Something More

Rat out of Water

Azkaban had been a nightmare from which he could not escape. Two years he had spent there. Two fucking, miserable years. And yet, he knew he had deserved a far more longer sentence than what he had gotten. Those two years were the most darkest and vile of his entire life; never would he forget them, never could he forget them, for their strength and their cruelty had forever damaged his soul. He was now a shattered excuse for a human being, a filthy, nasty beast with the bitterest heart and the most biting sneer. Pride no longer held him together; pride could no longer save him, could neither offer him amity nor comfort. For Draco Malfoy, that ship was long gone, never to return. The only thing that had yet remained was anger, and quite presumably that anger was more directed toward himself than anyone else. That's what you get, he thought.

You deserve every fucking bit of it.

He still remembered the dementors; in fact, among all other things, they were what most haunted him during the far hours of night. He had criticized others, for they had feared the creatures so very deeply. Draco had laughed at them, pointed a mocking finger at them in the hallways. Alas, he had not been aware of their power, and so it had seemed that the boy was long overdue for a rude awakening. And that was exactly what he had gotten.

The prison cells. Dirty, isolated cages, tarnished from the other shamefaced wizards that had once existed there. They had died, for rarely did a man ever get released from Azkaban. There were, however, exceptions, and uncommon though they were, Draco had been one of the very few that had been pardoned. In his mind, though, he was not worthy of such an opportunity. Why was he so fucking special, that he got to leave? He was the worst of them all. He was Draco Malfoy. A Death Eater, and a damn wicked one at that. Why did he get to leave...when there were others still imprisoned for far lesser of crimes than his?

Someone at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had apparently decided that Malfoy had been young and foolish at the time...disillusioned even. Ha. They were the only ones that were disillusioned. So this was his second chance then. Draco laughed bitterly. Sure as hell didn't feel like a second chance.

He was convinced he had gone mad. Surely a sane man would not act like this, would not think and feel like this; indeed, he had flipped his lid after all. What they had said was true.

"Shit," Draco breathed, running a hand over his face, visibly frustrated. He had barely slept last night; too many damn things keeping him awake. Not that he wasn't used to it, though, for it was mighty difficult to rest in an Azkaban prison cell, what with all the dementors hovering around one's chamber and the ceaseless moans coming from the countless other criminals.

He sat up in bed, resting his elbows on his knees. It was snowing again outside; he'd be damned if it ever stopped. Draco was feeling rather cramped from lying in the bed for so long, but didn't want to risk leaving the room. He could at least stand up, though. And so he did; the boy walked over to the window, a slight stagger still present in his gait. Raising his arms over his head, Draco stretched his arm muscles, which hurt a little less to-day. He supposed he had the redhead to thank for that, not that he would or anything, much less even consider it. She still had his wand, and he wanted it back. A wizard's wand was like an extension of that person; without a source of magic, one felt utterly helpless, vulnerable.

Just then, there was a gentle knock on the door, which caused Draco to slightly recoil. "It's me," came Ginny's apprehensive voice. At least she had the decency to knock, he thought. Wondering what she wanted now, he roughly opened the door.

Ginny had all of her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, with the exception of two small portions of hair, which framed her freckled face on either side. In her arms was a medium-sized stack of what appeared to be clothing. "What?" he asked, and Ginny swore his voice was devoid of any emotion.

She hesitated. "I've got some of Fred and George's clothes here; they should do for now, at least." Virginia was blushing slightly, barely noticeable, but her face felt as if it were fire. Draco still scared the hell out of her, to say the least. "Uhm..." she paused, "well, here you go." Ginny extended her arms a little, willing him to accept the shirts and jeans. He did not take them. Instead he stood there, staring down at her as if he were in deep thought.

"Why do you look at me like that?" he suddenly blurted out, a tint of anger evident in his tone. After seeing the look of confusion on her face, he reiterated, "Why do you look so afraid?" Crossing his arms, he continued, "Do you think I'm going to hurt you?"

"...I don't know," she replied, and truthfully, she did not know.

Glaring, he took the clothes and set them down on the bed. Draco was frustrated, to say the least; why was he even here, in this --- this pitiful excuse for a house? He did not quite remember everything that had happened since his release. Fragments at most floated around the surface of his memory; there were men...they had been angry and drunk...blood, his blood, their blood, and then...

...He knew nothing more.

And somehow he had ended up in Hogsmeade, of all places, clothing ripped, body sore, so cold---

"Might I have my wand back?" voiced Draco, slowly and deliberately. Ginny did not reply, the stubborn little rat, he thought, very much annoyed. "I promise not to kill you," he included quite acidly. Still nothing. "Damnit!" he swore loudly, furiously running his hands through his hair.

Ginny realized that this was not the same Draco that she had known at Hogwarts; he was different now...he had changed. He was still cruel, of course, but...something had happened to him, though she was not sure exactly what. And if possible, that fact alone made her fear him even more.

"Answer me!" he yelled.

"What is wrong with you!? You're mad!"

"I'll tell you what's wrong with me," he drawled, "I'm stuck in this god-damned house and I can't leave and most of all, I'm stuck with you." His voice was full of malevolence, and his body shook.

"Then by all means, go." This time Draco said nothing, and for a few horrid minutes, the entire room was completely shrouded in silence. "Perhaps you should eat," she finally commented.

"I'm not hungry."

"Fine."

Silence again conquered the room. Ginny looked down before twisting the knob on the door, preparing to leave. Her back facing the other occupant of the room, she mumbled, "So you know, it's quite early, and the shoppe does not open for another few hours." And then she left, closing the hard wooden door behind her.

Fifteen minutes later, Draco was fully dressed in the most humiliating attire he had ever seen. Weasley clothing, he thought nastily. The jeans were slightly worn at the ends, and the shirt looked as if it had been knitted. Pathetic. Perhaps if he had his wand he could magic in a far more decent set of garments. He would get it back, that much he knew. Even if he had to harm the wretched Weasel, he would retrieve what was his.

He turned his head to regard the door, wondering if he should go down or not, for he had lied; Draco was hungry. In truth, he was famished. When was the last time he had eaten? Malfoy felt rather weak, not to mention horribly parched.

Glaring at the door, he allowed his hunger to prevail. Perhaps this damned place would have some kitchen of the sort, he considered with a sneer.

Virginia heard footsteps descending the old staircase and started slightly. She had not expected him to stay in the room all day, but the thought of Draco coming down still startled her. It meant he was now strong enough to walk, strong enough to hurt her...kill her...

Ginny mentally shook away the thought. No, if Malfoy had wanted to kill her, then he would have done it already...right?

Needless to say, she had her doubts.

The youngest Weasley had made him something to eat, and she was not yet sure what had possessed her to do so. There had been some eggs and flour in the cupboard, and so she'd magicked together scrambled eggs and pancakes. Ginny had figured he must be hungry; he hadn't eaten a thing since he'd 'arrived' at the store. She could only imagine how long it'd been before that. Besides, maybe his temperament would settle a bit if he ate something.

Doubtfully, she mused.

"There's some breakfast on the counter in the other room," she gestured to Draco, who'd just reached the bottom of the steps. "If you're hungry, that is," Ginny added, the corner of her rose-coloured lips curving upwards just a slight bit.

He only nodded as he moved toward the entrance of the small kitchen.

A few seconds later, he reappeared at the doorway, a rather suspicious look displayed across his pale, chiseled face. "You haven't put any poison in it or anything, have you?" he bit out.

"Only a little," she evenly replied, using her wand to scribble down the day's special onto the large chalkboard posted on the wall.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy returned to the other room, obviously not taking her sarcasm seriously.

Only this time, the red-haired girl followed him.

"Why did you come here?" she asked, observing Draco as he sat down and picked up a fork.

"What are you talking about?" he replied, not really paying attention.

"Before you collapsed," she clarified, "I distinctly recall you saying, 'So it's true.' What did you mean by that?" Ginny crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe and watching as Draco took a rather generous bite of food.

"Oh," he paused, "that." Then a smirk appeared on his face (which earned a frown from Ginny), before he said, "Saw the sign 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' on the door and couldn't trust my own eyes. I mean it's rather hard to believe a family like yours would ever have their own business."

"Well, it's also rather hard to believe someone like you would end up at my door all bloodied up."

Setting down the fork, he clapped his hands twice, evidently mocking her. "Grown up, have you?"

"Don't change the subject. You've yet to answer my question," she retorted. "I want to know why you're here. I mean, you disappeared for quite a while and then...what, you just decided to show up in Hogsmeade looking half dead?"

"Reckon it seems that way," he offhandedly replied.

"Ugh," Virginia exclaimed, holding out her arms in exasperation. "I don't know why I even try to get information out of you. You're positively hopeless."

At this, Draco stood up, having finished eating. There was still food on the plate, but as he hadn't been eating, it wasn't best to stuff himself now. However, his stomach felt a little fuller now, and that was improvement enough.

"You want answers, do you?" he growled. "Oh, I could tell you a whole lot things, alright. Stories that would make your hair stand on its very end." His eyes stared dangerously into hers, face twisted into a look of pure malice; Malfoy was definitely no longer kidding.

Ginny could say nothing. Whatever Malfoy had experienced, she was no longer sure she wished to know.

But before she could reply, even if it was just to change the subject, he had left the room. Now the silver-haired teen stood in front of the frosty window, arms crossed, a strange, distant look present on his features.

He might as well have been miles away, she decided.