The Rise and The Fall

THE RISE AND THE FALL

Chapter Three: The Proposition

Ginny awoke to a loud clanging noise, as if something metallic was striking itself forcefully against something just as unyielding. Her body reacted with a sharp jolt, causing her to sit up stiffly, which proved difficult considering that her wrists were still restrained behind her back. Thinking about her back made her realise how uncomfortable that bed of straw had been; it had smelt too, potent and musky. She was sure that it clung to her now as if it were originally her own scent. She had also refused to use that bucket in the corner, thinking that wetting herself was a vastly superior scenario to catching some disease from that putrid bucket just by standing over it. Not that disease mattered now, now that she was being summoned to her death.

"Good, you are awake, Miss Weasley," came Lucius' weak voice. "Unfortunately, you have missed breakfast, but you should be in time for lunch." Ginny felt like telling him where to stick his lunch in no uncertain terms, but didn't have the energy to in the end, having not slept that well. "Well, get up," he ordered impatiently.

"My body is aching, thank you very much!" she said loudly. "I may be about to die, but I still have feelings!"

Lucius simply ushered her out of the cell, watching her stumble a little as she tried to wake herself up a little quicker. She was very tired, mostly because the sleep had been insufficient but also because she had been practically lying on a stone floor all night. The temperature had been relatively warm, considering that it was May and they were below ground, surrounded by soil and brick. That was at least some relief to Ginny. "Daisy!" she heard Lucius call, his voice not particularly as forceful as a shout should warrant, but she wondered why he was shouting out 'Daisy'. Suddenly a loud CRACK! resonated through the dungeons and a tiny house elf appeared before them.

"Master," the house elf bowed extremely low, her floppy ears almost touching the floor, and Ginny knew the house elf was female because her voice was very high, almost to the point of a squeak. "What do you require?" Ginny was quite taken aback; all the house elves she had ever come into contact with had always spoken in the third person, but this one sounded highly articulate.

"Take Miss Weasley to one of the guest bedrooms," he said in an authoritative tone, a tone that seemed well-used. "Clean her up, feed her, dress her... make her look presentable." He smirked at those last words, a smirk that didn't speak of any humour or relish in her situation, but a smirk that held a secret. Ginny was not stupid, the war had changed her in many ways and noticing things had been one of those changes.

"Why are you doing this?" she questioned mistrustfully, eyeing him and trying to work out his motives. But he was just as guarded as her, and his face didn't reveal anything, even his little smirk had disappeared. "If you think that I am going to let those filthy friends of yours touch me, then you can think again!" She looked at the door ahead of her, noticing no lock upon the handle, and she forced herself to run for it. Ginny knocked the house elf flying as she made her legs work as they should have worked in the tunnel, and the door wasn't that far off. She turned awkwardly so as to reach the handle in her bindings, and could see Lucius staring at her with an odd look on his face, and yet he wasn't even trying to stop her. Then she screamed.

"Silly girl," Lucius chuckled. "These are the dungeons, do you think we would have made it that easy for you to escape?"

Ginny looked down at her hand and felt an angry burn sear itself across her palm, imprinting the ornate pattern of the handle and it was almost unbearable. That had been one of the worse pains she had ever felt in her life, after the Cruciatus, but she had shouted at this one, the pain having taken her by a harsh surprise. "Of course, how stupid of me," she replied indifferently, trying to cleave back some dignity.

Lucius scoffed in response, but continued as before as if she hadn't tried to escape. Though she supposed the attempt was so feeble it wasn't even worth punishing; she would have to be cleverer and imaginative. Not that she had any time really to think of a plan; she had never set foot inside Malfoy Manor, she didn't know where the doors led to or even where the windows led. In such an old and ancient house as this, with magic part of its very being, any potential escape route could actually be a death trap. "I can see you are going to be uncooperative," he said calmly. "Daisy, you will have to restrain her."

The house elf had gotten back to her feet and approached Ginny with a sad expression upon her face as she lifted her hands. Ginny felt her body become warm and comfortable suddenly, and it felt like the Imperius, but cosier. That was the only way to describe it. She felt cosy and even a little... happy? Ginny hadn't felt happy for a long time, so she couldn't be so sure if that was what she was experiencing. Whatever it was, it made her want to follow Daisy out of the room with no concerns or worries. She didn't even really register what Lucius had just muttered to the house elf, something about taking her somewhere afterwards, but nothing mattered at the moment because she felt distinctly content.

Daisy walked up a flight of stairs, so steep that it was nearly a struggle not to fall backwards. But Ginny felt completely oblivious to all these feelings and carried on following the house elf into what looked like a kitchen and then up another flight of stairs. The room they entered now was tiny, but the door led out onto an expansive entrance hall dominated by two staircases curving up to the first floor; the staircases were white marble with iron wrought banisters, and in the middle of the staircases was a simple statue which Ginny could not really make sense of in her current state of obedience. Daisy walked up the easterly staircase, and led her prisoner into one of the many doors directly facing the landing.

"Miss Weasley, I have locked the door, so that I can release you from my spell," the house elf began, her voice expressing something like sympathy. "I don't want to keep you restrained, I know my master does not wish me to restrain you constantly." Daisy lifted her long-fingered hands again, and slowly brought them down. Ginny felt normal again, and quite disappointed, it had been a nice feeling, not worrying about anything. And it had been so very different from the Imperius. Yet, being forced was unnatural and sickening, anything could happen to her if she could be forced.

"Thank you, Daisy," Ginny said gratefully, and she took the chance to monitor her surroundings. The room was opulent, but not overly grand; it was light and airy with large French windows facing out onto what looked like the Manor's gardens and grounds. The walls of the room where finished in a panelled wood effect, a chandelier hung from the middle of the white painted ceiling, and the furnishings looked unbelievably comfortable, but nobody else seemed to be in the room apart from themselves. No one hiding behind the lavish white curtains, and no one hiding under the four-poster. Ginny was satisfied, to an extent. "Can you cut these ropes from me now, please?"

"Of course, Miss Weasley," the house elf replied obligingly, and she moved behind her prisoner and Ginny felt the ropes fall away with much relief. They had been chafing her wrists furiously during the night, and she knew that they were bleeding before she even looked. "First I will be giving you a bath and then you can have something to eat, anything you request will be given."

"A last meal?" Ginny said in acceptance, scoffing ironically. Lucius Malfoy giving her the dignity of a last meal was not something that she had ever expected to happen, she hadn't even thought about food until then.

"Not as such, Miss Weasley," Daisy answered to Ginny's surprise. "Lunch is optional in the Malfoy household, and whatever is wanted is what is served. That is the system."

Ginny was taken aback at this. So why was he giving her a share in lunch? Why was he allowing her to have a bath? She was quite sure that Lord Voldemort wouldn't give a damn about whether or not she was clean or if she had been properly fed prior to her death; it just wasn't logical and it wasn't how Voldemort operated. To Voldemort, the greatest torture would be death, not being given a bath and food in anticipation. Ginny speculated that this was Lucius Malfoy's doing, this was his own brand of torture; lulling her into a false sense of security, letting her simmer in anticipation about her fate.

"My master has picked out one of the late Mistress' dresses for you to wear, Miss Weasley," Daisy continued, trying to carry on being the perfect slave; efficient and hard-working. "I will make sure the dress fits you once you have put it on. I believe the Mistress was two inches taller than you, so I may have to shorten the bodice and the hem."

Ginny stared blankly at Daisy upon hearing these words. "That is sick!" she exclaimed, cringing against her own judgement. "He wants me to wear his dead wife's clothes? What for?!"

"There are no other ladies clothes here, Miss Weasley," the house elf explained soberly. "Master Lucius and Master Draco are the only residents here, and there has never been any other females living here in my lifetime."

"Draco? Draco Malfoy?" Ginny said dumbly.

"Of course, Miss Weasley," Daisy said, looking at Ginny incredulously as if there could be no other Draco anywhere else in the country. In Ginny's mind, there probably wasn't.

Ginny scanned the room then, the apprehension she had been feeling since she had been captured escalating into something far more advanced. "Where is he, then? I thought he would have revelled in this," she said shrewdly. "In fact, I know he would have revelled in this."

Daisy gave Ginny another look of incredulity. "Miss Weasley, Master Draco is in his quarters," she explained firmly. "He has expressed no wish to see you. Come and sit down, Miss, I need to heal your wounds before you bathe."

At these words, Ginny snapped out of her suspicions momentarily; the thought of getting her injuries healed was too hard a temptation to resist, so she obediently sat down for the house elf. "Why are you doing this?" she questioned uneasily. "I mean healing me, clothing me and everything else."

"My master requires it," Daisy answered simply, her tone giving nothing away.

"Yes," Ginny replied impatiently, "but, why?"

Daisy gave Ginny another sympathetic look. "My master has ordered me to take you to the parlour," she said finally, sighing in acquisition. "You are to meet someone... And I do not know who, Miss Weasley."

Ginny was beginning to grow curious now; surely Voldemort was not going to kill her in Malfoy's parlour? No, he wouldn't, he would kill her in full view of his followers. She had learnt that much the previous evening. He could not resist showing off his power and authority, so there was no way he was planning to kill her there. At this thought she decided she would do as she was bidden, the quicker this process was finished with, the quicker she could find out what all this was about. And Daisy had finished healing her; that dull ache in her head was gone, the burn on her hand, and the chafing on her wrists. "Thank you, Daisy," she said once again as she felt her head; the blood still remained matted to the tangled mess that was her hair, but the gash was gone. "Why do the Malfoy's allow you to use your magic? I thought wizards didn't approve of that."

"My master is ill at present, Miss Weasley," the house elf replied simply. "My mistress had excellent skills at Healing, but she passed four years ago. And Master Draco, although accomplished, does not have as wide a knowledge of Healing as his mother. The Mediwitches and wizards won't come out either, they won't come to the Manor, especially not to treat you, Miss Weasley."

"Thanks," Ginny said sarcastically.

"You are a blood traitor, Miss Weasley," Daisy said clearly. "That is how the world works now; only Purebloods and half-bloods get treatment, as long as they are not blood traitors. You would have to commit yourself to You-Know-Who to gain a pardon."

Ginny laughed at this. "I doubt he would give me a pardon, Daisy," she said humorously. "I'm too far gone."

The house elf didn't reply, but stood in front of Ginny now, expectant. "I don't want to restrain you, Miss Weasley," Daisy said placatingly, but firmly. "Will you come to the bathroom without trying to run away?"

Ginny thought about her curiosity and how accommodating Daisy had been, if she was to run away, she was sure the house elf would be punished horribly for it. They would probably go so far as to kill her. Ginny wouldn't put that past the Malfoy's, a family so steeped in murders that one little house elf would be of no consequence whatsoever. "I won't try to run, Daisy," she said begrudgingly, "I promise." After all, there was still that mysterious meeting in the parlour. If it came to nothing, then she had plenty of time, at least two hours, to think of an escape plan. For now, she would wait.

___________________________________________________________________

Ginny gulped as she stood outside the parlour, awaiting Daisy's summons from within. The house elf had dressed her in the most old-fashioned looking gown; the hem almost touched the floor, it was held together by a corset and the print upon it left something to be desired and was barely noticeable. She supposed that to the traditionalist it would look beautiful, but to her it was just plain odd and far too effeminate. Her hair had been pulled up into a high bun, with curls framing her face. When she had perceived herself in the mirror, it had been like seeing someone else with her face. But Daisy had insisted that this was how her master wanted her to look, despite Ginny's protests. In the back of her mind, the person in the parlour was actually Lucius Malfoy, trying to play a sick game.

"You may go in, Miss Weasley," she heard Daisy's high-pitched voice having not realised that she had rejoined her in the hall. All Ginny did was stare dumbly down at her, prompting the house elf to usher her impatiently inside the room, much to her detriment. And the door was shut behind her.

After a short pause, she noticed a man standing by the empty fireplace; it was Draco Malfoy. "I wondered when you would decide to come and torture me," she said steadily. Of course it had to be him; he probably had something decidedly wicked in store for her before she was sent to her death.

"You needn't wonder," he responded in a level tone, giving nothing away, no malice or hatred, and yet his eyes conveyed something completely different. Ginny couldn't put her finger on it, but it almost looked like he was intrigued. "I am not going to torture you."

Ginny snorted derisively. "Yeah, because I am meant to believe that," she said sarcastically.

"Believe what you want," he replied quickly, waving his hand as if he didn't care about gaining her trust. "I am here to simply relay some information to you. My father asked me to do it." Ginny gave him a questioning look, not expecting this response at all. She was beginning to really wonder now about what games Voldemort was playing. When she didn't reply to his declaration, he continued. "The Dark Lord has decided to grant you clemency."

"What?!" Ginny shouted, interrupting him, her eyes wide in disbelief. "You are lying, Malfoy! There is no way in hell that Voldemort would spare me, and I am not pledging my allegiance to him, so he can forget about that right now!"

Malfoy looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Like I said, believe what you want," he shrugged his shoulders and sat down in one of the many armchairs placed about the room, quite relaxed about the whole situation. She noticed his wand inside a leather sheath that hung from his trousers and wondered whether she could somehow steal it from him undetected, but she decided to deal with the present and ludicrous lies before she thought about that.

"If it's true, then what does he want from me?" she said apprehensively. "There is no way he would spare my life unless I had something to give in return."

Malfoy aimed an insufferable smirk at her. "There, you aren't so stupid after all," he said humorously. "Of course the Dark Lord had to be coerced, even persuaded, to keep you alive. My father had quite a hard job of it, so he led me to believe."

Ginny blanched at this. "Y-your father?" she said in a small voice. "Why would he do that for me?" She thought about their conversation last night, about how she was too dirty to touch and she became incensed with anger. "If he thinks I will let him put his dirty old hands on me, then he has another thing coming. I - !"

"Stop your noise, will you?!" Malfoy said loudly, his voice surprisingly authoritative, a complete world away from the orders he gave his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, orders that didn't really seem to have any real sense of dominance. "If you didn't keep interrupting, then I could have told you why you are being spared by now." Ginny didn't respond, but instead contented herself with giving him a begrudging look. "In short, I am in need of a wife."

"So what?" Ginny said impolitely. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

Malfoy gave her a look of incredulity. "The plan is for you to become my wife," he explained pointedly.

At first, the words took a moment to sink in and then, as the realisation fought its way in, she could feel the heat from her body draining slowly away as if her blood had just run cold. "This is your torture?" she finally said, having to choke it out as her brain didn't seem to want her to make a sound. "You know what, Malfoy, this is pathetic; play your stupid mind games because they won't even register." Ginny finished triumphantly; she wasn't going to let Malfoy have one over her, if she had to die then she wasn't going to let him think he had won.

Malfoy simply stared at her, looking as if he was stunned by her little speech and it made Ginny feel even more triumphant. But then he smirked, that same infuriating smirk. "You think that I am toying with you?" he said, his voice laced with smug amusement. "Silly girl. If the Dark Lord wanted you tortured before your death then he would have had you raped over and over." His face was serious now as she cringed visibly from those last words. "So whatever you may believe, I am being quite honest with you."

Ginny baulked at this, remaining sceptical. Why would he possibly want to marry her? Malfoy hated the Weasley's, the epitome of blood traitors, their home had been a refuge to Harry Potter and they had never cared about their Pureblood lineage. "Why?" she demanded. "Why on Earth would you lower yourself to marry a Weasley?"

Malfoy chuckled at her words and Ginny was immediately taken aback; she had never heard any kind of happy sound out of him at Hogwarts and hearing him laugh was strange. Even stranger still that it made her feel awkward. "Let's just say that marriage material is scarce," he said in an offhand manner. He went to stand up and noticed her jump back hastily. "You needn't be afraid, as I have said, I plan to marry you." He moved over to a cabinet and took out a bottle of wine and two glasses, and she remained on guard as she saw he pour out two drinks. If he thought she was going to drink that, then he was sorely mistaken. "Come and sit," he gestured, placing the drinks on the table.

Ginny waited until he took his seat again, watching as he sat back in it like it was a throne. "I think I like standing up, thanks," she said dismissively. "In any case, I don't believe you. Marriage material cannot be that scarce that you would degrade yourself to a Weasley," she said assuredly, remaining weary of every movement he made. "And what happened to your loyal dog, Parkinson?"

Malfoy took a sip of his wine shortly, as if wanting to make her wait for a response. "She married Nott," he finally responded in a bitter tone, "and good riddance." Ginny was quite surprised at this revelation; Parkinson had nearly always been at Malfoy's heels when they were at school together, so what had changed? "And you would be amazed to know that all the eligible witches are rather afraid of me."

Ginny frowned at him, thinking about what an awfully strange thing to say that was, and yet his face still didn't give nothing way, but still his eyes held that odd look and she realised that it was not intrigue as she had thought before, but something else. And she didn't know what it was. Suddenly, she felt unsettled looking at them. The whole situation didn't make sense; Parkinson had left him, to his detriment, that was obvious, and other women didn't want to go near him. There was something not right. Ginny hated to admit to herself, but Malfoy had actually grown into his features with age; he wasn't scrawny or short, in fact, he was the opposite. So, what was the problem? Then she remembered that she had her own problems to deal with and she didn't want to be thinking about Malfoy's insignificant issues.

"Look," she said finally, "your problems have nothing to do with me, and I'd rather meet Voldemort without your little intrigues playing upon my mind."

His face darkened at her words, and his eyes... Ginny didn't even want to think about those eyes, what they held seemed to frighten that little part in the back of her mind that held some vestiges of a primal instinct. "You are not meeting with the Dark Lord!" he said angrily, his voice becoming loud. "This is real! My proposition is real! Now, sit."

Ginny blanched at his words: how dare he talk to her like that? But, that small instinct told her to sit, so she moved slowly, prolonging the process and hoping that it might annoy him just a little. She took the seat furthest from him, and she could see that he became exasperated by this. "Well..." she said thoughtfully, "what if I don't want to marry you?"

There was that chuckle again, and this time it made the heat return to her body and she was sure her cheeks must have went red. "To be honest, I don't think you have much of a choice, now, do you?" he said confidently. "And, be fair to me, you haven't let me persuade you."

"It seems to me that you don't have to persuade me, apparently I have no other options anyway," she said in a mock-casual manner.

"Well, no, you don't," he said smiling, and again Ginny couldn't stop her breath from hitching in her throat. "You see, my father took great pains to convince the Dark Lord to let me have you; if you refuse me, then my father will just send you back to him to die. You don't want that, do you?" Ginny didn't answer, refusing to admit that he was right, but he knew he was because he continued in confidence. "Either that, or you can be put back in your cell, or my father will allow every Death Eater that comes this way a little piece of you."

"You can't do that!" she exclaimed, jumping out of her chair, incensed at the arrogance of their plan.

"Believe me, I don't want to do that," he said calmly, as if her outburst had been a mere squeak. "But, if you refuse me, then I have no further use for you."

"How dare you talk about me as if I am some piece of meat?!" she shouted, her eyes burning up as the threat of tears hit her. But she forced them back down, refusing to show weakness in front of him. "I'd rather die, than marry you!"

"That can be arranged," he said darkly, "as well as a few of my father's colleagues to see you off!" Ginny paled at this reassertion; truly, being raped was worse than dying in her book. The thought of it made her feel physically sick and faint, mostly because it could be done; she wouldn't put it past him to carry out those threats. She slowly sat back down, her head turned to the floor, unable to even look at him anymore. "I didn't want to have to do that," he said finally, calm once again, "it would have been better if you had let me continue without interruption."

Ginny snorted. "As if you care about my feelings," she said coldly.

"If you are to be my wife, then certainly," he replied.

Ginny looked up at this answer, genuinely shocked at such an admittance and she wondered what to say. It was perfectly ludicrous to suggest such a thing! "Well, it's not like I do have a choice, is it, Malfoy?" she said, resigned. "I think you made that perfectly clear."

"Good," he smiled again, "I am glad we follow each other. But, you must realise that this is another chance at life; you should make the most of it, as we all have to."

Ginny glared at him. "I like the way you presume to give me advice, Malfoy," she said haughtily, "as if you have any idea about struggle."

"You know nothing of my life," he said harshly, so harsh that it took her by surprise when he had been so calm not a second before. "Don't presume to know anything of my life, you think because you lost that you are the only ones to have suffered? Don't be naive... Once we marry, then you will realise."

"Why must you be married?" she said exasperatedly. "Why now?"

"My father is dying," he said bluntly as if he felt no emotion toward the event. "And, quite stupidly, I cannot inherit the estate without a wife."

"And when he dies, you will have no further use of me," she spat, despising this arrangement that they had made amongst themselves whilst she had sat in her prison, preparing for death.

"Quite the contrary, actually," he replied, ignoring her rudeness, but he sounded reluctant to convey that piece of information. "You see, I am... lonely," his voice faltering at this admission, but his eyes fixated on her as if daring her to laugh at him.

Ginny had no thoughts about laughing at him, she was simply in shock. "What?" she said as if bemused.

He looked at her in silence for a short while, as if he was trying to judge the situation, then he rubbed his jaw nervously as he looked down. "Four years ago," he began quietly, "a year after I had left Hogwarts, I was on patrol near Hogsmeade." Ginny struggled to hear him because he was so quiet, but she didn't say anything, her curiosity was getting the better of her again. "I was trying to work my way up into the ranks of the Death Eaters," he scoffed bitterly, "and then I was attacked by a wild beast, the largest I had ever seen before. My mind seemed to fail me and so did my wand as a result. My robes were torn from my chest in the struggle, and it wasn't until the savage tore into my flesh that I reacted." He paused for a moment as if he was wrestling with himself to carry on, but he noticed how intently she seemed to be listening and pressed forward. "I killed the creature, the light from my spell not revealing much. But, my side burned angrily, unbearably, and I realised that thing had bitten me before I struck it down. I... I lit my wand and cast the light over the dead beast... it was a werewolf."

Ginny gasped involuntarily, her hand covering her mouth. "Y-You're a w-werewolf?" she stuttered, almost scared out of her wits, her voice quiet and small. Yes, Professor Lupin had been a werewolf and he was fine, but this was Draco Malfoy, there was no telling how he might use his affliction.

He gave a curt nod. "My father only refrained from casting me out because I am the last Malfoy," his bitter tone returned as he spoke. "A werewolf, but still a Malfoy. He said I should be thankful that my mother wasn't alive to witness my degradation. As a result, I have also become an outcast. So, now you can understand that my need is a desperate one."

"But, you can't be a... a werewolf!" she said disbelievingly. "Things like that don't happen to people like you."

For the first time that night, Malfoy threw his head back and laughed properly. "Yes, I thought so too," he replied humorously, much to Ginny's amazement, and he stood up and began unbuttoning his dark-coloured shirt. He revealed the most horrendous scar on his left ribcage, silvery in colour and an unmistakeable wound from a werewolf attack. And Ginny realised then what that look in his eyes was; it was the animal inside him, that base and primal beast.

"But, why me?" she questioned, imploring him. "There must be other prisoners to choose from."

"You would be surprised; it has been five years since the Dark Lord came to power, and the amount of captives has dwindled every year," he explained as he buttoned his shirt back up. "You are also a Pureblood. My father knew that his estate would pass over to Aunt Bellatrix, being his only next of kin, unless he could find me someone suitable. And father really does despise Aunt Bellatrix, at least enough to secure his shameful son the estates."

"But, why does any of this matter to you, anymore?" she said in a hard voice. "Why do you want to remain in a society that rejects you? In any case, Voldemort owns everything now, even your estates."

"It matters because I want to live," he replied simply. "It should matter to you, too. If we all stopped our lives because of one tyrant, do you think the world would ever have continued?"

"Considering this tyrant is Lord Voldemort, I believe the situation is a little different," she said exasperatedly.

"All tyrants are the same," he said clearly. "And all tyrants rise and fall."