Fight the Dark

Chapter 2 - Red haired devil

Draco was holding the door handle when Henrik appeared through wall.

"You called, sir?" the ghost spoke.

"Yes. See to it that the house-elves prepare a bath for me and get some clean robes ready. And see that they stay out of sight." What was good with ghost servants was that they didn't question your orders - at least not if you served the Malfoy family. Henrik had seen too much to care and knew enough not to ask. Draco trusted him not to tell anything; Henrik had no loyalties to either party ruling the house, he only served the family name.

Draco pressed the door handle; the door wouldn't open to anyone else but to him. That was a nice and useful charm he had found during his Hogwarts years. How distant they seemed now; the world had changed after Voldemort's defeat... but evil still remained. How well had he been reminded of it tonight.

He opened the door and was confronted with a furious and scared red haired woman.

*******

"Don't come any nearer!" She shouted as he entered the room. She was holding a vase from his bed stand. He didn't know why he had to bring her into his own bedroom, but he had. There would have been enough rooms in the Manor, or the East Wing itself. But this way, he reasoned with himself afterwards, he could look after her more carefully. And she was not to wander in the Manor - that would be dangerous...

He placed the tray he was holding on a table by the door and was about to wave his hand to close the door, but thought about it first and kicked it closed. He hadn't expected this - but understood the reasoning behind it fairly quickly.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you," he said, but it did no good. The woman swayed and by instinct he stepped forward. And was almost hit by a flying vase. Thanks to Quidditch, his reflects were fast and he ducked just in time.

"Don't come any nearer," she hissed at him, searching desperately for a weapon. Should he draw his wand? He decided not to. He should certainly be able to take care of this.

*******

After a candlestick and about dozen pillows had thrown towards him, he was thinking otherwise - she really had a good throwing arm. All the pillows had hit him and the candlestick had cut his cheek. He was now standing in the middle of the room, his hands exposed, trying desperately to think what to say to calm her down. It was just something he wasn't good at - he had never needed to do that. Perhaps it was lucky for him that the red-haired girl, now holding a heavy book, suddenly lost control of her legs and passed out on the floor.

Carefully, he picked her up; it cannot be healthy to faint so many times a day. He placed her back on the bed, on the covers. He drew his wand to bind her to the bed, but thought otherwise. Letting her remain free, he picked up the book she had held and sat down on an armchair next to the bed.

*******

She didn't open her eyes when she first woke up, but lingered in the black forgetfulness and listened. Someone was in the room. She could hear someone breathing, calm and steady. A sound of pages slipping occasionally came to her. She kept her eyes closed and remembered. They had taken her. Panic swelled over her.

"You're awake," a male voice spoke from the side of the bed. The tone was steady, stating the mere fact he had observed. She opened her eyes; there was no use in pretending. Besides, there was no use facing the enemy eyes closed either, was there? She opened her eyes and met the gaze of Draco Malfoy, whose appearance hadn't changed much in the years after he had left Hogwarts.

His face was still pale, hair blond and silvery, and his lips still turned to his so familiar smirk. She was stunned by his eyes. Grey as they had always been, they had become colder, yet somehow, softer. There was emotion in his eyes now. Anger, and something else, something that she hadn't seen on that face during their school years. Â Something she could never have imagined seeing on the face of a Malfoy.

*******

Draco inspected the woman with his gaze. She looked oddly familiar, the red hair tangled and muddy. Her face was sickly pale and he realised that she must be in great pain. The wounds and cuts on her - she was still a mere girl, he observed - made him feel sick with anger; who would hurt such innocent thing? Those times of uncontrolled hatred were behind. At least, so they had hoped.

"Now that you're finally awake and not throwing things at me," he said, and she gazed around fast, studying her surroundings; there was nothing to throw in the room. Draco had removed anything that could be used as a weapon. She cursed him in her mind, cursed herself for fainting. Cursed the pain in her stomach, back, and groin, where it hurt the most. He continued, "Would you like to sit up on the bed so I can clear those cuts?" His words, even if presented as a question, were commanding but, surprising them both," she did as she was told. Slowly and carefully she sat up on the bed. She had been lying over the covers, she noticed. She had no memory of being brought to this room. No, last thing she remembered was...

Her eyes opened wide as he jumped up from the armchair and, with few paces, stood up in front of her. She looked around her, like a rabbit smelling the fox, terrified. Her eyes searched desperately for an escape. She was scared of him, he realised suddenly. He had damn well saved the girl from the forest and she was afraid of him. It made him a little angry, even though he knew better than to blame her. She had been out cold most of the time, after all.

She sat in silence while he cleaned her face with warm wet cloth. He tried to avoid making her flinch every time he pressed the cloth against her face, but she seemed to hurt everywhere he touched her. Seeing the pain in her eyes made him angry. Had he sacrificed it all in vain? Was there ever going to be peace?

She leaned back, staying as far as possible from him. Had he seen his own eyes, he would have understood her fear. His eyes were cold as steel. Anger floated behind them and he didn't veil it well this time. When he pressed the cloth gently against the wound on her cheek she whimpered from the pain. "Sorry," he said softly, surprising himself. He did feel sorry for her - like he felt sorry for a wounded animal. He had never liked unreasonable violence.

He put some Heal-Fast gel on the wound on her cheek, hoping it would work on Muggles as well as it worked on witches and wizards. Start a new sentence He moved to clean the girl's neck. His fingers opened her cloak's silver fastening and he pulled it off her shoulders. He had to tear it off the skin at places where blood had dried on it. Carefully, he inspected the cuts - they didn't seem to be severe.

"What's your name?" He asked, realising he didn't know what to call her. She looked him queerly, sudden hatred in her eyes. "Don't you know?" she spat out. His defences went up immediately. "No," he answered in cold tone, "Have we met before?" He was looking now into her eyes - brown- he thought; he'd certainly remember those eyes. He could see her thinking; perhaps she was trying to remember something?

"No," she answered finally. He doubted her word, but as he could not remember meeting her, he let it be. Perhaps she had seen him somewhere, from a distance. Perhaps she was one of those Muggles he had been forced to have "fun" with. Thinking about the War and the past hurt him; he hated remembering the things he had to do. But they had been for greater good - as the workings of Severus Snape had been; peace to his soul, where ever it was.

"What's your name?" he asked again, and spread some Heal-Fast Gel on a deep cut on her shoulder. The red-haired vixen didn't answer, but shut her eyes and moved her lips, as if praying. He worked in silence for five minutes, taking her cloak completely off, watching the girl. She looked strained, as if she were fighting an internal battle.

"Virginia," she said quietly.

"Can you stand up, Virginia?" he asked, taking a hold of her wrist and checking her hand for wounds.

She tried to draw her hand back, but he held it firmly. "Why are you doing this?" she asked the tone in her voice questioning. Disbelieving.

For a while he did not answer, but continued cleaning her hands. He did not want her to question his motives. He was also becoming painfully aware of her. It had been so long since he had seen a fellow human being, felt the touch of skin. It had been before the end of the war, before his cover had been blown.

He did not answer the question.

"Can you stand up?" he asked again, standing up from his kneeling position, looking down on her. She did not answer, but took the hand he offered, swaying a little as she stood.

They stood there in silence for a moment. Suddenly she grasped a hold of his shoulder. "I'm not feeling well," she said through parted lips. Draco caught her just in time before she hit the floor.

********

Draco sat in his study, his head buried in a book. The answer wasn't in the books. He led his mind to the events of the previous night. How he had been notified, and who had notified the servants? He'd have to remember ask Henrik about it.

He reminded himself of finding her, the details in the clearing. Her cuts, bruises, and torn skin. After she had passed out for the second - or had it been third? - time, he had laid her back on the bed, deciding that she needed to be cleaned up. So he had undressed her, silently hoping she would not wake up. She hadn't.

Her back had been badly wounded, as if she had taken several beatings. He shivered in the cold room. He'd find out who had done this to the red haired vixen; it was his responsibility. After all, it had happened on Malfoy property.