After depositing the girl in his bedroom, Draco sought out his mother. She was, unsurprisingly, overseeing the house elves as they settled his father into the large bed in the master suite. The young man had never seen her quite so out of sorts. Golden curls fell around her face, having escaped the tight upswept style she preferred, and there were dark circles under her eyes. He had been speaking to her for several moments, calling her name and even waving a hand in front of her face before she even noticed he was in the room.
"Oh, Draco dear. Where did you put the girl?"
"She's locked in my suite." His mother nodded absently, her focus on his father. The older man was far from impeccable. The shredded, blood drenched remnants of his robes had been disposed of, replaced by a crisp white night shirt which seemed in Draco's opinion utterly ridiculous and old-fashioned, as well as bloody uncomfortable. "Mother, why exactly did we need her? She's a Weasley, one of Potter's adoring fans."
At last Narcissa Malfoy focused on her son. "She saved your father's life, Draco. He would have died." Draco swallowed and paled noticeably. Narcissa waited and nodded slowly as realization dawned in his countenance. "The House of Malfoy owes her a life debt, which gives her a certain amount of power over all we are and all we have. I want to be sure she has no chance to abuse that." Her eyes softened as she glanced at her husband, tiny lines of worry creeping in around her eyes and mouth. "And she knows about muggle medicine." The last was nearly a whisper.
Oh.
Muggle medicine.
Draco did not curse aloud out of respect for his mother, but every swear word he had ever learned-as well as a few new phrases-circled through his mind. He had forgotten. Magical remedies could only harm his father who despite "popular" opinion wasn't really such a bad bloke. No matter what else he had been involved in, Lucius Malfoy always done whatever was necessary to protect what was his. It was a Malfoy trait. Draco's brow creased as he stared at his father. It was unsettling to see the man he had lived in awe of so . . . broken. This was the dark lord's fault. He had invented a particularly strong curse, sure to become an Unforgivable once the rest of their world learned of it, which effectively blocked all forms of magical healing. Charms, potions, even enchanted sleep . . . none of it would work and, in the most severe cases such as this one, could make matters worse. Of course he had tested it on his inner circle of advisors. It was a test of loyalty to the cause. Unconsciously, the boy rubbed lightly at his forearm.
"Draco, darling, have the servants prepare a suite for our guest. Somewhere close to the family quarters." His mother's voice snapped him out of ever-darkening thoughts. He nodded and left the room, straightening his robes and smoothing his hair in a nervous gesture he had picked up from his father.
Draco paused at his bedroom door, listening intently before pushing the heavy stained wood open very slowly. He was prepared for violent outbursts, escape attempts, or even an empty room. He was not prepared, however, for the sight of Ginny Weasley curled up in his favorite chair by the fireplace, fast asleep. He made sure the door was locked behind him and crossed the room slowly, wand out, wary of a trick. The firelight danced across the young woman's form, accenting the tangled mound of ghastly red hair and the various smudges of dirt and gore on her skin. Her robes were torn and dirty. He froze, staring at the most horrifying aspect, unaware his mouth had dropped open: a thin line of drool stretched from her mouth to the arm of the chair. He was contemplating the irritation of having to replace the chair (doubtless, the house elves could never get THAT out) when she jerked in her sleep and shifted, smacking her lips a few times and snoring . . . loudly. Well, this most certainly would not do.
"Weasley." He prodded her with his wand, speaking again when she mumbled incoherently and swatted it away. "Wake up, Weasley. Now." The 'now' was accompanied by a particularly forceful prod and the girl's eyes snapped open with a final snort. She made a squeaking noise and fell out of the chair, crawling backward into a rather expensive vase, which then toppled and shattered. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Nice work, Weasley. Destroy the big bad vase." He stepped around the chair and stared down at her. "That cost more than every possession your family has ever had, you know." Something sparked in her eyes, and he thought for a moment that she was going to strike out like some feral animal. To his immense relief, she simply struggled to her feet and glared.
"You won't get away with this. Someone will come for me."
"Oh? And are you quite certain of that?" He took a step forward and she backed away, eyes darting around the room.
"Y-Yes. I am."
"Perhaps I should show you something then."
"Stay back, Malfoy. Don't come any closer."
"Very well then, I'll leave this here." He tucked his wand away and produced an evening edition of the Daily Prophet from an inner pocket. Leaving the paper on the chair she had fallen out of not so long ago, he backed away several feet and stared at her expectantly. "Well, go on then. Despite your appearance, I do know you can read."
Ginny inched forward, staring at the headlines. No. It couldn't be true. She shook her head and reached out hesitantly, gingerly lifting the paper between thumb and forefinger as if afraid it might attack her. She trembled as she unfolded it and scanned the front page. Bits of headlines jumped out at her, phrases from articles wormed their way into her consciousness. "Potter comatose . . . Dumbledore missing-presumed dead . . . Weasley daughter suspected in Death Eater plot." What? No. And yet there it was, in black and white. The article told of her secret romance with Draco Malfoy (not bloody likely) and how her devotion to the Malfoy heir had drawn her to the 'dark side' . . . the reporter had even found out about her first year at Hogwarts, and Riddle's Diary. "Lies, all of it."
"Probably." Draco nodded, his expression bland. "The Prophet has never been known for accuracy in reporting. Still, there's a grain of truth there, you know. Potter has been in a coma since he destroyed Voldemort." The way he sneered at the name made Ginny wonder if the rumors about him not being a Death Eater really were true. "Dumbledore has not been seen. Neither has Snape. And you, my dear Miss Weasley, are to be a guest of the House of Malfoy . . . indefinitely."
"You will not keep me prisoner here." The paper ripped in half in her outraged grasp.
"Did I say you were a prisoner?" he asked, one golden brow arched. "I don't recall using that term. No, I believe I said you were a guest."
"Guests are invited and stay of their own free will."
"Why Miss Weasley, are you implying that my mother and I are impolite? Malfoys do not keep prisoners in their bedrooms." He had advanced a few steps while speaking and the girl seemed to realize how close he was just as he used the word 'bedrooms'.
"Don't touch me Malfoy!"
Draco felt genuine confusion. "Why on earth would I?"
"Oh come off it! I'm in your bedroom. You said yourself that no one can come rescue me. I'm not stupid."
"I'm not so certain. Have you seen yourself lately?" Ginny stared. "You're horrid red hair is tangled and matted to the side of your head, your clothes are dirty, your face is smudged, and you have sleep bogeys in your eye. So, I ask you again, why on earth would I want to touch you?"
Ginny gasped and moved in front of the full-length mirror by the wall. He was right. She blushed a bit.
"Don't do that. It clashes with your hair." She spun around, angry again. Ah, she was more fun than her brother. "Now, follow me. The house elves have prepared your rooms, and drawn a bath." He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I daresay you need that."
"M-my rooms?"
"Of course. I told you that you are a guest. Certainly you won't be expected to share my quarters."
"But I thought you . . ."
Draco sighed and turned around to face her fully. "Really Weasley, get over yourself. Yes, you are rather nicely girl-shaped, but not at all my type. Further, it is not my habit to take unwilling partners to my bed." He turned around and walked out the doorway before adding, "Oh, and then there's the fact that you snore."
"What? How dare you! I do not!"
"Yes, you do. It's rather unpleasantly loud. You drool a bit as well."
A wordless cry of rage was the only warning the young man had and then she was on him, small fists digging into his ribs. It was all rather unpleasant. He understood, now, what it meant to have older brothers. She managed to grasp a lock of his hair and yank and he yelled and turned, scrabbling for a hold on her. When he succeeded in his endeavor, he managed to throw her over his shoulder. He winced when she landed a particularly vicious punch near his kidney but managed to keep silent and not drop her. The door across the wide hallway was open and he marched straight through and dumped his obscenity-screaming burden unceremoniously on the large bed. He hurried back out of the room and closed the door. His mother was completely mad to think that . . . that . . . creature could be of any benefit to them.
"Oh, Draco dear. Where did you put the girl?"
"She's locked in my suite." His mother nodded absently, her focus on his father. The older man was far from impeccable. The shredded, blood drenched remnants of his robes had been disposed of, replaced by a crisp white night shirt which seemed in Draco's opinion utterly ridiculous and old-fashioned, as well as bloody uncomfortable. "Mother, why exactly did we need her? She's a Weasley, one of Potter's adoring fans."
At last Narcissa Malfoy focused on her son. "She saved your father's life, Draco. He would have died." Draco swallowed and paled noticeably. Narcissa waited and nodded slowly as realization dawned in his countenance. "The House of Malfoy owes her a life debt, which gives her a certain amount of power over all we are and all we have. I want to be sure she has no chance to abuse that." Her eyes softened as she glanced at her husband, tiny lines of worry creeping in around her eyes and mouth. "And she knows about muggle medicine." The last was nearly a whisper.
Oh.
Muggle medicine.
Draco did not curse aloud out of respect for his mother, but every swear word he had ever learned-as well as a few new phrases-circled through his mind. He had forgotten. Magical remedies could only harm his father who despite "popular" opinion wasn't really such a bad bloke. No matter what else he had been involved in, Lucius Malfoy always done whatever was necessary to protect what was his. It was a Malfoy trait. Draco's brow creased as he stared at his father. It was unsettling to see the man he had lived in awe of so . . . broken. This was the dark lord's fault. He had invented a particularly strong curse, sure to become an Unforgivable once the rest of their world learned of it, which effectively blocked all forms of magical healing. Charms, potions, even enchanted sleep . . . none of it would work and, in the most severe cases such as this one, could make matters worse. Of course he had tested it on his inner circle of advisors. It was a test of loyalty to the cause. Unconsciously, the boy rubbed lightly at his forearm.
"Draco, darling, have the servants prepare a suite for our guest. Somewhere close to the family quarters." His mother's voice snapped him out of ever-darkening thoughts. He nodded and left the room, straightening his robes and smoothing his hair in a nervous gesture he had picked up from his father.
Draco paused at his bedroom door, listening intently before pushing the heavy stained wood open very slowly. He was prepared for violent outbursts, escape attempts, or even an empty room. He was not prepared, however, for the sight of Ginny Weasley curled up in his favorite chair by the fireplace, fast asleep. He made sure the door was locked behind him and crossed the room slowly, wand out, wary of a trick. The firelight danced across the young woman's form, accenting the tangled mound of ghastly red hair and the various smudges of dirt and gore on her skin. Her robes were torn and dirty. He froze, staring at the most horrifying aspect, unaware his mouth had dropped open: a thin line of drool stretched from her mouth to the arm of the chair. He was contemplating the irritation of having to replace the chair (doubtless, the house elves could never get THAT out) when she jerked in her sleep and shifted, smacking her lips a few times and snoring . . . loudly. Well, this most certainly would not do.
"Weasley." He prodded her with his wand, speaking again when she mumbled incoherently and swatted it away. "Wake up, Weasley. Now." The 'now' was accompanied by a particularly forceful prod and the girl's eyes snapped open with a final snort. She made a squeaking noise and fell out of the chair, crawling backward into a rather expensive vase, which then toppled and shattered. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. "Nice work, Weasley. Destroy the big bad vase." He stepped around the chair and stared down at her. "That cost more than every possession your family has ever had, you know." Something sparked in her eyes, and he thought for a moment that she was going to strike out like some feral animal. To his immense relief, she simply struggled to her feet and glared.
"You won't get away with this. Someone will come for me."
"Oh? And are you quite certain of that?" He took a step forward and she backed away, eyes darting around the room.
"Y-Yes. I am."
"Perhaps I should show you something then."
"Stay back, Malfoy. Don't come any closer."
"Very well then, I'll leave this here." He tucked his wand away and produced an evening edition of the Daily Prophet from an inner pocket. Leaving the paper on the chair she had fallen out of not so long ago, he backed away several feet and stared at her expectantly. "Well, go on then. Despite your appearance, I do know you can read."
Ginny inched forward, staring at the headlines. No. It couldn't be true. She shook her head and reached out hesitantly, gingerly lifting the paper between thumb and forefinger as if afraid it might attack her. She trembled as she unfolded it and scanned the front page. Bits of headlines jumped out at her, phrases from articles wormed their way into her consciousness. "Potter comatose . . . Dumbledore missing-presumed dead . . . Weasley daughter suspected in Death Eater plot." What? No. And yet there it was, in black and white. The article told of her secret romance with Draco Malfoy (not bloody likely) and how her devotion to the Malfoy heir had drawn her to the 'dark side' . . . the reporter had even found out about her first year at Hogwarts, and Riddle's Diary. "Lies, all of it."
"Probably." Draco nodded, his expression bland. "The Prophet has never been known for accuracy in reporting. Still, there's a grain of truth there, you know. Potter has been in a coma since he destroyed Voldemort." The way he sneered at the name made Ginny wonder if the rumors about him not being a Death Eater really were true. "Dumbledore has not been seen. Neither has Snape. And you, my dear Miss Weasley, are to be a guest of the House of Malfoy . . . indefinitely."
"You will not keep me prisoner here." The paper ripped in half in her outraged grasp.
"Did I say you were a prisoner?" he asked, one golden brow arched. "I don't recall using that term. No, I believe I said you were a guest."
"Guests are invited and stay of their own free will."
"Why Miss Weasley, are you implying that my mother and I are impolite? Malfoys do not keep prisoners in their bedrooms." He had advanced a few steps while speaking and the girl seemed to realize how close he was just as he used the word 'bedrooms'.
"Don't touch me Malfoy!"
Draco felt genuine confusion. "Why on earth would I?"
"Oh come off it! I'm in your bedroom. You said yourself that no one can come rescue me. I'm not stupid."
"I'm not so certain. Have you seen yourself lately?" Ginny stared. "You're horrid red hair is tangled and matted to the side of your head, your clothes are dirty, your face is smudged, and you have sleep bogeys in your eye. So, I ask you again, why on earth would I want to touch you?"
Ginny gasped and moved in front of the full-length mirror by the wall. He was right. She blushed a bit.
"Don't do that. It clashes with your hair." She spun around, angry again. Ah, she was more fun than her brother. "Now, follow me. The house elves have prepared your rooms, and drawn a bath." He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "I daresay you need that."
"M-my rooms?"
"Of course. I told you that you are a guest. Certainly you won't be expected to share my quarters."
"But I thought you . . ."
Draco sighed and turned around to face her fully. "Really Weasley, get over yourself. Yes, you are rather nicely girl-shaped, but not at all my type. Further, it is not my habit to take unwilling partners to my bed." He turned around and walked out the doorway before adding, "Oh, and then there's the fact that you snore."
"What? How dare you! I do not!"
"Yes, you do. It's rather unpleasantly loud. You drool a bit as well."
A wordless cry of rage was the only warning the young man had and then she was on him, small fists digging into his ribs. It was all rather unpleasant. He understood, now, what it meant to have older brothers. She managed to grasp a lock of his hair and yank and he yelled and turned, scrabbling for a hold on her. When he succeeded in his endeavor, he managed to throw her over his shoulder. He winced when she landed a particularly vicious punch near his kidney but managed to keep silent and not drop her. The door across the wide hallway was open and he marched straight through and dumped his obscenity-screaming burden unceremoniously on the large bed. He hurried back out of the room and closed the door. His mother was completely mad to think that . . . that . . . creature could be of any benefit to them.
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