Chapter 1 – Waking Up is Hard to Do
Note: HBP Spoilers
There was a painful dryness in her throat – that’s what she noticed first. The difficulty breathing, the raspy sound as she sucked in air.
Is that what woke me up? she wondered as she blinked groggily into the near darkness surrounding her.
It was only after she tried to shift positions that more real, more intense pain shot through her body. Her head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, temples throbbing and ears ringing. She gasped loudly as she raised her hand to her head. It was as if her entire body was one large bruise. Wincing, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, feeling cold, wet stone beneath her hands.
My God, where am I?
A look around her did not answer the question. She was on the floor of what appeared to be an enormous room punctuated with large round columns. The only light came from flickering torches ensconced randomly along the columns. She couldn’t see the ceiling through the gloom above her, and was only rewarded for tilting her head back by a shooting pain that ran up her spine. Shutting her eyes and holding her breath, she tried to will the pain away. It was then that she noticed how cold and damp the air felt on her skin – like being enveloped in a mist. There was a salt smell, too, and she heard faintly what sounded like the dull roar of waves crashing on rock.
I’m near the ocean at any rate, she thought, but without feeling any closer to understanding what that could possibly mean.
Think, Ginny! she said to herself, trying desperately to dispel the fog clouding her mind.
She had been out walking in the woods near the Burrow, trying to find some alone time as the cottage overflowed with company, all rushing about preparing for the next day’s celebration, all trying to throw off the weight of anxiety and sorrow with a steady stream of jokes and playful banter. Hermione had arrived that morning, looking paler and more thoughtful than usual, but smiling cheerily at everyone and even laughing good-naturedly at the nervous excitement evident in Bill’s constant fidgeting and Fleur’s nonstop chatter.
“’Ermione, do you theenk I should wear ze white roses or ze lilies? Zay both look so beautiful in my ‘air, I cannot choose.”
Exasperated at having heard this question for at least the fifteenth time that morning, Ginny had fled. She recovered her calm as she entered the coolness and quiet of the woods, making her way among the trees lightly and reaching out here and there to trail her fingers down a trunk. She wasn’t really angry at Fleur, she had realized. It’s sour grapes, she told herself. Harry would be arriving sometime that afternoon. He’d spent the last couple of weeks with his Muggle relatives, and Ginny hadn’t heard from him or seen him since Professor Dumbledore’s funeral. Since they had broken up. She had needed time alone to prepare herself, to steel herself for seeing him again.
It’s for the best this way, she had thought grimly. As Harry’s girlfriend, I could only be a liability to him, and he has more important things to concentrate on. Like the fate of the world, for instance.
Thinking it hadn’t made the ache in her chest any less, though, or taken away the hollow feeling in her stomach. Recalling it even now as she sat huddled God only knew where, her insides felt twisted in a way that had nothing to do with a physical hurt.
Everything up until this point seemed clear in Ginny’s mind, but what happened next was a blur. She remembered the sudden sound of a cracking twig come from somewhere behind her, remembered tensing in alarm and whirling about, her eyes darting in all directions. But she had seen nothing, and smiled at her foolishness.
Probably Hermione, rushing to escape Phlegm’s clutches, she had thought with a grin.
But as her shoulders relaxed and she stood expectantly, waiting for her friend to appear, she had heard more crackling, distinct footsteps, coming from all directions now. And even as she had attempted to turn, reaching for her wand, she had felt an intense pain in her head, like fire and icewater rushing through her at the same time, and everything had gone black.
I was attacked, she realized, drawing her knees up and huddling closer to the column behind her. I was attacked, and that can only mean Death Eaters.
As panic surged through her, a host of other questions barraged her mind in quick succession. What were Death Eaters doing near the Burrow? What happened to everyone else? Were they okay? Were they attacked as well? Mum and Dad? Ron? Harry? If they weren’t attacked, were they looking for her? How long had she been here?
And why, in God’s name, am I still alive?
That, perhaps, was what made the least sense. Death Eaters weren’t known for their mercy, and Ginny hadn’t heard of them ever taking prisoners. Killing was a sport to them, a game. And if they had taken her prisoner, it could only mean that something even worse than death was in store for her.
What if – what if they found out about me and Harry? What if they were planning on using me to get to him, force him to try to rescue me?
At the thought, tears forced their way through Ginny’s clenched eyelids as she tried not to sob aloud. Conflicting feelings warred within her. She desperately wanted Harry to save her, to feel his arms around her and know that everything was okay. But the thought of him walking into a trap, being hurt, maybe even . . .
“No!” she cried, her voice echoing through the vast darkness.
Sudden footsteps sounded behind her. Ginny immediately reached into her jeans for her wand, only to find that it wasn’t there. Her pockets must have been searched when she was unconscious, she realized.
I’m completely defenseless. With a grimace of pain, she struggled to her feet and turned to meet her attackers. I’ll fight with my bare hands, she thought. If I’m going to die, I’ll at least –
“You’re awake!” exclaimed a small voice with evident relief. Two children emerged from the gloom in front of Ginny. The taller of the two, a boy, was the one who had spoken.
“You’re Ginny Weasley, right? I’ve watched you play Quidditch. You probably don’t know me though. I’m Kevin Pullman – just finished first year. In Ravenclaw. This is my sis, Lizzie – she’s only ten, so she’s not at school yet, er –” he trailed off awkwardly, but wiping a hand on his khaki pants, he thrust it forward for Ginny to shake. She took it, speechlessly, looking in amazement from one of them to the other. Both were pale and a bit wide-eyed, with grime covered faces and disheveled clothes. Kevin was thin and tall for a first year, nearly Ginny’s height, and had close-cut dark brown hair. Lizzie had much lighter hair than her brother, nearly blonde, and it was barely held back in a messy pony tail at the base of her neck. Her face was round and dimpled slightly as she smiled nervously at Ginny. She trembled as she stood close by her brother, and looked very cold in the light sundress she was wearing.
“It’s . . . um . . . it’s nice to meet you both,” Ginny said slowly after surveying the two. “But why are you here? Where are we?” Kevin and Lizzie glanced at each other before replying.
“We don’t know,” said Kevin in a subdued voice. “We had snuck off to the Muggle playground while Mum was taking a nap. Next thing we knew we woke up here. Not even sure how long we’ve been here. At least a week, we think. But there’s no way to tell if it’s even night or day. I’m trying to keep track by the meals the fat guy brings us – think he comes twice a day.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think he’s a Death Eater.”
Lizzie chimed in with a slight whimper, “He’s scary, the way he smiles at us. And he doesn’t bring us very much to eat. At least that one barely touches anything.” She nodded her head over her shoulder.
“Who barely touches anything? Is there someone else here with us?” Ginny asked.
“Over there,” Kevin indicated with a wave of his arm. “But I don’t think he’ll last much longer,” he added flatly. Ginny glanced at him with surprise at the lack of concern in his voice and then hurried toward the spot he indicated, wincing at the soreness in her legs.
Finally reaching the outer wall of what could only be the dungeon of some immense castle, Ginny saw a thick pile of straw and next to it, a large pitcher with a ladle resting against it. At the far edge of the straw pile was a gaunt figure of a man lying face up with one arm extended toward the wall and the other resting across his chest. Ginny began approaching with trepidation, unsure of whether the man was alive or dead, when she suddenly halted in surprise. This was a figure she recognized.
“Draco Malfoy!” she exclaimed.
The figure stirred slightly and Ginny moved closer. She had never seen Malfoy look so awful. His usually carefully combed white-blonde hair hung loosely across his forehead, and he, like Kevin and Lizzie, had a fair amount of dirt covering his face. The skin that did show through the grime seemed even paler than normal – quite a feat, considering Malfoy’s usual marble-like pallor – now it looked almost translucent and seemed to glow like moonlight in the darkness. His left hand resting on his chest stood out in sharp relief against his black robes, and his long, thin fingers looked so fragile that Ginny imagined they might snap easily if she bent them.
“He was already here when we got here,” Kevin said, moving to stand beside Ginny and glaring at Malfoy’s still form. “We think he knows where we are, but he won’t talk to us. Big, bullying git.” Kevin had clearly already become acquainted with Malfoy at school.
“He said he would eat me if I didn’t leave him alone!” piped up Lizzie. Ginny almost laughed in surprise. Malfoy must be completely deranged if he’d taken to threats of cannibalism, she thought to herself. Stooping over him, she nudged his shoulder.
“Malfoy! Wake up!”
Slowly, Draco Malfoy opened one eye and then the other. “Go aw-” he started to say, but stopped as his eyes slid into focus on Ginny’s face.
“Fresh meat,” he drawled. “And a Weasley, no less.” He chuckled humorlessly, a slight sneer on his face.
“Malfoy, tell me where we are,” Ginny demanded. He didn’t respond, but instead closed his eyes again.
“Malfoy!”
“Go away, little weasel,” he said in a hoarse voice barely above a whisper, his eyes still closed. “Go away, and let me die in peace.”
“That’s what I figured,” Kevin said, shaking his head. “He won’t talk to you either.”
Ginny was stunned. What was Malfoy, a known Death Eater, doing here? And in his condition? She sat down on the floor near Malfoy, staring at him as she tried to figure out what to do. She remembered all that Harry had told her a few weeks back, about how Malfoy was responsible for Dumbledore’s death, how he was going to kill Dumbledore himself. Harry had been obsessing over Malfoy all year, and the seething hate was clear in his voice. But in a conversation she had overheard in the kitchen between her mother and Lupin, Malfoy was discussed with pity.
“Of course Albus guessed all along,” Ginny heard Lupin say, “but he knew young Malfoy hadn’t the heart to go through with it. Albus wanted him to struggle to that realization on his own.”
“Poor boy,” Mrs. Weasley replied, “It’s his parents’ fault, really. Trying to live up to his father’s expectations. And that heartless woman he has for a mother –” Ginny saw her mother shudder.
“Oh, Remus, if only Albus had fully realized what Snape would do,” Mrs. Weasley continued.
“I’m not so sure he didn’t,” was Lupin’s quiet reply. Ginny had heard no more as Ron bounded down the steps and into the room, interrupting them.
She still didn’t know what to believe. When she was Harry’s girlfriend, she of course had wanted to be of the same mind as him, but the intensity of his hatred for Malfoy frightened her a little. She had always despised Malfoy herself – he was a bully and a bigot – and she had quite enjoyed performing her renowned Bat-Bogey Hex on him during her fourth year, but being a bully was one thing, she thought, being pure evil was quite another, and Malfoy just didn’t seem to have it in him. Besides, there was also her run-in with him in the bathroom last spring . . . .
Won’t think of that now, she said to herself, shaking her head slightly and returning her focus to the present Malfoy, lying in front of her, his breath rattling ominously in his chest.
“Whatever our feelings about Malfoy,” Ginny said to Kevin and Lizzie, who had seated themselves beside her, “I think we have to try to keep him alive until he tells us what he knows about this place and why we’re here. It might be the only chance we’ve got at getting out of here.”
Kevin nodded at once, a look of determination on his face. Lizzie seemed more hesitant.
“I don’t have to go near him, do I?” she asked fearfully. “He said –”
Ginny smiled at her reassuringly. “He won’t eat you, I promise. I won’t let him.”
“Okay, then,” Lizzie said, more confidently. “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” replied Ginny. “What we’ll need to do first is get him warm. There aren’t by any chance blankets lying around down here?” Kevin shook his head. “Right, I didn’t expect so. Let’s try piling some straw on him. Let his body heat do the work.”
Ginny and the two Pullman siblings busied themselves arranging a thick layer of straw over Malfoy’s unmoving form, Ginny directing them to keep it away from his face. “We don’t want to suffocate him.”
Not yet, anyway, she thought with a smirk.
Next, they worked on getting some water into him. Kevin held Malfoy’s head up while Ginny trickled water into his mouth from the ladle.
“Three scoops ought to do it for now,” she said. “Do we have any food at all?”
Again Kevin shook his head. “But the fat man should be bringing some soon. It’s been a while since he was down here.”
“Well, then, there’s nothing more to do for Malfoy until food comes. I’d like to have a look around this place, see if there might be any ways out you’ve missed.”
“Allow me to escort you on the grand tour, m’lady,” said Kevin, holding out his elbow with a grin.
“Why thank you, sir,” replied Ginny, hooking her elbow through his and smiling in return. “Lizzie, will you stay here and keep an eye on Malfoy?” Lizzie nodded resolutely. “Just shout to us if he wakes up or seems worse.”
Ginny and Kevin moved carefully through the gloomy dungeon, occasionally stumbling over piles of rubble.
“It’s almost a neat place, really,” Kevin said. “Here on this side all the walls are regular stone, but on the far side it’s like it’s carved right out of the rock, all rough like a cave. There’s a really low spot full of water – gets pretty deep I think. But no good for drinking, all salty.” Kevin directed their steps toward the spot.
Ginny couldn’t believe it was possible, but as they progressed toward the far end of the dungeon, the air became even colder and damper, and the salt-smell of the ocean was now clearly discernable. The columns on this side of the dungeon dripped with water, and Ginny felt her thin t-shirt clinging to her uncomfortably.
“There’s the stairs,” Kevin pointed, as a narrow archway suddenly appeared out of the gloom, cut into the rock beside them. “No use trying to get up them, though. Some sort of charm – I can’t even put my foot on the bottom step.” Ginny walked through the archway and saw a staircase curving upwards into the mist. Sure enough, as soon as she tried to place her foot on the first step, it felt like she was kicking a solid wall.
“Damn!” she muttered under her breath, although she knew it had been too much to hope that she’d be able to simply walk up and out of there. She returned to Kevin’s side and he led on to the pool he had mentioned. It was located in by far the darkest corner of the dungeon. The floor had been sloping downward steadily for some time, and Ginny noticed that she was walking on dirt now rather than carved stone. Here, no torches flickered on any of the columns, and Ginny guessed that it was probably too damp to keep one lit. A large pool stretched out in front of her, terminating at the jagged rock wall that marked the dungeon’s end.
“It’s not always as big as this,” Kevin said. “It seems to grow and shrink pretty regularly.”
“Really?” Ginny replied, chewing her thumbnail and scrunching her brow up thoughtfully. “Have you tried –” Before she could finish her question, a shrill, sing-songy voice called out behind them.
“Children! Dinner’s here! Where are you?” Ginny and Kevin looked at each other a moment in hesitation, and then started back up the slope toward the main part of the dungeon.
Just beyond the entrance to the stairs, Ginny saw a rather fat man levitating a tray of food in front of him, heading for the corner where Lizzie and Malfoy were. He must have heard the footsteps behind him, because he suddenly swung around.
“Oh, good! So glad to see you awake at last, Miss Weasley! My goodness! Unconscious for over two days – I was beginning to think you’d been more seriously damaged than we’d intended,” the man laughed maliciously. Ginny took in his appearance quickly – balding on top, large protruding front teeth, rat-like face – but it wasn’t until she saw his one silver arm that she knew who he was.
“Wormtail!” she hissed.
“Ah, you recognize me!” Wormtail said with a mock bow. “Though if you’d like to call me Scabbers for old times’ sake, I wouldn’t mind a bit,” he continued, laughing again.
“Where am I? Why have you taken me?” Ginny demanded furiously.
“So feisty!” replied Wormtail. “But then you always were a little spitfire as a child!” Again the cackle that Ginny was beginning to loathe with every inch of her being.
“But really,” Wormtail said as his laughter trailed off, “all of your questions will be answered in due time. Don’t you worry about it – the Dark Lord has very special plans for you.” He smiled at the two of them evilly and then continued walking toward the straw-filled corner. Reaching it, he settled the food tray on the floor with a flick of his wand, which he then tapped against the side of the water jug, muttering the Refilling Charm, and then with another sinister smile all around, he scuttled away into the gloom. Ginny began to chase after him, but then stopped, realizing that she was totally unarmed and couldn’t do much good against him.
Best come up with a plan first, she told herself. She settled back down with Kevin and Lizzie around the food tray and looked glumly at their meager meal. The tray had a few large hunks of very stale bread, and a large pot of some sort of stew. It smelled strongly of fish and didn’t look at all appetizing.
“Mmm, Seaweed Surprise!” Kevin exclaimed in mock enthusiasm. “My favorite!”
Lizzie giggled half-heartedly, and the three attempted to choke down as much of the foul dish as they could. Ginny set aside a couple of the bread chunks, and after they had eaten their fill, she went about forcing food down Malfoy’s throat. She ripped the bread into very small chunks and then soaked each piece in the remaining stew. Prying open Malfoy’s unresisting mouth, she placed a piece of the soaked bread on the very back of his tongue, and just as she’d hoped, his gag reflex took over and he swallowed the bit of food. With the patience of a saint (so she told herself), Ginny forced Malfoy to eat the rest of the bread and then ladled more water down his throat.
“I feel a bit like a mama bird,” she joked. Lizzie and Kevin laughed.
“If only we could feed him real worms,” said Lizzie, and all three laughed again. Ginny realized that she really liked the Pullmans, which made her feel even more determined to get them all out of this mess.
We’ve just got to find a way out of here, she said to herself, watching Kevin scoop a ladle full of water for his sister. Or be rescued . . . .
The three made themselves comfortable on the hay and tried to have a light-hearted conversation, mainly discussing Quidditch teams and classes at Hogwarts. After a while, Lizzie began yawning and Ginny suggested they all try to get some sleep. As Ginny lay there in the hay beside Malfoy, she thought his breathing sounded more regular. Restlessly, she turned to look at him. He was so pale, so peaceful looking.
He’s beautiful, really, Ginny thought, and then shuddered at the idea of finding Draco Malfoy attractive. Unbidden, her mind wandered back to the day last spring when she had encountered Malfoy in one of the bathrooms, a day she referred to mentally as “Malfoy Madness Day” for more than one reason . . . .
Note: HBP Spoilers
There was a painful dryness in her throat – that’s what she noticed first. The difficulty breathing, the raspy sound as she sucked in air.
Is that what woke me up? she wondered as she blinked groggily into the near darkness surrounding her.
It was only after she tried to shift positions that more real, more intense pain shot through her body. Her head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, temples throbbing and ears ringing. She gasped loudly as she raised her hand to her head. It was as if her entire body was one large bruise. Wincing, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, feeling cold, wet stone beneath her hands.
My God, where am I?
A look around her did not answer the question. She was on the floor of what appeared to be an enormous room punctuated with large round columns. The only light came from flickering torches ensconced randomly along the columns. She couldn’t see the ceiling through the gloom above her, and was only rewarded for tilting her head back by a shooting pain that ran up her spine. Shutting her eyes and holding her breath, she tried to will the pain away. It was then that she noticed how cold and damp the air felt on her skin – like being enveloped in a mist. There was a salt smell, too, and she heard faintly what sounded like the dull roar of waves crashing on rock.
I’m near the ocean at any rate, she thought, but without feeling any closer to understanding what that could possibly mean.
Think, Ginny! she said to herself, trying desperately to dispel the fog clouding her mind.
She had been out walking in the woods near the Burrow, trying to find some alone time as the cottage overflowed with company, all rushing about preparing for the next day’s celebration, all trying to throw off the weight of anxiety and sorrow with a steady stream of jokes and playful banter. Hermione had arrived that morning, looking paler and more thoughtful than usual, but smiling cheerily at everyone and even laughing good-naturedly at the nervous excitement evident in Bill’s constant fidgeting and Fleur’s nonstop chatter.
“’Ermione, do you theenk I should wear ze white roses or ze lilies? Zay both look so beautiful in my ‘air, I cannot choose.”
Exasperated at having heard this question for at least the fifteenth time that morning, Ginny had fled. She recovered her calm as she entered the coolness and quiet of the woods, making her way among the trees lightly and reaching out here and there to trail her fingers down a trunk. She wasn’t really angry at Fleur, she had realized. It’s sour grapes, she told herself. Harry would be arriving sometime that afternoon. He’d spent the last couple of weeks with his Muggle relatives, and Ginny hadn’t heard from him or seen him since Professor Dumbledore’s funeral. Since they had broken up. She had needed time alone to prepare herself, to steel herself for seeing him again.
It’s for the best this way, she had thought grimly. As Harry’s girlfriend, I could only be a liability to him, and he has more important things to concentrate on. Like the fate of the world, for instance.
Thinking it hadn’t made the ache in her chest any less, though, or taken away the hollow feeling in her stomach. Recalling it even now as she sat huddled God only knew where, her insides felt twisted in a way that had nothing to do with a physical hurt.
Everything up until this point seemed clear in Ginny’s mind, but what happened next was a blur. She remembered the sudden sound of a cracking twig come from somewhere behind her, remembered tensing in alarm and whirling about, her eyes darting in all directions. But she had seen nothing, and smiled at her foolishness.
Probably Hermione, rushing to escape Phlegm’s clutches, she had thought with a grin.
But as her shoulders relaxed and she stood expectantly, waiting for her friend to appear, she had heard more crackling, distinct footsteps, coming from all directions now. And even as she had attempted to turn, reaching for her wand, she had felt an intense pain in her head, like fire and icewater rushing through her at the same time, and everything had gone black.
I was attacked, she realized, drawing her knees up and huddling closer to the column behind her. I was attacked, and that can only mean Death Eaters.
As panic surged through her, a host of other questions barraged her mind in quick succession. What were Death Eaters doing near the Burrow? What happened to everyone else? Were they okay? Were they attacked as well? Mum and Dad? Ron? Harry? If they weren’t attacked, were they looking for her? How long had she been here?
And why, in God’s name, am I still alive?
That, perhaps, was what made the least sense. Death Eaters weren’t known for their mercy, and Ginny hadn’t heard of them ever taking prisoners. Killing was a sport to them, a game. And if they had taken her prisoner, it could only mean that something even worse than death was in store for her.
What if – what if they found out about me and Harry? What if they were planning on using me to get to him, force him to try to rescue me?
At the thought, tears forced their way through Ginny’s clenched eyelids as she tried not to sob aloud. Conflicting feelings warred within her. She desperately wanted Harry to save her, to feel his arms around her and know that everything was okay. But the thought of him walking into a trap, being hurt, maybe even . . .
“No!” she cried, her voice echoing through the vast darkness.
Sudden footsteps sounded behind her. Ginny immediately reached into her jeans for her wand, only to find that it wasn’t there. Her pockets must have been searched when she was unconscious, she realized.
I’m completely defenseless. With a grimace of pain, she struggled to her feet and turned to meet her attackers. I’ll fight with my bare hands, she thought. If I’m going to die, I’ll at least –
“You’re awake!” exclaimed a small voice with evident relief. Two children emerged from the gloom in front of Ginny. The taller of the two, a boy, was the one who had spoken.
“You’re Ginny Weasley, right? I’ve watched you play Quidditch. You probably don’t know me though. I’m Kevin Pullman – just finished first year. In Ravenclaw. This is my sis, Lizzie – she’s only ten, so she’s not at school yet, er –” he trailed off awkwardly, but wiping a hand on his khaki pants, he thrust it forward for Ginny to shake. She took it, speechlessly, looking in amazement from one of them to the other. Both were pale and a bit wide-eyed, with grime covered faces and disheveled clothes. Kevin was thin and tall for a first year, nearly Ginny’s height, and had close-cut dark brown hair. Lizzie had much lighter hair than her brother, nearly blonde, and it was barely held back in a messy pony tail at the base of her neck. Her face was round and dimpled slightly as she smiled nervously at Ginny. She trembled as she stood close by her brother, and looked very cold in the light sundress she was wearing.
“It’s . . . um . . . it’s nice to meet you both,” Ginny said slowly after surveying the two. “But why are you here? Where are we?” Kevin and Lizzie glanced at each other before replying.
“We don’t know,” said Kevin in a subdued voice. “We had snuck off to the Muggle playground while Mum was taking a nap. Next thing we knew we woke up here. Not even sure how long we’ve been here. At least a week, we think. But there’s no way to tell if it’s even night or day. I’m trying to keep track by the meals the fat guy brings us – think he comes twice a day.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I think he’s a Death Eater.”
Lizzie chimed in with a slight whimper, “He’s scary, the way he smiles at us. And he doesn’t bring us very much to eat. At least that one barely touches anything.” She nodded her head over her shoulder.
“Who barely touches anything? Is there someone else here with us?” Ginny asked.
“Over there,” Kevin indicated with a wave of his arm. “But I don’t think he’ll last much longer,” he added flatly. Ginny glanced at him with surprise at the lack of concern in his voice and then hurried toward the spot he indicated, wincing at the soreness in her legs.
Finally reaching the outer wall of what could only be the dungeon of some immense castle, Ginny saw a thick pile of straw and next to it, a large pitcher with a ladle resting against it. At the far edge of the straw pile was a gaunt figure of a man lying face up with one arm extended toward the wall and the other resting across his chest. Ginny began approaching with trepidation, unsure of whether the man was alive or dead, when she suddenly halted in surprise. This was a figure she recognized.
“Draco Malfoy!” she exclaimed.
The figure stirred slightly and Ginny moved closer. She had never seen Malfoy look so awful. His usually carefully combed white-blonde hair hung loosely across his forehead, and he, like Kevin and Lizzie, had a fair amount of dirt covering his face. The skin that did show through the grime seemed even paler than normal – quite a feat, considering Malfoy’s usual marble-like pallor – now it looked almost translucent and seemed to glow like moonlight in the darkness. His left hand resting on his chest stood out in sharp relief against his black robes, and his long, thin fingers looked so fragile that Ginny imagined they might snap easily if she bent them.
“He was already here when we got here,” Kevin said, moving to stand beside Ginny and glaring at Malfoy’s still form. “We think he knows where we are, but he won’t talk to us. Big, bullying git.” Kevin had clearly already become acquainted with Malfoy at school.
“He said he would eat me if I didn’t leave him alone!” piped up Lizzie. Ginny almost laughed in surprise. Malfoy must be completely deranged if he’d taken to threats of cannibalism, she thought to herself. Stooping over him, she nudged his shoulder.
“Malfoy! Wake up!”
Slowly, Draco Malfoy opened one eye and then the other. “Go aw-” he started to say, but stopped as his eyes slid into focus on Ginny’s face.
“Fresh meat,” he drawled. “And a Weasley, no less.” He chuckled humorlessly, a slight sneer on his face.
“Malfoy, tell me where we are,” Ginny demanded. He didn’t respond, but instead closed his eyes again.
“Malfoy!”
“Go away, little weasel,” he said in a hoarse voice barely above a whisper, his eyes still closed. “Go away, and let me die in peace.”
“That’s what I figured,” Kevin said, shaking his head. “He won’t talk to you either.”
Ginny was stunned. What was Malfoy, a known Death Eater, doing here? And in his condition? She sat down on the floor near Malfoy, staring at him as she tried to figure out what to do. She remembered all that Harry had told her a few weeks back, about how Malfoy was responsible for Dumbledore’s death, how he was going to kill Dumbledore himself. Harry had been obsessing over Malfoy all year, and the seething hate was clear in his voice. But in a conversation she had overheard in the kitchen between her mother and Lupin, Malfoy was discussed with pity.
“Of course Albus guessed all along,” Ginny heard Lupin say, “but he knew young Malfoy hadn’t the heart to go through with it. Albus wanted him to struggle to that realization on his own.”
“Poor boy,” Mrs. Weasley replied, “It’s his parents’ fault, really. Trying to live up to his father’s expectations. And that heartless woman he has for a mother –” Ginny saw her mother shudder.
“Oh, Remus, if only Albus had fully realized what Snape would do,” Mrs. Weasley continued.
“I’m not so sure he didn’t,” was Lupin’s quiet reply. Ginny had heard no more as Ron bounded down the steps and into the room, interrupting them.
She still didn’t know what to believe. When she was Harry’s girlfriend, she of course had wanted to be of the same mind as him, but the intensity of his hatred for Malfoy frightened her a little. She had always despised Malfoy herself – he was a bully and a bigot – and she had quite enjoyed performing her renowned Bat-Bogey Hex on him during her fourth year, but being a bully was one thing, she thought, being pure evil was quite another, and Malfoy just didn’t seem to have it in him. Besides, there was also her run-in with him in the bathroom last spring . . . .
Won’t think of that now, she said to herself, shaking her head slightly and returning her focus to the present Malfoy, lying in front of her, his breath rattling ominously in his chest.
“Whatever our feelings about Malfoy,” Ginny said to Kevin and Lizzie, who had seated themselves beside her, “I think we have to try to keep him alive until he tells us what he knows about this place and why we’re here. It might be the only chance we’ve got at getting out of here.”
Kevin nodded at once, a look of determination on his face. Lizzie seemed more hesitant.
“I don’t have to go near him, do I?” she asked fearfully. “He said –”
Ginny smiled at her reassuringly. “He won’t eat you, I promise. I won’t let him.”
“Okay, then,” Lizzie said, more confidently. “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” replied Ginny. “What we’ll need to do first is get him warm. There aren’t by any chance blankets lying around down here?” Kevin shook his head. “Right, I didn’t expect so. Let’s try piling some straw on him. Let his body heat do the work.”
Ginny and the two Pullman siblings busied themselves arranging a thick layer of straw over Malfoy’s unmoving form, Ginny directing them to keep it away from his face. “We don’t want to suffocate him.”
Not yet, anyway, she thought with a smirk.
Next, they worked on getting some water into him. Kevin held Malfoy’s head up while Ginny trickled water into his mouth from the ladle.
“Three scoops ought to do it for now,” she said. “Do we have any food at all?”
Again Kevin shook his head. “But the fat man should be bringing some soon. It’s been a while since he was down here.”
“Well, then, there’s nothing more to do for Malfoy until food comes. I’d like to have a look around this place, see if there might be any ways out you’ve missed.”
“Allow me to escort you on the grand tour, m’lady,” said Kevin, holding out his elbow with a grin.
“Why thank you, sir,” replied Ginny, hooking her elbow through his and smiling in return. “Lizzie, will you stay here and keep an eye on Malfoy?” Lizzie nodded resolutely. “Just shout to us if he wakes up or seems worse.”
Ginny and Kevin moved carefully through the gloomy dungeon, occasionally stumbling over piles of rubble.
“It’s almost a neat place, really,” Kevin said. “Here on this side all the walls are regular stone, but on the far side it’s like it’s carved right out of the rock, all rough like a cave. There’s a really low spot full of water – gets pretty deep I think. But no good for drinking, all salty.” Kevin directed their steps toward the spot.
Ginny couldn’t believe it was possible, but as they progressed toward the far end of the dungeon, the air became even colder and damper, and the salt-smell of the ocean was now clearly discernable. The columns on this side of the dungeon dripped with water, and Ginny felt her thin t-shirt clinging to her uncomfortably.
“There’s the stairs,” Kevin pointed, as a narrow archway suddenly appeared out of the gloom, cut into the rock beside them. “No use trying to get up them, though. Some sort of charm – I can’t even put my foot on the bottom step.” Ginny walked through the archway and saw a staircase curving upwards into the mist. Sure enough, as soon as she tried to place her foot on the first step, it felt like she was kicking a solid wall.
“Damn!” she muttered under her breath, although she knew it had been too much to hope that she’d be able to simply walk up and out of there. She returned to Kevin’s side and he led on to the pool he had mentioned. It was located in by far the darkest corner of the dungeon. The floor had been sloping downward steadily for some time, and Ginny noticed that she was walking on dirt now rather than carved stone. Here, no torches flickered on any of the columns, and Ginny guessed that it was probably too damp to keep one lit. A large pool stretched out in front of her, terminating at the jagged rock wall that marked the dungeon’s end.
“It’s not always as big as this,” Kevin said. “It seems to grow and shrink pretty regularly.”
“Really?” Ginny replied, chewing her thumbnail and scrunching her brow up thoughtfully. “Have you tried –” Before she could finish her question, a shrill, sing-songy voice called out behind them.
“Children! Dinner’s here! Where are you?” Ginny and Kevin looked at each other a moment in hesitation, and then started back up the slope toward the main part of the dungeon.
Just beyond the entrance to the stairs, Ginny saw a rather fat man levitating a tray of food in front of him, heading for the corner where Lizzie and Malfoy were. He must have heard the footsteps behind him, because he suddenly swung around.
“Oh, good! So glad to see you awake at last, Miss Weasley! My goodness! Unconscious for over two days – I was beginning to think you’d been more seriously damaged than we’d intended,” the man laughed maliciously. Ginny took in his appearance quickly – balding on top, large protruding front teeth, rat-like face – but it wasn’t until she saw his one silver arm that she knew who he was.
“Wormtail!” she hissed.
“Ah, you recognize me!” Wormtail said with a mock bow. “Though if you’d like to call me Scabbers for old times’ sake, I wouldn’t mind a bit,” he continued, laughing again.
“Where am I? Why have you taken me?” Ginny demanded furiously.
“So feisty!” replied Wormtail. “But then you always were a little spitfire as a child!” Again the cackle that Ginny was beginning to loathe with every inch of her being.
“But really,” Wormtail said as his laughter trailed off, “all of your questions will be answered in due time. Don’t you worry about it – the Dark Lord has very special plans for you.” He smiled at the two of them evilly and then continued walking toward the straw-filled corner. Reaching it, he settled the food tray on the floor with a flick of his wand, which he then tapped against the side of the water jug, muttering the Refilling Charm, and then with another sinister smile all around, he scuttled away into the gloom. Ginny began to chase after him, but then stopped, realizing that she was totally unarmed and couldn’t do much good against him.
Best come up with a plan first, she told herself. She settled back down with Kevin and Lizzie around the food tray and looked glumly at their meager meal. The tray had a few large hunks of very stale bread, and a large pot of some sort of stew. It smelled strongly of fish and didn’t look at all appetizing.
“Mmm, Seaweed Surprise!” Kevin exclaimed in mock enthusiasm. “My favorite!”
Lizzie giggled half-heartedly, and the three attempted to choke down as much of the foul dish as they could. Ginny set aside a couple of the bread chunks, and after they had eaten their fill, she went about forcing food down Malfoy’s throat. She ripped the bread into very small chunks and then soaked each piece in the remaining stew. Prying open Malfoy’s unresisting mouth, she placed a piece of the soaked bread on the very back of his tongue, and just as she’d hoped, his gag reflex took over and he swallowed the bit of food. With the patience of a saint (so she told herself), Ginny forced Malfoy to eat the rest of the bread and then ladled more water down his throat.
“I feel a bit like a mama bird,” she joked. Lizzie and Kevin laughed.
“If only we could feed him real worms,” said Lizzie, and all three laughed again. Ginny realized that she really liked the Pullmans, which made her feel even more determined to get them all out of this mess.
We’ve just got to find a way out of here, she said to herself, watching Kevin scoop a ladle full of water for his sister. Or be rescued . . . .
The three made themselves comfortable on the hay and tried to have a light-hearted conversation, mainly discussing Quidditch teams and classes at Hogwarts. After a while, Lizzie began yawning and Ginny suggested they all try to get some sleep. As Ginny lay there in the hay beside Malfoy, she thought his breathing sounded more regular. Restlessly, she turned to look at him. He was so pale, so peaceful looking.
He’s beautiful, really, Ginny thought, and then shuddered at the idea of finding Draco Malfoy attractive. Unbidden, her mind wandered back to the day last spring when she had encountered Malfoy in one of the bathrooms, a day she referred to mentally as “Malfoy Madness Day” for more than one reason . . . .
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