face so hard that she crumbled to the ground. Now she was pretty much hysterical, sobbing so hard her breath was coming in gasps, so surprised that she couldn’t even stand.

‘Stop!’ he bellowed. ‘Your brother is dead, that’s how we found the house. I brought you here to spare your life. Do not make me regret my choice.’

She looked up, her sobs somewhat subdued as she looked up at him, feeling more frightened of him, for why would he save her life? He had ulterior motives that was for sure but who was he, if he would only remove his mask.

Taking a huge breath she asked, ‘Why have you brought me here? What do you want from me!’ she yelled up at him, the effect somewhat lost from her position on the ground.

‘Do not think I want anything from you, Weaslette,’ he sneered. ‘I just thought you would...You’re to stay here until the morning, and then I will take you back to Diagon Alley from there you can apparate back to where ever you want.’

‘I... Thank you,’ she said. ‘But you can’t have done this for no reason.’

‘Yes, because only weasels and mudbloods have feeling, don’t they?’ he yelled. ‘Look, all I want is for you to be safe, that’s all I want,’ he said whispering the last bit.

And as he turned to leave, she saw the light reflecting into his eyes, and she saw his distinct grey eyes staring back at her. But when the door clicked, she didn’t think about the discovery she had just made, but about what had happened to her favourite brother, Charlie. And in that tiny room she stayed all night on the floor, crying, holding herself as the cold air seeped into her veins and her blood seemed to freeze and her body stilled. Her tears stopped falling, for it was like her body could not produce anymore tears to shed and even though she was so tired she could not sleep, not out of fear, but out of fatigue itself. And she couldn’t remember how long she had been lying there; only that she was there until he came back and sneered at her.

‘I knew Weasleys were stupid, but this is just crossing the line,’ his eyes narrowed in annoyance. ‘There is a bed in this room, you do realise?’

‘How did you know I was in that house?’ she asked the question that had been plaguing her all night. ‘How is it that nothing happened to you?’

‘Well when I came into the room, there you were standing there like a little poor weasel in your rags,’ he sneered, she couldn’t see it under his hood but she could feel it. ‘And I cast a spell on you and well brought you here.’

The strangest thing happened, she didn’t know what possessed her to do what she did, as if a supernatural force was pulling her to him, slowly, almost cruelly, she sauntered over to him. And carefully, painfully, she removed his mask, he didn’t even move only shutting his eyes like her fingers were burning his skin but also soothing him.

And she removed it to see his blond hair falling into his eyes and his pale pointy face that once when contorted could be full of scorn, but now the perfect pale skin no longer existed. It was now marred with many gashes slicing his once angelic marble skin. She lifted her hand to run it across the newly forming scar, but his hand grabbed her and held her arm centimetres from his face.

‘I left the scene to bring you here,’ he snapped. ‘And this is the price I had to pay.’

‘Let me heal you with my touch,’ she whispered. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

And slowly he let her arm go and she traced his gashes, her warm fingers soothing him, calming him making him relax in to her hands. And just as suddenly as it started it was over.

‘Enough!’ he said, halting her hand. ‘I have to take you back.’

‘Just answer me one more question,’ she whispered, looking deep into his eyes. ‘Why did you save me, when you suffered, are you not the Draco Malfoy that I once knew?’

‘Yes, I am still that cruel man. I kill, I hurt, but unbeknownst to you, I can love, and I have loved you all my life, Ginevra Weasley, even if you, or I, haven’t known it,’ and with that she felt the warm sensation of a portkey being pushed into her hand.