Chapter 3

The only sound in Lucius' study was quill on parchment. Seated at his desk, he did not look up as there was a scratching on the door and Narcissa entered. She took several steps into the room and waited. Lucius' quill continued its scribbling.

Narcissa calmly bided her time until Lucius was finally forced to acknowledge her. “Narcissa,” he said briefly, only glancing up through his reading glasses and continuing to read over documents and make notes.

“I was curious. How is everything progressing?” Narcissa queried.

Continuing what Narcissa judged to be a carefully calculated air of distraction, Lucius scratched away while answering, “All is progressing smoothly.”

“Oh,” Narcissa responded, drawing out the single syllable somewhat exaggeratedly, eliciting only a vaguely affirmative murmur from her husband.

“ I was also curious,” she began in the same coy tone, but she was interrupted as Lucius finally set his quill down.

Looking at her stonily, he said, “You are ever curious, Narcissa.”

Narcissa dropped a bit of her pretense and said, “I was wondering about the girl.”

“The girl?” Calmly, Lucius picked up his quill and resumed writing. Watching the top of his head, Narcissa narrowed her eyes speculatively. “What about the girl?” he continued.

“Well, she is not in the chamber that I designated for her. . .” Narcissa allowed her voice to trail off questioningly.

“She is in my room,” Lucius replied neutrally, leafing through a stack of parchment.

This prompted another lengthy “oh” on Narcissa's part. “I know that the doors are warded, and she has no wand, and I am sure that some of my work is still in place, but are you confident it is wise to leave her unsupervised?”

Removing his glasses, Lucius stood. “Narcissa, I am certain you are aware that she is currently, shall we say, exhausted from certain exertions and therefore hardly presents a threat at this time. Is there anything else that you need to ask me about?”

Considering his deceptively cordial tone, Narcissa decided she would be wise not to press the issue. “No, you've assuaged my fears,” she said brightly as they both moved towards the door. “Would you care to join me for a late breakfast?”

Ginny awoke in the same chamber and stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking of nothing in particular and waiting to see if she was truly alone before she decided to venture out of the bed. She vaguely remembered Lucius casting Scourgify after at least one of their encounters, but she was a firm believer in soap and water. She wrapped a smooth, white sheet around her and slid out of the bed. After tentatively trying all the large room's many doors and peeking in the ones that opened, trailing the huge sheet being her like a train, she found the bathroom and was sure that this chamber was Lucius'.

The bathroom put Hogwarts' legendary prefects’ bathroom to shame. Ginny consciously tried not to compare it to her bathroom at The Burrow, not that there really was any comparison. She stood on the cool, marble floor in front of a large mirror, searching her face for some difference, much as she imagined all girls did after... whatever you wanted to call it. Terms swirled in her mind, from technical and lifeless to unutterably lame to vulgar slang, and she couldn't personally identify her experience with any of them.

The face that looked at her was the same. The same brown eyes, one a bit larger than the other. The same freckles. The lips that now couldn't stop whining Lucius' name looked the same as they had before they became so traitorous. Ginny stared at her expressionless face and wondered what would become of her. She had a vague idea that the Death Eaters had plans to ransom her, but her capture was hazy in her mind.

She knew there was the possibility that she would never leave here. This included the chance of death, but that was not the only possible outcome nor, in fact, the worst she could think of. She smiled bitterly at herself. After all, she knew Tom Riddle a little. Ginny didn't like to think about Tom, or his book, or anything that had happened that first year at Hogwarts. When asked, she always said that she couldn't remember details, and that was mostly true, but sometimes she had the idea that she could remember if she tried hard enough.

But, part of herself knew this was a terrible idea, and since this was the part of her that she had disregarded as the diary seduced her, she firmly avoided all thought of that time of her life, and if sometimes she seemed to dream of lying cold and still on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, well, one couldn't take Dreamless Sleep forever.

She turned away from the mirror, unable to continue looking at her own face, and leaned against a marble counter, wrapping the voluminous sheet around herself tightly as she shuddered involuntarily. Despite the cold stone around her, she felt her skin grow hot, and something like defiance flared in her chest.

She could be dead, insane, or worse by the end of the day. There wasn't precisely a future to live for right now. Now, there was just the moment, and the moment was filled with longing for Lucius Malfoy, and it was not as if he was unaware of that fact. Why was she fighting this desire? She wouldn't save any face in the end, even if she went free. What, would she explain the fine points? Yes, I did beg Lucius Malfoy to make me come, but I made him ask me twice before I answered, she thought wryly.

Anger animating her again, she threw off her sheet and crossed the chamber to draw a bath.

Lucius had finished the day's tasks and stood in front of the fireplace in his study, idly swirling the drink in his tumbler and looking at the flames. Despite his forceful assurances to Narcissa, events were not unfolding as optimally as he had anticipated. The situation was still in hand, but an unusually weary part of him preferred things be as effortless as possible.

He had also not anticipated that he would be so... diverted by young Miss Weasley. The animosity he felt towards her was still there, but the quality had changed. No longer the diffuse hatred of the Weasleys in general, Lucius was now focused on the girl herself. Despite her inability to master her desire for him, he inexplicably felt as if she was still out of his control. His wife's ill-disguised amusement at the liaison served to further salt the wound.

These issues, however, had no effect on his desire for her, except perhaps to exacerbate it. This thought was much more pleasant than what his mind had been dwelling on, so he set aside his discontentment, put down his glass, and left the study.