Elle!Fic | Dark Heart Silhouette | Draco/Ginny, Draco/Astoria | Adult
Title: Dark Heart Silhouette (2/12)
Author: Elle, aka elle_blessing
Characters: Draco/Ginny, Draco/Astoria
Rating: R
Word Count: ~28,000
Summary: In a world where Voldemort won the Second War, Draco finds himself in the fortuitous position of being one of the Dark Lord's favored. The love of two women will drive him to question who he is and what he has become, but it is betrayal that set in motion the beginning of the end.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR’s sandbox, not mine.
Author’s Notes: This was written for the 2010 round of dracobigbang. I have taken the liberty of making Daphne and Astoria cousins instead of sisters, and Michael Corner is Astoria’s half-brother through marriage. Also, endless thanks go to fiery_flamingo, amazonmink, goddessvicky & mugglechump for helping me beta this story to make it fit for public consumption.
Chapters: Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI
@FanFic.net
Chapter 1
Her skin was already cooling, the fine sheen of sweat disappearing as long seconds turned into several minutes, turned into the sound of her even breathing. She always fell asleep first and for some odd reason, that pleased Draco; perhaps because she trusted him enough to close her eyes.
Ginny Weasley didn’t have any reason to trust him with the repose of her sleep. Then again, she didn’t have any reason to do the other things she did with him, either. Why she let him into her bed, into her body until they both shuddered with something akin to what Draco imagined heaven might be like, he didn’t know. She didn’t like him and never had. Ginny had made sure he knew the depths of her dislike the night she had first hexed him with the Bat Bogey when they were still in school - when life had been much simpler for all that a war was brewing.
He wasn’t entirely sure how they had fallen into the same bed. If anything, she had more reason to hate him than ever; her family was gone, and though he had not been personally responsible, she had every reason to lump him in with those who had put her relatives into the ground. In her position, he'd have had no mercy or forgiveness.
Perhaps she did hate him, but calling his given name in pleasure as she shuddered beneath him said differently. Still, Draco was too suspicious by half to truly believe the lovely ginger woman who spent her time dancing at Nightshade felt anything for him. It didn’t stop that damnable part of him that had once had hope from wishing that wasn’t the case.
If he didn’t know himself better, he would say he was already half in love with her, but the cynical part of him said it was only an illusion - just what he imagined love felt like; he thought about her all the time, wanted her, grew angry thinking about the way other men looked at her. Mayhap it was just possessiveness; Slytherins excelled at that particular emotion. Love? Love was an elusive thing.
She wanted him too. The way she arched beneath him, the way his name fell from her lips and the way she clung to him as she fell over the edge of pleasure betrayed her true feelings - or what he imagined her true feelings to be. He could be wrong, but as he traced a finger down her bare, lightly freckled back, Draco liked to imagine she cared for him. Such sentiments were a weakness, but he hadn’t ever planned to care for her and yet he did. It was a comforting thing to think that, perhaps, she might care for him too.
It went unsaid, however. There was no reason to voice what could never be, what he was unsure of in himself and even less sure of in her.
Ginny was a Weasley, the only surviving member of a family of blood traitors, and he was among the Dark Lord’s favored. He could bed her, have her, love her even, but they could never truly be together. Just as feelings went unsaid, so too, did the fact that Draco could be married soon without much notice at all. Things had finally settled, the violence of the resistance minimal, and Voldemort was securing his power base. Neutral families were daily being ‘persuaded’ to marriage, a cementing of ties through blood and magic to those true and faithful to the new regime.
Those like himself, the young and loyal, were the sacrifices - or the favored, some would say; trusted enough to bear the weight of bringing those who had held their distance during the war, into the fold. He had avoided such machinations thus far, but it was questionable how much longer it would last. There was still a strong enough force of resistance fighters loose that it was a worry whether powerful, neutral families would loan support where they shouldn’t. Voldemort reigned in fear, but there would always be politics, and money and influence were priceless commodities - even to a megalomaniac.
Families like the Nott’s, the Jones’ and the Greengrass’ needed to be collected, if only for the illusion of comfort it would give the masses.
Draco understood, theoretically agreed, even. If one was to truly rule, the nobility had to be brought in by lure or force. Marriage had been used for centuries to cement ties and it made sense to use the ancient, unbreakable binding magics to tie the elite of the wizarding world together as a united front. However, when such machinations had become a reality for Pansy and Blaise, it had been proven none of them were immune to such maneuvering, especially as they were to take it as a token of favor. How Draco felt about such things he was careful to think only when he was truly alone. In a world such as theirs had become, errant thoughts were a liability if you hadn’t taken the proper measures. Though he was a skilled Occlumens, Draco trusted no one, not even himself.
Despite, anger burned in him that anyone should tell a Malfoy what to do, that the half-breed indirectly responsible for his mother’s death dictate his life. There was no recourse in a world order wrought through war, blood and death, however, but to take the power that was at hand, no matter how it was doled.
It was the one thing Ginny didn’t seem to understand.
He could touch her, bring her, make her lose herself to him, but if their conversations ever drifted past the cocoon they made, she would be instantly angry, shut down and order him from her room. Either that, or the too-keen interest which did not sit well with him either. She was watched, but not considered a threat to the regime. Sometimes he wondered if she was underestimated - sometimes he wondered if he cared. He knew she wanted him and an arrogant part of him suspected perhaps she might be half in love with him as well, but Draco wasn’t so foolish not to suspect the other half hated him.
He sifted his fingers through her hair then, the ginger strands vivid against his nearly translucent skin. It was a damned color in this new world, would never allow them to slip beneath any radar even if they wanted to try and make it work somehow. Sighing, he slipped from her bed, the silk of the sheets sliding against his skin. They were a gift, red as the House she’d once been part of. The irony of the situation was not lost on Draco, not at all.
The air was cool against his skin, the warming charm having long since dissipated. It was no more than a few moments to pull his clothes on; trousers, button up, tie, vest, Italian leather shoes. Black robes were pulled over his shoulders, the material thick and luxurious, and it slid in a pool around him as he bent over Ginny’s still-sleeping form and pressed a kiss to her brow.
“Good eve, my love.”
She didn’t stir and Draco disappeared quietly through the door, locking and warding it securely behind him.
*~*~*~*~*
When he Apparated into Malfoy Manor, Draco knew his father was not the only one there. The Dark Lord's aura, or whatever it is that animated the damned half-breed, was a sticky thing and it clung to the wards as one passed through them.
It was decidedly disturbing.
As the Dark Lord himself was decidedly disturbing as well, it suited. Draco sometimes wondered at the fact he could hold the wizarding world in thrall, but he was often enough afforded grisly reminders. The once Tom Riddle was ruthless and depraved. It wasn't out of love that they all followed his every word, but fear - and greed. Draco was not unaware of the thirst for power of his peers. To be close to the Dark Lord was to seemingly be the right hand of a god.
Draco hated it all. It had taken his mother, devoured her.
His father was addicted to it and whether that was a form of grief for what they had lost or his baser instincts, Draco did not know; perhaps both. His aunt was the Dark Lord’s court torturer, his executioner, but his father? His father was his politician, his eyes and ears into all things. The perfect courtier, a role he'd embraced following the death of Narcissa in the war. Lucius has gone above and beyond to secure the Malfoy name - both of them had, but to what end? It was something Draco did not actively think about, for to do so was to tread a path that would certainly point him towards his own demise.
Perhaps he had once thought on sacrificing himself to rid the world of the half-breed who had brought about his mother’s death, but she would have wanted him to live - he wanted to live, though for what, he did not know. There was nothing but a wearisome half-life now, survival won each day ruthlessly through actions he could never say he was proud of, and the only light was a ginger woman who more than likely hated him.
“Tsk tsk, Draco,” Bellatrix sing-songed, her voice a deliciously terrible thing rousing him from his thoughts as she moved around him. “You haven’t been listening.”
"Please repeat that. I'm afraid I don't quite understand?" he said carefully, dark gray eyes sliding from his father, to the Dark Lord, to Bellatrix, and back.
"It is quite simple, dear nephew," Bellatrix drawled, those dusky blue eyes that were so much like his mothers had been, chilling him when he met her gaze. "You will marry the Greengrass girl or I will have to kill the last in the line of the House of Black."
She smiled as if the latter thought pleased her and Draco dismissed Bellatrix, turning his attention instead to Lucius. "Father, are not the Greengrass’ already secured? Devon and Daphne proved themselves and have taken the Mark, have they not?”
“They have, but it is Astoria that is resistant still. Despite her age, she garners a great amount of respect from a plethora of people.” Lucius’ lips curled then and Draco knew well enough to suspect what was to come next. “Including many members of the resistance. Her brother is suspected to be a half-blood resistance fighter.”
“I still believe we should kill the girl,” Bellatrix commented archly. “A proper death threat and a bit of torture would flush the boy to the surface.”
“Ah, yes, but then we will only have the one when we might have them all, and we would have missed on using her to lull others. She is well loved on many levels of society. She will be very useful,” Voldemort inserted smoothly, the red tint of his eyes glowing softly when Draco finally looked him full in the face. “Draco will marry the girl and earn her trust, we will find them all and then you may play with them, Bellatrix.”
It was temporary then, this marriage, until the mission was complete. To some small degree, that was a comfort, a sign that he was, indeed, favored. It didn’t sit well with Draco though. He didn’t know the younger Greengrass heiress as he knew Daphne, housemate and yearmate, but he did know Astoria was pure. Pure, landed, wealthy and it sounded as if her branch of the Greengrass family had been well respected by all. They would be a great ally and yet when all was said and done, it sounded as if she would suffer the same fate as her half-blood brother - to hold secrets as she was suspected was treason.
Draco knew better than to say any of his thoughts aloud, or to even let them show upon his face. His life was illusion, half-truths and overt lies. It was not safe to live in any other way.
“It shall be done then, my lord,” Draco finally said with a flourish of a bow, his black robes fanning out behind him with the elegant movement as he dipped his head. “I will wed her and find all she knows, in time.”
When he stood, saw all their faces, he was nearly unnerved; he could hear his mother’s voice whispering in his ear - how the mighty House of Black, the House of Malfoy had fallen so far.
Draco missed his mother, but he was glad she had not lived to see what their family had become - lapdogs of a half-human lunatic.
"And then you can help me find what makes her scream, nephew," Bellatrix drawled, dusky blue eyes watching him in the way that a snake does when it’s of a mind to strike. It was unnerving, to be sure, but Draco was used to his aunt and she would not lay a hand upon him unless Voldemort gave the order.
He was safe. For now.
"Perhaps, aunt." His face was smooth, emotionless as he deliberately pulled his gaze from hers to his father. "When?"
"Devon Greengrass was very amenable to my suggestion that such a measure would please the Dark Lord. He will be awaiting your owl." Lucius raised a brow at his son.
"Very well. Post haste, then." He'd known it could happen, expected even. He loathed how little he could do about it. To do anything but what he was told was to be at the Dark Lord’s mercy, likely given to his aunt to play with. But what had he truly become? To wed a pure, noble woman with full knowledge that she was nothing more than bait to those whom she loved and loved her in return?
It was a pity he cared about such things still. He knew better. "Thank you, my lord. I shant disappoint."
"No, young Malfoy, you won't." Final and binding. Draco felt the weight of it inscribed in magical ink on his arm.
Chapter 2
Author: Elle, aka elle_blessing
Characters: Draco/Ginny, Draco/Astoria
Rating: R
Word Count: ~28,000
Summary: In a world where Voldemort won the Second War, Draco finds himself in the fortuitous position of being one of the Dark Lord's favored. The love of two women will drive him to question who he is and what he has become, but it is betrayal that set in motion the beginning of the end.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR’s sandbox, not mine.
Author’s Notes: This was written for the 2010 round of dracobigbang. I have taken the liberty of making Daphne and Astoria cousins instead of sisters, and Michael Corner is Astoria’s half-brother through marriage. Also, endless thanks go to fiery_flamingo, amazonmink, goddessvicky & mugglechump for helping me beta this story to make it fit for public consumption.
Chapters: Prologue | I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI
@FanFic.net
Chapter 1
Her skin was already cooling, the fine sheen of sweat disappearing as long seconds turned into several minutes, turned into the sound of her even breathing. She always fell asleep first and for some odd reason, that pleased Draco; perhaps because she trusted him enough to close her eyes.
Ginny Weasley didn’t have any reason to trust him with the repose of her sleep. Then again, she didn’t have any reason to do the other things she did with him, either. Why she let him into her bed, into her body until they both shuddered with something akin to what Draco imagined heaven might be like, he didn’t know. She didn’t like him and never had. Ginny had made sure he knew the depths of her dislike the night she had first hexed him with the Bat Bogey when they were still in school - when life had been much simpler for all that a war was brewing.
He wasn’t entirely sure how they had fallen into the same bed. If anything, she had more reason to hate him than ever; her family was gone, and though he had not been personally responsible, she had every reason to lump him in with those who had put her relatives into the ground. In her position, he'd have had no mercy or forgiveness.
Perhaps she did hate him, but calling his given name in pleasure as she shuddered beneath him said differently. Still, Draco was too suspicious by half to truly believe the lovely ginger woman who spent her time dancing at Nightshade felt anything for him. It didn’t stop that damnable part of him that had once had hope from wishing that wasn’t the case.
If he didn’t know himself better, he would say he was already half in love with her, but the cynical part of him said it was only an illusion - just what he imagined love felt like; he thought about her all the time, wanted her, grew angry thinking about the way other men looked at her. Mayhap it was just possessiveness; Slytherins excelled at that particular emotion. Love? Love was an elusive thing.
She wanted him too. The way she arched beneath him, the way his name fell from her lips and the way she clung to him as she fell over the edge of pleasure betrayed her true feelings - or what he imagined her true feelings to be. He could be wrong, but as he traced a finger down her bare, lightly freckled back, Draco liked to imagine she cared for him. Such sentiments were a weakness, but he hadn’t ever planned to care for her and yet he did. It was a comforting thing to think that, perhaps, she might care for him too.
It went unsaid, however. There was no reason to voice what could never be, what he was unsure of in himself and even less sure of in her.
Ginny was a Weasley, the only surviving member of a family of blood traitors, and he was among the Dark Lord’s favored. He could bed her, have her, love her even, but they could never truly be together. Just as feelings went unsaid, so too, did the fact that Draco could be married soon without much notice at all. Things had finally settled, the violence of the resistance minimal, and Voldemort was securing his power base. Neutral families were daily being ‘persuaded’ to marriage, a cementing of ties through blood and magic to those true and faithful to the new regime.
Those like himself, the young and loyal, were the sacrifices - or the favored, some would say; trusted enough to bear the weight of bringing those who had held their distance during the war, into the fold. He had avoided such machinations thus far, but it was questionable how much longer it would last. There was still a strong enough force of resistance fighters loose that it was a worry whether powerful, neutral families would loan support where they shouldn’t. Voldemort reigned in fear, but there would always be politics, and money and influence were priceless commodities - even to a megalomaniac.
Families like the Nott’s, the Jones’ and the Greengrass’ needed to be collected, if only for the illusion of comfort it would give the masses.
Draco understood, theoretically agreed, even. If one was to truly rule, the nobility had to be brought in by lure or force. Marriage had been used for centuries to cement ties and it made sense to use the ancient, unbreakable binding magics to tie the elite of the wizarding world together as a united front. However, when such machinations had become a reality for Pansy and Blaise, it had been proven none of them were immune to such maneuvering, especially as they were to take it as a token of favor. How Draco felt about such things he was careful to think only when he was truly alone. In a world such as theirs had become, errant thoughts were a liability if you hadn’t taken the proper measures. Though he was a skilled Occlumens, Draco trusted no one, not even himself.
Despite, anger burned in him that anyone should tell a Malfoy what to do, that the half-breed indirectly responsible for his mother’s death dictate his life. There was no recourse in a world order wrought through war, blood and death, however, but to take the power that was at hand, no matter how it was doled.
It was the one thing Ginny didn’t seem to understand.
He could touch her, bring her, make her lose herself to him, but if their conversations ever drifted past the cocoon they made, she would be instantly angry, shut down and order him from her room. Either that, or the too-keen interest which did not sit well with him either. She was watched, but not considered a threat to the regime. Sometimes he wondered if she was underestimated - sometimes he wondered if he cared. He knew she wanted him and an arrogant part of him suspected perhaps she might be half in love with him as well, but Draco wasn’t so foolish not to suspect the other half hated him.
He sifted his fingers through her hair then, the ginger strands vivid against his nearly translucent skin. It was a damned color in this new world, would never allow them to slip beneath any radar even if they wanted to try and make it work somehow. Sighing, he slipped from her bed, the silk of the sheets sliding against his skin. They were a gift, red as the House she’d once been part of. The irony of the situation was not lost on Draco, not at all.
The air was cool against his skin, the warming charm having long since dissipated. It was no more than a few moments to pull his clothes on; trousers, button up, tie, vest, Italian leather shoes. Black robes were pulled over his shoulders, the material thick and luxurious, and it slid in a pool around him as he bent over Ginny’s still-sleeping form and pressed a kiss to her brow.
“Good eve, my love.”
She didn’t stir and Draco disappeared quietly through the door, locking and warding it securely behind him.
*~*~*~*~*
When he Apparated into Malfoy Manor, Draco knew his father was not the only one there. The Dark Lord's aura, or whatever it is that animated the damned half-breed, was a sticky thing and it clung to the wards as one passed through them.
It was decidedly disturbing.
As the Dark Lord himself was decidedly disturbing as well, it suited. Draco sometimes wondered at the fact he could hold the wizarding world in thrall, but he was often enough afforded grisly reminders. The once Tom Riddle was ruthless and depraved. It wasn't out of love that they all followed his every word, but fear - and greed. Draco was not unaware of the thirst for power of his peers. To be close to the Dark Lord was to seemingly be the right hand of a god.
Draco hated it all. It had taken his mother, devoured her.
His father was addicted to it and whether that was a form of grief for what they had lost or his baser instincts, Draco did not know; perhaps both. His aunt was the Dark Lord’s court torturer, his executioner, but his father? His father was his politician, his eyes and ears into all things. The perfect courtier, a role he'd embraced following the death of Narcissa in the war. Lucius has gone above and beyond to secure the Malfoy name - both of them had, but to what end? It was something Draco did not actively think about, for to do so was to tread a path that would certainly point him towards his own demise.
Perhaps he had once thought on sacrificing himself to rid the world of the half-breed who had brought about his mother’s death, but she would have wanted him to live - he wanted to live, though for what, he did not know. There was nothing but a wearisome half-life now, survival won each day ruthlessly through actions he could never say he was proud of, and the only light was a ginger woman who more than likely hated him.
“Tsk tsk, Draco,” Bellatrix sing-songed, her voice a deliciously terrible thing rousing him from his thoughts as she moved around him. “You haven’t been listening.”
"Please repeat that. I'm afraid I don't quite understand?" he said carefully, dark gray eyes sliding from his father, to the Dark Lord, to Bellatrix, and back.
"It is quite simple, dear nephew," Bellatrix drawled, those dusky blue eyes that were so much like his mothers had been, chilling him when he met her gaze. "You will marry the Greengrass girl or I will have to kill the last in the line of the House of Black."
She smiled as if the latter thought pleased her and Draco dismissed Bellatrix, turning his attention instead to Lucius. "Father, are not the Greengrass’ already secured? Devon and Daphne proved themselves and have taken the Mark, have they not?”
“They have, but it is Astoria that is resistant still. Despite her age, she garners a great amount of respect from a plethora of people.” Lucius’ lips curled then and Draco knew well enough to suspect what was to come next. “Including many members of the resistance. Her brother is suspected to be a half-blood resistance fighter.”
“I still believe we should kill the girl,” Bellatrix commented archly. “A proper death threat and a bit of torture would flush the boy to the surface.”
“Ah, yes, but then we will only have the one when we might have them all, and we would have missed on using her to lull others. She is well loved on many levels of society. She will be very useful,” Voldemort inserted smoothly, the red tint of his eyes glowing softly when Draco finally looked him full in the face. “Draco will marry the girl and earn her trust, we will find them all and then you may play with them, Bellatrix.”
It was temporary then, this marriage, until the mission was complete. To some small degree, that was a comfort, a sign that he was, indeed, favored. It didn’t sit well with Draco though. He didn’t know the younger Greengrass heiress as he knew Daphne, housemate and yearmate, but he did know Astoria was pure. Pure, landed, wealthy and it sounded as if her branch of the Greengrass family had been well respected by all. They would be a great ally and yet when all was said and done, it sounded as if she would suffer the same fate as her half-blood brother - to hold secrets as she was suspected was treason.
Draco knew better than to say any of his thoughts aloud, or to even let them show upon his face. His life was illusion, half-truths and overt lies. It was not safe to live in any other way.
“It shall be done then, my lord,” Draco finally said with a flourish of a bow, his black robes fanning out behind him with the elegant movement as he dipped his head. “I will wed her and find all she knows, in time.”
When he stood, saw all their faces, he was nearly unnerved; he could hear his mother’s voice whispering in his ear - how the mighty House of Black, the House of Malfoy had fallen so far.
Draco missed his mother, but he was glad she had not lived to see what their family had become - lapdogs of a half-human lunatic.
"And then you can help me find what makes her scream, nephew," Bellatrix drawled, dusky blue eyes watching him in the way that a snake does when it’s of a mind to strike. It was unnerving, to be sure, but Draco was used to his aunt and she would not lay a hand upon him unless Voldemort gave the order.
He was safe. For now.
"Perhaps, aunt." His face was smooth, emotionless as he deliberately pulled his gaze from hers to his father. "When?"
"Devon Greengrass was very amenable to my suggestion that such a measure would please the Dark Lord. He will be awaiting your owl." Lucius raised a brow at his son.
"Very well. Post haste, then." He'd known it could happen, expected even. He loathed how little he could do about it. To do anything but what he was told was to be at the Dark Lord’s mercy, likely given to his aunt to play with. But what had he truly become? To wed a pure, noble woman with full knowledge that she was nothing more than bait to those whom she loved and loved her in return?
It was a pity he cared about such things still. He knew better. "Thank you, my lord. I shant disappoint."
"No, young Malfoy, you won't." Final and binding. Draco felt the weight of it inscribed in magical ink on his arm.
Chapter 2