Morality

(7) Bound

It was becoming increasingly hard to follow through with his plan to befriend the Weasley girl. She was, perhaps, nearly as hard to get to know as Draco himself, but in a different manner entirely. In the way that Draco manipulated people with his words, she managed to do the same with her honesty. It had him in a tight spot. Draco was longing for some real company, the kind that was only rarely offered to him by his Slytherin friends.

He hadn't meant to scare her off like he had; Draco had gotten so wrapped up in the conversation that he couldn't help but show her a little more of the truth about him. Now he had her wondering. Only, instead of coming back to find out more, she had retreated, dealing with him only at arms length. Besides the fact that it drove him crazy to be ignored, Draco was finding it particularly annoying the way her eyes never lingered on him for more than a moment. He usually could tell what she was thinking by the way she glared at him, but not now. Currently she simply stared off, her face distant. Not realizing the fact that she was using his own tactics against him, he put it aside as fear.

It had been three days since they had spoken, and Draco knew he had better do something to end her silent treatment, or otherwise risk his mission. So he decided to corner her after lunch and...do something. What exactly he planned to do hadn't quite been thought out yet, but it didn't matter. He always managed to come up with something suitable.

She avoided him after the meal, retreating up to her room to do whatever it was she had been doing to keep herself busy. Draco waited a few moments before following after her, under the pretense of "checking up on the research." Once upstairs, he found her sitting on her bed, her hands clutching a small black book. It looked oddly like the diary Lucius had given her several years ago, but Draco knew that it wasn't, as her hands slid over the cover, revealing gold lettering across the front.

He watched her for a moment, noting the way her hair fell in ringlets around her shoulders and spilled down her back. Pansy had made him admit it last year: Ginny Weasley was very pretty. However, that fact did not catch his eye particularly. Draco wasn't known for picking the prettiest girls; he was looking for the most powerful. At the time, he hadn't realized that she fit that criteria too, but after spending a few days in close quarters with her, he had began to understand what Potter saw in her. She was fierce, something that could probably be attributed to the fact that she had fought, or at least attempted to resist, Tom Riddle. That was a completely different matter, however, so Draco shoved all of these thoughts away, settling on the most important, which was getting her to speak to him again.

He stepped forward to lean against the doorjamb, and his movement caught her eye.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked angrily.

Draco shrugged. "Just coming to see what you were up to. You haven't seemed too friendly for the past few days. What happened to the 'I want to get to know you' attitude?"

Ginny stared at him, her face stuck in a surprised and awkward expression. She opened her mouth, then seemed to think better of it and shut it again. Then she reconsidered. "I could say the same for you."

"I was playing with you. If you weren't such a Gryffindor, you might could have taken the humor of the situation," he responded. "You seem to have misunderstood."

She rose from the bed, tossing to book aside. "I didn't misunderstand. You wanted to make me uncomfortable, and you managed it. I suppose that makes you really proud, doesn't it Malfoy? Because you're such a git that you have to make people squirm to get your giggles. Personally, I think you're a sick sadistic--"

"Let's not break out into obscenities, shall we? Besides, even if I had wanted to make you uncomfortable, I could have done it anytime. What I came to talk to you about was the fact that I needed to talk to you about...about..." Draco struggled, unable to find a suitable excuse. "I need to talk to you. About me."

"Yes, because that's not self-centered at all. Ever think that I don't really want to know anything more about you?" Her eyes were fixed on him, dark blue and angry. "Or did that thought not even enter your mind for a moment, that someone might not want to focus expressly on you?"

He raised his eyebrows, surprised at the vicious responses. "Fine. We can talk about you if you'd like. I just need someone to talk to. If you haven't noticed, you're the only one who can remotely stand to be around me."

Laughing wryly, she said, "What gives you the idea that I can stand to be around you?"

Draco found himself faltering, stumbling for any of his pre-prepared smooth responses. When, after a few moments of spluttering, he managed to collect himself, he took a deep breath. "Look, Weasley," he began irritably before quickly correcting himself, "Ginny. I want to get to know you. Even if you hate me, as you apparently do, I want to try to get to know someone who isn't the power-hungry spawn of a Death Eater."

"Would you classify yourself as one of these 'power-hungry spawns'?" she inquired.

"Not anymore."

Deflated, she leaned back against her windowsill. "I suppose I can give this another shot."

Draco grinned, nodding. "Thank you. I thought I was about to go mad from lack of company." He moved from his place in the doorway, relocating himself to the trunk at the foot of her bed. Ginny situated herself atop the desk across from him, her feet resting on the desk's chair.

"What are you reading?" asked Draco, taking the book she had she had cast aside and flipping it over in his hands. The gold lettering across the front labelled it "Ancient Studies of the Dark Arts".

"Research to help Hermione. It's a pretty terrible book about the dark arts. Plenty of gruesome illustrations too. I've got to admit that the artist probably had a right tough time depicting some of the spells in there. I bet it would be something you'd enjoy."

"Oh yeah, violent dark arts books definitely fascinate me. Except, of course, for the fact that I probably have seen most of them used on other people before. What are you supposed to be trying to find out, anyway?" he asked, hoping desperately that she couldn't tell his true motives for asking.

"Something about an ancient dark art," she answered vaguely. Her response was casual, but he could tell that she was clever enough to figure out that he had ulterior motives. "You wouldn't happen to have any books about the dark arts with you, would you?"

"No. Lupin searched my trunk, remember?"

"Right." They lapsed into silence, each staring at a nondescript point on the wall. "So, I suppose you've been invited to the wedding, since you're staying here and all."

"What wedding?" he asked curiously.

"Fleur and Bill, my brother, are getting married in two weeks."

Draco admitted that he hadn't heard anything about it, and Ginny shrugged. "I suppose you wouldn't have, what with the way everyone guards their tongues around you. You'll have to be invited though, if you're staying. There's not really any way around it."

"You sound delighted to have me. Anyway, it doesn't matter; that's two weeks from now. What else is going to be happening?"

"Harry's coming to stay the right before the wedding," she replied.

"Oh good, I'm sure we'll get along spectaclarly," he laughed. "I'm going to be staying with him? I can't believe it. This is going to be rich."

"My mum loves him like a son -- well, if you count Percy, she loves him more than her son. If you do anything to him, she will probably kick you out on the street, no questions asked."

This stopped Draco laughing immediately. "I suppose I'm going to have to get along with Potter, then. Perhaps I should just surrender myself to the Dark Lord. He'd probably forgive me more easily than Potter will."

"Harry won't do anything to you, unless you provoke him, which is seriously ill-advised, as I've already told you. Besides that, I'm sure the Order will take all possible precautions in keeping you away from him."

"Can't have an ex-Death Eater anywhere your hero, can you?" Draco grumbled. "He's always treated as if he's better than everyone else. I don't understand how any of you can call him courageous when all of the things he's done are only a result of cleverer friends and help from insane professors. Without Granger, he would have probably been killed straight-out in his first year. Not that anyone I know would particularly mind that, but --" Draco recoiled as Ginny leapt to her feet, lightning-fast, her wand directed at his face. He looked up at her, his eyes lighting up at her challenge.

"Keep going," she barked. "I dare you."

"It seems as if I have a knack for hacking you off."

Narrowing her eyes, she didn't lower her wand. Instead, she snarled, "You're jealous of Harry. You always have been. That's what makes you hate him so much, is that you never could get him to like you. No matter what you did, he knew you were beneath him. Even your pure blood couldn't give you the upper hand. Ron told me about first year, when you tried to get Harry to desert him and be your friend instead. But he turned you down, and you've never gotten over it. Isn't that right, Draco?" she growled, his name spilling out of her mouth like a curse.

He rose from where he sat, intentionally keeping his hands by his sides. "You think that just because Potter didn't want to be friends with me, it means that I'm jealous of him? If that's what you think, then you have been seriously misled."

She jabbed her wand into his chest fiercely. "You are jealous of him. No matter that his mother was a muggle-born, or that he wasn't the son of Death Eater, you still envied him because he had one thing you didn't."

She paused for breath, and Draco took the advantage and asked, "And what do you think that was?"

"A soul," she spat. His hand shot out and he disarmed her, his fingers immediately warming to the feel of a wand in his hand. Ginny drew back, her face clearly showing surprise at having her wand taken.

"Just because I haven't yet beaten Potter at Quidditch doesn't mean I don't have a seeker's reflexes," he hissed, his voice dangerous. This was exactly how it had happened last time. He let himself get involved in the words, caught up in what she was saying and not what he was supposed to be doing. He recognized this but couldn't seem to stop himself. "You think that I'm evil. You think I'm jealous of Potter because he's good and all that rubbish. What you don't seem to comprehend," he said quietly, leaning just a little closer to her, "is that I'm not the kind of person to envy. I don't see Potter as anything but a rival. He's not my savior. Your Order will do what it can, and Potter will still face the Dark Lord alone. What is there to envy about that?" She was silent, and Draco found himself staring into her eyes, as if they would somehow reveal more to him. "The fact of the matter is," he continued dangerously, "the only thing I've ever wanted was to be free. Potter doesn't have that luxury, either. He is bound to his fate. I am bound to mine."

Draco closed his eyes, blinking a few times and taking several deep breaths to clear his head. When he felt slightly calmer, he allowed himself to look at her. She was staring at him as if he had, perhaps, suddenly sprouted a third head. Ginny jumped at the contact as he pressed her wand into her hand, letting his fingers linger a little longer than was necessary.

What am I doing? he wondered. He didn't have to think any longer, because she pulled away, jerking her wrist from his grasp.

"I don't know what you're playing at, Malfoy, but whatever it is, I don't want any part of it. Whether or not you really want to get to know me is up for debate, and no matter how much I'd like to understand what goes through your twisted mind, I can't...I won't..."

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to--I honestly don't know what happened. I'm sorry."

"Yeah. So am I." She sighed deeply, pulling a hand through her hair. Draco watched, seeing her debate whether or not to let him remain. "If you still want to talk, it's okay. Just..."

"I won't touch you," Draco finished for her, trying not to allow himself to feel awkward.

"Thank you."

"Are either of us ever going to mention whatever it was that just happened?" he wondered aloud.

Ginny shook her head quickly. "I'd much rather forget it, myself."

Draco found himself feeling slightly hurt, but he ignored it, as he had been taught to do by his father.

"What fate are you 'bound to,' exactly? You made it sound as if you were being forced into something terrible, but as far as I've seen, you've managed to evade turning into the terrible monster your father tried to warp you into becoming. You're still a git, mind you, but..."

He cast his gaze around the room, fighting the insane, unnatural desire to tell her everything. Finally, his eyes again found her face, and he made a face. "I'm bound to fight this forever," he said, pulling his sleeve up to expose the skull and snake tattooed there. She saw it and bit her lip nervously.

"Does it hurt?"

In truth, it hadn't hurt at all lately. The Dark Lord probably was letting him be while he stayed on task. This, however, would be an unsuitable answer. "Sometimes."

She was quiet for a moment, still scrutinizing the Dark Mark. Draco could see the wheels in her head turning, and her next questions were even more uncomfortable for him to answer. "What's it like, meeting him? What does he look like?"

"He looks like a snake, honestly. His eyes are red. From what my father says, Tom Riddle was handsome. Voldemort is nothing at all like him, except in personality. As for meeting him...it's..." he grasped for words, "terrifying. You have to be quiet, but have the right responses at the right times. Unless you're Marked, he treats you like scum. If you have the Mark, then he treats you a little better."

Ginny seemed taken aback at his honesty. Draco was a little shocked that he had told her the truth, too, but he decided that everything he told her couldn't all be lies, or he would run the risk of them all being uncovered later on.

"What did you go through to get that?" she asked, her fingers barely grazing the Dark Mark on his forearm.

"Pain. Loads of it. My father watched, and he was proud of me."

"That's really awful," she said. Draco agreed quietly. He returned to his seat at the foot of her bed, putting his face in his hands tiredly. "Are you ill, Draco?"

"I think so," he admitted. "I mean, at first I thought it was just because last year was so hard. Maybe it's stress. I don't know what it is, but I'm just so tired."

Ginny reached out, and Draco could tell that she meant it sincerely, but he couldn't bear the thought of her trying to help, when he was working so hard to bring down all that she and her family had fought to keep standing. He pulled away before her hands got near him, and she let them fall to her side.

"Go to my mum. She's pretty good at patching people up."

He looked up at her wearily. "If given the chance, I'm sure she wouldn't feel at all bad about trying to poison me. I honestly think Moody's tried; he keeps encouraging me to take a drink from his flask," he joked.

"That's not funny," she admonished. "You need help."

"I can take care of myself."

"Obviously not, if you're this ill. You can tell just by looking. You can see your collarbones sticking out, even through your shirt. Why won't you just ask her for help?"

"Because," Draco answered firmly, "I don't want to."

"You're such a prat. Turning down help simply because you don't want to ask? Ridiculous."

"I'm not a boggart, that doesn't do a thing to me," Draco responded, smirking. She caught the joke but shook it off. He continued on, "It doesn't matter. With my luck, it'll turn out to be some terrible curse I get for resisting the Mark."

"Maybe it is. You'll never know until you ask. So why don't you ask," she pressed.

"It's not as if they know anything about the Dark Mark. They're the good guys."

"Snape had one," Ginny said, "and he told Dumbledore what it did, before...you know...and maybe Lupin knows about it. Or Alastor Moody."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll stick to wasting away." He took the dark arts book from where it lay and flicked through it again. "Besides, I think I'd like to spend some time reading this."

She plucked it from his hands, tossing it onto her desk. "That's alright, Malfoy, but I don't think Lupin would be too pleased if I let you have it."

"Oh, I understand. But it's not as if I can do anything, anyway. I don't have a wand," he pointed out.

"You managed to steal mine quite easily."

"Yeah, but you were waving it about in my face. What was I supposed to do, let you poke my eye out? Come on, Weasley, I'm not dumb. You were two seconds away from hexing my brains out."

"True. I never knew you were so quick," she admitted. "I always thought you had just joined the team out of spite."

Draco pretended to be surprised, but he wasn't in the least. Most people didn't acknowledge the fact that he was a decent Quidditch player. "The only reason you didn't know how fast I was, was because you were too busy watching Potter prance around in his Quidditch getup."

"More like, I was too busy watching him win every match Gryffindor played," she quipped.

"Yeah, right. Anyway, I think I'd better go. Who knows, I might even stop and ask Moody what he's got in that flask of his after all. He might not have sinister plans, after all; maybe he really just wanted to loosen me up a bit with some firewhiskey."

"You never know, with Moody." Draco laughed, turning to go, but she called him back. "I'm not kidding, though. Ask for help when you need it. You'll be better off."

He nodded, then responded with a noncommital, "Maybe."