He was supposed to be their hero. He was supposed to bring about the new era of harmony and peace in their world. All the old quarrels, all the old prejudices, they were supposed to evaporate in the glory of his victory - a victory for all of them.

He was supposed to be their hero. But when the revolution came, and the tenuous peace he’d worked hard to earn - for all of them - dissipated like smoke.

He was supposed to be their hero. But he was only a man. A man who betrayed them all. A man who ripped apart the world.


* * *

The city had been under siege for days. The Muggles, always so unobservant, believed it was a part of their very own war. They didn’t see the wizards skulking around, destroying everything in their path as they searched for whatever it was that they were after. The Wizard’s Alliance was clever in its tactics - they hide their advances under cover of the riots as the Muggles continued to destroy each other.

Ginny stepped out into the abandoned street, carefully avoiding the rubble that lay in clusters all around. Diagon Alley, long since abandoned, was still a favorite target of the Alliance. She had been trapped for three days, and it finally seemed as if the siege was over - or, at least, had paused for a few moments. She decided to take her chances to get away while she could. They would undoubtedly miss her back at the refuge camp.

She held out her wand - her scarred and worn wand. She’d hoped to find a spare by foraging through the abandoned stores. Ginny knew that it was a remote possibility. Wands had all been raided as soon as the wandmakers had been killed, but it would be worth the risk coming here, if only she happened to find a new wand. She wasn’t sure how much longer hers would continue to work. And if that happened, she was dead.

Smoke - or fog - obscured her vision and dampened the scant amount of light she dared to allow her wand to emit. Her legs were shaky, aching from the hours she’d spent crouched in the corner of the bookshop, hiding among the empty shelves. Her stomach ached with hunger and her head swam, making her feel faint. She needed to find what she’d come for and make her way back to the Ministry rendezvous point.

She stumbled, her foot catching on a giant chunk of brick, and she had to catch herself. The sound echoed through the empty area, and she felt her heart start to pound. Ginny took a shaky breath, while she stood perfectly still, tense and ready to run if she were to find that she was no longer alone.

The pouch of her over-sized jacket - she’d rummaged through a cottage one night when the weather had turned foul and it was all she could find to protect herself from the torrential downpour - was stuffed with dusty packets of herbs she’d found while scavenging. Medical supplies were always in short supply these days, and she carried a fortune’s worth of potion ingredients.

“Little Ginny Weasley... aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” a voice called out from the fog in front of her. Her heart leapt into her throat as panic overtook her. She knew that voice.

“Michael. It’s been quite awhile,” she said, steeling herself to ensure her voice held steady.

“You’re looking rather worse than the last time we met,” he said, taking a step forward, emerging from the shadow. He was wearing the dark robes he’d worn since the day he’d defected to the Alliance.

Ginny held her ground, even as she desperately wanted to run as far away as she could. But he’d only follow, as she knew from experience.

“Well, the last time, you blew up the bridge I was I standing on and I fell ten feet into a freezing cold river,” she said, crossing her arms and tossing her head. Attitude. Michael Corner always responded when she gave him a bit of attitude, distracted him just enough so she could slip away.

“If you would just come to your senses, I could stop trying to kill you,” he said, his words slow and seductive.

“You’re the one who has lost his senses, Michael. How can you stand there and say that to me? We fought together. We were on the same side. And now, you’re standing there, trying to entice me to betray everything we sacrificed to join in the collective madness you’ve participated in,” she spat, holding her want out defensively. “We were on the same side!”

“We’re remaking our society, Ginny. We’re crushing out the sickness and making it whole again. Healing it.”

“It’s madness! Look around you, Michael. Do you call this healing? We were supposed to rebuild. And you, and the rest of the Alliance lunatics, have ripped apart what was left.”

“We were promised one thing, but then they turned around and forgave all the criminals and werewolves and giants who tried to wipe us all out. You embraced them when they should have been punished.”

“We are never going to agree, Michael. We’re at an impasse. You’re just going to have to keep trying to kill me,” she said.

“I’ll have you eventually, Ginny. Willingly or not.”

“So you’ve said,” she said wearily. He waved his wand and the fog cleared, revealing three figures standing behind him. She was outnumbered.

“And so it will be,” he said, with a dangerous spark in his eyes. She tensed, preparing to react to whatever curse they threw at her. Ginny knew that she had no way to Disapparate out of the situation - even if she weren’t too weak for it, the Alliance had warded the entire city against it at the outset of the revolution, and the Ministry hadn’t found a way to restore it yet.

It was the full-body binding curse that got her. She’d dodged the Stunning hexes deftly, shooting wildly as she ran for cover, but just before she ducked behind a building wall, it hit her and she flew forward as her entire body froze, immobilizing her. She landed face down, unable to throw her hands out to soften the fall, her forehead bouncing painfully off the concrete.

Footsteps crunched from behind, as he came upon her slowly. His hands were on her shoulder - turning her over. He peered down at her and reached a hand out to stroke her face.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, Ginny,” he drawled. She felt a wave of revulsion overwhelm her as she recalled the last time he’d come this close to capturing her, the same words he’d used then. She tasted blood in her mouth, and she stared at him, channeling as much rage as she could into her eyes. She was helpless to defend herself - it was her only weapon.

“Just make it quick, Corner,” one of the others called out impatiently. “Tom thinks the Ministry is heading this way.”

Michael bent over her, his face very close to Ginny’s. She could see her own reflection in his eyes.

“I told you I would have you, one way or the other,” he whispered, as his hand trailed down her face. He stroked her cheekbone, and ran his finger down across her lip to her neck. “You keep slipping out of my reach.”

She struggled against the curse, emitting a grunt of frustration as she failed. She was completely unable to move, to defend herself, as he hands began to wander lower.

“But now, I have you,” he whispered, and her heart nearly stopped beating in panic. His hand closed over her breast - she could feel it through the worn fabric of her dingy jacket.

A bright flash blinded her just then, the light filling her line of sight. Michael’s face slackened into a strange expression, and he collapsed on top of her, his elbow jabbing her painfully in the midsection.

There were a few more flashes of light, but Corner was obscuring her vision completely, and she couldn’t see what was happening. Accompanying thuds sounded, and she could only assume that Corner’s accomplices had been take out. But the question was by whom? Friend or foe?

There was a pause, a moment of deafening, breathless silence as Ginny continued her struggle against the spell. She couldn’t feel her arms and had no idea if she’d managed to hold on to her wand when she’d fell. And then heavy footsteps sounded, walking towards her.

She debated her options. She could hope for the best and that the person heading towards her would turn out to be friendly - best case, Ministry (although technically, she was absent from the camp without permission, so it wasn’t a perfect option). She could close her eyes and play dead, and hopefully the person would leave. But then she’d be trapped in an abandoned alley in an abandoned section of the city where no one knew to look for her. Neither of these options really suited her, and so she continued to struggle, fighting the curse.

Her efforts were rewarded slightly as she was able to move her fingers - just enough to know that her wand was still in her hand.

The footsteps stopped just beside her head. Arms reached down and dragged Michael’s motionless body off of her. She could see the soft glow of a spell and then feeling began rushing back into her limbs. She felt them unfreeze, and sighed with relief as she gripped her wand tightly in her hand. She tensed, ready to jump to her feet and blast her way out of the alley.

But as the curse dissipated, she began to feel the full effect of the fall she’d taken. She was badly injured - she was certain that her right leg was broken, and that perhaps one of her ribs were cracked.

A hand reached down, brushing her forehead lightly. She tried to move, to shift away, but she hurt too much. She was starting to feel dizzy, and added a concussion to her list of potential injuries. She squinted, trying to focus her swimming vision, as her - Rescuer? Captor? Friend? - leaned over.

“Well, well. Looks like I’ve found myself a weasel,” a cold voice drawled, and she felt her pulse quicken. “The last one I needed to complete the full set.”

Her blood ran cold and a hundred equally intense emotions threatened to overwhelm her.

Draco Malfoy. Instigator and leader of the Wizard’s Alliance, the one who had started it all. The man who had ripped apart the world. Who had killed her entire family. He had hunted them all down, one by one, until she was the last one.

And now he had her.

Ginny stared up at Draco Malfoy, his steely grey eyes glinting malevolently down at her. No expression on his face, except for a half-grin that seemed more dangerous than amused.

“You’ve been quite the challenge to track down, slippery little weasel. But I’ve found you now,” he said.

“Took you long enough to catch me. No wonder you were such a terrible Seeker,” she said, her voice gasping and shaky, despite her attempt to fill it with bravado she didn’t feel. She hurt too much to be brave when the man who had literally ruined everything was crouching above her while she was stretched out on the ground, unable to move.

“Well, now that I have you, I’m not going to let you slip away from me again,” he said.

“Why do all the people who try to kill me keep saying that?” she sighed. “And you haven’t caught me before, Malfoy. When I slip away, it will be the first time you’ll have the pleasure of being bested by me.”

“We’ll see about that. It is, after all, what every single one of your brothers said when I caught them. Now try not to squirm, I don’t want to get your blood on my robes if I can help it,” he said, brushing off her promise to escape with a casual reference to the fact that he’d murdered her family. As she started violently thrashing around, he deftly plucked her wand out of her weakening grip, and gathered her in his arms, hauling her up off the ground.

She cried out as the pain in her leg and ribs overwhelmed her.

“Hold on tight, now,” Malfoy whispered, sending a wave of horror to the pit of her stomach. She continued trying to squirm free from his grip, fighting the pain as she grew more desperate. If she let him take her, it would certainly mean her death. He would have the full set. She felt him sigh, and then he readjusted his hold on her, tightening his grip, pulling her close to his chest.

Her head was spinning wildly, until the world faded to black.

* * *

Ginny was warm and deliciously comfortable, lying on something soft. She was completely surrounded by it. She sighed happily, turning over and curling up on her side, unwilling to let this lovely dream fade away before she was ready to wake up. It was the best she’d felt in months.

But then her memories of the alley surfaced, jolting her fully awake. Her eyes popped open and she jumped up, looking around her wildly, desperately hoping that by some miracle her wand was within reach.

Before her fear and desperation could entirely overwhelm her, she forced herself to pause. To take a deep breath, to focus. To take in her surroundings.

She was kneeling on the soft down mattress of a large bed, covered by a plush white duvet, with a pile of plump white pillows propped against the solid oak headboard. Unbidden, her fingers stroked the luxuriously soft fabric of the sheets. Everything was so white, so clean. Ginny had become so accustomed to dingy colours as the Ministry began conserving magic, mandating that magic could no longer be used for menial, every day tasks. As they struggled to keep Muggle machines powered - the war demolishing much of their electrical infrastructure - Ginny had been washing her clothes by hand for a year.

Sunlight was streaming in through sheet white curtains hung at the large window, illuminating the large room. It was filled with beautiful, shining oak furniture - an armoire, a dressing table and plush chair, a desk and a cozy-looking arm chair that sat next to a bookshelf filled with large dusty tomes. Wherever she was, it was entirely untouched by the ravages of the ongoing wars.

She stood up, stretching out her limbs. Her head was clear, her leg stronger than ever. She’d been healed - another luxury. The Ministry reserved healers’ powers and potions for only the most desperate emergencies, as they desperately tried to conserve magical ingredients.

She was wearing a clean pair of soft cotton pants and a t-shirt, Ginny noted as she walked around the room. She remembered pieces of the encounter in the alley - Michael Corner nearly capturing her, Draco Malfoy actually capturing her and taking her wand.

Ginny’s survival instinct jumped into overdrive as she realized with a panic that she didn’t have her wand. Without it, she’d be as good as dead, a fact she was desperately aware of.

The door clicked open just as she was struggling to wrench open the heavy window. Outside, an expanse of green manicured lawn stretched far, until it met a line of trees. She was probably three stories above ground - too high to jump - but she was convinced she could find a way to climb down if she could just get to the roof.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Malfoy said from behind her. She swung about, assuming a defensive stance. She felt so naked without her wand.

He was wearing dark trousers and crisp white shirt, all casual elegance. A woman stood behind him, carrying a tray.

“Opening the window will just trigger the security wards and then we’ll have quite the mess on our hands,” he said. The women walked towards her, placed the tray on the desk next to where Ginny was standing, and left the room quietly. “Besides, you haven’t had breakfast yet, and my kitchen elf makes possibly the best croissants this side of France.”

Ginny glanced down at the tray - a plate filled with pastry, a glass of juice, a steaming mug of tea, and a sight that nearly made her knees weak, a bowl of fruit. No one could get fresh fruit any more.

“Why am I still alive?” she demanded, ignoring the food despite the way her mouth was watering. She leaned against the desk and crossed her arms in front of her, hoping to project an aggressive stance and to keep her hands from itching for want of her wand.

“You indicated that you always seem to slip away from those who try to kill you. Since I have no intention of allowing that to happen, I thought this might be a more successful tactic,” he answered with an infuriating smirk.

“Are you trying to lure me to your cause?” she asked, as the idea dawned on her. Why else would he be keeping her alive? “Fatten me up with the kind of food no one can get any more, spoil me with your facade of luxury, until I betray everyone and join you?”

“That sounds rather devious. That must be my true purpose,” he said, completely deadpan.

“If only I were that foolish. I know very well, from the best of Ministry intelligence, that your side is faring even worse than ours. Starving, freezing, barely able to keep your people alive. Only those at the top appear to be carrying on as if nothing has changed. Charming, all this luxury, while those dying for your empty cause suffer and starve,” she spat, her rage bubbling up.

“Of course you can’t be fooled that easily,” he answered with a condescending shrug.

“Give me back my wand,” she demanded.

“I’m sure I’ll return it eventually. Although why you’ll want it, I don’t know. It’s so battered, I’m shocked it even still works,” he said.

She stared at him, trying to read his body language, to figure out his purpose.

“I could have someone make you a new one,” he said, and Ginny’s heart skipped a beat at the very thought of a brand new wand.

“There are no wandmakers left. Your followers destroyed them all,” she spat.

“I can see how you might believe that,” he said, again, with a casual shrug. “Think about it - it’s a fairly generous offer. Think of how much you could accomplish if only your wand worked properly.”

“Why would you try to help me? More importantly, what makes you think I would let you help me?” she cried out, her suspicions spiraling out of control.

“All interesting questions. I’ll let you ponder my nefarious motives while you have breakfast. Like so many of your Ministry accomplices, you’re looking terribly skinny,” he said, with a pointed look. “We’ve been fighting each other for two years, Weasley. Take a day off. Eat a proper meal, sleep in a proper bed. The war will still be going on tomorrow.”

And then he turned and left. She heard the lock click as he shut the door, locking her in.

Chapter 3

Days passed. Malfoy kept her locked in that bedroom, and at first, she fretted anxiously, pacing the room, examining the windows, the door, the bathroom, the closets - anywhere there could possibly have been a means of escape. It was a futile effort. She wasn’t sure what spell he was using - or how he had enough magic at his disposal to have even cast it - but she couldn’t even put her hand on the doorknob. If there was a way to escape, a spell was shielding it from her.

But after two days of stubbornly refusing to eat and exhausting the endless stretch of hours searching for an impossible escape, she gave into her hunger. Ginny decided to take advantage of Malfoy’s hospitality and eat as much as she could, recognizing the opportunity to regain her strength at the expense of his resources. Eating regularly eventually led to napping - long, delicious 2 hour stretches in the mornings and in the afternoons.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had enough sleep - since before the Alliance attacked and the world fell apart. There was too much work to do - the Ministry had mandated every second of her life since the war began. The day she’d left the camp to raid Diagon Alley had been the first time in years that she’d shirked her assigned task that day. Ginny wondered if they’d noticed she was missing.

Almost all of her friends were gone these days - either dead, or they’d defected, which was as good as dead. With her family dead or missing - presumed captured and killed by the Alliance - life had taken a rather lonely turn.

“What am I even fighting for?” she asked herself, the morning of the seventh day. She was seated at the desk, a half eaten piece of toast in her hand and bowl of fruit in front of her, as she flipped through that morning’s Quibbler, which she’d propped up against the wall so she could read the latest Alliance propaganda. Luna’s defection had been one of the hardest to take.

“That is the million Galleon question,” Malfoy said. He must have come in while she’d been enjoying her toast. He’d taken to visiting each morning around breakfast time. They’d trade insults and taunts, and he would ignore her demands to be released and to have her wand returned to her. “What are you fighting for?”

“To get back what you stole from us,” Ginny said, her voice heavy.

“And what exactly has been stolen?” he asked. “At least by me.”

“Peace. Freedom. Security,” she spat, jumping up. “Magic!”

He stared at her, that calculated expressionless look he met her with every morning. It was so blank, so devoid of any human emotion. She wondered what had happened to the bratty, quick-tempered boy she’d gone to school with. Despite the endless list of faults, that Draco Malfoy had at least been capable of emotion. Ginny was spending too much of her energy wondering what was happening behind that mask of his.

“Care to take a walk?” he asked her. She gasped at him in shock. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been outside - you’re getting terribly pasty.”

“What’s your motive?” she cried, her frustration cresting. “Am I not an enemy prisoner? Shouldn’t you be torturing me for information, treating me so poorly that I’d do or say anything for some kind of relief? Or shouldn’t you at least be starving me?”

“There are many different kinds of torture, Weasley,” he said, with a small smile, breaking his mask. He walked out the door, leaving it open behind him. She stood for a moment in stunned silence, but then her training kicked in, overriding her shock. She dashed after him.

If captured, it is imperative that you use all your resources to gather as much information as you can about the Enemy. You must provide as much false information as possible to the Enemy. You must exhaust as much of the Enemy’s resources as possible. Every bit of magic, potion, energy and resources you can make the Enemy waste on you, the better you serve Our cause.

She followed him out the door with a renewed resolve. She was angry with herself - warm food, fresh clothing and a comfortable bed, and she’d become complacent in the house of the Enemy. The worst one of all - the man who’d killed her family. It was time to escape or die trying.

“The weather has turned quite cold. You’ll be wanting to put this one,” he said at the grand entrance of the mansion that was her prison. She’d followed his quick footsteps down a marble hallway, lit by candles burning in polished brass braziers. He was holding out a thick woolen coat, waiting for her to take it. It reminded her of the last new coat she’d bought, in celebration of beginning a new position at the Ministry. It was back when the stores, even the Muggle stores, were filled with a seemingly endless amount of choices.

“I’d rather the jacket I was wearing when you captured me,” she said, crossing her arms in defiance. “Could I have it back?”

“Suit yourself,” he said and gave an irritated snap of his fingers. An elf appeared, carrying the oversized, ratty and dirty rain jacket. Malfoy handed the coat he’d offered back to the elf.

“You knew I’d want my jacket. How?” she asked as she shrugged it on.
r32;“Ministry captives always insist on having their original possessions returned to them. I haven’t figured out the point as of yet, but you’re all incredibly consistent about it,” he explained. “And you, Weasley, are Ministry to the core.”

He pressed his palm against an engraved panel on the door, and there was a great sound of metal grinding as the lock turned and the door swung open.

“That’s quite the security measure,” she commented as she stepped outside. A bracingly cold wind whipped through her hair and she had to grit her teeth to keep them from chattering.

“An unfortunate necessity,” he shrugged.

“Unfortunate, yes. Considering that it now appears as if the best way to escape this lovely prison of yours is to merely deprive you of your hand,” she said. He cast her a sideways glance, seemingly amused.

“You can certainly try to cut off my hand if you think it will help, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said, a cold warning evident in his voice. He led her down a pathway until they were walking through a massive garden. She looked around her, and was pleased to note that what had obviously once been designed as a pleasure garden had been converted to grow vegetables. “But you’re Ministry, so you’ll try anyway.”

“I should just stay here, a docile captive?” she snapped. He halted his tried abruptly and turned to face her, his stark, cold eyes zeroing in on hers.

“Have you not been treated exceedingly well?” he demanded, his voice icy and dangerous. “Have I not provided for your every need? Better, in fact, than your precious Ministry has?”

“Even if that is the case, what does it matter if I’m here against my will?”

“Then you can’t possibly be Ministry, Weasley, because not a single one of them has had any will of their own.”

“We have structure and order. In times of crisis, it’s essential to survival,” she shot back.

“So they all say,” he sighed. He turned away, as if bored with the conversation. Or so she thought, before he turned back and walked forward, closing the distance between the two of them, crowding her back against the low brick wall lining the pathway. He pressed forward, forcing her to stare up at him.

“And how well has this order and structure served?” he asked, his voice seductively soft. “You, little Ginny Weasley, are powerless and starving. Completely alone in the world. Is there anyone back at the Ministry camp even searching for you?”

His echo of the very question she’d asked herself that morning stung and her temper flared up, searing her self-control.

“No. You killed everyone who loved me,” she answered back, boldly. She and Ron had been the last. He had been killed six months ago, Ministry intelligence had told her. Ronald Wealsey was captured by the Enemy and did not survive their interrogation. He refused to provide any information and the Enemy was merciless. Ronald Weasley is a hero. We remember him and all other heroes who died defending us against the Enemy.

“Then what are you fighting for?” he asked.

“Hatred,” she answered passionately, her eyes burning even as she forced herself not to blink, lest they well over with tears.

He stared at her, mask firmly in place.

“It appears as if our two factions have more in common than you think,” he said with a cold smile that chilled her to the bone. He stepped away, and walked further down the path, leading into the trees.

* * *

After that afternoon, a daily walk was added to her strange routine as Malfoy’s captive. Sometimes he’d supervise her, antagonizing her the entire hour he led her around the sprawling property, poking all of her emotional wounds until she was nearly shaking with fury. But most days, it was a house elf who led her about, keeping a punishing pace and shocking her with a bolt of power whenever she fell behind.

The main effect of the generous helpings of food, warm and clean clothing, hot showers and brisk exercise interspersed with long periods of uninterrupted sleep was that Ginny felt stronger than she had in over a year - since the food shortages began and the Ministry encampment was cut off from the electrical grid.

The simple truth was that she had trouble recognizing how precarious her situation was because of how comfortable her unconventional prison was. There were moments when she remembered how dangerous Malfoy was, but those moments were fleeting - especially as she saw less of him.

The Ministry warned about it. That once captured, the Alliance would do everything it could to win your trust, your confidence, to indoctrinate you to their cause through simple luxury. Ginny bristled at the thought and, remembering all those that she had lost at his hand, strengthened her resolve to defy Malfoy. She would not become one of the Traitors who gave up everything for the promise of daily meals.

Her chance came when the house elf who was leading her on her walk that afternoon became distracted by a large group of crows feasting on the vegetable garden. He screamed in fury and charged toward them, sparks flying as he tried to scare them off. Ginny stepped forward, planning to assist, feeling the same sense of panic that the house elf must have been experiencing - food was so scarce now, and with winter’s imminent approach, it was crucial to harvest and store everything possible. But then she realized it was her opportunity

While the house elf fought a rapidly losing battle against the birds gorging themselves, Ginny slipped away quietly. She pushed her way through a giant hedge that lined the entire garden, and broke into a run.

* * * *

She reached a village. Surrounding Malfoy’s property had been a terribly dense wood, and while she wasn’t sure how long it had taken her to get through it or which direction she’d been running, she was knew it had been a few hours. Ginny was shaking from cold, her old rain jacket offering little protection against the biting wind. As she finally saw the trees begin to part, and stumbled out through the branches to a worn cobblestone road, she looked around her, bewildered.

It was definitely a village of wizards, there was no mistaking it. Ginny could feel it in the air and could recognize it by the very way the dilapidated stone cottages all hung together, as if by magic. But there were no villages left. All had been destroyed. There was no magic left to rebuild them.

She hurried down the main road, looking furtively about her. While the obvious telltale signs of the war’s impact were everywhere - every available plot of land growing vegetables, all shutters and blinds closed tightly against prying eyes, not one person to be seen out on the street, no smoke billowing from any of the chimneys - the village seemed relatively intact.

Ginny just couldn’t believe what she was seeing. When the fighting first erupted after the massacre of the Wizengamot, almost everyone had gone into hiding. But then the villages began to fall, as wizards hunted each other down. Diagon Alley had been completely destroyed, Hogsmeade had fallen shortly after. Ginny had been told that the Ministry encampment, protected by rotating watches of wizards, was the largest remaining settlement of magical people.

“Drinking in the atmosphere of my little village, Weasley? It’s quite lovely this time of year, your timing is rather fortunate,” Malfoy’s cold voice said from behind her. She spun around, her heart leaping into her throat. Wearing a heavy cashmere jumper, walking towards her with a casual and leisurely stride, against the idyllic backdrop of this quaint village, Ginny stared at him as he approached, a startling feeling overwhelming her. She felt as if she’d been knocked backwards in time. To back before it all began.

Before the man walking so casually towards her murdered every member of the Wizengamot and launched his revolution, hunting down everyone who opposed him.

“What I see, Malfoy, are a lot of houses. People are what make a village,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her defensively, trying to recover her senses. Her hands still twitched longingly for the comforting protection of her wand, even after weeks had passed without it constantly by her side.

“Shall you come and meet them, then?” he asked, with a casual shrug. He walked off, leaving Ginny staring after him in surprise.

“You do realize that I’ve escaped?” she demanded, incredulous to his nonchalance.

“Charming, Weasley. But you’re still on my land - you haven’t reached the boundary yet. Not that I recommend that you do - hideously messy clean-up, the house elves didn’t speak to me for a month after the last one tried to slip away.”

She stalked after him, enraged with herself. She’d had a brief moment of congratulating herself for slipping away from the Enemy once again, but that had clearly been a game Malfoy had been playing with her, letting her believe she’d escaped. Not that it mattered - if she couldn’t get away with her wand (or, failing that, someone else’s) she was as good as dead, prisoner or not.

He led her towards a large square, which was surely the centre of town. There was a small store, a bookshop, a pub, a teashop, a bakery and an owlery. Ginny just stared about her, completely in awe and filled with a longing for a life she had believed didn’t exist anymore.

“How is this possible?” she asked, twirling around to take in everything there was to see.

“There’s not a lot of magic left in the world, but ancient enchantments still stand. My land is protected so long as I am alive, and so are those who live here,” he said, his voice coldly serious. “Despite how many times the Ministry has attacked.”

“Attack a village? You’re mad if you think for a moment I won’t challenge that horrible lie! I would list off all the towns that you’ve destroyed but there’s been so many, I can’t even remember them all,” Ginny spat furiously.

Malfoy reached out, snatching her arm and yanking her towards him. She struggled, trying to wrench her arm free of his vise-like grip, but he held her firmly in place, looming over her. His light pale eyes were narrowed, pinched nearly closed with a rage he wasn’t even trying to conceal. In that instant, his mask was brutally shattered.

“Don’t you ever call me a liar, Weasley. Whatever else you believe me to be, I am not a liar. And your Ministry is not the innocent victim it claims to be,” he hissed. “There are two sides to every war. Don’t ever forget that.”

“I may be your prisoner, Malfoy, but I am not one of your followers. You may bark as many commands as you like, but I would rather die than do anything you say,” she answered back. When he grabbed her, she’d spotted her first real stroke of luck since before she’d gotten stuck in Diagon Alley in the middle of a siege. A wand was sticking out of his pocket.

She thrust her knee upwards as hard as she could muster. He had a great height advantage over her, but she managed to connect, and as he doubled over with a groan, she grabbed the wand. The familiar heat of power washed over her, and she held the wand up, poised to attack as Malfoy struggled back to his feet, his face red.

It felt as if she’d been reunited with an old friend. The wand responded to her almost instantly, as if it had been made especially for her. Malfoy watched her, staring at her with his pale, shining eyes as she pointed it straight at him. She felt powerful - truly, genuinely powerful.

“So you’ve decided to accept my offer of a new wand after all,” he said, casually flicking dirt from his sleeve while smirking in her direction.

“So it would appear,” Ginny said coolly. “And now that I have it, you will release me. You will come with me to the edge of your property, and you will allow me to leave it.”

“Will I now?” he asked softly.

“I will kill you if you don’t,” she said simply. And she knew she could. With this wand, she could do anything. She tightened her grip on it, the first solid piece of hope she’d had in ages.

“And I have so enjoyed your time as my guest here,” he said, moving fluidly as he walked forward, walking past her, leading her forward as casually as he would a friend and not a hostile enemy holding a wand to his back. She followed, her heart racing in anticipation.

They walked down the road, until they were a few hundred metres away from the centre of the village. He then turned and gestured in front of him.

“And I was so pleased to have finally completed the set,” Malfoy said as Ginny took a tentative step forward. She could feel the very edge of the enchantments, but Malfoy had obeyed, and she was able to pass the barrier unharmed.

“You had your chance, but luckily for me, you didn’t take it,” Ginny said, flashing him a triumphant grin. She tipped her wand at him in a mock salute, and then turned and ran, the delicious taste of freedom fueling her steps.

“But I will!” he shouted after her, his voice whipping about on the wind. She laughed to herself over his casual and completely unthreatening arrogance. What tale she’d have to share back at camp!

* * *

Draco watched her as she retreated down the path, disappearing over the hills. Thomas, his right hand man, appeared beside him.

“You’re letting her go? After everything you’ve done to capture her?” he asked, incredulous.

“She’s not broken yet,” Draco answered him, his voice distant, his eyes never straying even though she was long out of their sight. “It would be pointless to keep her here. Not when they haven’t broken her yet.”

Thomas glanced at him, his face steely-faced and deadly serious. A rare view of their carefree leader, who usually greeted both set-backs or advances with a casual wry humour. Thomas reluctantly held out the bit of parchment that had brought him out to meet him.

“A message from Zabini. They’ve held off the Ministry and are now rebuilding their camp. Losses were few. Corner’s forces, however, have grown since the last attack. He thinks we should consider a full strike.”

“Yes. I think it’s time to deal with Corner,” Draco said. Thomas couldn’t mistake the deadly edge in his voice as he announced his decision. As rare as it was to hear it, it was renown among his followers - it was that cold, deadly rage that made him their definitive leader, after all.

But no one could really explain what he was so angry about.