The Castaway (Draco/Ginny, PG-13)
Title: The Castaway
Main pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley (sort of)
Rating: T / PG-13
Word count: 2630 words
Genre: Drama
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley, C. Warrington
Timeline: Post-Hogwarts, not DH compliant
Warning(s): Abuse, Character Death, Psychological Trauma, Implied Non-con
Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights to J. K. Rowling's intellectual property.
Summary: After the dark side won the war, Draco Malfoy worked hard to secure a safe and comfortable life for himself. He is now very content with what he has, and has no intention of changing it. Life, however, has something else in store for him.
Author Note: This was written for the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum wide competition, on a one week deadline. I am planning to eventually extend it into a longer story.
Beta reader: Naomi
"I want to be remembered as the girl who always smiles even when her heart is broken, and the one that could always brighten up your day even if she couldn't brighten her own." - Author Unknown
The two wizards were sitting in a richly decorated living room, on two extravagant silver embroidered armchairs, separated by a delicately carved wooden coffee table.
‘It's a nice house that you have,’ Draco commented, while the house-elf poured red wine into two crystal glasses. ‘When did you buy it?’
‘Six months ago,’ Warrington replied with a self-satisfied smile. ‘And I didn't even have to go into debt for it. In fact, the business is doing so well that I'll soon be able to buy the neighbouring piece of land as well, and build offices there.’
‘Impressive.’
Draco listened politely as the slave dealer he once shared a common room with prattled on about his success, or rather he pretended to listen. He had very little interest in the slave dealing business, even though it was one of the most prosperous post-war industries that had emerged after Lord Voldemort's victory, close to three years prior. He was aware that all the opponents of the Dark Lord who had not fled, sworn allegiance to him, or been killed, had been enslaved and then sold to the now wealthy dark wizards who had sided with the new ruler during the war. All the Muggleborns, Squibs, and blood-traitors who had not been able to escape to the Continent quickly enough had also been enslaved. As for the Muggles, rare were those that did not know yet of the existence of the wizarding world, and almost all now lived in the constant fear of raids or attacks that no power seemed to care to prevent.
Draco was aware of all this, but he preferred to keep it in a dark corner of his mind and not think too much about it, or any implications it might have. In fact, the only reason he was here today was because Warrington was one of the richest young wizards in the region, and both his influence and his money would be key to supporting the new war that the Dark Lord was preparing. Of course, there was no question that he would help, with or without his consent. But Lord Voldemort took special care in polishing his public image, and he did not want to appear as a coercive, dictatorial ruler to the pureblood witches and wizards he wanted to attract to his cause. After all, a ruler is nothing without his subjects and this one in particular was ambitious enough to want to spread his influence well beyond the limits of his country. He was therefore preparing to wage war, but he needed as much support as possible on the other side before he did so.
So Draco was here, displaying his best manners, to get Warrington to pledge his support to the war effort of the Dark Lord. But before he could manage that, he had to keep the conversation going, and for now, the only thing the other wizard seemed to want to talk about was slavery.
‘So why don't you use any slaves yourself?’ Draco asked. ‘I've only seen house elves around here.’
Warrington smiled.
‘I'm very tempted to, but it would go completely against my work ethic. You see, I don't mix my professional and my personal lives. When I buy slaves, it's to sell them, never to use them. Otherwise, I would be tempted to keep the best ones for myself, which would be very bad for the business. I make it my duty to provide my customers with the best quality I can find, and that's why I'm so successful. People know they can trust me for that.’
Draco silently admired Warrington's little speech. No wonder he was so rich. He had a gift for sales talk. He allowed himself a little sneer.
‘Don't try to convince me. You know I'm not into slaves.’
‘I do, I do. But listen to this: a few days ago, I came across this girl, and she might be just the thing you need to change your mind.’
Draco raised an eyebrow.
‘Really ?’
He had heard this before. Several friends and family members had tried to get him slave girls that they swore he would enjoy. He had refused to see them. For one thing, he was not one of those pathetic single wizards (or even married ones, for that matter), who needed a slave to fulfil their basic needs. And anyway, he did not like slaves. They embodied hardship and misery, two things he had no intention of letting into his home. He had worked hard enough to build himself a respected yet non-crucial position in Lord Voldemort's ranks, which allowed him to enjoy a comfortable and peaceful existence. He liked his life the way it was and had no intention of changing anything to it.
‘Really,’ Warrington insisted. ‘In fact, when I received your owl, I had her brought here to show her to you. Will you at least come see her?’
He stood up, and Draco looked at him, deliberating. No, he did not want to see her. But he was here with a mission. He could not bluntly refuse Warrington's offer, no matter how much he would love to. He needed to keep him in a good mood in order to be able to get what he wanted. He got up as well, and replied, ‘Fine, I will. But you haven't given me your answer yet. The Dark Lord requires your help, and the Dark Lord's will outmatches all the pretty slave girls in the world.’
Warrington laughed.
‘Of course, you are right. Come with me and we can talk about it on our way.’
Draco nodded in agreement, and followed the slave dealer out of the room. As they talked business - war business this time - Warrington led them along a corridor and down two flights of stairs to enter a large room that looked like a prison. It was a long, rectangular space, with a series of doors on both sides and another stairway at the opposite end. They stopped in front of one of the doors, marked as number 34, and Warrington tapped his wand on the handle. There was a click and the door opened on its own, revealing the inside of the room.
It was a small, square cell lit dimly by a candle floating in the air. Inside, sitting on a thin mattress with her profile towards the door and a chain securing her left foot, was a red-haired girl in a simple brown dress that showed off her legs. She had slender legs, which Draco had to admit, was something he had always appreciated, but she seemed way too thin and her shoulder-length hair hanging on the sides of her bowed head hid her face and prevented him from distinguishing her features. When the door opened and light suddenly flooded in, she turned towards them, squinting with one hand held up in front of her eyes to shield them from the unexpected brightness. She stared in their direction for a few seconds then turned away again.
Draco realised that Warrington was looking at him expectantly.
‘So?’
‘So?’ Draco repeated, wondering why this particular slave was supposed to be so special.
‘Don't you recognise her?’
Surprised, he took a second look at her, searching his memory to try to remember when he had met her before.
‘Look up!’ Warrington ordered, his voice automatically taking an imperious tone as he addressed the slave.
She turned back towards them, her face clearly visible this time, and with a start, he realised who she was. Taken aback, he stared into her eyes for a moment, unable to believe the obvious. Ginny Weasley. Was it really her? She definitely looked like her, but- she was so different. What had happened to the feisty, lively, energetic young witch he had once relished hating? The girl he had known was always smiling. No matter what, she had never seemed defeated by anything. She had been attractive, too, not so much because of her looks, as because of the way she always seemed so sure about everything. Girls envied her and boys secretly wanted her and hated her for it. Even Slytherins. He had despised her with all his might because it was the only way he could protect himself against her strong will. He still remembered her mocking, crystalline laugh the day she had snatched the Golden Snitch from right under his nose during a Quidditch game. And the flame in her eyes, when she had cast a spectacular Bat-Bogey Hex on him to help her friends escape the Inquisitorial Squad. She had always had fire burning in her eyes. But now...
There was no flame, or light, or life left in her gaze. She looked resigned, indifferent. Defeated. He stepped out and quickly walked several paces away. He would have given anything to go back in time and not look inside that cell. He so wished he had not seen her. He wanted to have never found out. But it was too late : the fragile shell of denial he had built around himself had shattered and the unsparing reality of the world he lived in was hitting him hard. As long as he was not involved with them - as long as they were faceless, nameless masses he knew nothing about, it was easy to pretend that the victims of the new regime did not count and that there was nothing wrong with letting things follow their course. But he could not do that any longer. He was trapped. He knew.
When the war had ended, he had done his best to find out as little as possible about what had happened to the people he had once known, on the other side. He knew that Potter had been able to escape and had found shelter on the Continent, somewhere in France or in Spain perhaps, and was raising forces there to continue the fight. He knew that the Granger girl had fled with him and was helping him in his task. He also knew that the youngest Weasley boy was dead because he had seen it with his own eyes. But as for the others, he had had no clue, and had worked hard for things to stay that way. He growled in frustration. He wanted to hit something, he wanted to curse Warrington for bringing him here and making him see this. But he couldn't. He could not let anyone know how he felt, it was too dangerous. He had worked too hard to get where he was and he was not going to jeopardise it all now. He took a deep breath. He needed to regain his composure. When he felt calm enough, he turned around and walked back. The slave dealer was waiting for him at the door to the cell looking puzzled.
‘Congratulations,’ he sneered. ‘You managed to startle me. I certainly didn't expect this.’
‘You did seem very surprised,’ Warrington replied, studying Draco's face. ‘It was more than I hoped. So what do you think of her? Was I right to say that she would make you change your mind?’
The last thing Draco wanted was to have her as a slave. Didn't Warrington understand? No, of course not. He was a slave dealer. He didn't think that way. Taking his silence as a sign of hesitation, the other wizard pushed on:
‘Come on, just take her. I'll give you a good price. After all, we're soon to be partners, aren't we?’
Of course. He had almost forgotten why he was here to begin with. But this... He just wanted to erase her from his life, but he knew that it was too late for that. He needed time to think about it. And the problem was that he did not have time to think.
‘So are you accepting the Dark Lord's offer then?’ he asked to keep the discussion off the topic he was so uncomfortable with.
‘Well, it would be foolish to refuse. Especially if I can get myself a new customer in the process. But, well, if you don't take her, I guess I'll just have to find somebody else to sell her to. Of course, it won’t be the first time she will be owned by a wizard and she won't be as valuable as if she was still untouched, but I'm sure it won't be too hard to find a buyer. She is, after all, a very pleasant-looking girl, isn't she?’
Draco remained silent for a few more seconds as he took in the implications of Warrington's words. He was going to sell her to somebody else. Somebody who would acquire her for her “pleasantness”, and use her accordingly. He tried to block out the images that came to his mind, and did his best to hide his disgust.
‘Of course she is,’ he replied. ‘And maybe you're right. Maybe I should take her.’
He realised when he saw the slave dealer's smile that he had reacted exactly the way Warrington had expected him to. Manipulative bastard.
‘How much would you be willing to pay for her?’
‘How much do you want?’ he retorted, determined not to play in his hands again.
‘How about 300 Galleons? It's a good price. For any ordinary customer, it would be at least twice as much.’
Draco refrained from snorting at the ridiculously low value given to slaves' lives. He decided to play along.
‘I'll take her for 100 Galleons.’
Warrington raised an eyebrow.
‘I didn't peg you as a haggler. 100 is way too low though. What about 250?’
After a short debate, they agreed on 200 Galleons, which Draco paid right away. They then went back up to the living room to fill in the mandatory paperwork - among other things, the new owner was informed that he would have to pay a 50 Galleon fine to the government if he happened to cause his slave's untimely death. Warrington then wrote a letter to Lord Voldemort himself, in which he pledged allegiance to him and promised to help fund the war in Europe in exchange for protection and the securing of his business. The parchment was sealed and given to Draco, who would take it to the Dark Lord the next day. Draco got up to leave, and Warrington walked him to the door.
‘What about the slave?’ Draco asked.
‘No need to worry about that. I'll have her delivered to you by tomorrow morning.’
Draco nodded and left after the customary greetings. When he arrived home he emptied his briefcase and took out the slave ownership papers. Letting out a deep sigh he sank heavily into an armchair. What was he going to do with her? He was in trouble. Big trouble.
When he went to sleep that night, his dreams were haunted by Ginny Weasley's bright smile, and the warm spark that used to shine in her eyes, only to be suddenly covered with darkness and fade out. When he woke up, he knew he had no choice. He was going to bring her back to life.
Main pairing: Draco Malfoy/Ginny Weasley (sort of)
Rating: T / PG-13
Word count: 2630 words
Genre: Drama
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley, C. Warrington
Timeline: Post-Hogwarts, not DH compliant
Warning(s): Abuse, Character Death, Psychological Trauma, Implied Non-con
Disclaimer: I do not claim any rights to J. K. Rowling's intellectual property.
Summary: After the dark side won the war, Draco Malfoy worked hard to secure a safe and comfortable life for himself. He is now very content with what he has, and has no intention of changing it. Life, however, has something else in store for him.
Author Note: This was written for the Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges forum wide competition, on a one week deadline. I am planning to eventually extend it into a longer story.
Beta reader: Naomi
"I want to be remembered as the girl who always smiles even when her heart is broken, and the one that could always brighten up your day even if she couldn't brighten her own." - Author Unknown
The two wizards were sitting in a richly decorated living room, on two extravagant silver embroidered armchairs, separated by a delicately carved wooden coffee table.
‘It's a nice house that you have,’ Draco commented, while the house-elf poured red wine into two crystal glasses. ‘When did you buy it?’
‘Six months ago,’ Warrington replied with a self-satisfied smile. ‘And I didn't even have to go into debt for it. In fact, the business is doing so well that I'll soon be able to buy the neighbouring piece of land as well, and build offices there.’
‘Impressive.’
Draco listened politely as the slave dealer he once shared a common room with prattled on about his success, or rather he pretended to listen. He had very little interest in the slave dealing business, even though it was one of the most prosperous post-war industries that had emerged after Lord Voldemort's victory, close to three years prior. He was aware that all the opponents of the Dark Lord who had not fled, sworn allegiance to him, or been killed, had been enslaved and then sold to the now wealthy dark wizards who had sided with the new ruler during the war. All the Muggleborns, Squibs, and blood-traitors who had not been able to escape to the Continent quickly enough had also been enslaved. As for the Muggles, rare were those that did not know yet of the existence of the wizarding world, and almost all now lived in the constant fear of raids or attacks that no power seemed to care to prevent.
Draco was aware of all this, but he preferred to keep it in a dark corner of his mind and not think too much about it, or any implications it might have. In fact, the only reason he was here today was because Warrington was one of the richest young wizards in the region, and both his influence and his money would be key to supporting the new war that the Dark Lord was preparing. Of course, there was no question that he would help, with or without his consent. But Lord Voldemort took special care in polishing his public image, and he did not want to appear as a coercive, dictatorial ruler to the pureblood witches and wizards he wanted to attract to his cause. After all, a ruler is nothing without his subjects and this one in particular was ambitious enough to want to spread his influence well beyond the limits of his country. He was therefore preparing to wage war, but he needed as much support as possible on the other side before he did so.
So Draco was here, displaying his best manners, to get Warrington to pledge his support to the war effort of the Dark Lord. But before he could manage that, he had to keep the conversation going, and for now, the only thing the other wizard seemed to want to talk about was slavery.
‘So why don't you use any slaves yourself?’ Draco asked. ‘I've only seen house elves around here.’
Warrington smiled.
‘I'm very tempted to, but it would go completely against my work ethic. You see, I don't mix my professional and my personal lives. When I buy slaves, it's to sell them, never to use them. Otherwise, I would be tempted to keep the best ones for myself, which would be very bad for the business. I make it my duty to provide my customers with the best quality I can find, and that's why I'm so successful. People know they can trust me for that.’
Draco silently admired Warrington's little speech. No wonder he was so rich. He had a gift for sales talk. He allowed himself a little sneer.
‘Don't try to convince me. You know I'm not into slaves.’
‘I do, I do. But listen to this: a few days ago, I came across this girl, and she might be just the thing you need to change your mind.’
Draco raised an eyebrow.
‘Really ?’
He had heard this before. Several friends and family members had tried to get him slave girls that they swore he would enjoy. He had refused to see them. For one thing, he was not one of those pathetic single wizards (or even married ones, for that matter), who needed a slave to fulfil their basic needs. And anyway, he did not like slaves. They embodied hardship and misery, two things he had no intention of letting into his home. He had worked hard enough to build himself a respected yet non-crucial position in Lord Voldemort's ranks, which allowed him to enjoy a comfortable and peaceful existence. He liked his life the way it was and had no intention of changing anything to it.
‘Really,’ Warrington insisted. ‘In fact, when I received your owl, I had her brought here to show her to you. Will you at least come see her?’
He stood up, and Draco looked at him, deliberating. No, he did not want to see her. But he was here with a mission. He could not bluntly refuse Warrington's offer, no matter how much he would love to. He needed to keep him in a good mood in order to be able to get what he wanted. He got up as well, and replied, ‘Fine, I will. But you haven't given me your answer yet. The Dark Lord requires your help, and the Dark Lord's will outmatches all the pretty slave girls in the world.’
Warrington laughed.
‘Of course, you are right. Come with me and we can talk about it on our way.’
Draco nodded in agreement, and followed the slave dealer out of the room. As they talked business - war business this time - Warrington led them along a corridor and down two flights of stairs to enter a large room that looked like a prison. It was a long, rectangular space, with a series of doors on both sides and another stairway at the opposite end. They stopped in front of one of the doors, marked as number 34, and Warrington tapped his wand on the handle. There was a click and the door opened on its own, revealing the inside of the room.
It was a small, square cell lit dimly by a candle floating in the air. Inside, sitting on a thin mattress with her profile towards the door and a chain securing her left foot, was a red-haired girl in a simple brown dress that showed off her legs. She had slender legs, which Draco had to admit, was something he had always appreciated, but she seemed way too thin and her shoulder-length hair hanging on the sides of her bowed head hid her face and prevented him from distinguishing her features. When the door opened and light suddenly flooded in, she turned towards them, squinting with one hand held up in front of her eyes to shield them from the unexpected brightness. She stared in their direction for a few seconds then turned away again.
Draco realised that Warrington was looking at him expectantly.
‘So?’
‘So?’ Draco repeated, wondering why this particular slave was supposed to be so special.
‘Don't you recognise her?’
Surprised, he took a second look at her, searching his memory to try to remember when he had met her before.
‘Look up!’ Warrington ordered, his voice automatically taking an imperious tone as he addressed the slave.
She turned back towards them, her face clearly visible this time, and with a start, he realised who she was. Taken aback, he stared into her eyes for a moment, unable to believe the obvious. Ginny Weasley. Was it really her? She definitely looked like her, but- she was so different. What had happened to the feisty, lively, energetic young witch he had once relished hating? The girl he had known was always smiling. No matter what, she had never seemed defeated by anything. She had been attractive, too, not so much because of her looks, as because of the way she always seemed so sure about everything. Girls envied her and boys secretly wanted her and hated her for it. Even Slytherins. He had despised her with all his might because it was the only way he could protect himself against her strong will. He still remembered her mocking, crystalline laugh the day she had snatched the Golden Snitch from right under his nose during a Quidditch game. And the flame in her eyes, when she had cast a spectacular Bat-Bogey Hex on him to help her friends escape the Inquisitorial Squad. She had always had fire burning in her eyes. But now...
There was no flame, or light, or life left in her gaze. She looked resigned, indifferent. Defeated. He stepped out and quickly walked several paces away. He would have given anything to go back in time and not look inside that cell. He so wished he had not seen her. He wanted to have never found out. But it was too late : the fragile shell of denial he had built around himself had shattered and the unsparing reality of the world he lived in was hitting him hard. As long as he was not involved with them - as long as they were faceless, nameless masses he knew nothing about, it was easy to pretend that the victims of the new regime did not count and that there was nothing wrong with letting things follow their course. But he could not do that any longer. He was trapped. He knew.
When the war had ended, he had done his best to find out as little as possible about what had happened to the people he had once known, on the other side. He knew that Potter had been able to escape and had found shelter on the Continent, somewhere in France or in Spain perhaps, and was raising forces there to continue the fight. He knew that the Granger girl had fled with him and was helping him in his task. He also knew that the youngest Weasley boy was dead because he had seen it with his own eyes. But as for the others, he had had no clue, and had worked hard for things to stay that way. He growled in frustration. He wanted to hit something, he wanted to curse Warrington for bringing him here and making him see this. But he couldn't. He could not let anyone know how he felt, it was too dangerous. He had worked too hard to get where he was and he was not going to jeopardise it all now. He took a deep breath. He needed to regain his composure. When he felt calm enough, he turned around and walked back. The slave dealer was waiting for him at the door to the cell looking puzzled.
‘Congratulations,’ he sneered. ‘You managed to startle me. I certainly didn't expect this.’
‘You did seem very surprised,’ Warrington replied, studying Draco's face. ‘It was more than I hoped. So what do you think of her? Was I right to say that she would make you change your mind?’
The last thing Draco wanted was to have her as a slave. Didn't Warrington understand? No, of course not. He was a slave dealer. He didn't think that way. Taking his silence as a sign of hesitation, the other wizard pushed on:
‘Come on, just take her. I'll give you a good price. After all, we're soon to be partners, aren't we?’
Of course. He had almost forgotten why he was here to begin with. But this... He just wanted to erase her from his life, but he knew that it was too late for that. He needed time to think about it. And the problem was that he did not have time to think.
‘So are you accepting the Dark Lord's offer then?’ he asked to keep the discussion off the topic he was so uncomfortable with.
‘Well, it would be foolish to refuse. Especially if I can get myself a new customer in the process. But, well, if you don't take her, I guess I'll just have to find somebody else to sell her to. Of course, it won’t be the first time she will be owned by a wizard and she won't be as valuable as if she was still untouched, but I'm sure it won't be too hard to find a buyer. She is, after all, a very pleasant-looking girl, isn't she?’
Draco remained silent for a few more seconds as he took in the implications of Warrington's words. He was going to sell her to somebody else. Somebody who would acquire her for her “pleasantness”, and use her accordingly. He tried to block out the images that came to his mind, and did his best to hide his disgust.
‘Of course she is,’ he replied. ‘And maybe you're right. Maybe I should take her.’
He realised when he saw the slave dealer's smile that he had reacted exactly the way Warrington had expected him to. Manipulative bastard.
‘How much would you be willing to pay for her?’
‘How much do you want?’ he retorted, determined not to play in his hands again.
‘How about 300 Galleons? It's a good price. For any ordinary customer, it would be at least twice as much.’
Draco refrained from snorting at the ridiculously low value given to slaves' lives. He decided to play along.
‘I'll take her for 100 Galleons.’
Warrington raised an eyebrow.
‘I didn't peg you as a haggler. 100 is way too low though. What about 250?’
After a short debate, they agreed on 200 Galleons, which Draco paid right away. They then went back up to the living room to fill in the mandatory paperwork - among other things, the new owner was informed that he would have to pay a 50 Galleon fine to the government if he happened to cause his slave's untimely death. Warrington then wrote a letter to Lord Voldemort himself, in which he pledged allegiance to him and promised to help fund the war in Europe in exchange for protection and the securing of his business. The parchment was sealed and given to Draco, who would take it to the Dark Lord the next day. Draco got up to leave, and Warrington walked him to the door.
‘What about the slave?’ Draco asked.
‘No need to worry about that. I'll have her delivered to you by tomorrow morning.’
Draco nodded and left after the customary greetings. When he arrived home he emptied his briefcase and took out the slave ownership papers. Letting out a deep sigh he sank heavily into an armchair. What was he going to do with her? He was in trouble. Big trouble.
When he went to sleep that night, his dreams were haunted by Ginny Weasley's bright smile, and the warm spark that used to shine in her eyes, only to be suddenly covered with darkness and fade out. When he woke up, he knew he had no choice. He was going to bring her back to life.