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.
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.
To Be Continued.
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