Draco again found himself carrying a half-gorked-out-of-her-mind Ginny Weasley through the manor.
This was not part of the plan.
This wasn’t ANY of the plan.
He abso-fucking-lutely did not sign up for this.
Draco’s anger coursed through him. His task had been simple. He had done it. It should be over. He should be in his hot bath right now. He should be enjoying copious amounts of alcohol. Drunk, blackout inducing, memory erasing amounts of alcohol. He shouldn’t have a bloody, quite literally at this moment, Weasley to babysit for the next week. He thought back to what had just occurred in the hidden room of the Malfoy dungeons…
x
A teenaged Voldemort, Tom Riddle, stood before Lucius and Draco. He spoke, his voice young and strong. But it still held the same dread, the same coldness. He stared at Draco.
“You’ve done well boy.”
Amazing, that even though Draco was now technically older than the Dark Lord, that his voice could still hold so much power over him. In this new form, he was just as intimidating and persuasive… though perhaps more pleasant to look at.
Tom sucked in a breath and tilted his head. “But I’m afraid dear Draco, that I will require your services for a bit longer.” He turned and gestured towards Ginny, occasional soft moans coming from her still form on the altar.
“Ginevra will stay in your care. It will take a week to prepare for the completion of the ritual. At that time, you will bring her back here, to me. And then, only then, will you have completed your task.”
Tom turned swiftly and returned to Ginny’s side. He leaned down, looking at her with that disgusting, loving, look again that made Draco want to retch. Her eyes were closed, and with a moan she turned her head to the side. Tom reached his hand out, resting it gently on her cheek, smoothing the hair out of her face. “She will need your protection,” he said, not looking away from the girl. “The Order will surely make an attempt at rescue and THAT. CANNOT. HAPPEN.” His last words he emphasized, loud and sharp. “If I am to keep this form, make it permanent, to obtain my great power, I need her.”
Tom stilled his hand, and bent down to her, pressing a kiss to her crimson hair. He whispered something to her then, but it was so soft that neither Draco nor Lucius could hear. He straightened and walked back towards the Malfoy pair. He addressed Draco once again.
“Draco. Clean her up. Heal her. Make sure she remains unharmed. Lucius will assist you. And…” He trailed off, casting a furtive glance at Lucius, before his eyes rested again on Draco. “There’s one more thing, and it is very important. It is absolutely vital for the ritual that Ginevra remain pure… that she remain untouched. Do you understand me boy?”
Draco swallowed.
“I understand my Lord.”
x
Draco reached the room Lucius had prepared for the girl. He lay her down gently on the bed. He couldn’t help it as his fingers ran down her arm, lingering longer than necessary.
Fuck. What had he done?
x
Ginny had a nightmare.
It was Tom again.
Always Tom.
His cold hands had touched her. His voice spoke sweet, poisonous words to her…
She allowed the remnants of the nightmare to float across her consciousness as she began to awake. Her eyes had not yet opened as she remembered other moments of the nightmare.
She couldn’t move her hands, cold air hit the skin of her chest, and the piercing burning pain of a daggers edge dragging across her flesh…
She refused to open her eyes, though she was now fully awake. She willed those thoughts to have been a nightmare. She willed herself to be in her dormitory, safe in her bed.
But somehow, she knew. She knew when she opened her eyes, that she would know it had not been another nightmare. Voldemort had seen her, touched her, put his disgusting hands on her, and she would awake to find whatever terrible fate he had in store for her…
Perhaps if she fought enough, he would just kill her. Yes, that would work. She would fight and scream and fight some more until his control was wrung out and he turned his wand at her. Maybe it would be a quick death. That didn’t seem so bad. There were worse things. Maybe she could skip the torture all together. Maybe.
But, she thought, if she continued feigning sleep, death certainly would not come any quicker. Whether by Voldemort’s hand or by one of his pathetic minions, she would rather die than be used as bait or risk some vital piece of information be pried from her.
Not that she had any valuable information to hide, and she wasn’t sure if that made her angry or relieved.
She opened her eyes. But it wasn’t Voldemort’s red gaze that met her. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, and she saw blonde hair. Grey eyes.
“Malfoy?” She rasped, her throat raw.
He looked at her with slight apprehension, as if bracing himself for a punch.
Successfully forcing down the urge to fulfill his fear, she instead took in her surroundings. She was in a bedroom. A luxurious one. She was still at Malfoy Manor. She lay on a large bed, her head and back supported by several pillows. She felt an aching in her hands and wrists and looked down, seeing they were still bound.
“If you can manage to avoid maiming me” he said warily “I’ll untie your hands.”
Ginny nodded at him quickly. “Yes! I mean, I promise- I won’t.” She lifted her hands to him. He sat down on the bed next to her and wrapped a hand around one of her wrists. He pointed his wand at the bonds and murmured a spell. The bonds disappeared and she felt the warm blood flow return to her aching hands. She rubbed her hands together to savor the relief, but the action caused a sharp burning pain on the left side of her chest and she winced.
Looking down at herself, she was horrified by what she saw. Her shirt had clearly been torn apart, exposing her upper chest and her bra. The white shirt was marred by a large stain of crimson. And on her chest, a long, thin cut, and she could feel the warm stickiness of her blood still slowly oozing out of it…
The bile rose in her throat. She held a hand to her mouth, willing the nausea to subside. She must have gone green because suddenly Malfoy thrust a bucket in front of her. She retched and vomited, hugging the bucket to herself. When she finished, the bucket and sick disappeared and a cold cloth was placed in her hand. She turned, surprised to find Malfoy still at her side. His expression was unreadable but she didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger from him.
She held the cold cloth to her forehead.
“Thank you.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I need to heal that.” He pointed to her chest. She nodded, then lay back down. He leaned forward with his wand, then paused.
“Remember Weasley, you agreed to no violence. But I swear if you attempt to swing at me, it won’t just be your wrists that I bind.”
“Malfoy, I’ll let you heal me, but only because I don’t have a wand and I feel like I’m going to pass out if I see any more blood. So aside from, you know, whatever you need to do to heal me, if you keep your hands to yourself, I’ll keep mine.”
“Fair enough.” He bent lower and she felt his warm hand gently move the top of her shirt aside. He muttered more words and she felt his wand make contact with her skin. The blood began to disappear from her skin and her shirt. He muttered again and the stinging pain of the cut disappeared. She dared to look down again, but all she saw was the familiar thin scar that had marred her breast over her heart since she was eleven years old. Since the chamber…
Every emotion, every feeling that she had felt since her ambush in the bathroom, suddenly came crashing down upon her. The fear, the absolute horror of everything that had happened to her in the last few hours, rose up, suffocating her. It was agony, and she was drowning in it. She sat up quickly, making Malfoy jump. The tears came, and they were absolutely wracking her body as she sobbed. It was too much. It was just too much. And she reached out blindly, desperately. Her hands found Draco’s robes and with an iron grip she yanked him to her, burying her wet face into his chest. He made of noise of surprise but didn’t push her away. She didn’t care that it was Draco. She didn’t care that it was his fault she was in this mess. She just desperately wanted to be held.
“Oh G-God. M-Malfoy, what did he d-do to me?”
Malfoy awkwardly allowed his arms to come to her back. He murmured his honest answer into her hair.
“I don’t know.”
x
It could have been minutes, hours, a whole day, she wasn’t sure. But she allowed -or forced rather- the blonde to hold her until her body no longer shook. With the wracking sobs subsided, she continued to hold the body in front of her. He was warm and it was comforting. She vaguely registered a hand at the back of her head, fingers slowly running down the length of her hair. The movement caused her to shiver. Were she not in the current situation she was in, she would have allowed herself to revel in this-well, whatever this was... She promptly stuffed down the odd sensations. She spoke quietly.
“He-he took my blood... Why did he do that?”
Draco’s arms stiffened around her.
“He drank it. He added it to a potion and drank it. But, some of it had turned black…It changed him, it made him younger. A teenager.”
It was her turn to stiffen. “Tom.”
She felt his chest move as he sucked in a breath to continue.
“He said he needed a new form, that his current one was getting old. And that he needed you in order to obtain more power, and to make his form more permanent… In one week, he said the ritual can be completed, and I am to give you to him at that time.”
She recoiled from his embrace. A wave of dread rose through her. She had so many questions, so many things she didn’t understand. But she knew, she absolutely knew, that whatever completing this ritual entailed, it would completely and irrevocably destroy her.
“Malfoy-you can’t-you just can’t! I just know that whatever this is will be horrible. He wont just kill me, you know that!”
He looked at her sharply. “I don’t have a choice, Weasley.”
“Yes you do! Please, you can’t bring me to him! There’s always a choice-“
“Oh fuck that logic!” He spat. “Tell me, Weasley- and, mind you, I’ll phrase this so your stupid Gryffindor brain can understand- if the Order told you that unless you brought me before them your mother and father would be tortured and killed, you would feel like you had a choice?!? That for one second, you would think about protecting me above your own family?”
She gaped. “I-couldn’t- I mean- That’s, that’s totally different-“
“It’s not.”
She looked down and wrung her hands together.
The bastard was right.
“You’re right Malfoy. It’s the same, isn’t it?”
She looked up into his face. His skin was pale, and dark circles lined his grey stormy eyes. His jaw was clenched. He clearly wasn’t taking any particular delight in her suffering. She suddenly found herself filling with unexpected compassion for the handsome Slytherin. He had already proved he wasn’t a killer.
He was just a scared boy, trying to keep his family alive. Would she be any different in his situation?
She reached forward and laid an understanding hand on his.
“We would do almost anything for the ones we love, wouldn’t we?”
This was not part of the plan.
This wasn’t ANY of the plan.
He abso-fucking-lutely did not sign up for this.
Draco’s anger coursed through him. His task had been simple. He had done it. It should be over. He should be in his hot bath right now. He should be enjoying copious amounts of alcohol. Drunk, blackout inducing, memory erasing amounts of alcohol. He shouldn’t have a bloody, quite literally at this moment, Weasley to babysit for the next week. He thought back to what had just occurred in the hidden room of the Malfoy dungeons…
x
A teenaged Voldemort, Tom Riddle, stood before Lucius and Draco. He spoke, his voice young and strong. But it still held the same dread, the same coldness. He stared at Draco.
“You’ve done well boy.”
Amazing, that even though Draco was now technically older than the Dark Lord, that his voice could still hold so much power over him. In this new form, he was just as intimidating and persuasive… though perhaps more pleasant to look at.
Tom sucked in a breath and tilted his head. “But I’m afraid dear Draco, that I will require your services for a bit longer.” He turned and gestured towards Ginny, occasional soft moans coming from her still form on the altar.
“Ginevra will stay in your care. It will take a week to prepare for the completion of the ritual. At that time, you will bring her back here, to me. And then, only then, will you have completed your task.”
Tom turned swiftly and returned to Ginny’s side. He leaned down, looking at her with that disgusting, loving, look again that made Draco want to retch. Her eyes were closed, and with a moan she turned her head to the side. Tom reached his hand out, resting it gently on her cheek, smoothing the hair out of her face. “She will need your protection,” he said, not looking away from the girl. “The Order will surely make an attempt at rescue and THAT. CANNOT. HAPPEN.” His last words he emphasized, loud and sharp. “If I am to keep this form, make it permanent, to obtain my great power, I need her.”
Tom stilled his hand, and bent down to her, pressing a kiss to her crimson hair. He whispered something to her then, but it was so soft that neither Draco nor Lucius could hear. He straightened and walked back towards the Malfoy pair. He addressed Draco once again.
“Draco. Clean her up. Heal her. Make sure she remains unharmed. Lucius will assist you. And…” He trailed off, casting a furtive glance at Lucius, before his eyes rested again on Draco. “There’s one more thing, and it is very important. It is absolutely vital for the ritual that Ginevra remain pure… that she remain untouched. Do you understand me boy?”
Draco swallowed.
“I understand my Lord.”
x
Draco reached the room Lucius had prepared for the girl. He lay her down gently on the bed. He couldn’t help it as his fingers ran down her arm, lingering longer than necessary.
Fuck. What had he done?
x
Ginny had a nightmare.
It was Tom again.
Always Tom.
His cold hands had touched her. His voice spoke sweet, poisonous words to her…
She allowed the remnants of the nightmare to float across her consciousness as she began to awake. Her eyes had not yet opened as she remembered other moments of the nightmare.
She couldn’t move her hands, cold air hit the skin of her chest, and the piercing burning pain of a daggers edge dragging across her flesh…
She refused to open her eyes, though she was now fully awake. She willed those thoughts to have been a nightmare. She willed herself to be in her dormitory, safe in her bed.
But somehow, she knew. She knew when she opened her eyes, that she would know it had not been another nightmare. Voldemort had seen her, touched her, put his disgusting hands on her, and she would awake to find whatever terrible fate he had in store for her…
Perhaps if she fought enough, he would just kill her. Yes, that would work. She would fight and scream and fight some more until his control was wrung out and he turned his wand at her. Maybe it would be a quick death. That didn’t seem so bad. There were worse things. Maybe she could skip the torture all together. Maybe.
But, she thought, if she continued feigning sleep, death certainly would not come any quicker. Whether by Voldemort’s hand or by one of his pathetic minions, she would rather die than be used as bait or risk some vital piece of information be pried from her.
Not that she had any valuable information to hide, and she wasn’t sure if that made her angry or relieved.
She opened her eyes. But it wasn’t Voldemort’s red gaze that met her. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light, and she saw blonde hair. Grey eyes.
“Malfoy?” She rasped, her throat raw.
He looked at her with slight apprehension, as if bracing himself for a punch.
Successfully forcing down the urge to fulfill his fear, she instead took in her surroundings. She was in a bedroom. A luxurious one. She was still at Malfoy Manor. She lay on a large bed, her head and back supported by several pillows. She felt an aching in her hands and wrists and looked down, seeing they were still bound.
“If you can manage to avoid maiming me” he said warily “I’ll untie your hands.”
Ginny nodded at him quickly. “Yes! I mean, I promise- I won’t.” She lifted her hands to him. He sat down on the bed next to her and wrapped a hand around one of her wrists. He pointed his wand at the bonds and murmured a spell. The bonds disappeared and she felt the warm blood flow return to her aching hands. She rubbed her hands together to savor the relief, but the action caused a sharp burning pain on the left side of her chest and she winced.
Looking down at herself, she was horrified by what she saw. Her shirt had clearly been torn apart, exposing her upper chest and her bra. The white shirt was marred by a large stain of crimson. And on her chest, a long, thin cut, and she could feel the warm stickiness of her blood still slowly oozing out of it…
The bile rose in her throat. She held a hand to her mouth, willing the nausea to subside. She must have gone green because suddenly Malfoy thrust a bucket in front of her. She retched and vomited, hugging the bucket to herself. When she finished, the bucket and sick disappeared and a cold cloth was placed in her hand. She turned, surprised to find Malfoy still at her side. His expression was unreadable but she didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger from him.
She held the cold cloth to her forehead.
“Thank you.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I need to heal that.” He pointed to her chest. She nodded, then lay back down. He leaned forward with his wand, then paused.
“Remember Weasley, you agreed to no violence. But I swear if you attempt to swing at me, it won’t just be your wrists that I bind.”
“Malfoy, I’ll let you heal me, but only because I don’t have a wand and I feel like I’m going to pass out if I see any more blood. So aside from, you know, whatever you need to do to heal me, if you keep your hands to yourself, I’ll keep mine.”
“Fair enough.” He bent lower and she felt his warm hand gently move the top of her shirt aside. He muttered more words and she felt his wand make contact with her skin. The blood began to disappear from her skin and her shirt. He muttered again and the stinging pain of the cut disappeared. She dared to look down again, but all she saw was the familiar thin scar that had marred her breast over her heart since she was eleven years old. Since the chamber…
Every emotion, every feeling that she had felt since her ambush in the bathroom, suddenly came crashing down upon her. The fear, the absolute horror of everything that had happened to her in the last few hours, rose up, suffocating her. It was agony, and she was drowning in it. She sat up quickly, making Malfoy jump. The tears came, and they were absolutely wracking her body as she sobbed. It was too much. It was just too much. And she reached out blindly, desperately. Her hands found Draco’s robes and with an iron grip she yanked him to her, burying her wet face into his chest. He made of noise of surprise but didn’t push her away. She didn’t care that it was Draco. She didn’t care that it was his fault she was in this mess. She just desperately wanted to be held.
“Oh G-God. M-Malfoy, what did he d-do to me?”
Malfoy awkwardly allowed his arms to come to her back. He murmured his honest answer into her hair.
“I don’t know.”
x
It could have been minutes, hours, a whole day, she wasn’t sure. But she allowed -or forced rather- the blonde to hold her until her body no longer shook. With the wracking sobs subsided, she continued to hold the body in front of her. He was warm and it was comforting. She vaguely registered a hand at the back of her head, fingers slowly running down the length of her hair. The movement caused her to shiver. Were she not in the current situation she was in, she would have allowed herself to revel in this-well, whatever this was... She promptly stuffed down the odd sensations. She spoke quietly.
“He-he took my blood... Why did he do that?”
Draco’s arms stiffened around her.
“He drank it. He added it to a potion and drank it. But, some of it had turned black…It changed him, it made him younger. A teenager.”
It was her turn to stiffen. “Tom.”
She felt his chest move as he sucked in a breath to continue.
“He said he needed a new form, that his current one was getting old. And that he needed you in order to obtain more power, and to make his form more permanent… In one week, he said the ritual can be completed, and I am to give you to him at that time.”
She recoiled from his embrace. A wave of dread rose through her. She had so many questions, so many things she didn’t understand. But she knew, she absolutely knew, that whatever completing this ritual entailed, it would completely and irrevocably destroy her.
“Malfoy-you can’t-you just can’t! I just know that whatever this is will be horrible. He wont just kill me, you know that!”
He looked at her sharply. “I don’t have a choice, Weasley.”
“Yes you do! Please, you can’t bring me to him! There’s always a choice-“
“Oh fuck that logic!” He spat. “Tell me, Weasley- and, mind you, I’ll phrase this so your stupid Gryffindor brain can understand- if the Order told you that unless you brought me before them your mother and father would be tortured and killed, you would feel like you had a choice?!? That for one second, you would think about protecting me above your own family?”
She gaped. “I-couldn’t- I mean- That’s, that’s totally different-“
“It’s not.”
She looked down and wrung her hands together.
The bastard was right.
“You’re right Malfoy. It’s the same, isn’t it?”
She looked up into his face. His skin was pale, and dark circles lined his grey stormy eyes. His jaw was clenched. He clearly wasn’t taking any particular delight in her suffering. She suddenly found herself filling with unexpected compassion for the handsome Slytherin. He had already proved he wasn’t a killer.
He was just a scared boy, trying to keep his family alive. Would she be any different in his situation?
She reached forward and laid an understanding hand on his.
“We would do almost anything for the ones we love, wouldn’t we?”
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