Chapter 6

Ginny floated in the bubbly sea of the bathtub and reflected on her current situation. Over the past several days she had come to feel less like a prisoner and more like a pupil in some kind of bizarre Slytherin finishing school. Narcissa visited Ginny each day, and Ginny was becoming convinced that Narcissa should have had a daughter because it seemed like her goal was to mold Ginny in her likeness. Or at least as much like Narcissa Malfoy as a poor, red-headed Gryffindor could be.

Ginny entered into many confusing, philosophical arguments with Narcissa, who always ended them decisively. "Nothing I'm telling you is wrong," she'd emphasize, gesturing expressively from her seat on the couch opposite Ginny. "You must stand for your own principles, even if that principle is to have none. You can use whatever tools I give you to whatever ends you wish. Be that as it may, it may be that these tools will help you choose that end more freely."

These declarations seemed to rub off some of the polish from Narcissa's brilliant exterior, giving Ginny a brief glimpse of what the witch might actually be like if she was not, as she put it, "playing the game." However, most of Ginny believed Narcissa was always playing the game, and while she grudgingly accepted Narcissa's explanation that knowing how to play was not inherently evil, it seemed like such a loss of self must be something to guard against.

Then Narcissa would rally by declaring melodramatically that since Ginny was so frightfully good at all this, she must learn in any case, closing discussion and turning matters once more to magic---and manners. Although Narcissa did drill Ginny in magic, and claimed she was doing quite well at it ("You can hold your own against me, darling, and although I am not the best, I'm not the worst either."), Narcissa concentrated on what Ginny thought of as deportment lessons.

"Self-possession! Sangfroid! Intrigue is ninety-eight percent appearances. Look at me. Have you any real idea how powerful a witch I am?" Ginny shook her head no. "Exactly. I could be teetering on the brink of Squib! However, do you think anyone believes that?"

Burning in Ginny's mind was the small, cramped bathroom at the Burrow. "But you're rich!" she blurted out, startling Narcissa into genuine peals of laughter.

"Ginevra Weasley, has it not occurred to you that you yourself have captured the attentions of a wizard who is very, very, rich?"

Ginny opened her mouth with the intention of saying something, only to find that she had no reply. She tried to skirt any conversation of Lucius with the witch, who was, after all, his wife. However, she felt a distinct twinge of satisfaction at Narcissa's assessment, despite her desperate avoidance of logical examination of what was happening between her and Lucius.

Narcissa reached across the low table between them and patted Ginny's hand. "That's not quite the expression I am endeavoring to get you to show when you hear something unexpected.

"I realize that you feel awkward discussing Lucius with me, but you must remember that our marriage has always been an amicable arrangement, not some grand love affair." Ginny had schooled her features by this time, gaining an approving glance from Narcissa as she went on. "However, I shall not lead you falsely as far as my husband is concerned. Capturing his attention is not a euphemism for roses and romance."

Narcissa shot a glance at Ginny as she nodded her understanding. "I feel that you know this already, and perhaps that is the reason that you two get on so splendidly." Ginny blushed furiously at Narcissa's emphasis on the word 'splendidly.' "I am not sure if Lucius really loves anything, Ginny," Narcissa continued delicately, "but he is capable of... cherishing something that belongs to him."

With that final comment, Narcissa began abruptly trying to get into Ginny's thoughts, and lessons were on again.

Trying to escape from the memory of this conversation, Ginny sighed and slid under the bath water, but following her down, she heard the phrase over and over again, like a song, a promise, or a warning: something that belongs to him.

Time ground on, and Ginny continued to avoid thinking of the consequences of this strange interlude in her life. Her desire for Lucius was as uncontrolled as ever, and his interest in her did not seem to wane. Often now, she would wake to find him in the room, working at his desk or reading. She tried to ruthlessly crush the small secret warmth this caused her, but she found it impossible.

Once, after he had brought her nearly sobbing to climax and finished himself, she found her hand stealing out to touch his long silver hair as they lay sweaty on the huge bed. Closing her eyes, she could only think that it was as silky and soft as she had imagined. When she opened her eyes to look at him, expecting him perhaps to be angry, the possessive contentment she read on his face filled her heart with something she couldn't quite identify. She floated down into a deep, dreamless sleep, her hand still tingling from his lingering squeeze.

Lucius had found his attentions increasingly drawn away from his current tribulations by Ginevra. Whatever scheme Narcissa thought she was carrying off, the results were quite enchanting. He enjoyed Ginevra's newfound poise, but even more than that, he relished the fact that she was utterly unable to maintain it with him. A few well-chosen words, a significant glance, and Ginevra's cool facade was gone, leaving him with a shameless girl.

His girl for now, but there was the rub. His girl was also his hostage, an important piece in a game where everything was at stake. Lucius was unaccustomed to disclaiming something that he desired, and equally unused to taking unnecessary risks. Both attitudes had served him well until now, when a cheeky, freckled slip of a witch presented him with a conundrum.

He could not quite decide if placing Ginevra in his bedchamber that night merited Narcissa a thank-you or a hex. All his careful planning, his dispassionate logic, and here he was, in bed with Arthur Weasley's daughter.

Lucius was preparing to rouse himself from that bed when a small hand crept tentatively over his arm to softly stroke his hair. He allowed his expression to soften at both the small gesture and the sentiment behind it, confirmation he had indeed captivated Ginevra. He placed his hand over hers and squeezed it lightly, then left her for his study and his thoughts.

Narcissa watched her son as he petulantly stuffed his dinner into his mouth. She did love him (as much as she loved anything), but that did not stop her from acknowledging the truth about Draco. Her and Lucius' son was an unfortunate combination of both their dazzling good looks and their respective faults.

As Draco began his whinging anew, Narcissa shook off her reverie and brought her attention back to him. "I still believe that I am old enough to participate, and it's intolerable that Father hasn't even spoken to me this visit," he said in what Narcissa imagined he thought was a bold, decisive tone.

Sighing inwardly, Narcissa thought that perhaps all the accusations Lucius had made over the years about spoiling were spot on. She then spoke easily, but with the undercurrent of steel that made all but Lucius sit up and pay attention.

"Draco, please pull your head out of your arse and pay attention." She carefully kept her face severe as Draco's sullen look of reproach caused laughter to well up inside her. "You should be well aware that your father is busy. You should also know that the whole situation has not proceeded as expected and is, in fact, quite volatile." She paused, and Draco nodded grudgingly.

"Now, think like the Malfoy you are instead of a spoiled brat, " Narcissa continued. "Where do your loyalties lie?" She waited, but Draco remained silent and puzzled. As that silence increased, she did permit herself a small sigh. "Should your loyalty remain with a losing side, due to ideals, like an imbecilic Gryffindor? Or should a Slytherin, perchance, be prepared for all outcomes?"

Draco formed a small, soundless O with his mouth. "Oh, indeed," said Narcissa, picking up her fork and allowing her son to digest all the things she had not said.

Lucius did not pause in his eating when Narcissa unceremoniously seated herself across the table from him, nor when she said in an uncharacteristically blunt way, "You haven't told her."

Wiping his mouth with a napkin, he said, "As that is a statement and not a question, I am unsure as to how you would want me to respond."

Narcissa actually rolled her eyes. Lucius couldn't recall the last time that he had seen Narcissa Malfoy roll her eyes, although Narcissa Black had been exceptionally fond of the gesture. "You're being obtuse, and it's not flattering on someone as clever as you...as if I don't know that you have everything in your life calculated down to the smallest impossibility," she replied disgustedly.

"Narcissa, I have no idea what you think to accomplish by these histrionics," Lucius said, still calm, as he continued to eat his breakfast gracefully.

"That is perfectly fair, Lucius, as I have no idea what you think to accomplish with your pretended indifference," she responded acerbically, and left him to his meal.