“Hurry up, guys,” Harry yelled over his shoulder as he clattered down the stairs of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, a note of something-not-quite-right in his voice even now, more than a year after Sirius’ death, “We’re going to be late for the Order meeting!”

He flung open the door to the dining room, then stopped and stared in complete, utter horror.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it at Draco, who was sitting at the table, staring back at him in annoyance.

“Oh, shut it, Potter,” Draco snapped back irritably, “I was invited by Dumbledore.”

“Bollocks!” Harry shouted, feeling rage rise up uncontrollably in him. How dare he, the nephew of Sirius’ murderer come here, to Sirius’ house, and defile it with his presence?

He was about to yell out a spell, preferably one of the Dark curses they’d learnt about in Defence Against Dark Arts, when someone gently took the wand from his hand, and he heard Lupin say, from behind him, “It’s all right, Harry. He’s here for the meeting.”

Harry turned to continue yelling, but Lupin passed over his eyes with his hands in an exhausted gesture, and suddenly Harry remembered again that he wasn’t the only one Sirius had left behind. Lupin was looking so much more tired after Sirius had left, crow’s feet seeming to overwhelm even the kindness in his eyes.

So he said nothing, only walked tight-lipped into the room and sat down as far as he could from Draco, who in turn kept silent and stared at the table.

He heard Lupin whispering something urgently to Hermione and Ron outside the room, and heard Ron’s violent protest, only slightly hushed. Then Lupin explained some more, and when they came in they didn’t speak to Draco or ask Harry anything. Ron squeezed Harry’s shoulder comfortingly, and Hermione took his hand.

The adults began coming in in dribs and drabs, and none of them seemed particularly surprised by Draco’s being there. They sat down around the table, and small, quiet conversations started up around the room. Now that the Ministry finally acknowledged Voldemort’s return, there were many more of them than at first; even Percy was back, sitting between Bill and Moody. Arthur Weasley gave Draco a dark look when he entered the room, but Draco just sat there, staring down at his hands, until Dumbledore came.

Dumbledore swept into the room, his presence easing the tension only slightly.

He surveyed the room, giving each of them a solemn look before he started speaking.

“Firstly, I would like to welcome Neville, Harry, Hermione, and Ronald, who have now come of age and are new probationer members of the Order of the Phoenix. They have proven themselves in many battles before this, so the rules were relaxed to allow them entry. Secondly, most of you would probably have been expecting Draco, or in fact any one of the Death Eater’s children, to be here by now. The majority of these unfortunate children are in Slytherin, at the end of their sixth year, and at the correct age for Voldemort to want to start having them Initiated. This is when these children will be pressurised to join the Death Eater ranks. Some of them will have greater pressure put on them than others,” here his eyes swept across Draco, “but all of them will be facing this predicament. Draco Malfoy is here to represent some of those who have yet to make up their minds.”

Draco stood up, the sound of his chair legs scraping the floor very audible in the quiet room.

“Pressure is one way to put it,” he said tonelessly, then drew up the sleeve of his robes covering one arm to reveal the Dark Mark, crudely slashed into the flesh of his arm. Its edges were crusted with dried blood, but it was only just starting to scab over, and parts of it were still oozing plasma. The vividness of his blood and dried plasma were ugly against the stark whiteness of his skin. There was a joint intake of breath in the room as they saw it, before Draco pulled down his sleeve again.

“Last night, when I suggested to my father that I wait a few years to commit myself to the Death Eater ranks, to allow me to learn more about the Dark Arts,” his lip curled derisively, “he did this, with the Slashius compoundius charm, and then put an anti-healing charm on it. And what I, and a few Slytherin compatriots are wondering, is what sort of movement is this that would make a father do this to his own child? Despite what many of you may have suspected, my father does not abuse me.” His eyes flashed at Molly Weasley, who had often aired her opinions about this.

“He would never do this, normally. But ever since he re-joined the Death Eater ranks, he has grown more… violent. We’re not saying that we don’t agree with the principles behind it. But we feel that no one deserves to die because of what they were born, not even Mudbloods and Muggles. Most of all, though, we feel that this is not our war. We have been dragged into this because of decisions made by our parents, but we do not wish to partake in the violence. All we are seeking is asylum should we need it, somewhere to bide out our time until the war is over. So we turned to Professor Snape, who has spoken up for us to be allowed to make our own decisions with Voldemort and been punished for it, and who has always been like a father to us.” He nodded to Snape, who inclined his head in return. “And he in turn spoke to Dumbledore, who told us to come here. A few of us were apprehensive, but I offered to come alone, because I have always had implicit trust in Snape. And also because, of all of us, I am the only one whose parents have brought the most pressure to bear on. The other Death Eaters are more forgiving on their children.”

Draco turned and stared hard at each occupant of the room in turn.

“So, will you do it? Will you give us asylum, and not try to subvert us to your own cause?”

There was a short silence in the room as he sat down, before Dumbledore stood up again.

“We would like you to leave us for a while, Draco, while we confer.”

Draco got up and left the room, shutting the door silently behind him.

And suddenly the room was abuzz with conversation, everyone saying their piece to their neighbour.

They all quietened down when Dumbledore asked for silence. As always when a tricky issue was being discussed, everyone around the table had a chance to contribute to the discussion before the votes were called. Shacklebolt, on Dumbledore’s left, started first.

“It is clear that we cannot let these children continue to be forced into a decision they are unwilling to make, that we cannot allow them to be mistreated any longer. What we have to decide on, however, is on what conditions they will be granted safety.”

Everyone nodded, before the next person took their turn to speak, and the next, and the next.





Once outside, Draco tripped over an Extendable Ear Ginny had secreted under the door. She was sitting on top of the staircase, with the end of the Ear held firmly to her own, and her face screwed up in such a look of concentration that Draco wanted to sneer. Or snort, or perhaps even laugh, which he very rarely did. He managed to control his reactions, the gravity of the situation still worrying him, and sat down on the chaise in the corridor. There seemed to be several dozen snakes wriggling around in his tummy, caused by his apprehension of the result of the Order’s deliberation, the irony of which he did not appreciate. He was feeling raw and vulnerable, and he didn’t like it.

She didn’t even bother to look embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping when he came out, only wound up the Ear and kept it in her pocket, and came down the stairs to sit beside him.

After a moment of silence, he sighed long-sufferingly.

“What do you want, Weaslette?”

“I just thought you might like some company, so you won’t have to think about what’s going on in there.”

He was startled by her frank, almost unreal niceness, and was about to say so, until she grinned up at him and said, “Alright, I shan’t lie. That wasn’t the only reason; I also really wanted to see what your father did to you.”

When he stared at her disbelievingly, she snorted.

“Come on, Malfoy, did you think I really was all honey and light? I still don’t like you especially after how awfully you’ve treated us, but we may as well be civil to one another, considering you may be staying here in the future. But I may be able to do something for whatever he did, so you may as well show me.”

He looked at her before rolling up his sleeve, and watched her face carefully for a reaction. She didn’t even bat an eyelid and he felt, almost impossibly, demeaned somehow, as though she had just dismissed his injury. He felt slightly mollified, however, at her next comment.

“This is quite bad, Malfoy,” she inspected it carefully, her eyes a mere few inches away from his arm, “But the Order members coming in here have worse injuries all the time, and I get to see them because Pomfrey is training me up.”

“Training you up?” He was quite willing to be distracted; she had just whipped out her wand, and was muttering things about how best to treat it under her breath, and the feeling of her cool fingers on his skin was doing nothing to soothe the pain of the wound, aggravated by the sliding of the sleeve of his jumper over it.

“Ow!” He yelled, flinching away from her as she poked it gently. “What are you doing, you stupid chit?”

She didn’t spare him a glance, only pulled his arm back and told him to stop being such a ninny.

He wasn’t used to such straightforward treatment – usually his theatrics were entertained – so he fell silent, and watched her.

“Training me to be a Mediwitch; with the war coming, we’ll need more of them, and I’ve always wanted to be one,” she continued, answering his previous question.

She murmured something under her breath, passing her wand over the Mark, and her brows knit together when he only felt the pain increase.

“Hmm. Wait here a moment, Malfoy, and don’t move. I don’t think they’ll be done for at least another ten minutes, they always take awfully long to deliberate over things.”

She practically skipped up the stairs, and Draco watched her go, wondering a little at her willingness to help him. He supposed it came from belonging to the good side; he knew that Pansy would never find it in her to help a Weasley in a similar situation.

She was back in less than a minute, waving a bottle and a packet of what on closer inspection turned out to be powdered unicorn horn, as well as a pestle and mortar.

He watched her mix the powder and the clear liquid in the bottle together, and was only slightly startled to see the powder dissolve in the liquid to form a salve that seemed to glow, a little, in the darkness of the corridor.

“I hope that’s not alcohol, because that just produces a weak truth potion that won’t be any help in the circumstances.”

She looked up at him, startled, before grinning.

“Draco Malfoy, Potions extraordinaire. No, it’s not alcohol; it’s tears. Tears from a virgin, given willingly, mixed with unicorn’s horn produce the Essence of Purity that would banish most Dark spells. Which, of course, your father’s anti-healing charm was.”

He viewed the look of concentration on her face with considerable amusement, as she gathered all of the salve on her fingers.

When she applied it to his arm, it burned excruciatingly for a moment, and he winced in pain. But almost immediately, coolness began to seep into his arm, and the pain disappeared completely when she cast a healing charm on it.

“Mm, layered injuries are always the most satisfying to heal.”

Ginny smiled as he flexed his arm, enjoying the lack of pain at the movement.

“As much as it pains me to thank a Weaslette, thank you.” He smirked at her, and she grimaced.

“You know, I could undo that charm as easily as I…”

“No, no,” he caught her arm hastily, “I really meant it. Thank you.”

Now it was her turn to smirk.

“The great Draco Malfoy, thanking a common Weaslette?”

His retort was cut short by the dining room door swinging open, and Dumbledore requesting Draco’s presence in the room once more. The snakes in his stomach started squirming again, as he stood up.

Ginny shrugged and turned to go, giving him an unreadable look before disappearing upstairs.





They agreed to let him stay, of course, and any other Slytherins who might need to, as well.

In return, he had to follow the household rules of Number 12 Grimmauld place, which were to be specially drawn up with him in mind.

He was told that this house was nothing so much as a headquarters for the older Order members, and training camp for the younger ones. They had defence and attack training, Prep where they paired up and practiced any spells they had not yet got the hang of, duelling sessions, and sessions where they practiced their specialisations. When Draco expressed surprise, he was reminded, dryly, that this was a war. He was to participate in all these sessions except for the attack lessons, lest he turn out to be a spy, or switch sides and use his skills against them.

He would not, of course, be allowed to attend any Order meetings, and they in turn would not try to bring him around to their point of view.

And he would have to go through a weekly Veritaserum interview, to ensure that he was still as he said, impartial. Draco protested at this one, but they were adamant. The risks they were taking, allowing him to live in their headquarters, warranted this measure.

After the meeting, Lupin, Dumbledore, and Mr and Mrs Weasley sat him down in the kitchen and told him the rules.

He was not to engage in any brawls with any members of the household, or his magic privileges would be revoked. He was also to try and curb his tongue and at least try to be civil to the members of the household.

He was not to practice any Dark Magic, unless so allowed by his Defence trainer.

“And I know,” Lupin said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that Lucius must have taught you quite a bit of what he knows. Please, try to restrain yourself.”

Draco nodded, and they carried on.

He was not to keep in contact with his parents. They would allow him to send one letter to his father, but that would have to be passed to Arthur Weasley, who would send it through a post-office owl. He could, however, keep in touch with the other Slytherins through Professor Snape. He was not to owl anyone directly.

He would have to buy a whole new set of robes and clothes, but Molly would take his measurements and buy them from Madam Malkins. He was not allowed to Accio anything from the Malfoy Mansion.

He would be given his own room, which would no one would enter without prior permission from himself, but he was to extend the same courtesy of privacy to the other people living in the house.

And lastly, he was not to venture outside the house. They had discovered a room with an enchanted garden inside, and a room very much like the Hogwarts room of Requirements, after Sirius had disappeared behind the veil, and he could use those to get his fresh air. He was not allowed to set one foot outside of the front door, not even to go into the garden.

Then they showed him his room. It was near the rooms of the other kids; Ginny and Hermione were rooming together, as were Harry, Ron and Neville. His mother had stayed in his room, before she married out of the family.

Draco surveyed the Black family crest on the wall, the linen sheets, and the carved gold door handle and said nothing.

Before they left him there, Lupin pulled him aside and spoke to him.

“Draco, I would like to ask you not to Harry about his godfather. Not a word is to pass your lips, or you will get thrown out on your ear, understand? And try to remember that we’re doing this on good faith, so you had better behave yourself. I’m going to be civil to you, and try to forget that I hate your family. But Harry might not, so I suggest you keep in mind that this is now his house,”

When Draco nodded, expressionless, Lupin sighed and left.

Ginny came to call him down for lunch.

He had been lying on his bed, head pillowed on his hands, staring up at the ceiling, when he heard he knocking on the door.

“Malfoy?” she called hesitantly through the door, “It’s time for lunch.”

“You may come in, Weaslette.”

She opened the door and came in, moving to sit on the bed beside him. He turned his head to look at her.

“You’re the only one who is even pretending to like me, do you know that, Weaslette?”

“Well your family is not exactly in anyone’s good books right now. Anyway, I think I have a lot less reason to dislike you; we’re even, after the Bat-Bogey Hex, right?”

His answering smile was hollow, but she pulled him down for lunch anyway.





They had their first training session later that day. The group consisted of Neville, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Draco, who tagged along reluctantly. Neville’s grandmother, hearing about the reformation of the Order, asked them to take Neville in, to teach him how to protect himself, and also in the hope that his Herbology skills would be of use.

Moody was taking them; he was trying to teach them the counter spell to the Crucio curse.

“Right, kids,” he growled, after leading them to a huge, empty room, which Draco rather suspected used to be the Black ballroom, “Who has had the Crucio curse cast on them before?”

Harry put up his hand. Draco didn’t look at anyone as he put his up too.

There was a moment of silence.

Moody cleared his throat. “Alright. Harry, describe the sensation.”

“It’s… It’s the most awful pain you can imagine. It’s like you’re being burnt alive, except that you know that it will never end, and I doubt that any fire can produce quite that excruciating pain. It’s as though your nerves are being dragged from your skin.”

When Harry stopped, Draco finished quietly.

“And the worst of it is knowing that someone is subjecting you to this agony, that another person, another human, is feeling your pain and enjoying it.”

Everyone turned to look at him, surprised by the raw feeling in his voice, so different from its usual caustic tone.

Moody patted him on his shoulder, in an odd benediction, as he walked to the front of the ballroom and faced them.

“Who can tell me which curse has all the characteristics of the Crucio curse when it is being cast, with a very different outcome?”

Hermione answered at once. “The Torpeo Curse, sir, which just slows down your movements and thoughts.”

“Good girl. The counter spell for both of these is the Obtorpesco charm, which is typically a numbing charm used in healing. it counteracts the Crucio charm for obvious reasons, but in numbing the senses, it prevents the Torpeo curse from working by leaving it no outlet in which to affect you. When cast in defence against either of these curses, it counteracts the effect before the curse can reach you. This is a relatively difficult spell, so you will need practice. And Constant Vigilance!”

When everyone jumped, he said, “You, boy, come here.”

Draco walked to the front, the hair on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably at the feel of Harry’s glower on his back.

“When I cast the Torpeo curse, I want you to whip out your wand, and shout Obtorpesco before the curse can reach you.”

Moody already had his wand out and was shouting the curse while Draco was nodding.

“Torpeo!”

“Obtorpesco!” Draco yelled, fumbling his wand out only just in time. The two beams of light met, and the resulting white flash made all of them blink.

“Well done, boy,” Moody barked into the stunned silence, sounding like nothing so much as a drill sergeant, “Excellent! Now I want you to pair up and practice it.”

Ron and Hermione shared a glance, before Hermione walked over and asked Neville to be her partner. Ginny ended up partnering Draco, of course, which was somewhat of a relief to him.

“You can practice first,” Draco told her.

“Oh joy,” she said dryly, before taking her wand out.

They ended the session an hour later. Ginny did it on the first try; she’d already had experience with the spell in her Mediwitch training, she said. Harry took two tries, Hermione and Ron three, and poor Neville was still trying to get the hang of it.

Then they went off to their respective specialisation classes. Ginny went to Madam Pomfrey, Neville to Professor Sprouts, Harry to Dumbledore, Hermione to McGonagall and Ron, surprisingly enough, to Hagrid, to learn how to communicate with the more intelligent magical creatures.

Draco had to go to Firenze, who was to look at his aura and help him decide which area he wanted to specialise in. McGonagall would also be there, to confer with him.

He was directed to the room with the enchanted garden. A switch on the wall allowed you to choose the time of the day in the garden, and it had been flipped to ‘Night’. In as far as the eye could see, flowers and trees stretched. Draco had heard of this from his mother; she had requested his grandfather for one, and he had had it specially commissioned for her.

Firenze was waiting in a clearing nearby. There was a table spread with stones beside him.

When he saw Draco, he just motioned him over, and told him to stand still in the middle of the clearing. He began placing the stones in an intricate, five-pointed star around him, meticulously making sure of the measurements. When McGonagall came, she stood to one side, beside the table, and watched.

When the last stone was put in place, the clearing lit up.

Draco realised that he was the source of light, and that there was an outline of light against his skin. He lifted up an arm and inspected it.

It was all the colours of the rainbow, the colours playing over the surface irregularly. Green was predominant, as was copper. It extended several inches from his skin, and was so bright he had to narrow his eyes to look directly at it. There were a few patches of black, and these did not seem to move. They seemed faintly ominous to Draco.

So absorbed was he that he didn’t notice Firenze and McGonagall look at each other. McGonagall’s eyebrows were raised so high they almost disappeared into her hairline. Then she cleared her throat, and Firenze removed one of the stones, and his aura disappeared. McGonagall flipped the switch to “Dusk”, and suddenly the sun was out, almost ready to set.

“So, Draco, what would you like to specialise in? This area of specialisation will determine what kind of training you will receive, and how your talents will be put to use, should you decide to join either side.”

He considered this.

“Well, Potions, obviously. I wouldn’t mind Dark Arts, but that doesn’t seem to be the done thing around here.”

McGonagall blinked. Did Draco just make a joke? Dismissing it, she gestured for Firenze to start.

“You seem to have a talent for a great many things, young Malfoy. But, as you said, Potions would seem to be the best choice.”

Draco nodded.

“Snape is in the dungeons; I think he’s been expecting you. You may go meet him now.”

Draco left at this obvious dismissal.

McGonagall turned to Firenze. The line of worry etched into her forehead seemed a little bit deeper.

“Firenze, that boy…”

“Yes, Minerva. He has an incredible potential. So like, and yet incredibly different from Potter. One wonders how great a wizard he could be, if he put his mind to it.”

They stare at one another for a while, and the unspoken question of whether this potential will be turned to right or wrong remains unvoiced.





Dinner, like lunch, was a very tense affair. Draco, sitting in between Molly and Shacklebolt, remained silent, and listened to the conversations around him.

From what he could gather, the Order was still secret. Fudge was organising an official force to battle Voldemort, but the Order stood alone. The Order members came as often as they could for meals, while the Hogwarts professors stayed at Grimmauld place, seeing as it was the holidays now. Dumbledore, too, stayed there, but he rarely tutored the young Order members.

Draco ate quickly and left his plate in the sink, before retiring to his room. He sat at the desk in one corner of the room, and opened several drawers before he found quills and parchment.

He composed a quick letter to Pansy and Blaise, then left his room and padded to the garden room, only getting lost once.

The switch had been flipped to night again, and he sat down on the patch of grass flanked by midnight black rosebushes, and listened to the owl hoots. The ceiling had been charmed to reflect the sky, so he lay back and watched the moon, heedless of the dew on the grass.

An hour or so later, he heard the door whisper open, footsteps drawing closer.

“I thought you’d be here,” Ginny said.

“Weaslette.” It wasn’t a command, or a exclamation, or even a question. It was, quite simply, a statement.

She flopped down beside him, bonelessly and gracelessly.

They lay there for a while, each immersed in their own thoughts.

“Malfoy, what are you thinking about?” Her voice, when it came, was slightly sleepy.

“Things. Life.”

“Hmm.”

“My father.”

She rolled over to face him. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, moonlight reflected liquidly in her eyes.

“Draco,” she began, “Was it… Was it him? The Crucio curse?”

He didn’t answer for a while.

“When… When he first re-joined Voldemort’s ranks, Voldemort told him that he wanted to meet me. So my father brought me to him. And Voldemort took one look at me and said that I could be… useful to them, and he would deign to relax the age limit for Initiation. But my father said I wasn’t worthy, said that I should wait. I think he was trying to protect me.”

He turned on his side to face her properly.

“I think Voldemort sensed that, too. So he reminded my father that his allegiance belonged to Voldemort first, and ordered him to Crucio me.”

He stopped, and they listened to the liquid notes of a bird’s call.

“He did it, of course. But I could sense that at first, he didn’t want to. But then he started getting lost in the power of it, and after that I was just another person to him.”

He swallowed, hard, and closed his eyes.

Ginny lay there and marvelled that this boy, this boy who had gone through so much more than any of them, even Harry, had, could still look so normal.

Then she looked at the way the moon outlined his cheekbones and cast shadows under his eyelashes, and bleached his hair silvery-white, and decided that normal was not an apt description, after all.

She felt an indescribable feeling welling up in her chest, and suddenly had an inexplicable urge to reach out and smooth his hair, cup his cheek.

But then she saw something slide out from under his eyelashes, and suddenly she was hugging him, cradling his head in her arms as tears trickled down his face and sobs wracked his body.

He drew away from her after a while. She couldn’t tell he’d been crying, except from the damp patch on her robes, and it was obvious that he wanted it that way, for he didn’t say anything, just turned back to stare at the sky.

She did the same, and a while later, when his hand found hers and gripped it tightly, she didn’t say anything either.

They returned to their rooms when they heard a clock strike four, somewhere in the distance. By some tacit agreement, they kept silent, parting ways at their doors with small smiles. He’d held her hand all the way back.






Breakfast the next morning was a sombre affair. Molly had come to wake all of them up at six, spouting what Draco felt was rot about rising early being good for your brain. Also, apparently, an emergency Order meeting had just been called, and Molly had felt that Draco might as well get up with the rest of them.

He ate his muesli, watching his spoon blearily. Harry, Hermione and Ron were having breakfast with the rest of the Order members in the dining room, so he was in the kitchen. Ginny hadn’t come down yet.

The door to the dining room opened, and suddenly everyone was spilling out. All of them seemed to be hiding excitement and hope that hadn’t been there previously, and Harry almost seemed to be glowing. He stopped by Draco, on his way back upstairs, and extended a hand.

“I’m sorry I was so rude to you yesterday,” he apologised stiffly, “I’ll try to be civil to you in the future.”

Draco took his hand gingerly, and shook it, half expecting rashes to suddenly spring up on his palm. To his surprise, and somewhat disappointment, nothing happened. Then Harry bounded up the stairs, still cheery in a way Draco felt should be banned before eleven o’clock in the morning.

Harry met Ginny on his way up, and picked her up and swung her around, laughing. Hermione and Ron watched indulgently from the top of the stairs. Ginny looked surprised, but smiled at him, before being set down and continuing down the stairs.

Harry disappeared upstairs in a flurry of happiness, and Ginny sat down at the breakfast table opposite Draco.

“What’s gotten into him?” She enquired, looking curious.

“I wouldn’t know. Not allowed into Order meetings, am I?”

“Hmm. Haven’t seen him this happy since Sirius…” She trailed off, and both of them looked embarrassed for a minute.

Snape broke away from the group of Order members discussing things in the hallway, and sat down at the table. He leaned over and said something to Draco, speaking low and urgently.

Ginny watched as Draco turned pale and nodded. Snape squeezed his shoulder and left.

“Malfoy, what did he say?”

“He said that the truth potion interview is to be at nine today. In two and a half hours time.”

“But you don’t have anything to be afraid of, right? I mean, you’re not a spy or anything?” She tried not to watch his reaction closely.

“How would you like it to have someone rummaging through the contents of your brain?” he snapped, before shaking his head ruefully.

“Sorry, I’m a bit testy. I haven’t bathed in two days, and I didn’t sleep well last night.” They shared a secret smile at that, but Molly Weasley bulldozing onto the scene broke the moment, shattered it into dozens of tiny pieces. They quickly looked away as she sat down.

“Draco, your new robes and things are here. They’re in the hallway, you should go try them out. Then after that you can have your bath.”

He nodded and left.

Molly turned to Ginny.

“I’m glad you’re being nice to him, Ginny.” Molly said comfortably, “He really needs your healing touch now, the poor dear.”

‘You have no idea,’ thought Ginny as she sipped her orange juice.






Afterward, Draco couldn’t remember anything of the interview after he downed the Veritaserum, which was, in fact, the way it was supposed to go. He only knew that as he left the room, Snape and Dumbledore, the only two people who were present, gave each other grim looks.

It was supposed to be Prep now, but he didn’t have anything to practice. Last night, Snape only had him brew simple healing potions, probably for any Order members who might have gotten injured, so he didn’t have anything to do.

On his way back to his room, Ginny pounced on him.

“Malfoy!” She jumped on him and tugged his arm as he turned to look at her.

“Quick, let’s go to the library. Quick!”

She dragged him the short distance down the corridors to the Black Family Library, a huge room filled with books from wall to ceiling. Most of the books had dark curses on them, keyed to affect anyone who was not of Black lineage who tried to remove them from the shelves.

Lupin, Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already there, and they looked up as Ginny and Draco dragged up chairs.

“Dumbledore has given me the permission to reveal this information to you.” Lupin glanced around at them. “We may have found a way to bring Sirius back behind the veil.”

Draco felt Harry quiver beside him, and looking at Lupin, he saw that even he was radiant.

“While Tonks was going through some books in the Auror Library, she found references to the veil in a few ancient tomes. They were, however, only quotes from far more ancient texts that they did not have in the library. But what she managed to glean was that it was indeed a gateway to the spirit world, and that it was not meant be a portal through which people could pass. And she found references to a spell, one which could bring back people who went through the veil directly instead of dying. That world rejects anyone who does not inherently belong there, you see, and no corporeal things were meant to pass through the veil. But it does not have enough power to expel Sirius, so we have to help it along with this spell.”

“And that,” he finished, turning to Draco, “Is why we need you so expressly. The wards are keyed to you and Tonks, but she is unable to be here at the moment.”

“Alright. So you need me to get these books for you, is that it?”

All of them nodded, and when Draco turned to Harry, he saw the look of pleading in his eyes.

“Fine,” he sighed, “Which books?”





They had duelling class after that. He partnered Ginny, as a matter of course, and it was never decided who won that duel. They both got hit, him with a Cheering Charm that had him grinning insanely for the next hour until he stopped laughing hard enough to choke out the counter spell, and she with a Tantellegra that made her exercise more than she’d had the whole week, she said.

They learnt curse breaking in the defence class that afternoon. They were each presented with two boxes, with different curses cast on them, and told to open them. One had Dark curses, and the other Light.

Draco undid his Dark box in five minutes flat, but the Light box took him well over fifteen minutes.

Harry undid his Light one in ten minutes, and his Dark one in fifteen.

Ginny undid both of hers in under twenty minutes, Hermione got stuck at her Dark one, and got squid-ink squirted in her eye (the usual liquid was corrosive poison, but the spell was modified), Neville managed to do his after half an hour each, surprisingly enough and Ron got stuck at both of his and got a slight burn on his fingers as well as a Levitation Charm cast on him (both, again, modified curses).

Snape had him brew a complex potion tonight; he was told to brew Veritaserum. It would take a week, so would be an on-going project.

That night, he went to the garden again.

Ginny was already there, her dressing gown pulled tightly around her. Draco had brought a spare blanket from his room, so they spread it out on the grass and lay on it.

“You know,” he said conversationally, “I’ve always hated Potter not because he beat me in Quidditch, or seemed to have better friends, but because he rejected my friendship, on that first day on the train.”

She laughed.

“Malfoy, that’s what Harry does. He always has everything already, he doesn’t need anyone else.”

He wasn’t surprised by the slight tone of bitterness in her voice.

“Not that I still like him, or anything,” she added hastily, “It’s just that… Being rejected for the first time? Being rejected by the only person you’ve ever offered part of yourself to? It’s something that you don’t forget easily.”

He understood.

“Odd that for both of us, it was Potter.”

They grin at each other, then burst out laughing.

“You know, in your first year? The diary?”

She stiffened slightly, then nodded, even though she knew he wasn’t looking at her.

“I didn’t know about it. I just thought you should know.”

“Of course.” She said quietly.

“I never thought you did.”

They lay there, fingers intertwined, as the stars wheeled in the enchanted sky above them.






“Damn it!” Draco yelled as the curtains in his room were pulled back the next morning, exposing him to the morning light.

“It’s time to get up, you arse,” Ginny said affectionately, “Dumbledore has something to tell us.”

He muttered quiet obscenities under his breath as he got up and changed.

He all but fell down the stairs, only the famed Malfoy grace saving him from breaking his neck.

Dumbledore looked up at the sound of him swearing to himself as he thumped down the stairs, and Twinkled His Eyes.

Draco hated it when Dumbledore Twinkled His Eyes. It always seemed to herald a bout of especial paternal cheerfulness.

He was proven correct when Dumbledore patted him cheerily on the back.

“Had a rough night, Draco?”

Draco grunted. Narcissa would have thumped him for his impertinence, but she wasn’t here.

“Well, Young Members of the Order,” another thing Draco hated was Dumbledore’s habit of capitalizing everything, “I, and your tutors, have decided, in light of recent events, to cancel all your lessons before lunch, and allow you to research in the library. There appears to be a time limit of two years a year to get Sirius out, so we only have about eight months left. The relevant books are on the library tables, so enjoy.”

He Twinkled His Eyes as he left.

And that was how their days went for the next two weeks; they’d get up, usually at what Draco considered an unholy hour, have their breakfast, then start researching. They’d have lunch, practice their spells, and learn their area of specialisation.

They all became good enough to rival their teachers on a bad day, except for perhaps Harry and Dumbledore, which would be nearly impossible. Draco defeated Harry once at duelling class, until the next lesson, where Harry thrashed him soundly.

He actually managed to compliment Neville on his Herbology skills once. All right, perhaps it was more a double-edged insult, but it was still to be considered a marked difference.

At night, Ginny continued the slow process of healing Draco Malfoy. They started to go back to their rooms earlier and earlier every night, Draco needing less and less comfort to keep him going.






Then everything changed, a fortnight later.

They’d gotten up as usual, Ginny waking Draco up by the simple expedient of jumping on him, then they went downstairs. As they filed into the dining room to have their breakfasts, Snape handed Draco a letter.

It was from Blaise and Pansy, and held a wealth of information for so few lines.

Darling Draco,

All of us are well, and will probably continue to be so for another one or two months, at least.
Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle have decided what colour robes to buy for the Leaving Ball. They all chose black.

Love,
Pansy and Blaise

Ginny looked worriedly after him when Draco pushed his chair back and strode jerkily out of the room, but she didn’t say anything, just finished her breakfast and brought his dish to the sink, then went to his room.

She knew he wouldn’t be in the garden; he had told her, several nights ago, that ever since his mother had told him about the garden, when he was snuggled in her lap, he’d always considered a place that represented purity, that represented love; his grandfather had built it specially for his mother, for her birthday, and it had required a large amount of his reserves of magic. He wouldn’t go straight there if he was feeling horrible.

She didn’t knock, just went straight into his room and over to where he was sitting on the floor, pillowing his head on his arms at the foot of his bed.

She knelt down and wrapped her arms around him, but when he raised his head, she saw he wasn’t crying.

“I think you should go.” His voice was raspy.

She drew back, startled.

“What? Why?”

“It’s… not a good idea to associate with me.”

His eyes flashed ire when she almost laughed, but then she smoothed a hand over his hair and leaned in close and whispered, “I think you’re one of the best things that’s happened to this house.”

He smiled, wanly, then got up and walked her to the library.

He had a few words with Snape once they were there, then the both of them left, with Draco throwing a hollow smile at her over his shoulder as he closed the door.

She next saw him at dinner. She had arrived early, exhausted after a full day of researching in the library and practicing spells, to find him sitting alone at the dining table, running his fingers over the grain of the oak mulishly.

“So should I enquire as to what happened or should I keep my mouth shut and classify it as one of those Things Of Which We Do Not Speak?”

“Pansy and the others are safe, for now. But Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle became Death Eaters. I’d been trying to convince them not to, and they were just beginning to come round, but then I left, and I suppose that must have scared them into agreeing.”

She started to reach across the table for his hand, but he snatched it away.

“It’s always like this!” he started yelling, “Don’t you see? If I had put up with my father for one or two more weeks, I could have convinced them not to waste their lives! Just because I was a fucking coward, that’s three of them, gone!”

He slammed his fist into the table, and didn’t even flinch when they both heard the audible crack.

“I’m so bloody fucked up! I’m so bloody unreliable that I can’t even stick around long enough to finish convincing them not to commit suicide. I’m trying to save them, but I can’t even save myself! Look at me,” he finished bitterly, “Stuck in a house full of people who hate me, who wouldn’t be in the same room as me given half a choice.”

“I don’t hate you,” she said quietly, but her voice seemed somehow louder than his yells not a moment ago.

“Right, Weaslette. You don’t hate me. You can just barely tolerate my presence. You still call me by my fucking surname, for Merlin’s sakes!”

She had been healing his hand while he was speaking, when she was done, she let go, and it fell limply onto the table between them.

“No, Draco, I don’t just tolerate your presence.” Her voice grew steadily softer, so that at the end she was just whispering to her hands and he had to lean in and strain to catch her words. “I… I rather like you.”

She looked up, to see him leaning across to table. She sucked in a breath at the sight of his mouth, so close to hers, and suddenly the world shrank to the both of them, just there.

They stared at one another, and afterwards they could be sure who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, lips pressing against each other softly, and yet with an intensity that neither of them had felt before.

His hands came up to caress her back as hers went up to stroke his hair, but then suddenly they heard footsteps on the corridor outside and they tore themselves apart, not a moment too soon.

“Ah, Ginny, I’ve been looking all over for you. You’re needed in the library.”

Bill Weasley flashed her a cheery grin, and she smiled back, before rushing out the door, throwing one last look at Draco.

For a moment neither of the men in the room moved, then Bill sighed heavily and sat down.

“I’m not a fool, Malfoy.”

Draco studied his hands and said nothing.

“I’m not going to interfere. What’s going on is between the both of you, and shouldn’t concern anyone else. My sister has enough people trying to manage her life without me adding my two cents worth as well. But I want you to know something, Malfoy.” Bill leaned across the table, and the utter seriousness in his voice made Draco look up.

“You could be in it for two things. You could want to use her, and break her heart, and leave. But I still won’t stick my oar in, because some things about the world have to be learnt on their own.”

When Draco opened his mouth to tell him that it really wasn’t like that at all, Bill put up his hand.

“Shush. I’m not finished. I don’t want you to say anything, I’ll spare you that; I just want you to hear what I have to say and think about it.” When Draco nodded, slowly, he went on.

“But if you really like her, perhaps even love her, which I doubt, considering how young both of you are and how little I think you know each other, then you might want to consider something. How much do you have of yourself to offer her? Or not even how much of yourself; how happy do you think my sister will be with you, really?”

“I know what’s been building up between you; I’ve been watching the two of you, so I don’t think you want to use her. I don’t really think you’re a bad sort, at all. Perhaps, in different circumstances, you’d be perfect. But in troubled times such as these, reliability counts for something. She might change you; I don’t know anything, really. But you might want to think over what I said.”

He got up to leave.

“Sorry, mate. I know you have enough on your plate at the moment, but this concerns someone other than yourself. Just remember that whatever the decision is, it’s yours, and you are the one who will have to bear the consequences, no matter what they are.”

He clapped Draco on the back, and left.

That night, he didn’t meet Ginny in the garden room.

What he had told her was true; he’d always felt that the sanctity of the room shouldn’t be defiled by anything unpleasant, and what he was to do would certainly count as that.

Instead, he waited for her outside her room, after everyone else had gone to bed.

His head had just hit his chest for the seventh time that night when she came back, wrapped in a blanket and furious. He quickly scrambled up from where he was slumped against the wall and pulled her into his room, casting a quick Silencing Charm in cast she let loose the famous Weasley temper.

She did.

“Damn it, Draco, I waited three hours for you! Where the hell were you?”

It didn’t escape him how naturally his name rolled off her tongue.

“I was waiting for you here.”

“What bloody possessed you to?” Then her face changed, suddenly. “Is it because of… is it because of what happened in the dining room today? When we… when we…”

“Kissed?” he finished for her; she was flushing a dark shade of red and he thought she would never be able to bring herself to say it.

“Yes. Right. That.”

“Well, you could say it’s because of that,” he started, but then she cut him off.

“Oh god! Am I that bad a kisser? Oh Merlin, no one said anything before.”

He resisted the urge to laugh, sorrowfully, as she sat down on the bed with a thump, utterly deflated.

“No, Ginny, it’s not about that.”

He forced her name out with much less effort than he’d thought it’d take.

“Then why?”

He looked at her sitting on his bed, cheeks still flushed with a residue of red, and felt something inside him threaten to break as he made himself do it.

“I don’t think this, us, can work, Ginny.”

She looked at him steadily, and he sat down on the bed beside her and tried to avoid looking at her.

“I don’t have anything to offer you, Ginny. I have enough problems of my own without burdening you with them.”

“Haven’t you realised that you already have? What do you think you are doing every night when we talk? But it’s a much easier burden for two to carry.” This last was whispered into his ear, and he flushed at the feeling of her breath on his ear. He gently pushed her away.

“But you don’t want me. I’m unreliable, and I can’t be trusted, and I’m a bugger who’ll run away any chance he has.”

“Bollocks!”

“You really don’t want me!” he said desperately, “You want someone like Michael Corner, or Potter!”

She drew back and looked displeased.

“Don’t you tell me what I want or don’t want, Draco Malfoy! I know your insecurities, and your flaws are, and I still… like you. You don’t have to protect me; isn’t it my choice to make?”

“Don’t you get it?” She moved closer to him, speaking softly, warm breath fanning across his shoulder. “I know you, Draco, and I know what I’m getting into.”

He was about to kiss her, lost in the moment, until she pulled back and spoke sharply.

“Unless, of course, it’s me you don’t want.”

He snorted at that, dismissing the notion at once, and leaned in and pressed their lips together, and suddenly everything was okay. They’d get through this together.