Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

Ginevra Weasley’s life over the past few months had been a nightmare of screams and the stench of blood. After losing the final battle, all her loved ones were either dead, captured, or mutilated. She had spent ten months locked in a damp, blood-stained cell, constantly fearing she’d lose her sanity. Sometimes, she wondered if she already had. Life as a prisoner was unbearable. Of the few prisoners left, most endured relentless torture, but the women suffered the worst: raped and beaten mercilessly, many to death.

Hermione Granger, the brightest witch Ginny had ever known, was broken by the torture. The golden girl, as she was once called, lost her mind. The worst for Ginny was witnessing her descent. Death Eaters lined up outside Hermione’s cell, waiting their turn to humiliate, rape, and beat her. Ginny saw it all from the neighboring cell; the screams echoed endlessly in her ears. At first, Hermione fought back, but as weeks passed, there was only silence. Her blood stained the floor, and sometimes Ginny heard her muttering to herself or laughing, as if her mind had retreated to their Hogwarts days.

Every day, Ginny leaned toward the bars, trying to talk to her, but got no response. Hermione remained filthy, naked, and covered in wounds. For some reason, Ginny’s cell was protected by an enchantment that kept the Death Eaters at bay. The first time one approached, Ginny vomited from sheer terror, but he couldn’t cross the threshold. She never knew who to thank for that protection.

Time lost all meaning; no one knew the hour or the day. Ginny had never believed in hell, but now she was certain she was living in it. Finally, Hermione took her own life in her cell. No one knew where she got the blade she used to slit her veins.

“Ginny, listen to me,” Hermione whispered, her voice so faint it was barely audible. “I’ll pass you the dagger. Cut your veins like I did. It’s the only way out.”

Those were her last words before she bled out. The blade fell near Ginny’s feet. Without hesitation, she slashed her wrists. Blood ran down her arms, and a smile spread across her face. For the first time in months, she felt a spark of happiness: she would finally be free.

But when she opened her eyes, she was still in the cell, naked and alone. She screamed so loudly she thought her throat would tear. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t worked. Everyone had left her behind. She was utterly alone.

The following days were relentless humiliation. Death Eaters passed by her cell, gawking at her like she was a circus exhibit. Ginny tried to cover herself, curling into a fetal position, but the fear never left her, even though she knew they couldn’t enter.

“She’s a bitch; she’ll love spreading her legs for me,” Lestrange spat, his gaze dripping with lust.

“Come on, Lestrange, I’ll use her first. After all, I captured her,” another said with contempt, sending a shiver through Ginny’s body.

Suddenly, the prison door opened, and a tall, burly man entered. He wore a mask, but Ginny kept her eyes fixed on the floor; she didn’t want to meet anyone’s gaze. Then something landed near her: a cloak. Surprised, she looked up and saw the man had thrown it to her. Trembling, she grabbed the fabric and covered herself, sobbing.

“Malfoy, don’t ruin my view,” Lestrange complained, clicking his tongue.

Draco Malfoy removed his mask, revealing a cold face and a malicious glare. He was nothing like the boy Ginny had known at Hogwarts. His presence was commanding, his aura radiating a chilling darkness.

“Don’t forget who she is,” Malfoy said with disdain, looking at Lestrange. “If you want women, find one of your own kind.” His gaze swept over the cells. “This place is a dump. It reeks of blood and misery. Who the hell is in charge of this mess?”

“I’m in charge,” Lestrange retorted, “and this bitch belongs to me now.”

Malfoy let out an icy laugh that echoed through the space. “She’s a blood traitor, yes, but don’t forget her lineage is purer than yours. Her family was among the first to settle in England.” His footsteps faded as he added, “By the way, I’m taking her.”

Ginny’s head spun. Where were they taking her? For the first time, she felt a desperate urge to stay in that miserable cell. Her body began to tremble, and tears streamed down her face. Malfoy opened the cell without resistance. She vomited when he took his first step toward her.

“Malfoy, how much would it cost to let me have a go at her just once?” Lestrange asked, his eyes gleaming with lechery.

“Your wife is Astoria Greengrass; you shouldn’t talk like that,” Malfoy replied coldly. “Besides, don’t forget who you’re talking to about money.”

“That bitch isn’t worth as much as this damn blood traitor,” Lestrange spat.

“I’m tired of this conversation, you idiots,” Malfoy snapped.

With a snap of his fingers, Malfoy apparated them to a mansion.

It was the most imposing place Ginny had ever seen, beautiful but grim. She quickly lowered her gaze to the floor, unable to bear the thought of him seeing her in this state.

“Ginevra Weasley,” Malfoy’s voice sounded distant. He took a step toward her, and her body betrayed her.

A warm liquid ran down her legs. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing harder than she had in ages. Her screams echoed off the walls. What was this? Why was she crumpled at Draco Malfoy’s feet in a puddle of urine and tears? She wanted to go home. She missed her mother, her brothers, her entire broken family. Where was the brave Ginny Weasley, the Quidditch star? Her dreams, her hopes—everything had shattered. Nothing was left of her.

Harry Potter was a traitor.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

The Ministry’s hall reeked of stale blood.

No surprise there: Bellatrix, the psychopath, had been torturing witches and wizards ever since Voldemort seized control of England.

Ginevra Weasley was everything I needed to redeem my sins. From the moment I saw her that spring, I knew she didn’t belong to that despicable family. She deserved better. She was the most beautiful witch I’d ever met, with a fiery spirit and exceptional talent for sports.

I don’t know when I started watching her, but it was inevitable—everyone did. The entire wizarding school adored her, regardless of house. Her popularity only grew over the years. At night, I couldn’t stop thinking about her long, captivating red hair. It’s worth noting that the rest of her family repulsed me.

A special case, Ginevra didn’t deserve to live in such deprivation, always with secondhand books, even her wand was secondhand. What was a witch like her doing in that miserable family? I knew she was a blood traitor, hopelessly in love with Harry Potter, and would never betray her family. But a war was coming.

I faced a constant dilemma: I wanted to make her mine at any cost. If the Order won, I’d likely end up in Azkaban; but if they lost, a fate worse than death awaited her. She’d be a war trophy, and not just any Death Eater would have the honor of claiming her. Only someone strong, loyal, and powerful would be worthy.

The first time I left her a gift was at Christmas. I chose the finest necklace from my family’s vault: a heart-shaped ruby set in a pendant. I sent it anonymously; I knew she’d never accept anything from me. I doubted she’d wear it, but when I saw her enter the dining hall with the necklace on, I felt she had to be mine—her mind, her body, her soul.

She wasn’t as pure as everyone thought. Broken people recognize each other. After all, she had opened the Chamber of Secrets.

Deep down, I knew the good girl hid something sinister. It just needed to be unleashed.

The sound of the door snapped me out of my thoughts. “My dear Draco, you’re the last to arrive. This meeting is crucial for our legacy,” Bellatrix said, embracing me.

Her stench made me nauseous.

“I wouldn’t miss it, Aunt. It’s an honor to meet with the Dark Lord,” I replied as we walked to the meeting room.

The room was filled with lunatics, all old, but they shared one thing: they belonged to the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

“We can begin this long-awaited meeting. Bellatrix has expressed her desire to restore the House of Black. After all, that house has given me my most loyal servants,” the Dark Lord’s voice echoed in my mind.

The moment I’d been waiting for had arrived. I had to claim my greatest desire, though my mind teetered on the edge of madness.

Ten long months had passed without seeing her.

“I understand most of the sacred houses are on the brink of extinction. The war caused many losses, not to mention the blood traitors,” old Greengrass commented.

“Thanks to the Dark Lord’s grace, my house expects a pureblood heir. My daughter will give birth by year’s end,” James Parkinson said with a grim smile.

I’d been in Europe, conquering new territories for the Dark Lord.

Being his executioner kept me close to my goals.

France, Italy, Bulgaria, and Germany had fallen under the new regime.

But rumors kept coming: Neville Longbottom had been chosen to sire an heir with Pansy Parkinson. After succeeding, he was tortured and killed.

Pureblood families were desperate to preserve their honorable names, their legacies.

“Excellent news for our regime,” the Dark Lord’s voice sounded frail with each word.

“My lord, Ginevra Weasley is imprisoned, and no house has been assigned to her for breeding. If you permit, I can bring heirs to the prestigious Carrow family,” old Carrow said, his mind fixed on Ginevra.

I didn’t blame him; I had the same intentions.

“Ginevra Molly Weasley Prewett is a blood traitor, but she’s pureblood. There’s something special about her: the only woman born in generations. A legacy like that deserves someone of her caliber,” the Dark Lord said, smiling and revealing his rotten teeth.

“If I may, I could be the one,” old Lestrange proposed.

I clenched my jaw. How dare those vermin think themselves worthy of her? No one but me could even consider the idea. I’d worked tirelessly to reach her.

I killed every member of her family to sever her ties to them. Her only bond should be me.

“My lord, I, Draco Lucius Malfoy Black, request the honor of being betrothed to her. You know my parents are dead, and I’m the sole heir of the Malfoy and Black families. Her mother bore seven wizards with no offspring; she’s the right choice for this task,” I said, my voice colder than I intended.

“You want to marry her?” The question hung in the silent room.

“My family has an ancient blood curse in our lineage. I cannot sire bastards,” I explained.

“Why not share her?” Carrow’s voice sounded almost desperate.

“Pardon, my lord, but inbreeding yields disastrous results,” I countered.

Voldemort nodded.

After all, his mother was the product of such a repulsive practice.

“I don’t want the mother of my heir to be a common whore. She should have some dignity, Mr. Carrow,” I said, fixing my gaze on that revolting creature.

“I like the idea of loyal servants. Nothing better than strong wizards. It’s a good plan, Draco. The Parkinson experiment was a success,” Voldemort said with a dry laugh.

“Your orders are my duty, my lord,” I said, bowing with devotion.

“Dear Draco, you’ve proven your loyalty for years. You’re my executioner and general of my army. I grant you this reward: that woman is yours. Do with her as you wish, but don’t forget the heir. If you want to kill her, do it after.”

The meeting dragged on with tedious discussions, but a smile crept onto my face.

I had finally done it.

Ginevra Weasley was mine.

I’d sold my soul in the process, but she would cleanse every one of my sins.

She was at my feet, in a puddle of urine and tears, staring at the floor.

I’d worked so hard for this, but where was the Weasley I knew? Her essence had faded.

This wasn’t her.

This wasn’t the Gin I wanted.

Ginevra Weasley was dead.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

“Ginevra Weasley, I’m talking to you, damn it!” Draco Malfoy’s shouts grew louder, ringing with rage.

My body refused to respond.

I was on my knees, drowning in a sea of tears, unable to move.

“Damn it, you have no idea what I did to bring you here with me!” he continued, his voice dripping with contempt. “The horrible things I had to do, all for a crying girl who can’t even lift her head.”

I was trembling, consumed by fear.

His words cut deep, but the pain reminded me I still had a soul. Scared? He couldn’t understand what it was like to be locked up, hearing the screams of my friends, watching them die one by one. My entire family was gone. My life, shattered. And he had the audacity to say I shouldn’t be afraid.

That idiot had no idea what pain was.

His whole life had been easy: money, luxury, and now, victory in the war, which only inflated his ego and pride. A man like him had no mercy or humanity. I’d heard rumors during the war: Draco Malfoy never hesitated to kill, leaving torture and suffering in his wake.

Whenever he entered a battle, we were ordered to retreat.

His cruelty was inhuman.

He killed Fleur Delacour while she was pregnant. It wasn’t just any murder; he found her tending to wounded Order members and, with a dark, unknown spell, tore her body in two. Her unborn child fell beside her corpse. Bill was never the same after that. The war had taken what he loved most.

Voldemort used the Killing Curse, but Draco was worse. He gave you a slow, agonizing death. Wizards lived in terror of him throughout the war.

I’d always thought him a coward, weak, but that summer, something changed. His presence grew darker, more sinister. He became an exceptional duelist, a master of potions, and, apparently, a creator of new curses.

He was a brilliant mind, but utterly devoid of humanity.

“Don’t tell me you miss your family,” he mocked. “Ginny, right? Ginevra is a beautiful name, too beautiful to be tainted like this.”

My gaze stayed fixed on his feet. I could barely breathe. He crouched to my level, grabbing my chin to force me to meet his eyes. They were dark gray, cold, empty.

“Don’t tell me you miss your family,” he repeated, a mocking smile twisting his lips as he studied my face.

“I know what they did to you, Gin. Never forget that. I know what happened in that room. That’s true evil.” My heart stopped. How could he know? My mind betrayed me, dragging back the memories I’d fought so hard to bury.

My family had betrayed me.

The most important era of Harry Potter.

“They forced you, didn’t they? All for Harry Potter. And he agreed. They all agreed,” he said, his gaze growing even darker. “What vile people. It’s inhuman. Even I wouldn’t stoop that low.”

His words were a cruel mockery. My body reacted on instinct.

With a scream that echoed through the room, I slapped him. “Shut up, shut up!” My hand trembled, and his cheek reddened from the blow.

Rage coursed through my veins. Everything he’d said was true.

They had stabbed me in the back.

But when I looked at his face, I saw a satisfied smile. “Well, Ginevra, you’re my guest and have no manners. Striking your host is an insult,” he said, tangling his hand in my hair.

He grabbed me roughly and dragged me upstairs. When we reached his destination, he flung open a door and shoved me inside.

“This will be your room. You need to shower, change, eat, and sleep,” he said, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself.

“Go to hell, Malfoy!” I spat at his shoes.

He only irritated me.

“I knew it was you, Ginevra. Don’t scare me like that again. I thought you’d slipped away.”

He left the room, leaving me completely alone.

The room was luxurious: a massive bed, a large window opening to a balcony, elegant lamps, and a floor that looked expensive.

But I didn’t touch anything that belonged to Malfoy.

I curled up on the floor, wrapped, ironically, in his cloak.

Every night, nightmares woke me, drenched in sweat and screaming.

House-elves brought me food daily, but I refused to eat. I spent days on the floor, starving. I’d probably die of malnutrition or pneumonia. It was what I wanted most.

To die.

Chapter Text

Capítulo 4

“Weasley!” Draco’s voice was laced with irritation.

I opened my eyes slowly and saw him standing before me.

“For Merlin’s sake! I leave for a few days, and you nearly starve yourself to death,” he said, a glint of frustration in his eyes.

Great. Now I had both Draco and a house-elf staring at me.

“Master Draco, we begged her to eat, but she ignored us. Since you left, she’s stayed in that position. Everyone in the manor was terribly worried,” the elf said, genuine concern etched on its face.

“It’s fine. You can go,” Draco dismissed.

The elf left the room, leaving us alone.

“Weasley, you were supposed to bathe and eat,” Draco said, stepping closer.

“Stay away from me, you filthy rat!” I spat.

“Fine. If you want to play dirty, we’ll do it your way,” he snapped, grabbing my hair and dragging me toward the bathroom.

“Let me go, you sick bastard! Leave me alone!” I sobbed, struggling against him.

He released me near the bathtub.

“Listen carefully, brat. You have thirty minutes to clean yourself properly. I’ll wait outside. If you disobey, I’ll come in, strip you, and drown you in that tub,” he said, his voice growing darker with each word.

“Go ahead and drown me, you son of a bitch!” I screamed with all my strength.

“You know I won’t, but I will strip you and bathe you myself. I think I’d enjoy that quite a bit. Your choice,” he said, turning to leave the room.

That sick bastard. How dare he threaten me like that? My mind raced, wondering if he’d actually follow through.

Stupid Ginny, of course he would. He’s a cold-blooded killer.

I let the cloak slip slowly to the floor. In front of me was a massive mirror reflecting my image. I was emaciated, with dark circles under my eyes, cracked lips, and hair tangled like a bird’s nest. I collapsed in that moment.

I didn’t recognize the person staring back at me. What had happened to me? I was a living corpse.

The Ginny I once was had vanished, leaving only this ghost.

My body was covered in bruises, wounds, filth, and dried blood.

I stepped into the bathtub and felt the warmth of the water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bathed.

I began scrubbing gently with the sponge, careful not to aggravate my still-fresh wounds.

The water turned black with grime but cleared almost instantly. A spell, no doubt Draco’s doing, I thought.

Lost in the bathtub, I forgot about time until I heard the door open.

“Get out of here, Malfoy!” I shot him a furious glare.

“Your thirty minutes are up. I thought you’d still be sprawled on the floor,” he said, approaching slowly.

“Don’t come any closer!” Instinctively, I tried to cover myself or run, but it would’ve been pointless—I was completely naked.

The water covered my chest, and the bubbles acted like a curtain over my body.

“We’re not enemies, Ginevra. I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said, standing behind me.

I started to cry. “Please, don’t do this. I’ll do whatever you say,” I sobbed desperately.

“Ginevra, I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help. I’ll wash your hair, and I promise I won’t even look,” he said, his voice sounding oddly sincere.

Did I have a choice? If I said no, would he respect it?

“Fine,” I whispered, my body trembling with fear.

I heard him settle behind me, his fingers gently massaging my scalp.

It was strangely soothing, but I snapped my eyes open when I realized what I was thinking.

We were in the bathroom, and he was washing my hair with such care it felt unreal.

Had I lost my mind, hallucinating like this?

The most feared Death Eater was kneeling behind me, washing and massaging my hair.

I was definitely going insane.

“Why are you doing this, Malfoy?” I asked timidly.

“Because I like you, Ginevra,” he replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

No more answers, no more questions—just silence.

“Weasley, I did my best. Honestly, it’s the first time I’ve done this, but I like your hair. I have to go now. Finish bathing and eat something. No more fighting, please. Can you be a good girl?” His footsteps faded as he left the room.

“Go to hell, you idiot,” I muttered, hoping he’d heard me.

I stepped out of the bathroom and found clothes on my bed: a silk pajama set. The problem? It was clearly Draco’s. Next to it was a note in elegant handwriting.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to buy clothes you might not like, but I’ll figure something out.”

I let out a quiet laugh.

I was definitely going insane.

Over the next few days, I realized that if I did what Draco wanted, he’d keep his distance.

So I started eating regularly and taking long baths.

In time, I felt safer in that room. The balcony brought me peace, offering a full view of the estate.

I was a caged pet, but what could I do about it? If I escaped, I knew they’d find me. I didn’t want to return to those cells; the screams, wails, and images still haunted me.

One night, I gathered the courage to ask the house-elf about Draco’s whereabouts. Maybe death would be better than this.

“Do you know where Malfoy is?” I asked, my tone laced with cynicism.

“He’s serving the Dark Lord, which is why he hasn’t come to see you. You must miss him terribly,” the elf replied.

I burst out laughing. It had been ages since I’d heard anything so absurd.

Then, the elf’s face shifted from confusion to fear. “Someone’s trying to break the manor’s wards,” it said, its voice trembling with worry.

“What are you talking about? Is everything okay?” I asked.

“An uninvited guest. Stay here, don’t worry. The manor and I would never let anyone harm you. After all, you’re Master Draco’s fiancée and the next heir to the sacred Malfoy family.”

It vanished instantly.

My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might explode.

Someone was coming for me, and they weren’t invited.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

The screams of tortured wizards echoed in my ears, but my mind could only focus on what Weasley might be doing.

I should definitely bring her a gift; after all, I haven’t been home in two weeks.

Damn Russians, who would’ve thought they’d put up such a fight? Immediately, the perfect gift for her came to mind.

I felt the mansion’s wards being tested.

Someone must be insane to try breaking into my mansion.

I wasn’t even worried: Malfoy Manor is impenetrable.

Ginevra… I really missed seeing her.

Two weeks away from her felt like a lifetime. I don’t understand how I spent so much time apart from her.

“Malfoy, those damn Russians won’t give in. This will drag on for days,” someone said.

I let out a laugh.

“Stand down. Leave it to me. This ends now; I want to go home.”

The curse wasn’t perfected, but it would do.

I cut my palm and immediately cast *Petrificus Totalus* on about twenty soldiers.

I smeared my blood on their foreheads.

Once the ritual was complete, my magic would course through their veins, and my will would be carried out through them.

It didn’t have a name yet; I created it when I was bored.

I sat on a nearby rock, eager to watch the show from the front row.

The first few minutes were the most entertaining: they collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain as the dark magic seeped into their bodies.

Then came the next phase: torturing and killing whomever I wanted.

Their comrades were so confused when the curses hit them.

Of course, you don’t expect your own team to turn on you.

It was a total massacre.

Rain began to fall; I felt the first drops on my hair.

The game was over. It had been a good show.

After massacring and torturing their colleagues, acquaintances, and friends, I gave them the order to take their own lives.

One by one.

The terror in their eyes was unmistakable.

Knowing death is coming for you, that you’re next, is suffocating.

After all, they were only following my orders, but they remained conscious. They witnessed every act; you could see the desperation on their faces, tears streaming down their cheeks. In the end, I was just a parasite, controlling their bodies but not their minds.

Every last wizard of the resistance died that night.

“That was horrific, Draco. That blood magic is unsettling; I’ll have nightmares tonight,” Nott said, approaching with a glass of firewhisky.

“I enjoyed it,” I shot him an amused glance.

“It’s not funny. You know people call you the White Death? Many have started fearing you more than the Dark Lord himself. A sadistic guy is terrifying,” Theo’s gaze hardened.

“I don’t need lectures. If you lot had done your job properly, I wouldn’t have had to step in.”

“Sometimes you scare me, Draco.”

You know, I need you to do me a favor.

**Three weeks later**  

I apparated to the mansion with one purpose: to see Ginevra.

As soon as I entered the room, I didn’t see anyone, until I noticed her feet sticking out from under the bed.

“Weasley, I know this is your room, but hiding under the bed seems a bit odd.”

She crawled out immediately, tears in her eyes.

“Malfoy, someone’s trying to break into the mansion. They want to hurt me!” she said, terrified.

“Weasley, as long as I’m alive, no one will hurt you. I’d kill and die for you,” I tried to approach but stopped myself. I didn’t want to scare her.

“Don’t let them hurt me, Malfoy, I beg you,” she collapsed to the floor, sobbing.

I stepped back again.

This wasn’t Weasley. This was a broken, wretched version of her, created by the war. Where was the girl who cursed and slapped me? Hidden inside this woman, a bundle of tears and nerves.

“Weasley, I swear no one will hurt you. They’d have to kill me first, and if that happens, I’ll kill you before I die.”

I’d rather see her dead than with someone else. They’d never take her from me again. She’d be mine for eternity, no restrictions, like a doll bought by a collector.

“They’ll come for me,” she insisted.

“Enough, Weasley. No one’s coming for you. I’m the only one you should fear.” I paced the room, trying to find words of comfort.

“They’ll make me suffer.” Her sobs grew more unbearable.

The only way to bring her back was to mention that topic, one I personally didn’t care about.

“I saw it all, Ginevra. I know everything that happened in that room, what they did to you in the so-called Order of the Phoenix, how cruel they all were.”

She snapped her head up, her eyes locked on mine.

“When I entered that room, the first thing I saw was Potter between your legs while you were completely bound, and your mother was holding your hand to ‘support’ you, letting that man rape you,” my voice burned with rage. “Your robe was torn, and there was blood on your thighs. I know they hurt you, Gin. They all allowed that rape to happen. Potter agreed.”

“Shut up, for God’s sake, shut your mouth!” Weasley’s screams filled the room.

“It wasn’t the first time I covered you with my cloak in that prison. That night, when I burst into the room, I was the one who untied you and covered you completely,” every word dripped with contempt.

“Traitors! They’re damn bastards, let them burn in hell!” a sinister voice came from Weasley.

I knew something was burning inside her.

“Don’t worry, Gin. I killed them all, one by one. None died peacefully. Let me show you how I made them suffer,” I said, stepping closer.

“Don’t come near me, Malfoy. Leave me alone, get out!” She threw a shoe at my head.

“You need to rest, Gin. I’m home now; you can relax.” I started walking toward the door.

“By the way, I brought you a gift. It looks like you. Its name is Red.”

A red-furred kneazle kitten stared at her, bewildered by the shouting.

I suppose, with all the emotions, she hadn’t even noticed.

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

The Order had gathered its highest-ranking members in that hidden Black family house. From the start, I knew something was wrong. Why would they summon a sixteen-year-old girl like me to a table full of important wizards?

Sitting on the stairs, I felt a chill. Something was off. I caught the pitying glances of some wizards.

“Come on, Ginny, it’s probably not a big deal. Don’t be so tense,” Hermione said, squeezing my shoulder to comfort me.

I gave her a small smile.

We headed to the meeting room as the doors closed behind us. I sat next to Hermione; somehow, we’d grown closer after the war.

“The battles are getting worse every day. We’ve suffered too many losses. If this continues, we could lose the war,” Kingsley announced, opening the meeting.

“Sir, we’re being too lenient. If we keep using protective spells instead of attacking, we’ll die one by one. Malfoy is a clear example of lethality,” Hermione’s voice rang out in the room.

“We’re not murderers, Miss Granger,” Kingsley replied, frowning.

“Maybe we aren’t, but they are, sir,” she countered.

Finally, Harry spoke.

“Voldemort grows stronger every day, and we’re losing this war,” he said, his anger almost tangible.

Fear and anguish filled the room; every wizard was tense.

“We’ve found a method that could give us a clear advantage in this situation,” Kingsley said, staring directly at me, sending a shiver down my spine. “Thousands of years ago, a powerful soul-binding ritual was developed between wizards. A witch’s virginity is intertwined with the wizard who takes it, connecting their souls and granting shared power. Their souls and magic become one. It’s essentially a ritual,” Aberforth explained, as if telling a children’s story.

“Ginny Weasley, you’re a pureblood witch, the first woman in generations. You know how much power you carry within. If you agree to bind yourself to Potter, we could win this war,” he continued. Every eye in the room turned to me.

Nausea overwhelmed me.

Harry Potter. Sure, years ago I’d been in love with him, but that faded. Now he was like a brother to me.

“What the hell! What are you talking about? How dare you suggest something so disgusting? Of course Ginny won’t do it! What’s wrong with you?” Hermione was furious.

“Miss Granger, the Weasley family has agreed,” Kingsley stated.

I glared at my mother with contempt. She looked away. I searched my family’s faces for answers, but no one met my eyes. They all seemed remorseful.

“No need to be so dramatic, Gin. You’ve been in love with Harry for years. Of course, you’ll serve with honor in this task,” Ron said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Shut up, Ron! She’s your sister! How can you say that? You’re all hypocrites! You won’t kill because you’re ‘good,’ but you’re willing to commit such an atrocious act, violating a witch who fights daily, risking her life for the same cause as you!” Hermione’s indignation was palpable.

I sank into my chair, stunned. They all agreed with this act: my family, my friends. I looked to Harry, desperate for help.

“Ginny, I know this is unacceptable, but we have to win this war. I’d never hurt you, but I admit I’m too weak to do this alone,” Harry said, looking at me with kindness and pleading.

They all agreed. Every single one of them.

“You’re a filthy half-blood, Harry Potter. Someone like you could never perform a ritual like that. It’s for purebloods,” I said, my voice cold and unrecognizable.

I’d found a letter about this a few days ago. I knew everything but hoped it was a lie. The ritual wouldn’t work properly because it was designed specifically for purebloods.

“Ginevra Weasley, listen to yourself! Damn it, Charlie, Bill, Fred, and George are dead, and you’re throwing a tantrum over this nonsense!” my mother shouted, stepping toward me.

“I’m not a prostitute! I’d never spread my legs like that. I’d rather die!” I closed my eyes, bracing for what was coming.

The slap echoed through the room.

“I’ll never do it! Do you hear me, you traitors?” I screamed with all my strength.

Rage coursed through my veins. How dare they? I suffered as much as they did, fought with the same intensity, gave everything every day. And they only thought of sacrificing another pawn.

“The ritual won’t work properly,” Hermione said, supporting my decision.

“It doesn’t matter if we don’t unlock its full potential. A fraction will be enough,” an Order member, a complete idiot, replied.

Before I could react, they grabbed my arms and dragged me across the room.

“You’ll understand one day what war demands,” an unfamiliar wizard’s voice said.

“Stop! Let her go! She’s just a girl, please, she’s just a girl! Take me instead, I beg you!” I heard Hermione’s desperate screams in the distance.

My mother walked beside me as they cast a spell to dress me in a white robe.

“Forgive me, Ginny. I can’t lose another child,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

They threw me onto a bed, my hands bound above my head.

The room was filled with candles and sea salt. Everything had been coldly calculated.

I was a cow led to the slaughter.

My mother, Aberforth, Kingsley, and Harry Potter were in the room. My mother stood beside me, stroking my hair and holding my hand.

The elders began chanting the ritual’s incantations.

Harry positioned himself over me, parting my legs with his knees.

“I’ll be gentle, Gin,” he said.

I’d never felt such fear in my life. I trembled, tears streaming down my face, my screams filling the room, my pleas dying against those walls.

My mind spun. How could this happen to me? It had to be a nightmare; it couldn’t be real.

Harry’s zipper opened. My mother closed her eyes, silently begging my forgiveness.

I screamed and screamed with all my might. I didn’t want it to happen like this. I wanted to escape, to go back to the Burrow with my father cradling me. But no, I was on a cold bed, surrounded by ruthless people. In the end, I’d just be another victim of the war.

As he leaned closer, I headbutted him with all my strength. He staggered back, his nose gushing blood. With a nosebleed that severe, blood dripped onto my clothes and thighs. I felt cold, but above all, disgust. I’d fight with everything I had; they wouldn’t break me, not them, not anyone.

I felt him approach again, his member brushing against mine.

I let out a sob. It couldn’t end like this, not this way. Somehow, they’d all become monsters. Nothing would ever be the same. By Merlin, why did the curse of being a woman always haunt me? Was I born to be raped and abused? I didn’t deserve this. I was just a victim of the terrible decisions of this damned thing called the Order of the Phoenix. Why were women always victims of men’s cruelty? We weren’t inferior; we were equal. Every woman in the world was worth as much as the most precious gem. Why did it have to be this way? How had I ended up in this situation?

I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming.

Suddenly, the weight on top of me vanished. I heard screams in the room. Instinctively, I curled into a corner, hugging my knees. A Death Eater stood at the door, his gaze fixed on me. He approached and covered me with his cloak. It smelled of vetiver.

A stunning spell hit me. The last thing I saw was his dragonhide boots.

I woke drenched in sweat, tears streaming down my face. Those memories tormented me again in the night. Draco Malfoy was sitting beside me, looking at me with concern.

Without thinking, I threw myself into his arms, sobbing, letting out everything I’d been suppressing. I’d tried so hard to forget those memories. I didn’t want them to be the last memories I had of my family.

It smelled of vetiver. Then I remembered that night: it had been him.

Snapping back to reality, I pulled away abruptly.

“Don’t touch me, you bastard!” I shouted, throwing a punch at his face.

He leapt from the bed, clutching his bloody nose.

“Damn it, Weasley, you’re the one who hugged me!” he protested.

Chapter Text

Capítulo 7

My distinguished visitors were none other than the Greengrass sisters. Standing in the foyer, they exuded an imposing presence, their striking beauty undeniable. Their perfectly tailored robes accentuated their elegance, and their glossy, flowing hair seemed straight out of a painting. There was no doubt they belonged to one of the most prestigious families in the wizarding world. Instinctively, I compared myself to them. My body was still gaunt from malnutrition, my hair dull and lifeless, my clothes nothing more than a borrowed cloak from Malfoy draped over a simple robe.

My life would have been entirely different if I’d been born into their circle: attractive, wealthy, popular, with everything within reach. All my life, I’d worn secondhand, tattered clothes, sometimes even my brothers’ hand-me-downs.

Even Malfoy, as much as it pained me to admit, was undeniably attractive, not to mention his wealth and family prestige. That’s when it hit me—how vastly different we were. He represented danger and stirred every feeling of inferiority I’d ever buried.

But I wouldn’t show weakness in front of these spoiled brats. I was stronger than them. I couldn’t let my insecurities overpower me, and above all, I had to play my cards right.

Daphne cleared her throat, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Ginny, did you hear anything I just said?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I shook my head.

“Don’t call me Ginny. I don’t go by that anymore,” I sighed.

Astoria’s face betrayed an emotion I couldn’t quite place.

“Miss Malfoy, would you prefer we use that name?” she said, her words dripping with disdain.

Spoiled idiot, I thought. That was it.

“Dear Daphne, I’d love that, but Draco and I aren’t married yet. Don’t worry, you’ll be invited to the ceremony,” I replied with a fake smile.

“Draco asked us to take you to Madam Malkin’s. It seems you’re still dressing like a beggar,” Astoria said, speaking for the first time, her voice laced with venom.

I laughed to myself. Malfoy wasn’t the only insufferable one I had to deal with anymore; now there were two more.

On the way, I noticed two escorts trailing us. It was clear Malfoy would never let me escape. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize we’d arrived at the shop. My eyes widened as we entered. I’d never been in such a luxurious, prestigious place. Everything looked delicate and outrageously expensive. I was certain a single garment here cost more than my father earned in six months.

The dresses and robes were tailored to my measurements. I felt out of place as the witches bustled around, taking my measurements and debating which colors would complement my skin tone.

Madam Malkin studied me closely.

“You’re a charming witch, Miss Weasley. We’re working on a wardrobe that will suit you perfectly. I’m sure Mr. Malfoy will be delighted,” she said with a kind smile.

I only nodded.

“Do you know if there’s a color young Mr. Malfoy prefers?” she asked, her question echoing in my mind.

This had to be a cruel joke. While people were dying and being tortured, these people carried on as if nothing had happened, pretending Draco and I had some kind of relationship when I was clearly a prisoner. I could barely contain myself, and here she was asking about a color Draco might like. No one saw me as a victim; they saw me as a young witch who should be grateful for her supposed privileges and impending marriage.

“Draco likes red,” Astoria interjected, breaking the awkward silence.

That’s when it clicked. During my school years, I’d heard rumors that Astoria had been betrothed to Draco, a common tradition among pure-blood families. But now, Astoria was married to one of the worst scoundrels in the wizarding world. I doubted she’d entered that marriage willingly.

Once Madam Malkin left the room, I looked at the younger sister.

“You were engaged to Malfoy,” I said.

“The engagement was broken off long ago,” she replied, tensing immediately.

“And now you’re happily married. I wonder when you’ll be pregnant,” I said, my tone sharp.

Her cold mask cracked, revealing a vulnerable woman.

“Do you think you’re the only one suffering, Weasley? I was forced to marry that pig. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be raped, humiliated, and beaten every night?” Tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Astoria, every woman in the Order went through what you’re describing,” I replied.

“And you, Weasley? Did you go through it?” Her question left me speechless.

Of course I hadn’t, but I was there, watching. My pain could never compare to what Hermione endured, but I felt it as if it were my own; she was like a sister to me. Astoria had no right to dismiss my suffering.

“You never went through it. I know you didn’t,” she said, her gaze hardening with contempt.

At that moment, Madam Malkin returned with an assortment of lingerie.

“You can choose the styles you like best. I think that’s a decision I shouldn’t interfere with,” she said with a smile before leaving the room.

Daphne stood and approached me, inspecting the garments closely.

“What does Draco like in terms of lingerie? Honestly, I can’t imagine his tastes in this area. He’s always been a mystery,” she said, her tone suddenly softer, almost conspiratorial.

I blushed instantly—not because of Draco, but because seeing the lingerie stirred a curiosity I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. The war had stolen my adolescence; I’d never had a conversation about sex, let alone lingerie.

Astoria scoffed. “Don’t play innocent, Weasley. Everyone knows you spread your legs for Potter. Of course, a girl like you would never have access to such finery. I bet he took you in the woods. It’s a pity Draco settled for Potter’s slut,” she said, eyeing me up and down. “In fact, I’m almost certain Draco hasn’t slept with you, and I doubt he ever will.”

Nausea hit me like a wave, and I vomited near the door of the main room. My body reacted on instinct, and before I knew it, I lunged at her, striking her. In an instant, Daphne drew her wand and separated us.

“Enough nonsense, Astoria. We don’t have time for this,” she snapped, then turned to me. “Listen, Weasley, we’ll help you escape.”

“Our lives are a mess, Weasley. We’re bankrupt because we didn’t take sides in the war. My family wanted to avoid trouble; we thought we’d win. Without power or money, we’re nothing. All we have left is our name. My father sells us like cattle. Daphne’s next, and I don’t want her to suffer like I have,” Astoria said, her voice breaking. “It’s true I never cared much for you. I thought about marrying Draco, always focused on looking pretty for him. That’s what I thought about every day. But when his parents died, he broke off the engagement.” Her tears seemed endless.

Daphne cut in quickly. “Draco won’t budge. He’s obsessed with this engagement to you. You have no idea how much I’ve begged him to choose me. I even showed up at his house naked, thinking it would work. If you escape, you’ll have a chance. We’ll help you, Ginny. You can be free.” Her words were sincere.

My mind reeled, struggling to process it all. How twisted was this world that they thought Draco Malfoy was the best option? He was a psychopathic killer, yet they believed he wouldn’t hurt them. Then it hit me: they were right. Draco hadn’t crossed the line with me. He hadn’t abused me. I felt foolish for even thinking it, but was I going insane? Was I actually grateful that he hadn’t raped me, that he’d shown a shred of humanity?

Then I understood: Draco Malfoy wouldn’t hurt me.

If I escaped, they’d likely catch me, and next time I wouldn’t be so lucky. They could hand me over to some brute or send me to a brothel, but they wouldn’t kill me. A fate worse than death awaited me. My courage had completely faded. I was a coward, I knew it, but no one emerges unscathed from a war. Ginny Weasley was gone.

Who remains whole after living through something like that? The fragments of my soul were scattered, but I was alive. This wasn’t over. What is a human when they’re broken? The answer was nothing.

Draco Malfoy would be my downfall or my salvation, but he was the answer. Adrenaline surged through my veins. The decision was made.

“If you say something like that in my presence again, I won’t forgive you, and I’ll tell Draco,” I said, my pride taking over.

Maybe I was the weak, crying witch Draco mocked, but only in front of him. No one else would ever know I was afraid.

Silence filled the room for the rest of the afternoon as I chose garments I’d always dreamed of owning. They didn’t speak to me again, but I could feel the fear in their eyes. Somehow, that pleased me. I picked the most provocative lingerie in the shop—not that I’d ever wear it, but I wanted to see their reaction. Pathetic snakes, I thought. They deserved everything they were going through.

Draco appeared at the door, studying us carefully, as if trying to decipher something.

I ran to him and hugged him. At first, he didn’t respond, but after a moment, I felt his arms wrap around me.

When we pulled apart, his gaze was filled with confusion, clearly puzzled by the situation.

“Can you take me to buy some materials? I want to knit something when we get home,” I said with a sweet smile, feeling the sisters’ icy glares.

“You can have whatever you want, Ginevra. Everything will be yours,” he said, his words sounding like a promise.

We said goodbye to the sisters, who did their best to hide their contempt.

“Bitches like you belong in hell,” Astoria whispered in my ear.

“I’m already there,” I replied, kissing her cheek with feigned affection.

The entire walk to the shop, we remained silent. I felt the stares of people in Diagon Alley. I chose the materials carefully. While Draco paid, I looked out at the alley; it seemed so bleak, steeped in fear. Everyone looked scared.

When we apparated back to the manor, I stared at him, summoning the courage to say the words echoing in my mind.

“Don’t hurt me, Draco.”

“I won’t, Ginevra,” he said, his voice chilling and sinister.

“You said you’d do whatever I wanted.”

“Tell me, and I’ll do it,” he replied, his deep gray eyes reminding me of the moon.

“Kill them, Draco. Kill them all.”

He gave me a smile.

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

Every night, Draco sat in an armchair in the corner of the room, a glass of whisky in one hand and a book in the other. He often stayed for hours; I knew he remained in the room while I slept. Sometimes, I felt his gaze on me, or I’d wake in the middle of the night to find him there, watching me silently. He must have suffered from insomnia.

Red was a difficult creature to manage: aggressive and, without a doubt, an incorrigible mischief-maker. Sometimes, he even attacked Draco. He slept by my side; it took a lot for him to let me pet and tame him. He always got under Draco’s skin: sometimes knocking over his glass of whisky, other times swiping at his book in a furious attack, only to flee to my bed for protection. He knew his victim would never come near me.

Silence reigned in the room.

The nights followed the same routine every day: absolute silence. I knew Draco didn’t stay to sleep; by dawn, he was gone. One morning, the house-elves informed me that, apparently, all the garments from Madam Malkin had arrived. The room was filled with boxes of outfits she had crafted for me. I couldn’t believe it was all mine; I’d never had so many things in my life. Boots, cloaks, dresses, pajamas, underwear. The first tears fell as I opened the first box and pulled out the garment; it was, without a doubt, the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen.

“Miss Weasley, we’ll place the garments in your wardrobe,” the house-elf said.

I quickly shook my head; I’d do it myself. I wanted to admire every detail on my own. The day passed slowly. At dusk, I took a long bath while slipping into the new sleepwear. Happiness bloomed in my stomach.

The thoughts I had in that bathtub became clear: the routine was suffocating me. I spent entire days in the room, alone, with no activity. As soon as Draco entered and settled into his usual spot, I decided to speak.

“Draco, I don’t want to stay locked in this room,” I said.

His eyes shot open as he set the book on the nightstand. He looked at me with an expression of doubt and absolute astonishment; I could almost say Draco Malfoy looked scared. After an awkward, painful silence, he finally spoke.

“Weasley, I’m not going to keep you locked in this room. This estate is yours.”

“Can I leave the room, Draco?” I asked, my expression shifting dramatically.

His eyes reflected terror as he watched me closely. He seemed paralyzed, speechless. After fifteen minutes, he dared to speak.

“Every inch of this estate belongs to you. You can go wherever you want; you have no restrictions.”

How wonderful! I’d love to swim and lie on the grass. I’m sure Red will have a blast outside. I’ll start knitting outdoors while the sun and cool breeze hit my face,” I smiled instinctively. “We’re going to have so much fun, Draco.”

I got no response; he simply nodded, with the same fearful expression, and resumed reading.

My heart pounded with excitement for all the activities I had in mind. At some point in the night, I fell into a deep sleep. My last image was Draco’s eyes watching me intently.

In the morning, I received a letter from Draco mentioning that after lunch, we’d go to a lake on the Malfoy estate. Time crawled by agonizingly as I waited for the hour. I put on a beautiful yellow dress and sandals. I tucked Red into a bag along with some blankets. I brushed my long hair, which nearly reached my waist; I had no idea when it had grown so much.

When I knocked on the door, he was waiting on the other side, dressed in black trousers and a buttoned white shirt, very elegant. His blond hair fell in strands over his forehead. I felt butterflies in my stomach. No doubt, this was a date. I couldn’t deny how handsome he was. My head barely reached his chest; his height and physique gave him a majestic air, as if he stood out in a contest of masculinity.

We walked in silence until I gathered the courage to take his hand. He pulled away immediately, looking at me in terror. I didn’t understand at the time. My eyes filled with tears; he noticed and smiled, taking my hand.

“Sorry, Ginevra. You caught me off guard,” he said.

I nodded softly.

It was a long walk through the estate, filled with flowers and well-kept gardens. The sun shone, and the blue sky accompanied us; nothing could be more perfect.

After walking through the estate, we arrived at the most beautiful place I’d ever seen: a lake surrounded by trees and flowers. It was like a magical place from a children’s storybook. The water looked so tempting that, instinctively, I let Red out of the bag to play and stripped off my dress to dive in.

The water was cold but somehow comforting. I could stay in that place forever; it seemed the perfect hideaway to escape. I swam until I was exhausted. Draco, meanwhile, sat near a tree and started reading. I wondered what he studied so much or what texts he read.

The sun warmed my bones, and my body floated in that lake. Could anyone be happier than I was at that moment? Red played in the distance, trying to catch a little bird. I smiled at the scene.

“Do you like this place, Gin? You seem to be enjoying it,” Draco asked quietly.

“We have to come here all the time! It’s perfect. I’m so happy!” I replied.

His gaze hardened. “I built it for you.”

“It must have taken years, then. Don’t joke about that, Draco. Your family has a beautiful estate,” I smiled.

“I built it with magic, Gin,” he said.

“Don’t be funny,” I splashed him with some water.

“You don’t remember, Gin. We’re wizards.”

My head spun. I got out of the water immediately as a chill ran through my body.

“I don’t feel well, Draco. Take me home.”

In an instant, we apparated back to the room. Then, horror washed over me. How had we transported like that? He simply pulled a wand from his trousers, and we were back in the room. A sharp pain shot through my skull. What was happening? I started to feel overwhelming panic.

“Ginny,” he said.

Those words shattered my reality.

Ginny Weasley. I knew that woman. Thousands of memories flooded my mind: family, friends, moments lived. Laughter and tears with so many people I didn’t recognize.

Draco placed me in front of the mirror, letting me see my reflection. I screamed with all my strength.

I was Ginny Weasley.

Tremors shook my body, and my mind felt on the verge of collapse. My vision blurred as I crumpled to the floor.

Deep breaths and gasps. I collapsed and blacked out.

“Gin,” I heard Malfoy’s voice.

When I opened my eyes, he was standing in front of me, looking at me with concern. I stood abruptly and slapped him.

“Let me go, you bastard!” He didn’t react to my attacks.

I clawed at his face relentlessly while slapping him. Fury coursed through my veins; I was sure I could kill him.

His hands grabbed my neck and pinned me against the wall. His eyes blazed; anger radiated from his pores. I couldn’t breathe. He released one hand to deliver two consecutive slaps. My cheek burned, and tears streamed from my eyes as my throat begged for air. I tasted blood in my mouth.

“Stop hitting me, you blood traitor. Someone like you shouldn’t even think about touching me,” he said, savoring every word.

My vision started to blur from lack of air. He released me abruptly, and I began coughing desperately. My face, lungs, hand, and neck burned. The force he used against me was excessive.

He started pacing the room nervously, clutching strands of loose hair. I noticed scratches on his face and blood on his shirt.

“Draco,” I said as my head fell to the floor and my body collapsed.

I couldn’t react. I felt his boot in my stomach, an aggressive kick. I was breathless for a few minutes. I pressed my hands to the spot, as if I could stop the pain. The room fell silent for an eternity. I saw him pour a glass of whisky and sit, his gaze fixed on me.

With each sip, his expression softened. When he finished the glass, he stood and approached me. He knelt, holding my face.

“I’m sorry, Gin. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You scared me, that’s all,” his hand brushed my cheek.

His eyes were gray, and his hair was blond.

I didn’t see Red. He must have stayed at the lake. Draco should go get him; he might get scared without us nearby.

“Draco, don’t let her come near me,” my eyes pleaded.

“Who are you talking about?”

My hand pointed to the mirror.

“Don’t let Ginny Weasley come near me.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 9

The house-elves scurried, trying to keep up with me as the oven beeped incessantly. I was covered in flour and cookie dough. When I opened the oven door, the inevitable happened: smoke flooded the mansion’s kitchen, and the dough exploded, splattering everywhere. The elves and I bolted out. As soon as I slammed the door shut, I burst into laughter. Baking cookies seemed so much easier in books; clearly, I’d fallen into a trap. I sat on the floor, my laughter mingling with the elves’. Inexplicably, I’d finally gotten them to laugh and have fun, even though the original plan was to bake cookies. The kitchen was temporarily wrecked, and I was filthy from head to toe. I looked up and saw a pair of feet in front of me. Draco looked at me with disappointment, but beside him stood a young man almost as tall as he was, with wavy brown hair and green eyes. It was the first time I’d seen anyone besides Draco.

“Ginevra, is it that hard not to destroy some part of the mansion?” he said sarcastically, though he gave me a half-smile.

“I can explain. That dough turned on me. I read some books and followed every step to the letter. I swear it tastes good; it’s just the consistency that’s… confusing,” I replied. The stranger in front of us looked confused.

“No offense, but everything you cook always seems to be decomposing,” Draco said.

I clutched my chest, feigning indignation.

“I’m Theo,” the young man said, extending his hand with a warm smile, which I gladly accepted.

“Are you Draco’s friend? That’s surprising. I thought someone like him didn’t have friends. After all, he’s not exactly fun, always reading his weird messages while drinking whisky,” I said, letting out a laugh.

“Actually, I’m his work friend. You’re right; he’s not very charismatic,” Theo replied.

“I knew it was odd that you were his friend. That explains a lot. I’m Draco’s friend too, but only because we’re married,” I said, holding out my hand to show a ring I clearly didn’t have. Theo caught the joke and burst out laughing.

“Draco, I thought you were a traditional man, but you let your fiancée go without an engagement ring? Anyone might think she’s single,” Theo teased, winking at me playfully. Draco shot me a disapproving look.

“Clean this up right now, Ginevra!” he ordered, then pointed at Theo. “And you, out of my house.” They both left the room.

I sighed; it would take hours to clean, and it did. After seven hours of cleaning, I finally bathed and went to bed. As I climbed the stairs through the main hallway, my eyes took in the atmosphere. Everything was so grim and dark it was almost frightening. But things had improved visually: there were colorful rugs I’d woven, fresh flowers in many vases, and, of course, yarn scattered throughout the mansion, or at least most of it. My pet was a little thief. It felt like a home. I stepped out of the bathroom and saw Draco sitting in his usual spot. Apparently, tonight’s reading was *Soul Alchemy*, or so I could make out from a distance. I approached him, but he blatantly ignored me.

“Draco, I want you to sleep with me,” I said, my cheeks flushing.

“That’s not proper for a lady, Ginevra,” he replied.

“But I’ll be your wife,” I insisted, letting out a sigh.

“The day you’re my wife, I’ll sleep with you. Now go to bed and don’t interrupt my reading,” he said, his face displeased.

“You don’t even kiss me,” I countered, pouting. “I’m supposed to be your wife, but you never touch me. I want to experience things with you. Sometimes I have dirty thoughts. You’re always sitting in that corner, but I imagine you standing, your hands roaming my body in so many ways. Sorry for having human needs, but I really want to sleep with you.”

Draco spat out his wine.

That was the most human response I’d ever gotten from him.

“I’m not going to have sex with you,” he said, his voice confused.

I felt complete disgust at his words and went to bed, trying to ignore the situation, though it was nearly impossible knowing he was in the same room. Hours passed, and apparently, so did a few bottles of wine. My mind couldn’t sleep due to the anger I felt. Then I heard him approach.

“Get up, Gin. I’ll show you why I can’t touch you,” he said, taking my hand. Feeling his grip, I closed my eyes.

It was a dark, damp room. A déjà vu ran through my bones; I felt like I knew this place. There were empty cells, and as Draco walked toward a room, my bare feet stepped in a crimson liquid. When we reached the room, my heart sank. Three women were bound like caged animals in the center. Their appearance was horrific: covered in bruises, bleeding, one missing an eye from its socket. My eyes filled with fear. These people were suffering in an inhuman way.

“There’s only one thing in the world I love besides you, Ginevra, and that’s killing,” Draco said in a voice I’d never heard from the man I’d asked to kiss me hours earlier.

My bones trembled. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but if I provoked him in any way…

“Look at me closely, Gin. I want us to know each other better. Look inside me, see what I do, know my sins, my joys, my pleasures, and above all, my heart.”

His footsteps echoed in my head as he approached the women. The horror in their eyes showed he was the cause of their wounds. He took the girl who’d lost an eye and examined her closely. Without mercy, he plunged his fingers into her socket and tore out the other eye. Her screams filled the room; blood gushed as she begged for mercy.

“Your eyes are prettier, Gin,” Draco said, giving me a satisfied smile. The girl collapsed in pain. Draco stood behind her with a knife, analyzing her head. Soon, he began cutting from her forehead, tearing the skin. He was scalping her. The room became a bloodbath, and the victim was still conscious. Tears streamed down my face, but there I was, watching every detail. Draco was thrilled; he wasn’t lying when he said he enjoyed it. When he finished, the woman’s skull was completely bloodied.

“Your hair is prettier, Gin,” he said in a sweet voice. He pulled a wand from his trousers, brushing some strands of hair from his forehead. “I worked on this spell a few weeks ago, so I’ll test it today. I hope it exceeds my expectations,” he said, his gaze fixed on his victim. “It’s a cutting spell, but it’s special because it injects a bit of adrenaline into the victim’s blood. It’s boring when they pass out; I like hearing their pleas until the end. Plus, it doesn’t make clean cuts—it’s more like a dull knife. I designed it to require some force,” he explained, like a child talking about a Christmas wish.

He took the girl’s arm and began cutting under her armpit. He was right; it looked like a rusty knife. The girl lost her voice, but her pained whimpers were still audible. “This is great, Gin. I thought of this while watching a video about how Muggles butcher a chicken,” he said. After long minutes, the woman’s arm fell to the floor. He was dismembering her alive. My hands trembled as I watched this man enjoy tearing apart her body. Blood pooled around her. When he was satisfied, he observed the scene for a few minutes, admiring his masterpiece. “I think I’m done. I like watching them bleed out,” he said, walking toward me with indifference.

His hand reached for my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. When I looked into his eyes, I saw lust, passion, happiness. I hadn’t thought anyone’s eyes could be as expressive as his in that moment.

I didn’t process it until I felt his lips on mine. His breath was fresh, and his lips moved gently over mine. I followed his rhythm as my heart raced. He placed his hand on my cheek, caressing it softly. I let out a muffled cry, and at my reaction, his grip tightened. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and the kiss turned wild. I could barely keep up; it was as if he were devouring me. His lips and tongue explored every corner of my mouth, leaving me breathless. He bit my lip hard, making it bleed. “You taste delicious, Ginevra,” he whispered against my lips. It was a demanding, possessive kiss. I was breathless with every movement, and the taste of blood mingled between us. He pulled back slightly, licked my lips, and gave me a chaste kiss.

“You know what I want, Gin,” he said.

“Tell me what you want,” I replied.

“I want to fuck you here, in this room, over that pool of blood. I want to feel your body covered in that liquid and enjoy every sound you make.”

My heart stopped.

Chapter Text

Chapter 10

My eyes snapped open, and I felt the soft silk beneath my body. The fireplace was still burning, and the curtains were drawn. I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious, but I was definitely still in the Malfoy Manor. Tears welled up in my eyes; it wasn’t over, and it probably never would be. As soon as my feet touched the floor, a chill ran through my body. When I entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself. I had gained a considerable amount of weight; the bruises and wounds were gone. I was completely clean and dressed, my hair neatly braided, with a faint scent of watermelon. My face was flawless; the dark circles under my eyes had vanished. When Malfoy entered the room, he found me sitting in his usual spot, sipping the wine I’d found in a goblet.

“Finally, you deign to show up,” he said, approaching me while scrutinizing me closely.

“Get away from me, you bastard! I don’t know why you knocked me out, but if you come any closer, we’ll both die here,” I spat, my spirit displaying an inexplicable bravery. “Scum like you always has a trick up their sleeve. I knew you were a coward who couldn’t handle me and had no choice but to stun me.”

Malfoy’s laughter echoed through the room.

“You’re hilarious, Weasley. You’re as mad as a hatter,” he said, his body rigid but a sinister smile creeping across his face. “We have an appointment with the psychiatrist. I think you need to understand that I can’t take you to St. Mungo’s to explain that Miss Weasley has gone insane.”

“The only one who’s mentally ill here is you,” I retorted, my body reacting on its own, facing him head-on. He was much taller, but I didn’t back down.

“You’re truly an interesting thing. Right now, I don’t know which one of you I like more,” he said, his hand brushing the tip of my nose.

We appeared on a bustling London street. When I looked up, I realized we were in front of a psychiatric medical center: “George Jones, specialist in mental disorders.” I scoffed silently; so the gods had heard my prayers, and this lunatic would finally get treatment for that wretched mind of his. We entered the place abruptly—typical Malfoy style. After all, I doubted that wretch had ever been invited anywhere politely. In the office, a middle-aged man with a furrowed brow watched us with concern.

“Jones, a pleasure to finally meet,” Malfoy said. “I contacted you recently about my fiancée’s case. I couldn’t come earlier because the lady barely deigned to show up.” He gestured toward me sweetly, as if he were a gentleman.

“I can’t say the same, young Malfoy. You must understand that threatening my wife and children doesn’t exactly make me thrilled about your presence. However, I’m at your full disposal,” Jones replied, pulling out a notebook with some notes as he reviewed them. We took our seats in front of him.

Malfoy looked mortified and utterly bored while the doctor prepared some papers for the consultation. He cleared his throat slightly.

“Young Malfoy, can you explain the situation?”

“She’s a nutcase. From the moment I saw her, I knew she’d be trouble. She acts so strangely, like there are two people in the same body. Personally, it terrifies me sometimes. I have to walk into the room and guess whether she’s going to run to hug me or hit me,” he said, shifting in his seat and glaring at me. “From the moment she arrived at my house, I knew something was wrong. She’s gone mad.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you bastard, but you should take a look at yourself. You’re a sadistic murderer, and you dare call me mad? I’m your prisoner, don’t forget that, and you’re delusional if you think you’ll get anything but contempt from me, you monster,” I shouted, my voice echoing through the room.

“I understand the situation, but this isn’t couples therapy. The psychology department is down the hall,” Jones said, and we both rolled our eyes at the same time. “After receiving your letter explaining the patient’s case and, frankly, your clear threats, I spent days researching. I’m a half-blood, so finding magical information was a bit complicated, but a threatened man works tirelessly,” he said, sweat beading on his forehead. “The human mind is full of mysteries. After experiencing traumatic events like the war, it’s normal for Muggles to develop dissociative identity disorder, Miss Weasley.”

“She doesn’t have that. I already looked into it. She’s not a Muggle,” Malfoy interrupted, his arrogant voice cutting through as always.

“Mr. Malfoy, she has a fragmentation of the mind—a magical condition.”

“I’ve never heard that term. For the past few weeks, I’ve been working tirelessly to figure out what’s wrong with this parasite,” Malfoy said, his brow furrowing.

“Will you shut your damn mouth and let the doctor explain, you spoiled brat?” I snapped, my gaze fixed on the doctor. “So, you’re saying I wasn’t unconscious?”

“Miss Weasley, you were never unconscious. After enduring prolonged trauma, your mind appears to have fragmented into two parts. Your two versions, as young Malfoy calls them, are the same person. It’s just a condition. Over time, you’ll be able to connect with the other part of your mind, and eventually, you’ll start sharing memories. Your mind is trying to preserve your happiness. All the good in you is in that other part, while your traumas are here. But don’t be mistaken: you are both. I can’t even say there are two of you; it’s you, fragmenting. It seems your mind tried to hold onto sanity and caused this condition. It’s fascinating, even for a wizard.”

“She’s a nutcase. As far as I know, you’re the only one in the world who’s identified new magical conditions after the first wizarding war,” Malfoy said, having left his seat at some point to snoop around the specialist’s things.

“Of course, young Malfoy. In fact, this is my second life. You must know everything about me, since you managed to contact me. When I was part of the wizarding world, I documented this condition and had the first patient. Their mind was in five parts; in the end, they took their own life. You, Miss Weasley, are the second person in the entire history of the wizarding world to exhibit this condition. You must have an indomitable spirit.”

The conversation stopped abruptly. What was going through my head? What had happened all those days when I wasn’t present? Was it possible that I had truly managed to preserve my sanity and humanity? Somewhere in my mind was the Ginny I would be now if the war had never happened. There was still a girl in me that I had to protect at all costs, but of course, I wouldn’t let Malfoy get to her.

I was certain she was living in a fairy tale, because that’s what I used to do as a child. She was living a dream that existed only in her head. I had to find a way to control and share her memories; I didn’t want to think about what kind of story she might have with Malfoy. My jaw clenched.

“If you touch her, I’ll kill you,” I threatened, my words reaching Malfoy, who ignored them.

Dr. Jones gave me a look of compassion.

“Listen to me, Ginevra: cherish your humanity, don’t let the balance slip away. Both parts are important, and above all, don’t let one absorb the other. I know you’ll find a way to unify them again. In this, you’re completely alone—neither I nor young Malfoy can help you. It’s just you,” he said, standing up and opening the door for us.

“I knew it, you’re a psychopath,” Malfoy said as the door closed behind us. It was the calmest thing that had come out of his mouth.

“The hunt begins, Malfoy. I have a list, and the first one is Corban Yaxley,” I said, my hands trembling with excitement.

He stepped closer, standing behind me.

“Yaxley was the first to rape your friend Granger,” he whispered in my ear.

“I hope you have an extra Death Eater cloak and a wand, because you and I are hunting pigs tonight,” I said, my steps resolute as I left the building.

Rage consumed my body. They would all pay for every drop of blood spilled; no one would rest in peace as long as I was alive.

“Even if you try to flirt with me by saying provocative things, I must say I’m a man committed to the other Gin,” he said, a coy smile spreading across his face.

I took a moment to study his face and body. He was tall with a toned physique. His jawline was the most masculine feature of his face, and his silver eyes were captivating, with aristocratic features. But the most striking thing was his nearly white blond hair, which he was letting grow out. It was tied back in a French braid that reached his shoulders, with the sides slightly shaved. I felt a pang in my stomach. God, Gin, tell me you don’t like this idiot.

“By the way, it arrived today. It’s a gift for you—well, not for you, for the other you. I had to curse and threaten some goblins to get them to make the ring. They said it would take years, but since it was a special request, it only took a few weeks.”

He grabbed my hand quickly and slipped a ring onto my finger. I tried to take it off immediately, but it wouldn’t budge.

“It’s pointless; you won’t be able to take it off. It’s an engagement ring, an oval red diamond. This jewel was crafted with goblin magic; you can only remove it when the engagement is broken. I think it turned out quite nice. I know you’ll love it.”

“Sorry, Malfoy, but I’m not up to speed on the romance you have with me,” I said, rolling my eyes blatantly. “I’m here to kill Death Eaters, not talk to them.”

I looked up at the sky, gazing at a splendid full moon in a star-filled night. Tonight, the moon would be stained with blood.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

It was eleven at night, the waning moon hung in the sky, and I was ready to kill the first man on my list. The place was grim, but above all, fear hung in the air. I knew nothing good could come from what was happening inside that building. Malfoy was lost in thought, carefully observing the terrain we were about to enter.

“Can you tell me what this place is?” I asked, looking at him seriously and noticing his furrowed brow.

“It’s a brothel, Weasley. They bring half-bloods or Muggle-borns here to entertain the Dark Lord’s army soldiers. And, of course, the man we’re looking for will be here,” he said, quickly pulling out a cloak I recognized instantly. My heart sank.

“It’s Harry’s cloak,” I said, his name burning in my mouth, stirring so many emotions my mind couldn’t process.

Malfoy swiftly covered us with the cloak, and we headed toward the place.

“It was never Potter’s. It’s the Invisibility Cloak, and we’ll need it to get into the Crystal Palace,” he replied, his voice raw.

“Why do we both need to hide under the cloak? You go in first, and I’ll follow. After all, you’re the army’s leader.”

“Sorry, Weasley, but I’m not the type to frequent these places. Can you imagine the great Draco Malfoy walking through the door of a filthy brothel, only for that idiot to end up dead? I think that’d raise suspicion.”

As we entered the main hall, the air reeked of alcohol and sweat. Only Merlin knows what other strange odors lingered. The place was filled with disgusting old men. In the center of the hall were poles where many naked girls danced nonstop, while others were locked in cages, completely bare. I could swear some were even younger than me. By the gods, how could a place like this exist? I was certain every woman there was against her will. I tried to ignore the sadness flooding my heart. What had the wizarding world become? Those girls should be at Hogwarts, preparing for exams, playing Quidditch, or just hanging out with friends. Tears rolled down my cheeks. I wanted to escape the guilt. Should I have fought harder in the war? Did I not give enough? I fought with all my strength, but the lives lost, the sacrifices made… none of it mattered. It would all be forgotten in a lost war. My heart raced, and a pressure in my chest warned me I was about to hyperventilate.

“Weasley, I’m here.” Malfoy’s hand brought me back to reality as he looked into my eyes. I nodded briefly.

The final corridor led to countless doors from which laughter, moans, screams, and wails escaped, but above all, suffering. I didn’t want to imagine what was happening in those rooms. Malfoy held me tightly as we reached a bright red door. I swallowed hard, knowing what awaited.

The door swung open suddenly, and we seized the moment to slip inside. That room was horror incarnate. A young wizard was being sexually tortured by the Lestrange brothers while other Death Eaters watched the spectacle with lustful eyes. It was a visually terrifying scene. I realized they were no longer human.

“Boys aren’t my thing, but look at this kid’s face. I got hard the moment I saw him in Diagon Alley looking for his mother,” Lestrange said, laughing as he continued thrusting.

“You’re a fag,” Yaxley spat.

My eyes locked on him instantly. His voice was as chilling as I remembered: the insults, the blows, the curses that man had hurled at Hermione. I felt as helpless as I did in that cell.

“I bet you’re hard just watching this kid moan loud and clear,” Lestrange said, grabbing the boy by the hair as his movements grew more erratic.

“You know, I’m going to teach the prettiest witch in the hall a lesson,” Yaxley said, heading to the other side of the corridor and grabbing the hand of a teenage girl, about fifteen years old. She was blonde, thin, but her eyes were flooded with tears. “No, please,” her pleas sounded haunting.

“You don’t get to talk,” he said, slapping her so hard it split her lip. Blood started dripping from her mouth.

He grabbed her arm tightly and dragged her to a room down the hall. We followed with determination. Malfoy showed no emotion; he seemed bored. The four of us entered a room with nothing but an old mattress on the floor.

“Today, I’m going to fuck you like an animal. A woman like you doesn’t deserve a bed,” Yaxley said.

Malfoy took his wand and placed it in my hand. Then, he headed to the room’s bathroom with the Invisibility Cloak, leaving me hidden behind a sofa. The witch stood abruptly and ran to the bathroom, leaving Yaxley alone. I stepped out from my hiding spot, gripping the wand as if my life depended on it. He smiled, showing his rotten teeth. I knew he was unarmed because his wand was across the room.

“The beautiful Weasley wants to join and spread her legs for me,” he said, clicking his tongue. “Malfoy’s spoiled brat won’t like this situation.”

“Tonight, you’ll be judged for your sins,” I said firmly, aiming directly at his heart.

“It’s a shame your filthy Muggle-born friend can’t join us for a threesome,” his venomous tongue struck my mind.

I felt uncontrollable rage, and my soul unleashed a power I’d never felt before. Dark magic coursed through my veins.

“*Avada Kedavra!*” The spell shot out, and the monster’s body fell to the floor.

My world collapsed. It was my first kill. I had truly taken a life. Maybe he didn’t deserve to live, but my soul had been consumed. I fell to my knees for a few minutes.

“What a disappointment, Weasley. I expected better from you,” Malfoy said, standing in front of me with a sneer of disdain.

I looked up and met his eyes. He was holding the girl, her eyes swollen. I didn’t have time to react. Malfoy pulled a knife from his cloak and stabbed her in the neck. She collapsed, trying to stop the bleeding.

“What the hell are you doing, you bastard?” I screamed, lunging toward the dying body, trying to help in a futile struggle.

“My reading hour has started, Weasley. Now I like you even less. How could an *Avada Kedavra* satisfy you? I’m sure the girl in your arms suffered more than that bastard you cursed,” he said, pacing the room, erasing any trace of our brief presence. “Take your hands off her. I’ll clean this up.”

I let go of the lifeless body and watched the scene. Malfoy placed Yaxley’s wand in the girl’s hand and the knife in the monster’s, creating a believable crime scene. After all, he was a killer. I couldn’t forget he was just like the man I’d killed moments before. He approached me, taking his wand from my hand; I hadn’t even realized I was still holding it. He cast some spells I didn’t recognize. Then, he crouched to my level, lifted me into his arms, and covered us with the Invisibility Cloak. Leaving the room was easy, as few people remained, and those who did were no longer conscious. As we left the place, I rested my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Somehow, I wished it would stop.

I kept my eyes closed the entire journey back. When I finally mustered the courage to open them, I was in a study in the mansion. Malfoy sat me in an armchair and handed me a bottle of firewhisky.

“You’ll need it,” he said, sitting across from me in another armchair, a glass in his hand. His entire presence radiated power and wealth.

I took the bottle and drank deeply, noticing Malfoy’s surprised look. Each drop burned my throat, but I didn’t stop until I couldn’t anymore. Half the bottle would surely cause problems, but I just wanted to forget everything. The voices and thoughts in my head needed to stop once and for all.

Long minutes of silence followed, accompanied by my tears. I felt the warmth of the alcohol in my stomach, and my cheeks flushed. My mind felt strange, at peace, free of negative thoughts. Malfoy watched me coldly.

“I think about you and our time at Hogwarts. We barely interacted a couple of times,” I said, settling comfortably as I undid my braid. “Of course, I knew about you: the richest wizard in the wizarding world. I hate to admit it, but you were quite handsome. Anyone with eyes could see that. But you weren’t as popular as me. What great times, being the star of the team! I didn’t show it, but I knew everyone wanted me in some way. I wasn’t vain, but I craved it. I always wanted what others had,” I laughed sincerely.

“You were quite an attractive girl, Weasley, I’ll admit,” he said, his eyes darkening.

“So, Malfoy, why are we in this situation? We barely know each other,” I said, searching for a clue in his gaze.

“I like you. You were an object I had to possess. I always get what I want,” he said, crossing his arms brazenly.

“Am I an object to you?” The question trembled on my lips.

“What else would you be to me, if not an object?” His words sounded sincere.

This wasn’t my life. I was in a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. Maybe I was just hallucinating. It had to be a dream, and my father would soon come to comfort me. I stood and sat astride Malfoy’s legs.

“Make me forget everything, even if just for a few minutes, please,” I said, kissing him hard, my hands on his chest.

For a few seconds, he didn’t respond to my touch, but he finally gave in. His hands found my hips as our mouths burned. His tongue entered my mouth, stifling my moans. It was a needy, lustful kiss. I felt his hard member against my core. My mouth left his to trail down to his neck, where my lips sucked on his porcelain skin. He smelled of expensive cologne, awakening emotions that distracted my mind from sadness. It was forbidden, morally wrong, and his masculinity stirred my lust. I wanted to drown in alcohol while spreading my legs for him. Nothing mattered; the world had ended, and I wanted to be consumed by every sin.

My hand desperately sought his zipper. He shuddered at the sight of me, stood, and let me fall backward to the floor.

“Don’t touch me, damn it!” he shouted.

Chapter Text

Chapter 12

The silence enveloped the mansion. Three weeks had passed without a trace of Malfoy, who had slipped away like an elusive shadow. The *Daily Prophet* was my only connection to the outside world; its pages were filled with reports about Voldemort’s new regime, led by his impeccable blond general. Each day, the world crumbled further into the hands of monsters, while I, Ginny Weasley, lay in bed, eating ice cream and flipping through the most despicable witch magazine in the wizarding world. The news of the Greengrass heiress’s marriage to Walden Macnair, accompanied by a revolting image, dominated the headlines. We were in hell, and everyone had to pay the price for their survival—whether with their body, mind, or life.

An angelic sound interrupted my thoughts: the melancholic notes of a piano filled the incomprehensible void of the mansion’s walls. I got up and walked barefoot through the corridors, searching for the source of the music, though deep down, I always knew where it came from.

Draco Malfoy sat at the piano, his fingers gliding delicately over the keys, weaving a sublime melody. His posture was rigid yet focused, his hair falling over his eyes, glinting in the moonlight filtering through the window. My gaze fixed on the blood covering his fingers, hands, face, hair, and body. Each drop of the viscous liquid fell onto the wooden floor, creating a constant, unsettling drip. He took a sip of firewhisky; some drops spilled from the corners of his lips, evoking a disturbing image in my mind.

“Still a slut, Weasley?” he asked without looking at me, his voice dripping with disdain. “Don’t try to seduce me tonight, or I’ll have to kill you.”

He stood abruptly and approached with an intensity that made me step back.

“I’ve been so bored. Give me something, Weasley, or I’ll kill you.”

His eyes, more black than gray, burned with rage. I felt vulnerable, dressed only in my pajamas and barefoot, as he moved like a predator stalking its prey.

“You’re drunk,” I whispered, barely audible.

“And you’re a fool, Weasley,” he retorted, stepping back to pace the room slowly, bottle of whisky in hand. “It was a mistake to take an interest in you. You’re not what I expected.”

His words hit me hard. Before, I might have brushed them off as a senseless joke, but now they cut deeply. I had disappointed everyone who relied on me, and the thought made my hands tremble.

“Hermione said alcohol is for losers—it destroys brain cells,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“Of course, dear Gin, but Granger and I can afford to lose a few neurons. We’re above average,” he replied with a fake smile. “Now that I think about it, the Mudblood had a brilliant mind and wasn’t bad-looking. I wonder if I should’ve saved her instead of you.”

“Hermione would never have accepted that, you idiot,” I snapped, indignant.

“But you did,” he said with a cruel laugh. “Don’t be jealous. I’d never waste my time with a filthy Mudblood. Look at me and tell me if you think I’d taint my lineage with someone like her.”

Hermione was the brightest witch of our generation. She didn’t need pure blood or a fancy surname to shine; it was all in her mind.

“And I’m all that, Gin. Haven’t you noticed?” His fingers slowly unbuttoned his shirt. “I chose you on a whim, like picking a dessert.” His shirt fell to the floor, revealing his torso. “I know there’s something dark in you, something that can do what I want, something that can be mine.”

His bare torso revealed scars I recognized instantly, but the Dark Mark on his forearm stood out starkly against his pale skin. The moonlight revealed a side of Malfoy I didn’t know. When he turned to look out the window, I saw his back, covered in countless dark and reddish scars, hinting at recent wounds.

“They were made with a magical whip, Weasley. Each one was for you.”

I approached cautiously, gently tracing each scar with my fingertips, studying them closely.

“You weren’t the best in the Order, Weasley. I was always there, in the shadows. Every mission you succeeded in was thanks to my help from afar. Did you never wonder why we never crossed paths in battle? Every victory of yours was a defeat for me.” He turned quickly, staring into my eyes. “And I’d do it again.”

My throat went dry as I processed his words, each one heavy with meaning.

“I’d kill anyone who hurt you,” he said with an uneasy smile. “But, Gin, I’m the one who wants to hurt you the most.”

I ran to my room, locking the door. Sobbing, I feared he’d follow. And he did.

Malfoy burst into my room. I knew what awaited and shut my eyes tightly. The first slap came, followed by a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth.

“I have to punish you, darling. It’s disrespectful to walk away in the middle of a conversation. Kneel, Weasley,” he ordered, his voice laced with sinister darkness.

I knelt, trembling with fear. He was drunk, unstable, and in that moment, he had absolute control.

“This isn’t random, darling. Before coming here, I killed five wizards, but I was still bored and disturbed because of you. What you did last time didn’t sit well with me. Tell me, when have I ever touched you without your permission or crossed a line? I expected the same from you.”

With my head bowed to the floor, I fought to hold back tears. He circled me, seeking a reaction. His footsteps stopped behind me. With a spell, he removed my robe, leaving me in my underwear. I heard the sound of his belt buckle, and my breathing grew heavy.

His belt struck my back with force, drawing a piercing scream from me. I dug my nails into my thighs, desperate for something to cling to. The second blow was harder, and my body collapsed to the floor. Tormented screams and wails poured from my lips, reflecting the agony I endured.

He didn’t stop. Each strike was more intense, as if he found thrill in every impact. Blood began to seep from the wounds on my back; some drops slid down my skin. If I’d counted, there would’ve been more than twenty. The final blow was the cruelest: the belt’s buckle dug into my ravaged back, the metal piercing every prior wound. My body lay motionless, paralyzed by pain.

“You have no idea how aroused I am,” he whispered in my ear.

My eyes remained closed as I struggled to breathe. I felt his tongue trace my back, lingering over each wound with unsettling slowness.

That man, who had left every mark on my body that night, held me in his arms, bathed me carefully, and healed every wound he had caused.

He placed me face-down on the bed with an unsettling gentleness and kissed my cheek.

“You won’t have any scars, Gin,” he whispered in my ear.

Chapter Text

Chapter 13

My body ached with a relentless, burning pain. I didn’t dare move; any attempt would only worsen the discomfort. My eyes remained closed, but I could sense Draco’s presence beside the bed, his cold, oppressive energy filling the room.

“Was it you who did this to me, Draco?” I asked, my voice trembling, barely above a whisper, as my heart pounded in my throat.

“Yes, Ginevra. It was me,” he replied, his tone chillingly neutral, sending shivers down my spine. “By the way, we’re getting married on Saturday.” Without another word, he left the room, leaving me alone with the echo of his words.

The last thing I could clearly recall was the fleeting sensation of his lips against mine. Now, I awoke to an unbearable burning in my cheeks and, most intensely, across my back. My head throbbed as I struggled to piece together fragments of my memory. In the distance, the soft notes of a piano drifted through the walls. Then, memories hit me like a tidal wave: me, crumpled on the floor, Draco striking me with his belt. It wasn’t a nightmare—he had confirmed it himself.

Who was Draco Malfoy? The question sprouted in my mind like a seed ready to bloom. Since waking in this place, my memories were distorted, a shattered puzzle I couldn’t solve. I doubted my mind, my feelings, everything I thought I knew. I needed answers, to uncover what was truly happening. I assumed Draco and I had some kind of relationship at Hogwarts, that he had saved me after the fall of the wizarding world. But that didn’t explain the pain or the fear now gripping me.

Gathering what little strength I had, I made my way to the library. Among the dusty shelves, I found a heavy, ancient tome: The Sacred Twenty-Eight Pure-Blood Families of Britain. It was a magical book, its pages whispering as I turned them. I searched for my family tree. The Weasley names were marked in red, signaling their extinction. Only my name remained in bold black, a solitary mark of life. The Malfoy page was much the same: only Draco’s name stood out in stark black ink. Both our families, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

I flipped through more pages, desperate for answers. Blood purists, the Dark Lord’s regime, the wizarding wars, the Boy Who Lived, the fall of the magical world... It was an overwhelming flood of information, a chaos of facts I couldn’t connect. The only certainty was that I was Ginevra Weasley, and he was Draco Malfoy.

Overwhelmed by my own ignorance, I wandered through the unfamiliar corridors of the mansion, avoiding Draco at all costs. My body trembled at the mere thought of being in the same room as him.

“You’re a Weasley!” a stranger’s voice startled me, making my skin prickle.

I turned, searching for the source, but found only a portrait hanging on the wall. It depicted a young man, about twenty years old, with a kind smile and features eerily reminiscent of Draco. As I stepped closer, fragmented memories flashed through my mind like lightning. The wizarding world... I belonged to it.

“That red hair, those freckles... You’re undoubtedly a Weasley, a descendant of my dear June,” the portrait said, his warm smile a stark contrast to the mansion’s cold atmosphere.

“Ginevra Weasley,” I replied, my hands shaking. “Though, honestly, I don’t remember much about my family. I feel so... lost.”

“You’re afraid,” the portrait observed, his compassionate gaze soothing my racing heart. “The portraits in this mansion whisper. A blood-traitor like Draco is unworthy of the Malfoy name. Tell me, Ginevra, did he hurt you?”

“He... he hit me,” I admitted, tears spilling from my swollen eyes.

“Draco Malfoy is a disgrace to this lineage,” the portrait said, his voice heavy with disdain. “If I weren’t trapped in this frame, I’d deal with him myself. You remind me so much of June Weasley.”

“June Weasley?” My curiosity piqued at the name.

“June and I were engaged in 1875,” he said, his tone tinged with melancholy. “We were both pure-bloods, but our families didn’t share the same ideals. We planned to run away to Italy, but I fell ill with a deadly magical disease.” He sighed deeply. “I hope she lived a happy life. Seeing you today, Ginevra, brings me joy—you’re so much like her. It’s a pity you’re tied to the scum of the Malfoy line.”

“I’m sorry, I have to go. Draco will be angry,” I said, hurrying away from the corridor toward my room. The rest of the day was consumed by reading books and articles about the wizarding world, searching for any clue to make sense of my reality.

The room was empty when I returned, and I sighed in relief. I rushed through a shower, dressed, and brushed my hair in record time, my plan to be asleep before Draco appeared in his usual spot by the bed. For a few blissful minutes, the pain in my body had dulled significantly, and the quiet was almost soothing. But that peace shattered when Draco’s figure loomed beside the bed.

“Turn over. I want to check your wounds,” he said, his gaze warm yet laced with a frown of concern. When I didn’t move, he sighed heavily. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

“I don’t want your hands on me,” I said, my voice firm despite the fear curling in my chest.

He smirked, running a hand through his hair. “A few days ago, you wanted to sleep with me, and now you won’t even let me heal your wounds. That’s quite a mood swing, Weasley.”

“You hit me, Draco,” I said, my voice breaking.

He smiled, a genuine, unsettling smile. “Let me show you, Gin.” He grabbed my head, his grip firm, and his eyes seemed to pierce into my mind.

Memories flooded my head—his memories. I saw myself on my knees, his belt striking me, open wounds, blood dripping, my cries and screams echoing. He was showing me what he’d done.

“Last night was the most thrilling thing I’ve ever done, Weasley,” he said, stepping back. “I want to do it again. You have no idea how much joy you brought me.”

“I love you, Draco. Why do you hurt me?” My words came out as a whisper, raw and desperate.

“You love me?” he scoffed, his expression unreadable. “That’s pathetic, Weasley. You don’t even know me. Your head’s all twisted up. Give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want.” He stepped closer, brushing his fingers against my cheek. “I’ll marry you, kiss you as much as you like. Let me do it again, and the world will be yours.”

“That’s not love, Draco,” I said, searching his eyes for any trace of humanity. “You’re hurting me. I don’t care if you’re a sadistic killer, but don’t hurt me like this.”

“Listen, Gin,” he said, his voice low and intense. “I’m a virgin. I never cared for sex. Other things... they’ve always brought me pleasure in ways I can’t explain. This isn’t about rituals or power like Potter’s nonsense. I’m no coward.” His words faltered, and he cursed under his breath. “Damn it, I’m talking to the wrong Weasley. But what I mean is, last night was so satisfying I wanted to take you right then and there. I’ve never felt that kind of desire before, but you—you’re like a poison, consuming me. Let me do it again. I know you want it too.”

“I don’t,” I said, my voice steady with resolve.

“I’ll do it anyway,” he said, his grip tightening on my cheek.

The days passed in a blur, each one marked by the weight of the ring on my finger—a constant reminder of my fate. By the weekend, I would be married to Draco. The mansion buzzed with servants preparing every detail of the wedding. Anxiety gnawed at me, but darker thoughts tormented me even more. Could I endure physical pain for the promise of love? I pushed those thoughts away, avoiding them as fiercely as I avoided Draco.

The wedding of General Malfoy would undoubtedly be a legendary affair—lavish, opulent, dripping with wealth and fame, as everything associated with Draco always was. Lost in thought, sitting on the grand staircase and watching the flurry of activity, a voice snapped me out of my reverie.

“You look sick, Weasley. Get up already; we need to try on your damn dress,” said a young, elegant woman with long black hair and olive-green eyes. Her face felt familiar, as if we’d met before.

I followed her silently to the main hall, where a team of seamstresses awaited. The afternoon passed in a haze of measurements, fabric swatches, and color tests, all conducted in near silence.

“Miss Parkinson, a pleasure to have you here,” the head seamstress said with a polite smile.

“Madam Malkin, the pleasure is mine. It’s an honor to assist with General Malfoy’s wedding preparations,” the woman—Parkinson—replied.

“As always, Mr. Malfoy has exquisite taste. Miss Weasley is a beautiful witch,” Madam Malkin said, her warm glance lingering on me.

“She is,” Parkinson agreed with a genuine laugh. “I’d say she was the most coveted witch at Hogwarts.”

I didn’t respond, my eyes fixed on the floor, unwilling to engage.

“Miss Weasley, your wedding ensemble has been designed to fit every inch of your body perfectly,” Madam Malkin continued. “As you’re surely aware, per pure-blood customs, the negligée will be delivered to your room.”

I nodded slowly, barely processing her words.

“Malfoy’s quite the gentleman, isn’t he?” Parkinson said with a sneer. “A negligée for a blood-traitor. How chivalrous.”

Madam Malkin excused herself, leaving me alone with Parkinson, who studied me with open curiosity.

“Will it hurt?” I blurted out, my voice betraying my nerves. “The... consummation?”

Parkinson’s laugh filled the room. “If you mean sex, of course it’ll hurt. I doubt Draco’s the gentle type.” She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “That’s an interesting confession, Weasley. I can’t believe someone like you is still a virgin.”

“I am,” I said defiantly, “and I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

“Well, well, Weasley, you really were a prude,” she mocked. “You should’ve gotten it over with one of your boyfriends when you had the chance. Now it’s too late. The man you’re marrying doesn’t seem like the kind type. Men like him only care about their own pleasure.”

“I want Draco to be my first. And my last,” I said, my voice trembling but resolute.

Parkinson’s expression shifted to disbelief. “Listen to yourself, Weasley. Malfoy slaughtered your family. Have you lost your mind in the war, or are you under an Imperius Curse?”

“What did you just say?” I asked, my heart stopping.

Chapter Text

Chapther 14

My legs trembled as I paced the room, two women fussing over my makeup and adjusting my dress. What was I doing, just minutes away from marrying the person who, days ago, had tortured me? I wondered if the other version of myself would be happy with this wedding. After all, the lavish ceremony seemed so unimaginable that I hadn’t even dreamed of it in my wildest fantasies. The dress, naturally, was traditional among the purest families, especially those who could afford to squander galleons, like the Malfoys. My red hair was partially pinned up, with the lower half cascading in curls. I wondered if I’d ever escape. The clock ticked faster and faster, and my heart kept pace.

“Weasley, I hate to admit it, but you’ll undoubtedly grace the covers of countless magazines. You look stunning,” Parkinson’s voice cut through my thoughts.

“It’s a pity you survived the war,” I shot back, my words dripping with resentment.

“I could say the same, weasel,” she replied, slipping a potion I didn’t recognize into my hand. “It’s lubricant. You’ll probably need it.” She left the room without another word.

I scoffed, helpless. The world had truly fallen to ruins. Pansy Parkinson showing kindness was the strangest thing I could imagine from her. Of course, I wasn’t going to use the potion. I knew what would come after the ceremony. If I had to sleep with Malfoy, I wanted it to be raw, unfiltered. I didn’t want to enjoy it; I wanted his mark on my body to remind me of my failures in the war. I wanted every moment to hurt. If he was going to tear me apart, I wanted to feel every scratch.

Each step down the flower-strewn aisle felt painfully endless. They were daisies, and for a moment, I remembered my home, how they grew wildly across the grounds near The Burrow. The ceremony was held in one of the manor’s main gardens at dusk, as the sun dipped below the horizon, ushering in the long night. I felt the gazes—hatred, disgust, and, most disturbingly, lust—from some of the Death Eaters. Strangers scrutinized every detail of me. At the end of the aisle stood Draco Malfoy, clad in a ceremonial robe, his gaze distant and his brow furrowed. When he saw me, his face twisted into a smug, triumphant smirk, like a spoiled child getting his way. The dress clung to me, everything felt too small, and I knew it in my bones: I was on the verge of a panic attack, ready to collapse under the weight of my anxiety.

Malfoy approached, took my hand, and placed a gentle kiss on it. His gray eyes radiated a calmness that soothed my nerves, and that’s when I knew something was terribly, fatally wrong. The ceremony was short and dull, yet I felt Malfoy’s gaze on me every second. What thoughts ran through the mind of someone like him? It was a mystery. Finally, the officiant recited the vows:

“This union represents triumph and the preservation of pure blood.
Ancestral magic flows through our veins; this bond, once forged, shall never break.
The sacred, those who came before us and those who will carry our name through the centuries.
You and I are a beacon in a world bound by mediocrity.”

I could’ve guessed Malfoy’s vows would come with his usual pure-blood rhetoric. I stifled a laugh. So predictable, so tedious. I cleared my throat to respond:

“Magic represents unity and strength; that is what we are.
The bond we seal today will endure through the ages.
You and I will be one, as the magic in our blood.
For I, Ginevra Weasley, was born for you, Draco Malfoy.”

He kissed me softly, in a way no man in my limited experience ever had. He took my hand, made a cut across my palm, and did the same to his. Our hands joined, our blood mingled, sealing a magical bond. As the magic manifested, an ethereal knot wove our essences together.

The ceremony gave way to the main hall, where I’d swear half the gold in the wizarding world was on display. Wizards danced and drank themselves into a stupor. Malfoy mingled with the guests, accepting the most insipid congratulations I’d ever heard. At the head table, I sat alone. As I watched the scene, memories of Bill and Fleur’s wedding flooded back—full of joy and love, just before the wizarding world collapsed. The dancing, the homemade food, my mother sewing my dress… The magic felt different then; love radiated from the couple. I hadn’t thought about marriage until I witnessed that day. But now, my mind kept warning me about how I felt after sealing our union, as if my magic had never been whole, as if I’d been breathing half a life. Malfoy’s touch filled my soul with life, like a dying fire he’d reignited. His touch was electric; my lungs seemed to stop breathing air and instead consumed him. I desired him like a sin about to be committed. If there was an elixir of resurrection, it was surely Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy wore an all-black suit. That an assassin could be so handsome should be considered treason. He smiled at a witch, his features a blend of delicacy and masculinity. His blond hair was tied back in a perfect bun, the sides freshly shaved. His gray eyes held an unusual glint that night. He caught my gaze, approached, and took a curl of my hair, whispering in my ear:

“I have a wedding gift for you,” his voice low and firm.

My throat went dry. If his idea of a gift was what I feared, I refused to show any pleasure. His proximity still sent shivers down my spine. What happened that night marked a turning point for us.

He took my hand, and I felt the curious stares of the onlookers. They knew what we’d do, what was coming. It made me feel sick, nauseous. I barely noticed the path we took, lost in thoughts of what I should do. Could I still fight, or was surrender the better option? He’d already shown me he’d have no mercy in hurting me. But the wine I’d sipped during the ceremony warmed my senses, giving me courage. I assumed the worst when I realized we were in the manor’s dungeons. Merlin, I’d at least hoped for a bed.

“I have a special gift for you. Prove you’re still worth it,” he said with a condescending smile.

Bound to a chair was Lestrange, that rat. A grin spread across my face. I understood what Malfoy had done for me. All his decorum and hospitality at the wedding was the perfect alibi. He never left loose ends—except me.

“You’re a traitor. When the Dark Lord hears of this, he’ll have your head,” Lestrange’s frantic voice echoed off the walls.

“The Dark Lord will have my head?” Malfoy circled the room, his expression mocking. “That old fool will meet his end soon enough. I’ll send him to the same place my wife will send you tonight.”

Lestrange leered at me. “Weasley bitch, I couldn’t stop staring at that arse all night, and those exquisite tits in that tight dress. When I get out of here, you’ll bear all my heirs.”

I let out a restrained laugh. “Someone like you, in that state, making threats? That’s nothing but a bad joke.”

Malfoy cleared his throat. “While I’m taking that dress off her tonight and between her legs, I’ll remember your words, Lestrange.” He sat in a corner chair, silent.

I felt his wand appear in my hand. I knew what he wanted—what I wanted.

“Crucio!” My voice carried a dark strength.

As Lestrange writhed on the floor, I felt a deep joy. Hermione would be avenged. Every drop of spilled blood was for her. She wouldn’t be forgotten, not while I still stood. The war was lost, but I was still here.

“Crucio!” The spell surged with even greater force. His screams filled my ears, but I felt no pity. This was justice. In the wizarding world, there were only two kinds of wizards: those at the top and those at the bottom.

“You feel so powerful with Malfoy by your side, but don’t forget I saw you helpless and unworthy in that cell. Where was your strength then?” His words echoed in my mind.

Furious, I approached, seized the wand, and drove it into one of his eyes. Blood splattered my dress. I repeated the act on the other eye. Rage clouded my senses, but I could hear Malfoy’s laughter echoing through the room.

“You’re not worthy of looking at me, filthy Death Eater. Remember how Ginny Weasley killed you.” I cast an Avada Kedavra with staggering force.

The incessant drip of blood from his empty sockets still echoed. I looked at my blood-stained dress. In the blink of an eye, Malfoy took his wand and apparated us to his chambers.

Chapter Text

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Chapter 16

Two weeks had passed since the brutal murder at the wedding, an act that shook the foundations of the regime. Draco Malfoy, ever the puppeteer, vanished during that time, leaving an unsettling silence in his wake. Two damned weeks of peace, shattered when the duties of the Death Eaters came knocking like a hammer. The crime—a direct affront, killing a high-ranking official in the very home of the army’s first general—demanded retribution. For the first few days, I slept with my heart in a vise, terrified that someone would uncover the truth of what had happened and drag me back to that infernal cell. Yet, despite everything, I trusted that damned bastard, Malfoy. He knew how to move the pieces on this deadly chessboard, how to use them to his advantage.

My magic had changed. I could feel it thrumming inside me, fiercer, wilder, like a fire that refused to be contained. I knew I had been with Draco, though there was no ritual, only a whirlwind of desire and chaos. Fragments of memories hit me like gusts of autumn wind: Pansy Parkinson’s confession, admitting that Draco had slaughtered my family, was the most haunting. My power grew stronger every day, and with it, the shattered pieces of my mind began to fit together, like a broken puzzle slowly reassembling.

In the early hours of the fifteenth day, Draco burst into my room. His face, exhausted yet brimming with that signature arrogance, sent a chill through me.

“You slaughtered my family,” I whispered, my voice barely concealing my fear.

He threw off his cloak with a theatrical flourish, revealing a white shirt stained with blood. He was wounded, a deep gash across his ribs. Who could have hurt him? Draco Malfoy, the untouchable.

“A hunt for weasels,” he said with a sardonic smirk, unbuttoning his shirt to expose the wound.

“You had no right,” I screamed, my voice breaking. “If you wanted me, you could have left them alone. They were my family!”

“Weasley, I don’t have time for your dramatics,” he snapped, aiming his wand at the wound and muttering healing spells with cold precision.

Rage blinded me. Without thinking, I lunged at him with all my strength, knocking him to the floor. We rolled in a frenzy of blows. It wouldn’t solve anything, but Merlin, how liberating it was to smash that arrogant face! With a single move, Draco flung me across the room, his eyes blazing with restrained fury.

“I’ll confess my sins if it makes you happy,” he said, stepping closer as I struggled to catch my breath. “Arthur got an Unforgivable. Bill, the same, along with his wife. Charlie fell to a cursed blade. Percy… I don’t quite recall, maybe dismemberment. The twins were an experiment. Ron went to the gallows. And your mother… well, she suffered a bit more.” He leaned in, brushing my hair with a gentleness that clashed with his words. “I wonder how I’ll finish off the last weasel.”

“I’ll kill you, Draco Malfoy,” I said, my eyes dry, rage consuming any tears.

“Mad at me?” he mocked, his smile like a knife. “Want me to fetch you another Death Eater to kill? I’ll let you pick a name.”

My silence was answer enough. The anger grew, but to him, it was all a game, a hunt. Draco had always been a name on my list, but the last one. I still needed him. He was, after all, an ally.

“As compensation, I’ll return your wand,” he said, pulling that wooden relic from his pocket. “But only if you forgive me.”

He grinned with that infuriating, boyish arrogance that both disarmed and enraged me. He placed the wand in my hands, grazing my cheek with a soft kiss. It couldn’t be real. He was wounded, unarmed, and yet he handed me the weapon to destroy him. My Weasley impulsiveness took over. I aimed at his chest and, without hesitation, spoke the words.

“Sectumsempra.”

Draco collapsed, blood pouring from the gashes tearing across his chest. He tried to stem the bleeding with trembling hands, but life was slipping away. I approached, frozen by my own actions, staring at the disaster I’d caused.

“Bloody hell, Weasley, you actually hurt me,” he said, his voice faint but tinged with something I couldn’t place. Surprise? Pain?

His eyes began to close. Panic surged through me. If Draco died, everything would end for me. Idiot, Ginny, you acted without thinking again.

“Draco, tell me how to heal you!” I screamed, holding him tightly as blood soaked the floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought it was a joke, that you’d defend yourself. Tell me the counterspell!”

My tears fell onto his face. I wasn’t a healer; that was never my role in the war. I didn’t know how to save him. In the midst of the chaos, a dozen house-elves appeared in the room, their eyes wide with terror at the scene.

“Tell me how to save him! He can’t die!” I begged.

“Mistress, the young master cannot die. He is the last of his line. The manor brought us to help,” said an elderly elf, his voice shaky but resolute.

“I need the counterspell for Sectumsempra!” I shouted. The elves scattered in search of answers while others tended to Draco.

I cradled his head in my lap, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. I was trying to save the man who destroyed my family. Then, Theodore Nott appeared at the door, his face contorted in horror at the sight of Draco bleeding out.

“Merlin’s beard, Draco’s dying!” He rushed forward, casting medical spells with surprising skill.

“We were arguing… it was an accident,” I stammered, my voice breaking.

“Ginny, you tried to kill him. A Sectumsempra doesn’t just slip out in an argument,” he shot me a hostile glare.

“It was an accident!” I insisted, my lips trembling.

The night stretched on endlessly. Nott worked tirelessly, revealing healing skills I never imagined a Death Eater could possess. Draco, lying on my bed, looked like an innocent boy, barely twenty, his face relaxed and his breathing faint. No one would believe it was an accident. But what was Draco thinking, giving me my wand? It was reckless, even for him.

Nott kept a wary eye on me, isolating me on the far side of the room. Three weeks passed before Draco regained consciousness. While he slept, the wizarding world crumbled. The Daily Prophet reported that Draco Malfoy had been attacked outside the Ministry—a lie spun by Nott to protect him. With several Death Eaters murdered and a direct attack on the Dark Lord’s favorite protégé, the regime teetered on the edge of chaos.

When Draco finally awoke, his fury was immediate. He stood and attacked, his hand gripping my throat tightly.

“You attacked me, Ginevra!” he roared, his eyes blazing with rage.

“I saved you, Draco!” I gasped, barely able to speak through the pressure on my throat.

“Actually, that was me,” Nott interjected, rolling his eyes. “Your elves contacted me. When I got here, you were bleeding out, and Weasley was sobbing because she didn’t know how to save you. Not exactly the brightest witch in the class.”

Draco released me, sighing close to my face. I fled to the other side of the room, seeking distance.

“By the way, I captured Carrow,” Nott added, helping Draco back to bed. “Be careful, Draco. There’s a spy among us. They’re hunting Death Eaters, and your name is on that list.”

“Did you hear that, Weasley?” Draco said, glaring at me with disdain. “It was a gift for you, but right now, I’m pissed.”

“I figured you were giving Weasley gifts,” Nott said with a knowing smirk. “You’re the only psychopath capable of slaughtering allies right under the Dark Lord’s nose.”

Nott left, leaving a heavy silence. I approached Draco, forcing a timid smile.

“I’ll take care of you. We can call a truce, at least until you recover.”

Draco studied me, taking in my outfit: a brightly colored knitted sweater, loose pants, and socks without shoes. His gaze softened for a moment.

“You look happy, Ginny,” he said, pretending to close his eyes.

Chapter Text

Chapter 17

The war had begun, shrouding the atmosphere in fear and uncertainty. Two opposing factions clashed, each determined to claim victory. The Order of the Phoenix had grown strong enough to glimpse a possible triumph, but their compassion clouded their judgment, leading to a growing list of casualties. They had splendid wizards, yet each day was a battle nearly impossible to win. The Death Eaters held firm lines, their dominion expanding relentlessly, spreading unease throughout the wizarding world.

An elite team composed of the Weasley twins and their younger sister, Ginny, was unmatched in every skirmish, their missions consistently successful. Yet, they were overshadowed by a deadly group of Death Eaters led by Draco Malfoy, whose confidence and power reached their zenith after he assassinated Dumbledore. After all, he was an elite student, raised his entire life to master magic. Ironically, the Weasley team and Malfoy never faced each other in a duel; no such coincidence ever occurred.

Two years of fighting ended when the Order teetered on the brink of extinction, and Harry Potter was captured by Draco Malfoy, who delivered him to Voldemort for a tragic end. Even so, whispers spoke of a fighting spirit that lingered in the hearts of a few who managed to escape. Hermione Granger was the face of the Order of the Phoenix. Rarely entering battle, she was a master strategist and the greatest healer in the wizarding world, occasionally reversing the horrific effects of spells cast by the youngest Malfoy. If only she had more allies to support her revolutionary ideas, their fate might have been different.

Soon after the battle where the wizarding world surrendered to the Dark Lord’s new regime, Harry Potter was beheaded before all, marking the end of the magical war. As expected, everything was structured in a pyramid, with their philosophy placing them at the top, trampling over many below. The new regime was built on the suffering of thousands of witches and wizards, spreading across Europe like a plague.

The so-called magical court was occupied solely by five pure-blood families—Malfoy, Black, Lestrange, Nott, and Avery—who led the regime, holding the most powerful positions after the Dark Lord. Rumors circulated that Voldemort was gravely wounded, his spirit fading. Even the ancient pure-blood families were ranked by wealth and influence. After the mysterious deaths of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Draco gained two primary votes in the magical court, making him the second most powerful figure in the wizarding world.

The first inhumane decree approved was the extermination of all Muggle-borns, who were nearly extinct by this point. No mercy was shown; even newborns were killed. Blood purity was paramount. Tolerance for half-bloods was a rigid societal boundary, though they were deemed slightly more important than Muggles. Their lower ranks allowed them a quiet life with simple jobs, but they could never aspire to greater roles in the wizarding world.

When Voldemort ceased to appear publicly, Draco Malfoy emerged as the new face of the regime, embodying its core values: pure blood, wealth, influence, and talent. With Voldemort’s fading life, defeating him might have been feasible, but not Draco Malfoy—he was the regime’s unassailable fortress. No one dared challenge or confront him. The wizarding world knew the prestigious heir was not the most stable wizard; whispers spoke of his growing neurosis, not to mention his penchant for murder and sadistic behavior. He was an untouchable piece on the chessboard. After terrorizing and nearly decimating half of England’s wizarding population, his crimes spread to Eastern Europe, where resistance still lingered—though not for long once he appeared on the battlefield.

Malfoy reveled in locking himself in his manor to create curses and, of course, potions, his exceptional talent undeniable. The regime, now successfully established, ceased to be a future prospect and became the present. People could scarcely remember life before the war. Resignation soothes the soul, though it denies it. Bellatrix and Malfoy were tasked with finding a cure for the Dark Lord. After fragmenting his soul so many times, no one imagined he would fail to recover from the exhaustion of his magic upon the destruction of his final Horcrux. Each day, his magic waned, and his body weakened rapidly. Even the oldest magical communities offered no clear answers to his condition. But the darkest wizard of all time would not surrender so easily. Malfoy was chosen for the most horrific experiments in history: extracting magic.

The most terrifying phrase in the wizarding world was no longer “Voldemort” but “He will come for you.” These were the words Death Eaters used to summon Draco Malfoy to battle, becoming a horror story not just for children but for adults too. The wizarding world that once existed was eradicated by the Death Eaters, letting the warmth of magic die.

Ginny Weasley, the only member of the Order of the Phoenix to become a myth, was doubted by some to still be alive, but for others, she was the last spark of hope. Some even shared her photographs as a source of solace, signaling that this was not over—she was out there. They were few, but they existed.

The Daily Prophet published her image: a red-haired girl with a captivating smile, her brown eyes fixed on the Quidditch Cup she held in her arms while her teammates celebrated and admired her. Her cheeks flushed, her hair loose, and her uniform stained with mud. This photo, chosen by Malfoy to announce their engagement, was somehow how he saw her through his eyes.

The first blows to the regime hit like a splash of cold water—Death Eaters assassinated, someone out there targeting high-ranking officials to destabilize the order. A magical village in northern Ireland was massacred in mere hours in search of culprits, with Draco Malfoy as the perpetrator. He shattered the tranquility with explosions. Though he wore his Death Eater mask and cloak, the villagers recognized him instantly; evil can be felt. At the end of his crime, he set everything ablaze.

Voldemort was displeased with these events. His public appearance marked a commemorative event where Malfoy was punished before hundreds, whipped, cursed, and wounded with a cursed dagger to remind him of his mistakes. It was a demonstration of who led. A reminder of the regime’s punishment, the magical court disapproved—publicly chastising the regime’s most feared figure was not a favorable move. Yet no one dared speak against the Dark Lord.

The regime’s power began to crumble from within. Though Draco Malfoy was not liked by older wizards, they respected and feared him. Such a profound disrespect toward someone of his stature could spark a rebellion that would undo the Dark Lord’s authority. Voldemort’s hysteria grew by the minute. Despite Malfoy’s obedience and acceptance of the punishment without objection, he was not entirely trustworthy. Somehow, Voldemort had to acknowledge that his power and respect had been usurped.

Voldemort launched a hunt for newborn magical children. Using Malfoy’s experimental data, Bellatrix created a potion requiring the blood of a magical baby less than two hours old as its main component, reportedly a hundred times more potent than unicorn blood. But magical babies were scarce; after the war and the loss of much of the population, birth rates were a persistent issue. Each potion kept Voldemort alive and strong enough to walk through the Ministry, but not for duels or complex spells. That changed with the blood of a pure-blood newborn, which restored his strength and part of his magic. It was the start of an impossible hunt. He needed more.

The only child capable of yielding such power would have to be the offspring of Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley.

Malfoy and Greyback were tasked with the first search mission, a role they had never held, but after Lestrange’s assassination, Malfoy had to take on her duties. Their destination was a lavish mansion in Germany, home to a prestigious family. They were to extract blood from a newborn, but the amount required would cause death. Things went awry that night. Malfoy was ordered to kill the baby—he had killed children before—but this night was different. After the blood was drawn, a mediwizard placed the dying infant in Malfoy’s arms. His expression shifted dramatically upon seeing it. The baby was red-haired. He left the room, glancing back as Greyback devoured the child. Naturally, a baby with the blood of Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley would be the top choice for Voldemort’s resurrection.

Voldemort’s plans came to light in Malfoy’s eyes. Seeing Ginevra Weasley’s name on the list of pure-blood women in the wizarding world marked the beginning of the end for the regime.

Chapter Text

Chapter 18

The days dragged on as I became Malfoy’s personal healer, though that was a lie—my only task was to read. By Merlin, I hadn’t read as many books at Hogwarts as I did in the two weeks I spent with him. Malfoy kept his distance, never letting me get too close. Since the attack, he’d grown more cautious. His wounds had healed successfully, but the one he’d arrived with still bled from time to time. He always closed his eyes while I read to him, immersed in texts so complex I rarely understood what they were about. I never imagined someone like him would be so passionate about magical history.

Over time, he stopped talking to me or looking me in the eye, which began to worry me. If he lost interest in me, what would happen to us? How would things go on?

“Get up. The Dark Lord is coming,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

His words caught me off guard. He rose from the bed slowly, his chest still bandaged, his loose hair revealing long, pale strands of blonde. Moments later, two sinister figures burst into the room: Bellatrix Lestrange and Voldemort. I adopted a stance of fear and alertness, knowing I had to play my cards carefully. Voldemort, draped in dark robes, looked gaunt and frail. As soon as he entered the manor, he had to sit down. His once-powerful aura had faded, leaving behind an old man who seemed on the brink of death despite having won the war and ruling the wizarding world.

Bellatrix’s laughter filled the room. “Draco, darling, we’ve been so worried about you. I didn’t realize the dagger was cursed until just now, but don’t worry—I’ve brought the antidote.” Her hands clutched a vial of purple liquid. “I’ll help you heal. Lie back down.” She guided him back to the bed with unsettling eagerness.

Bellatrix’s eyes gleamed with a disturbing lust as she untied the bandages on Malfoy’s chest. I felt nauseated watching the scene. Her hands deliberately massaged his abdomen and chest, lingering as she applied the antidote, touching every inch of exposed skin. Malfoy didn’t say a word, but his expression was different—tense, guarded. Voldemort observed the scene with cold indifference. Bellatrix’s hand drifted dangerously close to the buckle of his trousers, making Draco stiffen.

“I think I’ll be fine. Thank you, Aunt Bella,” he said, his voice tight.

“My boy,” Voldemort interjected, his gaze shifting to me, “your mediocrity brought this punishment upon you. I’m glad you’re still alive—after all, that poison is so deceptive.” His eyes narrowed. “So, Mrs. Malfoy has been tending to my beloved son all this time. I must admit, you’ve done an exceptional job for someone of your… class.”

Bellatrix approached me, and I kept my head bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, knowing exactly how to act. Her fingers ran through my hair, seeking a reaction. “Draco, dear, do you remember when we dismembered Mrs. Weasley? Ginny has the same hair color. Her head sat in the conference room until the stench became unbearable.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay strong. I couldn’t be impulsive—not now.

“My Lord,” I said, my voice steady despite the fear, “I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused. I’ve been an inept servant, but if you allow me, I will make amends for my mistakes.”

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of Bellatrix’s footsteps as she paced the room.

“My boy,” Voldemort continued, addressing Draco, “you can atone for those mistakes in a way that serves the regime. That’s why we’re here.”

Draco’s face remained neutral, but I knew it was a façade. Something was unraveling, slipping beyond his control. Bellatrix sat on the bed, her hand stroking his chest, then sliding lower to his trousers. She slipped her hand inside, her movements deliberate and invasive. Draco’s expression betrayed his horror and disgust. She withdrew her hand, spat on it, and resumed with calculated strokes, her pace quickening.

“You’re well-endowed, Draco. We’re going to have so much fun,” she purred, her movements growing more aggressive.

“My dear Bellatrix wishes to restore the Black family,” Voldemort said, his tone detached. “As the only living members, it’s not an unusual practice. After all, Lestrange has just passed, leaving my poor witch a widow.”

Draco’s eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, and I held my breath. I never imagined seeing him in such a situation.

“Aunt Bella,” Draco said, his voice sounding foreign, strained, “I don’t think our Lord wishes to witness this.”

“You’re right, Draco,” Voldemort replied. “You’ll handle this in private. I’ll take my leave. With this antidote, I expect to see you back in the ranks of the regime soon.” He vanished, leaving only a trail of ash in his wake.

“I’ll make you feel pleasure like no witch ever has, Draco. Trust me—something that prude Weasley could never offer,” Bellatrix said, planting a chaste kiss on his lips before disappearing.

The room fell silent.

Draco stumbled to the bathroom, vomiting his lunch. Tears welled in my eyes; the repulsive scene stirred unfamiliar emotions within me. I entered the bathroom, my gaze settling on his tormented expression and red-rimmed eyes from retching. He was so lost in his reality that he didn’t notice me. Stripping off his trousers, he stepped into the shower, scrubbing his skin as if trying to erase every trace of her touch. He rubbed so hard I feared he’d hurt himself. Without thinking, I stepped into the shower, standing in front of him, trying to calm him.

“That filthy woman touched me, Weasley,” he said, his voice breaking as he rested his head on my shoulder, the water soaking us both.

He felt so vulnerable, so fragile, like glass shattered into pieces. And there I was, perhaps as frightened as he was, trying to ease his pain.

“Tell me, Weasley,” he whispered, “is this what you feel when I touch you?”

His question hit me like a blow to the chest. “No, Draco,” I replied, the words spilling out honestly. “It feels good when you touch me.” It wasn’t an attempt to comfort him—it was a hidden truth I hadn’t meant to confess.

His hands pulled my head to his chest, holding me tightly in an embrace. “I swear, Weasley, my hands will never touch you again,” he vowed, his voice heavy.

“Are you going to sleep with her?” The question slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

“Probably,” he replied, cold as ice.

A burning knot of anger twisted in my stomach. I couldn’t bear the thought of Malfoy being intimate with that vile witch. I tried to breathe, to sort through my thoughts—jealousy. It was jealousy. My breath quickened. How immature of me to focus on him being mine instead of the fact that he was being coerced. I had been his, just as he had been mine. We had given ourselves to each other, consumed by one another. He belonged to me.

Without thinking, my hands moved to his member, drawing a stifled moan from him. “Let me erase her touch,” I said, as shocked by my words as he was.

I knelt before him, like a devotee before a sacred altar. My fingers traced his length, my inexperience screaming at me, but my pride insisting I could do this. I began to stroke him gently, electric shocks coursing through my body. His gray eyes watched me, filled with fascination. I took him into my mouth, exploring his pleasure, his moans urging me to continue. My tongue savored every part of him—hot, hard, and entirely mine. My jaw adjusted to his sounds, taking him deeper. Saliva dripped from the corners of my mouth with each slow, deliberate movement. I found the perfect angle, coaxing louder moans from him. His hips moved, thrusting deeper, my eyes stinging as I felt him in my throat. His pace quickened, his gasps and moans the most exquisite sounds I’d ever heard. His eyes closed, surrendering to the pleasure, sending shivers through me. I matched his rhythm, driven by his need, consumed by his pleasure. With one final, deep thrust that nearly made me pull back, he released into my mouth.

Chapter Text

Chapter 19

The crackling of the fire in the hearth filled the room, and the sight of Draco Malfoy lounging in the armchair, a book in one hand and a glass of Firewhisky in the other, was the closest thing to home I’d felt in ages. He’d recovered in just a few days, his deathly pallor replaced by the sharp, calculating glint in his grey eyes. Neither of us spoke of what happened in the bathroom—a silent pact, though the memory still burned in my mind. Our coexistence, though strained, had improved. I spent hours practicing spells with my wand, mastering charms I’d always wanted to learn, feeling the magic surge through me as if awakening from a long slumber. But his gaze was ever-present, wary, tracking me from the shadows. In my dreams, his platinum hair and cold eyes haunted me relentlessly.

A sudden warmth snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced down and felt the familiar trickle down my legs. My period. It had vanished for months, erased by the war’s stress, poor nutrition, and constant fear. Its return was a cruel reminder of my physical well-being, a stark contrast to the chaos in my mind. I closed my eyes tightly as cold water cascaded over me in the shower, trying to wash away the memory of what I’d done in that very place. What in Merlin’s name was I thinking? I had no answers, only the image of his shocked eyes locked on me for what felt like an eternity. I was never the brightest, that much was clear.

When I stepped out of the bath, wrapped in a towel, I saw him. Draco, clad in the black robes and silver mask of a Death Eater, fully armed. His gaze pierced through me, sending a shiver down my spine.

“I’ll be back tonight. You’ll get a reward,” he said, striding toward the door. He paused, glancing back. “By the way, Weasley, I never thought your mouth was good for anything but cursing me.” A daring wink curved his lips.

My cheeks flushed instantly, and I watched him leave, speechless. I was a fool. Madness was taking over, but I couldn’t help it. That night, when he collapsed, I saw a human, not the monster from the war. After losing everyone I loved, murdered without mercy, Draco was my only tether to something real. He’d never let anyone break him, not like I’d been broken. He was strong, cunning, and, damn it, he was all I had left.

Hours later, Theodore Nott burst into my room, his brow furrowed and nerves on edge. Without a word, he tossed a pile of robes onto the bed.

“Put these on,” he said curtly, his eyes scanning the room.

I didn’t waste time. I slipped into the garments: dragonhide boots, a dark dress, and a heavy black cloak—Death Eater attire, unmistakably. Battle gear. The question was, against whom?

“I’m changing your hair color,” Nott said, his voice tense. “If a single red strand is spotted, it could be the end for us. We might not even survive tonight.” He waved his wand, and my fiery locks turned jet-black.

I felt like a stranger in my own skin as I laced up the boots. The outfit was more than a disguise; after so many battles, it still sent shivers down my spine. It was the garb of death. Draco appeared in the doorway, his expression oddly amused, a stark contrast to Nott’s grim demeanor.

“Weasley, I’ll say this once,” he began, his voice low. “You’re going on a raid. Ten Death Eaters, most of them on your list. I can’t join you—I’ll be in Estonia when you strike. It’s open sky, so brooms are your best bet. I can’t be involved.” He stepped closer, lifting a strand of my darkened hair. “Don’t die.”

Nott’s voice cut through, resolute. “Don’t worry, Draco. I’ll be with her.”

Draco shot him a playful glance. “That was meant for you, Nott. Forgive me, but my wife isn’t some fragile witch. Weasley’s an exceptional duelist, and in the air, she’s a force to be reckoned with.” With that, he vanished in a swirl of black smoke.

Nott muttered under his breath, “He’s an idiot. I swear by Merlin, I’m taking a long holiday after this.” He stormed out of the room, his steps heavy.

A faint smile crept onto my face. I shouldn’t have felt anything, but it had been so long since I’d heard praise. In the Order, I was just another pawn. Despite my skills, the missions I was given were few, always overshadowed. Always the little Weasley girl, a burden. I practiced daily, my missions were successful, yet I was never enough. It was absurd that my enemies saw my worth when my allies never did.

Under a starlit sky, we flew toward Northern Ireland on top-of-the-line brooms. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as the wind whipped against my face. The sensation of flight filled my heart, the freedom seeping into my skin. I could do anything. Draco had given me the power to choose my path, handed me a wand, and served my enemies on a silver platter. He killed for me, and I knew he’d die for me. I shook my head, banishing those thoughts. Ginny Weasley wasn’t fool enough to think that way about the monster who’d slaughtered so many in the war. Cruelty was his hallmark, a genocidal maniac who didn’t deserve such thoughts.

We concealed ourselves among the trees in a deep forest, the perfect spot for an ambush. It was past midnight, and my magic thrummed in my veins, eager to erupt. I was anxious, but more than that, I craved battle—to prove a witch could bring them down.

Nott’s voice was low, strained. “Listen, it’s a disadvantage. Ten against two isn’t ideal, but Draco doesn’t doubt you. They’ll come in a tight formation. I’ll attack from below. The air is your strength, so it’s yours.” He looked exhausted, but determined.

I nodded, my mind already mapping out my strategy. I’d go for the familiar faces, no hesitation, hoping for a rich haul. The wind lashed my face as grey clouds swirled, lit by distant lightning. The forest below was a dark, endless blur. Nott, tense and silent, flew beside me. Ahead, ten Death Eaters soared in a V-formation, like ravenous crows. They were hunters, confident.

Nott dove suddenly, vanishing into the forest’s shadows to strike from below. The air was my domain, always had been. I gripped my broom, feeling its hum beneath my fingers, and soared into the clouds, wand at the ready. They hadn’t seen me yet. That was my edge.

I aimed carefully and whispered, “Confringo.” A burst of fire erupted from my wand, shattering the broom of the rear Death Eater. He plummeted, wreathed in flames, screaming into the forest. Their formation shattered, black cloaks flapping like broken wings. I darted through them, weaving like I was chasing a Snitch, but these weren’t Bludgers—only deadly curses. I fired an Estupefacto, hitting another, who collapsed unconscious, spiraling downward.

From below, Nott emerged like a wolf, his wand spitting a Sectumsempra that slashed a third Death Eater’s arm. The man screamed, crashing into a comrade as he lost control. Eight against two. Not great odds, but I wasn’t backing down.

A green flash of Avada Kedavra grazed my face, and my heart lurched. I spun my broom in a tight roll, dodging it by inches. The leader, his silver mask gleaming under a lightning bolt, aimed a Crucio at me. The air crackled, but I swerved, countering with an Impedimenta that froze him mid-flight. Seizing the chaos, I cast Petrificus Totalus, and another fell, rigid as a board, into the trees.

Nott fought below, but I could see he was slowing, wounded. Blood dripped from a gash on his arm, his broom trembling. I dove through their formation like an arrow, aiming upward as I shouted, “Reducto!” The explosion obliterated two brooms, their riders screaming into the dark. Six against two. They split, three chasing me, three targeting Nott. A Confringo and a Diffindo came at me simultaneously, and I conjured a Protego just in time. The impact shook my broom, but I held fast. Nott was cornered, barely dodging spells, so I raced toward him, unleashing a Bombarda that shattered an attacker’s broom, giving Nott the chance to fell another with an Estupefacto.

Only three remained. The leader, enraged, rallied his comrades and charged me. My heart pounded, but I grinned. Let them come. I feigned a dive, luring them downward, then spiraled upward, casting Incendio. Flames roared, engulfing the Death Eaters. Two fell, their cloaks and brooms consumed. The leader doused the fire with a desperate spell, but Nott disarmed him with an Expelliarmus. I finished it with an Estupefacto, sending him crashing into the treetops, unconscious. Ten against two, and the Weasleys always find a way to win.

As Nott tended his wounds, I checked the bodies, removing their masks. Avery, Flint, Crabbe, Dolohov. Draco was right—my list was shrinking in a single strike. Damn that calculating bastard. Piling their bodies, I raised my wand and whispered, “Fiendfyre.” I stepped back, leaning against a tree as the cursed flames devoured them. My magic felt different, sharper, as if it had been caged all this time. Tears stung my eyes. I’d taken down a slew of Death Eaters, yet it felt hollow. Everyone I loved was gone. If only I’d been stronger back then. I wiped my eyes as Nott approached.

“We need to go. They’ll find us soon,” he said, grabbing his broom.

We took flight, the darkness of the night reflecting a bloodstained victory. That’s how it had to be: the weak fell, and the strong reveled in their blood, claiming every drop of their souls.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20

Time, that ancient and inexorable hourglass of mortals and wizards alike, never paused—not before the war, nor after. Draco Malfoy kept me strictly confined to my chamber for the weeks that followed that fateful encounter. Malfoy Manor, with its vaulted ceilings and walls lined with ancestral portraits that whispered long-forgotten secrets, had been transformed into a veritable barracks of the regime. The corridors echoed with the stomp of military boots and the rustle of black cloaks billowing like storm clouds, while Death Eaters with icy stares patrolled like sentinels in a besieged fortress. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, dry and hollow as the toll of a bell in an abandoned tower. If only those fanatical loyalists knew that their revered general—Draco Malfoy himself—had meticulously orchestrated every assault, every ambush, with the precision of a master chess player moving pieces on an enchanted board.

I did not see him again after that incident, which still haunted my nightmares. My bare feet, cold as the polished marble floor they trod, dragged across the room with a soft, constant scrape, while my head pounded with answers I refused to acknowledge. I wanted to believe that the isolation—this oppressive void seeping through the cracks of the enchanted windows—made me miss that slithering beast, that pure-blood Slytherin with a heart of ice. It was my fractured self, that treacherous shadow of my soul, that occupied those forbidden thoughts, no matter how fiercely I tried to suppress them with all my Gryffindor resolve.

A deep sigh escaped my mouth, heavy with frustration, as I reached for the third book of the week from the stack piling up on the bedside table. Reading was the only activity available to me in that gilded prison; the yellowed pages of ancient tomes on potions and charms were my sole escape, a balm for a trapped spirit. In the fourth week, the manor was finally vacated, as if an evacuation spell had swept the intruders away. I was allowed out into the rear courtyards, where the fresh air struck me like a stolen gust of freedom. The wind whipped my red hair into wild tangles, while I inhaled the earthy scent of damp grass and fallen leaves. Winter was unmistakably approaching; the first frosts painted the perfectly trimmed hedges with rime, and the leaden sky promised imminent snowfalls. Where was that damned Slytherin? He didn’t even dare show his face, to confront the consequences of his actions. My steps grew slow and deliberate on each marble stair as I climbed back to my room, the sun barely dipping below the enchanted horizon, staining the sky a deathly purple. I had a feeling something was wrong—a premonition twisting in my stomach like a venomous serpent. I needed to be in my safe place, that room which, ironically, had become my refuge.

Suddenly, Malfoy materialised in the main hall with a sharp crack of Apparition that shattered the silence like a poorly cast spell. He wore his combat uniform, impeccable despite the dust and dried bloodstains, yet he carried the air of someone returning from a clandestine party in the heart of the wizarding world. He clutched a bottle of firewhisky, the amber liquid glinting under the light of floating torches; his platinum-blond hair was tousled, falling in dishevelled strands over his forehead, and his unsteady gait betrayed the evening’s indulgence. My jaw clenched involuntarily, teeth grinding with barely contained fury. While he revelled in the wizarding world, surrounded by sycophants and enchanted goblets, I had been locked away for an entire month in my room, cut off from the outside world, without a single word or glance to break the monotony. My blood boiled in my veins like a cauldron on the verge of explosion. He hadn’t even bothered to appear in my room after that Death Eater massacre, to ensure I was unharmed. And of course I was unharmed—my Gryffindor blood didn’t yield so easily. But at least that would have meant something, a gesture, a crumb of humanity amid this nightmare. My mouth opened to unleash a biting complaint, a torrent of reproaches bubbling in my throat, but it fell silent the instant Bellatrix Lestrange appeared in an elegant black velvet gown, cinched like a second skin, her hair pinned up with enchanted clips that gleamed like malevolent stars. A burning sensation centred in my stomach, sharp and stabbing; surely the lunch hadn’t agreed with me—or so I told myself to avoid the truth.

They headed toward the study in the main wing, their footsteps echoing down the corridor like a pair of conspirators. My feet trembled, unsteady on the cold floor; the logical plan was to return to my room, seal the door with a reversed Alohomora, and pretend this was none of my concern. But when had Ginny Weasley ever been rational in matters of the heart and rage? My hands gripped the carved mahogany banister, fingers leaving smudges in the accumulated dust, as my feet raced silently, driven by a morbid curiosity. In a quick glance at my attire, I caught my reflection in an enchanted mirror: barefoot, wearing a knitted jumper that attempted to mimic Gryffindor colours—faded red and gold—but resembled little more than a tattered rag. I smiled awkwardly, a grimace that didn’t reach my eyes. How was I supposed to enter that room dressed like this, a commoner in a court of serpents? In the first place, I wasn’t even going to enter; what was I thinking? I was only going to eavesdrop a little—not for Malfoy, of course not. This was intelligence-gathering for the coup I was plotting in the shadows of my mind, a master plan to topple the regime from within.

The moment I touched the cold, carved wooden door, pressing my ear against it in a desperate attempt to overhear the conversation, my heart pounded like a war drum. Would Malfoy be the sort of man to bed Bellatrix? Nausea rose in my throat like enchanted bile; this had to be an alternate reality, a fever dream induced by a botched potion, because I never imagined it possible that that deranged psychopath and I could share the same man. I heard low, guttural giggles seeping through the wood. I swear by Merlin and all the Hogwarts founders that if Malfoy dared sleep with that mad witch, he would never lay a hand on me again. Bloody hell, I was already thinking nonsense; when had I planned for him to touch me again? The confinement was clearly addling my brain, gnawing at my sanity like a Dementor in an Azkaban cell. Frustration seized me when I couldn’t make out the conversation clearly; with a simple spell borrowed from Ron—Alohomora whispered carefully—the door eased open slowly, silently, creating a narrow gap just wide enough to peer through with one eye pressed to the crack.

Malfoy lounged in his high-backed chair, a throne of dark wood carved with intertwining serpents, his long legs propped carelessly on the solid mahogany desk. He took long swigs of firewhisky, the fiery liquid leaving a glistening trail on his lips. Bellatrix paced the room like a restless spectre, humming a melancholy, distorted tune, her cheeks flushed with drink and a manic smile on her moist lips, savouring the forbidden liquor. Her eyes were darker than usual, bloodshot and gleaming with wild lust, her jet-black hair loose and cascading in dishevelled waves to her shoulders. His platinum-blond hair, by contrast, fell to his shoulders, with stray locks obscuring his forehead. A magnificent sight if he were my ally, but as my enemy, he was a monster.

“Bellatrix, I need rest. I think I’m far too drunk,” his tone dripped with mockery in every word. “Draco, I thought we might have some fun tonight,” her hands reached for his, stroking them with small, teasing caresses. “I believe I made it clear I won’t participate in repopulating the clan. The day I was informed, I’d lost too much blood and couldn’t recall the family curse. I cannot sire bastards,” the bottle brushed his lips once more.

A sigh of relief flooded my space. It made sense that a family so ancient, with such rigid pure-blood ideals, would impose a restriction against illegitimate heirs. A smile settled on my lips; at least Malfoy would be spared that horrific duty.

“Draco, I understand the situation, but just because we cannot procreate doesn’t mean we cannot pleasure each other,” she straddled him in the blink of an eye. “Show me all the sadism you display in battle—I want to discover it in bed.” Her lips captured his.

It was a kiss led by that witch, her hands roaming his chest, attempting to strip away his garments. Muffled moans escaped their mouths. My blood boiled like hot chocolate at Christmas. That little hypocrite—weeks ago he’d retched at mere insinuations, and now beneath her, he whispered moans. It had to be a bloody joke.

“Let yourself go, Draco. I’ll make you feel good. No witch will ever do for you what I will—least of all that prude Weasley,” her hands moved to his belt.

I stumbled out for air near the staircase. This had to be a bad dream, a nightmare. Malfoy would never allow himself to be touched like that. Something was wrong, but I hadn’t a clue. My feet moved faster than my thoughts; with each step I climbed, my resolve hardened. I had to do something to stop this farce. My hands gripped the banister, I stopped breathing, and in a split second, I leapt.

Bloody hell, it hurt like hell. I should have thought it through—I’d definitely broken something.

“Weasley, what the fuck have you done?” Malfoy sounded furious.

Everything went black around me.

When I regained consciousness, I was in a private ward at St. Mungo’s. Malfoy stood beside me, glaring in my direction. Couldn’t he show a shred of mercy? He looked exhausted—dark circles etched under his eyes, and he’d lost considerable weight. How had I only just noticed? When I first saw him after the war, he’d seemed an untouchable killing machine, some celestial entity. But now, he was merely mortal. The pain in my body dragged those memories back. Bloody hell, and now he was the one furious—it had to be a joke.

“You’re an idiot, Weasley. You could have died.” “It was an accident—I tripped on the banister and fell,” I shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ll lock you up again. You’ll rot in a damp, stinking cell in the manor for the rest of your days,” his sinister tone sent chills down my spine. “Fuck you, Malfoy,” I hurled a pillow at him as he stormed out.

Bloody hell, I’d really mucked it up now. I’d ruined all my progress over a stomach ache. I had a long list of decapitated Death Eaters to my name. My ally hated me, and he certainly wasn’t thinking of helping with my plans. Perhaps this was the perfect moment for a triumphant escape. I leapt from the bed, wincing in pain—I truly hadn’t measured the distance or force of the fall.

The moment I opened the door, two idiot Death Eaters stood guard outside. Malfoy wasn’t stupid enough to make it easy. I couldn’t devise a viable plan in this state. I returned to the hospital bed to rest once more; the pain was unbearable. But a terrifying problem struck when I couldn’t fall asleep. With my eyes closed, two Healers entered to check everything was in order. I decided to feign sleep—I didn’t need to deal with more people.

“She’s prettier in person.” I wanted to laugh and fought with all my might not to. Of course I was prettier in person—those photographs never did me justice.

“You can be pretty, but apparently you’re no good for producing heirs. Rest assured, Marie, she’ll be replaced soon.” “You’re right. The general must secure his lineage. It’s a pity he couldn’t do it with his wife.” “He’ll remarry soon, don’t worry about that.” “I wonder which trait would dominate—red or silver? We’ll never know the hair colour of his children. After all, the Weasleys were always redheads, and the Malfoys always platinum.” “Enough nonsense. She might wake any moment, or the young general could walk through that door. Learn your place.” “Sorry.”

The witches left, leaving an emptiness in my soul. So Malfoy was to marry again. What would become of me? Bloody hell, he was my sacred ally, and my current position allowed me to carry out my crimes. Perhaps I’d be handed to another Death Eater, or worse, transferred to a brothel to be tortured for the rest of my days. I breathed deeply. I had no other options. Bearing a Malfoy heir was impossible. Bloody hell, we’d only been together once, and I’d rather die than sacrifice a child to this world. Sitting in the room, tears streamed uncontrollably down my cheeks.

“Stop crying. Your weeping is pathetic,” I startled at the sight of him in his impeccable suit. “I—” words stumbled in my mouth, forming nothing coherent. “It was a bloody joke,” his grey eyes studied me. “I won’t lock you in a cell—perhaps your room, but not a cell.”

I let out a bitter laugh. A cell in the manor sounded better than being handed over to them. I knew they wouldn’t let me die—I was destined to suffer every day of my life.

“Thank you, Weasley,” his voice filled the room.

I raised my head, searching for an explanation. I didn’t understand his words. The journey back to the manor was in complete silence; neither of us uttered a word. In my room, I finally had the peace to organise every event up to this day. Of course it was foolish to think he was my ally. In the end, he’d slept with me, been married for a few months, and discarded me like a torn rag. My mind screamed that he’d abused me, but deep down, doubt lingered. He never forced me—I was the one who parted my legs for him. What was I thinking that night? Of course I had a choice. I’d simply assumed it would happen and didn’t want it to be by force. But in the end, I desired it so fiercely it felt like a sin in my head.

I flung myself onto the bed, imagining I was home. How I wished to turn back time. The first snowflakes were visible through the window. If only I’d died in the war, everything would be so much easier. Death was the only peaceful escape for witches. I understood now that being a woman was considered a curse—always tortured, treated as objects of pleasure. It was absurd that wizards felt such absolute power over us. In war, it was better to die than survive as a woman.

Chapter Text

Chapter 21

The barrier between our interactions, imposed by Malfoy, felt thicker and colder with each passing day. He stopped spending time at the manor and never visited me; the few times I saw him were because I spied on him from afar. His appearance was sickly: he was thinner. In the newspapers, however, only the regime’s triumphs were praised; no mention of his condition. The birth rate in the wizarding world remained disastrously low; by then, killing someone was almost a luxury. If things continued this way, they would surely halt the massacre of children born to Muggles. The time I had spent at the manor was too long to have not conceived; it was natural for people to start doubting my fertility. A man of Malfoy’s rank was expected to sire an heir; I wondered what excuses he was giving at the Ministry. After all, conception was an untouchable subject. I had never considered that possibility, and certainly not now, with the wizarding world in ruins.

After my evening bath, I looked in the mirror. My heart gave a disastrous lurch. My body had regained the muscle mass needed to return to my natural figure; the traces of malnutrition had vanished. My reflection was that of a healthy woman, with well-groomed hair. Bloody hell, even my breasts looked larger, my waist narrower, and my hips properly curved. Guilt flooded me as I realized I was still alive—and not only that: my quality of life was likely superior to most in the wizarding world.

Malfoy appeared suddenly in my room, startling me terribly. I was completely naked before him; after weeks of ignoring me, that ought to be a crime. His gaze roamed my body shamelessly; my hands tried to cover as much skin as possible.

“There’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he smiled placidly. “I’m not here to sleep with you, if that’s what you think.” He looked away. “Friday is the anniversary of the regime’s triumphant battle; the banquet will be held at the manor. No need to tell you that you’re Mrs. Malfoy and must act accordingly.”

“Little idiot, I’m not as stupid as you imagine,” my voice filled the room. “By the way, if you bring women here to shag while I’m around, I won’t be responsible for my actions. It’s called respect; I think your parents forgot to teach you that.”

“It’s not proper for a lady to use such vulgar terms.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy. Actually, I’ve changed my mind: you should go shag half the wizarding world to learn how to do it properly, because you left much to be desired in our last encounter. Who’d have thought Draco Malfoy would be so bad in bed?”

“You’re right, Weasley. I’ll go after a Greengrass to practice and have her teach me to be a good lover.” He rolled his eyes cynically. “Maybe Bellatrix is available today.”

He left the room with a roguish grin. My feet followed him involuntarily as I ran after him.

“I swear if you lay a hand on them, you’ll never touch me again!”

He turned immediately.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to touch you again, Weasley. I thought I was pathetic at it. I suppose it’s my fault for being so busy and neglecting my marital duties. In fact, if you behave at Friday’s dinner, I might consider sleeping with you.” His hand brushed his forehead, pretending to think. “Sorry: shagging you. That’s the term you like to use.”

His laughter echoed down the hallway as he walked away. The first thing that came to mind was to take off my slipper and hurl it at his head; he dodged it nimbly. I sighed all the way back to my room, berating myself for the words that had spilled from my mouth. Lies took over my mind: he wasn’t bad at sex. Many nights I had wet dreams about him, and if I recalled that night, I ended up soaked. The fact that he had been a virgin was exciting; not only had I preserved my virginity, but most girls at Hogwarts claimed to be virgins while their boyfriends weren’t. It was repulsive—why were only we expected to restrain ourselves? Wizards could visit pleasure houses, even boast a long list of conquests, but if their girlfriend had a prior relationship, it wasn’t viewed the same. Malfoy had been a virgin; surely the spoiled brat was too disagreeable to let anyone sully him that way. Just thinking that it had been his first time, and that the pleasure we felt was mutual, was something I never thought I’d experience.

Friday’s dinner was my chance to make it clear that our marriage was working wonderfully. I had to protect my position and show I wasn’t replaceable. After all, we were married. I was Mrs. Malfoy—wife of the regime’s army general and heiress to England’s greatest fortune.

The next day, the seamstresses arrived promptly to prepare my dress, but I had a fixed and brilliant idea. A green dress I had designed the night before was what I wanted: a plunging neckline, a garment fitted to my body like a second skin, and of course a slit up the leg to leave little to the imagination. They set to work on my design. Hundreds of people bustled through the manor, preparing everything for the victory party; apparently, Malfoy had hired someone competent for the task. A witch a few years older than us, with a stern face, gave me the few glances she spared with a false smile and a calculating look.

While eating an apple, leaning against the wall and watching the preparations advance, she approached with a reproachful gaze.

“It’s a shame you lack the qualities to organize high-society events. The former Mrs. Malfoy was an exceptional lady,” her eyes transmitted envy.

“It’s a shame she’s dead,” the words slipped from my mouth.

“Mrs. Malfoy, I don’t think such topics should be mentioned lightly; it can be disrespectful in some cases,” she examined me. “I just saw your dress; I think it’s a bit revealing. I don’t believe such a provocative outfit is appropriate, considering there will be many wizards present.”

A smile curved my lips. “Draco Malfoy is my husband; I’m sure no man would dare say anything indecent to me.”

“You’re right.” Her abrupt farewell gave me inexplicable relief.

The grand night had arrived. As I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t believe I was the woman in the reflection. The dress clung to my body; the provocative neckline revealed more than I expected, and my long hair was straightened. The heels clicked across the room as I wondered if I had made the right choice—what would Malfoy think of my outfit? Of course I looked spectacular; the diamonds around my neck matched the green of my gown. When the door sounded, I knew there was no turning back. Malfoy stood in the doorway, scanning me from head to toe; when he finished, he gave me a tight-lipped smile.

“I must say the freckles on your breasts look marvelous, and your arse is spectacular in that dress. I’ll definitely shag you tonight.” He took my hand gently to lead me out.

My cheeks flushed without explanation. Upon entering the grand hall, the voices and laughter ceased instantly; all the guests stared at me with varied emotions on their faces. Without a doubt, I was putting on a show worthy of Ginny Weasley. The lecherous gazes of the men didn’t take long to appear. Malfoy merely smirked at some of them; I remembered then that the man beside me was one of the most renowned Legilimens in the wizarding world. Malfoy placed his hand on my waist, drawing me close and giving me a small kiss on the lips. I felt the surprise on my face; he only smiled. He took my hand in a gentle touch, leading me to the main dance floor to open the night’s ball. His hands on my waist guided me through a soft melody, making me look everywhere but his eyes. I felt intimidated—despite him being a head taller and surely triple my build, it was his eyes that unnerved me.

“I don’t think you’re shy, not after wearing a dress like that,” he whispered in my ear.

I looked at him fixedly; his gray eyes trapped me instantly. What could I think of the man holding me? He had upended the wizarding world to have me, yet all he admitted was that I was a mere whim. In my Hogwarts days, I never paid him enough attention to imagine ending up here. At what point had he become obsessed with me? When had that cowardly boy turned into the man holding me? In that moment, I realized I didn’t know him—how he had become what he was now, what his aspirations had been, and above all, what he would do with me now that he had me. It didn’t thrill me to be that wizard’s obsession, but knowing someone had gone to such lengths for me was, in a way, exhilarating. He had broken everything proper for him—his ideals, his sanity—to have me here. The man I once loved had sacrificed himself for the war without hesitation, because it was supposedly the right thing, what a man ought to do. But Malfoy, undoubtedly the villain of the story, thought I was more important than the wizarding world; saving me was his primary purpose. Hermione had an informant among the Death Eaters; she shared her secret with me days before losing the war. So perhaps that was Draco Malfoy. The war didn’t matter to him; I did. He was playing both sides of the board. He hadn’t chosen a side in the wizarding war—he had chosen me. That man wouldn’t have hesitated to spend his life in Azkaban if I had won the war; he didn’t need to think it because he was undoubtedly willing.  

The song ended, and I escaped to the banquet table. I had to erase those thoughts from my mind. I took a glass of champagne, and it was undoubtedly the best thing to pass my throat—sweet and bubbly. I recognized some guests at the party, but none approached me; you’d have to be mad to come near with Malfoy close. I spent most of the night near the drinks table. We danced twice more with Malfoy; neither of us said a word. I suppose sometimes eyes say it all. By the end of the night, I was drunk enough for my cheeks to feel warm and a wordless happiness to fill me. Most guests had departed. So I headed to my room to rid myself of those extravagant heels and heavy jewelry. I decided I wasn’t satisfied yet, so I went to the hall for a bottle of champagne. Apparently everyone had left; it was normal, after all—it was nearly dawn. With the bottle in hand and no sign of Malfoy, I headed to my room until I heard laughter from a small salon. Malfoy was in an armchair, and in the room were some Hogwarts classmates: Zabini, Nott, Parkinson, both Greengrass sisters, and a few others I didn’t recognize.

“No doubt, just taking Weasley’s clothes off would make me come,” Zabini laughed.

“Bloody hell, Blaise, no need to tell us you’re a premature ejaculator.”

“I’m not premature; it’s just that a woman like her must be heavenly. You wouldn’t understand,” he retorted.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate to make those comments about a woman in front of her husband,” Daphne intervened.

“You should have seen their wedding night; I had nightmares for days. Weasley was bruised, the sheets bloody, the clothes torn,” Parkinson shot an accusing look. “That wasn’t the way, Draco. I think you should have been gentler; she was a virgin.”

“Damn, I should have fought harder in the war to get a prize like her. It’s not fair; I fancied her since Hogwarts,” Zabini said, aggrieved.

Malfoy was silent, saying nothing, just with an amused smirk as he drank the yellow liquid from his glass.

“At least a bit of that lust potion they created to make the reproduction plan more pleasurable,” Nott chimed in.

Zabini burst into laughter. “Malfoy was a victim of that stuff a few weeks ago; Bellatrix drugged him with that horrid thing.”

The pressure in my chest released. So everything had a reason. That night he was fighting the potion’s effects. I felt a calm that wasn’t right. I opened the door unexpectedly, with everyone’s eyes following me. Without hesitation, I sat on Malfoy’s lap. He placed one hand on my waist and the other stroked my exposed leg.

“I thought you were asleep, Gin; that’s why we didn’t invite you,” he whispered in my ear.

Tickles and electricity ran through my body at his warm breath. His gaze went indiscreetly to my breasts, and I couldn’t blame him—sitting like that gave him a proper, inevitable view. The others showed surprise; it wasn’t like Malfoy to stop being a gentleman.

“Weasley, marriage suits you wonderfully,” a smile shot from Zabini.

Most in the room were drunk enough for relaxed conversation. The only discomfort was Malfoy’s member, which I could feel hard against my thigh, and his hand caressing my leg gave me the security to stay. I listened attentively to the laughter and talk while drinking from my champagne bottle. I felt relaxed, surely from the alcohol, but of all the emotions, Malfoy was the worst: his firm body beneath me, the scent of cologne, and his loose hair were a tempting image. His nearly silver hair, with long strands reaching his shoulders. Some messy locks, his hot breath, and burning eyes were enough to decide I wanted him inside me.

To hell with the wizarding world.

Three words were enough for Malfoy to kick them out of the manor immediately. I leaned to his ear and whispered, “Shag me right now.”

“Weasley, I’m drunk, and I’m no gentleman with you on top of me in that dress,” he whispered.

Chapter Text

Chapter 22

The last wizard left the manor, and the moment the door closed, I felt the full weight of Malfoy slamming me against the wall. His lips, hot and damp, claimed mine with a hunger that consumed me entirely. His kisses were living flame racing across my skin; my legs buckled beneath his touch. The scent of his cologne — dark sandalwood and something dangerously forbidden flooded my senses, shutting out the world. A low, involuntary moan escaped him and sent ice through my bones.

Then I felt it: the Dark Mark burning on his forearm. They were summoning him.

“Damn it all,” he hissed against my mouth.

He pressed one last, almost tender kiss to my lips and Disapparated with a sharp crack.

My knees gave way. I slid down the wall as tears spilled over, hot and traitorous. What wretched farce had my life become? I was sick of weeping, sick of feeling weak. I had to stand up, had to keep fighting. I was still alive, after all. Yet terror clawed at my chest. All I wanted was for Draco to come back, to wrap his arms around me and let me cry out the rest of this endless night. In this broken new world, he was the only person who seemed to care whether I lived or died. When you fall into hell, I suppose even shadows can feel like comfort.

I could not allow myself to remain weak. People were still suffering; I had to wrest the wizarding world back from the darkness. Hope had not died it was merely hiding, cowering behind fear in the hearts of witches and wizards.

Draco vanished for weeks, leaving me alone in that cold, silent manor. My days turned into relentless routine: punishing physical training, low flights over the frostbitten grounds on a borrowed broom, and endless hours locked in the library, poring over forgotten spellbooks. The wizarding world was not finished while I still drew breath. The second round was about to begin.

One bitter winter night, the front doors burst open. It was not the homecoming I had imagined.

Draco dragged a witch into the entrance hall by her upper arm. His black military-style robes were filthy with mud and blood; he looked exhausted, almost haunted. With a weary gesture he released her, and she crumpled onto the icy marble.

“You filthy Englishman,” she spat in a thick Eastern-European accent, “my father will make you pay for this. He will hunt you down you know his name.”

She was a few years younger than me. Even dishevelled and furious, she looked like a porcelain doll: chestnut hair, fierce green eyes, clothes torn to ribbons. She reminded me of a cornered cat, all claws and hisses.

“I am tired of you,” Draco sighed. “You have no idea how exhausting your company is.”

“They’ll send you to hell itself after you, Englishman. My people do not bend the knee.”

Draco gave a cold, amused smirk. “Your father will punish you for this,” he mocked. “You’re rather like me, aren’t you?”

“Laugh all you like,” she snarled, “but you don’t know what I mean to my people. Yours may have grovelled before your regime, but mine never will.”

He crouched in front of her, tilting his head with that familiar cynical smile. “In a few weeks you’ll bow your head to me, princess.”

My eyes widened. Without hesitation, she spat in his face.

For a heartbeat his expression flickered shock, and something else I couldn’t name. I stepped forward before he could retaliate.

“Why have you brought this woman here?” The reprimand left my lips before I could stop it.

“Weasley,” he said, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand, “I rather thought you’d greet me with a kiss, or at least some sign you’d missed me. We could pick up where we left off last time.”

“No games, Malfoy.”

The girl’s green eyes darted between us, searching for answers.

“She’s my guest,” Draco drawled, arrogance sliding back into place. “A princess, or something of the sort. My trophy of war.”

“My trophy will be your head,” the girl laughed, wild and defiant.

“She isn’t mine, Weasley not truly. Just a prisoner. An important one. If I’d left her at the Ministry or in Azkaban, they wouldn’t have been… gentle. Look at her spoiled little brat who needs a lesson. Besides, her father is a man of influence. Better she stays safe.” He turned and left the hall without another word.

My mind raced. I had known the regime had spread across Europe, but organised resistance? That changed everything. Played correctly, this could be the opening I needed.

“Red-hair,” the girl said in a low, dangerous voice, “you’d do well to help me escape. Perhaps then my father will spare your head.”

I felt a nervous twitch at the corner of my eye. It was like listening to a younger, female Draco Malfoy.

“Things are… complicated here,” I said carefully. “But I promise you, this is the safest place in all of England right now.”

“So the rumours are true,” she sneered, pushing herself to her feet and brushing dirt from her ruined robes. “Every Englishman is a coward.”

“Listen to me. I don’t know where you come from, but Britain lies crushed beneath Voldemort’s heel. The war broke us. You’d do well to learn who your allies are.”

“My father will come for me.”

“Malfoy showed remarkable patience with you. Probably because you remind him of himself a spoiled, arrogant little Draco in female form.”

“I will defeat Voldemort and free your people,” she declared, chin high. “You need only trust me.”

My heart contracted painfully. The words hit me like a Bludger déjà vu slamming into my skull. It was as though time had folded back on itself and I was hearing Harry again. Harry Potter my first love, brave, reckless, impossibly young. That kiss in the Gryffindor common room, the butterflies, the warmth of his brighter green eyes…

The resemblance was uncanny.

The shock was so great I fled to my room and stayed there for days, wrestling with feelings I thought buried forever beneath the ashes of war. Why were these memories surfacing now? Was my mind finally knitting itself back together? Defeating Voldemort and saving everyone that was what mattered. My only contribution so far had been picking off a few Death Eaters from the shadows, but hiding was no longer enough.

I gathered my courage, left my room, and marched straight to Draco’s study.

He was slumped at his desk, a glass of red wine in one hand, legs stretched across the polished wood. He looked ill years of war finally cashing their toll. In a chair nearby sat our “guest,” ankles and wrists bound, face carved from pure contempt.

“She tries to kill me at least once a day,” Draco said flatly. “That’s why she’s tied up, Weasley.”

“Hardly surprising. She’s a prisoner.”

“You only tried to kill me once,” he replied, voice like winter. “Right now she’s more you than you are.”

“I lost the war,” I said quietly. “She hasn’t.”

“I’m no coward,” the girl snapped. “I’ll fight until my last breath.”

“You can be as cruel as you like,” I told Draco, “but she’s a prisoner here the same as I am.”

“I lost my entire family,” I continued, barely above a whisper.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she laughed bitterly. “This bastard murdered my brothers gutted them in front of me while he smiled.”

I ignored her and fixed my eyes on Draco. “You once told me you’d do anything for me.”

“I have, Weasley.”

“Then destroy Voldemort. End this regime.”

Silence flooded the room. The bound girl’s eyes widened in astonishment.

A slow, dangerous smile curved Draco’s lips. “I thought you’d never ask. I’ve only been waiting all this time.”

For the first time in years, hope flared bright in my chest. The world still believed in me; only I had lost faith in myself. Out there, people were waiting. I had locked myself behind these walls, prisoner of my own fear and nightmares. Nothing would change unless I woke up.

I was the one who could shift the board. The side that had Draco Malfoy would win.

And I had always had him.

Chapter Text

Chapter 23

Malfoy moved like the wind, scattering the first seeds of rebellion against the regime. In just a few days he had secured the support of much of Europe. After all, it was entirely believable that someone like him would resist—or turn traitor to Voldemort. Over the years he had earned respect on the battlefield, and the Malfoy name still carried weight throughout the wizarding world.

A week later, the first major step was taken inside Malfoy Manor. The initial English allies arrived. Theodore Nott was named the public face of the group, because the name Malfoy still inspired fear and very little trust. After months of blood and slaughter, that was only natural.

In a room full of people who shared the terror and horror of war, Malfoy was the only one who seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it was a hobby for him; the truth was he found constant battle entertaining.

The question circled my mind like an unfinished thought: if everything went well and Voldemort fell, would the people be satisfied, or would they also demand Malfoy’s head? He was a war criminal—not just in Britain, but across the entire wizarding world. They wouldn’t settle for the fact that he had made freedom possible when he himself had condemned them with his own hands.

He knew it. He knew the revolution would strip him of nearly all his status. The thoughts that were only just forming in my head—he had probably considered them long ago. But what decision had he reached?

In any story, the executioner can never also be the victim. Sooner or later, they would tear him down.

It wasn’t only Britain that wanted him dead; many countries did. The witch who had appeared at the manor was apparently the heir to the Russian magical royal house, a family the regime had fought for months. They would never stand by and proclaim him a war hero.

The war had become so tangled that redemption felt illogical. And the worst part was that he wasn’t redeemed at all—he was simply carrying out an assigned task. He would never change his beliefs. He loved killing. Evil had consumed him entirely. His soul was damned.

I would have to kill him.

“Nott and Weasley are the perfect faces for the new Merlin Round Table,” Slughorn said, his voice filling the room. “Theodore’s diplomacy and Weasley’s skill in battle inspire strong confidence. After Malfoy contacted the main resistance leaders across Europe, most agreed. The alliances are sealed. Britain is no longer alone—we have solid international support.”

“You did phenomenal work, Draco,” Nott added with a friendly smile. “We could launch the battle today and win. Behind that seemingly lazy boy is a brilliant strategist.”

“Then all that’s left is to strike the nest,” Malfoy continued, clicking his tongue. “Most of the Death Eaters are on high alert, and we don’t have many soldiers ready. The day after tomorrow is the regime’s main gathering—all the heavy hitters will be there. One explosion will take out several problems at once and officially start the revolution. The people will hear of the attack and the rebirth of the Merlin Table.”

“That’s suicide,” Blaise said, staring straight at him.

“An explosion won’t kill me. A few scratches, maybe, but nothing serious. Voldemort can’t suspect I’m a traitor yet—I still have unfinished business with him.”

“I’ll carry out the attack,” I said. Every pair of eyes turned to me, uncertain. “If the people see my face, hope will return. They may be bent, but they’re not broken. They just need faith…and I’m the one to give it to them.”

Nott nodded slowly.

“Voldemort may be a sick old man, but it won’t be that easy,” Malfoy said, swirling his glass. “Someone like him always has tricks up his sleeve.”

“You’re talking about tricks?” Macmillan exploded, furious. “You helped him commit atrocities and you dare say that? Azkaban would be too good for you, Malfoy. Your war crimes don’t vanish because of this. Magic extraction and soul transmutation will be the death sentence you deserve.”

“What do you mean?” The words stuck in my throat.

“Weasley, forgive me, but everyone here knows Malfoy is only in this for himself,” Macmillan went on. “I doubt a man like him even has a soul left.”

“Magic extraction…” Nausea rose in my stomach.

“My father will make him pay for every crime,” came a soft voice from the back of the room. Only then did I notice Anna Ruslova standing there, her eyes blazing with fury.

“When the war is over, do whatever you want with me,” Malfoy replied calmly. “I won’t run. I’m a Malfoy—always standing, never on my knees.”

With an amused smirk, he left the room, brushing Anna’s hair with an almost childish caress as he passed.

“Your father supported Malfoy,” Nott told her. “Your uncle tried to usurp his throne, taking advantage of how weakened the country and the royal guard were because of the war against the Dark regime. Malfoy took his head.”

Silence fell over the room.

For the weeks Anna had been at the manor, she had done nothing but stalk Malfoy, trying to kill him. To him it was the most entertaining game; he treated her like a personal pet. A captured aristocratic princess. A young woman who had thrown herself into battle without a second thought, fighting injustice. In some twisted way, they were alike—both spoiled, arrogant, narcissistic. But she was everything he could never be.

When the meeting ended, the air felt lighter. The end was near. The world would finally have the peace it deserved, and Voldemort would burn in hell at last.

The manor grew dark and quiet until a whirlwind of piano notes tore through the silence. Without hesitation, I let my feet carry me toward the sound.

He sat at the piano without his heavy robes—just trousers. Strands of blond hair fell across his neck; his lean, scarred body revealed a reality I had never wanted to see. His fingers moved over the keys with exquisite grace, drawing out a melody that could enchant any human soul. A brilliant musician in another life; a sadistic killer in this one.

I sighed and walked closer.

“Are you ready to die, Malfoy?”

“I am,” he answered simply, a trace of mystery in his voice.

I grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face me.

“Don’t betray me. I trust you.”

He shifted, leaning back against the piano lid and swinging his long legs up so he sat facing me.

“Ministry Weasley… sounds amusing,” he said with a faint smile.

“I trust you, Malfoy. Free these people—you’re the only one who can.”

My voice cracked. Tears spilled freely. In my head I cursed myself—he wasn’t Harry.

“I’m not a hero, Gin. Don’t let your mind trick you into thinking I am.”

He stood. With a flick of his wand he revealed what he had kept hidden for so long. On his chest glowed an alchemical rune. I let out a long, disappointed breath.

Of course I recognized it. Alchemy. But I had never taken those classes at Hogwarts.

His eyes caught my thoughts and he smiled.

“An alchemical rune. The projects Ernie mentioned—magic extraction and soul transmutation. I killed hundreds of wizards in experiments, but I succeeded in creating this.” He took my hand and pressed my fingers to his chest. “This rune allowed Voldemort to extract part of my magic and transmute a fragment of his own soul into me. A piece of him lives inside me now.”

My fingers trembled and pulled away.

My brain stopped working.

“He wants to transfer his entire soul into my body. Right now, I’m the only thing keeping him alive.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 24

The cool air battered the mansion's windows and seeped into my bones. The back-and-forth with Malfoy kept me awake more than I cared to admit. The first direct strike would be at the Ministry: I just needed a couple of deaths and a few explosions to grab the attention required to make international headlines. My battle gear hugged my ribs tightly, but something inside me screamed that it was nerves heaving my chest and stealing my breath.

The squad—reduced to four wizards due to a temporary shortage of personnel—was ready. I was convinced that the moment the spark of revolution ignited, the wizarding world would rise en masse.

In front of me stood the Floo Network of the mansion, waiting for me to step through. As soon as the clock struck three in the afternoon, the London Attack would commence—that was the name Zabini had proposed to capture global attention. Everything had been meticulously planned from the start; there wasn't a single scenario we hadn't foreseen. Still, I felt gunpowder burning in my stomach.

Three simple steps: meet up with the team, inflict serious damage on the infrastructure and personnel, and finally scatter leaflets about the new reform. No impulses. Just breathe and stick to the plan. No fear, no panic attacks. I was a soldier carrying out a straightforward mission. If I couldn't pull off a small act of terrorism, how would I ever muster the guts to take down those who still awaited their judgment? If I couldn't bring a shovel to the burial, I wasn't worthy of being there.

I squeezed my eyes shut, listening to the clock's hands ticking. Hermione. Her face flashed in my mind.

"Ginny, you have to trust me. They're leading us to certain death."

"I trust you, Hermione. It's just that you can't be sure they'll attack the Ireland base. It's the Order's most secure one; it's impossible for anyone to have found it."

"They'll be annihilated."

"You can't be sure of that, Hermione. You need to rest; you're a bit paranoid."

"I'm sure. Completely sure."

A noise behind me yanked me abruptly from my memories.

"You look pretty, Gin. In that combat gear, you remind me of the times I watched you in battle," Malfoy said from the doorway.

"You make my ears bleed with that kind of compliment. Better stay here and watch me do the dirty work."

"I'll wait for you," the blond whispered.

His words nearly dissolved into a haze of unfinished thoughts—if I hadn't heard them clearly.

The outdoor chill bit through despite the cloak I wore. Outside on the Ministry street, I exhaled and saw my breath condense in the air. My boots struck the cobblestones hard. I looked up and saw the statue of Voldemort at the entrance. An ironic laugh escaped my lips. By Merlin, I knew exactly what my first target would be.

My steps were resolute; I led the line of combat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my comrades following behind. Four people on a mission many would call suicidal, but for us, it was a choice. With masks on, I couldn't see their faces, but I could feel their hearts. Something—or perhaps everything—had been stolen from us by that disgusting creature who proclaimed himself the absolute ruler. Maybe when you sleep, you should check under the bed; you never know when there might be trash hiding there. And that trash was Draco Malfoy.

The masks were blank and stark white; the only thing identifying them was the V on the forehead, split down the middle by a line. Undoubtedly a bad joke from the regime.

We split up with a nod. The rules were clear: if you're captured, you must kill yourself to avoid giving up valuable information. What few knew was about the silencing spell Malfoy had placed on the other three soldiers. He knew cowardice takes over in critical moments, so he'd implanted seals in their brains while they slept. If anyone tried to steal their memories, the seal would detect it and their brain would collapse immediately, resetting like a Muggle computer. The same would happen if they tried to speak willingly: they'd end up in a vegetative state.

Malfoy's methods were inhuman, but necessary after a long war with so many enemies. You never know where the next one will come from.

I wondered where that ferret had learned to wield magic like that. Being good at potions made sense, but having a bunch of extraordinary skills on top of that was downright creepy.

The sound of footsteps snapped me back to reality. Two wizards in elegant robes were walking calmly down the long hallway. Without hesitation, I fired two stunning spells. With them unconscious—faces I didn't recognize—I decided not to kill them directly; they'd be collateral damage. I tied them in front of Voldemort's statue, cast a small fire spell, and sat nearby to watch the flames devour that monstrosity.

The flames consumed every part with fierce intensity. Some noises echoed from the rest of the Ministry, but I had no energy to lose control in a situation like that. After all, there wasn't a single Death Eater there who interested me.

I had my wand; magic thrummed through my body. In a way, I was free. Not a prisoner or a damsel in distress. I could make decisions, go anywhere, and no one would stop me. But this wasn't the time to dwell on that. I wanted to fulfill the duty that had been denied me for being a pawn in a battle already decided.

I watched as the rest of my team hung bodies from the Ministry doors: a stark message. I stepped out of the building to survey the scene. The fire painted the sky red, and the bodies hung upside down with the sign of Merlin's Table carved into their stomachs, clear and visible.

That mission felt like enough. I wasn't sadistic, and I didn't want to become one. I still had a soul. Causing some havoc and heading back to the city unexpectedly lifted my spirits. Time was critical, so we parted with hand signals and fled in different directions. I had a Portkey to take me back to the mansion.

My eyes recognized those walls, and I let my guard down. I knew it was safe; no one would catch me. After all, I'd already been hunted by the most savage predator in the wizarding world.

Anna was sitting across from me. Her presence unsettled me; though we didn't exchange words, I could feel her eyes judging me in different ways. Malfoy definitely needed to send her home. I could hear her chasing him through the mansion, yelling at him, while he just smirked ironically. It was amusing to him. His stupid games made my skin crawl.

Our eyes locked, wordlessly. It seemed she wanted to play at dominating the situation.

Malfoy burst into the room wearing combat gear and red robes. But what drew the most attention was his hair: the platinum blond now cut short. Merlin, it had to be sinful to give a killer that kind of face. Malfoy was the most handsome and masculine wizard I'd ever seen. An almost blinding beauty; his mother's features dominated his perfect, idiotic face. The haircut suited him eerily well. But mine weren't the only eyes watching him.

"You look like a fucking Gryffindor," I snapped, my tone dripping with disdain.

"Shut your mouth, Weasley," he sighed indignantly. "It's the combat uniform for your stupid reform." He massaged his forehead. "They even gave me a haircut. Apparently, my aristocratic look doesn't fit the messages of love and hope from your team."

"You're pathetic," Anna said as she left the room.

We both watched the annoyed witch storm out.

She could deny it, but her eyes had seen the same thing as mine.

His feet approached me, and he placed his hand on my head, like a small reward. "Good job, Weasley."

My body sank into the bubbles of the bathtub as my mouth savored the taste of wine. It was ironic that I enjoyed banal things like this, but I could die any day, and at least I should indulge in the luxuries at my disposal.

The hot water accompanied the evening, with the moon visible through the window. Two hours in the bath and a bottle of wine were enough to relax my muscles. But I needed more. After all, sin and adrenaline were my best friends. After surviving a war, few things make you feel alive. I grabbed a robe and downed the last of the wine in my glass, then headed to Malfoy's private study.

The door was ajar, and Malfoy's laughter startled my senses. He was sitting on a sofa; Anna was perched on the desk with an amused look.

What could be so funny?

My footsteps erased the fun from the room. I felt Malfoy's gaze scan every detail of me.

"Come to mock my haircut, Weasley?"

Anna left the room for the second time that day.

"I've come for something better."

I walked straight to him and straddled his lap. He was a trained soldier; he knew my moves, but he didn't block them—just let out a laugh.

"Tell me how I can help you, Weasley."

Sitting on him in my damp robe, I knew I needed something between my legs. It wasn't the alcohol; it was my body craving, aching for what was hidden in his trousers. I kissed him desperately, and he understood. He held me tight while devouring my mouth, his hands roaming down my body—one on my back, the other squeezing my ass hard.

I felt my core throbbing with pleasure, soaked and dripping; the wetness had likely seeped through to his pants. His cologne was intoxicating. His mouth left mine to trail down to my breasts, sucking roughly through the thin fabric.

His mouth latched on, biting and sucking, while his hands groped greedily. I ground against his hardening cock, my moans escaping freely as pleasure flooded my mind. If this was hell, I wanted to be damned forever. My hands gripped his shoulders as I craved more friction, more contact.

I felt him shift to flip us over on the sofa.

"Let me do it," I gasped, breath ragged.

I grabbed his zipper and yanked it down, breathing heavily. He adjusted on the sofa, freeing his cock—it was throbbing, hot, thick, and rock-hard, veins pulsing with need. I wrapped my hand around it, stroking once before lifting my hips to position him at my entrance. I was drenched, slick heat pouring out of me, and Malfoy's smirk confirmed he'd felt it too.

No foreplay this time. My hips wavered slightly, but I wasn't stopping. If this was what I wanted, I'd take it raw. Without thinking—driven by raw inexperience—I slammed my hips down, impaling myself fully on his length in one brutal thrust.

My eyes squeezed shut from the sharp pain; he was buried deep, stretching me wide like a stake driven into my core. I hadn't thought it through. But looking at Malfoy changed everything—his lips wet and parted, eyes closed in bliss, his face twisted in pure ecstasy. It was an antidote to the poison in my veins.

At my first tentative movement, his forehead pressed against my chest, breathing labored. I was the only fool here; from Malfoy's expression, he was praying to his ancestors not to come too soon.

I exhaled the air trapped in my lungs and started an awkward but determined rhythm, seeking my own instincts, my own pleasure. I rose and fell slowly at first, his thick cock filling every inch of my slick walls, dragging against them with delicious friction. The soft grunts escaping Malfoy's mouth were the most erotic sound on the planet.

As I explored the pleasure with my hips, Malfoy gripped my ass cheeks hard, guiding me into a faster, punishing rhythm that I obeyed eagerly. The wet slap of our bodies colliding, mingled with our ragged breaths, was like an elixir of life—at least for me.

His hands moved to my waist, lifting my body gently until his cock slipped out almost completely, only to slam me back down, burying himself balls-deep again. It was exquisite torture—feeling his full length leave me empty, then stretch and fill me completely in one rough drop.

I braced my hands on his chest for leverage, bouncing on his cock like I was riding for my life. Shame fled my body; I had no idea if this was how it should be—I just chased the pleasure his thickness gave me. The knot in my belly tightened unbearably, my toes going numb as climax built.

Malfoy threw his head back, eyes shut, hands kneading my ass brutally. Then I saw it.

Behind him, a mirror reflected the door. There stood Anna, silent and watching the entire scene.

Chapter Text

Chapter 25

The room was packed with hooded figures and faces hardened by years of hiding. My hands trembled as I stood up; my throat felt dry as old parchment. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until I finally spoke.

“Voldemort will fall,” I said, my voice steady even though everything inside me burned. “The attack I’ve designed will strike straight at the heart of his regime. I have the partial strikes planned, and the main targets that must fall to break his structure.”

A sharp voice cut through the murmurs.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” said one of the French delegates with disdain, “I believe we’d prefer to hear from someone more… qualified. After all, you already lost one war.”

“I agree,” added another, an Austrian with a neatly trimmed beard. “She’s just a woman.”

My eyes burned through them with barely contained fury. I forced myself to stay composed.

“My attacks will be primarily aerial,” I continued, ignoring the insult. “No one flies faster or with more precision than I do. None of you could execute these maneuvers. After all, there isn’t that much difference between a man and a horse when it comes to a broom.”

A few stifled laughs echoed. I sat back down, cheeks burning with rage and humiliation.

“We have little time,” interjected Theodore Nott, the Italian diplomat, his tone urgent. “Every second counts. We’re not safe anywhere. The best course is to coordinate immediately.”

A loud crash shook the room. From the shadows emerged a tall, pale figure with disheveled blond hair and a crooked smile.

“A pleasure to see you all gathered, dear allies,” said Draco Malfoy as he dropped into the nearest chair. “Sorry I’m late. I didn’t expect a couple of Cruciatus sessions to take so long.”

He gave me an amused, almost conspiratorial look. I took a deep breath and stood again.

“As I was saying, gentlemen,” I went on, “the attack will be aerial and underground. We’re counting on Delegate Webster to supply the Romanian explosives. I myself will fly straight into the main roof of the podium where the elite generals meet. We’ll need demolition experts and low-flying specialists. It will be fast. It will be lethal. I expect the casualties to be enough to decapitate their command.”

Draco cleared his throat.

“I find the tactic impeccable, Miss Weasley. Count me in. I’m sure the delegates present will pass the order immediately: explosives, personnel, everything required.”

They all nodded. Just like that. My plan, ridiculed minutes earlier, was now “impeccable” because a man had endorsed it.

In the cold Malfoy Manor, the knot in my stomach never went away. They hadn’t taken me seriously for a single moment. I needed a Malfoy to show up for my strategy to stop being “a woman’s idea.”

“It’s a brilliant strategy, Gin,” Draco said, appearing beside me on the balcony. The night breeze brushed our faces. “I’m sure this attack will mark the beginning of the end.”

“It was only accepted because you showed up,” I muttered, my voice shaking with shame and anger. “Without you, it would still be ‘the widow who lost a war.’”

“I don’t get a single Knut of credit this time. It’s entirely yours. No one else would have come up with something so bold.”

“When this is all over, I’m leaving. Far away. The world can go to hell. I’ll save it… and then I’ll disappear.”

I turned my face away; my red hair fell like a curtain between us.

“You can go as far as you want,” he replied softly. “It’ll be my gift: your freedom.”

He vanished like smoke in the mist.

The following nights were a whirlwind. German moles planted Italian explosives in tunnels dug by French wizards. Russian fliers fine-tuned their modified Firebolts. Every territory contributed what it could: materials, personnel, daring messengers. The magical world refused to bend. Fear had only forged character and unity. Wizards would not be humiliated by an inhuman creature. Voldemort’s days were numbered. Magic cannot be caged. It cannot be limited.

The day arrived.

Draco would be on the podium inaugurating the “results” of a fictitious investigation. My flight calculations and coordinates had to avoid him… or at least not injure him gravely. He also had to appear as a victim—wounded enough not to be branded a traitor.

I would fly straight into the center. The rest of the team would block entrances and escape routes.

As I gripped my broom and loaded the last explosives, staring at the fortified structure, nausea doubled me over. I had reviewed it a thousand times: second by second, no room for error.

“Ma’am, the underground charges are in place,” said a boy of about ten, blond, with a brave smile. “We’re waiting for your signal.”

The same age as so many who died in the first war… or in this one. Does every person have a purpose, Merlin? Or was it just bad luck? Why her and not Hermione? Why her family and not someone else’s? Spilled blood doesn’t come back. But it isn’t forgotten either. The victim lists were already endless. Almost everyone I ever knew was dead. At least they died believing we would win.

The echo of Draco’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. The boy was watching me. I nodded. He sped away on his broom.

I watched Draco on the platform, in a dark military uniform, speaking with that cold confidence. Voldemort stood in front of him, smiling, mesmerized by every word.

I took a deep breath. I dove into a steep dive.

At my signal, the underground bombs detonated. Screams, smoke, pulverized stone. My broom was my only ally as I circled the building, dropping explosives on the exact points. Dust and shrieks dazed me, but I didn’t stop. Even hooded, I wanted to leave a mark on Voldemort. If I could wound him, it would mean something.

I found him at one of the side doors that had somehow held—some charge had failed. He looked gaunt, almost a walking corpse… and yet my bones still shook with terror. He was no longer the young Tom Riddle from the Chamber. He was death itself.

Draco was at his side.

Rage blinded me. Screw the plan. I would kill him now. Maybe I’d never get him this exposed again.

I fired a direct Stupefy, revealing my position. I dismounted the broom and took a dueling stance.

Draco dispelled my spell as if it were a childish Expelliarmus and stepped in front of Voldemort, shielding him.

A duel. That was what I wanted. That was what I would get.

He attacked to kill. I dodged by millimeters; my body responded slowly, exhausted. My wand vibrated weakly just as the ground exploded beneath us.

A hammer blow to the head. The shockwave hurled me several meters. My legs reacted on instinct.

Draco would kill me.

Voldemort was barely getting to his feet when I reached the spot. Suddenly, hands closed around my throat and lifted me. I was suffocating.

“My Lord, take the safe channel,” Draco said coldly. “I’ll report when I have the responsible party.”

Green eyes behind round glasses: that was the only thing keeping me from seeing Voldemort escape. Seconds later, lungs empty, I fell to the ground. My throat burned; I coughed until I nearly vomited.

“You’re a traitor,” tears streamed down my cheeks; helplessness consumed me.

I felt his hands on my face. His voice sounded distant, distorted. I pulled the knife from my boot and struck without thinking.

I drove it with all my strength into his neck.

Hot blood poured out.

“You’re a traitor, Harry Potter,” my lips trembled as I stared at my blood-soaked hands.

Silence.

The next few minutes felt like an unreal calm, as if the world were holding its breath.

“Fuck, you’re killing him!” a female voice shouted, snapping me out of the trance.

A brown-haired girl was holding the pale “Malfoy,” who was bleeding out in her arms.

Anna.

I remembered her.

And then it all clicked.

It wasn’t Harry.

It was Draco.

Chapter Text

Chapter 26

Tears streamed painfully down my cheeks as a hammer seemed to pound against my head again and again. Had I truly killed Draco Malfoy?

Footsteps behind me yanked me sharply out of my thoughts.

“Is that your blood? Are you hurt, Weasley?” asked a worried Zabini as he approached.

“It’s Malfoy’s. I might have killed him by accident,” I replied. A half-smile drew itself across my lips.

Zabini’s eyes showed concern, but beneath it I sensed fear. Not fear for me, but for what would become of us without Malfoy.

As we headed toward the offices of the old Ministry, where the records of English wizards were kept, a heavy weight pressed down on me. The information on pure blood was inscribed on an ancient stone that displayed the names of the remaining families and their members.

The Malfoy branch appeared dull and faded. That tree had been severed. Draco Malfoy’s name shone with colorless letters, just like those of his ancestors.

The last Malfoy was dead.

Without a word, Zabini led me to a temporary refuge while they notified Nott. Sitting in the large dining hall, I felt my throat dry. I couldn’t process anything. With Malfoy dead, everything would be different. I was free… but what did that even mean right now? I didn’t want my freedom. I wanted freedom for the entire magical world, and that was something only he could have provided.

A heavy knot settled in my stomach. Not a single tear more would be dedicated to a magical assassin without precedent. He was a psychopath, a genocidal monster. I hadn’t killed a wizard; I had ended a plague. He had been the suffering of thousands of people. Malfoy didn’t deserve compassion. Whether it had been an accident or a mistake, it was something that needed to be done. Maybe I should feel relieved that the mission had just become simpler.

“No one can know that Malfoy is dead.”

Nott’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I hadn’t even noticed him arrive. He looked burdened and distressed.

“In my reports, he is still playing the role of a double agent and is currently with Voldemort,” his gaze hardened. “I know we can do this, Ginny, but the people outside don’t trust us. They want Malfoy. Neither you nor I are names that interest them. If anyone finds out, they might stop supporting us.”

I simply nodded.

“Merlin’s sake, listen to me, Ginny. You look awful. Don’t let those thoughts win. I know what he did to you in his manor: he tortured and raped you. I don’t blame you for killing him the moment you had the chance. You’re a magnificent witch and you did the right thing. Don’t blame yourself for it.”

His words felt like a deadly spell against my skin.

His arms wrapped around me and all the weight I had been carrying crashed down on me like a concrete wall. My sobs mixed with cries of lament. The pain I had tried to hide came rushing to the surface. Nott held me firmly.

Malfoy was a monster… but he had been the only one who had never been willing to sacrifice me.

“Listen to me, Ginny. In my home, I have a baby that is still forming. This is a fight we will win with or without Malfoy.”

I nodded as I wiped away my tears.

The days passed and the situation improved wonderfully. With the support of other European countries, greater control was achieved and several Death Eaters were captured. The most difficult ones were still out there, but everything was progressing.

Nott took control of the Ministry and decided to annul all marriages imposed during Voldemort’s regime. I was no longer a Malfoy, and that was a fact, because I had never truly been one. Weasley had always been better for me.

Battles and clashes were constant, but the power of the Dark Lord’s regime was finally coming to an end.

Voldemort couldn’t have gone far, but it was unsettling to think that if Malfoy had died, there was a possibility that, thanks to the transmutation rune on his chest, he had managed to take over his body. All of it was just possibilities. I spent hours locked in the library trying to decipher the exhaustive work that blond had done: soul transmutation, runes, alchemy, Horcruxes, magic extraction… Everything burned through my neurons. There were too many concepts for a problem that showed no sign of ending.

With each passing day, it became harder to predict when Voldemort would launch a direct attack. The shelters were plentiful and effective; no civilians had fallen. People had already suffered too much to lose this second battle.

After days of constant research, the only thing I was certain of was that Draco Malfoy had been a genius. He had discovered how to extract magic from a wizard and, through runes embedded in his chest, Voldemort had managed to transmute his soul. It wasn’t a common Horcrux, because in the end the Dark Lord wanted his soul to completely absorb Malfoy’s body: a perfect vessel for immortality, without errors. After so many years and several Horcruxes created, that murderer’s soul was too weakened for a simple transfer, which was why the process was so lengthy.

I leaned back in the chair with a sigh. Had Draco’s soul always been that dark, or was it the result of a series of events? My earliest memories of him were of a spoiled, selfish brat, but the latest were of a monster. He hadn’t been raised to be a killer. Maybe he had been a bully and a classist, but reaching those extremes left me exhausted. If only I could remember a little more about that disgusting boy during our school years… Since when had he paid attention to me? What was the decisive moment that pushed him to the limit and changed his personality? Or was I simply trying to justify a little genocidal?

I still didn’t understand what the extraction of magic had to do with soul transmutation and the runes. Merlin, if only Hermione were here… Or if I hadn’t been so stupid as to not ask Malfoy for more information when I had the chance.

But he was dead. Since that day, I had kept myself so busy that I hadn’t allowed even a moment for that dark thought.

I headed to the nearest shelter for the next round.

Zabini was there, silent and mysterious as always.

“The favorite redhead is back,” he said mockingly. “You should get out of that room a bit, studying things of little importance. Malfoy is dead and Voldemort will be soon too.”

“You’re very loud,” I replied.

“You actually hated him. I could see it in your eyes during that ball,” his question echoed in my ears.

“I have a lot of hate,” I sighed.

“This will end soon, and I’ll leave far away. You should come with me,” his voice sounded distant as his footsteps moved away.

Six months without Malfoy. The world felt much lighter, with less fear and more hope floating in the air. Still, there were countless unanswered questions. Everyone knew something was wrong; they weren’t deceptions, just merciful lies.

Nott was an excellent diplomat and knew how to handle the situation. With his authority, the International Magical Council was created. After years of ignoring problems, laws were passed against the Dark Arts and practices that could affect the international community. There was help. There was hope.

The fact that several countries now wanted to help each other didn’t erase my resentment. Where had they been when my family was involved in that war? Where had they been when England fell into a bottomless pit? It hadn’t been their problem… until it affected them too.

Maybe, maybe, maybe… Those thoughts were the ones that left me unstable. The past was the past, but it tormented me every day while the magical society rose from the rubble and thousands of questions continued to surface in my head.

When I gathered the courage to visit my old home, my entire life was reflected in that place. My brothers and my parents represented that love. Arriving at a site where only rubble remained seemed disorienting, but there it was: The Burrow, exactly as I remembered it.

My feet faltered with every step. With my heart in my throat, I entered my home with tears in my eyes. Everything was exactly as I remembered. Nothing had changed. It had been rebuilt down to the smallest detail, with a precision that was frightening.

With courage, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. Everything was exactly as it had been the day it was set on fire: the posters of my favorite Quidditch teams and that lamp my father had built when I was little. The air left my lungs.

On the small nightstand, next to the photo I had with my friends from Hogwarts, there was a note.

With love for Ginevra.

DM

Chapter Text

Chapter 27

1991

The wind whipped through my hair, blocking my vision. With a quick movement, I brushed it away; I couldn’t miss the moment the great Harry Potter boarded the train that would take him to the castle. A part of me hated having to wait a whole year to join his adventures. The "Boy Who Lived" felt like a distant wave that, at some point, would crash upon my shores.

However, in just a few minutes, that peaceful atmosphere was shattered by a little brat with a toad-like face who appeared out of nowhere just to humiliate us. The Malfoys. That family’s distinguished, platinum hair made me realize instantly that today was my unlucky day simply for having crossed paths with them. Father always used to say that they might be descended from trolls.

"Father, do you have any change for these beggars?" the boy asked. His look of disgust swept over my family.

"How witty of you, my boy," the man replied. His father’s look of approval brought a smug smile to the boy's face.

With suppressed rage, I watched them walk away. My family wasn't one to look for trouble, or at least not in front of my parents; I was sure my brothers at the castle would take care of putting him in his place. Harry was the same age as me, and I knew he wanted to continue the fight, or at least say something in our defense. I had no doubt: after all, the hero of the wizarding world would always do the right thing. I smiled at him timidly, and he returned the gesture, making my heart flutter with excitement.

Malfoy looked at us and, with a mocking sneer, said, "Brilliant, Potter, you brought the Weasley girl along with you."

His eyes flicked toward me for a split second.

"Pathetic." It was barely a whisper, but I could read it perfectly on his lips.

1992

Tears streamed down my face like a rushing river. Something had to be deeply wrong with me if I was capable of being possessed by Tom Riddle. To think of everything I caused, the harm I did to so many people just by trusting my supposed "friend"... But above all, it ate away at my soul to have been so naive as to cause so much pain. If it hadn't been for Harry, what would become of me now?

I tried not to make a sound. It was three in the morning and my roommates were sleeping peacefully, but my nightmares gave me no respite. I could feel the cold sweat clinging to the back of my neck. This wasn't how I imagined my first year; my chance to shine was buried by the shame of being manipulated in such a malevolent way, and by the stupidity of believing a monster like that could be my friend.

The healer said it was trauma and that I had to overcome it, but I could feel everyone’s judging eyes on me in the corridors. "Little, foolish Weasley was possessed by a diary," or at least that’s what I had heard them whisper. There were days when I could barely gather the strength to go down to the Great Hall. Hermione insisted it was just paranoia, that I was stronger than the trauma, but my head told me otherwise. All I wanted was to go back to The Burrow; surely homeschooling would work just as well.

The first week I dared to walk the corridors alone, I had the misfortune of running into a gang of Slytherins. I didn't look up; I tried to quicken my pace to get out of there, but their comments caught up to me:

"Potter's girlfriend has crawled out of her cave."

"She’s just as hideous as the rest of her family."

"Her filthy, worn-out robes match her hair color perfectly."

In my desperate attempt to escape, I clumsily bumped straight into Draco Malfoy, who merely smiled with cynicism.

"A blood traitor: cowardly, filthy, and poor. What else can you expect from a Weasley?"

I bolted down the corridor, my heart in my throat.

1993

I could hear Harry laughing at a comment made by Hermione. I was close to them, yet never with them; close and distant all at once—a frustrating perspective. The holidays had helped, especially the support of my family and, of course, the Muggle therapist Hermione had secretly recommended to me. Harry had also been very present after the incident, causing my little heart to cling even tighter to his image as the ideal boy.

After witnessing the disastrous Gryffindor practice led by my brothers, I headed to the hospital wing; I was certain one of the twins would injure themselves during training before a major match. Upon arrival, I noticed a huge commotion. Malfoy was surrounded by people. Only an idiot like him could get attacked by a hippogriff. I snorted to myself before continuing with my visit.

After a long chat about how useless the twins could be as players and realizing my visiting time was up, I walked toward the exit. Passing the row of cots, I stole a quick glance at Malfoy; I suppose my curiosity was stronger than my common sense. He caught my discreet glance from his mattress.

"The servant staff has finally arrived," he spat. His voice, noticeably deeper than I remembered, echoed in my ears.

"Idiot."

The words came out firm from my mouth, leaving him completely speechless.

After finding out the long story of how Harry saved the hippogriff from the fatal doom imposed by Malfoy, I was able to go to bed in peace.

Harry. Always Harry.

1994

Michael waited for me in the stands while he watched me fly on my broom. Surely the rest thought my involvement was just nepotism, but without a doubt, it was pure effort. I wasn't a starter on the team, but the fact that they let me practice meant that someday I could secure an official spot. When practice ended, I headed to the showers, hoping I wouldn't be late for our date.

Suddenly, my shoulder collided heavily with someone. My mind was elsewhere, and my body had simply drifted off path. I was about to apologize when a highly recognizable voice addressed me:

"You're getting me dirty, Weasley. Get out of my way."

The apology caught in my throat. An exasperated Malfoy stormed out of the place in a fury.

Despite everything, life at Hogwarts finally felt like a true second home. I had made plenty of friends, though classes and practices meant I had few dates with Michael, who fortunately understood my routine perfectly. The castle had become a safe place for me after those disastrous years; you could say I had finally found my way.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione kept too many secrets for me to join them; they were already perfect just as they were and didn't need anyone else. To be honest, I had no business being in that situation anyway. On the other hand, Neville and Luna became my unconditional friends: where one was, the others were sure to follow.

During the Yule Ball, I managed to laugh a little realizing that my name had never even crossed Harry's mind; even so, it didn't matter, my dance partner had been perfect. My constant support for Harry during the tournament bothered Michael a bit. I suppose the direct comments from the Slytherins had vanished, but echoes never truly leave a space. Neville had taught me to dance before that special night; after all, his grandmother was a very traditional woman.

1995

The Dumbledore's Army reminded me daily that teaching requires patience. After they discovered my talent for defensive spells, Hermione didn't hesitate to appoint me as a tutor for the other members. My time was spent being a mini-McGonagall with a Chaser title, and with Umbridge breathing down my neck, the days at the castle grew increasingly long and tense.

After my father was attacked, I understood that the magical reality was much darker than we were led to believe. I perfected my spells without rest, which ultimately brought an end to my relationship; Quidditch and the DA consumed all my energy and mind. At the beginning of the year everything was easier, like on Valentine's Day, when my locker woke up stuffed with sweets and letters, and my only worry was how to finish that mountain of chocolates.

However, during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, I realized that Harry carried a weight far too heavy for him to bear alone, even with Hermione and Ron. Deep doubts flooded me regarding how he would process the death of Sirius Black.

Due to appointments in the hospital wing to check my ankle, which had been injured in the battle, I had a few physical run-ins with Malfoy. Well, if you could call him shoving or bumping into me in the medical room a "run-in." What on earth was Malfoy doing in the hospital wing for so long? After a while, I learned that Madame Pomfrey kept him there as her apprentice. That jerk grew taller every day and, as an athlete, he had gained muscle mass, making every collision much rougher.

"Watch where you're walking, moron," I snapped at him one day. After several occasions of choosing my peace of mind and ignoring him, he finally pushed my patience over the edge.

"Watch your mouth, Weasley. Your next injury might not be your ankle," he threatened, walking out the door and slamming his shoulder against mine as he passed.

I sighed deeply. Was that a direct threat?

1996

Dean cheered me on from the stands during a decisive match for the season. Everything was under control; after a massive amount of training, I was finally the starting Chaser and the backup Seeker. The Golden Trio remained far too busy and mysterious. The atmosphere was growing more tense by the day, and I could feel something massive looming on the horizon; even if everyone acted normal, I knew they shared my fears. Whispers about Death Eaters and the Dark Lord echoed through the corridors.

During an argument, I managed to overhear that Harry suspected Malfoy had taken the Dark Mark. I tried to recall his recent movements: I knew he had quit Quidditch because he hadn't attended the games and that he was more reserved, but in my mind, I simply thought he had matured.

In a fit of investigation, my eyes began searching for him constantly, and the strange thing was that I always found him. We used to cross paths in the same places. How long had I been overlooking the fact that Malfoy was always present? I suppose I let too many things slide. After a few days of watching him, trying not to let him notice, one day he simply vanished. It was as if the earth had swallowed him whole; I never saw him again. We no longer crossed paths in any corner; he had turned into a ghost.

Then, Harry severely attacked Malfoy. My mind froze upon hearing the news; Malfoy had nearly died at Harry's hands.

He became more cautious, eerie, intriguing, dark, and quiet by the day. The years of mockery fell entirely silent, leaving a thug consumed by stillness.

Dumbledore was dead.

And Harry had seen that Malfoy murdered him.

1997

A night of apparent freedom took place at Hogwarts, even under the yoke of the dark regime. A clandestine party was organized in the most hidden corridors of the castle, with alcohol flowing through the hands of students who were shaken and terrified by the current state of the wizarding system. The Carrow siblings and Snape had fled following Voldemort's summons, gifting us a moment of peace, temporary as it was.

I put on some lipstick. I wasn't looking for fun; it was a mission. A kiss between Harry and me, a promise, had been enough to fuel my bravery and head out in search of information. I knew the three of them out there were looking for something, and even if they didn't want to give me the necessary details, I would do what I could from the inside. After all, only one side would win. A sword, an opportunity, and it could change the course of things. After a tense year of persecutions and punishments, the few of us left in the castle were still standing; at least, those of us who were still good at this.

I spent the whole night dealing with a bunch of idiots, trying to filter through rumors of what was happening at the Ministry, without gaining any real leverage. Upon leaving the classroom where the gathering was being held to head to my room, I crossed paths directly in the corridor with a group of Slytherin boys. They were a year older, and the only one I recognized was Malfoy, who held a bottle of alcohol in his hand.

His brow wasn't furrowed like it had been in recent years; he was leaning against the wall, his hair messy and his cheeks flushed from the drink. He looked relaxed, as if he had carried an enormous weight on his back and today, finally, he had let it drop.

"Potter's girlfriend is here," one of them blurted out.

"I thought Potter slept with the Mudblood," another added, sparking laughter all down the corridor.

I took a deep breath and kept walking. Malfoy kept a half-smile on his face, but remained silent; he didn't say anything, he just listened.

"A Mudblood and a blood traitor are the same filth," the mockery continued.

"Say what you want about this bitch, but I’d definitely shag her. Just look at that arse and those tits," a dark-haired boy smirked.

Malfoy stopped laughing instantly.

I felt the filthy gaze of those men upon me. I inhaled, my body spun around on pure instinct, and I threw a punch.

The weeks leading up to the first major battle ended up drawing the battle lines. The cards were already on the table. There was nowhere left to run.

It was the beginning of the end.