Ginny tossed and turned in her sleep.

The cracks of multiple Apparations were all around them, interrupting their conversation and their birthday lunch date, when Luna Lovegood suddenly turned to her and said, "I always wanted to be Ginny Weasley, you know – even if it was just for a bit."

Ginny wanted to ask Luna what in the world she thought important enough to go nattering on about now, but she didn't have time. The Death Eaters were there, and they were dueling crazily in the middle of nearly abandoned Hogsmeade against the group that outnumbered the pair of would be Sixth year girls three to one. Ginny scrambled through the rain of spells towards Luna. Ron might have been the strategic genius in the family, but Ginny had more than enough sense to realize that the closer to back-to-back she and Luna could be, the better.

In the midst of the spells flying around her, them, Ginny didn't even notice the first spell out of her friend's wand was aimed at her. She had felt a bit tingly and her sense of balance was thrown a little out of whack, but Ginny attributed those should-have-been tells to catching the tail end of a jinx whizzing by her on her tear towards Luna.

Luna laid waste to one of the group, shouting a spell that had him ambling away dreamily. Ginny caught another in the gut with a stunner that sent him flying backwards through the air. She nearly fainted in relief when a spell from one of the remaining Death Eaters caught her shoulder but seemed to be ineffective. It was only after they were separated, forced apart by a cleverly placed spell that necessitated the leap away from each other, that the Death Eaters managed to fell Luna. They gathered Luna up, and Ginny instinctively rushed them. They would wish that they had not forced her to abandon her curses in favor of physically attacking them.

She came close, but when she leapt towards the closest of them, she hit a wall. An invisible boundary, something akin to Dumbledore's Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. It hurtled her halfway across the street, and she landed painfully on her back, eyes closed and gasping for breath as she waited for one of them to come finish her off from the vulnerable position she'd left herself in. It was only when she opened her eyes that Ginny realized the hair in her face was a dirty blonde, and not the coppery red she was so used to.

"Luna!” Ginny screamed, but they were gone. They Disapparated in front of her, Luna-Ginny slung over one of their shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Ginny didn't stop screaming, not until long after Fred and George found her.

She'd been in such a state when she flung herself into bed that she forgot to put the silencing charms up around her room. Otherwise, none of it would have happened. Well, Fred and George might still have woken up, because the re-charming was part of their nightly routine, but Draco, at least, might have had some hope for escaping his own dreams.




She was screaming and screaming and screaming. He knew it was a dream, even as he slept, but her screams echoed in his head and in his ears. She was screaming, and that red hair fanned across the ground as Bellatrix and his father cast the Cruciatus again and again. His heart plummeted as he watched, helpless. He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

Her back arched up off the ground as she contorted in pain. His stomach rolled; he didn't have a choice. He'd never had a choice.

"Enough!” Voldemort roared as he strode into the room. "Did you have my permission to torture her?"

The question was phrased dangerously, a father extracting a confession from his child. Draco vividly recalled similar questionings with his own father, and he thought that had the Dark Lord still had eyebrows – or even anything resembling them – one would have been arched in a very imposing manner. Somehow, though, Lord Voldemort did not need them to look as intimidating, or as furious, as he was at that moment.

"She's a Blood Traitor, my Lord," Bellatrix replied, almost flippantly, but with just enough reverence to avoid the majority of any wrath her boldness might bring upon her.

"Was she your Blood Traitor, Bella?" the Dark Lord asked, sneering out his most favored Death Eater's name. "Did you order her capture for your express purposes? Do you have the authority to order the capture of a Blood Traitor for your own amusement?"

"No, my Lord," Draco's aunt mumbled.

 Despite the fact that her hood was up and her head was down, Draco knew that even though her voice dripped sincere apologetics, she was furious at the reprimand. Her face contorted into a fierce snarl the moment the Dark Lord turned his back to her. Her fun had been interrupted; she was not pleased.

"Precisely." Voldemort paused, and what once might have passed for a contented smile flitted across his grotesque face. "Crucio." The curse rolled off his tongue elegantly, almost a caress, and Bellatrix Lestrange joined the now panting redhead on the floor. She, however, bore her punishment silently, a twisted smile upon her face.

What his aunt had not learned, Draco thought with disgust, was that not all attention was better than no attention. She reveled in anything that set her apart, even if it was something derogatory to her nature. But her love of the punishment was also one of the reasons she was so favored by the Dark Lord, and wild rumors circulated that he often sent for her privately for that very same reason. It was the first time Draco paid those rumors any mind.

When he'd finished amusing himself with Bellatrix, who in her punishment never uttered anything other than a disturbingly breathy sigh, the Dark Lord turned to Ginny. "Help her to her feet, boy," he barked at Draco.

Draco obeyed, schooling his face and his thoughts to careful blankness as he crossed the room. He flinched when she recoiled away from his touch. He thought it odd, she'd never shown such weakness before, but paid her flinch no serious attention because even her willful spirit should have been broken under the Cruciatus by now. When he removed his hands from her she nearly fell, and at a glare from the Dark Lord he remained behind her, steadying her and supporting the majority of her weight as the Dark Lord circled them, appraising her.

"I've missed you, my Ginevra," he hissed.

She didn't respond, only stared straight ahead.

"Didn't you miss me? Didn't you miss Tom?"

That wasn't right. It couldn't have been right, because the whole lot of Weasleys were firmly entrenched on Dumbledore's side. Potter's side. The Dark Lord was a damned fool. Moreover, who the hell was Tom?

Her eyes flashed, but not with fire. No, they were different. More knowledgeable, more understanding somehow. "Tom Riddle died the night you made that diary. That diary is not, was not, Tom Riddle. It was you."

Her voice was contemptuous, but Voldemort only laughed.

"It was pathetic, really. You couldn't even manage to possess a little, helpless, First Year girl with no friends." She shook her head. "I would have expected more from the Dark Lord."

She spat his title out of her mouth as if it tasted foul, and then she smiled at him. Other than that though, the whole spiel had been calm – entirely too calm to have come from a Weasley, especially the Weaslette, if you'd asked Draco. The girl talked as if she understood much more than they ever would, and that she thought that was very sad.

"But then, I'm just a silly, little, girl." She stood on her own then and met Voldemort's eye.

Draco didn't know what passed between them in that look, but then he really didn't have time to ponder it as Voldemort suddenly backed away from her. A look of rage crossed his features, and Draco had half a mind to flee. The look on his face now made his earlier expression seem doting.

"Crucio!" he bellowed, and the girl screamed.

"Unghf!” Draco grunted as something collided into him, knocking the wind out of him. His eyes shot open, but he couldn't make anything out in the pitch black. He scrambled for his wand, trying to get his bearings at the same time. Had he fallen asleep in the hall? On the floor?

His nose crinkled involuntarily. How plebian. Of course, his self-loathing was cut short when he realized the screaming form his dream had not stopped – though he was now very much awake.

"George! She's put some sort of spell on her door," Fred called across the hall. It seemed that his accidental kick to Draco's gut hadn't hindered his progress to Ginny's room at all.

Draco had begun to stand when more footsteps came thundering around the corner. He tried to get out of the way, but by moving blindly about, he really got more in the way. And so in a tangle of legs and curses, Draco cushioned the other Weasley twin's fall to the floor in the middle of the hallway.

The Weasleys were clods. The whole ragtag lot of them. And the Mudblood too.

"Fucking hell! Move, Malfoy, before she wakes Mum," George spat as he untangled his legs from Draco's, pushing the blond back to the floor as he stood.

The screams didn't waver as the twins tried every unlocking, unsealing, and unsticking charm they knew on the door.

It lasted for almost thirty seconds before Draco couldn't take it any more. "Reducto!"

Fred took two steps inside the room and cast a silencing spell before hurrying back out of the room and preparing to Reparo the door.

"That's it? You can't be serious." Draco was appalled. "You're just, just silencing her? You aren't even going to see what's wrong?" he asked in the once again noiseless hall.

"You think I'm happy about it? She doesn't like being woken up. That's how I got this." Fred pointed to scar across his eyebrow.

"I don't give a damn whether she likes being woken up or not. You can't leave her like that! Look at her!" He flung his arm out in her direction. And they called him heartless? Stupid Gryffindors. Noble his arse.

"From the mouth of the one who probably caused her nightmare. Classy, Malfoy," George snarled back.

It wasn't as if they enjoyed leaving their sister to her nightmares. He didn't like it at all, and he especially didn't like that for once, they'd been unable to come up with any kind of solution to the problem. They could turn her into a canary, give her a fever, or make her puke up her guts for a week, but they couldn't find any way to soothe her dreams. On top of that, he really didn't need to be reminded of it – least of all by a Malfoy. "If you have an idea, well then you bloody well give it a go."

Draco stared at the twins for a moment, face stoic, fists clenched at his sides as he stood there. So much for Gryffindoric bravery. One bad experience and they wanted to call it quits. He opened his mouth and almost hesitated.

"Fine."

It was tight, clipped, and not what he had planned to say at all. He swallowed and took a step into her room. When nothing exploded and no curses were hurled in his general direction, he let out the breath he'd been holding and took another step.

"What do you think you're doing?” Fred hissed from the doorway.

Draco really had no idea, but he couldn't very well say that – not to them. "What you won't," he hissed back instead, taking another cautious step forward.

She tossed and turned in the bed, and her hair fanned out behind her on the pillow. Draco paused and took a step back. Perhaps the worst was over. Then she started trembling. Her mouth opened in a silent howl, her legs curled up, and she looked impossibly small. Once again, before he really knew what he was doing, Draco was up in the bed with her.

He gritted his teeth as he stretched out beside her and pulled her into him, brain flying faster than the speed of light but making no real progress in sorting through his thoughts. Slytherins were not impulsive. Or at least, the good ones weren't. So, what was his plan? He simply hadn't gotten that far yet.

She rolled into his arms the moment he reached for her, and he wondered both what that was about and what to do with her now that she was there. She buried her face in his sweatered chest, clinging to him tightly, and sobbed.

Draco had no more idea how to react to that than he did her casual acceptance of his growing up with Death Eaters for parents. Yes, his mother had held him when he was little, but the older he got the smaller the gestures became. The brushing of a stray hair out of his face when he was harried and stressed under Voldemort's impossible mission communicated her concern and soothed his mind. A small squeeze of his hand before she released it was the same as – if not more than – a peck on the cheek. Always they were tiny, casual gestures that would need careful scrutiny in order to see the meaning behind them.

But this, this was entirely different. Ginny Weasley was certainly not his mother, for one thing, and more than that, the tentative friendship he'd so callously attacked earlier in the evening would not allow such small gestures to be correctly interpreted. Or at least, not at this point.

He had patted the back of Pansy's hand that time she'd cried in the common room because someone had called her Pug Nose to her face. But this was different than that too. Ginny clinging bodily to him was different – more desperate, more direct – than anything he'd ever encountered. Slytherins, male and female, would die before allowing a peer to outwardly comfort them – much less cling to someone, especially in the sight of others. His hand patting had been the talk of the common room for weeks; Pansy almost hadn't forgiven him for it.

He didn't know how to deal with Gryffindoric emotion like this. He was in over his head.

However, he had learned how to think on his feet, and he did have a general idea of where to start. Surely putting together some semblance of the right reaction couldn't be all that hard. At the very least, anything – even the wrong thing – was better than leaving her to her nightmares as those oafs she called brothers were wont to do. Draco assessed the situation.

She clung to him like she would be ripped away if she didn't hold on, so logically, she would feel better if she felt grounded, secured somehow. Draco wrapped his arms around her. One of his hands found its way to the flame waves, and he carefully combed his fingers through the fire. The other hand held her steady as she shook against him, and he made what he imagined soothing noises would sound like in her ear.

"What do you think –" Fred started, striding into the room to haul Malfoy bodily out of his sister's bed. Then, preferably, beat the presumptuous ferret into a bloody pulp.

George grabbed Fred's shoulder, surprising – how rarely that happened – his brother into a moment of silence and stilling his strides toward the bed. "Wait," he said quietly.

Fred turned on him. "Wait?" he hissed. "Have you gone mad?"

"Look," George replied, nodding in the direction of the pair on the bed. George pointed his wand at Ginny and removed the silencing spell.

Her hair mesmerized him. So much red. Not orange like her brothers' – but a vibrant, coppery red. There were little strands of gold woven through it; they caught the light of the candles as his fingers passed through the mane.

He was startled to realize that he could hear her sobs; he hadn't expected to lose track of everything except the sight of her bright hair against his pale fingers. Then again, she'd always had a way of shattering his expectations of her. The Bat Bogey Incident was only the beginning of the list he'd formed in his mind. He didn't pause his version of soothing noises even as he looked at the twins in the doorway. George raised his chin in acknowledgment.

"Luna, they took Luna," she whispered into his shoulder, clutching him tighter. "She knew what they wanted, and she switched us, and they took her instead."

She switched us. The words echoed in his ears. He always had known his sins would come back to haunt him. "It's all right," he murmured back, at complete loss for anything else.

"No, no, no." She shook her head against him as she spoke. "She knew. I let them take her – I could have, I should have –" She didn't know what she could have or should have done. What she did know was that she hadn't done it, and that hurt more than not knowing. Ginny drew a great, wracking breath.

"You couldn't. They put a repelling spell on her." Draco frowned. He should have known the moment she had bombarded them that the girl they had was not Ginny Weasley. "They put a repelling charm on you. That's why you were tossed backwards. You couldn't have gotten close at all. Any spell would have backfired on you."

She cried harder. "We shouldn't have been in Hogsmeade. Mum tried to stop me, but I insisted. It was my birthday."

"It's not your fault," Draco whispered desperately. "It's not your fault."

"But they wanted me. If it weren't for me-" She fell quiet.

Draco didn't have an argument for that, and so he reverted to his soothing noises. When her breaths came steadily again, in warm puffs of air that sent chills down his spine to his very core, he laid her back on the mattress and pulled the comforter up to her chin. The room must have gotten colder.

Draco brushed past Fred and George, who were still standing just inside the doorway gaping at him, without sparing them a glance. He needed to think. To sleep. To – to something other than be there.

Fred pulled George out of the room behind him after they'd checked that Ginny was indeed sleeping peacefully. "She's sleeping," he said incredulously.

"Without waking the dead," George deadpanned.

"How'd he do it? If it was anything dark…” Fred trailed off as they approached the stairs.

They reflected on that thought in silence as they padded towards the kitchen.

"I don't care," George suddenly stated, waving his wand to light the kitchen. "Despite what they rest of them think, dark has more to do with intent than anything else. You know as well as I do that half our inventory is dark by Ministry standards."

Fred nodded. Malfoy hadn't intended anything remotely dark or evil towards their sister. That was what worried him. "I don't know whether to thank him –" The twins shared a look and shuddered. "Or to hex the tosser for doing in twenty minutes what we've been working on for the better part of two years."

George summoned the container of biscuits their mum kept hidden on the top shelf of the pantry while Fred summoned pumpkin juice and cups.

"This one was about Luna," George announced gravely, once they'd served themselves and sat at the kitchen table. He couldn't keep it to himself any longer.

Fred choked on his cookie.




He only barely resisted shaking the hysterical blonde girl in front of him. They were the only ones who'd been able to get there, and they had no idea how to handle this situation effectively. Especially since it was Luna, sans Ginny, that had raised the alarm. All he knew was the Death Eaters must have taken Ginny and this had taken entirely too long already. "Luna. Luna, look at me! You have got to tell us what happened. Right now!"

She shrieked something in his ear in return, and it came out so high pitched and mangled by gasps and sobs that it was completely unintelligible. She continued shrieking and gesturing wildly.

George stopped his harried pacing to round on her, bending down and taking her chin roughly in his hands. "Listen to me, you twit! They have Ginny! Unless you provide some useful information right this minute, I'll hex you to Hell and back," he snarled.

That had irritated their witness into coherency. "I. Am. Not. Luna," she ground out. "Cast a Finite on me, please!"

"We don't have time to play daft games!"

"I am not playing a game! If you would shut up for more than a second at a time, I would be happy to tell you what happened, George Weasley! And let go of me!" She jerked her shoulder out of Fred's grasp.

Fred hadn't noticed her correct identification of them, and if George had, he never mentioned it.

She walked them through the whole duel as completely as she could – ignoring how they rolled their eyes when she insisted that Luna must have cast some sort of switching spell to cause their inverted appearances. When she got to the part about the Death Eater 'Luna' had sent wandering away – probably under a Confundus – they'd jumped into action. To their annoyance, she called out after them, "Hurry, please hurry. She can't have much longer before they find out that she's not me – Ginny."

Fred lost what little self-control remained when neither the Death Eater she claimed she had stunned nor the one that "Luna" had sent ambling away could be found. They had wasted an hour searching, and they still had no idea what had happened to Ginny.

Luna, wringing her hands and pacing in front of the store where she was supposed to have lunch with Ginny, immediately became a target. As far as he was concerned, the reason they knew so little was her fault.

"Fred, did you find them? Please tell me you found them! We have to find her before they realize she's not me!” Luna cried.

"And who else would she be besides Ginny – my sister! A Crumple Toed Snorkhack? Or some other nonexistent creature that you're convinced is real? In Ginny's form, no less." The girl's already large eyes grew even larger. "We don't have time for your non-"

Stringy blonde hair filled out and began to curl as it rapidly ran through the colors between blonde and dark red. Buggy, blue eyes morphed into big, chocolate orbs. Freckles appeared, muscles filled out a bit. Her legs lengthened, and her bottom lip plumped out.

"Fuck."

Ginny's eyes grew in surprise at the transformation back into herself. Tears welled as she realized what made it happen. If Luna, or someone else, had broken the spell, the transformation would have been instantaneous. But the metamorphoses could only have come from the slow slipping away of magic. Luna was dead.

She flew at Fred as she made the realization, hitting and slapping at him in rage. He let her hit him for a moment, before grabbing her arms and pulling her close to him.

"Stop. Stop, Gingerbee. It's okay. It'll be okay," he soothed her as she collapsed into him. "It'll be okay."

Ginny mopped the sweat off her neck with a towel and leaned against the wall of the big room on the third floor, where she and Tonks had just finished practicing dueling.  Or rather, where Tonks had drilled Ginny within an inch of her life on several of the more physical aspects of dueling.  She glanced at her ankle, which was rapidly, contrarily turning purple despite the healing charm she'd done on it earlier.  Her mum would have to look at it – and she'd never hear the end of that, she was sure – but, on the bright side, she'd finally gotten that stupid roll down decently. 

She worked her hair into a sloppy bun as she thought about what Tonks had accidentally divulged that afternoon.  Who would have ever guessed that Alastor Moody was a Slytherin?  Of course, it did make sense.  He was cunning and sly – you'd have to have been to be an Auror and live through the First War.  He was paranoid, true, but then he'd also been responsible for the incarceration of a whole slew of Death Eaters.  Anyone who'd done that and hadn't turned out paranoid would have to have no more sense than a Flobber Worm.  It was enough to make one rethink the whole evil Slytherin state of mind. 

Lots of halfway decent people had been in Slytherin, Ginny reasoned.  There was Moody, and Professor Slughorn – who was definitely all for looking after himself, but positively brilliant nonetheless.  And, and – Ginny grappled for something else to justify her train of thought.  Fred and George probably should have been in the green house, they were certainly conniving enough for that.  Many of the Prewitts were Slytherins.  Her mother's great, great grandfather Phineas Black was a Slytherin and had been Headmaster.  Surely that had to account for something.  Then there was Draco – Well, aside from that, the Sorting Hat had wanted to put Harry in Slytherin.  Which, really, when you got down to the nitty gritty wasn't all that surprising.  He was ruthless when it came to doing what he thought needed doing. 

Really, Ginny was fairly certain that the only reason she'd been placed in Gryffindor was because the hat saw she was serious when she threatened that she'd rip it to shreds before it finished the word if it shouted Slytherin.  Never mind the fact that it had been muttering about "nearly missed" and "getting too old" when Professor McGonagall pulled it off her head.  She wondered how much of that had to do with the diary.  What would the hat have said if it had gotten to look at just her soul, or thoughts, or whatever it was that the blasted thing actually looked at?

Maybe she was really supposed to be a Hufflepuff.  She supposed there were worse things to be than a Hufflepuff – not that you'd believe it to hear the other Hogwarts students talk.  But still, sometimes she felt Hufflepuffish on the inside.  If Tom taught her anything, it was to be loyal to her beliefs and her beliefs alone.  Because really, it was when you started compromising those beliefs that you got yourself into trouble, wasn't it?  Or was that a Slytherin thing?  It could be Gryffindor; they were all about being just.  You can't be just if you don't agree with what you're doing.

Ginny shook her head.  She was going to give herself a headache if she kept trying to puzzle things out like that.  People were just people, and the best had qualities from all the houses, rather than just embodying one.

There was no black and white with people, and that was something the Golden Trio – she really had been spending too much time around Draco – had yet to figure out.  That was something the majority of her family had yet to figure out.  She wondered if letting Moody's secret slip would help anything along. 

No, probably not.              

Hermione snuggled closer to Ron as she turned the page of her newest book.  He snored – a little snore, not a body rattling one, thankfully – and wrapped his arm tighter around her.  Hermione smiled and continued to read, musing that she never thought she'd be a fan of the after dinner nap.  After devouring the first half of the book, Hermione decided that she liked the old prophecies the best; they were written more like poems than riddles.  The book said that it was thought to make the prophecies more memorable until a more suitable organization method could be arranged.  Interestingly enough, the form the prophecies were delivered in had changed about the same time the filing system at the Ministry was developed. 

 That was part of the reason she loved the book so much, well, that and it was from Ron.  More than that, it showed Ron had really put thought into finding a gift that was both romantic and practical.  It was worth so much more than a book of poetry would ever be.  While she'd never really been one for Divination, Hermione did have to concede that something about prophecies that intrigued her.  The history was an added bonus, but she liked the puzzle that came with the fulfillment of the prophecies.  Some of them were completely symbolic, others were very literal, and a few were in-between.

At first she thought the level of symbolism depended on the Seer, but the more she read, the more she was inclined to believe that it depended on the subject of the prophecy.  She noticed that the pattern seemed to hold true through the majority of the completed prophecies, and now that she had started the second half of the book on those still left open, as well as some of the leading Unspeakables' thoughts – anonymous, of course – on their interpretation, it seemed practical that the pattern would continue.  She flipped another page and smiled at the first line of the prophecy.  "The dragon's strength is the flame."  A love prophecy.  Symbolism then.              

A little taxing his arse.  Draco had barely been able to lift his fork to his mouth at supper from casting that damned mapping spell.  That had caused the Mother Weasel to go into fits about his being malnourished – which he certainly wasn't, there was a difference between lanky and under fed, thank you – and continue to pile his plate with food, sometimes adding more as he was eating.  She was much more volatile than her daughter from what he had seen though, and even if he would never admit it, Draco was too afraid to do anything other than belt up and continue to eat.  No wonder the Weasleys were impoverished.  They each ate more in one sitting than his family did in a week.  The only thing that had helped him feel a tiny bit better was seeing both Shacklebolt and Moody visibly recoil each time she stalked by them, muttering not-so under her breath about 'working the poor dear to death'.

It really hadn't helped that every time Ginny saw her mother hovering over him with a serving tray she caught his eye and gave him an impish smile – almost a smirk, really.  She was an entirely different issue in and of herself.  He could not recall being so unfocused in his entire life – especially in the last two years.  He couldn't put his finger on when it started, but now whenever she was around – and even when she wasn't – the only thing he could think about was her.  The way she smiled because he stood when she entered or left the room, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, other ways he could make her smile – or even angry – so he could see her eyes light up again.

It drove him absolutely crazy.

Sweet Salazar!  Now was not the time to get soft over a girl.  Over the Weaslette.  He had never gotten soft over a girl before in his life.  The ancestors – on both sides – were probably spinning in their graves at the very thought of it.

She wasn't even a proper girl, on top of that.  Her fingernails were disgusting, and her hair was always a mess.  Not to mention that she'd had a pimple on her nose for the last two days.  She had a horrible temper and cursed like a sailor, and then there was the way she'd looked at him that night in the hallway that made his insides feel like they wanted to shrivel up and die.  She was infuriatingly nice to him.  Too nice to be up to anything remotely non-sneaky, in his opinion.

She steamrolled nearly everyone and did it so sweetly that they thanked her for it afterwards.  On top of that, she flew like a banshee, and howled like one too, especially when she was yelling at her brothers.  And if you could get past that, she hexed like a hellcat and was agile as a housecat, so you couldn't even retaliate properly.  Worse yet, if you did manage to retaliate, you left feeling incredibly guilty and entirely to blame for the whole situation.  She had the combined strengths of her brothers, brains to brawn and sense of humor – if you could call that humor – and she had each of them at her beck and call.

It was ridiculous.

Then, just when he'd convinced himself that she was really a boy they'd tossed in a dress to please the Mother Weasel, the bint would go all soft on him.  Not girly, simpering or throwing a tantrum or boohooing herself to death over something silly.  But soft, almost naïve, like she never in a million years would have believed he could be a hateful bugger.  Then he'd start thinking about how soft she was, and then he was confused all over again, because that kind of duality in people without sinister motives made his head spin.

"Weasley, if you can conjure a proper Beater's bat, I'll let you bludgeon me to death," Draco said to the back of Ron's head as he entered the library.

"He's asleep, but if you'd be up for it later I'd be happy to relay the message," Hermione replied, smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Mudblood," he acknowledged her, wondering how, exactly, he missed all that hair when he entered to room.

Hermione rolled her eyes.  "Inbreed."

"I beg your pardon?"  Draco involuntarily shot from the chair he'd sunken into.

Hermione shrugged, smile spread across her face.  "Inbreed.  You know, when your parents marry their cousins and so on, especially in cases where it occurs for several generations?"

"I'm aware of the definition.  What I want to know is where you get off –"

"If you can call me Mudblood, which I am, then I am more than entitled to call you inbreed – which you are." 

 Draco scowled at her. 

 Hermione's voice softened.  "It's not very fun being called something nasty over something you can't control, is it?  Perhaps you should think about that before you open your mouth next time." 

 "Bint."  Draco recoiled in horror and nearly clapped his hand over his mouth before regaining control of himself.  His mother would have skinned him alive if she'd ever heard he spoke to any girl – regardless of parentage – that way.  At any rate, it was no less horrifying that his mouth had just blurted that without consulting his brain on the matter at all. 

 "Tosser," Hermione retorted, yawning.  "If you don't have anything nice to say, you really shouldn't say anything at all, Malfoy." 

 He assessed her smile and briefly considered the fact that had Granger not had the misfortune of being a Mudblood, she might very well have excelled in Slytherin. 

 "But then you might never speak, and life here would be very dull, don't you think?" 

 "I, you – What?"  Draco couldn't decide which was scarier: the suggestion that she found him somewhat amiable or his realization that living with such nitwits had allowed the control he carefully honed over his tongue and expressions to begin slipping away. 

 "At least you shake things up around her."  Hermione shrugged.  "Despite what I would like to think about you, you are capable of intelligent conversation.  …When you aren't being a git." 

 He didn't know what to say, though he was almost positive she'd just given him a backhanded compliment.  As far as Draco was concerned, the world had officially ended.  Ceased to exist as he knew it. 

 "Oh, don't look so surprised.  You think I didn't know who was right on my heels in every subject at Hogwarts?  Let's be honest, you're a bit more of a weed than you like to let on, and Ron doesn't exactly jump for joy when I want to talk about Arithmancy or Transfiguration." 

 A weed?  She had just called him a bit of a weed?  That was rich. 

 Hermione gave Draco a bemused half smile.  Even if he didn't take to the idea of discussing things with her, it had been worth the proposition just to see his face contort.  "He and Harry practically run for cover, and Ginny's smart, very smart, but she'd much rather talk about nearly anything other than school and application.  It's not rocket science." 

 She was still seriously going on about this?  Draco's mind reeled.  "Rocket science?"  What in Merlin's name was that? 

 "Oh, I could tell you all about Rocket science."  Hermione paused, considering.  "Well, maybe not all about it, but I could explain the basic principles and physics well enough." 

 Draco held up his hand.  "Don't tell me.  I'm sure it's something Muggles have cooked up, but that's entirely beside the point.  Why would you think that – despite my, obviously, being an exceptional student – I would want to discuss those things at all?  Much less with you?"  He sneered for effect. 

 Hermione ruined it with an understated, innocent smile as she held up a book.  "Because since you've been here, you've read every single advanced magical application book in the library exactly twice – and you made notes in the margins as well." 

 "And?" Draco drawled, bored. 

 "The notes you added onto were mine."  The smile turned into something smug, because they both knew there was nothing he could say that would ever begin to unwind the damning evidence she had against him. 

 So Draco resigned himself to holding intelligent discussions with the Mudblood, and he studiously ignored the inner Ravenclaw doing back flips at the thought of having someone to discuss advanced magical theory with.  For the time being, he had enough issues to deal with. 

 Hermione was slow to begin the conversation she'd so been looking forward to, desperately trying to narrow down all the things she wanted to discuss, debate, and maybe even scheme over – as she was feeling particularly impish.  She paused, choosing her next words carefully.  "What do you know about Muggle genetics?" 

 "They're Muggle.  What does that have to do with magical anything?" 

 Hermione arched an eyebrow and leaned in conspiratorially.  "What if I said absolutely everything?"  He looked intrigued, and she launched into explanation before he could change his mind.  "I'm sure you're familiar with the study of Magical blood and bloodlines, but our studies are hideously out dated compared to the advances Muggles have made…"              

Ginny had been conned into helping her mum make dinner. It was meeting night though, so she figured the least she could do for her mum was be helpful and keep her whining to a minimum. She had all the time in the world to skin Ron and Harry later. In addition, this would have the upside to counter-acting her impressive guilt complex later in the evening when she told her mother to stuff it - though she generally didn't come right out and say that - about taking active part in the meeting.

Ron and Harry, though, would still suffer.

Tonight, she was making roast. When her mother had decided she was a good enough cook to take on the actual roast part of dinner, however, was totally beyond her. She reached for the mixing bowl on the top shelf of the cabinet, and as she stretched for it, Ginny couldn't help but recall the way Draco felt pressed right up behind her. She wished she'd had the nerve to lean back into him then. She could almost feel the hard plains of his body supporting her, his arm wrapping around her waist, those long, aristocratic fingers tipping her head to the side, and his lips nearing her own -

Her unthinking fingers tumbled the mixing bowl off the shelf. It crashed to the floor, shocking Ginny out of her daydream. Ginny's eyes widened and her fingers flew to her lips. Was that really what she wanted? Merlin have mercy. Her brothers would kill her. Well, Draco first, then her.

She caught her mother's eye then, as she looked up from the wreckage on the floor, but instead of a rebuke for not paying more attention to the domestic, womanly task at hand, all Ginny received was a knowing smile.

Molly hurriedly turned back to the sides she was working on, silently thanking the gods that they'd found someone who could put that blissful look on her daughter's face. Even if it was a sodding Malfoy. She frowned as she mashed the potatoes more forcefully than was probably necessary.

Poor Harry. She had always wanted Harry and Ginny to end up together, more because it had once been her daughter's wildest dream than anything else, but also because he'd never had a family and seemed to crave hers - it appealed to her maternal senses. At the same time, once the two were together, she'd winced at the poorly matched couple they made. They just didn't fit quite right, and they never would. Harry, bless his soul, could never really give Ginny what she needed - what she thrived on - because Harry would always be too caught up in Harry to realize that he wasn't giving it to her. And that wasn't to say he wouldn't try, but by the point he realized it, it would be far too late.

The Malfoy boy, well, she didn't know him well enough yet to get a solid feel for him, but still, even just the glimpses of the kind of person she saw him to be fit better than Harry did. If he could shake off that indifferent external attitude - at least among friends - and perhaps fill out a little more - he was skin and bones - well, then he might stand a chance. He had, after all, paid his mother enough attention that her lessons in manners had stuck.

"Mum, does this look right?" Ginny shoved the roast under Molly's nose.

"It looks fine. Now, turn it out of that bowl and into the pan and pop it in the oven, and I'll show you how to make the gravy."

Molly couldn't help but smile as her daughter sighed heavily. Perhaps the Malfoy boy would stand a chance at keeping her in line. A vision of four year old Ginny, smiling and cajoling her eldest brothers into taking over her chores - and then pitching a roaring temper tantrum that had them hurrying to do them for her anyway, lest she turn someone other than Fred purple for a week - crossed her mind, and this time Molly sighed. Probably not.

Hermione leveled a glare at Harry from across the table. Really. He wasn't even trying. "No, Harry. He split his soul into seven pieces because seven is the most powerful number. He only wanted seven pieces, <i>not</i> seven Horcruxes; that would give him <i>eight</i> pieces of soul. <i>That's</i> why there are only six - not because his spirit and his reincarnated body count as two. The -" Hermione's hand waved as she grappled for the term. "The spirity part is <i>in</i> the body. Therefore, one seventh of his soul is in each Horcrux."

It was not a hard concept; Harry was just being difficult. It seemed that lately, Harry was always difficult.

"Honestly, Granger. The spirity part? And you should recheck your Arithmancy. There isn't a seventh in each Horcrux."

"Yes, there is. Seven parts - one seventh per part," Hermione retorted indignantly.

"No, Granger," Draco huffed. "You've forgotten the basics of Horcruxes."

Hermione gave him an exasperated look.

"Or perhaps you never learned it in the first place," he amended, sinking into the chair next to her and reaching for a piece of parchment and helping himself to a quill.

When he didn't continue immediately, Hermione could have screamed. "I know I'm just a Mudblood, Malfoy, but surely, since you know so much, you could enlighten me," she gritted out.

"Granger, we've been over this. Not <i>a</i> Mudblood, <i>the</i> Mudblood. None of the others offend me so terribly."

The ghost of a smile flitted across Hermione's lips. Why, that had almost been a compliment.

"Now look. By definition, every time you cast the Horcrux spell, it removes half of your soul and places it into an object. So, the first time the Dark Lord cast it, he had half left and half into the first object. The second time, he only had half of his soul, so the object got half of a half - a fourth for him and a fourth for the object. That plus the half in the first Horcrux equals one. Do you see? The third Horcrux would then get an eighth, the fourth a sixteenth, the fifth a thirty-second, and the sixth a sixty-fourth, leaving a sixty-fourth in him. There. Not all that difficult, was it?"

Far from Hermione hurriedly recalculating the Arithmancy figures she'd based off her one seventh per part theory, Harry silently seethed. Not only was he more or less being forced to tolerate Hermione's never ending calculations and lectures on the subject, he was apparently going to be able to look forward to sitting through them with the Ferret too. On top of that, Ron had abandoned him for Moody and Shacklebolt after the meeting and Remus was working on something with Ginny and Professor McGonagall.

"Of course! That's why the Horcruxes he made later were easier to destroy. Do you see, Harry?" Hermione shoved the parchment towards him.

Harry peered at it half-heartedly. Was he supposed to decipher those scribbles and abbreviations? He hadn't even taken Arithmancy, never mind Ancient Runes. "Not really, but I'll take your word for it."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded, "How are you ever going to defeat Voldemort if you don't understand what's going on?"

"With the power he knows not," Harry replied dryly. "Even with the new prophecy, I doubt it's Arithmancy."

"It could be!"

"Arithmancy is not a power, Granger," Draco cut in. "Even if it were, I doubt it's something that would be guarded by strength, and it's not something the Dark Lord knows not. It's merely something he's content to let others with more skill calculate for him. Of course, depending on who that <i>other</i> is, it could give your Order the advantage." Draco smirked. "Especially when I know he deliberately over calculates the Dark Lord's power potential and has neglected to mention the fact that there is not, indeed, a seventh of the Dark Lord's soul in each of the Horcruxes."

"Why should we believe you?" Harry sneered. "If you knew that information was true, you'd collect your reward for it from Voldemort in a heartbeat. So why would you keep that to yourself?"

Draco sneered back. Was Potter really <i>that</i> dense? No wonder the Mudblood looked ready to tear out her bushy hair. "I owe him much more than the Dark Lord could give me in return."

"Slytherins and their loyalty issues," Hermione grumbled. "Always to the highest bidder -"

"Who's his Arithmancer?" Harry demanded.

Draco heaved a sigh. Perhaps, though, if he offered this evidence, his friend's name would be cleared. On the other hand, his friend might well murder him for attempting to clear it. It was something he'd been warned at length not to do. However, the Black blood in his veins screamed at him that it was the way - that family always trumped safety. "Snape."

Harry virtually exploded at Draco's response. Draco, for one, thought it would have been very nice if Potter had literally exploded. Then he would have been spared the ranting, incoherent shouting. But, there it was. At some point during all the senseless noise grating on Draco's last nerve, Harry worked out the real reason Draco was there.

Draco, for his part, was confused before Potter was even finished, but then he supposed being a - what was Potter up to now, quadruple? - quadruple agent was confusing business.

"Are you quite through?" Draco asked when Harry seemed to have run out of steam. He took the resonating silence - and dirty glare - as a yes. "Good. Now that that's all out in the open, why don't we examine the evidence that you're completely off your rocker, Potter? If the Dark Lord realized that some of his Horcruxes were more valuable than others, do you think he'd leave them lying about where anyone - namely you - could find them?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest. The Horcruxes were hardly left <i>lying about</i>. She snapped it shut abruptly when she realized that she was being ignored.

"We're Slytherin, not stupid. We make plans, contingency plans, and contingency plans for the contingency plans. Do you honestly think the Dark Lord is thick enough to knowingly make such large mistakes?"

Harry's mouth opened, but Draco cut him off. "It was rhetorical, Potter. Shut up and listen, for Circe's sake. Even you can't be <i>that</i> thick."

Harry scowled at Draco, and it only deepened when he realized Hermione's hand was quivering in her efforts to keep it from snatching up the nearest quill and taking down what Malfoy was nattering on about verbatim.

"He believes there's a seventh portion because that is what he has been told, and he considers himself far too powerful and skilled with Legillimancy to be lied to. And because he believes that, the Horcruxes are hidden equally well and guarded relatively the same, but not too heavily, because, after all, if you happen to find and destroy one, it's only a seventh and there are five others that could easily replace it. However, if he realized the difference of the power in each Horcrux, he would have the first on lockdown, the second only slightly less so, et cetera. For all the sixth one would be worth, he might hand it over to you just for grins, except that one's his pet snake and he seems partial to her."

Something in that explanation seemed to take with Potter, and the three stared silently at each other for a moment. "That's why the diary was so powerful then," Harry mused, looking to Hermione for affirmation. "It almost killed Ginny. It was sucking the soul out of her, becoming real. The ring, wand, and everything else didn't have as much soul - as much of his personality - they wouldn't have had the drive to succeed."

"The other objects didn't contain his direct memories, thoughts, either," Hermione pointed out.

Draco however, was still stuck on Ginny. A sudden protectiveness seemed to flood his senses. "What?"

Ginny had been attacked by a Horcrux?

The conversation they'd had just after his arrival floated back to him, and it began to make sense. <i>Harry wasn't talking about you. He was talking about me. 'And no, it doesn't' matter how or why,' he said. ...So don't talk about what you don't know.</i>

He could not, however, make sense of the overwhelming urge to leap across the table and throttle The-Boy-Who-Ought-to-Have-Effing-Kicked-It-by-Now on her behalf. The thought of her eyes brimming with tears, even as she spat the words at him, was doing odd things to his sense of vengeance.

"Ginny was attacked by a Horcrux? But how on earth would that be her fault?" Draco wondered aloud, vengeance quashed - for the moment.

Harry welcomed the chance to take his frustrations out on Draco. "Don't pretend you don't know, Malfoy. Ignorance obviously isn't your strong suit. Your father gave her the diary, there's no way you couldn't have known."

"I... My father..." Draco's head reeled. Even his mother's lightning fast ability to sort information and ask the right questions to gain what she wanted to know would not have been able to keep up with a revelation this huge. Draco's first instinct was to protect his father, but, clearly, he didn't know as much about him as he thought he did. That there were still more horrific secrets about his father shouldn't have surprised him, but he never could seem to get used to the fact that his father was not the man Draco had built him up to be.

"<i>When</i> would my father have had the chance to give her anything? And why in Merlin's name would she be stupid enough to take it from him? Honestly!"

"She didn't take it from him; he slipped it into her book pile! He started a fight with Mr. Weasley just to get close to her. Geroff, Hermione!" Harry growled when Hermione began tugging his arm in attempt to get his attention.

Hermione harrumphed. If Harry wanted to behave in such a manner, he deserved what he was about to get.

"Thanks to your lot, she was possessed by Voldemort!" Harry screamed, pointing his finger wildly at Draco.

"That is <i>enough</i>!" Ginny finally made herself speak up. "It is not Draco's fault I was possessed by Voldemort, and it has <i>never</i> been <i>your</i> place to tell anyone about it. And I'll thank you to keep that in mind the next time you <i>think</i> someone needs to know. I am not a tool to be used in a petty argument! So the next time you feel the need to make someone else feel bad, Harry Potter, you leave me out of it!"

She wanted to scream, or cry, or perhaps some combination thereof would work nicely, but she managed to maintain her composure - or rather, what was left of it - as she turned on her heel and walked brusquely down the aisle she'd come from. She would not let them see her cry.

"Damn." Harry shot Draco a scorching look, as if the whole thing were the blond's fault, then took off after Ginny. "Ginny, Ginny wait!"

Ginny walked faster.

"Oh come on now, it's not that big of a deal!"

Hermione's hands flew to her face. "Oh, God, Harry you bloody, buggering pillock," she swore softly.

Draco arched an eyebrow at her. Really, he must be hearing things. Hermione Granger, swearing? He was losing it. Cracking up. Going barking mad. That was the only logical explanation.

"Please don't hex him," she quietly pled as Ginny whipped around.

Draco appraised the situation with poorly feigned disinterest. Judging by the expression on Ginny's face, Potter was not going to merely be hexed, he was going to die on the spot. Finally.

"Dear Merlin," Hermione said on an intake of breath. It appeared she had reached the same conclusion Draco had, and 'Please don't hex him' quickly turned into "Please don't use an Unforgivable."

"Not that big of a deal?" Ginny asked quietly, dangerously. "Not <i>that big</i> of a deal. You, you, you bloody, self-righteous, ignorant, sorry excuse for a human being!" Ginny snapped her mouth shut. She was so upset she couldn't even curse him out properly, and now frustrated with her lack of words to describe exactly what kind of foul creature he was to boot. She hoped the twins never heard about this - they'd never let her live it down. "I, I - Aarragh!"

Draco was surprised at how quickly he could begin to feel a tiny bit sorry for the Boy Who Lived, because Ginny had raised her wand back and looped it around behind her head, as if she was swishing her ponytail with it, and that was the beginning of the wand movements for that horrible bogey-thing she was so fond of. She could probably -

Oh yes, she could definitely do it nonverbally now. It appeared that she'd been capable of doing it nonverbally for some time now, actually. Either that, or she'd used her anger to give it more power, because it seemed much stronger than when she'd used it on him outside Umbridge's - stupid toad - office. And while both he and Granger watched in disgusted, fascinated horror as monstrous bogeys flew out of Potter's nose and attacked his face, Ginny fled.

"Well don't just stand there," Granger said, shoving at him. "Go after her!"

Draco shook his head to clear it. Yes. He had gone mad. Because Hermione Granger, illustrious, almost Head Girl of Hogwarts did not curse, and she definitely would not send him to comfort her best female friend - perhaps her only female friend - in her stead.

Draco looked blankly at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Go after her. Someone has to stop her before she gets to the twins, or they'll kill Harry. We need Harry to save the world." The look she gave him as she spoke strongly suggested that she believed anyone who couldn't put <i>that</i> together on their own had to be somewhere around the Goyle range of intelligence.

"I highly doubt -"

"Look. You're wrong and I'm insane to send a Malfoy to comfort anyone, let alone someone I actually like, but you certainly can't help Harry. The second I leave, you'll kill each other, and then we'll be stuck with Voldemort and a doubly upset Ginny. Besides, you aren't afraid to hex her, if it comes down to that, and I think if you can get her to tell you about the Diary, you'll find you have a lot more in common than you think. Now go. Hurry!" She gave him a shove down the aisle and no alternative.

He had almost reached the end of the row of books when a thought occurred to him. "How do you know I won't hurt her?"

Hermione snorted. "Please. You wouldn't hurt Ginny, not if you could help it."

Draco felt a bit naked. Now how had she been able to see that so easily? Furthermore, when, exactly, had that happened?

"<i>Go</i>!"

"Pushy bint," Draco muttered under his breath as he went.

When Draco had gone and the door had banged shut behind him, Hermione performed a <i>Finite Incantum</i> on Harry and pulled him up to a sitting position. When he attempted to stand, though, she roughly shoved him back down.

"You stay right there, Harry Potter," she ordered, leveling her own wand on him before sinking to as seat on the floor across the narrow aisle from him. "You and I have some things to discuss."

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit like Neville must have when Hermione turned her wand on him in their first year. Only, she wasn't apologizing to him for any curses she might yet send his way. Harry groaned.

"None of that," Hermione snapped. "This is more important than Arithmancy and methods and plans. This is about Ginny. Now you listen and listen well because I'm only going to say this once."

Harry looked at the floor.

"Look at me," she demanded, steeling herself against the puppy-dog eyes that would say he knew entirely well that he'd done wrong. "You. Are. Buggering. This. Up."

Harry looked surprised at her curse, but the surprise quickly morphed into anger. "Tell me something I don't know, Hermione."

"Fine. Ginny is the power the Dark Lord knows not. How about that?"

Harry looked at her dubiously; Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Harry, I love you like a brother, but sometime I absolutely want to kill you. No one except you could be stupider than Ron about liking somebody. Lord knows the world doesn't need two Ron Weasleys running around, so let me clue you in on something -"

"I think I might love her."

It was worse than she thought.

"You <i>think</i> you <i>might</i> love her?" Hermione asked incredulously. "Harry, you're a royal arse. I know you and Ginny have had this conversation already. If, after all this time, you still only <i>think</i> that you could love her - you don't even <i>know</i> you could - then it's not what you think it is. If you don't know what you want by now, then you need to let her go."

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "She has six older brothers. Six, Harry. Five of them currently want to do Voldemort a favor and rip you limb from limb because you hurt her - because you <i>keep</i> hurting her."

Harry dropped his eyes to the floor.

"She also has a dragon."

Harry's eyes snapped up to hers again, but he was wiser than to interrupt.

"Yes, Harry, a Dragon. And even though he doesn't know it, and I can't quite figure out why, he's wound 'round her pinky finger tighter than her brothers are. So you'd better figure out how you're going to fix this, make a plan, and stick to it."

Harry stared somberly at the wall above Hermione's head. "I don't want her to be the power."

That was it.

That was the straw that broke Hermione Granger's back, as well as the last vestiges of patience she contained. If an obtusely large and dense tome had been within reach, she would have thrown it at him. She supposed she could have spelled a suitable one to hurl itself through the air and at his head, but somehow that didn't seem nearly as satisfying. Then he looked back to her, and everything changed.

"You just don't get it, do you?" she asked, sighing heavily. "Harry, he marked her just like he marked you."

"But the prophecy -"

"Hang the prophecy! Don't you listen to anybody? <i>Ever</i>? All prophecies are self-fulfilled. It doesn't matter what you do or try to do, you end up making it happen. Prophesize - to see the future. <i>The</i> future, not a future. Not a future provided you follow a certain path. <i>The</i> future. Whether you like it or not, Ginny has a major part in things."

He still looked woefully lost, and Hermione tried, yet again, to explain. "Haven't you ever listened to her, Harry? I can hear it in everything she says. She's so passionate about ending the war, undoing the wrongs done to others. She trains every day, she takes her sixth and seventh year lessons from McGonagall and Remus. She talked Mad-Eye Moody into giving her dueling lessons!"

Harry's eyebrows shot up and disappeared under his fringe and his mouth dropped open.

"Oh, don't look so surprised. What did you think she did all day? Harry, even with all of that, she knows more. She knows things she shouldn't know. Things that not even Mad-Eye would teach her. I tried some of them myself, once. My wand just sort of shot dejected sparks."

Harry cocked his head to the side. Hermione, not being able to perform a spell?

"Some of them looked so difficult, I didn't dare attempt them. I suspect even the highest-ranking Death Eaters would even know <i>of</i> them, much less manage to attempt them. And she performs them flawlessly. Some of it's like, well, it's very similar to your Parselmouth, Harry. I'm telling you now, there is a reason she was possessed by the diary, a reason she's been fixated on you since she was ten, and a reason you care for each other. But there's more - so much more - to the puzzle too; I just haven't found the missing pieces yet."

            The light in the room was bright and hard.  Each of the candles seemed to have impossibly large flames on them, and they all danced with the movements of the girl's fiery hair as she whipped around, firing spells at what he imagined were invisible Harry Potters.

            Draco could have sighed with relief.  It had taken him nearly half an hour to find her.  He'd combed through the entire house room by room when she wasn't in the room with the nonexistent doorway as he'd expected her to be.  Finding that room alone had taken a good ten minutes, not to mention a few wrong turns into what were actually solid walls.  Thankfully, no one else had been around, or he would have been forced to Avada Kedavra them.  He was also secretly relieved that she was not crying and did not appear to be sad.  She appeared to be quite furious, and anger, at least, he thought he knew what to do with.

            He stepped through the doorway and leaned against its frame, idly fingering the doorjamb as her words suddenly assailed his ears.  So she had perfected the containing spell he'd shown her.  It was a useful spell, one used at Hogwarts to contain most magic within the classrooms and sound within the common rooms, though at Hogwarts it had been worked into the very foundation of the building somehow.

            "Miserable, know it all, bloody, buggering wanker!"  Ginny screeched as she hurled a curse across the room.  It rebounded off a tapestry, and she cast a complicated looking shield spell.  He watched as the neon yellow tail of the curse shimmered around the edges of her shield, which pulsed emerald green where the curse dissipated against it.

            Draco smirked.  He had shown her that curse too.  It was a Sixth year spell, the trio knew it as well, but he had taught it to her.  She performed it flawlessly, and he took pride in her success with it.

            "Self-important, two-faced prat!"

            She shot off another curse, and had Draco been any less observant, he wouldn't have been able to sidestep it as neatly as he had.  He also would have failed to realize that he'd suddenly, quite unintentionally, provided her a worthy target.

            "You forgot four-eyed freak of nature."  He casually flicked away a hex from her wand as if it were a gnat.

            She screeched something incoherent - and probably vulgar - at him, but he didn't have time to ponder it, as his eye caught the flames of the candles.  The turning of the world seemed to slow as the flames leapt from their candles and swirled through the air towards him.  Draco did the only rational thing he could come up with at the given moment.

            He hit the deck.

            The flames from the candles, now resembling something akin to a fiery lightning bolt, tore through the containing barrier she had spelled upon the doorway and zipped down the hall.  Draco pushed himself up, intent on chewing the redhead up one side and down the other.

            "Damn it!  Accio!"

            And he was back on the floor, just barely dodging being set aflame for the second time in as many seconds.  When he'd re-steeled his nerves and thought it might be safe, or as close to safe as he could apparently expect to be when she was so brassed off, he rolled back up into a sitting position.  "Now where the devil did you learn to do that?"

            "Don't know.  Is there something I can help you with, or will you be seeing yourself out now?"

            The air crackled with pent up energy and her magic.  She looked on the verge of exploding.  She looked beautiful.  Beautiful and full of life - and everything it contained.  It nearly drove him to distraction.

            "Make me."

            It certainly seemed to drive the vast majority of sense out of his head.  He didn't care.  He suddenly wanted everything dancing behind those eyes directed at him.  Anger, violence, happiness, laughter, maybe even hurt - though he didn't intend to intentionally put that in her eyes ever again - everything and anything except emptiness.  He'd had enough of emptiness.  He wanted to learn how to speak with his eyes like that.  He envied it.

            "Go on then, I dare you," he goaded, sneer firmly in place, when she didn't acknowledge him.

            That was all it took.  Ginny began hurling hexes at him so quickly he was certain she was starting the next curse nonverbally even as she finished saying the first one.  They were simple, elementary curses and hexes, and he deflected them easily enough, impressed that even at lightning speed her aim was impeccable.

            He intended only to defend himself, but before long, he was retaliating to her constant attacks.  Ginny eventually did slow her rapid-fire hexes, but only so she could properly cast the more difficult ones.  Neither noticed when the curses slid from mostly harmless to somewhat dangerous or from somewhat dangerous to possibly deadly.  Nor did they notice when their battle changed from a venting of frustration to a battle of wits to fighting with their inner demons.  Within minutes, they were waging a full, no holds barred war upon each other.

            The curious thing was, they weren't fighting each other at all.

            Draco dodged spell after spell and called out his own hexes and curses along the way, but all the while, he kept half an eye on the flames.  If she didn't know how she'd managed to set them after him, there was no guarantee she wouldn't do it again, or that she could control it at all.

            Ginny dove out of the way as a purple curse streaked towards her, tucked her head, and rolled neatly back onto her feet, shouting a curse that sounded too familiar for Draco's comfort.

            But it was then that Draco saw his chance.  "Acerbitas memorite!" he cried as she took the tiniest of moments to be proud of herself for - finally - executing that roll Tonks had shown her right.

            The flames jumped above their candles, and Draco turned his attention to them.  He forgot, totally, completely, and rather stupidly, about the curse she'd hurled his way not seconds before.

            Pain short of nothing but the Cruciatus, and only by a little there, racked Draco's body, and he staggered backwards a good three or four steps in surprise as he vividly recalled the familiar sounding spell.  Only Death Eaters knew that spell.

            Ginny watched the effect of her curse in horror, entirely oblivious to the spell he had sent her way just before he was struck.  She shrieked as it hit her and constricted around her heart, dropping to the floor as it started to take effect.

            "I always wanted to be Ginny Weasley," Luna's voice reverberated in her head.

            By the time Draco shook off the remnants of her curse, she was whimpering and shaking where she'd landed.  He crossed the room slowly and dropped to a crouch before her, then reached out to touch her arm.  Damn his stupidity.  What had he been thinking, using that spell?

            Ginny shrank away from his touch.  "No more, please don't make me do it any more, Tom," she pled to Draco, staring at him with unseeing eyes.

            Draco shot to his feet.  "Stop it."  He toed the back of her legs.

            Yes, it was lame, and incredibly insensitive to boot, but it was all he had come up with given the current situation.  Aside from that, the way she'd withdrawn from his touch had rattled him to the core.  She'd never - not even when they were adversaries - pulled away from him.

            "Please."  She shivered again.  Then she curled up into a ball and wrapped her arms tightly around her.  The light from the candles and lamps in the room disappeared as neatly as if she had used a Putter-Outer.

            If he hadn't known better, if he hadn't seen the flames of the candles rapidly shrink to nothing when she'd drawn her arms into her, he would have thought she'd tossed some of those miscreants' Peruvian Darkness Powder in the air just to throw him off.

            Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.  Why did these sorts of things always happen to him?  He hadn't known she would react that severely to a memory curse.  All right, fine, a painful memory curse.  Yes, there was the whole thing with Luna, but he didn't react that badly to the memory curse, and he'd been the one to carry the dead girl out of the Riddle House.

            Draco started to pace.  He couldn't just leave her - not in the darkness when he couldn't even get a Lumos off his wand.  No, not in the darkness, and especially not alone in it.  Sweet Salazar.  There was no telling what they'd do to him if they found her alone like this.  If he was there, at least he would have a chance to explain his half of the story.

            Or at least, he liked to hope so.

            When he turned the corner to begin his trek back towards her, he stubbed his toe on the couch.  He cursed fluently in several different languages as he hopped about on one foot, babying the injured toe.  Perfect.  Now he sounded like the Weasel King - albeit a well cultured Weasel King.

            This, this was all her fault.  He hadn't ever had issues about leaving someone alone in the dark before, especially if they would sooner hex him than look at him when the curse wore off.

            "If she didn't go around acting like Mary fucking Sunshine all the damn time," he ranted, only to be cut off by the light returning to the room so quickly he was temporarily struck blind.

            And in that split second he couldn't see, she swept his legs out from under him.  He landed flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him, and his eyes were still shut from the blinding light when she threw herself on him and pushed her wand into his neck.

            "What the Hell did you do to me!" she demanded, pushing her wand in a little harder for emphasis.

            "How do you know Pervellous Accendium?" he countered between undignified wheezes.

            "You are not in a good position to be a smart arse, Ferret."

            It was a stupid move; she realized that before she'd even finished the comment.  She should have put a Body Bind on him before she went running off at the mouth.  Ginny felt him moving and twisting under her, but there was nothing she could do to stop what was coming.

            Even if she had been capable of stopping it, Ginny wasn't entirely sure she would have.  Because he'd done some kind of complicated turn underneath her and now they were both sitting, but she was held tight to him.  It would have felt safe, and might have been sexy, if it weren't for the wand digging into the soft spot between her jawbone and neck muscle.

            And damn it all if she didn't find that sexy too.

            Knowing she'd been outmaneuvered, for the time being, Ginny resigned herself to the inevitable.  "Truce?"

            He removed his wand from her neck, but she was reluctant to scoot away from him.  He was solid, real, and after her encounter - even if it was only in her mind - with Tom, she needed that.  She needed him.

            Ginny was surprised to find that it was not an entirely repulsive thought.  In fact, she rather liked it.  She could never need Harry.  He always had far too much to deal with - not that that was entirely his fault - to have her need him as well.  She wanted someone who could anchor her as much as she anchored him.  To be able to need as much as she was needed.

            Draco's wand arm moving to join his other arm loosely around her waist broke her out of her thoughts.  She remembered her daydream from the kitchen then, and she did lean back into him this time.  A wide smile stole across her face as his arms reflexively tightened a bit about her middle.

            "I go first," Draco said. 

He must have felt her shift in his arms, because the moment she started to open her mouth, he cut her off.  "You called Uncle, I go first."

            "I did not call Uncle," Ginny replied, indignant.  "I suggested a truce."

            "Big difference."  Draco rolled his eyes.  She started to move away from him, out from between his legs and away from his chest, and Draco panicked.  He tightened his hold on her waist, once again purposely preventing her from moving, even as he readied himself to be assaulted for his reaction.

            Ginny only dropped her hands down to his, though, and she gave them a tiny squeeze as she removed them from her waist.  She scooted across the floor, and then turned to face him.  "I just wanted to see your face."  She gave a little shrug and one of those unsure smiles that seemed to have formed a noose around his heart.

            "Go on, you wanted to go first."  She bumped his knee with her own to prod him into responding.

            "Err, right.  Right."  He shook his head as if it would shake his thoughts into order.  "How do you know Pervellous Accendium?"

            Crap.  She was caught.  An overwhelming feeling of panic seemed to fill her body at the thought of having to explain everything to him, and Ginny decided to bluff.  "Everyone who's ever taken lessons from an Auror knows it."  She was surprised to see Draco's face fall, just a tiny fraction, before he restored the careful indifference.

            She lied to him. 

Surely she knew that he knew about the spell, why it was so unusual that she would know it.  Why would she lie?  Bold as brass, right to his face.  However, he couldn't deny that she had gall.

            "Don't lie.  You aren't training with an Auror regularly, in the first place, and no, they don't in the second.  Only Death Eaters know that spell."

            Ginny squirmed at the tone of his voice.  It wasn't accusatory, like Harry's would have been.  Instead, it was disappointed. 

It shamed her.

            "Or you're misinformed," she lashed out at him - anything to avoid having to explain what she'd done.  "As per usual."  She tried his sneer when his eyes flashed at the insult.  She really rather liked the sneer, she decided as his eyes narrowed further upon realizing her expression.

            "Or you're lying.  But what could you be so secretive about?  Is the Gryff Princess a spy?" he taunted.  "Fancy having a go with the upper class?  When you get past all the Muggle-loving and poverty, the Weasleys are as pure as the rest of us."

            "As if I would be silly enough to put my family name in such a position," she brushed him off airily.  "For all the talk of purity, you're as dirty as any Mudblood now.  Most of your ilk have managed to breed the magic right out of themselves.  Besides, no one in their right mind will ever trust the Malfoy name to power again."

            Ginny couldn't contain her half smile at the look on his face.  She'd successfully derailed the conversation.  Never mind the aching feeling in her heart; she could deal with that later, as long as she didn't have to -

            "A matter of opinion," Draco gritted out.  "But that doesn't change the fact that only Death Eaters know that spell.  The Dark Lord has made sure of that.  Even then, most of those in the higher circle can't do it.  So how do you pull it off?  Let's pretend that you had stumbled across it on accident.  How do you know the wand motions for it?  How do you manage to perform it to its fullest extent?"

            Ginny glared at him.  Why couldn't he ever just let her win?  Even just once?  "It's a long story.  My turn."

            "I don't think so.  You haven't answered my question."

            "I will, but I want you to answer mine first."  If she could not derail the conversation, then she would stall it as long as possible.  "What the hell did you do to me?"

            "Acerbitas Memorite," he replied, decided to humor her.

            "And that means?"

            "Roughly, it translates painful by heart or from memory.  In effect, it makes you relieve your worst memory."  Draco gave her a doleful look, almost as if by way of apology.

            "You bastard.  What is wrong with you?"  Ginny glared at him.  As if having him pull her out of her nightmares wasn't bad enough.  Once he knew she had them, he used them against her.

            "I wouldn't have used it if I had a clue you'd ever had more than one bad day in your life," he snapped.  "And who in the hell is Tom?"

            Ginny ignored his question all together.  "A clue?  A clue?  You've had dozens of clues!  I told you myself - you don't know anything about me.  Harry told you today in the library!  So don't give me that crap."

            "Well how was I to know it was that bad?  What the fuck could have possibly happened to make you react to it that severely?"

            "You mean other than the time my best friend sacrificed herself for me, and I watched Death Eaters drag her off to her death?  You do realize this is going to be about someone other than you, right?"

            "I asked, didn't I?"  He chose to ignore the last slight.

            "Fine.  You remember when the Chamber of Secrets opened?  Everyone thought it was Harry, then Hagrid, a few thought it was you - you were the Prince of Slytherin and all.  They were all a million miles off."

            "You're not saying it was you?" he asked, almost managing not to laugh at the absurdity of her implication.  "That's ridiculous.  How could you open the Chamber?  You don't even have any blood ties to Slytherin."

            "Would that it were blood ties to Slytherin.  Would that it were," she said, more to herself than to him.  She stared at the floor for a long while before finally meeting his eyes.  "I didn't have to have blood ties to Slytherin.  I had his heir, in the form of a diary that your father slipped into my book pile at Flourish and Blotts."

            She was speaking so softly by the end of the sentence that Draco had to strain to hear her.  He scooted closer, and when he didn't protest his father's guilt in the incident, she continued.

            "I wrote in it all summer.  When it wrote back, I was surprised.  But it was nice, having someone to take me seriously for once.  That's why I kept writing.

            "I was so stupid!" she shouted, burying her face in her hands.  "How many times had Da told us, 'If you can't see where it keeps its brain...'" she trailed off, blushing at her outburst.

            "I wrote and wrote, and it sounds trite, I know, but I poured my stupid, twelve year old soul into that book.  At first, it was fine - he was actually pleasant.  And he was so studied and charming; I was flattered that he thought I was worth the attention.  But the more I wrote, the more vengeance and hate filled his replies.  Even his compliments were backhanded, come to think of it."

            She paused, and Draco took a moment to think aloud.  "So the diary was the Horcrux Potter was talking about it.  The more you wrote, used it - needed it - the more power you gave it."

            Ginny nodded sullenly.

            Something clicked at her miserable nod, and Draco looked horrified.  "The more power you gave it, the more power it had to hold over you."

            "Yes," she whispered.  "Soon I was sneaking around, knowing I was doing something I shouldn't be, but I couldn't make myself stop.  I would write about it, and he would tell me that we all have urges we just can't resist.  That I should tell him about them, and maybe he could help me.  Of course, he was mocking me; it was him the whole time.  After that, I would wake up and not be able to remember what had happened during the day.  The last thing I would remember was eating breakfast, but I would find myself in the dorm room studying.  Once I woke up in bed covered in red paint.  I think I might have fainted when I saw it.  I was sure it was blood."

            "So he possessed you, took you down into the Chamber."

            "There were a few other things between there, but yes.  He possessed me, I opened the Chamber again, and when we were down there he..."  Ginny trailed off, unable to find the right words.

            Horrible thoughts instantly filled Draco's mind.  Everyone knew how powerful blood magic was, and the strongest blood was that from the virgin.  If the Dark Lord had found a way to utilize it, they could be dealing with a whole new kind of monster.  "He didn't -"

            Realization flashed across Ginny's face as she grasped onto his train of thought.  "Oh!  No!  Not that."  She shuddered.  "I just didn't know how to describe it.  He came out of the diary, and he was there.  Like a ghost, only in color.  He was young and handsome, charismatic - so charismatic.  I could see why people would be entranced by him.  But he was so evil.  I could see it in his eyes - even before he was ... solid."  She gave an involuntary shiver.  "He said a spell, and it was like he was pulling the life out of me.  Like when you pull a thought for the Penseive."

            "But what has that got to do with you knowing that spell?"

            Ginny shrugged.  "He created it.  Before he made the diary a Horcrux, before he was even a Seventh year.  He wanted to be able to cause pain without being tracked by the Ministry for using an Unforgivable."  Her eyes widened at the thought.  She still couldn't quite wrap her head around the idea that a boy younger than they were could have been so evil.

            "Merlin," Draco said, rubbing his hands over his eyes then massaging his temples.  "He could do that when he was sixteen then.  Not even all the members in the High Circle can do it.  Most of the ones who can don't manage it as well as you."

            "Sorry," she interrupted.

            He waved her apology off, still puzzling it together aloud.  "The Cruciatus hurts the same no matter the caster - so long as they're feeling particularly hateful - that's what makes it unforgivable, it's employed only by hate.  But even when the castor isn't comfortable with hate, or say it's emotional - like rage, it's not how much the spell hurts that changes, it's how long it lasts.  Pervellous though, the intent is different -"

Ginny cocked her head to the side.  "How?  It does the same thing.  It causes pain."

Draco shook his head.  "No.  It's not fueled from the same place.  I can see why it works now - Pervellus comes from somewhere logical, it can be monitored and adjusted by the castor.  He can make you feel anything from a pinch to burning with pain.  It can be tempered at the will of the castor, and like other jinxes, it can be cancelled with a counterjinx or Finite.  Do you see?"

"If that's true, then why did mine nearly knock you off your feet when I didn't mean to -"

"But that's just it - you didn't give it any direction at all.  You didn't know you were required to.  You shouted it at me in the midst of a duel, your enthusiasm gave it all the information it had to go on.  So it went."

Ginny looked at him doubtfully.  "I guess that makes sense.  All I know is that Tom made it, and that alone should have told me it was a bad idea to use it.  But what I don't understand is why I knew the spell, knew how to cast it, but not the particulars -"

"Hang on - you knew it because he knew it?"

            "I know a lot of things I shouldn't.  It's like whatever he knew before he made that Horcrux, I know.  The things he learned later are a little different.  Like a flash of déjà vu or something - even though he's not in my head anymore.  When Harry destroyed the diary, all the life he'd stolen went shooting back into me.  The best I can figure, it was such a violent recollection of my essence that it yanked some of his out along with it."

            Draco was giving her an odd look.

            "You can't tell anyone," Ginny said quickly.  "No one else needs to know about me knowing more than I should.  Hermione knows, and Harry too, but no one else - especially my mum - need know."

            "All right then," Draco agreed.  "No one else, but I get another question for my silence."

            Ginny tried not to roll her eyes.  Only a Malfoy would request that his silence be bought in the middle of such a heart baring conversation.  "Fine."

            "Who's Tom?"  He had meant to ask again about the candles, but the only thing on his mind was Tom - whoever he was.  And Draco needed to find that out so he could kill the sorry bastard for whatever he had had to do with the diary mess.

            Ginny was too shocked even to scoff at Draco's question.  She cocked her head to the side and studied him before coming to the conclusion that he really didn't know.

            "Potter said that the diary was a Horcrux, so obviously that was Lord Voldemort's, but who's this Tom fellow, and what did he have to do with any of it?"

            Draco frowned as she continued to stare at him.  He didn't like being so utterly confused.  Not at all.  It destroyed his illusion that he knew everything, and that - on top of everything else - might have proved to be more than he could handle. 

"Now look here -"

            Ginny, meanwhile, had decided that showing him would be the best answer to his question.  She picked up her wand, held it loosely in her hand, and concentrated.  He watched her eyebrows knit together as the writing came out of the wand.  "TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE"

            Riddle?  That was the house where they met.  That was where Voldemort regained his body, but what -

            She flicked her wrist, and the red letters hanging in the air slithered their way around, rearranging, shifting, just like they had in the Chamber when he'd come out of the diary and laughed in her face.  He had done it when Harry was there too, when he had come to save her.  It was a favorite trick of Tom's.  Finally, they were still again.  "I AM LORD VOLDEMORT."

            Draco and Ginny stared silently at the letters for a long time before Ginny finally spoke.  "His name wasn't always Voldemort, you know."

            The anagram only brought more questions to Draco's mind.  "But, but the Riddle house is a Muggle house.  There aren't any pureblood Riddles."

            "I know."

The candles flickered gently, warming the room with a pleasant half-light as Draco looked around and scowled half-heartedly.  He'd apparently slept on the floor.  Again.  Damn this horrible house, it was turning him into a, a - well, something common.  He tried to move, before he found that his chest was pinned awkwardly to the wall, and was sufficiently surprised that he'd not immediately noticed her weight pressing against his chest.  Draco rather thought he was losing his touch.

            She burrowed her face deeper into his chest as he squirmed underneath her and moved her arm to rest her hand against his shoulder.  Despite the ache in his back reminding him that he had slept sitting on the floor, Draco decided he'd never had a better night's sleep in his life.  He was just closing his eyes again when the door of the room flew open and banged against the wall - mere centimeters from his head.

            Draco started, and Ginny shot to life like a scalded cat.  She was on her feet with her wand drawn before Draco really even had registered what was happening.

            "Get up!  Get up!  There's been an attack on the Ministry!" the intruder shouted, barreling through the doorway at the same time.  Ron looked around the room.  "Ginny?  The twins said...  Ferret!"

            He looked between them, horrified, then shook his head and shuddered before remembering that the emergency at hand outweighed Ginny spending time with Malfoy - but only barely.  And no, he didn't really want to explore the possibilities of how they were spending that time, though on the bright side, they were fully clothed, if a little rumpled.  "Hurry up, hurry up, they need reinforcements."

            Draco struggled to find his feet; as it turned out, his entire left leg was asleep where Ginny's legs had been resting on it.  Ron held out a hand, which Draco reluctantly took, and hauled the blond boy to his feet.

            As Draco passed by her, Ginny reached for him.  He allowed his hand to graze down her arm.  He paused only at her hand, to give it the briefest of squeezes before letting it fall. 

She bit her lip, but returned the nod he'd given her as he swept out the door.  Once again all business, Ginny looked expectantly at Ron.  "Well?"  She tapped her foot.

            Ron only looked at her.

            "Is this an emergency or not?  Let's go."

            Ron reached for her, almost the same way she'd reached for Draco just moments before.  "Gin -" He was aware that they were wasting precious time, but unable to make himself care.  Family came first.  It always had.  "Are you sure?"

            "Sure of what, Ron?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

            "I just - he - you -" He ran his free hand through his red hair, frustrated at his lack of words.  She squeezed his hand, encouraging him, and he managed to find them.  "He looks at you like I look at Hermione."  Ron shrugged.

            Ginny smiled widely, to his horror.  "He does?"

            Ron sighed.  "Yes, he bloody well does."  Someone had to be playing a cosmic sized joke on him, that was all there was to it.  Not wanting to dwell on the weight of his own statement - or the fact that Ginny had not been horrified by it - he tugged at her hand.  "We should go; they'll be waiting."

            "Right."

            They were on the landing between the first and second stories when she suddenly stopped.  "Ron."

            He looked to her expectantly.

            "Thanks."  She threw her arms around him and squeezed with all her might.  "Be careful," she whispered in his ear before pulling away.

            "You too, Gin."  They joined the rest of the Order members gathering in the dining room, listening intently to the orders relayed from Shacklebolt to Moody.

            When Moody finished, Ginny filed towards the door with the rest of the Order.  She'd nearly made it out when a hand snatched her arm.

            "Oh no you don't, young lady."  The hand jerked her bodily back into the room.  "Some things I will tolerate, but this is not one of them."

            "Mum!  But what if -"

            "They certainly don't need you out there with them.  It'll be chaos as it is.  The Ministry is already lost.  Anybody with more than a stitch of sense knows that.  Those boys are going to need good, hot food when they get in, and probably more than a little medical attention.  You'll do as you're told this time."

            "Mum, please -"

            "I said no."

            Molly knew, of course, that it was only the nearly unrestrained panic in her voice and the ferocious look in her eye that had quelled Ginny into unhappy submission, but Molly was simply grateful that for once, for once, she'd not been overruled.  Ginny was her baby girl, and even if Molly was prepared to accept certain things - such as the fancying of the Malfoy boy or her daughter's well honed dueling ability, though she paid no attention to cooking or sewing - there were many lines she wasn't ready to cross yet at all.  Watching her determined daughter march off into battle was one of them.

            Draco watched as Ginny's mother pulled her back into the meeting room and allowed a small sigh of relief to pass his lips.  The Dark Lord certainly knew Ginny had played host to his soul at a young age, and Draco knew that any Death Eater that brought her to him would receive rewards he couldn't even begin to imagine.  She'd be swooped down upon the moment anyone noticed that flaming hair.  A forceful clap on the back nearly sent him sprawling onto the floor as he followed the anxious herd of men into the next room.

            "Not going to be distracted by visions of pretty girls while we're out there, are you Malfoy?"  Moody asked, eyeing the boy.  "You're better off here, if so.  Once the Death Eaters see that pretty blond head of yours they'll have you in their sights.  I imagine the return of deserters would bring plenty of rewards from your Dark Lord."

            "He's not my Lord," Draco growled.

            "Good to hear, boy.  There's some sense in your head yet."  Moody nodded at him once before moving on, but not before tossing some last advice over his shoulder.  "You might want to consider a Glamour to hide that hair of yours then."

            Draco growled.  He certainly would not Glamour his hair, thank you.  He had more self-respect than that.  He wanted it known once and for all where he stood.  Where he chose to stand.  To hell with Switzerland.  A Half-Blood making puppets of Pureblooded wizards was more than he was willing to ignore.

            Ginny wrung her hands as she paced the kitchen.  It'd been hours - fine, an hour, two tops - and they'd yet to hear anything from anyone.  "Mum, why haven't they contacted us?  Merlin, what if it was a hoax?  A trap!  What if -"

            "Be quiet," Molly snapped.  "No what ifs.  What ifs will make you barmy.  Barmy people are of no use.  So just, just hush up."

            The elder Weasley woman took a deep breath and fussed with the arrangement of bandages and potions on the table before her.  She'd not meant to snap at her daughter, but it was more than she could handle, hearing Ginny voice the very thoughts running through her own brain.

            She and Ginny had converted the kitchen into a makeshift hospital, as the Order had long ago decided against using St Mungo's except in the most dire of circumstances to avoid making the hospital any more of a target than it already was.  The food they'd finished preparing sat under warming charms in the dining room.  They'd worked silently, fastidiously, together.  This had been fine, excellent really, until everything was done and the only thing left to do was wait.

            "Go and check the flames under that antiseptic potion.  It needs to stay good and hot," Molly directed, more to give Ginny something to do than for any real concern over the health of the flames heating the potion.  She'd been able to brew that potion in her sleep since the twins turned two.  The flames were fine.

            They came upon them suddenly, almost as quickly as they had swept out of Grimmauld Place, not long after Ginny had been given command over the hearth in the kitchen.  In the doors they swept, pouring in in groups of three and four, supporting one another, carrying one another, as they pushed and shoved their way through the house.  Nearly half of them passed through the kitchen, and Molly Weasley's carefully honed eye for spotting injuries to the dining room.  The Order members from the first war, and many of the Aurors that had been added to the ranks moved and talked nonchalantly, as if it were just another day's work.  Ginny supposed that for the Aurors, at least, it was.

            Their robes were tattered and torn, many had scrapes that looked terrible, though Ginny knew that if they'd been as bad as they looked her mother would have hauled them to the side and set her to work severing the robes so the areas that needed attention could be Episkeyed or treated with some potion or another.  Her hands were raw from the hot water and rags her mother had given her charge over, cleaning the wounds of the seemingly never ending line of next patients and slathering them in the fresh antiseptic potion, then sending them on to her mother so she could heal them and send them off to a room or couch to rest. 

            But Ginny's eyes never left the door.

            She saw him first.  A shining head of platinum coming heavily through the door, and she very nearly sloshed some of the scalding water she'd been using to tenderly clean the wounds of the wounded onto the current wounded's leg.  But he was alive, and he appeared to be moving under his own steam, even if he was going about making his way to the kitchen slowly.

            He bypassed her end of the kitchen completely, breaking through the line in front of her mother.  It was not until that point that Ginny realized why he'd been moving so slowly.  He heaved another body up onto the table as Molly sent off her current patient.  Her mother leaned in to Draco, who whispered urgently into her ear, and though Ginny could see that her eyes held reservations, her mum nodded her assent and turned to the patient. 

            "Ginny, come quickly!"

            It was not until they'd cleared the tattered remains of his robe and her mother set to work, tsking and muttering quietly under her breath at the severity of his wounds, that Ginny chanced a glance at Draco.  He stared pointedly at her mother and the patient, scrutinizing every wave of the wand she made.  Ginny could see he was concerned, no - worried, just from the look in his eyes.  That was almost scary in itself, because if he'd forgotten to put up that mask that blocked her from reading his eyes, he must have been truly worried indeed.

            "What did they do to him, did you see?"  Molly asked.

            She could tell well enough from many of the injuries, but he needed Skele-Gro for his left leg, which was oddly stretchy and rubbery, and a Blood Replenishing potion as well.  The two could be mixed, but the Blood Replenishing potion was finicky and had a tendency to react with spell residue.

            "Cruciatus, mostly from Bellatrix after she caught him deflecting a curse from Potter's back.  There were several others though, I don't know.  I didn't find him again until we'd managed to run most of them off."

            "All right then.  Go and fetch that bottle of Skele-Gro from the counter over there, and bring me a flask as well."  When Draco had obediently gone to fetch the potion, Molly turned to her daughter.  "Hold him steady, Ginny," she said quietly.

            Ginny nodded and folded herself over the patient's torso, pinning him to the table.  She watched in something akin to wide-eyed horror as her mother grasped his upper arm and wrenched it back into the socket.  Ginny had the fleeting thought that it was good she had decided against a career in Healing.

            "Vicious harpy," the patient groaned as Ginny delicately worked a sling around his arm and neck.

            Ginny patted his hand in sympathy.  "Be careful, or she'll hear you," she whispered conspiratorially.  "And believe me, she won't be nearly as gentle if she hears you."

            He must have said something back, but Ginny was too busy trying to cover her shock at the discovery of a Dark Mark on his wrist to listen. 

            "Pro- Professor Snape?"

            Severus Snape sighed heavily.  "What of it, girl?"

            He scowled at her, expecting her to screech for Potter or her mother, or perhaps at Draco.  Then he remembered who she was, a Weasley.  The only girl Weasley, who had a host of obnoxious brothers and had shared her body with the essence of the Dark Lord for nearly a year.  She wouldn't screech for help, she'd curse him into oblivion herself without hesitation.  He couldn't help but feel faintly doomed.

            Ginny only smiled cautiously at him.  "You're safe here, Professor.  Draco told me."

            Damn that boy.  Had he not told the fool to mind himself?

            She patted his hand again.  "Though I don't envy you a bit.  Mum says you need Skele-Gro."

            She bit back a giggle, taking pleasure in how her sassy reply agonized her former professor - simple, sweet retribution for his snide remarks about her and her potions in his classes.  Professor Snape heaved himself up enough to look at his legs.  She supposed he realized her mother was right, because he gave a defeated groan and sank back down on the table in a heap.

            "And what of Potter?" he bit out a moment later, seeing that Molly and Draco were busy measuring out the Skele-Gro and quietly arguing about another potion on the table.

            "What of him?"  Ginny replied, arching a smooth red eyebrow at him in a manner he found very familiar.

            Professor Snape looked to Draco, who'd finally been shushed by the formidable Mrs. Weasley.

            "Drink up, Severus," she ordered, bustling his way with a flask full of, if he judged correctly, Skele-Gro mixed with a Blood Replenishing Potion.  He pinched his nose and tipped his head back, taking the vile concoction like a shot.

            Once satisfied that he would, in fact, keep the potion down, she continued speaking, "You'll stay on the couch in the meeting room until I tell you otherwise.  Now, give me your wand."

            He looked warily at her, but complied hastily when she snapped her fingers at him and fixed him with an or else type of look.

            "Draco, you'll need to stay with him until Moody gets back.  I believe you, dear, but I don't trust him - spy or not.  Alastor will be the one making the final decision, in any case."

            Snape clutched his rubbery left leg and screwed his face up.  Ginny thought that had he not been so schooled in masking his reactions, he might well have allowed a squeak of pain to pass through his lips.  Skele-Gro was nasty business.

            Once Snape had been levitated off to the meeting room, Ginny turned back to the thankfully dwindling line of Order members that needed tending.  Her brothers, Harry, and Hermione still had yet to come back, and Ginny was beginning to get a touch panicky about it.  She'd been worried about them all, but seeing Draco had waylaid some of her fears.  If he was all right, then surely they were.  They'd been in far more scrapes than he had, and the Weasleys always had been a scrappy bunch, if she did say so herself.

            Only, she had seen nearly everyone but them - even Moody had returned - and those that were coming in now all looked at her and her mother oddly.  It felt like there was something no one was telling them.  Surely, surely, if anyone knew anything, they would tell them.  Right?

            Ginny had just finished cleaning off the burns of her last patient and began to slather them with burn salve when her mother abruptly left the room.  She thought she might have seen a whisp of a patronus dissolving where her mother had been, but then patient in front of her doubled over and became violently ill, and it was forgotten as Ginny hurriedly returned her attention to the matter at hand - or rather, foot. 

Ginny shuddered.  Healing was officially out.

            Ron punched the living room wall.  It was too late.  They had found him too late. 

They hadn't even found him, Hermione had.  He hated that.  He hated more that the sound of her shrill scream still resounded in his head, and that that had terrified him more than the sight of Percy.  He hated that he had always discounted his father as something of a soft man until he'd seen him at the Ministry and realized that "family first" was not just a motto of which Arthur Weasley spoke.  He hated that he didn't know if Fred and George were even alive - they'd sent no response to his patronus.  He was furious that Harry had barely reacted - was still barely reacting, even if he had volunteered to send a patronus to Ginny.  And he absolutely had no idea what to feel about the fact that he couldn't seem to produce any tears, though he had some notion that he too should be crying.

Molly bit back a gasp as she dropped to her knees next to him, even as she banished the blood soaked shirt from him.  "Don't worry, darling.  Mum'll take care of you.  It'll be all right.  You'll be all right, love," she soothed, even as her brain flew into action cataloging his injuries and telling the panic threatening to overwhelm her to shut up.

            "Molly -" Arthur started, his voice strained.

            "He'll be fine," Molly interrupted.  If Arthur voiced the possibility, she would be lost to the panic, and she had neither the time to be lost nor the wherewithal to recover. 

She turned back to Percy.  "You'll be fine," she told him solidly, as if she would make him fine by sheer force of will.  As if he were a teenager contemplating disobeying her and needed to be reminded who was in charge.

            There was everywhere and nowhere to begin helping him, and as Molly dug more and more supplies and potions out of the bottomless bag she'd brought from the kitchen, Ron felt the realization that this was a hopeless situation constrict around him.  He punched the wall again.  It didn't loosen the knot. 

The twins' arrival went almost unnoticed, though Ron realized somewhere in his mind he had registered their pops of apparition.  Fred and George were bloody too, though as far as Ron could tell, it was not their own blood, which would have been more disturbing if he bothered to think about it, but Percy's predicament was foremost on his brain.

            While their mother continued to work in vain, desperation bleeding into more and more of the murmured spells and thoughts she probably didn't realize she was voicing, Hermione rose to her toes so she could whisper into Ron's ear. 

            "Ron, where's Ginny?"

            Ron's head shot up, and he looked around the room.  Where was Ginny?  "I don't know.  Harry sent her a summons.  He said he did," Ron whispered back.  Truthfully, he probably could have shouted it and nobody would have so much as noticed him.

            Hermione's lip curled.  Harry hadn't sent a patronus to Ginny at all.  She'd been with him the whole time.  Ron must have realized the same thing, because she felt the tension flood his arms and his chest.  "Now isn't the time, Ron.  I'll get her."

            Hermione slipped quietly around the back of the pack and into the kitchen.  She found Ginny sitting on the table, looking disgustedly around the room. 

It looked like a battle had taken place in the kitchen.  The place was a mess.  There was blood on some of the chairs and cabinets still, and bright puddles of potions on the floor and counters.  There was blood on her shirtsleeves, and she couldn't get it off.

            Hermione walked slowly too her, unsure of how to broach the situation.  "Ginny," Hermione greeted her, surprised to find there were tears brimming in her friend's eyes.  Thank goodness.  Harry had sent her a summons.

            Ginny sniffled.

            "The rest of us are in the living room," Hermione started cautiously.

            "I just want to be alone right now, Hermione."  Ginny gave her a watery smile.

            "I know, I know," Hermione soothed.  "It'll be hard, Ginny.  But I really think you should be in there with us.  I... I don't think he's going to make it, and I know you'll regret not being able to say goodbye."

            Ginny's head snapped up.  "What?"

            "You didn't get Harry's patronus, did you?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer. 

            "What patronus?"  Ginny was on her feet, halfway to the door when the weight of Hermione's words hit her.  "Which one?"

            "Ginny -"

            "Nevermind.  That doesn't matter."

            Ginny made herself enter the room at a walk, and she had almost made it through the throng of red headed men unimpeded when Harry pulled her back, away from her brother, away from her family.

            "Let go of me, Harry."  It was a quiet threat, and all things considered, Ginny felt she was being extremely generous leaving it at that.

            "He's going to die, Gin."

            She cringed at his use of the pet name, at the matter-of-factness in his voice.  "He is my brother.  And I don't care - I'm not afraid of death."  She pulled against the grip he had on her arms, twisting away from him.

            "He's a mess," Harry tried again. 

            Harry's tone was meant to soothe, but it set Ginny's nerves on fire.  He thought he was protecting her, but she didn't want to be protected.  She had never wanted it, and she had never asked for it either.  As if that was not enough, he had made the decision that she was not strong enough to see her brother in such a condition for her.  He didn't even understand that it was a decision he had no right to make.  If she had missed him - if he was gone before she got there - she would not be held accountable for her actions.

            "Eat aconite, Harry," Ginny growled quietly, yanking her arms out of his grasp.

            It occurred to her, as she stared in horror at Percy, that she was afraid of death - she was very afraid of death, just not her own.  But she didn't have time for that now.  Percy was her brother.  He was her brother, however stupid and stubborn and proud he was, and she wouldn't be put off by a little blood.

            "Oh, Percy."  She sank to her knees beside him, opposite her mother.

            He groaned in response and she petted his chest, barely stifling the urge to scream when she found her hand covered in his blood.

            Each breath Percy took sounded more haggard than the last.  It seemed Molly had now realized the inevitable as well, because she had stopped casting the healing spells and dosing him with the blood replenishing potion.  She was only casting pain relief spells now, and the thought that even her formidable mother had given up sent chills to Ginny's very soul.          

            "I'm sorry."

            "Oh, Percy, it's all right darling.  It's all right.  Everything will be fine, you'll see."

            And as quickly as it started, it ended.  He had managed a smile at his mother's words and his eyes flitted closed.

            Ron was the first to react, turning and putting his fist through the already abused wall, drawing it out only to give the hole a brother.  It was like she was someone else, watching them, Ginny thought as Hermione turned to Ron and took hold of his arm, stopping a third hole from joining the other two in the plaster.  He folded into her, and Ginny realized, perhaps for the first time, that waifish, petite Hermione was far stronger than Ginny ever gave her credit for.  The twins still hadn't moved, Fred's smile hadn't even had time to falter.  Her father was moving now, dropping to his knees behind her mother.

            There was a keening wail, starting the world to turn again, and Ginny didn't know if it came from her mother's lips or her own.  She needed to escape.  She was on her feet in an instant and took off at a dead run from her position next to Percy.  She fought her way bodily through George, who'd been perceptive enough to preempt her, and then through Fred, who'd been perceptive enough to realize that George didn't stand a chance at stopping her.

            The candles dimmed themselves as she flew past them down the hall.  Ginny careened wildly around the corner in her haste to escape the overwhelming reality of her brother's death.  She crashed into someone hurrying in the opposite direction, undoubtedly reacting to the cries of anguish he'd heard coming from the foyer.

            She was startled when arms wrapped around her, stopping her mid-flight.

            "Let me go," she wailed, beating on the solid chest interfering with her escape.  She fought him, and fought him, and still he held her, preventing her from fleeing.

            "Stop it," his voice commanded, soft in her ears, but a command all the same.

            To her surprise, and his, she did.

            But Draco did not quite know what to do when she inexplicably latched onto him.  He released the grip he'd had on her waist, and stood there, arms out to the side while she burst into a fair imitation of a hosepipe.  And surely, surely, he was mistaken and she had not just blown her nose on his shirt.  He couldn't stop his lip curling in disgust, even as he carefully patted her back.  Who knew, too hard, and she might erupt on him again.  Where were those oafs she called brothers when she - or, though he wouldn't admit it to himself, he - really needed them?

            "I... err... would you like me to find Fred and George for you?" he heard himself ask, almost dazedly.

            She did funny things to him, such as made him want to be nice even after he'd been used as a handkerchief.  Surprisingly, he found himself halfway at ease with that discovery.

            She shook her head no into his shoulder.

            "Do you want me to get someone else, your mum, maybe?" he tried, hopeful she would allow him to find her someone who had the first idea about what to do with her when she was in such a state.

            Again, she shook her head no.

            "What do you want me to do then?"  Draco tried very hard, with varying degrees of success, not to huff at her.  She was, obviously, upset, and while he'd decided that he did care, he was well aware that his comforting skills were rudimentary at best.  He would do something to foul the whole thing up in a matter of moments, he was sure, and he rather liked being on speaking - and touching - terms with her.

            She shrugged against him, burrowing her head further into the crook of his neck.

            "So you want to just stand here and use me as your handkerchief in the middle of the hallway?" 

He hadn't meant to sound quite so indignant, though he found the sound she'd made in reply interesting - a cross between a gut wrenching sob and a small laugh.  He prepared himself for another round of slapping and fighting from her for his tone, for surely he'd messed up this comforting thing now, but she only clung to him tighter.  He wrapped his arms around her waist again, lightly this time. 

"Let's find somewhere a bit more private then, shall we?"

            A bizarre feeling of pride overtook him when she nodded her agreement.  He wasn't sure if it was because he had figured out - for the moment - what would most soothe her or if it was because he was the one that she chose for said soothing.  But he didn't have time to dwell on it, because she pulled away from him the tiniest bit to allow herself to be guided down the hall.  So he led her to the room with no doorway and settled her on the couch, issuing a firm "stay put" before retreating to gather reinforcements.  Someone who knew what to do with a crying girl, actual handkerchiefs, and preferably, a clean shirt.

The first thing he discovered was that he was very wrong about their family structure.  He'd always thought it was wildly backwards, with Molly Weasley at its helm.  The morning following Percy's death, that perception – along with the belief that she was also the parent to be feared of the two – flew hastily out the window, right behind the stately owl that had delivered a letter to Mr. Weasley from the Minister minutes earlier.

  "To the members of the Weasley family:           

Please accept my sincerest condolences at the loss of your son.  I experienced the many joys of working with Percival, and he and I developed a strong friendship over the years.  He was perhaps the finest assistant a Minister could ask for, and would have been a fine Minister himself in time.  I am truly saddened at this loss to the Wizarding World, but in light of recent events, hope you understand I will be unavailable at the time of his funeral.                       

Much Aggrieved,

Rufus J Scrimgeour
Minister for Magic

p.s. Arthur, take as long as you need.  Your position at the Ministry will keep."

Charlie knew he was a simple person.  He recognized the fact that the deeper meanings of things often escaped him, and he didn't spend his every waking moment wondering why this or that didn't happen to him or what the things that did happen meant.  He lived life as it came, and he was okay that it was the only way he knew how to be.  That did not mean, however, that he was stupid.

much longer to observe his younger sister.

Charlie suddenly felt that perhaps the twins were not the only ones that could see all those things anymore.  His knees shook a bit at the thought, because while Ginny might not have been his baby sister any longer, she was still his younger sister. 

His hand rapped sharply against the doorframe, almost of its own accord.  The elder brother in him danced with glee when the Malfoy boy jumped a good six inches in the air and away from Ginny.  The dancing died – or at least slowed – when Ginny caught Charlie's eye.  The look she gave him keenly reminded him of the look he'd received from the temperamental Welsh Green at the reserve when he'd been discovered monitoring the eggs in her nest. 

Draco tossed in his bed, desperately tired but still unable to remove his eyes from the ever-looming Charlie Weasley. 

            The room was entirely too tense as Ginny, Ron, and Hermione waited for Professor McGonagall to arrive.  They were also waiting on Draco and Harry, to be fair, but Ginny was anticipating her former professor's arrival much more than either of the boys.  As final preparation for the Locket Excursion, her first foray into activity in general and the entire Order's first undertaking of a planned strike, they had been given a grueling review on Patronuses, as well as intensely studying Animagics for the past several weeks.

            Today would be their finals, so to speak, and Ginny always had hated tests.  They made her nervous and jittery, and McGonagall had told them up front that if they did not meet her standards, she would see that they were yanked out of this mission by the seat of their pants – as well as any other missions in the near future.

            "Your move, Gin," Ron said.

            Ginny studied the chessboard keenly.  Ron must have been more nervous than he was letting on too.  "Checkmate!"

            Her queen slid across the board and took far too much pleasure in smashing Ron's king to bits, though in all fairness, it had been quite a while since she'd been given the opportunity.  Needing some sort of release to the ever-building feeling of apprehension, Ginny capitalized on the moment.

            "I win!  I win!" she shouted, leaping from her chair and beginning the signature chess victory dance she'd delighted in when she was a tiny thing.

            "What is that?”  Draco asked, entering the room to find Ginny gyrating wildly around the couch, even going as far to whoop with glee every so often.

            Ron snorted his disgust.  "That is what she calls her victory dance."  He shut his eyes as if to save them from the sight.  "She beat me at chess."

            "Miss Weasley!  Good heavens!"

            Ginny froze mid-gyration where she stood on the back of the couch, and a look of horror flitted across her face, which was fast on its way to turning beet red.  "Sorry, Professor."

            Minerva McGonagall merely shook her head as she walked past.  The children had clearly been kept cooped up for entirely too long.  "Is everyone here?  We don't have long, and we need to finish this up properly."

            "Harry's on his way, Remus needed to speak with him," Hermione explained, looking up from her book for the first time since Ron and Ginny had began their game of chess.  "What on earth are you doing, Ginny?"

            Ginny's blush deepened, and she hopped nimbly down from the back of the couch she'd been celebrating on.

            Hermione smiled as she noticed that Ginny had unconsciously taken the hand Draco had offered to assist her, and that neither had yet let go.

            McGonagall's lips pursed as she frowned.  "Well, we'll just start with Patronuses then.  Those are the most important, and we already know Mr. Potter can handle his."

            Draco scowled.  She was focusing on the Patronus charm specifically for him.  Everyone knew it.  She may as well have said it outright.  Granted, Ginny had trouble since Percy's death, but before then her Patronus always began to take shape, if it didn't quite make it all the way.  He was the only one who had yet to make anything remotely corporeal appear.

            "Remember, Patronuses are how we communicate with each other.  If something should happen, Merlin forbid, Apparate yourself to safety and send a Patronus to Remus or me to let us know that you are unharmed.  These are invaluable tools of communication.  Their message cannot be forced out of them, nor can they be eavesdropped upon, by anyone who seeks to do you harm.  It is vital that you are able to conjure one."  McGonagall fixed both Draco and Ginny with her teacher's look as she repeated the exact same message she had given the first day she'd started working with them.

            Ron's terrier romped about the room, and Granger's blasted otter was rolling and tumbling after it when Ginny produced her very first corporeal Patronus.  The memory of the previous night's kiss with Draco licked across her thoughts, and it seemed like the animal sprung from her wand of its own accord.

            All of them, Ron and Hermione's Patronuses included, stopped to stare at the misty creature before them.  It snarled, sniffed, and then stood on its hind legs – mouth open in a silent roar.  Ginny beamed.

            "Well done, Miss Weasley.  It appears you've produced a… a very large bear."

            The bear snarled again, looked around the room, and then turned to face Ginny.  She appeared to arch an eyebrow at her owner – if such things were possible – as if to say, 'There's something here you can't handle on your own?'  Ginny giggled.  Of course her Patronus was wickedly sarcastic.

            Draco's own Patronus followed in short succession, just as Ginny's faded out of existence.  Everyone turned to stare at him, and the miniature dragon – though it wasn't small by any means – circling around him.  A misty fireball soared across the room at nothing in particular, and Ginny burst out laughing.

            "A Chinese Fireball?  Really?  You just couldn't stand for me to have the best Patronus, could you?”  She laughed and giggled some more, and it proved to be contagious.  Soon, even Professor McGonagall's lips began twitching in amusement.            Draco watched his dragon circle lazily around Ginny, then move to nuzzle against her neck, and it occurred to him that the 'memory' that allowed him to make a corporeal Patronus was the image of her grinning at her gigantic she-bear, and then turning to share a softer, private smile with him.  It shocked him, and his dragon gave him a baleful look as it dissolved as quickly as it had formed.

            Harry stormed in the door then, and Professor McGonagall quickly rounded on him, lips once again pursed in disapproval.  "Mr. Potter, you are late."

            "Sorry, Professor."  He didn't sound very repentant, and McGonagall sniffed affectedly at him.

            "Yes.  Well, do hurry up.  We're moving on to our Animagus training.  It looks to be a very promising lesson, from the start of things."

            Ron was unable to stifle a groan.  He had been the most excited about becoming an Animagus, but his excitement had dwindled drastically when he realized that the majority of their training was in theory, rather than practical.  "No more theory.  We've been doing theory for forever."

            "Eight weeks is hardly forever, Mr. Weasley."

            Ron blanched.  He had not intended Professor McGonagall to hear his grumbling.

            "Most Animagi require at least sixteen weeks of intensive training in theory and several more of supervised practical training before attempting to transform."

            "You mean?"

           "Yes, Miss Weasley, today you will attempt your transformations.  I would usually not allow this by any means; however, these are very… trying times.  This is to be used in emergency situations only, such as if you are not able to Apparate to safety, or –" McGonagall visibly swallowed.  "Or if you are attacked by that fiend Greyback.  But let us get one thing clear before we proceed any further.  We are, obviously, not going to be registering at the Ministry of Magic today.  However, the moment this war is over, I expect to find you all in my updated copy of Registered Animagi in the Magical Community.  If I do not, harbor no illusions that I will not track you down and drag you before the Wizengamot by the ears myself."  She smiled pleasantly at them.  "Now then, remember to center yourself and allow the change to take over, don't fight it."

            She demonstrated one last time, turning into the familiar, spectacle-marked tabby and leaping into Ginny's arms.  Ginny scratched behind the cat's ears, and Professor McGonagall purred.  She freed herself from Ginny's arms and transformed back, wry grin fixed across her face as she rolled her shoulders.  She was getting too old – even in feline form – to be leaping about.

            "Miss Granger, I do believe we'll start with you."

            Naturally, Hermione got the hang of it quickly, in only three attempts.  She was currently engaging in very un-Hermione like behavior, preening in front of a mirror – undoubtedly admiring her red fur.  She turned on her stool and yipped at them, her large, pointed ears turning every direction, and her bushy tail quivered in excitement.

            "I'm a fox!" she exclaimed upon turning back.

            "Granger, believe me when I say that is the only time anyone will ever refer to you as a fox."

            Hermione crinkled her nose at Draco.  Since he'd moved into Grimmauld Place, she'd discovered that she could give as well as she got, something that surprised her immensely at first.  "As if I would want a ferret thinking about me like that."

            "But she certainly doesn't mind a weasel thinking that way," Draco stage whispered to Ginny.

              Ginny snorted, despite the indirect insult.

            Hermione rolled her eyes, desperately ignoring the blush she could feel tingeing her cheeks.  "Well then, Mr. High and Mighty, let's see you do it."

            "Fine."  He stepped calmly in front of the floor length mirror McGonagall conjured for them, and took several deep breaths, concentrating on his center – whatever that was.  He was shocked when he felt as if he were sliding, melting, being pulled into another shape.  It wasn't the entirely unpleasant sensation he'd been expecting at all.  Draco chanced a glance at the mirror.

            Bugger all.  He was a cow.  A cow.  Or rather, a bull, but bovine nonetheless.  At least he was a handsome cow – with pale hair over black skin and a muscular build.  And he had horns.  Horns were a plus.

            The meager sentiments didn't last very long, because everyone was laughing at him.  Even Ginny was covering a smile with her hands.  He snorted and pawed at the floor irritably.  Ron was positively guffawing, and Draco hoped Weasley was something horribly wimpy as he changed back into his human form.

            McGonagall prodded Ron forward when no one stepped up to go next.  "Can't be worse than his," Ron said with a shrug and a snort.  It took him the better part of five tries, but finally he too felt the slipping sensation of transformation.  Ron, much like Draco, was not a happy camper when he looked in the mirror.  Not in the least.

            "How now, Weaslebee?  You are how you eat, it seems."  Draco sneered.

            Ron was indignant when he returned to human form, despite the fact that Hermione was fussing over him.  "Don't be upset, Ron.  Professor McGonagall told us that our forms would reflect our personalities."

            "Thank you, Hermione.  That was ever so helpful.  I'm intensely relieved that you find it fitting I should turn into a pig."

            Professor McGonagall tried to suppress a smile.  She had known the moment she came upon Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger fighting at the top of their lungs in a corridor during their first year that they would some day end up together.  Why, Molly and Arthur had been the same way.

            "Oh, come off it."  Hermione was surprised at her sharpness, but he was deliberately being thick.  "You are not a pig.  You're a boar.  Boars are very noble creatures.  They're renowned throughout Celtic history as symbols of courage and strong warriors.  In Middle Eastern cultures, they're thought to chase away evil.  You should be proud to be a boar."

            "Easy for you to say," Ron grumbled.  "You get to be a fox."

            Only Harry and Ginny were left to transform.  Harry attempted to step back to clear the way for Ginny, but she shoved him in front of the mirror in a fit of panic.  No one seemed to notice except for Draco, who arched an eyebrow at her – and, of course, Harry, who stumbled forward before finding his feet.  She tried to ignore Draco's unspoken question by watching Harry fumble his first attempt at transforming.

            His hand skated down her arm, and when he gave her hand a tiny squeeze, Ginny met his eye.  She shook her head at his questioning look.  The rustle of feathers caught their attention, and the unspoken question was suspended, for the time being.

            Harry eyed himself in the mirror, cocking his head first one way and then the other before taking off to make a quick lap of the room.  He alighted on Ginny's shoulder, nuzzling into her cheek as Hedwig often did his, and allowed her to stroke him before taking flight again.

            He would have fallen from the air like a stone if Draco had his way.

            "He's a hawk," Hermione said.

            "He's an eagle," Draco corrected absently.

            "Tomato, tomahto, Malfoy."

            "No, not really.  You said it yourself, Granger.  The symbolism is everything."

            Hermione didn't have an argument for that.

            When Harry had been coaxed into changing back from the apparent freedom his bird form allowed him, everyone turned to Ginny expectantly.  Ginny blanched.  "Um, you know, I don't think I have what it takes to be an Animagus.  Thank you anyway, Professor."

            "Really, Miss Weasley.  Don't be ridiculous."

            Minerva had been about to add that if bumbling Peter Pettigrew could be coaxed through animagus transformation by Black, Potter and Lupin – Sixth Years, albeit extraordinarily gifted Sixth Years – then surely a witch as gifted as she was capable of it, but she bit her sentence short at the expression on Ginny's face.  She knew she could do it.  She was just terrified of what she would turn up as.  Minerva didn't think she could blame her for that particular fear, not after the ordeal she'd been put through in her first year. 

            "We'll give you a moment to collect yourself, but then you are transforming.  Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, come with me."  She gave Ginny a meaningful look as she ushered Ron and Hermione out of the room ahead of her, and Ginny suddenly felt very indebted to her professor.  McGonagall had set her up to transform in private – or as private as she could arrange without raising the suspicion of the others.  It was masterful, really.  The twins could stand to learn a few things from her.

            "And leaving the three of us in the same room together accounts for wise on what part?"

            "Don't be snarky, Draco," Ginny scolded.  "Besides, Professor McGonagall left you with me.  She knows I could whip either or both of you any day of the week."

            "Fat talk from someone who's too chicken to be an Animagus."

            Ginny scowled at Draco.  The majority of the time, they got on quite well, and she would even go as far as to call him sensitive.  Now, she merely wanted to sock him.  Her eyes slid to his pouty lips.  On the other hand, perhaps there were other, more effective means of shutting him up.  She hadn't considered that possibility before.  Now that idea had merit.

            "Oh, come on now, Gin.  You know you can do it," Harry coaxed, reaching out to pet her shoulder.

            "Don't be a ninny, Harry.  Of course I can do it," Ginny snapped, sidestepping him.  She wasn't feeling particularly cuddly, and even if she were, Harry was not the person she wanted to cuddle her.

            "If you know you can do it, what's the hold up?"  Draco tapped his foot impatiently.

            "Suck a lemon, Draco."

            The unfortunate thing about Weasleys was that they were normally much more expressive, vocally and physically, than Ginny was currently being.  Which was why it took Draco so long to translate the dirty look she was giving him into "The hold up is that I'm terrified, you great, insensitive nincompoop".

            Draco sneered at her, but found the look wiped from his face when she sneered back.

            "He does have a point," Harry helpfully pointed out, breaking the silent conversation between Draco and Ginny.

            Ginny gave Harry a withering glare.  Why was everyone incapable of letting a dead dog lie?

            "Fine.  Just – Fine.  What if I'm some sort of horrible monster?  I had that, that creep in my head for the better part of a year.  You know that I know things I shouldn't.  Who's to say that I won't adopt some horrible Animagus form of his?"

            "Animagus forms reflect personality," Harry parroted.

            "Yes.  Thank you for that enlightening bit of information, Harry.  He is a part of my personality.  I'm probably going to turn into an asp, and if I do, I'm coming after you first."

            "If that's what you're worried about, change now, while it's just us," Draco reasoned.

            "Right.  Because it's better if I turn into a monster and just kill the two of you?"

            Draco shrugged.  "Why not?  Besides, we'll be expecting a monster, being more in tune with your true personality and all."

            Ginny smiled at his attempt to soothe her bristled fur.  How he knew when to pipe up with the sarcasm, and – most of the time – when to hold it back, she wasn't quite sure.

            "Sure, we'll stun you before you can hurt us, then leave you alone to transform back," Harry helpfully pitched in.

            Ginny sighed and looked between the two boys, weighing her options carefully.  If she was something horrible, she would rather Ron and Hermione not know and Professor McGonagall as well.  Ron would be shocked and appalled and upset that he was appalled and would somehow find a way to blame himself for the whole thing for not being protective enough of his baby sister.  Then he would shadow her every move for weeks, until she was forced to hex him.  Hermione would analyze, analyze, then analyze some more just to be safe, and then she'd want to talk the whole thing to death.  And, well, Ginny would just rather not have Professor McGonagall think ill of her in any situation.  Aside from that, McGonagall had given her the opportunity, and if she returned before Ginny had transformed, Ginny had no doubts that she would not be so kind as to offer her another chance.

            "Besides, Gin," Harry continued, "Voldemort has a direct connection to my mind."  He tapped his scar for emphasis.  "And I wasn't anything horrible.  I was an eagle."

            "Yes, well, you're also the one that's supposed to destroy him, so I think it's a given that you would be something good."  Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  She was not a nitwit, thank you very much, and she certainly didn't need Harry – of all people – to break it down for her.  He hadn't even realized that calling her Gin made her feel like she needed to clobber him.

            "Quit belly-aching and let's get going if we're going to do this before everyone gets back."

            Ginny turned to Harry.  "Don't tell Hermione, but I think Draco's a bull just because he's bull headed," she said conversationally.

            "Very funny.  If you're a snake, I'm going to make a pair of boots out of you."

            "Clever, Draco."

            Draco made a show of polishing his nails on his sweater and examining them.  "I do try.  So are you going to do this or what?"

            "Fine.  But I warned you.  And I've changed my mind.  If I'm an asp, I'm going after you first."

            Draco clutched his heart.  "Woman, you wound me."

            "Shut up."

            "Yeah, yeah.  You say you can change, now let's see it."

            "Lay off her, Malfoy," Harry said.

            "Stuff a sock in it, Potter.  She's trying to transform."

            "With no help from you."

            "Harry," Ginny tried to interrupt.

            "Bite me, Potter."

            "Draco," she tried again.

            "In your dreams."

            "That's original.  Did Weaslebee help you come up with that one?"

            "Hey!”  Ginny cried, her efforts to diffuse the situation forgotten at the insult to her – for once – innocent brother.

            "I like how you didn't deny it."

            Draco inspected his polished fingernails.  "I'm sure you do, Potter."

            "Enough!"

              Harry and Draco looked at each other, looked at Ginny, and then began pointing and shouting at each other.

            Ginny rolled her eyes.  Third Years.  All boys stopped maturing when they reached Third Year.  It was the only plausible explanation.  The boys were wand to wand when she managed to make herself heard again.  "All right!  The next person to so much as utter a sound gets a Bat Bogey, and that's a promise!"

            "Sorry," they chorused, not sounding very sorry at all.

            "I'm sure.  Now be quiet so I can think.  And get your wands ready."  Ginny studied them for a moment before, wisely, choosing to elaborate.  "And if you use them on each other, I will come up with somewhere far more inventive for the Bogies to come out of and alter the spell accordingly."

            Both boys flinched.

            "Now then.  Let me think.  Get centered.  Whatever that's supposed to mean."

            Harry and Draco each gave Ginny a nod, and while she took deep breaths and attempted to find the elusive center, they eyed each other warily.  So absorbed in their eyeing were they, in fact, that they were completely taken by surprise when a deep, rumbling purr filled the room.  Where Ginny Weasley had stood not moments before sat a full-grown lioness.

            "Ginny?"

            Draco scoffed.  "Who else would it be?"  He reached to pat her on the head, and she swatted at him with a heavy paw.  "Hey!  Watch it."

            She fixed Draco with a pointed look.  Honestly.  And they thought they were going to protect her – and themselves – if she'd been some type of nasty creature.

            "Where'd Ginny go?”  Ron asked around the stack of books McGonagall and Hermione had appointed him to carry back to the tapestry room.

            "I'm sure she's getting her nerves about her somewhere quiet," Hermione replied.

            "Yeah, well, it's a good thing Mum doesn't know she's getting Animagus lessons too.  She'd have kittens."

            Draco snorted.  He couldn't help it.

            Ginny growled, and all three of the returning group whipped around to see where the noise came from.

            "Oh, Ginny, you're gorgeous."

            Ginny tried another purr at the compliment, deciding she liked the way it felt to make the rumbling sound deep in her throat.

           "Miss Weasley!  You should have waited for me before attempting your first transformation," Professor McGonagall scolded.  

            Ginny was worried that she had misinterpreted the woman's meaningful look until McGonagall gave her a sly wink, assuring her that the scolding was purely for appearance sake.  Ginny slunk over to her professor then, head hung low.  The glint in her eye, had anyone else taken time to look, however, suggested she wasn't sorry in the least.            "Yes, well, I suppose that can be forgiven.  Well done."

            A smile flitted across Professor McGonagall's face, and she clapped her hands together.  "Now then, let me show you what a good ear rub feels like.  No more of that pinching business you think I enjoy.  There's nothing more relaxing when it's done properly, I assure you."

"Be careful, okay?"

He gave her a reassuring smile.  "I will.  We'll be done before you're even up."

How funny that it was these people he would now call friends.  How odd that he would have friends at all, really. 

If there was one thing he had neglected to mention that night when discussing the finer points of the Slytherin psyche with Charlie, it was that Slytherins were solitary creatures, and mostly made that way by their own design.  Oh, they interacted well enough, but none of that was more than a show. 

Terrifying as it may have been to entrust his life to these people, it was a decision that Draco was glad he had made.  What a nice bit of poetic justice.  These people – Blood Traitors and Mudbloods – had ensured that the Malfoy line would continue, when purebloods would have seen it fail.  Not only that, but they had offered him a way to return the Malfoy name to the grandeur it once held.  A way to redeem it, reestablish the principles and promise that his father and grandfather had seen done away.  And for all they offered him, expecting so very little in return, Draco was glad to surpass their expectations of him. 

Charlie chuckled.  "Let's just say that it's forgotten enough to make Bill a very comfortable living, shall we?"

Draco nodded and inhaled deeply.  "It's time then.  Let's go."

They landed softly in a cluster of evergreens a kilometer South of Malfoy Manor. 

"Splinch yourself, Malfoy?"

Draco's lip curled.  "No."

"Then lead the way.  It's not like we've got all day."

Draco shouldered his pack and began picking his way through the undergrowth.  His stomach began to swirl as they passed a set of boulders.  The manor would be visible once they rounded the next bend. 

They splashed through a creek, and then Draco stopped.  A stone wall ran as far as the eye could see in either direction, and Malfoy Manor sat on top of a hill half a kilometer or so inside the stone wall.

Charlie tossed him a flask of water, and they sat on a nearby log while Bill, careful not to actually touch the boundary of the Malfoy estate, studied the wall.  He paced and studied, stepped away and then towards the wall again, all the while sweeping his eyes over the wall and the manor it enclosed. 

Bill was careful not to react to Draco's revelation.  Inside, however, he felt his heart pull.  Oh, it was mushy he knew, Charlie constantly gave him hell about his "mushiness.”  But to be forced to kill his own father…  Bill rather thought it was a miracle Draco Malfoy was capable of any type of normal emotions at all.  His brain, however, prickled uneasily.  Patricide.  The estate might not accept him. 

Surely the magic would be able to tell true patricide from a kill-or-be-killed situation.  It should have recoiled against Lucius the moment he attempted to kill his heir.  Nonetheless, they would have to tread carefully.

Hermione was once again in the library, curled into the chair she had deemed most comfortable, enjoying the peace of her sanctuary.  She had always been a morning person, and while she wasn’t particularly fond of being booted – however politely – from her bedroom at quarter of three nearly every morning, she did relish the quiet in those pre-dawn hours.  Perhaps what she was most fond of was that she did not have to bow to seniority for use of her library.

The end table next to her held an array of magical theory books, but this morning Hermione had followed instinct through the shelves Dobby had restored to pristine conditions.  House Elves were truly amazing creatures.  The book she selected that morning was an ancient thing on estate magic.  What she was looking for, she wasn’t quite certain, but this book was not as precise as she had hoped to find, though it was giving her a nice, generalized version of estate warding procedure and theory. 

Hermione stilled after turning a page.  Something was off.

No, not off.  Something was not right.

Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes, trying to visualize the last concept she had read in accordance with the others.  Instead, Malfoy Manor came into focus.  Hermione’s eyes shot open and she shook her head again.  It must have been a combination of her nerves over today’s procedure – it was the only way any of them could come up with to get that damned locket – and her urge to retire back to her room to finish her night’s sleep. 

But she had work to finish first, and Hermione Granger had never gone to bed with homework unfinished.  She would simply try again.  What had she been reading?  Oh, right, layering.  The layering was important, to the point it could determine the “persona” of the wards.  Layering aligned the values the estate holder held most dear, and so the estate would know which preceded what.

Malfoy Manor stubbornly came into focus again, but this time Hermione was prepared for it.  If her thoughts insisted on taking her there, then she would simply utilize it to her benefit.

Something was not right.

Hermione narrowed her scope.  There, it was right there.  The security had been breached; the property believed it was under threat.  The wards pulsed angry crimson.

Her eyes shot open involuntarily, and Hermione forced them closed again.  She had to see.  That was what was not right.  The estate was angry.  Why was it angry?  Did they know?

“Don’t touch it!” she mentally called to the trio outside the far corner of the property.

But they did not hear her, nor did they see the pulsing warning signs of the wards.  They were not welcome. 

The sky was all but clear from of the last traces of the orange and purple dawn, and the leaves of the trees surrounding them seemed to quiver in anticipation.  The blond approached the wards, and reached to touch them.  The look on his face turned to abject terror and the taller of the two redheaded men grabbed for him too late.  The wards… they had… they had dismantled him.

Hermione shot from her chair and out of the library.  It wasn’t right.  It wasn’t right!

“Ginny!  Ginny, get up!” she shouted, up ending the side of the mattress nearest the door.

Ginny shot up from the floor wand in hand.  “Hermione!  What –“

“Shoes!  You need shoes!”

“I need –“

“It’s not right!  You’ve got to go.  Now.  It’s not right!”

“What -  Oh God, the wards?  It’s the wards.”

“You’ve got to go.  I’ll find Snape and Remus.  You have to stop them.  We won’t get there in time.”  Hermione looked out the window.  The sky was lightening, but it wasn’t bright with blue yet.  “Hurry!”

Ginny slammed her feet into worn trainers, placed her wand along her temple, and apparated.  She did not know their location, had not been provided the coordinates.  She did not try for Malfoy Manor either, that would be death, for if the wards did not shred her, the Death Eaters would.  So she cleared her mind and called up Draco’s image.  When twisting her wand, she had given her magic only one firm command. 

To Draco.  Now.

Draco felt ridiculously out of sorts.  All of Bill’s information was bouncing uselessly through his brain.  He approached the gate on the South Wall – the far wall – cautiously.  It felt unhappy.  Or maybe he felt unhappy.  He wasn’t sure.  Draco gave a wry grin.  Perhaps the Manor is as unhappy to see me as I am to see it. 

He took a breath and called the wards with the incantation Bill taught him.  The wards seemed resentful.  But then again, he was too.  The wards did not reveal themselves as Bill had said they would – there were no pulsing or shimmering indications of enchantments.  Draco reached to touch them.  Perhaps if they recognized him, they would behave properly.

He stepped nearer to the gate, arms extended.

They were warm.  Why were they warm?  He needed to get closer so he could understand.

Just as Draco prepared to step forward once more and touch the gate, infiltrate the wards, he was yanked off his feet.  He fell, tumbling backwards down the slope that led to the back entrance of the grounds.  As he fell, he was aware of a body sliding and rolling with him, on top of him, beside him, underneath him.  As they came to a stop at the foot of the hill, the hand that had latched onto his wrist loosened its grip.

“Well.  That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Draco blinked.  “Ginny?”

“Sorry.  I might have been a little too unspecific when I apparated.”  Her brows knitted together as she contemplated.  “Strike that.  I think it was the other way around.  Maybe I was too specific when I told it to take me to you now.”

“Ginny, what are you doing here?”

“The wards.  They aren’t right."

“What do you mean, ‘They aren’t right’?”

“I mean precisely that.  They’re off, somehow.  Couldn’t you feel it?  I could feel it.  So could Hermione, but that’s neither here nor there.  And you were going to touch them.”

“I was – Well yeah.  They’re my wards.  They should –“

“Behave?”  A smile quirked Ginny’s lips as he rolled onto his side, propping himself on his elbow so he could see her – certify that she was, in fact, in one piece. 

“You shouldn’t have –“

“Saved your sorry arse?”  An eyebrow quirked to match her smile.

“How did you even get the coordinates?  And my arse didn’t need saving.”

“Yet.  I told you, I didn’t have the coordinates.  Hermione said I had to get here, so I just apparated.”  She shrugged.

“You just apparated.”

“That’s what I –“

“You just apparated without coordinates?  To a location you’ve never been, surrounded by wards that are – apparently – ‘not right’?”  He looked at her doubtfully.

“Well, it was an emergency.  Hermione up-ended my bed.  She said I had to go.  So I went.”

“How?”

Ginny huffed at him.  “I told you.  I apparated.  I thought, ‘To Draco’ and twisted my wand.  What else was I supposed to do?”

“Do you hurtle through space at that velocity every time you apparate?  If so, we might need to come up with alternate means of transportation for you in the future.”

Ginny gave him a sheepish smile.  “Well, I did add a pretty forceful ‘Now.’ on the end.”

“I see.”  Draco did not see.  He had never heard of such a thing.  She had not apparated to a designated place; she had apparated to a designated person.  In addition, she had managed not to splinch herself with him.  He was stymied.

The bushes around them crashed and rustled as her brothers careened through, wands drawn.  They stopped short of trampling them – just barely – and stared curiously at the pair sprawled on the ground.

Charlie looked at his sister.  “Bit of a rough landing there, eh Gin?"

“I’ve had better,” she admitted, laughter bubbling in her voice.

Bill only looked back and forth between them, and his countenance darkened as he began to realize the connection between them. 

“Up you get,” Charlie insisted, extending a hand to Draco.  He smiled to himself as Draco turned and reached for Ginny once he stood.   

Once standing, Ginny turned to Bill.  “There’s a problem with the wards.”

“I’m aware of that.  It’s why we’re here.”

“No, Bill.  There is a problem with the wards.”  When he narrowed his eyes at her – a trait that was, apparently, inherited from one Molly Weasley, Ginny’s lip rose in a sneer.

“Fine, I’ll play.  Ginny, dear sister, since you have specialized in curse breaking and estate magic for the better part of your life and are oh-so knowledgeable on the subject, what is wrong with the wards?”

Draco and Charlie exchanged wary glances.  This could get ugly.

“They don’t like him.”

Draco’s eyebrow rose.  Clever girl.

“Scintillating observation, sister, but can you blame them?”  Bill quipped nastily.

Charlie’s jaw dropped.  Oh, Bill.  Stupid, stupid, arrogant Bill.  Ginny had always tended to play favorites with them, but surely he did not hold himself in such high esteem as to think he still held that position.  He hadn’t been her favorite since she was three.

“I’m serious,” Ginny said quietly.  “They don’t like him – don’t want him.”

“Ah, but so am I.  I’ll ask again.  Can you –“

Bill’s question was cut short, and Charlie turned away – because what had happened was revolting, hilarious, and looked painful, and he was unsure whether he’d be treated to the same fate if he dared to snigger. 

“Bloody buggering fuck!”  Bill swore, once he’d managed to call the vicious bogeys off.  “Merlin’s godforsaken underpants!  What was that for?”

“Really, Bill?"

“Don’t be a bint, Ginny.  It doesn’t suit your vindictive –“

Ginny watched, amused, as bubbles frothed from Bill’s mouth.  “Brother, Mum would not approve of such a tone directed at her baby girl.”  Her eyes narrowed, and the false pleasant overtures of her voice disappeared.  “But then, she wouldn’t approve of how careless you were with your charge either.  You will be nice, even if it kills you.  Otherwise you can go home now and explain all of this to Mum.”

An evil grin appeared on Ginny’s face.  “And to Fleur, who has enough manners to either die of shame or kill you for shaming her.  And I saw her at the TriWizard Tournament.  If I were you, Brother, I’d be ready for the latter.”

Charlie whistled.  People worried about the twins, but Ginny was by far the more dangerous.  She was scarier than Mum, even.  Perhaps what made her so disconcertingly terrifying was that she played the game far better than she rightly ought to know how, and she did so unconsciously, pulling and puffing her magic without giving second thought.  Even Draco did not, perhaps could not, summon his magic so inconspicuously. 

The thing about magic, about the game, Charlie had learned, was that everyone – even Muggleborns – played it.  While he was tracking a restless, nesting dragon through Romania, Charlie found it painfully obvious in the mixed communities where he often set up camp.  Hell, even Muggles played the game, though to a much lesser extent and completely obliviously.  The difference was, Purebloods trained in the game. 

Hell, the game was why there were Purebloods.  While it was certainly true that centuries of inbreeding had weakened many of the families’ magic, it was no less true that intimate knowledge of their magic had been enough, until recent years, to edge out competition.  And that was not accounting for the fact that those who knew breeding well enough to do it properly – since they looked at their offspring as the equivalent of livestock, or perhaps the much more fashionable racehorse – still managed to better their offspring, even when breeding with those that were not so knowledgeable in their genetic endeavors.

Without the training, though, all subtlety was lost, and with it went the impression of power.  Charlie had observed the leaders of those communities very closely, and what distinguished them was the sudden shock of being allowed to sense their magic – how much of it there actually was, how powerful it could be, and how well controlled it was by the wizard.

Part of what made Ginny so dangerous, Charlie thought, was how well honed her control over her magic was.  Very few people realized she was more than little Ginny Weasley because she did not allow them to see the extent of her magic.  Then, someone – more often than not one of her siblings – would have her brassed off and she would summon it quietly to herself, which was not unusual, everyone – Muggles too, even if their magic was available only in amounts minuscule enough to only make it impossible to say they possessed no magic - called their magic to comfort themselves.  Finally, when pushed just one step to far, she would unveil that power.  Not to say she unleashed it; that was only to be borne in the most dire of circumstances – trained in the game or not, there was an innate knowledge of that rule.  But she would reveal it, crackling and intense, and there was no way beforehand to know just how much of it there was.

It was like Muggle fathers with their guns.  Charlie had gone on a date with a Muggle girl once, and when he had arrived, her father greeted him at the door.  At the time, he seemed harmless enough.  While waiting on his daughter to make her way downstairs, he had invited Charlie into the family room.  Once there, he had sat deeply in his chair, picked up a long barreled gun of some make or another, and polished it intently.  When he heard his daughter on the staircase, he had calmly inserted a shell into the chamber and cocked the gun.  Charlie was not in grave peril at the moment, but he was suddenly well aware of the man’s capabilities should he perceive injury to his daughter’s delicate persona.

The only difference was Ginny did not have a shotgun.  She had a bazooka. 

Hermione Granger was at a loss.  She had failed spectacularly and sacrificed two of her few friends in her efforts.

Just as she was nearing tears, a hard hand clamped onto her shoulder.  “Don’t be stupid, Miss Granger.  It does not become you.”

“They’re gone.”

“They’re not gone.  They are simply not here.”

The slick silk words roused Hermione’s temper.  “I hardly think – "

“Well, yes.  I would say that explains it.”  Severus felt her magic bristle at his dismissal of her.  “Use that overstuffed head of yours and think.  If the wards had taken them, there would be residue.  It would have knocked you off your feet ten yards from here.”

“I hadn’t – "

“Of course not.  Now get up.  Use your infernal Gryffindor logic and find them before they do manage to kill themselves.”

“Severus, Hermione!  I’ve found them.”

Hermione half-scowled at Severus Snape before begrudgingly allowing him to pull her to her feet.  He returned her scowl with a sneer, and they continued as if nothing at all had happened.  As they moved towards the disembodied voice of Remus, Hermione could not help but feel as if her world had returned to order. 

The scene they walked in on left no doubt in Hermione’s mind that the world was as it should be.  Bill Weasley was glaring daggers at Ginny, who stood over him in Molly Weasley stance, calmly telling him exactly into which orifices he could shove his complaints.  Draco and Charlie stood off to the side, carefully observing the stand-off, both looking alternately embarrassed and half-afraid to laugh at Bill’s predicament.

“And I was foolish enough to believe I had escaped the displeasures of teaching.”

Draco sobered immediately, standing up straight and elbowing Charlie into attention as well.

“Miss Weasley, while I admire your creativity and thoroughness, we do not have all day to assess your brother’s many idiocies.  Please do hurry it up.”

Ginny flushed red to the roots of her hair.  “Sorry, Professor – Severus – Snape? Oh bother, what would you have me call you?”

“I’d rather prefer you not call me at all, but if you must, I suppose Severus would be acceptable.  Certainly preferable to anything you’re likely to come up with on your own.”

Remus caught her eye and winked, and Ginny gathered that she had been given as close to a compliment as she was ever likely to hear from her former professor.  The world was rapidly spinning out of order, as far as she was concerned.

“Seeing as the wards have not yet been removed, perhaps one of you could enlighten us as to why Miss Granger was so inclined to imitate a vengeful harpy and chase us out of our beds this morning?  I presume it was not for an overwhelming desire to gallop through the woods.”

“The wards – " Ginny began.

“Perhaps someone with more expertise,” Snape interrupted her.

“Thank you.”  Bill stood, brushing debris from his robes as he moved.  “The wards do not appear to recognize Malfoy as the heir.  It may have to do with his father’s death.”

Snape turned sharply to Draco.  “They have found you wanting.”

“It appears so.” 

“Then you must prove yourself.  You are the Malfoy.”

“I don’t know what – "

“I think that you do, Draco.  It’s time you took your place.  Make them see.  Make them submit.  But we’ll not – I’ll not – play this game any longer.  Weigh the options, make a decision, and assert yourself – whatever it is you decide.  Use whatever methods you see fit, I will back you.  But mark my words, there will be no more of this playing the ends against the middle nonsense.  Your mother would not have stood for it, and I will not do her the injustice of standing for it in her stead.”

The Gryffindors, all except Ginny, had averted their eyes when Severus Snape had rounded upon his pupil.  The Weasleys and Hermione, albeit indirectly, had all experienced their fair share of public critique from Molly, and they well knew Draco’s discomfort.  It was also a self-defense mechanism, because if caught staring, it was very likely that their mother would come after them next.  Remus, though not schooled in Molly Weasley’s version of etiquette in this particular scenario, had faced similar – if not more embarrassing – confrontations, and he too sympathized with Draco.

Ginny, however, did not look away, and she was not entirely sure she could have if she wanted to.  Snape’s pointed instruction, though addressed to Draco, seemed to be directed to her as well.  When Severus looked at her immediately following his counsel, Ginny knew she was correct.  He was as much offering her advice as he was Draco, and it was advice she should heed if she planned to continue their fledgling relationship.  She tipped her head in the barest of acknowledgement, and Severus returned it. 

While she may not see – or have ever seen – eye to eye with the man, he was knowledgeable, and whatever his feelings for her, he was willing to lay them aside for the sake of Draco.  Ginny was encouraged; she knew that if they planned to continue their relationship, there was much she would have to learn about his world.  Draco would have much to learn about her world as well, but there were a plethora of people he could turn to for advice about the Weasley way.  Ginny was glad she would have someone to answer her questions as well. 

“I suggest we all take a few minutes to ourselves before we give this another go,” Remus said, breaking the awkward silence threatening to overwhelm the group.  “Let’s meet back here in, say, ten minutes?”   

****************

They sat on a log near the stream, secluded from the others by a dense thicket.  He studied the flowing stream intently, wearing a frown Ginny associated with him puzzling things out in his head.  But Ginny needed answers before she made any decisions of her own. 

“What did Severus mean, playing the ends against the middle?  Am I a means to your end?”

Draco sighed.  He had known the question was coming, and he had been trying to sort out his answer before she asked.  He meant to speak up before she asked, but he wasn’t sure how to start the conversation at all.

“Well, am I?”

“No.  You’re a fringe benefit.”

Ginny bumped him with her shoulder.  “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“Can we please cut the cryptic Slytherin crap for today?  Just the next ten minutes, even?” vDraco frowned.

Ginny frowned back.

“You are actually going to need words for this.  Otherwise, I’ll have to admit that Bill was just a warm up.”

“I see.  So when asking nicely fails to work, you slide into brute force.”

Ginny shrugged.  “Any means…”

“And that brings us back around to the topic at hand, doesn’t it?”

“Yep.  Clever, huh?”

“By my watch, we have four minutes before they come to find us.”

“So you’re going to stall?  Charming, Draco.”

“Actually, I was going to suggest direct answers with suspended sentencing until explanation, which would occur at some point in the near future.”

“Directly after dinner, and that will be acceptable.”

“Agreed.”

“All right then.  Am I being played against the middle?”

“Yes.”

Ginny glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Begging your pardon, but did you think I was going to be overjoyed?”

“You wanted truth on the spot.  I know I’m witty and charming, but this needs a little more time to be phrased delicately.”

“You forgot modest, as well.  But, if I were you, I would expand on that, quickly.”

“So much for our bargain.”

“That was before you implied you had ulterior motives in dating me.”

“You are very useful.”

“Not helping.”

“Fine.  Yes, but also no.  You’re being played, but I’m doing my best to keep you out of the game.”

“So if I specified by saying, ‘Are you playing me against the middle?’ the answer would be?”

“No.”

“Good.  Or at least, better.”  Ginny sighed.  “You’re right.  We are going to need more time to discuss this.”

“Things are so mucked up right now, I doubt an eternity would be enough time to figure it out.”

“Well, we’re just going to have to think on our feet then, aren’t we?  ‘Cause we definitely need to figure this out sooner rather than later.”

Draco smiled crookedly. 

“But what about me, us?  Am I a means to an end?”

“Draco, Ginny?  Where are you guys?  Remus says it’s time to get started!”

“We’re on the way!” Ginny called, turning to roll her eyes at Draco.  “I swear, if I ever had ten minutes of privacy in my life, I would die of shock.  Do you know I even take a shower in under ten minutes?  Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“Incredibly,” Draco agreed, eyeing Ginny appreciatively.

“Oh, shut up.” Ginny swatted his shoulder.  “We’d better go before they send Bill in after us.  He holds a grudge, you know.  Best to watch out for him in the near future.”

“Duly noted.”

They had just cleared the edge of the thicket when the overwhelming urge to give her some kind of answer – put her at some sort of ease, even if only temporarily – overtook him.  He grabbed her hand, stalling her progress toward the group and turning her back toward him.  She looked at their hands, then him, questioningly.  Then the look softened, and Draco’s heart did that funny swelling thing that made him uneasy – when this was all said and done he might need to see a healer about that, because his heart had never done that until the past month or so and it was unquestionably unnatural.  And he had to tell her the honest to Merlin truth right then or it was surely going to explode. 

“You are not the means to my end.”

“It’s okay Draco, we can finish later –"

“No, you don’t understand.”

“Draco, they’re waiting on us – on you.”

“Hang them.  I don’t care.”

Ginny started at his sharp words.  “Draco –"

He took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm himself before he really did muck the whole thing up and even an eternity would not fix it.  He tugged her closer to him and looked her in the eye. 

“You are not a means to my end.  You are the end.”

It took a moment for his words to dawn on her, and when they did, no force of nature – including the presence of overprotective Weasley brothers – could have stopped her overjoyed reaction.

Bill Weasley, upon seeing his baby sister leap upon a Malfoy and give him the snog of his life, calmly turned to Severus Snape and asked to be Obliviated.  Severus would have obliged, only that would mean he would have no one he tentatively trusted to Obliviate him.  As such, he thought it only fair that they both suffer. 

If worse came to worst, he had it on good authority that the Weasley twins, ingenious oafs that they were, had a stash of Ogden’s that Molly Weasley, as of yet, had been unable to find and destroy.  Thankfully, he had dedicated his life to teaching, which was not at all very different from being a double agent.  Finding and exploiting secrets was one of his many specialties.  If he was feeling charitable, he might even invite Bill to join him.  He had endured worse things than the company of this particular Weasley before.  Perhaps he would even enjoy it.

Draco approached the Manor for the second time that day, though now he approached with a sense of duty rather than desperation.  His palms were still clammier than he would have liked, but frankly, he no longer gave a damn about how the Manor felt about him.  The resentment was gone, replaced by a quiet, steadying strength pulsing from some previously unrealized fount within his core. 

He did not use the incantation Bill had given him this time - he had no need for it.  His focus was crystalline, and he demanded the wards' appearance silently.

The hairs on Ginny's arms stood on end when the wards appeared.  Sparkling lines of lime, lemon, tangerine, and raspberry appeared before them, dangerous and lethal in their beauty.  Despite their beauty, the magic that radiated from the wards was slippery and cruel.  The intricate lacework of spells moved in sinister, serpentine waves about the perimeter of the property, and Ginny was repulsed by the dark taint oozing from the perversion of such magic - from twisting the intent and purpose of the spells from safeguarding loved ones to radiating prejudice and hate.

Draco plucked at the strands of the wards, categorizing them by date and purpose, and the wards recoiled from him.  Then their twisting circulations seemed to focus on him, and Ginny suddenly had the vision of a snake preparing to strike.  No sooner had the thought licked across her mind than she was by his side. 

The Manor's magic coiled tighter, focusing more intently on the two people threatening it.

The wards struck at them, pressing the boundaries of their reach.  Draco pulled Ginny behind him, even as her magic took a defiant swipe at the malevolent wards - a reminder that she had claws.  The wards hissed, Draco's magic snarled at them.  Her magic pressed against his, puffed in warning, the arched back of a cat.  His magic barred the wards from her, and Draco was the tiniest bit relieved that, though disgruntled with him, the wards had recognized him and seen fit not to harm him.  Or at least, they had for the moment. 

Charlie, Hermione, and Remus watched the display in wonder, but Bill and Severus eyed each other - and the wards - warily.  This was not normal.  This was so far from normal that Bill was unsure whether he even knew what was going on, much less how to correct it.  From Severus's alarmed expression, he didn't know either.  Hermione, though unversed in the art of estate magic, had gathered enough from the violent exhibition thus far to realize that what was going on was not expected, at the least.  The way Bill and Snape were exchanging apprehensive looks, Hermione guessed that this was not a good development at all.  She wondered if the wards were just that buggered or if it was the fact that Ginny's magic was firmly entwined with Draco's that was causing all the mayhem.

As the wards entertained an uneasy truce with Draco and Ginny, Bill began his assessment.  He was both amazed at the detail that had gone into the weaving of the wards and sickened at the manipulation of the spells to suit the dark agenda of Lucius Malfoy.  Unfortunately, it looked as if this was not going to be a quick fix of removing a layer of warding or two.  This was going to take time.  Before they could fix anything, they were going to have to remind the wards of their original purpose, of their duty and true obligation.  In other words, rather than simply teaching the estate what was allowed, they were first going to have to undo years of conditioning the estate to lash out.   

The problem was, he had no idea how to go about accomplishing that.

Bill was flummoxed, and Snape was no help either.  So Draco remained at the property's boundary, wards affronted but obediently displayed.  Because Draco stayed, Ginny stayed, and ever-helpful Hermione had thoughtfully conjured mildly comfortable, albeit hideous, chairs for them.  His magic was fraying, and he was tiring, holding the wards and the shield he had drawn around Ginny.  She could feel him fading, and she refused to release his hand while her magic fretted, trying to reenergize him even as she tried to bring him some comfort. 

When he could no longer hold both the shield and the wards, he attempted to push her away from him, but she wouldn't have it.  Fool that he was, he could not deny her need to be by his side.  He could not deny himself either.  Though he now tended to his duty, he was a selfish creature by nature, and nurture had not seen fit to intervene. 

It didn't matter really, because she could be quite terrifying when she set her mind to it, and she wouldn't have gone anyway.

So Draco held the wards while Bill and Snape and everyone else wracked their brains attempting to contrive some solution or another.  Ginny held Draco.  Her magic licked around his, tangling and twirling with it, and he began probing the momentarily reserved wards to see how they were handling the entanglement of their magic.  He could sense no reaction, deliberate or inadvertent.

Her magic felt entirely different than his - than the Manor's.  It was utterly feline, slinky and sassy as it purred and rubbed against him and the wards.  And when it brushed against the wards - intentionally, if he knew Ginny at all - it growled softly, then returned to purring.  An invitation to know her, because she had the fleeting sensation that something softened about the wards when her magic tangled with Draco's, with the tiny warning that her magic was bigger than the manor knew, should it not behave appropriately.

Draco almost started when the wards began probing.  Slithering cautiously around the pair, flicking forked tongues to taste their magic, the wards curiously began to examine them.  Ginny tensed as one of the blue streamers met her magic.  Draco held his breath as the tendril recoiled quickly; it seemed shocked that her magic had allowed it to touch her.  Then it sent another brilliant blue stream slithering warily towards her.

As far as she could figure, turn about was fair play, so Ginny sent her own probes toward the manor.  With all the curiosity of a cat, they crept cautiously towards the wards.  They met the second blue streamer halfway and touched noses with it. 

Draco wasn't quite sure what had happened, only that a moment ago everything had been fine and now it wasn't. 

Ginny's magic leapt away from the Manor's.  Then it sprang back towards it to wallop the probe soundly about its head, and finally it hurtled back towards Ginny.  Ginny looked both bewildered and short of breath as she soothed her startled magic, and she failed entirely to notice that in the wake of her magic's panicked assault on the manor's probe, Draco had thrown a shield of protective magic over her. 

Severus and Bill, however, were encouraged when the Manor's rebuttal showered and scattered off the armor of Draco's magic.  If it wasn't yet recognizing him as master, the Manor had, apparently, recognized him as a Malfoy.

His magic tangled with hers, searching for any wounds the Manor may have inflicted and smoothing its bristled fur.  The wards of the Manor hissed menacingly, and Draco's magic snarled back.  The stand off between Draco and the Manor had truly begun.

"What was all that about?"

"It - It called me a blood-traitor."  She gave him a bewildered look.  "And then a gold digger."

His magic seethed.  "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't you know me well enough by now to know that if I was going to make something up it would be far more fantastic than that?"

Draco smiled at her, despite the rush of anger swirling his magic.  "Fair point."

Ginny huffed.

Draco felt rather than saw the Manor's wards again swirling around them.  He looked at Ginny out of the corner of his eye, and he could not contain his lips' effort to rise into a smirk.  "Now what?"

"Aren't you supposed to defend my honor or something?"

"My dear, I'm afraid you have me confused with someone noble."

Ginny turned away from the Manor, and she leaned into Draco.  His Adam's apple bobbed as her lips brushed against his ear.  "The thing is, I don't.  I know exactly who you are - and you are honorable, even if you insist on denying it." 

She pressed her lips to his and squeezed his hand.  "You can do this.  You need to do this.  But I don't think I'm helping - it doesn't like me.  So I'm going to wait with the others.  If you need me, all you have to do is say so."

As she retreated from him, the Manor sent one last malevolent streamer after her.  She sensed it, and as she whirled to face the assailant her magic crackled with such force that it blew her hair away from her face, giving the image that she was engulfed within a firestorm of magic and power.

Draco had also seen the Manor's attack, and as she turned to face it, he was momentarily struck by her beauty and the beauty of her ire.  His own magic welled then, at the thought of the unwarranted assault on his Ginny.  And without thinking, his hand darted out to grab the streamer by the middle - the seeker after the snitch.  The magic struggled against him, but he held fast, and at last it was meek and mild in his hands.

Bill saw the solution at the same moment Severus did.  As Draco meant to release the magic back to the Manor, Snape grabbed his shoulder.  Bill steered his sister away, what was to happen... Well, he had seen greater wizards than Draco Malfoy quelled in their attempts to master their estate.  And this estate in particular was drenched in far darker magic.

"Take it, Draco.  Take it now."

Draco's eyes flashed, and he saw then what his friend, mentor, had seen.  The Manor would not give over by rights - something within it had twisted and snapped, turned against itself and its master.  He would have to take the Manor by force and justify his commands by his mettle and his magic.  He was going to have to reclaim his land in the same manner the first Malfoy had taken it.

He couldn't help the sardonic curve of his lips.  To the victor go the spoils, and Draco would have his ancestral home restored.  He grabbed hold of the ward's streamer with his other hand and gave it a sharp yank.

The wards rattled in ancient warning.

Bill pulled Ginny behind the magical bunker he, Charlie, Remus, and Hermione were constructing.  As Draco began wresting the knotted wards apart, her heart began to pound, and she suddenly found that it was not so easy to be brave when it was not her safety at question.  She attempted to coerce Bill into commentating, but he would have none of it, shushing her and patting her on the head before sending her back over to Hermione. 

Hermione was kind enough to explain what Bill had already told them when he issued the order for the creation of their bunker, but it was nothing that Ginny would not have been able to work out on her own.  Hermione, though she watched with keen eyes, did not know what any of the struggle between Draco and the Manor was about, nor which things were good and which were bad.  So she held Ginny's hand and prayed as she watched.

Remus too studied the struggle with a keen eye.  He had inherited his father's land, but this was foreign to him.  The wards on his family's small bit of land were welcoming, embracing and innocent.  They always had been.  And the only time he could recall sensing their distress was the one time since he taught at Hogwarts that Severus had been unable to deliver his Wolfsbane.  Even then, the wards had protected both him and the land.  They neither allowed anyone in, nor allowed him out, and they kept him from the actual house as well.  He could see, in some of the laceworked spells, those same protective measures, but the way they were twined with the other spells was wrong, and somehow, that seemed to make all the difference.

Ginny watched Draco systematically dismantle the wards.  He was nearing the heart of the thing now, and the resentment and anger of the Manor radiated in waves around their bunker.  It had been a harrowing process, and Ginny had nearly cried out on more than one occasion as the Manor attacked him with brilliant streamers of color.  He caught them deftly, wrenching them away from the Manor, his own magic dismembering the energy and redirecting it, so that each conquered attack from the Manor became a tiny victory for him.

But each victory had a cost as well, and while Draco's magic was incredibly efficient at absorbing the energy stripped from the Manor, Ginny could see him beginning to fade.  Twice now, the Manor's slivers of magic had nearly managed to coil around him, and twice Ginny had shoved her fist into her mouth to keep herself from letting out a bloodcurdling scream.  The only reason she had managed to stop herself was because she knew what would happen if he was distracted.  If she was the cause, she would be unable to bear it. 

The tiny piece of her soul Tom Riddle had gleefully bruised reminded her exactly how much was at stake - and not just for the Order.  And Ginny could rationalize staying behind the bunker no longer.  She had tried to escape the confines of the bunker twice.  She had failed twice, curtailed by Bill's strong arms on both attempts.   

As Draco began hauling the last of the additional wards away from the original wards, tugging them through the twists and turns they had been laced and knotted to the original wards with, the Manor shuddered.  Ginny turned to Hermione, to see if she too had seen the vibration of the Manor's magic, but Hermione's eyes looked distant.

Ginny turned back to the Manor, and immediately seized up at the sight.  The Manor was angry.  Angry and desperate.  Draco had cornered it, and the Manor knew it.  It was dangerous, and it had a plan. 

The magic in the air was palpable, heavy and oppressing.  Then, abruptly, it was gone.  Ginny knew what was to happen the minute the magic lifted.  It was what she would do, were she the Manor - if she could not win, she would make sure she took every last one of her opposition out on her way down.

Hermione shoved her, not inconspicuously, though she whispered urgently in Ginny's ear.  "Now, Ginny.  Go!"

Ginny leapt over the wall of their magic trench.  Bill was over after her even before her feet found purchase on the ground, and Ginny prepared herself to be waylaid once again.  But it never came. 

Hermione had put him in a body bind before he could reach her, and levitated him back across the barrier.

However, Hermione had not counted on Charlie leaping into the fray.  His hand closed around her wrist while he beseeched her - rather, demanded she - return to the safety of the bunker.

Both brothers were nearly over the wall again when she made her move on the offensive.  Without looking back, she flung her arm towards their foxhole and sealed the barrier.  There was no turning back for her now.

Draco fell to his knees as the last of the additional wards twisted free.  His magic absorbed it, but he was spent. 

"Finish it, Draco.  You must finish it now," Severus urged.  The fear bled through his voice.  The Manor, now that it was free of all but the original magic, was malevolent.  It perceived a desecration, and if he did not act before the Manor, they would have no need to worry about Harry Potter, the Dark Lord, or even anything as trivial as what was for supper that evening.

Draco sensed the Manor recoiling, and with a vague feeling of helplessness, he realized that he would not be able to stop its backlash.  He had nothing left to give.  He smiled at Severus.  "Thank you."

"Draco -"

What the former potions master was going to say, Draco would never know.  He raised his hand, and with the last of his reserves and a move borrowed from Ginny, banished his mentor and friend to safety.  This battle was not his to lose.  He only hoped that Severus would reappear behind the bunker as a whole.  He would hate to have his parting gesture ruined by leaving Severus without a leg or nose - though either of those would be preferable to damage to Severus's talented hands.  Draco could not imagine attempting to make even the simplest brew one handed.

At any rate, his last gesture was a noble one, and with the wards in shambles, any one of the Order could claim the Manor to their advantage.  While it was not the stunning victory he'd hoped for, it would be enough.  His vows would be fulfilled, and he would go out in a blaze of heroic - though perhaps unsung - glory.  For the first time in a long time, Draco felt content with the Malfoy name.