Nine of Coins: Fic: Black, White, and Red All Over
title; Black, White and Red All Over
author; sappholococcus
type; fiction
length; one-shot (~6200 words)
rating; R
pairing(s); Draco Malfoy/Morag MacDougal, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy, past (and presently attempted) Stephen Cornfoot/Morag MacDougal
card; Nine of Coins/Pentacles
card interpretation; Affluence obtained via deception. Theft, swindling and pilfering. Corruption and success earned from the backs and misfortunes of others. Popularity, common sense and order arising out of chaos.
summary; Draco has resigned himself to being a Death Eater, even though it's not exactly what he had expected. But before he can deal with the consequences of his actions, a certain redhead from his past steps in and bends his world to her rules.
disclaimer; All characters, as well as their universe, belong to JKR and her publishers. Only the plot belongs to me, and I only profit by entertaining myself and my fellow members of fandom.
warnings; AU (slight twist on HBP canon; DH doesn't exist, though some elements are incorporated), imprisonment, minor mindfuckery, het
author's note; the plot bunny changed on me, just a little. It could be argued that the Draco in this story is not exactly unredeemed, though I don't agree. I leave that up to you, my dear readers. Thanks to jairissa for the beta, dark_adrenalynn for the help with characterisation, and el_em_en_oh_pee for letting me bitch at you when I had writer's block ;)
.:BEHIND EVERY GREAT MAN THERE IS A GREAT WOMAN:.
I need you for dark reasons, dear
For greed and lust and seed and fear
For all the songs that I can hear when you are near
-Jewel
The first thing Draco saw when he awoke was a wide, very pleased smile. He was too distracted by the complaints of every single muscle in his body to notice immediately that the smile was attached to a face, as smiles usually were, and even after he had discovered this he could not figure out who, exactly, was smiling at him.
When he failed to attach a name to the face after about five minutes, the smile turned into a pout. "You still don't know who I am, do you."
Draco peered at her -- for it was a female, he'd been able to tell as much from the bright redness of the lips only a few seconds after regaining consciousness -- and shook his head. The mouth twisted and a dragonhide covered bosom heaved an annoyed sigh.
"Last year," the girl said patiently. "Detention. You made me scrub cauldrons until my fingertips bled."
She held up a hand, and between the words and the long, blood red nails, Draco remembered who she was. "MacDougal."
He made a move for his wand, and it was at this time that he realised his hands were immobilised. Turning his head -- a movement which set the tendons of his neck on fire -- he was able to make out the metallic glint of a manacle.
"Very good, Malfoy," the girl -- what was her first name, anyway? -- commended him dryly. "So you do remember."
"Vaguely," Draco admitted, trying for a casual tone despite the obvious disadvantage of his position. "The Ravenclaw, right?"
Her laugh was high, unforgiving and utterly without mirth. "Yes. The Ravenclaw slag, blood traitor, troublemaker, slut... let's see if we can remember everything you called me, shall we?"
But Draco was much more interested in remembering how on earth he had gotten here, and what had happened before. The last thing he remembered was...
The tower. Dumbledore. The rough jerk of Snape's hand on the back of his robes, and then -- nothing. "What did you do to me?"
"Why, Draco, isn't it obvious?" Her face, all creamy white skin framed by red hair, loomed closer. "I've kidnapped you."
"Kidnapped?" Draco repeated incredulously, only earning him yet another laugh.
"Yes," she announced, smirking, "I, Morag MacDougal, Ravenclaw blood traitor, have kidnapped you, Draco Malfoy." When Draco simply stared at her in disbelief, she heaved another sigh. "Is that too big a revelation for you? I know you've been under a great deal of stress lately, but honestly, I thought better of you."
It was not so much the kidnapped part that was restraining Draco's tongue as the but the Dark Lord is going to kill my parents part. Before he could put that into words, however, Morag turned on her heel -- quite literally, for she was wearing stilettos -- and moved to leave the room, throwing one last caustic remark over her shoulder.
"When you're ready to admit defeat, be sure to let me know."
.:.
Meanwhile, in another country entirely, a blond boy by the name of Stephen Cornfoot was also seeing red and white, but in an entirely different context. He stared at Lord Voldemort through blank silver eyes that were not his own, his mouth in a thin line.
In one corner, Narcissa Malfoy was sobbing into her sister's shoulder; Bellatrix Lestrange was stroking her hair and simultaneously eying the boy with barely disguised loathing. Voldemort himself was so furious that he could not keep still, his blazing red eyes made a blurred streak in Stephen's vision as he paced back and forth in front of him.
Finally he came to a stop directly in front of the impostor, leaning in so close that all Stephen could see was his pale, slimy skin. And red, so much red that if Stephen had his wits about him, he would have drowned in it.
"My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy," he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unfazed by the proximity of a fraction of a man who wanted to cut him into pieces. "My father is Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, my mother is Narcissa Delphinus Malfoy née Black, and you ordered me to kill the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. I have failed, my Lord, for which I do apologise, but I do not see why the failure should warrant this kind of inquisition."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, turning the red into only the slightest of angry glints. "Because I do not believe you."
.:.
Draco had very nearly fallen asleep by the time Morag returned. He'd exhausted his eyes and his mind by trying to figure out where the hell he was, but after nearly an hour of stone wall, chains, more stone wall, scary looking blades, more stone wall, door, more stone wall, he bowed his head and tried to ignore the awful feeling of his blood deserting his fingers by the pull of gravity.
Before his eyes could close, there was a sudden burst of bright light. Draco blinked stupidly, which only achieved the purpose of burning the figure in the doorway into his retinas. She was still wearing dragonhide, but her expression looked almost sympathetic, an illusion which was quickly destroyed by her next words.
"Don't you dare go to sleep, Malfoy."
Draco merely raised a tired eyebrow, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of even a simple question like 'why'. But she answered it herself, her words keeping time with the click of her heels as she sauntered forward.
"I'd think a Slytherin like yourself would know the benefits of depriving a captive of basic human necessities, Draco. Sleep, food, water... the sight of their loved ones... if you want to break someone's spirit, that's how you do it."
Draco's lip curled automatically as his body went into pretend-I'm-not-scared-shitless mode. "You might as well kill me, then," he said hoarsely, hoping that she would mistake the rough, fearful tone for disuse of his vocal chords. "Malfoys don't break."
Morag smiled and reached out to run one long fingernail down his jaw from just beneath his ear to his chin, making Draco shiver. "I don't want to break you," she said. "You'd be far less interesting. This--" she gestured to the room, and to his chains-- "was just to prove that I could."
She stopped, waiting for Draco to ask helpfully, "Could what?" But he kept his mouth shut, and after a moment she sighed.
"That I could break you, if I wanted," she said, turning away. Draco was surprised to hear a genuine note of annoyance and frustration in her voice; one of the keys to breaking a prisoner was to show no weakness of your own for them to exploit. "That Ravenclaws can be worth just as much as Slytherins."
Draco stared at her red hair as Morag stood still a few paces away, one hand on her hip, one foot tapping the floor in an erratic rhythm that made his head hurt. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, though surely she couldn't expect him to give in that easily. It was a good ruse, but Draco was not falling for it.
After a long moment, Morag seemed to grow impatient. Her body tensed, making her hair shift the slightest bit, and then she spun around again to face him. Her brown eyes were blazing as she looked at him, making Draco cringe inwardly, and as she took a step forward he felt a flash of stinging pain across his cheek. Before he could register that she had slapped him, her mouth had covered his and she was kissing him, her palm covering the bloody streak her nails had made just below his cheekbone.
Draco was too surprised to kiss back, though he found himself leaning into it as her tongue parted his numb lips. He twined his tongue around hers almost by accident -- he was trying to say something, he told himself, he was trying to protest -- and was taken completely by surprise when she moaned and pressed herself closer to his body. She slipped one leg between his thighs, rubbing deliciously against the front of his trousers, and against his will, Draco felt his blood stir with interest.
When he really started to kiss back, Morag dropped her hand and pulled away, looking at him with dark eyes and a mischievous grin. Draco let out a little involuntary whimper at the loss, and he was pleased to see her smile flicker just a little before she turned to leave. So she had told the truth: he wasn't here only to be tortured and broken.
He stored that bit of information away for future use. Unfortunately, it did nothing to soothe his libido, and when he finally slept, he dreamt of Morag.
.:.
Stephen made his way through the Manor, his mind blank except for one thought: not much time left. Get Narcissa out. The only problem was that he kept getting lost, since the voice in his head did not seem to know the layout of the building very well. He was in no position to protest, however, and after a few failed tries to find the study he found himself in front of a heavy wooden door. It seemed older than the rest of the house, almost, bespeaking an ancient knowledge passed down through centuries of generations, but Stephen did not pause to notice it except as an obstacle.
His knock sounded muffled in the empty hallway. He dropped his hand, knuckles stinging a little, and waited. After a pause the door swung open and Stephen entered, bowing respectfully to Narcissa, who was sitting in a chair near her husband's empty desk, staring at it as if she expected Lucius to appear.
"Mother," he began, but Narcissa shook her head, looking pained.
"You are not my son," she said softly. "Please drop the act."
Changing tactics as quickly as the voice commanded, Stephen bowed his head. "Alright. I am not your son. But I have done no harm to him, I wish only to help you and your family."
Narcissa turned to look at him then, eyes narrowed and appraising. "Why should I believe you?"
"Draco said you wouldn't," Stephen said with a small shrug. "He prepared a safe house, in the event that the Dark Lord turned against his family. I am one of the students that has been assisting him, and I do apologise that you had to find out this way, but it can't be helped. You can come with me to a safer place, or remain here, a prisoner in your own home. It is your choice."
Narcissa glanced around as if expecting to see someone listening in the shadow of one of the many bookcases. Of course, there was no one; this room was perhaps the most strongly warded one in the house, since it contained many family heirlooms. She looked back at the boy in front of him, slightly disconcerted by the shape of her son being taken by someone she didn't know.
"Polyjuice?" she asked finally. Stephen nodded. "Stay here until it wears off, then. If you are who you claim to be, I will consider it."
Stephen glanced up at the clock. "We don't have twenty minutes to spare. But," he added hastily when Narcissa looked away, "I will wait, if it makes you feel better."
Twenty three minutes later, the Portkey that Stephen had carried in his pocket was activated, and the two of them disappeared from the Manor.
.:.
When Draco woke, he was no longer chained. His head was supported by a soft, fluffy pillow and his back by a comfortable mattress, his body tucked safely beneath a warm comforter. At first he wondered if it had all been a dream, but he didn't recognise his surroundings, and the stone walls looked almost the same. Only the bloodstains -- and his injuries -- were missing.
Cautiously, he got out of bed. There was a table at the other end of the room, laden with what looked like a very hearty breakfast, and beyond that a large window, curtains drawn to shade the room as he slept. Ignoring the food as best he could -- though his stomach chose that moment to remind him that he had not eaten since the day before the attack, and he had no concept of how many days had passed since then -- he headed over to the window, cautiously drew back the curtain, and looked out.
He was looking at a huge amount of land: rolling hills covered in bright green grass, dotted with smaller houses than the one he was in (he had the impression from how far above the ground he was that it was very large), bordered by a forest that smacked of the one at school, and in the distance, the sparkling blue of a mountain lake.
"Pretty, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind him.
Draco whirled around: it was Morag. Suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was wearing only pyjamas (his pyjamas, he was surprised to find, or a very good likeness), he took a step to the side, putting the table between them. Not that it would help him if she drew her wand, nor did it afford him very much privacy; but then again, if she was the one that had changed his clothes, she had already seen him naked. That thought, combined with the memory of what she'd done to him the day before, made his cheeks flush pink.
Morag sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you," she told him, meeting his eyes. Draco looked away. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. I thought you'd take it better after a good night's sleep and some breakfast."
Despite himself, Draco looked at the food again. After a moment in which all of his hunger and longing was displayed on his face, his eyes narrowed and he looked away. "As if I'd be stupid enough to eat anything you gave me."
"As if I'd give you poisoned food," Morag countered. She moved forward confidently, took a seat in one of the chairs, and began to serve herself a little bit of everything. "I'm only trying to help you."
Draco watched until she had taken a bite before sitting down. Still, he waited for her to sample all of it and a little while after to make sure there were no ill effects. Morag raised an eyebrow, but when he began to eat, she looked satisfied.
They ate in silence for a long moment. Draco, especially, was concentrating far too much on the food to pay her very much attention. When his hunger had been satisfied, he set down his fork and looked at her warily, wondering what was coming next.
"Now," Morag said with a smile, "As you'll notice in a moment, I've put a rather large helping of Veritaserum into the tea, which--" she showed him her emptied cup, taken from the same kettle-- "We've both consumed." She ignored Draco's startled noise of protest and continued, "What's your name?"
Draco fought to keep his mouth shut as long as he could, cursing himself inwardly for not being more careful. "Draco Lucius Malfoy," he ground out after a long moment, "And I don't believe that you've actually had any."
Morag sighed; she had expected this. "Here," she said, drawing a small glass vial from her purse. "I thought you might not believe me, so I brought this. You're the potions expert, I'll let you see it."
Draco took the vial cautiously and examined the liquid inside. The frustrating thing about Veritaserum was exactly what made it so useful: it was nearly impossible to identify. Its disguise as water did have one helpful aspect, for where Veritaserum had no smell at all, water did. He pulled off the seal and sniffed, but he could not smell anything. Annoyed at being unable to find anything to complain about, he handed it back.
"Thank you," Morag said politely. She met his eyes when their fingertips brushed, making Draco jerk his hand back as if he had been shocked. Without so much as blinking an eyelid to show that she had noticed, Morag tipped the vial against her lips and drank the whole thing, then grinned at him. "Ask me a question."
"Where are we?" Draco asked after a small pause, watching her carefully.
"In one of the guest bedrooms of my castle, in Scotland," Morag answered promptly. She clasped her hands on the table in front of her and looked at him expectantly.
Draco scowled, that was far too easy of a question. He was still unsure about whether he trusted that she was really under the influence of the potion, but even if she was lying perhaps he could find out something. Anything. "Why did you kidnap me?"
"To help you," Morag replied. She grimaced, then added, "Because I like you, despite all odds."
"What odds?" Draco asked angrily, sure that the answer was going to be a list of his supposed 'faults'.
Morag gave him a funny look. "Oh, maybe all the times you've insulted me and gotten me in trouble, and..." She paused again, and then sighed. "And even worse, all the times you've ignored me entirely."
That confused Draco, though he wasn't about to admit it. "And what do you want from me?"
"Right now, I want to pull you up onto the table and fuck you straight through to the floor," Morag said easily, getting to her feet. Before the potion required her to give a real answer, she got up and left the room, leaving Draco staring after her.
.:.
Upon reaching the safe house that her son had supposedly made for her, the first thing Narcissa saw was her husband. He was sitting at a table, contemplating the food on it as if deciding whether to eat it or not, and the hope in his expression when he looked up was almost more than Narcissa could bear. She threw herself into his arms, forgetting completely about the boy masquerading as her son, and buried her face in his neck.
Over her shoulder, Lucius shot the boy a dark, threatening look. Under his curse, Stephen was not afraid, but he had been ordered to leave as soon as the house was completely secure, so he simply nodded and Disapparated.
"Lucius," Narcissa breathed, oblivious, "How long have you been... did they let you...?"
She seemed incapable of forming the words 'out of prison', but Lucius understood anyway. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through her lovely hair, a slow smile spreading over his face.
"A girl came for me," he said softly. "I could barely believe it, it must have been very dark magic, to be insubstantial enough to go through the wards and still be able to open my door... she said Draco had sent her."
Narcissa pulled away slightly to look at him. "The boy -- Cornfoot, I believe -- he said Draco sent him too," she whispered, searching his eyes for a reaction. "Do you think it's possible...?"
"That he's behind all of this?" Lucius finished. He met her eyes for a moment before looking away. "I don't know. I hope he knows what he's doing."
Narcissa nodded. She raised one hand to touch her husband's cheek, smiling at him. "At least we're back together, that's a start."
.:.
Draco had not moved from his seat after Morag had left. At first he told himself that he was waiting for the Veritaserum to wear off before attempting to confront her, and that was true, but it did not account for the rather naughty turn that his thoughts had taken. Finally, once he was almost certain that it had been long enough for him to be able to lie again, he got to his feet and moved towards the door, fully expecting it to be locked.
It wasn't. The handle turned easily, almost as if someone outside was doing it for him, but it was only his paranoia. Draco took a deep breath to calm himself down and stepped into the hallway, looking around.
He had just started in one direction when he heard a Floo activate from somewhere behind him and stopped in his tracks. A loud, girlish voice bubbled up the passageway, calling for Morag. Draco made a face: he knew that voice. Loony Lovegood.
Cautiously, he followed the voice through the twisting, maze-like passageways of the castle. Multiple times he was sure he had gotten completely lost, and by the time he finally found the right way all of his surprise at not being locked in had faded. Morag didn't need to lock him in, it would be ages before he found an exit without help, much less found his way off of the grounds.
"... wasn't easy," Luna was saying when Draco pressed himself flat against the wall to listen. "Harry really doesn't like him, you know. He wants to see him."
"Not happening," Morag replied sharply. "I'm sorry, Luna, but if you think I'm letting Potter anywhere near him... after what he did to him... you're mad."
"I thought as much." Luna sounded sympathetic. On the other side of the wall, Draco's lip curled. The crazy girl's actually capable of normal human emotion? "But we're going to have to find some way to convince him. He's really broken up over what happened with..."
"Dumbly, I know," Morag said derisively, and then her tone softened. "I didn't mean it like that, you know I didn't."
"It's alright," Luna said, and even Draco could tell that the brave note in her voice was slightly forced. "So what do you think we should do?"
There was a slight pause, and then Morag said, "It all depends on him."
Draco chanced a glance around the door jamb. Luckily, Morag's back was to him, and Luna's eyes were fixed intently on her friend's face. Her mouth moved, Draco pulled back instinctively, and the slight brush of his pyjamas against the stone wall was just loud enough to block the soft question. Draco wasn't even sure if she had asked it or not, he was too busy trying not to breathe or move at all as he waited tensely for some indication of whether they'd heard him or not. A moment later, Morag's voice floated through the doorway, soft and filled with more emotion than he'd ever heard it.
"I don't know. It's so hard to find the balance between terrifying him and not catching his attention at all."
"Maybe you should tell him," Luna said gently. A very soft, muffled thump accompanied this statement, like a pillow falling to the floor. "Alright," Luna conceded a bit wryly; Draco assumed that Morag had shaken her head. "Alright, don't tell him. You're probably right not to, if he's just as pointy as he used to be. Wear down those sharp edges and he'll take it better."
"I should probably wait a bit, after the last trick I pulled," Morag said with a small laugh. "And Stephen won't be reporting for another hour or so, do you want to come up on the roof with me? Like we did at school?"
"Oh, I'd love to," Luna said happily, and then she seemed to remember something. "Only Daddy's heading out on a trip tomorrow, I promised that I'd stop in and say goodbye."
As soon as the topic of conversation stopped concerning him, Draco lost interest. To spare his ears the details of what the Lovegoods were up to, likely an adventure full of odd creatures that nobody but them believed in, he made his way carefully and silently back to the room he had come from to think about what he'd heard.
.:.
Stephen was early. He was in the sitting room when Morag got there, taking Morag by surprise, and she had to take a moment to recover from the shock that her plan had not, perhaps, gone perfectly.
Eyes narrowing, she released him from the Imperius Curse and looked down her nose at him, tapping one stiletto heel against the ground. "Report."
"They were... a little more excited to be reunited than expected," Stephen said with a mischievous smile, blue eyes glinting under a fringe of blond hair. "Ordered me to leave a bit earlier than planned. But everything went well, the Malfoy bi-- his mother came willingly enough once she saw who I was, and his father was there, as you said he would be."
Morag gave the slightest of satisfied nods, her expression unreadable. "And you were not followed?"
Stephen shook his head. "No, of course not. You know I checked, you ordered me to." His grin had not faded, and as he looked up at her, his eyes took on a new glint. "I've been very good. Can't I be allowed a bit of naughtiness once in a while? As a reward?"
"When I have no more use for you, you will be free to be as naughty as you want," Morag said shortly, her mouth in a thin line. "But not with me."
"Aw, Mora, don't be so stubborn," Stephen said, getting to his feet. He reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "It's been ages, I know you've missed me--"
Morag flinched at the touch and reacted instinctively, murmuring a spell under her breath. Stephen's fingers cracked and broke inside his skin, and she smiled wickedly when he gave a little cry and pulled his hand back.
"That's what will happen to your bits if you try that again," she said coldly. "I told you not to touch me."
Stephen's eyes widened in shock as well as pain. "Mora, you wouldn't. You love my bits."
"I would," Morag bit out, raising her wand. Stephen took a step back. "You're going back to guard the Malfoys. Let them alone unless they call for you, I'll answer their questions for you--"
"This isn't going to work, you know," Stephen interrupted bitterly, cradling his injured hand against his chest. "He's never going to fall in love with you. He's an arrogant, self-centred bastard, and while you may keep him and his family alive... you'll never be enough." He shook his head. "You're mine, you always will be."
"Imperio," Morag said hoarsely, shaken. Stephen's eyes went blank. Morag had to take a moment to remind herself that it was for her benefit to have him uninjured as she healed his hand, and then commanded him to Disapparate before turning and stalking out of the room.
.:.
Draco found himself torn between several emotions as he waited for Morag to come and find him. Annoyance, a tiny bit of fear, an even smaller bit of gratitude, and, predominately, confusion. MacDougal was a mystery to him: how on earth could someone go from threatening, to cunning, and then to protective in the space of just a few days? Draco didn't think he could ever have that kind of emotional flexibility, the changes would too often be superseded by his pride.
Like as not, she'd intended to confuse him. It put him off the scent, took him off guard with each new change, and it was frustrating. Yet another emotion to add to the list.
Perhaps the difference was that he felt all of the emotions at once, and found it hard to display only one at a time. Not that he was particularly interested in sorting them out; he just wanted them to go away entirely.
His thoughts were abruptly cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps. Draco tensed, tempted to hide, but the door opened before he could move. He became aware of the feeling of her eyes on his back, which made him uncomfortable, but he didn't particularly want to turn around and face her, either.
"Are you hungry?" Morag asked, as if they had been in the middle of a conversation. "It's very nearly time for dinner, you know."
Draco nodded. He heard Morag sigh, and then she said softly, "You probably ought to follow me into the kitchen, it'd take you awhile to find it yourself."
Draco thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to follow her until she answered his question properly. "What do you want from me?"
It took her so long to answer that he almost thought she had left the room. When he turned to look, however, he was surprised to find that she was standing directly behind him, looking distinctly worried. Her lower lip was taking most of the abuse, and Draco had a sudden urge to lean in and bite it with his teeth instead. He resisted valiantly, but it was a near thing.
"I don't want anything you won't give willingly," Morag said finally, meeting his eyes. "I just want you to live, and be happy."
"And you're going about that by kidnapping me?" Draco asked, suddenly angry. "Do you have any idea what that means? What the Dark Lord is probably doing to my parents right now?"
Morag gave him a small smile. "Of course. Your parents are safe, I made sure of it."
Draco felt his anger deflating, but he clung to it, disconcerted by this new side of her (another one, he thought despairingly). "I want to see them."
"You will," Morag said, and then she was worrying at her lip again. It was very, very bad for Draco's concentration. "You can have anything you want."
Draco wondered, briefly, if she wasn't trying to drive him completely insane. First the kiss while he'd been bound, that had left him half-hard for what had felt like at least an hour, then the blunt insinuation at breakfast that morning, and now... now she was standing so close that he could feel her body heat and smell her skin, an odd but enticing scent of smoke, blood, and apples. Not to mention the fact that she really was very attractive, though he'd never admitted to noticing it before; that dark red hair so unlike the horrid orange-red of the Weasels, her pale, creamy skin, and the slim body that she would insist on showing off in dragonhide that left very little to the imagination.
He was startled out of his thoughts when Morag cleared her throat, and he flushed pink, realising that his eyes had wandered just as much as his mind. He shifted his gaze to the side, looking at the bed -- no, that wasn't better, that wasn't better at all. Flustered, he looked back up at Morag.
"So, Draco," she said, giving him a look that was almost amused, "What do you want?"
.:.
The sex, when it finally happened, was even better than Draco had thought it would be. It was he that took control this time, and she didn't object. On the contrary, she was willing and pliable beneath his hands and mouth, making him think that maybe, just maybe, she needed to give up control just as much as he needed to take it. His hands wandered, memorising the planes and curves of her skin as he devoured her mouth, and he was rewarded by breathless moans that turned into curses when his fingers moved lower.
He drove into her tight heat over and over again, spurred on by her nails digging into his back and her teeth on his neck. It wasn't long before she came, writhing beneath him and screaming his name. The sound was raw with pure ecstasy, and it set all of Draco's nerve endings on fire, dragging him over the edge with her. His orgasm stole the air from his lungs and made his toes curl so hard they cracked, leaving him sated and gasping for breath, unable to move from where he had collapsed on top of her. He managed to shift his hips enough to slide out of her, but his face stayed firmly planted on her shoulder, where it had landed.
"Unholy fuck," Morag panted, looking down at him. Draco made an unintelligible noise of agreement and closed his eyes.
After a long moment, Morag untwisted her hands from where they'd clenched in the blanket and tentatively wrapped her arms around him. Draco felt something inside him shift, but it was not nearly as uncomfortable as Pansy's attempts at post-coital snuggling, so he stayed where he was. Not that he had the energy to pull away.
He dozed off for a while, and woke to find that the room was dark. Night had fallen outside, and though he could see the faint glimmer of the moon around the edges of the curtains, it was nearly impossible to see Morag.
In the relative safety of darkness, he raised one hand to touch her cheek. He missed slightly, fingertips coming into contact with her jaw, but as soon as he realised his mistake he fixed it, pressing his palm flat against her cheek. She stirred beneath his touch and he leaned in until he could feel her breath against his mouth, trying to make out her features.
"What do you want from me?" he whispered, unsure if she was awake enough to hear it.
Morag tensed, and Draco almost took the question back. "Honestly?" she asked, just as softly.
He nodded, realised that she couldn't see it, and answered, "Yes."
"I want you to be happy," she replied, echoing her own words. "I want you to be able to live without worrying about Potter, or the Dark Lord, or anyone trying to harm you. I want you to have the life you want, to be able to... to..." She hesitated, and Draco felt her eyes flutter shut against his fingertips. "And if I can give you that, I don't ask anything in return."
Draco had no idea how to respond to that. It was a depth of selflessness that he didn't think he would ever be able to understand, but he felt... guilty, almost, for taking advantage of it, even though she hadn't exactly given him a choice. And then, suddenly, he understood.
"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" he asked, unable to help the small note of amusement in his voice: amusement at his own stupidity, for not seeing what was right in front of him. The irony of finally 'seeing' when it was very nearly pitch black did not escape his notice.
"By keeping you unMarked and safe," Morag replied a little bit nervously. Draco ran his fingers reassuringly over her cheekbone. "And your parents safe, as well. I know how much you care about them." She paused for a second. "I have enough connections to the Order to make sure your good name stays intact, too. Assuming they win, of course. But it's up to you how much contact you want to have with them."
"And you?" Draco asked, barely paying attention to her answer. His mouth was right next to hers now, his lower lip brushed against hers as he spoke. "You're going to stay with me, aren't you? Keep yourself safe?"
Morag nodded slightly, her cheek brushing against his hand. Draco smiled and covered the rest of the distance between them to kiss her again.
"Good," he said a bit breathlessly when they broke apart, and laid his head on her shoulder. "I think we're both going to get what we want."
If she wanted to hand him the world on a silver platter, he certainly wasn't about to object.
author; sappholococcus
type; fiction
length; one-shot (~6200 words)
rating; R
pairing(s); Draco Malfoy/Morag MacDougal, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy, past (and presently attempted) Stephen Cornfoot/Morag MacDougal
card; Nine of Coins/Pentacles
card interpretation; Affluence obtained via deception. Theft, swindling and pilfering. Corruption and success earned from the backs and misfortunes of others. Popularity, common sense and order arising out of chaos.
summary; Draco has resigned himself to being a Death Eater, even though it's not exactly what he had expected. But before he can deal with the consequences of his actions, a certain redhead from his past steps in and bends his world to her rules.
disclaimer; All characters, as well as their universe, belong to JKR and her publishers. Only the plot belongs to me, and I only profit by entertaining myself and my fellow members of fandom.
warnings; AU (slight twist on HBP canon; DH doesn't exist, though some elements are incorporated), imprisonment, minor mindfuckery, het
author's note; the plot bunny changed on me, just a little. It could be argued that the Draco in this story is not exactly unredeemed, though I don't agree. I leave that up to you, my dear readers. Thanks to jairissa for the beta, dark_adrenalynn for the help with characterisation, and el_em_en_oh_pee for letting me bitch at you when I had writer's block ;)
.:BEHIND EVERY GREAT MAN THERE IS A GREAT WOMAN:.
I need you for dark reasons, dear
For greed and lust and seed and fear
For all the songs that I can hear when you are near
-Jewel
The first thing Draco saw when he awoke was a wide, very pleased smile. He was too distracted by the complaints of every single muscle in his body to notice immediately that the smile was attached to a face, as smiles usually were, and even after he had discovered this he could not figure out who, exactly, was smiling at him.
When he failed to attach a name to the face after about five minutes, the smile turned into a pout. "You still don't know who I am, do you."
Draco peered at her -- for it was a female, he'd been able to tell as much from the bright redness of the lips only a few seconds after regaining consciousness -- and shook his head. The mouth twisted and a dragonhide covered bosom heaved an annoyed sigh.
"Last year," the girl said patiently. "Detention. You made me scrub cauldrons until my fingertips bled."
She held up a hand, and between the words and the long, blood red nails, Draco remembered who she was. "MacDougal."
He made a move for his wand, and it was at this time that he realised his hands were immobilised. Turning his head -- a movement which set the tendons of his neck on fire -- he was able to make out the metallic glint of a manacle.
"Very good, Malfoy," the girl -- what was her first name, anyway? -- commended him dryly. "So you do remember."
"Vaguely," Draco admitted, trying for a casual tone despite the obvious disadvantage of his position. "The Ravenclaw, right?"
Her laugh was high, unforgiving and utterly without mirth. "Yes. The Ravenclaw slag, blood traitor, troublemaker, slut... let's see if we can remember everything you called me, shall we?"
But Draco was much more interested in remembering how on earth he had gotten here, and what had happened before. The last thing he remembered was...
The tower. Dumbledore. The rough jerk of Snape's hand on the back of his robes, and then -- nothing. "What did you do to me?"
"Why, Draco, isn't it obvious?" Her face, all creamy white skin framed by red hair, loomed closer. "I've kidnapped you."
"Kidnapped?" Draco repeated incredulously, only earning him yet another laugh.
"Yes," she announced, smirking, "I, Morag MacDougal, Ravenclaw blood traitor, have kidnapped you, Draco Malfoy." When Draco simply stared at her in disbelief, she heaved another sigh. "Is that too big a revelation for you? I know you've been under a great deal of stress lately, but honestly, I thought better of you."
It was not so much the kidnapped part that was restraining Draco's tongue as the but the Dark Lord is going to kill my parents part. Before he could put that into words, however, Morag turned on her heel -- quite literally, for she was wearing stilettos -- and moved to leave the room, throwing one last caustic remark over her shoulder.
"When you're ready to admit defeat, be sure to let me know."
.:.
Meanwhile, in another country entirely, a blond boy by the name of Stephen Cornfoot was also seeing red and white, but in an entirely different context. He stared at Lord Voldemort through blank silver eyes that were not his own, his mouth in a thin line.
In one corner, Narcissa Malfoy was sobbing into her sister's shoulder; Bellatrix Lestrange was stroking her hair and simultaneously eying the boy with barely disguised loathing. Voldemort himself was so furious that he could not keep still, his blazing red eyes made a blurred streak in Stephen's vision as he paced back and forth in front of him.
Finally he came to a stop directly in front of the impostor, leaning in so close that all Stephen could see was his pale, slimy skin. And red, so much red that if Stephen had his wits about him, he would have drowned in it.
"My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy," he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unfazed by the proximity of a fraction of a man who wanted to cut him into pieces. "My father is Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, my mother is Narcissa Delphinus Malfoy née Black, and you ordered me to kill the Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. I have failed, my Lord, for which I do apologise, but I do not see why the failure should warrant this kind of inquisition."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, turning the red into only the slightest of angry glints. "Because I do not believe you."
.:.
Draco had very nearly fallen asleep by the time Morag returned. He'd exhausted his eyes and his mind by trying to figure out where the hell he was, but after nearly an hour of stone wall, chains, more stone wall, scary looking blades, more stone wall, door, more stone wall, he bowed his head and tried to ignore the awful feeling of his blood deserting his fingers by the pull of gravity.
Before his eyes could close, there was a sudden burst of bright light. Draco blinked stupidly, which only achieved the purpose of burning the figure in the doorway into his retinas. She was still wearing dragonhide, but her expression looked almost sympathetic, an illusion which was quickly destroyed by her next words.
"Don't you dare go to sleep, Malfoy."
Draco merely raised a tired eyebrow, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of even a simple question like 'why'. But she answered it herself, her words keeping time with the click of her heels as she sauntered forward.
"I'd think a Slytherin like yourself would know the benefits of depriving a captive of basic human necessities, Draco. Sleep, food, water... the sight of their loved ones... if you want to break someone's spirit, that's how you do it."
Draco's lip curled automatically as his body went into pretend-I'm-not-scared-shitless mode. "You might as well kill me, then," he said hoarsely, hoping that she would mistake the rough, fearful tone for disuse of his vocal chords. "Malfoys don't break."
Morag smiled and reached out to run one long fingernail down his jaw from just beneath his ear to his chin, making Draco shiver. "I don't want to break you," she said. "You'd be far less interesting. This--" she gestured to the room, and to his chains-- "was just to prove that I could."
She stopped, waiting for Draco to ask helpfully, "Could what?" But he kept his mouth shut, and after a moment she sighed.
"That I could break you, if I wanted," she said, turning away. Draco was surprised to hear a genuine note of annoyance and frustration in her voice; one of the keys to breaking a prisoner was to show no weakness of your own for them to exploit. "That Ravenclaws can be worth just as much as Slytherins."
Draco stared at her red hair as Morag stood still a few paces away, one hand on her hip, one foot tapping the floor in an erratic rhythm that made his head hurt. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, though surely she couldn't expect him to give in that easily. It was a good ruse, but Draco was not falling for it.
After a long moment, Morag seemed to grow impatient. Her body tensed, making her hair shift the slightest bit, and then she spun around again to face him. Her brown eyes were blazing as she looked at him, making Draco cringe inwardly, and as she took a step forward he felt a flash of stinging pain across his cheek. Before he could register that she had slapped him, her mouth had covered his and she was kissing him, her palm covering the bloody streak her nails had made just below his cheekbone.
Draco was too surprised to kiss back, though he found himself leaning into it as her tongue parted his numb lips. He twined his tongue around hers almost by accident -- he was trying to say something, he told himself, he was trying to protest -- and was taken completely by surprise when she moaned and pressed herself closer to his body. She slipped one leg between his thighs, rubbing deliciously against the front of his trousers, and against his will, Draco felt his blood stir with interest.
When he really started to kiss back, Morag dropped her hand and pulled away, looking at him with dark eyes and a mischievous grin. Draco let out a little involuntary whimper at the loss, and he was pleased to see her smile flicker just a little before she turned to leave. So she had told the truth: he wasn't here only to be tortured and broken.
He stored that bit of information away for future use. Unfortunately, it did nothing to soothe his libido, and when he finally slept, he dreamt of Morag.
.:.
Stephen made his way through the Manor, his mind blank except for one thought: not much time left. Get Narcissa out. The only problem was that he kept getting lost, since the voice in his head did not seem to know the layout of the building very well. He was in no position to protest, however, and after a few failed tries to find the study he found himself in front of a heavy wooden door. It seemed older than the rest of the house, almost, bespeaking an ancient knowledge passed down through centuries of generations, but Stephen did not pause to notice it except as an obstacle.
His knock sounded muffled in the empty hallway. He dropped his hand, knuckles stinging a little, and waited. After a pause the door swung open and Stephen entered, bowing respectfully to Narcissa, who was sitting in a chair near her husband's empty desk, staring at it as if she expected Lucius to appear.
"Mother," he began, but Narcissa shook her head, looking pained.
"You are not my son," she said softly. "Please drop the act."
Changing tactics as quickly as the voice commanded, Stephen bowed his head. "Alright. I am not your son. But I have done no harm to him, I wish only to help you and your family."
Narcissa turned to look at him then, eyes narrowed and appraising. "Why should I believe you?"
"Draco said you wouldn't," Stephen said with a small shrug. "He prepared a safe house, in the event that the Dark Lord turned against his family. I am one of the students that has been assisting him, and I do apologise that you had to find out this way, but it can't be helped. You can come with me to a safer place, or remain here, a prisoner in your own home. It is your choice."
Narcissa glanced around as if expecting to see someone listening in the shadow of one of the many bookcases. Of course, there was no one; this room was perhaps the most strongly warded one in the house, since it contained many family heirlooms. She looked back at the boy in front of him, slightly disconcerted by the shape of her son being taken by someone she didn't know.
"Polyjuice?" she asked finally. Stephen nodded. "Stay here until it wears off, then. If you are who you claim to be, I will consider it."
Stephen glanced up at the clock. "We don't have twenty minutes to spare. But," he added hastily when Narcissa looked away, "I will wait, if it makes you feel better."
Twenty three minutes later, the Portkey that Stephen had carried in his pocket was activated, and the two of them disappeared from the Manor.
.:.
When Draco woke, he was no longer chained. His head was supported by a soft, fluffy pillow and his back by a comfortable mattress, his body tucked safely beneath a warm comforter. At first he wondered if it had all been a dream, but he didn't recognise his surroundings, and the stone walls looked almost the same. Only the bloodstains -- and his injuries -- were missing.
Cautiously, he got out of bed. There was a table at the other end of the room, laden with what looked like a very hearty breakfast, and beyond that a large window, curtains drawn to shade the room as he slept. Ignoring the food as best he could -- though his stomach chose that moment to remind him that he had not eaten since the day before the attack, and he had no concept of how many days had passed since then -- he headed over to the window, cautiously drew back the curtain, and looked out.
He was looking at a huge amount of land: rolling hills covered in bright green grass, dotted with smaller houses than the one he was in (he had the impression from how far above the ground he was that it was very large), bordered by a forest that smacked of the one at school, and in the distance, the sparkling blue of a mountain lake.
"Pretty, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind him.
Draco whirled around: it was Morag. Suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was wearing only pyjamas (his pyjamas, he was surprised to find, or a very good likeness), he took a step to the side, putting the table between them. Not that it would help him if she drew her wand, nor did it afford him very much privacy; but then again, if she was the one that had changed his clothes, she had already seen him naked. That thought, combined with the memory of what she'd done to him the day before, made his cheeks flush pink.
Morag sighed. "I'm not going to hurt you," she told him, meeting his eyes. Draco looked away. "If you'll give me a chance, I'll explain. I thought you'd take it better after a good night's sleep and some breakfast."
Despite himself, Draco looked at the food again. After a moment in which all of his hunger and longing was displayed on his face, his eyes narrowed and he looked away. "As if I'd be stupid enough to eat anything you gave me."
"As if I'd give you poisoned food," Morag countered. She moved forward confidently, took a seat in one of the chairs, and began to serve herself a little bit of everything. "I'm only trying to help you."
Draco watched until she had taken a bite before sitting down. Still, he waited for her to sample all of it and a little while after to make sure there were no ill effects. Morag raised an eyebrow, but when he began to eat, she looked satisfied.
They ate in silence for a long moment. Draco, especially, was concentrating far too much on the food to pay her very much attention. When his hunger had been satisfied, he set down his fork and looked at her warily, wondering what was coming next.
"Now," Morag said with a smile, "As you'll notice in a moment, I've put a rather large helping of Veritaserum into the tea, which--" she showed him her emptied cup, taken from the same kettle-- "We've both consumed." She ignored Draco's startled noise of protest and continued, "What's your name?"
Draco fought to keep his mouth shut as long as he could, cursing himself inwardly for not being more careful. "Draco Lucius Malfoy," he ground out after a long moment, "And I don't believe that you've actually had any."
Morag sighed; she had expected this. "Here," she said, drawing a small glass vial from her purse. "I thought you might not believe me, so I brought this. You're the potions expert, I'll let you see it."
Draco took the vial cautiously and examined the liquid inside. The frustrating thing about Veritaserum was exactly what made it so useful: it was nearly impossible to identify. Its disguise as water did have one helpful aspect, for where Veritaserum had no smell at all, water did. He pulled off the seal and sniffed, but he could not smell anything. Annoyed at being unable to find anything to complain about, he handed it back.
"Thank you," Morag said politely. She met his eyes when their fingertips brushed, making Draco jerk his hand back as if he had been shocked. Without so much as blinking an eyelid to show that she had noticed, Morag tipped the vial against her lips and drank the whole thing, then grinned at him. "Ask me a question."
"Where are we?" Draco asked after a small pause, watching her carefully.
"In one of the guest bedrooms of my castle, in Scotland," Morag answered promptly. She clasped her hands on the table in front of her and looked at him expectantly.
Draco scowled, that was far too easy of a question. He was still unsure about whether he trusted that she was really under the influence of the potion, but even if she was lying perhaps he could find out something. Anything. "Why did you kidnap me?"
"To help you," Morag replied. She grimaced, then added, "Because I like you, despite all odds."
"What odds?" Draco asked angrily, sure that the answer was going to be a list of his supposed 'faults'.
Morag gave him a funny look. "Oh, maybe all the times you've insulted me and gotten me in trouble, and..." She paused again, and then sighed. "And even worse, all the times you've ignored me entirely."
That confused Draco, though he wasn't about to admit it. "And what do you want from me?"
"Right now, I want to pull you up onto the table and fuck you straight through to the floor," Morag said easily, getting to her feet. Before the potion required her to give a real answer, she got up and left the room, leaving Draco staring after her.
.:.
Upon reaching the safe house that her son had supposedly made for her, the first thing Narcissa saw was her husband. He was sitting at a table, contemplating the food on it as if deciding whether to eat it or not, and the hope in his expression when he looked up was almost more than Narcissa could bear. She threw herself into his arms, forgetting completely about the boy masquerading as her son, and buried her face in his neck.
Over her shoulder, Lucius shot the boy a dark, threatening look. Under his curse, Stephen was not afraid, but he had been ordered to leave as soon as the house was completely secure, so he simply nodded and Disapparated.
"Lucius," Narcissa breathed, oblivious, "How long have you been... did they let you...?"
She seemed incapable of forming the words 'out of prison', but Lucius understood anyway. He closed his eyes and ran a hand through her lovely hair, a slow smile spreading over his face.
"A girl came for me," he said softly. "I could barely believe it, it must have been very dark magic, to be insubstantial enough to go through the wards and still be able to open my door... she said Draco had sent her."
Narcissa pulled away slightly to look at him. "The boy -- Cornfoot, I believe -- he said Draco sent him too," she whispered, searching his eyes for a reaction. "Do you think it's possible...?"
"That he's behind all of this?" Lucius finished. He met her eyes for a moment before looking away. "I don't know. I hope he knows what he's doing."
Narcissa nodded. She raised one hand to touch her husband's cheek, smiling at him. "At least we're back together, that's a start."
.:.
Draco had not moved from his seat after Morag had left. At first he told himself that he was waiting for the Veritaserum to wear off before attempting to confront her, and that was true, but it did not account for the rather naughty turn that his thoughts had taken. Finally, once he was almost certain that it had been long enough for him to be able to lie again, he got to his feet and moved towards the door, fully expecting it to be locked.
It wasn't. The handle turned easily, almost as if someone outside was doing it for him, but it was only his paranoia. Draco took a deep breath to calm himself down and stepped into the hallway, looking around.
He had just started in one direction when he heard a Floo activate from somewhere behind him and stopped in his tracks. A loud, girlish voice bubbled up the passageway, calling for Morag. Draco made a face: he knew that voice. Loony Lovegood.
Cautiously, he followed the voice through the twisting, maze-like passageways of the castle. Multiple times he was sure he had gotten completely lost, and by the time he finally found the right way all of his surprise at not being locked in had faded. Morag didn't need to lock him in, it would be ages before he found an exit without help, much less found his way off of the grounds.
"... wasn't easy," Luna was saying when Draco pressed himself flat against the wall to listen. "Harry really doesn't like him, you know. He wants to see him."
"Not happening," Morag replied sharply. "I'm sorry, Luna, but if you think I'm letting Potter anywhere near him... after what he did to him... you're mad."
"I thought as much." Luna sounded sympathetic. On the other side of the wall, Draco's lip curled. The crazy girl's actually capable of normal human emotion? "But we're going to have to find some way to convince him. He's really broken up over what happened with..."
"Dumbly, I know," Morag said derisively, and then her tone softened. "I didn't mean it like that, you know I didn't."
"It's alright," Luna said, and even Draco could tell that the brave note in her voice was slightly forced. "So what do you think we should do?"
There was a slight pause, and then Morag said, "It all depends on him."
Draco chanced a glance around the door jamb. Luckily, Morag's back was to him, and Luna's eyes were fixed intently on her friend's face. Her mouth moved, Draco pulled back instinctively, and the slight brush of his pyjamas against the stone wall was just loud enough to block the soft question. Draco wasn't even sure if she had asked it or not, he was too busy trying not to breathe or move at all as he waited tensely for some indication of whether they'd heard him or not. A moment later, Morag's voice floated through the doorway, soft and filled with more emotion than he'd ever heard it.
"I don't know. It's so hard to find the balance between terrifying him and not catching his attention at all."
"Maybe you should tell him," Luna said gently. A very soft, muffled thump accompanied this statement, like a pillow falling to the floor. "Alright," Luna conceded a bit wryly; Draco assumed that Morag had shaken her head. "Alright, don't tell him. You're probably right not to, if he's just as pointy as he used to be. Wear down those sharp edges and he'll take it better."
"I should probably wait a bit, after the last trick I pulled," Morag said with a small laugh. "And Stephen won't be reporting for another hour or so, do you want to come up on the roof with me? Like we did at school?"
"Oh, I'd love to," Luna said happily, and then she seemed to remember something. "Only Daddy's heading out on a trip tomorrow, I promised that I'd stop in and say goodbye."
As soon as the topic of conversation stopped concerning him, Draco lost interest. To spare his ears the details of what the Lovegoods were up to, likely an adventure full of odd creatures that nobody but them believed in, he made his way carefully and silently back to the room he had come from to think about what he'd heard.
.:.
Stephen was early. He was in the sitting room when Morag got there, taking Morag by surprise, and she had to take a moment to recover from the shock that her plan had not, perhaps, gone perfectly.
Eyes narrowing, she released him from the Imperius Curse and looked down her nose at him, tapping one stiletto heel against the ground. "Report."
"They were... a little more excited to be reunited than expected," Stephen said with a mischievous smile, blue eyes glinting under a fringe of blond hair. "Ordered me to leave a bit earlier than planned. But everything went well, the Malfoy bi-- his mother came willingly enough once she saw who I was, and his father was there, as you said he would be."
Morag gave the slightest of satisfied nods, her expression unreadable. "And you were not followed?"
Stephen shook his head. "No, of course not. You know I checked, you ordered me to." His grin had not faded, and as he looked up at her, his eyes took on a new glint. "I've been very good. Can't I be allowed a bit of naughtiness once in a while? As a reward?"
"When I have no more use for you, you will be free to be as naughty as you want," Morag said shortly, her mouth in a thin line. "But not with me."
"Aw, Mora, don't be so stubborn," Stephen said, getting to his feet. He reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "It's been ages, I know you've missed me--"
Morag flinched at the touch and reacted instinctively, murmuring a spell under her breath. Stephen's fingers cracked and broke inside his skin, and she smiled wickedly when he gave a little cry and pulled his hand back.
"That's what will happen to your bits if you try that again," she said coldly. "I told you not to touch me."
Stephen's eyes widened in shock as well as pain. "Mora, you wouldn't. You love my bits."
"I would," Morag bit out, raising her wand. Stephen took a step back. "You're going back to guard the Malfoys. Let them alone unless they call for you, I'll answer their questions for you--"
"This isn't going to work, you know," Stephen interrupted bitterly, cradling his injured hand against his chest. "He's never going to fall in love with you. He's an arrogant, self-centred bastard, and while you may keep him and his family alive... you'll never be enough." He shook his head. "You're mine, you always will be."
"Imperio," Morag said hoarsely, shaken. Stephen's eyes went blank. Morag had to take a moment to remind herself that it was for her benefit to have him uninjured as she healed his hand, and then commanded him to Disapparate before turning and stalking out of the room.
.:.
Draco found himself torn between several emotions as he waited for Morag to come and find him. Annoyance, a tiny bit of fear, an even smaller bit of gratitude, and, predominately, confusion. MacDougal was a mystery to him: how on earth could someone go from threatening, to cunning, and then to protective in the space of just a few days? Draco didn't think he could ever have that kind of emotional flexibility, the changes would too often be superseded by his pride.
Like as not, she'd intended to confuse him. It put him off the scent, took him off guard with each new change, and it was frustrating. Yet another emotion to add to the list.
Perhaps the difference was that he felt all of the emotions at once, and found it hard to display only one at a time. Not that he was particularly interested in sorting them out; he just wanted them to go away entirely.
His thoughts were abruptly cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps. Draco tensed, tempted to hide, but the door opened before he could move. He became aware of the feeling of her eyes on his back, which made him uncomfortable, but he didn't particularly want to turn around and face her, either.
"Are you hungry?" Morag asked, as if they had been in the middle of a conversation. "It's very nearly time for dinner, you know."
Draco nodded. He heard Morag sigh, and then she said softly, "You probably ought to follow me into the kitchen, it'd take you awhile to find it yourself."
Draco thought she was probably right, but he wasn't going to follow her until she answered his question properly. "What do you want from me?"
It took her so long to answer that he almost thought she had left the room. When he turned to look, however, he was surprised to find that she was standing directly behind him, looking distinctly worried. Her lower lip was taking most of the abuse, and Draco had a sudden urge to lean in and bite it with his teeth instead. He resisted valiantly, but it was a near thing.
"I don't want anything you won't give willingly," Morag said finally, meeting his eyes. "I just want you to live, and be happy."
"And you're going about that by kidnapping me?" Draco asked, suddenly angry. "Do you have any idea what that means? What the Dark Lord is probably doing to my parents right now?"
Morag gave him a small smile. "Of course. Your parents are safe, I made sure of it."
Draco felt his anger deflating, but he clung to it, disconcerted by this new side of her (another one, he thought despairingly). "I want to see them."
"You will," Morag said, and then she was worrying at her lip again. It was very, very bad for Draco's concentration. "You can have anything you want."
Draco wondered, briefly, if she wasn't trying to drive him completely insane. First the kiss while he'd been bound, that had left him half-hard for what had felt like at least an hour, then the blunt insinuation at breakfast that morning, and now... now she was standing so close that he could feel her body heat and smell her skin, an odd but enticing scent of smoke, blood, and apples. Not to mention the fact that she really was very attractive, though he'd never admitted to noticing it before; that dark red hair so unlike the horrid orange-red of the Weasels, her pale, creamy skin, and the slim body that she would insist on showing off in dragonhide that left very little to the imagination.
He was startled out of his thoughts when Morag cleared her throat, and he flushed pink, realising that his eyes had wandered just as much as his mind. He shifted his gaze to the side, looking at the bed -- no, that wasn't better, that wasn't better at all. Flustered, he looked back up at Morag.
"So, Draco," she said, giving him a look that was almost amused, "What do you want?"
.:.
The sex, when it finally happened, was even better than Draco had thought it would be. It was he that took control this time, and she didn't object. On the contrary, she was willing and pliable beneath his hands and mouth, making him think that maybe, just maybe, she needed to give up control just as much as he needed to take it. His hands wandered, memorising the planes and curves of her skin as he devoured her mouth, and he was rewarded by breathless moans that turned into curses when his fingers moved lower.
He drove into her tight heat over and over again, spurred on by her nails digging into his back and her teeth on his neck. It wasn't long before she came, writhing beneath him and screaming his name. The sound was raw with pure ecstasy, and it set all of Draco's nerve endings on fire, dragging him over the edge with her. His orgasm stole the air from his lungs and made his toes curl so hard they cracked, leaving him sated and gasping for breath, unable to move from where he had collapsed on top of her. He managed to shift his hips enough to slide out of her, but his face stayed firmly planted on her shoulder, where it had landed.
"Unholy fuck," Morag panted, looking down at him. Draco made an unintelligible noise of agreement and closed his eyes.
After a long moment, Morag untwisted her hands from where they'd clenched in the blanket and tentatively wrapped her arms around him. Draco felt something inside him shift, but it was not nearly as uncomfortable as Pansy's attempts at post-coital snuggling, so he stayed where he was. Not that he had the energy to pull away.
He dozed off for a while, and woke to find that the room was dark. Night had fallen outside, and though he could see the faint glimmer of the moon around the edges of the curtains, it was nearly impossible to see Morag.
In the relative safety of darkness, he raised one hand to touch her cheek. He missed slightly, fingertips coming into contact with her jaw, but as soon as he realised his mistake he fixed it, pressing his palm flat against her cheek. She stirred beneath his touch and he leaned in until he could feel her breath against his mouth, trying to make out her features.
"What do you want from me?" he whispered, unsure if she was awake enough to hear it.
Morag tensed, and Draco almost took the question back. "Honestly?" she asked, just as softly.
He nodded, realised that she couldn't see it, and answered, "Yes."
"I want you to be happy," she replied, echoing her own words. "I want you to be able to live without worrying about Potter, or the Dark Lord, or anyone trying to harm you. I want you to have the life you want, to be able to... to..." She hesitated, and Draco felt her eyes flutter shut against his fingertips. "And if I can give you that, I don't ask anything in return."
Draco had no idea how to respond to that. It was a depth of selflessness that he didn't think he would ever be able to understand, but he felt... guilty, almost, for taking advantage of it, even though she hadn't exactly given him a choice. And then, suddenly, he understood.
"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" he asked, unable to help the small note of amusement in his voice: amusement at his own stupidity, for not seeing what was right in front of him. The irony of finally 'seeing' when it was very nearly pitch black did not escape his notice.
"By keeping you unMarked and safe," Morag replied a little bit nervously. Draco ran his fingers reassuringly over her cheekbone. "And your parents safe, as well. I know how much you care about them." She paused for a second. "I have enough connections to the Order to make sure your good name stays intact, too. Assuming they win, of course. But it's up to you how much contact you want to have with them."
"And you?" Draco asked, barely paying attention to her answer. His mouth was right next to hers now, his lower lip brushed against hers as he spoke. "You're going to stay with me, aren't you? Keep yourself safe?"
Morag nodded slightly, her cheek brushing against his hand. Draco smiled and covered the rest of the distance between them to kiss her again.
"Good," he said a bit breathlessly when they broke apart, and laid his head on her shoulder. "I think we're both going to get what we want."
If she wanted to hand him the world on a silver platter, he certainly wasn't about to object.