I have a good friend in the east, a good singer and a good folk singer...who comes and listens to my shows and says you always sing about the past, you can’t live in the past. And I say to him, I can go outside and pick up a rock, that’s older than the oldest song you know and bring it back in here and drop it on your foot. The past didn’t go anywhere. It’s right here, right now.
- Utah Phillips

~*~

September, 2010

Draco Malfoy stood in the middle of the supermarket aisle and glared at the shelf in front of him. "Bloody superior British attitude, think they rule the world, but can they sell a decent jar of bloody peanut butter? Of course not."

It was late afternoon on a warm September day, the setting sun filtering through the windows at the front of the store and casting long beams of dusty light into the crowded aisles. The store wasn’t that busy, since it was too early for the London commuters to be stopping in on the way home from work, a fact for which Draco was grateful. He was in no mood to deal with a mob of people; at about 10 that morning, he’d developed an intense craving for a peanut butter sandwich, thus initiating a quest that had led to him spending the better part of his day trolling the grocers of London, looking for Squirrel peanut butter. He hadn’t had a peanut butter sandwich since he’d moved back to England, 6 months ago, but the craving for one had taken hold this morning, and Draco couldn’t shake it. And British peanut butter wouldn’t do...it had to be Squirrel. And squishy white bread, and loads of butter and...dammit! He thought longingly of the supermarkets of Calgary, stocked full of the stuff; however, it was looking like the only place to buy Squirrel peanut butter was in Canada. Draco cursed under his breath, running a hand through his pale hair and wishing he’d never had to come back here. He glowered at the shelves as though he could make what he wanted appear by sheer force of will.

It didn’t work.

Draco rocked back on his heels and surveyed the selection before him. "Bloody Brits," he muttered again. "They can rule an empire, sun never setting and all that tripe, but can I make a decent sandwich in this country? Nooooo. Bloody imperialistic bastards." His tirade was interrupted by something tugging on his leg. Draco glanced down and froze.

He was looking into Harry Potter’s eyes.

Eyes he’d last seen staring at him in befuddled shock, on a battlefield that had once been a Quidditch pitch somewhere in Scotland, near a castle that he hadn’t seen in almost 13 years. Eyes that had always seemed to pierce through him, even when he was eleven years old and had had nothing to hide, eyes that brought back memories he’d hoped to leave buried in his past forever, eyes that had haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

Eyes he’d hoped never to see again.

Eyes that were currently in the head of a very small boy with very red hair, who was clutching a battered teddy bear in one grubby hand and the leg of Draco’s khakis in the other.

"Um," said Draco, rather wildly.

"I think I’ve misplaced my mother. Will you help me find her?"

Draco gaped. "I’m sorry?"

The child gave him a look of exasperation, which made Draco blink, somewhat disoriented. He’d encountered that look before, but never at knee level, or on the spectacle-less face of a 6-year-old with freckles. "I’ve lost my mum. I don’t know where she’s gone."

"Oh. Um, well..." Draco surveyed the aisle, which was deserted but for him and the child who had a death grip on his trouser leg. "I - I can help you look for her, I suppose."

"Okay." The child let go of Draco’s pant leg and raised one arm - the one without the teddy bear - expectantly. Gingerly, Draco reached down and took the boy’s small hand in his own. The thought that he was losing his mind briefly occurred to him; this was Harry’s son, there was no doubt. Despite the violent orange hair, he looked like Harry must have at six; unruly locks, compact, slender body, hell, he had Harry’s nose. What the hell was Draco going to do if he ran into Harry, who was probably the last person in the world he wanted to see? Because the only way a miniature Harry look-alike could be running around was if the Boy Who Lived had become the Boy Who Bred. And Draco was helping his child. Harry’s child. Harry, who Draco decidedly did not want to talk to, now or ever again. Harry, who Draco disliked with an intensity that hadn’t noticeably abated in 18 years. He glanced down at the boy, who was gazing up at him in anticipation. He sighed mentally. I really have gone soft, he thought. "So, where exactly did you last see your mum, then?"

"Dunno. Over that way, I think," the child said, pointing his teddy bear toward the frozen foods.

"Then that way we shall seek. What’s your name, my young friend?"

"My name is James, but everybody calls me Jamie. What’s yours?"

"Draco."

"That’s a funny name." Jamie said this with great gravity, as though he was deeply concerned for Draco, having to live with such a moniker.

"It means dragon in Latin. My father thought it a rather strong name."

"Oh." Jamie processed this information as they passed the preserves section. "My Uncle Charlie works with dragons."

"Does he? That sounds dangerous."

"Yeah, he gets all burnt all the time."

"I see. So what’s your mum’s name?"

Jamie gave him a slightly disgusted look. "Mum is mum."

"Of course. And what does your mum do? Does she work with dragons too?"

" No. She stays home, mostly. Sometimes she writes stuff. My dad coaches Quidditch."

"Does he?"

"Uh-huh. For the Cannons."

Draco nodded. He’d heard from Neville that Harry was coaching in Chudley, although a Muggle grocery in London was a strange place for his wife and child to be going to market. Neville hadn't offered up more information, and Draco had never asked, since the doings of Harry Potter weren’t anything he wanted to concern himself with. Draco shrugged mentally. Maybe they didn’t have supermarkets in Chudley. "And does your dad have a name, or is he just
dad?"

"Dad is dad, of course."

"Of course. You’re a huge help, I must say." They had reached the frozen foods, which ran along the long, open aisle at the back of the store, and Draco did a quick survey. He didn’t see anyone who looked like they might have produced the owner of the hand holding tight to his, but judging from the colour of Jamie’s hair, he had a good idea of who he was looking for. Unless one of the endless Weasley brothers had discovered a way for men to bear children, young Jamie was the son of Harry Potter and Ron’s little sister. Draco wracked his brain for a moment. What had her name been? Gerri? Jeanie? No...Ginny. Granted, it had been 12 years or more since he’d last laid eyes on her, but the Weasley hair wasn’t exactly easy to hide. Draco was fairly sure he’d recognize her when he saw her.

He didn’t, however, see her anywhere in the long aisle that ran the back of the store. "Well," he said to his young charge. "Left or right?"

Jamie looked both ways. "Left," he said firmly.

"Left it is." They turned to the left and walked toward the produce section, Draco feeling like he was crawling as he slowed his strides to match Jamie’s. "So what else does your mum do, when she’s not losing you in supermarkets?"

"She looks after my little sister and little brother."

"Ah..." Draco smirked a bit. The poor woman was probably a mini-version of her mother, if she had 3 kids already. He vaguely remembered Mrs. Weasley from brief glimpses at King’s Cross as a dumpy, short woman who shouted a lot. The poor girl. "And how old are your brother and sister?"

"Sarah is 4, and Willie is only 2. I’m the oldest, I’m 6. I can count to six!" Jamie said this as though it was a grand achievement. Which for all Draco knew it was, for a six-year-old.

"Congratulations," Draco said solemnly.

"Can you count to six?"

"I do believe I could if I tried very hard."

Jamie frowned. "Are you laughing at me?"

At Jamie’s stern look, Draco almost did. With a great effort, he managed to keep a straight face. "Of course not. My mum always told me that I had no head for numbers, and mums are always right."

Green eyes screwed up suspiciously, and Draco had another disorienting sense of déjà vu. It really was quite odd to see Harry Potter glaring at him out of the freckled face of a redheaded kid. "Well...ok. How old are you?"

"I’m 30," said Draco.

"Oh. That’s very old. Can you count to 30?"

You will not laugh, Draco thought at himself. You will not laugh. "Again, I believe I could if I tried."

"I always get stuck at 11," Jamie said seriously. "I can never remember what’s next."

"It will come in time," Draco replied. "You’re young yet."

Despite their snail’s pace, they had managed to pass one aisle (empty of people) and were rounding the corner of the second. Draco looked down the expanse of linoleum and spotted a flash of red hair. "Is that your mum there?"

Jamie looked too. "I think so."

"Shall we, then?" Draco asked his charge, gesturing in the direction of the woman. At Jamie’s nod, they started down the aisle, still moving rather slowly. Ginny didn’t seem to be going anywhere, however, being too busy trying to keep the toddler in the child seat from launching himself headfirst toward the ground from the shopping cart. Draco was fleetingly grateful, since it meant he didn’t have to do anything embarrassing like yell or run after her. And it gave him time to acknowledge the fact that Ginny Weasley had grown up a bit.

Actually, judging by the full swell of her hips, and the graceful sweep of her waist, Ginny Weasley had grown up more than a bit. She bore absolutely no resemblance at all to her mother, despite the three children in evidence, being neither short nor dumpy. Not at all. In fact, quite the contrary, Draco mused, admiring her long legs as she secured the child and stretched up to reach something on a higher shelf. Ginny was wearing a light blue tee-shirt and well-worn Muggle blue jeans that clung to her curves in a positively indecent fashion. She wasn’t thin by any means, but her roundness was situated in all the right places; she had curves like a Botticelli Venus. Draco’s eyes narrowed as his eyes swept the line of her body again. Definitely all the right places.

He could feel a spiky warmth spread through his stomach and tighten in his thighs. Honestly, man, you’re just looking at her. Knock it off. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he and Jamie finally reached her. Don’t be an idiot. Just drop the kid off and get out of here.

Ginny hadn’t yet realized that the two of them were standing behind her. Draco cleared his throat. "Excuse me, madam, but I think you’ve misplaced something," he said quietly to the back of her head.

Ginny turned with a start and stared at Draco openmouthed for a moment, then glanced down as he gestured with the hand that was still being held captive by Jamie. "Oh, God, Jamie!"

"Hullo, mum," Jamie said calmly, and let go of Draco’s hand so that his mother could bend down and envelop him in a hug.

"Where did you go? Off on your own again? How many times have I told you not to wander off in the shop? Honestly, Jamie, you should know better than that by now. Did you say thank you to the man?" Ginny stood up suddenly and placed her hands on the top of Jamie’s head, drawing him back against her legs. "Thank you so much, sir, I appreciate it. He’s always off wandering about; it’s like trying to keep track of a gnat."

"Any time," Draco said softly, a slight smile on his face. She was even more beautiful from the front, with full lips and deep brown eyes the colour of mahogany, framed by auburn lashes and brows. The porcelain of her skin was set off by the dusting of freckles across her nose, and Draco had a sudden, powerful urge to take her face in his hands so he could count them, could touch the translucent skin of her cheeks, trace the smooth line of her jaw and neck, cup her breasts in his palms, run his hands along those luscious hips... Stop it, dammit! She’s a Weasley! He thrust his hands in his pockets, fiercely stifling the urge to thrust them through that riot of red curls instead. You cannot possibly be lusting after her, she’s a Weasley. Stop. It.

The Weasley in question didn’t recognize him at all, that much was obvious. She was gazing at him and smiling quizzically. Draco glanced down at her hands before he could stop himself and noticed that she wore no rings. Interesting. He crouched down and patted Jamie on the shoulder, partly so that he could tear his eyes away from Ginny. "You should listen to your mother. Not really safe to be wandering about on your own."

Jamie nodded earnestly. "Okay, Mr. Draco. Thank you for helping me."

"Draco?" Ginny asked faintly as he stood up. "Draco...Malfoy? You’re not - " she broke off suddenly, studying his face intently. Draco watched with amusement as recognition dawned. "Oh. My. God."

"Been a bit, hasn’t it?"

"You - you look, um, different." She flushed slightly and tucked a russet curl behind one ear. "I didn’t recognize you at all. I’m so sorry."

"I’ve changed a bit since Hogwarts, or so I’ve been told," he said, smiling slightly as she nodded. And he wasn’t the only one...surely Ginny hadn’t looked like this when they were in school. He tried to conjure up a mental image of Ginny at Hogwarts, but ended up with only a fleeting impression of masses of red hair above faded black robes. "You’ve changed a bit yourself. It’s Ginny, yes? Ron’s little
sister?"

"Yes, that’s me. What gave it away?" She grinned and tugged on a stray lock of hair. "As for changing...well, 3 children and a divorce will do that," she said wryly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You were married?" He knew, of course, but pumping people for information was second nature to him. Divorced...that would explain the lack of rings.

"Well, I didn’t produce these three out of a hat," Ginny laughed, ruffling Jamie’s hair affectionately. "Harry and I were married the year after I graduated Hogwarts...we split up just over a year ago."

"I’m sorry to hear that." He wasn’t, of course, but he figured it was the polite thing to say. Draco eyed the youngest child, staring at him from his perch on the child seat of the shopping cart with Ginny’s liquid brown eyes. She had faint lines around her eyes, as though she smiled a lot and didn't care that doing so might give her wrinkles. He knew too many women who would be worried that those fine lines would make them look old, who would dread the spill of freckles across her nose that bespoke time in the sun. It didn't make Ginny look old, though; it made her look warm.Was Harry mad? he wondered privately. Well, of course Harry had always been a bit odd, but what sort of person voluntarily gave up a woman like Ginny? Maybe he’s gay. Draco had always had his doubts.

Ginny shrugged. "I’m not," she said bluntly, and Draco blinked. "Sorry, I mean. We were far too young, and we got married for all the wrong reasons, and it was far better to split while we could still remain on good terms rather than hold out until we really hated each other, which was exactly what would have happened...and I have no idea why I’m telling you this, I’m sorry." Two faint spots of pink appeared on her cheekbones, charmingly setting off those freckles on her nose.

"Oh, I don’t mind," Draco said. "Always interesting to catch up with old schoolmates. I actually see Neville Longbottom quite frequently."

"Oh, Nev...he’s a dear," Ginny said, her smile lighting up her face. Draco resisted a sudden urge to go hunt Neville down and strangle him for no good reason. "He’s babysat for me a time or two. He’s great with the kids. How did you run into him? I understand he’s quite busy."

"Ah, well, through work, actually. We’ve collaborated on an assignment or two through the Ministry," said Draco vaguely.

"You’re an Auror?" Ginny blinked in surprise.

"I’m more of a consultant in that department, but something
like that."

"Well, I wouldn’t have expe - Sarah!" Ginny made a grab for her daughter, who was busily pulling all of the boxes off the bottom shelf and arranging them into piles on the floor. "What on earth are you doing?"

Unlike her brothers, Sarah had inherited her father’s black hair, which fell across her shoulders in tangled skeins. She turned at her mother’s voice and gazed up at Ginny with clear emerald eyes. Except for her eyes and hair, she was a cookie-cutter image of her mother. Now she is going to be a heartbreaker in 12 or 13 years, Draco thought. "Nothing mummy," she said sweetly. The eyes turned to Draco. "Why are you talking to that man?"

"This is Draco Malfoy, Sarah. Mummy went to school with him," Ginny said as she lifted Sarah to her feet and knelt to pick up the boxes. "Draco, this is my daughter Sarah. William is the one in the cart, and you’ve met Jamie already. My brood," she said with a laugh.

Draco knelt down too, and presented a hand to Sarah. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sarah."

Sarah glared and crossed her arms, staring at Draco’s hand with distrust. "Mummy, are you sure you know this man?"

For the third time, Draco found himself struggling to keep a straight face. Ginny, on the other hand, unrestrainedly whooped with laughter. "Of course I’m sure, didn’t I just say I went to school with him? Sarah’s a bit stand-offish," she told Draco apologetically, placing the last of the boxes on the shelf.

"I see that," Draco said, with some amusement. "Well, Sarah, I really did know your mother at school. I knew your dad, and your Uncle Ron, too." He deliberately neglected to mention that he’d have happily tried to kill her dad and her Uncle Ron while they were at school.

"It’s ok, Sarah," Jamie said earnestly, taking his sister’s hand in his. "Mr. Draco is okay. His name means dragon, like Uncle Charlie!"

"Really?" Sarah said dubiously. She gave Draco a long, considering look. "Dragons are okay..."

Ginny was sputtering with mirth, and the corners of Draco’s mouth were twitching with the struggle not to laugh. "I’m rather fond of them myself," he said.

Sarah’s face cleared, and she shrugged. "Well, alright then," she said, and brushed past her mother to chase her brother in a small circle near the front of the cart.

Draco lowered his hand. "Have I passed some sort of test?" he asked Ginny in amusement.

"Well, she loves Charlie to death, and she’s fond of dragons, so yes. At least she didn’t try to bite you. She’s a suspicious little thing. Four going on thirty," Ginny said, still giggling. "It’s always fun to introduce her to new folk."

"Indeed." Draco stood up and extended his hand to Ginny, who took it without question and let him help her up. He firmly stomped all over the little thrill that ran up his spine at the touch of her fingers.

They stood that way for a long moment, her hand resting lightly in his, her face tilted up toward him. Ginny finally bit her lip and broke eye contact nervously, and Draco realized with a start that he’d been staring at her intensely. Get a grip, Malfoy! He dropped her hand quickly.

"I should let you get back to your grocery shopping," he said. "Since you do seem to have your hands full."

"Oh...I was almost done, actually," Ginny said as she pushed a curl of hair behind her ear and made another grab for Willie, who having decided he wasn’t getting enough attention, decided to make a break for the basket of the cart.

"You live near here?"

"Just ‘round the corner, actually. I have a flat, a little walk-up. Not much to look at, but it’s clean, and large enough, and near an apparition port, so I can get around easily."

"Don’t tell me you apparate home from the supermarket," Draco said, arching an eyebrow at the front of the store, where a small line of people were waiting for the cashier. "Whatever would the Ministry say?"

Ginny laughed again. "No, I usually walk. It’s not that far, as I said."

Draco looked at Ginny, then at the cart full of groceries, at Sarah and Jamie wandering off toward the end of the aisle, at Will, who was making a determined effort to get out of the child seat of the cart at any cost, then back at Ginny again. "Want a hand?"

She narrowed her eyes at him for a long moment, as if judging his motives, before she finally spoke. "Sure."

They chatted about inconsequentials while she collected the last of her groceries and had them rung through. After a brief flurry of activity while they got bags and children into some semblance of order - and Draco discovered that he was really rather superfluous as Ginny had come well prepared to deal with 3 kids and groceries, due to having a backpack that seemed to be quite a bit larger on the inside than on the outside and a small red wagon equipped with a seat (and seatbelt) for the wayward William - they stepped from the store into the warm September air and started toward Ginny’s flat.

They walked along in a rather companionable silence, broken frequently by observations by Jamie, who Draco already knew was the talkative one. Sarah was much quieter but noticed more, and was the one to haul Jamie back from the edge of the sidewalk, out of people’s paths and up to the adults when he fell behind. Progress was rather slow, but Draco found he didn’t really mind. There was a small coffee shop on the corner, and Draco stopped in front of it. "Care for one?" he asked. "My treat."

Ginny laughed. Draco noticed abstractly that he quite liked her laugh, and made a mental note to think up clever things to say to her. "Sure. I think I’ll wait out here though," she said, eyeing the kids. "I’d rather not subject the poor people in there to the brood."

"What would you like, then?"

"Um...a chocolate latte. Mocha? Whatever they call them...if it’s got chocolate in it, that’s what I want," Ginny said with a grin. Draco smiled back and disappeared into the shop, returning a few minutes later with 2 coffees and two ice cream cones. Jamie and Sarah whooped with delight as he handed the cones out. William got a cookie. "I figured it was less likely to drip, or spill, or what-have-you," Draco explained.

"Say thank you," Ginny told the older two. "Manners, please!"

"Thank you!" Jamie and Sarah dutifully said in chorus, then went back to examining the sidewalk and doing the mysterious things that young children do as they strolled along.

Draco handed Ginny one paper cup and she took a cautious sip - then promptly made a face. "I think this one’s yours. How much sugar did you put in it?"

Draco grinned. "Can’t drink it without loads of sugar. And milk. I’m allergic to coffee, so I have to drink it diluted with a huge amount of milk, and then drown it in sugar in order to stomach it at all."

Ginny sipped carefully at the hot liquid. "Allergic to coffee? That’s awful!"

"I know. And I live on caffeine," Draco said, making a face. "But I can’t drink it, makes me throw up."


Ginny gestured at his cup. "You’re drinking that."

"Only because it’s an ounce of espresso diluted in 2 cups of milk."

"What’s the point of having coffee in it at all, then?" Ginny asked, amused.

"For the taste," Draco sighed. "My treat to myself. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself about the whole affair. Whoever heard of a cop who was allergic to coffee?"

Ginny blinked. "A cop?"

He shuffled, somewhat abashed. "Oh, um, yes. I’m a police officer."

"You mean, an Auror? I thought you said you consulted."

"No, I mean a police officer. For the RCMP. Royal Canadian Mounted Police," he clarified as Ginny looked at him blankly. "I work for the Canadian government as a police officer."

"A Muggle?" Ginny stopped dead, staring at Draco as if she’d never seen him before.

He paused, looking back at her steadily. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Oh. Oh, I’m...I would nev - "

"Never have expected it, yes, I know," Draco finished for her. He rolled his eyes. "Everyone keeps saying that."

They started walking again. "Well, you have to admit it’s a bit of a switch," Ginny told him. "You spent 7 years at Hogwarts going on about pure-bloods and mudbloods and cleansing the wizarding world of its taint, and then vanish without a trace to live as a Muggle for 12 years?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?" Draco said with a small smirk.

Ginny snorted. "Right..." They walked on in silence for a few moments, as they turned off the main street and the shops gave way to small apartment complexes and attached houses, Ginny keeping a weather eye out for the children.

"Speaking of Muggles, how did you end up in a Muggle supermarket?" Draco asked finally. Ginny glanced sharply at him, and he smiled faintly. "I mean, it's not exactly usual for wizarding folk to be living shoulder to shoulder with Muggles, despite your more ...lenient upbringing."

"I suppose it's not," Ginny replied. "I moved out here after Harry and I split up, and I discovered that if I wanted to make ends meet as a freelance writer, which is what I do, I had to find more jobs than were available in the wizarding world. Writing for Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet were fine when I was still with him, but on my own, I needed a steadier source of income. So I thought I'd give writing for Muggles a go, and to do that, I needed to know how Muggles actually live. There's a few wizarding families in the area, but it's mostly Muggles, obviously. And the supermarket there is far more convenient than going out to Diagon alley for groceries." She smiled. "It's a bit like living in a foreign country, really. Though I expect you'd know more about that than I do."

"Hmmm." Draco shrugged noncommittally. "And no one minds that you effectively straddle both worlds?"

"Why would they mind? I mean, Mum doesn't approve, but then, she didn't want me to get divorced in the first place, and she keeps trying to get me to change my mind and go back to Harry. I don't think she disapproves of the Muggle bit as much as she disapproves of the divorced single mother of three bit." Ginny sighed and frowned.

"What happened with Harry?" Draco asked softly. "If you don't mind me asking."

"No, I don't mind," Ginny smiled, sipping at her drink and glancing back to make sure William was still where he was supposed to be. "There were all sorts of reasons. The main one was that we just grew apart. He spent most of the first part of our marriage playing Quidditch professionally, first for the Wasps, then for the Catapults in Wales, so he was on the road quite a bit. It wasn't so bad, because I was writing for Witch Weekly, and I could take time off to go with him sometimes, or work on the road. He took the coaching job in Chudley after Jamie was born, so we could be a bit more settled, but he still ended up being away for three quarters of the year, for training, or games, or scouting. There was always something. I spent most of the time looking after Jamie, and then Sarah, squeezing freelance writing in when I could, and we hardly ever saw each other for more than three days at a stretch. Finally, after William was born, we sat down and talked about what was happening, and he agreed to take a sabbatical from work to spend more time with me and the kids. So he stayed home for six months or so, and that was when I realized that at some point in the previous four years, I'd gotten used to not having him there. He was driving me batty, and there didn't seem to be anything either of us could do to stop it."

Draco laughed. "Lost the rose-coloured glasses, did you?"

Ginny glanced at him sharply, then smiled. "Yes, well, you could put it that way, I guess. I mean, he may irritate me but I do still love him, and he's still Ron's best friend, so it's not as though I can avoid him, or even want to avoid him. It's just..."

"You don't want to be married to him."

"Exactly. Being a single mother isn’t easy, but he does help out, money wise, and he takes the kids every other weekend, and the alternative was worse. It seemed like we were fighting every single day...I didn't want us to get to the point where I hated him for being Harry. It's easier to remember the good things about him when he's not constantly around to remind me of the bad."

"His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad..."

Ginny pretended to kick him. "Oh, hush. I hated you for ages for that!"

Draco danced out of the way, laughing. "What, for admiring
your peerless poetry?"

"For making fun of me. Admit it, you were a horrid little monster in school. You were so mean to us Gryffindors!" Ginny said indignantly. "You were constantly trying to get Harry in trouble."

"He constantly deserved it! I'm an innocent victim!" Draco tried to look injured, though his attempt was somewhat ruined by the smirk on his face. "I was scarred for life, fled the country..."

Ginny laughed, then sobered, tilting her head to look at Draco, pushing a red curl off her forehead. "Where did you go anyway?"

Draco's smile faded. "To Canada, obviously. After the war, I decided I'd had enough of...everything. After it ended, I headed straight for London, got a pile of galleons converted to pounds and went to Heathrow. Got on the first flight I could that was leaving, ended up in Toronto, and decided to stay. Made my way to Alberta eventually, and have been there ever since."

"There were people looking for you for the first little while. I think they even had a bulletin to the Ministries in North America. I'm rather surprised they never found you," Ginny said.

"Well, I'm not much in contact with the Ministry there," Draco said shortly, and shook his head. "I...when I left, I left everything. I didn't want to have anything to do with magic, or with the wizarding world, ever again. Gave it up entirely, dropped my wand in Lake Ontario once I got off the plane, the whole nine yards."

"Why?"

Draco sighed. "I didn't want to do it anymore. I was sick of being a wizard, sick of being a Malfoy. I'd been feeling rather rebellious about the whole thing long before the war ended, and that was sort of the icing on the cake. I wanted out of here, more than anything, so I just...left." He shrugged, staring off into the distance. "It was easy, actually, once I made up my mind to just go. Adjusting to life as a Muggle was the hardest part."

Ginny snickered. "I'll bet. However did you manage?"

"With a great deal of difficulty," Draco said with a snort. "I got better at it after a while. Discovered it's a good deal easier to be insufferable and smug when I had bodyguards and hexes and a wealthy father to get me out of trouble. I got beat up a lot the first year or so," Draco said ruefully. "A lot. It was - well. Educational." He shifted uncomfortably and shot Ginny a glance out of the corner of his eye. She looked startled but amused. "Eventually I learned how to fight back, and somewhat later figured out how not to get into fights at all. And after a while, I met people, made a few friends. Real friends," he said reflectively, "and not just people who would hang about because I had an influential father and good breeding. I didn't intend to ever come back."

"Why not?" Ginny furrowed her brow. "I mean, why would you just vanish, and leave your family and everything? I couldn't imagine--"

"Yes, but you love your family, don't you?" Draco said stiffly. "My father--" He stopped suddenly and clamped his mouth shut. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and looked at her. "I didn't have anything to stay here for. My parents were dead, my 'friends' in prison, and I didn't see the point of staying, being prodded and questioned by Aurors, maybe sent to prison myself just because of who I am. What would the point have been? So I left."

He crossed his arms in front of him and glared at the ground, a twinge of the old helpless rage that had haunted him all through his seventh year rising along his spine. That last year had been horrible; he’d been fighting with his father over not wanting to join the Death Eaters, fighting with the other Slytherins, who were more than happy to just follow where their elders led and didn’t understand why Draco kept not following, fighting with Harry and Ron and Hermione, who were convinced that he was some sort of ringleader for the young generation of Voldemort’s followers. Watching everyone around him choose sides for a war he was sure no one would win, and coming to the realization that he didn’t want to choose a side, he just wanted...out. And that there wasn't going to be an out, not for him or anyone else.

It wasn’t that he’d thought - at the time - that Voldemort had the wrong sort of ideals for the running of the world, and he had no particular qualms about hurting Harry and his little friends. He’d wanted to hurt Harry since the moment they’d met on the Hogwarts Express and Harry had rejected his offer of friendship, maybe even wanted him dead, just because he was Harry, and Draco had never loathed anyone quite as much as he did Harry Potter. But he’d wanted to hurt Harry for his own quite personal reasons, and not just because Voldemort wanted it done. He hadn’t wanted to be doing Voldemort’s dirty work, Voldemort who was ugly and nasty and two dimensional; altogether the sort of person that Draco found unpleasant and distasteful to be around. He’d discovered, after meeting the Dark Lord the summer after sixth year, that much to his own private horror, Voldemort was crass, and really rather vulgar. Not the sort of person Draco really thought would make a good ruler of the world. Draco had never understood how his parents could stand to kowtow to the man, who was half-Muggle himself; they who had made a religion out of a sort of impenetrable aristocratic snobbery.

He slowly became aware that Ginny was staring at him, and that he’d been silent for a long time, glowering at his feet. "Sorry," he said.

"It’s alright," Ginny said quickly, smiling up at him. "So...however did you end up joining the police service?" she asked, clearly guiding the conversation to a less painful topic.

Draco laughed. "It was suggested to me by a friend of mine who was in law school. He claims it was because he thought I’d make a good cop, but I think it was just that he wanted to have a friend in the police force so he could use me for favours. But I didn't have anything better to do, so I decided to give it a shot. I applied to the RCMP, and they actually let me in. Didn't think they would. And it's fun."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Fun?"

"Oh yes. It's great fun," Draco said enthusiastically. "I get to walk around carrying a gun, and I get to chase people and say things like "Freeze!" and "Stop in the name of the law!" I spend all my time playing cops and robbers."

Ginny stared at him like she was trying to decide if he were joking or not. "Alright, then. Somehow, the thought of Draco Malfoy loose on the streets with a weapon of any sort is mildly disturbing."

"If it makes you feel a bit better, I don't have a permit to carry a gun in England."

"I'll sleep easier at night," Ginny said with a smirk. "Oh, here we are," she added, stopping in front of a square, ugly, six-story apartment block. Draco followed as she marshaled Jamie and Sarah up the walk, and held the door for her as she maneuvered children and wagon inside. The small foyer led to a poorly-lit hallway with suspect carpeting and lurid yellow walls. Not exactly classy.

"How d'you get the wagon up the stairs?" he inquired curiously.

"There's a lift," Ginny replied, struggling to keep William still while she sorted out her keys. "Makes life ever so much easier."

"I imagine so," he said. He watched as Ginny steered her charges down the hall to the elevator. "I should probably go."

Ginny stopped, her hands on the handle of the wagon, blinking back at him. "Oh...of course." She looked down at her hands and back up again, awarding him with a sweet smile. "Thank you, for the coffee and the help and everything."

Draco smiled back. "My pleasure."

There was an awkward silence.

"Do you have a - "

"Maybe we cou - "

They both stopped and smiled. Ginny fluttered her hand at Draco. "You first," she said.

"I was just going to ask if you had a telephone," he said with a faint smile. "And if you did, if I could perhaps trouble you for it’s number."

"Oh! I do, actually," Ginny said, patting her pockets. "I can write it down for you..."

Draco produced a pen from the pocket of his jacket as Ginny found a bit of paper in the front pocket of the backpack. "It’s 020 7854 9203," she said as he wrote, balancing the paper against his knee.

Draco stepped back, and just looked at Ginny for a long moment, then he leaned forward and took her hand, raising it to his lips. "I’ll call you," he said softly, and smiled at her blush, then turned and made his way back outside. He stood for a moment on the sidewalk, orienting himself
so that he could find his way back to the store and his car. He put his hands in his pockets, a smile creeping across his face as his fingers encountered the scrap of paper with Ginny’s number on it.

He walked off down the street, whistling.

~*~

"You would not believe who I ran into today," Ginny said to her sister-in-law later that evening, fixing tea in her tiny flat. It was about 8 in the evening, and Hermione was enjoying a quiet evening away from Ron, who was talking Quidditch and playing wizard poker at the small house he and his wife shared out near Ealing with a number of his chums from the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she accepted a coffee mug full of Earl Gray tea from Ginny and sat gratefully down at the kitchen table. She took a sip and sighed happily before asking,"Who?"

Ginny sat across from her, facing the living room where Hermione’s twins were playing dragons with Jamie, their three red heads bent together industriously. Sarah and Willie were already in bed, but Jamie was allowed to stay up a bit longer to play with his older cousins. "You might want to put your cup down."

"Oh, don’t be a tease! Who?"

"Don’t say I didn’t warn you...Draco Malfoy."

Hermione almost dropped her mug from nerveless fingers. "No!"

Ginny giggled at the expression on Hermione’s face. "Told you!"

"I thought he was dead!"

"Apparently he’s not, since he seemed mobile enough to rescue Jamie and bring him back to me. Not corpselike in the slightest. I didn’t recognize him at first...he’s really changed."

"He rescued Jamie?" Hermione asked, eyebrows raising.

"You know James, always wandering off on his own, looking for adventure. This time he found Malfoy and convinced him to help Jamie come find me. Near scared the life out of me to turn around and find Jamie holding the hand of some strange man, then have that man turn into Draco Malfoy."

"I’m sure!" Hermione said sympathetically. "So what did he say?"

"Not much, actually. Just that he’s working with Neville - of all people - doing Auror work, and that he’s only been back a short while. Six months or so. He was in Canada, apparently. He has the tiniest American accent...it’s quite cute." Ginny smiled.

"Um, cute?" Hermione narrowed her eyes at her sister-in-law. "I thought you said you met Draco Malfoy. Cute?"

Ginny laughed. "Yes, cute. Well, sexy would work as an adjective as well."

Hermione just stared.

Ginny laughed again. "What? It is kind of sexy! It makes him sound rather exotic."

"Gin, dear, are you sure you’re feeling alright?" Hermione asked, looking concerned. "Because if you’re having these kinds of thoughts about someone like Draco Malfoy, maybe you should consider perhaps getting out of the house a bit more. There's a lovely young man working at the Library who - "

"’Mione! Would you please stop matchmaking? All we did was chat," Ginny said indignantly. She eyed her friend quietly for a moment, then decided that she wouldn’t share the rest of the encounter. Somehow, Ginny doubted Hermione would understand what had prompted Ginny to accept Draco’s offer of a walk home, coffee and ice cream. In fact, Ginny wasn’t sure herself. It might have been the look in his eyes when he’d first helped her to her feet in the shop, or the tingle she’d felt whenever he touched her, however lightly. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had made her feel like that, or looked at her the way he had, with that sort of - of desire, for lack of a better word. She actually wasn’t even sure that anyone had ever looked at her like that, not even Harry.

"Earth to Ginny...are you alright?"

Ginny started. "Of course, sorry." Hermione was still looking at her with an expression of disquiet. She realized that she was playing with her teabag, dipping it in her mug and raising it up to watch the water drain off it in abstraction.

"I said, I didn’t really think that Draco Malfoy would be the type of person you’d actually talk to. He’s so...so..."

"He was rather pleasant, actually," Ginny said defensively.

Hermione shot Ginny a skeptical look, brushing her bushy brown hair back from her face. "Are you sure it was Malfoy?"

"Yes, I’m sure it was Malfoy, I do remember him from school. I could tell it was him. Not right off, mind, but it was definitely him." Ginny set her teabag aside and took a sip from her cup. "He looks...well. Different, but not totally so. Tanned. He’s gained weight."

Hermione smirked at that. "Happens to the best of us, I’m sure," she said with a hint of malice. Hermione had put on some weight after having the twins, and was rather sensitive about it, despite Ron's protests that she looked just fine. She was usually half-heartedly following one diet or another trying to lose a few pounds. Ginny didn’t have the heart to tell her that in Draco’s case, 'gained weight' meant that he’d filled out and got broad and well-muscled and lithe and chiseled and...and....

"Gin?"

"Sorry, just thinking."

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. "You’re blushing."

"I am not blushing!" Ginny protested, trying to will her cheeks to stop turning pink.

"You are, you are sitting there and blushing over Draco Malfoy!"

"I am not!"

"Ginny..."

"What? I ran into him, and he was really rather pleasant, and I thought it was worth mentioning, that’s all!" Ginny set her mug of tea down on the table with a thump.

Hermione held up her hands. "Alright, alright, no need to get defensive, I was just saying."

"Well, touching as your concern is, it’s a bit misplaced, as nothing happened, and nothing will happen, and he probably won’t call anyway and it doesn’t matter and I don’t know why I mentioned it," Ginny said, pouting a bit. "So I guess we can just drop it."

"Call?" Hermione said faintly.

"Oh, hell," Ginny said despairingly, dropping her head into her hands. "I wasn’t going to tell you that."

"You gave him your phone number?"

"Yes," Ginny said in a very small voice.

Hermione was aghast. "Why?" Ginny sighed and rested her chin in her hand, staring at her cup of tea. "Because... because he was friendly and nice to the kids, he bought me a coffee and it’s been so long since any man has even looked at me twice, and then he asked for my phone number. So I thought, why not?"

"Why not? Because he’s Draco Malfoy, that’s why not!" Hermione spread her hands, as though it should have been obvious.

"So what?" Ginny shot back.

"Ginny, he was a suspected Death Eater! His father was a Death Eater! The whole Malfoy family was allied with Voldemort! The Ministry spent ages looking for him after the war! I can’t believe you’d even talk to him, never mind give him your phone number...what if he finds out where you live? What if he’s just using you for some revenge plan on Harry, because Harry killed Lucius?"

"Oh, please, be realistic. If he’d wanted revenge on Harry, he’d have done it before now. It’s been 12 years!" Ginny scoffed.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," Hermione said darkly.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He is not out for revenge, Hermione."

"How do you know? He wouldn’t say so, now would he? I just don’t want to see you get mixed up in something bad," Hermione said, taking a sip of tea.

"Well, he’s working with Neville. Ask him about Draco if you’re so concerned," Ginny said sullenly. "And, you know, I am 28 years old. I can actually take care of myself, strange though it may sound."

"Gin, I’m sorry. I’m just a little worried is all. You weren’t really involved in all the things that went on during the war, so maybe your perspective is a little different. I just don’t want to see you get involved in anything you can’t handle," Hermione said reasonably.

Ginny tightened her lips and didn’t reply, trying her best to ignore the implication that she wasn’t capable of handling something on her own. She loved Hermione, but sometimes her "I am the solver of all problems" attitude was really irritating.

"I can just imagine what Ron will say if he hears Malfoy is back," Hermione continued. "He’ll positively flip - "

"Oh, God, ‘Mione, don’t tell Ron!" Ginny's eyes widened in horror. Ron hated Draco with a thorough and quite unreasonable passion.

"Do I look stupid? Or suicidal? Ron won’t hear it from me. I won’t tell Harry either, for that matter," Hermione said. "Just...be careful, Ginny."

Ginny sighed, partly in relief, partly in annoyance. "Of course."

~*~

"So, tell me about Malfoy," Hermione said to Neville over her shoulder. They were in the lunch room of the Ministry of Magic, which despite being housed in a large stone building dating from the 17th century and populated by witches and wizards of all descriptions, still managed to look like all cafeterias everywhere: yellow linoleum, battered tables and molded plastic chairs that doubled as torture devices.

"And here I thought you were here for the pleasure of my company...you mean this date was just to pump me for information?" Neville said with a grin.

Hermione poked him with her elbow, since her hands were busy holding her cafeteria tray. "Nonsense, you know I’m here because I adore you madly, I just want to hear about Malfoy." She grinned back at him. "So tell me all about him. And tell me why you didn’t tell me you were working with him before!"

"I didn’t tell you before because it never came up. To be perfectly honest, we've been keeping his presence here as hush-hush as possible. There’s not all that much to tell, anyway." Neville nodded at a couple of people as he steered Hermione toward a table at the back of the crowded cafeteria "He's been in Canada for the last 12 years, and he just came back about 6 months ago to follow a suspect on a case he'd been working on there. The Ministry did an investigation on his actions during the war, and the verdict came back clear, so now he’s working with our department; he doesn’t actually work directly for the MoM. Cecil assigned me to help him while he's here, so I see him a fair bit." Neville shrugged as he pulled Hermione’s chair out for her.

Hermione glanced at him sympathetically. "That must be a bit awkward, having to work with him like that."

He shook his head. "Not really. It's rather strange, actually. It's like he became a different person while he was gone...I barely recognized him when I first met him again. I don't know what he was doing all that time, but he's a first-rate Auror now, got a nose for finding people and for anything Dark Arts related. And he picked up a passion for country music, of all things, which is incredibly irritating."

Hermione laughed. "As if Draco Malfoy could be anything less than incredibly irritating."

"Well that's the thing," Neville said. "He's actually not, anymore."

Hermione shot a skeptical look at him.

Neville grinned. "Well, not as much. He’s grown up quite a lot. He's still a wanker; he's still a merciless bastard, only now it's just to criminals, people who actually deserve it. With everyone else he's unfailingly polite. No more pulling wings off flies. No more tormenting people just because he can. The country music thing, and the fact that he always looks perfect, no matter what...those are the main irritating things about him now. That and he's a sarcastic fucking bastard, but then, he always was."

"He always looks perfect?"

"Always. Doesn't matter if he's just been chasing down a suspect, or hasn't slept in a week, or has spent 2 days in a car on a stakeout, the man always looks like he just
walked out of a salon. Hair perfect, nails manicured, pants pressed, drop dead gorgeous...I have no idea how he does it." Neville looked down at his own rumpled suit and sighed. "It is beyond annoying."

"Malfoy?"

"What?"

"You just used the phrase "drop dead gorgeous" to describe Malfoy."

Neville grinned. "Hermione, have you actually seen Draco since he came back?" His grin widened as she shook her head no. "Well, he looks much, much better than he did then. He is no longer the skinny ferret we knew and loved to hate. Not a woman in the office who hasn't fantasized about what our Mr. Malfoy looks like underneath those perfectly pressed suits I hate so much. I have no idea what he did while he was in Canada, but it sure as hell worked." He laughed at the look of frank disbelief on her face. "You really have to see him to believe it."

"I would have to see that. I keep trying to picture it, and end up seeing him as he looked at eleven; scrawny and short, with that nasty grin, hiding behind Crabbe and Goyle. God, how I hated him." Suppressing a chuckle, Hermione poked at her plate. "Remember the time I hit him, back in...what, third year? I don’t remember who was more surprised, him or me."

Neville laughed. "I remember hearing about it. Hermione, vanquisher of gits."

"So how do you put up with him?"

"I tell bad jokes. It irritates him no end, probably because half the time they actually make him laugh. He has a third-grade sense of humour." Neville shrugged. "I put up with him, he puts up with me, and between times we make a very good team."

Hermione looked bemused. "That, I would not have expected."

"What, that we actually get along?" Neville laughed as Hermione nodded. "Oh, half the time I do want to kill him, but...he's very, very good at what he does which goes a long way here. Anyone who is as good at Auroring as Malfoy is gets cut some slack. We all have quirks. Why the sudden interest in him, anyway? Planning to have a sordid affair on Ron, and casting about for the person most likely to give him a heart attack? Should I be hurt that I don't qualify?"

"I can't find the time to sleep with my own husband, never mind have a sordid affair with someone else," Hermione said with a laugh. "No, I'm just curious to see what he's up to now. Ginny ran into him the other day, and she mentioned it."

Neville froze, a forkful of peas halfway to his mouth. "Ginny?"

Hermione looked alarmed. "What?"

"Malfoy's seeing Ginny?"

"They’re not "seeing" each other, as far as I know. She says she ran into him at the supermarket, and he asked her for her number...she said that you were working with him, and I thought I’d ask. Is there a problem?"

"He's never bothered to mention it to me."

"Would he? From what Ginny says, they just ran into each other. No big deal."

Neville narrowed his eyes. "Gin’s still out in Barking, right?"

"Yes, silly, you know that, you helped her move."

Neville put his fork down calmly and pushed his tray away. "I think I need to have a word with my partner."

"What is it?" Hermione put a hand on Neville's arm. "Tell me what’s wrong. Is it about Malfoy running into Ginny?"

"Hermione...as far as I know, Draco is staying in his parents' old mansion near Bath. He is about as far from the East End of London as it is possible to get without living in Wales. How the hell did he "run in" to Ginny Potter at her local super?"

"What does that mean, then? Is Ginny in danger?" Hermione was stiff with alarm. Draco Malfoy may have been cleared of any wrongdoing in the war against Voldemort, but he was still Draco Malfoy. A man who, despite Neville’s assurances to the contrary, had tried to kill one of Hermione’s best friends, whose father was killed as he stood at Voldemort’s right hand.

"Danger? No. But I think its past time Mr. Malfoy and I had a little chat." Neville's eyes narrowed, and Hermione leaned back in alarm, almost unconsciously. The round-faced boy she'd known since Hogwarts was suddenly gone, replaced by a cold-eyed, hardened man, and Hermione felt a small pang of pity for Draco when Neville caught up with him.

~*~

"GINNY WEASLEY?"

"Potter."

"WHATEVER! What the hell are you trying to pull, Malfoy?"

Draco slumped in the visitor's chair in Neville's cramped office in the bowels of the Ministry building, tilting it backward onto its rear legs and putting his feet on Neville's desk, mindful of the piles of paper strewn everywhere. He stared broodingly at his loafers. "Nothing is going on. I ran into her, we chatted, I bought her coffee, end of story."

"How the hell did you happen to "run into her" in London's East End? You live in fucking BATH!" Neville was pacing in small circles next to his chair, glaring at Draco, who, despite the stuffiness of the room and the little man growing increasingly red in the face from yelling at him, still contrived to look both cool and comfortable.

"Only temporarily. And since when is it illegal for people who live in Bath to frequent the eastern half of London?"

"What are you planning?"

"For crying out loud, Longbottom, I am not planning anything. I ran into her, we went for coffee, I treated her kids to ice cream. That is all." Draco narrowed his eyes at his partner suspiciously. "Why are you so interested? And how did you find out I'd met her, anyway?"

"She told Hermione, Hermione told me."

"Of course...Granger, amateur detective, strikes again."

"It's Weasley now, and Ginny told her about you, so it hardly qualifies as detective work. I see her from time to time 'round the Ministry, and we meet up for lunch now and again; Ginny mentioned I work with you, and she asked. She’s worried."

"And yet I don't demand to know what you are doing having lunch with Ron Weasley - she married Ron, yes? - Ron Weasley's wife, preferring instead to give you the benefit of the doubt, and not immediately jump to the conclusion that "lunch" is an euphemism for "shagging her senseless". And I've just gone to a very unpleasant mental place, thank you, Longbottom."

Neville's mouth twitched slightly, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders; the Longbottom version of a belly laugh. "Fair enough, Malfoy. But you haven't answered my question. What is going on?"

"Don't get all interrogatory on me. Nothing is going on. Absolutely nothing at all. More's the pity," Draco muttered the last bit, but not quietly enough.

"Oh?" Neville asked softly, raising his eyebrows.

Draco sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "What do you want to hear?"

Neville sat down at his desk and eyed Draco over its littered surface. "How about the truth?"

Draco didn't look down, but stared at the ceiling as if hoping for divine intervention. "The truth, Mr. Longbottom, is that one afternoon not so long ago, I was out combing the supermarkets of London looking for Squirrel peanut butter - which apparently we do not sell here in Britain, although we should. World-dominating empire, my ass, can't buy decent peanut butter in this country - " he caught the look Neville aimed at him and sighed again. "Sorry. I was looking for peanut butter, and was accosted by a very small boy with bright red hair and Harry Potter's eyes. He calmly informed me that he had misplaced his mother - his words, not mine - and would I be so kind as to help him find her? What the hell was I going to do, tell a lost 6-year-old to sod off? So I let him lead me about, and discovered that Mother was none other than the littlest Weasel, all grown up."

"Peanut butter?"

"I like peanut butter," Draco said sulkily.

Neville snorted. "So, let me get this straight. You went on a quest for...peanut butter, ran into Ginny, suddenly decided to be her friend, and asked her out?" he asked skeptically.

Draco hitched one elegant shoulder in a small shrug. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Isn't shagging a Weasley against the Malfoy code of honour or something?"

"Well, since I'm the only Malfoy left, I figure I get to make my own rules."

"And?"

"And?"

"That's what happened? You got accosted by Jamie in the supermarket, and ended up shagging his mother?"

"You must lead a sad and sorry life indeed if you think that a cup of coffee constitutes a shag, Longbottom. If it does," Draco shot a sly glance at the litter of coffee cups scattered amongst the paper on Neville's desk, "you certainly get around."

Another twitch, one that almost became a smile. "But you intend to shag her, yes?"

"Hah."

Neville waited as Draco counted ceiling tiles. "That's not an answer."

"No, it's not."

"You do, though, don't you?"

"Do you plan to actually ask that young man down at the fish and chip place on the corner for his phone number, or are you just going to continue to make yourself sick on grease so you can stare at his ass?" Draco smirked as Neville's face went from red to white and back again.

"None of your damned business, you albino ferret!" Neville was quivering, but with rage or embarrassment, Draco couldn't tell. He spread his arms and shrugged.

"I do believe you just answered your own question."

"God, you're a pain in the ass."

"Notice me exercising remarkable self-restraint by not commenting on that."

"Fuck off."

"Poufter."

"Git. Don’t you have to be somewhere?"

"Might I remind you that you dragged me to the bowels of Hell that your Ministry superiors call their Headquarters to interrogate me?"

"And now I’m telling you to get the hell out. Smug, overgrown, whey-faced - "

"Why Neville, I didn’t know you cared." Draco swung his feet off the desk, tilted his chair back to the floor and stood, pausing at the door to blow the other man a kiss. "I’ll miss you terribly too, I promise."

"Get out. God." Neville stared at the door for several long moments after Draco shut it behind him. Something was up, he knew that, but Draco had always been close-mouthed, even as a child, playing his cards close to his chest. Neville was no closer to knowing what Draco was about with Ginny than he was when he’d dragged the other man down here, to pump him for information at Hermione’s request. All he had was a suspicion, and Neville knew better than anyone that of the two partners, it was not he who had the reliable hunches.

~*~

Several weeks later

"Hermione, I have nothing to tell you. I wish I did, but he’s a slippery bastard when he decides not to talk about something, and judging from the progress I’ve made - namely, none - I’m guessing that Ginny falls squarely in the category of Things Draco Will Not Discuss."

Hermione and Neville were back in the Ministry cafeteria, Hermione having run down from Diagon Alley, where she was doing research at the Library. "Ginny won’t say anything about him either, except to ask me not to tell Ron...which I agreed to, since you know what he’s like. All I know is that they’ve gone on three coffee dates, he's taken her and the children to the park twice, she zones out every time she talks about him, and that according to her, he seems to quite like the children. Which is disturbing in and of itself." She sighed and prodded at her lunch with her fork. "Why do we eat here? The food’s disgusting."

"We eat here, my dear, because I am on call and cannot leave the building. Sheer bad luck for you that most of the times we meet happen to be the times that I can’t actually go anywhere pleasant. I wouldn’t say that Malfoy liking kids is disturbing, just a bit out of character. Or what we know of his character, which isn’t much, to be honest."

"We know he’s a self-serving little sneak." Hermione snorted. "Or used to be," she added quickly at the look Neville shot her. "Can he really have changed that much?"

"Either he has changed that much, or none of us had any real clue as to what he was like back in school. Although considering the fact that all the Gryffindors hated him on sight, and vice versa, that might actually be close to the truth. Maybe there was always a warm, fluffy Draco just aching to get out the whole time."

Hermione made a rude noise.

"All right, maybe not. But he is a lot calmer now than he used to be. I don’t think he's using Ginny, if that’s what you’re worried about. He hasn’t slept with her, I know that. Hasn't even kissed her yet." Neville grinned as Hermione gaped at him. "I asked."

"You asked?"

"Quickest way to get an answer. He won’t lie to me."

"You seem so sure," Hermione said.

"Hermione, he’s my partner. My life is in his hands whenever we’re on duty and his in mine. We trust each other. We have to," he said. "Although it was hard at first...I kept waiting for him to lie in wait around a corner so he could, I don’t know, steal my wand and magic my shoelaces together. I did not want to be assigned to him, believe me."

"How did you end up working with Malfoy, anyway?"

"Long story, most of it classified. He came back, I was free, so they stuck us together. Sheer dumb luck. And now I’m stuck with him, the sly bastard," Neville said morosely.

"Why, Longbottom, I’m shocked and hurt to hear you say so. You think we’re stuck together? Don’t you believe in destiny? Fate? A meeting of true minds? Why, if it isn’t Mrs. Weasley." Neville and Hermione both jumped. Draco stood over the table a moment, smirking at Hermione, then leaned forward and gently closed her mouth, which had been hanging open as she stared at him, with one finger. She blushed a deep shade of red and quickly looked down at her food.

Neville had the appallingly bad grace to laugh at the expression on her face. "I did warn you," he grinned.

"Warn her about what?" Draco asked, looking interested.

Hermione blushed deeper and glared at Neville. "Oh, nothing. Just a conversation we had the other day. I haven’t seen you in ages, Draco, how have you been?"

"All right. Keeping busy...been here and there, doing this and that. Although I hate to interrupt your little tryst, I need to lure your date here away from you." Draco turned to Neville. "Cindy in Forensics thinks she might have something that could be a lead on the case."

Neville stood up immediately. "Finally. I’m sorry Hermione...duty calls. Give my love to Ron and the twins, will you?" He leaned over to give her a quick hug as she nodded. Draco took her hand and bowed to her with a flourish, kissing it softly on the knuckles and smirking before turning and following Neville out of the cafeteria, leaving Hermione alone with her plate full of mystery meat.

~*~

"I’m serious! I could not believe it was Draco Malfoy standing in front of me. He’s...he’s...I can’t even begin...I don’t know where to start. Lavender, you have no idea." Hermione was back in her own office, housed in one of the corner towers of the large building that served as Diagon Alley’s public library, sharing
tea with Lavender Thomas, nee Brown. Lavender was the researcher-in-residence for Divination at the Albus Dumbledore Public Library, a relatively new position, but one Hermione was glad to have her old housemate in. Flighty Lavender might be, but she was far better at Divination than old Trelawney had ever been.

The Library was a fairly recent addition to the heart of Wizarding London, having been established after the death of the great headmaster and the final defeat of Voldemort. Hermione spent half days there doing research during the week, and half days at the Ministry twice a month, lending her expertise in Transfiguration and Charms to whichever departments needed her. Now, however, she was ensconced in her chair, talking animatedly to Lavender, who’d cornered her the minute she got back.

"Judging from the look on your face," Lavender had said in a hushed voice, hauling Hermione across the library’s main floor, "something out of the ordinary happened at lunch. Spill!"

So Hermione was trying. "He’s...God he’s at least 6 feet tall, which he was before he left, but he’s filled out, and I don’t know, worked out or something. He’s not nearly as skinny or gawky as he was then. Remember how he used to be all elbows and knees and pointy nose? And he moves like a cat! And he has cheekbones to die for! How did we fail to notice that in school? And he grew out his hair, down past his chin, it’s practically silver now instead of just blond. And he’s got the nicest ass...oh lord." Hermione dropped her head into her hands. "And I just sat there gawking at him like an idiot. He actually had to close my mouth for me; I might as well have been drooling. I cannot believe myself. Given another moment, I’d have been simpering." She shook her head in disgust. "And now I’m babbling. I am officially going mad. It’s Draco Malfoy, for crying out loud...who cares what he looks like?"

Lavender laughed. "So how are we going to go about luring him in here? I have to see him now. If he can make Hermione Granger-Weasley, possessor of the cutest husband in England, go weak at the knees, he has to be a sight for sore eyes."

Hermione moaned. "Yes, now that I’ve made a complete fool of myself, I’ll just call up Neville and start dropping hints. ‘So, how’s Draco doing? Want to bring him down here so I can look pathetic again’? I am so embarrassed."

"Tell him to bring Draco over so I can look pathetic. I don’t mind." Lavender snickered, clearly enjoying Hermione’s discomfiture.

"Lavender, you are not helping!"

"I wonder if it would be polite to invite him out to lunch, you know, for old time’s sake..."

"Oh yes, there’s an idea. ‘Hello, Draco, I know we all loathed you with intensity at Hogwarts, but now that you’re back and look like sex on a stick, we desperate, depraved, middle-aged women would love to spend an hour or so slobbering on you and amusing ourselves by creating sordid little fantasies featuring you and
pots of chocolate, let’s hook up.’ Sound plan."

Lavender collapsed into gales of laughter. "Pots of chocolate?"

Hermione grinned evilly. "Oh, you can get quite a lot of mileage out of a pot of chocolate. You know that jarred Cadbury’s chocolate spread you can buy that Muggle kids love to put on toast? Very useful stuff."

"Oh dear...would it be wrong of me to picture Ron covered in chocolate?"

"Yes. Stick to Draco, or better yet, how about Dean? You know, the one you’re married to?"

"Bah, you’d never spot the chocolate on him."

"Wonder if they sell white chocolate in jars..."

"Hermione!"

"Hey, you get to picture my husband, I get to picture yours!"

Lavender descended into giggles again, infecting Hermione with her giddiness. Finally Hermione took a deep breath and sobered a bit. "It does make you wonder, though. I get the impression from Neville and Ginny both that the change in Malfoy is a lot more than just physical. I mean, he basically fled after the war. I wonder why he’s back now."

"Neville didn’t say?" Lavender asked.

"No, but you know how Neville is nowadays. You have to drag information out of him with a crowbar." Hermione sighed. "I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised that Draco has changed so much. Who would have thought, in school, that Neville of all people would make an Auror?"

Lavender nodded. "I know. Or that you and I would end up housewives, or that Parvati would end up a globetrotting glamourpuss." She sighed and patted at her own pale hair, drawn back in a sensible bun. "I wanted to be the glamourpuss."

Hermione laughed softly. "I always thought I’d become a teacher, stay at Hogwarts, have a career, maybe travel...and I end up married with two impossible children, barely finding time to do even half of the research I'd like."

"But you have a very cute husband."

"There is that." Hermione smiled fondly at the picture of Ron and their twin sons that held a place of honour on her desk. "Not that Dean is anything to sneeze at."

Lavender leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I always rather thought you’d end up with Harry, though."

Hermione blinked. "With Harry?"

"Well, yes. I mean, look at the choices. Ron, trusty sidekick with terrible temper or Harry, dashing and handsome defeater of evil wizards. I’d have gone for Harry."

"Ron doesn’t have a terrible temper!" Hermione protested, as Lavender nodded vehemently. "He doesn't! And anyway, I honestly never seriously considered it. I mean, Harry is a wonderful person, and my best friend, but...he’s like my brother. Ron’s always been more than that. And there was always Ginny for Harry."

Lavender nodded. "I always wondered about that. I mean, the whole dynamic of your friendship with the two of them. And how Gin fit into everything."

"I’ve never really analyzed it. Ron and I have always seemed like a bit of a couple, partly because Harry’s always been quite standoffish, even within the three of us. Self-contained. I did have a bit of a crush on him in fifth year, but I got over it, since he never seemed to notice, and because, well, Ron..."

"Ron followed you around like a puppy," Lavender giggled.

Hermione blushed and smiled. "And then Harry and I were the same height for a bit, which just killed any and all possibility of romance. Not that it’s his fault, but I don’t think I could date a man who was quite that short." That made Lavender snort and giggle again, but Hermione determinedly ignored her. "Well, it's not very romantic, is it? Gazing dreamily into your lover's eyes is all very nice in theory, but when it comes down to it, who'd be getting the jars down from the top shelf in that relationship? I don’t know how Ginny managed it. She was actually taller than he was for a little while, ‘til he hit his growth spurt in seventh year."

"Gin’s been starry-eyed for Harry forever, though. I doubt she cared," Lavender pointed out. "I was rather shocked they even got divorced."

"You and everyone else, including the entire Weasley family. I thought Molly was going to take to her bed from shock. But Harry and Ginny still get along, and they’re both good to the kids, so I suppose it’s worked out. Gin does seem a bit happier now that they’ve split up." Hermione shrugged. "Who knows what really goes on in relationships?"

"That's true," Lavender said musingly. "One never does know.But what about Malfoy? How did Ginny meet him? Are they dating now, or what?"

"I don't know that I'd call it dating," Hermione replied. "She ran into him at the supermarket several weeks ago, and he helped her home. She says he’s quite nice, although now that I’ve seen him in person, I have to wonder how much of her assessment of his nice-ness is a reflection of his nice-lookingness," Hermione said, which sent Lavender off into fits of mirth again.

"Oh, I have to see him now!" Lavender pulled out a small lacy handkerchif and dabbed at her eyes. "If you can't even include him in a sentence without getting distracted, he must be simply scrumptious."

Hermione sighed in mock-disgust. "I’ll see what I can do about having Neville bring him 'round. But you have to promise not to drool on him."

"Oh, I wouldn't," Lavender protested. "I do wonder what happened to cause such a big reversal, though. I mean, if Neville can stand to work with him at all, he must have undergone some sort of major personality change."

"Twelve years is a long time. Who knows what happened to him? We've all changed," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I'd have given a great deal to have been a fly on the wall for Neville's first conversation with him, though."

~*~

The hardest part ‘bout leaving,
The hard part’s not going away
It’s the life you have to take with you
And how little you really want to stay
- Beaujolais Nouveau, The Humpff Family

~*~

A great many people were confused, after the end of Voldemort’s War, by the life choices made by Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Hero of Hogwarts and icon of the wizarding world. He could have entered the Ministry, could have become an Auror, could have taken the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts, could have stepped into the shoes of Gregory Patterson, the Minister of Magic at the time, indeed, could probably have stepped into the shoes of Voldemort himself, without a single soul batting an eyelash.

But he didn’t. Harry Potter appeared at the Wasps’ training camp near the end of September of 1998 with a group of other hopeful Quidditch players, went through tryouts and secured the position of Seeker. A year later, a small notice was printed in the Daily Prophet, announcing the wedding of Harry James Potter and Virginia Anne Weasley, which had occurred over the weekend, attended only by family and close friends, conducted quietly and without fuss. There was much disgruntled grumbling amongst the press core about this lack of publicity, but the grumbling was done in private and nowhere near the airwaves or front pages.

Harry did not talk about the War. Not to his friends, not to his family, and certainly not to the press. Any reporter foolish enough to even mention it in his presence found themselves swiftly and totally frozen out, not just for a single interview, but from any chance of speaking to The Boy Who Lived ever again. If a reporter tried to ask Harry Potter about He Who Must Not Be Named, that reporter could give up on getting so much as a sound bite from him.

Harry did not talk about the War. That didn’t stop everyone else from talking about the war and his involvement in it, of course; Voldemort’s defeat and death, and the capture and trials of his Death Eaters took up much of the next five or six years, with everything from small newspaper blurbs to ten-volume theses being written about the events of 1998. The press had a journalistic field day, as everyone, it seemed had a story or five to tell about the War. Stories about Harry were particularly popular, of course; Ernie McMillan made a small fortune with his tell-all book Living with Harry: The Hogwarts Years.

Harry did not talk about the war; neither would Ron, or Hermione, or many of the Hogwarts teachers or students involved speak of it publicly. Neville would, if it were very late and he were well on the way to getting very drunk, point out that his near-death at the hands of a small group of Death Eaters just before Voldemort was killed was what finally spurred him to the realization that life really is too short to be afraid of one’s own shadow. He signed up for Auror training not long after the end of the war, worked incredibly hard at it, and surprised everyone, including himself, by graduating at the top of his class. Ron had secretly proposed to Hermione the Christmas before graduation, and they surprised no one when they were married a year later, in December of 1998. Ginny went away to travel Europe for 3 months after the war ended, in part to escape having to talk about the war, and when she came back she found that absence made Harry’s heart, at least, grow fonder. They started dating soon after, much to the delight of the entire Weasley family.

The war was not without its casualties. Seamus Finnegan, he of the ready smile and boisterous laugh, was silenced forever on the Hogwarts Quidditch field that day in June of 1998. Bill Weasley, Cedric Diggory, Hannah Abbott, Stewart Ackerley, Laura Madley, Graham Pritchard, Professor Flitwick, Professor Snape: only some of the names of people who died during the War. Every death left a hole in the fabric of the wizarding world, and none wider than that caused by the death of Albus Dumbledore. He outlived the war, and saw Ron and Hermione married, but the dawn of 1999 saw the death of one of the greatest wizards who ever lived.

Dumbledore’s death was a great blow to the wizarding community, one that was hard to recover from. But life went on, as it tended to; other figures stepped into the gaps he left behind. Minerva McGonagall took over as Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Arthur, Ron and Percy were just a few of the wizards who were called on to take positions in the Ministry.

Rooting out the surviving Death Eaters and supporters of Voldemort took up much of the next few years. Many, of course, had died in the attack on Hogwarts that ended up being Voldemort’s downfall, not least of whom were Crabbe, Goyle and their sons, the Lestranges, Nott, the elder Parkinsons, and Lucius Malfoy. Pansy Parkinson gave herself up to the authorities soon after the war’s end, and plea-bargained her way out of an Azkaban sentence by giving a long list of Death Eater names, including one Peter Pettigrew. His capture led to the celebrated clearing of the name of Sirius Black, which was one of the few bright spots to be found in the bleak early days of 1999.

Draco Malfoy had vanished without a trace. Every so often, the Ministry would make a concentrated effort to find him, since the son of one of the most pre-eminent Dark wizards would be a prize to whoever managed to bring him in. He was even listed,briefly, on the roll of wizards considered "highly dangerous", until Harry Potter surprised everyone in the wizarding world by insisting Malfoy be removed from it. Harry never told anyone why.

It was the only time Harry ever spoke, even indirectly, of what actually happened on the day that he killed both Voldemort and Draco’s father, and ended Voldemort’s war.

~*~

March, 2010

"Longbottom! My office!" Cecil Dobbins barked, poking his head through Neville’s door.

Neville permitted himself a small sigh of exasperation for his short-tempered, oft-harried supervisor before setting down his sheaf of reports and stepping out of his tiny office. He headed down the long, low room that housed the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was as large as the Hogwarts great hall, filled with a mishmash of desks, tables and chairs where the department clerks and junior Aurors worked, and was surrounded on all four walls by small offices. The big main room was affectionately referred to as "the Owlpen", and Neville smiled as he stopped at Debbie’s desk, outside Cecil’s office. Although he was more than happy to have his own office space, he sometimes missed the noise, camaraderie and excitement of the pen. He nodded to the elderly secretary, who jerked her head toward the door and said, "Well, go on then."

He pushed the door open and stepped into his supervisor’s office, a small, moldy room scarcely bigger than Neville’s own. Cecil was glaring out the grimy window at the wet March morning, and he grunted as Neville came in and shut the door behind him.

"What’s up, boss?" Neville asked as he took the two steps necessary to reach the rickety visitor’s chair and lean one hip against it.

"I’m pulling you off the Zimmer and Barston cases, we’ve got a new assignment, and I need you on it," Cecil said, turning from the window to glare at Neville.

"You’re pulling me off my cases? What for?" Neville didn’t bother to hide his outrage. "I’ve got some great leads on Zimmer now, and I’m nearly at a breakthrough with Barston - "

"Well you can pass ‘em over to Bell and McDougall, because I need you on this new case." Cecil said, chewing on his moustache. "The Minister’s asked me to pick someone to work with Scotland Yard, and you’re the one I want for this job. You’re gonna be a liaison between the Department and the Muggles for this thing they’re working on."

"Since when do we help the Muggle police with their cases?"

Cecil huffed and shuffled over to his chair, sitting heavily. "They’ve come across a couple of entrepreneurs, and they need help. Some young dropout from one of the American wizarding schools decided to make a name for himself by hooking up with a Muggle hood, crossing the pond and robbing banks with Dark Arts spells and memory charms." He snorted in disgust. "These kids are violating who knows how many laws, and using Dark magic in the Muggle world. The Yard has someone on the case already, apparently on loan from the Canadian Muggle police - can’t remember what they’re called, but their national force - this guy’s been on the trail of the Muggle suspect for several years. He came over when the Muggle hooked up with this failed wizard and came to England, working with Scotland Yard with what he knows from tracking the Muggle in Canada. The Yard wants someone from the department to work with this guy, to put a stop to those two. Sit."

"And you pick me. I suppose I should be flattered," Neville groused, as he perched himself on the edge of the chair, not quite trusting his full weight to the groaning wood. "How are you going to explain to this Canadian bloke that he’s going to
be working with a wizard?"

"Well, that’s the thing," Cecil said, chewing on his moustace. "It was he who suggested it, talked to his supervisors at the Yard and got them to talk to the Minister to have us brought in. He’s not actually from Canada himself, you see, just did his police training there," Cecil paused, then said, with the twinkle in his eye that Neville knew meant he was about to say something Neville wasn’t going to like, "This bloke’s a wizard, believe it or not, from here in England. Even went to Hogwarts...you’ve probably heard of him. Name of Draco Malfoy."

Neville stopped breathing for a moment. "Draco Malfoy? I thought he was dead!"

Cecil grinned, a gleeful bearer of bad news. "Nope. Apparently he’s alive and well and in London as we speak. Dunno how he ended up in Canada, but he’s the man you’ll be working with. I’m gonna have you head over to the Yard this aft - "

"NO!"

Cecil blinked at Neville, as close to startlement as he ever got.

"Absolutely not. If this is some kind of sick joke, I don’t find it funny in the least! I will not, I will not work with Draco Malfoy. Period." Neville had shot to his feet and was glaring across the desk at his supervisor, hands clenched in fists at his sides. "I won’t. No. Find someone else. No."

"Longbottom..."

"NO!"

Cecil’s temper finally kicked in and he surged to his feet, shouting. "God dammit, you don’t get a choice! I want you on this case, you’re the best man for the job, and I don’t give a damn what you think of Malfoy, you are working with him and that’s
final! Whatever petty little grudge you have against him - "

"Petty? He was a Death Eater! Harry killed his father while the man stood at Voldemort’s right hand! He tried to harm Harry, and Ron, and Hermione, and just about everyone else in Gryffindor at some point or other! His father was one of the people responsible for what happened to my parents! He’s a smug, evil bastard and I will not work with him!" Neville was shaking with rage, his nails digging small crescents into the palms of his hands.

Cecil shouted right back. "And who should I put on this case instead of you? Bell, who’s got all the subtlety of a sledgehammer? Watkins, who’s still green behind the ears? Kerry, who wouldn’t know a Muggle if one bit him? Findlay, who wouldn’t know a Dark Magic spell if it danced a tango with her? You are the best Auror I have, dammit, and I want you on this case! We’ve a rogue wizard loose and targeting Muggles, if word of this gets out, all of our asses are on the line and I need you here! That is an order, Longbottom!"

Neville opened his mouth and then closed it again. Finally, in an awed voice, he said, "I’m the best Auror you’ve got?"

"May the Founders help us all, eh?" Cecil snorted, his anger evaporating as suddenly as it had appeared. "Look, Longbottom, be reasonable. We did a thorough background check on him, and came up with no substantial evidence that he was involved with the Death Eaters; it was the first thing I demanded. And he came through clean, no Dark Mark, no involvement, nothing." He sighed heavily. "I know you don’t like it, I don’t like it either. You should have been a fly on the wall for the conversation I had with the Minister about this. But these two need to be stopped, and stopped fast, and having you on this file is the best way to do that. And you are a damn good Auror, Longbottom, one of the best. And I will order you if I have to. But I’d rather not."

Neville sighed, his own anger fading. He raised his hands helplessly. "I just...God. I can’t work with him. Draco Malfoy made my life a living hell my entire 7 years at Hogwarts. And not just me, but Harry and Ron and ‘Mione, and most of the rest of Gryffindor. Hell, the rest of the school. He was a despicable bastard, and I hated him. You have any idea how happy I was when I thought he was dead?"

"You can do it, man. Just try not to kill him ‘til after you solve this thing," Cecil grunted. "Put up with him ‘til we get these bastards in Azkaban, then you can torture Draco Malfoy to your heart’s content."

"Why do I let you talk me into these things?" Neville asked in defeat

"Because you’re terrible at telling people no. Now get the hell out of my office."

~*~

"How did I get myself into this?" Neville sighed as he stood on the front steps of Scotland yard, glaring up at the large, ugly building in front of him, the tag of his
brand-new Muggle shirt rubbing against the back of his neck. Setting his shoulders determinedly, he made his way into the edifice of New Scotland Yard and over to the officer sitting behind the front desk.

"’Ow can I help ye?" the man grunted, looking as uncomfortable in his confining black uniform as Neville did in his suit.

"I’m here to see Detective Malfoy," said Neville. "I have an appointment. Name’s Longbottom."

"ID?" The officer nodded at the card Neville showed him (a Muggle driver’s license, which Neville had got a few years ago at Cecil’s insistence, on the grounds that it would be ‘bloody useful’. Which it was, actually.). He checked the name on Neville’s
card against a list on his desk, and handed Neville a small plastic key fob. "Yer expected. Malfoy’s in room 316, elevator’s down the hall, wave that in front o’ the wee gray box on the wall, door’ll open."

Neville nodded his thanks and made his way into the bowels of the great glass building. He’d spent time in the Muggle world before, either undercover with the Department or just for the experience of walking among non-wizards. He wasn’t as comfortable with it as Ginny or Colin or some of the other younger wizards, who seemed to live half in the wizarding world and half in the Muggle and traveled at ease between the two, but he made do, and didn’t seem to stand out too much. It was considered fashionable these days to ape Muggle culture to a degree, copying some of their fashions and expressions - Hermione claimed it was a reactionary response to the war with Voldemort, whicht tried to wipe out Muggle-born wizards

Neville found the elevator and stepped inside gingerly, pushing the button and waiting as the creaky machinery lifted him up three stories. He stepped out and waved the plastic fob in front of the small box on the wall as directed, and watched in bemusement as the door slid open, revealing a long, sterile hallway with truly hideous green carpeting and lit by harsh fluorescent lights.

It didn’t take him long to find room 316, which turned out to be a surprisingly spacious office, albeit with an uninspiring view of the building across the street out of the large window and the same bilious green carpeting as the hall. Neville stood in the hall a moment, uneasily staring at the empty office, and the equally empty hallway. He checked his watch; it was 2:30, so he was right on time. Tentatively, Neville stepped inside and looked around nervously. "Well, what now, then?" he muttered waspishly. Typical of Malfoy to be late; making Neville wait around to put him on edge, most likely. He sat down on the visitor’s chair in front of the desk, fidgeting nervously, then stood up again after a minute. He poked his head back out into the hall...no sign of anyone.

Neville let out his breath in a huff and glared at the office. It was quite large, easily twice the size of his own office back at the Ministry, which was barely more than a broom closet. Besides the L-shaped oak desk, which was currently covered with a computer and a frightening amount of paper, there were a couple of large metal filing cabinets against one wall and an oak bookshelf crammed with official-looking binders and books with sterile titles like Community Policing: A Guide for Police Officers and Citizens and Reputable Conduct: Ethical Issues in Policing and Corrections.Neville stared at the books moodily, noting that someone - Malfoy, he guessed - had carefully arranged all of the books to line up by size, creating neat slopes from left to right on each shelf. There were several pictures on the second
shelf, in unpolished wooden frames.

Intrigued, Neville bent over slightly to look at the photos. They were Muggle pictures, the subjects in each standing perfectly still and not waving or mugging for the camera like the two photos on Neville’s desk at the MoM. (One of Ron, Harry, Ginny and Hermione at Ron and ‘Mione’s wedding, giggling playfully and pushing one another, and one of Neville’s graduation from Auror training; in that one, picture-Neville tended to strut around looking both smug and proud, adjusting his wizarding hat and thrusting out his chest.) He could see the wisdom of having non-moving pictures in the middle of a Muggle police station, though - it probably saved a lot of questions. Neville picked up one of the frames and examined it closely. It showed a group of eight men in dusty jeans, plaid shirts and cowboy hats leaning and sitting along a fence rail, the land behind them rising up in green and gold hills to the foot of snow-covered mountains in the distance, under an impossibly blue sky. It didn’t look like anywhere in Britain or even Europe. All of the men were grinning, a couple of them with arms draped around each other’s shoulders. Neville flipped the picture over, and on the back of the photo, which was pinned in the frame without matting, were the words Lazy D, Roundup, Fall, 2005. "Lazy D?" he asked aloud, frowning. What the heck was a lazy D? Neville shrugged and put the picture back, moving on to the next one.

This one showed what looked like a river in flood, roaring over huge rocks in great crashing waves of white foam, sheer cliffs rising out of the river on the far side. In the middle of the picture, teetering on the crest of a wave, was a large yellow raft, filled with a group of unrecognizable people in white helmets and lifejackets, looking like they were holding on for dear life. At the back of the raft, on a higher seat, wearing a garish purple helmet and life vest, was a dark-haired young man wrestling with two long oars. Neville peered closer at the picture; while the rest of the people in the boat looked scared witless, the young man was clearly grinning ear-to-ear and looked to be having the time of his life. Neville flipped it over, to read John, Kicking Horse, Summer 1999. That didn’t make any sense to him either. The last picture was of two people, a criminally handsome man and a petite blonde woman who looked like a china doll, sitting on an outcropping of rock, in profile to the camera. The man was dressed in hiking boots, black pants and a dark blue fleece pullover, long light-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail at his neck, and the woman was wearing a green cotton sweatshirt and khaki shorts, leaning back against his chest. He had his arms around her and his chin on the top of her head, and they were both gazing at something in the distance. A range of pine-covered mountains rose up behind them, tinged with gold from the sun. The back of the photo read Draco and Laura, Whistler, Spring 2001.

Neville blinked and flipped the picture back over in disbelief. That was Draco? He looked so...so...gorgeous! He didn’t look anything like the Draco Neville remembered. He stared at the photo for a long minute, trying to reconcile his memory of Malfoy in seventh year - skinny, sullen and scowling, with the adolescent awkwardness that came of growing too tall too fast - to the chiseled man in the photo. At long last, Neville grudgingly admitted to himself that he recognized the nose. And the hair...he didn’t imagine there were that many people in the world with Draco’s peculiar white-blonde hair. Neville wondered idly who the woman was. He placed the photo back on the shelf and returned to the other two pictures thoughtfully.

After another few moments of searching the first picture, he finally realized that the man sitting on the top post of the fence on the left-hand side, leaning on the shoulder of a burly older man standing beside him was also Draco, in a blue plaid shirt, jeans so filthy they appeared brown instead of blue, a dusty brown cowboy hat, and alarmingly pointy boots. And Draco was grinning, looking relaxed and cheerful and happy; that must have been why Neville hadn’t recognized him straight off. For he still had the same sharp nose, and Neville could see even under the hat that Draco’s hair was the same shade of silvery blonde it had always been. He shook his head and set the picture back down again.

Neville was just about to pick up the middle picture again, when a voice from the doorway said, "Oh, hell. Am I late?" Neville turned.

A surprisingly attractive Draco Malfoy in a still photo was quite a different matter from a surprisingly attractive Draco Malfoy in the flesh. A surprisingly, stunningly, terribly attractive Draco Malfoy, in a ridiculously attractive white silk shirt that clung to his shoulders and chest, and pale khaki trousers covering long, lean legs. His long blonde hair was tied in a neat ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his skin had a faint gold glow, as if he’d spent some time in the sun recently. Neville felt his mouth go dry. Draco shifted the pile of folders he was carrying into his left arm and strode forward, hand extended. Neville took it weakly, and tried desperately not to notice that Draco had tiny little laugh lines around his silver-gray eyes, or that his hair escaped from its ponytail just under his ears into little silvery curls. "Draco Malfoy. Sorry if I’m late, could have sworn I said 3. I’m guessing the Ministry sent you over...have a seat."

Draco waved one hand at the visitor’s chair and came around the edge of his desk, surveying the hurricane of paper strewn all over. He shrugged one shoulder and dropped the stack of folders in a pile near one edge, then sat down in the chair. Neville sat down nervously as Draco shuffled reports around, and cleared his throat. "Yes, I’ve been assigned to work with you."

Draco looked up. "And you are...?"

Neville paused a moment, astonished. Draco didn’t recognize him? Well...granted, Neville hadn’t recognized him at first either. "Neville Longbottom," he said finally.

Draco cocked his head and looked at Neville for a long moment, shoulders tensing imperceptibly. "Hello, Longbottom," he said finally. "How’ve you been?" Then he bent his head to the folder in front of him, making notes in the margin of one of the sheets of paper.

"I...um, well enough." Neville wasn’t sure how to react. Here he was, in a Muggle police station, sitting across from one of his worst enemies from his school years, and the man was being almost nice to him. Maybe Draco had suffered a head wound. Or undergone a personality transplant. He surreptitiously rubbed his hands against his trousers, was about to say something when Draco looked up again. He picked up the folder he was looking at and handed it across the desk to Neville. "That’s a summary of what I know so far on the wizard in our little duo. I don’t know how much your supervisors have told you about this case, but I was thinking it might be a good idea for you to concentrate on the wizard while I keep tabs on the other one."

"Alright...is this all the information we have?" Neville asked, flipping through the slim file, grateful to have something to hold onto.

"So far," Draco said coolly. "The Canadian Ministry of Magic wouldn’t let me have access to their files on him, so that’s all I’ve been able to come up with. You might want to try asking, however. They might release the information to you."

"Why wouldn’t they give it to you?" Neville asked without thinking, still reading the sheets contained in the folder. He looked up in surprise when Draco didn’t answer. The other man was regarding him with hooded gray eyes.

"Actually," Draco said after a long moment, "I didn’t ask. But they wouldn’t have, even had I bothered."

Neville frowned. It had been a long time since Draco had been seen in England, and granted, neither he nor his father, Lucius Malfoy had been the considered the most pleasant men in the world, but there wouldn’t have been any reason for the Canadian MoM to withhold information, would it?

His confusion must have shown, for Draco smiled slightly. "As far as anyone overseas knows, I am just another Muggle cop dealing with something he doesn’t quite understand. Unlike here in Britain, the wizarding community in North America isn’t so closely connected to the Muggle world that they would willingly exchange information like this freely."

"A Mug...you...what...?" Neville caught himself and took a deep breath. " ‘Just another Muggle cop’? What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Mr. Longbottom, that 12 years ago I left the wizarding world for good, and if this stupid little prick I’ve been chasing hadn’t decided to get himself mixed up with a failed wizard and forced me to come back here, I would have stayed gone from the wizarding world." He sounded surprisingly bitter.

"You’ve been living as a Muggle?" Neville said in disbelief.

"I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended by your tone. Yes, I’ve been living as a Muggle."

"You?"

"Yes, me. I think we’ve established this. Can we move on?"

"I just...I’m just a little surprised, is all." Neville snorted inwardly. Surprised was hardly the word. Draco Malfoy, racist little git, living with Muggles and Mudbloods for over a decade years, shunning the magical community? "It seems a little...out of character."

"And, of course, you know so much about my character," Draco said icily. And suddenly, there was the Draco Malfoy Neville knew, glaring at him now with frigid gray eyes, a sort of coiled menace in the set of his shoulders. "Since we’re taking a little trip down memory lane, however did you manage to become an Auror? Did they let you bring your Remembrall into your exam?"

Neville bristled. "You - " he said, then clamped his mouth shut. You haven’t changed a bit, he’d been about to say, but he wondered if it were true. The Draco Malfoy he’d known wouldn’t have been caught dead anywhere near a Muggle, much less live as one. Of course, the Draco Malfoy he’d known would have happily lied through his teeth if he thought it’d put Neville on edge.

Draco took a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to relax. "Look, if you want to go back to your little Ministry and tell them you don’t want to work with me, that’s fine. All I need is someone who can look after the wizarding side of things, so I don’t have to. It doesn’t have to be you."

Neville slumped slightly in his chair. "No’allowed," he muttered.

"What?"

"I’m not allowed to give up the case. I already tried." Neville said rebelliously.

Draco stared at Neville for a long moment, then started to laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Well, now I know how he got the laugh lines, Neville thought to himself. He realized suddenly that he’d never seen Draco genuinely laugh at Hogwarts. Smirk, yes, snicker, yes, but not actually laugh, freely and without holding back, like he was doing now. "Already way ahead of me, are you, Longbottom?"

"I’m glad you find it so amusing, Malfoy," Neville replied, but without rancor.

Draco suppressed another chuckle. "Sorry," he said cheerfully. "I can just imagine what your first reaction to working with me was."

Neville looked at the other man a little wildly. Had Draco just apologized to him? He looked down at the folder in his hands in confusion. Finally he looked up, into Draco’s clear grey eyes. "I was a little shocked, to be honest. Did you know that everyone thinks you’re dead?"

Draco snorted. "Had no idea. Doesn’t surprise me...who started that particular rumour?"

Neville shrugged. "Dunno. Came about after you vanished without a trace, after the war. The Ministry was looking for you, you know. Had Aurors all over Britain, and after they didn’t find you, it was just assumed."

"Well, as Mark Twain once said, the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I didn’t die, I just...left."

"Why?" The question slipped out before Neville could help himself. 10 years as an Auror meant he spent a lot of time asking questions, and it was the obvious one.

Draco tensed, his jaw tightening. "Because I wanted to."

"None of my business?"

"Good guess." Draco nodded at the file Neville held. "Like I said, if you can get in touch with the Canadian Ministry about that guy, I’ll see what I can find here on the other one. Let’s hope we can catch these bastards before it drags on for too long."

Neville stood up, knowing a dismissal when he heard one. "I’ll see what I can do." He hesitated. "Um...how should I get hold of you? When I find anything?"

"Heh, good question." Draco looked around at his desk for a moment, then grabbed a pen and a slip of paper. "Know how to use a telephone?"

"Of course!" Neville replied indignantly.

"Just checking. Many wizards don’t," Draco said soothingly, and handed him the paper. "This is my cell number; call me on that and we can find a time to meet."

"Alright," said Neville. "I’ll be in touch, then." He moved toward the door, then stopped to look back at Draco suddenly. Draco’s head was already bent to his work, sunlight glinting off his silver hair. "Where did you go?" he asked suddenly, the words escaping before he could stop himself.

Draco looked up and smiled slightly, cocking his head to one side. "I went to Canada. Thought you knew that. Didn’t the Ministry tell you?"

Neville just shook his head. "Yes, but..." he shrugged finally, giving up the attempt to put his surprise and curiosity into words. "Where in Canada?"

"Few different places. Toronto, Winnipeg, every damned pathetic little town on the Trans Canada Highway between Manitoba and BC, or so it felt at the time...spent most of the last 10 or so years in Calgary, though. In Alberta," he added, at the look of confusion on Neville’s face. "Western prairies, near the Rocky Mountains. You can look it up on a map, if you’re that curious."

"Oh," Neville said intelligently.

"Longbottom?"

"Yes?"

"Delightful as it is discussing my personal history with you, I have work to do." Draco waved a hand at him. "Shoo."

Neville huffed, insulted at the flippant dismissal, but Draco already had his head bent over his paperwork and didn’t look up. Neville threw up his hands and left.

~*~

Over the next few months, they settled into a strange mix of animosity, professional rivalry and companionship. Neville discovered that Draco had a wry, cynical sense of humour, an extremely jaded view of human nature and the irritating habit of humming the most hokey country songs in existence at the most inappropriate of times. He had a surprisingly good singing voice although he rarely showed it, was a decent cook, refused to use magic under any circumstances, and hated to get wet.

He was also, Neville found, extremely perceptive. They’d only been working together three weeks or so when out of the blue, Draco tilted his head, gave Neville an inscrutable look from across his desk and asked, "So how come you don’t have a boyfriend?"

Neville had opened and shut his mouth several times, before finally settling on saying "What?" in a shocked tone.

Draco shrugged one shoulder. "Just curious."

"What makes you think I’m...that I...I’m..."

"Gay? Just a hunch," Draco replied calmly.

Neville glowered. "What do you mean, a hunch?"

"A hunch. A feeling. An educated guess." Draco smirked at him. Neville had already figured out that Draco’s "hunches" were the most reliable he’d ever encountered, but it was a bit disconcerting to know that Draco was using them on him. He hadn't willingly told anyone but Ginny about his sexuality - the wizarding world wasn't nearly as open-minded about such things as the Muggle world, and homosexuality was intensely frowned upon. No one he knew, not even Hermione, had deduced that the reason Neville never dated women was because he preferred men, and Neville fully intended to keep it that way. He’d long ago made it a rule not to discuss his sex life (or lack thereof) with anyone, and he wasn't about to start with Draco Malfoy. Especially not with Draco Malfoy. Neville cleared his throat warily, trying to formulate a decent reply, but Draco cut him off. "Oh, stop looking like you're about to be lynched. If I haven't run shrieking by now, I'm not about to, am I?" Draco leaned back in his chair and regarded Neville frankly. "I should hope you realize by now that I don't care."

Neville shut his mouth and nodded. "I don't tell people."

"I gathered. Still, why don't you have a Muggle boyfriend? Lots of wizards do. Or used to," Draco said. "Though that may have changed. Everyone did it, no one talked about it."

"They still don't talk about it. I wouldn't even know where to start," Neville blurted honestly, then winced. "I mean, I'm not - that is, I - dammit. I hardly see how it's any of your business, my private life."

"I was just asking." Draco shrugged idly and started examining his fingernails.

"So where's your girlfriend, then?" Neville demanded. "Since we're on the topic."

Draco's face went utterly blank, as though a switch had been thrown somewhere in his head. "I don't have one," he said, in a tone that flatly discouraged questions. "And it's none of your business."

Neville raised an eyebrow at him, but Draco ignored it. "Fine then," Neville said sharply, and they didn't speak of it again.

~*~

Did the stars shine brighter on the night we met
Were the blossoms sweeter in the trees
Did a songbird sing in your heart when we kissed,
Did you fall in love with me?
- Did You Fall In Love With Me, Prairie Oyster

~*~

November, 2010

Draco ran one hand over his hair and pressed the elevator button again. He debated just taking the stairs, but decided that, impatience aside, his immaculate suit wouldn’t stay that way if he ran up 5 flights. The lift doors finally slid open and Draco waited with rather bad grace as a group of teenagers piled out, flowing around him and giggling. He stepped in and punched the button for Ginny’s floor, leaning back against the rear wall as the doors slid shut and the elevator started to rise. He wasn’t late, exactly...at least, no more than 5 minutes. Maybe 10.

The lift stopped at the 5th floor, and Draco made his way to Ginny’s door. He knocked, then paced in a small circle, waiting for Ginny to answer, running his hand over his hair again, silently wishing he had a mirror. Not that he was being vain, he just had the horrible feeling that his hair was out of place. He patted it again, then tugged at the lapels of his suit jacket to straighten them. Ginny seemed to be taking an awfully long time to answer the door. He wasn't nervousper se; after all, it wasn't as though they hadn't gone out before, for coffee or gone to the park, semi-neutral meetings chaperoned by her children and a score of other people. Of course, going to the park was not the same as going to the theatre and out for dinner. And it would be the first time they'd be alone together, without the kids around. But he wasn’t nervous. Malfoys did not get nervous when picking up gorgeous women and taking them out on the town, and he was a Malfoy. Therefore, he was not nervous. Draco nodded to himself and marked out another small circle on the truly ugly carpet. Not nervous at all.

Draco was about to knock again when he heard a muffled voice on the other side of the door, then the sound of the bolt sliding back, the door opened, and he found himself face to face with Ron Weasley.

Draco froze, eyes wide. Oh shit.

Ron extended a hand, smiling. "Hi! You must be Ginny’s date. She’s almost ready, I’m her brother. Just here baby-sitting," he said.

Draco gingerly shook Ron’s hand, silently hoping he could avoid telling Ron who he actually was. For once, being almost unrecognizable as his 17-year-old self was a definite blessing. "Hello," he said cautiously, and stepped forward into the small foyer as Ron moved back to let him in.

Hermione appeared behind Ron’s back, gesturing frantically at Draco. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was after him to do, but assumed it had something to do with not revealing his true identity to Ron. Since Ron was 4 inches taller than Draco and outweighed him by a good 40 pounds, Draco figured it would be prudent to go along. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and tried not to feel like Ron was looming. "Um...is Ginny almost ready?" he asked.

"Ron, dear, why don’t you go check?" Hermione said immediately.

Ron shot his wife a look. "Why don’t you go check on her? She’s probably doing girl stuff," he said belligerently. "Makeup or hair spells or wha - oh, there you are."

Ginny appeared in the hall entrance, looking stunning in black woolen dress pants and a green turtleneck sweater. A gold pendant hung on a chain just above her breasts, and her hair was swept up in copper ringlets, with a few stray curls drifting across her forehead. "Hello! Sorry I’m running late, let me just say goodbye to the kids!" She slipped through the kitchen into the living room, and Draco heard her talking, then a chorus of young voices in reply. She came back into the kitchen and gave Hermione a quick hug. "Thanks so much for babysitting you two, just let me get my coat and we can go."

She grabbed the coat in question off the back of one of the kitchen chairs, slung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed Draco by the hand, pulling him out the door as fast as she could. She ignored Ron’s protests, and their escape was conveniently aided by a distraction from a pair of small red-headed boys who bore a startling resemblance to Ron.

Ginny waited until they’d got into the lift before bursting out: "I am so sorry! Harry decided at 5 this afternoon that he couldn’t take the kids this weekend, and I couldn’t find a sitter. I had to call Hermione, and of course she had to bring the twins with her, then when Ron found out that she was going to come sit for me, he decided to poke his great ugly nose in and tag along...I’m so sorry."

She looked distraught, and Draco touched her shoulder, smiling. "It’s alright," he said soothingly. "No harm done, he didn’t kill me. Actually, he didn’t even recognize me, and Hermione seemed quite intent to keep it that way. So we’re safe."

Ginny laughed, her face brightening. "Much as I love my brothers, they’re a bunch of nosy, overprotective brutes at times. Thank heavens this isn’t a night that Fred or George show up at Ron’s place for food, or they’d all be here. And I am sorry...I could kill Harry right about now, he always does this."

"What happened, that he couldn’t take the kids?"

"One of his players is getting married, and they’re doing the stag party tonight. I guess he figured I wouldn’t be doing anything, so I wouldn’t mind having him not take the children. Not like I have a life of my own, or anything," Ginny scowled. Then she shook her head sharply. "But I’m not going to think about it. It’ll only make me angry, and that would spoil the evening." She beamed at Draco as the lift door opened at the ground floor.

"Well, we should hurry a bit, or we’ll miss the start of the play. I must apologize too, since I was late as well," Draco replied, helping Ginny into her coat before they
stepped out into the cold.

"What are we going to see?"

"Shakespeare, the old standby. They’ve renovated the old Globe theatre, and I thought it’d be interesting to see what it’s like." Draco opened the passenger side door and handed Ginny into the car, then came around and slid into the driver’s seat. "The Merchant of Venice is playing, which I haven’t seen yet, and I didn’t think you had, so I thought we could check it out."

Ginny’s eyes lit up. "I’ve never been to a real Muggle theatre...this should be exciting!"

Draco laughed. "Well, I hope it lives up to your expectations."

~*~

Inside the apartment, Hermione and Ron had established calm amongst the children, and settled on the couch to watch them playing. Hermione was silently blessing Brendan and Adam, who like their uncles could always be counted on to provide a convenient
distraction. She leaned back and closed her eyes, hoping Ron had been sufficiently distracted. Her hopes were dashed, unfortunately.

"Hermione," Ron said slowly once he’d got his breath back. "What are you not telling me?"

"What makes you think I’m not telling you something?" she asked squeakily.

"The fact that you are studiously not mentioning the subject of Ginny’s date was my first clue," Ron replied, eyeing his wife suspiciously. "And that you, for some reason, seemed to not want me to talk to him. Now...why wouldn’t you want me to talk to this
mystery man?"

"I don’t know what you’re yammering on about!" Hermione got up from the couch and bustled into the kitchen. Ron watched her quietly, his suspicions confirmed. Hermione never fidgeted, she never squeaked, she never bustled for no reason, and she never avoided subjects. Something was up. Ron’s eyes narrowed.

"So. Let’s examine this, shall we?" Ron said, settling back into the couch and watching Hermione’s back as she made tea. "Ginny has a date with a tall, muscular, blond man who appeared out of nowhere. You know this man, or so I assume, since you were doing that talking with gestures thing behind my back - that I hate, by the way - to get him out of here before I could speak to him for any length of time. Ginny seemed determined to drag him out of here by the ear so I couldn’t talk to him. Although you seem to know him, you have never mentioned this man before, to me or to Harry, and you tell Harry and me everything. You won’t tell me his name, Ginny wouldn’t tell me his name, he didn’t tell me his name..."

"Ron - "

"No, no, don’t interrupt me! I’m going to figure this out. Let’s see. How many tall blond men do I know that I wouldn’t want my sister to date?" Ron started ticking names off on his fingers. "Chris Brown, from my office, but it wasn’t Chris, obviously. Michael Van Buren, from Foreign Magical Affairs. Nick Sorenson, who has that shop in Diagon Alley. Never met him, but he’s a blond, and any man who runs a flower shop is suspect. Doug Mackenzie, who works for Witch Weekly. Hmmm...who am I missing? Someone I haven’t seen in a long time, maybe? Since I didn’t recognize him."

Hermione sighed silently as Ron thought aloud. Ron might not be the quickest thinker she knew, but he’d work at a problem he was interested in until he’d come up with a satisfactory answer. Horribly stubborn, was her husband.

"Now who do I know who’s blond that I haven’t seen in a long time? Kip Wilkenson? No...too short to be Kip. Bob Ketchum? Although he’s married. Hmmm...." Ron sank into silence, pondering and searching his memory. Hermione eyed him warily, hoping like hell he wouldn’t make the connection.

Ron continued to spring names on her all evening, as he thought of them, or when he thought she was distracted enough that she’d answer honestly without thinking about it. Finally, after Ron followed her into the kitchen while she dried the dishes to pester
her some more, Hermione reached the end of her patience. She slammed the pot she was holding onto the counter and glared at her husband. "Ron, stop it! I am not telling you. If Ginny wanted you to know, she’d have shared that information with you."

"So you know!"

"Yes, but I am still not telling you."

Ron did his best lost-puppy face. "You mean, you’d hide something like this from your own husband? Keeping secrets from me with my own little sister? I’m hurt. Crushed. Terribly wounded."

"I’m not buying it."

"Won’t you give me even a small hint?" Ron asked pleadingly. "Please?"

"Ron..."

"Just a little one," Ron said, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Doesn’t even have to be an obvious one. Something simple, like...have I met him before?"

Hermione sighed, trying to wriggle away from him. "Ron, I meant it. If Ginny wanted you to know, she’d tell you herself."

Ron frowned and let Hermione go. "She told you, though."

"She didn’t tell me - well, alright, she did tell me, but she didn’t mean to. I sort of put two and two together when she let something slip."

"Come on Hermione. Why wouldn’t she want me to know?"

"Because if you find out, you’ll over-react."

"Me?" Ron said innocently. "Over-react? Why would I over-react?"

"Because over-reacting is what you do best, dear."

Ron looked hurt, and wandered back into the living room, flopping down on the couch to watch Jamie and the twins playing. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and went back to doing the dishes.

Five minutes later, she turned around, a plate in hand, and bumped into Ron, who was standing right behind her. "Ron, honestly, don’t - " She started, but stopped when she saw his face. He looked murderous. "Oh dear."

"I asked Jamie."

"Oh dear."

Ron closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, before saying, very, very quietly. "Draco Malfoy?"

"Now, Ron - "

"DRACO MALFOY?"

"Ron, keep your voice down!"

"He’s supposed to be DEAD!" Ron stomped around in a circle, waving his arms. "NOW I know why you didn’t want to tell me! That - that - that - ferret has the gall to show up here and date my sister - "

"Ron!" Hermione waved her towel at him. "It’s none of your business what Ginny does. For God’s sake, she’s an adult, in case you’ve failed to notice, and she can take care of herself."

"She’s my sister! And you knew! You knew, and actually stood there and refused to tell me! That my own sister was gadding about, slumming with some evil, back-from-the-dead, two-faced, stuck-up - "

"Why are you yelling, Uncle Ronnie?"

Ron froze, mid-sentence and turned around. Sarah was standing in the hallway entrance dressed in a frilly pink nightgown and holding a stuffed yellow bunny rabbit. "Sarah, sweetie, what are you doing up? You’re supposed to be in bed," Ron said softly.

"You woke me up. Why are you yelling?" Ron shrugged helplessly, looking to Hermione, who glared at him. Sarah padded into the kitchen and raised her arms to Ron, waiting expectantly. He finally bent down and scooped her up, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to give him a kiss, knocking his ear with her bunny rabbit. "Why are you mad?"

"Uncle Ron just found out something and he’s not very happy about it, is all," Ron said to her. He shot Hermione another pleading glance but she just frowned and shook her head, as if to say you’re on your own.

"What did you find out?"

"Well, your mommy is spending a lot of time with someone that I don’t particularly like," Ron said.

"You mean Draco?"

Ron cleared his throat. "So you’ve met him, I take it?"

"Yes. I like him," Sarah said coolly. "He’s nice."

Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times. He glanced over at Hermione, who just shrugged. "How’s he nice?"

"He buys us ice cream. He took us to the park once. And he really likes Mommy."

"And how do you know that?" Ron asked with interest. Sarah looked at him, brushing a tangled black curl off her cheek.

"I just do," she said, and bent her attention to her bunny rabbit. Ron looked at Hermione over Sarah’s head. She shook her head at him and motioned him to carry Sarah back to bed.

Ron shifted Sarah’s weight. "Well, I’m sorry I woke you up, sweetheart. How about we go back to bed, hmmm?"

"Will you stop yelling?"

"Yes, honey, I will," Ron said guiltily.

"Alright," Sarah said agreeably, and let him carry her off to the bedroom she shared with William.

Grateful for the reprieve, Hermione finished putting away the last of the dishes and went out to gather up the twins and Jamie, who were hovering near the archway to the living room and trying to pretend they weren’t listening in. "Right, you lot, time for bed for you too!"

Amidst much groaning from Brendan and Adam, and a resigned sigh from Jamie, she herded the boys into pajamas and off to their respective beds, Jamie in his own room, and the twins bunking down in Ginny’s room until it was time to take them home. Ron came to help her get everyone settled, after he’d put Sarah back to bed and checked on William, and it was half an hour before they managed to flop back down on the couch.

Ron was silent for a while, draping one long arm around Hermione’s shoulders and leaning back. She curled up against his side and rested her head against his chest, listening to him breathe. She could tell he was thinking hard about the whole Malfoy
situation, and decided to let him think himself out. When Ron finally spoke, she could hear his voice rumbling through his chest. It was comforting. "I still want to know why you didn’t tell me."

"I didn’t tell you because of exactly what you said when you did find out," Hermione replied. "Because you never liked Draco, and I knew you’d be mad."

"And why shouldn’t I be mad? Ginny going ‘round hiding things from me, dating Malfoy of all people...it’s just bizarre." Ron frowned pensively and shook his head. "I thought Malfoy was dead, anyway."

"Well, obviously not. He just left the country and let everyone think he was dead. Did you know he’s been living as a Muggle?" Hermione asked, leaning back to catch the disbelieving expression on Ron’s face. "Strange, no? I could barely credit it myself."

"That’s just...too weird to think about," Ron replied. "That...well. Sort of shakes one of the foundations of what is normal and right, doesn’t it?"

"Oh, Ron. People can change, you know," Hermione pointed out. Poking him in the chest. "We all have, including you, Mr. Calm and Cool."

Ron blushed slightly. "Yes, well, but Malfoy? A Muggle? It’s just fundamentally wrong," he said, shaking his head. He sat quietly for a few more minutes. Finally, he sighed. "D’you think Sarah’s right? That he does like her?"

Hermione shrugged. "I have no idea. I really haven’t spoken to Malfoy since he got back, and Neville says he won’t talk about it."

Ron craned his neck to look down at her. "Neville? What’s Neville got to do with it?"

"Oh, Neville and Draco are partners. They’re working together for the Ministry on some case, Neville says."

"Neville knew?" Ron sounded indignant. "Why am I always the last person to find out about these sorts of things?"

"In this case you’re not, actually. I don’t believe anyone’s mentioned it to Harry as of yet," Hermione said wryly. "And don’t you go running and tell him either, you can leave that particular task to Gin. And Neville only knew because Ginny told me she’d run into Draco, and I was worried, so I asked Neville about it. So Neville asked him, because he works with him."

"Poor Neville."

"Ron!" Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. "Neville says he’s not so bad, actually."

"He’s a git! Once a git, always a git. What I really want to know is what the hell Ginny is thinking."

Hermione snorted. "You saw him...what makes you think she’s thinking at all?"

"What, Malfoy got tall all of a sudden, and Ginny goes and falls all over him?"

"No, Malfoy got gorgeous. If he were going ‘round buying the twins ice cream and being nice to me, I’d probably throw all my thinking about the standard definitions of good and evil out the window too."

"He’s not all that," Ron grumbled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Actually, Ron, he is all that. And a bag of crisps." She giggled as Ron scowled, and snuggled into his chest. "But all told, I think you’re much cuter."

"Well that’s something."

Hermione hummed happily, nestling her head against his shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, the girls ‘round at the library think you’re cute too."

"You talk about me with the women you work with?" Ron asked, aghast.

"Well, of course. What do you think we talk about, Quidditch?" Hermione grinned. "We talk about you. And everyone else’s husband too. So far you’re leading the poll for cutest husband in England, though Dean Thomas is running a close second." She paused thoughtfully. "Of course, I still haven’t managed to think up a subtle way to get Neville to bring Draco ‘round..."

She had to muffle her laughter so as not to wake the children when Ron pushed her off the couch.

~*~

The play, as it turned out, left a great deal to be desired. After much whispering and nudging (and enough muffled snickering to earn them glares from their neighbours), Draco and Ginny decided to leave at intermission. They stopped to eat at a tiny Italian restaurant, complete with checkered tablecloths and truly excellent food.

"So what was it that caused the reformation of Draco Malfoy?" Ginny asked, smiling at him over the plate of kahlua ice cream cake they were sharing for dessert. They had exhausted the topic of the play’s merits, or lack thereof, sometime around the middle of the meal. "Since you have reformed. No one recognizes you, and you cause awe and wonderment wherever you go."

"I don’t know about the awe and wonderment," Draco snorted. "It wasn’t any one thing, really. I guess. More a series of realizations on my part."

"Realizations?"

Draco nodded. "You know, when things happen and you really start to wonder if everything you’ve ever believed up to that point is actually true."

Ginny smiled faintly. "You mean, like an epiphany."

"More than one," Draco shrugged.

"What sort of epiphanies, then?" Ginny asked. "You don’t have to tell me - I mean, I know it’s terribly forward of me, and I’m being horribly nosy."

Draco smiled at her across the table. He wondered if she had any idea that she could ask him anything and he would tell her. Whatever he had been expecting to find when he returned to England, Ginny Potter wasn't it. She had taken him completely by surprise, and he didn’t think he could explain it if he’d tried. Hell, he had tried to explain to Neville once, after their brief and non-constructive chat in Neville’s office, but had the feeling that he’d failed miserably. It was as though spending time with Ginny was the only thing that made this whole trip worthwhile.

His attraction to her, his desire to spend all the time he could with her, his willful disregard of the fact that she was Harry Potter’s ex-wife and he was being a monumental fool to even think about having a relationship with her - he couldn’t explain those things, or didn’t want to explain them, not even to himself. He mentally shook himself. One of these days, he’d have to sit himself down and figure out what the hell he was doing, but not right now. "I think the first one came the summer after the Triwizard Championship." Ginny blinked in surprise and Draco smiled faintly at the look on her face. "When Harry and Cedric were portkeyed off to meet Lord Voldemort, and Cedric came back dead. Not because he’d done anything particularly heroic, just because he was inconvenient."

"The spare," Ginny whispered. Draco raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "Harry...he told me once, that that was what Voldemort had said to Wormtail when Wormtail killed Cedric. To ‘kill the spare’."

Draco’s lip curled. "Exactly. He was expendable, not important. At first, I was of the opinion that Cedric had got what he deserved, but over that summer, I started to realize what it would really be like under Voldemort. It used to be my goal in life, to meet Voldemort. And Cedric Diggory - brave, handsome, upstanding, fair,pure-blooded Cedric Diggory - met Lord Voldemort and died. My father used to go on and on about how wonderful it was in the ‘good old days’, and how great it would be when Voldemort returned, but after it actually happened, he was scared. Real, true, bone deep fear of what Voldemort could do. I’d never seen my father afraid of anything, but he was afraid of the Dark Lord. And it just got worse as Voldemort got more and more powerful. And I started wondering then, why on earth Lucius followed him. Then from there, wondering why on earth I should follow him. The idea looked less and less attractive every year."

"So you never became a Death Eater?"

Draco gazed at Ginny consideringly, then shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned the cuff of his left shirtsleeve. He pushed it up and held his arm out to Ginny over the table, face impassive. There was a long scar running from his wrist almost to his elbow, silver against the pale flesh of his forearm. Ginny gasped sharply, looking from the scar to Draco’s face. "What...?"

"My father," Draco said steadily, "wanted me to take the Dark Mark the summer before seventh year. I was going to turn 18 in February, and he thought that Voldemort would let me, although I was young for it, because it would be useful to have a Hogwarts student who was bound to the Dark Lord." His mouth twitched. "I...disagreed."

"Your father did that?" Ginny asked, shocked to her core, reaching out involuntarily to touch his wrist, where the scar began.

Draco gave a little laugh and shook his head. "Most people think that the best way to slit one’s wrists is to cut across the wrist, where the veins are," he said quietly,
and drew a finger lightly across his arm, just below the heel of his hand. "But to be really effective you have to slice up the arm, deeply, in order to hit the arteries." And he traced his finger along the path of his scar.

Ginny went white. "Oh God," she whispered.

"Mother found me; one of the house elves told her, and she got to my room before I bled to death," Draco laughed softly again. "I failed quite spectacularly at what I’d intended, but I was too weak to undergo the Dark Mark that summer. Father was...rather
disappointed." Disappointed didn’t quite cover it, Draco reflected. Narcissa had later told him that while he was recovering from his wound, Lucius had calmly and steadily broken every single smashable object in the house, then repaired them with magic and calmly broken them all again. Several times. The fight that had occurred once Draco had recovered enough to get out of bed was one of his less pleasant memories. "He placed a spell on me so that I couldn’t try it again, so I made up my mind that if I had to live, then I wasn’t going to do it near him. I stayed at Hogwarts that Christmas, and left right after the war ended."

"Why? Why would you want to...to..."

"Because I didn’t think I had any other choice. I could take the Dark Mark, and get caught up in the war, and die, or be captured and get sent to Azkaban and die, or I could not take the Mark, and let Voldemort and my father realize that I wasn’t loyal to ‘The Cause’, and die. As far as I could see, my options were rather limited. If I was going to be doomed, I wanted it to be on my own terms." Draco gently removed Ginny’s fingers from his arm and pulled his sleeve back down, fastening the cuff. "A bit melodramatic, I realise, but I was only 17 at the time."

"Why didn’t you say something?" Ginny asked.

"What would I have said? And to whom?" Draco asked bitterly. "Snape was dead by then, and everyone else, from Dumbledore on down, believed that I was firmly in the Death Eater camp, that I was totally under my father’s thumb, and by extension Voldemort’s. No one would have believed me. And the very last thing I was going to do was go to any of them - go to Harry and protest my innocence and beg to be forgiven."

Ginny stared silently down at her hands folded in her lap. "You...still don’t like Harry very much, do you?" she finally asked.

"Not particularly," Draco said. "Perhaps because he’s a great, irritating git."

Ginny let out a breath that was not quite a laugh. "He’s not that bad."

"So you say," Draco said, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "You’re not exactly unbiased."

"Draco, you’re not..." Ginny stopped suddenly. She looked at him, eyes unreadable. "If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?"

Draco cocked his head and frowned. "Of course."

"Are you doing - this - " and she waved her hand to encompass the restaurant, " - just because you know it’ll irritate him when he finds out?"

He narrowed his eyes, face shuttering. "You mean, am I using you?"

Ginny blushed, but didn’t look away. "That’s one way to put it."

"And will you believe me if I say no?"

"Are you saying no?"

Draco turned his head away sharply and took a deep breath. He turned back and caught her eyes with his, gray burning into brown. "I have spent the last two months thinking up excuses to end up in or near Barking, on the off chance I might see you, manufacturing reasons to call you so I could hear your voice. There are probably a score of people who would cheerfully string me up if I so much as look at you wrong, and surprisingly enough, I really don’t care. I am not doing this just to piss off Harry Potter." He stopped abruptly; he hadn’t meant to be quite that honest.

This time she did look away, her cheeks burning. "I’m sorry," she whispered to her hands. "It was an unfair question."

There was a long silence. "But one I can’t blame you for asking," Draco said finally.

"I’m still sorry." She raised her head and looked directly at him. "It was unfair."

"You’re the Gryffindor," Draco said, smiling. "I’ll take your word for it."

Ginny smiled back, as if relieved for the small break in tension and leaned forward to poke at the melting remains of their dessert. "Alright...shall we go for a diplomatic subject change?"

"We could. What do you want to talk about instead?"

"Um...Quidditch?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Don't follow it anymore."

Ginny laughed. "Don't tell anyone, but neither do I. Um...you could tell me about Canada?"

Draco leaned back and nodded thoughtfully. "I could. What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Ginny said with a grin. "I've never been to America, so you can start anywhere you like."

"Well, for starters, never call a Canadian an American, they're bite your head off," Draco said. "Canada and America are two entirely different places. Most Canadians tend to be quite fierce in their insistence on maintaining their distinction from the US."

"Really?" Ginny leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands. "I would have thought, what with them being all on the same continent, that they're basically the same."

"Well, they are. But you can't tell a Canadian that, they'll flip. Very protective of their national identity, Canadians are." Draco thought for a minute. "Canada's...big. You can literally drive for hours going east and west, and not hit the edge of a province." Draco shivered. "It's actually rather scary, to be out in the middle of nowhere and *know* that you're the only person around for literally miles and miles and miles."

"Sounds rather boring."

Draco shook his head. "No, not really. Just different. Everywhere you go in England, there’s borders. You can’t walk for any significant distance without reaching a fence or a road or a house or something, but over there you can. The RCMP training centre is in Saskatchewan, and I rather liked it there. It's pretty." He paused again. "And humbling, for lack of a better word."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Humbling?"

"I don't know how else to put it. It's...it's so big, and you're just a tiny little speck in the middle of this huge, huge prairie that goes on forever. It makes you feel
small and rather insignificant. It was a new experience for me," Draco said wryly. "But it is beautiful, in a way. I actually walked across probably half of Saskatchewan."

"Walked?" Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"I was hitchhiking and no one'd pick me up. It was either keep walking or starve to death on the side of the road. Walked for 2 or 3 days, I think, before someone
stopped and and gave me a lift to Regina. That was rather scary. I was getting extremely worried by that time."

"Why on earth were you hitchhiking across Saskatchewan? I don’t even think I know where Saskatchewan is" Ginny shook her head in disbelief.

"Honestly, between you and Neville, I’m going to start carrying around an atlas," Draco laughed. "Saskatchewan is in the middle of Canada, one of the three prairie provinces. It’s got a population of 2 million, which is less than the entire city of Toronto, and its principal export is wheat."

Ginny leaned back, impressed. "How do you know all this stuff?"

"Part of the test for my Canadian citizenship that I’ve never quite managed to forget. I know more boring Canadian trivia than any sane person should know. Did you know Canada didn’t actually have its own Charter of Rights until 1982?"

Ginny laughed and shook her head. "You’re a Canadian citizen?"

"Had to be, to join the RCMP," Draco said. "I like Canada. And after all, I hadn’t intended to leave, so it seemed a logical step."

"Why did you leave, then? Why’d you come back?"

Draco shrugged. "Work. We had a tag on a young man who’d been involved in some highly suspicious activities. He hooked up with another young man and the two of them shipped out for here. I did a background check, discovered that the other young
man happened to be a wizard, and a few things that hadn’t made sense became clear, so I got permission to follow, and here I am."

Ginny’s reply was interrupted by the matronly owner, bustling over with the cheque, and the thread of their conversation was lost. For most of the drive home they sat quietly; not an awkward silence, but comfortable, as though words weren’t needed. When they arrived at Ginny’s apartment block, Draco walked her up to the front door of the apartment block and waited while she dug her keys out of her purse. Once she had them in hand, she turned back to him and smiled. "Thank you so much. I had a good time."

Draco smiled back. "I did too. We should do this again. And pick a different play."

Ginny laughed delightedly. "Yes, definitely. I’d invite you upstairs, but..."

"Perfectly all right. I’d rather not have to dodge around Ron right now, anyway."

Ginny grimaced and rolled her eyes. "This part, I’m not looking forward to. If ‘Mione’s said anything, I’m sure I’m in for quite the lecture."

They stood for a moment in silence, then Draco reached out slowly and touched her cheek, turning her face up to his. He moved slowly, giving her time to back away if she wanted to, touching his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. Ginny sighed softly and leaned toward him. She wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back, her lips parting under his.

He had intended it to be a chaste goodnight kiss, a simple close to a pleasant evening, but the taste of Ginny’s mouth was intoxicating to him, and Draco was feeling anything but chaste all of a sudden. He curled one hand into the mass of curls at her neck as his other hand drifted down to rest against her waist, beneath her coat. She pressed herself against him, gasping breathlessly as his fingers slipped out of her hair, drifting along her ear and down her neck. Draco forced himself to raise his head at long last, aware that if he didn’t stop kissing her now, he never would.

Her eyelashes fluttered up, and she looked up at him with sleepy brown eyes. "Goodnight," she finally whispered huskily.

Draco took a step back, sliding her arms from around his neck and clasping her hands in both of his. "Goodnight," he replied, and raised both of her hands to his lips. She smiled and he forced himself to take another step back, and then another, letting her fingers slide through his own.

He waited until she’d unlocked the door and walked through the lobby, stopping once to turn back and wave at him through the glass door, before he turned and started back to his car.

~*~

In this place it seems like such a shame
Though it all looks different now
I know its still the same
Everywhere I look, you're all I see
Just a fading fucking reminder of who I used to be
- Something I Can Never Have, Nine Inch Nails

~*~

"Hullo," Neville said as Draco sauntered into his office the next afternoon. "Hear you had a date last night."

Draco stopped and gave Neville a long look. "Oh?"

"Ron Weasley called me up at some ungodly hour this morning to pump me for information. Have fun?"

Draco sighed and flopped into Neville's visitors chair. "I didn't think he recognized me."

"From what I understand, he didn't, he coerced Jamie into telling him. He seemed...not; exactly happy about it, but he wasn't threatening you with dismemberment either. I think Hermione got to him. So." Neville propped his chin up on one hand and batted his eyelashes at his partner. "How did it go?"

Draco gave him a death glare. "None of your damn business."

Neville pouted at him. "Oh, come on. If you don't tell me, I'll just get Hermione to ask Ginny. Not that I won't do that anyway, mind you."

"And people call me a devious and evil bastard. Why is everyone so interested in my private life all of a sudden?" Draco demanded sulkily. "Did the Ministry become Gossip Central while I wasn't looking?"

"You're dating a woman whose family has the population of a small country. Everyone knows everything about everyone in the Weasley world," Neville said. "Sooner or later, the truth will out."

"Can we just not talk about it and pretend we did?"

"Not a chance," Neville grinned. "Tell me, or I will go pump Hermione for information, don't think I won't."

"We went to see a very bad play, then we went out for dinner, then I took her home. Satisfied?" Draco glared at Neville, clearly ruffled.

"That's it? No passionate midnight snogs? No mad declarations of undying love? No final-hour elopement? How am I supposed to live vicariously through you if you don't do anything fun?"

Draco threw a pen at him. "Do you mind?"

"Not at all, actually." Neville grabbed the pen out of the air before it could hit him. "And speaking of Hermione, I wanted to go down to the Library to talk to her today. Want to join me?"

"What do we need to talk to her for?"

"Because she's one of the best in England at Charms, and I think she might be able to help us out. And the Founders know we need all the help we can get." Clues were few and far between in the case that they were sharing, trying to track down the pair of thieves Draco had followed to England. They'd had a stroke of luck at the last crime scene, having found what looked like a small pendant. Neville could detect some form of magical charm on it, but he couldn't figure out what kind of charm.

Draco shrugged. "Fine. But one single crack about my private life, Longbottom, and I won't be held responsible for the consequences."

~*~

They paused on the steps of the Ministry building, their breath hanging in silvery clouds around them in the cold air, while Draco shrugged into his coat. He should have looked terribly out of place, Neville reflected, as the only person on Diagon Alley dressed in a Muggle suit and winter trenchcoat, but Draco didn't. There was an air of unconscious arrogance about him, as though whatever he was wearing was suitable for the occasion simply because he was wearing it. And Draco, Neville had to admit, dressed exceptionally well. He tended to favour various Italian Muggle designers for casual wear, but every suit he owned was hand-tailored, classically designed in Saville Row. Absolutely everything about him, from his pale hair, to the tips of his patent leather shoes, cried "aristocrat". Neville suppressed a sigh.

Draco tugged at the sleeves of his coat and raised his eyebrows at Neville. "Well?"

Neville blinked and shook himself. You are not supposed to be staring at him, he told himself sharply. "This way," he said, hoping like hell he wasn't blushing. Draco smirked at him, which didn't necessarily mean anything, and followed Neville up the street toward the brick-and-glass building that housed the Library.

One of the annoying things about Draco was that people moved for him. On a crowded street like Diagon Alley, where Neville would normally have had to push his way through the throng, Draco never had a problem. When he was with Draco all Neville had to do was follow along in the wake of the other man, because the crowds parted in front of him. Neville didn't even think people noticed they were doing it; they simply moved out of Draco's way.

It was irritating.

But then, so many things about Draco were irritating. The way he dressed, the way he smelled, the way he looked perfect all the time. The way he became first snippy and sarcastic, then icy and stiff when anyone got too close to subjects he didn't like to talk about. The prescient way he had of making the most tenuous connections between random facts and coming up with a solution to a problem. His unconscious habit of running a hand over his hair when he was nervous. The way his ears were pointed ever so slightly at the tips. The way his face lit up whenever he talked about Ginny.

Neville gritted his teeth. He had sworn to himself that he was not going to do this. He was not going to fall for Draco like a child off his first broom, dammit.

Speaking of Ginny, it was past time he talked to her. It was a bit ridiculous that they hadn't spoken in months. Granted, he'd been terribly busy, and Ginny usually had a million things on the go, but Ginny was one of his best friends. She had been his first kiss, and the only person in the wizarding world he'd willingly come out to; it was his doorstep she had showed up on a year ago with three young children in tow, to inform him with frightening calm that she and Harry had split up and that she needed a place to stay that was not currently inhabited by any member of the Trio or her family.

He'd protected her then, because she had needed him to, as she had protected him over the years. It was incumbent upon him to talk to Ginny, see what her take on the Draco Situation was. And, of course, because much as Ginny loved Hermione, she wouldn't tell her sister-in-law everything, and Neville wanted details.

Draco cleared his throat. Neville blinked, and realized that they were standing on the library stairs. "When you're ready, Longbottom."

"Sorry," Neville said sheepishly. He pulled open the door, and they stepped into the Library. Behind him, Neville heard Draco let out a low whistle of surprise. "Impressive, no?"

"Indeed," Draco said mildly, looking around. The Library was huge. The large main room was a massive two-story space paved with marble. Windows ran along the very tops of the walls, flooding the whole room with light. Row upon row of bookcases, jammed
with books, created a wide aisle that lead toward the back of the room, where a dramatic staircase swept up and split to form a Y-shape, leading up to the balcony that ringed the edges of the main floor. At the top of the landing, overlooking the room, was a large portrait of the Library's namesake, Albus Dumbledore, who waved cheerfully at passersby. There were even more bookshelves on the balcony, which was surrounded by carved wooden railings, and another staircase, slightly less dramatic, which presumably led off to another floor of books. Tables were spaced here and there throughout the room, where visitors could sit and read or write, and doors spaced along the walls between bookshelves led off to office and research spaces.

"There's a copy of every magical book ever written in here," Neville informed Draco quietly as they crossed the aisle to the main desk. "There's also an impressive collection of Muggle works, and a separate restricted section for Dark Arts books."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Is that wise?" he asked.

"Its restricted, and it takes ages to get access," Neville told him. "They keep them as a sort of preventative measure, Hermione says. For research, not for use. You're not allowed to remove them from the premises."

Draco snorted. "Up to you people, I guess."

Neville talked in hushed tones with the librarian behind the main desk while Draco stood and admired the hall. Finally, Neville thanked the witch and motioned Draco to follow him. "Hermione's stepped out, but Ms. Phillips says we can wait in her office 'til she gets back." He led Draco down a narrow hallway and through an archway, finally ending up at a heavy oak door, which Neville tapped with his wand. The door swung open to reveal a small but cheery book-lined office.

"I think Hermione has tea-making supplies about...care for some?" Neville asked, as Draco did a quick circuit of the room, peering at the bookshelves and glancing out the window. He looked over his shoulder and nodded, then went back to poking around.

"Why is it that you and I have crummy offices with bad furnishing, and people like Granger - sorry, Weasley - get cushy little places with leather armchairs and window-seats?" Draco finally asked in disgust, sitting on one of the window-seats in question and glaring at the cheerful little fire blazing in a small grate in the corner.

"Because Hermione is brilliant, so she can do research on contract for lots of money, and you and I aren't, so we have to chase down nasty little law-breaking punks for no money at all." Neville had found the teapot, and was waving his wand over the kettle to get the water to boil faster. Draco stared moodily out the window while Neville did this, as he usually did when anyone worked magic around him. Neville ignored him.

They sat in silence, sipping at their respective cups, Draco staring out the window and Neville lost in thought. He heard the women before they got to the door, feminine laughter drifting down the hall as Hermione and Lavender made their way to Hermione's office. The two women stopped in surprise in the doorway, blinking at Neville and Draco.

Hermione reacted first. "Why, Neville! What a surprise! What brings you here?" She moved forward and gave Neville a quick hug.

"Business, actually," Neville replied. "Not a social visit. Lavender, you're looking well." Lavender nodded and shook his hand, barely glancing at him. Her eyes were glued to Draco, who had nodded politely at the women and gone back to peering out the window. Neville and Hermione exchanged glances and grinned. Neville cleared his throat. "Lavender, you remember Draco Malfoy, don't you?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at Neville before unfolding himself from the window seat and stepping forward to take Lavenders hand. "Hello," he said mildly.

"Hello, Draco," Lavender giggled. "You're looking...well."

Hermione rolled her eyes as Draco disengaged his hand and retreated back to the window. "Lavender, would you mind terribly if I spoke to Neville and Draco alone?"

"Oh, not at all, luv, I'll talk to you tomorrow." Lavender patted Hermione on the shoulder before backing toward the door with a tiny smile on her lips, never taking her
eyes off Draco. Hermione followed her and gave her a not-so-subtle shove before shutting the door and locking it.

"There...now we won't have every researcher, clerk and book-shelver in the Library wandering in to see if we need anything. Nosy bunch of mother hens. How can I help you gentlemen?" Hermione turned back to her desk, dusting off her hands.

Neville grinned at her. "I have a question for you, actually. We've found a magical item, some sort of pendant or charm, but were not sure what its for, or what kind of spells are on it. I was wondering if you'd take a look at it, see if you can tell us anything."

"Of course," Hermione said, walking behind her desk and seating herself, suddenly all business. Draco had slumped back into the window-seat and was ignoring the whole procedure; Hermione raised an eyebrow, but Neville just shrugged at her. He couldn't exactly force Draco to participate if he didn't want to.

Neville dug the pendant out of a pocket of his robe and handed it to Hermione, who turned it over in her hands and examined it closely. She looked at it from every angle, pulled out her wand and muttered several spells over it, which seemed to affect it not at all. The last spell sent a soft cloud of blue sparks into the air, which twinkled and drifted slowly into nothingness, lighting the room in a soft, surreal glow. Draco glanced over at this, interested despite himself, the blue light reflecting off his hair and making him look rather ghostly.

"Well, that's odd." Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "I've done most of the simple detecting charms, and nothing is showing up. But there's a definite aura about it, isn't there? I don't think I've ever seen anything like it." She looked up at Neville. "Can I keep it for a bit? I'd like to examine it more thoroughly, do a little more research."

Neville and Draco exchanged glances. "I don't think that would be a problem," Neville said. "But I'd suggest not taking it away from the Library."

"Oh, of course not," Hermione said. "Whatever it is, its not standard magic. I'll take it down to one of the workrooms to examine it." She glanced over at the clock. "But not today, unfortunately. I'm due at the Burrow in two hours, and I have to pick up the twins, I've got to rush."

"Thanks for your help, Mione," Neville said. "Anything you find will be useful." He stood up and picked up his cloak from the back of the chair. Draco rose at the same time and waited quietly while Hermione and Neville hugged goodbye. Draco maintained a solemn silence all the way out to the street, steadfastly ignoring the quiet buzz of voices and curious glances that followed him through the Library.

"Well, Lavender seemed happy to see you," Neville remarked once they'd strode down the library steps onto the sidewalk.

"Who?"

"Lavender."

Draco glanced at him, confused. "Lavender?"

"The Lavender you just met, in 'Mione's office? Lavender Brown? Thomas now, she married Dean," Neville said, noting Draco's furrowed brow. "She was in my class in Gryffindor."

"I hadn't noticed." Draco shrugged and looked up the street. "Think Gringotts would be open this late?"

"She was the one who looked as if she wanted to eat you alive." Neville shook his head. "How could you not have noticed her? She was practically drooling on your shoes."

Draco turned to look at his partner. "She what?"

"She looked like she wanted to make you an afternoon snack." Neville grinned at the expression on Draco's face. "Yes, you, Mr. Clueless."

Draco snorted. "I honestly wasn't paying that much attention."

Neville let out a long-suffering sigh. "He has every woman in the world falling at his feet, and he doesn't even pay attention. Lavenders never made puppy-eyes at me."

"Yes, but you wouldn't care even if she did. She lacks a certain...something, doesn't she?" Draco grinned as Neville blushed and scowled at him.

"I really am going to hit you," Neville growled. "God, you're annoying." Draco just kept grinning, his eyes sparkling. Neville groaned mentally. He was trying his level best not to fall into the trap that was Draco Malfoy, but occasionally Draco made it very, very hard.

"Back to my original question, Mr. Longbottom. Do you think Gringotts is still open?"

"Probably, its not that late," Neville replied. "Why?"

"I was going to go raid the family bank account before I go out to Bath. I'm working on spending my way through the Malfoy estate," Draco said half-mockingly. "Or what's left of it. I cant dress this well on a policeman's budget, believe me." He turned his shoulder slightly to allow a woman to pass him by on the sidewalk, still smirking at Neville. "I could give you some money, you could buy a new cloak."

Neville opened his mouth, about to snap back at Draco, when a voice from behind them interrupted. "Draco Malfoy?"

Draco and Neville both stopped dead, and Draco stiffened. He turned around slowly to look at the woman they'd just passed. She had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and raised a hand to her hood when Draco turned around. She pushed her hood down to reveal an elaborate arrangement of curls piled on top of her head, which did nothing to flatter her small, round face and decidedly pug nose.

"Pansy," Draco said flatly.

"It is you!" Pansy Parkinson gave a small gasp and suddenly flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around Draco's waist. Draco froze and shot Neville an anguished look as Pansy sobbed rather melodramatically into his chest. "I thought you were dead!"

"Not yet," Draco replied, trying to pry her arms off him. He mouthed help! at Neville over the top of her head, but Neville just shrugged and grinned. Draco glared at him and managed to writhe out of Pansy's arms. "How have you been?"

"Oh, oh, I'm as well as can be expected," Pansy replied, fluttering her hands at Draco. "Its been a terrible, terrible time since...well, since..." her voice trailed off and her lip trembled slightly as she gazed up at Draco with huge eyes, hands wrapped around his wrist.

Draco nodded faintly, trying to work his arm out of her grasp. "Yes, well. Delightful as it has been to see you, I should be going." He finally managed to twist his wrist out of her hands, backing up a step. Pansy followed.

"We should talk," she said in what was probably intended as a low meaningful voice, blinking up at Draco through her eyelashes. Neville made a noise that might have been a cough, and covered his mouth with one hand.

"I don't think we have anything to talk about, Pansy," Draco replied coolly.

Pansy threw Neville a black look, then leaned closer to Draco and rested one hand on his forearm. She lowered her voice, clearly assuming that Neville wouldn't listen in. He shifted forward a few inches, to hear her mutter, "Of course we do. There are still some who are loyal, you know. I'm sure we could find things to...discuss."

Draco looked at her hand, resting on his coat jacket, then back at Pansy's face. "I really don't think so," he said icily.

Pansy glared up at him, her mouth twisting with anger, and Draco finally reached down and fastidiously lifted her hand from his arm. Pansy sucked in a quick breath and backed up a step. "What on earth has gotten into you, Draco?"

"Common sense?"

Pansy drew herself up and tossed her head. "More like foolishness. Your father would ha"

"My father," Draco said viciously, "is dead." He spun on his heel and strode toward the bank, leaving Pansy standing in the street staring after him, bewildered. She glanced quickly at Neville, who shrugged idly.

"So what did you want to talk to him about?" Neville asked her, mostly to watch her stiffen up and wrinkle her nose at him like an angry sharpei.

"I hardly think it's any business of yours!"

"It is if I choose to make it my business," Neville replied. "And if you decide to harass him, I just might."

Pansy turned to look up at him in disgust. "I'm not harassing anyone. I didn't know having a conversation with an old friend was harassment. If anyone here is doing any harassing, its you! Threatening people on the street!"

"A friend, are you?" Neville glanced meaningfully at Draco's retreating back, then looked down at Pansy. "I just thought I'd mention that if someone - a friend, say - were to try to drag Mr. Malfoy into anything he didn't want to take part in, that friend would find themselves extremely sorry."

"Squib!" Pansy hissed at him, which only made him grin.

"Watch yourself, Mrs. Flint," Neville said happily. "You do remember that you're still under surveillance, I trust?" He pointedly brushed at the badge on the breast of his cloak that proclaimed his Auror status and winked.

She growled under her breath and whirled around, flouncing down the street toward the Leaky Cauldron. Neville shrugged and started after Draco; he caught up to him across from Flourish and Blotts and fell into step beside him. Draco's face was set, jaw clenched. "It seems everyone is happy to see you today," Neville noted.

Draco made a disgusted noise.

"Did you know she married Marcus Flint?"

"No, I did not."

"Ah, well, she did. She's also under Ministry surveillance for suspected dabbling in the Dark Arts. She plea-bargained her way out of a prison sentence after the War, but she still likes to play," Neville said lightly. "Maybe you should have a little talk with her."

Draco shot a death glare at Neville out of the corner of his eye. "I am not here to be some sort of spy for your Ministry."

"Just a suggestion."

"Sod off."

"I'm just saying, if you ever do want to do a favour for the Ministry, Cecil would love to have you. And I'm sure Pansy would be delighted to talk to you," Neville said,
snickering.

"Longbottom, you're not nearly as funny as you think you are," Draco scowled.

"No sense of humour, that's your problem, Malfoy."

Draco stopped dead and whirled on him. "It is not funny! I highly doubt you'd find it quite so amusing if it were you people accosted on the street trying to lure you into the Dark Arts!"

Neville blinked, startled. Draco was glaring at him, practically trembling, his face a stiff mask of anger. "Probably not," he said slowly. Draco turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving Neville shaking his head, bewildered.

~*~

Draco's bad mood lasted through the rest of the afternoon and the entire train ride to Bath, which he spent slumped in his first-class compartment, glaring at the darkness outside the window. And he'd been in such a good mood when he woke up that morning...damn Pansy fucking Parkinson anyway. And damn Neville, for suggesting that Draco immerse himself in the Dark Arts again, even in jest. Draco knew he was being irrational, and he knew he was being unfair to Neville, who really didn't deserve to be the focus of his ire, but he didn't much care. Just the idea of being dragged back into the whole stupid mess set him on edge. Draco had closed the door on that period of his life, and nothing on earth would make him open it again.

He knew he shouldn't have come back.

It was bad enough that he had to keep coming back to Malfoy Manor, never mind taking up Dark magic, even for show, Draco thought as he collected his rented car and started the long drive out to Chipping Sodbury. He hadn't even know that he still owned the manor until a tidy little goblin from Gringotts had sent an owl to him care of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, not long after he'd started working with Neville. The letter had informed him that the bulk of the Malfoy estate - lands, investments and savings - was his to dispose of as he saw fit, if Draco would be so kind as to stop by the Diagon Alley offices at his convenience. How the goblins had known he was back in England, Draco didn't know, and was actually rather afraid to ask.

The estate was quite extensive; Lucius had been nothing if not thorough in protecting his investments, and had secured the bulk of his finances in places the government couldn't get to, just in case. The end result was that now that Lucius and Narcissa were both dead, Draco was very, very rich indeed, at least in the wizarding world. The money itself was actually a bit intimidating; Draco had assumed that all of it had been confiscated after the war, and he'd long since gotten used to being, if not poor, then at least solidly working class during the last 10 years. Having unlimited money was a novel experience, and one Draco was enjoying to the fullest, mostly by spending the money any way he could.

One of the downsides of Draco's newly rediscovered wealth, however, was the matter of dealing with things like Malfoy Manor. At the insistence of the fussy goblin who had appointed himself Draco's banker, Draco had agreed to come to the manor and catalogue - or at least, look over - the property and furnishings and decide what he wanted done with it. So Draco spent several days a week at the manor, taking the train from Bath to London and staying in a small hotel in the city in between trips.

Draco turned the car onto the road leading up to the Manor, steering carefully to avoid the potholes left after twelve years of abandonment. The house itself, looming dark and forbidding at the end of the drive, was little more than a shell now, but it still retained an unpleasant aura of old magic and ghosts. All the traps and protective charms had been stripped from the house and grounds, all the Dark Arts paraphernalia carted away, most of the finer works of art confiscated by God knew who. The Ministry had done a thorough job of going over the property after the war, taking apart curses and charms and removing anything even remotely harmful. Or valuable, Draco thought with disgust. Noble-minded freedom fighters they might have been, but that didn't stop them from lifting the silverware

He parked in the carriage yard and got out of the car, climbing up the front steps with a sigh. The huge oak door opened with a creak to reveal the vast entry hall, dominated by a huge sweeping staircase. Draco had resisted hiring any staff to look after things while he was in London, so the house was vacant, his footfalls echoing back from the ceiling the only sound as he crossed the hall. Candles lit up at his approach, and faded back into darkness as he passed, and even that slight exhibition of magic was enough to make him twitch. It was odd how, after years of refusing to use magic, he'd quickly gotten almost used to the small, homey charms that Neville and Ginny tended to use, to open doors or dry dishes or (in Ginny's case) to tie stray shoelaces without having to chase down small children, yet a minor charm like the candle-lighter in his parents house could still make him nervous.

Draco paced across the study and stood in front of the huge fireplace, the fire lighting at his approach, crackling sullenly and casting flickering shadows over the heavy furniture and empty bookshelves. Lucius Malfoy had had one of the most extensive Dark Arts libraries in England, possibly in all of Europe, but the books were all gone now, probably locked up in the restricted section of the Dumbledore Library. Lucius would have hated knowing that his precious books were being studied and handled, catalogued and pored over by anyone with an interest, held in a Library named for one of the people Lucius had hated most in the world. Draco thought it poetic justice.

The study was full of dark, heavy furniture, most of it too heavy to move easily, which was why it was still here and not furnishing some enterprising Ministry officials home. The massive oak desk in the corner was the most dominant piece, seeming to draw the eye from everywhere in the room. Draco moved toward it almost
unconsciously, pausing in the same place he had stood countless times during his childhood, back straight, feet together, head bowed.

Discipline. He could almost hear his fathers clipped voice, repeating that word over and over. Discipline, strength, ruthlessness, mercilessness. These are what bring rewards. These are what lead to success. These things will required of you at all times. I expect no less from my son.

Lucius had never raised a hand to his family. It had never been required; his voice was as effective a lash as he had ever needed. Draco knew that all too well. How many times had he stood in this spot after committing some crime or other, waiting to be acknowledged while his father wrote letters or read one of his ancient tomes, silent until Lucius gave him leave to voice his apologies?

I'm sorry, Father. For breaking the window, for flying my broom in the garden without permission, for speaking out of turn, for not beating Potter at Quidditch, for not making top grades on my OWLs. For being something other than a paper cutout of you. For wanting to get out. For wanting to have my own life to take, or to live as I pleased. For -

Draco forced his head up, forced himself to step forward and lean one hip against the desk defiantly. "But I'm not," he said defiantly, his voice unexpectedly loud in the silent room. "I'm not sorry. For any of it." His father was dead, and his rules with him.

Barely a whisper. Discipline. Draco whipped his head around, a faint breeze lifting strands of pale hair to dance around his face. Was it the dancing light cast by the candelabra on the desk that made the curtains seem to move of their own volition? He froze, eyes moving from shadow to shadow. Nothing is here, he told himself sternly. You're imagining things, he is dead, you watched him die. There's nothing here.

He shut his eyes, only to snap them open immediately as a breeze, light and gentle as silk, brushed against his cheek. The sound of his breathing was harsh in the silent, empty room. There is nothing here.

Nothing.

The very silence in the house seemed reproachful, mocking.

Draco retreated to the door of the study, then to the oaken front door, pausing in the entryway to stare up the staircase that dominated the hall. He was being ridiculous, he knew that. The house was empty, there was nothing here, he should just climb the stairs and find his room and go to bed. He stood immobile at the foot of the stair for an endless moment, until the faint, directionless wind tapped at his face again, stirring his hair lightly. Draco jumped, spun around, yanked open the door and all but ran down the steps. That is it. He wasn't staying in this place another minute.

He'd go to Gringotts first thing in the morning. They could sell the house, renovate it, tear it down, burn it to the ground for all he cared. He was done with all of it; all the ghosts, real or imagined, all the pain, all the recriminations and fear and false assumptions. It could all rot.

Like his father.

~*~

It was nearly a week before Neville managed to find time to call Ginny and arrange to meet her for lunch. She sent the children off to her mother in order to run errands, dropped by the Ministry and let Neville dragged her off to the Leaky Cauldron. They both nodded and smiled at the other wizards and witches in the bar room as they entered and old Tom led them to a small table near the back, shedding their cloaks in the warmth of the bar.

"Who knew that you were so impossible to get a hold of?" Neville said laughing as he pulled out a chair for Ginny then seated himself. "Ill have my usual, Tom, and I think Ginny would like shepherds pie." Neville raised an eyebrow inquiringly at Ginny, who nodded.

"I'm not impossible, and I'm not the one who's difficult to get hold of. I've sent you messages, you know," Ginny said reproachfully as she sat down. "And got no reply, I might add."

Neville blushed slightly. "Yes, well, you have a point. Its as much my fault, isn't it? Past time we got together and talked."

"I've been expecting this, actually," Ginny replied. "I figured Hermione would talk to you about Draco, and that it was only a matter of time before you decided to check in."

Neville smiled sheepishly. "I should probably have got in touch earlier than I have. I feel like a heel, waiting 'til you start dating Draco to talk to you. We don't talk as often as we should anymore."

"I know." Ginny leaned forward and gave Neville a quick pat on the arm. "I meant to owl you myself, actually. I have Ron and Hermione checking in every other day to make sure things are going well, meaning has he dumped you and left you sobbing and heartbroken like the evil, despicable cad he is? I need a different perspective...any alternative to that sort of thing is quite welcome."

Neville laughed. "Are they really?"

Ginny nodded. "Oh, yes. More Ron than Hermione. At least Hermione is subtle...Ron all but says that sort of thing outright. I think hell only be happy if I do come out and say yes, he's left me flat, the horrible bastard. The only reason he's being at all tolerant is because Hermione's keeping him under control, and he hasn't really come into close contact with Draco."

"And thank the Founders for that," Neville said with feeling.

"You're telling me. How would I explain that to the kids? "I'm sorry darlings, Uncle Ronnie killed Mummy's boyfriend."

Neville raised an eyebrow at Gin. "Boyfriend?"

She flushed pink and ducked her head. "Well...what else should I call him? The man who comes round and visits sometimes and buys ice cream, with occasional dinner dates and sometime snogs? Though it does feel a bit odd to have a boyfriend at my age."

"Yes, because you're so old, over there on the good side of thirty," Neville snorted. "So...snogs?"

Ginny grinned. "Ah...I see where this is going. You want details."

"Who, me?" Neville batted his eyelashes at her and tried to look innocent.

"Did Hermione put you up to this?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

"Actually, no. I just wanted to get the other side of the story, as it were." Ginny's eyes widened. "He told you about it?"

"Not so much. Well, more like not at all," Neville admitted. "But he does get this kind of goofy little smile whenever he's seen you or is thinking about you. And you cheer him up, which is nice because he was in a downright foul mood all this week, until he talked to you."

"Really?" Ginny looked pleased.

"Yes, really. Although I don't think he realizes, or he wouldn't be so obvious about it." Neville smiled as Ginny giggled. "Its quite disgustingly cute, actually."

"I don't know that cute is a word I'd use to describe Draco," Ginny said, still giggling. "Handsome, yes, gorgeous, yes, cute...not so much."

"Got a point there. He's too angular to be cute."

"But such angles!"

"Why, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've been ogling Mr. Malfoy." Neville shook his head and grinned as she shook her head vigorously. "Yes, I rather think you have been. Honestly, you're as bad as Lavender. He's not a sex object, you know."

"Not yet, anyway." Ginny grinned wickedly.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said so."

"Oh, so you won't tell me what he thinks of me, but it's perfectly all right for you to tell him what I say about him?"

Neville snorted. "We don't talk about you. He doesn't talk about anything personal."

Ginny sighed at that. "He's so..." She trailed off, poking at the tabletop.

"So...?" Neville prompted. "So what?"

She frowned, brushing a stray curl off her face. "I don't know how to describe it. He's so--so contained. He's not hard to get along with, he's not mean, he's terribly polite, he's always darling to the children, he always answers if I ask him a direct question, yet I always have the feeling that he's hiding things. Not necessarily in a bad way, just that there are things he won't tell me. Like there are things he doesn't want me to know. Harry used to do that too, and it drove me crazy."

"Maybe its just that he's not comfortable with sharing some things with you yet," Neville said. "You've only been seeing each other for 2 months or so. If that."

"That's true. It just seems like sometimes all hell give me is superficial information. Like, I asked him when we were out last week to tell me about Canada, and while I did get a very interesting description of the major exports of some place with an incomprehensible name, he didn't tell me anything about who he'd met, or where he stayed, or if he has any friends there..." Ginny shrugged. "Well, you know what I mean."


"I guess he's got a right to keep some things to himself. You haven't told him your whole life story, have you? I mean, have you told him about, oh, the whole story behind how you and Harry split up?"

"Touché. No, I haven't," Ginny winced. "He got the watered-down version I give to strangers."

Neville offered a sympathetic smile. "The we grew apart one?"

"Well, I'd only just met him," Ginny said defensively, twisting an auburn curl around one finger. "I wasn't going to trot out the whole sordid tale. And its not like the short version isn't true to an extent."

"You cant blame him for keeping things from you if you're doing the same thing," Neville pointed out reasonably.

"I know, and its not that, really. Its just" Ginny stopped and sighed. "It seems strange to say it, but I really do want this to work out. I want all the hard, awkward, getting-to-know-you bits to be over already so we can get to the happy bits."

Neville raised an eyebrow. "Happy bits? That sounds...rather racy. Tell me more." Ginny laughed. "I meant the laughing at silly things, and kissing and goofing around and cuddling and bits. The fun things. Not racy bits. Not that I would object to racy bits, mind you."

"So Mr. Malfoy has been a perfect gentleman thus far?"

Ginny blushed again. "Yes. Although I think if Ron and 'Mione hadn't been upstairs last week, I think he would have been somewhat less of a gentleman, and done more than just kiss me goodnight on my front step." She pouted a bit. "Damn Harry anyway."

"He a good kisser?" Neville asked, then clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. "Um...never mind, I didn't ask that."

Ginny's eyes went wide, then she whooped with laughter and half-fell out of her chair. Neville went red and tried to hide his face in the tablecloth. "Oh my God! Neville, are you thinking nasty things about my man?"

"No! Nonono! I didn't ask! I didn't mean it! No!"

"You are!"

"No!"

"You are! Oh my, that's blackmail material, that is. Don't cross me now, or I'll tell Draco that you're lusting after him!"

"I am not lusting after him! I'm not!" Neville groaned and uncovered his face, propping his chin on one hand. "At least, I'm trying not to. Though, I doubt he'd be all that surprised. I think he knows."

Ginny blinked. "What, that you think he's gorgeous? He doesn't know you're..." She trailed off, knowing how uncomfortable it made Neville to talk about it.

"Um. He does, actually. He's known practically since he got back. He guessed."

"Guessed? How?"

"I have no idea. Said he had a hunch. He's good at that sort of thing, guessing things you'd rather have him not know. Makes him good at being an Auror, but he's hard to keep secrets from. You might want to bear that in mind."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at Neville, but her response was interrupted by the arrival of Tom, who brought their food and shuffled off again. Ginny waited until the old barkeep was out of earshot before replying. "Well, its not like I have a great many secrets to keep, so I don't think that will be a problem."

"I know, I just meant that it would be difficult to hide anything from him. I mean, if he could guess something about me in three weeks that Hermione hasn't guessed in almost twenty years..."

"Yes, but you didn't even know 'til after graduation, so its not really Hermione's fault she hasn't figured it out yet. And while 'Mione is brilliant at most things, she can be dreadfully unobservant." Ginny gazed at Neville seriously. "But back to our original topic. If you want me to spill details such as is Draco a good kisser, then you have to give me details too, and share what you know of his shrouded past."

Neville frowned at her. "There's not much to share. He doesn't talk to me any more than he talks to you. Probably less, really. He's been in Canada, he isn't a death eater, he doesn't like to be around magic anymore and he has absolutely no interest whatsoever in his old friends or in the Dark Arts." He described the meeting with Pansy the week before. "And then he damn near bit my head off when I joked that he should meet with her."

Ginny made a face. "I never did like Pansy Parkinson. And besides, she's married to that awful Flint man."

Neville gave her a lopsided grin. "Jealous?"

"Not at all!" Ginny snorted. "Jealous of Pansy Parkinson? That'll be the day."

He nodded sagely. "Jealous."

Ginny jabbed her fork at him. "I am not! What's to be jealous of anyway? She's a nasty little piece of work and terribly unattractive, and I am - "

"Harry Potter's ex-wife."

Ginny visibly deflated. "Please don't tell me that he's only using me for revenge on Harry. I've already been through it with 'Mione and with Ron, and I'd really rather not do it again."

"I wasn't going to say that, actually, just pointing out an obvious fact. Draco does not like Harry, and although he likes you a great deal, I think you should be prepared for things not to go as smoothly as you might wish," Neville said. "And speaking of Harry, have you told him yet?"

Ginny blanched. "No, not yet."

"Are you going to tell him sometime in the near future?"

"I'm getting to it," she said irritably. "Ill tell him eventually."

"You'd better or he'll find out from someone else. I'm pretty sure Lavender knows that you and Draco are dating, and if Lavender knows something then all of England might as well. Or he might pull a Ron and get it from one of the children, and then where will you be? Harry is not exactly rational on the subject of Draco Malfoy."

"I will tell him," Ginny repeated. "Soon." She paused. "Ish."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Want me to do it?"

"Oh, yes, that'd go over swimmingly, wouldn't it? He's already had his issues with you, I'm sure he'd take it ever so well if you told him about Draco."

Neville shrugged. "Just offering."

"I know, and I know you mean well, but you know what Harry's like when he's angry."

Neville rolled his eyes. "Do I ever."

Ginny paused and set her fork down. "I don't know if I ever told you how grateful I was to have you after he and I split up. Everything you went through for me...I really appreciated it."

"'Twas nothing, really." Neville blushed and looked down at his plate. "What friends do for each other. You know that."

Ginny smiled. "Yes, I know. Thank you anyway."

"You can thank me by telling Harry about Draco," Neville said with a sly grin. "Since I don't relish the idea of losing my partner to the wrath of Harry Potter."

"I will," Ginny said placatingly. "I promise I will."

~*~

NB: The self-lighting candles are from Robin McKinley's Beauty: A Retelling of the Story of Beauty and the Beast, which is an enchanting book and well worth reading again and again. The idea that Malfoy Manor is near Chipping Sodbury (which is,
in fact, a small town near Bath, although its closer to Bristol) is from Cassandra Claire's DD/DS/DV series.

December, 2010

"Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives."
- C.S. Lewis

~*~

He was running late, again.

Draco took the Library steps two at a time, sliding neatly around the gaggle of teenage witches hovering near the doors, and stepped inside. He paused in the foyer to catch his breath, dust the snowflakes off the shoulders of his jacket and run a quick hand through his hair. He had foregone his normal suit and neat ponytail in favour of jeans and a heavy sweater under a leather winter jacket; he was well aware that he didn't exactly blend in with the crowds of wizards in woolen robes and winter-weight cloaks, but didn't much care. Draco strode past Ms. Phillips at her desk and up the long aisle to the staircase. Dumbledore winked at him as he went past, and Draco couldn't help but smile slightly at the twinkle in the old man's painted eye. He paused at the top of the stairs and glanced around the mezzanine, searching for a telltale flash of red hair. He finally spotted it, tucked in a corner near the back.

He smiled again, and headed toward the table Ginny had taken over. She was wearing deep blue robes today, with trim black pants underneath. Her hair was loose over her shoulders, and shone in the light from the windows above like fire as she bent over the table, writing furiously. She paused occasionally to chew on the end of her quill, tilting her head and furrowing her forehead in concentration in a way that Draco privately thought was adorable. He stopped directly behind her and slid his hands up her arms and over her shoulders, letting her curls slide over his fingers like silk.

"Hello," he murmured, lowering his head so that his lips were inches from her ear. Ginny jumped slightly, then turned her head toward him and rested her cheek against his.

"Hello," she whispered back. She pulled her head back far enough so she could look into his eyes. "You're late."

Draco looked sheepish. "I know, sorry." He straightened up and sank into the chair beside her, capturing her left hand and twining his fingers with hers. "Got caught in traffic, and it took me longer to get here than I thought it would."

"Excuses, excuses," Ginny grinned. "Actually, it's alright. To be honest, I got caught up and didn't notice."

Draco eyed the piles of books and paper with interest. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Research. I'm working on a story for Witch Weekly, and this - " she waved her free hand at the mess on the table " - is background material."

"What's the story on?" he asked, tilting one of the books toward him.

"Recent advances in medical magic. Did you know, they're beginning to do research on curing things like leukemia and blood-transmitted viruses with magic? There's a huge debate going on right now over whether wizards have the moral obligation to share our advances with Muggles if anything comes of the research being done now."

Draco nodded. "Interesting."

Ginny shot him a sidelong glance and freed her hand so that she could gather up her papers. "Yes, you sound interested," she said wryly.

"Well, I'm a cop. I only arrest people, I don't heal them."

"It falls into the realm of public service, doesn't it? As a policeman or a doctor, you're still doing good for your community. All the same sort of thing."

Draco snorted. "More or less. Bit less than more, lately."

"Work trouble?"

"Work frustration. It's horribly disconcerting to know I'm being constantly outsmarted by a couple of teenage thugs."

"What are they doing, anyway?" Ginny asked with curiosity. She began busily packing her books and papers into her shoulder bag (It seemed to have the same charm on it as the backpack she took grocery shopping, because she was fitting an alarming amount of paper in it and it didn't seem to be getting any fuller). "You keep saying you're following people, but not why."

"There's two of them, and they're robbing banks."

"What?" Ginny stopped to gape at Draco. "You can't rob Gringott's! It's not possible!"

"Not wizard banks, Muggle banks," Draco said. "It'd make my life much easier if they did take a crack at Gringott's. No, these boys know their limits and are sticking to people who can't fight back. They go in, use Imperious and an amusing array of other Dark spells on the tellers, steal the money, Memory Charm anyone within reach and leave. Use magic to take out the security cameras, disarm electrical security systems, make bank guards look the other way, leave no fingerprints, no magical traces, no real patterns...I don't even know what the one looks like. All we've got so far is a small pendant with a charm on it we can't identify. They're actually rather clever about it. I'm honestly surprised no one's thought of it before." Draco looked at Ginny seriously. "And you don't know any of this, by the way. I'm only telling you because I doubt you'll try to use any of their ideas."

"Good to know you trust me," Ginny said with asperity. "Next time I rob a bank, I'll be sure not to mention your name."

"See that you don't, you'll ruin my reputation," Draco smirked. Ginny rolled her eyes at him and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, gathering up her cloak, which had been draped over one of the chairs.

"Well, I'd hate to do that, but if you're still willing to be seen with me, I'll let you take me for lunch." She smiled up at him and he grinned back and reached out to brush a stray curl off her cheek.

"I would be delighted," Draco said softly. Then he cleared his throat and looked around. "But not around here, if you don't mind."

"Oh! Oh, of course not," Ginny said quickly. She turned to make her way to the stair, talking over her shoulder. "I even wore something I could get away with wearing in Muggle London, because I thought that would be where we'd go." She twirled around on the landing, showing off her robes, which were cut like a duster, split up the front to her hips, then buttoned up to her throat with a mandarin collar. "It's not quite robes, and not quite a dress, so I thought it'd do for either."

Draco made a show of leaning back and sizing her up. "I suppose it'll do," he said dubiously, and she hit him lightly on the arm. "Ow!" Draco laughed as he backed out of range. "If you hit me, I won't take you anywhere."

Ginny laughed and winked at him. "Just trying to keep you in line," she said. Draco made innocent noises as he followed Ginny the rest of the way down the stairs and out to the front door of the library.

They made their way up to the Leaky Cauldron and out to Charing Cross Road. Draco paused, looking up the street. "Well, we could go find my car and drive, or just walk and see if we find an interesting place to eat."

"Let's walk. It's not too cold to be outside, and I've been stuck in the Library all morning," Ginny said. "We can be leisurely and stroll around and look at Christmas decorations. Or do you have to be somewhere this afternoon?"

"Not really. Neville said he'd call me if he heard anything interesting, but he's got other things to work on this afternoon, so I'm pretty much free," Draco replied. He took her hand as they started walking up the road, stopping occasionally to admire the decorations in the store windows.

"I love Christmas," Ginny sighed happily. "It's so cozy. All trees and presents and Christmas carols and spending time with family... Oh, and speaking of family, I meant to ask you what you were doing for the holidays." She looked up at Draco anxiously. "Because if you're not going anywhere, you're welcome to come to my parents' for dinner. They wouldn't mind...we're all always bringing people over; Neville's coming this year, and they'd be happy to have you."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"

"Of course," Ginny replied. "It's Christmas, they wouldn't mind at all. And Harry wouldn't be there, if that's what you're worried about. He spends Christmas Eve with Sirius."

Ah," Draco said. "Well, thank you, but actually, I'm going home for Christmas."

"Home?" Ginny looked at him inquiringly.

"To Calgary. Well, Fort Macleod, actually."

"Oh." Ginny walked along thoughtfully for a minute. "Where's-"

Draco laughed. "Southern Alberta, about 3 hours south of Calgary. I really am going to buy you an atlas for Christmas."

"Actually, I'd prefer a new cloak, if you don't mind. Mine's getting rather ragged, you know." Ginny grinned at him, winking to let him know she was teasing.

"I'll bear that in mind. But yes, I am going back to Alberta for the holidays. Not long though, just for a few days."

"Ah." Ginny nodded, then said nothing, scuffing her feet on the sidewalk as they strolled. She was biting at her bottom lip, as if she were thinking about something very hard.

Draco squeezed her hand. "You want to ask me something, don't you?" he asked gently.

Ginny blushed. "No...it's just a bit strange to think of you having a home anywhere but here. You never seem to talk about it."

"It never occurs to me to bring it up, actually." Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I know everyone, and what they're like, and just between you and me, they're really rather boring." He smiled slightly.

"'They'?" Ginny asked interestedly, then stopped awkwardly. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry."

"I don't mind, really," Draco said. "Half the time it never even occurs to me to mention things. And I feel sort of silly, talking about my life now. Not talking about home, exactly, just having to explain what it means to me. I can never think of a way to without having it sound...trite. You know, 'this is the family I've chosen' and all that greeting-card sap. Hate that."

Ginny laughed. "That doesn't mean you can't tell me about them. I promise not to think of you in rhyming couplets or two line platitudes."

Draco smiled and shook his head. "Thank you, I think. You really want to know?"

His smile deepened as Ginny nodded enthusiastically. "All right." He frowned thoughtfully. "It's a long story, though."

Ginny laughed. "We do have time."

"All right then." He paused consideringly. "I suppose I should start at the beginning. I ended up in Toronto in June of '98, and started making my way west for lack of anything better to do. I ran out of money in Winnipeg, and was hitchhiking and sort of scraping by, still heading more or less west, more because it seemed like the thing to do than out of any desire to see the West Coast. At the time, I knew about as much about Canadian geography as you do." He smiled and tugged at her hand.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. "I'll petition to have them add it to the Hogwarts curriculum," she said.

"Hey, it would have been useful to me. Anyway, there's not much there but grass and more grass, it sort of feels like you have to keep moving just to be doing something. So I kept hitching west, spent a little while in Swift Current - which is in Saskatchewan - but not long. By October, I'd made it as far as Lethbridge, which is also in Southern Alberta, before you ask, and a man named Ed MacDouglas stopped and picked me up on the highway. He offered to take me as far as Fort Macleod, and I fell asleep in his truck, to my everlasting shame. It was freezing out, and he didn't want to dump me in town in the cold in the middle of the night, so he took me to his house instead. He and his wife Anne have a ranch southwest of town, and they let me stay with them for a while. They have three sons, and they used to be foster parents."

He stopped at Ginny's confused look. "It's a Muggle thing. They take in children whose own families can't or won't care for them, and the government pays them money for doing it. Anyway, they have 3 sons of their own, although by that time, Keith had moved into his own house, and Jay had moved to Calgary, so only Mark was still at home, and 2 or 3 official foster kids still around when I met them, and probably 2 or 3 kids, like me, who were there just because we didn't have any place else to go. 'Strays', Anne used to call us. It was usually a pretty crowded place. So I stayed there for a while, helped out on the ranch for the first few months, learned that I will never, ever be a cowboy, no matter how hard I try - " Draco stopped walking as Ginny burst out laughing. "What? It's true, I won't."

"I'm just trying to picture you as a cowboy," she said between giggles.

Draco tugged at her hand again. "It's not that funny," he grumbled. "And it was only because I'm not actually all that good with farm animals that I am a cop and not a ranch hand," he said, with as much dignity as he could muster with Ginny hanging off his hand and tittering. "Stop that. Do you want to hear this or not?"

"I'm sorry, carry on," Ginny said, taking a deep breath. "Though I think you'd look quite dashing in a cowboy hat."

"I'm sure I have a picture somewhere," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. "If it amuses you so much, I'll find one and give it to you. Anyway..." He glared at Ginny, who had started giggling again. "While I was there, I met John, who was one of the official foster kids...one of their first, in fact. He's a lawyer now, though he was still in university at the time, and we became quite good friends. I moved to Calgary with him the year after I arrived there, when I finally admitted that my career as a ranch-hand was doomed to be a short one." He stopped to scowl at Ginny again, who was trying to muffle her snickering. "If you don't stop, I won't tell you the rest."

"Sorry, sorry." Ginny took several deep breaths and managed to get her laughter under control. "Go on."

"Now I can't remember what I was going to say," Draco grumbled.

"Something about John," Ginny reminded him. "See? I'm paying attention."

"Right. John." He paused again, collecting his thoughts, then continued. "John is directly responsible for changing a lot of the things I thought about the world. He's a big guy, and he's native, so people tend to see him and think, "big dumb Indian", and assume he's not too bright. Usually to their detriment, because he is the smartest person I have ever met," Draco said with a laugh. "He taught me a great deal about the dangers of stereotyping. Not overnight, mind you. He likes to remind me constantly that I was rather insufferable when I first arrived in Canada." He laughed softly. "If I am a changed man, it's largely his doing. He's a good person. And patient. And bigger than me...he used to take great pleasure in pounding on me if he thought I was being a git. If someone who is six feet six and weighs 250 pounds takes exception to your behaviour...well, I learned fast."

Ginny had to laugh at that. "He sounds like a nice guy. Is he the one who - "

"Wanted me to join the RCMP, yes. Against Anne's wishes; she didn't want me to. But I did anyway, in the spring of 2000, and got transferred back to Calgary after I did my training. John and I actually own a house together, and he has threatened me with dire consequences if I don't go back for Christmas. I'm his surprise for Anne; we've been telling her I was staying here so that we could surprise the hell out of her when I get there."

"You own a house?" Ginny asked, wide-eyed.

Draco nodded. "I do. Not a big house, mind you, just a little one. It's basically a little box." Draco gestured a square with one hand. "It's got two small bedrooms upstairs, and a little living room and a tiny kitchen, and we developed the basement, so there's another bedroom down there, and a sort of den. All told, it's probably smaller than your apartment. Big yard though."

"Oh," Ginny said softly. Draco glanced at her; she looked pensive and vaguely worried. He stopped suddenly and turned to her, holding onto her hand so that she spun to face him. Ginny gasped in astonishment as he pulled her against his chest. "What?" she said uncertainly.

"I'll show it to you someday, if you want," Draco said softly, smiling down at her.

"I'd like that," Ginny smiled. "So have you given any thought to what you'll do when you finish your case?"

Draco sighed. "If we finish it...I have the sinking feeling that the only way we're going to catch them is if they screw up. As it is, I've done one or two things for Scotland Yard , and I'm helping Neville with a few other things here and there. Nothing much, but it's work. Gives me something to do while we wait. His boss is a bit overbearing, I must say."

Ginny had sat through Neville's ranting more than once, when Cecil Dobbins was being particularly demanding, and she grinned at Draco's understatement. "He's a good Auror, though."

"Who, Neville, or Cecil?"

"Cecil."

"Yes. Loud, but good. Smart man," Draco nodded.

"Have you decided what you'll do, though? After you finish?"

He sighed and shook his head. "Not really. Cross that bridge when I come to it, I suppose. Neville keeps reminding me that Cecil would love to offer me a job, but I do already have one."

"I expect you've got lots of reasons to stay in Canada," Ginny said quietly. "It sounds like you're quite happy there."

"There are reasons to stay here, too," he said softly, and leaned sideways to brush his lips against her forehead. Then he stopped, wrapped both arms around her waist and lifted her up a few inches, so that she was at eye level, then spun her in a small circle. Ginny shrieked and clutched at his shoulders, laughing. "What are you doing?"

Draco stopped, but didn't put her down. "Nothing," he said, still smiling, and kissed her.

She tangled her hands in his hair and melted against him, smiling against his mouth. They stayed there, in the middle of the sidewalk kissing, until a group of teenage boys strode past and around them, hooting and yelling, "Get a room!". Draco set Ginny back on her feet as they broke apart, laughing. Ginny slipped her arm around his waist and leaned against his side as they started walking again.

They were halfway to Trafalger before they found a quiet restaurant to have lunch in.They spent a leisurely hour over sandwiches and tea before wandering back up the other side of the street toward the Leaky Cauldron. They stopped on the street corner before the entrance to the pub, and Draco took Ginny's hands in his. "Will I see you before Christmas?" Draco asked.

Ginny frowned. "I'm not sure. I've got the article to finish, and Mum can't take the kids again before Christmas, so all my free time will be spent watching them. We can try, though. Weekend after next is Harry's so I'll be child-free for a bit."

"All right. I'll call you, then. Have a good day." He smiled down at her then leaned forward to brush his lips against hers. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," she whispered back, and dropped his hands reluctantly before turning to go into the Cauldron and back to the Library.

~*~

Christmas Eve, 2010

Neville arrived at Ginny's flat around mid-afternoon and let himself in. "Hullo," he called, walking into the kitchen. William was sitting on the kitchen floor, amusing himself by banging a wooden spoon against the linoleum.

"Have you talked to Draco?" Neville asked as Ginny rushed past him.

"Not since the beginning of the month...he's been busy and I was swamped with research, and Harry decided to leave the kids with me on his weekend again, and it's just been too crazy," she called over her shoulder. "And he left for Canada this morning. Be a dear and grab Willie for me, can you?"

Neville obliged, wandering further into the kitchen and scooping up William. "What time are we supposed to be at your parents?"

Ginny appeared in the archway between the living room and kitchen, Jamie in tow. "Sometime in the afternoon, was all Mum said. Once I get the monsters organized, we can go." She rushed over to the refrigerator and pulled out a large casserole dish. "Will you carry this for me? I'll take William."

They switched, Ginny collected Sarah and Jamie, and soon they spilled into the living room of the Burrow in a shower of ash and soot. Ginny dusted Sarah and Jamie off and sent them in search of their myriad cousins, and held desperately on to William as he tried to make an escape for the floor. "Willie, stop that, I'll put you down in a minute. Neville, get the door?"

Neville rushed to open the door to the hall, juggling Ginny's casserole in one hand while she wrestled with Willie. Finally she gave up and set him on the ground, where he immediately made a beeline for the staircase. Ginny sighed and started after him. "Willie, get back here! God help us all when he's old enough to fly."

George's wife Natalie, a tiny, sweet-faced woman who had been two years behind Ginny in Gryffindor, appeared in the hall and scooped William up before he could make it to the stairs. "Hullo, Ginny, Neville! I'm just helping Angelina tidy some things...the boys are all in the kitchen. Want me to keep an eye on Wills here?"

"If you could, Nat, that would be darling, thanks. I'll come collect him once we get everything away." Ginny waved gratefully as Natalie disappeared with William, then led Neville the other way down the hall to the kitchen.

The small kitchen hadn't got noticeably bigger over the years; it was still too small to fit more than 8 people comfortably at the table, so most family dinners (with all the Weasleys, wives, children, friends and various other visitors) were usually a communal affair, with people helping themselves to food and finding a perch wherever they could in the living room to eat. At Hermione's suggestion, dinner had also become a sort of potluck as well, so that Molly and Arthur wouldn't bear sole expense for the feeding of anywhere from 16 to 30 mouths. The scrubbed wooden table that dominated the low room currently held Fred and George at chairs, and Charlie propped against one end and chatting with the twins. They all looked up and greeted Ginny and Neville as they came in.

"Where is everyone?" Ginny asked, setting the casserole dish down on the counter.

"Two of your monsters just made a mad dash through here to the outdoors, Percy's out there too, being Percy-ish at the rest of the ankle-biters, and Mum is rummaging in the attic looking for Dad's old boots," Charlie told her. "Dad's still at work, Angelina and Natalie are off doing some sort of cleaning thing for Mum, and I haven't the foggiest where Penelope's gone off to. Probably outside trying to stop Percy from spoiling all the fun. Ron and Hermione and the young twins are spending tonight with Harry and Sirius and Remus over at Sirius' place, so they won't be here."

"Ah," Ginny said. She eyed her casserole dish. "I guess I didn't need to make quite so much, then."

George craned his neck. "Is that your bean casserole? If it is, don't worry, it'll get eaten."

Ginny beamed at him. "Well, thank you. Always nice to see my cooking is appreciated."

Fred gasped at his twin. "Dammit, George, now she's gonna expect us to actually eat the stuff! Good going!"

"Fred!" Ginny brandished her fist at him. "You're such a git."

He snickered and hid behind his copy of the Daily Prophet. "No attacking the man with the news! You'll wreck the paper and I'm not done reading it."

"Reading the comics section that is," Charlie said. "Never let it be said that news is your first priority."

"Hah! I am too reading the news!" Fred flipped the paper around so he could scan the front page. "I'm reading it right now, see? Well, would you look at this," Fred said suddenly. He cleared his throat and read: "From Riches to More Riches: Malfoy Manor is Up For Sale."

"What's that?" George asked. He and Charlie moved closer to Fred to see what he was reading. Ginny looked inquiringly at Neville, who shook his head in bewilderment.

"That's the headline," Fred replied, showing the paper to his brothers. "See?"

"I thought all the Malfoys were dead," Charlie said, craning his neck to read over Fred's shoulder.

"I thought they were too." Fred scanned the page again. "It just says here that the lawyers aren't commenting except to say that it's for sale. Maybe they got sick of having to keep it up, decided to liquidate it. Must be easier just to look after money than look after property."

"All the Malfoys aren't dead," George interjected. "Natalie said she was talking to Katie last week, and Katie says that Draco Malfoy is in the Ministry all the time. She says he works there."

"Draco Malfoy? Wasn't he the scrawny little git who hated Harry's guts at Hogwarts? Pale, washed out little bigot with the nasty attitude?" Fred asked.

"That was him...I thought he died after the war, though. Oi, Neville! You work with Katie, don't you? Have you seen Draco 'round the Ministry?" George looked over Fred's shoulder at Neville, who gulped and shot an agonized glance at Ginny. She was glaring at him and trying to shake her head 'no' without looking like she was doing it.

"I - "

"Here, Fred, let us have a read." Charlie interrupted, as he reached over and tried to wrestle the paper from Fred's grip. Fred yelled, distracted.

"Piss off and find your own paper, or wait 'til I'm done," Fred said belligerently, trying to duck away from Charlie and from George, who was leaning over the other side of his chair. Neville shifted closer to Ginny and watched the ensuing scuffle as George and Charlie jumped on top of Fred.

"Argh! Get away!" Fred batted at his brothers furiously. "I had it first!"

"Read it aloud, then!" George gave Fred's throat an extra squeeze before unwrapping his arm from around his brother's neck. He stepped away and sat down in the chair next to his twin, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I would if you'd bloody leave me alone." Fred glared at Charlie until he went and sat down beside George, then straightened the paper out and cleared his throat. "Right, then. 'Malfoy Manor was listed for sale by the law firm responsible for handling the Malfoy estate, this reporter learned yesterday.' Who's this reporter? Oh...Colin Creevey." Fred looked up at Ginny. "Wasn't Colin Creevey the little runtling in your year who worshipped the ground Harry walked on?

"Yes," Ginny said shortly. "You going to read that thing or not?"

"I'm reading, I'm reading. 'The Gringott's representative for the Malfoy estate refused to comment, except to say that the home was determined to be unsuitable for the current owner, and that the decision was made to open the house for sale to interested persons. The Manor, long the ancestral home of the Malfoy family, has lain vacant for the last twelve years. After the end of the war, it was thoroughly examined and cleansed of magic by the Ministry. Malfoy Manor is unplottable but is rumoured to be set on a sizeable portion of land in the country near Bristol. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy fought for Voldemort in the war, and both were killed in The Battle of Hogwarts.' Best thing Harry ever did, next to offing Voldemort, was killing that bastard," Fred interjected, smiling fondly. "Anyway. 'Their son, Draco was seen on the field at the Battle but vanished soon afterwards and has not been seen nor heard of since, although rumours have come to light that he has recently been spotted at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Although the younger Malfoy was recently cleared of involvement in the Dark Arts by the Ministry of Magic, the long history tying the Malfoy name to the practice of Dark Magic cannot be ignored.' And there's another article about Lucius and Narcissa, and a big picture of the house, and another couple of the Malfoys. Cor, but Draco's an ugly little bugger."

Neville made a choked sound and covered his mouth with his hand. Ginny smacked him on the shoulder and hissed at him to shut up as Fred leaned over and showed the pictures to Charlie, who winced exaggeratedly and nodded. The picture of Draco was from the start of his seventh year, and he did rather resemble a half-starved rat, scowling ferociously at the camera.

"What a gossip rag," George said disgustedly. "Look, the whole front page is covered with stories about them. Trash like that on the front page at Christmas time. Who wants to read about dead Death Eaters at a time like this?"

"Nothing like a little human interest story for the holidays." Fred grinned. "Warms the cockles of your heart to know that no matter how bad your Christmas seems, it could always be worse. Could be spending it with someone who looks like that." He tapped the photo of Draco, which snarled at him.

It was Ginny's turn to be suddenly overcome with a violent coughing fit. "I think I need some air," she gasped, and fled for the back porch, Neville on her heels. Charlie and the twins watched them go bemusedly.

Ginny collapsed on the small bench outside the back door, hands over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Neville sat beside her and watched as she giggled, gasping for breath. "Did you know he was selling the Manor?" he asked once she'd got control of herself.

"No...he didn't mention it. Did he tell you?" Ginny wiped at her eyes and glanced inquiringly at Neville.

"No, but then, he wouldn't. I didn't even know he'd stopped going out to Bath." Neville sighed and leaned back on the bench, watching the children tearing around in the garden. There were currently 11 children outside, George and Natalie's daughter, Marjorie and Ginny's William being the sole exceptions; at 3 and 2 respectively, they were really too young to be out in the cold for too long. The children appeared to be gnome-hunting under Percy's supervision, although Neville privately thought that any gnome with sense would have fled from the unstoppable horde of Weasley grandchildren long ago. He watched as Calliope, Fred and Angelina's oldest, scooped up a handful of slushy snow, lobbed it at Percy's head and then fled to join her younger brothers, Timothy and Zachary, behind the old chicken coop. She had her mother's aim; the snowball hit Percy squarely on the back of the head, and he whipped around with a yell, slush dripping off his hair.

"I didn't even know he was staying there in the first place," Ginny said, wiping at her eyes. She glanced at the yard, where Percy had spun around again as Jamie popped up from the other side of the yard and clipped Percy's arm with another slush-ball. "Oh, for - kids!" She stood up suddenly and pulled out her wand, sending a shower of heated sparks toward the third airborne snowball, launched by Timothy this time. It melted in mid-air before it could hit Percy, much to the children's disappointment. "You know what will happen to you if you go dragging muck all over the house! No snowball fights!"

A chorus of groans rose from the yard, even, Neville was amused to notice, from Percy's own children. Apparently picking on their dad was something of a past-time. Ginny sighed and shook her head. "Not that yelling at them is going to help. Pity the poor teachers, when the rest of them are old enough for Hogwarts."

"Who's there now?" Neville asked idly.

"Pelagia and Calliope; Calliope is in Gryffindor, of course, and Pelagia is in Ravenclaw, which is no surprise. She's the spitting image of Penelope. Pembroke starts next year, and he will also be in Ravenclaw, no question. All he ever does is read." She leaned back and sighed. "None of which has anything to do with our conversation. I wonder why he didn't tell anyone he was selling the Manor."

Neville shrugged. "Maybe he didn't want anyone to know. He's like that."

Ginny made a faint disgruntled noise. "I wish he weren't so secretive. Why do I always go for the men who don't talk? Do I have a hidden complex for emotionally unavailable men? Some sort of strong, silent type thing?"

"I talk to you," Neville protested.

"You don't count, we're not dating. And as I recall, not long after we did date, you decided that you were gay."

"You spoiled me for other women." Neville grinned cheekily. "And maybe our Hogwarts romance worked the same way for you, ruined you for anyone else. One dose of the Longbottom mojo and you're spoilt for life."

Ginny sputtered, but Molly appeared on the front step before she could formulate a reply. "Children! Inside, please, dinner is almost ready!" She bustled over to give Neville and Ginny quick hugs. "Didn't see you two come in. Come get washed up!"

"Longbottom mojo?" Ginny hissed at him. "Please!" Neville grinned evilly at her and followed Molly inside to help with dinner, while Ginny went to help a rather relieved looking Percy herd the grandchildren into the house to be washed.

~*~

After supper had been finished and the dishes piled in the sink to be magicked clean later, everyone crowded into the living room, grabbing seats wherever they could. Charlie staked out his portion of the floor, then took the opportunity to head out to the kitchen for refills, collecting glasses from Neville and Angelina on his way by.

"Alright, children...pick your presents," Arthur said, standing by the Christmas tree. Every Christmas Eve, everyone was allowed one present to open in front of Molly and Arthur. The main present-opening would happen at each of their homes on Christmas morning, but Molly didn't want to be deprived of the excitement of watching the children tear into wrapping paper. A small pile of presents appeared by Arthur's chair, and he smiled at his impatiently bouncing grandchildren. "Who wants to go first?"

A chorus of "me, me, me!" was interrupted by Charlie. "Ginny can," he said, coming out from the kitchen holding a paper-wrapped package. "The biggest owl I've ever seen just left this on the porch. Got your name on it."

"Really?" Ginny said in surprise. "How odd. I wasn't expecting anything." Charlie leaned across Fred's lap to hand it to her, and the family watched with interest (and varying degrees of disgruntlement amongst the children) as she unwrapped it carefully. Underneath the brown paper was a package wrapped in gold, tied with a thin silver ribbon. Ginny slowly removed the paper to reveal a box containing a long blue cloak and a large book. The cloak slipped slightly, and Ginny made a grab for it, the soft material sliding across her lap.

"Oh!" Natalie gasped. "Oh, it's beautiful!" She caught a corner of the cloak and held it out. The material was a deep rich blue, made of a soft, felt-like fibre that was smooth and warm to the touch and shone faintly in the glow of the lamps. Ginny stood up to shake out the full length and drape it over her shoulders. It fell to her ankles in shimmering folds, and the hood was lined with soft fur.

Ginny stepped to the centre of the room and spun around, to appreciative murmurs from everyone else. "It's gorgeous!"

"What is that fabric?" asked Angelina, leaning forward to feel the edge of the cloak. Ginny unclasped it and looked at the tag.

"It says it's a blend of alpaca, silk and wool, specially charmed to repel water and store heat. There's a warming charm in the hood, too, I can feel it." She swung it back over her shoulders. "It's lined with silk, I think. Oh, and there's pockets on the inside!"

Natalie sighed jealously. "That must have cost a fortune...who's it from?"

Ginny froze suddenly. "It's...um." She stopped and flushed as Natalie and Angelina watched her with interest. She glanced nervously at Neville, who blinked and shrugged at her. "I - "

"What's the book, Gin?" Fred interrupted loudly. "And who the heck is sending you books anyway? That's more a 'Mione thing, isn't it?"

"Oh, I forgot." Ginny shrugged the cloak off carefully and sat back down, pulling the book from beside the couch cushion, where it had slipped. It was a large book, and heavy, bound in brown leather. She read the cover quickly, then started laughing. "Oh, my God he actually did!"

"What is it?" The whole family was craning their heads, trying to read the cover of the book. Ginny held it up so that they could read the gold embossed lettering, which read Atlas of Canada in curly letters. Neville started laughing uproariously as the rest of the family looked bewildered.

Charlie blinked. "Somebody sent you an atlas of Canada?"

"Is it some sort of joke?" asked George.

"Why is this funny?" Fred demanded of Neville. "I don't get it."

Ginny wiped at her eyes. "He was threatening to get me one, and he really did! I don't believe it!"

"Who?" came a chorus of voices.

Ginny took a deep breath and tried to stop giggling. She glanced up and flushed. "Um...the person I'm seeing."

There was a beat of dead silence before the room exploded with voices.

"What?"

"You're seeing someone?"

"Who?"

"Is he rich?"

"How long has this been going on?"

"Who?"

"Is he Canadian?"

"Who is it?"

Ginny waved her hands, trying to fend off the questions. "One at a time! One at a time! Mum..."

"Now, now, calm down," Molly said, taking charge. She waited until everyone had more or less quieted down before rounding on her daughter angrily. "You're seeing someone?"

"Yes," Ginny said meekly.

"Who?"

Ginny held the book in front of her protectively and said, very quietly, "Draco Malfoy."

There was another absolute silence, then Percy cleared his throat and blinked owlishly. "I'm sorry, Ginny, I could have sworn you just said you were seeing Draco Malfoy."

"That's what I did say," Ginny replied defensively. "We've been dating for two months or so."

There was another moment of shocked silence before the room was engulfed in a flurry of angry voices. It was difficult to make out anything distinct in the roars of outrage; Molly was shaking her finger at her daughter, the twins were on their feet, Arthur was trying to speak over Molly about the dangers of Malfoys in general, and Percy was in full lecture-mode, while the children looked on with interest and Charlie rolled his eyes. Even Angelina and Natalie were talking loudly. Ginny sat rigidly, her book clutched to her chest and waited, her lips pressed tightly together.

"OI!" Neville stood up from his seat on the end of the couch and roared at the top of his lungs, startling everyone into silence. "Leave Ginny alone!" He glared at the collection of Weasleys and extended family, most of whom were red in the face from yelling.

There was a small pause while the adults got over the shock of seeing quiet, retiring Neville shout at them. Then Molly sank back in her chair and moaned. "My only daughter, consorting with a Death Eater!" She sat up straight and glared at Ginny. "Ginny, how could you? What did I do wrong? How can I show my face in Diagon Alley ever again? My own flesh and blood! I can't believe -"

"Now look, Mrs. Weasley, he's not a Death Eater," Neville interrupted firmly. "He's working with me on a case. He's been cleared by the Ministry and he's helping the Department now, which they wouldn't have let him do if they suspected he was a Death Eater. You know that." He looked at Arthur for confirmation, who nodded reluctantly.

"That's true, dear, very particular, are those Aurors. Wouldn't let him in if there were the slightest doubt," Arthur conceded. He still didn't look happy, but he nodded at Neville. "If the Department is willing to let him work for them, he can't be a Death Eater. They're very careful nowadays."

"That's not the point!" Molly wailed. "He's a Malfoy! They're all rotten, the lot of them-"

"Now, Molly, dear, be reasonable - " Arthur attempted, although from the occasional glance he was giving Ginny, he didn't look as though he really wanted to be reasonable himself.

" - probably out casting Dark spells right now in that awful house - "

"Well, you know that's not true, right? He's selling the house," Charlie interrupted cheerfully.

"And anyway, he's gone to Canada for the holidays," said Ginny sharply. "Honestly, Mother, I'm not marrying him, we're just dating."

Molly sat up sharply. "And Harry! What does Harry think of this whole thing, the poor boy? Have you thought of that?"

Nine heads swiveled between Ginny, who had gone white, and Molly as though watching a tennis match. Charlie groaned softly. Ginny sat up a bit straighter and glared at her mother. "Harry does not have a say in the matter," she said stiffly. "And I don't much care what he thinks."

"Well and that's quite obvious, now, isn't it?" Molly shot back.

Ginny gritted her teeth. "We are not having this argument again, Mother."

"All I'm saying is that - "

"Now, Mum, let's not go into this again, please?" George said, leaning forward on his elbows so that he was blocking Ginny partially from Molly's sight. "It's Christmas, aye? We don't need to cover this again. Angie, toss us another present."

Angelina complied, grabbing the closest one she could find and tossing it at George, who read the tag and lobbed it at Percy, hitting him on the forehead and knocking his glasses askew. "Open that up, eh, Perce?"

Percy glared and grumbled, but complied, revealing one of Molly's now-famous jumpers. Arthur caught on and passed a present to Perpetua, Percy and Penelope's youngest daughter, effectively reigniting the present-frenzy among the children. Once Molly had been sufficiently distracted, Ginny rose quietly and escaped to the kitchen, closely followed by Natalie and Neville. Ginny sank into a chair and folded her arms on the table, burying her head in them. "Why does she have to bring that up at every single family function?"

Natalie sat beside her and patted Ginny awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, love, I imagine she's just getting used to the whole idea yet."

"What's to get used to? We've been divorced for over a year!" Ginny moaned.

"Yes, but Molly has always felt like Harry's one of her own, hasn't she?" Natalie said reasonably. Despite being the newest of the Weasley daughters-in-law, with her calm demeanor and quiet cheer, Natalie had quickly become one of the people that everyone seemed to confide in. She had also become, in a family full of people with volatile tempers, a sort of mediator by default. "I suppose she still feels that way."

"But he's not one of her own," Ginny said, her voice rather muffled by her arms. "And I don't care how she thinks of him, she needn't bring it up at every single dinner." She raised her head long enough to clap one hand in front of her chest and lift her voice in an uncanny impression of her mother. "'Oh, I don't know why you left him, the poor boy'." She dropped her hands and growled in disgust. "Not like she ever had to live with Perfect Harry Potter."

Natalie looked at Neville, who shrugged and looked away. He'd heard it all before. "I don't think Molly means it that way," Natalie began tentatively.

"I don't understand why she can't just let it go. Harry and I have managed to...it's been an amicable split, we get along, we're perfectly civil to each other. It's her who seems to want to make an issue of it." Ginny leaned her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands.

"I suppose she just doesn't understand why you split up."

"Why?" Ginny lifted her head and glared at Natalie. "Because I wasn't happy, is why. Because he's bloody impossible to live with, is why. Because he was driving me mad and it was either leave or kill him, is why. Because he's Harry fucking Potter, is why. Because he's a - " She clamped her mouth shut suddenly, then took a deep breath. "She never had to live with him. And it's none of her bloody business. I had my reasons."

Natalie leaned back, surprised by Ginny's vehemence. She started to say something, then stopped, obviously trying to formulate some sort of reply, when Fred and George came piling into the room, with Angelina right behind them.

"Molly's calmed down a bit...she's playing with the kids, so I dragged these two reprobates in here to do cleanup," Angelina explained. The twins ignored the dishes in favour of flopping down into chairs, George beside Natalie, and Fred across from Ginny, who transferred her glare to her brothers.

"What do you want now?" Ginny demanded grumpily. "It's bad enough I've got Mum on my back, without you two pulling anything."

"Didn't want much-" George began.

Fred leaned forward. "We were just wondering - "

"Why Malfoy?" they said in unison.

"Oh, honestly. Did it cross your mind that perhaps it's just because I like him?" Ginny asked in exasperation.

"You like him? How can you like Malfoy? Isn't there some sort of law against that?" George asked. "He was a God-awful little monster in school."

"Well he's not anymore. Surprisingly enough, he's changed a fair bit in the twelve whole years since then," Ginny said.

"Still, Gin, you must have known it'd give Mum fits," George said reasonably. "I mean, honestly. Is it some sort of mid-life crisis, sort of thing? Misplaced rebellion you didn't get out of your system when you were sixteen?"

"No, it is not, and I resent that the only reason I would be dating Draco is because I'm trying to piss people off. Believe it or not, my mother's opinion on who I chose to spend time with is not high of my list of considerations when deciding who I will and will not date," Ginny said haughtily, looking down her nose at her brothers. "We met up and he was quite pleasant, and seemed to have changed and he invited me out and now we're dating. All perfectly reasonable."

Fred and George glanced at each other like they didn't quite believe this. "He's nice, is he? A reformed character? Given up on the whole Dark Arts, Death Eating thing?"

"Yes, he is, and yes he has and I'll thank you not to badmouth him in front of me," Ginny said indignantly.

"But Gin, he's not even cute!" Fred protested. "If you were going to pick a Death Eater to give Mum fits, couldn't you at least find an attractive one?"

Ginny's eyes flickered to Neville, who was suddenly rather red in the face. She looked back at Fred and blinked innocently. "I'm sorry...I'll do better next time."

"Next time..." George said in mock horror. "Next time it'll be - " he stopped. "You know, I can't think of anyone who'd be worse than Malfoy."

"Oh, knock it off." Ginny reached over Natalie and whacked George on the shoulder. "He's not all that bad, you know. And don't you have dishes to do, instead of harassing your little sister?"

"She's got a point," Angelina said. "C'mon, you. Get to work."

"Harassment? How is protecting our little sister's virtue harassment? I don't have to take this sort of abuse!" Fred protested, as Angelina pulled him to his feet and gave him a shove toward the sink. "Ange, cut that out."

"How about you start doing what you're supposed to be doing and leave Ginny alone?" Angelina asked, as she drew her wand and looked meaningfully at the sink. "Dishes. They won't do themselves."

Amidst much grumbling and prodding, the twins attacked the mountain of dishes in the sink, tossing plates and cups around the room with magic, while Angelina and Natalie made tea and tried to keep breakage to a minimum.

"Well," George finally said, whisking the last plate into a cupboard. "On the plus side, in ten years we can look back on this and laugh.. It'll give us a story to tell the grandkids. The Christmas Auntie Ginny Dated A Death Eater."

"He's not a Death Eater!" Ginny protested. "George -!"

"Say, if you include the bits about Harry and Neville, you could call the whole story Auntie Ginny Gets Around." Fred said, and made a frantic dash for the door to avoid the flurry of dishtowels and crockery aimed at his head.

~*~

Draco's plane was almost half an hour late, which was typical of trying to travel at Christmas. He sighed and waited as patiently as he could while the passengers were shunted through the security systems, collected their baggage, went through customs and through yet another security check, before making it to the doors leading out to the main terminal. He scanned the crowd waiting beyond the dividers and quickly spotted John, towering head and shoulders over most of the other people, long black hair in braids over his shoulders.

"Oki Ni-kso-ko-wa," John greeted him after Draco made his way through the crowds of travelers to the other man's side. "Long time no see, Ksik-kihk-ini. How was the flight?"

"Long, boring, and uncomfortable. And I'd seen the movie." Draco shifted his bag and gave John a one-armed hug. "How're you doing, big guy?"

"Good, good. Fending Annie off at the moment. She's called me 3 times on my cell, wondering where I am and why I'm not at the ranch yet. I had to turn it off. Mind if we drive straight down? I told her I'd be there by 10, and it's almost 1."

Draco stretched and nodded. "Sure, but only if we stop somewhere for food. I'm starving. Oh, and I have an errand to run before we leave town."

An hour later, they were on the highway headed south, Draco munching happily on McDonalds fries, the heater blasting. The radio in John's car was broken, so Draco amused himself by singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs all the way from Calgary to Cardston (where John had a fit and bought a portable stereo and batteries so he wouldn't have to listen to him anymore.) They pulled into Fort Macleod at five o'clock, and finally got to the ranch house at quarter to six. "Anne is gonna kill me," John said as he parked behind Jay's minivan and Keith's battered pickup and shut off the engine. "I was supposed to be here 8 hours ago."

"No she won't. I'll distract her," Draco grinned. "We'll bury her in presents and good cheer, she'll forget all about it."

"Not likely," John snorted as they trudged up the front porch stairs. The front door of the ranch house was unlocked and standing slightly ajar, so John pushed the door open. "Stay behind me," he said to Draco, who grinned and nodded.

Anne came around the corner from the kitchen as soon as John opened the door; she was a short, plain woman with light brown hair mostly gone to grey, done up in a bun to keep it off her face. "You!" she cried furiously, pointing one small hand at John. "You were supposed to have been here hours ago! I have been worried sick about you! Call if you are going to go traipsing about before you come down, so I don't wear myself to death wondering if you're dead in a ditch somewhere."

"Sorry, Anne," John said sheepishly. "But I had to stop and pick a few things up. You know, presents, buns, salad, Draco..."

On cue, Draco stepped out from behind John and grinned down at Anne. She gasped, torn between amusement and anger. "You...!" Laughter won out, and she stepped forward to give Draco a hug. "I thought you were staying in England!"

Draco smiled and hugged her back. "I lied," he said unrepentantly.

"I can see that, you brat. Did you two plan this?" she demanded. She kept one arm around Draco's waist, and poked John in the stomach with her other hand, glaring up at him.

"We may have," John admitted. "Merry Christmas."

"Well, you could have planned it better. You're still late, and don't think this lets you off the hook!" She jabbed him again. "C'mon in to the kitchen, that's where everyone is. Except Ed, he ran into town for ice."

John and Draco followed her through the living room and into the large kitchen, which full of people, both in the kitchen itself and the small den that led off the left side. A fire was roaring in the big fieldstone fireplace in the den, and the room was full of warmth and the smell of mincemeat pies and roast turkey. A chorus of voices greeted Draco's appearance, and he spent several minutes being hugged and clapped on the back by everyone. Keith and his wife Stacy had come up from their small house at the other end of the property, with their three children. Mark, who was a slight, painfully shy young man, had driven in from Fort Macleod, where he worked as a mechanic. Where Mark took after Keith and Jay were both the spitting image of Ed, tall and barrel-chested, although Jay had put on weight and didn't have the same weather-beaten look as his father and older brother. Jay was a production engineer for Shell Canada, and tried not to come home, or even go outside the city, if he could possibly avoid it.

Jay's wife, Rhonda, was standing in the archway to the den, wineglass in hand, looking bored and over-dressed in a tailored black suit. She was a tall, stick-thin blonde who worked as an executive assistant for the CEO of one of the larger oil companies in Calgary; she hated coming to the ranch, and didn't bother to hide it, turning her nose up at the food, at the house, at what the other women were wearing, at the quality of the wine. She was currently looking down her nose at Stacy, who was wearing an old plaid shirt and faded blue jeans, bustling around the kitchen helping Anne with the cooking. Rhonda sniffed and nodded slightly at Draco when he glanced at her; she loathed Draco with intensity, and he hated her right back.

John's friend Deloraine was there too, sitting at the kitchen table chopping carrots, her light auburn hair tucked behind her ears. "How did you get here?" John asked her, and she pointed her paring knife at Mark with a grin.

"I took the Greyhound down to Fort Macleod and made him pick me up," she said. "Hey, Dray, c'mere and tell me about England."

"You can ask him about his girlfriend," John grinned, slapping Draco on the shoulder.

"Ooooh! You have a girlfriend?" Del asked gleefully. "What's her name?"

Draco groaned and glared at John. "You're a big help, you know that?"

"I try."

Draco leaned over to steal a carrot slice from Del's pile of veggies. "Would it be futile to try and change the subject by asking what's for dinner?"

"Probably." Del pushed a chair out for him with her foot, and Draco flopped into it. "Wanna help me make salad?"

Keith leaned over and tapped John on the shoulder. "We're going to go take a look at the new horses. You comin?" He raised his eyebrows inquiringly at both John and Draco. Draco shook his head, but John nodded and stood up.

"Sure," he said, following Keith out the back door to the covered porch. Jay and Mark followed them out, and Rhonda vanished off into the back of the house in a cloud of perfume.

Del raised her eyebrows at Draco. "You're not going?"

"Nah." Draco reached over and stole another carrot before Del could stop him. "Too bloody cold out. I'll just stay here, thank you."

"Trust him to stay where all the girls are," Stacy said over her shoulder, provoking a shout of laughter from Del.

"Hey, speaking of girls..." she began.

Draco stood up rapidly. "You know, maybe I will go out and see the horses - "

"Not so fast!" Anne reached over and tapped him on the shoulder with her wooden spoon, leaving a smear of flour on his shirt. Draco dusted at it, glaring at her. "Sit down, you, and tell us all about her."

Draco sighed and sank back down. "Damn."

"Curses, foiled again," Del said with a grin. "You're getting slow and feeble in your old age."

"Look who's talking. Least I don't have gray hair," Draco retorted.

Del let out an angry yell and tossed a carrot at him. "Bastard!" In truth, Del was two years younger than he was, although she did have gray hair. She had started going grey before she'd met John, in university, and Draco privately suspected that she'd been dying it so long she didn't remember what colour it really was. Del and John had been friends ever since they'd shared a class on the history of English civil law, in the summer of 1999, John for his law degree, and Del for her major in Medieval history. Draco had hated her with a passion when they first met, although his dislike had faded over the years; now she was like the obnoxious little sister Draco had never had.

Anne sighed. "Would you two cut that out? Del, stop teasing him. Dray, leave her alone. I swear, they never grow up," she said to Stacy. Draco obligingly moved his chair farther away from Del, and she went back to slicing her vegetables. "C'mon, honey, you were gonna tell us about your girlfriend."

"I was?" Draco said wryly.

"You sure were," Stacy said with a grin, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes with one damp hand.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Del said promptly. "What's she look like, is she nice, what does she do, where'd you meet her, is she good in bed..."

"Del!" Stacy straightened up from where she'd been rummaging in the fridge and glared at the other woman. "You can't ask him things like that!"

"Sure I can. I just did." Del paused thoughtfully. "Of course, I can't make you tell me, but I can ask."

"I hadn't planned to." Draco folded his arms and scowled at Del.

"That's alright, if you don't want Anne to know, you can just tell me later. So what's she like?" She slid the pile of sliced carrots into the bowl Anne handed to her, and passed it across the table to Draco, who took it and handed it to Stacy.

"She's tall, she's got red hair, she's divorced and has three children - do you mind?" he glared at Del, who was making retching noises. "Just because you don't like them, doesn't mean other people can't have them. I went to school with her, way back when. Met her in a supermarket last September, and we started seeing each other."

"Is she pretty?" Anne asked.

Draco chuckled. "Yes, she's pretty. Of course she's pretty."

Anne shrugged. "Thought I'd ask. You gonna marry her?"

"Anne!" he protested. "I've only been seeing her for 3 months. If that."

"So? That's enough time to know" Anne peered at him, and Draco coughed slightly and looked away. "Time you got married, anyway. You've been alone for far too long."

"Anne, don't," he said warningly.

"I mean it. You've moped around without ever having a serious relationship since Laura died. It's time and past time you got over her, found a nice girl and settled down." Anne reached over and patted his shoulder. "I don't like seeing you unhappy dear, and she's been gone for nearly ten years now. Not that it's any use talking to you about it," she said with a sigh as he stood up, scowling. "Sit back down."

"I don't want to talk about it," Draco said shortly.

"You never do," said Del in annoyance. "Anyone so much as mentions Laura's name and you're off like a shot. C'mon and sit down."

Draco folded his arms and glared at both Del and Anne. "I have had this conversation before, and I would really rather not have it again."

Anne matched him glare for glare. "I said sit. You haven't had this conversation with me yet, and if you think you are leaving this room before you do, you've got another thing coming." She waited until he sank back into his chair, looking mutinous. Stacy was standing in front of the oven, worriedly clutching a thermometer, and even Del was looking serious for once. Anne leaned casually against the back of one of the other chairs. "Now. Tell me about her. What was her name again?"

"Ginny," Draco said grouchily, poking at the tabletop. The problem with having people you considered family, he thought to himself, was that they always seemed to feel like they had the right to pry into things.

"And she's got three kids? Boys or girls?"

"One girl, two boys."

"How old are they?"

"Six, four and two."

Anne let out a low whistle. "How old is she?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Poor girl. And she's divorced?"

"Yes."

"You planning on giving me better than one word answers any time soon?"

"No."

Anne sighed. "Have I ever told you how incredibly frustrating you are?"

"Yes."

Anne sighed again and started to drum her fingers on the edge of the chair. Del had quietly gone back to making salad, having clearly decided to let Anne handle him. Draco scowled again. He hated being handled as much as he hated having his life pried into. And it was ten times worse when he knew they were doing it. Stacy and Del were working quietly, unwilling to interrupt, and Anne was just standing there, not doing anything, just...waiting. She could have given Voldemort tips on extracting information from people.

"It's not going to work," Draco finally said in irritation.

"What's that, dear?" Anne said idly, glancing at him. "Mind you watch how big you make those pieces of lettuce, dear," she said to Del.

He waved his hand at her. "What you're doing. Standing around and waiting for me to talk. It won't work."

"What makes you think that's what I'm doing?" Anne asked innocently.

"I am a trained police officer. I can recognize an interrogation technique when I see one."

Anne pursed her lips and looked at the ceiling. "Right. So, when do you go back to England?" she asked casually.

Draco groaned. "You're going to bug me about this all week, aren't you?"

Del grinned. "Better you than me," she said.

"Don't tell me you've found a boyfriend?" Draco looked over at Del, who cleared her throat and studiously avoided looking at him. "Have you?"

She was saved from having to reply by the arrival of the men back from the barn. "Just in time to set the table," Stacy said happily, and sent them off to wash their hands.

Ed arrived back from the store, and the topic of conversation mercifully changed from Draco's love life to other things as they settled down to eat. After dinner was over and the dishes cleared away from the dining room table, everyone retired to the den for coffee and dessert. Draco was sitting on the edge of the couch, close to the kitchen door, with Del on the floor in front of him and John beside her, watching as the children played card games and the adults chattered. After an hour or so of watching Rhonda sneer and the brothers argue, Del leaned over and elbowed John in the ribs. "I'm gonna go crazy if I have to deal with this any longer. Let's go for a walk."

"Sure," John nodded and looked up inquiringly at Draco. "You coming?"

Draco winced as one of the children shrieked particularly loud. "Right behind you."

One by one, they slipped out to the kitchen and managed to make it out to the enclosed part of the back porch without being seen by Anne. They paused to bundle up against the cold, piling on sweaters and scarves against the chill. Once outside, the three of them made their way across the yard and through the gate in the back fence, following the path that lead into the small ravine where the creek flowed in summer, footsteps crunching on the faint dusting of snow. It was bone dry, and almost unbearably cold, and the air was like crystal, marred only by the ghostly clouds of their breath.

They walked in silence down the ravine, until it flattened out and snaked around one of the long foothills. The path bent and followed the creek, but the three of them veered off to climb to the top of the hill, the brittle grass snapping and rustling underfoot. An almost-full moon bathed the prairie in eerie blue light as it stretched out all around them. They stood in silence for a long time, the wind whispering through the grass the only sound.

"I forgot how cold it gets," Draco said finally, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

"It warmer in England?" Del asked, equally quiet.

"Yes. Damp, so it feels cold...but not this cold." He curled his fingers into his gloves and pulled his coat sleeves down over his hands. His hands were starting to go numb. "It's got to be minus 40 out here."

"It was chinooking just last week. We saved up the weather special, just for you." Del shuffled her feet in the grass and huffed against her hands. "We knew you was comin'"

"Figures."

"So how is England, anyway?" John asked.

"English," Draco snorted. "Same as always." He could feel Del and John exchanging glances behind his back

"So?" Del asked.

"So?" Draco repeated, sounding amused.

"So...what's the story behind your new girlfriend?" Del huffed again, her breath billowing in silvery clouds on the still air.

"You've already heard it all." Draco hid his smile and winked at John over Del's head. John grinned back; Draco had told him all about Ginny in the car on the way down.

"Oh, bullshit. There is more to the story than what you told Anne earlier." Del glared from one man to the other. "And if you two are pulling some guy thing and holding out on me there will be hell to pay in so many words. Don't try be all inscrutable with me, Dray. It's not mysterious, it's just annoying."

Draco laughed at that, and turned around in a circle, staring up at the stars. "I'm serious. There's nothing else to tell."

"She's just pretty and has kids? Does she have potential?"

"Potential?" Draco asked.

"You know, long term relationship potential. Or are you just stringing this pretty single mother along?" Del stamped her feet in the grass, blowing on her hands again.

Draco sighed. "No, I am not stringing her along...but as for potential, I don't know. It depends, I guess."

"On what?"

"On if he decides to stay in England and make the attempt, despite everything he'd have to face up to and doesn't want to, or if he decides to not bother and just moves back here after his case finishes up," John said quietly. "Or so I'd assume."

Draco shot him a wry grin and nodded faintly. Del raised an eyebrow. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Stay in England for this woman?"

Draco thought about it for a long, long moment. "I don't know. Maybe. I think...I just don't know yet."

They stood in silence, looking up at the stars. Finally, Draco shifted his feet and shivered. "We should head back, before we freeze out here."

He and Del turned to go but John held up a hand. "Wait," he said softly. "Listen."

They paused, looking out across the prairie. The first howl sounded from the south, so faint it was almost drowned out by the wind in the grass. The lonely sound was picked up, closer, then again from the southwest and west; wailing yips and cries echoing through the clear air in wave after wave, spreading from south to west to north until finally fading back into stillness.

"I'taamomahkat Oyiiksistsikomi," John whispered softly, after the last echoes had died. "Merry Christmas."

They turned and walked silently back to the house.

~*~

NB: A Chinook is a warm, dry wind that descends from the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains and flows across the prairie, causing a rapid rise in temperature, and usually resulting in snowmelt, lots of slush, terrible roads, and migraines for the lucky few from the pressure changes. 'Chinooking' is a local term used to describe the weather when a Chinook is occurring (as in "I've got a splitting headache; it must be chinooking"). They occur frequently throughout the winter in Southern Alberta.

The language being spoken by John is Blackfoot, and a rough translation of the phrases follows. (But don't expect a pronunciation guide, because I have no idea!):

Ksik-kihk-ini - bald eagle (literally, white head, which is why John calls Draco this)

Oki Ni-kso-ko-wa - Hello, my relative

I'taamomahkat Oyiiksistsikomi - Merry Christmas (literally, happy big holy day)

I made use of The Blackfoot Dictionary of Stems, Roots, and Affixes by D. G. Frantz and N. J. Russell (University of Toronto Press, 1989, ISBN 0-8020-2691-5), and some Blackfoot phrases can be found online at http://www.blackfootelders.com Any mistakes in spelling, grammar and syntax are my own.

Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock and sweet you roll
Lost for you, I’m so lost for you
When you come crash into me
Crash Into Me, Dave Matthews Band

~*~

January, 2011

"Hullo," Neville said idly to Draco, who sauntered into his office and flopped into the visitor’s chair. "Have a good holiday?"

Considering that Draco looked irrepressibly cheerful and extremely well rested, Neville guessed that he had. Draco nodded and smiled, confirming his assumption. "I did. It was bloody cold, though."

"Isn’t it always cold in Canada?"

Draco snorted. "No, sometimes it warms up. Right pain when it does...melts the igloos."

"Well, with all the money you’ll make from selling Malfoy Manor, you can buy a new igloo, I imagine."

"What?" Draco looked at him in surprise. "How did you know I was selling the Manor?"

"It was in the paper over Christmas," Neville said, rummaging around in his desk. "There was a front-page story on it, with a picture of you and everything. You’re famous." Neville pulled out the copy of the Daily Prophet he was saving and tossed it at Draco.

"Eugh," Draco said, picking it up. "They could have found a better picture."

"Not to mention they’ve blown your cover. What with that bit about you being seen ‘round the Ministry, there’ve been reporters lurking around here for the last three days, assaulting everyone they can find. Even me." Neville grunted in disgust. "I was in the same bloody house as Colin Creevey, and the little punter had the gall to corner me and demand to know if I were you. Not if I’d seen you, if I were you. The twit."

"Should have told him that you were and made him go away," Draco replied absently, scanning the article. "God, that’s a really bad picture. Where did they find it?"

Neville shrugged. "Probably an old one Colin took. He was always snap happy with his damn camera. At least you can be sure no one will recognise you."

Draco folded up the paper in disgust. "Remind me to get you to point him out to me so I can avoid him at all costs." He tossed it back on Neville’s desk and put his feet up on the edge, tilting the visitor’s chair back on its rear legs.

Neville sighed. "One day you are going to topple over backwards and break your neck, doing that."

"Yes, Mother," Draco smirked. "How was your holiday?"

"It was fine. Went to the Weasleys, so it was crowded and noisy and hectic. So why are you - " he was interrupted by a brisk knock on the door, which immediately swung open to admit a sea of redheads.

"Neville, old son! Long time no see!"

"Nice office you’ve got here!"

"How’s the Auroring going?"

"Staying out of trouble?"

Draco swung his feet off Neville’s desk and sat up straight. He glanced at Neville, who gave a long-suffering sigh. "Speaking of Weasleys...Ron, Fred, George, Percy, Charlie. Bit of a surprise, seeing you all here. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Actually we’re not here to talk to you," Fred said, coming around Draco’s chair to lean against the edge of Neville’s desk, as the rest of the Weasley brothers arranged themselves about the small office. He grinned down at Draco. "Hello, Malfoy."

"Oh, for..." Neville stood up, but was effectively blocked behind his desk by Percy and Ron.

"Hello." Draco nodded at Fred and began to stand up, but George pressed him back into his seat.

"No, no...have a seat, Malfoy. We just stopped by for a friendly chat!" George remained standing behind Draco, one hand resting heavily on his shoulder. "Ginny mentioned you were back in town, so we thought we’d come by, renew our acquaintanceship, that sort of thing."

Charlie leaned back against Neville's desk and made a show of cracking his knuckles.

"Indeed," Draco said mildly. "I’m touched."

"Aye, well. Always nice to keep in touch with the old crowd, you know. All sorts of people, I think to myself, wonder whatever happened to them? And since you’re here, and we haven’t seen you in an age, we all thought we’d drop by, say hello, that sort of thing." Fred waved a hand airily.

"Undoubtedly because we were such close friends before," Draco said wryly. Ron coughed behind his hand and started examining the ceiling.

Fred shrugged and ignored that. "Yes, well. Gin’s a good girl, you know. Friendly, kind, loving, easy-going..."

"Yes, she’s a real sweetheart," George said, taking up the gauntlet. "Very special to us all."

Charlie nodded. "Would be a terrible shame if anything were to happen that would hurt her feelings."

"I see," said Draco, in the same mild tone.

"Exactly," Fred said, curling his right hand into a fist and rubbing it in the palm of his left. "We’re good men, you know, and we’d all hate to see anyone get hurt."

"Not to mention that hurting someone would be against the law and would no doubt get people in serious trouble," Percy said pompously. Fred rolled his eyes and Charlie sighed, shaking his head. Draco looked at Neville and quickly looked away, a corner of his mouth twitching.

Ron reached over and poked Percy in the ribs. "I thought you agreed to keep your mouth shut!"

Percy glared at him and straightened his glasses. "I’m only saying - "

"Shut up, Percy!"

Neville could see Draco’s shoulders trembling out of the corner of his eye and busied himself
with shuffling papers around on his desk, studiously not looking at his partner.

"As I was saying," Fred continued, glancing quellingly at Percy, "we’d all hate to see anything bad happen to Ginny, what with her being our only sister, and a dear, sweet, wonderful person at that. I’m sure you feel the same way, don’t you, Malfoy?" He stopped and looked at Draco meaningfully. Draco blinked guilelessly back at him, poker-faced, and didn’t reply.

Fred glared at him. "Right. But since we all agree, I’m sure nothing bad will happen, will it?" He nodded firmly and straightened up, dusting off his hands. "Will you look at the time. We do have places to be so we can’t stay. Good to see you again Malfoy, Neville." He motioned to the others. "Let’s go, boys."

Neville nodded faintly at Ron as the Weasleys filed out the door. Charlie hung back and stopped with one hand on the doorknob. He turned to Draco and cleared his throat. "I just want to make this perfectly clear, Malfoy. There’s five of us, and only one of you. If you do anything to hurt her, we’ll kill you."

"I had gathered that, actually," Draco said, and stepped back as Charlie nodded at Neville and stepped quietly out the door.

Neville and Draco looked at each other. "So," Draco said. "I take it Ginny told her family?"

"What gave it away?" Neville grinned and shook his head. "Charming, aren’t they?"

"Something like that."

"If it makes you feel better, they’ve done it to me, too. I’m pretty sure they didn’t really mean it," Neville said. "They’re a bit overprotective, but you needn’t feel threatened."

"Threatened?" Draco snorted. "Bit hard to feel threatened by a bunch of people with freckles all over their noses. Makes them all look twelve." He sighed and sat back down in his chair. "Are they always like that?"

Neville thought about it. "Pretty much. And just think...you get to see them all again at Jamie’s birthday party in two weeks."

"Actually, I’m not going to the party," Draco shrugged. "I promised Ginny that I’d come by in the morning and drop something off for him, but I’m skipping the party itself."

"Oh," Neville said. "How come?"

"Partly because I’d rather not have to fend off a horde of Weasleys repeating the scene we just got to experience, and partly because I don’t really want to go." Draco shrugged again and leaned the chair back again. "Besides, I’ve got some things to look into at the Yard, so I’ll very likely be busy."

Neville eyed him. "And you think Harry will be there."

Draco shrugged and looked at the ceiling.

"You do, don’t you?"

"Actually, it just so happens that I will be busy, and I simply can’t make it." Draco crossed his arms over his chest, frowning up at the ceiling and not looking at Neville.

"And if I told you Harry wouldn’t be there, would you go?"

"But he is going to be there. It’s his son’s birthday, of course he’ll be there."

"And you just happen to be conveniently busy." Neville grinned and sipped at his coffee. "You just don’t want to run into Harry. I knew it!" His grin widened as Draco scowled at him. "You’re going to have to eventually, you know."

"Eventually is not now," Draco grumbled. "Are you going?"

"No...I gave Ginny Jamie’s present already." Neville coughed and shuffled some scrolls around on his desk. "As it happens, I’ll be busy that day as well."

"Well isn’t that convenient." Draco sat up straight and smirked at him. "What’s your excuse?"

"I’m genuinely busy?" Neville shrugged and refused to look at him. "And I generally try to stay out of Harry’s way for the most part."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "And why is that?"

"Long story."

Draco tilted his head at Neville and grinned. "I have time. Why do you avoid the illustrious Mr. Potter?"

"No reason."

"Oh, come on. Just tell me."

Neville ran one hand through his hair. "Would you leave me alone if I told you it’s none of your business?"

"Nope." Draco smirked. "And you have the nerve to needle me about avoiding Potter. How’s that for the pot calling the kettle black? Tell me why."

"God, you’re annoying." Neville finally looked up, and met Draco’s eyes. "How much do you know about Ginny and Harry’s breakup?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at the switch in subject. "Just that they split up and that they’re still friendly. Why?"

"It wasn’t always..." Neville stopped. "They weren’t..." he stopped again, and leaned back in his chair, gathering his thoughts. "They’re on friendly terms now, but for a few months there, they really weren’t. I helped Ginny out when she and Harry split up; she stayed at my place and sort of didn’t tell Harry where she was. It was about 2 weeks before Harry found out. He...wasn’t very happy with me, for letting Ginny stay there without telling him. And there are some things that Harry knows that I would have been happier having him not know, and it makes life easier if we don’t see much of each other."

"Ah," Draco nodded impassively.

"What?" Neville jerked his head irritably.

"That was...vague as all hell."

"You didn’t specify a good explanation. Take what you get." Neville glared at Draco and leaned forward to grab his coffee cup. "Why don’t you ask Ginny, if you want to know? Not my place to tell you."

"Because I’d feel like a horrible, prying git, trying to pump her for information on her failed marriage?"

"Draco Malfoy has developed a conscience?" Neville grinned again as Draco scowled fiercely at him. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Thank your lucky stars that I have, and I am not saying half of the nasty things I’m thinking about you right now, Longbottom," he said grumpily.

"Well, if you really want to know about their breakup and don’t want to ask her, you can go to the Library and look at back issues of the Daily Prophet. It was huge news when it hit the press."

Draco snorted. "Of course it was. Poor Perfect Potter gets dumped. Why wouldn’t it make news?"

Neville frowned at him. "Whether you like him or not, Harry is who he is. Decorated war hero, world-class Seeker, and the best coach the league has seen in years. Of course his divorce made news." Neville shrugged. "It was a zoo...that was actually why they started talking again, because once the press got wind of what was going on, it was making the whole situation worse. Printing all sorts of stuff, hounding everyone even remotely related to Harry or to Ginny. The whole Weasley clan sort of closed ranks around the two of them, and they worked out the split as privately as possible, so they could avoid the publicity hounds. Surprising, really, how vicious the press was, especially against Harry...guess he was due for a backlash."

Draco didn’t say anything, but he looked decidedly smug.

Neville sighed. "Look, you can ask Ginny, or go to the Daily Prophet, or the Library for back issues of the newspaper, but I’m not going to tell you."

"I’ll think about that."

"Well, in the meantime, you can tell me why you’re selling the Manor."

Draco narrowed his eyes at his partner. "Because I don’t need it."

"No? Not going to keep it as...oh, I don’t know, a sort of family keepsake? You know, some families pass down silverware, or ugly heirlooms, others do real estate." Neville leaned back in his chair. "I’ve got a truly hideous vase I inherited when Gran died. It’s a sort of bilious lavender colour. I hide it in a cupboard and only bring it out when Aunt Muriel comes to visit, because she wanted it and was furious when Gran left it to me."

"A manor house is not something I can stuff in the back of a drawer and only pull out when I want to irritate people," Draco snorted. "I don’t need it, and it’s a pain having to go out there all the time, and upkeep on the thing costs a fortune, so I’m getting rid of it."

"It’s a manor. Owning an estate is a crowning achievement...most people our age would kill to be able to drop ‘oh yes, my country house’ into conversations in a sort of airy manner, just to prove how well off they are."

"I’ll sell you mine for a dollar," said Draco. "It’s huge, and drafty, and ugly, and dark, and I hate it. Be damned if I set foot in the thing again."

Neville was a bit taken aback by Draco’s vehemence. "All right. Was just saying, most normal people would want one." He shrugged. "Not that you’re normal, mind..."

"Now why does that sound like an insult?"

"Take it or leave it. Now if you’re finished with the idle chitchat, we have work to do." Neville rummaged in a file drawer while Draco scowled at him. He found the file he was looking for and sat up straight, smirking at his partner. He shoved a piece of paper at Draco. "Hermione sent that pendant back, but she didn’t find anything on it. She says the magical aura you feel when you touch it is a residual field left over by a strong charm being placed on an object and then removed, but there’s no way of knowing what sort of charm it was."

"Damn," Draco said softly, scanning the paper Neville handed him. "What sort of charm would you be able to put on something that small, that would leave that strong an aura?"

"No idea." Neville shrugged. "Portkey, maybe? Some sort of locator spell? Could be anything."

"On something that small, and that particular shape..." Draco trailed off, brow furrowed. "Couldn’t be a portkey, if they were wearing it as a pendant, or even keeping it in a pocket. Too easy to touch it accidentally and get whisked off somewhere you didn’t necessarily want to go. And if it were a locator charm, why’d they take it off?"

Neville shook his head, watching Draco carefully. "Didn’t need it anymore?"

"That doesn’t make sense."

"None of this makes sense, so that’s hardly a roadblock," Neville pointed out. "We don’t even know why they’re doing this at this point. It’s not even like they get that much money from the robberies...Muggle banks never seem to keep much cash on hand nowadays. It’s all electronic."

"Boredom would be my guess. What I want to know," Draco mused, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the edge of Neville’s desk, "is what they plan to do when they get tired of banks."

"With any luck, we’ll catch them before that happens," Neville said fervently.

Draco snorted. "Not at this rate."

~*~

It took Draco the better part of a week to find what he wanted, tucked away in a toyshop off Charing Cross, and another two days before he could bring himself to make a foray into Diagon Alley to Ollivander’s Wand Shop to replace his old wand. He didn’t bother to tell Neville about that little trip, on the grounds that it was none of Neville’s business anyway. Thankfully, he hadn’t run into anyone he knew, and Ollivander, although he looked at Draco sharply, hadn’t asked any difficult questions, like what had happened to his old wand. Which was just as well, because Draco wouldn’t have answered them. All in a good cause, Draco told himself that evening, sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, surrounded by tiny plastic cowboys and Indians. There were 30 of each in the box, and he was in the process of painstakingly magicking each of them to move. He was halfway through, and the small crowd of toys he’d already done were staging a small war across the lid of the box, with much whooping and yelling and little cracks of mock-gunfire like popping bubbles. Draco grinned as several more enthusiastic toys fell off the edge of the box and rolled across the carpet. Ginny was going to hate him for this.

It was nearly 3 am when he finally finished, although most of the last hour was spent trying to get the little plastic men back in the box, since both groups insisted that they couldn’t be expected to share a container with the other. He finally resorted to a sleep spell, dumped the cowboys in one plastic bag and the Indians in another, then stuffed them in the box. He’d found some jaunty wrapping paper in a shop near the toy store, also decorated with small cowboys and Indians, which he used to wrap the present up, then left it near the door where he could pick it up on his way out.

When Draco finally stumbled out of bed, it was nearing 10:30, and he had to rush in order to make it up to Ginny’s flat by 11. She was taking the children to her parents at noon for Jamie’s party, but he wanted to drop off his gift before they left. She answered his knock at the door looking flustered and holding onto William, who was wearing Chudley Cannons underwear and nothing else.

"‘Lo, hon, c’mon in," she said, stepping back so he could enter. Draco leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, but she turned her head to catch his lips. He smiled against her mouth and deepened the kiss, only to be distracted as Will grabbed his hair and chortled.

"Ow! Little monster," he grumbled as Ginny, giggling, tried to detach Draco’s hair from Will’s fists. "He’s got a grip like a lobster."

"He doesn’t get it from me," Ginny protested, laughing. "Jamie’s in the living room, if that’s for him. Want to be a dear and go entertain him while I get Sarah and Willie ready? ‘Mione and Ron will be here in half an hour, and I’m running horribly late as it is."

At Draco’s nod, she carried Will off down the hallway toward the bedroom. Draco paused for a moment to admire the sway of her hips before passing through the kitchen and leaning against the archway into the living room. Jamie and Sarah were sitting on the living room floor, playing with what looked like a terribly old model of a Hungarian Horntail dragon, which seemed to be halfheartedly threatening a flock of Sarah’s dolls.

"I’ve heard a rumour," Draco said, "that someone here is having a birthday."

Jamie and Sarah both looked up, Jamie grinning at the sight of the present under Draco’s arm. "Hullo Draco," he said happily, jumping up. Sarah waved shyly and flashed him a quick smile.

Draco grinned back and handed the box over. "There you go. Don’t get paper all over, your mother will kill me."

Jamie ripped into the wrapping paper with enthusiasm, scattering bits everywhere. He crowed in delight when he saw the box. "Is it a real Muggle toy?" he asked excitedly.

"Sort of," Draco said. "Open the box and see."

Jamie did just that, pulling out the bags full of little plastic men. The sleep spell Draco had cast on them last night was wearing off, and mutterings could be heard from within each plastic sack. Jamie ripped them both open, unceremoniously dumping cowboys and Indians into one large pile on the floor. Sarah squeaked and backed away as the little toys began to brawl
enthusiastically. Jamie whooped. "Brilliant!"

"If you separate them, you can build a little fort, and they’ll have gun battles and things," Draco said, coming forward to crouch on his heels beside Jamie. He carefully reached into the pile to pick up toys one by one and place them on opposite sides of the box lid, where they couldn’t see each other.

By the time Ginny had finished with William and came to collect Sarah, Draco and Jamie were stretched out on the carpet hard at work. Sarah had retreated to the couch, clutching her dolls, and was watching the proceedings with an expression of interested horror. The box had been dismantled to form a small fort, and after some careful work with toothpicks and wrapping paper, a reasonable Indian village had been constructed. Several Indian braves were dancing around a mock fire in the centre of the village, yipping and waving little toy tomahawks, while the cowboys paced the walls of their makeshift fort and looked worried.

Ginny eyed the scene dubiously as she set Will down on the couch. "What, exactly, are those things?"

"Toys," Draco said laconically, at the same time Jamie said, "Indians!" Neither of them looked up.

Ginny watched them for a moment, red and blond heads bent together industriously, then shook her head and took Sarah’s hand. "All I can say is, I’d better not step on any of them."

"You won’t," Draco replied. "I charmed them to move out of the way when they’re not being played with."

"You charmed them?" Ginny asked. Draco nodded without looking up. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, staring at him for a long moment. Then she shrugged and ushered Sarah across the kitchen and down the hall.

William bounced around on the couch while Draco and Jamie played, doing an impression of a human cannonball by climbing up on the arms of the couch and jumping onto the cushions, giggling madly. Draco watched him in alarm a time or two, until he realized the couch was charmed so that William couldn’t fall off. Obviously this kind of thing was a regular occurrence. Draco explained to Jamie how to make the toys stage little mock-battles, and when Ron and Hermione arrived at noon, twins in tow, a fierce war was taking place on the living room floor.

Draco sat up from where he’d been lying on the carpet and watched with veiled amusement as the twins came barreling through the kitchen to check out Jamie’s new toy, flopping down on the carpet and peppering Jamie with questions. He stood up gracefully, in one fluid movement, and wandered into the kitchen, dusting off his trousers. Ron nodded stiffly, and Hermione smiled at him. "Hello, Draco, we didn’t expect to see you here."

"I just stopped by to drop off a present for Jamie, actually. I have to work this afternoon, so I stopped by early."

"Present?" Hermione asked, a little too brightly. Draco nodded, but was saved from replying as Ron looked down with a small frown. One of the tiny cowboys had wandered away from the battle in the living room, and was sitting on the bottom shelf of the tea trolley, singing a wistful little song about buffalo and antelope in a tinny voice. Ron leaned over and picked it up. "Cute," he said. "Is this what you got Jamie?"

Draco nodded, and Hermione looked at him in surprise. "Wherever did you find them?" she asked, leaning over to look at the tiny cowboy cupped in Ron’s palm. "They really are adorable."

Draco shrugged. "One of my nephews has something very similar, only his don’t move. He loves them, so I though Jamie might like them as well."

Ron peered at him. "Nephews?"

Draco smiled faintly and nodded.

"I thought you were an only child," Ron said suspiciously.

"Hmmm." Draco nodded again, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the ceiling.

Ron narrowed his eyes at Draco, brows beetling, and opened his mouth to retort. Hermione caught the look on his face and quickly stepped between the two men. "Ron, dear, why don’t you take that back to the living room?"

He started to protest, but Hermione kicked him in the ankle, and he glowered and went, grumbling all the way. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to Draco. "Terribly sorry, he’s so nosy." She cleared her throat delicately. "So...I didn’t know you had any nephews."

Draco sighed faintly and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I don’t. Son of a friend of mine. It’s less confusing to the kids if I let them call me Uncle Draco."

Hermione smiled. "That’s so sweet."

"Thank you," Draco said, looking pained.

Ginny came back from the bedroom, a neatly pressed Sarah in tow. "I think we’re about ready to go, if we can drag Jamie away from his new toy." She beamed at Draco, who smiled back, and poked her head into the living room. "All right, boys, we’re ready to go. Put the toys away please - Ron, what are you doing? They’re Jamie’s! Come along, please, you can play when we get home." A chorus of groans and grumbling echoed into the kitchen, and Hermione rolled her eyes and chuckled.

"Men," Hermione said. "Thank goodness we have at least one girl in the family." She held out her hand to Sarah, who put one small hand in hers obediently. "Are we going by Floo?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes, I thought it’d be easier. If you’ll give me a minute, I’ll just see Draco out."

"Well, it was a pleasure to see you again, Draco," Hermione said, and looked like she would have dearly loved to say more, but Draco just nodded and picked up his coat, not meeting her eyes. Ginny followed him to the door as Ron herded the boys into the kitchen, and returned a minute later looking breathless, slightly flushed and quite pleased with herself. Hermione raised an eyebrow at her, but didn’t say anything as Ginny fetched the Floo powder from the pot on the refrigerator and they made their way to the Burrow for Jamie’s party.

~*~

"And Jamie got a whole pile of little cowboys and Indians from Draco...Gin, d’you know where he got them? They’re really very sweet." Hermione looked at Ginny inquiringly from over the rim of her teacup. They were sitting with Angelina and Natalie at the Burrow’s kitchen table, enjoying a quiet cup of tea while the children amused themselves in the living room. Penelope was there with Molly, making sure that nothing got too damaged as the Weasley grandchildren pounded around.

Harry had arrived shortly after Ginny, Ron and Hermione, and the twins with their wives soon after him; the men had taken over the living room floor and were putting together one of Jamie’s new toys, a rather spectacular Hogwarts Express train set with a track that moved itself at random. Hermione had sighed at the sight of Ron, Harry, Fred and George stretched out on the carpet fiddling with the train cars and, muttering something about boys never growing up, had collected the other women and retired to the kitchen.

"I’m not sure," Ginny said hesitantly, toying with her cup. "I think...I think he made them."

"Made them?" Hermione repeated. "How? Neville said he refuses to do magic anymore. And when they were in my office that time on business, he looked ready to bolt every time I cast a spell."

"I know...but I don’t think they sell anything like that on Diagon Alley or in Hogsmeade, and he said that he charmed them." Ginny shrugged. "Whether he meant that he added a spell to the ones already on them, or if he found a Muggle toy and spelled them all to move, I don’t know."

Angelina raised her eyebrows. "He refuses to do magic anymore?"

Ginny nodded. "He gave it up when he moved to Canada."

"Draco Malfoy gave up magic?" Angelina asked. "What for? I mean, leave the country, I could see, since I can’t imagine that England was the most comfortable place for him after the war, but magic?"

Ginny shrugged. "I don’t know...I haven’t asked. He just says that he didn’t want to be a wizard anymore, and gave it up. Doesn’t even have a wand anymore, as far as I know."

Angelina and Natalie shook their heads, but Hermione looked thoughtful. "I bet Harry knows why."

"Why would Harry know?" Ginny asked in disgust. "He doesn’t know everything."

"No, but there’s always been things that he wouldn’t talk about, even to Ron and I, and one of those things was what happened when Malfoy disappeared. And there was that whole thing with the Ministry wanting to issue a warrant for his arrest, and Harry stopping them...something happened there, and it must have had something to do with why Malfoy left."

"Don’t you ask him!" Ginny’s eyes widened in alarm. "He goes all wobbly whenever anyone mentions Draco, and the last thing I need is for you to go working him up before I have a chance to talk to him."

"You haven’t told him yet?" Hermione stared at Ginny, aghast. "I thought you were going to!"

"I am," Ginny said. "Eventually."

"When? Ginny, you’ve been dating Malfoy for months! You have to tell him!"

"And I am going to tell him. Soon." Ginny cleared her throat and stood up hurriedly, avoiding Hermione’s appalled stare. "I’m going to go check on the kids."

The three women watched her go, Angelina and Natalie exchanging confused glances. Hermione sighed. "I don’t like that she’s avoiding that...if Harry finds out from anyone but her, it’s going to go badly. Not that it won’t go badly anyway, mind you. Harry loathes Malfoy."

"Still?" Natalie asked.

Hermione laughed ruefully. "Oh yes. They were sworn enemies at Hogwarts. You were a few years back, so you may not remember, but Malfoy tried to get us in trouble so many times, the first few years. He got us all into so many detentions, he tried to have Hagrid fired, his father tried to get Professor Dumbledore removed as Hogwarts head...he was such a little bastard. After fifth year, he stopped being quite so obviously antagonistic, but he and Harry were never on good terms, or even neutral terms." She sighed again and reached for the teapot, refilling her teacup. "He kind of retreated in sixth year, but we always knew he was on Voldemort’s side in the war." Hermione blithely ignored the reflexive shudder that went through Angelina and Natalie at the mention of the name. "And then after the war, when Voldemort died, we learned that both Narcissa and Lucius were dead and that Malfoy had vanished, and Harry clammed up, refused to talk about it, and that was the last we heard. But Ron and I always thought that Malfoy must have left because the Death Eaters lost. It would fit."

"And Ginny is dating him?" Angelina shook her head. "Doesn’t she know?"

"You know what she’s like. She’s decided he’s changed, and once she gets an idea into her head, she won’t let go. Stubborn girl. I can understand why she’d be disposed to be kinder to him than Harry is; she was always on the outside of everything that was going on during the war. Molly and Arthur wanted to protect her as much as they could, so she didn’t really see everything that happened." Hermione shrugged and sipped at her cup. "Though to be fair, he really does seem to be nicer. Neville claims he’s changed too, and he hasn’t been as nasty as he used to, the few times I’ve seen him around. And I can’t really blame her, honestly. If he looked at me the way that he looks at her...well." She looked at her sisters-in-law meaningfully.

Angelina’s eyebrows threatened to disappear into her hairline. "Oh? And how does he look at her, exactly?"

"Like...oh, like he’d like to eat her alive." Hermione grinned. "There’s all this intensity, and he looks all smoulder-y. Like he wants her."

Natalie giggled. "Somehow I don’t think you mean the patented ‘Weasley Look’."

All three of them burst into laughter; the Weasley Look, as the sisters-in-law had dubbed it, was something that all the brothers used - even Percy, although Penelope had to have drunk a great deal of wine to admit it. They liked to think made them appear sexy and alluring, though in reality it tended to make them look rather constipated.

Hermione laughed. "No, most decidedly not the Weasley Look. He does look good enough to eat most of the time, though."

"Oh, really?" Angelina said with interest. "Fred said he looks different, but you know men...what’s he really look like?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to make sure Ginny - and possibly Ron - was still safely away, and lowered her voice. "He is drop dead gorgeous."

Natalie blinked in disbelief. "Malfoy? He looks like a drowned rat in all his pictures."

"All the pictures you’ve seen are of when he was a teenager though. He doesn’t look like that anymore," Hermione said. "He’s put on weight, and he’s got cheekbones to die for, and he always dresses impeccably. Overall, he’s grown into quite the nice-looking man."

"Well, well." Angelina sat back and set down her cup. "Fred left that bit out. I wonder why."

"Probably didn’t want the competition," Natalie said with a giggle.

"Did Ron tell you what they did?" Angelina continued. "Descended on Neville’s office en masse last week to threaten to pound Malfoy’s head in if he did anything to Ginny. Charlie even came up from Romania for it." She rolled her eyes. "Men."

"What’s this?" Ron demanded, appearing in the doorway. All three women jumped. "What are you lot gossiping about now?"

"We’re not gossiping!" Hermione protested. "How much did you hear?"

Ron smirked. "That’s for me to know and for you to wish you knew. Just came to grab some drinks. Building railroads is thirsty work."

Ginny appeared in the doorway behind him, with Harry right behind her, one hand resting lightly on the small of her back. "The birthday boy has demanded pumpkin juice, so we are here to see to his majesty's wishes," Harry said, laughing. Ginny smiled faintly and stepped away from him, toward the cupboard where the glasses were kept. Hermione caught Ginny’s eye and raised her eyebrows at her, glancing pointedly at Harry. Tell him! she mouthed.

I will, Ginny mouthed back with a strained look, but she didn’t say anything, only gathered up cups and left the room, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

~*~

Valentine’s Day, 2011

Draco was on time for once, and considerably less nervous than he had been the first time he stood in the hall outside this door and shuffled on the horrendous carpet. He knocked, and then stepped back and waited for Ginny to answer the door.

She opened it quickly, and smiled up at him. She was wearing a long satin dress in a deep shade of plum that made her skin glow, and her hair was pulled up in a loose bun that looked as though it might fall apart at any moment, with tendrils escaping at her temples. "Sorry...I’m almost ready, I’ll just be a minute." She stepped back to let him come into the flat, then stopped in surprise as he held out a large, flat box. "What’s this?"

"It’s a present. For you," Draco said.

Ginny looked at him quizzically as he handed it to her. "You didn’t have to get me anything...what is it?"

Draco smiled. "That’s sort of the point of it being a present. I’m not supposed to tell you, you open it and find out." She shook her head and laughed, setting the box on the table and pulling on the ribbon. Inside the box, nestled in swaths of white tissue paper, were five red roses. "One for each month," he said.

She gasped softly and lifted them out, burying her nose in the flowers and inhaling deeply. "They’re lovely!" She shifted them to her left hand and reached up to touch his cheek with her right. "Thank you."

"The box isn’t empty yet."

"There’s more?" Ginny poked around in the tissue paper. At the bottom of the box she found a small net bag full of teardrop shaped, foil wrapped candies. "What are these?"

"Muggle candy," Draco replied. "Hershey’s Kisses, to be precise. They’re chocolates."

"Chocolate kisses?" She arched an eyebrow at him as he tried to look innocent. She looked at them speculatively, then handed the bag to Draco. "Hold them for a moment while I put the roses in water." She rummaged through the cupboards until she found a vase, and arranged the roses quickly. "So to what do I owe this embarrassment of riches?"

"I thought it was a rule," Draco replied, setting the small bag down on the table. "Flowers and chocolate for Valentine’s. It’s supposed to be romantic."

"Oh, it is," Ginny said. She returned to the table and set the roses down, then stepped closer to him and wrapped one arm around his waist. "Terribly romantic. Thank you so much." She leaned up and kissed him, lifting her other hand to rest lightly against his jaw. He slid one hand around her waist and pulled her closer, running his other hand up along her spine fingers sliding easily over the fabric.

It wasn’t until she had got his tie completely undone and begun working on his shirt buttons that Draco realized what she was about, and pulled back reluctantly. "Dinner," he said to Ginny’s disappointed frown, and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. "We have reservations."

She widened her eyes imploringly. "We could order pizza..."

Draco shook his head at her. "Then what was the point of you getting all dressed up to go somewhere special, if we were just going to do something we can do any time?"

"There’s no rule saying we can’t dress up for pizza."

"We have reservations," Draco said again. Ginny pouted, but began to refasten his tie. "Although I’m not quite sure why I’m arguing..."

Ginny arched an eyebrow at him. "Too late now," she said, patting him on the chest. "You missed your chance." She tugged lightly on his tie, then stepped away from him and started down the hallway. "Just let me get my purse, and we can go."

Draco watched her go, shaking his head ruefully. There would be time enough for that later; he had a surprise for her and didn’t want to spoil it. They had planned to have dinner together on Valentine’s Day - Ginny had herded the children off to one of her siblings, so they’d have the night to themselves - but Draco had decided to do something special. He smiled to himself and checked his pocket to be sure the small box he’d picked up from Neville was still there.

Ginny re-appeared, purse in hand. "So, do I need to bring a Muggle coat, or can I wear my new cloak?"

"You can wear the cloak," Draco said, leaning over to look at her feet. "Can you walk far in those shoes?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him and held out one foot, clad in a low-heeled dress shoe. "Yes...they’re spelled to be comfortable. Why?"

He looked up and smiled at her. "There’s a small walk involved in where we’re going, is all, and I don’t want you to get blisters."

"Oh. And where are we going, again?" Ginny inquired.

"It’s a surprise."

Ginny pouted at him and got her cloak out of the closet, which she twirled around her shoulders. She came back to Draco and took the hand he extended to her. He twined his fingers with hers and reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling out the box Neville had given him. Ginny’s eyebrows rose again. "Isn’t that one of the Ministry’s portkey boxes?"

Draco just smiled and flipped the lid of the box, tipping the small charmed ball into his palm. There was a familiar jerk, and Draco felt Ginny’s hand tighten on his reflexively. She stumbled slightly as they arrived, and he steadied her with one hand.

The change was drastic and immediate - instead of the wintry chill of Britain, it was pleasantly cool. There was a light breeze and the air was redolent with the scent of olive trees and the tang of the sea. Ginny blinked and gasped, peering into the shadows around them. They seemed to be on the side of a badly paved road that sloped down toward a town, the lights
of which were twinkling at the bottom of the hill. The sun had set, but there was still a faint glow in the west, and pinpricks of stars were beginning to appear in the sky above them. "Where are we?"

"If Neville set it up right," Draco smiled and slid his arm around her waist, "we are just outside of Kissamos."

Ginny’s jaw dropped. "We’re where?"

"Kissamos. In Greece. On the island of Crete, in point of fact." Draco beamed at her, pleased that his surprise had gone so well. "If you look off to the north, you can actually see the lights of Athens." He squinted in that direction. "Sort of. Maybe not."

Ginny stared at him blankly. "You portkeyed us to Greece for supper?"

Draco nodded, still smiling. "I did say we were going out for Greek."

"I thought you meant in London!" Ginny shook her head incredulously. "This is...I don’t believe you portkeyed me to Greece! How long did you plan this?"

Draco shrugged. "Couple of weeks. You said to take you somewhere different...I though this would fit the bill."

"It certainly does. This is..." Her voice trailed off and she moved away from him suddenly, taking several steps down the road toward the town. Her shoulders moved sharply as she took a deep breath.

"Ginny?" Draco came up behind her, and reached out to touch her shoulder gently. She turned slightly toward him, and he was shocked to see tears on her cheeks. "I just thought you might enjoy it. If you don’t want to stay, we can go back."

"No...oh no! This is amazing! I just...no one has ever done anything like this for me before." Ginny ducked her head and wiped at her face with her hand. Draco wordlessly reached into his pocket and handed her a handkerchief, which she took gratefully. "I’m not upset at all, I don’t know why I’m crying. This is wonderful. I’ve never been to Greece."

Draco stepped behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders, smoothing the material of her cloak gently. "I’ve only been here once, when I was very little. We went to Athens and Mother took me on a cruise of some of the Islands while my father did...business in the city. I was only six or seven, but it was fun. I went swimming in the ocean, and ran around in old Greek ruins, was horribly sunburnt, got lost on a regular basis, and was generally a huge nuisance to everyone." He felt her shoulders relax slightly under his hands, and slid his hands down her arms and around her waist, pulling her back against him.

"Did you come here?" Ginny asked, leaning back and resting her head against his.

"No...we stayed in the northern part, up in the islands near Athens. Went to Troy, which I found fascinating. Mother complained about all the Muggles, and we didn’t stay there long."

"I’ve been to France and Germany, and to Egypt, when we went to visit Bill just before second year." Ginny sighed deeply and stepped away from him, taking his hand again. "Which was interesting, although Fred and George were impossible on that trip. Not that they aren’t usually. I wanted to become a curse breaker too, when I graduated, but Mum wouldn’t have it after what happened, so I started writing instead."

"Bill?" Draco asked. The name sounded familiar, but he didn’t think he knew who she was referring to.

"My oldest brother," Ginny said quietly. "He was a curse-breaker for Gringotts, and he died during the war. He was called back to England just after the war broke out in earnest, and was flying here by broom. He was attacked by Dementors over the Channel and was overwhelmed. He fell into the ocean and drowned."

"Ah." Draco nodded and mentally kicked himself for asking. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "That must have been terrible for you."

Ginny nodded solemnly. "I don’t think I realized, until then, how serious it really was. That it was really a war, and people would die. We kept thinking that we were safe, that nothing really bad would happen as long as we had Harry, as if he would be able to protect us all, and then Bill..." She closed her eyes, then shook her head sharply and turned to smile at him apologetically. "I’m sorry, this is a terribly depressing topic."

"Not at all," Draco said. "If you want to talk about it, then we can."

Ginny took a deep breath. "No, I don’t. It’s Valentine’s Day, and we are here to have a good time and not worry about the past." She straightened her shoulders and stepped away from him again, taking his hand. "So where is this restaurant you’re taking me to?"

Draco gestured down the road with their joined hands. "Down there...Kissamos is not a very big town, and it’ll probably be fairly quiet, since it’s not the summer season." They started ambling down the road, a companionable silence between them. The walk was a short one, and they soon arrived at the restaurant, on a small side street just off the beach. They were seated on a covered patio by the smiling owner, a swarthy, grinning man almost as wide as he was tall, who ushered them to a small table next to a low stone wall. The wall overlooked a small garden, a small oasis of green and brown that opened out to the beach at the far end. It was shadowed, dark and intimate, each table lit by a single small candle. Ginny arranged her purse and cloak while Draco spoke to the owner in flawless Greek. She raised her eyebrows at him in surprise as he sat down. "I didn’t know you spoke Greek."

Draco nodded. "One of the few side benefits of a classical education; my father wanted me to learn, so I studied it in the summers during school. My Greek is a bit over-formal, but I can usually make myself understood."

"Your father made you take summer school?" Ginny shook her head sympathetically. "That’s awful."

"Actually it wasn’t so bad," Draco said with a shrug. "Gave me something to do, since there weren’t any children near the Manor for me to play with, and everyone I knew lived too far away to meet frequently during the summer. I learned to speak French too, and he made me learn to apparate, the summer before seventh year. And I can play the piano."

"All we ever did was play Quidditch in the yard and tease the ghoul and de-gnome the garden," Ginny said. "Never had to have lessons, but Mum was always trying to come up with ways to trick us into working while thinking we weren’t."

"De-gnoming the garden?" Draco raised his eyebrows. "You had gnomes in your garden?"

"Didn’t you? Dad was always too nice and refused to kill them, so we had to go toss them out every few weeks."

"We never had gnomes," Draco said. "At least, not that I’d ever seen. Of course, we had a fleet of gardeners, so it’s entirely possible we did and I simply never knew. How does one de-gnome a garden?"

"You pick them up and whirl them around ‘til they get dizzy, then toss them over the fence. If you ever come to the Burrow, I’ll teach you how."

Draco wrinkled his nose at her. "As fun as that sounds, I think I’ll skip the practical application."

Ginny grinned. "You’re missing out."

"I’ll take your word for it." He looked up as the owner made his way back to their table and chatted with him at length in Greek while Ginny looked on in amusement.

"Do I want to know what that was all about?" she asked, when the other man had disappeared into the bowels of the kitchen, after grinning expansively at Ginny and shaking Draco’s hand.

"That was me ordering food. I ordered for both of us...I hope you don’t mind."

"Not at all. I wouldn’t know where to begin." Ginny smiled and then inhaled deeply. "It’s so warm! I wish it were like this in England all the time."

Draco laughed. "Antonis - he’s the owner - was just telling me he thought we were crazy to want to sit outside. It’s reasonably warm, but still cool by Island standards, apparently."

They chatted about inconsequentials until the food came, an bewildering array of dishes delivered by Antonis and a smiling young woman who was obviously his daughter. Draco pointed out different foods, laughed as she made faces at the raw tuna, and let her eat most of the mussels. They lingered over the wine, and finally took their leave, thanking the owner profusely, who beamed at them, extolling Ginny’s beauty in halting English. He winked at Draco and said something in Greek that made Draco turn faintly pink and shake his head.

"What did he say?" Ginny demanded once they were out of earshot, but Draco refused to tell her.

"It wouldn’t translate," he said dismissively, his cheeks still tinged with colour.

They wandered down to the beach and walked along the waterline hand in hand, watching the waves creep in. The lights from the small restaurants and hotels along the beachfront, along with the light from the half-moon in the sky gave off enough light that they could see where they were going, reflecting off the wet sand and gleaming on the waves. Ginny sighed happily, swinging their joined hands. "You know, this is absurdly romantic. Flowers and chocolate, a wonderful dinner, moonlit walk along the beach...it’s practically cheesy."

"Cheesy?" Draco sounded affronted. "You’re not supposed to think it’s cheesy, you’re supposed to be swept away by my sensitivity and charm."

"Oh, I am?" Ginny laughed.

"Yes. I’m awing you with my ability to be strong, yet vulnerable, virile, yet generous, manly, yet kind..." Draco stopped and drew her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist and grinning down at her. "Impressed yet?"

"Oh, terribly," Ginny nodded. "But I warn you, if you start reciting poetry, I shall smack you."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and - ow!" He laughed as she thumped him on the chest, and grabbed her hand before she could hit him again. " Well, you’re certainly not temperate. Just as well, I don’t remember the rest of that one."

"Did you write that?"

"God, no. That’s Shakespeare. I’m not quite at the point where I’m writing my own." Draco shook his head. "And never will be, I hope."

"Thank goodness," Ginny said fervently. "I’m not much of a poetry girl, lest you be harbouring any desire to become a poet in order to impress me. I didn’t know Shakespeare wrote poetry."

"I’ll keep that in mind," said Draco. "You know who Shakespeare is?"

Ginny laughed. "I took Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, and then a creative writing course through a Muggle college not long after I graduated. We studied a few of his plays, but I didn’t care much for him. Had the silliest ideas about witches."

"True. He does have some nice poetry, though. Del took a bunch of upper-level English courses in University, and liked to spontaneously recite them at John and I. His were the only ones I liked."

"Del would be...John’s friend, right?" Ginny smiled at Draco’s nod. "Bet you thought I wasn’t paying attention. How come you brought me to Greece and not to Canada, anyway? Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but I wouldn’t mind seeing somewhere outside of Europe."

Draco made a face. "Are you kidding? It’s cold in Canada this time of year. February’s the worst month to spend winter on the prairies. It’s bloody freezing, Christmas is over, spring nowhere in sight, nothing to look forward to, everything’s a sort of dull grey colour...it’s awful. Not at all romantic."

"Colder than England?"

"Much colder." Draco nestled her against his chest. "And, as I said, dreary and nasty and not a very nice place to be until, say, April. I’ll take you in the summer, when it’s warm."

"All right," she said with a smile, then tilted her head at him. "Do you miss it?" she asked quietly.

Draco paused thoughtfully. "Some things," he finally said. "I miss my house...living in hotels suck, no matter how nice they are. I miss John, and the rest of my friends. And dumb things, like soap and American TV shows and Canadian beer."

Ginny laughed. "You miss beer?"

"What? They make good beer." Draco grinned back and kissed the tip of her nose. "Not that I don’t like English beer, of course, but there’s a local brewery in Alberta that makes a really good wheat ale. I miss it."

"I actually would not have pegged you as a beer drinker, to be honest," Ginny said. "You seem more a wine sort of person. Beer is so...unrefined."

"I’m not that refined."

Ginny snorted. "No, of course not."

"Well, you can think whatever you wish, but I stand by my statement." He looked down at her, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I’m depressingly uncouth."

"Of course you are," she said, laughing. She sighed and snuggled against his shoulder, smiling contentedly.

They stood in silence for long moments, arms wrapped around each other, the sound of the sea in their ears. Draco closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her hair, one hand tracing lazy circles on her back. When he noticed her begin to shiver slightly, he brought his mouth to her ear. "Time to go home?" he whispered softly.

She turned her head and smiled up at him. "I think so. I’m getting cold."

The portkey took them directly back to Ginny’s apartment, which made her raise her eyebrows a bit, but she didn’t comment. Draco relinquished his coat to her, and she hung it up with her own cloak in the closet beside the front door as he wandered to the kitchen counter and leaned casually against it.

"Can I get you anything?" Ginny asked, coming to stand beside him.

"No thank you," Draco said softly, looking down at her with unreadable grey eyes. He reached out and touched her cheek gently with one hand, and she tilted her head toward it and smiled.

"Thank you," she said softly. "Tonight was wonderful."

"You’re welcome. I’m glad you had a good time."

"I did. I’ve never had anyone do something like that for me. It was really the nicest surprise I’ve ever had."

"I’ll keep that in mind for future surprises." He slid his hand down to her neck, his fingers curling in the loose strands of hair at the base of her skull. She swayed toward him slightly and he stepped forward to catch her, his other arm wrapping around her waist, and lowered his mouth to hers. He sighed slightly, holding her tightly, giving in to the desire he always felt around her but kept tightly in check. She murmured softly against his mouth and leaned into the kiss, resting her hands on the counter on either side of him.

Draco pulled away slightly and raised one hand to her cheek, tracing her cheekbone lightly with his fingertips. "Are you..." Draco stopped and cupped her face in his hands.

"Am I what?" Ginny asked huskily, blinking up at him through cinnamon lashes.

"Are you sure you want this?"

She stopped, eyes searching his face for a long moment, then she leaned forward and brushed her lips softly against his in answer. "Yes," she whispered. "I’m sure."

Draco smiled slowly and slid his hands down her neck, kissing her deeply. He could taste wine on her tongue as he explored her mouth with his own, sliding his hands over her shoulders and down her back before drawing them forward so he could rest them against the fullness of her hips, feeling the heat of her skin through her satin dress. He rubbed his thumbs against her hipbones and she moaned, leaning into him. She brought her hands down across his chest and stomach, pulling his shirt out of the waistband of his pants so she could slide them underneath and across his bare skin, her lips curling against his mouth as he gasped at the feel of her hands.

She had worked all of the buttons undone and was sliding it off his arms when Draco managed to lift his mouth from hers and whisper, "Wait."

Ginny frowned and stopped. "What?"

Draco smiled at the look on her face. "I was just thinking that I hadn’t really intended to make love to you on your kitchen floor. At least, not the first time."

Ginny spluttered with laughter. "What, no sense of adventure?"

"All in good time," he said, leaning forward to nip softly at her neck. She swayed toward him with a breathy moan, and he slid one hand around her shoulders, then bent and scooped her off her feet. She let out a small squeak of surprise, and he grinned. He started down the hall and nudged her bedroom door open with one shoulder, setting her down on her feet near the bed. "Much better," he said with satisfaction, kissing her again.

"Hmmm," she said absently, drifting her fingertips over the contours of his chest, sliding her hands up and over his shoulders, pushing his shirt off. He let go of her for a moment to let it drop to the floor, then repeated the motion with her dress, gliding the delicate straps off her arms, bending his head to place small kisses along the curve of her shoulders and along her neck. She hummed softly with pleasure, curving her neck toward him and tracing the muscles of his abdomen with her fingers. Draco groaned softly and covered her mouth with his, sliding his hands down her back and around her waist, then up again to cup her breasts, half-lost in the indescribable sensation of her skin against his. Ginny stepped back once, and then again, until she reached the edge of the bed and sank down on it, pulling him with her, then reached out and turned out the light.

~*~

Draco woke the next morning to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He lay with his eyes closed for a moment; he felt comfortable and warm and sated, and quite possibly the last thing he wanted to do at this moment was to get up and find his telephone. Sod it, he thought sleepily. Whoever it is can bloody well leave a message. As if on cue, the ringing stopped as the voice mail picked up. Draco sighed contentedly and started to drift back to sleep.

The phone started ringing again almost immediately. Draco groaned and cracked an eyelid. The sun was up, streaming through the blinds and drawing striped lines of yellow across the ceiling. He blinked slowly, trying to remember when he’d had blinds installed in his bedroom. After another moment, he remembered that he hadn’t had blinds installed in his bedroom, leading to the obvious conclusion that this must not be his bedroom. That conclusion was borne out on further examination by the unfamiliar wardrobe in the corner, and the decidedly feminine clothing it contained. There also happened to be another person in the bed, who seemed to have an arm wrapped around his chest and a leg draped over both of his. A stray curl of red hair was tangled around his neck. Draco smiled happily. "Good morning," he whispered softly against her temple.

The only response was an irritable grumble.

Note to self. Ginny is not a morning person, he thought, amused. The ringing stopped again.

"Finally," she muttered grouchily against his chest. "Call ‘m back later an’ tell whoever that was to sod off."

"I’ll do that," he murmured, eyes drifting closed again. Later. He really didn’t want to go anywhere right at the moment.

There was a soft pop from the corner of the room.

"Dammit, Malfoy, why the hell aren’t you answering your - oh. Oh. Oh, shit. Sorry. I’m sorry!" Ginny shrieked and dived under the covers. Neville squeezed his eyes shut and turned around quickly, but not before Draco saw him turn several rather alarming shades of red.

"Morning, Longbottom."

"Good morning. Oh, hell."

Ginny unburied her head, clutching the sheets to her chest, and glared at Neville’s back. "Neville, what are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Sorry...I’m sorry. I’ve just - I’m looking for Malfoy, we’ve got a lead, and he wasn’t answering his phone, there’s a charm on it so we can trace him magically, I have one too, I just apparated when he didn’t answer...I didn’t think he was here. Sorry. Sorry!" Neville hunched his shoulders and shuffled his feet, still facing the wall. "I didn’t think - um, hell. Look, how about I just go wait in the kitchen?"

Draco was shaking with suppressed laughter as Neville managed to sidle out of the room without once glancing in the direction of the bed.

"This is not funny!" Ginny hissed. She sat up, sheets clutched to her chest as she glared with equal venom at the door and at Draco, who gave up trying to be quiet and was practically crying, he was laughing so hard. "It’s not! Shut up!"

"The look on his face..." he gasped. "Oh God!"

"Neville Longbottom just Apparated into my bedroom! I fail to see the humour in this situation! I’m going to kill him! NEVILLE, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

A faint "I’m sorry!" drifted from the direction of the kitchen, which only served to set Draco off again.

"Stop laughing!"

Under Ginny’s decidedly unimpressed glare, Draco finally managed to calm down and get dressed, although he had a bad moment or two when he got to the kitchen and Neville blushed to the roots of his hair. He bid a disgruntled Ginny goodbye and followed Neville out the door, as subdued as possible under the circumstances.

Neville maintained an icy silence all the way down to Draco’s car and halfway through the trip to Diagon Alley. Finally he cleared his throat stiffly and growled, "Well, I’d ask if you had a good evening, but it seems a bit of a pointless question."

Draco snorted and glanced at his partner. Neville was slouched in his seat, glaring out the window with his arms folded across his chest. "I did, actually," he said, and smirked as Neville’s glare got a little fiercer and he muttered something under his breath. "What was that?"

"I said I didn’t think you’d...that you would..." Neville blushed again and shut up.

"Who said it was my idea?" Draco smirked, shooting an amused glance at his partner out of the corner of his eye.

Neville squirmed but pressed on. "You couldn’t have waited before you decided to haul her into bed?" he demanded, a hint of outrage in his voice.

"Oh, for crying out loud, we’ve been dating for months," Draco said testily. "It’s not like she’s a virgin, Christ, she has three kids! I think she’s figured out the sex thing by now."

Neville flushed again. "That’s not the point."

"Then what is the point? Besides the fact that you’re embarrassed because you ended up somewhere you weren’t supposed to be?" Draco grinned slyly. "Just be glad you didn’t show up about 6 hours earlier...I would have been a lot less amused."

Neville groaned. "Thank you Malfoy, for that. Because I needed to know, really."

"You’re the gossip...sure you don’t want all the gritty details?"

"I am not a gossip. And no, I do not want details, thank you very much," Neville huffed, and shifted in his seat to glare out the window. Draco just rolled his eyes and concentrated on the road.

"Who’s Laura?" Neville said finally. He felt more than saw Draco’s jump.

"Don’t do that!" Draco said irritably.

"Do what?"

"Spring questions like that on me out of the blue. Jesus." Draco shot Neville a glare before turning his attention back to the road.

"Who is she?"

"None of your - "

"Don’t tell me it’s none of my business. If you are going to carry on some sort of affair with one of my best friends, I want to be sure that you’re not screwing around with her. Now tell me who Laura is. You’ve got a picture of her in your office, she must be important."

Draco’s lips thinned, and his hands tensed on the steering wheel. "She was."

Neville raised an eyebrow at the past tense. "And?"

"And she is dead, Longbottom."

That shut Neville up. They drove on, an intimidating, heavy silence sitting between them. When Draco spoke again, his voice was quiet and measured and very, very calm. "We dated for a year and a half, we lived together, we’d discussed marriage. And then she died. End of story."

"Oh." Neville cleared his throat nervously and fiddled with the edge of his coat. "I’m sorry."

Draco gave a short, sharp laugh. "What for? Wasn’t your fault."

"I just meant..." Neville trailed off.

"I know what you meant." Draco shifted and sighed. "It just bothers me that people always say they’re sorry. You didn’t have anything to do with it, you didn’t know her, and you’re not really. It’s a stupid thing to say."

"I know what you mean." Neville shifted to look at Draco. "My parents...people used to say that all the time, and I hated it."

Draco nodded, staring out at the road.

"You loved her." It wasn’t a question. Draco nodded again, his jaw tensing. Neville glanced over at him and then away. "What happened?"

Draco’s hands tightened on the wheel. "Car accident."

"Oh." Neville cleared his throat again. "What - "

"Look, Longbottom, I do not want to talk about it," Draco snapped. "It was a long time ago and I don’t want to discuss it."

Neville bit his lip and nodded slightly. "All right." He examined Draco’s profile for a long moment, but Draco wouldn’t look at him, and Neville finally gave it up with a sigh.

~*~

Several hours later, Neville groaned and tilted his chair back, scrubbing at his face with his hands. Draco had left an hour earlier, which was almost a relief, as he’d been either imposingly silent or short with people all day, and had driven half the office crazy. Neville felt vaguely guilty about that, since the underlying reason for Draco’s bad mood was largely his fault - the fact that the lead he had hauled Draco out of bed for had turned out to be useless hadn't improved matters. All the same, though, he didn’t have to be so pissy about Neville asking questions. Draco tended to take the whole privacy thing entirely too far.

Neville shook his head sadly. It would be easier if there weren’t so much about Draco - about the person that Draco was now, that Neville didn’t know; things like Laura, whoever she was, that had affected Draco enough that he wouldn’t - or couldn’t - talk about them. They’d been partners for almost a year, he realized with a shock. Almost a year, and he felt no closer to knowing Draco than he had before Draco had left. And he wanted to, Neville admitted, not only out of curiosity, or for Ginny’s sake, but because he actually liked Draco. And not just in a pots-of-chocolate sort of way, as Hermione would say, but as a...a friend, however absurd that might sound. Neville trusted him. But as much has he had changed, there were some things about Draco that hadn’t; it was, for instance, next to impossible to be easy with him sometimes, and he still had an unerring sense for weakness. And he was still secretive, and proud, and arrogant - as Neville had told Hermione, Draco was very good at what he did, and he knew it.

Neville groaned again and looked at the pile of scrolls and parchments on his desk - unfinished paperwork, for the most part, and reports he needed to get caught up on. "I want to go home," he told his paperwork quietly.

"So go." Neville nearly jumped out of his skin, looking around wildly. Cecil Dobbins was standing in the door of his office, arms folded. "No sense staying here...paperwork will still be here in the morning."

"That sounds like a grand idea," Neville said with a sigh. "Been a hell of a day."

"I’m not surprised, with that albino partner of yours hanging about like the wrath of doom. What’s got into him?" Cecil asked. It seemed like an idle question, but Neville knew better.

He shrugged at his boss. "Personal issues."

Cecil nodded thoughtfully. "Huh. He leave?"

Neville nodded faintly. "I made him go home, he was getting on my nerves."

Cecil chewed on the ends of his moustache thoughtfully."How’s the case going?"

"Well as can be expected, considering we have no clues and nothing to go on." Neville shook his head and gazed morosely at his desk. "Bit draining, to tell the truth."

"We can always declare it dead," Cecil pointed out.

"Not while it’s still happening."

"Huh. Good point." Cecil straightened up. "Well, keep me posted. Go home, get some rest, order some take-out or something. And tell that partner of yours that if he bullies my secretary again like he did today I’ll boot his ass back to Canada myself." He spun on his heel and left, swinging the door shut behind him, leaving Neville laughing silently to himself.

~*~

When Neville arrived at his office the next morning, Draco was sitting in his visitor’s chair, leaning forward with his elbows on the edge of Neville’s desk and his head in his hands. He didn’t even look up as the door opened. "Maybe you can explain to me why, exactly, the two of us seem to be completely incapable of tracking down two irritating little street punks with porridge for brains."

"Because we’re both so good at our jobs?" Neville sighed, coming around the corner of his desk to sit in his chair. "Because we’re the best and brightest the wizarding world has to offer?"

"Apparently," Draco said with some disgust. "There’s been another one."

"Fantastic."

Draco sighed deeply and raised his head long enough to shove a piece of paper at Neville. "Here, read it yourself."

Neville read, and groaned when he was done, leaning forward to imitate Draco’s pose, head in hands. "Oh, bloody hell."

"Could this day possibly get any better?" Draco asked conversationally.

The door to Neville’s office opened, and Harry Potter walked in.

~*~

NB: I can’t take credit for the toy cowboys and Indians, I outright stole the idea from Lynne Reid Banks, author of The Indian in the Cupboard, and full credit should go to her.

If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we would find in each man's life a sorrow and a suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.
- Oscar Wilde

~*~

Draco and Neville both jumped, and Harry froze, staring at Draco. Neville cleared his throat nervously. "Hullo, Harry." He heard Draco mutter something that sounded a lot like rhetorical question, but decided to ignore him.

Harry didn’t even glance at Neville. He was staring at Draco with a twisted expression, his body rigid. Unlike the rest of the wizarding world, it seemed, Harry had no trouble recognizing Draco straight off. "You."

"Hello, Potter," Draco sneered. "What a pleasant surprise."

Harry glared at Draco, but spoke to Neville. "What’s he doing here?"

"He’s my partner for a case I’m working on," Neville said, licking his lips nervously. He had the sinking feeling that this was going to be bad. "Did you need something, Harry?"

"I stopped by to ask if I could borrow a portkey to Hogwarts," Harry replied, still glaring at Draco, who was sneering right back.

"Can’t make one yourself, Potty?" Draco jeered. Neville sighed and closed his eyes briefly. This was going to be bad. Whatever latent nice-ness Draco had picked up seemed to have vanished the minute Harry walked in the door. Neville rose to his feet and moved around the edge of his desk, so that he was more or less between Harry and Draco. He wondered if it would be too obvious if he tried to move some of the more breakable objects.

"I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Malfoy," Harry growled. "What’s he doing here?" he demanded of Neville again.

"I told you, he’s working with me on a case. Um...look, I actually don’t have a portkey handy, but you could go ask Katie, she’s usually - "

"Yes, Potter, why don’t you run along and get someone else to do for you what you can’t do yourself?" Draco said, his voice dripping with malice. Harry took a menacing step forward, which was all the invitation Draco needed; he shoved his chair back and stood, pulling himself to his full six feet and glaring haughtily down his nose at Harry. Harry hadn’t really grown since his brief growth spurt in seventh year, and he realized - belatedly - that Draco had a good four inches on him. He stopped advancing suddenly, and didn’t protest as Neville stepped in front of him and backed him toward the door a bit.

Neville took a deep breath and turned back to Draco, who was still looking daggers at Harry. "Look, Malfoy, I know there’s bad blood between you two - what with the whole um, incident and all - but can you please try to be polite?" Neville tried not to sound too exasperated. Why did he always end up in the middle of these sorts of things?

Draco raised an eyebrow at Neville, distracted. "Incident? What incident?"

Neville looked a little wild-eyed. "Um...I think you know, Malfoy."

Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he looked from Neville to Harry and back. "Actually," he said, in the soft, precise voice that meant he was very angry indeed, "no. I don’t believe I do."

Neville gaped at Draco. "I think you were there, Draco. When Harry killed Lucius."

Draco gave him an utterly blank look. After a long moment, understanding dawned, and his face twisted with disgust. He wheeled on Harry, who looked somewhat embarrassed. "You bastard." Harry took a small step back. Draco sucked in a long breath and held it, clenching and unclenching his hands, fighting for a semblance of self-control. "You. Utter. Bastard. What happened, your spotlight started dimming? Decided to make yourself look a little better?"

Harry snarled. "No one in their right minds would have believed the truth and you know it. "

"No, of course not. So you took it upon yourself to craft a lie that you thought people would believe, and it just coincidentally made you out to be some sort of champion?" Draco hissed.

"That wasn’t what happened!" Harry shouted, stepping forward and bumping into Neville, his green eyes burning.

"What am I missing here?" Neville asked, bewildered.

Draco laughed shortly, sliding a glance toward his partner. "Oh, nothing much. Just that Potter here has been lying to his adoring public for the last decade or so."

Neville looked from Draco to Harry, who was red-faced with anger and...shame? "How about providing me with a real explanation?"

Harry set his jaw and averted his eyes, quite clearly refusing to say anything. Draco glared at him, angrier than Neville had ever seen him. "Fine," Draco said tightly. "How’s this? He didn’t kill Lucius Malfoy, I did."

Neville’s mouth dropped open. "You what?"

"I know you’re not as stupid as you look, Longbottom. Do try to keep up."

Neville ignored that, looking over at Harry. "But...I thought - "

"That Mr. Potter over there, hero of the wizarding world, managed to rid us of You-Know-Who and his best Death Eater all on his own? Oh, no," Draco said harshly. "He had help."

"Harry?"

He shuffled his feet. "I - "

"Putting the best face on the situation, Potter? That why?" Draco’s face was flushed, two spots of crimson high on his cheekbones, his whole body stiff as he tried to keep a leash on what looked like utter, killing rage.

"I was trying to protect you, you stupid git!" Harry shouted. "So that you wouldn’t have to go through the rest of your life with people pointing at you and saying ‘he killed his own father’! I sure as hell didn’t expect you to turn tail and run. Though I wasn’t all that surprised that you did. Coward."

"Trying to protect me? Now that’s rich," Draco snarled. "Protect me how? By pretending to be a bigger hero than you actually are? By preventing anyone from knowing that it wasn’t you who did it? I don’t even know why I’m surprised. You certainly haven’t changed. Attention-seeking, fame-grubbing, spotlight-hogging - "

Harry lunged at Draco, only to be stopped by Neville grabbing him about the waist and dragging him back. "That is ENOUGH!" Neville unceremoniously shoved Harry behind him, standing between him and Draco, who turned his back on the both of them and was staring at the far wall, clenching
and unclenching his fists.

Neville rounded on Harry. "How about you just explain to me exactly what this is about?"

Harry looked mutinous. "Ask him."

Neville closed his eyes briefly and prayed to whoever might be listening for patience. "I am not asking Malfoy, I am asking you."

Harry stuck out his chin and leaned back against the door. "Ask him what happened, if you want to know. Not for me to tell you."

"Harry - " Neville stopped suddenly and turned away from Harry before he could give in to the urge to smack the other man silly. "Fine. Malfoy?"

Draco didn’t turn around, staring silently at the uninspiring plaster wall with his arms crossed. When he finally spoke, his voice was totally uninflected, like he was commentating on something happening very far away. "When Voldemort attacked Hogwarts, he transported Harry away from the main fighting, onto the Quidditch field. Lucius decided that he wasn’t going to miss the real battle, and followed them. Harry and Voldemort were in some kind of protective sphere. Nothing could get in or out, but when Harry defeated Voldemort, the sphere came down. Lucius tried to cast a spell that would reverse Voldemort’s death, and I killed him before he could. That is what happened."

Neville gaped at his partner’s back, then looked over his shoulder at Harry. "Is that true?"

"More or less," Harry muttered, like it killed him to admit it.

Neville shut his eyes, took several deep breaths, then opened them, spun around and grabbed Harry by the arm. He opened the door with his other hand and dragged Harry outside with him, shutting the door firmly behind him. "Why would you lie about something like that?" he asked in a low, intense voice, giving Harry’s arm a slight shake.

Harry slumped slightly in Neville’s grip, some of the anger draining out of him. "It - I don’t know. I was exhausted, and it was such a mess, everyone was so confused, and by the time things were mostly sorted out and I was recovering, the story was already going round that I’d killed him. And Malfoy was nowhere to be found, and I didn’t want to talk about it. So I just...didn’t." He lowered his eyes from Neville’s searching gaze.

"So you just let people think it. Even though..." Neville stopped and closed his eyes again. Lucius Malfoy had been one of the most powerful of Voldemort’s supporters, and with his death, the fight went out of the entire organization, which all but collapsed without leadership. It was that, as much as the death of Voldemort, that had caused the downfall of the Death Eaters. "And that’s why you had him taken off the Ministry’s Death Eater list. Because after...that, you knew that he really wasn’t one."

Harry nodded, staring at the floor. Neville pressed his lips together and huffed. "He saved your life. Lucius would have killed you if Draco hadn’t stopped him."

Harry nodded again, still not meeting Neville’s eyes. Neville just shook his head, and tugged on Harry’s arm. Harry allowed himself to be dragged across the Owlpen and into Katie Bell’s small office, where a startled Katie dug through her filing cabinet for one of her Hogwarts portkeys. Neville ushered Harry back outside and across the Pen again, to the empty space near the back that was used as the Apparition point and shoved the key at him.

"Go," he said abruptly.

"Look, Neville, I - "

"Harry," Neville said. "Just go."

He didn’t wait to see if Harry obeyed him, just turned around and walked slowly back to his office. Neville shut the door and leaned against it, looking at Draco, who had moved from the corner of the room back to the chair. Draco was staring blankly at the wall behind Neville’s desk, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Well," Neville said finally, "that could have gone better."

"Could have been worse," Draco said laconically.

"Do tell me how."

"Could have told him I was sleeping with his wife," Draco replied with a twisted smile. Neville shot him a horrified look. Draco sighed again and lowered his head onto his hands. "Now I have a headache."

"Join the club." Neville pushed himself off the door and walked heavily over to his desk, where he sank into his chair. He regarded the top of Draco’s head for several moments, but Draco didn’t move. "You killed your father?"

Draco made a muffled noise. "Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?"

"Actually...I would," Neville said quietly.

"It was," Draco said after a long moment. Neville remained silent, hands folded in front of him, watching the top of Draco’s head. Draco’s voice was quiet and steady, and it still had the same faraway note as earlier. "He’d carry a special belt knife with him all the time. It was silver, carved with the family crest, really old. I was never allowed to touch it, and he usually never took it off. He forgot to put it on that morning, and I stole it. He would normally never let me touch anything sharper than a butter knife, said he couldn’t trust my ‘destructive tendencies’. I’d meant to - " He stopped, and sighed again. "It doesn’t matter what I’d meant to do. During the battle, Voldemort had gone off to the Quidditch pitch after Harry. He followed, I assume to help if he could, or to kill Harry, or something...I don’t know, but he made me go with him. I was trying to stay out of it, I didn’t want to fight anyone, but he caught me, and dragged me off with him to Voldemort."

Neville could see Draco’s fingers tighten against his scalp, his shoulders hunching slightly, but his voice never wavered. "So he and I were there when Harry killed Voldemort. After Harry did, he went to cast a reversing-spell, some sort of thing they’d planned on, I think. That was why he wanted to be where Voldemort was in the first place, on the off chance that Harry might actually win. And he was standing over Voldemort’s body, and Harry was kneeling there staring at him, and at me, like he wanted to blast us to pieces but was too tired to do anything, and I wasn’t...I just wanted it all to be over. I didn’t want Voldemort back. And I thought, if I could just stop him from casting the spell, it would buy everyone a little time to regroup, and I could get out of there and it would all be finished. So I pulled out the knife, and cut his arm - his wand arm. Not deep, really, just enough so that he would be distracted and not be able to use it and hopefully Harry would do something and the moment would pass."

Draco stopped, and drew a long, shuddering breath before he continued, his voice still steady, but barely above a whisper. "And he turned around, and looked at me, and I was standing there with his knife in my hand, with his blood dripping off the blade, and he started laughing. He’d charmed the knife, a long time ago, with a putrifacus charm." He seemed to sense Neville’s confused look without looking up. "It’s an old Dark spell. If you cast it on an object, like a knife, then the knife will create a wound that festers and goes bad within minutes, and becomes fatal. Anyone or anything he cut with that knife would die, slowly and in pain, rotting from the inside out."

Neville inhaled sharply, then swallowed, suddenly unsure if he really wanted to hear the rest of this.

"Typical of him, to put that kind of thing on what was basically a decorative toy. It took - it seemed like a long time. And he said a great many things before he died. My father was not the most pleasant of men. And Harry sat there the whole time, and just watched, and I didn’t know what to do, so...so I ran. And kept running. I was trying to put as much distance between myself and the wizarding world as I could...I half expected, the first year, for someone to come and drag me off to Azkaban for murder." Draco made a muffled noise, halfway between a sigh and a weary laugh. "I am a coward. Should have known that Potter wouldn’t do that."

"You couldn’t have known," Neville said softly.

"I should have. All this time here, and no one even mentioned it. I had assumed that people were merely being polite. Of course he wouldn’t have said anything. The old Gryffindor nobility at work," Draco spat venomously, and raised his head. He was white, lips drawn in a thin line. Draco shoved his chair back and stood up abruptly, straightening his shoulders and not looking at Neville. "I have to go."

Neville watched him walk out of the office helplessly, then leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, and sighed.

~*~

"What do you mean, he’s gone?"

"I’m sorry, Gin, I thought you knew. I was hoping you did, actually, because I need to talk to him" Neville sighed and rubbed at his forehead, shifting the telephone from his right ear to his left. He leaned back against the wall wearily. "I haven’t seen him in days, and I’d hoped he’d be talking to you."

"I haven’t heard from him at all...I was actually starting to get worried. I called and left a message, but he hasn’t called me back. Why isn’t he talking to you?" Ginny’s voice was a bit tinny on the other end of the line, a side effect of the fact that the only phone in the Ministry offices was a 30-year-old relic of someone’s misguided attempt to Muggle-ize the Owlpen, but her concern came through clearly.

"It’s not technically me...oh, hell, you’re going to find out anyway. Harry came to my office the day before yesterday, and he and Draco had a fight, and Draco took off somewhere, and now I don’t know where he is." There was a long silence at the other end of the line, then a soft click. "Gin?" Neville stared at the dead receiver. "Oh, hell."

He heaved a long-suffering sigh and retreated to his office. Sure enough, roughly 15 minutes later, a disheveled Ginny appeared in his doorway, three children in tow. She marched in, shut the door and arranged the children in a corner with a selection of toys. "Now be quiet while me and Uncle Neville have a talk," she instructed them, then sat down in Neville’s visitor’s chair and glared at him. "Alright, explain."

"Ginny..."

"Tell me what happened."

Neville knew when he was beaten. "Harry came by looking for a portkey to Hogwarts - "

"What for? Why didn’t he just apparate like any normal person?"

"I don’t know," Neville said irritably. "You can’t apparate directly onto the grounds, so maybe he was in too much of a hurry to walk up from Hogsmeade. I didn’t ask."

"Why would he come to you?" Ginny demanded. "It’s not like you talk to him on a regular basis."

"Ginny, I don’t know. Maybe he couldn’t get hold of anyone else."

"Hermione could have made him one...or Ron might have had one, or Lavender, or something. He wouldn’t have come to you first."

"Do you want to hear this or not?" Neville asked sharply. Ginny snapped her mouth shut and scowled. "He came by for a portkey, and Draco was in my office, and they had a fight, and then I shipped Harry off, and Draco left, and I haven’t seen him since."

The colour slowly drained from Ginny’s face "They had a fight? About what?"

Neville bit his lip and hesitated. Ginny raised her eyebrows at him, and he sighed in resignation. "Not about you, if that’s what you’re worried about. It was about...about something that happened, during the War. Harry lost his temper, and Draco was sniping at him - he always used to do that in school - and then I got Harry to leave, and Draco took off and I don’t know where he went."

Ginny leaned back and sighed."He’s not at the Manor?"

"I’ve already said, I don’t know where he is. I highly doubt he’d be at the manor, and I don’t think he’s even in England, to be honest. Canada, would be my guess."

"Why would he go back to Canada?"

"Because he was upset? I don’t know." Neville ran a hand through his hair in frustration, making it stand on end. "I don’t suppose he ever gave you a phone number to reach him there? Like when he was gone over Christmas?"

Ginny let out a long breath. "No, he didn’t." She slumped slightly in her chair, closing her eyes. "I know a little about the people he knows, but I’d have no idea how to find him if he didn’t want to be found. Oh, God, I hope this wasn’t because of me somehow."

"No, it’s a lot more likely to be my fault than yours," Neville said quietly. "I was...worried, about you, and I was rather tactless about it to him, and he was already upset. I think seeing Harry just made it worse. But it didn’t have anything to do with you."

"What did you say to him?" Ginny demanded, sitting up in alarm.

Neville raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Nothing serious...I just - " He paused, and sighed. "When I met him the first time, I went to his office in Scotland Yard, and he’s got a picture of himself and this girl. And I thought - " he stopped and held one hand out toward Ginny. "Don’t look like that, just let me explain. I asked him about it, and he told me she’d died. A long time ago, from what I can gather. And he got upset that I’d asked him, and I think seeing Harry just made his bad mood worse than it already was. And he took off, and I haven’t seen him since." Neville slumped forward and leaned on his elbows on the edge of the desk.

Ginny leaned back in the chair again and looked at him. "So who was she." She said it flatly, but Neville knew that she was hiding some intense emotion behind the mask of calmness she was wearing. He couldn’t tell if it were anger or something else.

"All I know is that her name was Laura, and that she died in a car accident. And that he cared about her. He wouldn’t tell me more."

Ginny looked at him thoughtfully. "He’s never mentioned her to me."

"Yes, but he doesn’t often mention things that he feels strongly about, does he?" Neville said. "If it makes you feel better, he won’t talk about you at all."

She gave him a half-hearted smile. "Not if he doesn’t come back, he won’t."

"He will," Neville said, more firmly than he felt. "I don’t think he’d leave for good."

"He’s done it before," Ginny pointed out, and Neville nodded ruefully. "I just..." she sighed, her shoulders slumping, and the calm mask slipped a bit. "I hope he comes back."

~*~

Draco walked slowly up the front steps of the house he shared with John and propped the screen door open with one shoulder while he dug around in the pocket of his coat for his house-keys. His keys, however, weren’t in his pockets. Because, Draco thought wearily, they are sitting on the top of the cabinet in my hotel room. In England. He groaned softly, leaning forward heavily, his forehead connecting with the door with an audible thunk. "God dammit," he said with feeling.

"Having trouble?" said a faintly amused voice from behind him.

"I left my keys in England," Draco replied with a sigh, and shoved himself away from the door to cast a sidelong glance down the stairs. "Which puts a fine cap on what has been an altogether wonderful day."

John chuckled and walked up the stairs, digging in the pocket of his parka for his house keys. "Is that sarcasm I detect?"

Draco just scowled at him. John laughed again and unlocked the front door, leading the way into the narrow entryway. John hung up his parka quickly, while Draco peered over his shoulder, waiting for him to move out of the way. "This place is a mess," Draco sniffed, eyeing the living room. An unfolded blanket was bunched on the end of the worn leather couch, and an empty bowl and cup sat on the coffee table with a pile of law books beside them. It was actually rather tidy, all things considered. John was an indifferent housekeeper at best - he and Draco had vastly different opinions on what constituted "clean".

"Mmmm-hmmm," John shrugged, quite clearly ignoring him, and went into the kitchen. Draco huffed unhappily and hung his coat up in the closet, then strode the other way down the narrow hall to his room. Like everything else in the house, it was small, with room enough for a bed and dresser and not much more. It was unbearably neat, almost sterile - there was a navy blue throw rug on the hardwood floor beside the bed, and the bed itself was covered with a blue duvet in the same shade. A small amethyst crystal on the windowsill, a print of Matisse’s Blue Nude on one wall, and a couple of framed photos on the edge of the dresser were the only signs that someone actually lived there.

Draco barely glanced around as he shrugged out of his suit jacket and hung it in the closet. He changed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a worn sweatshirt, grey with age, with "World Police and Firefighter Games - Quebec City 2005" emblazoned across the front. He folded his slacks and shirt and left them neatly on the foot of the bed, and went back out to the kitchen.

The kitchen was as small as the rest of the house, with barely enough room to maneuver from stove to fridge to sink without bumping into something. There was a small table and three chairs under the window, and a sad looking fern on the windowsill. John and Del had spent one weekend several years ago blithely painting the walls lemon yellow - over Draco’s protests - which made the room blindingly bright first thing in the morning, and simply cheerful the rest of the time. Some of the tension left his shoulders as he flopped down at the table with a sigh. John was standing in front of the fridge, rummaging around, and he raised an eyebrow at Draco, handing him a beer over the fridge door. Draco accepted it with a slight nod.

John leaned back against the fridge and crossed his arms over his chest. "So?"

Draco rubbed at his forehead with one hand. "So."

"So...what are you doing here?"

"What, aren’t you happy to see me?"

"Oh, I’m delighted. I’m just wondering what I owe the honour of your presence to. Everything ok?"

"What makes you think something is wrong?"

John sighed and tilted his head back. "Are you trying to make this as difficult as possible, or what?" He tossed one long braid over his shoulder. "I assume that something out of the ordinary happened to make you show up here when you are supposed to be in England."

"Not really out of the ordinary. I just...needed to get out of there," Draco said, picking at the label on his beer bottle without looking up.

John waited. Draco didn’t say anything. "So what’s the problem?"

Draco shrugged.

John heaved a sigh. "Dray, do I look like Anne?"

Draco finally looked at him, startled. "What?"

John let out an exasperated breath. "You can just tell me what’s wrong. You don’t have to make me fish for every single piece of information. You’ll lose, anyway...I am a lawyer, remember?"

Draco gave him a half-hearted smile. "I just needed to take off. Ran into someone I didn’t want to talk to." He paused again, but continued before John could yell at him. "D’you remember me telling you about Harry Potter?"

"The guy you used to fight with when you were in school, who always used to try and get you in trouble?"

Draco nodded. "Ran into him."

"Ah," John said. "I see. And?"

"I’m just...bothered, I guess. More than I should be - it was a bit of a shock."

"Why was it a shock?" John asked. "I mean, I thought you were expecting to run into him at some point."

"I was, and I thought I was more or less prepared. I just forgot how much he gets under my skin." Draco’s voice trailed off, and he went back to peeling the label off his beer.

John pulled out the chair on the other side of the table and sat down, hooking an ankle around the third chair and dragging it away from the table so he could prop his feet up on it. "And he got under your skin so badly you decided to run away?"

Draco’s head snapped up. "I did not run away!"

"'Course not. That’s not why you’re here."

"It isn’t," Draco protested.

"Didn’t I just say so? So what happened?" John asked, before Draco could respond.

Draco glowered at him, but allowed himself to be distracted. "He showed up at Neville’s office when I happened to be there. And we had a fight, and I found out..." he stopped for a moment, staring hard at the table. "D’you remember what I told you about my father?" Draco finally said hesitantly.

John nodded solemnly. "Yes," he said quietly, "I remember."

"I found out that he’d been letting people think, all this time, that it was him that...that did it. And he’s been going about being lauded as this wonderful hero for offing Lucius Malfoy, and it wasn’t even him. "

"I see," John said slowly. "And you’ve decided to come back here because...?"

"Because I didn’t feel like watching him nance about acting as if he’s some great huge hero, and lying to everyone about how wonderful he is, when it isn’t true." Draco scowled at the tabletop. "Or at least, part of it isn’t."

"Ah." John leaned back and cocked his head, examining Draco with knowing black eyes. "And it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you just generally don’t like him." Draco transferred his scowl from the table to his friend. "You’re not mad because of that whole thing about your dad, you’re mad because you don’t like him, and he got you off the hook for something you might have got in serious trouble for, so you feel obligated to be grateful and you don’t want to. And you’re rattled, finding something like that out so suddenly, and finding out that even though you hate him, and he hates you, he helped you out anyway."

"That’s not - " Draco stopped, then nodded grudgingly. "Well, maybe."

John laughed at him. Draco glared back and threw his bottle-cap at him. "Stop that.He still could get me into serious trouble," Draco said sullenly. "And God knows he’s got reason enough."

"Doesn’t mean he will."

Draco snorted and shook his head. "When he finds out that I’m sleeping with his wife, he very well might. It would be the proper thing to do, after all. Finally tell the truth."

John choked on his beer. "You’re sleeping with his wife?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Well, ex-wife, really. I thought I mentioned that."

John coughed and pounded on his chest with one hand. "No, actually, you didn’t," he said after he’d got his breath back. "Jesus. What the hell kind of drugs are you on?"

Draco frowned at him. "I think this is the part where you’re supposed to say ‘Well, you can work past that’ in a supportive manner."

"No, this is the part where I’m supposed to choke on my beer and say ‘what the hell kind of drugs are you on?’" John sighed and rested his elbows on the table. "You’re just a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?"

"It’s not like I planned it, you know," Draco huffed. "It wasn’t as if I moved to England expressly to look up Harry Potter’s ex and try to get her into bed, in order to cause him maximum discomfort. I’d have been quite happy to have avoided him and anything to do with him entirely."

"The discomfort was just a bonus, is that it?" John smirked as Draco made unconvincing noises of denial. "God. And I thought Del was the master of the screwed-up relationship. Does he know that you’re dating Ginny?"

"Well, he didn’t try to kill me straight away, so I’m assuming not. I think Ginny is afraid to tell him."

"Is this guy really such an ogre?" John asked. "If you want to avoid him like the plague, and Ginny is afraid of him..." He trailed off as Draco burst out laughing.

"No, he’s not an ogre. In fact, he’s a hero and an all-around wonderful individual. He’s very nice." Draco managed to make it sound like an insult.

John raised his eyebrows. "So why are you here? If he’s not a total jerk, and he actually helped you out, albeit with a possible ulterior motive, what have you got against him?"

"Do twenty years of history count for nothing? I made a childhood career out of hating Harry Potter, and he hated me right back. Why should it stop now? It’s practically a tradition."

"Maybe because you’re adults?" John said in disgust. "And too old for this sort of thing, in theory at least."

"If you’re going to tell me that I should be the bigger person and try to get along with him, I will smack you," Draco grumbled.

"Why don’t you?" John asked reasonably. "You’d come off looking better, and he’d have no idea what was going on. It’d probably confuse the heck out of him, especially if he’s expecting you to be a jerk."

Draco smiled slightly at that. "You are a devious bastard, you know that?"

John grinned. "I learned from the best. C’mon, ksik-kihk-ini . You want my advice, the best thing to do would be to get your shit together, get on a plane and go back to England."

"I’ll take that under advisement."

John sighed and shook his head. "C’mon, Dray, don’t do this to yourself," he said firmly.
"The people whose opinions matter won’t care, and the people who would care, don’t count. You can’t make people change, bro, and you can’t force them to change their opinions of you. Only thing you can do is be the person you know you are. And if people can’t accept that, then they don’t really matter, right?" When he didn’t get a response, he poked Draco in the elbow. "Right?"

"Right," Draco said grudgingly.

"So, go back, finish what you went out there to do, hang out with the people you like, and screw the rest of ‘em. They don’t matter."

Draco leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on top of his folded hands. "Want to come with me?" he asked with a half-smile.

"What, to England?" John looked surprised. "What for?"

"Moral support?" Draco shook his head and gave a half-hearted chuckle. "You could meet Ginny," he said entreatingly.

"Wish I had time, bro. I’d love to," John said, smiling back. "Just don’t let ‘em get to you, is all." He pushed his chair back and stood up. "I gotta go, I promised Del I’d meet her. You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah, I’ll be fine." Draco said. John gave his shoulder a pat on his way to the door. "Hey."

John stopped in the doorway and turned to look at him. "What’s up?"

Draco gave him a half-hearted smile and nodded once. "Thanks."

"Any time, ksik-kihk-ini."

Draco sat in the kitchen for a long time after John left, as the weak winter sunlight faded outside the window. He hadn’t come back because he was running away, although privately he had to admit that was part of it. But the larger part was because this was his sanctuary; it was home, in a way that England never had been. Except...except.

Except he kept half-expecting to see Ginny around the corner, to hear her voice, kept thinking of things he could tell her, of things he wanted to share with her. And she wasn’t here, of course. "Dammit," Draco said softly, running his hands through his hair. He would go back, he knew he would, and it was a bit pointless to pretend that he wasn’t going to, no matter how badly he might want to stay. Not just because running away a second time because he was afraid of Potter would be letting him win - again - but because he was reluctant to give up his relationship with Ginny. Draco shoved his chair back and stood up. "But not right now," he told the kitchen at large. He grabbed another beer and headed to the living room to watch TV.

~*~

Neville was up to his eyebrows in paperwork when Draco came into his office the following morning and sat down quietly in the visitor’s chair. Neville didn’t look up, not even when Draco, a faintly amused smile on his face, leaned the chair back and propped his feet up on the edge of Neville’s desk. He waited patiently while Neville worked his way through one scroll, set it aside and reached for the next one on his pile. Draco coughed discretely.

Neville yelped and jumped almost a foot, clutching at the armrests of his chair. He stared at Draco in horror, breathing heavily. "What the hell?"

"Hello, Longbottom."

"Don’t do that!" Neville pressed his eyes closed, then opened them to glare at his partner. "I nearly had a heart attack. God."

"Sorry," Draco said, although he didn’t sound the least bit contrite. "Didn’t mean to startle you."

"Bullshit." Neville grumbled. "Welcome back."

Draco had the grace to look somewhat embarrassed, but he didn’t explain. "So what’s happened?"

"Oh, nothing much. Paperwork, a major lead, that sort of thing," Neville said airily.

"Major lead?" Draco repeated, raising one eyebrow. "What sort of major lead?"

"The one that I’ve been hunting all over for you to tell you about." Neville reached into a drawer and pulled out a small digital cassette - the kind that Muggle security cameras used, wrapped up in what looked like plastic film - and held it up. "This is a security tape from the bank that was robbed earlier this week. One of the Aurors from London South found a camera our little friends neglected to wipe."

Draco sat up straight. "Have you looked at it?"

"Not yet. We don’t have the equipment here, and I didn’t want to risk the damn thing getting wiped by fiddling with it around so much magic, so I’ve been waiting for you to get back," Neville said. "If you’re feeling up to a trip to Scotland Yard..."

Draco glared at him. "Whenever you’re ready, Longbottom."

Neville grinned and stood up, pulling his cloak off the coat rack behind his chair and waving Draco toward the door. "After you, Malfoy."

They arrived at New Scotland Yard quickly, and after a few inquiries managed to find someone who could play back the tape for them. They were taken to a small screening room, where the eager young man who was in charge of the police force’s electronic equipment set up the digital cassette for playback.

The recording began with a normal picture of the bank, customers coming and going. After a minute or so, there was a jump in the playback, and the screen went fuzzy briefly before coming back online. "That must be where they disabled the other cameras," Neville said, and Draco nodded. The recording continued to play, showing a small man with bright red hair, who looked barely out of his teens, standing near the doors with a wand in one hand and a gun in the other. He seemed to be pointing to the bank customers and casting spells on them, for one after the other, the customers dropped to the floor.

Another man came to stand beside the first, also carrying a gun. He was taller and stockier, with long dirty-blond hair. They seemed to confer briefly, then the blond man headed over to the counter. Draco paused the tape. "That’s the Muggle one," he said, tapping the screen. "His name’s Brad Straker, and he’s quite the little delinquent. He had a juvenile record as long as my arm, but he didn’t serve any time in custody - his parents, as I understand, are quite well off, and managed to hire one of the better defense lawyers in the province for him. He kept getting off the hook, the little bastard." He sounded personally offended, and Neville hid a smile. Not quite well enough, because Draco caught it and glared at him. "What?"

"Just you, of all people, complaining about someone having rich parents who’ll buy them out of trouble." Neville smirked at his partner. "Bit ironic, don’t you think?"

"My parents never had to buy me out of trouble," Draco retorted. Neville just shrugged, amused. "Anyway," Draco continued quellingly, "he’s the Muggle, and if his previous track record is any indication, likely the brains of the outfit. This other one," - he tapped the slight, redheaded man - "must be Chris Nesbitt, the wizard."

"He’s got hair like a Weasley," Neville commented. "I wonder if any of their family ever moved to Canada."

"There are red-headed people in the world who are not related to the Weasleys, you know."

"I know, I was just saying. It’s not that common." Neville shrugged irritably. "At least we know what he looks like. Is there a way to print out a picture off that thing? I can send it over to the MoM in Canada and see if I can get a bit more information. Long shot, but it’s worth a try. If the stuck-up bastards will even talk to me," he grumbled.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Trouble?"

"The people over at the Department of Magical Inquiry in Canada are astoundingly unhelpful, is all. Took me an age just to find a contact over there, and they’re bloody tight with information." Neville brushed absently at his rumpled trousers. "Surprising, really. You’d think they’d be a bit more open-minded, but they’re the most insular wizards I’ve ever seen. Worse than those American blokes."

"Well, doesn’t hurt to ask, I suppose," said Draco. "Though I can’t say I’m holding out much hope either way. I’ve already tried seeing if they’re registered as being in the country - which they’re not - looked for any activity for either name, we’ve tipped off most of the police forces in the London area, hell, most of Southern England...I don’t know what more we can
really do." He sat back and ran both hands over his hair in frustration. "Dammit."

"Even if they’re not using their real names, they have to be staying somewhere. They’ve got to sleep, right?" Neville sighed heavily. "There’s got to be places that they go to regularly. If we had more information..."

"If we had more information, the damned case would be over by now." Draco crossed his arms and scowled. "If there weren’t a thousand places in London for them to hide, if they were slightly less careful, if there were a way to track them..."

"Well, there’s not much we can do on that score. I’ll talk to the Canadian Ministry and see what I can find out." Neville stood up, brushing at his trousers.

Draco nodded. "I’m going to see if we can get clear pictures of these two off that tape. At the very least, we can circulate their pictures to the force and see if anyone spots them."

"Better than nothing."

Draco snorted. "I guess."

~*~

Ginny spent the day following her conversation with Neville fretting and trying to pretend she wasn't. She was more worried than she really wanted to admit, and it made her snappish and grouchy, a mood not really improved by Jamie and Sarah deciding to play "who can make the bigger mess" with their toys. She was ready to scream with frustration when the phone rang, which she had to hunt for, since one of the children had decided to bury it. She finally found it under a pile of clothes in Jamie’s room and snapped into the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hello."

Ginny slumped slightly, pressing one hand to her forehead. "Draco."


"You sound busy."


Ginny looked around at the mess in Jamie’s room and sighed. "Sort of. Not exactly."


"Bad day?"


"Oh, God." She picked her way across the room and into the hall. "You have no id - William, no! How many times have I told you not to do that? Hold on," she said into the phone, then went to pull Will off the back of the couch. "Stay off there." She sighed and raised the receiver to her ear again. "Sorry."

"It’s no trouble. If you’re busy, I can call back," Draco said. He sounded like he was trying to be accommodating, which for some reason served to irritate Ginny even more.

"No, that’s fine." She took a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it out in a whoosh. "I’m just irritated. I’m this close to declaring it to be naptime for the rest of the afternoon, only that’d just make them impossible to put to bed."

Draco laughed. "Want a hand?"

"I want a break," Ginny grumbled. "Care to buy some children? I’ll sell them to you cheap"

Draco laughed again. "Sure...how much for the lot?"

Ginny chuckled weakly. "Fifteen galleons? Or fifty quid, whatever’s more convenient."

"Fifty? I can buy ‘em on the black market for ten apiece," Draco said. "Tell you what, how ‘bout thirty-five for the lot? I’ll throw in dinner for you."

Ginny sighed with pleasure. "Oh, that sounds grand."

"Just give me an hour."

True to his word, the doorbell rang an hour later. Ginny pushed the hair off her forehead with the back of one hand and went to answer the door. "Hello," she said to Draco, who smiled.

"Hello." He shifted one of the bags he was carrying to his other hand and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. He was wearing blue jeans and a deep blue knitted sweater, his hair pulled back in an elastic, and Ginny caught her breath as he smiled down at her. He was so handsome, it was hard to believe sometimes.

She collected herself and gestured at the plastic bags he was carrying. "What’s all that?"

"Dinner," he said. "Or rather, dinner supplies. Just remember, you owe me thirty-five for the kids."

Ginny giggled. "So long as you’re sure you won’t renege on the deal and bring them back in two days complaining about the merchandise."

"Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m sure they’re in perfect condition." Draco grinned and kissed her lightly. "Just like their mother."

Ginny snorted and pushed at his chest. "Shove off. I’m a mess."

"Nonsense. You look beautiful." Draco kissed her again, and then again when she swayed against him, then nudged her toward the kitchen. He set the bags down on the counter, and gave her a gentle push toward the living room. "Go sit down...I’ll handle supper."

"A man who cooks...I’m in heaven."

"I wouldn’t call it cooking. I can make pizza, and pasta if the sauce comes in a jar, and that’s about the extent of my culinary skills," Draco laughed. "Pizza is what we’re having, in fact. You can send me your children and I’ll put them to work. Make them earn their keep."

Ginny did, ushering Sarah and Jamie into the kitchen, where Draco set them to grating cheese and spreading pizza sauce on the uncooked crusts while he chopped vegetables. Will was engrossed in his building blocks, which were charmed to change shape and colour at random. This usually happened when the block was at the bottom of a pile, causing all the blocks to fall over, much to his delight. Ginny lay down on the couch with her eyes closed, listening to Willie chortle and Draco direct the children in the kitchen. She marveled again at how well he dealt with them - she would never have expected Draco to get along well with children as well as he did. He treated them like small adults, listening to their questions with seemingly endless patience. She could tell he was enjoying himself, his voice slipping in and out of a faint American accent as he laughed.

It was quite nice, Ginny decided, to be able to lie on her couch and let someone else do all the work for once. She smiled slightly and relaxed into the cushions. Sarah was bossing Jamie around, imperiously directing him how to put the pepperoni slices on his pizza crust. She’d gotten over her reserve around Draco, having decided he wasn’t a threat, and treated him like she did the rest of the family, which meant that he needed to be told what to do all the time. Draco was giving them tips as well; for all his insistence on not being able to cook, he did seem to know a fair bit about making pizza.

It took very little time to get the pizzas ready to cook, and Draco made a little show of not knowing how to work the stove so that Sarah could give him instructions. Ginny grinned and propped herself up on her elbows to watch. "You shouldn’t encourage her," she said. "If you let her boss you around, she’ll think it’s her right."

Draco looked up at her and smiled, while Sarah frowned. "But he doesn’t know how, Mummy."

"I’m sure he could figure it out," Ginny said firmly, getting up from the couch and coming to lean against the wall between the kitchen and living room. "It’s only an oven, after all, and not even a magical one."

Sarah gave an exaggerated sigh and tossed her hands in the air, a gesture she’d picked up from Molly. "Well, then it’s not my fault if supper is ruined," she said. Ginny could see Draco’s shoulders shaking, and his eyes danced as he tried not to laugh. Sarah frowned at the both of them and sniffed. "I’m going to play," she said haughtily, and swept into the living room.

Draco watched her go with amusement. "I pity the man who marries her," he said quietly.

"It’s just a phase," Ginny replied. "Mum says I was like that when I was four too."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "So you’ll grow out of it?" he asked innocently. Ginny sputtered, then thwacked him on the arm. He laughed and caught her in his arms, kissing her on the forehead. "Go sit down, the pizza will take a while to cook."

Draco followed her out to the living room, and they chatted until the pizza was ready, then herded the kids back into the kitchen to set the table. Jamie and Sarah made a bid for eating in the living room, which was shot down by Ginny ("Absolutely not! We have a kitchen table for a reason."). Supper was not ruined, despite Sarah’s dire pronouncements, and Draco herded Ginny back into the living once they were finished eating, ignoring her protests. He corralled Jamie and Sarah into helping him do the dishes, while Ginny sat down on the couch and watched with amusement. William was on the floor with his blocks, banging them together half-heartedly and yawning periodically. "Bed for you, young man," she said to him, bending down to scoop him up.

"Bed," Will mumbled quietly and rested his head sleepily against her neck. "Bedbed. Bedbedbed."

"Poor tired baby. You had a long day, didn’t you?" Ginny kissed his temple and carried him through the kitchen, William mumbling under his breath all the way. When she returned from putting him to bed, the dishes were mostly cleared away, and Draco had sent Jamie and Sarah into the living room. Ginny leaned against the countertop and watched as he finished putting away the last of the cutlery.

"There." Draco closed the drawer and turned to face her.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I appreciate this."

"Ah," said Draco, and ran one hand over his hair. "It’s actually an apology, of sorts. For not talking to you earlier."

Ginny nodded. "Neville told me you’d run into Harry."

"I thought he might have."

"Where did you go?"

Draco shrugged. "Home." He prodded at the linoleum with one foot. "Talked to John, hung out for a bit, let him talk me into coming back."

Ginny bit her lip and looked at him sidelong. His head was bent and he was staring intently at the floor, a small worry line between his brows. "Would you have stayed there?"

He shifted his shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. "Probably not. John would have convinced me to come back whether I wanted to or not - he’s made talking sense into me his life’s work." He chuckled faintly.

Ginny stared at his profile, unable to resist the question. "Did you want to?" She hated herself for asking him things like that - she didn’t like seeming so needy, but at the same time, she didn’t want them to gnaw at her, unasked.

Draco raised his head swiftly, his eyes meeting hers. "Yes," he said intently. "I did." He reached out and traced her cheekbone lightly, and she suppressed a shiver at his touch. "The pros in regards to being here still outweigh the cons, and I do have work to finish before I make any sort of decision in the staying or going department."

Ginny half-smiled. "Harry being one of the cons."

Draco laughed. "Yes, well, we’ve never exactly been on the best of terms, and that really hasn’t changed."

"Why?" Ginny asked. "I mean, I know that you didn’t get along in school, but after...after the war ended, and you went away, Harry seemed a lot less...I don’t know, hostile, I suppose. I thought some things might have changed, whatever happened."

Draco blinked and looked away, an unreadable expression on his face. "He never told you?"

She shook her head. "I - no. Harry never talks about it. I know something happened, and I know - well. I know you were there, and that it wasn’t..." Ginny stopped. "I know he regretted it."And she did know - Harry was a restless sleeper and she’d woken more than once to him crying out in his sleep, from nightmares he never spoke of when he woke up.

That made Draco laugh again, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "I’m sure he did." He sighed and rolled his shoulders, as if trying to relieve tension.

"What...?" Ginny stopped, then started again. "What did happen, then? That you went back to Canada to talk to John about?"

"He’s been telling people that he killed my father, and he didn’t." He looked at her with guarded eyes. "I did."

Ginny nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "Ah."

"You don’t sound surprised," Draco remarked. He sounded surprised by that.

"I thought it might have been something like that," Ginny said. "I always knew there was something, he just never told me what."

"And now you know," Draco said softly. He looked drawn and tense, as uncomfortable as she’d ever seen him, but unwilling to simply let it slide. "I killed my father. Unintentionally, but that doesn’t change anything." He looked down at the floor again, and closed his eyes.

Ginny stepped forward and slid her hands over his, drawing his attention. His eyes were clouded, his face drawn. She spoke hesitantly, choosing her words carefully. "I don’t think anyone would blame you for what happened, if they knew. Maybe 12 years ago, but not anymore. There was a lot of talk by some people, saying that the Ministry should find you and make you stand trial for what Lucius did during the war, and Harry worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. He spent a fair bit of time making sure that your name was cleared," she said softly. "I don’t know the details - whatever happened is between you and Harry. I know he felt badly then, though, and I think he still does."

"Noble of him," Draco said bitterly, searching her face. "I'm rather surprised you didn't know, to be honest. I would have thought he'd have told you the truth."

Ginny laughed faintly. "Should he have? I don't even think he told Ron or Hermione. He never talked about the war, not to anyone."

"Which doesn’t change the fact that he did lie about what happened."

"No," Ginny said slowly, "but...it was a hard time, after the battle. Harry was under enormous pressure, and when He Who - when Voldemort was killed, when they found Harry, he didn’t really get the chance to explain about anything - people simply assumed that since both Voldemort and your father were dead, then it must have been him. He’s never actually said it outright. And he refused to talk about it to reporters, or with anyone else...and I think by the time he got to a place where he could talk about it, he felt it was too late to really matter. And you were gone, and everyone assumed you must be dead because no one could find you." She paused, then took a deep breath and continued. "I’m not trying to apologize for him, I just...if he says he didn’t do it to hurt you, then that’s what he meant. He wouldn’t do that deliberately."

Draco sighed and disentangled one of his hands from hers to run it absently over his hair. "No, I’m sure he wouldn’t." He closed his eyes and sighed. "I don’t even know why I’m angry, really. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, and I’m just as happy that it isn’t common knowledge." He laughed faintly. "John says it’s just because I’m torn between feeling grateful toward Harry for hiding my secret, and wanting to pound him for taking credit for it."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "You told John?"

Draco gave an amused snort. "There is very little that I don’t tell John. I trust him," he said simply. "It is nice to be able to talk about the war without having to give a treatise on the history of the wizarding world every time I do, though."

Ginny smiled. "Poor John."

"Poor me. History was never my best subject, and he always wants the most obscure details." Draco smiled, some of the tension leaving his face, then reached out with one hand to cup her cheek. "Thank you."

Ginny smiled back, and squeezed his other hand. "You’re welcome." She glanced at the clock and sighed. "Oh dear...bedtime."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Anticipating difficulties?"

"Have you ever tried to put those two to bed?" Ginny demanded. "Watch and learn."

Draco just laughed.

~*~

Twenty minutes later, he was no longer laughing. He flopped back on the couch with an exaggerated groan. "Good Lord."

Ginny laughed, sitting down beside him and nestling against his shoulder when he put his arm around her. "I did warn you."

Draco smiled and rested his chin on the top of her head. "They don’t get that from you."

"No, actually, they get it from the twins. Fred and George, I mean, not Ron and Hermione’s," said Ginny. "They were always terrors at bedtime. And all the rest of the time, come to think of it. The first thing they did when they graduated from Hogwarts was stay up all night just to do it. And eat chocolate cake for breakfast, and not make their beds. Their first flat, after they started up the company and moved out, was a disaster. Poor Mum nearly had a heart attack...she stopped going over there after a while."

"Company?" Draco asked. He vaguely remembered the twins saying something about a joke shop, but they hadn’t established it before he’d left.

"Yes, they started up Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes as a mail order company in my fifth year, but they didn’t move out until after the war. They rented a tiny shop off Diagon Alley, and were living above it for about a year. It was horrible. I wonder that Angelina ever married Fred at all, knowing what a shoddy housekeeper he was." Ginny laughed to herself. "Although maybe that’s why...she couldn’t bear the thought of him living in squalor for the rest of his days."

"Isn’t that why all men get married? Either they decide they need housekeepers, or women take pity on them and decide to help them clean up their acts," Draco said, amused.

"That’s rather cynical of you. You don’t believe in true love?" Ginny asked, craning her neck to look up at him. "Undying passion and all that?"

Draco pretended to think about it, then shook his head. "Nah...it’s probably mostly pity."

"Nonsense!" Ginny insisted. "Look at...look at Ron and Hermione. They married for love."

Draco grinned. "Are you sure? Anyone willing to marry Weasel boy would have to be doing it out of pity."

Ginny glared and poked him. "That’s not nice."

"I’m not nice," he retorted, and made a face at her, which made Ginny giggle. "Did you marry for love?"

Ginny sobered. "Yes. Well, I did, but Harry didn’t." She frowned and fell silent, absently tracing a faint pattern on Draco’s leg. Draco didn’t say anything; finally Ginny sighed and shifted slightly. "That’s not...well. I don’t know. Maybe he did, but I don’t think so."

"How did you and he begin seeing each other?" Draco asked softly.

"It was just before Christmas, my seventh year," Ginny said. "He'd got time off from playing with the Wasps, in theory so that he could spend time with Ron before the wedding, doing whatever it is that best men are supposed to do for weddings, and in the middle of it, he came to Hogwarts to pick me up for the holiday. Made all the little girls go wild, of course, and surprised the hell out of Ron." She laughed. "I remember thinking that it was strange, because Harry'd never really paid any attention to me before then. After that, we started dating, and the next summer, we got married."

"Just like that," Draco said.

"Just like that." Ginny shook her head ruefully. "Like a neat little package; he became part of the family, I got what I'd always wanted, Ron was happy once he got over the initial shock, and Mum was thrilled, because it meant that Harry was truly a part of the family. Looking back now, I think he was lonely, being on his own after Hogwarts, and with Ron and Hermione a couple. He wanted a real family. And someone to be with, someone who would care about him. I loved him so much - I mean, I always had, and it was like a dream, to be with him."

She paused and shook her head. "I knew he didn't love me back, not the same way I loved him. I've always known that. When I was 17, it didn't matter - I was willing to settle for being second in his heart, next to Ron and Hermione and Sirius and my own mother. But after the children, and he was doing the same thing to them, it just got to be too much. Not that he doesn’t love them," Ginny said quickly, noticing Draco's raised eyebrows. "Because he does. It's just...we're none of us first for him. And when it was just me he was putting second, I didn't mind so much. But his children should come first - anyone's children should come first. And they don’t. He loves them but they're not his first priority. I actually think he was afraid of them when they were babies. Now that Jamie and Sarah are grown up enough to be talking, he's more comfortable with them, but I always get the feeling he dreads having to take them, rather than looks forward to spending time with them."

Draco frowned. "That's terrible."

"Well, yes and no. I mean, he's not going to win any prizes as world's best father, but I can't really be surprised. It's not like he ever really had a good example to follow off - his own family used to lock him in a cupboard." Ginny sighed. "I think he'll get better as the children get older, and it's easier to relate to them as something other than things that do nothing but eat."

"So why didn't you wait?" Draco asked quietly. "You'd been married for ten years, which is a long time, and you loved him, and you think he'll get better at being a father...why didn't you stick it out?"

Ginny shrugged, shaking her head "Part of it was because I knew he didn’t care as much for me as I did for him, part of it was that he’d never talk to me...I always had to guess what he was thinking, guess how he felt. I’d talk to Hermione, and she’d tell me things as if I knew about them, and they’d be things Harry never told me. Like when he was thinking of taking the coaching job, he talked it over with Ron and Hermione, before he talked to me about it. And then..." She stopped again, taking a deep breath. "He was supposed to watch over the children one night. I'd gone out with friends, and he was supposed to stay home and look after them - Will was about 11 months old. And I came home, about 9 or so, and the children were all in their beds, and the lights were out...and he was gone."

She shook her head, almost disbelievingly. "He'd gone out, I'm not sure where, and just left the children, I suppose because he was just stepping out for a few minutes and didn't want to be bothered having to take them with him. He arrived back shortly after I got there, and I don't think he'd been gone long. If I'd been 10 minutes later, I'd never have known he'd done it. As it was, I don't think I've ever been so angry. I couldn't believe he'd do something so irresponsible. We had a huge row, and he stormed out, and I lost my temper and packed up the children and went to Neville's. And once I'd left, I couldn't make myself go back. I just couldn't do it, not without hating myself for it, and hating him. Everyone kept asking ‘why didn’t you stay with him if you loved him?’ and the fact was, no matter how much I loved him, it didn’t change that he didn’t love me back. And I was tired of it, and tired of being taken for granted, not just by him, but by everyone. Tired of being the family joke - faithful little Ginny, who hung onto her crush until she finally got what she wanted. I’d been swallowing my pride for so long, and I just couldn’t do it anymore. And it wasn’t as though leaving was easy...it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. If I hadn’t been so angry I could spit, I don’t think I could have done it at all." She was silent for a long time, then she laughed. "Poor Neville. Harry was so furious when he found out I'd been staying with him - I thought Harry was going to kill him."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Whatever for?"

"Harry thought that Neville and I were having an affair." Ginny stopped and glared at Draco. "Don't laugh!"

"Harry thought you were having an affair with Neville?" Draco chortled. "Neville’s gay."

"Harry didn't know that," Ginny said. "Neville doesn't tell people because he's too shy, and you know what the world thinks of gay wizards, so no one actually knows he's gay except me. And Harry. And it's not that far-fetched an idea. I dated Neville when we were still at Hogwarts, and it wasn't until after he'd graduated and we split up that he started...well, he wasn't sure before that if it were boys or girls he was interested in. And we've always been quite good friends, and after the kids were born I was spending a fair bit of time with Neville, mostly bemoaning the state of my marriage, and Harry drew conclusions from our friendship that weren't right."

"You dated Neville?" Draco said in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes...during my sixth year, his seventh. Before he’d really come to terms with his sexuality and realized that he was more attracted to men than women and all that. Nev is actually...well." She cleared her throat. "He was my first."

Draco blinked. "First what?" Then he stared at Ginny’s reddening face and his jaw dropped. "Neville?"

"Don’t look like that," Ginny said, poking him on the arm.

"You slept with Neville?"

"Stop it!"

"Neville?"

"I mean it, cut that out!" Ginny scowled at Draco, who looked torn between laughter and horror. "He was very sweet."

"I’m sure he was." Draco took a deep breath and collected himself. "My God. I will never look at him the same way again. Any other past lovers you’ve had that I should know about? I’d like to get all the shocks over with at once, if you don’t mind."

"Well, there was that sordid night of passion with Cornelius Fudge several years back, but we don’t like to talk about it." Ginny snickered as Draco turned a bit green. "We like to think the video speaks for itself."

Draco choked. "Oh, God. God.You evil, evil woman!"

Ginny giggled, one hand clapped over her mouth to keep the noise down. "I’m joking...there’s only just been Harry and Neville."

"Thank God for that...Cornelius Fudge - I think I’m going to have nightmares." Draco grinned and tightened his arm around her shoulders. "You’re a cruel woman."

"I know. See what you’re getting yourself into?" Ginny laughed.

"I do," Draco smiled and bent down to kiss her gently. "And I won’t regret a moment."

~*~

Draco and Neville met up in Neville’s office two weeks later to compare notes. Draco settled himself in Neville’s visitor’s chair and rested his forearms on the edge of his desk. "So what have you found out?"

Neville sat back in his chair. "Not much, unfortunately. Told you the Canadian Ministry was impossible to get information out of." He picked up a thin parchment and handed it to Draco. "As you already know, his name is Chris Nesbitt, and he’s 19. He dropped out of the Canadian version of Hogwarts - the Laurentian Academy, they call it - in his 6th year and apparently they haven’t heard tale of him since. Said he never got into any trouble before he dropped out, but wasn’t much of a wizard, and didn’t have much of a work ethic. Lazy and not too bright, was the impression the Ministry gave me."

Draco nodded absently. "And I do know he hasn’t got a Muggle police record. It’s likely he’s not the brains of the outfit - it seems a bit like he’s just following along behind whatever Straker is doing. Anything else?"

Neville shook his head. "Not really. Since he wasn’t doing anything illegal until they hit England, the Ministry lost track of him, which apparently isn’t unusual with the younger witches and wizards out there. They’re a close bunch, but a lot of wizards will sort of vanish into Muggle society, or head down to the States. I don’t know much about the culture, but I gather there’s fewer wizards in Canada, and they’re much more spread out so they don’t have a unified community like we do here."

"Doesn’t surprise me," Draco said. "I met a wizard out there once - or at least, he could have been a wizard, but wasn’t. He got a letter to their wizarding school, but never went. It was too far away, he said, and he didn’t want to leave his family that long."

"Well, the upshot is that they couldn’t really tell me anything beyond the fact that he dropped out of school and then met this Straker person, whenever that happened."

"And then came here and embarked on a life of crime," Draco said. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Heard anything from the aurors about the pictures?" Draco had got the tech people at Scotland Yard to print images of the two thieves so he could hand them out, and Neville had got copies to give to the rest of the Aurors.

Neville shook his head. "Not yet. Makes me wonder if they even know about Diagon Alley, or have tried to get in contact with anyone from wizarding London. I’m guessing not...not even the people we have on regular watch have been noticed having contact with either of them."

Draco nodded. "Which would imply that they don’t know about us. I imagine there are several people who’d be interested to know that these two are capable of what they’re doing."

"You’re right about that...your good friend Pansy, for one," Neville replied. "I wonder that no one’s done it before, actually."

"Because Pansy and her friends are too worried about the Muggle taint to dirty their hands themselves," Draco said sardonically. "It wouldn’t occur to them to do it themselves, though they wouldn’t mind taking advantage of those who would be."

"Good point. That reminds me...sold the house yet?" Neville asked idly.

Draco snorted. "No. Surprisingly enough, no one wants to buy it. Can’t imagine why...who wouldn’t want a huge, ugly old mansion in the middle of nowhere?"

"No idea," Neville said, then grinned. "Maybe you could turn it into a B&B or something. Renovate, fix up the grounds, that sort of thing."

Draco looked at him like he was mad. "Right." He shook his head briefly and turned his attention back to the sheet of information. "Anyway, once again, we seem to be at an
impasse."

Neville sighed. "It does look like it. Not much we can do but wait and see. God, I’m getting tired of waiting."

Draco leaned back and shook his head. "Join the club."

~*~

March, 2011

Dinner at Ginny’s became something of a regular occurrence for Draco over the next few weeks; after he’d made her supper, she invited him over to return the favour, and they fell into something of a routine. He didn’t always cook for her, but tried to bring something with him, knowing that it wasn’t fair to Ginny to make her feed him all the time. Draco was actually surprised how much he enjoyed being there, listening to Jamie and Sarah bicker and Will babble about nonsense and occasionally sharing his new favourite word (which was currently "broom") at top volume. It was chaotic at times, and loud, and exasperating as well, but Draco found he missed it, on the nights he didn’t come.

The evenings usually ended up the same - dinner, then playing with the children for an hour or so, then putting them to bed. Draco and Ginny would stay up a bit longer chatting, and then he’d head home, because Ginny didn’t like the idea of having him stay overnight if the children were there. Draco could understand her reasoning, but he didn’t exactly like it - he much preferred being able to spend the night, and not simply for the obvious reasons. He occasionally thought he’d stay forever if she’d let him, although he didn’t let himself dwell on that. As it was, he was beginning to hate his hotel room.

"I’ve been thinking of buying or renting a flat," he told Ginny as she put the last of the dishes into the sink, to be washed later. "If only to be able to sleep in a decent bed for a change."

Ginny shrugged. "It’s up to you. I’m surprised you haven’t before...I don’t think I could live in a hotel for so long. How long has it been? 10 months?"

Draco thought about it. "A year, actually. I came here in March of last year. It doesn’t seem like it’s been that long." He shook his head and sighed. "It was only supposed
to be a few months, but at this rate, I might as well just buy a place."

"What about the mansion?" Ginny asked. "Have you sold it yet?"

"Not yet. The goblins think it might take a while, because there aren’t many who can actually afford a mansion." Draco shrugged and followed her into the living room, sitting down on the couch beside her and resting his arm around her shoulders. "And Bath is too far away to be commuting from London and back every day. I did that the first 6 months, and that’s part of why I want to sell the damn thing in the first place."

"You never did say why you were selling it," Ginny remarked. "It’s the sort of thing you’d want to keep, isn’t it? A great old house like that?"

Draco laughed. "Neville said basically the same thing, that it’s the middle-aged, middle-class dream to have a country house. But honestly, I really don’t want it." He shivered slightly, and Ginny rested a hand gently on his knee. He smiled down at her ruefully. "The place is creepy. Always was, but it’s worse now. There’s no furniture, and it’s empty and echoic and just...uncomfortable."

"Is it haunted?" Ginny asked. "Like Hogwarts was?"

Draco cleared his throat. "No more than usual," he said carefully. After all, he didn’t know that there was anything there beyond the usual ghosts.

He was about to say more, but a knock sounded from the door. They both turned to look. "Well, that’s strange," Ginny said, and got up to answer it. Draco stood too, walking around the coffee table to stand in the centre of the living room as Ginny walked to the door and opened it. He saw her start and back up a step, her hand tightening on the door handle, and almost on instinct he stepped toward the opposite wall, so that he was hidden from sight of the door. "Harry," Ginny said with surprise. "I wasn’t expecting you."

Draco groaned silently and shut his eyes. Wonderful, he thought to himself. Just wonderful.

"I was in the neighbourhood, and thought I’d drop by. Are the kids in bed already?" Draco heard the rustle of a jacket and footsteps, which stopped.

"They are, actually," Ginny said. She sounded strained. "It’s long past their bedtime, Harry, you know that."

"I guess I did," Harry said sheepishly, and Draco could picture his shoulders shifting in a careless, boyish shrug. "I just thought I might stop by to say hello." There was a pause,
then Harry said, "What is it?"

Ginny didn’t answer.

"Ginny?"

Draco took a deep breath, and straightened his shoulders, then casually tucked his hands in his pockets and walked slowly around the corner and leaned nonchalantly against the archway to the kitchen. Ginny was standing beside the table, and Harry was beside the half-wall that separated the front door from the kitchen nook, one hand resting casually on the ledge. He stiffened with shock as Draco appeared, his face going carefully blank.

Ginny froze and glanced quickly over her shoulder at Draco. "Ah...um, Harry, you remember Draco, don’t you?"

Harry didn’t look at her, still staring at Draco with implacable green eyes. "Yes," he said flatly. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Having dinner." Draco said softly. Harry’s eyes flickered over to the sink, where the dishes were piled, then back to Draco.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked again, his right hand tightening against the ledge and his other curling slowly into a fist.

Ginny took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, answering before Draco had a chance to reply. "He’s here because I asked him to be here."

"You asked him to be here," Harry repeated softly, still staring at Draco. "And why would you do that?"

"Because we’re dating."

Harry’s eyes widened at that, and he jerked his gaze back to Ginny. "What?"

"I’m sorry," Ginny said quickly. Draco could see her move one hand slightly toward Harry, as if to reach out to him, then stop. "I meant to tell you sooner, but I didn’t know how."

"How..."Harry stopped, and swallowed, staring at Ginny now like she was the only thing that existed. "For how long?"

"Since September," Ginny said softly, and Harry flinched. "Harry, I’m sorry - " Ginny took a step toward him, but he backed away sharply and she stopped. "I should have told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure...I’m sorry."

"September." Harry shifted his gaze back to Draco, and Draco clenched his jaw at the hopeless look in the other man’s eyes, concentrating on keeping his face expressionless,set against a grin of triumph. "You - " He stopped, blinked, and tried again, his voice rough. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"Harry - "

Draco didn’t move except to raise one shoulder in an insolent shrug. "I don’t think that’s any of your business, Potter."

"No?" Harry said sharply. "You come hanging around my wife - "

"Ex," Draco interrupted softly, "wife."

Harry jerked back at that, his eyes going wide, then closing tightly. He spun around quickly, breathing in sharp bursts, and yanked the door open. He looked back at Ginny again finally, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I’ll be by Saturday for the children," he said, his voice strained. Ginny nodded, and Harry turned and walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him. Ginny’s shoulders sagged slightly, and she reached out a hand to steady herself against the back of a chair. Draco stood up straight and walked over to her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her close. She let him gather her up, and rested her head wearily on his shoulder. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

"It’s all right," he whispered back, stroking her hair gently. and finally let himself smile, knowing it was mean, knowing that it was petty, but unable to help himself. Ginny might have convinced herself that Harry had never really loved her, but Draco knew better now. Harry had always been crap at burying his emotions, it was one of the things that had made him so wonderfully easy to pick on - and Draco could see that he still loved Ginny. Harry loved her, and was finally realizing he couldn’t have her...that it was too late. He had finally beaten Harry, where it really mattered.

Draco Malfoy had finally won.

~*~

N/B: I’d say ‘spot The Princess Bride reference’, but it’s terribly obvious.

"May your service of love be a beautiful thing; want nothing else, fear nothing else and let love be free to become what love truly is."
- Hadewijch of Antwerp

~*~

Early April, 2011

Ginny knew something was up when she got Hermione’s owl. It was a week after Harry had discovered Draco at her apartment, and although the note itself was innocuous - Meet me at the Cauldron for lunch tomorrow? Natalie’s offered to baby-sit! - Ginny knew full well that it was no simple request. When she arrived at Natalie and George’s small house just outside of Malton, and discovered that Hermione had dropped off the twins and gone ahead without waiting for her, Ginny started to get rather worried about what Hermione had in store.

After a brief chat with Natalie and a quick check to make sure that the children would be all right without her, Ginny apparated into the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron and took a deep, apprehensive breath before entering the pub. Hermione had secured a low, shadowed booth on the wall opposite the bar, and she waved Ginny over as soon as she spotted the younger woman. "Gin! Over here!"

Ginny made her way to the booth, nodding and smiling at the witches and wizards who greeted her as she passed. She reached the booth where Hermione sat, and froze.

Hermione wasn’t alone.

"Hello, Hermione, Ron," Ginny said flatly. "Sirius."

Sirius had changed a great deal since his days on the run from Azkaban. Tall and handsome still, his dark hair shot with silver, Sirius lived and worked in Hogsmeade, where he operated a small magical supply shop with Remus Lupin. He must have come down to London especially for this meeting; Ginny was willing to bet it was because Harry had talked to him about meeting Draco at her flat. Suddenly, the reason for Hermione’s lunch invitation became much clearer. He nodded at her as she sat quietly, sliding into the seat beside Hermione, facing Sirius. "Hermione didn’t tell me you’d be here."

Hermione looked sheepish. "Well, Sirius arrived in town, so I thought I would invite him along. I didn’t think you’d mind."

Ginny pressed her lips together, but didn’t say anything. It would be a bit pointless to protest, with Sirius sitting right there, and Hermione damn well knew it. "Not at all," she said in resignation. "What brings you to London?"

Sirius smiled charmingly. "Just business, really, but I thought I’d make a social call or two while I was down here."

Ginny smiled back as pleasantly as she could. She didn’t dislike Sirius exactly - there wasn’t anything about him to dislike, in all honesty - but she always felt uncomfortable around him. It always felt a bit like he was testing her, mentally comparing her to some invisible standard that she never quite measured up to. Like he didn’t really think she was good enough. She felt the same now, despite the fact that he was chatting agreeably, making polite small talk. He was better at it than Ron and Hermione, who were eyeing both her and each other nervously.

After several minutes of discussing the weather, Ginny cleared her throat nervously and decided to take the bull by the horns. "So...have you heard from Harry lately?"

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances again, then looked at Sirius. Hermione took a deep breath and nodded. "Actually, we wanted to talk to you about that."

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Sirius interrupted smoothly. "Harry says that you’re seeing Draco Malfoy now. When did that happen?"

"Last September, actually," Ginny replied, with a disgruntled look at Hermione. "I gather you have spoken to him, then."

Sirius nodded, settling his face into lines of deep concern. "That was part of the reason we wanted to talk to you today. We wanted to know if there was anything you wanted to tell us about...about this new relationship."

"There’s really nothing to tell," Ginny said guardedly. "We’re dating, and that’s really all there is to say."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances, and Hermione took a deep breath. "It’s just...we’re a little worried. I know you like Malfoy, and I know he seems like he’s changed, but we still don’t really know that much about him. Harry is worried about it...he spoke with us last night, and he seemed quite upset about it." She paused, glancing again at Sirius and Ron. "I know how you feel about Malfoy, it’s just...we just don’t want to see you get hurt."

Ginny stiffened. "There’s nothing to worry about, as I’ve already told you," she said calmly. "You can ask Neville again, if you’re worried, and he’ll just tell you what’s already been said. There’s absolutely no proof that Draco was involved in anything during the war, and he works for the Ministry now, which they wouldn’t let him do if he had been. I think I’ve said this already, but touching as your concern is, it’s not necessary, and you can tell that to Harry as well."

"He’s got a right to be worried, Gin," Ron said. "I mean, there may not be any proof, but you can’t just disregard Malfoy’s past."

"And which past would that be?" Ginny asked icily. "The 4 years he spent as a spoilt brat, the period he spent questioning everything he’d been raised to believe or the twelve years he spent living as a Muggle?"

Ron opened his mouth, then shut it again with an exasperated breath, shrugging his shoulders. Sirius frowned. "Ginny, you can’t afford this sort of naivete. Whatever’s happened in the last 12 years, the fact remains that Malfoy is dangerous. Whatever the Ministry may say, we don’t know what he’s been up to, we don’t know that he can be trusted, we have only his word that he hasn’t been neck deep in the Dark Arts all this time, lying low in Canada until it was safe for him to come back. You’re putting a lot of people at risk here, Ginny. Harry, your kids..."

That was the last straw. Her temper snapping, Ginny slammed her hand down on the table, rigid with fury. "Do not ever imply to me that I am putting my children into danger!" she hissed at Sirius. She kept her voice down, though, mindful of the room full of patrons. "You have not even seen Draco since he came back, you have no idea what he’s like now, and Harry hasn’t spent more than 5 minutes in his company. The two of you are the last people to go about making judgment calls about other peoples’ trustworthiness!"

It was Sirius’ turn to stiffen in anger. "If you’re saying that I can’t be trusted - " He broke off and took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep his own temper in check. "Or is that something Malfoy told you?"

Ginny laughed incredulously. "I don’t think Draco even knows who you are, Sirius. Don’t flatter yourself. It’s been said, and said again, and not just by me. There is absolutely no proof that Draco was a Death Eater. There is no proof that he was involved in the Dark Arts, or that he was a supporter of Voldemort. It’s been checked, and by people with more experience in that sort of thing than any of you." She stood up abruptly, glaring at Sirius. "You are so sure you know everything, aren’t you? But the truth is, you don’t. If you really want to go digging about in Draco’s past, then ask Harry, because he knows better than anyone about Draco’s involvement in the war." She paused for breath, steadying herself against the table. "And while you’re talking to him, since you’re so determined to play go-between, then you can pass a message on for me. You can tell him that if he has a problem, then he can come talk to me! Tell him I am sick to death of hearing everything second-hand and I am sick to death of being lectured by you whenever he thinks there’s something wrong. And tell him that if he spent half as much time talking to me as he does trying to get other people to tackle his problems for him, maybe he would still have a wife!"

She ignored the outbursts from Ron and Sirius and Hermione’s shocked "Ginny!" as she yanked her cloak off the hook beside the booth and swung it over her shoulders, stalking quickly toward the back of the Cauldron and the entrance to Diagon Alley. She had wrenched open the back door and was about to apparate from the small yard behind the pub when Sirius caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

"Ginny," he said quietly, anger written in every line of his body. "He loves you. Still. He loves you, and he doesn’t want to see you get hurt. And you’re hurting him, with this...this thing with Malfoy. He doesn’t deserve this, Ginny. He doesn’t deserve to have you do this to him."

Ginny stared at him, fighting back tears of fury. "He loves me," she said hoarsely. Sirius nodded, clearly taking her tears for remorse. "I see. Then you may tell him when you see him next, that it means a great deal to me, to hear all about his love for me from his godfather." She yanked her arm out of his grasp and wiped her face, then waved her wand and apparated away.

~*~

Draco was in his office finishing up some paperwork when his mobile rang. He frowned and answered it curtly, glancing at the number. "Hello?"

There was a brief staticky pause before a young voice said, "Hello."

Draco frowned. "Jamie?"

"Hello!"

"Jamie, is something wrong?" Draco asked in concern. He didn’t think that Ginny’s children even knew how to operate a telephone, much less how to call him.

"Noo...are you going to come here today?" Thankfully Jamie didn’t really sound worried or upset, although he did sound a bit as though he were hiding something.

"I hadn’t planned on it. Why? Where’s your mum?"

"You can, you know," Jamie said. There was a pause, and Draco heard him whispering to someone - Sarah, he guessed. "Mum wanted us to ask you."

"Can I talk to your mum?" Draco asked.

There was a long pause. "Um, she’s busy. She wanted us to ask you."

Draco frowned. "Jamie, what is going on?"

"Nothing...are you coming?" There was another pause. "Come, ok?"

"Jamie, what - damn." Draco sighed as Jamie hung up on him, and turned off his mobile. "I guess I’m going to Ginny’s, then."

When Draco got to Ginny’s flat, it was Jamie who answered the door, with Sarah right behind him. There was no sign of Ginny, nor could he hear her in the kitchen or living room. "Hello," he said to Jamie, frowning down at him.

Jamie grinned back, unabashed. "Hullo."

Draco shook his head, marveling at how much Jamie looked like Harry when he was trying to hide something. "May I come in?"

Jamie bounced back into the hallway. "Yep." He pushed Sarah, who skittered forward and glared over her shoulder at her brother.

They watched with bright eyes as Draco shut the door and hung his coat up in the closet. He turned and looked down at the two children, arms folded. "Well?" he asked.

Jamie and Sarah looked at each other, then back at Draco. "Mum’s in her room," Jamie volunteered, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "You should go talk to her."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the two of them. They were clearly playing innocent about something, but he wasn’t sure what. Jamie gulped, but stood his ground, and Sarah gave him her sweetest, most disarming smile, unfazed. Draco frowned, but turned and walked slowly down the hallway to Ginny’s room, casting another glance over his shoulder at the children, who were watching his progress with wide and hopeful looks. Draco reached Ginny’s door, which was partially closed, the room beyond dark. Draco pushed the door open further and looked inside.

"Ginny?" he called hesitantly. He could see her, curled up on her side on the bed with her back to the door. She moved when she heard him, pushing herself up onto one elbow and looking over her shoulder at him. Her face was a white blur in the darkness, and she turned away as he stepped into the room, rubbing one hand over her eyes. He stopped at the far corner of the bed. "Are you all right?"

"What are you doing here?" she asked hoarsely, without turning to look at him. She swung
her legs over the edge of the bed, leaning forward with her shoulders hunched.

Draco didn’t move. "I was invited, actually. Jamie called me and asked if I were coming. Said that you told him to call me, because you were busy."

"I didn’t," she said sharply.

"I didn’t think so." He moved across the end of the bed and stood at the other corner, looking down on her bent head. "D’you know, Jamie looks exactly like Harry when he’s trying to hide something?" he said conversationally.

Ginny jerked her head at the mention of Harry’s name and took a deep sobbing breath. "Oh, I’m well aware of that," she said angrily.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," she said. "Everything." She raised her head and looked at him. Close to, Draco could see that her face was blotchy, as if she’d been crying. "Well don’t just stand there," she said irritably.

"Sorry," Draco said wryly, and came to sit next to her, not quite close enough to touch her. "Want to talk about it?"

"Oh," Ginny said sharply, and started speaking rapidly, as though his question had released something. "Hermione invited me to lunch today," she spat, and from the tone of her voice Draco gathered that it hadn’t been very pleasant. "She got Natalie to babysit, so I dropped the kids off there, and went to the Cauldron to meet her. When I got there, I found her there with Ron and Sirius, to tell me that Harry had gone to talk to them last night, and how Harry was upset, because I’m seeing you. Because God forbid that their dear, precious Harry be unhappy, and it is all my fault and if I weren’t so stubborn and cruel I would see that obviously he still loves me and how could I just leave him if he wants me back?" She paused to get her breath. "Because it’s me. It’s my fault that we split up, and it’s my fault that Harry is unhappy, and it’s my fault that we’re not a perfect little happy family anymore."

She picked up a pillow and threw it as hard as she could against the wall. It hit with a whump and slid to the floor. Ginny sniffled and rubbed one hand across her cheek furiously. "I cannot believe that they would do this to me. I knew they didn’t like you, but I can’t believe they would pull crap like this. It’s just cruel."

Draco nodded, not saying anything. Ginny took another deep breath and continued. "It’s like they’re trying to make me feel guilty for leaving Harry. Like I’m not allowed to have my own life outside of what they want me to be. The perfect mother, the perfect wife, Harry’s little shadow. And I can’t complain, oh no. I have to just sit there and say nothing and take it when he flits off to hang out with Ron and Hermione, or goes out with his team without inviting me, or bring people over without letting me know first, take me for granted, because no, I wouldn’t be upset that he’s got more important things to do, that he’s obviously too busy to be concerned with how his precious little wife is doing." She scowled and picked up another pillow, tossing it at the wall with less force this time. "Because I’m not supposed to want more. I’m not supposed to want to have my own friends and my own career and a life that doesn’t revolve around changing diapers and making sure dinner is ready when he comes home. I don’t get to have a life.

"And the worst part is, I can’t talk about it to anyone. I don’t want to say things like that in front of the kids, because it’s not fair to them, and it isn’t as though I can talk to Hermione about it, because she’s firmly on Harry’s side, and God knows Neville’s heard it enough." She slumped forward and sighed heavily. "It’s not fair. He can go ‘round talking about me to anyone he wants, and I can’t say anything bad about him to anyone."

"You can badmouth him to me all you like," Draco said helpfully. Ginny raised her head and looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face, then she threw back her head and laughed. She fell over backwards, still giggling, to lie on the bed, stretching her arms above her head. Draco turned slightly to look at her. "Feel a bit better?"

Ginny chuckled. "Yes." She sighed again and closed her eyes. "I’m still angry, though. Oooh, I could just smack Sirius. Insufferable prat."

"I could do that for you too," Draco offered. "You know, so you don’t hurt your hands."

Ginny snickered. "Maybe after mine get sore."

"I’ll hold you to that." He lay down beside her, and propped himself up on one elbow,
looking down at her face. "Sirius Black?"

"He’s Harry’s godfather," Ginny said. "They captured Peter Pettigrew after the end of the war, and since the whole reason Sirius was in Azkaban was for killing Peter, and Peter wasn’t dead, they let Sirius go. Gave him a pardon."

"Ah," said Draco. He remembered the story now, and the excitement over Black escaping from Azkaban in his third year - he’d teased Harry about it, knowing that Black had been a friend of the Potters, in the malicious hope that Harry would go after him and Black would do something horrible to him. Typical of Harry’s luck, really, that Black had turned out to be innocent after all. "And Hermione invited you for lunch, and didn’t tell you that he and Ron were going to be
there? That doesn’t seem like something she’d do."

"It probably wasn’t her idea," Ginny said. "I’d bet money on it being Sirius. Harry probably talked to him and to Ron, and they made Hermione ask me. They did the same sort of thing just after Harry and I split up."

"Charming," Draco said wryly.

"Well, Harry is upset, and if he’s upset then everyone has to go rushing to his defence," she said, glaring at the ceiling. "Because God forbid anything should happen to upset Harry. They’ve got to leap up and protect him." She closed her eyes and growled in frustration. "It’s so irritating! It’s as though he’s the only one who counts, like I don’t have any say in the matter and why am I making such a fuss? Because Harry was happy with the way things were before, and I’m the one who’s going about making waves and upsetting him and upsetting everyone else and if I’d just shut up and be a good little girl, then everyone would be happy."

"Except you."

Ginny laughed shortly. "Yes, well, I think we’ve already established that my happiness is not at the forefront of anyone’s mind."

Draco raised his eyebrows and looked injured. "What am I, chopped liver?"

Ginny opened her eyes. "I’m sorry...I didn’t mean you." She reached up and patted his cheek gently.

"I should hope not," Draco said, sounding aggrieved. "No more portkey trips for you."

Ginny laughed. "I said didn’t mean you!" She sobered and shook her head. "I just hate that no one ever thinks to ask what I want. And then to turn around and say things like, ‘Oh, but Harry still loves you’. As if they think that they can guilt me into running back to him by telling me that. If he even does," Ginny said sceptically.

"Oh, he does," Draco blurted out before he could stop himself, and winced. He hadn’t meant to tell her that.

Ginny turned her head and looked at him quizzically. "What?"

Draco sighed. "He does. Still love you, I mean."

Ginny hauled herself up onto her elbows, frowning at him. "How do you know that?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I could tell. When he was here."

"You could tell," Ginny said flatly. "How could you tell?"

"Just..." Draco trailed off, picking at the quilt. "The way he looked at you. He’s crap at hiding his emotions, if you know what to look for."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "And you know what to look for?"

Draco met her eyes and smirked. "I spent seven years tormenting him for fun, of course I do. Made it my life’s work at one point to find out exactly what pushed his buttons. He hasn’t changed that much in the last 12 years. Yes, I know what to look for."

Ginny narrowed her eyes dangerously. "I thought you said our relationship had nothing to do with Harry."

"And it doesn’t. I didn’t run out and tell him as soon as we started dating, did I? And I’m not seeking him out to rub his nose in it." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I admit, however, that I am not particularly broken up over the fact that he’s not happy about it. It’s not a reason behind my wanting to be with you, it’s just a...perk."

Ginny glared at him sidelong. "A perk. Honestly."

Draco smiled innocently. "I did tell you I’m not nice."

Ginny shifted onto one elbow and smacked him on the hip with her other hand. "You’re
terrible."

"I think the word you’re looking for is evil." Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her off balance, rolling onto his back and dragging her toward him. She laughed and let him do it, and settled against his chest with a small sigh. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair softly, winding it around his fingers. "Does it matter?"

"Hmmm?" Ginny murmured.

"About Harry. About...how he feels. Because he would take you back, I think, if you wanted him."

"But I don’t," Ginny said softly. "It...I don’t know. Five years ago, or three, or even a year ago, it might have made a difference, to know that. But now...no." He felt her sigh again. "I do love him, I always will care about him, but I don’t want to be married to him anymore. It’s over, and I’m not the same person I was when we got married. I don’t think I ever was the person he thought he married. After we split up, it was...it was like being able to breathe again after being trapped underwater." She lifted her head again and looked at him, her face shadowed in the dim half-light, so that he couldn’t read her expression. "I wouldn’t go back to him, even if he wants me to."

"Does he know that?" Draco asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, he will now, I imagine. I’d tell him myself if I could get him to talk to me, but I imagine he’ll hear all about it from Ron and Hermione and Sirius long before I get a chance to."

"Who says Weasel boy doesn’t have his uses?" Draco smirked.

Ginny scowled at him. "Don’t call Ron that! It’s a bit of a job convincing people you’re a nicer person when you insist on being a prat, you know."

"Sorry," Draco said contritely. "I promise not to call him Weasel boy anywhere you can hear me from now on."

That made her laugh, the tension easing out of her body where it rested against his. "Well that’s a start," she said, then leaned forward and kissed him, gently at first, then with more intensity as he slid his arms around her and settled her against his chest. A shuffling noise and a faint giggle made her break off the kiss and look at the doorway in exasperation. "We have an audience."

Draco craned his neck to look at the door. He didn’t see the children, but there did seem to be a lot of giggling and whispering going on around the edge of the doorframe. He looked back at Ginny and smiled ruefully. "It appears we do."

Ginny flashed him a wicked grin. "Then I suppose my plan to ravish you utterly will just have to wait ‘til later. Excuse me whilst I go have a word with my children." She leaned down and kissed him quite thoroughly, then pulled away and wriggled quickly out of his arms and off the bed before he could stop her.

"Hey!" Draco sat up and glared at her retreating back. "Well, I’m glad you feel better," he said grouchily, and took a deep breath. "Tease." He got up, brushing off his pants, and followed her laughter out into the kitchen.

~*~

They met at the Library later that week, Ginny having dropped her kids off at the Burrow in order to spend her morning doing research again. She greeted Draco’s appearance with a sigh of relief, stretching and flexing her cramped hands. "I swear, I’m going to invest in a Quick-Notes Quill one of these days, and spare my poor hands."

Draco sat at the table beside her, took her hands in his and massaged them gently. "How’s the story coming?"

"Getting there," Ginny sighed, and smiled blissfully. "You can keep doing that, though. I’ve just about finished my research, and can get down to writing soon, which will be a great relief. Means less time in the library, and I don’t have to keep Mum babysitting all the time."

"Must be difficult, having to send them off to your parents all the time," Draco said, helping her gather up her things.

Ginny nodded. "It is, but I don’t have to do it every day, and Mum doesn’t mind. She likes spending time with her grandchildren, and I did it when Harry and I were married so it’s not as though it’s a huge change." She tucked the last of her papers into her bag and swung it over her shoulder, leading the way toward the stairs and the Library exit. "Mum loves to have them, and she babysat a lot for me when Harry and I were both working."

"Speaking of Harry," Draco said. "What’s happening there?" He held the main door for her, and they stepped out onto Diagon Alley, joining the throng of wizards on the street, walking down toward the bank.

Ginny made an exasperated noise. "Nothing," she said with disgust. "It’s been a week and I haven’t heard anything from him...he’s supposed to be taking the kids next Saturday and he hasn’t called to arrange a time yet. I think he’s avoiding me now. I talked to Hermione, and she did apologize for inviting Sirius and having him jump all over me, but..." Ginny trailed off and sighed. "I don’t know which is worse, knowing the fight we’ll have when we do finally talk, or waiting about to find out what his reaction will be when he hears about what I said to Sirius. If he hasn’t already."

"What did you say?" Draco asked curiously. He’d never seen Ginny truly angry and wondered idly what it would be like. Despite all the rumours about redheads and their fiery tempers, the only evidence of it he’d seen in Ginny was her outburst last week. She was perhaps one of the most patient and calm people he’d ever met.

"Oh, all sorts of things," she sighed, shaking her head. "Mostly that my love life is none of his business and that he has nothing to be worried about." She cocked her head at him. "Because I think what the real problem is, is that they’re worried about you. And I told them - Sirius especially - that if Harry spent half as much time actually talking to me as he did getting Ron or Hermione or Sirius to talk to me, that we’d still be married. Which is true, but they didn’t need to hear it. Not that way, anyway."

"They’re worried about me?" Draco asked.

Ginny nodded. "They think that you’re going to exert some sort of terrible influence on me, or do something evil, seduce me to the dark side or the like."

"Oh?" Draco said, raising an eyebrow at her. He tugged her closer to him, slipping one hand around her waist. "Now there’s an idea that has some merit. The seduction part, anyway," he purred.

Ginny grinned. "I rather think so too, but they’re convinced that you’re out to get me, or using me to get at Harry, something of the sort. Sirius says that you’ve probably spent the last twelve years hiding out and waiting for the chance to come back here and...I don’t know, wreak your revenge, or something."

Draco snorted. "Leaving aside the fact that there’s nothing Harry’s done to make me want revenge, unless you count losing to him at Quidditch at Hogwarts. And even I am not quite that petty. Nothing that I was aware of at the time, anyway. And now...it’s not really worth it for me to go about seeking ways to drag Harry down. I’ve got more important things to do."

"That’s what I said to him," Ginny shrugged. "Sirius likes to see conspiracies everywhere...he thinks everyone has an ulterior motive."

"If I do have an ulterior motive, it’s got nothing to do with him or with Harry," Draco said stiffly. "Nor is it any of his business."

"I know," Ginny said. "And I wish he weren’t so pushy, but he really does have Harry’s best interests at heart. It’s just that he’s far more concerned about Harry than anyone else. With Ron and Hermione, I think it’s just that they’re not sure what you want, so they’re worried about me and Harry."

Draco stopped and turned to face her, taking her hands in his. "What I want is for you to be happy," he said simply, his grey eyes serious.

Ginny smiled. "You make me happy," she replied, and warmth flooded through her as his eyes lit up, his mouth quirking up in a small smile.

He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers, still smiling. "I’m glad," he said, his voice husky. Then he glanced over her shoulder, up the Alley and froze. He let her hands go and straightened up fully, staring up the street with narrowed eyes.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, alarmed. She glanced down the street and back at Draco, who waved one hand at her, his whole attention focused on the end of the block. She felt a small pang of disappointment as Draco moved away from her but squashed it quickly, scanning the street ahead trying to see what had caught his attention.

"Wait here," he said sharply, then started away, not quite running, but moving quicker than the rest of the people out shopping or going about their business. Ginny couldn’t tell who he was aiming for - there was a mass of people gathered by the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, some watching a street performer with trained salamanders, some gathered in front of the displays outside the cauldron shop, some coming out of the apothecary.

She watched in bewilderment as someone detached themselves from the crowd of people and grasp Draco’s arm before he reached the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny squinted, shading her eyes with one hand, trying to see who it was. A woman, well dressed in a fine spring cloak, deep purple robes and an elaborate hairstyle, but she had her back to Ginny, so she couldn’t recognize who it was. Draco stopped abruptly, dividing his attention between the woman clinging to his arm and the entrance to the Cauldron. She couldn’t see his face but from the way he was standing and the set of his shoulders, Ginny guessed he wasn’t happy. His shoulders fell slightly as he watched the Cauldron, then he glared down at the woman next to him and snapped something, shaking her hand off his arm. She fell back a step and said something angrily, which Draco ignored, turning on his heel and walking away. The other woman glared at his back, then spun around and scuttled toward the Cauldron.

Draco was definitely angry. He strode up the street, a fierce scowl marring his features, hands curled into fists. He nearly walked right past her, but Ginny held out one hand, and he stopped, still scowling. "What’s wrong?" Ginny asked, slightly alarmed.

Draco favoured her with a disgusted glare. "I saw one of the men we’re looking for. He was in the crowd near the Cauldron. Damn that woman!" he hissed in frustration.

"Who was that?" Ginny asked, mentally kicking herself, but wanting to know.

"Pansy Parkinson," Draco spat. "Meddling little busybody."

Ginny’s eyes widened with concern. She didn’t have any contact with Pansy, but she remembered Neville saying that the other woman was under watch for suspected Dark Arts activities. "What did she want?"

"Who knows? She always was a pest." Draco glared down the street as if wishing Pansy would come back so he could throttle her. He shook his head once and looked down at Ginny. "Sorry. God, that woman is irritating."

Ginny raised her eyebrows and smiled faintly. "Didn’t you date her at Hogwarts?"

Draco shuddered and closed his eyes. "Don’t remind me."

Ginny’s smile widened just a little. "It was that bad?"

"Worse," Draco grumbled. "She was demanding and irritating and always underfoot, and she never, ever shut up." He sighed. "I should find Neville and let him know about this. If they’ve discovered Diagon Alley..." He stopped and shook his head. "I only hope they haven’t made any contacts here. Damn."

"We can stop by the Ministry if you need to," Ginny offered. "Neville should be at his office today."

"Do you mind?" Draco asked. "He’ll need to know."

Ginny shook her head, and they made their way down Diagon Alley to the Ministry building. She waited in the foyer while Draco quickly ran downstairs to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It didn’t take long before he was back up, shaking his head. "He’s not in," he said. "I’ll have to call him and tell him. God," he said, running a hand over his hair. "I can’t believe this. Of all the horrible bad luck...that damned woman."

"Does Pansy know the people you’re after?" Ginny asked, concerned.

"I don’t know," Draco replied. "I don’t think so, but I’ll have to ask Neville to check again. We’ve been operating on the assumption that the two of them don’t know anyone in the wizarding world. If they’ve made contacts among some of the old crowd of Voldemort’s...well, it’s not good."

"Can’t you ask anyone you used to know?" Ginny said. "From school, I mean. I imagine they must know you’re here."

Draco shook his head. "Except for Pansy, I’ve not seen anyone I went to Hogwarts with. I know Blaise Zabini is working for the Ministry in some capacity, but aside from Pansy, he’s the only one in my year that I’ve heard tell of. I don’t even know what happened to Vincent and Gregory." He laughed faintly. "And it’s never occurred to me to ask, either."

"I’m afraid it’s not really good news," Ginny said apologetically. "Crabbe died during the war, and Goyle just afterward - he charged a group of Aurors and they killed him."

"Bright of him," Draco snorted. "He always was an idiot. Him and Vince both...dumber than a box of hammers."

Ginny laughed at that, then clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh, I shouldn’t laugh. It’s hardly their fault."

"Don’t waste sympathy on them," Draco said. "Neither of them deserve it. They really were stupid...the only way Greg ever managed to pass any of his courses is because I let him crib my notes. They’d do anything anyone told them to, especially if it involved hitting something."

"You don’t miss them?"

Draco laughed at that. "Not at all, actually. I can’t say I really miss anyone. It isn’t as though I had many good friends among the Slytherin crowd, especially during seventh year. They’d all pretty much stopped talking to me by that time."

"Why?" Ginny asked.

"Because I had the chance to become a Death Eater and gave it up," Draco said. "It was what most of them dreamed of, being welcomed into Voldemort’s inner circle, and I had the chance and didn’t take it. I think my father must have told some of his friends, who told their children...probably hoping to have them peer pressure me into joining." He laughed shortly. "Needless to say, it didn’t work. But it didn’t stop them all from hating me."

"Oh," Ginny said solemnly. "To hear the Trio talk about it, you’d have thought you were the centre of all Dark Arts activity within a 100 mile radius of Hogwarts."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "The Trio?"

Ginny chuckled. "Oh, Harry, Ron and Hermione. That’s what we called them, all the younger Gryffindors. Capital letter and all. They were an inseparable unit, and the nickname sort of stuck."

"It suits, oddly enough," Draco smirked. "They do tend to be a bit of an entity all on their own, don’t they?"

Ginny nodded ruefully. "You have no idea."

Draco grinned and opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, his cell phone rang. He fished it out of his pocket and answered curtly. "Malfoy." He paused, and then said, "I was just looking for you. You’ll never guess who I saw today." Ginny guessed it must be Neville. "Yeah...All right, I’ll be there soon," he said, then slid his phone back into his pocket and looked at Ginny apologetically. "I’m going to have to head back to the Ministry. I’m sorry."

"No, it’s all right," she said, hiding her pang of disappointment. "We can meet up later. I wanted to ask you, though...will you come for dinner next week? I’m having the twins over, and I’d like for you to come." She looked at him hopefully.

Draco paused, clearly debating, then nodded and smiled at her. "I’d love to." He leaned forward and kissed her softly. "I am sorry...I was looking forward to lunch."

"I understand," Ginny replied. "I’ll talk to you later." She hugged him quickly, then watched him make his way back to the Ministry building, and watched in amusement as he walked obliviously past a giggling group of older witches, who eyed him and whispered to each other behind their hands like schoolgirls. He stopped at the top of the stairs to the Ministry and looked back, caught her eye and lifted his hand in farewell.

~*~

Ginny had decided on Saturday for dinner with her brothers, and Draco arrived at her flat shortly after six, laden with a few last minute purchase for her. "Do you need a hand with anything?" he asked, as he set the wine he’d brought on the table and the dinner rolls on the counter. He watched as she checked the oven, prodding at the chicken with her wand to check how well cooked it was.

"You could help Jamie set the table, that would be a huge help," Ginny said, straightening up and pushing a stray curl behind her ear. "I think we’ll probably let the older kids eat in the living room, because there won’t be room in here. I always forget about the logistics of this when I invite them over. Jamie!" she called. "Come in here and set the table!"

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "How many children do your brothers have?" he asked warily.

Ginny grinned. "All of them together, or just the twins? Fred and Angelina have 4. Calliope’s eleven, but she started Hogwarts this year, so she won’t be here tonight. Tim is nine, Zachary is seven, and Sierra, who’s the baby at five. George and Natalie have one daughter, Marjorie, and she’s 3 - almost four, actually, she’s a year older than Will. Hullo, sweeting, be a dear and give Draco a hand, will you?" she said to Jamie, who had popped around the corner. Draco opened the cutlery drawer and started handing forks and knives to Jamie, who took them, humming happily.

"That’s a lot of children," Draco said to Ginny as he pulled the plates out of the cupboard beside the fridge and carried them to the table.

"You should see my parents’ house at Christmas," Ginny replied ruefully. "Percy and Penelope have 3 kids too, Ron and Hermione have the twins, plus my three...there’s - " she paused to mentally add them up, "thirteen in total. Plus all the adults...thank goodness Charlie’s never married, it’s a zoo as it is. And that no one’s got it into their heads to have as many children as Mum did. Thank you dear," she said to Jamie, who’d finished setting out the cutlery and was bouncing around in front of the table. He grinned happily and skittered back out to the living room.

"Must make things fun," Draco said blandly. "All redheads?"

Ginny shook her head and chuckled. "Of course not. Marjorie is, and the twins are the image of Ron when he was their age, but all of Fred and Angelina’s have dark hair of course, and both Pelagia and Pembroke look exactly like Penelope - " she stopped as Draco started laughing. "What?"

"Pembroke?" he sputtered. "Who cursed their poor kid with a name like Pembroke?"

Ginny tried to look stern and failed. "Percy. He married Penelope Clearwater, and they gave all their children names that started with P."

"So they named him Pembroke? What was wrong with naming him Peter, or Paul or anything, really, that wouldn’t result in the poor kid getting his head stuffed in a toilet the moment he gets to Hogwarts?" Draco shook his head. "What an awful thing to do."

Ginny gave up on glaring at him and started to giggle. "I know, it’s horrible. I think Penelope thought it sounded classy, but the poor dear...Hermione already has to threaten the twins with dire punishments before they go over to Percy’s, to stop the boys teasing the life out of him. And he’s such a sweet little thing, and so smart."

"What’d they name the girls?" Draco asked, looking as though he was dreading the answer.

"Pelagia’s the older one, she’s 11 and Perpetua is 8."

Draco shook his head. "Not as bad as Pembroke, at least. You can’t even make a decent nickname out of it. Unless Slytherins have changed a great deal since I left school, the poor
boy’s going to be hazed something awful."

Ginny snorted. "I doubt they have. And I think Pansy Flint’s oldest is the same age as Pembroke."

"They let her breed?" Draco asked rudely.

Ginny smirked and nodded. "She’s got two boys, and I’m fairly sure one of them is Pembroke’s age. I think she actually named one of them after you - there were pictures in the paper when they were born. Poor things look just like their father."

"Ugh." Draco gave a reflexive shudder. "I’d rather not think about it."

"I thought you were friends with her," Ginny said innocently. "You took her to the Triwizard Yule ball, didn’t you?"

"Yes, because taking someone to the Yule Ball was a sign of everlasting love," Draco snorted. "I went with her because I had to take someone, and Millicent Bulstrode was out of the question." Draco made a face. "My options were limited."

"Couldn’t you have asked someone who wasn’t in Slytherin?" Ginny asked. She turned back to the stove to check on the roast. "I mean, maybe not Gryffindors, but a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?"

"And have my father disown me? Don’t be silly." Draco straightened his spine and looked down his nose at her, managing to look a good deal like Lucius Malfoy. "Malfoys do not associate with anyone below our social standing," he said haughtily, his grey eyes cold and hard. "If they’re not in Slytherin, they’re not worth knowing."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Really," she said, eyeing him warily.

Draco relaxed and leaned against the counter. "He used to say that all the time. Along with ‘Malfoys do not associate with Mudbloods’ and any number of pronouncements that I’ve torn to shreds over the years. Just as well he’s dead, he’d have disowned me a hundred times over by now."

"If he weren’t, though, you probably wouldn’t have been in the sort of situation where he would have had to," Ginny pointed out. "Would you?"

"Probably not. I’d have done whatever he wanted eventually. And probably ended up married to Pansy, worse luck." Draco couldn’t quite keep the revulsion out of his voice. "He wanted it, I think. He and Parkinson were talking about it - thank God it never happened."

"What, you don’t think you would have been happy with her?" Ginny asked slyly.

Draco shot her an evil look. "What do you think?"

"You don’t know that you wouldn’t have been."

"Oh yes I do," Draco retorted. "You did not have to share a common room with her for seven years.

"You might have grown to love her." Ginny giggled at the disgusted look on his face. "You could have populated the world with little Draco Malfoys, with your hair and her nose."

Draco shuddered again. "Do you mind? For someone who’s supposed to be noble and brave and all that, you’ve got a decidedly evil streak."

Ginny grinned. "I’m not evil."

"Oh yes you are."

"I am not!"

"Are too."

"Am not!"

Draco laughed and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her against his chest. "You are too," he said decisively. "But I don’t mind."

"I resent that," Ginny said, laughing herself. "I am not at all evil. I am a nice, sweet, kind woman, who would never do anything even remotely bad."

"And I don’t believe you one bit," Draco retorted, grinning back, lowering his head to hers and kissing her softly. She laughed and kissed him back, sighing with pleasure and wrapping her arms around his neck.

The door buzzed, and they broke apart. "That’ll be Fred and Angie," Ginny said, disentangling herself from his arms. "George and Natalie should be here soon too, if I know them." She went to open the door, as Sarah and Jamie bounced into the kitchen from the living room.

It was indeed Fred and Angelina, with a small tornado of children who raised the decibel level by several notches as they milled around in the entryway. Draco stood back and leaned against the fridge as Ginny and Angelina marshaled the kids into the living room. He nodded at Fred, who nodded warily back and started hanging up cloaks in the front closet. Draco wondered how they had managed to make it all the way to Ginny’s without being noticed; both Fred and Angelina were wearing full robes, Angelina in sleek charcoal and Fred in a bright blue that, combined with his bright red hair, made him look like a mischievous imp.

"I should have volunteered our place for this," Angelina said, once the children were settled in the living room and the volume level had decreased slightly. "I always forget how small your flat is."

"It’s no trouble," Ginny said. "We’ll manage well enough. Angelina, you remember Draco, don’t you?"

"Of course," Angelina said, smiling at Draco. He smiled back and shook her hand politely. "You played Seeker for Slytherin."

"I did," Draco said mildly.

"I heard you stopped playing in sixth year," Fred said to Draco, who nodded. "Why’d you do that?"

Draco shrugged guardedly. "Lost interest."

"Bet your dad was sorry to hear it - oof!" Fred snapped his mouth shut as Ginny and Angelina elbowed him at the same time. He looked at them both with an air of injured innocence. "What?"

Angelina leaned forward and whispered something fiercely in his ear. Fred scowled back. "I was only saying..."

"That it’s strange I’d quit when my father shelled out an awful lot of money to get me on the team in the first place?" Draco asked coolly.

Fred shuffled his feet and coughed as Angelina and Ginny both glared at him. Angelina poked him in the arm and whispered distinctly, "You promised me you’d behave yourself!"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fred, why don’t you go play with the kids? Someone’s got to keep an eye on Wills, or he’ll launch himself off the back of the couch and kill himself."

Fred opened his mouth to protest, but the look on Angelina’s face convinced him otherwise, and he slunk off to the living room. Angelina sighed and shook her head. "That man. I swear, he gets worse instead of better every year."

An insulted voice from the living room cried, "I heard that!"

"I said it loud!" Angelina shot back, as Ginny snickered. Angelina turned to her. "Natalie and George should be along soon. I talked to them before we left, and they said they were leaving right away."

Ginny nodded. "I thought so. Dinner should be about ready by the time they get here." She leaned over to check the oven. "It’s about ready now, actually. Hope they don’t take too long."

As if on cue, there was a thump from the living room and a chorus of young voices. They could hear George greeting the children, and a second thump that signaled the arrival of Natalie. She appeared around the corner a moment later, smiling at Ginny and Angelina. "Hello...sorry we’re a bit late."

"You’re not at all late, actually," Ginny said, giving the younger woman a hug. "Angelina and Fred just got here, and dinner is just about done. Natalie, have you met Draco Malfoy?"

"I don’t think so," Natalie said, holding out her hand, which Draco shook politely. "It’s a pleasure to meet you."

"Natalie was in Gryffindor, two years behind you, I think," Angelina said, as George came around the corner and wrapped an arm around Natalie’s shoulders. He was wearing dark green robes, and Draco made a mental note that Fred was wearing blue. He knew of the twins’ propensity for playing tricks, and wouldn’t have put it past them to go out of their way to confuse him. Forewarned was forearmed.

"Malfoy," George said, extending his own hand. Ginny shot him a look, which George ignored. "How are you?"

"I’m well, and you?"

"Fine," George said stiffly, and a brief, uncomfortable silence fell while everyone looked at each other.

Ginny cleared her throat and brushed her hands off. "I think dinner is about ready, if you want to go get Fred, George. Nat, want to give me a hand?"

Natalie nodded and stepped forward to help, while Angelina busied herself in the refrigerator getting drinks - pumpkin juice for the kids, and butterbeer for the adults; Draco retreated to the door of the living room, where George had joined Fred in examining Jamie’s toy cowboys and Indians with great interest. Once everything was ready to be served, the older children were delegated to the living room with plates and glasses and injunctions from Angelina not to spill anything if they knew what was good for them, a threat that seemed to roll right over the heads of her two boys.

Dinner was a noisy and boisterous affair, even with most of the kids in the other room; Fred and George hadn’t lost their penchant for mischief making and jokes, and took great delight in teasing the women, and occasionally throwing barbed comments at Draco. Draco recognized the tests for what they were, and he responded politely and refused to rise to the twins’ bait, until Angelina finally elbowed Fred sharply in the ribs and told him if he didn’t stop, he’d be doing the dishes by hand. Fred glared at her, then glared at Draco when he caught Draco smirking at him.

Angelina didn’t hold Fred to her threat, and once the children’s plates had been cleared from the living room and the dishes from the table, she and Natalie and Ginny ushered the men into the living room while they cleaned up. Fred and George took up seats beside each other on the couch,
while Draco sank into one of the chairs near the fireplace.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Ginny asked from the archway.

"I’ll have another butterbeer," George said, and Fred nodded. She looked inquiringly at Draco, who shook his head, then was back in a moment with the butterbeers for Fred and George,

She retreated back to the kitchen and Draco watched her go, smiling slightly. When he turned back to the room once she’d vanished around the corner, it was to find two identical faces watching him with identical expressions of interest and mistrust. Draco raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

Fred shook his head. "Nothing," he said. The two of them looked at each other, then back at Draco. "So," he said neutrally. "What have you been doing in Canada all this time?"

"Working, mostly," Draco replied, leaning back in his chair. "I’ve been with the RCMP for 10 years."

"RCMP?" George asked. "What’s that?"

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police. National police force. I don’t think England has an equivalent," Draco replied.

"Interesting career choice," Fred said. "Seems a bit..."

"Plebian?" Draco supplied ironically.

"Something like that," George said. "So what do Muggle policemen do?"

"Depends on what department you’re in. The RCMP in Calgary handle things like drug trafficking, gang problems, traffic accidents outside of the city limits. We work a lot with local police for things like criminals from other provinces, or other countries. There’s a municipal force for the city, so unless something happens on an inter-provincial level, we don’t have much to do with the city." Draco shrugged. "We act as regular police in rural areas where there isn’t a municipal force, though I’ve never done that. I did get to my first year in the force catching speeders on the highway to Banff, though...it wasn’t exactly exciting."

"Banff?" George asked. "What’s Banff?"

Draco shook his head and settled down to explain.

When Angelina, Natalie and Ginny came back from doing the dishes, it was to find the three men involved in an in-depth discussion of the difference between Auroring and Muggle policing. Angelina sat down next to Fred on the couch, who moved closer to George to make room for her. Natalie curled up on the other chair, and Ginny sat on the floor by Draco’s feet, resting her chin on his knee. He smiled down at her and rested one hand on the back of her neck while he explained some point to George, who was listening avidly.

That earned him another guarded look, from Angelina this time, who raised her eyebrows when he met her eyes and smiled slightly. They talked far into the night, and it was very late, the children all sleeping in the bedrooms (except Timothy, who had wandered in when the other children were being put to bed, and was propped up against Fred’s leg and trying desperately to stay awake), when George caught Natalie in the middle of a yawn and said, "Time to go then, love?"

She laughed sheepishly and nodded. "I think so. I’ll be asleep right here any minute now." George smiled lovingly at her and stood up, extending a hand to lift Natalie to her feet.

"We should too," Angelina said. "Before we end up having to carry everyone home." She rested her hand lightly on Tim’s head, who yawned again and mumbled, "I’m not tired," which prompted a smile from all the adults.

Ginny stood up and stretched. "I’ll help you get the little ones up," she said, and led Natalie and Angelina back toward the master bedroom, where Sierra, Marjorie and Zach had been put to sleep earlier in the evening. Natalie came out a few moments later, a sleeping Marjorie hanging limply in her arms.

"She’s out like a light," Natalie said softly, rocking Marjorie slightly. "She won’t wake up ‘til morning, I don’t think." She nodded at Fred and Draco. "Good night...tell Ginny dinner was wonderful. Draco, it was a pleasure to meet you."

Draco nodded and smiled, lifting a hand in farewell as George threw Floo powder into the fireplace in the living room and Natalie stepped through. He nodded goodbye to the two men and followed her, stepping into the flames and saying "White Cottage" - the name of their small property in Malton - clearly.

Angelina appeared a moment later, ushering two very sleepy children in front of her, and Fred headed into the kitchen, followed by Draco. Fred shook Draco’s hand while Angelina put Sierra’s cloak on and Tim chivvied a sleepy-eyed Zach into his, yawning widely himself. "You should come ‘round the shop one of these days," Fred said. "We’ve got some gag Muggle things, but I don’t know how accurate they are. Gin doesn’t like to pick things up for us, for some reason." Ginny made an elaborate noise of disgust behind his back, and Fred grinned over his shoulder at her. "You should come round and have a look, tell us if they’re good enough to pass muster."

"Isn’t that illegal?" Ginny said pointedly. "Charming Muggle items? What if they get back into Muggle hands?"

"It’s not if they’re clearly joke gifts, George and I asked Dad. And anyway, they’re not Muggle-baiters, they’re just gag gifts. Like our joke wands, only Muggle things, wallets and those fancy picture boxes and the like." Fred turned back to Draco. "You should stop by."

"I might," Draco replied. "Where’s your shop at?"

"We’ve got a new space up near Flourish and Blotts, past Gringotts. I’ll give you the address, or you can get it off Ginny. Or ask Neville, he knows where it’s at. Bring him along, we’ll make him some Canary Creams." Fred flashed an impish grin as Angelina handed him his cloak. With a nod at Draco, he pecked Ginny on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner, Ginny, you’re a love."

Ginny shut the door behind them with an audible sigh of relief. "Whew. I’d forgotten how much work they can be."

Draco leaned against the half-wall separating the kitchen nook from the doorway. "That was interesting."

Ginny eyed him half-suspiciously. "You didn’t mind them? I was worried..."

"That we would get along like oil and water?" Draco smiled wryly. "They’re not that bad. Though it was a unique experience, being treated like I was a bomb about to go off by Natalie and Angelina."

Ginny blushed slightly. "Sorry, ‘bout that."

He shook his head and held his hand out to her, which she took, pushing herself away from the door. "They did stop after a while. I was actually expecting Fred and George to be a bit more...unreasonable."

Ginny laughed and slipped her arms around his waist. "Thinking they’d be like Ron?" she asked, and giggled as he nodded. "Ron’s a special sort of stubborn. The twins are a bit more easygoing, and I imagine they think that if threatening you didn’t scare you off, that your intentions must be good."

Draco chuckled at that. "They told you about that, did they?"

"Angelina did. She thought it was amusing." Ginny shook her head. "They’re terrible."

"Rest assured, I took it very much to heart," Draco said, his eyes dancing. He leaned forward to kiss her softly, then sighed. "I should probably go."

"You don’t have to," Ginny said, almost inaudibly.

"I - " He stopped and searched her face. She gazed back steadily, brushing her hands along his waist in a smooth caress, the casualness of her tone belied by the heat in her eyes. He smiled slowly, calling an answering smile from her. "All right."

~*~

Early June, 2011

Neville sighed and rubbed at his forehead, where a fierce, throbbing ache had settled behind his eyes. He let his eyes roam over Ginny’s kitchen without resting on anything, without meeting the worried eyes of the people gathered. The room was silent, the air thick with the tense strain of worry and grief. Finally he tilted his head back to gaze at the ceiling and said, "I’m going to call Malfoy."

He didn’t think Harry could get any more tense, but the other man’s shoulders seemed to ratchet up another notch at the name. "Why?"

"Because he’s better at this sort of thing that I am," Neville said quietly. "Because I’m willing to bet he’ll take one look at that note and know what’s going on. And I don’t. I really don’t know what to do."

Harry’s voice was like a saw. "I don’t want him involved in this."

"Bit late for that," Ron muttered quietly.

Ginny made a sound that might have been a sob. Neville winced in sympathy. "I know how all of you feel, believe me, I do. But I’m at a loss here...I’m sorry, Harry, but I’m going to call him." He pushed back his chair and moved to the door, pulling his cell phone out of the pocket of his robe.

He paced back and forth in the hall as he dialed Draco’s number quickly and waited, the phone pressed tightly to his ear. After 3 rings, Draco picked up.

"Malfoy," he said curtly.

"It’s me," Neville said. "We have a problem."

"Big or little?"

"Big. Jamie and Sarah have been kidnapped."

There was a silence so long that Neville worried he’d lost the connection. Then: "Shit," softly. There was a small pop, and Draco appeared in the hall next to Neville, hair loose and disheveled, as if he’d just woke up. "Shit," he said again.

Neville blinked, then decided not to be surprised that Draco had apparently replaced his wand. He folded up the phone and put it back in his pocket, and began to fill his partner in quickly. "It happened about 3 hours ago. Gin was at the store, she says she turned around to pick up Will, took her eyes off them for all of 2 seconds, turned back and they were gone. A note and a picture showed up to Harry via owl 30 minutes later and that’s all we’ve got to go on."

"Shit."

"Any time you want to add something constructive to this conversation..."

"Fuck you. How’s Ginny?

"She’s a wreck, as you can imagine. Harry isn’t being terribly helpful."

"Why am I not surprised? What’s the picture of?"

"Of the place they want Harry to meet them with the ransom money."

"How much do they want?"

"Five million Galleons."

"Shit."

"You keep saying that. Does it mean what you think it means?" Neville ducked away as Draco swiped at him. "There’s a small hitch."

"Only one?"

"Very funny. Three, actually. The first problem is that we don’t have five million Galleons - "

"I do. What else?"

"I always knew you’d come in useful someday. Second problem is we don’t know who the kidnappers are, since we don’t have enough clues to point us in any sort of direction to figure out who’s behind this."

"Great."

"The last problem is that we don’t know where the place in the picture is."

"Oh, God." Draco paced in a small circle and pushed his hands through his hair. "Show me this picture."

Neville hesitated.

"What?" Draco asked irritably.

"The whole Weasley clan is in there...and Harry."

"And I’ll bet they’ll all be just overjoyed to see me. Ask me if I care, Longbottom." Draco pushed past Neville and opened the front door, striding into the kitchen. A sea of heads turned to face him; the entire Weasley family had assembled on short notice, crowded into Ginny’s small kitchen. Angelina and Natalie were sitting on the living room couch with Percy and his wife Penelope. The twins were sitting at the kitchen table opposite Ginny, and Charlie, the burn scars standing out on his heavily muscled forearms, was leaning against the archway to the living room. Arthur and Molly were standing against one of the counters, Ron and Hermione at the other, and Harry was pacing in the small space left over in the middle of the kitchen. Percy stood up when Neville and Draco came in, and came to stand behind Charlie, the women standing as well to look over his shoulder.

Draco took one look at Ginny, sitting silently at the table, and went to her, kneeling by her chair and taking her hands in his. She looked terrible, like she’d been crying for hours, and had finally run out of tears, her eyes rimmed in red and her face blotchy. His heart ached just seeing her. As she looked into his eyes he could see that she was nearing the end of her strength. "It’ll be all right," he whispered softly, and she nodded without conviction. He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms, but didn’t quite dare, with Harry and half the Weasley brothers glaring daggers at him. Draco knew Harry hadn’t talked to Ginny since her blowup with Sirius (and Draco was thanking his lucky stars that he wasn’t here), and could imagine how thrilled the other man was to see him.

Neville came over to the table and pushed the note and the picture toward Draco. He stood up and picked up the picture first. It had been taken with Muggle film, and showed an unassuming park, with a path running through the bottom of the frame, and trees surrounding a small picnic area. Draco stared at it for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Neville eyed him worriedly; he wasn’t sure what that look meant, and could only hope it was good. "Well? What do you think?" he said finally, unable to wait any longer.

Draco raised his eyes to Neville’s and shook his head slightly. Neville’s shoulders slumped. He had been so sure that Draco would know. Draco placed the picture back on the table and leaned forward on his hands, head down and eyes closed.

The rest of the Weasleys were looking from Neville to Draco and back. Finally Arthur spoke up. "So...what now? If - if we can’t pay these people, whoever they are, what will happen? What do they want?"

Draco didn’t raise his head. "Money," he said succinctly.

"Money?" Harry repeated incredulously. "If they wanted money, why didn’t they pick some place we recognized? Somewhere we could meet them to give them the damn money, if that’s what they want badly enough to take my children?"

"Greed." Draco raised his head to meet Harry’s gaze. "Because they want more money than they’re asking for. They’ll probably do this two or three times, upping the ransom each time, trying to milk you for all they can get."

"I don’t have that much money!" Harry hissed, and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. He, like Ginny, looked terrible, pale and worried. "Dammit! I’m not exactly hurting for cash, but I don’t have that sort of money! And what happens if we don’t figure it out...if we don’t pay?"

"It depends," Draco said steadily. "On how much nerve they have. They may eventually give up and simply hand over the children, we may find them, or..." he left the sentence hanging. Molly made a small sound and pressed her hand to her mouth, and Ginny swayed slightly in her chair and closed her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

"It won’t come to that," Neville said quickly. "With any luck, we will figure out where this is, and then catch them when they come to collect."

Draco nodded, then leaned forward and reached out to slide the note toward himself. His hand stopped an inch from the paper, and he frowned, lifting his hand away. "It’s spelled."

"What?" Half a dozen voices repeated, and the corner of Draco’s mouth quirked up as he looked around the room.

"The paper is spelled," he repeated. "Whoever sent that note, put some sort of spell on it." Draco let out an amused snort as everyone drew their wands.

Ron leaned forward and poked at the paper with the tip of his wand. "What sort of spell?"

"I don’t know," Draco said patiently. "But there is one."

"Hermione?" Neville raised his eyebrows at her and gestured at the paper in invitation. She stepped forward and repeated Ron’s gesture, prodding at the paper with her wand, whispering under her breath. There was a faint whooshing noise, and the paper began to glow blue.

"Well that’s interesting," she said softly, and touched the paper again. A small spray of sparks erupted from the tip of her wand, winking out quickly and changing the tint of the glow from blue to a soft green. She frowned, and whispered something else, waving her wand above the paper. The glow deepened and then seemed to send out feelers, to Harry, Ginny, Ron, Arthur and Molly. "Very interesting. It’s some sort of communication spell, and it’s keyed itself to the first people who touched it." She gestured to the feelers of light. "One way, obviously, so they can hear us, but we can’t hear them." She tapped her wand against the palm of her hand, looking thoughtful. "I would guess that it allows the caster of the spell to hear whatever the first five who touched it are saying. Not a spell I’m familiar with, but I could hazard a guess as to how it works."

"Could you get rid of it?" Neville asked.

"Could you reverse it?"

Hermione looked up at Draco, startled. "I...I don’t know. I’d have to know for sure what sort of spell it is before I could try that."

"It’s a temero defero spell," Draco said, looking at her with shuttered eyes. "If that helps."

Ron’s head jerked up and he glared at Draco suspiciously. "Isn’t that a Dark Arts spell?"

"Ron," Hermione said in exasperation. "Don’t start."

"In fact, it might be a good idea if you didn’t talk at all. Anyone who’s keyed to it." Neville said quickly, as Ron shot him a dirty look.

"He’s right, dear," Hermione said to Ron, who snapped his mouth shut and glowered. She looked at Draco. "If it is a temero defero spell, then I don’t think it can be reversed, but I can take it off."

Draco and Neville both nodded, and she waved her wand over the paper again, whispering quickly, then tapped the paper and said "finite incanteum" loudly. The glow around the paper intensified, then faded away. Hermione looked up and nodded at them. "That should do it."

Draco reached over and picked up the note, reading it quickly, brow furrowed. The note itself was short and to the point:

Dear Mr.Potter,

You have exactly 2 days to meet us at the place you see in this picture with five million Galleons in untraceable coins. We will expect you at 12 midnight. Come alone if you wish to see your children alive. If you are not at the appointed place at the appointed time, we will be forced to resort to sterner measures, and our price for the safety of your children will unfortunately rise. Please don’t try to contact the authorities, as we will know if you do and will be forced to take appropriate measures.

We look forward to making your acquaintance.

He held it for a long moment, looking thoughtful, then handed Neville the piece of paper. "What does that remind you of?"

Neville took the note and looked at it with a considering frown. Finally he looked up and shook his head in bewilderment. "I don’t know what you mean."

"The pendant," Draco said meaningfully, while everyone looked at him strangely.

Hermione blinked, then her eyes went wide as she caught on. "The one that you brought to me!"

Neville’s jaw dropped in astonishment. "Oh...oh. You’re right."

Draco allowed himself a tight, satisfied smile. "And now we know who."

"Jesus," Neville breathed. "Audacious little bastards. I guess they did get bored of robbing banks." He ignored the quizzical looks and leaned over to look at the picture again. "Now all we have to do is figure out where. You really don’t recognize it?"

Draco shook his head. "It looks familiar, but I’m not sure. If it is them, then at a guess, they’ve decided to pick somewhere close to home for this little ploy. None of you would recognize it, of course, which would give them the opportunity to try again, for more cash. I’m betting it’s somewhere in Alberta, and probably Calgary. I’d need to show it to some people to be sure, though." Neville nodded and pushed the photo back toward him, and Draco picked it up, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket. Harry glared as if he wanted badly to protest, but held his silence.

"So what now?" Arthur Weasley spoke up from his corner of the kitchen, where he stood with his arms around Molly, who had clearly been weeping right along with Ginny.

Neville looked at him. "I’ll go down to the Ministry and talk to Cecil, and once we sort out the details, like the money - " he looked at Draco for confirmation, who nodded, " - and all of that straightened out on this end, and provided Malfoy is right and it is in Canada, then we’ll go there and sort things out there."

"And what about the money?" Harry demanded. "I don’t have that much, and I highly doubt that the Ministry is just going to hand you 5 million galleons."

Neville looked at Draco, who pressed his lips together and looked exactly as if he were trying not to roll his eyes. "Actually," he said tightly. "The money is not going to come from the Ministry. It will come from the Malfoy estate." He smiled thinly at Harry, who glared daggers at him and took a quick breath, obviously about to tell Draco what he could do with his money. Hermione reached over, tapped Harry on the arm, and shook her head slightly. Harry glanced at her and set his jaw, but he looked away from Draco and didn’t say anything.

"But the note said Harry has to go alone," Ginny said tensely from her seat at the table. "How are you going to do this? Is it going to be safe?"

Draco and Neville looked at each other, then Draco knelt beside her chair and took her hands again. "If we’re right about who’s done this and where they are, it’s just a matter of getting the manpower and the details sorted out. It’s perfectly safe, and we’ll get Sarah and Jamie back soon. They won’t be in any danger, I promise."

"Then I want to go too." Ginny raised her chin defiantly. "I want to be there, if Harry gets to go. They’re my children, my babies. I want to be there to take them home."

"Of course," Draco said simply. Ginny, clearly expecting to have to fight, opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. Her fingers tightened on Draco’s, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears, although they didn’t spill over onto her cheeks.

"Thank you," she said softly.

The room erupted with male voices. "You can’t expect her to go - "

"She has to stay here, where it’s safe!"

"Don’t be a fool, you can’t take Ginny into that sort of situation!"

"What if something happens?"

Neville raised his voice, trying to calm the Weasley brothers. "It’ll be fine - "

Draco grinned wryly at her. "And now I have 6 - no, 7 men lined up to kill me if anything does happen," he said, his voice low so that only she could hear him under the room full of people yelling. "8, if you want to include Neville." She smiled tremulously back.

"I’ll protect you," she said, just as quietly, and his smile deepened.

"It’ll be fine, Ginny. I swear it will. We’ll get them back, and everything will be fine." Draco said seriously. He gazed intently into her eyes, his fingers entwined with hers. "Believe me. Everything is going to be all right."


"I do. I believe you," she whispered, and this time a tear escaped from her eye and tracked slowly down her cheek. Draco raised his hand and gently brushed it away. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, kiss her breathless and never let her go, but he realized it was probably not a good idea right at the moment, with her entire family in the room arguing loudly over her safety. He squeezed her hands gently and stood up, ignoring Harry, who was giving him the evil eye.

"We should go," he said to Neville, who was still arguing with Charlie and Arthur. "We’ve got a lot to do."

Neville nodded and made his way around the table to the door. "I’ll go find Cecil right away. You going to head to Gringotts?"

Draco nodded. "Then I’ll go home and talk to the RCMP, see if anyone there recognizes the place. It’s still about noon over there. Once you’re done here, apparate over and we’ll get everything organized on that end, since I need you to talk to the Canadian MoM for me. You’ve still got that trace on my phone, so you’ll know where to go."

Neville’s mouth twitched as he recalled the last time he’d used the trace. "All right," he said, then turned to Harry. "I’ll come get you and Gin when I’m ready to leave. Hopefully it won’t be long, probably tomorrow evening or so. Try to get some rest in the meantime," Neville said as Draco met him at the door. They both stepped into the hall, followed by Ginny, Harry and Ron, while the rest of the Weasley clan crowded the doorway. Draco turned to look at Ginny, who was leaning against the wall, her face white and drawn.

Draco looked at her a moment, then muttered "fuck it," under his breath, and pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. "It’ll be all right," he breathed into her hair, then leaned back, took her face in his hands and kissed her. "It will," he said fiercely, and stepped back, ignoring Harry, who looked ready to kill. Ginny brushed the back of his hand with her fingers and smiled at him, her first real smile since the children had vanished. Draco smiled back, and apparated away.

~*~

The temptation
To take the precious things we have apart
To see how they work
Must be resisted for they never fit together again
If this is rain let it fall on me and drown me
If these are tears let them fall
- Must I Paint You A Picture, Billy Bragg

~*~

Ginny stared at the place where Draco had disappeared for a long time before turning back to the door. Her family had retreated back into the flat, but Harry was standing at the door, watching her and looking furious.

"What was that?" he demanded.

"Don’t." Ginny said curtly, hugging her arms to her chest. "Just...don’t, Harry. Don’t start. I really don’t want have this conversation right now." She pushed past him and walked back into the kitchen to sink back into the chair she’d left.

Harry followed. "You don’t know anything about why he’s come back, Ginny. He’s not a nice person!"

"Harry, it has been twelve years since you last saw Draco. He is not 17 anymore and neither are you. I hardly think you’re in any position to judge what sort of person he is now."

"I’m not in a position to judge?" Harry repeated. "I’m not the one who’s snogging him in hallways!"

Ginny glared at him coldly. "My relationship with Draco is not up for discussion. I don’t care if you don’t like it Harry, I am not talking about it now. "

"I think right now is a perfect time to talk about it," Harry snapped back.

"In case you haven’t noticed, Harry, two of our children are missing! I am not going to entertain your desire to play overprotective husband right now, I have more than enough to worry about!"

"Yes, and maybe if you’d been paying attention, there would be nothing to worry about," Harry said acidly.

Ginny went white. She stood up so suddenly her chair fell over backwards, and slammed her hands down on the table. "Don’t you dare try to insinuate this is somehow my fault!" she shouted. "You weren’t there! Just like you haven’t been there for the entire ten years of our marriage! There was always something you had to do, the wonderful Harry Potter who can do no wrong, out saving the world or winning the Quidditch Cup or setting Seeker records, or rescuing your beloved Cannons from the basement of their stupid league with your fantastic coaching! And now you’re going to sit there and yell at me for having the gall to want to spend time with someone who doesn’t happen to be you? Who’s actually interested in what I do all day, even if it’s just sitting around playing with the same kids you don’t have 2 words for most of the time? Who adores my children, and who adores me? To hell with you, Harry Potter! In case you’ve failed to notice, my babies would be here right now if it weren’t for you! Those bastards didn’t kidnap them because they were Ginny Weasley’s children, did they?"

A horrified silence fell over the kitchen as Harry and Ginny glared at each other. Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, then spun on his heel and stalked up the hall. No one else moved an inch as he strode away. The sound of a door slamming in the hall was very loud in the silent kitchen. Ginny's shoulder's slumped forward and she bent her head, her hair falling around her face. Ron made a movement toward the hall, but Hermione caught his arm and shook her head at him.

"Don't, Ron," Ginny said, her voice rusty. "Don’t." She took a deep breath and raised her head, one hand pressed against her mouth, then walked quietly out of the kitchen after Harry.

He was in Jamie’s room, sitting on the edge of the bed with his hands twisted in the sheets, staring at the floor with a mixture of anger and pain written on his face. She crossed to him and pulled a small stool over so she could sit in front of him. "Harry - "

"Is that what you think?" Harry asked harshly, not taking his eyes off the floor. "That I’m a bad father? That this is all my fault? That I wanted this to happen?"

Ginny shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. "No...no, Harry, I...I think that there are things that both of us would have done differently if we had the chance. You’re not a bad father, but it’s not a priority for you, is it? I know you love them, and that you want the world for them, but you’ve never made them the centre of your life. Or me either."

Harry’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak.

"And I knew that, Harry. I knew when we got married what I was getting into. So many people have claims on parts of you, and there are people who will always be closer to you than I am, like Ron and Hermione, or Sirius. And when I was 18, it seemed like enough, to have just a corner of your heart." Ginny stopped for a moment and bit her lip, looking down at her hands. "I knew then that being married to The Boy Who Lived would put me and later the kids on some sort of pedestal, make us...targets for all the people who want to have a claim on you, for every greedy bastard who comes along wanting an autograph or an ‘I met Harry Potter’ moment. But that’s not your fault. It’s just a part of who you are. And you’re a part of who I am, and you always will be." She raised her head again and stared at him, at the curve of his neck, the black hair curling slightly around the collar of his robes, willing him to understand, willing him to just look at her. "Please, Harry. I shouldn’t have said that, it wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry. This is no more your fault for being who you are than it is mine for being careless with the children. I don't think it would have mattered to those...those bastards if I had Jamie and Sarah tied to me, they'd have tried to take them anyway. And I should have been watching, or paying more attention, or - "

"Gin, no..." Harry finally raised his head to look at her, emerald eyes bright with emotion. His expression changed as he did so, the anger draining out of it and leaving only pain. "It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known." He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "I know that I haven’t been the kind of husband you should have had, or the kind of dad the kids deserve. I can’t blame you for stopping loving me." He sighed heavily and tilted his head back. "I deserved that."

"Harry, I do love you. I have loved you since I was 10 years old, and I've never stopped. I probably never will. But it wasn't enough, no matter how hard I tried to make it be enough. For either of us. And that’s not your fault either, or mine. No one can say we didn't try to make things work...all we did was try." Ginny stopped and just looked at him for a moment, the black head bent back toward the ceiling, clear skin stretched over the planes of a face she knew better than her own. He looked so young - in all the years since Hogwarts, he’d barely changed at all. She reached out one hand gently and touched his fingers. "And I am so sorry, for everything that's happened."

His hand turned in hers and clutched at her fingers, and he lowered his eyes to hers. Ginny thought her heart would break at the look in his eyes. "I'm sorry too. For everything. I never wanted to put you through this, or the kids...God!" Harry's voice broke suddenly, and his face crumpled. Ginny slid from the stool to the bed to hold him in her arms. Harry wrapped his arms almost painfully tight around her waist as he buried his head in her shoulder, chest heaving. "I’m so sorry," he choked.

"I know, love, I know," she whispered, rubbing his back softly. The tears didn’t last long - Harry hated showing emotion in front of anyone. He calmed after a few minutes and they sat in comfortable silence, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, his head on her shoulder. Ginny absently smoothed his hair, faintly amused at the way they seemed to automatically adjust to each other, as if the years they had spent sharing a home and a bed had lent them special knowledge of how best to be comfortable with each other. It was something that she didn't have with Draco yet; that ability to fit themselves to each other almost unconsciously.

Ginny ran her fingers through Harry's unruly black locks and smiled. She remembered the very first time they’d done this, curled up in a chair in the living room of the Burrow, breathless and exhilarated with the mere presence of each other. They had sat for hours that day, the house miraculously empty of people, wrapped around each other, kissing sometimes, but mostly just caught up in the sheer pleasure of being able to touch. She’d played endlessly with his hair, thrilled to be able to give in to the urges she’d had for years, to smooth down the cowlick at the back, to tidy the messy bits with her fingers. Sarah's hair was the same untamable mass... Ginny’s hand stilled, and she bit her lip, fighting tears. She was sick of crying. She wasn't going to do it anymore. She wouldn’t haveto anymore.

After a long silence, Harry shifted his head so that it lay in the hollow of her neck. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing him?" Harry asked again. "And why Malfoy, of all people? I mean, I know we're split up, but why’d you have to pick him?"

"I meant to tell you, honestly, but I could never find the right time, or the right way to put it." Ginny shifted her weight slightly. "And then you ran into him at the flat, and it was just... I couldn’t figure out a way to tell you without you being furious, so I put it off again and again..." she let her breath out in a short sigh. "I left it too late, obviously."

"You were afraid I’d be angry?" Harry snorted softly and straightened up, pulling away so that he could look at her. "And finding out by having him appear in your living room like he owned the place made it better."

"I am sorry about that," Ginny said quietly. "That wasn’t fair. And as for why...well. I don’t know, really. It just sort of happened."

"What, you just met him and thought ‘I’ll sleep with Draco Malfoy, just for a lark’?"

Ginny made a face at him. "No, I did not. It was months before we even went on a real date, thank you very much. I ran into him at the supermarket, and we went for coffee, and he was nice to the children, so I gave him my number. And like I said, it was two months before we even went on our first real date."

"But why?" Harry shook his head in bewilderment. "He’s...he’s Malfoy. He’s horrible."

"He’s not horrible. He really has changed," Ginny said. Harry made a muffled noise. "I mean it. I know he might seem the same to you, but he honestly has. Do you think Neville would have been working with him all this time if he hadn’t?"

"I wondered about that," Harry said. "Considering how evil Draco was to Neville at Hogwarts, I was surprised he’d be willing to put up with him."

"Neville puts up with him because Draco is a different person," Ginny said. "He’s not the same now as he was when we all went to Hogwarts."

"He doesn’t seem that different to me," Harry said derisively.

"Well he wouldn’t, he doesn’t like you. Some things haven’t changed. But to everyone else, he’s a lot nicer, and he’s not as mean as he used to be. He spent all this time living as a Muggle...he stopped doing magic, stopped having any sort of contact with the wizarding world. It changed him for the better. He even admits it." She stopped and glanced at Harry’s incredulous expression with a small smile. "And he’s much better looking."

Harry glared at her and sputtered. "That’s not...he’s not...he isn’t that good looking."

Ginny’s smile got a little wider. "Oh no? That’s not what Hermione says."

"Hermione?" Harry looked horribly betrayed.

"Or any of the girls." Ginny stopped again and smiled sweetly at him. "Or Neville."

Harry choked and then laughed. "I wonder what he’d say to that if he knew."

"He does know, and he doesn’t say anything, actually," Ginny shot back. "Neville would die of embarrassment, so Draco doesn’t bring it up."

Harry raised his eyebrows skeptically. "That seems awfully civil."

Ginny made an exasperated noise. "Which is exactly what I mean when I said he’s changed. He is civil, usually. Even to you. Do you really think he’d offer to just give you 5 million galleons if he were still the person you think he is?"

"I don’t know how you can be so sure," he said dubiously. "I mean, he may not have been a Death Eater, but that doesn’t excuse the fact that he was a spoilt brat and tried to get us in trouble all the time. Or that he tried to get Hagrid sacked, or me and Ron expelled, or even the fact that his father nearly got you killed when you were eleven."

Ginny gritted her teeth. "I’m just saying that you can’t judge him based on what happened in the past. It’s not fair, because he’s not that person anymore. You might at least make an effort to get over things that happened twelve years ago."

Harry leaned back and studied her carefully, a frown creasing his features. Ginny met the disapproval in his gaze steadily. Finally he shook his head. "I just don’t like it."

Ginny bit her lip, but didn’t lower her eyes. "Harry, you don’t have to."

He glanced away quickly, but not before she saw him flinch. "I know," he said softly.

Ginny closed her eyes briefly, fighting against the ache in her chest. She hadn’t believed Sirius, or Draco, for that matter, when they had told her he still loved her. She had always believed - always - that she cared more for Harry than he for her. Now that was reversed, and her regret was a palpable thing. "Harry, I’m sorry."

He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes. "I am too," he said, so quietly she almost couldn’t hear the words. "Oh, Ginny. I am too."

~*~

The heat settled around him like a weight the moment Neville apparated into the tiny kitchen, following Draco’s locator charm. He’d come from a small apparition platform near Saskatoon - it wasn’t really safe to apparate too far, so the International Wizarding Union, set up not long after the end of the War, had established such platforms across most of North America and across the Atlantic, to provide points to aim for when traveling long distances. Neville had apparated in stages, hopping from England to Iceland to Sault Ste Marie to Saskatoon and then to Draco's charm in Calgary. He was subconsciously expecting it to be cold despite the fact that it was summer, so the sweltering late-afternoon heat was something of a shock.

Neville had arrived in a small kitchen, with a set of white cupboards, violently yellow walls and white gingham curtains on the window above the table. There was a sink and counter along the wall with a doorway to the rest of the house, from what Neville could see, and a fridge and stove side-by-side on the wall he was facing. A table was set against the free wall, under the window, and a closet along the last wall, beside two stairs down to a landing and an open door, presumably to the outside; Neville was crammed into the space between the table and the sink. It was a cramped space, made even smaller by a giant of a man standing in front of the open refrigerator, a beer bottle in one hand, staring at Neville open-mouthed.

The man had coal black hair in two long braids hanging over his shoulders, a nose that would have done an eagle proud, and was dressed in faded blue jean shorts and a short-sleeved checkered shirt that was hanging open at the front, exposing an impressive expanse of smooth copper skin. He probably topped Ron, the tallest man Neville knew, by at least an inch or two, and he wasn’t so much muscular as solid, dwarfing everything around him with his sheer presence. Neville gulped and opened his mouth, but the man recovered first.

"You must be Neville," he said, deep voice remarkably steady for someone who had just watched someone else appear in his kitchen out of thin air. "Hi." He extended a large hand over the refrigerator door, which Neville took, somewhat shakily.

"Yes...um. I think I may have the wrong house?" Neville said questioningly. But he couldn’t have; that was Draco’s cell phone sitting on the table, he was sure. He eyed the man nervously. So much for not letting the Muggles know about wizardry.

"Nope, you got the right place. I’m John, I’m Dray’s roommate. He told me you were coming, I just wasn’t expecting you to be all Star Trek-like, popping in out of nowhere. That was actually..." he stopped to consider, "pretty damn cool. Wanna beer?"

"Er..."

"Or not, since you’re technically on duty, right? We’ve got water, Coke, Sprite, lemonade...I’d offer tea, but it’s really too damn hot. No coffee, I’m afraid, Dray doesn’t drink it and I hate instant." He stepped around the refrigerator door and shut it, looking inquiringly at Neville, who shook his head.

"Actually, about Malfoy - " Neville began hesitantly.

"Oh, he's not here." John shrugged. "He’ll be home pretty soon, I think. He was at the cop shop all night, and all of this morning too. C’mon outside while we wait...this place is a sauna. Still hot outside, but at least there’s a breeze."

John sauntered down the two steps and out the back door. Neville watched him go in bemusement, then shrugged mentally and followed. John seemed to be taking his precense with remarkable aplomb, and all things considered, it was better than the alternative.

Neville stepped out onto a small wooden deck screened by a honeysuckle hedge on one side and a huge poplar tree on the other. A plastic deck table and covered chairs were set in the shade, a large green umbrella casting more shade over the chairs. The yard was large and extremely well kept, with neat picket fences separating it from the neigbouring yards and the alley, and flowers in pots on the two deck steps down to the grass. There was a single car garage at the bottom of the yard, with white plastic siding and dark-blue window trim that matched the house, and what looked like a vegetable garden beside it.

John waved Neville into a chair and sat down himself, stretching out long legs and resting his beer bottle on his chest. He gazed at his new houseguest and smiled, black eyes sparkling. "You sure you don’t want anything to drink?"

Neville shook his head again. "No, thank you, I’m fine."

John shrugged. "Suit yourself. So you’re Dray’s partner? He’s told me a little about you, but not much."

"Yes, I am," Neville said cautiously. "We’ve been working together for over a year now on this case."

"Yeah...Draco’s been chasing that little punk for ages. If it’s the same guy, I hope you catch him."

"So do I," Neville admitted. "It’s been the most frustrating case I’ve ever had, waiting about for them to do something wrong. They’ve been surprisingly good at covering their tracks."

John shook his head. "Sneaky little bastards. I’m surprised that they’d have the nerve to actually kidnap someone...from what Draco’s told me about the one kid, he’s never been all that nervy, unless he had somebody backing him up and he was sure he could get away with it."

Neville sat up straight. "Really?"

John raised his eyebrows. "Yeah. When he was still here in Canada, he was involved in all sorts of petty crimes and stuff, but nothing too serious, and the kid never let anything happen that would point to him directly. From everything I’ve heard about him, he’d never do anything he wasn’t very sure he could get away with. I figure Draco would have told you that."

"He did, but not in so many words." Neville frowned thoughtfully. "Makes me wonder. There’s a lot of people in England who would dearly love to get back at Harry for any number of things, but are either afraid to try anything, or don’t want to dirty their hands."

"That’s typical," John said. "I tell ya, people in general make me shake my head. Scratch beneath the surface and we’re all basically bastards."

Neville smiled at that. "You don’t have a very high opinion of people."

"You wouldn’t either, if you were in my line of work. You’d be amazed at what people try and get away with."

"What do you do?"

"I’m a treaty lawyer for the Blackfoot Nation. Native rights, mostly," John said as Neville looked confused. "Land disputes, dealing with the government on all sorts of stuff, but it mostly boils down to land. I do a little legal advising on the side, but not that often...mostly because I get too irritated with people."

"Ah," Neville said. "That sounds interesting."

John laughed. "It’s pretty damn dull most of the time. Lots of reading, not much in the way of courtroom drama. Dray gets all the fun stuff. Chasing people, tracking people down, catching crooks, that sort of thing. I just read." John gave an exaggerated sigh. "It’s so boring."

"Why didn’t you become a police officer then?" Neville asked.

"’Cause I was young and naive and wanted to change the whole world, not just a part of it. Still do...I just didn’t know changing the world would be so unexciting. Of course," he said with a sly grin, "I’m smarter than your average policeman. I’d have been wasted as a cop."

There was an elaborate noise of disgust from the door to the house, and Neville jumped. John just grinned. "Oki ni-kso-ko-wa, ksik-kihk-ini," he said lightly to Draco, who scowled back.

"Hello," he said in reply, and nodded at Neville. "Longbottom." Draco pushed himself away from the doorframe and pulled an extra chair to the table from the edge of the deck, flopping into it. He was in uniform, wearing black pants with a broad yellow stripe up either leg, calf-high black leather boots and a light blue short-sleeved shirt with chevrons on both shoulders and Draco’s last name above the breast pocket, which was untucked and partially unbuttoned. He looked...edible. Neville felt his mouth go slightly dry, and he blinked, averting his eyes. Draco tossed his hat onto the table, stretched his legs out in front of him and sighed. Then he got up, unbuckled the utility belt from around his waist, tossed that onto the ground beside his chair and flopped back down again, groaning. "Just for the record, I really, really, really hate my boss. Have I mentioned that?"

"Not recently but then, you’ve been away," John replied mildly. "What’s he doing now?"

"I just got a 2 hour lecture on my hair," Draco said disgustedly. "I show up in uniform rather than plainclothes, and he decided to bitch about my hair. Because it’s not ‘regulation’." He pulled the elastic out of the hair in question and ran his hands through it, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "Bastard."

"Sucks to be you," John said, amusement plain in his voice. "Maybe you should get a haircut."

"Drop dead," Draco said wearily, and John laughed. Draco looked at Neville. "When did you get here?"

"Just now, actually," Neville replied. "Someone from the Canadian Ministry is supposed to be meeting me here shortly to discuss what we’re going to do. Back-up, that sort of thing. What have you found out?"

Draco straightened up a bit. "Where that park in the picture is, for starters. I was right, it is here in town. It’s Edworthy Park, which won’t mean anything to you," he said to Neville’s blank look, "but I do know where it is. The RCMP will send a few units for backup, and I’ve talked to the city police, who’ve agreed to help as well. They’re going to close off the park once our little kidnappers get there, and prevent them from getting away if anything goes wrong."

Neville nodded. "I think the Canadian Ministry will provide more manpower, or at least I hope they will. Once their representatives get here, we can discuss it in more detail, but ideally, they’ll send a couple Aurors to assist us."

"Good." Draco stood up and yanked his shirt off over his head. "Damn, it’s hot. I’m going to change, I’ll be right back. Sure you don’t want anything, Longbottom?"

Neville nodded faintly, thinking very hard about flobberworms. "I’m fine," he said. At least his voice didn’t crack. Draco shrugged and headed for the door, shirt dangling loosely in one hand. Neville couldn’t quite resist looking over his shoulder at the other man, and his eyes widened in surprise as he glanced at Draco’s back. Draco had a tattoo. What looked like a small stylized bird on his back, between his shoulder blades, done in black. Neville took several deep breaths and turned back around quickly, hoping his blush could be passed off as too much sun. He looked up slowly to find John watching him with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

"I didn’t know he had a tattoo," Neville said weakly.

"He tends to forget," John replied softly, answering Neville’s reaction rather than his words. "He doesn’t think of himself as all that attractive."

Neville’s eyes widened at the sheer absurdity of that. "He doesn’t?"

"Nope. I gather he wasn’t the best looking kid in the world...it seems to have stuck with him." John shrugged.

"Well, he wasn’t, but..." Neville trailed off and shook his head. "I didn’t know he had a tattoo," he repeated.

"We both do," John said, and stood up suddenly, shrugging out of his own shirt and turning his back to Neville. His was what looked like a large, stylized cow with horns in the same place as Draco’s, centered between his shoulder blades.

Neville stared at the broad expanse of John’s back and couldn’t decide if he were cursed or very, very lucky. He cast about for something suitably neutral to say. "It’s very well done," he said finally. "Who designed them?"

John shrugged his shirt back on and sat back down. "I did, actually. Mine’s a buffalo, his is a thunderbird."

"A what?"

"Thunderbird. They’re the sacred birds of the Pikuni, the Peigan Indians. Some people say that what we call a thunderbird is actually a bald eagle. A ksik-kihk-ini, in Blackfoot." John went pokerfaced for a second, his face settling into strong, fierce lines. "Strong totem. Heap big medicine."

Neville raised his eyebrows slowly. "Um."

"That’s my best Hollywood Indian impression." John grinned and relaxed. "I’m just kidding."

"Kidding about what?" Draco reappeared, wearing a black t-shirt and black slacks that, aside from being practical for wandering about in the dark, set off his pale skin and hair wonderfully. Neville gulped.

John looked him up and down. "You are going to die of heat exhaustion in about two minutes in that outfit."

"I am not. Kidding about what?" Draco demanded. He was carrying a pitcher of what looked like iced tea, and two glasses. He handed one to Neville, poured himself a glass, then filled Neville’s while Neville watched in bemusement.

"Er, thanks," he said, and Draco nodded at him before turning back to John.

"What were you kidding about?"

A broad smile spread across John’s face. "Nothing," he said with a hint of what could only be described as glee. Draco glared at him, clearly debating whether or not to rise to the bait. John grinned back. "You’re pouting."

"I am not!" Draco exclaimed sulkily. "Never mind, I don’t want to know."

John smiled cheekily. "I know and you don’t, and I’m not going to tell!" he said in a singsong. Neville held his breath, waiting for Draco to lose his temper; Neville knew from experience that he didn’t take well to teasing.

The explosion Neville braced himself for didn’t come. Draco glared, slouched further in his chair and pretended he hadn’t heard. "What time are the Ministry people supposed to get here?" he asked Neville, haughtily ignoring John, who was snickering under his breath.

Neville glanced at his watch. "Soon, I think. They said that they’d be here around 5, so they should be a few minutes." Draco nodded and sipped at his iced tea, still pretending John wasn’t there. John grinned and slouched down in his own chair, pushing his feet into Draco’s legs. Draco yanked his legs away and glowered at the other man.

"Anne is pissed at you, by the way," John drawled, still grinning.

"What for?"

"You forgot to call her for Mother’s Day. You forgot to call Ed last weekend for Father's Day, for that matter, and I’m guessing she’s not too pleased about that either." John tilted his head back and closed his eyes, settling into his chair. "She says you’re ungrateful."

"I’m not ungrateful, I just forgot," Draco said defensively. "I’ve been busy."

"Tell her that, man. I sent her a card."

Draco glowered and folded his arms over his chest. "Not my fault I forgot. You might have reminded me."

"It’s not my job to remind you. Do I look like your secretary?"

Neville listened to them bicker with half an ear, watching Draco. He looked different, for some reason, although that was patently ridiculous, since he couldn’t have changed much since Neville had seen him the day before. Neville furrowed his brow, trying to put his finger on what it was. It finally dawned on him; Draco was...relaxed. There was a slight tension in him, the same kind that Neville shared - there was no such thing, really, as an off-duty cop. But aside from that, Draco seemed more at ease than Neville had ever seen him. He looked comfortable, as though he was where he belonged. Neville considered that thoughtfully.

The doorbell rang from inside the house, startling them all. "That’ll be the Ministry," Draco said as he stood up. "I’ll go let them in."

He disappeared inside the house, and returned a few moments later with the two Canadian wizards in tow. The Canadian wizards, both men, scanned the area nervously as they followed Draco onto the deck, eyes flicking about and hands hovering close to their pockets. They were both dressed in Muggle clothing - light pants and polo shirts - and managed to look as uncomfortable about it as Neville felt most of the time. The first wizard was older, with thinning light brown hair and plain, weather-beaten features. The other seemed impossibly young, 20 at the most, fresh-faced and eager. He stared around the yard with wide, astonished eyes. Pure-blood, Neville thought to himself, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Probably never been in a real Muggle house before. Neville stood and extended his hand to the older one. "I’m Neville Longbottom, with the British Ministry of Magic."

"Bruce Purvis, Canadian Department of Magical Inquiry. This is my partner, Wayne Busby," he replied, shaking Neville’s hand firmly. His voice was harsh and loud, as though he was used to shouting a lot. "Pleasure to meet you."

Neville nodded politely. "Thank you for coming. I spoke to Jim Lowe in your department earlier, but I’m not sure if he’s told you what’s gone on."

Purvis shook his head sharply, looking forbidding. "We’ve had a minor briefing."

Neville nodded and outlined the details of what they knew about the kidnappers while Purvis listened and nodded and interrupted with questions from time to time. The younger wizard, Busby, didn’t do much of anything except sit and nod and look keen. He kept casting nervous glances at John, who finally excused himself politely and vanished into the house. The boy watched John go with something like relief, and relaxed minutely. With John gone, though, it was Draco’s turn to be the object of nervous glances - Neville wondered how Busby had managed to make an Auror at all, if he were that edgy about Muggles.

After he had finished with the explanations, Neville looked at the two Canadian wizards expectantly. "We hope to have this go as smoothly as possible after we arrive at the park. I was thinking we might go and have a look at it beforehand, to sort out positions, test the obscurus charms, that sort of thing."

"I don’t think that will be necessary," Purvis said shortly, casting a sharp glare in Draco’s direction. "We know where it is."

Draco raised his chin haughtily. "It would probably be a good idea."

Purvis ignored him and looked pointedly at Neville. "What time should we meet?"

Neville blinked and cleared his throat. "Um, 11:30? Perhaps at the entrance to the park?"

"There’s a footbridge over the river that leads into the park itself," Draco suggested, his voice tinged with disgust. "Good a place as ever."

Purvis glanced at Draco like he would rather not take any sort of suggestion from him, but nodded grudgingly. "Then we’ll see you tonight."

Neville agreed politely and watched as the Canadian wizards showed themselves out. He dearly wanted to ask why they didn’t just apparate away, but it wasn’t really his place to inquire, and Purvis didn’t look like he’d answer anyway. He cocked an eyebrow at Draco, who was scowling at the door they’d left through. "So what do you think?"

Draco snorted. "I think they’re idiots. I doubt Purvis could see past the end of his nose, and if the younger one were any greener, you could plant him."

"Aside from that," Neville said with a small grin. "Not that I don’t agree with you."

"I don’t suppose we have a lot of choice." Draco let out a long breath and shook his head. "I doubt we could get away with shipping them back and demanding Aurors with experience."

"Not without calling the wrath of their whole department on our heads," Neville replied with a sigh. "Maybe we can find somewhere out of the way to stash the younger one."

"Like under a rock somewhere?" Draco suggested.

Neville laughed ruefully. "I know what you mean. I knew they were insular, but I didn’t realize that ‘insular’ meant ‘intolerant of anything non-magical’."

"Well, maybe we can shunt them aside without making it look like that’s what we’re doing," Draco said. "I’d just as soon have them more or less out of the way once things start happening. As a very wise man once said, I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

~*~

Four hours later, Neville apparated back into Draco’s tiny kitchen with Ginny and Harry. The house was quiet and dark, the sun low in the west through the kitchen window and the yard outside cloaked in shadows. Ginny moved out of the corner when she arrived, leaving room for Harry, looking around the kitchen with great interest. John came in from the hallway as Harry arrived. "Hi there," he said, looking at Harry and Ginny with intense curiosity.

"Hello," Neville replied. "John, I don’t think you’ve met Ginny and Harry Potter. Harry, Ginny, this is John...um."

"Sitting Buffalo," John supplied, holding his hand out to Harry. He was eyeing Harry carefully, his face neutrally blank. Neville wondered what Draco had told him. "Hi."

Harry took the hand offered to him, sizing John up as he did so. "Hello," he said stiffly, standing up a bit straighter. It didn’t really make a difference; John was a big man, tall and solid, and Harry wasn’t. Perhaps John didn’t mean to be intimidating, but Neville had a hunch that John knew exactly how uncomfortable it made Harry to have John looming above him and shrinking the kitchen just by standing there, and didn’t care.

John nodded and turned to Ginny with a smile. "And you’re Ginny," he said, his voice warming noticeably. Ginny flushed and nodded, and John reached out and clasped her hand in both of his gently. "It’s nice to meet you."

"Draco’s told me a bit about you," Ginny replied, smiling weakly.

John chuckled. "It’s all lies. Don’t believe a word of it." Ginny’s smile widened a bit, and John turned back to the other men. "Dray’s just stepped out, but he’ll be right back. Head on into the living room and make yourselves at home. Can I get anyone anything?"

Neville and Harry both shook their heads, and Neville led the way to the small living room. It was a sparsely decorated room, with a low leather couch and a battered brown recliner as the main pieces of furniture. A glass-and-steel coffee table sat in front of the couch, with a subtly patterned area rug, done in shades of brown and cream on the hardwood floor in front of it. A large picture window, hung with cream Venetian blinds took up most of one wall, and the far wall was dominated by two huge bookcases that flanked a small fireplace.

Harry did a quick circuit of the room, eying the print above the couch - a stark black and white photograph of grain elevators framed against thunderclouds - and skimming over the book titles in the bookcases, before settling into the recliner and watching the others broodingly. He looked rather nervous to Neville, as though he really did not want to be here. Neville tried a reassuring smile, but Harry either didn’t notice, or didn’t want to be reassured.

Ginny settled at one end of the couch, drawing her legs up underneath her and hugging her arms to her chest, her eyes wandering over the furniture, the bookcases and table, looking anywhere but at the two men. She was tightly wound, calmer than she had been earlier, but still worried. Neville had the impression that something had happened between her and Harry after he and Draco left, but he wasn’t sure what. The atmosphere between them had altered in a way Neville couldn’t quite decipher.

The back door opened, and Neville could hear John’s rumbling voice coming from the kitchen, and Draco saying something in response. Moments later, Draco appeared around the corner, nodding curtly at Harry and Neville. "Longbottom, Potter." He smiled at Ginny, who smiled tremulously back. "Did you just get here?"

Neville nodded. "About 5 minutes ago."

"Sorry I wasn’t here. I stopped by the station to pick up a few things." Draco lifted what he was holding, a bundle of what looked like black coats of some kind. He tossed one at Neville, who nearly dropped it. It turned out to be some sort of black vest, made of a weighty but flexible material. "Those are to put on under your jackets before we go."

"What is it?" Harry asked, holding up the one Draco dropped in his lap.

"Bulletproof vest. No point in taking any chances," he said. Harry looked taken aback. "We know that the one of them, at least, is a Muggle and it’s likely that he’ll have a gun, so better safe than sorry. It'll still hurt like hell if you do get shot, but it's better than being totally unprotected." Draco glanced at Neville. "I could only get three, so your little Ministry friends are on their own. If there’s shooting, tell them to duck."

Neville snorted. "I’m sure they’ll manage."

"One of them is a Muggle?" Harry said in astonishment. "I thought they were wizards."

"One of them is," Neville said. "The other is a Muggle. Their names are Chris Nesbitt and Brad Straker - Nesbitt is the wizard, and from everything we’ve been able to gather, an average one. They’ve done a good job of covering their tracks, but they haven’t really done anything to imply that he’s particularly powerful, magically speaking. The basic plan for tonight is not to do anything fancy. We’ll wait until they hand over the children and you’re safely away, then grab them." He glanced over at Draco, who nodded and continued.

"There’s only two real ways into or out of the park. There’s a footbridge over the river to the north, and train tracks on the south side, separated from the main park by a chain link fence, and both are easily closed off. Once we get into position and the kidnappers arrive, the city police and the local RCMP will seal off the park from all sides - the bike paths, the road into the parking lot for the park from the residential area on the hill above it, and the parking lot on the other side of the river." Draco smiled faintly. "Even if they make it out of the park, they won’t get far."

"Then we get the children, arrest the kidnappers, and that should be that," Neville finished. "If all goes well, it shouldn’t take more than an hour altogether. The Canadian Ministry has asked that we keep magic usage to an absolute minimum. They wanted to forbid anyone but their officers from carrying a wand, but we talked them out of it, so you can keep yours with you, Harry."

"I wasn’t about to give it up," Harry said stiffly. "Why wouldn’t they let me carry my wand?"

"Canadian rules about Muggle-wizard interaction are a lot stricter than they are in England," Neville replied. "They don’t like to have people with unlicensed wands running around."

"Unlicensed wands?" Harry asked incredulously. "They make you license your wand here? That’s ridiculous."

"They’re very strict about magic," Neville said. "They’re too spread out not to be. There’s probably half the wizarding population here as we have in England, and it’s harder to keep track of magic use with so few wizards in such a large area." Harry looked skeptical, and Neville shrugged. "At least, that’s the explanation they gave me."

Ginny excused herself quietly to use the washroom, and Harry slumped down in the recliner, one hand supporting his chin as he stared moodily at the window. Neville stretched his arms and paced around in a small circle in front of the couch in an attempt to burn off his nervousness. The closer the appointed time drew, the more nervous he seemed to get. Draco didn’t look nervous at all, but then, he seldom did.

The phone rang and Draco vanished into the kitchen, presumably to answer it, leaving Neville and Harry to their own devices. Neville glanced at Harry, who was still staring silently at the wall, and sighed. If Harry really wanted to talk about anything, Neville supposed he would just say something...in the meantime, there wasn’t much he could do. He shrugged mentally and turned to the bookcases. There were photographs on the shelves in front of the books, full of people Neville didn’t recognize, but even that small distraction was better than watching Harry brood.

~*~

Ginny had slipped quietly out of the house, and was sitting on the edge of the deck, her feet on the grass and her arms crossed, resting on her knees. The sun was fading rapidly from the sky, casting long shadows across the yard and spilling faint orange-gold light in stripes across the deck, setting fire to her hair. Draco closed the door quietly behind himself and sank down next to her. "Hi," he said softly.

She glanced at him and quirked a corner of her mouth up. "Hi."

"How are you doing?"

"I’m fine," she said slowly. "Tense. A little worried."

Draco slid his arm around her and rubbed her back slowly, feeling the tension in her. "It’s almost over. An hour or so, and we’ll have them back safely."

"I know," she whispered, leaning toward him so she could rest her head against his shoulder. He shifted slightly, settling her against his side. "I can’t help but worry. The people I care most about in the world are walking willfully into danger, and there’s nothing I can do but wait. It’s so frustrating" Ginny fidgeted for a second, then pulled away from him and stood up, walking a few steps out onto the grass. "This is driving me crazy. I want to do something, and there’s nothing I can do!" She growled and kicked at the ground with one foot.

Draco watched her, nodding. He could imagine how ineffectual she felt right now - he’d felt that way often enough himself over the last year. "I’d say you could come, but it
really is too dangerous. It’s bad enough that there’s going to be as many people as there are. Every extra body is just one more person who can make a mistake. I don’t want to risk it." He stood up and closed the small distance between them, resting one hand lightly on her shoulder. "I know this is hard for you."

She nodded and reached up to cover his hand with her own, sighing heavily. "It’s probably just as well," she said slowly. "Because if I were there, and they had done anything to my children, I would kill them both." She said it in a calm, matter-of-fact voice that left no doubt that she was absolutely sincere. "So it’s all right. I’m used to waiting, even if I don’t like it." Ginny sighed again and moved so that she could lean back against him. Draco wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his cheek against hers. They stood silently, watching the last of the sunlight fade from the yard. "You don’t like having Harry here, do you?" she finally said.

Draco smiled ruefully. "I’ll live."

"I don’t know if it will make you feel better, but he’s as unhappy to be here as you are to have him."

"I imagine he probably is." Draco paused. "Though I’d be a bit happier if he’d stop glaring at me all the time. I feel like I’m under a microscope."

He felt her chuckle under her breath. "He doesn’t trust you, I don’t think. We...talked a bit, after you left yesterday, and he’s accepted that you’re helping, but he’s still not quite reconciled to seeing you as a real person with a real life and friends and all."

The way she hesitated made Draco wonder what had actually happened. He suspected that Harry’s barely-hidden hostility had more to do with Harry’s feelings about her than about himself, but now wasn’t the time or place to bring it up. "I’ll live," he said again. "It could be worse, I suppose. I had visions of everyone I know just happening to descend upon the house tonight." Draco shook his head and chuckled. "Thank God Anne and Ed aren’t in town this week...I don’t think I could have stood it."

"I’d like to meet them one day," Ginny said quietly.

"You will," Draco replied. "I think you’d like them, and I’m positive they’d like you."

"You think so?" Ginny craned her head around to look at him. He smiled down at her.

"I know they would. Anne’s predisposed to like you, anyway. She’s been pestering me for years to ‘find a nice girl and settle down’," he raised his voice in squeaky imitation of Anne, which made Ginny giggle. "She’d all but given up on me after Laura died...she thinks you’re her best hope, so she’s bound to like you."

Ginny went still in his arms. "Laura?" she said questioningly.

"Laura was my fiancée. She died almost 10 years ago," Draco replied quietly.

Ginny was silent for a long moment. "You’ve never talked about her," she said finally.

Draco made a face. "I don’t like to, really. I...cared about her, and it’s not something I really like to tell people about." He stopped speaking, resting his head against hers and staring out at yard without really seeing it.

"What was she like?" Ginny asked softly.

Draco sighed heavily. "She was loud." He stopped and laughed softly. "If you asked just about anyone to describe her, that’d be the first thing they said. She was always talking, and she was just...loud. Outgoing, happy, very bouncy. She was a tiny little thing, but she had a ton of energy and she loved to party. That was how we met...John dragged me out to a house party at the place of someone he knew, and she was there. I wasn’t actually talking to anyone - it was maybe a year after I’d got to Canada, and I still wasn’t all that happy to be here, but she came over and introduced herself, spent the whole party with me and that was that. We dated for a year and a half, and then I asked her to marry me, and then..." He stopped and took a deep breath. "It was about a week after I asked her - she’d gone out with her girlfriends to the bar, and they were coming home in a cab, and the cab was hit by a car running a red light. Her best friend was killed instantly, but she was alive for almost a week. She was in a coma, but she never woke up."

He stopped abruptly, staring into the darkness. It still hurt to remember that week. Ginny turned in his arms and looked up at him, concern in her deep brown eyes. "I’m so sorry," she said softly. "You must have loved her very much."

"Yes." Draco cleared his throat and tightened his arms around her before he went on. "But it wasn’t - it wasn’t a sort of deathless passion, if you know what I mean. I cared about her, but I don’t know if it would have worked out in the long run." And he had never admitted that to anyone about Laura, not even to John. He looked down into Ginny’s face without really seeing her. "She wasn’t always the easiest person to be around, and she didn’t really get along with John, or with Anne. And Del hated her." He smiled faintly. "At the time I thought she was jealous, because Del’s not very outgoing, and Laura was the sort of person Del was predisposed to dislike - pretty, thin, blonde, and not very bright. But now I don’t know. I didn’t know Del as well then, but she’s got an uncanny ability to sense the good and bad in people. If she doesn’t like someone, it’s usually because there’s something about them that isn’t very nice. It might not be immediately obvious, but sooner or later she’s usually vindicated. And she hated Laura. So I don’t know."

"How does she know?" Ginny asked curiously. "It sounds almost like she might have some magical skill."

"No, it isn’t that...she’s got no magic to speak of. She says they’re just hunches, sort of vague feelings. And she’s been known to be wrong, of course." Draco flashed a grin at Ginny, the tension easing out of him. "She never used to like me at all, for instance, but she changed her mind."

Ginny snickered. "Oh, and I’m sure you were terribly charming when you first met her."

Draco did his best to look innocent. "I’ve always been charming!" he protested, which made Ginny laugh out loud. He grinned back, happy to see her looking a little more cheerful. She was so worried, and it pleased him to see that lift, if only for a little while.

There was a noise from the house, and they both glanced up as Neville poked his head out the door. "We should go," he said to Draco. "It’s getting close to time."

Draco nodded and turned back to Ginny as Neville retreated back into the house. He cupped her face in his hands, searching her face. "I won’t let anything happen to any of them," he said softly. "I promise...everything will be fine."

Ginny didn’t say anything, just flung her arms around him and held him tightly. He drew her into a hug and rested his head against hers, rubbing one hand along her back. She drew back and looked up at him, her face drawn. "Please be careful."

"I will." He cupped her face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss her gently. "I promise."

She returned the kiss almost desperately, winding her arms around his neck and holding on tightly. "Please be careful," she whispered against his mouth as they
pulled apart.

Draco nodded, grey eyes shining in the faint light, and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "I will."

~*~

Ginny followed Draco slowly into the house, arms wrapped around her chest, trying to ignore the worry gnawing at her stomach. John came around the corner from his room and followed them into the living room, where Neville and Harry were talking quietly with grim expressions. Harry’s lips thinned at the sight of Draco’s hand resting lightly at her waist, but mercifully he didn’t say anything.

She sank down on the couch and watched apprehensively as Draco slung his utility belt around his waist and buckled it, then shrugged one of the vests over his shoulders. Neville and Harry did the same, settling them into place and pulling light jackets over top. Neville was businesslike as he shifted his shoulders and patted his pockets to be sure his wand was in place. Harry wore the same expression he wore before Quidditch matches, intense and focussed, his own wand stuck in the pocket of his jacket. Draco appeared calm and unruffled as he checked his gun into its holster on his hip and adjusted the hang of his vest, as though arraying himself with a small arsenal of weapons and protective gear was perfectly normal - Ginny had no idea how he managed it. She caught herself nervously rubbing her hands together and made herself stop.

When they were ready to go, Ginny stood up and hugged Neville and Harry in turn. "Be careful," she said fiercely to Harry as she held him. "Don’t do anything silly."

"Hey! When do I ever do anything silly?" he protested, which made her laugh.

"There isn’t time to catalogue all the extremely foolish things you’ve done in the name of bravery," she shot back as Harry grinned impishly at her. "Just be careful. And you too," she said to Neville, who nodded and smiled reassuringly at her.

Draco looked at John. "If anything happens, I’ve told Mike to call and let you know." The other man nodded solemnly and leaned against the wall, and Draco turned to look at Ginny. "We’ll be back in an hour," he said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek in one hand. She leaned into his touch slightly, arms folded across her chest. He stroked his thumb along her cheekbone, tracing over her freckles lightly, then lowered his voice to a whisper for her alone. "I love you."

Ginny caught her breath and pressed her eyes closed, reaching up to touch the back of his hand with the tips of her fingers. Draco smiled down at her, then slid his hand away and glanced at Neville. "Let’s go."

~*~

Harry stood alone next to the lone picnic table, back straight and shoulders squared, stoically gazing straight ahead. The box full of Galleons was at his feet, a plain wooden crate, magically expanded to hold all the coins, and lightened with a quick spell so that they could move it. Draco glanced quickly around the clearing from his position crouched behind a group of bushes near the table. He couldn’t see anything beyond the pine trees lining the clearing moving in the breeze, which was a faint relief. He knew where Neville was hidden, behind a small stand of trees directly opposite Harry, a bit further up, but he couldn’t see him at all. The Canadian wizards had taken up positions closer to the parking lot, one behind another clump of bushes, and one hiding in plain sight, standing near the path wrapped in an invisibility cloak. All of them were armed with Obscurus charms, that hid their presence from magical detection, and Draco just hoped that they’d hold.

Now it was just a matter of waiting.

The wait wasn’t a long one - it was five minutes or so when two shadowed figures appeared on the path. They were both wearing black cloaks with the hoods up, and blended effortlessly into the shadows. Draco gave a silent sigh of relief at the sight of them; there was always the off chance that he and Neville had been wrong about who was behind the kidnapping, but here they were. Both started visibly at the sight of Harry waiting for them, clearly surprised to see him there. One of them looked quickly around the clearing, as the other stepped cautiously forward, into the faint light. Draco pressed the button on the small remote he was carrying to signaling the RCMP units waiting just outside the park entrances to move into position.

"I see you found it," said the one who’d stepped forward. He was taller, and seemed less edgy than his partner, who was darting quick looks into the trees, judging by the movement of his hood. From the tape they’d found back in March, Draco knew the taller one was Straker, the Muggle.

"It wasn’t too much trouble," Harry replied coolly. "What kept you?"

The kidnapper laughed faintly and turned to the shorter man, whispering quietly. He turned back to Harry. "Is that the money?"

"Yes," Harry replied, outwardly calm. Draco might not like Harry, but he had to admire the other man’s grace under pressure. "Now where are my children?"

"It’s all there?" There was a distinctly avaricious note in the man’s voice. Harry glared at him in disgust and wordlessly kicked the lid off the crate. The small mountain of coins gleamed in the faint light, and Straker appeared to nod. "Good." Harry watched with narrowed eyes as the shorter one disappeared with a small pop, apparating away.

There was a short, tense silence as they waited, then the other one - obviously Nesbitt, the wizard - appeared again, staggering slightly as he arrived with Sarah and Jamie. An old tennis shoe fell to the ground at his feet - portkey, Draco identified automatically. The children seemed unharmed but tired and scared. Jamie’s chin was set stubbornly, mirroring his father’s expression, although Jamie looked terrified under the bravado. Sarah was clinging to Jamie’s hand, her face white and her hair in an impossible black tangle around her face. She made a soft little noise when she saw Harry, and tried to run to him.

Nesbitt clamped a hand down on her shoulder, and Sarah whimpered. "Money first," he said, the first words he’d spoken since they’d arrived.

The look Harry gave the younger man should have vaporized him on the spot. He gave the crate a vicious shove toward Straker with his foot. "Take it, then, and let them go," he spat.

Straker started forward to pick the crate up, keeping his eyes on Harry while he did so. There was a loud rustle from behind the two kidnappers, and a grunt, the sound of branches snapping, and then a loud thump as Busby, the younger of the two Canadian wizards, ignominiously fell out of his hiding spot and landed sprawling on the grass in plain view.

There was a slight pause while everyone in the clearing froze, and Draco shut his eyes briefly in disgust and swore under his breath. Not even an Obscurus charm was going to hide that. Nesbitt, startled, let go of Sarah and Jamie, and spun around. Jamie, displaying remarkably quick thinking, grabbed his sister’s arm and darted toward Harry.

Harry leaped forward and scooped the two children up, one under each arm, then spun around and ran for the trees. Straker drew a gun from the waistband of his pants, his hood falling back as he did so, exposing cropped brown hair; he barely glanced at the source of the noise. Instead he raised his gun, pointed it straight at Harry’s back, and started to pull the trigger.

Draco didn’t even think, only reacted, moving before the boy had even raised his arm. He burst out of his own hiding place, and shouted, "Hey!" It distracted Straker, just as he’d intended, and Straker’s shot at Harry went wide. Harry made it to the shelter of the trees from which Neville was emerging, and he very sensibly ducked out of sight with the children. Draco yanked his attention back to Straker as he raised his gun again and fired. Draco felt the first impact, sharp against his ribs, and staggered back, the sound of the bullet hitting his kelvar vest loud in his ears. It was odd, he thought abstractedly, that he could hear each crack of the gun and then the thunk of the bullet impacting against the vest protecting his chest as two distinct, separate noises, once and then again. He winced at the sharp pain, knowing he’d have bruises afterward. With the third report of the gun came a savage, tearing pain in his right arm, which he did his level
best to ignore.

Ignoring it was hard, because it hurt, quite a lot. Draco decided not to think about it, instead switching his gun to his left hand and firing back at Straker, who had started to run for the footpath to the bridge across the river. He missed; his aim with his left was terrible, but someone - Neville, he thought - fired off a spell, bringing the young man to the ground. Draco switched his attention to the other one, raising his gun and leveling it at the retreating figure just in time to hear one of the Canadian wizards yell, Stupefy!" and watch Nesbitt drop like a rock. At least they’re not totally useless, he thought.

Draco lowered his gun and reached out a hand to prop himself against the edge of the picnic table. "Ow," he said softly, to no one in particular. His chest was starting to hurt alarmingly, battling the pain in his arm; it felt like someone was sitting on his chest. One of the shots must have cracked a rib. He forced himself away from the table, walking slowly toward where the two Canadian wizards had clustered around Straker’s body with Neville. They were arguing in low voices, Neville gesturing angrily at one of the other wizards.

As he got closer, it became clear that Neville was giving Purvis a piece of his mind. " - clumsy, half-cocked, foolish prat!" Purvis was clenching and unclenching his fists, jaw stubbornly set. It was very clear that he was not happy, but he didn’t have much room to argue, since the brush with disaster was largely his partner’s fault. Busby was standing beside Purvis, head down and shuffling his feet in the red dust of the path while Neville expounded upon his parentage, his intelligence and his probable future. Draco fetched up beside Neville, cradling his injured arm against his aching chest. He’d never actually seen Neville lose his temper before; it was educational, to say the least.

Neville glanced at him during a pause in his tirade, and the alarmed expression on his face would have been almost comical if Draco’s chest hadn’t hurt so much. "Malfoy, are you all right?"

Draco swayed slightly, and Neville leapt forward to grab him. "I’m...ok," he said, a bit surprised at how breathless he sounded. He sank to his knees, as slowly as he could, clutching at Neville’s arm so he wouldn’t simply fall over. Draco thought he heard Sarah crying somewhere behind him, and he could hear Neville’s voice distantly, but Draco couldn’t seem to gather enough breath to ask him to speak louder. It hurt. His whole chest felt like it was going to collapse under its own weight. He closed his eyes slowly, and then finally, softly, mercifully, the world went dark and slipped away.

~*~

We do not have the truth to tell,
Some have flown while others fell
And what seemed to be right
Now darkens our way and clouds in our sight
And we do not have the eyes to see.
- Deepest Part Of Me, Dougie McLean

~*~

Once Harry and Ginny left for Canada, the Weasleys had moved from Ginny's flat to the Burrow, where there was room enough for everyone to stay in relative comfort while they waited for news of the kidnapping. Molly had retreated to the kitchen to bake bread - not because it was really necessary, but because she needed something to do during the interminable wait for Harry and Ginny to return.

It was late morning when they arrived by Floo, Harry holding Jamie's hand in his, and Ginny carrying Sarah, who was half-asleep in her arms. She stood stiffly as Molly swooped down on her grandchildren, enveloping them all in a lumpy hug, tears of relief streaming down her face. "Oh, my dears! We were so worried! Thank God you're all right!" Molly dabbed at her cheeks with her apron and hugged Ginny and Sarah again, then bent down to hug Jamie tightly as well.

It seemed like everyone was talking at once, and Harry twisted his head distractedly, trying to answer questions as they were fired at them. Arthur took a step forward and cleared his throat. "All right, all right. We all want to hear, but we'll get nothing done just standing around and shouting. Everyone, come sit down."

Ginny stayed near the door while Harry relinquished Jamie's hand to her with a brief, understanding glance. He allowed Arthur to lead him to the couch and began the long process of explaining what had happened the night before - Ginny sighed mentally. It was better that he do it anyway, because she hadn't done much except wait. Jamie rested his head against her hip and wrapped his arms around her leg, leaning his small solid weight against her. Ginny dropped one hand to ruffle his hair gently.

Hermione came up beside her touched Ginny's arm. "Will is out in the garden with the twins and Fred and Angelina's kids. He's fine, but if you want to see him..."

"No, it's all right. Did he even notice we'd gone?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head with a small smile. "No, we took him home with us, and he had such fun with the twins that I don't think he noticed anything."

"Just as well. I'll check in on him a bit later, then...for now, I think we might go have a nap. It's been - " her voice faltered slightly, "a very long day. How does that sound?" she said to Sarah, who rested her head against Ginny's shoulder and nodded. "Daddy can tell everyone what happened, and we'll go have a lie-down." She reached down and took Jamie's small hand in hers, then climbed the narrow stairs to her old room. She pushed the door open and set Sarah down on her bed, sitting down and drawing Jamie up beside her as well. Sarah buried her head in Ginny's side, her small arms wrapped around Ginny's waist, Jamie on her other side doing the same thing. Ginny hugged them both to her for a minute, kissing the tops of their heads in a silent prayer of thankfulness. "Come on, then," she whispered finally. "You should rest."

"Are you going, Mummy?" Jamie asked, looking up at her.

"No, sweetheart. I'll stay right here," Ginny replied, squeezing him gently. "I won't go
anywhere."

Ginny slid Sarah's shoes off, while Jamie kicked his off onto the floor and crawled up to rest his head on the pillow. Ginny smiled down at him and lay on her back, Sarah curled up against one side and Jamie on the other, their small arms heavy across her stomach, their breathing evening out into sleep. The awful tension she had been carrying with her for days slowly eased as she stared up at the familiar patterns cast by her curtains on the bedroom ceiling, Sarah's breath and Jamie's filling her ears, trying to think of nothing at all.

~*~


Molly insisted on making supper for the children, and that they all stay to eat, which meant that the Burrow was packed to the rafters with adults and children and noisy beyond belief. Ginny sat on the stairs and listened to her mother bustle around and issue orders, alternately commanding her daughters-in-law and cooing at her grandchildren. She was happy to be back, happy to be safe, but there was still an ache in her chest and a dull pressure behind her eyes, even after a day's rest with her children cuddled against her. She rested her head against the wall, letting to the familiar voices in the kitchen wash over her, and tried not to think too hard about what had happened before they arrived safe in England.

In all honesty, the events of the night before were a bit of a blur - John had made her tea, and she sat in the kitchen sipping it slowly and chatting hesitantly with him. She could see why Draco admired him so much - John was pragmatic, funny and immensely kind, and seemed to have a knack for putting people at their ease. Even tense and worried, as he became after the phone call that came just after midnight, he was still a centre of calm. His strong hands on hers as he told her that Draco was in the hospital with a wounded arm, broken ribs and a punctured lung were all that kept her from breaking down completely until Neville and Harry arrived with the children.

Harry had only looked at her apologetically, while Neville handed his wand off and stalked back and forth in the living room, snapping out a clipped explanation of what had happened, his face red and his hands shaking. Harry had settled on the couch with Ginny, with Sarah and Jamie in between them, sleepy but watching 'Uncle Neville' try to control his temper. Ginny sensed that part of Neville's white-lipped railing at the incompetence of the Canadian Aurors was an attempt to mask that he was desperately afraid for Draco.

But there was nothing they could do. Draco was in a Muggle hospital, the Canadian Aurors having refused to take him to a wizarding facility - yet another reason why Neville was practically incoherent with rage - in something called an 'ICU', though Ginny wasn't quite sure what that meant. No one was permitted to see him, although John spent some time making quiet phone calls while Neville paced. Ginny hadn't been sure what to do - she wanted nothing more than to stay, to be as close as she could to him, to find out immediately what was happening. But it was Sarah's soft voice saying "Mummy, I want to go home," that finally decided the question. Home they went, a strangely subdued Harry and two sleepy, frightened children, to The Burrow rather than her own flat, where her whole family had been waiting.

Ginny sighed and slumped against the wall of the stair. Neville had stayed behind in Canada to talk to their Ministry and straighten things out. He'd said he would call or owl, but they'd heard nothing yet, and once again, she was back to waiting. She hated waiting.

"Ginny?"

Ginny raised her head and looked down the stairs. Percy was standing there, one hand resting on the worn lintel, looking at her with concern. "You all right?"

She nodded faintly. "I'm okay."

"You look upset," Percy replied, and climbed the steps. He sat down on the stair below her and touched her ankle lightly. "Want to talk about it?"

Ginny shook her head silently.

"Is it about Malfoy?" he asked. Ginny sighed and nodded. Percy hitched himself up a step and put his arm around her shoulders. He didn't say anything, which surprised her a little; of all her brothers, she thought Percy would be the one to choose to lecture her on Draco right now. He was the least accepting of her relationship with Draco; he was always so concerned with appearances that she couldn't see him welcoming the son of a Death Eater with open arms. But Percy didn't comment, just held her gently until she leaned into his shoulder and sighed.

"Neville's going to owl me when he has news," she said finally. She could feel Percy's head moving as he nodded wordlessly. "He said it wouldn't be long before we know -" she stopped talking suddenly as her throat closed. Percy's arm tightened around her shoulder and he murmured something soothing. Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I just -" She stopped again. "I feel as though I should have stayed."

Percy nodded again. "You couldn't help it, though. You had to come home, for the children, if nothing else."

"I know. I just wish I could be there and here too." She sighed softly.

He stroked her arm gently. "If he's a halfway decent fellow, he'll understand why you couldn't."

"I know," Ginny repeated. "I just..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

Percy shifted his weight slightly and squeezed her shoulders. "There isn't much you can do right now, here or there though, is there?" He glanced at Ginny as she nodded slowly. "I'm sure it's hard, love."

Ginny inhaled deeply, then let the breath out slowly. "It's just a bit much to take, to have Mum running around all cheerful, knowing that Draco is in hospital in Canada and I've got no way to know if he's all right or not. But thank you." She raised her head to smile at Percy. "For being here."

Percy coughed uncomfortably. "Well, I couldn’t very well let Fred and George...their solution to everything usually involves scaring people or exploding things." There was a loud thud and a chorus of giggles from the kitchen, and they could hear Molly yelling and the twins protesting their innocence. Ginny giggled. Percy frowned in faint disapproval and polished his glasses on the edge of his robe. "And speaking of which, I should go make sure they're not going to burn the house down."

He stood up, shaking out his robes officiously. Ginny stood too, and helped him brush at his shoulders with a small smile. "I mean it, you know," she said softly. "Thank you." She reached out and gave him a tight hug.

Percy stiffened in surprise, then hugged her back hesitantly. "Of course. I hate to see you unhappy. You're my favourite sister, after all." He gave her a small smile.

"I'm your only sister, silly," Ginny said, grinning.

"All the more reason for you to be my favourite." Percy shuffled and brushed his robes again. "But really...I'm sure there's no need to worry. He'll be fine."

Ginny nodded again. "I know." She followed Percy down the steps and into the kitchen. There was nothing she could do right now...she might as well let her family fuss over her and the children while she waited for news.

~*~

It was like floating up through water, sounds muffled yet curiously magnified, vision reduced to vague blurred shapes. He couldn't seem to move, although he was curiously unalarmed by this. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but all he could see was whiteness above his head. His eyes drifted closed again.

He might have slept, or not.

The next time awareness floated back, although he still couldn't move, and couldn't see much except the same white blur, he could hear distinctly the hiss and whir of a respirator, the monotonous beep of a heart monitor. This is a hospital, he thought hesitantly. What am I doing in a hospital? Laura is already dead. It occurred to him that the thought of Laura, and hospitals, and machines, should hurt, but it didn't. That was strange. He swallowed nervously.

Or rather, tried to. Something was stuck in his throat. He went to raise his hands, to pull whatever it was out of his mouth so he could breathe, but he couldn't move, couldn't lift his arms up. Panic began to nip at the edges of his lethargy, and he struggled against it. Somewhere above his head, the beeping noise sped up. Quick footsteps, then muffled voices near the foot of the bed - bed? - and a face swam into his vision. The woman was tall and thin, mousy hair pulled back from her narrow face. She examined something above his head dispassionately. He watched her with wide eyes, fighting the ever-growing panic. The woman looked down, into his eyes and smiled soothingly, the lines around her thin mouth deepening. "It's all right," she said. "You've got a tracheotomy tube in your throat, and that's why you can't talk. You've had a bad few days, but you'll be okay now."

What? he thought vaguely, unable to focus on her words any longer. It felt like there was something he should remember, something important, but he couldn't grasp hold of it. While he tried, the woman moved out of his line of sight, and with a faint hiss, the world faded again.

~*~

Early July, 2011

Neville gripped his tray and surveyed the questionable food selection mournfully. "You know, we really ought to find a new place to eat," he said to Hermione.

"I keep saying that, and yet we keep coming here. Too late to change your mind now. Go for the chicken, it looks the best," Hermione replied pragmatically. "Next time we do lunch, we'll go to that new place that's opened up down by Gringotts."

Neville sighed and dished some of the chicken onto his plate. "I'd say we should go now, but I haven't time. I'm supposed to be meeting with Cecil after lunch."

"What about?" Hermione asked idly, leading him to an empty table near the back of the Ministry cafeteria. They were finally resuming their lunch dates, now that life had settled down to something approaching normal.

"Couple of things...the kidnapping is one of them. The trial is supposed to be starting in a month, and we've got reports and statements and things to go over for the Ministry's defense team." The wizarding legal system had changed a great deal since the end of Voldemort's War, like so many other things. Gone were the days that criminals could be shipped off to prison without a trial - now everyone was entitled to a hearing, even when, in Neville's opinion, it was totally unnecessary. "We've finally got some of the reports back from the Canadian Ministry, got to go through them."

"Ah," Hermione said. She prodded at her food for a moment, then looked up at Neville with her 'information face' on. "So, since you're talking to the Canadian Ministry...have you heard anything about Draco at all?"

"No, not yet. I've spoken to his friend John, and all he can tell me is that Draco will be all right eventually, but he's still in hospital right now. He should be released in a week or two, and he should be ready to testify at the trial in August, but I don't know anything more," Neville said with a sigh. "I haven't been able to actually talk to him yet...apparently he's still on some sort of Muggle machine to help him breath, and he can't speak."

Hermione gave a small shudder. "A respirator I imagine. Awful things...my grandfather was on one for months when he was ill. However did he end up in a Muggle hospital, anyway? You never did explain."

"Because the Canadian Ministry is a xenophobic, insular, backward institution without an ounce of decency?" Neville spat. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, a mild rebuke in her expression. He took a deep breath and subsided; it just made him so angry when he thought about it. "The Aurors who were there, when Malfoy was shot, they refused to let him be treated magically. They thought he was a Muggle...I'd told them he was a wizard, but they didn't believe me, said that if he were a wizard he would have used a wand, wouldn't let him be magicked to a real hospital. And before I could get them to let him go, the real Muggle police showed up and the Canadian Aurors really wouldn't do magic. So the Muggle police who were there called an ambulance, and once he was in the Muggle hospital, there was no way I could get him out."

"That's awful! Poor Malfoy." Hermione shook her head. "And that's something I never thought I'd say. Have you talked to Ginny at all?"

"No, not really," Neville replied. "As I said, I can't talk to Malfoy yet, and there's nothing really to pass on. I imagine she feels terribly."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "She doesn't really say anything, but she seems...down. Sad."

Neville nodded slowly and pushed his food around on his plate. He could imagine how Ginny felt - he missed Draco, and they were only friends. "I've been owling her updates on how he's doing, but he can't talk to anyone, and she hasn't really said anything except to thank me for letting her know."

"She's been very quiet about the whole thing. I think she's feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment. Harry's been around quite a bit more since the children were taken, and I think Molly has been hinting, in her oh so subtle fashion, that she hopes there'll be some sort of reconciliation going on there," Hermione said. "Which I can't imagine is making Ginny feel any better."

"Is Molly still on her hating Malfoy kick?" Neville asked.

"Yes and no. I think she feels obligated to be charitable toward him, but she would far rather have Ginny be with Harry, despite what Draco did." Neville's lips tightened and he spared a moment to be grateful that he didn't have much contact with Molly Weasley, and was therefore prevented from speaking his mind. Hermione caught his expression and smiled ruefully. "It's a bit of an uphill battle for poor Ginny, when everyone in the family is more than happy to see Malfoy gone."

Neville tossed his fork down. "That is so -" he bit off the rest of the sentence. Antagonizing Hermione wouldn't do any good, after all. "It's not fair."

"I know it's not fair, but you can't really expect Molly or Arthur to be entirely reasonable about this. They only knew Lucius Malfoy, and you know that they didn't get along. They never met Draco after he came back, and they have only Ginny's word that he's really changed," Hermione said sensibly. "It's hard to expect Molly to have a sudden change of heart about a man she's expecting to think the worst of."

"Even after everything that man did to save her grandchildren?" Neville scowled down at his chicken. "He nearly died, for God's sake."

"I know that," Hermione replied patiently, "and Molly knows it too, but knowing it abstractly, in her case, doesn't mean she's automatically going to be happy about Ginny seeing him. And all told, I don't think she'd like Draco as much as she likes Harry. She knows Harry, he's like one of her own, and you know how upset she was when they got divorced. She just wants Ginny to be happy - "

"What if she's happy with Draco?" Neville asked. "Because between you and me, she is. And Draco cares about her - I'd even go so far as to say that he loves her"

"Well, I’m sure Molly would come around eventually," Hermione said. "Although it's a bit of a moot point at the moment, seeing as he isn't here."

"I know." Neville slumped over his tray and pushed his chicken around his plate.

"Well, it's up to Ginny, ultimately, and frankly, I'm a bit surprised that she isn't being more...proactive, for lack of a better word. She sort of seems to have given up." Hermione poked at her own plate, stirring her chicken. "I mean, she doesn't talk about him at all, really. She just doesn't mention it."

"I don't know," Neville said. "I'll look her up in the next few days and talk to her in person." He shrugged sheepishly at Hermione. "Maybe it'll help."

~*~

Late July, 2011

It was with a sense of profound relief that Draco left Foothills Hospital behind him. He had a suspicion that the nurses were just as happy to see him go as he was to leave - Draco wasn't exactly an ideal patient. Being confined to bed and unable to do anything but watch television and read, with brief forays into physical therapy to strengthen his lungs and his shoulder again, was indescribably boring. It made him snarly and a bit snappish, and he tended to take it out on the nurses. Which wasn't fair, but Draco didn't particularly care.

He finally managed to extricate himself from the bustling nurse reminding him to make sure to schedule his physical therapy appointments and get various prescriptions filled as soon as possible and met up with John, who was watching the proceedings with amusement. "Hey, ksik-kihk-ini. Ready to roll?"

"Get me out of here," Draco muttered, which made John laugh out loud.

"Good to see you're back to your cheerful old self," he chuckled, ignoring Draco's snarl as he followed John out to his truck.

John headed into the kitchen once they arrived at the house, but Draco stopped to stare at the box on the living room floor, nestled under the window like it had been shoved out of the way. He recognized it, which only made sense, since it was the rough wooden crate that Gringotts had given him to hold the ransom money for Jamie and Sarah. "What's this doing here?"

"Huh?" John poked his head around the corner. "What's what doing where?"

Draco walked over to the crate and shoved it away from the wall with his foot. "This. What's it doing here?"

John shrugged. "Dunno. Your buddy Neville said it was yours so I was keeping it for you."

"You mean it's been sitting here the whole time I was in hospital?" Draco asked, not sure if he should laugh or have a fit.

John nodded and walked around the corner to lean against the door frame. "Yeah, I didn't know where else to put it. It weighs a ton...I was gonna stick it in the basement, but it's too heavy to lift."

It didn't surprise Draco that John hadn't looked inside it - he was meticulous about not infringing on Draco's privacy. He bent down and pried the lid off the box, exposing the small mountain of gold coins inside, stirring them gently with one hand. John stepped forward to look at the contents of the crate, and blinked at the sight of the gold. "Holy shit."

"It's heavy because it's the ransom money. There was a spell on it to lighten it, but it must have worn off. D'you know how much money is in here?" Draco asked. John shook his head. "I can't remember the exact exchange rate nowadays, but I think it works out to about 5 pounds to a Galleon." Draco paused. "There's 5 million Galleons in the box." He waited while John worked that out in his head.

"Oh my God," John said quietly.

"25 million pounds," Draco said. "Which has been sitting in the middle of the living room floor for the last month and a half."

"Jesus," John breathed, his eyes wide. "25 mill - Are you serious?"

Draco nodded, smiling faintly.

"Holy shit!" John gasped. Draco grinned. "I don't...holy shit!" He gaped at Draco in horror. "Holy shit! It's just been sitting there! Del's been using it as a footstool!" He gulped. "Oh my God."

Draco raised an amused eyebrow. "You didn't know?"

John shook his head, incredulous. "No, I didn't know." He stared at Draco a moment longer, then burst into laughter. He staggered into the room and fell into the recliner, gasping for breath between guffaws. Draco sat too, waiting as John slowly calmed down.

"Oh, my God," John said when he got his breath back. "I had no idea. Who does it belong to?"

"It's mine," Draco said. "I lent it to Potter, because he didn't have enough money to cover the ransom."

"It's yours?" John goggled at him "Where the hell did you get 25 million pounds?"

Draco shrugged and coughed uncomfortably. "Part of my inheritance."

"Your inheritance," John said in disbelief. "And you just lent it away. What if you didn't get it back?"

Draco looked even more uncomfortable. "It's actually a rather small part of the total amount, to be honest. It wouldn't have made that big a difference if I hadn't."

John reached out and picked up one of the Galleons, turning it over in his hands. "How much money do you have?"

"Um, lots?" Draco rubbed at his shoulder, slightly embarrassed. "I'm not exactly sure. 15 or 18 million Galleons, I think."

John stared at him. "15 or 18 million - million - Galleons. You think," he said flatly. Draco shrugged his good shoulder sheepishly. "Fuck me. When you said your family had money left, I was thinking, you know, a few hundred thousand bucks. Not..." He trailed off. "Jesus. How much money would that be?"

Draco thought about it. "I'm not sure, exactly. What's 15 times 5?"

"Eighty-five," John said. "Eighty-five million pounds. My God. How much would that be in Canadian dollars?"

Draco shook his head. "I have no idea. Lots?"

"Jesus." John laughed again. "You know, I think I should start charging you for your half of the mortgage again."

"I'll pay it off, if you want." Draco smiled faintly. "I didn't even know the money was there until I went back...I thought they'd seized it all. I've been spending it, trying to think of ways to get rid of it."

"That explains the new wardrobe," John grinned. "But yeah, if you want to buy me a house, I have no objections."

"I was thinking of paying off Ed and Anne's loans too, but I haven't thought of a way to do it without them knowing it was me and getting mad."

"Good luck," John said. "Though you might be able to, like, go to their bank directly and do it that way."

"Something to think about, I guess."

John nodded and stared at the box thoughtfully for a moment. "Eighty-five million pounds," he said suddenly. "Man, that's a lot of money."

Draco nodded solemnly. "It'd be more if I'd managed to sell the manor."

John jerked his head back to Draco. "Manor?" Draco examined the ceiling intently. "You have a manor?"

"Yes," said Draco sheepishly. "It's part of the estate."

John narrowed his eyes. "Estate as in, what your dad left behind when he died, or estate as in big chunk of land in the English countryside?"

"Er, both."

John started to say something, then stopped. "Jesus," he managed finally. "It's like you've won the lottery or something. I don't think I can wrap my head around that much money."

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not that big a deal, really."

John made a small, incoherent noise in the back of his throat. "Right. Because, you know, being richer than Croesus isn't a big deal." He grinned at Draco. "It explains a lot, though."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Explains a lot about what?"

"Just...stuff. I mean, I always knew you had this privileged upbringing, even if you never said outright that your family was this filthy rich. Nice to know I'm right, as usual." John grinned at Draco's infuriated expression. "Well, put a lid on that thing and I'll try to pretend there isn't more money than I've ever seen in my life sitting in the living room."

Draco replaced the top of the crate and followed John out to the kitchen, rubbing absently at his shoulder. John grabbed two Cokes from the fridge and handed one to Draco, who took it and sat down at the kitchen table. John sat opposite him and leaned back in his chair. "So what are you gonna do now?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't know. Wait and see if there's been word from Longbottom, I suppose."

"Oh, hey, that reminds me," John interrupted. He stood and rummaged around on top of the refrigerator for a moment, then handed Draco a packet of notes. "Those came while you were in the hospital. I was gonna bring 'em to you, but the doctor said I wasn't supposed to bother you about work until you were better. They're from Neville, I think."

"Damn doctors...why wouldn't I be able to read them in hospital?" Draco grumbled. "Incompetents. At least Longbottom's been able to work." He flipped open the top note, squinting slightly at Neville's indecipherable handwriting.

"Why don't you ever call him by his first name?" John asked suddenly.

Draco glanced up in surprise. "What?"

"Neville. You never call him Neville, it's always 'Longbottom'. I was just wondering."

"I'd never really thought of it," Draco said. "Force of habit, I expect. Unless you were in the same House at school, no one was ever on a first name basis."

"That is weird," John said.

"It's just how it was," Draco replied absently, sorting through the packet of notes. All of them were from Neville, and it wasn't until he'd reached the last one that Draco admitted that he'd been looking not for Neville's messy writing, but Ginny's neater hand. He shuffled the papers back into order with a pang of disappointment. He had hoped that she would write at least once, but there was nothing.

Draco glanced up at John briefly. "Anyone call?"

"Nope," John replied. "Just the letters from Neville. And can I just say that getting
letters delivered by owls is really freaking weird?"

"Mmm." Draco went back to reading the letters, not really paying attention to John. He wasn't really paying attention to Neville's letters either, to be honest; he couldn't muster up the energy. "I think I might go lie down," he said finally, ignoring John's quizzical look as he left Neville's letters in a neat pile on the kitchen table and left the room.

~*~

August, 2011

True to his word, Neville made time to visit Ginny the first day he had free. She invited him over for tea on Friday afternoon, and Neville sat quietly at her kitchen table as she bustled around, making sandwiches and setting the water to boil with a wave of her wand. She finally settled in the chair opposite Neville, placing a plate of food and the teapot on the table, wafting the cups over from the cupboard. "There," she said in satisfaction. "Now. How have you been, then?"

Neville grinned. "Fine. How about you?"

"Well enough," Ginny said with a smile. "Harry's been taking the children most of the
summer. It's the off season, so he's been taking them all sorts of places, to the beach and out to the country and to visit Remus and Sirius...they're having a grand time, loving every minute of it. He's got them this weekend, that's why they're not underfoot."

"That must be a relief," Neville said, and Ginny nodded with a rueful grin.

"Well, yes and no. He's been threatening to teach William how to fly sometime this summer, but I'm trying to convince him not to. He thinks poor Will has natural talent, but I think he should be keeping both feet on the ground...he's hard enough to keep track of as it is." Neville laughed at that, and they made small talk while they ate the sandwiches, Ginny regaling Neville with tales of Sarah and Jamie and William's exploits. Sarah and Jamie were doing well, despite their experience, which was a great relief. Ginny had worried that they would be affected deeply by the kidnapping, but they were remarkably resilient. Sarah occasionally needed to be reassured that the "bad men" couldn't get her anymore, but overall, they were doing fine.

Neville cleared his throat once they had chatted for a while, and played with his teacup. "I...I've heard from Draco," he said softly.

Ginny's shoulders tensed, but her hand was steady as she raised her cup, and her voice remained steady as well. "Oh?"

"He owled me yesterday. Just got out of hospital a couple of weeks ago. He's doing alright, feeling better, he says. He'll be here in a week, for the trial." Neville risked a glance at Ginny's face, but she was still and expressionless as water. She merely nodded and sipped at her cup, wrapping her fingers around the porcelain.

"Harry told me about it when he came to get the kids last week," she said calmly. "He's been keeping me updated."

Neville watched her solemnly. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know what to feel, to be perfectly honest. I'm...tired. Sad. A little bit upset." Ginny drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I wish..." She trailed off and stared into the bottom of her cup as though trying to read the future.

"He hasn't talked to you at all?" Neville asked softly.

Ginny shook her head. "I tried calling him a couple times, but I couldn't get through."

"Oh." Neville fell silent, turning his cup slowly on its saucer.

"I almost don't want to. I feel like - I don't know. I don't blame him for not wanting to talk to me."

Neville glanced up sharply. "Whatever makes you think he doesn't want to talk to you?"

Ginny shrugged hopelessly. "Well, I can't get 'hold of him, and he hasn't tried to call me, so I don't know what else to think. But I can't blame him for wanting to avoid me."

"Whyever would he want to avoid you?" Neville asked in bewilderment. "You haven't done anything!"

Ginny opened her mouth, about to say something, but closed it and sighed. "It doesn't matter," she said softly.

"Ginny - " Neville broke off. "Of course it matters. Why on earth would he not want to talk to you?"

"Has he said he does?" Ginny asked, glancing at him sidelong. For once, Neville couldn't decipher her expression.

"He doesn't talk about anything personal, you know that," Neville replied. "He hasn't said so, but I'm sure he does." Ginny just nodded and stirred her tea, not looking at him. "Ginny, he does."

She shrugged. "Well, it's not important," she said, keeping her voice light.

Neville gaped at her. "Ginny, of course it is. He cares about you, and I know you care about him...how can that not be important?" He couldn't understand why she was being so cavalier about the whole thing. Draco's silence was a bit of a surprise, but knowing how silent Draco normally was about anything he felt deeply about, Neville wasn't all that shocked. But he thought Ginny would be a little more emotional about it - she wasn't usually one to hide how she felt.

Ginny shrugged again and cleared her throat. "Hermione tells me that they're talking about designing a new building for the Ministry," she said brightly. "That must be a thrill."

Neville sighed with exasperation. Ginny could be remarkably stubborn when she wanted to. "That's what they're saying, but I don't know that it will actually happen," he said in defeat.

~*~

It was late afternoon, the sun sinking slowly in the west and casting pure golden light across the yard and deck. It had been a beautiful day, and Draco and John had spent most of it in the backyard, John doing yard work and Draco lounging on the deck, alternately napping and watching John work. He was using his arm as an excuse out of doing anything, and John had only laughed and let him do it, happily puttering around, weeding the garden and trimming the hedges at the side of the house. He had just finished up and climbed the stairs of the deck, brushing dirt off his hands. "Hey, ksik-kihk-ini, I'm going to wash up and grab something to drink from inside...need anything?" Draco shook his head and John nodded as he went into the kitchen.

Draco heard him greet someone, so it was no surprise when Del pushed the screen door open and came outside, a glass of lemonade in one hand. "Hey," she said, setting her glass down on the table. She pulled one of the deck chairs away from the table and flopped into it. "How's the arm?"

"Fine," Draco said absently.

"That's good," she said. "John said you're heading back to England next week." Draco nodded silently, and Del raised an amused eyebrow at him. "So," she said, with an air that suggested she was about to drop something large and unpleasant on him, "have you heard from Ginny?"

Draco's head snapped up and he glared at her. "I hardly think it's any of your business."

"I take it that's a no." Del shifted in her chair. "Why haven't you called her?"

"Did I or did I not just say that it is none of your business?" Draco glared back. "Besides, she hasn't called me either."

Del looked at him for a long moment. "You," she said in disgust "are an idiot. Just call her."

Draco glared at her. "I am not an idiot. And what I do isn't any of your business." He wished John would come back outside to lend him moral support. He didn't think he was up to dealing with Del right now.

"You are an idiot. You've been going around being a fucking miserable bastard for the last two weeks, when you know as well as I do that all you really have to do is just call the damn woman and get it over with. You don't know that she doesn't want to talk to you because you haven't tried. Twit." Del pushed her bangs off her forehead with an irritated gesture. She needed a haircut - her hair kept escaping its ponytail and haloing her face in frizzy ginger strands. She glared back at Draco. "But if you want to sit around and angst about it, I guess it's up to you."

"I am not angsting about it!" Draco snapped.

"You are too!"

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

Draco growled under his breath. "I hardly think that my personal life is any of your business," he muttered.

"It is if I have to put up with you sitting around being a miserable bastard about it," Del shot back. "Which is exactly what you're doing."

"I am not -" Draco started, but Del over-rode him.

"You've been moping around for the last two weeks, having your little pity-party, all 'boo hoo, woe is me, Ginny hates me', when the only person to blame for the whole situation is yourself," Del said, her voice rising a bit. "You haven't talked to her so how the fuck do you know how she's feeling? If you really want to know, call her. Then if she tells you to fuck off, as she has every reason to do, you can feel just as sorry as you want, but until then you're just fishing around for undeserved sympathy."

"I am not fishing for sympathy," Draco retorted. "And she hasn't called me either...I'm not the only one involved here."

"How do you know she hasn't tried? I'll bet she has. It's not like John is ever home, and half the time your damn answering machine doesn't work. Maybe she has and there's just never been anyone here to take her calls, did you think of that? Maybe she's sitting in England right now, drinking tea with somebody and bemoaning the fact that you hate her now because you haven't called her back," Del said. "Though I hope she's got more sense than that."

"I don't recall asking you for your opinion," Draco said, as nastily as possible. "Nosy little busybody."

"Sweetie, you don't have to ask me, I'll give you my opinion when I think you need it," Del replied, her voice dripping with sugar, and leaned back in her chair. "Like now. Call her."

"What if I don't want to?"

"Then stop fucking sulking! Oh my God!" Del sat up straight and stared at him with an incredulous look on her face. "Hello! If you don't want to, then don't, and stop bitching. If you do, then call her and stop bitching! Are you noticing a theme here?"

Draco couldn't think of a very good reply to that seeing as Del was, for all intents and purposes, absolutely right. She smirked at him when he didn't answer. "You should call her."

"Would you please shut up?"

"I'm just sayin'." She shrugged casually and leaned back in her chair again.

"Well you can bloody well not," Draco said irritably. "I hardly think you've got any sort of authority to be doling out relationship advice." It was a cheap shot; Del had a notoriously bad relationship history, and was extremely sensitive about it.

"I may not have the greatest track record, but at least I don't sit around and not do anything when I'm supposedly dating people," Del snapped, her face red. "At least I fucking try." She stood up abruptly, shoving her chair back. "Besides which, we aren't talking about me. You are being a huge fucking colossal idiot about this whole thing, and if you had half a brain, you would fucking call the woman instead of sulking around like some sort of spoilt brat. But if you want to screw up your life, go right ahead!" Del spun around and stalked into the house, slamming the screen door as hard as she could, making the windows rattle.

Draco seethed quietly in his chair. He could hear Del's angry voice through the door; it was hard to make out what she was saying, but Draco had a good idea. John's rumbling voice came in reply, and a minute later Draco could hear the front door slam as well. A few moments later, John stepped through the door and walked across the deck to sit in the chair Del had vacated. Draco braced himself for John's usual lecture about not prodding Del's weak spots, but it didn't come. Instead, John leaned forward and examined Draco thoughtfully. "She's right, you know," he said quietly. "You should call Ginny."

"Don't you start."

"Well, c'mon, she's got a point. You could probably avoid being as miserable as you're making yourself if you'd just call Ginny."

Draco sighed. "I know," he said, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I just..." He stopped and stared down at the table moodily. The truth was, he was afraid to call Ginny. If her silence was any indication, maybe she simply didn't want to talk to him - after all, she hadn't tried to call him, that he knew of. And Neville never really said anything in his letters beyond "Ginny and the children are fine", and Draco didn't want to ask after them and send Neville on a well-meaning quest to find out what was wrong. Although, from the faintly accusatory tone of his last few owls, Draco rather thought Neville knew something was wrong.

John poked him in the arm."You just what?"

"I just don't know what I'd say," Draco replied, which was true. Apologize for being unable to keep even the simple promise he'd made her, that everything would be all right? For not being able to do what she had expected of him, or what he had expected of himself? Draco mentally shook himself. He couldn't really blame Ginny for not wanting to contact him, but he didn't say so to John.

"How about starting with 'Hi' and taking it from there?" John said reasonably. "I mean, you do want to, right?"

Draco shrugged. "I guess."

"Why don't you just talk to her?" John asked. "Worst she can do is tell you to take a hike, right?"

Draco didn't say anything. He thought it was fairly likely that Ginny would tell him to take a hike, and he was reluctant to hear it.

John made an exasperated sound in his throat when Draco didn't reply. "Fine. Whatever." He stood up again and brushed at his shorts. "It's your life."

~*~

Harry arrived on Friday afternoon to pick up the children, and Ginny sent Jamie to open the door for his father while she made sure that everything they might need for the weekend was packed. Since the kidnapping, Harry had taken Ginny's accusation of distance to heart and started making a real effort to see the children more often and spend more time with them. She was glad for it, and happy for the kids, who were delighted to be able to see more of their dad, but at the same time she dreaded the solitude of her weekends now. She had far too much time to think now, about everything that had happened, and to brood about the lack of communication from Draco.

Ginny knew from Neville that Draco was out of hospital now, but she hadn't heard from him at all, by phone or by owl. And she couldn't really blame him, which was perhaps the worst part of it. She had left him alone when he had needed her the most, and Ginny could hardly blame him for not wanting to contact her. When it came down to it, her children came first - however she felt about Draco, Sarah and Jamie and William were more important. She had thought he'd understood that, but judging by the total lack of communication, that wasn't so. She guessed that Neville and Hermione both suspected something was wrong, but Ginny hadn't said anything to anyone, not wanting to give her parents any more reason to snipe about Draco, whatever was happening between them - or not happening.

Ginny was distracted from her thoughts by a light tap at the door of Sarah and William's bedroom. She glanced up and smiled at Harry. He smiled back and leaned against the doorframe. "How's the packing going?"

"I'm almost done," Ginny replied. "Just a few more things and they should be ready to go."

Harry nodded and walked further into the room. He leaned against the edge of the bed and watched her fold shirts and place them in Sarah's bag. "So have you heard from Malfoy?" he asked casually.

Ginny inhaled deeply, but didn't look up from her folding. "What time will you back on Sunday?" she asked, ignoring the question.

"Ginny..." he raised his hand toward her, but Ginny ducked away.

"Harry, don't. Please." She stopped and sank onto the edge of Sarah's bed, bowing her head. "I really don't want to talk about it."

Harry lowered his hand and watched her almost sadly. "I just hate to see you this way."

"Harry, please." Ginny raised her head to eye him warily. "I know you mean well, that everyone means well, but I really don't..." she trailed off and shrugged."There's nothing to say."

"I just worry about you. I know I don't need to, but it's hard to not." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his feet against the carpet. "I know you've got Hermione to lend a sympathetic ear and all, but I reckon if you want to complain about how Malfoy's a great huge git, I could probably nod and agree with you," he said, schooling his face into a blandly helpful expression.

Ginny shot him a look, then shook her head and laughed. "I suppose you could." She sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. "It would probably be easier if he were being a git, but he's not. He's not being anything. Except absent." She stopped, not really wanting to tell Harry about her feelings for Draco right now. It wasn't really fair to either of them.

"Sounds like he's being a git to me."

"Harry..."

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "Not helpful, I expect."

"Not really. Ron badmouths Draco quite enough for everyone, thanks," she said with asperity.

"I know," Harry murmured. "He does tend to go on about it. Fred charmed a sock to stuff itself in Ron's mouth every time he brought it up last week at poker. He got the hint eventually."

Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "Is Draco a common topic at your poker games?"

"Not really. We were talking about the trial, is all, since it's in less than two weeks, and it came up." Harry shrugged again. "And Ron got on his usual rant about Malfoy, and Fred gave him what for. I think Fred likes him."

"Of course he likes Ron. Ron's his brother."

"No, he likes Malfoy. At least, that was the impression I got, that Fred approves of him or something," Harry said. "I wasn't expecting that."

He sounded subdued, and Ginny glanced at him curiously. "You weren't?"

Harry shook his head. "Everyone likes him," he said. "Neville, the twins, Hermione...Ron doesn't, but that's more to do with Ron's reluctance to let go an idea once he's got it in his head. Hell, if I hadn't known him when he was a horrible twelve-year-old brat, I might even like him." He sighed unhappily. "It's not fair."

"Not fair that you can't go on hating him, you mean?" Ginny said. Harry nodded, looking comically morose.

"Well, I can't, really, can I? I owe him my life twice over," Harry said. He didn't sound particularly happy about it. "It was easier when I thought he'd vanished, and I didn't have -" He brought himself up short and glanced at Ginny. "Well."

"You didn't have to feel guilty about knowing the truth about his father?" she asked softly.

Harry looked at her sharply, startled. "How do you know about -" he stopped abruptly. "He told you, didn't he?"

Ginny nodded solemnly. "After you met him for the first time, at Neville's office."

Harry ran one hand through his hair, making it stand on end, even messier than usual. Ginny reached out absently and smoothed it down again. "I - " He stopped and looked at her. "You're not...?"

"Angry that you didn't tell me? No." Ginny shrugged. "Why should I be? You don't talk about it to anyone, so it isn't as though I expected you to make an exception for me. And honestly, I knew, a little. It wasn't important."

"It was. It is," said Harry, and Ginny was a little startled at the anguish in his voice. "I should never have done what I did, and that he's had to live with that for all this time and no one even knows what he'd done...you know how important it was that Lucius Malfoy died - if he hadn't, the Death Eaters would never have been broken. Voldemort would probably still be alive. And I was wrong. You can't tell me it isn't important."

"Harry, I don't think he cares whether people know," Ginny said softly. "I don't think he really wants accolades from the wizarding world anymore. Maybe he did then, but now...I don't think it's that important to him. He has changed." She smiled suddenly. "I keep saying that, but I don't think anyone really believes me."

Harry shook his head and smiled back weakly. "Probably not. It's too much of a stretch. He was horribly jealous of me at Hogwarts, for all the things he thought I had and he didn't...I don't know. Maybe that's part of it. He had so much while we were growing up, and all I had was my fame, and his one truly noble thing he did, I took away from him." He sighed. "I was wrong."

"Harry; it's over," Ginny said firmly. "The war, the past, all of it. It's over, and what's done is done. You can't change it. If you want to make amends for anything that happened, then you should talk to Draco, not to me. But I don't think he really wants anything from you...he moved on long ago."

Harry gazed at her for a long moment. "You really love him, don't you?" he said finally.

Ginny didn't reply. She finished putting the last of Sarah's shirts into her overnight bag and zipped it up carefully. Harry took the bag from her gravely, his face solemn. "We'll come back Sunday night after dinner," he said softly. "And I'll be by next Friday as well."

Ginny nodded and summoned up a smile for him. "All right."

~*~

A/N: Huge, huge, huge thanks go out to Mahoney, Emily, and Banfennid, all of whom are wonderful lifesavers who gave me ideas, jumpstarted me and generally got me through this mess of a chapter. Thank you all so, so much. I luff you! You're the best! I have to thank Alex and Tinka, as well. They also offered their help for my evil writer's block, but I got this chapter out before they could get back to me (which is all my fault, and none of theirs). They are wonderful lifesavers and fantastic people as well, and I luff them too.

"No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently"
- Agnes DeMille

~*~

Mid-August, 2011

Draco's first stop after arriving in England was the Ministry. There were a scant handful of days before the trial, and an enormous amount of work yet to be done. He arrived at Neville's office in the afternoon; the small office was same blizzard of scrolls and paper and coffee cups it always was, and Neville was nose deep in parchments. Draco leaned quietly in the doorway for a good two minutes before Neville realized he was there and jumped.

"Dammit, Malfoy, I thought I told you not to do that!" Neville said irritably. "Scare the life out of me, why don't you?"

Draco smirked. "Hello, Longbottom." He pushed himself off the doorframe and pulled out Neville's visitor's chair, flopping into it and propping his feet up on the desk.

"Welcome back," Neville grumbled, glaring at Draco's feet. He sighed when Draco didn't remove them and leaned back, stretching and twisting to release the tension in his back. "When did you get in?"

"Just this morning," Draco replied. "Found a place to stay and came straight here. Miss me?"

"Oh, terribly," Neville said sardonically. "I'm sure you'll be happy to know you got out of most of the work for the trial. I've had Justin Finch-Fletchley by nearly every day to talk to me about it. You should probably talk to him...he's handling the prosecution, and will want to hear your side of the story, I'm sure."

"Didn't I already send him a write-up?" Draco asked. "I'm sure I did."

"I think he still wants to talk to you in person," Neville replied. "Very meticulous, is our Justin."

Draco frowned thoughtfully. "Did I know him? I can't remember."

"He was in Hufflepuff, our year. Tall bloke, big teeth, Muggle-born. You probably wouldn't have liked him. He started out as a lawyer for the Ministry about 7 years ago...he's quite good, by all accounts."

"It isn't as though he needs to be, for this. Fairly obvious they're guilty, isn't it?"

"Doesn't matter, they still get a trial," Neville said. "Since the War, and the huge fuss over the Ministry sending people to Azkaban without trial and the like, they've decided to revamp the whole legal system. Everyone gets a trial, doesn't matter if they were caught red-handed or not."

Draco snorted. "Even if they're not the only ones involved?"

"Meaning...?" Neville raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Meaning you know as well as I do that someone else is behind the kidnapping," Draco said. "Straker and Nesbitt managed to keep us running 'round for months when they were robbing banks, but the kidnapping...it was too obvious. And too easy. They either got very stupid all of a sudden, or someone talked them into this and is letting them take the fall."

"I know that, and you know that, but we can't get those two to admit to it, and there's no way we can prove it short of getting permission to search the Flints' home, or the Notts' or the Averys'. And that's right out of the question right now. Too many Ministry folks who are either their friends, or simply don't want to stir the pot again." Neville sighed and shook his head. "Though Cecil would dearly love to see it done, we can't search them without some form of proof. Which we don't have."

"What I don't understand is what they thought they'd gain from it." Draco shook his head. "I mean, kidnapping Harry Potter's children makes sense, if you have a personal grudge against Potter and want to see him suffer. But those two...money would be the most likely motive, but I can't see someone like Flint just giving up 5 million galleons once he had it. Unless whoever is behind it promised they'd keep the two of them out of jail, and reneged on the promise. I wonder what they were threatened with to get them not to talk."

Neville shrugged. "Dark spells, maybe? Memory charm? Maybe they never knew to begin with. Some sort of under-the-table deal."

"Why would they do it to begin with, if they knew how high the risk was?" Draco shook his head and made a frustrated noise. "Even if they were coerced with spells, why don't they say something now that they're in custody? Try to plea-bargain their way out of trouble. Unless they've been spelled to not be able to, which is always possible." He ran a hand through his cropped hair - his left instead of his right, a habit he'd picked up while he was injured and couldn't move his right arm - and shook his head.

Neville watched and raised his eyebrows at Draco. "How's the arm, by the way?"

Draco shrugged and let him change the subject. "All right. Aches sometimes. I've got a hell of a scar."

"I'm sure." Neville frowned, his brow furrowing. He nodded stiffly and shifted his gaze away, staring at a point somewhere up and to the left of Draco's head.

Draco raised an eyebrow at that. "Something the matter?"

Neville glanced at him briefly. "What makes you think that?"

"It just seems like something's wrong, Longbottom," Draco said. "If there's something you
want to know, by all means, ask away."

Neville shook his head and kept not-quite-glaring at Draco. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing or you wouldn't be avoiding looking at me. What's wrong?" Draco frowned at Neville. He'd never seen the other man so shifty. "If there's something you want to know, just ask, for crying out loud. What is it?"

Neville stopped staring at the wall and glowered at Draco, suddenly tense. "What the hell were you thinking, is what I really want to know, actually," he said, an edge in his voice. "Leaping out of nowhere like that, when that Muggle was armed. You could have been killed! Why on earth didn't you just pull your wand?"

Draco blinked at Neville's unexpected display of anger. "I didn't think of it."

"You didn’t -" Neville pushed his chair back abruptly, stood up and began to pace in a small circle in the space behind his desk. "You didn't think of it. Have you any idea how close you came to dying that night?"

"Actually, yes," Draco replied defensively. "I had ample time to think about it during my month-long stay in hospital. So what?"

Neville pressed his lips together and glared. "I know you were carrying a wand, he said accusingly."All you had to do was stupefy the idiot!"

"Longbottom, it has been well over a decade since my first instinct has been to go for a wand," Draco said. "Ridiculous as you obviously think it, if someone pulls a gun and tries to shoot me, my first impulse is to shoot back. It happened too fast, and using magic simply didn't occur to me."

Neville made a small but expressive noise of disbelief and paced around in a circle again. "I thought you were going to die," he said accusingly. "You collapsed practically in my arms, and those idiot Aurors saying that they couldn't use magic on you, even on the arm wound, because they were sure you were a Muggle and it wasn't allowed." Neville huffed in annoyance and flopped back into his chair, glaring at Draco.

"Why, Longbottom, I didn't know you cared." Draco grinned as Neville went red. "I'm touched."

"Well, I was worried." Neville huffed again, the flush in his cheeks showing no sign of fading.

Draco grinned. He was touched, actually - he didn't think Neville would care so much about his well-being. "Anything else you want to yell at me for?"

Neville actually looked very much like there was something else he wanted to yell about, and Draco had a brief nervous moment wondering what the hell he'd say if Neville asked about Ginny, but Neville only shook his head. "I should warn you that we've been hip-deep in reporters since the kidnapping story broke. Might want to be careful on your way out, they've all been dying to talk to you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Draco said, and stood up. "Call me if anything comes up, will you? And you can send Finch-Fletchley to me if he shows up, and I'll repeat everything I've already told him via owl."

"I'll do that." Neville bent his head back to his reports and waved one hand idly in Draco's direction.

~*~

Neville hadn't been joking about the reporters. Draco managed to retreat from the Ministry to his old office at New Scotland Yard without drawing the attention of the small horde of journalists who had taken up residence outside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Colin Creevey in particular seemed bound and determined to snag an exclusive interview, and had not only dug up a host of information on Draco already, but had even managed to track down the hotel he was staying in, although the front desk clerk informed Draco later that they refused to talk to the young man. Colin was tenacious and unwilling to give up, though, and while under slightly different circumstances Draco might have admired Colin's gall, when Draco was on the receiving end of all that enthusiasm it was extremely grating. So Draco decided to give Diagon Alley a wide berth, in the vain hope that Colin might get bored and give up.

He holed up in his office at the Yard and made sure that Brown at the front desk wasn't going to let anyone up who didn't have identification. The peace and quiet were a welcome break from the cacophony of the Ministry anyway - between Justin Finch-Fletchley coming to visit Neville at odd hours and Cecil Dobbins chewing his moustaches and exhorting them to work harder, not to mention the press, the Ministry was even more of a zoo than usual. Draco was using the quiet time to catch up on his own paperwork, organizing his computer files and sifting through reports and statements relating to the case. It was nearly silent in his office, the only sounds the clicking of the heating unit and the dull hum that exists in the background of all office buildings, so the small whoosh of displaced air, when it came, was very loud. Draco turned in his chair, the back of his neck prickling.

Marcus Flint was standing in the middle of his office, dressed in tasteless plum robes that looked as though he'd slept in them. He smiled at Draco, showing a mouthful of badly stained teeth. It belatedly occurred to Draco that spell-protecting his Muggle office might be a good idea. "Hello, Malfoy. It's been a while."

"Hardly long enough," Draco replied coldly. Marcus was one of his least favourite people, a blunt, stupid man with little imagination and questionable personal hygiene. He and his father had desired nothing more than to be Death Eaters when Voldemort returned; Flint's father had borne the Dark Mark, but Marcus had been rejected by Voldemort as too stupid to be useful in the summer after Draco's fifth year. It was one of the few things the Dark Lord had done that Draco agreed with.

Marcus smirked and pulled out the visitor's chair, slouching into it. "Pansy said she'd run into you, Malfoy. How come you never owled to say hello?"

"Perhaps I simply didn't want to," Draco said. "I've been busy."

"Too busy to talk to your old friends? Malfoy, I'm shocked." Marcus flashed his nasty little smile again. "I would have thought you'd be eager to get back into things."

Draco stiffened. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. Your dad was the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor. How could you not want that back, eh?" Marcus leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him comfortably. "See the old crowd again, pick up where your dad left off?"

"Unless I'm very much mistaken, Flint, the 'Dark Lord' was killed 13 years ago, and I imagine that the Ministry did everything in their power to make very sure he stayed killed. It's a bit difficult to be the trusted advisor to a dead man," he replied. "Even if I wanted to, which I don't."

Marcus scoffed. "Oh, come on, Malfoy. You don't expect me to believe that you're actually happy about being forced to live like a mudblood? You, of all people? Don't tell me
you don't want your old life back." He waved a hand at Draco's office. "You deserve better than this, living without magic, forced to hide who you are, rubbing shoulders with people like Longbottom." Marcus' voice was thick with scorn as he said Neville's name. "Chubby little prig."

Draco's eye's narrowed dangerously. "What you appear to be forgetting," he said quietly, snapping off each word, "is that I chose to leave, and I chose to live as a Muggle. In fact, had I not been required by circumstance to return, I never would have. If you want to delude yourself into thinking that dabbling in the Dark Arts will give you whatever it is you think you deserve, by all means go ahead, but don't expect me to play your foolish little games."

"Your father would have said differently -" Marcus began.

"My father is dead!" Draco snarled. "And for the last time I have no intention of joining you and your horrible little wife in whatever idiotic little hobby you've concocted to amuse yourselves with in your spare time!"

Marcus recoiled, his lip curling. "I would never have believed it...you've gone soft."

"I have not 'gone soft', Flint, I grew up. It's something you might try as well," Draco shot back. "Voldemort is dead, and if you had any sense at all, you'd be grateful for it."

"Grateful for it? Grateful for having our money seized and our homes ransacked by Aurors? Grateful to have to kowtow to mudbloods and Muggle-lovers at every level of society, to be ruled by a Ministry run by boot-lickers like Percy Weasley and the rest of his pathetic family? Although I hear that someone nearly had the chance to off two of Potter's horrid little by-blows by that little Weasley slut. Pity, really." Marcus sneered again, and Draco clenched his hands on the arms of his chair to keep from going over the desk and wiping the smirk off his face with a well-placed fist. "You may have forgotten who you are and what your family stands for, but the rest of us haven't. We're pure-blooded, back generations, and we should be grateful that we're being edged out by these half-bloods and mud-bloods with no breeding to speak of? That it's become fashionable to pretend to be Muggle? And we're just supposed to sit back and let them taint our world, let them over-run everything that the wizarding world has ever stood for?"

"You really have no idea," Draco said softly, his voice oozing contempt. "Voldemort was a Muggle, you idiot. He was Tom Riddle, before he became Lord Voldemort. His mother was a witch, but his father was as Muggle as they come. If it was the Muggle taint you were hoping to eradicate, I'd say Potter gave you a fine head start." Draco curled his lip as Marcus shook his head in denial. "The only thing Voldemort was really interested in was power for himself, not for anyone else. Even if Potter hadn't killed him, he would have sucked the wizarding world dry, not out of some deluded notion of purity, but because it was a means to his own ends. Ranting about purebloods and mudbloods and all the rest of it just got all the old pureblood families - the people with the money - on his side."

"You haven't a clue what you're talking about," Marcus growled.

"No?" Draco asked, icily politely. "I'm sorry, I could have sworn that it was my father and not yours who was a part of Voldemort's inner circle. Do correct me if I'm wrong."

"You'll want to watch that tongue of yours, Malfoy. You'll end up in exactly the sort of trouble you don't want," Marcus snarled.

It was all Draco could do not to laugh in his face. "Oh really. You think you can make trouble for me?" He swept Marcus with a derisive look and did laugh, bitterly. "You can't throw anything at me that I can't handle, Flint, I assure you."

"You're going to regret that, Malfoy," Marcus replied, rising from the chair with a sneer.
"You really are."

"Are you threatening me?" Draco asked softly, rising as well.

Marcus clenched his jaw, obviously debating how to answer. "All I'm saying is that you should be careful who you side with," he said finally. "There are some enemies you don't want to make." He held Draco's eye steadily as he jerked his wand out and apparated away.

Draco glared at the spot where Flint had been standing, then spun around in his chair in annoyance. He'd known, really, that it was only a matter of time before someone from the old crowd discovered he was here and tried to talk to him, someone besides Pansy, who had all the sense and tact of a gnat. The role he'd played in the rescue of Harry Potter's children was just the thing to bring them all oozing out of the woodwork, eager to latch on to the Malfoy name and money. He was actually surprised it had taken them all so long. Maybe Pansy had learned to hold her tongue. Draco ran one hand through his hair, pacing in a small circle. The only question was, what would Flint do now? How long would it take before Draco started receiving visits from Nott, or the surviving Goyle clan, or any of the other wizards who had supported Voldemort but evaded punishment? He snarled under his breath, grabbed his paperweight, and spun around to launch it at the far wall, needing to do something to release the surge of frustrated rage.


He narrowly missed decapitating Harry Potter with the heavy glass weight, which hit the wall with a dull thud and fell to the carpet. Draco jumped and swore. "Jesus! Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"I did knock," Harry said accusingly, glaring at Draco. "You didn't need to throw something at me. What's your problem?"

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry huffed. "Neville said I'd find you here." He walked further into the room, leaving off glaring at Draco to peer around curiously. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, casual black pants and a deep green t-shirt. He had stylish silver-framed glasses, and he'd unselfconsciously pushed his hair off his forehead, his scar a faint silver bolt above one eye. He had the same slightly gawky grace he'd had as a boy, balanced by an aura of powerful magic that was almost palpable. It wasn't for lack of magical ability that Harry had rejected a life of politics to play Quidditch - Draco knew from Neville that Harry had actually been offered the position of Minister of Magic after the war, and turned it down. The sheer force of his magic seemed to fill up the room. No wonder poor Brown at the front desk had let him upstairs.

Draco gritted his teeth. "How nice of him. What do you want?"

"He sent me by to talk about the trial," Harry replied absently. He wasn't even paying attention to Draco, having discovered the photos on his bookshelf. "Who's this?" he asked, fingering the picture of Draco and Laura.

Draco sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. "Ex-girlfriend," he said wearily. He might have to put up with having The Boy Who Lived hanging about his office, but damned if he was going to give Harry any more details than absolutely necessary. "What did Longbottom want?"

"Oh," Harry said, ignoring Draco's question. "She's pretty." Draco growled under his breath as Harry set the picture back down and moved on to the others. "Who're all these people?" he asked

Draco blinked, momentarily distracted. "Um..." He craned his neck to see which picture Harry was holding. "Me and John, and Ed, two of his sons, some people from the neighbouring ranch who came over to help with round-up."

"Round-up?" Harry asked curiously, still examining the picture. "What's round-up?"

"It's herding cattle. You do it in the fall, to gather up all the calves for branding before the winter."

Harry raised his eyebrows so much his scar wrinkled, which made it look rather silly. "You know how to herd cattle?"

"Of course," Draco informed him loftily. "I lived on a ranch for almost a year."

"Oh." Harry absorbed this. "Who's Ed?" he asked finally.

Draco held his breath for a moment and counted slowly to ten. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry shrugged aimlessly and set the picture back down, glancing over the one of John as well, his eyes drifting over the spines of the books. "I lied," he said finally. "Neville didn't send me." He turned around and faced Draco squarely, his arms clasped lightly behind his back. "I didn't come to talk about the case, I came to apologize to you."

Draco went very still, watching the other man guardedly. He was almost tempted to believe it was a joke, if it weren't for the fact that he knew Harry would never make a joke about something like this. "For what?"

Harry took a deep breath. "For misjudging you. And for lying about your father. I shouldn't have let people think it was my doing, and I'm sorry." He stopped and looked at Draco expectantly.

Draco stared back at him. He knew he should make some sort of reply, but in all honestly, he didn't have a clue what to say to that. Harry, apparently taking his silence for some sort of assent, soldiered on. "I also wanted to say that I understand that you're upset with me about...what I did, and I am willing to publicly admit to it. I can arrange to talk to the Daily Prophet and let people know the truth of what happened."

Draco's brain finally caught up to what Harry was saying. "No," he said vehemently.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"No," Draco repeated. "I don't want you to."

Harry looked crestfallen, and Draco jerked his head in irritation. He'd expected Draco to agree, obviously, and he would be able to admit to his lie, be lauded in the press for coming forth with the truth, praised for his honesty and go on with his life, conscience clear. "Why not?" Harry asked in bewilderment.

"Because I don't care if the wizarding world knows what really happened," Draco said. "And frankly, the absolute last thing I want is a bunch of nosy reporters having a heyday with my private life. You want the accolades, Potter, you're more than welcome to them."

Harry stared at him, a strange expression on his face. "I thought you'd want people to know," he said finally.

Draco clenched his jaw."Well I don't. I don't care."

Harry watched him silently, bright green eyes searching Draco's face. Draco glared back, resisting the urge to loom a bit - he might be a powerful wizard, but Harry really was quite short. "All right," he said finally, and nodded, more to himself than to Draco. "But I do mean it. I am sorry." Harry held out his hand to Draco, green eyes meeting his steadily. "And I do want to thank you. For everything."

Draco stared back for a long moment before reaching out and taking Harry's proffered hand in his own. "You're welcome," Draco said shortly, and dropped Harry's hand.

"Um." Harry said awkwardly, and cleared his throat. "Right then." He looked at Draco consideringly, clearly debating whether to say something else. If you ask me about Ginny, I will hit you, Draco thought to himself. It must have shown on his face, because Harry thought better of whatever it was he was going to say, nodded firmly and turned away. He walked out the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

Draco leaned against his desk and rubbed one hand tiredly over his face, suddenly exhausted from the effort of having Marcus and Harry sprung on him one after the other. He wanted nothing more than to go and lie down somewhere quiet and not have to think about any of it. A sudden image came to him, of Ginny's tiny apartment, her worn and comfortable couch, the feeling of absolute peace that he felt there. "Shit," he said quietly. "Shit, shit, shit." Draco rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. Del was right; he was an idiot. After the trial, he promised himself. I'll talk to her then.

~*~

The trial date came too quickly for Neville, who hated public speaking more than just about anything else. He was standing in the small room reserved for witnesses just off the courtroom, drinking the vile coffee left on the table there by one of the court clerks, and trying not to think too hard about the room full of people beyond the door. He paced in a small circle, waiting for Draco and Harry to show up and keep him company until the trial began. He didn't have long to wait - Draco arrived soon after he did, striding through the door and shutting it firmly behind him with an air of aloof arrogance. Neville choked on his coffee. "Malfoy," he gasped out, coughing violently. He nodded at his partner when he'd got his breath back. "You look..." he trailed off and coughed again.

"What?" Draco snapped irritably, glaring at Neville. He walked forward to lean against the table, frowning down at the coffee pot. There wasn't anything else to drink, which made Draco's scowl deepen.

Neville cleared his throat, not quite looking at Draco. "Oh, nothing. It's just, um, your jacket is very, um." He tugged at the neck of his own formal robes, which were a nicely subdued navy blue, and cleared his throat. "It's very...red."

Draco snorted and brushed at the jacket in question. It was very red, trimmed with brass buttons, and with a brown belt at the waist. "It's a dress uniform, Longbottom. Something wrong with it?"

"Oh, no, no, not at all, it's very...nice. You look...nice. I mean, you know, you look okay. It's fine, and - dammit." Neville gave up as Draco raised his eyebrows in amusement. "You look gorgeous, if you must know." He glowered at Draco, a slow flush creeping up his neck. "By rights you should look ridiculous, but you don't. Sex on a bloody stick. Happy?"

Draco grinned at Neville's discomfiture. "Thanks," he said brightly.

"Fuck off."

Draco smirked. "You want me."

Neville didn't think it was possible to blush any harder than he already was, but his cheeks were making a valiant effort to prove him wrong. "Whatever." He scowled at Draco, who leaned back against the table and smirked some more. "Should have known you wouldn't just show up in robes like every other normal person in the world."

"I don't own any dress robes, and I didn't have time to go shopping," Draco said, still grinning at him. "Though you don't look so bad yourself."

Neville scowled some more and tugged at his collar again. He was wearing his official Auror uniform, with the Ministry crest and his name over the left breast pocket. He could practically feel them wrinkling. "I hate dressing up," he said morosely.

"You look fine."

Neville sighed disconsolately. "Easy for you to say," he muttered. "God I hate these things."

"You look fine, and after all, it's only a trial," Draco said calmly. "It's hardly something to get worked up over. We already know what the outcome will be."

"It's not the trial bit, it's the public speaking bit. I'm crap at it." Neville glanced at Draco, who looked as unflappable as always. Of course he wouldn't have any qualms about standing up and talking in front of the largest crowd of people Neville had ever seen. With Neville's luck, he'd get flustered and forget his own name, but not Draco.

"There's hardly anything to worry about," Draco replied dismissively. "Though I'm a bit surprised there's so many people here."

"Of course there's a massive crowd, it's Harry and his kids. D'you think anyone within apparating distance would miss it? It's a zoo out there," Neville said. "I've never seen so many people."

"Wonderful," Draco said sardonically. "All come to play 'Spot the Hero', I take it?"

Neville gave him a wry half-smile. "A goodly portion of them are here to see you as much as him, I'd bet."

"That'd be more along the lines of 'Spot the Death Eater', Longbottom. I read the papers." Draco shook his head in disgust and tipped the coffee pot on the table slightly toward himself, peering into it mournfully. "It didn't occur to them to give us water, too?"

"We don't rate," Neville said, and sipped at his coffee. "You're not missing anything, the coffee's unbelievably vile."

"Harder to screw up water."

"Where there's a will, there's a way," Neville replied, chuckling, and relaxed minutely. He glanced up as the door to the hall opened to admit Harry, who shut it quickly behind him.

"Hullo, Neville. Malfoy." Harry nodded stiffly at Neville, then raised his eyebrows at Draco. "Nice outfit."

Draco sneered at him. "It's a dress uniform, Potter. Not that I'd expect you to recognize that." He raked his eyes over Harry's rather plain black robes.

Harry clenched his jaw and smiled tautly at Draco. "Actually, Malfoy," he said, "it makes you look a bit like an over-ripe tomato. But then, I suppose you can't afford to be too picky."

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'll remember that the next time you need a spare 5 million Galleons, Potter."

Harry bristled and started forward. Neville caught his arm before he got to Draco and pulled him back. "Stop it," he said sharply, and pushed Harry toward the opposite wall. "You too," he said to Draco, who was still sneering. "Quit baiting each other. Honestly."

"You sound like Hermione," Harry muttered sullenly. He tugged at the collar of his robes to straighten them, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles. Despite Draco's dig, they were high quality and well tailored, with his war medals and Order of the Phoenix crest pinned over his breast. He looked sober and serious, every inch the hero. Unlike Neville, he wore them well - but then, Harry'd had years of practice to perfect his public image.

Neville shook his head again and turned back to Draco, who was leaning against the table with his arms crossed over his chest, silently ignoring Harry. Neville sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There was a short uncomfortable silence, while Harry and Draco each pretended the other wasn't there, finally broken by Justin Finch-Fletchley opening the hall door and peering around the corner. "Oh, good, you're here," he said, and came into the room, shutting the door behind him. "We're about to start. Just so you know, Malfoy, they've asked you to stay behind in the room until you're called to the stand. I've talked to the defense and we all feel your presence in the courtroom be too much of a distraction for the spectators. So if you wouldn't mind, we'd like you to stay in here until you're called upon." He said all of this without ever quite looking at Draco.

Draco rolled his eyes, which Justin missed. "If that's what you want."

Justin nodded, and beckoned Harry and Neville to follow him through the door to the courtroom and into the small area set aside for witnesses. Neville flashed Draco a small, nervous smile, and the other man nodded slightly as the door closed, cutting him off from view.

~*~

Ginny and Hermione filed into their row on the benches behind the desks for the defendants. Molly and Arthur were seated to Ginny's right, Percy and Penelope to their right, with Ron, Fred and George on the other side of Hermione, all of them chatting quietly with each other while Ginny sat nervously and clenched her hands in her lap. Angelina and Natalie had offered to watch the scores of Weasley children and were at Ginny's flat, as her apartment was the closest to Diagon Alley. Everyone else in the wizarding world appeared reluctant to give this trial a miss, however, and the courtroom was packed to the rafters with people eager to see Harry Potter and the infamous Draco Malfoy. The trial itself seemed almost incidental to the thrill of seeing both men in the flesh. Ginny could see people pointing at her family and whispering - they were understandably recognizable, with the omnipresent Weasley hair.

The buzz in the room finally died down as the representatives for the Ministry and for the defendants filed into the room. Ginny kept looking over the crowd from where she sat, on the left-hand of the room, side close to the rail that separated the floor from the seats for the press, searching for a glimpse of white-blonde hair. Neville, who was sitting with Harry in the reserved section for witnesses in the case, beside the defendant's table, caught her eye and nodded reassuringly. It didn't make her feel any better.

The preliminary proceedings had been taken care of the day before, and today would be for the meat of the trial - witnesses and presentation of all the facts of the case, and, hopefully, a judgment. Harry was sitting near Neville, in the witness section, and he, too, smiled at Ginny reassuringly when he caught her looking. She smiled feebly back, and Hermione reached over to pat her hand gently.

The defendants were brought in, two unprepossessing young men, one with sandy blond hair, the other with a shock of orange curls. Ginny stared at them with ill-concealed dislike, not inclined to be charitable toward the two. The noise from the spectators spiked as the defendants took their seats, and once the court was called to order, Neville was called to the stand by Justin Finch-Fletchley, who was acting as the representative for the Ministry.

"State your name for the record, please."

"Neville Horatio Longbottom," Neville said clearly. He looked a little flustered. Ginny knew how much he hated speaking formally, and thought he was doing rather well.

"Occupation?"

"I am a senior Auror for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"And your involvement in this case?"

"I was assigned by my supervisor, Cecil Dobbins, to track the defendants. We suspected their involvement in a series of crimes against the Muggle community, and were asked by the Muggle police to provide a liaison to the wizarding community in order to help track them down."

"Thank you," Justin said politely. "Now, if you don't mind, could you tell the court what you know of the events leading up to the capture of the defendants?"

Neville went through the events of the case, seeming to relax as he spoke. Ginny guessed that it was because he was on familiar ground, talking about his work. He was periodically interrupted by both Justin and the lawyer for the defense, Terrence Higgs. Higgs, a Slytherin who had been on the house Quidditch team in the early '90s and narrowly escaped prosecution after the War, tried mightily to poke holes in Neville's testimony, but Neville was hard to phase.

Finally Higgs barked, "Nothing further," at the judge and slumped back in his seat. "Next witness."

That was Harry, who ignored the buzz of the audience and the flash of the reporters' cameras as he took the stand. He submitted to the questioning stoically, relating the events of the kidnapping with calm efficiency. Higgs was surprisingly tame, perhaps knowing that neither Harry nor the large audience would stand for any of the bullying tactics he'd tried on Neville. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as Harry stepped down and retreated back to his seat - she hadn't been asked to testify herself, and she was profoundly grateful for that. She had never liked being the focus of attention, and hated public speaking almost as much as Neville did.

There was a brief pause, then the judge nodded at Justin Finch-Fletchley, who cleared his throat and said loudly, "Draco Malfoy."

Loud murmurs rose from the crowd as the entire audience began to whisper and crane their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of the infamous Malfoy. His involvement in the case and his return to the wizarding world was well known by now, but he was adept at avoiding reporters, and few had seen him since the War. Every wizard in the courtroom was desperate to see him in the flesh. Ginny scanned the room quickly, but she didn't see Draco anywhere; she tried to get Neville's attention, but he wasn't looking in her direction. He was looking toward the door behind the reserved witness seating expectantly. The door opened and Draco stepped into the room.

He had gotten his hair cut sometime in the last couple of months; it was now cropped close to his head, and shone like a silver halo as he started across the floor of the courtroom. He'd lost weight as well, Ginny thought, which combined with the hair made him look younger; it was as though he'd been whittled down to essentials. He was wearing a scarlet thigh-length jacket with a high collar and brass buttons that stood out like a beacon in the room full of dark-clad Aurors and lawyers. It was belted at the waist, and he wore black jodhpurs with a yellow stripe up either leg, and had a brown hat tucked underneath one arm. The heels of his knee-high brown boots rapped against the wooden floor as he walked steadily toward the stand in the centre of the room. Draco turned sharply on one heel and stood facing the courtroom, face impassive, back straight, his left hand resting lightly on the wooden rail in front of him. The crowd of spectators, most of whom were craning their necks to get a good view, whispered loudly to each other as they stared at Draco.

Draco, for his part, didn't look at the crowd, and barely glanced up when Justin Finch-Fletchley called for quiet and moved to stand in front of him. "Name?" Justin asked brusquely, much less politely than he had spoken to Neville.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy"

"Occupation?"

"I am a corporal for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, in Alberta, Canada." This statement caused another ripple in the courtroom, and Justin had to wait impatiently while quiet was restored. By the set of his shoulders, Ginny guessed that Justin wasn't happy about the spectacle Draco was making.

"Your involvement in this case?"

"One of the suspects in question was a known criminal in Canada. I was assigned to keep tabs on him, and when the suspect came to England, I followed, working with both Scotland Yard and the Ministry to apprehend him."

Justin fired a few questions at him, his lips pressed in a tight line, and Draco answered them all calmly, with barely a change in inflection. The crowd muttered restlessly as Justin finished and retreated to his seat, as though the questioning was far more boring than they had expected or desired.

After Justin sat down Terrance Higgs rose silkily to his feet. He smiled unpleasantly at Draco, brushing at the hang of his robes before walking closer to where Draco stood, watching him with narrowed eyes.

"Draco Malfoy," Higgs said softly, pure venom in his voice, and a thrill of apprehension crawled up Ginny's spine. "Welcome home. You've no idea how happy we all are to see you alive."

Draco gazed back at him impassively and didn't reply. Higgs smiled nastily and paced in a very small circle in front of the stand. The room was silent for the first time since Draco had entered, all attention focused on the two men. "Tell me, Malfoy," Higgs said finally, "where have you been, all this time?"

"Canada," Draco said expressionlessly.

"Indeed. And what were you doing in Canada?"

"As I said, I work for the RCMP."

"Ah," Higgs said. "The RCMP. And what do they do again?"

"We are the Canadian national police force."

"Oh? I thought the Canadian force was called the Department of Magical Inquiry. I didn't know they'd changed their name." Higgs widened his eyes innocently at Draco.

"The RCMP is not a wizarding police force." Draco bit off each word sharply, but he didn't change expression or raise his voice. It was hard to tell from where she was sitting, but Ginny thought he was beginning to be angry.

"Not a wizarding police force?" Higgs gasped in mock astonishment. "You mean to tell me that you've been working for Muggles all this time?"

"Yes."

Higgs rocked back on his heels and waited for Draco to continue. When he didn't, Higgs paced very slowly in front of his seat. "And how did this come about?" he finally asked. "A Malfoy posing as a Muggle seems terribly unlikely, if you don't mind my saying. How on earth did such an unusual state of affairs come to be?"

Draco set his jaw and glared. "I hardly think that's any of your business."

Higgs met his glare and nodded. "Yes, well," he said airily, waving a dismissive hand. "So. From the review of the details of this case, it appears that you've become quite the hero. By all accounts -" Higgs retreated to his desk to shuffle through his papers, "- you actually put yourself into danger to prevent Harry Potter from being injured when one of my clients allegedly pulled a weapon."

"Allegedly?" Draco raised one eyebrow. "Is that what they're calling it?"

Higgs smirked back. "Innocent until proven guilty, Malfoy. But as I was saying, by all reports you rather heroically put yourself into danger for Harry Potter." He looked at Draco for confirmation. Draco nodded warily. "And you expect us to believe that?"

"That's what happened."

"Really. We're to believe that you risked your life for the man who killed your father?" Higgs asked softly, his words dropping into the silence of the room like pebbles in a pool. "How very noble of you."

"I swore an oath, to serve and protect the people who fall under my care," Draco replied steadily, locking eyes with Higgs. "It happened, in this case, that Harry Potter and his children were those people. I keep my promises."

"Really. Like you kept your promises during the war?"

Draco stiffened, narrowing his eyes. "I made no promises during the war," he said icily. "Whatever you might be implying."

"I'm not implying anything," Higgs said smoothly. "Just curious, that's all." He paused, and walked away from Draco before turning back again, raising his voice slightly. "So. I admit, I am curious, Malfoy. If, as you say, you're not and never were a Death Eater, and you don't have a Dark Mark, and you were never involved with He Who Must Not Be Named...why did you leave England? Surely you weren't afraid, were you?"

"That is none of your business," Draco said coldly.

"Oh, come now," Higgs replied integratingly. "Am I to believe that the son of Lucius Malfoy vanished from the wizarding world out of cowardice? Was it fear of Azkaban, maybe?"

"No."

"No?" Higgs repeated. "You weren't scared that some overzealous Auror would decide that arresting a Malfoy would be a coup and drag you off to prison, protesting your innocence all the way?"

That made Ginny smile, because it was fairly close to the reason Draco had first given her for wanting to leave England after the war, but Draco merely shook his head. "No."

"So why did you leave?"

"That's none of your business," Draco replied again.

"You've said that a lot, Malfoy," Higgs sneered. "Lucius Malfoy was the top man for He Who Must Not Be Named. Don't you think it is the business of the wizarding public to know where you have been the last twelve years, when your own father was killed at Voldemort's right hand?"

"Actually, I don't," Draco said flatly.

"Really?" he asked. "Now that doesn't seem like the Draco Malfoy I remember. In fact, I remember you saying at Hogwarts that you planned on being the right-hand man of He Who Must Not Be Named."

Draco visibly rolled his eyes and raised his voice over the rising noise from the crowd. "And I recall you saying that you were going to play in the Quidditch World Cup, Higgs," he replied mockingly. "Whatever happened?"

Higgs smirked. "You mean you've changed your mind, then? No desire to conquer the world anymore?"

The corner of Draco's mouth twitched, as though he were suppressing a smile. "It didn't seem like a career with much of a future."

There was a small ripple of laughter through the audience. "Indeed," Higgs said with a glare. "Yet isn't it true that you were invited to become a Death Eater in the summer of 1997?"

That quelled the laughter. Draco raised his chin and stared at Higgs venomously. "I was invited to, yes."

"You don't deny it?"

"The invitation was extended, and I turned it down." Ginny could see, from her vantage point, that Draco had gone rigid, his eyes cold and hard.

Higgs raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

"That's none of your business."

There was another small murmur from the crowd. "Cor, he doesn't half look like his father," whispered a blue-haired old witch behind Hermione and Ginny. "He puts on a good show, but he's rotten to the core, I bet, just like all o' them Malfoys."

Ginny stiffened and whipped her head around, but Hermione caught her arm. "Don't!" she hissed. "That's exactly what Higgs wants...he's trying to sway opinion against Malfoy, get people thinking that he was secretly a Death Eater or something. Trying to get people to doubt that he'd act for anyone's best interests."

"That's not fair!" Ginny whispered back hotly.

"I know, but I'll bet Higgs is worried. Half the jury probably wanted to hang them on sight, because it was Harry's children they took...he's just trying to use everything he can against Harry. If discrediting Malfoy will help, he's going to do whatever it takes."

Ginny nodded and swallowed against the surge of bile in her throat. It felt like the war had happened so long ago, it was easy to forget that thirteen years isn't a very long time in communal memory. She glanced down at Harry, whose face was set in angry lines, his hands curled into fists. Neville leaned over and whispered something to him, but Harry shook his head abruptly, and Neville leaned away. He glanced up, caught Ginny's eye and shrugged. Harry looked up too, and even at this distance, she could see the rage in his face.

Higgs was still silkily trying to lead Draco into saying something - anything - that would be incriminating. Harry, however, had had enough. He surged to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. "I don't think," he said loudly, his voice ringing across the courtroom, "that this is necessary." Higgs whirled around to face the other man, and Harry glared at him, green eyes sparking. The judge himself had given up all pretence of being in control and was watching as avidly as everyone else as Higgs stalked toward Harry, eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry continued, "Malfoy is not the one on trial here. Air your personal grievances elsewhere, Higgs."

"And how do you know that this is personal, Mr. Potter?" Higgs replied smoothly. "I find it hard to believe that you, of all people, would stand in defense of the son of Lucius Malfoy."

"You have spent the last ten minutes asking him about everything under the sun but the one thing he is here for. Which is to give evidence against the people who kidnapped my children. Whatever private issue you have with Malfoy has nothing to do with that."

"And what if I say it does?"

Harry didn't give an inch. "I say it doesn't," he replied firmly. Harry glanced at the judge
who, along with everyone else in the courtroom, was staring at him. "I suggest you speed this process along, Justice MacGregor."

The judge nodded quickly and cleared his throat, banging his fist on the edge of his chair. "Mr. Higgs, please keep your questions to the issue at hand."

Higgs scowled darkly and clenched his fists, glaring at Harry with undisguised hatred. Harry ignored him and glanced at Draco, who caught his eye and held it for a long moment. Draco gave him a small nod, which Harry returned stiffly before returning to his seat.

Higgs spun around and walked back to his desk, where he shuffled some papers sullenly before curtly demanding that Draco recount his version of the events leading up to the kidnapping. Draco did, calmly and without a hint of emotion, but he seemed relieved to Ginny when he was finally allowed to step down from the witness stand and join Neville and Harry.

The rest of the trial was actually rather dull. Statements from Ginny and the children were read out, statements from the Canadian Ministry and Muggle police. The two kidnappers weren't allowed to take the stand at all, which left Ginny confused until Hermione whispered that it would probably be very bad for the defense for them to be cross-examined. After all, there were half a dozen eyewitnesses that said that those two were the kidnappers, not to mention the damning tape Draco and Neville had gathered during their investigation. The outcome of the trial was almost an anticlimax; no one was very surprised when the verdict came back guilty for both of the men. Ginny breathed a huge sigh of relief as the Weasleys swarmed down from the seats after the announcement, to stand in a great crowd on the courtroom floor, near the sectioned off seats for the witnesses. The rest of the spectators were being ushered out, although Colin Creevey was dodging the guards quite nimbly, sneaking forward to snap pictures of the family.

Molly was in tears, hugging everyone within reach. She bustled up to the rail, dabbing at her eyes, and pulled first Neville, then Harry, into fierce embraces, even dragging a startled Justin Finch-Fletchley into a tight hug. Ginny had accepted her own hugs from her brothers and sisters-in-law, beamed a smile at Harry and Neville, then leaned against the rail a little way away from the crowd as Molly exclaimed over how well they had done and how proud she was.

She could feel him standing there, a few feet away from where she stood, and Ginny looked up. She caught Draco's eye almost unintentionally, and gave him an uncertain smile. He nodded back and walked toward her slowly, almost reluctantly. Draco leaned against the wooden rail and looked down at his boots. "Can I speak with you?" he asked softly.

"Of course," Ginny replied. He looked tired, and she was sure that there were a few lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before. He wouldn't quite look at her, and her heart contracted.

Draco raised his head and glanced at her family. "Would you mind if we went somewhere else? I'd rather not have this conversation with Harry Potter trying to drill holes in the back of my head with his eyeballs."

Ginny glanced over his shoulder, and sure enough, Harry was glowering at them both. Neville had noticed, and was looking at all three of them anxiously. She bit her lip and ducked her head, hiding a grin. "Do you think they might let us use the witness room?"

"Good idea." Draco pushed himself off the railing and walked over to the door. He opened it slightly and poked his head in. "It's empty," he said quietly, and motioned to her, pushing the door open further.

"Just a minute," she said, and went back to the rail, tapping Hermione on the shoulder. They spoke for a moment in low voices, then Ginny turned and came back. Hermione was making her way over to Harry, who was still glaring at Draco. Draco couldn't help flashing the other man a smirk before he followed Ginny into the room and shut the door behind them.

Draco walked over to the table and rested one hand on the tabletop. He took a deep breath and turned to face her; she hadn't moved beyond the closed door, watching him with wide brown eyes. Now that she was here, standing in front of him, he had no idea what to say.

"How have you been?" she asked finally, her tone extremely polite. It made Draco's chest tighten to hear her.

"Well enough," he replied quietly. "Not entirely back in shape, but I'm doing all right, all things considered."

Ginny nodded politely, her face unreadable. It made his heart constrict, to have her so close, but not with him. He'd refused to let himself look at her in the courtroom - he had missed her so much that he didn't quite trust himself to be able to get through the trial without doing something embarrassing if he had to watch her. Not that having her stand there looking collected and aloof, like she was simply waiting for him to say what he had to say so that she could get back to her family, was any less embarrassing. Draco cursed himself silently; if this were a movie or one of the ridiculous romantic books Del devoured he would simply know the right thing to say and she would stop being so distant and fall into his arms or something equally silly. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "Before I say anything else, I owe you that." Ginny didn't say anything, just stared at him, her face unreadable. Draco gazed back at her steadily.

She nodded vaguely and looked down at her shoes. "Why didn't you call?" she asked finally. "It's been months."

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't think...I thought you wouldn't want to talk to me."

"I wouldn't want to talk to you," Ginny repeated flatly, jerking her head up sharply to stare at him. "I thought that you weren't talking to me because you were angry with me, because I didn't stay."

Draco stared at her, stunned. Why on earth would he think that? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, lost for words. "Oh," he finally said, inelegantly. "Um, no."

Ginny stared back, her brown eyes alight with what might have been laughter. She took one step toward him, then another, then another, until she was flying across the room. He met her halfway, scooping her up in his arms, as she clutched at his back and buried her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from him, just to be able to hold her again. Draco grinned. All things considered, having her fall into his arms wasn't really that silly.

"I swore I wasn't going to cry," she said finally, moving her head slightly and shifting back a bit, untangling one arm to wipe her cheeks with the sleeve of her robe. Her cheeks were wet, but she was half-laughing at the same time.

"I'd offer you a handkerchief, but I don't have one with me," Draco said.

Ginny laughed shakily. "I brought my own, actually. Just in case." She dug around in the pocket of her robes and fished out a tissue, which she used to wipe at her cheeks, one arm still wrapped around Draco's waist. He wound his hands into her hair gently, running the bright strands over his fingers.

"I am sorry, you know," he said softly.

Ginny crumpled her tissue and looked up at him. "I am too. I wanted to stay, to see if you were all right, but with the children..."

"John told me about that," Draco replied. "And I understand why you went home...I wouldn't have expected you to stay."

"I wanted to. It was so horrible, being here all alone, and not knowing what was going on. Neville is terrible at details, and I had Mum and Dad and Percy and Ron all trying to convince me that I didn't really need to know, and I felt so badly about not being able to be there..." she trailed off and sniffled, blinking. "I'm sorry. And then you didn't call or anything, and I thought that maybe you didn't want to talk to me, that you were horribly offended that I didn't come back, and I half-convinced myself that you probably hated me for it, and I was too frightened that it was true that I didn't want to call you and find out for certain. Silly really, but there you are."

"It's not silly, I - " Draco stopped and laughed ruefully. "Actually, I had almost convinced myself of the exact same thing. That you must have thought me a hopeless failure and didn't want to speak to me."

Ginny looked horrified. "Why would I think that?" She stared up at him, aghast. "Please don't tell me that you've been thinking, all this time that -" she stopped and shook her head. "I never thought that." She leaned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, holding on to him tightly. "Never."

The last knot of tension unraveled itself in Draco's chest at her words. "That's good to hear," he whispered into her hair.

Ginny raised her head and looked at him, raising one hand to cup his cheek lightly. "You look tired," she said softly, her smile fading.

Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm all right. Mostly just stress from the trial."

"And you cut your hair," Ginny continued. She sounded disappointed.

"Don't you like it?" Draco asked teasingly.

"I don't mind it short, but it's not...it makes you look younger." Ginny frowned thoughtfully, sifting her fingers through the short hairs at the base of his neck and sending small, distracting shivers down his spine. "Not that you look old, with long hair. It's just different."

"I had to cut it when I went back to work. Not allowed long hair, it's unprofessional. I only got away with growing it because I was far away from my supervisors." Draco grinned at her. "It was a bit of a rebellion thing."

"Well you looked very official today," Ginny replied, running one hand over his red serge jacket. "I like the uniform."

That made Draco flush slightly. "Really? I think it's horrid. Makes me feel like I'm wearing a big sign saying 'Shoot me!'" He shifted self-consciously.

"Oh, no, it's terribly sexy." Ginny grinned mischievously and glanced up at him through her eyelashes.

"You can't possibly be serious. It's ugly, it makes me a walking target, and it itches something awful."

Ginny laughed delightedly. "It is sexy! I imagine Neville had fits when he first saw you in it; I know Lavender did. And she was sitting three rows behind me."

Draco rolled his eyes. "And I suppose Lavender is a good judge of what's sexy."

"Well, she was the boy-crazy one," Ginny giggled. "And anyway, it wasn't just her...more like three-quarters of the women in the room."

"Hah," Draco snorted.

"It's true! I daresay you've made a few converts to your side amongst the witches, just based on the fact that you look edible in that uniform."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her. "Edible?" he purred. "Really."

Ginny blushed, but smiled. "Something like that. Not that you don't most of the time, mind you."

"I'm going to get a big head if you keep this up," Draco grinned. "But don't let that stop you."

Ginny giggled again and hugged him, resting her head against his shoulder. Draco held her close, savouring the feel of her in his arms. It felt right. Ginny tightened her arms around him. "What do you plan to do now?" she asked softly, her voice slightly muffled.

"I don't know," Draco replied quietly. "Cecil's offered me a position again if I want it, but I haven't given him an answer yet. I wanted - well, I wanted to talk to you first."

Ginny raised her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face. "Do you want to stay?"

"I want you," Draco said honestly. "I want to be where you are. Here, or anywhere else."

"You -" Ginny stopped and hugged him tighter, taking a shaky breath. "I love you," she whispered, and blinked, tears sparkling on her eyelashes. "My mother will likely die of shock, but I do. I know we never really talked about what would happen after... but if you want to stay, I -" Ginny paused to look up at him earnestly."I would like you to."

"Nothing would make me happier," Draco murmured. "Nothing. I love you," he said softly,
and kissed her.

~*~

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. For now we see through a glass, darkly, but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three;

But the greatest of these is
love.

- 1 Corinthians 13

~*~

A/N: Please check out the story notes at my personal website