Galatea

Chapter Four

Two Dragons

He's a cold-hearted snake

Look into his eyes

He's been telling lies...

He don't play by the rules

Girl, don't play the fool now.

--Paula Abdul

Harry waited outside the Three Broomsticks for at least half an hour before he was spotted. He pulled up the collar of his coat, kept his head ducked down low, and tried to blend in. Unfortunately, his mop of hair was rather distinctive. Someone eventually noticed.

"It's Potter! Harry bleedin' Potter!" a man yelled.

Harry looked up, startled, and a flashbulb went off in his face. Dozens of photographers crowded around him, shooting their cameras, shouting questions.

"Harry, where's Ginny Weasley?"

"What is the status of your relationship with Miss Weasley?"

"Is it true that you two were married in a secret ceremony in the Dominican Republic?"

"Is she really having your baby?"

"Mr. Potter! Look this way!"

"Over here, Harry!"

He shoved his way through the crowd, pulled open the door to the pub, and elbowed his way in. It was packed with revelers for the calendar festival, but not a single agent of the press was allowed inside. Madame Rosmerta had special wards put on the building: customers only. Not to be dissuaded, the paparazzi shot photos through the windows. Harry could hear the popping of their flashbulbs, the clicking of their film. He took a seat in the corner, facing the rear of the dining room. Let them photograph the back of his head, if they were of a mind.

He hated this part of his life. All the attention, for something he couldn't even remember doing. He felt like a fraud, being held up as the hope of the wizarding world, when in fact Ginny was the one they all should be looking to. Their love and admiration belonged to her.

Harry ordered a Butterbeer and waited. Ron and Hermione would know where he was. The moment they saw the press they'd realize he'd gone inside to wait. Ginny would be back soon; she'd know where to find him as well. He sighed as he thought of her reaction to the tabloid journalists in the street. She hated being the center of attention, and would probably go around the back way the moment she saw them. It was one more thing he loved about her; he'd never have to worry that she was with him for the attention. She'd be getting enough of that on her own, soon enough.

"It's a circus out there," Hermione said as she slid into the opposite side of the booth. Her hair was mussed from pushing through the phalanx of reporters.

Ron's smile was wicked. "What's this about you and Ginny running away and having a baby?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I haven't the faintest idea. Today was the first I'd heard of it."

"No doubt," Hermione said, her voice sympathetic.

"Still," Ron said, refusing to let it drop. "The Dominican Republic is nice, I'm told. Warmer than here, at any rate."

"Anywhere is warmer than here," Harry said. "Have they left yet?"

Ron leaned out and looked towards the windows. "Nah. I don't think they're going to, either, until they get a photo of you and Gin together. Everyone knows she's staying at your place. It's been in all the papers. My mum is livid."

Harry was troubled. He placed great value on Mrs. Weasley's opinion of him. "Is she really?"

"At the papers, prat. Not at you. All they've printed since Shannon died is that you and Ginny are shacking up, or secretly married, or having triplets. They've camped outside the Burrow for days, shouting questions at my parents whenever they come and go. 'How does it feel to be the future in-laws of the Boy Who Lived?' "

"Are you serious? Why didn't you say anything?" Harry felt awful. This wasn't how he wanted people he cared about to be treated, but he didn't know how to make it stop.

"Ron, shut up," Hermione said, kicking him under the table. She turned to Harry. "It's not so bad as all that. He's teasing you, mostly. There have been some photographers, but nothing too bad. It'll die down soon, and they'll find something more interesting to talk about."

"Where is Gin, anyway?" Ron asked, craning his neck to see if his sister was somewhere in the pub.

"She stepped out for a moment," Harry lied. "She'll be back any second."

"Stepped out?" Hermione asked. "What for?"

"Who knows?" Harry replied blandly. He waved a waiter over and ordered a second Butterbeer. Ginny might be thirsty when she returned.

Harry was only halfway through his drink when the darkness around Ginny's end of the link lifted. She was back in this world. The pub was only a fifteen-minute walk from the school; she'd be there soon. He used the edge of the table to pry the bottle cap off her drink, then poured it into a frosted mug, so it would be ready when she arrived. The glass was only half full, though, when every muscle in his body locked. The bottle slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor, shattered into a thousand pieces, spraying his shoes with Butterbeer and foam.

His friends stared. "Are you all right?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. "What is it? Is your scar okay?"

Harry stumbled to his feet. "Ginny is in trouble."

"In trouble?" Ron asked, sliding out of the booth. "How do you know? You said she just stepped out."

"I just know," Harry said. He looked to the front of the pub, but it was still crowded with press. "Come on. We have to find her." He threw a few sickles on the table, drew his wand, and ran for the back door. He didn't have to look to know that Ron and Hermione would follow him, as they always had.

Ginny was nowhere to be found. They combed the crowds, called her name, and Hermione even did a tricky locating charm she'd learned at Kelliwic, but to no avail. Ginny wasn't in the village. Harry was out of his mind with worry. Wherever she was, she was in terrible pain. It could even have been the Cruciatus Curse; he'd been on the wrong end of that spell a few times in his life, and knew what it felt like.

"Relax," Hermione told him, ever sensible. "Maybe she ran into someone and forgot to meet up with you at the pub."

"She didn't." Harry knifed his fingers through his hair and tried to think clearly. "Someone's taken her."

"You don't know that. You don't even know that she's in trouble," Ron pointed out.

"I do!" Harry shouted.

His friends were startled. "How?" Hermione asked quietly. She looked at him as though he'd gone 'round the bend, but she had the tact not to say as much.

"I'm --" Harry didn't know how to explain. "I just know. They have her, Ron. I don't know how, but they do."

"Let's think where she could've gone," Ron said, his strategic training coming to the fore. "Gwen's, Ria's, the Burrow, Mike's..."

"Exactly," Hermione said in a placating tone. "Let's look in those places before we jump to conclusions. She might have run into one of her friends, gone home with them without thinking about it...."

"How likely is that, really?" Harry asked. Why wouldn't they understand? Every minute they spent looking in a place where she wasn't was a minute lost that they could've spent actually finding her. "She never would've gone anywhere without telling me; she just wouldn't have."

"Probably not," Ron acknowledged, "but we have to check." He was worried about his sister. It wasn't like her to just disappear. He was equally worried about his best friend, though, who was looking quite wild and not a little dangerous. And how could Harry have known that Ginny had vanished? "Come on. The sooner we rule out friends' houses, the sooner we can go to the division and start a real search."

* * * * *

Draco was just setting his seal onto the last document when someone knocked on his study door. "Come in," he called.

Howe, one of their German guests, stepped inside. His accent was thick, but his English was precise.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked. The older man's eyes were bright and his cheeks were flushed.

Howe replied, "The Ministry law enforcement officials botched a raid on your home."

Draco frowned. "When?"

"Three hours ago. Perhaps four."

Draco wondered if the German was drunk. Best to humor him. "I see. And how exactly did this happen? None of the alarms were tripped. The wards are airtight, I assure you."

"An Auror dropped into the billiards room. She appeared out of thin air. A failed apparition. She must have missed her coordinates. I can only assume that her comrades have abandoned her to us since, as you said, none of your alarms have sounded."

Draco's eyes were now as round as saucers. "This happened four hours ago, and you're only now telling me? What the hell have you been doing all this time?"

Howe's smile dripped with sadism. "Only what came naturally."

Draco leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His tone was icy cold. "And that would be?"

"Crucio, of course. We tried Imperio, but she fought it off."

"What else?"

Howe dropped into a chair on the other side of the desk. "She's mostly...unspoiled. A few broken ribs, perhaps. Nothing more serious than that. Your Dark Lord has provided women enough for us. We thought we'd save this one for you. Call it a birthday gift from the entire delegation."

Draco thought of Delia. A willing partner was so much more appealing than an unwilling one. "No thanks," he said. "You can have her."

"But you haven't heard the best part," Howe said, that grin creeping across his features once again. "I guarantee you'll want this one."

"I doubt it."

"She's beautiful," the German tempted.

So was Delia. "I'm not interested. Not tonight."

"One look at her and you'll change your mind."

"I don't think so." The man was starting to irritate him.

"Don't you want to know why?"

Howe had to be drunk. "I'm not going to change my mind," Draco explained patiently. "She's all yours, really."

"She has a tattoo right here," Howe said, pointing to his own hip. "A silver sword..."

Draco jumped to his feet. "Are you serious?" his voice was hoarse, his face etched with disbelief. Good gods above, what a birthday present. The best he'd ever received.

Howe nodded slowly. "Agent Jezebel, in the flesh. Dropped right into your billiards room."

"Where is she now?" Draco asked, his expression as sadistic as Howe's had been.

"In the dungeon. She's out cold. Crucio stops being fun when they're unconscious. They don't scream."

Oh, he'd make her scream before the night was out. But the dungeons...Draco's lip curled in distaste. It was dirty and cold down there. He was going to do this right. He'd spent too many sleepless nights planning his revenge on the Auror who'd been the scourge of them all. "That's no good. Hang on a second." He pulled the bell and a house elf scurried in.

"Master Draco wants something?"

Draco said, "Mr. Howe is going to fetch a prisoner from the dungeons. Bring her to the east wing, fifth floor. You know what to do."

The elf trembled. "Yes, Master Draco." His eyes filled with tears at the thought of what Master Draco was going to do to the poor lady.

Oblivious to the elf's distress, he continued, "Once you've finished, go to Snape's lab and bring me a love potion. One with strong aphrodisiac properties; the strongest he has. When Delia Silvermoon gets back, tell her I've been unavoidably detained."

Howe chuckled. "Enjoy yourself tonight. I'll tell your father not to expect you for breakfast."

Oh yes, Draco would enjoy this immensely.

* * * * *

Ginny sat in the center of the gigantic bed, her knees drawn to her chest, and stared straight ahead. The last thing she remembered was the dark room, and the mocking German voices. She'd woken up here. It didn't take a genius to figure out why they'd moved her. Apparently, curses were not the only tortures they decided to use on Agent Jezebel.

The moment she woke up, Ginny had examined her new prison. It was a huge room, with a square dining table, several armchairs and sofas arranged before an ornate fireplace, a wardrobe, a freestanding oval mirror, a sideboard against the wall, and an adjoining bathroom. Ignoring the persistent pain in her side that she knew meant broken ribs, Ginny had examined every inch of those walls, covered in wood paneling. The room had no door, no windows, no secret passages, no discernable way of getting in or out. She hadn't the faintest idea how she had come to be here, but she dreaded what was going to happen with a fear fathoms deeper than what she had felt in the billiards room. That, she could handle.

Without a doubt, the dominant piece of furniture was the bed. It reminded her of the one she'd seen in MórrÃ-gan's home in the Otherworld; this one had to have been at least ten feet on a side, covered with a spread of dark blue satin. It must have been made for a giant. Ginny felt like she was sitting in the middle of an ocean of fabric. The bed had tall posts and curtains that could be opened or closed, as the sleeper wished. Ginny had pulled them half way shut, and made herself very small in the shadows. She knew she couldn't avoid what was coming, and she had been trained to deal with this very eventuality. Still, she hadn't expected that it would be like this. Trapped in an ornate prison with no doors, left alone to anticipate the imminent violence; it was the worst torture of all. Then, she heard a noise.

She dropped her head, not wanting to look but unable to stop. Out of the corner of her eye, and through the curtain of her hair, Ginny saw a panel in the wall dissolve and a man walked in. She couldn't tell much about him, except that he was tall and had the distinctive silver-blond hair of a Malfoy. Her hands fisted convulsively. She had figured that they were going to rape her, but to send Lucius...it was her worst nightmare.

The wall closed up as soon as he was inside the room, and the man leaned against it. He didn't approach her; just stood and took in her small frame, curled up in the darkness. Ginny felt a small bit of satisfaction; he thought she was broken, defeated. She had already accepted that he would rape her, but damned if she was going to make it easy for him. With the element of surprise, she could cause some serious harm. Ginny tilted her head a bit more. Thanks to the shadows created by the curtains, she got a clear look without letting him see any of her.

Her blood froze. It wasn't Lucius. It was the only Death Eater who was, in fact, worse. Draco. How much harder was this going to be with someone she'd known as a child? She'd watched him play Seeker opposite Harry when he was only twelve years old, for god's sake. He was Voldemort's right hand man; everyone knew it, but no one could prove it. She hadn't spoken to him since the Beltaine ball, but she knew his reputation.

Draco Malfoy was a hedonist to the core, and yet always with an element of cold control, always taking advantage of every situation. She knew he had a brilliant strategic mind, and that he completely lacked anything resembling a conscience. He had rocketed through the Death Eater ranks, and it wasn't because he'd won Witch Weekly's most eligible bachelor award six years running, breaking the record previously held by Gilderoy Lockhart. It was because he was ruthless, arrogant, formidably intelligent, and power was his drug of choice.

A sickly sweet, tangy smell stung Ginny's nose. Her eyes drifted to the goblet in his hand. She knew exactly what it contained. A love potion. He brought a love potion. How much worse could it get? Not only was he going to force her, but he was going to turn her body against her and make it a willing accomplice in the assault. Her sanity would be in shreds by morning.

For a moment, Ginny seriously considered killing him. She could do it without even breaking a sweat. A sharp twist of his neck, or even a quick, wandless Avada Kedavra, and that would be the end of him. But what would happen when the others discovered her in this room with his body? Or, if she managed to get out, how would she make it through the mansion without being caught? Killing him would be her death sentence. There was no way she could fight off all the Death Eaters, plus these Germans, and live to tell about it, and there was no way Harry would be able to get here in time to help. When she thought of Harry, her heart constricted inside her chest. She had to stay alive; that was her only priority. She had a responsibility to stay alive.

But a love potion! The edges of Ginny's mind began to fray in panic, although she remained curled in a ball, head down. Let him think she was passive. She'd take any advantage she could get.

Draco watched at the girl who waited for him on the bed. It was hard to believe that this was truly Agent Jezebel. She looked so small. He had always thought that a woman who could bring in so many dark wizards must be built like an amazon. He had expected her to be six feet tall, covered all over in bulging muscles. Not this tiny, forlorn figure. She knew why he was there; she wasn't stupid. But she was afraid. He felt a sort of satisfaction at that. Draco very much looked forward to exacting his revenge on the one who had so decimated the ranks of his followers. And Howe had said she was beautiful, which was certainly an added treat.

"Look at me," he said, in a tone that showed he was used to being obeyed. Jezebel didn't move. He walked toward her, his slow, measured steps muffled by the thick carpet. He was going to draw this out as long as he could, go as slowly as possible. He relished the game of cat and mouse, and sincerely hoped she tried to fight him before she drank the potion. That would make the outcome much more satisfying.

She shrank back, retreating further into the shadows that cris-crossed the bed. Draco taunted, "I must say, Jezebel, that you're a bit of a let down. I didn't expect the Ministry's most formidable auror to cower, although I rather like this side of you." He slowly slid one of the curtains aside. "You can taste it, can't you? The fear, the anticipation. It's sour on your tongue, like blood. I'd see it in your eyes too, if you'd look at me. You think...bloody fucking hell!" The candlelight spilled through the open hangings and across her bent head. Only one young woman of his acquaintance had hair that peculiar shade of red. Could it be? After all his attempts to abduct her, was it possible that she had fallen into his lap?

At his sudden outburst, Ginny jerked her head up, raising her eyes to his. Draco slammed the goblet down on the night table. "Damn you, Weasley. Damn you to hell!" He turned on his heel stalked to the mirror, and stood there, back to her, head down, for a long moment as he fought for control. Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked back to the bed. "Why the hell did it have to be you? Of all the people it could have been, it had to be you." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his robe. He spoke now in a low voice, as much disappointed as annoyed. "I've been waiting years to exact this revenge, and now...."

He took in her battered countenance. Both of her eyes were blackened, her lower lip was puffy, and the swelling around her chin indicated a broken jaw. She was allover bruises, the dark purple-green obscuring the buttery freckles that normally flecked her nose and cheekbones. Draco shook off his shock and forced himself to think clearly. A complete change of plan was in order. Agent Jezebel was one thing, but Ginny Weasley was quite another.

He crawled across the bed towards her, and she recoiled violently, scrambling away until her back pressed against the headboard. Draco pulled out his wand, and she held up her hands as though to ward off a curse. If it were anyone else, he'd have laughed, but there was nothing funny about this. "I'm just going to fix your face," he said slowly, as though he was talking to someone who was poised to jump off a cliff. "I'm just going to fix your face, and then we're going to talk."

Ginny plainly didn't believe him. She kept her hands up, and he knew she could do just as much damage with them, magical and otherwise, as she could with a wand. He didn't want to find himself on the wrong end of an unforgivable curse. Draco said calmly, "All right then. I'm going to put my wand down." She watched him lower the wand to the coverlet. Then, in a motion so swift she barely had time to respond, he jerked it up and said, "Medicor!"

Ginny didn't wait to hear what the spell was; she reacted the moment she detected his movement. A silver light shot out of her palms and hit him squarely in the chest, hurling him off the bed. As he pulled himself off the floor, Ginny realized that he had, in fact, performed a healing charm. She opened and closed her mouth experimentally; her jaw was still a bit sore. Other than that, though, her face felt fine. The bruises and black eyes were healed. Draco sounded disgruntled; "Do you always assault people who try to help you?"

He got no response. "Shoot first and ask questions later. Typical Gryffindor. Howe said they broke your ribs. Can I heal them without any attempts on my life?" Still she was silent. He was going to have to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground he gained with her, but Draco wouldn't have it any other way. Anything worth having was worth working for, and he had been planning this particular campaign for nearly six years.

"The wand has to touch you for the spell to work," he said. It didn't; he had fixed her jaw just fine, after all. But he had to get closer to her. He didn't want to have this conversation from across the absurdly massive bed. "I'm just going to crawl over there and heal you."

He hadn't moved more than an inch, however, before her palms were up again and she was looking at him with the wildness of a caged animal. She was very close to panic. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise," he said with every ounce of sincerity he could muster.

Her eyes flicked to the love potion, and then back to him. Draco twigged. "I'll be right back." She stiffened when he grabbed the goblet, but then stared as he walked into the attached bathroom and dumped its contents down the sink. He set the empty vessel on the sideboard as he crossed the room and crawled back onto the bed. "Take that as a sign of good faith," he told her. "Now let me fix your ribs."

Ginny didn't lower her hands, but her fear visibly lessened as he removed the potion from the equation. Draco knew that would've been the worst part of it for her: the idea that her body would be willing, even as her mind fought him. It was a non-issue now; she didn't know it, but he had no intention of causing her physical harm. She was too valuable for what she was, and he needed her mind intact. The torture was over, and the manipulation had begun.

He touched the tip of his wand to her side and softly said, "Sano." The magic flowed into her and knit her bones back together. Ginny took a deep breath, and prodded the spot with her fingers. The pain was gone. The moment the spell and been performed, Draco threw his wand across the room. It struck the wall near where the door had appeared and landed on the floor, the sound muted by the thick rug. Her eyes widened at his sudden movement and Draco braced himself for another shot from her hands, but none came. "Now I'm unarmed. Do you believe yet that I'm not going to hurt you?"

She plainly didn't. Draco couldn't help but feel a bit flattered, that his reputation among the Aurors was so black that even the most dangerous of them was frightened at the thought of being in his power. But he didn't want Ginny to be afraid of him. That wouldn't do at all. He reached for her; her eyes widened and she extended her palms once again. He froze, his hand hovering a bare centimeter from her cheek. "You don't have to be afraid," he said quietly, his gray eyes intent on her face. "I give you my word, and you have no reason to believe I won't keep it."

To his acute surprise, she brought her hands to his wrist. Slowly, without speaking, she slid his cufflink from its mooring and set the piece of silver on the bed. Draco remained silent, curious as to what she was doing. Ginny carefully rolled up his sleeve, each motion deliberate. Her fingers never touched the skin of his arm, but he felt them pressing through the fabric of his shirt. One more fold, and his mark was revealed, livid against the pale of his skin. She looked at it for a long moment, and then raised her eyes to his, their expression both accusing and resigned. She would not believe a word that came out of his mouth, as long as he wore Voldemort's brand. His promise was worthless because he was a Death Eater. She hadn't spoken, but her actions were more eloquent than words ever could've been.

Suddenly, and without knowing why, Draco brought his hand to her cheek. Her eyes widened, and he knew she was about to pull away and very likely blast him again, but the silence was rent by the shriek of a crow. "What the hell!" he exclaimed, looking around the room. There was no way a bird could've gotten in here. At the noise, Ginny squeezed her eyes closed. That sound could only mean one thing, and the prospect was too horrible to contemplate. A half second after she realized what was happening, Draco had the same epiphany. "Look at me," he ordered for the second time since he entered the room. She kept her eyes shut. His laughter mocked her. "All right, have it your way. I'll wait. You have to open them sometime."

Ginny's mind raced. MórrÃ-gan, it seemed, had indeed dropped her right on top of the second protector, and the moment Ginny's eyes met his their souls were going to link. She felt physically ill at the idea of having part of Draco Malfoy inside of her, of giving him a piece of herself. But, at the same time, there was no way she was going to get out of this situation. The goddess had put her here, and, just like Harry, he had been born to fill this role. She could only face it head on. There was no other way of doing this and still maintaining her pride.

Ginny looked up at him, and his mouth curved up in a satisfied smile. The smirk dropped from his face, however, as he felt himself open to her. As had happened with Harry so many years before, Ginny felt part of herself being torn away; the cavity in her soul was immediately filled by something that was the essence of Draco. In that moment, she saw everything that he was, everything he had ever done. For no more than a breath of time, all of him was open to her. Just as soon as it had started, the moment was over.

Ginny looked at him in mute horror, and then jerked away and scrambled off the bed, running for the bathroom. Somewhere in the noise of her retching, Draco thought he heard a muffled sob. He lounged on the bed and watched her through the open door. He supposed it wasn't the most flattering reaction, but he couldn't blame her. After she sicked up what little food she'd eaten in the past day, Ginny sat on the floor for a long moment, and then pulled herself to her feet and walked back into the bedroom. She didn't come near him.

Draco looked at her for a long moment. She was no longer battered, but her clothes were torn and her hair was matted with grime from the dungeon. He said, "I'm going to leave now, and when I come back I'll bring food. In the meantime, you should take a shower. I'll have the elves bring you fresh clothes." He slid off the bed and walked toward the wall to retrieve his wand. Feeling the question in her mind, he turned and said, "It's an ingenious prison, really. Anyone can get in, but you can't get out unless you have a mark, or are a house elf. Or," he added thoughtfully, "unless you decimate the place."

Ginny spoke for the first time. Her voice was scratchy, low, and deadly serious. "You think I couldn't raze this building to the ground with a thought? You think I couldn't bring it crashing down and bury you and the rest of the filth?"

He smiled. "There's not a doubt in my mind that you could do exactly that. But you'd never, because you'd also bury the people we're holding in the dungeons. Could you really condemn them all? Not to mention the fact that it's in the best interest of balance to keep me alive, and you know that Dana would never forgive you if something happened to Delia."

He was right on every count, damn him. He knew every twist and turn of her mind, could now predict her reaction to nearly every circumstance. She hated him.

Draco paused, then asked, "In the billiards room, were there any wizards you knew?" His tone was nonchalant, as though the question didn't matter.

"What?"

"Was there anyone in the room who would've recognized you?"

"They all recognized me."

"As Ginny Weasley, I mean."

She thought for a moment. "Goyle was there."

"Senior or junior?"

"Junior. He's the only one who would've known who I am."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Clean yourself up, Ginny. I'll be back soon." He pressed against the wall and was gone.

Ginny stood alone. She remembered how Harry had been when their link had first opened up; the way his soul had merged with hers until she had figured out how to keep them separate. She honestly thought she'd die of contamination if Draco's spirit ever bled into her, which meant that putting up a wall was her first priority. She could have it done by the time he returned.

But then, a wild, Gryffindorian plan occurred to her. She was bound to Draco for life now, like it or not. If Harry bled into her, perhaps it would work both ways. And if enough of her leaked into Draco, he could be persuaded to let her go. It was a risk, but Ginny didn't have any choice. She'd leave the link wide open, and hope that it didn't take him too long to realize that he couldn't keep her locked up in here. She was needed elsewhere, and it was her only chance to escape.

* * * * *

Draco jogged down the hall and pulled open the door to the solarium that his faction had claimed for their own. They looked up as he walked in, taking in his energetic expression, straight posture, and bright eyes. He was more animated than he'd been in weeks. He'd shed his frustration and anxiety for his familiar confidence. The old Draco, the one who oozed charisma and brilliance, the one who'd recruited so many of them to his side, had returned.

"We're back in the game," he announced. "Call the others home. Paul, go to the kitchens and have the elves make up dinner for two. Sarah, go to the billiards room and get the younger Goyle right away. Bring him to my office; don't take no for an answer. Grace, the second Eliot walks in the door, send him to the study as well. Blaise, come with me."

They stared, openmouthed. "Draco," a young man ventured cautiously, "what's happened? What's going on?"

In just a few sentences, Draco sketched in the events of the past few hours. "You're telling me she's right down the hall?" Blaise asked, incredulous.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. Voldemort has no idea. As long as she hides behind the name Jezebel, we can keep him in the dark long enough to make her see things our way."

Andrea said, "They'll want to kill her in the morning. They only gave her to you for a night...."

"So I'll tell them I liked her," Draco said, his cheeks flushed with excitement and the thrill of a challenge. It had been so long since he'd matched wits with someone who was truly his equal; he'd been mentally stagnant the past few months, and felt energized by the imminent psychological battle. Ginny wouldn't know what hit her. "I'll tell them I want to keep her for a while. Do you honestly think anyone will say no? Especially when they know the potion is slowly driving her mad?"

"You gave her a potion?" Blaise demanded.

"Of course not! But Howe thinks I did, and it'll get back to Voldemort. It's all part of the cover story." He looked around the room, met every person's eyes. They were bolstered by his confidence; his supreme assurance had been missed in the past weeks. "We have the upper hand. For once in this whole bloody mess, we finally have the upper hand. Stay on alert; you never know what could happen." Still, he didn't think anything could go wrong. Not now, when things were finally going so right. Draco sent a silent prayer to the MórrÃ-gan for this gift. He was sure the goddess had been behind it; there was no way the Pendragon would ever miss her apparition coordinates.

* * * * *

When Goyle lumbered into Draco's study, he was slightly taken aback. Draco was there, of course, but Eliot Downing and Blaise Zabini flanked him on either side. Eliot and Blaise didn't smile, Draco did.

"Greg," Draco said, coming around the desk to shake the hand of his old classmate. "How are you?"

"Fine," Goyle grunted. He'd never been one to talk much, and had never quite known what to do with Draco. The Malfoy heir was the same age as he, but much smarter. Goyle always felt slightly dizzy after talking to him; Draco knew so many big words, and even though Goyle didn't always understand what he was saying, Draco's tone told him enough. Malfoy held him in contempt because he was slower than most, and for that Goyle's admiration mingled with resentment and jealousy. Still, Draco was the Dark Lord's second in command and was now greeting Goyle as though they were old school chums, the best of mates. Goyle wasn't bright enough to be suspicious at this change in attitude; he was only flattered that someone high in the Death Eater hierarchy was smiling at him. Maybe it signaled a change in luck, or even a promotion!

"We go way back, don't we, Greg?" Draco asked, careful to use small words. His smile was almost heartbreaking in its sweetness. No one could see it and imagine that he considered Goyle anything less than a brother.

"Yes," Goyle grunted.

"And you're loyal to the Dark Lord, right?" Draco asked.

Goyle was slightly upset that Draco even had to ask. "Yes! Did somebody tell you I wasn't?"

"Of course not," Draco said smoothly. "I told the Dark Lord that you were loyal. His most loyal servant is what I called you."

"Really?"

"It's true, isn't it, Blaise?"

"Absolutely," Blaise confirmed, and a small smile tinged his features too.

Goyle seized on this opportunity; Draco would be impressed with his inside knowledge, would even recommend him to the Dark Lord. The thought of an audience with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was enough to send Goyle's heart racing; he hadn't been face to face with the Dark Lord since his initiation day. He'd planned on going to Lucius with the news, but Draco was much better; his rank within the Death Eater hierarchy second only to the Dark Lord himself. "Draco," Goyle said, "Agent Jezebel is here, in the house!"

Draco's eyes widened. "Really?"

"And she's not just Agent Jezebel. She's really Ginny Weasley! The Pendragon our lord has been searching for! I was the only one in the room who recognized her."

Draco clapped Goyle on the back and grinned. "This is excellent news! Who else have you told?"

"No one, just you." He was sure to get a reward out of this.

Blaise let out a little sigh of relief, but Draco didn't betray at all what he was thinking. "Greg, you've done very well, telling me this. I promise I'll get on it right away."

"And you...you'll recommend me to him? You'll tell him that I was the one who recognized her?"

"Absolutely," Draco said, oozing smooth reassurance. "I wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to reward you personally."

Goyle's eyes widened. It was beyond his wildest dreams. "Really?"

"I'm sure of it," Draco said. "But before then, I have a job that needs to be done. It's very important; I couldn't ask just anyone." He looked into Goyle's eyes and said, all earnest seriousness, "Would you do this for the Dark Lord? I need someone I can trust."

Goyle nodded fervently. "You can trust me. I serve the Dark Lord."

"Excellent. I'll make sure to mention that you're charged with this task. He'll be very pleased to hear you're the one I asked."

Goyle swelled with pride. "What do I have to do?"

Draco picked up a roll of parchment from his desk. "Here. This has everything you'll need to know." The instructions would send Goyle on a wild goose chase across half of Europe. "And, of course, I don't need to mention that this requires absolute secrecy."

"What?" Goyle asked.

"Don't tell anyone, Greg. That's very important."

"No!" Goyle agreed. "I'd never!"

Draco smiled again, that heartbreakingly sincere smile. "I know you'd never. You're a good, loyal servant, Greg."

"Thank you," Goyle said. "Thank you so much for letting me do this for him."

"What are friends for?" Draco said. "I'll see you soon."

He embraced Goyle, and escorted him from the room. The moment the door closed, the smile dropped from Draco's face. He turned to Eliot. "Kill him."

Eliot nodded. "I understand."

"The second he sets foot on the continent. He can not come back here alive. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

When Eliot, too, had left, Draco turned to Blaise, who grinned. "That was inspired. Well done."

Draco smiled back. "Do you smoke?"

Blaise was surprised at the question. "Um, no. Why?"

"Do you know anyone who does?"

He thought for a moment. "Nome, I think. Yeah, I'm pretty sure he bummed a fag off someone last time we were at the pub."

Draco asked, "Could you find him for me, and ask if I can have a packet of cigarettes? And a lighter too, if he has a spare. Otherwise, I'll make do."

Blaise frowned. "You're not thinking of taking it up, are you? Because, you know, it's really bad for you. Your lungs get all black and your clothes smell --"

"Yes, thank you," Draco interrupted with a grin. "Your concern is noted. It's not for me, prat, it's for my guest."

"Your...oh, right. Her."

Now Draco laughed outright. "Yes, her. Who the hell did you think I was talking about?"

"Nothing. Never mind. I'll be right back, then." Blaise scooted around his friend and, with one last, triumphant grin over his shoulder, disappeared into the hall. Things were finally looking up for them. Draco was going into the lion's den. It was all on his shoulders now; there was nothing for Blaise and the rest of the faction to do but sit back and celebrate their imminent victory.

* * * * *

The owl soared across the black sky. The faint dusting of stars did little to illuminate the darkness. The only substantial light came from the windows of the mansion, spilling out in gold bars across the ground. The owl avoided these pools of light; it sped into the woods, artfully dodging the trunks of the trees. On the ground, a red tailed wolf watched the bird fly overhead, and turned to follow it into the small forest. Two red-haired young women stepped into the clearing.

Dana shivered. "It's freezing out here. Can't we find someplace inside to meet?"

Delia made a face at her twin. "You can't be seen with me any more than I can be seen with you. This is the best place, really. Nobody ever comes out here, especially at this time of night."

"No? Because I can just see Lucius Malfoy deciding that a midnight stroll around his woods would be a wonderful way to digest the gourmet dinner he's just finished eating..."

Delia laughed. "It really is just the sort of thing he'd do, if for no other reason than because we're hoping he won't. Don't worry about it, Day. We're safe for now."

The sisters embraced then. Their hug was warm, despite the cold night. Dana held Delia out at arm's length. "You look good."

Delia frowned. "What's that supposed to mean? I look exactly like you."

"No, I mean, you look...you know...good. Who is he?"

Of Draco, Delia was positive her sister wouldn't approve. "That's none of your business."

Dana was too used to her twin's sharp tongue to be hurt. She shrugged. "If you say so. Not even a little clue?"

"He's a lot more interesting than that surrogate Weasley you go around with," Delia said. That would get her sister off the topic.

She was exactly right. Dana changed the subject immediately. "I have to talk to you about the sacrifices Voldemort is performing."

Delia shook her head emphatically. "Absolutely not. This is off-limits."

"It's not about—"

"Day, we have a deal."

"I know! Just listen for a second. Have you ever been to one of these things?"

"No," Delia answered honestly. She wasn't ranked highly enough within the Death Eater organization to merit going to a sacrifice, and she was very glad of that fact. Draco wanted the Dark Lord to think that Delia was an average witch, with nothing in the way of special abilities. It kept her Old Magic under wraps.

"My team did cleanup for the one that happened last night—"

Delia clapped her hand over her twin's mouth. "Off limits, Day. I can't hear this."

Dana grasped Delia's wrist and pulled her face free. "This isn't about Voldemort or...it's not about that! It's about you and me, so let me talk!"

Delia crossed her arms across her chest and waited, an irritated look on her face. Dana knew that if she brought up Aurors and Death Eaters one more time, her sister would leave.

"Listen. When I was there, I used some of my Old Magic."

"Why?" Delia asked sharply. "Did anyone see you?"

"It doesn't matter why," Dana snapped. "The thing is, I did. And no, nobody saw me. Have you done magic at all today, Dee?"

Surprised by the apparent change in subject, Delia had to think for a minute. "Except for the anamaga transformation, no, I haven't. The elves take care of everything, usually. There's no need, as long as I don't leave the house."

"Well, I have," Dana said, thinking of her memory charm and of the visions in the woods, "and there's something weird going on."

This got Delia's attention. "Weird how?"

Dana glanced around, then picked a stick up from the ground and moved it to about ten feet away. "Do a summoning charm."

"On the stick?"

Dana nodded.

Delia pulled out her wand, aimed, and said, "Accio."

The stick rose up into the air, and then hurled itself at Delia with lethal force. She threw herself to the ground and the branch whizzed over her head. Its velocity kept it flying in the opposite direction. The purpose of a summoning charm, however, is to bring an object to the person who cast the spell. The stick slowed down in mid-air, came to a halt, then reversed direction, guided missile-style. It hurled itself at Delia again. She rolled out of the way, and it struck the ground near her head, sending up a spray of snow and dirt. It ricocheted off into the air, then reversed course a second time, flying straight for her head. "Day, make it stop!" she screamed.

Dana took careful aim with her wand. "Finite Incantatum."

The stick stopped inches from Delia's eye, then dropped harmlessly onto her face and bounced to the ground. She jumped to her feet, ignoring the snow and dirt that clung to her robes. "What the hell was that?"

"I don't know," Dana said. "I was hoping you might."

"No," Delia snapped. "I don't. And you'd better start talking." She looked as furious as Dana had ever seen her.

"I think it has something to do with the sacrifice. Voldemort is mucking around with the Otherworld, isn't he." It wasn't a question. Delia opened her mouth to protest this line of conversation, but before she could speak, Dana said, "Give it a rest, Dee. We both know that he's sacrificing to some deity or other. It's not sharing information if we both know it."

Her twin had a point, so Delia nodded. "He's sacrificing to a goddess."

Dana said, "And was the sacrifice last night different from the rest? You don't have to tell me specifics; just yes or no."

"Yes."

Dana nodded, satisfied with that answer. "I think it's affected our power somehow. Our magic comes out stronger than it should."

"That doesn't make any sense," Delia said. "Why would you think there's a connection?"

"Well, goddesses are from the Otherworld, and so is our magic," Dana began.

"You wouldn't have lasted five minutes in Ravenclaw," Delia told her twin, "if this is an example of your logical reasoning skills."

"Just listen to me," Dana snapped. "At the sacrifice site, I used some of my magic and it made me...see things."

"What kinds of things?"

Dana described the visions to her sister, and finished with, "Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, and Ginny. Why them? What do they have to do with us? And if the women with red hair weren't goddesses, I'll...."

"Become a Death Eater?" Delia asked wryly.

"I was going to say, eat my wand."

"Oh."

"Focus, Dee. What's going on?"

Delia couldn't very well tell her twin about the Pendragon and her protectors. It would be the height of treachery, of disloyalty to Draco and his plans. She didn't have to fake her concerned look, though. "This is serious."

"It is."

"I don't know what they could have to do with us," Delia said. She really didn't. Sure, she'd sworn loyalty to Draco, but she hadn't said more than two words to Harry Potter or Ginny Weasley in her entire life. Dana was friends with Ginny, after a fashion, but she hated Draco and didn't think much of Harry one way or the other, as far as Delia knew. It really was very strange. "Maybe, Day, they're just premonitions of the future. Maybe you had a psychic moment, and it has nothing to do with the two of us. Were you on anything? Divining weed?"

"Of course not!" Dana had tried divining weed once, at a party, but hated it and vowed to never touch the stuff again. It made her giggly, which was completely humiliating. It had explained a lot about Professor Trelawney, though.

"Well, some people can have premonitions without it. Maybe you're one of them."

"I never have before. I'm almost twenty, Dee. It doesn't start up this late in life. The goddess, the Old Magic, the visions...they all came together this afternoon at the sacrifice site." Dana didn't give voice to her most private fear, that their power was dark, and as destructive as the goddess in her vision.

"I'll see if I can find anything in the Malfoys' library," Delia offered.

Dana knew her twin was holding back, but also realized that if there was something Dee wasn't telling, then it was because she couldn't. They were divided by a gulf that prohibited any open sharing of information. "And we'll meet again soon, all right?" Dana asked.

"Of course," Delia said. "I'll owl you just as soon as I can get away. Don't contact me."

Dana had been through the drill often enough to know how it went. Delia could sneak away occasionally to owl her sister, but if she ever received a letter, the sisters risked exposing their regular meetings. It could very well lead to Delia's death, should the wrong person discover that she corresponded with an Auror.

"Be careful, Dee."

"You too, Day."

The sisters embraced once more, then an owl flew back to the house and a wolf ran the opposite way, off the Malfoy grounds. Once she cleared the trees, Dana disapparated.

* * * * *

Draco pushed through the wall, trailed by five terrified house elves. The elves balanced trays atop their heads, heavy with food and dining implements. Ginny leaned against the wardrobe and watched. Already, she'd perfected the art of schooling her face into Draco's mask of disinterest. She'd always been good at hiding her thoughts, but he was a master and now, thanks to the link, she was too.

The elves laid out a full dinner service, complete with multiple courses, china, silver candlesticks stamped with the Malfoy family crest, and four different forks. Neither human spoke until the little servants had bowed themselves out of the room.

Draco said, "I ordered the elves to bring you something clean to wear." His prisoner had obviously showered, as her hair was still damp. She still wore her tattered shirt and jeans, though, covered in dungeon slime.

Ginny didn't reply.

"Did the elves disobey?" Draco asked. "Why are you still in those clothes? Where are the ones they brought you?"

Ginny inclined her head towards the bed, where a set of white robes hung over the footboard. With an impatient sigh, Draco walked over, snatched them up, and held them out to her. She didn't take them.

"You can't wear that," he said. "It's rank. I can't eat with you if you smell that way."

"Maybe you should leave then, and let me eat alone," Ginny said.

"Put this on," he ordered.

"No."

"Why the hell not?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Look at it, Malfoy!"

Draco looked. "What's the matter with -- oh." He held the robes up. They were completely transparent; he could see straight through them to where she stood, her arms crossed over her chest, disgust on her face. "Why would they give you something so..."

"Because they think I'm your whore." Her voice dripped with scathing contempt.

Draco couldn't hold back a quick grin. "Better mine than Marcus Flint's." She obviously didn't appreciate the joke. He cleared his throat and said, "Well, you can't wear that either." He motioned to her current ensemble. "Here. Take this." He shrugged out of the green robes he wore over his shirt and trousers and tossed them to her.

Ginny tossed them back. "I'm not wearing anything of yours."

"Stop whining and do it," he ordered, throwing the robes a second time. "They're opaque, at least, and clean, and they'll do until tomorrow when I can get something better." He tossed the white garment back over the footboard and, crossing his arms, fixed her with a stern glare. "You don't want to wear the dirty clothes. I can tell. You might as well wear mine."

Dammit, he was right. She turned on her heel, cheeks burning, and slammed the door to the bathroom behind her. Ginny quickly peeled off her own, grimy outfit and then pulled his robe over her head. It was a heavy, expensive fabric and way too long for her. As she rolled the sleeves into thick cuffs, a rich, masculine smell rose from the robe. She recognized it right away: it was Gwen's latest concoction, a high-end cologne. Harry wore the same scent. Tears burned her eyes at this immediate sensory reminder of Harry -- he was frantic with worry for her, she knew -- but she splashed some cold water on her face, took a deep breath, and went back into the room. She was a Gryffindor, after all. She couldn't hide in the bloody loo all night.

Draco pulled a chair out for her, and she dropped into it. When he placed a bowl of soup in front of her, Ginny chose the correct spoon. He knew which silverware to use, which meant that she did too.

They finished their dish in silence. Ginny was ravenously hungry, but she forced herself to eat slowly, her motions controlled. The salad course was equally quiet. When Ginny finished the elaborate concoction of greens and vegetables (except for the radishes; she'd never liked radishes), Draco set a dinner plate in front of her and removed the domed silver warmer. Some mad part of Ginny remembered the last time she'd been served dinner this way: Mike and his frankfurter picnic. Her throat felt tight, and she fought not to cry. Who knew if she'd ever see Mike again? Or Harry? Or her family? Who knew what Malfoy was going to do with her, or how long he was going to keep her here? It was then that she broke their silence. "No."

Draco paused, warmer still in hand. "No what?"

She motioned to her plate, and the thick steak atop it. "I don't eat red meat. I can't have this." The heavy beef would slow her mind and body; she needed to stay alert.

Draco lifted his own warmer. "I have salmon. Here." He switched their plates and dug in. It was close on two in the morning, and his birthday party had been almost seven hours ago. He hadn't eaten much at the time, but now he was starving. It didn't occur to him that what he was feeling was actually Ginny's hunger. The link was still too new for him to distinguish whether feelings and urges were his or hers.

She knew he was waiting for her to speak again. If she were the one to open the door, his job would be just that much easier. Still, her curiosity wouldn't let her remain silent. "Why didn't you give me the potion?"

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, then lowered it to the plate. "I'm supposed to protect you, not hurt you."

"We hadn't linked yet. You could've done anything you wanted. You've had a price on my head for years, Malfoy, and now, when you finally have me --"

"Not your head," he corrected. "Jezebel's."

"I am Jezebel."

His eyes gleamed with a light she didn't want to read. "No you're not. You're Ginny Weasley."

"But I'm also --"

"You quit the Auror Division," he interrupted smoothly. "Maybe you were Jezebel at one time, but you're not anymore, are you? Now you're nobody. Just Ginny Weasley, youngest child of parents with no money or connections. As of last night, of course, you're also the bedmate of the Wizarding World's biggest celebrity, which should give you some status in certain circles. Not the ones of which your mother would approve, but I suppose you'll have to take what you can get --"

"Shut up!" she shouted, and Draco sat back in his chair, gazing, satisfied, at her flushed cheeks and furious eyes. He'd snapped her out of that cold, silent act. Task one accomplished. Task two: discredit Potter.

He leaned forward and murmured, "My apologies."

"How dare you," she seethed. "How dare you talk about Harry? He's everything you aren't: good, brave, kind...he's one of the most powerful wizards in England --"

Draco smirked. "I'm not in the least surprised. He does, after all, carry pieces of two of the most powerful wizards in England inside of him."

Ginny paused. Malfoy was trying to trap her. She had to go very carefully. "Two of the most powerful?"

"You," he said, reaching across the table to cover her hand with his, "and Tom Riddle."

She froze, too stunned and horrified to even pull out of his grasp. "What are you talking about? Harry's not --"

"He's a Parselmouth," Draco cut in. "That's proof that the Dark Lord left more than just a scar. For gods' sake, they even look alike. I've seen pictures and you; you've seen the real thing. It's kind of sick, Gin, if you want my opinion. You, I mean, and Potter...considering what you went through..."

Ginny's stomach contracted, and she thought she might throw up all over the white linen tablecloth. Harry...and Tom...goddess, why hadn't she seen it before? It was Malfoy, trying to poison her. That was all. Just Malfoy spreading hate. It was what his kind did best. "Harry and Tom are nothing alike," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Harry would never...he's always been on the side of good."

"He's always been on the side of Dumbledore, you mean," Draco corrected. "And I think we both know how good that is. The balance has been thrown off, Ginny, and Potter could've prevented it, but he didn't. He had the chance years ago, and he refused. He put the Headmaster ahead of the goddess."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," Draco insisted, squeezing her hand. "Our seventh year at Hogwarts, Potter discovered that I was your protector. He told me to stay away from you, and vowed that he'd never tell you who I am. He's known for half a decade, and never breathed so much as a word to you. If he'd said anything, you could've done the goddess's will, completed the mental link with me, and prevented last night's mess all together. It's his fault that this happened, Ginny. His fault."

Ginny shook her head. "He didn't know. He would've told me --"

"He didn't trust you enough to let you make this decision. He chose for you, and it was the wrong choice. He knew he wouldn't be able to control you directly, so he did it indirectly by withholding information --"

"No!" Ginny felt dizzy. Her mind was screaming against Draco's words. "He wants me to have control of my life. He turned in my resignation..."

"Did he ask you first?"

"No," she whispered.

"Well, then --"

"He said it was my choice..."

"But was it?" Draco asked softly.

Ginny looked into his gray eyes for a long, terrible moment. "It would've been."

"But was it?"

Silence.

She shook her head.

Draco said, "You and I have to right the mess that Potter created. The Dark Lord --"

Ginny interrupted, "It's just as much your fault. You could've come to me --"

"I've had a Dark Mark since I was sixteen. If Voldemort learned that I was off meeting with an Auror, he'd have killed me without a second thought. Potter didn't trust your judgement enough to let you make your own decision regarding me. He completely ignored the will of the MórrÃ-gan --"

"As if you've ever done anyone's will but your own," Ginny snarled. In that moment, she hated herself for letting Malfoy make her doubt Harry. She hated Malfoy even more, for spreading his poison into her relationship.

Draco smiled. "Fortunately, the MórrÃ-gan's will and mine seem to be running along the same track."

"And that would be?"

"The overthrow of Voldemort."

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "A Malfoy, wanting to overthrow Voldemort? You're his second in command."

"And I've worked very hard to get where I am," Draco acknowledged. "But on the day I found out about my destiny --"

"What destiny is that?" she interrupted.

He seemed surprised. "To be your protector." His eyes gazed into hers, but Ginny knew he wasn't seeing her; he was looking into the past. "Gods, I was angry." His mouth twisted into a half-smile as he remembered the rage that had gripped him that day. "I was the last to know, it seemed. I've never been so furious as I was that they kept me in the dark about this. Everyone else had known almost since I was born."

Ginny observed, "It's probably why your father named you Draco."

His eyes refocused on hers and he tipped his chair back, balancing on its back legs. "My father is a forward-thinking man."

"Your father is a psychopath."

Draco laughed at that. "You'll get no argument from me. As I was saying, that day the Dark Lord gave me a choice. I could serve him faithfully and, when the time came, turn the Pendragon over to him, or I could die a very painful death."

The fine hairs on the back of Ginny's neck stood up. He was sitting across from her, looking perfectly healthy, so obviously he hadn't picked option two. Was Voldemort going to come bursting in any moment, her family in tow? Was her protector going to hand her over? Was his loyalty to the Dark Lord strong enough to cancel out their link? "Since you're still here, I take it you picked option number one."

He arched an eyebrow. "You don't know me very well yet, Ginny, but you'll soon learn that there's nothing I hate more than being backed into a corner. I was given two choices, but neither one was particularly appealing, wouldn't you agree?"

"So what did you do?"

"I chose option number three."

"Voldemort didn't give you a third option."

"No," Draco confirmed. His eyes shone with a fierce pride in his own intellect and cunning. "He didn't. I made it up myself."

"And that would be?"

He leaned forward, resting all four chair legs safely on the floor. His face was inches from hers. "A coup. I recruited enough people to form a sizeable faction within the existing Death Eater hierarchy, and used my influence with the Dark Lord to advance them as far as possible. When the time comes --"

"You're telling me you're strong enough to fight him? Seriously?" Ginny was astounded.

Draco reached out a finger and trailed it along the side of her face. She shuddered with abhorrence. "Not quite," he said softly, the words sliding through the air. "That, my dear, is where you come in."

Ginny jerked back so fast, she nearly upset her chair. "I come in? I don't think so."

"This is how it works. You help me topple Voldemort, and I'll help you restore the balance. I win and the MórrÃ-gan wins, which means that you win too."

"I'm not helping you do shit," Ginny snarled. "Why should I? It'll just be trading one Dark Lord for another. What's the difference?"

His laughter was cruel. "You're smarter than that. Think. I'm willing to work with you towards the overthrow of the Dark Lord --"

"That's what Harry wants too," she interrupted. Her eyes were wide and desperate. Draco had a sudden flash of inspiration.

"And you, Ginny? What do you want?"

No one had ever asked her that before. Ginny felt tears burn the backs of her eyes at the terrible unfairness of it all: that Draco Malfoy would be the only one concerned with what she wanted, even if it was just to further his own ends. "I don't know what I want."

He finally released his hold on her hand and smiled at her. She'd made a serious tactical error; she just wasn't sure what it had been. "Perhaps," he drawled, "I can help you make up your mind." Draco gestured to the table of food. "I'm full. Have you had enough?"

Ginny nodded. This conversation was nauseating. She couldn't even think about food, although she'd been starving just a little while ago, and had eaten nowhere near her fill. Draco waved his wand and transported the dishes to the kitchens.

"Now what?" she asked.

He tipped the chair back again and propped his feet up on the table. "Now, my dear, we negotiate."

"I'm not your dear."

He laughed. "Is there something you'd rather I call you?"

"Weasley will be fine."

"You're so hard-boiled. I wonder if it's an act, or if this is really what being an Auror does to people. Listen; you're here until I say otherwise, so it's in your best interest to reach an agreement. I'm a reasonable man. I'm always open to compromise."

"I don't negotiate with Death Eaters."

His voice lost its jovial tone. "There's a first time for everything."

They stared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to blink or look away. Finally, Ginny said, "Fine. How does this work?"

"How does what work?" Draco asked with a small frown. "Negotiation, you mean? Well, I make an offer. You make a counter-offer. We try to find some middle ground, and then reach an agreement that'll make us both happy. Didn't they teach you this stuff in Gryffindor?" At her blank look, he sighed. "It must've just been in Slytherin then." There was an art to satisfactory negotiation, and his opponent was at a disadvantage. Just the way he liked it. "I want you to use your powers to help my cause. I want to overthrow the Dark Lord and take his place."

Ginny said, "I want you to let me go."

"See?" Draco asked. "Now we're getting somewhere. This is the deal, then. If you agree to lend your powers to my cause, I'll let you go."

"No."

"I'll let you go, and I'll help you right the balance," he amended.

"No."

He took a moment to size her up. "All right then. Why don't you tell me your terms?"

"I don't have any. I want you to let me out of this room. I'm not going to give you anything in return; you're just going to do it."

Draco sighed. "This is where, in true Gryffindorian fashion, you're being pigheaded and completely missing the point. I have the upper hand. You're my prisoner, and you'll remain so until you agree to help my faction."

"You can't just keep me here," Ginny protested. "You're my protector. You're supposed to --"

"Keep you safe," he said. "You're perfectly safe here. I'm not breaking any kind of contract. I'm not obligated to help you with anything unless you help me."

The adversaries fell silent, sizing each other up from across the table. Ginny fidgeted with a loose thread on the sleeve of the robe and glowered at him. "I can't make any kind of deal with you," she finally said. There was no way she'd ever submit to contractual magic with a Malfoy. It was out of the question.

"You say that now," he smirked, "but I wonder how you'll feel in a month or two?"

"A month?"

He shrugged. "I want to help you help the goddess, believe me. I'm on your side."

"My side?" she snapped, furious. "Were you on my side before, when you came in here to rape me?"

"Not you," he corrected. "Jezebel. It's completely different."

"The hell it is." Ginny was fuming again, her hands clenched in fists. "And earlier tonight, when I was under the Cruciatus curse for four hours..." Her throat closed up and she blinked back tears. She still hurt all over, and would probably be in pain for a good week. It had been torment like she'd never dreamed possible.

"I didn't know about that," Draco said. "If I had, believe me, I would've put a stop to it."

"No you wouldn't have," she snapped, to cover the tears that choked her voice. "You would've joined in. Agent Jezebel, the best birthday present you've ever received."

He shook his head. "But you're not Jezebel. How many different ways can I say it? There's nothing that you have to be afraid of. You're in this house under my protection, and as soon as I leave this room, I'm going to give orders that no one lay so much as a hand on you."

"They'll think it's because I'm your whore."

Draco was irritated now. "So what if that's what they think, as long as it keeps you safe while you're making your choice."

"I've made my choice. It's not my problem if you can't accept it."

"It is very much your problem. You have to face reality, Ginny," Draco snapped. "The fact is, here you are and here you'll stay. I can hold out just as long as you can, and you'll agree to join me sooner or later. You might as well make it easy on yourself and say sooner. You need me just as much as I need you."

Once again, they lapsed into silence. Draco didn't speak; he gave her quiet to sort out her thoughts. When she raised her eyes again, he saw anger, frustration, and not a little bit of sadness. Her words, though, surprised him. "Tell me about Shannon."

He paused, taken aback. "Why?"

"Because she was my friend, and now she's dead. There was obviously a lot I didn't know about her, and I want to find out."

"She's gone, Ginny. It's not going to do you any good to hear about her life."

She took a deep, shuddery breath, and said, "Please, Draco. I need to know."

He wasn't sure if it was the fact that she said please or that she used his given name that convinced him to talk. He still felt Shannon's loss keenly. She'd been a good friend. Still, Ginny had been Shannon's friend too. Perhaps she had a right to know. "What do you want to hear? She was a pureblood supremacist. She wanted to preserve the rights and privileges of our class, a class to which you show no loyalty at all, by the way. I offered her the opportunity to do just that, while working against the Dark Lord --"

"She was a member of your faction?" Ginny interrupted. She felt overwhelming relief at the suggestion that her friend hadn't been loyal to Voldemort.

"Of course she was," Draco replied. "She gave her life to bring you right where you are now."

"I don't understand."

"Think about it. At the Beltaine Ball, she was the slowest runner in the world, holding you back so we could catch up. Last week, she was the only Death Eater who kept up with your sprint through the alleys."

"Are you saying she was pretending to be slow on Beltaine?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, that's what I'm saying. The whole thing was a ruse. She knew exactly what was waiting for you outside the ring of bonfires. You never suspected a thing. And now she's dead, and you're here anyway. It was all for nothing."

Ginny was dumbfounded. Her friend had been trying to kidnap her, to deliver her up to Malfoy and his faction...it didn't bear thinking about. She burned with impotent fury. There was no one to spend it on; Shannon was gone. "I need a drink."

"Yes," Draco agreed, "I believe you do."

He took two tumblers and a bottle of firewhiskey from the sideboard and poured one for each of them. "I don't suppose you have a fag?" Ginny asked, tossing back the liquor and refilling her glass.

"As a matter of fact," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Nome's cigarettes. Ginny took one from the package and held it between her lips. Draco clicked the lighter, and she leaned forward into the flame.

She sat back and fixed him with an inscrutable look. He asked, "Potter doesn't know you smoke, does he?"

She shook her head.

"He wouldn't approve?"

She sighed. "He wouldn't care one way or the other, probably. He knows everything about me, though. Can you even imagine...well, you'll be able to soon enough, I suppose. I had to keep this one thing for myself."

"But now I know." His voice was silky smooth. She wanted to hit him. Draco purred, "I'm in the habit of indulging vices, you know. You only have to say the word. Anytime. Day or night."

She blew a stream of smoke into his face.

He gave a frustrated sigh. "Could you not be childish for just one second? Take a look around you. You're not getting out of here. I need you to trust me --"

"Right," she spat. "Trust you? When have you ever been trustworthy?"

"I think, between your two protectors, I'm the lesser of two evils," Draco replied. "I'd never take advantage of your trust the way Potter did."

"That's because you'll never have my trust." Ginny was so angry she was shaking. Her empty whisky glass exploded in crystal shards. "I know exactly what you are, and the things you've done. Harry was wrong, and believe me, he'll hear about it the next time I see him, but you..." Her lip curled in disgust. "You're not even worth...I mean...look at you. Look at what you are."

Draco scowled at her outburst. "Listen," he said, the angular planes of his face harsh in the candlelight. "I may function under a different set of morals than that enjoyed by the high and mighty Auror division. You might not like the way I do business, but at least I don't hide who I am. Can you look me in the face and say that you've never used an unforgivable curse on anyone? You can't. You and I aren't so different, Weasley. And, unlike Potter, I have never and will never misrepresent myself and my intentions to you. You'll always know exactly where we stand with each other. I might not be honest all the time, but with you...always. I vow it."

He stuck out his hand. She stared at it, then slowly reached across the table. They had a bargain. He wouldn't ever lie to her.

Draco filled his glass one last time, and slid it over to rest in front of her. "Think about everything I've said. I'll come back tomorrow night."

She looked around the room. "Can I have something to read? Or, you know, anything?"

"No."

"I'll go crazy in here."

"That's the idea," he said flatly, walking over to the hidden doorway. "If you're bored all day, then you'll be glad for my company at dinner. We might actually have a productive conversation." Before she could reply, he was gone.

Ginny downed the firewhisky and then slumped back in her chair and brooded. She had to get out of here, but how? She couldn't call Harry through the link. He'd charge in here, the entire Division behind him. Malfoy would probably wind up in Azkaban, which would infuriate MórrÃ-gan beyond anything. Or, worse, Harry or Malfoy might be killed. She didn't even want to think about that. And Malfoy had mentioned that Delia was in the manor as well. Ginny put her head in her hands and groaned. Could the situation get any more complicated? She prayed that her plan would work, that enough of her would bleed into Malfoy to convince him to let her out. Other than that, there was nothing she could do. She just wanted to go home, to see Harry again, even though she was furious with him for not telling her about Malfoy. She didn't forgive him for that, but it didn't mean she couldn't miss him.

* * * * *

Harry paced around Catherine's office. Ron and Dana sat in their boss's hard plastic chairs and watched him, concerned. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had looked everywhere for Ginny. She was nowhere to be found, but Harry had told them that hours ago. When they heard the news, Ginny's friends insisted on joining the search. Now, they milled about the hallway: Gwen, Esme, Mike and Ria, both frantic, Hermione, and Fred and George, who had been the only ones home at the Burrow. As the two other Aurors in their group, Dana and Ron had joined Harry in Catherine's office for moral support. The others waited outside for news on a search and rescue for their friend.

Harry told as much of the story as he could, omitting any Pendragon-related details, and Catherine listened, making occasional notes on her parchment. When he finished and looked at her expectantly, she sighed. "I'm sorry, Midas, but there's nothing I can do."

"There's what?" Harry demanded. Ron was too dumbfounded to speak, and Dana too angry to find her voice.

"She's not under the Division's protection anymore. She quit. You can file a missing person report with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, if you like. They'll mount a search."

Given the choice between the DMLE and the highly trained combat agents in the Auror Division...well, that wasn't even a choice. "But," Harry protested, "she's Agent Jezebel!"

"Not anymore," Catherine said. "If she were, the Division could handle her case. As it is, she's just a civilian. She's not one of us; she's been obliviated --"

"No she hasn't," Harry cut in desperately. "No, she hasn't. She remembers everything. Every damned thing. Is she important enough, now, for you to rescue?"

"She what?" Catherine demanded. "Nimue, I ordered you to --"

"I didn't get a chance to do the spell," Dana interrupted, catching Harry's drift. If she had to lie to get Catherine to help Ginny, then so be it. "She took her box and left before I could do it. I was going to tell you, but then you sent me to the field...."

"You're telling me her memory is intact?" Catherine was furious. "Nimue, when this whole mess is sorted out, you'll face serious disciplinary action. Is that clear?"

"Absolutely," Dana said. It was worth it.

"So you'll help my sister?" Ron asked. "Please. The Division is equipped to handle things like this. The DMLE --"

"It would seem I don't have a choice," Catherine said. "If the Death Eaters have gotten hold of her, the information in her head could crumble everything we've worked for. Code names, safe houses, moles, experimental spells...she knows it all."

"What's our first step?" Harry asked.

"Do you know where she is?" Catherine asked.

Harry nodded. "There's only one place she could be, isn't there? Malfoy Manor."

At those words, Dana's head jerked up. "Where?"

"Malfoy Manor," Harry repeated. "In two hours, we can have a team of hit wizards ready to go."

"No!" Dana cried. All eyes in the room turned to her. She thought fast. Gods and goddesses, if they raided the Manor and anything happened to Delia.... "I mean, isn't there a designated waiting period when someone goes missing? And we don't even know if that's where she is. Lucius Malfoy is on the Grand Council. He's not someone we want to piss off. Our funding is shit as it is."

Harry was dumbfounded. "What are you saying? That we should just leave her there?"

"No," Dana said, drawing on a bit of her power to make herself more convincing. "I'm just saying we'll want to think this through carefully. We can't just storm that house, considering who owns it."

Harry said, "But Ginny --"

"You're not exactly the most impartial thinker where Ginny is concerned," Dana pointed out. "And neither are you, Ron. Listen to me. We can't go bursting into Malfoy Manor. Not unless we have rock-solid proof that Ginny is there, and can guarantee minimal casualties."

"But --"

"She's right," Catherine said. "Much as I hate to admit it, she's right. There is a two day waiting period before a person is officially declared missing. Midas, Hermes, Nimue, I'm putting you three in charge of a team. Use this time to find Ginny. In forty eight hours, I want to know exactly where she is and how we're going to get her back."

Harry opened his mouth to protest once more, but saw that it was useless. His blinding panic had subsided hours ago; wherever Ginny might be, she was out of danger for now. She was safe, in the care of someone who would protect her. She'd linked with Draco; he'd known it for hours. Harry thought he might be sick at leaving her with that monster for two whole days, but he needed to be strong just now, to get her out of that evil place and bring her back with him, where she belonged. He needed to find proof that Malfoy Manor was where she'd been taken. He nodded to Catherine, and he, Ron, and Dana left the office to reassure the worried people in the hallway.

Dana's mind raced a mile a minute. She had to see Delia, and make sure Ginny wasn't at the Manor. That was her first priority. She'd worry about the rest later.

* * * * *

Lucius bowed himself into the Dark Lord's dungeon. "What news?" Voldemort asked impatiently.

Lucius informed his master of Jezebel's astonishing appearance, including the Germans' theory of a botched Auror raid, and where the Agent was now.

Voldemort asked, "Why are you telling me this? She's in Draco's capable hands. I don't need to bother myself with a mudblood loving --"

"Draco wants to keep her," Lucius said. "He just gathered everyone together and said that we aren't to so much as go near her without his permission."

"He must have found her satisfactory," Voldemort said wryly. "Still, we can't have an Auror running around this place, not now, your son's affections notwithstanding."

"He's given her a potion," Lucius said. "That makes all the difference. Revenge on an old enemy, you said. Well, now he has it, and it seems he'll be occupied for quite a while. This will give us the chance to search for the Pendragon while he's otherwise engaged."

Voldemort's red eyes gleamed. "An excellent observation, my slippery friend. All right. Let Draco keep his girl. No doubt an agent of her caliber will prove herself an adequate distraction."

* * * * *

Macha spotted the young woman lounging on the grass by the pond. She lay on her back on a bed of springy moss, trailing her fingers across the smooth, wet glass of the water's surface. Macha didn't sit, but leaned over and looked into the pool, their window to the world of men. "You've thrown her into a den of snakes."

MórrÃ-gan laughed and waved her hand dismissively. The scar, a thin line of silver, slashed across its back. "Virginia can take care of herself. She's closer now to Badb than we could ever get."

"Speaking of Badb --"

"Trust me," MórrÃ-gan interrupted. "Virginia is ready. Our sister will not be brought in line in this world until she's fully cast out of that one."

"Your protégé's unwillingness to find her other protector is an irreversible blow to our fight," Macha said, dropping into the grass beside her commander and queen.

The young girl rolled her eyes. "She's a mortal. She has weaknesses and flaws. It's their nature. But she's also the Pendragon, which makes her more. Many things are irreversible. Nothing is irredeemable."

"Some things are," Macha said bitterly.

"Badb is our sister." MórrÃ-gan's tone was stern. "She's a traitor, but she's still one of us. The triad's balance won't be restored until she comes back into the fold. You don't feel it the way I do."

"You think I can't feel this?" Macha asked. "Every single day..." She trailed off with a sigh. "Your champion, are you sure she can handle what's coming?"

"I trained her myself," MórrÃ-gan replied. "She's ready for everything that comes."

"That's exactly my point," Macha said. "We're putting too much trust in a mortal. Too much depends on her --"

"I don't coddle her as you do," MórrÃ-gan interrupted. "She's the Great Dragon. She's not delicate, and I've never treated her as such."

"You coddle her in your own way," Macha said with a small smile. "Don't think I don't notice when you sit by this pool hour after hour, watching her go about her boring little mortal life."

MórrÃ-gan yawned. "Little and mortal it may be, but the girl's life is anything but boring. Have you seen her young man?" She smirked lasciviously.

Macha scowled. "You're too carefree when you're young."

MórrÃ-gan ran her scarred hand through her long, garnet hair. "How fortunate, then, that I don't choose my face to please you."

The two goddesses were quiet for a while, both gazing into the pool, where they watched Ginny slowly work her way through a bottle of amber liquid. Finally, Macha spoke. "You told her she couldn't let herself be controlled, not even by you. But then you sent her to this place as punishment for disobedience."

MórrÃ-gan arched one perfect eyebrow. "Where is it written that I have to be fair?" Macha frowned, and MórrÃ-gan rolled onto her stomach, kicking her bare feet up into the air. "There's a difference between obedience and control, destiny and fate. Virginia is the Pendragon, but she still has something to learn about the nature of the divine. Even goddesses are subject to the decrees of the Universe. We all must obey the same force. It's our greatest secret, Macha; we're not that different from the mortals after all. That's destiny. Virginia's life will not be decreed by me. But," her face hardened, and Macha detected the warrior mother inside the sensual girl, "I have a reason, a good reason, for every command I've ever given her. If she disobeys, it's at her peril, as she learned tonight. It won't always be so. When she has more experience, she'll be able to use her own judgment, but until then, her fate is in my hands."

"Her fate?" Macha asked.

"Yes," MórrÃ-gan confirmed, "for now. But not her destiny. That was never mine to begin with. It belongs to the Universe."

Macha nodded thoughtfully. The goddesses lounged in the grass until long after the sun had set. Their eyes never wavered from the Pendragon, their hope. In the world of mortals, Ginny finally put the bottle away. She considered the bed, then turned her back on it and began to pace.

* * * * *

Eliot slipped into a doorway as Goyle apparated into the alley. He'd spent the better part of an hour thinking about Draco's orders, and then about Draco himself. So little had gone right for them in the past few years. If the Dark Lord ever discovered Draco's faction, they'd all find themselves swinging from yew trees. A true Slytherin, Eliot decided to keep a bit of insurance. If Draco was going down, there was no way he'd drag Eliot down with him. There would be plenty of time to kill Goyle later, once Eliot had a chance to judge which way the wind was blowing, and whether or not Ginny was likely to commit herself to the faction. If she was stubborn, then Eliot would prove himself the only truly loyal Death Eater in their group, the savior of Gregory Goyle, holder of precious information. If she pledged her power to their cause, he could always track Goyle down before Goyle returned to the Manor. With that thought in mind, Eliot disapparated.

* * * * *