Jewel of the Harem: The Grindelwald Continuum Book One

Chapter 15

Deception.

He makes himself take slow, deep breaths, groping for his concentration. She is a black cat in his path, a ladder he has walked under, a crow swooping straight into his eyes. Seven times seven years of bad luck.

--One on One, Tabitha King.

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A/N: Thanks to all the reviewers of Ch. 14, who were the most wonderful, helpful, thoughtful bunch yet! Especially Mora and DracoEater, who were both glad to see Fluffy!Draco gone (believe me, he's still gone,) Fatema, who sent the kind of review we all dream of, SingtoAngels (check out her fic if you haven't already!!,) Katherine Lynn (wonderful concrit!), Anna Froesig, Rachel Satowsky, Ivy99, Raindrop, Athena (I CAN'T have an LJ, I'd never leave the computer!), Neekerbreeker, bellebelle, Moonlite, Kori Lewis, Verbal Abuse, Mara Jade, Potty and the Weasel, trevor, waterlily12 (great review!), Sydney Lynne (wonderful review!), StarEyes (supercalifragilisticexpialadocious review!), Silvericedragoness, vampyre Jazmin, bingoni, and Terra Incognito.

The Storms Are On the Ocean is by the Carter Family, and was their first commercially successful song in 1928. Forgot to give credit for Joni Mitchell's Free Man in Paris in Chapter 14 (looks sheepish.)

There's some great art for this chapter, but it seems like there have been some problems with viewing it through these links. Here's what you do. Go to the Files section in the Pillar of Fire Yahoo group, and look under StarEyes' art folder. Also Essayel's art folder (she did a truly great Draco drawing last week!) . It's all there.

Here's the Pillar of Fire group!

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The sun was exceptionally bright this morning.

Ginny shaded her eyes with one hand, moving her chair slightly from side to side as she and Draco sat at the table, sharing out the last scraps of food they had brought with them. Nothing seemed to help.

"Here, have the last of it," he said, handing her the heel of bread from the day before.

"But you haven't eaten a thing."

"I'm not hungry," he said smoothly.

She nibbled at the bread. Her head ached, and felt as if its contents had been removed and replaced with wads of wet cotton. However, as she was fully aware, that was the least of her problems right now.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Malfoy," she said, in what she sincerely hoped was a determined voice. "There's something we have to--"

But he had already gotten up from the table, and was glancing out the window, then hurrying back. He seemed possessed by a strange restlessness. "Must be nine o'clock already," he said. "But I think we'll be all right. I thought we'd ride today."

"Ride?" Ginny asked dubiously. "On what?"

"You said there was a town a bit further up, on the high road. Ought to have a large inn that would let us hire horses, for a price. We can ride them all the way to Leith and leave them there at the next inn. Very common travellers' service in the sixteenth century."

"Uh, there's a problem with that. There's definitely a problem. Because--"

"You can't ride?" Draco interrupted her. "Don't worry about that. They're sure to have a pillion saddle as well. You can climb up behind me and hold on; you'll do fine. Leith isn't really all that much further, you said?"

"No, but--"

"You might be a bit sore by the end of the day. But we can have hot baths tonight, wouldn't you like that?"

"Yes, but-- uh--" Ginny groped for words. He was pleasant, very polite; but he was cutting off the ends of her sentences before she reached them, as if he'd prerehearsed everything he wanted to say and was determined to get it out. That was her only concrete clue. But something odd was going on, it definitely was. As if she needed anything more to add to her feeling of dread. What she was about to say was quite sufficient in that department. "Uh--" She tried again.

Draco swung round to face her. "What?"

"Is it safe to take the main road? We were avoiding it before," she said, instead of what she knew she must say.

He looked into the distance for a moment, past her. "It's safe," he said.

A tremor of unease went through her. "But what if we meet, uh..."

Then he looked at her, and Ginny rather wished he had not. There was something unsettling about his silvery eyes today; they were like mirrors, reflecting everything, revealing nothing, blank and almost blind-looking. "We won't meet anyone on the road," he said softly. "I know we won't-- I feel we won't. Believe me, Weasley, I don't want to do so any more than you."

"Good." She cleared her throat.

"All right then. Are you ready to go?"

"Er--"

"Of course you are; it isn't as if there's anything to wash with, or any other clothes to change into. Just wait until tonight for that."

"Well, that would certainly be nice, but it's not the real problem--" Ginny tried again.

"Tonight," Draco repeated, an odd little smile curling up the corners of his lips as he rearranged the items in the bag. Then he looked up, as if he had only heard Ginny's words after a delay of some seconds. "Well?"

"I said that it's not the real problem."

" I'm afraid I don't understand," said Draco, shouldering the bag. "Then what is?"

"I'm not going to Leith." There! She had said it.

He stared at her. "What did I hear you say?" he asked in a tone of genuine puzzlement, as if his auditory processes hadn't quite been working right at the moment when she'd spoken.

"I'm not going. To Leith."

"Of course you're going to Leith." His voice was still carefully controlled, and almost soothing, as if coaxing a shy child to join its playmates at a birthday party.

"No."

Draco leaned down to her, and his smile widened. "Now, Weasley, you're just being silly. Come along."

Ginny actually gripped the table with her hands. "I won't go because you're plotting something awful and I don't know exactly what it is, but you have to get me to Leith to do it and I won't let you and--" Her words tumbled out over each other and she stopped them before she could add that she had seen, had seen terrible and frightening things happening, things she still steadfastly refused to let herself dwell on because otherwise she'd never be able to get through this one day, let alone any others. She couldn't fool herself into thinking that it had all been a dream, no matter how comforting that thought might have been. It had been no dream, but a vision of truth.

"Weasley. Come on." Draco advanced on her, moving around the table. The very pleasantness of his smile was actually beginning to seem menacing.

"I won't go and-- and--"

Draco closed his eyes. Control. Control. He laid a hand on her wrist, gently. "And what?" His voice was supposed to be gentle, too, but he was acutely aware that it was failing miserably.

She took a deep breath, and nearly spat her next words in his face. "And you can't make me!"

So much for pleasantness, thought Draco. I tried. I really did. "Oh, but I can make you," he snarled, his face going suddenly and alarmingly livid. "Do I have to tie you up and sling you across the back of a horse? I've got some rope in that bag, you know."

"That's the kind of thing you would do, Malfoy."

"Yes, it is, so don't tempt me." He dug his fingernails so hard into his palms that he could feel the white half-moons rising in his flesh, and tried one more time. "What's it to be, Weasley? Are you going to come along nicely? It'll be easier if you do."

"No," she said, and then, with one bound, she was up from the table and fleeing across the room.

The problem was, of course, that there really wasn't anywhere to go. He caught up with her within two strides and tripped her to the floor. She scrambled out from under him and ran for the door. He grabbed the back of the green cape and hauled her towards him. She wriggled out of it and darted for the bedroom alcove. He chased her and she scooted across the bed away from him. He moved swiftly to the other side and used her own momentum to pull her partway over his shoulder.

Ginny was losing the battle; she could feel it. Damn him. There had to be a way; she refused to believe there wasn't. If only her wand worked! But then she did remember something, just as he was dragging her across the bed and she was kicking at him, her most vicious kicks always failing to connect. Something from a television programme she'd seen during that week she never forgot-- something about protesters in America... and what they would do when Muggle lawkeepers tried to drag them off to prison...

She'd been fighting him, attempting to kick and bite and scratch, but she couldn't, and Draco only used all of her efforts against her. All this wriggling around on a bed, frankly, was arousing him more than anything else. But he didn't think it would be a good idea to act of any of these feelings until they reached Leith. Until that night. So he only hitched her higher on his shoulder; he almost had her. And then, without warning, she went suddenly limp. Without her forward momentum, there was nothing to grasp onto, no force to use, and Draco dropped her. She no longer fought him, but she had simply relaxed all her muscles and become dead weight. He couldn't lift her. Her eyes sparkled at him maliciously.

"I can lie here all day, Malfoy," she said. "What are you going to do now?"

"Get. Up. Now," he said, each word measured.

"No." She shook her head. "And it doesn't look as if you can get me up, either. So what are you going to do?" She yawned. "Maybe I'll sleep a bit more... comfortable bed, really..."

He swore violently and grabbed her wrists, pressing his face down to hers. Her eyes snapped open and ah, there was fear in them now. "Let go of me," she whispered, all levity gone.

"No," said Draco, tightening his grip. "So tell me, Weasley. You really want to... lie... here all day?"

Her whole body stiffened, and she tried to pull her arms away. But his grip was strong, and she only whimpered, her face contorting in pain. The bruises were already rising on her fair skin.

Bruises... wait... but how is that possible? he wondered. Shouldn't be. But it is. Unless... oh... I understand!

She couldn't know what this meant. She knew that under the Hexensymbol bond, she couldn't hurt him; she didn't know that he also could not hurt her. But what Draco now realized, and felt like a fool for not seeing before, was that she could still hurt herself. By struggling against him, for instance. A certain logical conclusion followed from that knowledge. He might not be able to hurt her, but he could restrain her. Apparently this was allowed. And he remembered that little coil of rope in the leather bag.

The bed, the great bed beneath her and him.

He was already lying on top of her, and she was already pressed into the mattress. Things could... progress... before she even realized what was happening. So much stronger than she, he was...

He could hold her down and take her clothes off. Cut them off her with his knife, if he had to. He could tie her wrists and ankles to that four-poster bed. Double half-hitch knots, maybe, something that wouldn't slip. And then...and then...

She would be at his mercy.

He wouldn't hurt her. Couldn't, anyway. Didn't want to. Didn't need to. If she were tied down, the only way she'd get hurt was if she struggled against the bonds, chafed her wrists, perhaps, or caused a few light rope burns on her ankles. Nothing serious.

And he could do exactly as he liked with her.

Let her struggle then, Draco thought. It won't do a damn bit of good. But something stirred in him at that, something small, niggling, and uncomfortable.

I'd be very gentle with her, he told it. I would. After I got her where I needed her. And I'd explain that nothing's going to stop me from doing this, so she might just as well enjoy it. I can make her enjoy it, and I would. She'd be sensible then, surely. His thoughts faltered a little at that; remembering Ginny's temper, he doubted that she would see sense. But once she understands that fighting won't do any good...

An image flashed across his mind then. Ginny Weasley, being sensible. Yielding to him. Passive, neither resisting nor cooperating, but submitting. Her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling over his shoulder as he took what he needed from her. Her body present. Her spirit flown.

"Malfoy?" Her wavering voice broke in upon his torrent of thoughts. He looked down at her. Her face was pale and frightened, and her eyes wide. He must have been holding her wrists immobile for a long time. "I won't go," she said. She set her jaw, and the muscle jumped under her skin. "No matter what. I won't." And hearing that voice, so scared, so defiant, a deep wave of sickness washed over him at the thought of what he had planned to do to its owner. Draco dropped her arm, leaning against the wall, taking deep breaths, feeling as if he had teetered at the edge of an abyss filled with bottomless darkness. And if he had fallen, no-one and nothing could ever have saved him again.

That was a way he would not take, and if it was weakness, he couldn't help it. He had not even been able to do that to Pansy; he certainly couldn't force himself on Ginny. Tom Riddle had done to that to her; not in the flesh, but Draco rather thought that the dark spirit had raped her mind, which was perhaps even worse. If he himself forced Ginny now, he would break her. And he didn't want her broken.

Draco thought again of that imagined scene, Ron and Harry and Hermione bursting into the room too late, and knowing the depths of their failure. Knowing they'd lost, knowing they'd failed. But best of all... best of all... His eyes widened slightly. Ron in particular knowing it was only possible because his sister had given herself willingly to Draco Malfoy. Because nothing less than that would suffice; to coerce her would be to admit defeat. And the last puzzle piece fell into place. That was how it had to happen. Only what she offered to him of her own free will carried any value. But glancing at her immobile figure, her stone face, Draco doubted there was any limit to what she'd do-- or refuse to do-- before she'd put her brother in danger. He struggled to hold onto what he'd learned the night before. To win by false yielding. To overcome by seeming to surrender. The supple will prevail. If I could guide her strength to her weakness... but how... how...

And then, in a sudden, brilliant flash, it came to him. And he couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of it before.

Draco moved to the other side of the bed, slowly, and sat up. He let his shoulders sag a little, as if in defeat. She was sniffling and rubbing at her nose. He let several minutes pass before speaking again, in a weary voice. "I wasn't plotting anything, Weasley." Pause. Was that a long enough pause? Better not let it be any longer. "Not the way you think."

Ginny sat up. "What do you mean?"

Draco sighed. "I'm not entirely sure what I mean anymore. I only know that I can't..." He scowled, as if angry at himself for saying too much. She was watching him warily, like a wild animal scenting a trap.

"Can't what?"

He whirled to face her. "You think I'm going to take you back to my father, don't you? Don't you?"

"Well--" she stammered. "Yes. I mean, what else would you do?"

Draco let his head fall into his hands. "Anything," he mumbled. Was that loud enough? Hope so. It sort of has to sound as if she's overhearing something she's not meant to hear, I think.

Her eyes widened. She stared at him, her mouth fallen a little open, clutching the fur coverlet to her chest like a shield. "What the hell is this all about, Malfoy?" she asked. But although her words were truculent, her expression was not. There was something dawning in her face that made him want to smirk as he'd never smirked before. But Draco knew that he didn't dare. Now was the time to pull her in. Carefully. Subtly. Now to inject just the right note of defensiveness, to make her feel that he was angry at himself for letting his guard down, even for an instant.

"Don't think I'm going soft, Weasley," he sneered. "I'm not. But I'm not a fool, either. If I get anywhere near my father, after what I've done..." He allowed his words to trail off, and turned to look out the window, knowing that his face looked like carved marble in profile, and that the sun was on his hair, turning it to a silvery white fire. His sneer melted into a troubled, brooding expression. Should I let my lip tremble a little? he wondered. No, that's piling it on a bit thick. I wish there were a mirror, can't really judge if I'm pulling it off as I ought to...

But then Draco saw Ginny's face, and was hard put to it not to smirk once more. She was his mirror. As easily caught as those foolish fish she'd tickled from the stream. And she would never realize it until it was too late.

"You-- mean you'd come over to our side?" she asked, her voice uneven.

"I wouldn't say that I'm coming over to anybody's side, Weasley," Draco replied curtly. This was the trickiest part of all, the moments when the fish might awaken from the web of deception he was so carefully weaving and swim free. He knew that he couldn't be too eager, too apologetic, too reformed. She'd never believe that. "But I want to live through this," he said. "And there's only one way to manage that little trick that I can see."

Ginny chewed on her lower lip. The sight of her parted pink mouth worrying its own flesh was almost more than he could bear. Leaping over the table and tackling her to the floor was probably not the way to convince her that he was sincere in his avowals to cast in his lot with sweetness and light, however. "How do I know you aren't just tricking me?" she finally asked. "How do I know you won't tell me whatever you need to in order to get me there, and then turn me over to Lucius Malfoy?"

"I would never do that," he said. It was so much easier to sound sincere when you knew you were telling the absolute truth, Draco thought. "If you knew my father, you wouldn't even ask--" He broke off, his throat tightening. He looked down at the floor, trying to regain his composure. Now if that little bit of playacting wasn't convincing, nothing ever would be. Probably because he couldn't tell the difference anymore between what part of it was real, and what wasn't. But he could use that fact to his own ends. "You don't know what he's like. You don't know what he's done to me. You don't know what he would do if he caught me now, with you." All more true than she could know.

He saw her eyes soften for the briefest moment, looking at him. He looked at her across the bed, letting the hardness of his own gaze falter, looking intently at her face, tracing its outlines. Quickly, he dropped his eyes and looked at the floor, as if afraid of presuming too much. But not too quickly to miss the flash of disappointment that he was no longer studying her. And he was hard to put to it to disguise his triumph at that sight, because he knew, now, that he had her where he wanted her. Although she didn't yet realize it, he was going to map all the events of that day so that they fell, inevitable as a stone dropping to earth, towards a bed at an inn at Leith. And in that bed, she would willingly be his.

They rode on the high road towards Leith on the back of a chestnut mare, Ginny perched on an odd-looking thing that Draco told her was a pillion saddle and holding onto his waist for dear life. At first, each jolt of the horse's hooves made her feel as if she was going to start flying into the air.

"You've got me in a death grip, Weasley," Draco told her. "Let go a bit."

"I'm-- I--think--I'm--going to fall off," she said through clenched teeth.

"If I can't breathe, we'll both fall off. Are you trying to crush my ribs? If you really want to kill me that badly, it can wait until we get there." He glanced back at her chalk-white face. "You've never ridden before, have you?"

"I have!" gasped Ginny.

"A hobby-horse doesn't count."

"It was not-- a--" The road became rocky and rutted then, and she concentrated on keeping her seat, actually beginning to slip down the side of the horse at one point until Draco pulled her back.

"Oh dear," he said. "It was one of those enchanted ten-centimetre high ponies, and you strapped your dolls to it and sent it round the kitchen table, didn't you?"

"No! It was one summer when I was sent to visit my cousins in Cornwall. They rode horses all the time." Ginny didn't add that it had been when she was eight years old, she herself had only ridden once, and the adventure had come to a precipitous end when she fell off and was dragged. The event seemed likely to repeat itself now. "And I'll have you know that I had my own horse for the summer, Malfoy, one I named Princess and fed-- uh-- horse food all the time, and-- oh!" The roan had stumbled on a particularly bad patch. Without warning, Ginny actually did fly into the air. Draco turned swiftly and leaned over, one arm catching her as she slipped back down. It was certainly a very undignified position, she thought.

"I can't stand this anymore. Stop, stop." With his other hand, he tapped the reins lightly against the mare's neck, and she obediently came to a halt. "No wonder you're falling off," Draco said, steadying Ginny. "You're sort of perched up on the saddle sideways."

"I don't see how else to ride it."

"Obviously not."

"You want me to say it? All right! I will!" Ginny threw her hands in the air."Some of us weren't to the manor born, Malfoy. Of course I don't know how to ride a horse. We didn't exactly have too many of them cantering around the estate at home. I don't see how we're going to get to Leith now by nightfall and-- we've got to--" She felt tears pricking the inside of her eyelids and blinked them back, impatiently.

"Look, I've been riding almost since I was born; I don't expect you to become a horsewoman in one day," he said, "but there's got to be something we can do."

She flushed. "Well then, why don't you show me how I'm supposed to sit?"

"I'll just do that." Draco pulled the mare to a stop, patting her neck until she stood still. Then he turned and gently pulled Ginny down to the narrowest part of the saddle. "Sit astride. Yes. Like that. Come forward a little more. Now hold onto me. No, not like you were. You have to feel the movements of the horse, and move with them, just like I'm doing. Don't bounce up and down the way you were."

"I, uh, thought that was how you were supposed to ride," mumbled Ginny. "I saw it once." She didn't add that it had been on Masterpiece Theatre, during that never-to-be-forgotten week when her father had hooked up the television set.

"But not with this sort of saddle, and definitely not on this sort of rough road. Now move with the horse. Move with me. Don't hold onto me so tightly, but feel how I'm moving, and do the same thing." Draco urged the horse into a trot.

She did grasp what he'd tried to teach her, at least a little. Ginny moved back and forth with the movements of the animal under her, gripping the sides of the horse with her thighs. She had a rhythm; a little clumsy, true, but she wouldn't fall off now. Back and forth. Back and forth. She'd have a good seat, if she ever had a chance to ride... she's a natural. Who would have thought. Ginny glanced up at him and smiled, a little shyly, but with growing confidence. Her movements on the horse teased the edge of his vision, even when he put all his attention on the road. Gods, but how... sensual... they were, she was, moving on that horse. He wondered if she had any idea of that fact. Almost certainly not. And then his smile faded. That sight was going to be torturing him all bloody day. Draco stifled a groan. Well, it was probably time to begin laying the groundwork, anyway. He couldn't very well pounce on her without warning once they got to the inn at Leith.

"Now you've got to hold onto me properly, " he said in a low voice, "or you'll fall off again."

"I thought I was."

"You need lessons." His voice became a little husky, and there was a slight catch in it. A change seemed to have come over his face, Ginny saw. The silvery eyes were hooded, and the mouth was curved into a strange expression best described as a sultry smirk. She didn't know that it was the face Draco had specially prepared for the beginning stages of seduction. Nor was she aware that he had spent a certain amount of time practicing it in front of sighing mirrors at Hogwarts, and that it had never failed yet.

"All right," she said nervously. "Show me."

With one hand he held onto the reins, loosely; with the other, he reached back and grasped hers, coaxing it forward. "Other one as well," he murmured.

Ginny slid her hands around his waist, feeling shy. She could feel the taut muscles of his stomach under his robe and linen shirt, and the surprisingly delicate shape of his lower ribs. The tops of his lean, muscular thighs were just under her arms, too. She moved her hands a little lower. Purely by accident, of course. When she felt her forearms brushing his legs, she stiffened.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't be," he said softly. "Just hold onto me. Bring your legs forward so they're up against mine."

His very sarcasm earlier had put her at her ease a little, but this new tone in his voice made her nervous, and he felt the faint ripple of unease that moved through her.

"Maybe, er, I'd better walk," she said. "Behind the horse. I'm not sure if there's really enough room for both of us to ride."

"It's a tight fit, but I'm sure we can manage," said Draco, and it seemed to Ginny that he pressed back into her, slightly. "Relax. Just relax... Weasley." He'd nearly called her by her first name, but on reflection, it had seemed like less than a good idea. Damn. That was going to be a problem, too. One couldn't very well go from addressing a girl by her surname to shagging her in the course of less than a day. Or at least, Draco never had. Well, not too terribly often, anyway. Although he certainly retained a vivid memory of the brief stretch that summer when he'd wanted his lovers to call him "sir."

He waited for the tension to go out of her a tiny bit, for her to lean forward, to relax against him. And when she did, he brought up one hand again. "Plenty of room," he said, in a soothing voice. "Now. Isn't this... nice?" And he ran his hand up one of her thighs as if holding her in position.

She jerked back and gave a little cry of shock. The horse shied nervously and sidestepped in a jerky motion. Ginny grabbed instinctively onto what was directly beneath her hands in an attempt to keep her seat. Unfortunately, her right hand was in a very interesting position at the time. Draco drew in his breath sharply, jumped, and nearly fell off the saddle.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" he snapped.

"I-- I didn't mean to--" she stammered. "I was just surprised--"

"If you insist on grabbing what you can't see," he said through gritted teeth, "one day you're going to be more than surprised."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, are you alr--"

"You're a disaster area in motion, Weasley." Draco concentrated on taking deep breaths.

She was silent. But when he stole a glance at her, he saw that a little smile was curling up the very edges of her lips. Draco felt a flash of anger, and a great many uncomplimentary names for Ginny Weasley popped into his mind. But after a bit of thought-- and the passage of a little time, and the realization that she really hadn't grabbed him very hard, after all-- the calculating part of his mind took over again. The air's been cleared, somehow. Wonder why?

"Do you think we can get to Leith without your killing me, yourself, or the horse?" he finally asked.

"Yes," she replied demurely.

He felt her smile behind his back as he clicked his tongue at the horse, urging it forward again, and despite himself Draco felt an answering smile on his own lips. So this wasn't going to be easy. Very well. He always valued most those victories he'd fought hardest for, anyway. In fact, he felt strangely glad that things had turned out this way, because it made the game so much more interesting. The challenge of seduction was greater. The victory would be sweeter. A willing sacrifice carries the most power, he thought. He certainly knew about sacrifices; no son of Lucius Malfoy could help knowing such things, but this one didn't have to be dark and terrible, like the rest. The idea of Ginny sacrificing something to him without his having to even hurt her-- well, at least not very much-- was very pleasing.

But it seemed to make her extremely nervous if he showed any of the baser instincts he felt for her, so he needed to remain neutral in that direction for the time being. Although there wasn't much time. Damn, how was he going to do this? He really had no idea how to seduce a girl who didn't already know what it was all about, Draco realized uncomfortably. And then there was the added complication of her past, the memory of Tom Riddle. A pretty problem, indeed. But one that any Slytherin worth his salt ought to be able to crack. Or, at least, a Malfoy.

It was much warmer than yesterday, beautifully clear, and the sun rode high in the sky above fluffy wisps of clouds. They passed an oxcart rolling in the other direction in midmorning, and, a little later, a couple of other riders, who gave them a short, sharp glance.

"Wonder if it's safe," muttered Ginny once they had passed. "Weren't there supposed to be brigands running about in the sixteenth century, or something?"

"There were indeed," said Draco. "But I told you-- we won't run into trouble today. I know we won't." And he sounded so positive, so self-assured, that there didn't seem to be anything more to say. Ginny thought about asking him if he was planning on taking over for Professor Trelawney once they got back to Hogwarts (and how on earth will we ever manage that?), but on second thought, she really had no desire to be nasty. Not now.

They stopped for lunch a bit after noon in a clearing by a stream, near the roadside, and munched companionably on meat pies from the inn that morning. Draco led the horse down to drink and then tethered her to a tree, where she grazed quietly.

"Doing all right?" Draco asked her. "Not too sore, or anything?"

Ginny nodded, chewing. "I'm fine actually. I think it's because I've ridden broomsticks so much. I was never any good at Quidditch, not at all, but I did like flying " She realized after she'd said the words that she was talking about events of a few weeks before as if they'd taken place in another life. But it almost did seem that way, now. She had been severed from everything she'd ever known, and so had he-- and maybe, just maybe, that was why Draco had decided what he evidently had. If he had. Can I trust him, really? Yet what choice was there but to believe that he meant what he'd said?

He nodded. "You were out flying almost every morning, by end of term. Very early, just before the sun came up."

She nearly choked. "How on earth did you know that, Malfoy?"

He leaned back against the tree trunk. "I saw you, sometimes."

Ginny finished her rather wizened apple and felt the wind blowing, blowing through the trees, playing with her hair, touching her cheek. It should have felt cold, but was strangely warm instead. She had the strangest image suddenly of bars melting at the wind's touch, like ice under fire. Bars that surrounded her. It all left her with a rather dizzying feeling.

"Weasley," he said, once they had mounted again and were continuing down the road.

"Mmm?" He'd hesitated just the slightest bit before speaking her name, Ginny realized. For a split second, she'd been sure that he was going to call her by her first name, and had thought better of it before it was too late. The thought was very unsettling.

"You were telling me about Yule at your house, last night. Remember? But you didn't get past the holiday itself. What would you do the next day, Boxing Day?"

"You want to hear more about that?" Ginny asked dubiously.

"Yes." Draco kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, and his voice was rather flat and not terribly encouraging. But he was asking. That had to be a good sign. Didn't it?

"Well." Ginny cast her mind back. "Sometimes we'd go out to the woods and shoot at targets. The arrows were always very snide and they'd sneer at you if you missed, so I didn't care for that too much. We all used to go sledding. Oh, I loved that. Even the year Fred and George invented the Non-Friction Co-Efficient Lubricant and put it all over the runners of the sleds. We all went for miles before Bill found the counter-charm; Dad had to put ever so many Memory charms on Muggles who saw us." Fred and George... The memory of her vision of them went through her with a pang; she firmly pushed it aside. She was doing the best she could for Ron, the only brother who was in the same century at the moment.

"Then I'd play with whatever I'd gotten the day before," Ginny continued. "Of course that was when I was very little. The older I got the fewer brothers I'd have at home for Yule, since they wouldn't get back from Hogwarts until a few days later, and of course I didn't after I was eleven. Not until the holiday dates were changed a couple of years ago, anyway. I'd usually get homemade things, knitted jumpers and such, and something like a hand-me-down broom... nothing much new. Talking dolls. Once a stuffed bear that told stories, and sang to me..."

"Teddy!" Draco exclaimed, then shut his mouth with a scowl.

"Oh, you had one as well?"

"Yes. Terribly original name, wasn't it?" he said shortly.

"I loved Teddy. He wasn't new when I got him of course, I'm sure yours was." She fully expected some sort of jibe at Weasley poverty after that, perhaps an inquiry as to whether each was allowed one's own frosted Christmas cookie, or if it was necessary to pass one around and take bites. But Draco was silent, his eyes cast down on the road.

"But what I really wanted," Ginny said musingly, "yes, what I really always wanted was a pony. See, I did have an interest in horses, at least."

"But you never got one."

"No, Malfoy." Ginny rolled her eyes. "I never got one. Didn't get a diamond-encrusted tiara, either. That's what I wanted when I was five."

"So." He cleared his throat. "You always wanted a pony, did you?"

She wondered if there was any point in trying to figure out just what the hell was going on in his head. He was being so pleasant that it was vaguely creepy. Draco Malfoy wasn't pleasant, just as the giant squid wasn't cuddly, and Professor Snape wasn't kind. But he's trying, I think, she told herself. That can only be good.

"Yes," she replied. "But I knew it wasn't practical. I mean, forget about the expense for a moment; who in the world would have taught me to ride? I didn't even know anyone who could. I still don't."

"I do."

"I would hardly say that I knew you. I don't think we ever exchanged more than a hundred words in all our lives. At least before-- well, you know, before--" She stopped, awkwardly. Before you kidnapped me. Before you bonded yourself to me. Before you touched me, and kissed me, and filled me with feelings I cannot define.

"Well, I'll have you know that I've been keeping track," said Draco. "In the past three days, I've said-- let's see--" He consulted an imaginary parchment. "Five thousand, three hundred, and ninety-six words. All to you. So wouldn't you say that you know me now, Weasley?"

"But, Malfoy," said Ginny, her face very serious, "I've only said four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine. So I know you better than you know me."

"There is an imbalance, isn't there?" An odd little smile touched his lips then, gone as quickly as it had come. "We'll just have to see what we can do about that," he said softly.

The silence went on a little too long.

"So," Ginny said, too briskly, "you would have been my riding master, would you?"

He made a little bow from his waist, keeping his seat with ease. "Weasley, if I'd known you then, I swear I would have been entirely at your service." She giggled.

He liked talking to her this way, he realized. This open, bantering, playful way. It felt, Draco thought, as if it could become dangerous. But then, he was going to have to take risks today if he wanted to succeed, and she did seem much more relaxed now. Good... very good... He needed to stay with this line of conversation, to see where it took them.

"You!" scoffed Ginny, but she was smiling. "You wouldn't have been caught dead in our dreary little village, for one thing."

"Oh, I don't know. Ottery-St. Catchpole. It sounds so bucolic. Bowling on the green, horses wandering freely down the main street, the village idiot strolling about..."

She waited for him to ask if one Weasley was designated as such, or if they all took turns. He didn't.

"We were usually travelling on Boxing Day itself, and then the mornings of my birthday were always deadly," Draco continued. "The house was being turned upside down and everywhere I looked there were house-elves scurrying about, but I couldn't leave; I always had to get ready for the idiotic party. And I can't tell you how many guests palmed off combination Yule and birthday presents on me. It embittered me for life. I would've loved to be off riding, and I never could. So... I could have slipped away."

"How could you have gotten away?" asked Ginny, playing along. "You just said you weren't allowed to leave."

"After I was fifteen, I could Apparate."

"But," she said before thinking, "that's illegal." The sardonic little smile he turned on her at that made her fall silent. "You would have gotten into a lot of trouble, anyway," she finally said, "if they didn't want you to leave the manor."

"Oh, I'm sure I would have done."

"Didn't you ever try?"

"There was never anything worth getting into so much trouble over," he murmured, and as the implications of that statement struck her, she blushed. His words made her feel pleasantly confused. Surely Draco couldn't have meant what she thought, could he? That she would have been worth it?

"We could've met in the forest outside the village, and I would have taught you," he continued.

"Where on earth would we have gotten a horse?"

"The ones wandering down the main street, remember?"

"Ohhh, I see. Makes perfect sense now. But we'd only have had the one day," she said. "Surely that's not long enough. Unless... There's bound to be some sort of spell that would make it easier. Isn't there?"

"Can't really think of one. Sorry. "

"Well, if someone didn't want to ride, and was getting hostile about it, you could use a Cheering charm on them. If, uh... if the horse ran away from them, you could use a Summoning spell to bring it back--" Ginny giggled again. "Or if they absolutely refused to even try, I suppose you could use the Imperius curse, and turn them into an expert rider."

"That isn't really very funny, Weasley. And anyhow it doesn't work that way. You can't use the Imperius curse to give people abilities they don't have. That's not what it's for; don't you remember anything from Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

Ginny's face had fallen at his words, but she covered it by speaking more sharply than she had intended to do. "Oh? And just how do you know so much about it?"

"I know," Draco said, more curtly than he had meant to do.

"Have you ever seen it used?" The second the words were out of Ginny's mouth, she wondered in a panic-stricken sort of way why in the world she had asked that question.

"Yes." Draco hardly had time to form the one syllable-reply to her question before he wondered dazedly why in the world he had answered it.

"Oh." Ginny looked down at the road. "Was it-- was it ever done to you?"

"No." Draco stroked the side of the horse's neck, struggling to maintain control. "But one of the other Unforgivables was."

And now he felt as if he were under Imperius indeed; what the hell was he doing? What was he saying? These things seemed to be coming out of his mouth without his own volition; nothing like this had ever happened to him before, not with anyone. It's a part of the Hexensymbol bond. It's got to be. But the thought was not comforting. Where would it all end, this spilling of secrets? It was like watching his own blood drip slowly from an opened vein. Ginny looked up at him then and Draco was sure she was going to ask him which Unforgivable had been used, but thankfully she did not. The gods knew that it wasn't hard to figure out; it couldn't very well have been the Killing curse, so only one remained. He'd let her draw her own conclusions.

Her wide eyes were fixed on him. As huge as the sea, they seemed, if it could somehow have been turned to molten gold; more than big enough to pull him in, to drown him... I don't need your fucking pity, he nearly lashed out at her, but, thankfully, Draco stopped himself in time. Remember the lessons I've learned. Remember last night, remember what Lord Grindelwald wrote. To guide her strength towards her weakness... and even my weakness may become my strength.

And then he saw the way that this could be turned to his own purpose. He hadn't been able to imagine how he would successfully seduce her, this thorny, innocent, guarded girl who didn't respond to the techniques he'd so carefully learned. So he would try a new one. Her pity, her sympathy, and her softening towards him were the tools he needed. And Ginny herself had dropped them into his hands.

"Let's talk about something else," he said, careful to give the impression of collecting himself with an effort. And so it began.

Draco really had no interest in modern Muggle history; anything past the nineteenth century was anathema to him. But the summer he was thirteen, after his second year at Hogwarts, he'd been locked in his room damn near all July for some transgression of the rules or other. He couldn't remember, anymore, what it was. By that time, he'd learned several simple spells that made those sorts of imprisonments much more tolerable than they used to be. His Summoning charms were particularly good, and he got in the habit of pulling up random books from the manor's library. Since he had no way of telling what they would be, of course, they tended to be of rather varying quality. But he read them all, voraciously, scarcely lifting his eyes from the pages for days on end sometimes. He'd chew on the end of a quill while devouring Magical Theory of the British Isles as Expressed in Descant Fairy Melodies, or The Complete Contents of the Library at Alexandria: Hypatia Explains It All To You, or even An Excruciatingly Detailed Treatise on the 999,999,999,999th Place of Pi. Funny that his father had wards around his room that prevented his son sneaking in food, but Lucius Malfoy never seemed to think of the books. By that point, Draco had learned that hunger was only a feeling, anyway; it could be turned off. Boredom was infinitely worse.

Some of the books had been bought in job lots to fill the shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling in the library, or inherited from the wizarding family who had originally lived in the manor, or the gods only knew where. That was probably how The Stanislavsky Acting Method ended up in the library. It was a day when Draco thought that his father was starting to grow suspicious; he didn't dare bring up any more. Even after realizing that this book both related to Muggles and was decidedly twentieth-century in nature, the fact remained that there simply wasn't anything else to read. But it became his guilty pleasure. Draco was fascinated by the discipline of acting it explained, that in order to successfully create a character, the actor needed to inhabit it, to become it, and to do so by calling up sense-memories of the emotions that character would experience. In his most private moments, he rather thought that if he hadn't been a wizard... and if, of course, he hadn't been a Malfoy (an idea that was never to be spoken aloud,) he would have made a bloody good actor.

Because those were the same techniques one used in manipulating people, and that was a gift he had in spades. One that was supremely worthy of a wizard, a Slytherin, and, of course, a Malfoy. In order to manipulate one's victims (or, well, that was rather a nasty way of putting it, Draco thought-- to persuade others of a logical course of action when they couldn't see it on their own, now that sounded better,) it was necessary to feel, oneself, that the result was supremely desirable for all concerned. Of course, it was perhaps a little difficult to make that argument convincingly in this case, seeing as how he planned to use Ginny Weasley to betray her brother and all her friends. Very well, there was another way to look at it. This was the way to get to her, her unguarded gate. Her sympathy for him. He needed to play on it any way he could, and the only way to do that was to create a picture of himself for her that had to be utterly convincing. She was so damn clever, Ginny Weasley was. She'd know if he was only playing a part. So he needed to immerse himself in the character he created. On with the show, he thought. Front stage center... Poor Little Draco.

"Did you ever have a pet?" she asked him in the early afternoon, a little after lunch. She had just told him about her orange-eyed tabby cat Muffin, who had given birth to a mewing batch of fluffy kittens, and how hard she'd worked to give them all away to good homes when she was eight years old.

"Once," he told her. "A German shepherd puppy I received for my birthday, when I was ten."

"Do you still have him?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"He... died." Was it more effective, Draco wondered, to give these terse answers, giving the impression that there were depths of emotion beneath? Or should he expand his sentences a little more? She was looking at him curiously, and he deliberately avoided her eyes, setting his jaw.

"Oh."

They rode on. Five... six... seven... eight... Draco counted.

"How?" Ginny asked.

She hadn't even made it to ten.

"It had to do with when I was being punished for something. The dog disobeyed and-- I didn't have anything to do with it. I'd really rather not talk about it-- if you don't mind."

"Ohhh," she breathed, her eyes widening a little. He could almost see the scenarios running through her mind. "Did it have something to do with your father?" she suddenly asked.

There was no need to playact at being disturbed this time. How in the hell did she know? It was as if there were some sort of thread linking his mind and hers, now, and that thought frightened Draco more than anything else could have done. But even this fact could be used, had to be used.

"Yes," he replied.

She asked no more, but he felt her hand move forward a little further to touch his, curling all the way around his waist. It might have been an accident.

"On our eleventh birthdays, the year before we each went to Hogwarts," Ginny said to Draco, later in the afternoon, when the sun had barely begun to sink lower in the sky, "there was something Dad used to do. "

"Mmm."

"It was really sweet."

"I'm sure it was." He'd already heard about family dinners, Sunday lunches, graduation parties, anniversaries, Christmases, Beltanes, and Imbeholcs, and now Ginny was on birthdays. If I have to hear about much more of this saccharine Weasley sweetness, thought Draco, I'm going to throw up. Probably not the way to impress her. I think I like her better when she's screaming at me. That thought did make him smile, and there was warmth in his voice when he said, "Tell me, what was it?"

"He'd take each of us-- my brothers and me, I mean, in turn-- into the living room. Then he'd talk to us about the day we were born, and exactly how he felt the first time he saw us. He'd talk about how we were as babies, as tiny children-- what our first word was, when we took our first step. Then he'd tell us something very special and unique that he'd always known about us, that made us different. I remember when he told me--" Ginny couldn't continue then, as she remembered that February day when she was still a child. Before she'd written in the diary, before she'd opened the Chamber, before she'd betrayed everyone close to her. I was so innocent then. My hands were clean, still. But she wouldn't say anything to Malfoy about that.

Then she felt his hand caressing hers, under his robe, bringing it forward, going over her fingers in a soothing circular motion. It reminded her of how her mother had used to rub her head when she was sick in bed as a child. She had never even imagined that Draco Malfoy was capable of such tenderness. There had been a few times when she'd happened to see him with Pansy during her fourth year, and, of course, she'd simply happened to duck behind a handy broom shed or a tree in order to keep watching whatever might occur. He certainly hadn't been tender with her. And then, after he'd returned to Hogwarts the next January, nearly a month after start of term, she'd grown nervous, and stopped watching him, so she didn't know how he'd been with other girls. Perhaps tenderness wasn't the word anyway.

Because this was more like being touched by fire.

"So what would happen then?" he murmured.

She leaned closer to him, resting her cheek against the soft wool of his robe, closing her eyes, feeling the steady motion of the horse under her. "He'd give us each a long, long hug and-- and tell us that he loved us. It's not like that was the only time he ever talked to us, or hugged us," Ginny hastened to add. "Don't think that. It's just that Dad was always working, and so busy so much of the time. But he always had time for us. He used to call me his little bunch of sweetness... I haven't thought of that in a long time." She smiled. "Dad knew how much I wanted a pony when I was a little girl, and he'd take me riding all over the living room on his back... what a long time ago that was. Not when you think about where we've ended up, I suppose. Did, uh..."

"Are you actually going to ask me if my father rode me round the formal drawing-room piggy-back?" Draco asked dryly.

"Um, no." Ginny blushed slightly. "I'm not." The image of Lucius Malfoy giving piggy-back rides round an impossibly formal green and silver room was threatening to make her giggle. That did not seem appropriate just now.

"Well, he didn't." Draco pulled the horse up at a crossroads with crude white arrow-shaped signposts nailed to a tree. Leyth 10 m. With a pat, he urged their mouth down the left-hand path. They were getting close; they'd arrive right around nightfall. It was time to raise the stakes. "He never did the other, either," he continued. "What your father did."

"You mean, the advice or..." Ginny hesitated. "The hugs?"

"Both. Neither." Draco gave a short, humorless laugh. "My father doesn't give advice to people. You figure it out on your own, or... well, the gods help you if you don't." Except once, he thought. When he told me to stay the hell away from you. Was he wise in that after all, I wonder? Too late. I'm playing by my own rules now, Father. "And hugs?" he continued. He paused for maximum effect. "You've got to be joking."

"Never?" she asked, appalled.

"Never."

"But-- your mother, surely--"

Draco shook his head, making a short, sharp gesture of negation with one hand. There were questions he never wanted to ask himself about his mother, and answers he never wanted to hear. He had a fairly good idea of what his father had always expected of him, and thought about him, but his mother-- he'd just as soon not know about that. And he couldn't permit himself to think about it now, for it could only disturb the focus he needed so badly to keep on his goal.

"I'm... sorry," she murmured.

Draco almost laughed; he couldn't imagine the sickening level of touchy-feeliness in the Weasley household if a fact as unimportant as this one was upsetting her so much. He thought briefly of pushing his advantage. Should he explain that Lucius Malfoy never touched him except for the backhanded slaps on Christmas morning, letting his lip quiver tragically as he told her about the whips stored in salt water for the purpose of beating him regularly? Perhaps he should add some stories about the charmed red ants, which the house elves were instructed to rub into his wounds all through the summer hols... A snigger threatened to break the surface, and Draco decided against invention. Sticking to the truth was proving remarkably effective in this case anyway.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about," he finally settled for saying.

And she did not answer, but the touch of her hands at his waist softened, somehow. She was weakening further towards him, and he knew it.

They rode on in a fragile silence. Night would fall early, Draco knew; it was so close to midwinter that the rays of the sun were already growing long and dark golden, very low in the sky, the pale moon rising above. They were getting close. Cultivated fields and tumbledown dwellings began taking over the landscape, replacing the scrub and grazing pasture. In an hour, perhaps, skirting Edinburgh, they'd be in Leith. He had gotten much closer to where he needed to be with Ginny, as well; she was leaning against him now, her eyes closed, half-drowsing, and he could feel her warm breath on his neck. But he wasn't quite there. Some fundamental barrier around her remained unbreached. It was time for the last roll of the dice. He reined in the horse and turned into a small clearing.

Ginny blinked, sitting up. The constant motion had lulled her into almost-sleep, and she shook her head in an attempt to clear it. "Are we there, then?" she asked.

"No, but we will be soon." He dropped to the ground and helped her down, leading the horse to a small creek.

"Why'd we stop-- was it just for the horse?"

"I don't understand how you managed to get twigs in your hair, Weasley," he said, avoiding her question. Ginny scowled, but said nothing when Draco pulled the comb from the bag. He ran it through the length of her hair until it shimmered smoothly She stood still as he dipped a handkerchief in the stream and rubbed it over her face, then moved down to straighten the dingy collar of the blouse and brush her robe free of leaves.

"Will I do?" she finally asked.

"Well enough," he replied, smiling to himself.

She saw that smile, and thought, If there'd been someone there to slap that expression off his face every day of his life, Malfoy would have been greatly improved. Or maybe not. Maybe there was someone, and that's just what they did... and worse... Ginny shivered.

"Cold?" he asked softly, fastening the cloak more firmly about her shoulders.

"No, not really. It's so much warmer today."

Draco brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. It simply wasn't fair, thought Ginny, that they'd been tramping in the open and sleeping rough and washing with icy water from streams for three days, and he still looked as if he'd just been prepared by highly trained house elves to be photographed for the cover of Witch Weekly. She tied up her hair swiftly with the rawhide thong she'd been using to keep it out of her eyes, suddenly aware of just how dirty her hands were, and how grimy her nails.

"Do I look all right?" he asked.

There was no intelligent response to that, Ginny decided. A Malfoy had just asked a Weasley for advice on personal appearance. Perhaps the sky was going to fall next. "Yes," was all she could say.

One side of Draco's mouth went up in that crooked smile that was so strangely attractive. "I know," he said.

"Well..." said Ginny vaguely, moving back towards the horse.

Now or never, he thought.

"You look tired," he said. "We've made good time. Let's rest for a few moments before going on."

"I am not tired," retorted Ginny, dropping to the ground with a thud before her legs could give way. "I'm simply starving, though. Is there anything left to eat in that bag?"

Draco shook his head. "We'll have a hot dinner when we get to the inn. The Lion and the Unicorn, I think they said it was called. Wouldn't you like that?"

"It would be nice," said Ginny, her mouth watering as she thought of joints of beef and steaming chicken pie and hot bread with butter, a foaming flagon of ale-- well, that last sounded rather nasty, but it always appeared on the feast table in books.

"And I'll see that we get good hot baths. You need new clothes as well, and so do I."

"I can't."

"Whyever not?"

"No money," admitted Ginny. "I didn't come away with any."

"I'm buying the clothes, thank you very much. You don't imagine I'm about to allow you to pick them out? With your taste?" scoffed Draco. "No. I should like to see you in green silk, cut so--" He framed his hands in a square neckline shape around her collarbone, not quite touching the once-white blouse. "And do wear your hair down tonight, Weasley, so it's like a shimmering cloak over your shoulders. Not tied up like that. It's hideous that way."

Ginny glowered. A... compliment? wrapped so tightly within insults that she could barely find it. And yet...

"Why are you being like this?" she asked.

"Like what?"

"Well, so... considerate."

"Can't I do kind things if I want to?" asked Draco.

"Since it's you, a lot of people would probably say not."

"Weasley, Weasley." He sighed. "You cut me to the quick. And anyway, I don't see this nebulous crowd anywhere about; it's only me and you. What do you think?"

Ginny pondered for a long time before answering. "I suppose that's not quite fair. I mean-- I know that now." She looked away slightly. "But do you ever do a kind thing without an ulterior motive, Malfoy?"

Something flickered across Draco's face, far too swiftly to catch. "I've had to look at you in that filthy white blouse and torn muddy trousers for three and a half days now," he said smoothly. "It hasn't exactly been an aesthetically pleasing sight."

She glared at him. Then she tried to get up, to stride over to the horse, but an overwhelming wave of tiredness hit her, and all at once everything seemed to press in upon her-- the dirty clothes, the gritty feel of her skin, the sticky feel to her hair, her exhausted muscles, her worn-out mind. Draco came up behind her, leading her back to her place under the tree, and she let him, closing her eyes, feeling his skillful hands massaging her shoulders.

She was terribly, terribly tired, he could tell. Her defenses were down. "You're not used to people doing you favors, are you, Weasley?" he murmured, working on the spot between her neck and collarbone.

"Suppose I'm not," she yawned. "I'm so, so tired... aren't you?"

"Actually, no," he said. "I generally don't sleep very well. Or I haven't for a long time, at least. But these last few nights...with you... " Draco paused for maximum effect. "It's been very different."

"What are you going to do when we..." Ginny's words trailed off when she realized that she didn't know how to end the sentence. When we end our journey? But what will happen then? Somehow, she highly doubted that her brother would stand by and watch her and Draco Malfoy share a bed, no matter how innocent it was, and no matter how reformed he might be.

"I don't know." Draco moved closer to her, his fingers kneading her neck, and his lips were so close to her ear that she could feel his breath. "Maybe I'll just have to... keep you near me."

He worked on all the little knots of tension for several minutes, in silence. Then Ginny spoke again. "I haven't been sleeping all that well either. I'm not sure how it all started, or when... what about you?"

Draco took a deep breath. "A year ago, exactly."

"After you went to the South of France for Yule? To St. Tropez?"

"Yes," Draco said carefully, trying to remember exactly what he'd told her at lunch the day before, when they'd stopped at that inn. She was very perceptive. This was going to be tricky. "I was very ill after I returned, and even when I'd recovered, I found that I just couldn't sleep well anymore."

" Doesn't sound like it was much of a holiday. Whatever happened?"

He had met that question with silence when people had asked it at the end of that January, after he returned to Hogwarts. Silence, and his best frosty, aristocratic glare (this airspace reserved for non-lepers.) To the very, very few that it had been unwise to antagonize, he'd claimed that he didn't remember it very well, since he'd been so ill, although that wasn't true at all; it was only the very end of that visit to St. Tropez that he didn't remember properly. His mother had never asked, but once, only once, he had laid his head in her lap and cried like a child, and she had stroked his hair with her cool, smooth hands, and they had never spoken of it afterwards. He had probably told Millicent Bulstrode more than he had ever told anyone else, during that long, strange conversation in the library after his return. But there was some frank, open, and honest quality about Millicent that had made him trust her with his secrets, just a little, a very little.

And now Ginny Weasley was asking him. Draco could never have articulated what he wanted his response to be, but he believed he knew what it was wise for it to be. The only way to go on now was to tell the truth, or at least a bit of it. It was also the most dangerous way. But he was playing for high stakes.

"My father had business elsewhere in France. But he needed me close to hand, so I-- stayed with a distant cousin of mine, in St. Tropez," he said carefully.

"TI thought you said you could Apparate by then. Why are you smiling at me like that?" The look on his face, Ginny thought, was smug enough to require a license.

"That's right, you don't know. It isn't safe to Apparate across bodies of water. That's some of the oldest magic there is-- most spells don't work well across water. Perhaps you were absent the day they explained--"

"Never mind," said Ginny. "God only knows why I'm asking you anything anyway. Why don't we just go on; I'm hungry and I'm rested enough and--"

"No, you're not." Draco pushed her down, gently, with one hand. "You wanted to know, and you're going to listen."

"Fine," said Ginny. "If you insist, I suppose I must." Wild horses could not have dragged her from the spot. "Who was she?"

"How do you know my cousin was a 'she'?"

"Well, I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes," said Draco, wrapping his arms around his knees, looking abstractedly into the distance, and then turning back to fix his eyes on her. They were like storm clouds today, Ginny thought, complex, crystalline, and dangerous. "Her name's not important." He could not say Marie-France's name and get through this with all his control intact, and he knew he had to. "She was my third cousin once removed, something like that."

"Did you know each other well?"

"Not at the beginning of the visit, no. But by the end..." Draco took a deep breath, and then he began to talk in a low, smooth voice. He told her about the ocean that had been an easy walk from his cousin's villa, about how on clear days it was like a great blue jewel. Côte d'Azur, that was how they described it in all the tourist brochures. But on overcast days it was gray and flat as a dulled mirror. He told her about the white sand beaches, and the dunes, and of the long walks he took among them. He told her about the town; the luxury hotels that attracted the crowds of holiday-makers, and the expensive, exclusive shops, the lines of yachts along the quai, and then the old wizarding quarter, with its narrow, winding cobblestone streets. Early in the morning, he said, at the Place aux Herbes, one could find fruit, vegetables, and flowers and watch the local fishermen selling their new catch. There were street fairs and religious processions, a beautiful art museum...Beauxbatons was not so very far away and one sometimes saw its students there on weekends. He told her about the smells and tastes and sights of St. Tropez, and the architecture and furnishings of the house he'd stayed at, the Villa Straylight, but almost nothing about its owner, his cousin.

"What was she like, this third cousin of yours? You've said nothing about her," Ginny finally said.

"I suppose I haven't. It's habit really. I don't talk about her. At least, I haven't yet," said Draco. "Not with anyone else, anyway."

"Was she pretty?" Ginny blurted, realizing with a pang that she had echoed Hermione's words from the night before.

Draco did not answer her question directly. "She had long, red hair, like yours," he said, lifting a lock of Ginny's own hair. She remembered the moment two days before when she had seen him rubbing a strand through his fingers. "A bit darker, though. She had big round eyes. Like yours." He reached up to brush one finger just below Ginny's left eye. "But those were darker as well. And very high cheekbones, and a stubborn little chin. Like yours." Briefly, his hand cupped her chin and the fingers moved across her jaw and one cheekbone. "And she was tall, like you. Her hands were strong and a little square. Her feet were long and slender. Her skin was white and soft, like satin. Very much like yours."

"Did she look like me?" asked Ginny. That has to be the dumbest question that's ever come out of my mouth.

But Draco shook his head. "She looked like... well, if someone had described you to me, and I'd never seen you, I might draw a portrait of you that looked like her. But the subtle features that make for true resemblance weren't really there." He looked at her very directly. "I haven't really explained anything, have I?"

Ginny bit her lip, wondering what sort of a Pandora's box she had opened. There was something very strange about Draco right now that she could not define-- the way he was looking at her, the tenseness of his hands on his knees, or the careful way he was choosing each of his words-- something. Her desire to have never asked him what had happened a year before was intense, but her need to know, now that she had asked, was equally intense, and she was not sure why. "No," she said at last. "You haven't."

"We got to know each other over the hols that year, my cousin and I. My father didn't return for me until the very end. She and I, we became-- rather close. Very close. And then the visit-- and some other things-- didn't end well."

"But I still don't understand why--"

"We were close, Weasley. Intimately close. Do I have to draw you a picture?"

A flush spread over her cheeks. "Oh," she said helplessly. Then she looked down, playing with a thread from her cloak. "Where is she now?"

"I don't know."

Did you ever see her again?"

"Never."

"Do you know what happened to her?"

"No."

"Did you love her?" she asked, without looking up.

It was all he could do then to not snarl at her, snap at her, unleash the tension and worry he felt on her. I can't love. Malfoys don't love. It wasn't love. It was pain. She awakened me, and then she destroyed me, Marie-France did, and I will never let myself be hurt that way again... But you're a child, Ginny Weasley. You don't know anything. You couldn't understand, you with your innocent questions, and your eyes that see too much, and nothing at all.

But now was when he had to use for his own ends the pain he still felt, the pain he had kept carefully locked away. And he would do it; he was so close to victory at this point. Deliberately, he allowed the stoic mask over his face to slip. He called up the emotions he had felt on that bleak January day in the south of France one year before, and, deliberately, he allowed them to show. He watched her face react to his. Then he said, in a low, broken voice, "I don't want to talk about it. I can't talk about it." Deep breath. "Please... I can't."

Ginny nodded. Her hands were clenched into fists, knotting the material of the robe between her fingers, unconsciously, he'd swear. She was bursting to say something, he could tell.

"I-- I know what you mean," she said, her words rushing out, tripping over each other. "After what happened in the Chamber of Secrets-- to me, I mean-- I couldn't talk to anyone about it. And I couldn't let anyone touch me for the longest time. Not even my father, or my brothers. Not for hugs or anything else."

"That wasn't my problem," Draco said dryly.

"No, not from what I've heard," replied Ginny. A small smile hovered on her face, even as it was twisted by remembered pain. "But the effect stayed with me, I think. Maybe that's why--" She began picking at the cuticle of her thumbnail until the flesh ripped ragged. "Maybe that's why I don't like anyone touching me very much, even now. And why I can't seem to respond to anyone's touch."

"Ah, is that what you think?" asked Draco in a low voice, moving closer to her. Perhaps you just haven't found the right person, he nearly said. Or, You need someone touching you who knows how to do it properly. Or even, You bloody well seemed to be responding when I was pulling your bodice down at the top of the North Tower four days ago. Or perhaps he should just begin; he could press forward and capture her mouth in an instant from where he was sitting. But something held him back; when he looked at her sad, closed face, he could not seem to push his advantage. Blood was dripping from her thumb to the ground. Draco pressed his own fingers over the little wound, staunching the flow.

"I think there's something that happens to you when you've been under a magical curse," he said, instead. "That's certainly what the enchanted diary was, from what I understand of them, and the way they work. The effect stays with you unless something happens to counteract it, something strong."

"So-- you know, Malfoy?"

"I know." He kept pressing his fingers into her thumb, watching her blood clot on his own skin. "A part of yourself becomes damaged so badly that you feel as if you can't ever quite come back from it. As if forever after, the world could turn on you at any moment, and you will be cut off from everyone else in it. Everyone who's never been through what you've been through, at least."

"Is Cruciatus like that?" Ginny asked.

"Yes."

"It... it was your father, wasn't it?" she asked softly. "Who did it to you, I mean."

If Draco had had a working wand at that moment, he would have turned it on her. Not to hurt her, he was sure of that; but surely there must be a spell that could remove Ginny Weasley to some desert island in the South Pacific, ten thousand kilometres from him. Or maybe he'd go. Anything, anything at all, so that he didn't have to answer that question. I cannot take any more of this. I have reached my limit. That nosy, pushy little Weasley bitch... I never want to see her again... I can't bear being around her for another millisecond now... But no. No. He had to answer, and he knew it. Draco could not have said why, but he knew that everything had somehow come down to this.

"Do you remember that August day this past year, when you were in the Three Broomsticks with Potter and Granger and your brother, and you wondered aloud what I was doing in Hogsmeade so early?" he asked.

"Yes," said Ginny, startled. "I didn't know you saw me. Why-- why were you there?" It was a personal question, she knew. The sort that she couldn't have imagined asking Draco Malfoy a week ago. But after asking him if his own father had used an Unforgivable curse on him, it seemed small change, indeed.

"Well, I left home a month before the start of term. My father and I had a-- a disagreement, and I couldn't stay any longer. " Draco took a deep breath, and told the absolute truth. "That was when he put me under Cruciatus."

And, for the love of all the gods, don't ask me anything more, he silently added.

The air grew very still, filled with a strange, exhausted peace, and even the wind seemed to stop blowing. That's the best I could do, Draco thought wearily. The very best. I'm afraid it wasn't enough. But I don't know what else to do. Then he felt her hand in his hair, moving down to his neck. Ginny pulled Draco's head to her breast, and he let it fall. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, cradling him. They sat that way for a long time. They did not speak a single word.

And there came a point when he knew that some mysterious cycle had been completed, and some drawbridge that had been raised against him was fallen. Some subtle shift in position caused him to glance up into her face. Ginny's lips were trembling, and had fallen slightly open. She looked down at him with enormous eyes, half-frightened, half-filled with a dawning knowledge. I could kiss her, he realized. I could touch her. I could probably do damn near anything I wanted to her. She doesn't even realize it... how very innocent she is! But I know.

But he did not do any of those things. He sat up, pulled her head down, and kissed her brow, once, very softly.

"We should go," Draco said. "It's growing dark."

"All right," said Ginny.

He saw the confusion in her eyes. The faint disappointment. And then he knew.

He had her.

He had won, although she didn't yet know it. But she will, he thought, helping Ginny onto the horse. Oh, she will.

The mare plodded slowly up the cobblestones of the raised Roman road, the last golden and orange rays of sunset playing over her broad back. She's growing tired, as well, thought Ginny. She herself was exhausted. Her stomach was rumbling so loudly that she was sure Draco could hear it over the clattering of the horse's hooves. And although she was still holding onto his waist, she couldn't quite look at him. He'd hardly said a word to her since they'd left the little clearing by the stream.

Well, what did you expect? she chastised herself. It's not as as if you've said anything to him, either.

They were passing pastures and wastelands now, some barren fields filled with cornstalks, and here and there an outbuilding, usually crumbling and falling down. The shadows were growing longer, and the air was beginning to take on the blue tinge of a winter evening. The land was so stark, so bare.

"It looks rather different to when I was here last," said Ginny.

"Amazing what can happen in four hundred years, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "What I don't understand," she continued, more to hear the sound of her own voice than for any other reason, "is why we aren't seeing any other travellers."

In answer, Draco pulled the horse to a halt for a moment. They'd been climbing up a slight hill, and had reached the top of a rise. The empty-looking lands stretched out on all sides of them, and they seemed the only living things moving on the earth. "Does that answer your question?" he asked.

In the fading light, Ginny could just make out the ruins of what looked like fortified walls, and the remnants of a small building, maybe a tollbooth. The stones crumbled around their foundations just off the raised stone road, blackened and destroyed. Draco clicked his tongue at the horse and she began trotting exhaustedly forward again. But the road seemed sinister now. As if it might be leading to some unimaginable danger, something that lurked in the cold twilight, just out of sight.

"What do you suppose happened?" she asked in a nervous voice.

Draco chuckled. "Thought you were the one who was supposed to know Muggle history."

"I'm too tired to remember much of anything I ever knew," Ginny snapped. Their moment of closeness under the oak tree seemed very distant indeed.

"This whole area was completely burned over in 1544. The Earl of Hertford invaded, I think... then there was a siege in 1560. Only six years ago, from where we are now. Merlin only knows what's left; I'm sure that's why we haven't been stopped yet."

She shivered. It had suddenly grown very cold. "But then how do we know anything's left?"

Draco shrugged. "It's still a very important port. There are bound to be inns and such down on the waterfront, places where sailors go. The Lion and the Unicorn's certainly there. Probably not the most savory of places, but we can't pick and choose just now."

"Malfoy," said Ginny, "I've heard about the sort of places where sailors go in port. My father was in the Royal Navy, you know."

He sighed in exasperation. "Well, what do you propose we do instead? We need to return this horse. We need to find your brother. You said he's in Leith."

"Yes, but--"

"Do you have a better idea?"

"No, but-- "

"Then let's just keep pressing on. We're nearly there, by the directions they gave me this morning."

"So let me get this straight," said Ginny. "We're headed into a town that's been burned down twice in the past twenty-five years; there's probably hardly a thing left but pirates and-- and thieves and murderers and God knows what else, we can't use our wands, and you don't think there's anything to worry about?"

Draco kept his eyes straight ahead, but she could see the smirk on his face. "Nope."

"Well, maybe for you there isn't!" she exclaimed. "But what about me?"

He turned towards her a little, and his smirk was wider than ever. "Weasley," he said, "I promise you-- and I'll swear it by anything you like-- that I'm not going to let anyone else do anything to you."

Ginny subsided into silence. There's something about that sentence I really don't care for, she thought. But her brain felt too thoroughly exhausted to figure it out.

"Do you remember anything about Leith in the sixteenth century?" asked Draco. "I want to avoid the more populated parts, if we can manage it."

She could barely hear his voice. His cloak was very thick and soft against her cheek, and it felt good in the cold air; she could feel the muscles of his back moving beneath, both irritating (what a prat he is, really,) and soothing (sleep, all I want to do is sleep.)

"Weasley. Wake up. You've actually been here. I haven't. Come on." He shook her shoulders, none too gently, until Ginny had to struggle to right herself or she would have fallen off the horse. She tried to think through the haze of fatigue.

"We could go around... sort of come up on the southwest side of the town," she said. "People's houses were closer to the centre. And I do remember about the walls. Dad said it was over two hundred years before they were rebuilt, I think, so there shouldn't be any to contend with."

"Nice to see you're remembering your history lessons now. Do you want a gold star?"

"Oooh." She glared at him and sat up as straight as she could.

The horse cantered slowly at the edge of the ruined walls that surrounded the town. They were avoiding the crowded areas of Leith, and it had grown much too dark to see houses rising in the distance, as they otherwise might have done. The moon was low and cold in the starry sky, and Ginny saw her breath rising in little puffs through the frosty air. The only sound was the soft clump-clump of the mare's hooves. Once again, she thought of how utterly alone they seemed, that she, Draco, and the horse might be the only living things that remained. It was an eerie thought.

"What's that?" whispered Draco, when they passed a collection of buildings, dark damaged shapes looming against the dark sky.

"St. Anthony's Hospital, I think. It's still there, rebuilt, of course. It will still be there, I mean. I've seen it..." Ginny yawned tremendously.

"You can't fall asleep on me yet. I mean it. I'll pinch you. We're trying to get to the mouth of the Water of Leith; where are we now?"

"A bit southwest of it. I think...there are some little alleys that lead to the waterfront from here. If it's the same as it was when I saw it, last year."

"If," muttered Draco.

"If you know a better way to find this inn, be my guest," Ginny said icily. She was still smarting over the promise regarding pinching.

The little streets were incredibly narrow; she was sure that two horses couldn't have passed side by side. Often, they came up against dead ends, or the alleys led them to barren fields, and they had to turn back. But little by little, they made their way to the mouth of the harbor.

"It's the other way," said Draco.

"Yes, if we wanted to spend another night bedded down with sheep," retorted Ginny. "I can hear the river. We've got to be close."

"That's not a river. Have you ever actually heard a river, or any body of water?" Draco supposed that he really ought to be more diplomatic, particularly in light of his plans for that evening. But he was tired and irritable and starving and edgy; their conversations earlier had made him feel very unsettled. And she probably wouldn't trust too much pleasantness on his part, anyway.

"I'll have you know, Malfoy, that my father used to take me boating on the lake just outside Ottery-St. Catchpole--"

"Probably a goldfish pond where you used to make paper ships and set them afloat. I'll bet you've never even been on a boat."

"Oh, and I'm sure you had your own private yacht? Well, since it's you, you probably did. You probably got your own cruise ship for your thirteenth birthday, complete with a crew of lingerie-wearing French succubi who only knew enough English to say, 'Yes, Master Draco.'"

He couldn't help smirking at that. Don't I wish. "No such luck," he said. "On my thirteenth birthday, I tried to kiss Pansy Parkinson, as I recall."

"What did she do? Drag you into the nearest closet?"

"Why, Weasley, I didn't know you'd be so eager to learn about my early conquests." The smirk tucked itself neatly into one corner of his mouth. "She slapped me."

"She must be a great deal more clever than I ever gave her credit for!"

The horse stumbled slightly and Draco drew her up short. The ground had changed; the cobblestones were no longer so even or well-spaced, and at the slight shift in position, Ginny glanced up.

"You're right," said Draco. "It was this way. But you were wrong about one thing. That noise you were hearing? It wasn't the river."

They had been riding through darkness and silence for so long that the sights and sounds and smells of what lay before them hit Ginny like a physical blow. Draco had pulled the horse to a stop at the mouth of an alley that opened onto a broader thoroughfare, and her eyes widened as she took in everything.

The sky was utterly black by now, but the stars were dimmed by the lights that poured from the entrance of every building lining the roughly paved street. They had painted signposts hung over them, with crude likenesses of lions, cats, wolves, or roosters, and beneath those were painted names. Thistle and Cat. The Jolly Cock. Sailor's Port. There was music, too, raucous yelling and coarse laughter, and the street was full of men in groups, all seemingly drunk, clinging to each other to keep from falling. The flickering torchlights from the inns illuminated their faces in snatches, revealing a missing nose, an eyepatch, or a terrible scar twisting cheek or forehead. As Ginny watched, the door of a nearby tavern opened, and a blonde woman with greasy hair and tattered skirts flying behind her came running out, giggling. Two men staggered after her in hot pursuit. One made a flying leap and brought her down with a heavy thud on the cobblestones, climbing on top of her and yanking her skirts up. After a few moments, they both began to laugh lustily. The other man stood by on very wobbly knees, guzzling something from a flagon. They were so close that Ginny could smell how dirty all three of them were, these people from the sixteenth century, and how sharp and rank the ale was that the other man drank while he watched--

Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, my God!"

Draco looked at Ginny, and her face was so white that even he did not have the heart to say anything nasty. What lay before them was far from an attractive sight, and he didn't like that she'd had to see it. The only reason, of course, was that it was enough to put anyone off sex for life. If he could pull off his plans for the evening after this, nothing would ever seem like a challenge again.

Ginny set her mouth into a firm line. "Look," she said.

"Er-- I've seen enough. And I really don't think you ought to watch--"

"I don't mean that, Malfoy! Look at the sign."

He followed her pointing finger. At the far end of the street was the largest and most elegant sign of the lot, barely visible from where they were. It hung from a tree over a courtyard, set apart from the other buildings, swaying slightly in the wind. On it were painted a lion and a unicorn.

Ginny squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. "Come on, then," she said. "Let's go."

She's brave, thought Draco. Stupidly so, perhaps, but I do have to give her that much. A true Gryffindor. The Sorting Hat chose well, for her... but the snake will conquer the lion tonight, my sweet. He pulled Ginny's hood up over her head, tucking her hair beneath it, pulling her cloak more tightly around her. "Hold onto me," he said, "and once we get there, stay close to me. I'm not going to let anybody else hurt you."

Ginny nodded; she needed no further encouragement. There's still something about that bloody sentence I don't like, though, she thought.

The waves were lapping against the shore in a soft persistent susurration of sound. I was right. I did hear water. The moon had risen, now, casting enough light so that Ginny could see the dim shapes of a skeletal forest of ships' masts, far out in the harbor. Draco swung gracefully down to the ground and lifted his hands to help her down.

"I'm all right, I don't need--" began Ginny, But her legs seemed to go all rubbery the moment her feet touched solid ground, and she pitched forward into his arms.

"You're not used to riding," Draco said pleasantly. "I could have told you this would happen."

"I'll be fine if I can just-- oooh." Now Ginny felt as if she were standing on the deck of one of the ships she saw in the distance, and it was rolling from side to side.

There were people moving around the curving inn-yard; a couple of smartly dressed boys had stepped forward to take the horse's bridle, and a plump, jolly-looking fellow bustled to the forefront, drying his hands on an apron. The innkeeper, Ginny guessed. Draco was talking to him, slouching slightly, one hand in his pocket. There was definitely a large smudge of dirt on his face. Yet he had put on that indefinable air of command, of expecting to be obeyed. Was it arrogance? The word didn't quite cover what she saw, this quality that was so essentially Malfoy. But she couldn't help being dimly grateful; she herself could never have pulled it off. She saw the flash of metal as he handed the innkeeper several coins from the pocket of his robes. Then he flipped one of the boys a silver coin; the lad put it in his mouth and bit it, grinning impishly. Draco turned back towards her.

"Can you walk, Weasley? We're nearly there, and I've got everything arranged."

"Wait," she insisted. Her mind felt as if it were unwinding in big lazy loops, but she knew she needed to think. "Wait. We need to-- to find Ron now, now that we've returned the horse. We don't have any time to waste."

His arm snaked around her waist, supporting her. "No," he said, and his voice was low and soothing. "You're so tired. You need to rest. Wouldn't you like to have dinner? I'll have a lovely dinner sent up. And I know you'd like to take a bath-that'll be ready soon as well, and some new clothes. You don't want your brother to see you like this, do you?"

"No..." she said slowly. "But--"

"Then come in."

They were walking towards the double wooden doors now, he half-leading, half-carrying her. "I've been watching you over the past few days. And you've been so very, very brave," Draco said, and his voice was like the subtle music of the serpent that tempted Eve. "Now..." He paused. Dazedly, Ginny leaned into him, and let him guide her through the doors. The noise within was loud and raucous, and she barely heard his last words. "Let me take care of you, Ginny."

It wasn't until she'd been standing in the entranceway for several moments that it dawned on her. He'd called her by her first name.

He saw the look of shock in her eyes, too late, and cursed himself. Too soon, too soon for that. But time's growing short. Damn, I will never be able to seduce her as long as she's in her right mind... or sober... well, maybe something can be done about that, this is a tavern, after all...

"The room will be ready straightaway, sir, aye, aye, two shakes of a lamb's tail," said the innkeeper, raising his voice to be heard over the incredible din, bustling up to them and drying his hands on an apron. "I'll send up Bet, and Rob... In the meantime p'raps ye and yer-- uh--" The rotund man looked at Ginny dubiously. She tried to shrink back further into the cloak. "--companion might care to wait in the common room." Ginny had to admire the look on Draco's face at that moment, as it truly was a perfect example of its kind. She couldn't have produced that faint, sneering, incredulous hauteur if she sat in front of a mirror for a thousand years. "Not what yer accustomed to, p'raps," the innkeeper hastened to add. "Sailors can be rough company. But-- God's toenail, they're breaking the tankards again-- MOLL!" he shouted. The only available serving wench seemed to be detained at a table of sailors, however, and was slapping their hands away from her skirts, her other arm precariously balancing a tray of mugs. The large common room was utterly full, every table occupied, and the noise was unbelievable. Candles smoked in the huge wheel-shaped fixtures hanging from the dark beamed ceiling, and Ginny's eyes began to smart. All the combined smells rose up to assault her nose-- ale, sweat, dirt, and God only knew what else.

"Welll, I think it's safe to say that the tide came in," said Draco. "Thank all the gods, a table in the corner." He led Ginny to the edge of a trestle table, sitting with his back to the wall and motioning for her to do the same. Her head started falling to her crossed arms, and the rough wood was only vaguely irritating against her cheek. "Wake up, Weasley," he said briskly. "The room will be ready shortly. Their best. Full house tonight, but a little gold worked wonders."

Ginny sat upright and rubbed her eyes. "You didn't have to do that, Malfoy."

"Oh, yes I did. Think of it, a real room with a operative fireplace, and four walls--"

"But I can't pay you back. I don't have any money, remember?"

"I'm sure we can work something out," he said softly.

There's really something about that sentence I just don't care for, thought Ginny. But he smiled at her reassuringly then, and she forgot whatever had been bothering her. What a difference a real smile makes on that face of his. It balanced the narrow chin with the sharp cheekbones, and warmed the too-cold grey eyes. She couldn't seem to stop looking at the distinctly attractive rearrangement of Draco Malfoy's face. Surely he must know that she'd been looking at him too long, and she half-expected a snide remark, but instead he only touched her hand, squeezing it briefly in his own. They seemed to have progressed to some stage of friendliness they hadn't achieved before. Ginny wasn't sure how it had happened, but it was certainly much pleasanter this way.

Moll slouched back to their table and thumped down two flagons, slopping some of the liquid within over onto the rough surface. She leaned down as she did so, the very low-cut bodice she wore slipping even further, and gave Draco a flirtatious leer. Ginny thought once again that modern dental care was a marvellous thing.

"Infinite thanks, Moll-- no, we really won't be needing anything else." He gave Ginny an exasperated look, raising his eyes heavenwards, and, unwillingly, she smiled.

The wine was surprisingly good, tangy and delicious, and Ginny realized too late what sort of an effect it would have when drunk on an empty stomach. There seemed to be a very high faint buzzing in her head, and her legs were no longer sore. The lights in the common room were brighter, the cacophony of noise more festive, and the tables of sailors from many nations more fascinating. She craned her neck at a table of men with long blond braids over leather jerkins and drooping moustaches, addressing each other as Lavrans and Eyolf and Erlend, all laughing uproariously as they slapped the versatile Moll on her ample bum. There was a table of men in broad-brimmed black hats, wearing red satin shirts over billowing sleeves and trunk hose, with daggers strapped to their belts. They were all arguing hotly over a game of cards. A group of sailors in what looked like longish yellow smocks and shapeless leather shoes were throwing dice in a cleared space of floor against one wall, their conversation including much cursing of Wat, Scamp, and Robin, and the tossing about of the phrase, "scurvy knave." Every once in a while, as if driven by a common instinct, groups of sailors would glance up at the door, then turn back to their activities with disappointed looks on their faces. Evidently, they were all waiting for someone to appear. Interesting. She wondered who it was.

"For Merlin's sake, Weasley, put your eyes back in your head," said Draco in an undertone. "I don't want to attract any attention!"

"Oh, no one's going to look at me," scoffed Ginny.

He sighed. "What do you see in this room?"

"Well-- sailors. Lots of sailors."

"Got it in one. This inn's stuffed to the rafters with sailors who've been on board their ships for the gods only know how long. Now look around," he said, "and tell me how many women you see."

Not many, Ginny realized. And those that were there, sitting at the tables with the men and occasionally heading up a flight of wooden stairs with one or more of them at one side of the room, well... it seemed fairly obvious what sort they were. That's what Mum would have said, anyway. Good Lord, there was a blowsy-looking woman in a scarlet gown going upstairs with three sailors, giggling as they all patted various parts of her anatomy. "No Liliana!" bellowed one of the men. "No Valentina," added another, sadly. "But Meg is right accomodatin', nonetheless," chortled the third. "Sailors are all alike," said Meg coyly. "Any port in a storm, it's all the same t'you." "Ah, but wait 'till ye see what we've been savin' up for ye, Meg darlin'!" said the first, and they all laughed uproariously.

"I think I see what you mean," said Ginny in a small voice. "After a year at sea, even the sheep probably start to look good."

Draco looked at her strangely. "Don't sell yourself short, Weasley," he said.

"Is that some sort of compliment?" Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. "Are you actually saying that, given the choice between me and a sheep--"

"Shhh. Oh, shit," muttered Draco.

A man at the other end of the table had gotten up and was walking towards them in a leisurely fashion. The strange thing was that Ginny could have sworn he hadn't been there before. However, she was tipsy, exhausted, and terrified, which rather did tend to make one's perceptions unreliable, so she couldn't be sure. She watched him, barely daring to breathe. Whoever he was, he certainly stood out in the rough tavern. He was dressed in a crimson doublet with bolstered and slashed sleeves, revealing an intricately embroidered linen shirt beneath. His outer coat of heavy silk swung as he pirouetted, revealing a fur lining, and his scarlet hose were guarded with red velvet. Yet the really odd part-- she blinked-- was that every few seconds, she seemed to lose any definite fix on the shade of his eyes, the color of his hair, and the shape of his face. She could not have said if he was fair or dark, handsome or ugly, or even short or tall. Well, maybe the wine was a lot stronger than she'd thought.

"Mistress Weasley." He lifted her palm in one gloved hand, his lips pausing an inch above her skin. "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely, and more temperate." His eyes held hers. Dark. Darker than anything she had ever seen, like the infinite depths of the sea. Then they glowed brightly, and crinkled up at the edges as he smiled. "But rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, and summer's lease hath all too short a date," he said. "A bad place to attract attention, indeed."

Draco tensed, laying a hand on Ginny's arm, shooting her a quick, warning glance. "Do I know you?" he drawled, elevating his nose.

The man looked at him, considerable amusement in those strange eyes. "My dear, my very dear Master Malfoy!" He reached out towards Draco's arm, stopping short of his wrist. But Draco felt, rather than saw, something leap and tremble within his skin. "Do you?" the man asked softly.

"How do you know his name?" Ginny demanded, looking from one to the other. "And mine?"

"You've used it since we've been sitting here, of course, Weasley, and I've used yours," said Draco, not taking his eyes off the man. There was in intensity in the air Ginny didn't understand.

"Such a clever little dragon it is," said the man, examining his fingernails.

"What? Wait-- wait--I know I haven't used your first name, Malfoy," Ginny said suspiciously.

"But he does look so like a dragon, doesn't he, Mistress Weasley? A very little one." Then the man turned and smiled at her, and Ginny entirely forgot whatever it was she had been wondering about.

"You know our names, then," she said, collecting herself with an effort. "So what's yours?"

"What is in a name?" asked the man, dropping onto the wooden bench beside them. "A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Et cetera, et cetera."

"But names are very useful, aren't they," said Draco, still looking at the man intently.

He nodded. "Naming something correctly confers a certain amount of power over it."

"I know one name you might also know, perhaps," said Draco, his voice very even. "I seek a man named Lord Grindelwald. Do you know anything about him?" Ginny gave a little jump, and he placed his hand over hers, under the table. As if to say, don't bother your pretty little head about it, Weasley, I know what I'm doing. Oh, I can't think when he does that! she thought resentfully.

"Grindelpate? Grumblieguts? Rumplestiltskin?" the man asked, a rather foolish smile spreading across his face. "The name means nothing to me, I regret to say. But then names are so difficult to call to one's mind, are they not? I wandered long and long by the stream that runs through the great forest to the west, east of the sun and west of the moon, and every name I ever knew ran through my poor head as if through a sieve." The man sighed, and glanced dreamily about the room.

Draco nudged Ginny. She shifted her eyes towards him to see him twirling his forefinger around his ear. "Absolutely barmy," he whispered out of one corner of his mouth.

"But why did you ask about--"

"Shh."

The man was turning his attention back towards them, and Ginny moved away from Draco a little. The hood of her cloak slipped from her head as she did so. The man reached out and took a curl of her hair between his fingers. "So like the gold that the miller's maid spun from straw," he said softly. "But touched with fire."

"Look, I don't know who you are, but I think you'd better--" began Draco.

"I have seen another head of hair like that on this day, in Leith," the man continued, unruffled. "But darker. On a lad who was tall, and had eyes the deep brown of turned earth in winter. A ready tongue he had, and a quick temper--"

Ginny leaped to her feet without thinking. "Ron!" she exclaimed. "Oh, please, tell me-- was his name Ron? He's my brother-- and I've been searching and searching for him, oh please tell me it was Ron--"

Unfortunately, Ginny's outburst had happened at one of those moments when a lull in conversation had occurred. The room had fallen into a dip of momentary silence, as always seems to happen at rare intervals in a space crowded with people and their noise. Her words ranged out loud and clear. The whole room fell more silent still.

Ginny wondered how she had suddenly become the centre of attention. Because doubtless she had.

"Oh God," she whimpered, scanning the tables of sailors who had turned towards her. All looking at her. The circle of glittering eyes was making her feel dizzy.

"This doesn't look good," admitted Draco.

"That man--" Ginny glanced from side to side. "He's gone! Where did he go?"

"That is odd," said Draco, "but you know, I don't think it's really our primary problem right now."

The press of people seemed to have moved closer, even though Ginny wasn't sure how or when it had happened. A wizened old man in an incredibly dirty knit cap hobbled up to them. "New wench, eh?" he cackled, digging Draco in the ribs with a bony elbow. "Don't be greedy, lad. Share the goods."

If one could judge from the guffaws of laughter and sly snickers arising from the entire room, that idea met with some approval.

"The lady is my wife," Draco said evenly, and Ginny felt his hand on her arm, pulling her close to him, hard and warm.

"Wife, eh?" boomed a squat sailor with an enormous red beard and a gut to match, which was unfortunately not quite contained by his breeches. "Why, yer lips are still wet with milk from yer mam's titty, boy." More guffaws.

"And speakin' o titties..." leered the wizened old man, who had edged closer and was now staring at Ginny's chest.

"What did you say?" Draco asked the fat sailor, and his voice was deadly and low. He stood with the deceptively relaxed grace of a panther, scanning the room, then turning back to his opponent, a slight, deadly smile on his lips. She had to admire him then. And even though there were only two of them-- well, really only Draco, because Ginny thought she'd be lucky to keep standing upright for another thirty seconds, and she doubted she'd be much use in a fight-- and perhaps fifty sailors, there was something in his face and stance that made all of them step back, just slightly. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny could just see the fat innkeeper twisting his hands in his apron, looking frightened. There was obviously going to be no help there.

"It's only restless that we are," said a younger sailor in a slightly placating tone, tipping his cap over one eye. "Longing for a bit o'fun and not finding it. Might your lady entertain us with a song?"

A roar of alcoholic approval went up, with some sense of relief behind it. Then everyone looked expectantly at Ginny.

"If you know any songs," murmured Draco, "I think you'd better sing them."

"I don't think I can," croaked Ginny.

"I don't care if you have a voice like a dying crow. Your singing may just prevent a riot. Music has power to soothe the savage breast, Weasley, didn't you ever hear that?

He's actually amused by this! Ginny thought incredulously. If the unwashed mob in the tavern tore her limb from limb; that sardonic smile would likely still be on his lips. He's every bit as much of a git as he ever was! Indignation surged through her and rammed steel into her faltering spine. She was taller than almost anyone in the room, she saw. She had more teeth, too. That gave her a little courage. There was a furious blush in her cheeks, and for a moment her mind was entirely blank.

"Can't think of anything? How about 'Mary Had a Little Lamb'? They seem to like sheep here."

"Oooh!" She clenched her fists, wanting to hit him. If she couldn't think of a song, though, the room might just take care of it for her. The only problem with that scenario was that Malfoy would have the easy part of it; he'd be killed instantly, whereas she'd have to entertain Wat and Scamp and Lavrans and Eyolf until dawn. Then his hand closed over hers. She looked down and saw that he was alert beneath his deceptively lazy demeanor; that all his muscles were tensed, and his other hand lay on the hilt of his knife where it was tucked under his belt. Ginny swallowed past a sudden, absurd lump in her throat. She'd been wrong. Draco would protect her; would fight for her, if he had to; she was suddenly sure of it. But he'd never come out and say as much in so many words. Of course, who could tell why? He did such strange things, sometimes.

That's it, Draco thought, watching his plans falling past him in ruins. I'm going to die. And I never even got to shag her once. I think I could fight my way out of here if it weren't for that damn table of Vikings. They all look like they're about to start ravishing and pillaging any minute. And that was supposed to be my line.

Ginny cleared her throat. She clasped her hands in front of her to stop their shaking. She opened her mouth. And then she knew that some things ran too deep to forget; they were in her bones, and music, thank God, was one of them.

"The fairy land's a pretty place,
In which I love to dwell,
But yet at every seven years' end
They pay their teind to hell;
And as I am so fair of face,
I fear the next be mysel'."

That was actually from the middle of Tam Lin, where Tam told Gwen that he, her lover, was not of this world, and was owed as sacrifice to the fairy folk. When she'd gotten to the end of the song, she started over at the beginning. Rather hopelessly out of sequence, but she somehow didn't think this crowd would notice.

Her voice had come back to her, powerful and low, clear as a bell. A trained singer's voice, it penetrated to every corner of the room. They applauded for her and roared, clapping their hands together, waving mugs of ale and mead, sploshing liquids on the floor and yelling for Moll to bring them more, which they guzzled down greedily, watching Ginny with shining eyes. And Draco, Ginny was pleased to note, had a very surprised expression on his face.

"I'll be damned," he said out of one corner of his mouth.

"Probably," she answered. "But right now, just help me think of some more songs they'd like. Sixteenth century ones "

"Do you know The Clene Shepe and the Shiten Shepherd ?"

"The number Fred and George sang at the Madrigal concert last year?" Ginny rolled her eyes. "They got detention until they finished Hogwarts for that one."

"I rather think this audience would like it."

"You have a point."

"A shepherd life's a lonely one

I vow that may be true

Of sheep there are aplenty

Of women there be few

But Jock, the clever shepherd

Had learned he must make do--"

They certainly seemed to be appreciating the song, thought Ginny as they all lustily joined her on the chorus. And unlike the Fred-and-George incident, it probably wasn't going to result in a record number of Howlers being sent to Dumbledore the next day.

"Sing fol-de-rol, sing fol-de-rol, all in the month of May,

Sing fol-de-rol, sing fol-de-rol,

She didn't flee him, strange to say."

Ginny cast back in her mind and memory for appropriate songs. The table of Vikings grew quite rowdy at one point, so she sang The Lay of Loki Bound, remembering about a quarter of the Norwegian words. Considering all the ale they'd been drinking, she doubted they could tell the difference anyway. She knew a couple of sprightly old Cornish songs her mother had used to sing, and luckily most of the words came back to her. And after a few more ribald songs she'd learned by eavesdropping on Fred and George, one involving a goat, several nobles, and a misunderstanding over a tavern bill, she decided that it was time to turn to ballads, which she did.

"I'm going away to leave you, love,

I'm going away for awhile

But I'll come back to you, my love,

Though the stars fall from the sky

The storms are on the ocean

The heavens may cease to be,

This world may lose its motion, love

Should I prove false to thee."

There was scarcely a dry eye in the house by the time she'd finished that one. "You've got them crying in their beer. Well, I don't think they have beer yet. Ale," said Draco in an undertone.

"Wonderful, just what I always wanted. Now how do we get out of here?" she hissed back to him.

"Funny," he replied. "That's the question I was going to ask you-- Wait."

There was a sudden commotion at the door, and the sailors who had been clustered near it sent up a loud cheer. It spread around the room from mouth to mouth.

"Liliana!"

"Valentina!"

"Tshilaba!"

The crowd that had been around Ginny thinned and re-formed near the other side of the room, and over the heads of the sailors, Ginny caught a glimpse of three girls striding into the centre of the floor. They were all very dark of hair and eye, with lustrous curls tumbling over their low-cut red silk bodices, and one carried some sort of musical instrument that looked like a tiny guitar. She began strumming the complicated figure of a a tune, one that evoked hot sunlight, passion, and sweat. The other two girls smiled at the assembled company, their white teeth flashing against their swarthy skin, and then they began to dance, holding their skirts and kicking their heels high.

"Saved by the gypsies," said Draco, grabbing Ginny's arm and propelling her towards the stairs.

"So that's who they were waiting for," said Ginny. Her legs had apparently turned to jelly while she'd been standing there, and only Draco's hard arm kept her from falling.

"Yes, and thank all the gods they showed up."

"What a lucky coincidence that was."

Draco's brow creased. "Yes... very lucky indeed. I wonder... well, it doesn't matter. Come on, come on. Up the stairs we go." Together, they climbed the uneven wooden steps to the second floor.

Ginny snatched her arm back once they'd reached the landing, rubbing it. "I'm sure I'll have a bruise there tomorrow. You didn't have to grab me so hard."

"Would you rather I let you fall on the floor and drag you all the way? I can assure you, that's what would have happened otherwise. I think this was more dignified, don't you?"

"Thank you," said Ginny, rather ungraciously. "And, Malfoy-- thanks for--" She hesitated. What he'd done-- or rather, would have done-- (protected me? fought for me? not thrown me to the sailors while he ran as fast as he could?) was so nebulous that she didn't know how to put her gratitude for that into words. Nor did she think it was necessarily a good idea to even try to do so.

"For telling the unwashed mob we were married?" There was that smirk again. "Why Weasley, there's romance in your soul after all."

His only answer was a glare. But then they reached an open door, and when Ginny saw what was within, she sighed blissfully, reaching out her arms and all but running forward. A serving maid in a linen cap was lifting a kettle hung over a fireplace and pouring its steaming contents into--

"A bath!" Ginny moaned in ecstasy, half-closing her eyes and parting her lips, her cheeks flushing a rosy shade.

That was a very attractive expression, thought Draco. One he could easily become used to.

And one he definitely planned to bring to her face more than once tonight.

For the thought came to his mind again, more strongly than before...

A willing sacrifice carries the most power.