Draco was flushed with victory, his triumph warming him against the cold night. The enchanted key resting heavily in his pocket brought a smug smile to his face as he reflected on the night’s misdeeds. His particular troupe of Death Eaters had performed a raid on the Wood household, revealing a previously hidden wing where several members of the pathetic little Order had huddled, along with a smattering of Muggleborns the Wood family had tried in vain to harbour.

Though a successful raid and a nice round of applying the Cruciatus usually put the last of the Malfoys in good spirits, a discovery made in a broom closet, of all places, had set his blood to singing. He patted the key, settling into an armchair in the library as he ordered whichever snivelling house elf had arrived to bring a large glass of scotch. Draco lazily levitated the glass, moving it through the air as he watched the dancing firelight refract through the glass and the liquid inside. Slowly rotating the glass as he muttered a spell to refill it, Draco’s thoughts meandered along a particularly satisfying path, reliving the silent coup he’d managed to pull off earlier in the evening. The Woods' broom closet had held a fine prize indeed, as he’d found a source of much consternation in this god-forsaken war cowering in the dark, cramped space. Brown eyes wide, red hair askew with freckles stark against skin pale from shock, Ginny Weasley had been a prize of a find. He’d hurriedly Apparated her to a dungeon in his manor, returning to help with the attack before he could be missed.

As he sat now, alternately contemplating and sipping at his scotch, Draco found he couldn’t formulate any decent justification for his actions this past night. Having been privy to the Dark Lord’s plans, little more than vitriolic tirades these days, he was aware of the pivotal role his redheaded captive was cast in. It was her blood that would, the Dark Lord assured them, restore his severed soul and rejuvenate him to his full, fearsome powers, assuring the victory of his dark army.

Yet, with all this in mind, Draco had found himself compelled to keep his discovery a secret. Deep, pleading brown eyes had beseeched him, reigniting the hidden fascination she’d held for him as he watched her from shadows in the corridors at Hogwarts.

The first time he visited her, she ignored him, focusing all her energy on appearing absorbed in the four walls she’d already grown heartily sick of. His questions went unanswered; threats unheeded as she tenaciously denied him the attention he craved.

He denied her food until the second visit days later, this time earning a baleful, yet persistently silent glare. Focusing closely on the red of her hair, the fire simmering behind her eyes, he took no notice of her assessing gaze, carefully cataloguing the contents of her cell, the cracks in the bricks, and the faint lines around his eyes. He left her with a promise of food if she would only talk to him. The muttered “fuck off” that echoed down the dungeon corridor behind him had not been what he’d had in mind, but it was a start.

The third visit took hours as he determined to beat her at her own game, staring at her silently for hours on end until she could no longer take it, the hum of frustration finally bubbling over. “What do you want with me, Malfoy?”

At the twisted, self satisfied smile that leaked onto his face, Ginny regretted that he’d bested her, turning away from him with a furious growl.
“Do you really not know, Weasley?” came the sibilant whisper, the sound caressing the slice of bare neck he could see through her tangled, red hair.

Silently, he moved closer to her, lifting the curtain of titian hair, sliding his lips along her neck before nipping at it none to gently. She’d stilled against him, knowing that without her wand, she was utterly powerless. Winding his fingers painfully into the flowing mass of her hair, he pulled her back against his chest, bringing her ear before his lips. “You’re the answer, the Holy Grail, the Rosetta Stone, the Elixir of Life. Your blood will restore the Dark Lord, and bring the whole world under his demented sway. Is it any wonder I’ve kept you?” Releasing her hair with a harsh shove forward, he stood. “I may not be in your little band of merry idiots, but now I’m in control of the situation, Weasley.” Even through all he’d just told her, the brimming self confidence evident in his voice irked her enough to earn a roll of her eyes.

“And what are you going to do with me?” she asked in a taunting voice, eyes glittering up at him malevolently. “If I’m only of use to Riddle, then what’s the use in keeping me?” she spat in a voice rich with disdain, purposefully emphasising the same verb. “Kill me and be done with it. Or is this going to be the Astronomy Tower all over again?” The large, pale hand that whipped out to squeeze her neck came as a surprise, a strangled gasp escaping her throat as Draco determined to keep hold for as long as it took to establish his authority. When her head began lolling, chocolate coloured eyes rolling back into her head, he loosened his hold. “What’s the point? Because I can, Weasley. Because I’m in control.” Dropping his hand by his side, Draco turned on his heel, stalking from the room.

Ginny sank back onto her knees, slumping forward with her head between them as she pressed her forehead to the cool stone of the floor, fighting to regain breath.

She eventually recovered, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling, mind examining and dismissing the various ideas she generated regarding her current situation. Escape, while preferable, was improbable, and she spent a good portion of time devising a number of escape plans, growing more ludicrous as the futility of her situation became clear. Death was a possibility, but had its obvious drawbacks. She had no way to contact her family or anyone from the Order to help her. It appeared that being self-reliant was not all it was cracked up to be. She had nothing with which to bargain but her blood, and the only person that needed it would never be willing to let her pass him by. Resisting the urge to break into tears, Ginny took a deep breath. Her only route to guaranteed safety lay in Voldemort’s timely demise, and the only way in which she could ensure this for herself was for Draco to drag her before his demented dictator. She snorted softly at the recollection of her captor’s disdain for his leader, resolving to play on it now that she’d settled on a course of action.

She spent his fourth visit in silence, biding her time and listening to him rant as his resentment was made clear. The fifth passed in similar fashion, with Draco too distracted by monologuing at his only point of human contact in the Manor to notice the strange gleam in her eye.

When he deigned it time for his sixth visit to her dingy little cell, Ginny deemed it time to put her plan into effect, confident that she’d lulled him into a false sense of security as she’d seen her twin brothers do prior to so many pranks. So shocked was he that she’d deigned to speak to him after her long silence, he lapped up her every word. Of course it made sense to bring her before the Dark Lord, present her as the ultimate gift from liegeman to lord, before snuffing out the black flame of the half blood Riddle’s existence which would leave the way open for the ascent of Draco’s star. Certainly she should be allowed a bath and fresh clothes beforehand, the better to adorn his arm. Angling for a stack of textbooks earned a derisive snort, however. Voldemort would demand a pretty sacrifice, not a well read one. He did, however, acquiesce to her request for better accommodations, bringing her from the dingy cell to a lavishly appointed guest room.

There were many conversations held over how best to present her, how best to ensure that Riddle would have been properly manipulated so as to be suitably susceptible to their plans. Each week, Draco would return to share the evening’s occurrence with her, revealing how the half blood hungered for her, and how such an obvious weakness would be his downfall.

After careful encouraging, flattering and prompting, in no time at all, Draco could be depended upon, most importantly, to believe he was acting of his own volition. Soon enough, he arrived with the news that he was certain the throne of the Dark Lord was ripe for the taking, eyes aglow with enthusiasm.

Executing their painstaking preparations with care, Draco Apparated the pair of them to the mausoleum of a building that served as headquarters, pulling Ginny along behind him, hidden as she was under a set of Death Eater robes.

As they’d hoped, they found the main chamber empty but for the shadowy figure that had brought the Wizarding World to its collective knees twice in his career as a would-be tyrant. Noting Draco’s arrival, a skeletal white hand waved them towards him, utterly unaware of what he invited into his presence. “My Lord,” whispered Draco, bowing quickly but without enthusiasm. “I’ve brought you a gift, my Lord; she whom you desired above all things.” His firm hand on Ginny’s shoulder quickly had her kneeling before the adult incarnation of her one-time possessor, her sneer safely hidden behind a garish, ill-fitting mask. The Dark Lord turned to face Draco, the first few strands of the plan seemingly unravelling. “A gift, young Malfoy?” it hissed in a high pitched voice at odds with the heavy, dark surrounds. “You think her a trifle, a token? A mere amusement? She is the culmination of all our efforts and plans, and you have known this. How long have you kept knowledge of her a secret from me? How long?" The last question came in a screech, before the temper of the monstrosity before them snapped, his wand whipping to point at Draco, ironically bestowing the curse he himself was so fond of employing. “Crucio!”

Voldemort was utterly consumed with watching his victim’s unholy dance of pain, feasting his eyes on the twitching, writhing, screaming mass of limbs. Absorbed in his work, he failed to see the cause of his consternation bend to grasp the wand that had fallen from Draco’s hand, only becoming aware of her actions when the shaft of wood appeared to grow from his chest, so quick was she to stab him in the heart. Voldemort’s own wand slipped from his fingers as he sank to the ground, inky black blood pooling around him, his last, pitiful store of magic crackling out through the wound and over his body. Ginny stepped towards Draco, smoothing a hand over his hair and down his cheek, shaking her head as she did so. “I’m sorry, Draco. You were never in charge.” With that parting salvo, she Disapparated to fetch Ministry and Order personnel to clean up the mess of a regime in ruins. Mission Accomplished.