Indentured Servitude

Chapter 5. The Plan, Part I (Enacted)

Something was wrong.

Ginny sank into her seat, alone in the deathly-still kitchen, voices playing over in her head. What did Blaise mean, she wondered, and whom did she want to get rid of? It was all too disturbing for her to comprehend, but then again, she was one to speak, a Weasley taking orders from a bloody Malfoy.

Malfoy. She winced, rubbing her head tenderly as she recalled Draco's smirk and the title she'd been forced to address him with. "Young Master Malfoy," she muttered to herself, realizing for the first time in weeks that she was exhausted and frustrated. And yet, the past while at Malfoy Manor hadn't exactly been unpleasant, either. If anything, despicable Draco Malfoy had been, well, tolerable. Not quite friendly yet, but at least now, Ginny could stand him.

Some of the time.

Before she could analyze Malfoy's annoying characteristics any further however, Narcissa Malfoy barged into the kitchen, her usually poised face set in a mask of frustration and laced with anger. "This is not good," she said thickly.

"May I ask what's is the matter?" Ginny questioned, realizing how dry her throat was and reaching for one of the water glasses sitting on the counter. Helen, the head maid, liked to keep a platter of freshly filled glasses in the kitchen should the servants be in need of a quick drink, and as Ginny sipped, she felt especially grateful for this.

Narcissa sighed, biting her upper lip in a most un-Malfoy display of confusion. "I don't know," she replied flatly, throwing her hands up in the air. "One of Lucius's muggle clients, he's quite displeased that he's been ignored, and I don't know how to deal with it, and I'm afraid that we're going to lose this client." She stopped, nearly in hysterics, leaning against the marble kitchen counter and breathing deeply. "He's going to be so upset," she whispered to herself.

Ginny watched the entire spectacle with careful observation, more surprised than anything. To her, Narcissa Malfoy had always demonstrated the epitome of calm; never ruffled, she had perfected the art of hiding emotions nearly as well as her son. Now, watching this woman rage around the small servant room with an utter lack of elegance was something Ginny, or anyone else for that matter, was quite unaccustomed to seeing.

"Why don't you ask Lucius?" Ginny asked in a small voice, trying her best to be somewhat helpful.

Narcissa sighed, exasperated. "Of course I thought of that," she said plaintively, "but at this moment I can't seem to locate my prat of a husband."

"Madame Malfoy," Ginny reassured, "I'm sure things will be fine. Send something over to Lu--Mister Malfoy's client, and things will be smoothed over in no time."

She gazed up at the young servant, eyes bloodshot from alcohol and sleep deprivation. "A gift," she said excitedly, "a bribe."

Ginny nodded in encouragement. "Exactly. In no time, things will be fine."

"But what do I send a muggle?"

Racking her head, Ginny beamed. "Wine, perhaps?" she suggested.

"Yes, wine," Narcissa repeated, a smile gracing her lips. "A most excellent idea. My dear, do pick out an expensive wine from that ridiculous cellar and send it up to my room."

"Of course."

"Wine," she repeated over and over with a dazed look as she floated out of the room, "why didn't I think of that?"

Ginny watched the elder woman as she leaved, still amazed at the striking physical resemblance between mother and son and wondering to herself whether Lucius had been different when he married Narcissa. She found that for the most part, she rather liked Narcissa, despite her last name and painfully horrible lack of taste in men.

Obviously, Ginny thought with a wry smile, Draco had inherited his personality from his father. Determined to put Blaise's predicament aside, the redhead jumped off her stool in search of the cellar.

~*~

If perfect could be characterized, then Blaise was positive that this night, she was it. Facing the mirror, Blaise was confident that she couldn't look any better, and nor could anyone else, for that matter. If Draco doesn't notice this, she told herself, he's either blind or gay.

The dress was beautiful, a tempting, luscious indigo with a dipping neckline that spoke as an invitation itself. It tapered at her narrow waist and billowed out to just above mid-thigh in layers of silky slits that, if positioned the right way, showed off a shameful amount of bronzed skin. And just in case his eyes didn't catch the sight of her long, shapely legs, Blaise dragged out a pair of expensive black heels that were sure to accentuate her figure.

Stepping into the shoes, she admired her reflection. "This is almost too easy," Blaise murmured appraisingly. Not to say that she wasn't pleased, but Zabinis did like a challenge now and then. But either way, it didn't matter because in the end she'd still get what she wanted; after all, tonight was a night nearly seven years in the making.

It had been such an ordeal making sure that all the arrangements were perfect, and an even bigger hassle getting the servants out of the way. Remembering the nasty encounter with Adrienne in the kitchen, Blaise nearly shuddered. She hadn't expected the meek little thing to actually have become acquaintances with Weasley, let alone develop a protectiveness over her. Weasley, Blaise thought with distaste, crinkling her face at the mere image of the girl. Perhaps she should have kept the redhead; with Weasley around, the Gryffindor house would learn in no time that Draco and Blaise were finally together.

Blaise shook her head. I did the right thing, she thought, getting rid of the Weasley girl. Imagining the fun she'd have with Draco, she decided that complete peace and solitude for this night was the right move indeed. A glance at the muggle clock by her bed reminded her that in twenty minutes, the dinner and champagne would be brought up to Draco's room. If she wanted to seduce him at all before they ate, she need to leave, now.

One final toss of her thick black mane, and Blaise was ready.

~*~

A knock came at Draco's door, and he frowned. It wasn't the demure, apologetic rap that he heard from the servants, nor was it moderate and concerned like his mother. And remembering the feisty little scenario with the weasel, Draco knew it wouldn't be Ginny. Of course then, Draco deducted, it would have to be Blaise.

She was interesting, really. He was far from blind; in fact, he'd realized sometime into his 3^rd year that she was pining away for him, and found it rather amusing. Sure, she was beautiful, but the fact that she lusted after him nearly took all the appeal out of his game. It became obvious, needy, and at certain points even disgusting. Dating Blaise would have only ruined the desirable reputation Draco had worked so long and hard for. Like a game of quidditch, Draco refused to be the snitch that everyone caught; instead, he preferred to be the talented seeker that could grasp anything - or anyone - at any moment he wanted.

"Draco!" Her voice was muffled through the door, but still undeniably impatient.

"Coming!" He called out, forcing back a laugh as he made his way across the room and let her come storming into his room.

"Do you always take that long?" Blaise huffed.

Teasingly, he wiggled his eyebrows, eyeing the imperceptibly tiny number she was wearing appreciatively. "I don't know," he drawled, "maybe you should come to my room more and tell me."

Her dark eyes widened with pleasant surprise and she slinked a little closer to him. Something told Draco that making her wait was just turning up the fire: the more she couldn't have him, the more she wanted him. And while he savored the idea of being untouchable, Blaise and what she was wearing, or rather not wearing, was admittedly tempting.

"If that's what you want," Blaise responded, "I can't say that I mind."

He cocked his head at her confident response, mentally agreeing that it was a very Blaise type of thing to say. He strolled past her to the sofa wordlessly and stared out the window, still smiling. "Always ready to please others, Blaise?"

They stood in silence for a few moments, and then a husky voice came to the left of his ear. "What can I say?" Blaise responded throatily, "I was made to please." Her presence directly behind him was overbearing, and he could estimate that there was not more than a centimeter between them.

"Oh?" he commented half-heartedly, eyes still fixated out the window.

"Mm-hmm. You know, this house is so big," she said in what Draco guessed she projected as a sexy tone. "Don't you ever feel lonely?" Five slender fingers crawled around his shoulders and massaged his bicep with gentle pressure.

Now he turned and gazed down at her, a smirk touching the corners of his mouth. "Who said I spend my days alone?"

She smiled lazily, a plotting smile that rendered her much like that cat she was. "Well I promise," she said, pressing her lips to his, "that while I'm here, you'll never have to worry about being alone at night."

He responded to the kiss with an expert ease, obviously from practice. Nearly mad with desire, Blaise placed both hands firmly on his chest and shoved him down onto the loveseat, her lips traveling all over his face and neck, as if she couldn't taste enough of him.

As she nipped at his flesh, Draco felt an involuntary chill run down his spine, one quite plainly not procured from passion. I should be enjoying this, Draco told himself, but the acrid taste of unease could not be subdued by Blaise's butterfly-like kisses. Something wasn't right in the house, it was...too quiet. Suddenly, it struck him.

Weasley.

Immediately, his face contorted into a frown, that in such a moment Weasley should cross his mind. Evidently, he wasn't the only one who sensed something amiss, because Blaise withdrew from his lap and looked him hard in the face. "What's wrong?" she demanded softly, desperately keeping the frustration from soiling her voice.

He said nothing at first, taking in her seductive gown, the thick curtain of black hair that hung partway over dark, mysterious eyes, wanting to slap himself for even thinking about the weasel; after all, most guys would die to be in his position. But I'm not most guys, he reminded himself, I'm Draco Malfoy. Shifting Blaise back onto the couch, he eased out from under her.

She sat up immediately, no longer bothering to hide her displeasure. "Draco," she pouted, staring at him with dark, hurt eyes.

"Blaise," he responded matter-of-factly, stalling for time as he tried to clear his head.

"Come on, Draco," she purred, stroking his arm gently and crossing her legs so the hem of her skirt purposely fell to her hips. Bringing herself up as close to his face as humanly possible, she cooed in his ear, "We can make this night extremely fun."

His frown grew deeper now. Was he actually feeling guilt for refusing her a vacation, he thought incredulously. No, it wasn't that. But something about the stillness of the house bothered him, and though it was a huge estate he could usually at least hear Ginny's pattering footsteps by his chamber. If any, his was the closest to the servant quarters.

The more Draco contemplated it, the more restless he became. He in fact hadn't spoken to her since their afternoon confrontation, and was used to insulting her at least five times a day. No, something was definitely wrong if she didn't barge in and try to ruin his life. But in all honestly, he thought, did it really matter? This was Weasley they were talking about, and one less Weasley in his life wasn't exactly a matter to be sobbing over.

"It's quiet," he said finally, "that's all."

Her expression visibly softened, and she nuzzled him gently. "Is that all?" she whispered, lips seeking his jawline.

Before he could answer, a knock resounded at the door, and Draco jumped up, sending Blaise tumbling to the ground. "Uh, come in," he said frantically, looking up to see his mother eyeing them strangely.

"Draco," she said calmly, glancing between her son and the scantily clad girl sitting dazedly on his floor. She would have made another comment, but remembering how Lucius had stressed the importance of Malfoy-Zabini relations, refrained from doing so. As much as she loved her son, she was slightly pleased that she had interrupted whatever moment they may have been having.

"Mother," Draco said quickly as Blaise reached to tug down her dress, "we were just talking."

"Of course, dear," Narcissa replied with a condoning smile. "I actually had a question, well, rather a problem. You see, I asked that Weasley maid to bring a bottle of wine up to my room for the Brenners nearly an hour ago, and she still hasn't showed."

Draco paled slightly, the uncertainty he had been feeling moments earlier flooding back to him. I knew something wasn't right, he thought. By now, Blaise had helped herself up, no thanks to Draco, and she asked rather stiffly, "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know," Narcissa shrugged, "But I need my wine."

"Maybe she was astounded by all the expensive wine," Blaise sneered.

"We should go check," Draco said suddenly, earning two sets of surprised stares. "No really," he urged, "I have a bad feeling about this."

Blaise arched an eyebrow at him. "Is that what you were thinking about a few minutes ago? Weasley?"

He ignored her. "I think," he said coolly, "that something has happened to the weasel. Think of the bad publicity we'd receive if word came out that under our care, a maid was injured, or worse, that she perished."

"Oh yes, worse," Blaise sniggered under her breath.

"I think we should go check," Narcissa agreed worriedly, oblivious to the half-angry stares Blaise was sending towards her son. "Because first of all, I need my wine, and secondly, I don't think this maid would have forgotten. Miss Weasley seems rather capable, actually."

Blaise stifled a laugh.

"I'll do it," Draco assured her, "you just return to your room and get some rest. I'll see to it that the wine is sent up."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"I'll go with you," Blaise piped up.

Draco flashed Blaise a tight, restrained smile before turning back to his mother. "You'll get your wine, and I'll make sure everyone in this house is okay," he promised, gently ushering Narcissa down the hall.

~*~

The wine cellar was one of the many compartments that existed below ground level at the Malfoy Manor. It was originally built as part of a dungeon, but through his dealings with muggles, Lucius had received many bottles of wine that he never depleted, and they remained in the cool temperature of the cellar. Being two stories down, Draco needed to access the cellar door somewhere in the cold stone basement.

Draco had only been in the cellar once, mostly because he took no interest in Muggle wine, and found it ridiculous that his death eater father would keep them anyhow. And now, making his way down the damp stone steps, he could see that the cellar had been deprived of visitors for a while.

Beside him, Blaise whimpered slightly. This was a bad idea, she thought, scolding herself for her eagerness to be with Draco. The beautiful night was ruined, and what would have happened back in his room she would now never know. And on the way down, he'd had no tolerance for her complaints despite it being unnaturally cold below the estate. The two stood in the hollow cave of the basement, eyes scanning around the room.

"Here's the door," Draco said suddenly, obviously pleased that he'd found it. "This door leads down to the wine cellar, if I remember correctly."

"I think she was here," Blaise murmured, feigning fear for an excuse to grasp his arm. "The door's open."

Draco reached for the door, and furrowed his eyebrows as he stared down the dark length of the steps. "Lumos," he commanded, a light appearing immediately. Returning to the door, he prepared to step down but then his jaw dropped open, and he stared, speechless, at the sight before him.

"What is it?" Blaise demanded curiously, craning her neck around him so she could glimpse whatever it was that could have ruffled Draco Malfoy. Her eyes grew wide in horror, and she let out a yelp.

A trail of dark red liquid dripped meticulously down the steps, pooling to a lifeless form that lay undoubtedly unconsciously at the bottom, red hair spread out wildly about, hair that could signify only one person.

Ginny.