“Bloody buggering hell.”

Draco Malfoy stood at the entrance of the Great Hall, feeling awkward. The way of the world had once been so that a Malfoy never felt awkward; rather, the people around him all spontaneously began to feel awkward, or possibly nervous for their lives. That had been a world where a family name meant even more than money, which meant a great deal on its own. That had been a world in which Draco had felt secure.

That world was no more.

An ironic flash of green from the once-unlikely Savior of the Wizarding World and it was all swept away. The once-unlikely Savior of the Wizarding World fell to his knees, conquered, it seemed, by the dead, and it was all condemned. Said Savior stood and howled in joy and anger and something unnamable and it was all forgotten.

On a list of days he’d like to tuck away to think of in front of a fire some long winter night, today did not rank very high. It ranked above the day Professor Snape killed Dumbledore, which was ranked just below the day he ran away from the Death Eaters, but that was about it. He was shivering, his clothes were still bloody, he had killed Pansy and his father in the space of seven minutes, and it looked like there wasn’t a single seat not squashed between a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff.

Come on, half these people graduated from Hogwarts years ago, and we’re all members of the Order, not some silly Houses, a rather small part of Draco’s mind reminded him.

And you can just shut it, the rest of his mind snapped. I’m not sitting over next to Potter. Or the Weasels. I may be useless, but I still have some pride. Sort of.

He hesitated for a moment—there was a seat right in the middle of the herd of Weasleys and assorted Gryffindors—before suddenly catching sight of Snape, sitting at an entirely different table. He hurried over, relieved to finally have a place to sit.

“You look well, all things considering,” Snape said as Draco slid in beside him. Draco looked down at himself. He’d gotten the worst of his injuries taken care of and was now just a bloody, bruised mess. Before he could respond, Snape continued, “Is your mother well?”

“She’s going to do fine, Ginny Weasley says,” Draco replied. “She was awake when I went to see her a bit ago.”

Snape nodded and the two ate in silence for a while. Draco found himself wholly absorbed in his food, unwilling to look up or look around him for fear of what he might see. Had he ever asked who’d been hurt by Lucius Malfoy? No—he’d dreaded the answer. And now that Lucius was gone, all those people who were hurt would look to him to somehow fix that.

So he was rather startled when a shadow fell across his plate and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up and Ginny Weasley stood there, leaning between Draco and Snape, a hand on either one of their far shoulders. “Evening,” she said. “I thought I’d use this opportunity to bother you, sir.”

“Yes, Miss Weasley?”

Ginny batted her eyelashes at him and smiled coyly, as if the last day—the last years—simply had not happened. “We’re out of…” She paused, mumbling something under her breath. “Everything. We’re running out of everything in the infirmary. Potions, herbs, the lot of it.”

“And I suppose I’m to remedy this?” Snape asked, unperturbed.

“Why, yes you are,” Ginny said. “But I’m willing to help mix up some potions during my spare time, if you’d like. And if anything explodes, I am dreadfully sorry in advance.”

“Then I suppose I shall have to hate you in advance,” Snape sighed. “Miss Weasley, are you going to stand here all night pestering me?”

“She could sit here all night pestering you,” Draco said. “If she could find a seat, that is.”

“Heavens forfend.”

Ginny stuck her tongue out at Snape and was tremendously glad when he didn’t see. He was not her professor anymore, but he had a glower that, Ginny suspected, stole souls. She liked her soul where it was. “I’d stay, but it’s actually sort of colder over here.”

“That’s why they gave Slytherins the dungeons,” Snape replied amicably. “Thought we didn’t mind the draft, you see.”

Draco gaped at Snape. How could he do it? How could he drop the name of Slytherin so casually, as if it were not the name of the traitor? Draco, Snape, and Narcissa Malfoy were three of the very few people to have ever been Slytherins to escape the war alive or free. Some of the younger Slytherins, when the war began, had gone to McGonagall asking for protection, not knowing how to fight a war and thinking—rightly—that the Order of the Phoenix would risk their lives to save them. But Slytherin, the word, the idea, the name, was a dirty word in the wizarding world. And Snape let it slide casually off his tongue like no war had ever gone on, and Ginny accepted it the same way. Was it pleasantry? Were they merely being polite after Snape had let his tongue slip and his mind wander to long-ago years?
Not at all, Draco realized. It’s just a House in Hogwarts to them. That’s all.

“It’s funny,” Ginny was saying as Draco’s thoughts worked themselves to a conclusion, “how different the Great Hall looks from over here. Over there, where Harry and my family are sitting? That’s pretty much the Gryffindor table. I ate in the same exact spot at that table for almost six years while I was here, and then when the Order made the castle its Headquarters I’d still eat there, when I wasn’t eating in my office in the infirmary. I had the same view of this ruddy Hall for long I don’t think I was aware it could look different.” She paused thoughtfully for a moment. “If I give you a list of the herbs I need after dinner tonight, when do you think you could have most of them for me?”

“You’ve gone and spoiled the illusion for me, Miss Weasley,” Snape said. “I’d almost had hope for Gryffindors.”
“Yes, well, I have my moments, but that’s all they are.” Ginny snapped back.

“I’ll have a good lot for you in the morning,” Snape said. “And the rest by tomorrow night. Come find me tomorrow and I’ll let you into the stockroom.”

Ginny smiled. “Well, then, I won’t stand here and pester you any longer, sir.”

“Good evening, Miss Weasley.”

Ginny nodded to both Snape and Draco and started off, but paused only a few steps away and caught Snape’s eye. “Do you know, sir, I think we may be at a point where you could call me Ginny.” She turned again and wandered away towards her horde of bright-haired Gryffindor kin.

“What just happened?” Draco asked as Ginny disappeared.

“If I told you I didn’t know, would you be done talking and let me eat in peace?” Snape replied mildly.

“I suppose,” Draco said, turning his attention back to the food in front of him. He found, however, that he was not at all hungry—or rather that the thought of food disgusted him. Despite an onset of nausea, his body did seem to recall that, in the time since he’d last eaten, he’d suffered massive blood loss, traumatic shock, a Full Body Bind and at least one fairly significant blow to his pride. So when Snape, holding a bowl of mashed potatoes, offered him seconds, Draco ate ravenously. There was still much to do today, but in his growing exhaustion, he found that he could only concentrate on one thing at a time. So he ate his fill, pushing everything else in his mind away to a sort of blissful oblivion.

~*~
~*~

“SLYTHERIN!”

Draco looked up, startled. The Sorting Hat had not called Slytherin since…his sixth year? Or maybe his seventh, but he hadn’t been at Hogwarts then. But since the war, the Sorting Hat had not found a single Slytherin. Draco had no doubt that the Hat had conversed with any number of students, saying, You’re a Slytherin, did you know? And the child would say, Please, I’m not. Please? And the Hat would relent, because while there are worse things than traitors, children certainly could not fathom them.

The Houses at Hogwarts had never quite dwindled down to three. After the war, when Hogwarts had finally re-opened as a school under the leadership of Remus Lupin, there had been Slytherin children crowded into the Great Hall with all the rest. The oldest of them had been fourth years when the war had broken out. These children, no matter what side they, or their parents, had backed, had gone to McGonagall after Dumbledore’s death, believing—rightly—that the Order would risk their lives to protect children who did not know how to fight a war. The bravest few of those Slytherin children had come back to finish their education, just like any of the other Houses had. But while the Sorting Hat had called out Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors, every first year passed through unscathed by the name—traitor, murderer, wicked—Slytherin.

Until now, anyway. Draco watched the little boy turn pale as he slipped the Sorting Hat off his head. To his credit, though he was shaking, the boy walked with his head held high. The hush that had fallen over the Great Hall was quickly replaced by a chaotic explosion of whispers and muttering. There was some banging of tables by the professors as the next child went towards the Hat.

By the end of the Sorting Ceremony, a fair number of first-year Slytherins had joined the dwindling ranks of veteran students. Draco watched them as the long minutes of the feast slithered by, rather like everyone else in the Hall was. His gaze was focused on that first boy, in particular; that very first boy to be Sorted into Slytherin after years of quiet. Draco wondered what he was thinking. In fifty years, what would this boy tell his grandchildren? I was the first Slytherin after the war, you know. And my boy, let me tell you… Draco couldn’t even begin to fill in the rest. So he stood up and walked over to the Slytherin table, to tell them what the rest would be.

The older students didn’t even look at him as he placed his hands down at the head of the table. The first-years did, however, and the mix of fear and defiance in each face was interesting. “Do you know who I am?”

A few students mumbled yes.

“You mean yes sir, Professor Malfoy, sir,” Draco snapped. “I am Professor Malfoy, your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and your bloody head of house. It is traditional for the heads of house to address their first-year students at some point in the night; generally it is done after the feast. I am here now, however, because I refuse to let my Slytherins walk out of here looking afraid. You are Slytherins, and you will bloody well act like it. Every single one of you is at this table tonight because you are manipulative, cruel, sneaky, clever little snots. I’d know, I was Slytherin too. Nobody is going to like you. It was the same when I was in school. It never changes. So what? That is why you have all been blessed with noses, to look down upon those others.”

“But, sir…” began one girl. There was a withering look from Draco, and she squirmed in her seat before continuing. “Aren’t we…evil…?”

“If there was even a chance that any of you harbored deep desires to become the next wizard to try a reign of terror wotsit, do you think either Lupin or I would have even let you in the castle? No. You’re a bunch of ickle firsties, not evil masterminds. You may be sneaky and bratty, but they let generations of Slytherins like that in with only a few Dark Lords showing up. Chins up, ickles.” Draco glanced around at the first-years looking expectantly up at him. They had brightened up. Who knew all it took to cheer up Slytherins was verbal abuse and a snappy tone? “And don’t expect me to coddle you like this again. Coddling is for Hufflepuffs, children mine. If you want coddling, you are damn well not the Slytherins I was expecting!” With that Draco turned on his heel and marched back to the staff table. There was some rather interesting dessert waiting there.

As he sat back down, he was acutely aware of eyes on him, and didn’t have to turn and look to know they were Ginny Weasley’s. They had both stayed at Hogwarts far longer than they had ever meant to—or, Draco had; he couldn’t really say in Ginny’s case. He took comfort in the fact that they weren’t the only ones. Their generation was less broken than their parents’, more willing to pick up the threads of broken things and continue on. Hogwarts had seen the need for a few people to fill positions quickly after the war, and when the bones and dice had been cast and everything was settled, Ginny was left in the infirmary; Neville Longbottom in the greenhouses; Luna Lovegood in the Astronomy Tower; and Draco down in the dungeons.

And, bloody buggering hell, she was staring at him. He did his utmost to remain completely calm—no sense in letting anyone know he was agitated. Not tonight, not when so much rode on him as Head of bloody Slytherin House.

The feast ended, and Draco slipped out of the Great Hall as the House prefects led the first years to their dormitories. Maybe I’ll walk around to the Quidditch pitch, Draco thought. I’ve already talked the little brats half to death and besides, they’ll be seeing me in the morning. Just a walk, and then…why am I being touched?

He turned to see Ginny standing behind him. The Gryffindor firsties were surging past on their way to the Tower, falling out of line only to step around Draco and Ginny. “And how are you this fine night?” Draco said after a moment.

Ginny shrugged, smiling a little. “I love tonight. It’s been my favorite night of the year since I went up and turned into a Gryffindor.”

“Please. Like it could have been any different.”

Ginny laughed a little. “Ron kept telling me I was going to be a Hufflepuff. I think he may have been trying to scare me.”

“Him? You? No.”

“While being the DADA will grant you a great load of leeway in the sanity department—how you manage to keep from going starkers in a classroom full of barmy, excitable children is ever beyond me—you still have to manage complete sentences.”

“Let’s try this one out then,” Draco said with a sneer. “Did you want something?” His sneers had lost some of their bitterness and bite over the years, and in fact she seemed delighted at the gesture.

“Yes, I wanted something, you utter pillock,” she said, but she was smiling. “How are your first years doing? Neville told me he hasn’t heard muttering like that at a Sorting Ceremony since Harry got called up.”

“Sad, really,” Draco remarked, “that the only great occasions for muttering in this entire school’s history seem to be Pothead and Robert Harrison. Has nothing else really occurred between the two?”

“At the Sorting Ceremonies, you twit,” Ginny sighed. “But I’d actually like an answer, perhaps sometime tonight if you think you can answer me while biting your tongue at the same time.” He gave her a cheeky little grin. “How are they? That one little boy, Harrison, he looked ready to pass out.”

He shrugged. “I set them straight, I think,” he said. “I think that the entire Great Hall was seeing a load of nothing that wasn’t there. Sure, they were nervous. Aren’t all first years? And they were probably a little bit anxious that they’d been sorted into rutting Slytherin. But they’ll be all right.”

She beamed at him. “And how hard was that?” There was a moment of silence that stretched into being awkward. “Well, then…I’ll…er…Goodnight.”

And this is it, Draco thought as they turned away from each other. She’s done being concerned, and bloody hell if we’re not back to being awkward again. I thought, when…we’d gotten over bloody school rivalries and rutting families…

He spun around suddenly, but Ginny was already gone. Right, that’s good, said the part of his mind that often told him, late at night, that lemons were an excellent snack food, I don’t know what I was going to say to her anyway.

Which is completely and utterly not true. Bugger.

Suddenly lonely and upset with himself, he wandered slowly out towards the Quidditch pitch. He hadn’t brought his cloak down to the Great Hall with him, and now, under the great pale September moon, he shivered.
~*~
~*~

It’s bad enough I’m a bloody teacher, but making me go to Hogsmeade with all the little brats? Lupin hates me.

Draco shivered in the November shadows, leaning by the door to Zonko’s. His day had been all planned out, and most of it had involved being buried under his blankets until well past noon. That was until, of course, he’d been reminded that he had chaperone duties for this Hogsmeade weekend. So he stood there, watching awkward teenage couples holding hands, less awkward teenage couples utterly failing to conceal their snog sessions, and various little cliques wandering around. With some interest he noted the girl leaving Honeyduke’s with two hulking girls as bodyguards in tow. A Slytherin, in fact. The world had spun full circle and he could now die knowing his masterful sneer had been preserved for the generations.

“Are you going to stand in the cold all day? Because really, it’s quite cold.”

“That was…” Draco’s mouth opened and shut several times before he could finally form any words in response. “That was a masterful statement, Weaslette, so full of nuance and deeper meaning.” He turned a bit so he was looking Ginny Weasley in the eye. “I’m standing out here in a winter cloak, two scarves, and the heaviest gloves I could find without wearing an actual polar bear on my hands. I am well aware of the temperature, Weasley.”

“I just wanted to be sure you grasped the full meaning of the weather,” Ginny replied levelly. “Because it’s bloody cold. Why don’t you come inside the Three Broomsticks with me, Malfoy? I hear they’re getting quite selective as to clientele these days; they don’t let the weather in with you.”

“Someone’s got to watch the herd of children.”

“And that is what is known as passing the buck,” Ginny said delightedly. “Because you, Malfoy, are going in to make sure that the children inside the Three Broomsticks do not order Firewhiskey, and, going in, you were absolutely sure that Neville was out here just down the lane. Also, you are going inside because without your polar bear mittens, you will surely get frostbite.”

“I said whole polar bears, not polar bear mittens,” Draco explained crossly, but Ginny had already taken him firmly by the hand and was leading him in the direction of the Three Broomsticks.

“They’ve lit a fire,” Ginny said. “And if you’re still cold, you can keep on one of your scarves. Come on, Malfoy!” She pulled him inside and in a matter of minutes the two were settled in a booth, butterbeer in hand. A long while passed with neither of them saying anything of much importance, until Ginny finally said, “Malfoy? Do you remember, just after the war…” Her voice trailed off there and she frowned, unable to find the words.

Draco’s heart skipped a beat. Yes, he remembered just after the war. He remembered the blood on the snow and Ginny wrapping her arms around him and his mother being alive and wrapping his arms around Ginny.

“Did you ever regret anything then?” Ginny asked after a long moment. “I mean, just after the war. Did you have any regrets?”

Puzzled, he looked at her across the table. She was carefully studying her mug. “I think I regret never leaving Hogwarts,” he said. “Not that I regret being a teacher, although, sometimes…Well. I regret not leaving just after the war, anyway. Not finding out what else life had, you know. I should’ve…should’ve gone out and seen things, by myself, so I could decide what it is I was seeing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not saying I am not well-traveled,” Draco explained with a shrug. “We went bloody everywhere over summer hols. But I was always trying to see what my father saw, you see, what made the places we were going to worthwhile. As if all that made someplace worthwhile was my father’s interest. I’ve still got the money, but the time…the time was just after the war, wasn’t it, to go out and see things, find myself, that sort of thing.” He shrugged again, the very movement casually elegant. “Anyway, that’s what I regret. What about you, Weaslette? What do you regret, from just after the war?”

She made a thoughtful noise, then laughed a little bit. “I regret thinking that Harry and I could pick up where we’d left off before the war,” she said. “We thought—hell, everybody thought that after the war, Harry and I would still be in love and have this magical white wedding. I think Harry was the most surprised when he figured out he didn’t love me. Poor boy, it wasn’t his fault. Life happened to Harry in a rutting awful way, and when the war was over and he could do whatever he wanted, he needed something different. And now he’s off traveling the world and meeting exotic women, and I say cheers to that. I just regret the time we put into making us work when neither of us really had it in us.”

“I will admit, I was most disappointed that the two of you didn’t get hitched,” Draco said. “I had a limerick prepared to recite at the reception.”

“What makes you think you’d have been invited?” Ginny asked with a smile.

“I’d have arrived as my mother’s date, Weaslette,” Draco answered. “Everyone knows how chummy the two of you got while you shied her away from the brink of certain death.”

“Yes, I’d forgotten the certain death. How do you make everything sound so dramatic, Malfoy?”

“Practice. Would you like to hear the limerick?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Excellent.” He cleared his throat. “ ‘There once was a girl named Ginny, whose legs were really quite skinny. She married a lout, because twu wuv won out, and they ran off to Papua New Guinea.’ And don’t give me that look, because there’s nothing rhymes with Ginny.”

Ginny was biting her lip, but she was shaking with laughter. “No, no, Malfoy, your skills as a poet are impeccable. I was just expecting something…dirtier. You know, what with it being a limerick and all.”

“Ah, you want the dirty version, do you? I was going to wait—this is at the reception that never happened—until I got really very drunk for this one. ‘Potty Wee Potty had lost all his wits, and what happened next he’ll never admit: For his bride was quite stunning, and Wee Potty was running, oh Ginny has such fabulous tits.’”

There was a moment of silence until Ginny burst out laughing. “Malfoy, that was truly tasteless,” she gasped out. “Now, by ‘Wee Potty was running,’ ought I to assume you meant sensitive bits of anatomy, or—”

“Er…’scuse me?”

Ginny and Draco turned to see a fourth-year Ravenclaw girl blushing very hard. “Er, Professor Longbottom sent me to tell you that it’s snowing really hard outside, and that we’re all to get back to the castle.”

“Ah. Er. Thank you.” Ginny said. “You run off then, dear.” When the girl had gone, Ginny and Draco stood up, Ginny with a furious blush across her cheeks. “Oh, that was well timed.”

Draco was laughing. “That girl is going to have some nice gossip to spread tonight,” he said, methodically wrapping himself in his scarves, cloak, and gloves. They waited until the Hogwarts denizens had filtered out, then started out of the Three Broomsticks together.

“Truly, it was a level of tastelessness I did not expect someone from the upper crust of society to possess,” Ginny remarked. The streets of Hogsmeade were nearly empty now; here and there were reluctant students still exiting shops and hurrying off through the snow, but most everyone else was holed up inside somewhere, waiting out the cold.

“I’m really quite proud,” Draco replied. They both fell silent as they walked, and Draco realized with a start that he was watching Ginny gazing at the bare trees. She was very pale, but he noticed happily that she had a healthy flush on her cheeks from the cold. He started to smile, seeing that she was quite delighted with the snow and skeletal trees. That was about when he realized that he was truly an idiot, which is never a pleasant thing to stumble across.

“I didn’t answer your question, did I?”

Ginny turned to him, her face a picture of polite incomprehension. “Which question, and why not?”

“The one about regrets.”

Ginny smiled at him, the smile one gives to raving lunatics. “No, you did, remember? About traveling and seeing things.”

“Yes, but you’d asked if I had regrets—” Fears, doubts, self-loathing, regrets. “just after the war. You meant in those few days, if I regretted things I’d done…or not done.”

“I…well, that is how it was phrased. Your answer did satisfy, though. Mine wasn’t about those days, either.”

“Yes, but…” Draco stopped walking, face screwed up as he struggled to organize his thoughts. “You know what I regretted, when I went down to the Great Hall that night after I’d seen my mother? After…you and I, we…” Very slowly, as if he was afraid she would slap his hand away or break the instant he touched her, he raised his hand to her cheek. “That night, and every night since, I’ve regretted not doing this.”

And he kissed her.

He leaned down, in the heavy snow and cold air, and pressed his lips softly to hers. The world, for a brief moment, was nothing more than a snow globe, the wind whipping the snow all around them as they stood stock still.

When he pulled away, Ginny still had her face tipped up, mouth just barely parted. She seemed to be thinking of words, but unable to say them, until finally she asked quietly, “That’s the real answer, then, is it?”

Draco shrugged, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Why would I want to travel the world when I’ve got my very own Weaslette to suddenly kiss in the snow right here?”

“Are you being serious?”

“I know it might come as a bit of a shock. I’ve actually got different settings than snarky.”

“Of course you do,” she said absently. He watched her, not yet affronted with her confusion. If it continued on much longer, well, that would be just be embarrassing. “I…oh. Oh my.”

“Would you like to keep walking? It’s cold.”

“Yes it is,” she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. He cringed. “And no, I would not like to keep walking.” Her mouth opened and closed several times, making her look more like a fish than Draco thought any girl had a right to; and, if she did not look so close to slapping him, he would have said so. As it was, he was nearly asphyxiating in his quest not to let a hysterical giggle escape his lips.

She looked at him again, her gaze softer this time. “If we’re having out with real answers, then, I suppose I’ve got one too.”

“Oh?” he asked, wincing again at hearing his own strangled tone. It’s all the stupid bloody snow’s fault. Bloody snow’s supposed to be romantic, not bloody cold!

Three bloodies at the snow? I’m losing it.

She looked down, then past him, and heaved a sigh. “When you left to go clean up,” she said. “After you’d come back for the potion, I mean, and you’d been…you’d been holding me, because…because you were…” She looked him in the eye. “I felt awful, because of George, and, and Tom, but all I could think of, that I regretted? I regretted letting you go, because you made me feel safe.”

For a very long moment, with the snow whipping and whirling around them, they stood, regarding each other. Then Draco had his arms around Ginny and they were leaning into each other, and the only remarkable thing that either one of them could think of was that neither of them was crying.

~*~

~*~

All things considered, it was hard to believe that the year had passed by without major incident. It was, Draco mused, hard to believe that every year passed by without major incident. He remarked as much to Luna Lovegood.

“Without a Dark Lord and Chosen wotsit to battle it out every year, it’s a wonder the little snots don’t die of boredom.” he said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Luna replied airily. “The nargle infestation at Christmas certainly made things interesting.”

He couldn’t help grinning at that. Luna might be weird, but at least nargles existed. And oh, the insurmountable joys of watching a pair of uppity Ravenclaw sixth years getting chased down the hall, interrupted midsnog by the little buggers. He hadn’t laughed that hard in quite some time.

He turned his attention back to the tables of students. Even populated by firsties, the Slytherin table was still pitifully empty. The last nine months had not done much to change that fact. Next year, though…no, still pitifully empty. With time. With time no one would be able to spot the difference.

The chair beside him scraped out and he turned, looking with all the disdain he could muster at the late arrival. “Why, Weaslette,” he drawled. “Couldn’t even manage to make it on time to wish these fine young sorts a happy summer?”

Ginny beamed at him. “You hate the students,” she reminded him cheerfully. She was grinning widely and waved a bit of parchment around. “Letter from my mum arrived just as I was coming down.” She looked around the table, and, not finding any pumpkin juice, drank Draco’s.

“You know,” Draco said, keeping up the act. “I was not informed, at the beginning of this relationship, that I would give up all my personal space.”

Ginny laughed so hard that the rest of the faculty looked over at them. “So now’s not the time to tell you I’ve been nicking your toothbrush?” Bravely though he tried, Draco could not stop his condescending look from turning into laughter.

“You haven’t been, though, have you?” he said when he’d finally caught his breath. “I mean, right? That would be…you haven’t.”

Ginny gnawed at a fingernail, then cleared her throat loudly and changed the subject. “Have you got any idea how bizarre it is, year after year, for me to look over at the Gryffindor table and not see any redheads? I mean, yes, that girl has apparently got red hair, but it’s not the same, you know? No Weasleys.”

“Wait, you’re using my toothbrush?”

“But Mum says I’ll only have to wait a bit longer for that. And it’s about time, too! She said in the letter—and trust me, she says in it person, too—she was starting to think she’d never have any grandchildren.”

“Is there something wrong with your toothbrush?” After a moment, Draco’s ears caught up to the conversation. “Oh. Really? Who’s breeding?”

She swatted at his head, but he was anticipating the movement and ducked to the side. “Oh, hush, you. And Bill and Fleur are expecting.” Her grin turned decidedly wicked. “I hope it has Weasley hair. Very Weasley hair.”

“I don’t see why you don’t like Fleur,” Draco said. “She can’t help being a bit Veela.” He paused. “Should I buy you a toothbrush?”

She squinted at him. “You’re a loon,” she concluded.

“Have you been talking to my mother? She says that to me, too.”

“Possibly because you are one,” Ginny sighed. They fell silent, and did their utmost to look interest, while Lupin made a speech.

“Merciful Merlin, that was shorter than I expected,” Draco muttered when Lupin sat down again and the table settings began to vanish.

Ginny patted him on the shoulder. “That’s because you fell asleep in the middle,” she said gently. “Go escort your firsties out. Are you taking the train?”

He shook his head. “I was planning on walking to Hogsmeade and Apparating to the Manor.”

“Meet me at the lake?”

Draco smiled and nodded, and rushed through his Head of House duties. “Well,” he said to the assembled Slytherins. “Delightful year, glad to see you all turned out to be unbearably pretentious snots, do come back next year, and if you have any friends in any other Houses, taunt them for whatever trait that particular House features.”

“Such as what, Professor?” one student called out.

“Oh, you don’t listen to the Sorting Hat either? Good show.” Draco clapped his hands. “A quick and easy reference guide: Ravenclaws are too brainy to date, and will thus remain virgins. Hufflepuffs are not overly bright, and if you can’t come up with variations from there you’re obviously in the wrong House. Gryffindors are goody-two-shoes suck-ups and will—I repeat, will—jump down wells if you tell them someone’s trapped down there. Slytherins are cool, cunning, and quite frankly the best. Now go out there, find a train to be on, and don’t assume that once you are back in the real world you are better than anyone else because you are a Slytherin. Confused? I don’t care, I’m off for the summer.” Abruptly, Draco turned on his heel and hurried off to the lake.

He went over a mundane checklist in his head as he walked. His things had been sent over to the Manor earlier in the morning; his mother was in the country at least until July; he had nearly a dozen diamond rings and no idea what he was going to do about it; did his socks match? Maybe…

Ginny was already at the lake. He knew that while she technically lived year-round at the castle, she spent most of the summer cheerfully mooching off her family at the Burrow and around London, so her things were still in place, for now, anyway. She’d Floo them somewhere eventually.

She was standing with her back to him, hands clasped behind her back. She turned when she heard him approach and he noticed tears glittering on her cheeks. “Why are you crying?” he asked, knowing he sounded dense. “It’s summer. You’re not supposed to cry until the fall term starts.”

She laughed weakly. “I’m sorry, it’s stupid,” she said. “I was just standing here thinking, and…Bill and Fleur are going to have a child, and…” She shrugged. “George would have been the most amazing uncle possible. Except for Fred. And it’s just not fair.”

“It’s not stupid, and it’s not fair,” Draco said, taking hold of her hands. “And with the possible exception of the parents, no one is going to love that little Weasel more than Fred. He’ll be doing it for George too.”

Ginny smiled brilliantly at him, then wrapped her arms around his neck. “How do you always know when to stop being a prat?”

“I told you once that we were strong enough for each other,” Draco murmured into her hair. “And while I do so enjoy being an utter prat, I don’t mind this either.”

She stood back, sniffing. He handed her his handkerchief and she took it, giggling. “Alas, it’s gone the way of the toothbrush.”

“I really am going to buy you one of your own,” he said. They stood looking at each other, unsure if the silence was turning awkward. “I don’t suppose you’d…er…oh, hell.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say yes,” Ginny said, tilting her head curiously at him. “But I’d really prefer to know the question before I answered.”

“Do you want to spend the summer with me? At the Manor, I mean? Or… traveling, I guess. Or both?” he blurted. When she didn’t answer right away, he continued, “It’s not like we’d be living with my mother or anything. She’s really got her own separate wing, and—”

“That would be lovely,” Ginny said. A faint flush had spread across her freckled cheeks. “Will you come back in with me and help me Floo some things over? Including, might I say, my toothbrush?” She linked her arm in his and they strolled off to the largely empty castle, Draco’s thoughts reeling as they went.

Bloody buggering hell. I’m going to ask her marry me. Bloody hell…what if she says no? Or…what if she bloody well says yes? I’ll be engaged, that’s what. Father’s going to be spinning in his grave. Bloody well serves him right.

Four. Well, about the right time for four bloodies anyway.

“What are you thinking about?” Ginny asked.

“The first time I actually looked at your freckles, and thought I was going insane. We were in detention.”

She grinned at him. “I spent quite a lot of that night, in between the nightmares, trying to decide whether or not you dyed your hair. I decided I’d gone barmy.” She didn’t stop laughing until they’d gotten to her rooms. And then they were kissing, and packing, and kissing some more, and at some point they made it to the Manor, where Draco promptly pulled out all eleven diamond rings and proposed.

She didn’t laugh, like he’d thought she would. Instead, she studied the rings carefully. One by one, she slid them each onto her fingers until only one was left in the velvet-lined box.

“I suppose I’ll take this one, then,” she said, holding it up to the light. “It’s quite pretty.”

“And?”

“And yes, I will,” she said. “You may be strong, but Draco Malfoy, you are absolute rubbish at decision making.” And dissolving into laughter, she wandered away, still wearing all ten rings, to inform her mother of the news. “She’ll think I’m doing it just to upstage Bill!” he heard her say as she rounded the corner. She’d never been the Manor before and had no idea where to find a Floo, but that apparently wasn’t stopping her.

Bloody hell, Draco thought, following after her. I love that woman.