My Bane, my Antidote

In the beginning it had been about her fire. Draco had been drawn to it, found himself stalking her in the corridors.

He still followed Potter, taunted him, provoked him. However, where once his being had been focussed on the other boy's anger, now his eyes drifted to the redhead beside him: Ginny Weasley.

He wanted her.

After school, he saw her less, but there were parties. There were still people stupid enough to invite both the Malfoy family and the Weasley family. After all, pure wizarding blood counted for something, even when the patriarch was in Azkaban.

He seduced her with looks. He acted the perfect gentleman with her family, seduced them all into thinking he had reformed. Of course, they still didn't trust him, but there was a crack in the oyster's shell, and with the right knife, Draco would be able to pry it open.

It was at a party like this that he spoke to her properly for the first time. He had also tried to kiss her, but she had slapped him.

He kept his temper in check, bowed and retreated. The next day, he sought her out at her house, waiting just beyond the fence until she came outside. Then, he cornered her. He had learned his lesson. Their discourse was perfectly proper, like a page out of a great novel.

It was another six months before he kissed her again. This time she let him, melting into his embrace. Her fire warmed him, radiating heat from his mouth right through his soul. He began to wonder if he could love her. Her spirit entranced him. He wanted to be near it.

Her redoubled his efforts to seduce her, seeking to capture the flame for himself. He wanted to possess her, own her, have her for his own and never share her with anyone.

After one and a half years, he proposed. She stared at him, blinked a couple of times--even twenty years later he could still remember those two astonished blinks--opened her mouth and said yes in a sort of surprised tone, as if she hadn't expected herself to say it. Then she smiled and hugged him impulsively.

Her parents were shocked, but as they had confided in many of their intimate friends that they thought Draco a decent sort for a Malfoy, they were forced to assent with a modicum of good will and grace.

Mrs. Malfoy did not react so well. Draco finally told her that he wished to break the girl, that she would die in a few years anyway, leaving Draco free to make a proper marriage. This was a lie, but Narcissa Malfoy had smiled contentedly and laid back on her divan.

There's a good boy, she said softly.

They held the wedding at the Malfoy Manor, as was fitting. The bride wore beautifully tailored white robes with lace and carried white poppies. Draco had chosen the flowers. Ginny didn't know what they stood for, but he did. He whispered it to her that night, when they were alone.

My bane, my antidote, he said in her ear.

She turned to stare at him, firey red hair splashed across the pillow.

He smiled and kissed her and then he knew that he loved her and that he would always love her.

He took her to Paris for their honeymoon. Draco was fluent in all the great languages, but Ginny knew very little of any language except English. Draco enjoyed having that little power over her. The honeymoon passed in a moment and the new Mr. And Mrs. Malfoy found themselves back at Malfoy Manor.

Ginny managed her duties as mistress of the house admirably, as even Narcissa agreed with grudging respect.

In fact, she was perfect, a little too perfect. Her perfection grated on his nerves. He wanted to crack her, just a little, to mar her seamless perfection and make her a flawed vessel like himself.

It was easy to break her a little bit. She didn't even notice, just stopped smiling quite so much.

He didn't go to her every night. In the custom of great English through the centuries, he had his own private bedchamber, and only visited his wife three or four times a week. On these days, he left a single white poppy on her pillow after dinner to inform her of his intentions for the night.

She soon came to dread this sign, although she hid it admirably. Draco knew why. After the honeymoon, she had stopped finding pleasure in the conjugal bed. He had stopped trying to please her, bit by bit, until she stopped expecting it.

He took away her other freedoms too. He tightened her purse-strings and set a footman to following her all the time, for 'her safety'. Like a caged bird, she fluttered her wings a bit, tried to escape her guard, but she failed and soon submitted passively to the restrictions.

She was trained to his hand. She did nothing without his knowledge and consent and, in time, she learned to crave his approval, to like to him for gratification.

Early in their second year of marriage, Ginny discovered she was pregnant. Draco was exultant, showering Ginny with gifts and allowing Ginny the freedom she wanted. Ginny, in return, started smiling again. Draco liked this because Ginny didn't loose the bleakness that she had acquired. She was flawed.

When the child was born, this changed. The little boy took up her time completely, he became her world. Draco took steps. Ginny was his and his alone, and he wouldn't share her, not even with his son. He hired a wet nurse and had his son permanently removed to a nursery, from which, Mrs. Malfoy was barred access. The restrictions came crashing down around Ginny once again.

She retreated back into her shell, performing her duties and smiling when Draco commanded her to. A least once a day she went up to the nursery and tried to gain admittance to her son, but was always refused.

One day she had a screaming tantrum and tried to attack the footman outside the nursery with her fingernails. Draco had her locked in her room for two days.

He didn't leave her a white poppy for several months, and when he finally did she ripped it to pieces as he entered. It was a nervous gesture.

A few weeks after that, she refused him for the first time.

He was instantly seduced. Here was the fire he had loved.

She stood tall in her thin nightgown and ordered him to leave, thrusting the white poppy at him, angrily. He laughed in her face. He strode over to her and gripped her face in his hands, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. Despite herself, for a moment, she melted to his touch before pushing him away.

Would you have me take you by force? he demanded.

You shall not have me any other way! she said.

He became angry. She owed him respect and deference and as his wife was obligated to fulfil certain matrimonial duties. He turned and violently swept her belongings off her dressing table. The expensive perfumes and intricately crafted jewels fell to the ground and broke with a delicate chiming sound.

Ginny backed hastily away from him, eyes wide. He had never used physical violence on her before.

He turned and hauled open the chest at the foot of her bed, flinging the linen and keepsakes all over the place.

Ginny had begun to scream. She backed into a corner and screamed, tears coursing down her cheeks, face contorted into a carnival mask. He stalked over to her and she cowered.

Stop it, he said warningly.

She ignored him, screaming and hiccoughing and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand in a peasant gesture which enraged him more.

He slapped her hard then, right across the cheekbone. She was silent, starting at him out of eyes which were slightly widened. He slapped her again and she sank to the floor, curled in on herself.

His anger evaporated. Her hair was spread like a curtain, hiding her face and her shoulders were hunched.

This was the mother of his heir, he thought tenderly.

He knelt down beside her and drew her into his arms. She was unresisting, but cowered away from him as if expecting another slap. He drew her hair away from her face and tucked if behind her ear, adding the white poppy which had still been in his hand.

What have I become, Draco? she asked him in a whisper.

Even after all this he loved her with all his being, until it drove him mad.

He looked at her a long time before replying. My bane, my antidote.

Then he kissed her.