---

“…Snape and Malfoy, however, were still running; they would soon be beyond the gates, able to Disapparate –

Harry tore past Hagrid and his opponent, took aim at Snape’s back, and yelled, ‘Stupefy!’

He missed; the jet of red light soared past Snape’s head; Snape shouted, ‘Run, Draco!’ and turned. Twenty yards apart, he and Harry looked at each other before raising their wands simultaneously.

‘Cruc –’

But Snape parried the curse, knocking Harry backwards off his feet before he could complete it…”
(Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, JK Rowling, pg 602, American version)

Upon hearing Snape’s order to run, Draco released a renewed spurt of energy, pumping his legs so hard he was sure they would catch fire. The young Malfoy couldn’t imagine anything worse: he had failed the Dark Lord again, and this time his baby-sitter had had to finish the job for him. After the cursed necklace and the poisoned mead, he knew he could no longer avoid Dumbledore. He had surely sealed his fate when he had hesitated to curse the doomed headmaster after disarming him at the top of the Astronomy Tower. Instead, he stalled, allowing the old man to feed on his doubts and fears. Dumbledore had seen right through his weaknesses and had played them to his advantage, keeping Draco from succeeding. The fool had met his demise nonetheless; Snape had made sure of it.

Draco didn’t know why he was running back to the Dark Lord when he knew what awaited him there, but in his frantic state he didn’t know what else to do. Returning was not an option; they would laugh as they chucked him into Azkaban if he tried to claim that Dumbledore had offered to protect him from Voldemort. He was in no position to think, just to do what he was told.

Breathing hard and his legs burning, he dodged a jet of red light as it grazed the side of his head, singeing off a few strands of his trademark white-blond hair. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he saw behind him that Potter was still frantically trying to curse Snape, screaming his spells in desperation and aiming his wand erratically in their direction in his craze. Each spell was deflected without effort; Snape seemed to be toying with Potter rather than putting him down. Draco didn’t understand it.

As he continued sprinting across the grounds, he wondered where his new destiny lay. Before he had failed to kill Dumbledore himself, he knew who he was. Draco Malfoy, born into the most prestigious Pureblood family still alive, given a mission of utmost importance, a mission that would surely restore the family honour that his father had tarnished with his own failure at the Ministry. Though the deed had been carried out, Draco knew that he had proven himself of no genuine value to the cause, had shown he couldn’t stomach what it takes. He pushed this thought aside and focused on running.

He and Snape reached the front gates, turned on the spot, and disappeared with two loud cracks, Potter’s frustrated cries echoing in their ears. As Draco’s lungs became free of the compressing darkness, allowing him to breathe again, the sight of his childhood home spawned more dread than his father could ever have created throughout the years. He faced torture, maybe death. You are a Malfoy; you will not be a coward. Dragging his feet like a child, he followed Snape’s sweeping black cloak through the wrought iron gates.

They entered the gloomy, dimly lit dining room to a crowd of dark cloaked wizards and witches with unpleasant faces seated along the long and elegant table. They turned at the sound of their footsteps, eyeing Snape expectantly. A few glanced briefly at Draco with a momentary look of surprise, but ignored him. Draco saw his mother cowering in the corner nearest him, her blonde hair matted to one side of her face with blood, her robes torn and grimy. Slithering back and forth before her was Nagini, confining her to her corner. She chanced a terrified look at her one and only son. Her child, expected to die, and now at the mercy of Lord Voldemort. Draco caught her glance, his unease growing at the fear in her normally frosty, indifferent grey eyes, pleading with him to be safe. But there was no way out.

“It is done, my Lord,” Snape reported, “Dumbledore is dead, though I had to complete the task myself. When I was informed by the Order that Death Eaters had found their way inside the castle, I immediately set out in search of Draco, to make sure that he finished his assignment. I found him at the top of the Astronomy Tower with the wandless headmaster, standing there like a fool.” At this last comment, Snape briefly looked down at the boy, his lip curling in disgust. “I finished it personally, and then we proceeded directly here to inform you. Regrettably, my position within the castle has been compromised – I cannot return.” He finished with a bow, not bothering to glance twice at the frightened, white face next to him.

“Very good, Severus, you’ve done well tonight,” spoke a high pitched, chilling voice from the side of the table shrouded in darkness. Draco could barely make out the red eyes with slits for pupils, the bone-white face, and the snake-like nostrils. “The name Malfoy has proved again and again to indicate an incompetence that will hinder my success. After Lucius died so uselessly in Azkaban,” Draco’s eyes locked briefly with his mother’s as she stifled a quiet, dry sob with her clasped hands, “I had hoped that his offspring may have at least shown a bit more of an effort. This is the last time I make that mistake.” The long white fingers encircled a wand of yew with a phoenix feather core from within dark robes. As the wand was raised, Draco’s heart began to beat dangerously fast and his eyes widened in terror. There was no escape, he was going to die as many before him had: without mercy.

“NOOO!!”

As Voldemort began the incantation, there was a scream, and a sudden blur of long blonde hair streaked across the room. The snake lashed out at its escaped prisoner, wrapping around one of Narcissa’s legs and dragging her to her knees before her son. She grabbed hold of his shoulders, pulling him down to his knees with her, and shielded his chest. In her last living moment, just long enough for the terrible curse to be cast, she let pour from her eyes all of the love she had neglected to show him throughout his childhood. He started to open his mouth, not knowing what his last words to her would be. A flash of green light struck her in the back, and the stormy grey eyes she had passed onto her son were instantly vacant; she slumped lifelessly to the floor.

The moment her eyes drained of life, an animalistic survival instinct switched on inside of him, and he reached into his robes without hesitation to retrieve what remained of his Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. Using the momentary surprise created by Narcissa’s sacrifice, he threw the powder into the room, and a thick mass of nothing blackened every cruel face, shielded him from every eye until there was nothing but frustrated shouts and murderous threats; he then bolted across the hall into the sitting room.

Pulling out his wand in one hand and his Hand of Glory in the other, he reached a specific bookcase and tapped on a combination of titles with swift precision, stepped through the solid wall next to the fireplace, and started running. Out of range of the impenetrable darkness, he pocketed the shrivelled hand and weaved in and out of tunnels and up and down stairs.

He was furious, and he wanted revenge for what had been taken from him: his sad excuse for a family, his home, and his childhood. He had been fooled into thinking he had friends and comrades in a war they had convinced him was necessary. They would be sorry they had dismissed him so easily. He knew if he acted fast, he could deliver a blow to their operation. If he told the right people where to look, they would find the headquarters, and they might just be able to take out a few Death Eaters in the process.

The underground air was now more humid and the walls were made of earth rather than expensive woods. He knew he was somewhere near the middle of the orchard behind the manor, well outside of the Apparition protection enchantments.

Destination, Determination, Deliberation: All Draco could think about was a defeated old man’s promise of protection as he turned on the spot. He shut his eyes and blackness engulfed him once more, taking him somewhere he hoped was very far away.

When Draco opened his eyes, he found himself in what looked to be the sitting room of an ancient house with boarded up windows. Every piece of furniture and tapestry was ripped to shreds, deep claw marks adorned the yellowing wallpaper, and a thick layer of dust covered every surface. A quick look between the boards into the familiar streets of Hogsmeade revealed that he had Apparated into the Shrieking Shack.

He sighed deeply. His subconscious didn’t lead him very far at all, but on a path back to Hogwarts; a part of him knew that the school is where he could find the help he needed. He remembered his irrational fear of the old house when he had believed it was haunted. Snape had informed him after the werewolf quit that the house had been used to hide it away while transformed as a student at Hogwarts, and that there was a passageway underneath the shack that came out under the Whomping Willow.

Thoughts of Snape brought back flashes of life leaving his mother’s eyes mere minutes ago. He tried to clear these thoughts from his head – he had to stay in control.

He found the passageway and proceeded towards the school. The small, narrow tunnel forced him to crawl on his hands and knees. His blond hair was now filthy, matted with sweat against his forehead, his robes collected even more dirt and muck, and the occasional tree root scraped against his face, drawing blood. He tried in vain to keep his mind blank and his weakness at bay. When he reached the end of the tunnel, he could no longer be recognised as a clean cut, high society, Pureblood Malfoy, but as a filthy, broken young boy, eyes swimming with tears.

He drew his wand and shouted “Immobilis!” at the threatening branches of the Whomping Willow as he emerged through the opening, his voice cracking and his spell weak. He only just cleared the branches’ reach before feeling a whoosh behind him, narrowly missing a blow. In the distance he glimpsed the sweet sanctity of the castle, its windows lit and cosy as if it were any other night, its students happily gathered in their common rooms, discussing anything except the devastation he had caused. Closer still he saw the half giant attempting to retrieve his “valuables” from his smouldering wreckage of a cabin, and his big stupid boarhound outside, barking at Merlin knew what.

Draco cried out, now feeling the insurmountable weight of his actions and the hopelessness that he had no one to care about his feeble existence. He stumbled towards Hagrid, desperate to tell somebody what he had decided must be said if he were to hope for any help. Hagrid was too consumed in his own grief to hear Draco’s cry, but Fang noticed, and turned to bark directly at him. His vision became blurry; his mind was becoming numb and began to shut his body down. He saw Hagrid running towards him with a look of pure shock etched across his red and puffy face as Draco fell flat on his back.

As the gamekeeper’s fuzzy form came into view, Draco choked out, “Death Eaters… Malfoy Manor… Vold… Vuh…”

The exertion in his attempt to articulate the illicit name drained the last of his energy, making his tongue heavy and his jaw slack; he barely uttered the first syllable before he blacked out. As the merciful darkness tunnelled his vision, slowly distorting and pressing into the darkened colours of the night, he glimpsed a hazy bright green Dark Mark high above the Astronomy Tower, and one last thought crossed his mind before he admitted defeat.

They’ll never forgive me...

---

---

As Draco awoke from a deep and groggy sleep, he kept his eyes closed. Where was he? Breathing in the familiar scent of sterile, clean bed sheets and foul medicinal potions, he listened to a woman humming close by, though the tune sounded far from cheerful. The sound of ragged breathing of another individual reached his ears, most likely a victim of the battle. Finally opening his eyes in the darkness, he realised he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, a simple, grey curtain enveloping his bed, far across enemy lines. I guess everyone’s my enemy now. Draco sank further into his depression at the thought.

He sat up slowly, debating whether or not to make a run for it. Did he make a big mistake, turning to those he had just betrayed? Not having had a moment to think at the time, his professors seemed more likely to accept him than the ones that had been holding his mother captive, that had just tried to kill him.

“Where is the boy, Poppy?” Draco lay silently back down on his cheap cotton pillows as he heard McGonagall’s curt whisper cut through the silence.

“I’ve cleaned him up and put him in that corner behind the curtain,” Madam Pomfrey replied, no doubt gesturing in his direction. “Hagrid brought him in several hours ago. He’s been muttering and shaking uncontrollably, so I gave him a sleeping draught to calm him. I can’t imagine what would compel him to come back here of all places, given the company he’s apparently been keeping.” She finished the last sentence with a tone full of unsubtle bitterness.

“I’m rather curious of that as well. If I am correct, he and Severus reported to You-Know-Who after…” McGonagall’s voice faltered as Madam Pomfrey let out a large sniff and blew her nose. “It looks as if he just escaped, but we will find out soon enough. Please keep his presence to yourself for the time being. I can hardly bear to think what would happen if Harry were to find out.”

Madam Pomfrey must have nodded, because their voices were silent for a few moments.

“How is Bill? Is he – will he suffer long-term side-effects?” McGonagall’s voice came from the bedside of the source of the ragged breathing several beds down from Draco’s.

“Remus doesn’t seem to think he will suffer the full effects of the illness.” The nurse’s voice also came from that bed; Draco pictured the two of them gazing down at the occupant. “Whatever the case, he will always be – scarred.”

“I was happy to hear that Miss Delacour still intends to proceed with the wedding plans.” McGonagall said. “Get some rest, Poppy. The Heads of Houses have decided to allow the students to stay until the funeral. We will begin arrangements in the morning.”

“What shall I do if he wakes up?”

There was a pause. “Alert me immediately. He’ll have a lot of explaining to do. We will also need to decide what to do with him soon, for his own safety,” McGonagall answered. Draco listened as she left the hospital wing, her heels clicking on the stone floor all the way down the corridor.

Turning on his side to face the window next to his bed, he gazed into the tranquil night and digested what he had just heard. Should he really worry about his safety? He couldn’t decide which he cared for less: himself, or what those idiots thought of him. Most of them would be angry about the death of that Muggle-loving old fool. There was a lot of damage to the school, not to mention the werewolf being let in. He shuddered at the thought of the thing, beast-like even without the full moon, putrid breath with a constant hunger in its yellow eyes. Draco would never have let it in himself; even the Mudbloods didn’t deserve that fate.

You had no choice, your mother’s life was at stake; they would have killed her and you if you hadn’t found a way to get them in and tried to kill Dumbledore. The Dark Lord is merciless and only cares about his own success.

You could have accepted help when it was offered, a voice argued back. Dumbledore could have protected you; he was your way out. You didn’t even have the guts to go through with it, and he could tell.

Letting his thoughts wander further into his miserable mind, Draco remembered how quickly he had just become an orphan. Feeling most of his pain for his mother, Draco had little remorse left for his father. The man had always treated him more as an officer in training rather than a son. He signed his letters “Lucius Malfoy” instead of “Father”, and he always demanded more obedience, more respect.

Ever since Draco was allowed to own a wand, Lucius had trained him to duel, inflicting painful curses on his son over and over until he was able to deflect them. The entire school year, he had been sending letter after letter from his cell in Azkaban, reminding the sixteen-year-old of his obligation, that it was his responsibility to regain favour for their family in the eyes of the Dark Lord. He would continuously ramble on and on about the name of Malfoy, about how it held the utmost honour in all respectable circles for centuries; that their blood was so clean, the filth running through the Mudbloods’ veins could never match their power. He had drilled into Draco’s head that which the Dark Lord advocated: “There is no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it.”

Draco had always assumed that Lucius was right. He had never known any other way of life, had never considered that what they stood for may be evil. He had assumed that these were the measures that must be taken to restore power to Purebloods, over both the Wizarding world and that of the Muggles. It made sense that dirty blood wouldn’t be able to handle the responsibility– why would they? Mudbloods had been born and raised in the Muggle world; it was where their loyalties would always truly lie. And Muggles, they were just too stupid and powerless for their own good – a lower class of human compared to wizards.

He was torn from his thoughts by the slow creaking of hinges; someone had entered the hospital wing, and judging by the lightness of their footsteps, they were trying their hardest not to be heard. Curious of who would be sneaking in here in the middle of the night, he sat up as silently as he could and peeked through an opening of his curtain. There was Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the family of blood traitors, tip-toeing towards the werewolf’s victim.

As Draco actually took a look at him, he felt a twinge. Was it regret, or just disgust? He wasn’t sure. The man’s face was covered in wounds that could never be healed by magic. His bare arms and chest were missing chunks and bore deep scrapes. Out of his head sprouted flaming red hair that stood out plainly against the sterile, white sheets.

Draco knew that it was the fool’s own fault for meddling. He could picture the cold, apathetic expression that his father would have borne while he lectured Draco on blood traitors and how their weakness for Muggles and Mudbloods should be stamped out of the Wizarding world. Reason as he might, that twinge in his gut remained.

Ginny reached Bill’s bedside facing Draco, took his hand in hers, and whispered, “Bill? Are you awake?” He didn’t stir.

Her eyes filled with tears as she lifted his hand to rest his palm against the side of her face, her long, fiery red hair hanging loosely on both sides. She closed her eyes, forcing the tears to roll down her cheeks. When she opened them again and gazed down at her mutilated brother, Draco saw such a sadness residing in her small features. He could see her very heart, aching for more than just her brother, but for the world that she knew was changing around her, most likely for the worst. Feeling that twinge again, he began to appreciate for the first time how much damage he had caused to someone other than himself.

Possibly because he had never bothered to look at her before, Draco couldn’t look away from her soft face. He found himself running his eyes over the light freckles that dotted her small nose, the tears that clung to her long eyelashes framing her soulful brown eyes.

He caught himself unconsciously leaning forward to get a better look. Never having seen love in this way, seeing someone care so much for someone else was utterly foreign to him. The only thing he had experienced close to love was when his mother would dote upon him as a child, but only when his father wasn’t around. He shook his head abruptly, shaking the thought from his mind. Love made you weak; having seen many killed for it, he had realised that there was no real gain. Unable to grasp the concept, he shook his head one more time as she began to speak.

“You have to be okay, Bill. Mum’s out of her mind with worry. You should have seen her and Fleur fighting over who was better suited to take care of you. Mum assumed she wouldn’t want to marry you anymore since…” Ginny paused before continuing, her expression pained as she glanced at his injuries. “She really loves you, and she makes you happy, so I guess I can learn to deal too. Please get better; our family can’t handle losing you with everything else that’s happened. I’m so scared of people I love suffering and dying. I’m scared for you and what’s going to happen to you, and I feel like I can’t talk to anyone about it, like no one wants to think about the future.”

She broke off to let out a shaky sigh. Draco was leaning in an uncomfortable position on his bed so that he could see her through the curtain. He reached to pull the cloth a bit farther apart, but lost his balance and fell off the bed, grabbing wildly on his way down. The curtain tore from its rod and wrapped completely around him as he landed with a deafening crash in the silent hospital wing.

Ginny stared in the direction of the stranger tangled in the mess of grey fabric and called out angrily, “Who’s there?” She felt violated, pouring her heart out to her unconscious brother without knowing someone was listening the entire time. Draco lay perfectly still in humiliated silence on the ground under his curtain, hoping against hope she would leave, that she wouldn’t try and seek out his identity.

He heard clicking heels and Madam Pomfrey cry out, “Miss Weasley! What are you doing here out of bed in the middle of the night? It’s much too dangerous for you to be wandering around alone. Back to bed at once! Your brother needs his rest!”

“Someone should stay with him – he needs me. And who the bloody hell is that spying on me?” Ginny retorted.

“That is none of your business. Now off to your bed immediately before I send for Professor McGonagall!” Madam Pomfrey sounded scandalised at this insubordination. “I will send my Patronus with you to ensure you make it to Gryffindor tower safely – without any detours.” Draco listened to her conjure the Patronus, and then shoo a protesting Ginny out of the infirmary.

Draco stood up and tore the curtain off with a flourish, glowering at Madam Pomfrey for catching him in this embarrassing situation. She turned at the swishing of the curtain, her wand still out. She kept it ready, not sure if she would need it.

“M-Mr. Malfoy,” she stammered, obviously very flustered. “You stay here, I-I’ll be right back.” She rushed back to her office, clearly relieved that she had an excuse to leave.

He slumped back down on the bed, trying to avoid looking at Bill as he waited. Would everyone act this way towards him? He was not a murderer; that had been made crystal clear earlier that night. He supposed he was dangerous, a thought that made the edges of his mouth curve upward slightly.

How much was he willing to commit, now that he had decided to turn his back on everything he had ever known? He would do anything to avenge his mother, even if it meant asking for help from those whose blood was not worthy of his, those he had been brought up to hate. He had already revealed where the headquarters were, which earned him an instant death sentence should he ever try to return. If he was going to be successful in helping the other side defeat Voldemort, he had to tell them everything. They had to see he had nothing to hide, and nothing to gain from ever again aiding the Death Eaters.

As he looked around the familiar hospital wing, his thoughts wandered subconsciously to the scene upon which he had just intruded, with one small change in detail. In his mind, it was he who was lying in the hospital bed unconscious, the red-head grazing his hand against her cheek as she gazed longingly into his face. Her eyes were filled with so much grief, yet so much love, willing him to wake up and kiss her one more time. As quick as it had come, the thought was chased violently from his mind. Get a grip. It was ridiculous to be having these thoughts about a girl from a family so disloyal to their kind. His parents had raised him better than that.

When he heard the hospital wing door open again, he looked up to see McGonagall looking him determinedly in the eye. Her usual tight bun was dishevelled, and she must still have been wearing the robes she wore during the battle; they were torn and burned in places. She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks, but her voice cut through the silence like a knife, clearly unfazed and full of resolve.

“Come with me, Mr. Malfoy,” she said sternly. She swept out the way she had come, her tattered robes billowing behind her. Draco stood reluctantly and followed, determined to make her understand.

---

---

McGonagall led Draco to the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s office. After she barked the password, causing the gargoyle to leap aside, and stepped onto the ascending spiral steps, it sank into him that they were going to her new office; she had been deputy headmistress.

As they entered the office that he had rarely visited before, his eyes shot to the floor as soon as he noticed a twinkling blue behind half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore’s portrait had already taken its place among the deceased headmasters from years past. Draco couldn’t look him in the eye, even if it wasn’t really him. He was ashamed that the man had been able to see right through him, maybe ever since Draco’s first attempt to kill him.

“Take a seat.” McGonagall wasted no time getting down to business. Draco had barely touched the chair before she started in on him, unleashing her aggravation from across the desk with a hand bracing either side. “Because of you, Bill Weasley lies in the hospital wing scarred horribly for life. The castle is in ruins from the battle. Death Eaters were allowed into the school. Students were forced to defend themselves against Unforgivable curses in a place they should be safest. And worst of all–” She lowered her voice menacingly, “our best defence against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead. And now, you are back. Convince me why I should believe you are not a spy and that you should not be thrown into Azkaban with your father.” Her nostrils flared and her voice cracked with the effort of keeping it steady.

Draco’s temper began to simmer. She didn’t have a damn clue. He gripped the arms of the chair in an effort not to grab his wand, locked his steely grey eyes onto her stern ones, and replied in an even, calculated tone, “My father died in Azkaban. My mother was murdered upon my return to the Dark Lord with Snape . He tried to kill me, but she threw herself in front of me so that I could live. You can do what you like with me; there isn’t a person in the world that will care. For my mother, I would prefer that you hear me out, and I will tell you nothing but the truth; dose me with Veritaserum if you must. I wish to help you, join your side in exchange for protection here.”

McGonagall’s expression softened for a fraction of a moment. She took a different look at him. He was just a boy, barely seventeen, who had just lost both of his parents and had gone against everything he had been taught to bring down his mother’s killer. Tom Riddle had been just a boy once. She decided to hear what he had to say before she decided whether or not she would accept any such help.

As she sat down, the portraits surrounding her seemed to move to the edge of their seats, ready to hear the tale. Draco still didn’t look at Dumbledore’s; instead he resigned himself from the stare-off with the headmistress to look intently at the grains of the wooden floor.

For a few moments, there was awkward silence. Where could he even begin to explain how every footstep he took was taken as if on eggshells, that he was constantly rethinking and checking his every action to be sure that it would please his father, that it was worthy of his heritage? How could she understand that he had never been given a choice in his life, that there were things expected of him, demanded of him, and who was he to refuse just because he was scared?

He sighed reluctantly. “I guess... I can only start with my father. I mean, when are you old enough and experienced enough to be able to know that the ones that protected you and taught you, may have been wrong?” He ploughed ahead at her puzzled expression, beginning a brief recount of his childhood as the son of Lucius Malfoy. He tried to describe what it was like to grow up in a loveless upbringing doused in Pureblood mania, ruled by the laws set forth by the wizard that promised power over Muggles, Muggle-borns, and blood traitors alike. He had been taught that their leader would return to them one day, and that Draco should consider it the highest honour if he were asked to join the ranks.

He tried to keep his pride in his Pureblood status out of the story; he was, after all, trying to get McGonagall to accept him back. She needn’t know that though he was questioning the methods of the Dark Lord, he believed that he had a good point.

He recounted the day he met Lord Voldemort during the summer before he started his sixth year. Surrounded by a circle of Death Eaters, Draco didn’t have much choice as to whether or not he wanted to accept the task. His mother had stood by his side, urging him on. Draco chanced glances into the red eyes, but mostly looked at his feet.

“Draco Malfoy, I appoint to you the honour of killing Albus Dumbledore. If you succeed, you will be accepted graciously into my most loyal circle of followers. If you are to fail…” The white hand waved its wand and ropes snaked their way around his mother’s body from head to foot. Unable to keep her balance, she fell on her side with a thump and a muffled cry. Draco opened his mouth in protest, but shut it just as quickly. He instead submitted to staring again at his feet. “Your mother will pay the consequences alongside you. You have not gained my trust yet, but you will, and you will be rewarded beyond your wildest imagination.”

Draco admitted that though he worried about his mother, once he left the menacing aura of the Dark Lord, he began to feel remarkably superior about being handpicked for such a task. Remembering when Montague got stuck in that Vanishing Cabinet, he had had a revelation one day in Borgin and Burkes when he saw a similar cabinet, thus providing a passage into Hogwarts as an added bonus.

As a reminder of his goal, Draco had been branded not with the Dark Mark, but a red hot iron in the same shape. Screaming in agony as the red-hot metal seared his flesh, he had been promised a real mark, once he had proven himself. He recalled being so angry when Madam Malkin had poked the sensitive skin with her pins when he was being fitted for new school robes; it didn’t help that Potter and his stupid cronies were getting into his business as usual.

Recounting the chain of events throughout the year, and ending with Snape shoving Draco out of the way and murdering Dumbledore, he became further bitter at his foolishness with each passing minute.

The longer he spoke, the more he realised how ridiculous it was to believe himself to be more than any other pawn, set up to die as punishment for his father’s failure. It should have been obvious that Voldemort didn’t intend to recruit a sixteen-year-old, given that the “trust” placed in him was enough to kill one of his greatest enemies, but not enough to officially accept him as a Death Eater. Draco hated the snake-faced fiend more than ever, and wanted nothing more than the red gleam in his eye to be extinguished. As if sensing his rising passion, McGonagall interrupted him as his intensifying voice became an all out shout.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she cut in, her voice less stern, “I’m sure this has all been very trying on you, but I must impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done. You may feel you were not given a choice in the matter, but you must still be held accountable. We appreciate your tip on the whereabouts of the Death Eater’s headquarters. All but a few had Disapparated before the Order had arrived. It won’t be long before they have set up camp elsewhere, but we can attempt to extract some information from those we apprehended in the meantime. It took a great deal of courage to turn your back on them after all you’ve been through and risk returning to us. Bearing that in mind, as long as you can truly admit that you regret everything, we may be able to work out an arrangement.”

Draco looked up at once and stared her dead in the eye. “If I could take it all back, from the start of the year, I would. All of my actions amounted to nothing but to show me what Voldemort really is. If I can take anything from this experience, it’s that the way he gets things done isn’t right. Tyranny and murder can’t produce true respect or power, only fear.”

She pursed her lips as she evaluated his declaration. “Though I don’t think your heart is in the right place, I do believe that you are sorry. Hopefully in time you will be sorry for the right reasons. You may stay as long as you keep your attitude in check, stay out of trouble, complete every task I assign you, and give us your full cooperation, do I make myself clear?”

If only my father could see me now. “Yes ma’am,” Draco responded, trying his absolute best to suppress the sarcasm and the smirk that came naturally.

She seemed satisfied with the answer. “You will stay here over the summer and help Hagrid tend to the castle and the grounds. You may keep your wand, but you will not be allowed to use magic during your labours. You are by no means a prisoner and may leave whenever you like, but you will be under very heavy supervision, given your circumstances. What are your intentions after the summer is over; would you like to continue with schooling?”

“Uh–” He hadn’t really thought about it. “I suppose I might as well finish my last year while I’m here, but I doubt being in class with Slytherins would go over very well.”

“We can arrange for an independent study and private lessons with the professors to prepare you for your N.E.W.T. exams, but we can discuss your subjects later. In the mean time, I would advise you to give some serious thought as to what you would like to do after Hogwarts. You need to think about a future without Death Eaters and You-Know-Who.” McGonagall stood to leave, indicating that their chat was over.

He followed her through the familiar passageways of a school he had grown fond of, solely because it kept him away from home, away from his father. It was the only place left for him, his new home. How ironic, he thought to himself cynically.

She led him up the stairs of a tower he had never been in. The room he walked into was cosy enough, cosier than the Slytherin dungeons at least, complete with fireplace, overstuffed chair, dresser, desk, and four-poster bed. Amazingly, his trunk with all of his belongings awaited him at the foot of the bed. Those house elves never miss a trick, he thought with a hint of appreciation.

“Everything you need is here. One of the elves from the kitchens will be in every now and then to check on you. I suggest you keep to yourself for the time being. Hagrid will send for you when you are to begin work.” McGonagall already had one foot out the door as she finished her last sentence. She paused, halfway through the doorway and turned, her eyes hinting at a parental concern that Draco had associated with parents boarding their kids on the Hogwarts Express for the first time. He took a step back, not used to being looked at in that way.

“I am... glad you have returned. I’m sorry that it took a tragedy for you to realise where you belong, and I hope that others don’t cause you to regret your decision, even for a second.” She looked as though she were trying to emphasise every word she said, to make sure he understood her. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he merely gave her a curt nod. She nodded back, and shut the door on her way out, leaving him completely alone.

As he later attempted to salvage what was left of the night in his strange, new bed, a fierce pair of brown eyes haunted his dreams as he tossed and turned.

---

---

“Wake up, Ginevra, breakfast is getting cold!” Molly Weasley’s voice carried upstairs to rouse her daughter.

Ginny opened her eyes to a bleary September 1st morning, the clouds hanging low outside her window and a thin, silvery mist encasing the morning in a sleepy stupor. Groaning softy as she turned on her side underneath her warm quilt, she willed herself to look forward to returning to Hogwarts and seeing her friends. How can I do something as normal as go to school after everything that’s happened? She couldn’t understand her mother’s insistence that she finish her education at a time like this, that she would be safest under her professors’ watch. How safe can it be since Dumbledore’s gone? Finally flipping the blanket off of herself crossly, she dragged herself out of bed. She quickly dressed into a pair of jeans and a loose brown turtleneck that contrasted well with her vibrant red hair, checked that her trunk was packed, and then dragged it down the stairs behind her.

The Weasley household was extremely calm for it being the morning of the day before term. After countless summers filled with the utter chaos that ensues when too many people are crammed into a small space, it seemed very odd for Ginny to be the only Weasley left checking her supply of spell books and potion ingredients before a hurried breakfast, and her mum to be the only one to take her to King’s Cross. She realised that Ron had much more important things to do than accompany his little sister back to school to finish his seventh year, but she couldn’t shake the anxiousness she felt for her brother when she let her thoughts wander to what he could be doing right now. He should be here with her, safe, not out risking his neck with Hermione and Harry.

Sighing as she sat down to her bacon sandwiches, she pushed memories of emerald green eyes, a soft caress, and hours by the lake out of her mind. She had spent the entire summer not being that girl; the girl that cries every night, moping in the unfairness of her life, the girl that reads romantic novels in bitterness that she can’t have her fairy tale ending, the girl weeping and pining after a love lost to fate. She knew it was her fierce independence that had finally got his attention, and damned if she was going to lose it.

After an impassioned, stolen kiss the morning of Harry’s birthday, she had convinced herself that love like this, the school girl with a crush winning over the heart of her hero, never strikes twice. She had to believe that he would return to her, or her world would just collapse through her tight-lipped smiles and forced laughs. Not usually the gushy type, she felt like a walking cliché telling herself that she wanted to wait for him. His prize at the end of a long journey, she thought to herself cynically.

Arriving on Platform 9¾ wasn’t nearly as cheerful as years remembered; parents looked fearful to let their children go, telling them to write as soon as they could and that they would bring them straight home if they wanted. The children, usually blissfully unaware of the true dangers in their world, just smiled and shrugged their parents off, meeting up with friends on the train, or making new ones.

Ginny smiled widely as a group of red-haired people met her eyes upon entering the platform. Fred and George had closed up shop for a few hours, clad in their usual matching dragon-hide jackets. Bill and Fleur had Apparated for the occasion. Arthur, able to get time off work, came to send his only daughter to her sixth year at Hogwarts.

“Surprise, sweetie,” her mother whispered into her ear before she ran forward to hug them all. She knew she was going to miss her family horribly this year; with all the new threats to their way of life, the idea that she may never see them again had wormed its way into her thoughts on several occasions.

She waved goodbye vigorously from the compartment she shared with Neville and Luna, and then settled back into her own thoughts, listening distantly to their conversation about their summers and nodding when appropriate. When asked where her brother was, she replied vaguely that he was ill, being kept at home. Hermione, she had been told to say, had gone into hiding with other Muggle-borns, and she hadn’t seen or heard from Harry since Bill and Fleur’s wedding. All of these rehearsed responses were met with sceptical looks, but she didn’t really care if anyone believed her.

The start of term feast passed as usual with the Sorting Hat’s song, the sorting of the first years, and the amazing spread of food, though few had the appetite to dig in with the typical vigour. The tables were emptier than usual, especially the Slytherin: no surprise there. McGonagall now sat in the centre, throne-like chair at the staff table, and made the usual speech before sending the students to bed, welcoming everyone back and warning them to stay out of the Forbidden Forest.

“Let us all begin this term in remembrance of our late headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He would be very proud of you all for your achievements, and would encourage each of you to continue in your education to make our world more enriched and accomplished in these most difficult of times…”

Ginny’s interest faded as she let her eyes wander towards the back of the hall, in the direction of the white tomb that encased the headmaster and laid him to rest on the school grounds forever. Out of the corner of her eye she vaguely noticed a streak of pale yellow, only because it was so out of place amongst the dark colours of the doorway. Once she focused on that spot, there was nothing but an empty doorway.

“And furthermore,” Ginny could vaguely hear McGonagall continuing her speech, “due to the extenuating circumstances that have developed over the past few years, and the continuingly more dangerous practices of dark wizards that threaten the well being of the Wizarding community, safety has become a top priority for our students. The heads of houses have voted unanimously that protection can only be guaranteed inside the boundaries of Hogwarts. I regret to announce that all visits to Hogsmeade this year will be cancelled,” an outburst of groans and indignant complaints arose from the sea of angry students, a few throwing their hats on the floor in outrage, “or until such a time that safety will no longer be a concern.”

Ginny had chosen to pay attention after the loud chorus of grumbles began, and missed what had caused the discontent.

“What happened?” she asked a fifth year boy sitting across from her.

His face looked angry as he answered. “McGonagall’s cancelled all Hogsmeade visits.”

Her eyebrows rose to look surprised, though she wasn’t in the slightest. Now giving the Headmistress her full attention, she listened to the rest of the changes in policy.

“As always, students are not allowed outside of the castle at night, are not allowed out of their dormitories after hours, and are now not allowed outside during the day unless they are in groups. I am aware that these new rules are stricter than you are accustomed to, but your well-being as well as your education is our main concern. If ever you need assistance or need to get home quickly, our doors are always open to you.”

Several professors sitting along the head table nodded in agreement as the Headmistress spoke, keeping neutral expressions on their face. The older students, on the other hand, had no problem voicing their resentment at being treated like children, and McGonagall had to raise her voice to a shout several times to be heard over the complaining.

The restriction of their personal freedoms complete, she called for the prefects to lead their houses to their dormitories and for all the students to get a good night’s sleep. Later that night, Ginny tossed and turned in her four poster bed as her roommates slept soundly. Scoffing at their obliviously peaceful forms, her mind kept her awake with bitter thoughts.

“Ugh!” she huffed, grabbed a robe and slippers, and left Gryffindor tower to take a walk and clear her head. Blatantly disregarding the policies McGonagall had just reviewed regarding after-hour activities, and keeping a careful watch for Filch and Mrs. Norris, she claimed the darkened corridors as her own to wander about, heading in no particular direction.

---

Wandering towards the Great Hall after the feast had started, Draco didn’t really know what he intended to do once he got there. He surely couldn’t waltz in and sit at the Slytherin table, arrogant as ever. He still didn’t know how he anticipated sharing the castle with these prats, whispering behind their hands as he passed and gossiping behind his back. He couldn’t care any less about what they thought of him; he would just rather never have to deal with such trivial, simple-minded children.

He settled for watching McGonagall’s speech from the doorway, free of prying eyes. As she began her dedication to the old headmaster, he could vividly detect through the sea of black cloaks and hats a head clad in blazing red locks turn and look straight in his direction. Her eyes looked initially past him and he chanced a glance at her sad face, finding it once again as enjoyable to look upon as his last encounter with her. Remembering what had happened the last time he had gotten lost in her features, he turned before he could again become mesmerised like a complete git and started towards the abandoned third floor of the west wing.

Working with Hagrid over the summer, as horridly painful as it was to endure given the man’s lack of common sense and intelligence, had shown him a great deal of things he had never known about his school: secret passageways, hidden doors, trick mirrors. The man was a complete moron, but he knew a lot about the place, having been there for so long. The gamekeeper had also shown him how much work it took to keep the grounds in such good condition, given that he wasn’t allowed to use magic, though Draco had his suspicious about the pink umbrella the half-giant frequently carried around with him.

Three months of manual labour had really toughened the pampered boy up. His fair, sheltered skin had burned horribly during the first few weeks, but after he had discovered the wonders in a thick, green potion used to heal burns, then the use of a sun-protection charm, his skin tanned rather well. Never having had to do much physical work, his muscles had hardly developed past ‘puny’ over his adolescent years, though it had never mattered much to him. After hauling load after load of dirt, dragon dung, saplings, and whatever Merlin-awful thing Hagrid found him to do, he could finally appreciate his shirtless reflection in the mirror, and could often be found flexing each of his new muscles in various poses. He couldn’t deny he enjoyed the new look, though he knew it would go to waste on this crowd.

His feet carried him without having to think, and he soon found himself in a deserted classroom full of old desks and wardrobes covered in dusty sheets. There in his usual spot sat a straight-backed, wooden chair in front of a ceiling-high, ornate, gold mirror, the words Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi carved along the top. He settled for a long night in front of the closest thing he had to a friend; he only wished he had a more comfortable chair.

---

After walking only about half an hour, Ginny already found herself in a wing of the school she had never seen before. Fully distracted by her explorations, she poked around in the abandoned rooms, hardly expecting to find anything interesting as she opened cupboards and rummaged through old books. Running her hand along a dusty desk, her ears perked at a distant rumbling. She realised it was coming from the room next door. Curiosity getting the better of her, she tip-toed into the corridor and peeked around the corner into the room from which the sound was emanating.

A boy, about her age judging by his height, lay sprawled on a chair in front of a large mirror, snoring loudly. His head, clad in dishevelled white-blond hair, was rolled onto one shoulder facing away from her. Unable to stop herself, she inched her way silently closer to get a better look at who else was out of bed in the middle of the night. His black school robes lay open, revealing blue jeans and a black t-shirt, hiked up just enough to show the smallest sliver of a tan, developed stomach.

As she ran her eyes appreciatively down his relaxed form, he started to stir. Sitting up and stretching his arms high above his head, her breath caught as each defined line of his torso was uncovered by his rising shirt. Suddenly aware of how awkward her presence was about to make the situation, she started to edge her way backwards as silently as possible. A spare desk caught her foot, and she stumbled, knocking the desk noisily onto its side while she attempted to regain her balance.

The boy whipped his head around at the disturbance. Fury replaced recognition on both sides as icy grey eyes met fiery brown. He stood defiantly as her hand flew into her robe, pulled out her wand and pointed it directly into his face.

“You,” she growled through gritted teeth, narrowing her eyes.

---

---

For a few moments the two teenagers glared at each other.

“What are you going to do, Weasley?” Draco broke the silence to taunt her in a low, cool voice, making no move for his own wand. “Bat-Bogey me to death?” He suppressed the urge to smile as her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed further. Merlin, she looked cute when she was angry. Seeing her up close, he could really appreciate how mature she’d become, clad in her form fitting pyjamas; he nearly forgot she was the Weasel’s little sister.

“You have a lot of nerve showing your ferret face around here, Malfoy,” she seethed. “Everyone knows it’s your fault Dumbledore’s dead, and that you’re a Death Eater. You almost killed two of my brothers!”

His expression hardened. “You should really get all of your facts straight before you start running your mouth. I didn’t kill Dumbledore, I’m not a Death Eater, and I didn’t touch your brothers.” He made to push past her, but with a flick of her wand he found himself dangling in the air as if hoisted up by his ankle, sputtering through his robes as they hung over his head.

“What the bloody hell, let me down! What is that spell?” Draco yelled.

“Just a little trick I learned from Harry,” Ginny replied calmly with a Malfoy-worthy smirk. “You better keep it down, or you’ll get us both in trouble, not that you would care about a little detention.”

Reaching around to his back pocket, Draco pulled out his own wand and pointed it at his hoisted ankle, muttering, “Finite Incantatem.” It seemed to do the trick, since he came crashing down to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

Attempting to get back to his feet, Ginny struck before he was ready.

“Incarcerous!” she shrieked in her surprise that he had wormed his way out of the spell so easily, though the curse sailed just past his head.

Turning sideways to be sure the hex missed him, he began his next attack without focusing first. “Impediementa!” he shouted as his head came back around, but the spell merely struck a wardrobe next to her, the sheet covering it flapping about with the disturbed air around it. The cloth’s movements immediately slowed upon contact with the charm until it was frozen in mid-flap, eerily hovering away from the wardrobe.

As soon as he missed, he ducked behind a desk. Not a moment too soon, either, for he felt the desk shake violently with the impact of whatever she had thrown at him next.

Annoyed with the charade, he peeked over the edge of his hiding place and he yelled “Stupefy!” as he pointed in her direction, but she managed to duck behind another desk. The red jet of light struck the wood and sent splinters flying from the black singe mark the curse had created.

The top of her head appeared from hiding, and the hostile glare of razor-sharp daggers she sent towards him at his gall to attempt to stun her gave him chills. He almost thought to apologise, since stunning usually advanced the duel quite a few pegs from the usually harmless hexes, but then she stood up and whipped her wand at him so fast that he almost missed her next spell.

As she shouted, “Petrificus Totalus!” Draco also stood and countered with, “Protego!” at the same time. Ginny’s arms and legs snapped together upon being hit with her rebounded spell, and she toppled flat on her face with a nose-breaking crunch. Wincing as she crashed, he imagined what a fall like that would do to that small, button nose. He stepped over her stiff body, making his way towards the door; it wasn’t his problem she had been nosing around the school in the middle of the night and ended up a little worse for the wear.

Halfway out, he stopped. This is so juvenile, he thought, turning back around. He was, after all, a different person than the ignorant, self-absorbed prat blindly following orders that had left Potter on the Hogwarts Express in a similar situation as a hilarious joke, seemingly ages ago. He was separate, distinct from that idiot, more mature, wiser to the world - at least that’s why he told himself he didn’t want to leave her in this humiliating state.

Sighing at his lack of malevolence towards the blood traitor, he lifted the jinx. She pulled herself off the floor and stood to face him, glowering. Blood gushed from her nose and stained the arm of her robe crimson as she attempted to stem the flow.

“Put your arm down,” he ordered. Ginny obliged more out of confusion than anything. “Don’t move.” His voice dropped to a softer tone as he moved closer and raised his wand to her nose; she recoiled a bit at the sight of Draco Malfoy’s wand so close to her face.

“Episkey,” he whispered with a small flourish of his hand. Her nose, straightening oddly by itself, glowed a very subtle red as if heating up. After he performed the healing charm, he muttered “Tergeo,” to siphon the blood off of her face and robes. Her puzzled eyes searched his face for an explanation, but he kept his own eyes on his work, avoiding the question that he didn’t want to answer. When he was satisfied that she looked presentable, he took a step back and sheathed his wand back into his robes.

Draco reluctantly looked the red-head in the eye. “I’m not the enemy anymore, Ginny,” he said, her first name sounding strange as it rolled off his tongue. “I’m sorry for what happened to your brothers, for Dumbledore… for everything, but you don’t know anything about what really happened, just what Boy Wonder thinks he saw. If you ever get in my face again, I won’t be so nice.” He pushed past her one more time, but instead of starting another duel, Ginny let him past.

“Don’t know what really happened?” she retorted incredulously to his back. “What are you playing at, Malfoy, why on earth would they let you back in?”

Draco paused, fighting memories he had suppressed all summer. Keeping his back to her, the outer edges of his mouth curved upward as he thought of just the remark to rile her up.

“Drop it, Weasley. Don’t worry your pretty little head about things you won’t understand.”

Smirking with triumph as he left the room, he could almost feel two holes burning into his back. He imagined the blazing rage in her eyes, willing him to feel pain by merely glaring at him.

He could tell she was a girl that hated being pushed out of the way, that she wanted to be in the thick of the action. Being the youngest and the only girl of so many brothers, he could only guess how many times she had been cast aside for being too weak; being the object of Voldemort’s possession as an 11-year-old child surely hadn’t helped her win any awards for charm either. She was tough, stubborn, and on a mission to prove herself. Not to mention stunning, he finally admitted to himself. It was for these reasons that Draco Malfoy found himself taking a turn at the end of the corridor, hoping to find himself in another duel with Ginny Weasley sometime soon.

---

Ginny’s balled fists shook with rage at her sides as Malfoy strutted out of the classroom; the nerve of that traitor, taunting her as if they were in their second year. Part of her wanted to stun him in the back and run to Professor McGonagall to let her know that Malfoy was running loose in Hogwarts. After all he did, taking orders from You-Know-Who himself, how could she possibly have let him live here? Ginny was baffled as to why he wasn’t in a cell in Azkaban at this very moment; he must have snitched some really good information.

She flopped into the chair that earlier had been abruptly vacated in front of the large mirror and examined her clean sleeve. As infuriated as she was, she had to admit that there was something different about him tonight. He had made no move for his wand until she attacked him. He could have left her there, but he not only unfroze her, he repaired her broken nose and cleaned up the mess.

What left her the most unsettled with her thoughts was the hint of care she had detected in his eyes when they had been less than an arm’s length away. It had quite possibly been a trick of the light, or he had temporarily let his guard down, but the typically frigid rings of stony grey looked slightly warmer up close. Regardless of what his eyes looked like, he had been… nice to her; this strange new development she had discovered in him gave him a new appeal she found extremely foreign. Having always thought of him as one of the better looking boys at Hogwarts, after Harry of course, she had never given him more thought than that due to his dark status and the fact that he was an utterly impossible jerk. After tonight, both of those negatives had been shaken, opening her thoughts to an array of new possibilities.

Shaking her head in confusion, she glanced up at what she was expecting to be her mirrored reflection, but what greeted her caused her to take a sharp intake of breath. There, standing right behind her, his arms wrapped around her reflected form, was Harry. The carefree, goofy grin she saw so rarely was plastered across his face, his emerald green eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. His ruffled hair lay hap-hazardly across his brow, but the usual lightning bolt etched into his forehead was conspicuously missing. In the distant background, she saw her entire family of Weasleys, looking whole and happy together. Bill, who looked as if he had never even seen battle, was clapping Percy on the back as they laughed together. Everyone looked so untroubled, just happy to be with each other.

Seeing Harry so vividly, so close she could almost feel his warm nuzzle against her ear forced these strange thoughts from her head and brought a sting to her eyes; she no longer felt so alone. She wrapped her own arms around herself to strengthen the feeling.

She knew what this mirror was. Harry had told her about it once, had warned her of the dangers it could hold. Why it was here, she wasn’t sure; he had told her that Dumbledore had moved it to another location long ago, before she had started at Hogwarts.

She dragged her eyes unwillingly away from the jovial sight. The walk back to her dorm seemed desolate, but she knew she had to go; she would come back again to visit them soon. As she walked, she continued to hold herself, rubbing her arms with her hands to retain the illusion of being in his comforting embrace.

Finally drifting off to sleep later that night, a brief thought crossed her mind. She wondered what it was that Malfoy had seen. If the mirror showed the deepest and most desperate desires of your heart, what had he watched for so long that he had fallen asleep right in that chair? Knowing she’d never find out, she didn’t dwell on it too long, and succumbed to a sleep full of heartbreak and longing.

---

---

“Have you seen him?”

“I thought I did, but I didn’t think that was really him.”

“What? Draco Malfoy lives in the castle?”

“Didn’t he let Fenrir Greyback into Hogwarts during the battle?” “I heard he was the one that killed Dumbledore.”

“No, no, Snape killed Dumbledore, but Malfoy helped him. And he was the one that cursed Katie Bell with that necklace and almost killed Ron Weasley with that poisoned mead, remember?”

“Maybe he didn’t have a choice.”

The section of the Gryffindor house table that had been buzzing with gossip fell silent at that last comment. Ginny immediately regretted saying anything at all, and looked down at her plate of biscuits and gravy.

“Ginny, seriously, he didn’t have a choice?” exclaimed Neville from across the table. “He’s been a junior Death Eater in the making ever since he was born; you saw his father yourself when he tried to kill us at the Ministry of Magic! He almost killed your brother!”

She could hear the reason in Neville’s words, but Ginny knew in her heart that something wasn’t right about Malfoy. Her gut feeling being the only fuel to her retaliation, she looked up at Neville without any idea why she was even bothering to stand up for the former Slytherin. He’d never in a million years do the same for her.

“We saw his father try to kill us, and what happened to Ron was obviously an accident, since we now know who Malfoy was really after. All I’m saying is that we don’t know the whole story, and there’s clearly more to it if McGonagall protects him here.” Ginny spoke mostly to Neville, but the words benefited herself as well. Her head was not yet as forgiving of his murky past as her heart.

“McGonagall’s kind of new to the job; she may be a bit quicker to accept an apology and a bit slower to spot a fake one than Dumbledore was,” Seamus Finnigan reasoned from his place next to Neville.

Unable to look at her unappetizing breakfast any longer, and unwilling to talk about the subject further, Ginny gathered her books and left the outraged faces of her friends behind as she left the Great Hall for her first class.

Malfoy had flitted into her thoughts occasionally over the past few weeks, and she had pondered over where his guilt overlapped with his innocence. More than once she had even wondered if he had really turned his back on the Death Eaters as he said, but she never meant to express her thoughts to anyone, especially members of the DA.

One thing was for certain: she needed to seek him out and confront him again to find out what exactly had earned him solace at Hogwarts. The unrest caused by their last altercation had been slowly eating at her curiosity.

---

Later that night, hidden within the privacy of her bed hangings, she pulled out an old piece of parchment that Harry had given to her while he had been staying at the Burrow. Tapping the parchment with her wand, she whispered, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Faint black lines began to snake from the middle of the page, forming their way to every corner of the parchment until an entire map of Hogwarts lay before her. She smiled as she remembered Harry’s words when handing it over to her with a mischievous twinkle in his brilliant green eyes. “I won’t need this much where I’m going, but I know that you’ll make good use of it to while I’m gone.”

Her eyes scanned the black dots littering the page, virtually all of them residing in their dormitories. She looked towards the dungeons where she knew the Slytherin common room to exist, and wasn’t surprised not to find Malfoy’s name lingering there. If he had in fact betrayed the Death Eaters, Slytherins would be the last to accept him back into their good graces. She moved on to the areas of the school she was least familiar with, and finally found his dot once again on the deserted third floor of the west wing.

“Mischief managed,” she murmured, with another tap of her wand. She pocketed the now blank parchment, and stole silently out of Gryffindor tower.

---

The small boy ripped into his present with wild and unrestrained glee. The uncovered box gave a shudder, causing a cascade of silent laughter to erupt from his mother and father as he shoved the heavy box away from him in sudden fright. His father gently put the box back into his son’s small hands, helping him to finally open it. A small, furry head popped out, looking around suspiciously. The boy’s face broke into a grin from ear to ear as the young golden lab fell clumsily out of the box, and jumped into his arms. The mother and father joined into the fray and wrapped their arms around their son.

Draco watched silently as the scene he had witnessed many times before played in front of him. The mirror usually showed him scenes like this, with both of his parents and him, a happy, carefree child, the childhood he had always longed for, free of the pressures and burdens placed upon him for being a Malfoy.

Sometimes he watched birthdays he had never experienced, or Christmases, or family vacations. Now that his real parents were dead, it was easy to find relief in these imaginary, loving people created by the longing for comfort in his heart.

He had been watching the blissful family so intently that he hadn’t noticed a new figure approaching from behind, her fiery red tresses offensively out of place amongst the pale-blonde heads. She looked not at them, but straight ahead at something they were unable to see.

Draco’s eyes finally flitted upwards, narrowing in confusion and irritation. Why is she in here?

“What do you see?” her voice sounded from behind him, causing him to start so violently he fell right out of his chair. Damn it.

“What are you doing here, Weasley?” he yelled as he whirled around to face her, not bothering to hide his anger. He had already told her once not to come back here.

The pair stood face-to-face, hands hovering above their concealed wands.

She relaxed first, apparently not wanting another duel. She disregarded his question and looked directly into the mirror again. Draco cringed, feeling as if she were stealing his friend away from him.

“Get away from that,” he snarled at her, moving forward to push her out of the way.

“What do you see?” she repeated. He stopped short at the tone of her voice. It shook with sadness, making him instantly uncomfortable. Draco felt a tug in his chest as he watched a silent tear fall from her magnificent chocolate eyes and land with a soundless splash on the cool, stone floor. He realised he couldn’t stand to watch her cry. As beautiful as she was when she was miserable, he would much rather see her furious, anything else but this.

“What do you see, your precious hero saving the day?” Her eyes clouded over with anger at once and narrowed as she turned in his direction. That’s much better, he thought with a smirk.

“Not that you can understand worrying about anyone but yourself, you coward,” Ginny spat at him with her hands positioned resolutely on her hips, her fire lit to its usual flare.

Now she was just starting to annoy him. Nice as it was to have someone to talk to other than the professors, her uninvited welcome was expiring, especially now.

“If you’re not going to tell me what it is you keep bothering me about, then leave me the bloody hell–” He was cut off by the chiming of the bell tower as it struck midnight.

---

The sudden falter in his speech and the spark of sadness in his face at the sound of the chiming bell now had Ginny’s full curiosity. It was a new day, a day important to him.

“What is today?” she questioned, taking a softer tone of voice.

His stony eyes, cold as the stone beneath their feet, flashed with irritation at the query. He turned his back to her and looked instead out of the window onto the moonlit grounds, bracing an arm on either side of the windowsill. “That’s none of your business,” he replied in a low growl, failing to mask a slight shake to his voice.

Seeing through his impulsive resistance, she started to understand the differences she had noticed in him the last time they had met. He had no friends, he was an outcast even to the Slytherins, and why wasn’t he with his parents? Shouldn’t they be protecting him, or have they cast him out of their presence? Did he rat them out? Did he refuse the Dark Mark? All of these questions flooded her mind, and she felt a sudden responsibility for him, that he had no one else to care.

Taking a deep breath and going against every voice in her head screaming that she was better off to just leave him be, she took a step closer to him. “Seeing as how you spend your time alone here, I don’t suppose you have anyone else to talk to. You can talk to me… Draco,” Ginny forced his name across her lips, in an effort to make a gesture of peace. She needed answers, and it looked as though he needed someone to unload on, if nothing else.

His blond head slumped out of sight below his shoulders in an exhausted response of defeat at the sound of his name. Unsure how to proceed with her offer, she waited patiently for a further reaction.

---

Staring intently at the white marble of the windowsill was keeping him calm. So simple, so flawless, the swirling faint lines of a light white encased by the solid, off-white stone. His eyes followed a particular eddy towards the edge of the sill, disappearing within a deep and defined crack, jaggedly leading toward the corner of the pristine pane of glass separating him from a world that had rejected him.

It was easy for him to hate this atrocious crack, ruining something that used to be so beautiful. It wasn’t so easy for him to hate the girl standing behind him, a feeling that should be natural to him.

“Today…” he finally croaked, his voice cracking under the pressure of desperately wanting someone, anyone, to confide in, “was my Mum’s birthday. The Dark Lord, he... he killed her. He killed her right in front of me. She… she saved me, that’s why she died… just to save me.”

He let out a shaky breath, willing with all his being that the prickle in his eyes would subside so that he wouldn’t have to face this humiliation. Try as he might, it was coming; a pent-up wave of emotion comparable to a violent storm. He had refused to cry, refused to feel after that night, but the wall he had worked so hard to build around his heart had sprung a leak, and there was no stopping the swell of pain he could never be ready for.

His vision blurred as tear after tear spilt from his eyes, creating small, salty rivers within the whirls of marble. His knees gave out and he slid down the window until he sat, rocking back and forth on the cold, unforgiving floor, shoulders shaking with silent sobs, hands covering his face from the shame of her judging eyes.

What he couldn’t see through his grief was the tracks of tears running down her face. What he couldn’t understand was the overwhelming capacity of her heart, and the absolute compassion that she was able to feel for others.

And then she was there, kneeling on the floor next to him, her arms wrapped around his trembling shoulders. He refused his every instinct and went with his aching heart, hiding his wet face in her sweet-smelling hair as he surrendered to her embrace, and finally received what he had desperately needed but would never admit to a soul: some comfort.

---

---

Ever since setting foot back into the castle that he had so desperately conspired against, Draco had taken every precaution to avoid the offspring of those he had formerly thought of as comrades, namely: the Slytherins of Hogwarts. He knew that their loyalties lay with their parents, and that his betrayal would never be forgiven.

Even the girl he had grown up with since infancy, whose parents had hoped for a union of their two families with an elaborate, Pureblood marriage, who had once hung on his every word as she fell in love with him during their years at Hogwarts had surely had a change of heart. Thanks to Draco, Pansy Parkinson’s father had been captured along with a few other Death Eaters during the attack on Malfoy Mansion and taken to Claustrum, the Order-run Wizarding prison. With the fall of Azkaban, the first of many Ministry establishments to become compromised with the rise of the Death Eaters, the Order had built their own prison, free of corruption and known only to the Secret Keeper, who transported inmates in and out. It was said that Dumbledore himself had conjured the enchantments that protected and hid the establishment.

Having had several unpleasant, inadvertent encounters with Slytherin students already, resulting in dodging rather gruesome, dark curses that could only have been taught to children by Death Eaters, Draco knew that seeking Pansy or anyone else he had once considered a friend would be foolish. Not one Slytherin that remained was a close match to his power, but if he angered them, their parents may decide to attempt a takeover of his last safe haven ahead of schedule, before their apprehension of Potter. Playing it safe, he avoided them altogether to prolong his sanctuary until his moment to carry out his vengeance came; he only hoped that when that moment came, he would know.

Finding himself planning his schedule around seeing as few people as possible on a daily basis, his days at Hogwarts now revolved completely around his studies and compulsively checking over his shoulder. Though his reasoning for avoiding the House of green and silver was more for his personal safety, his unconscious motivation for avoiding the other three Houses had more to do with an emotion that he could hardly identify within himself as deep shame. Rather than dwelling on the real reason he couldn’t face their accusing eyes, he subjected himself to only walking the corridors when classes were in session, spending ten minutes at most in the library, and taking his meals in his room. Even a well-crafted plan had room for error, and it was only a matter of time before being forced into a direct confrontation.

Having spent a little too long in the library collecting books on potion theory, he found himself half running back to his tower in order to avoid the impending flood of students. In his hurry, he failed to notice the various piles of muck on the floor that Peeves had been throwing at unsuspecting heads from the ceiling during the last period between classes. In Draco’s passing, he managed to step in a particularly slimy bit, sending his foot flying into the air in front of him, landing flat on his back and cracking his skull on the solid floor. Struggling through a vision of bright spots, he blindly gathered his books as quickly as he could, the pounding in his head drowning out the approaching footsteps and the quiet snicker behind him

“Well, well, well. So it’s true, the traitor thinks he can hide out at Hogwarts,” taunted his childhood friend, her words dripping with malice.

He finished gathering his books, taking his time to collect his wits for a verbal combat as he blinked away the persisting stars in front of his eyes.

“So, is this your standard dress code now: filthy robes and mussed hair? Now that you’ve allied yourself with blood traitors, is it required to be as disgusting as them?” Pansy let out a high-pitched, girlish giggle at the smear of mud across the back of his robes.

Clenching his fingers tightly around his stack of books as his face grew hot with a suppressed rage, Draco straightened to his full height and turned slowly on the spot. As he narrowed his eyes to slits with loathing, Pansy’s grin faded at the hard look of hatred he shot at her. He had seen that smile before, adorning Mrs. Parkinson’s cruel face, and those spiteful, deep blue eyes, darkened with the malevolence of a merciless lust for power, observing apathetically from behind Mr. Parkinson’s rimless glasses as that jet of green light had shot across the room.

“How’s your dad, Parkinson? Enjoying his stay, I hope?” he jeered as her eyes darkened with anger and her hand shot into her robes for her wand. Because he had been duelling with her since they were young, there wasn’t a move he couldn’t anticipate.

“Expelliarmus.” Her wand flew through the corridor at the lazy flick of his before she had even pointed in his direction.

Smiling coolly, she folded her arms across her chest. “He’s furious you know, the Dark Lord. It’s tragic really if you think you’re safe here; he could come in anytime he wants. When he’s finished with Potter, he’s coming after you.”

“Then let’s hope The Chosen One does his bloody job,” Draco muttered, mostly to himself, but in the large, empty space of the corridor, the words reached Pansy’s ears.

Taking a step back from him, as if such statements might infect her, a look of alarm spread across Pansy’s face, her eyes wide. “You don’t mean such a thing. You can’t mean that, even if you are marked for death. After all our work, after all our sacrifice, we’re so close to having absolute power. Has your pride as a proper Pureblood left with your sense?”

“Power?” Draco scoffed at her ignorance, taking a menacing step towards her as she shrank back in stunned fear, her back to the wall. “He will have the power! We will be forced to bow to his will if we hope to stay alive, no more than the Muggles he intends to enslave! You’re a fool if you believe he thinks any more of you than he does of them!”

The fear in her face passed during his tirade, replaced with a stubborn determination as she shoved him away from her. Draco took several steps back, realizing that her ears were closed to him. He saw in her what he must have looked like as a brainwashed, spoiled child, raised to hate and crave power; he had been just as naive once. As she walked to her fallen wand and stooped to pick it up, he tried to reason with her; he couldn’t completely give up on one of his oldest friends.

“He killed my mum, Pansy,” he said softly.

She paused mid-stoop, and then slowly stood upright as if processing his words. She kept her eyes on her wand as she twirled it between her fingers.

Watching the dark rod spin, a few random thoughts and memories ran through his head. Ten inches of hard, dense rowan wood, concealing a single strand of dragon heartstring that Pansy had once told Draco during their first year, whispering behind her hand into his ear as if telling him a great secret, that she could swear she felt it pulse as if still a part of a beating heart. They would concoct lavish stories together about a ferocious dragon, searching forever for the missing piece of its heart, and that whoever held the power to this wand would have complete control over the monstrous beast, enslaving it for all time. Their silly tales would usually end in the demise of a Muggle, or several; a finale to make their parents proud.

A memory of Mr. Ollivander appraising them before the dragon-commanding instrument had been handed over flashed across his eyes, the ancient wandmaker then handing each of them their ideal wand under the smug, turned-up noses of their fathers. She had given Draco the biggest grin as she felt her untamed magic channel towards this mysterious wooden stick she now held in her hand.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she had whispered.

Wondering if she even remembered that day with as much detail as he did, he tried again.

“He was trying to kill me, but he got her instead. That’s why he’s so angry, he wanted me dead, and I got away from him. He had been holding her captive all year, to make sure I did as I was told. She was dirty and scared when I saw her for the last time. I barely got away, but I realised that the promises he makes are all empty, and that he isn’t loyal to anyone–”

“Stop it!” Pansy shrieked, finally turning back to face him, tears sparkling in her dark eyes. “Stop it! Stop lying to me, Draco! My dad told me that your mum has been doing work for the Dark Lord abroad and that you had been upset about your father’s death and started acting out, spreading lies, and I shouldn’t listen to a word you say. After they took my dad, I hadn’t heard anything more about you. I knew that you had turned your back on us. And now I see that it’s true!”

Seeing that she was bordering on hysterical, he dropped his books and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly to stop her from shouting.

“Keep it down, Pansy, you’re embarrassing yourself! Why would I just spread lies like a common gossip, don’t you realise how ridiculous that sounds?”

Releasing her shoulders, he took either side of her face in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. The confusion residing in those rings of sapphire blue gave her away, and she bit her lower lip as if fighting her own internal battle. Shaking her head, she wrenched out of his hold and headed back towards the dungeons without another word. As Draco watched the last connection to his old life walk away, he felt a twinge in his chest at the reminder of his isolation.

Gathering his books hastily, he began running again toward his tower; students would be flooding out of their classes at any moment.

At the top of the stairs to the third floor, he spotted a throng of Ravenclaws exiting a classroom down the hall. He quickly retreated back down the steps, stealing behind a seemingly useless, small curtain along the side of the staircase, barely visible to the naked eye. It looked as though it were just hiding a small storage cupboard, but an extremely ancient, narrow staircase, one of Hogwart’s countless unknown secrets, lay hidden. These rickety, wooden stairs allowed Draco means of access to the floor below, or at least a hiding place until the corridors were once again unoccupied.

Here, he would wait until the coast was clear, simmering in self-loathing at his cowardice in hiding from younger witches and wizards in his own school.

---

---

Still hiding behind the hidden door, Draco pressed his ear to the wood. By the look of his watch and the diminished sound of footsteps, Draco knew that classes had started again. He ventured out of hiding, only to start at the surprise of finding that nosy red-head just outside the door. Her eyebrows were contracted in confusion as she studied an ancient piece of parchment.

If he had been merely avoiding the students of the school, then he had been treating her like the plague for the past few months, a feat that had proven most difficult. The girl seemed to be everywhere when he didn’t want to be found. The embarrassment of having to see her again after he had broken down so completely was unbearable enough; he didn’t think he could handle another conversation. So intoxicating and dangerous was the effect she had on him, he didn’t understand it, and he couldn’t control it.

“Oh!” Ginny exclaimed as she noticed him, dropping the parchment in her haste to shove it in her pocket. The more she grabbed for it, the closer it floated towards him until he snatched it off the floor. A quick inspection of the hundreds of labelled dots moving about lines representing the halls of the castle told him all he needed to know. He looked up to meet her wide eyes, her hands balled into fists reaching halfway towards him in anticipation of his reaction.

“Wormtail… Prongs… What the hell, how did you get something like this? Is this how you keep finding me?” His outrage was eclipsed by his intrigue of such an object.

“Draco, please, I’ve just wanted to see how you are.” Her earnestness to help him, despite his lack of benevolence towards her their entire lives, was a bit sickening.

“Thanks, now I can find you whenever I need you,” he smirked as he folded up the map. He saluted her with it, and started walking towards his dorm.

“Hey, wait! That’s not mine, I need it back!” She caught up with him, keeping his brisk pace as she attempted to seize the parchment from his grip. Amused by this childish game, he held the map just out of her hands until she tried to grab it, and then pulled it out of reach, holding her back with his free hand. After a few tries, she gave up with a huff and submitted to walking alongside him. Draco wiped the smile off his face in case she was to look over just then.

“Why were you hiding?” Though her eyes were looking in the direction their feet were taking them, he still felt the influence she had over him. He felt compelled to answer her, as if he knew that she would understand; it was as if he wanted to tell her.

“I don’t want to have to talk to the tossers around here.” No harm in answering that one honestly.

“Then why be here? Why not go home?” The question was innocent enough, but both knew that it was heavily weighted.

“My home is... compromised,” Draco attempted to simplify it, hoping she wouldn’t probe further.

“And your father, what happened to him?” She continued to look, not at him, but down the corridor, following his lead as he made turns and climbed stairs.

“He’s also dead. Anyone I could have stayed with will kill me on sight. I really don’t have anywhere to go.” He stepped ahead of her as he ascended a spiral staircase up a tower that Ginny had never seen before. The top of the stairs stopped at a large, wooden door. Here, Draco halted suddenly, nearly causing a collision. He turned to face her, already beginning to mouth the words that would send her away. She recognised the defensive barricade building and cut him off before he could finish a word.

“I’m coming in, and you can’t make me leave.” Pushing past him, she lifted the latch that opened the door and stepped inside. The room was quite bare, void of any house colours or pictures. She was greeted with the soft scent of a musk that instantly made her feel warm and safe.

“Make yourself at home,” Draco muttered resentfully. He had avoided her so earnestly after their last meeting because he knew that she wanted to hear his story. He also knew that he would tell her if she asked, no Veritaserum needed.

As she flopped into his overstuffed armchair in front of the fire, he admired the effect of the firelight reflecting off her hair. The yellow light gleamed off of each tress, bringing out the blonde and brown strands along with the glowing red. She glanced at him, raising her eyebrows expectantly. Realizing he was still standing in the open doorway staring like an idiot, he cursed himself internally, and then hastily shut the door. Given that his usual place was occupied, he took a seat on the bed.

During this time last year, if he had found a Gryffindor occupying his seat, he would have sent them running for their mum with curses. Now, it just didn’t seem as important to pull rank. Though his blood was still pure and his power great, his place in society had been severely downgraded to outlaw, and even this blood traitor had more rights in the world than he did. And, despite the awkwardness of this unforgivable friendship forming, her company was soothing, making him glad that she had invited herself in.

“So that raid on your house where they actually caught some Death Eaters was thanks to you, wasn’t it? That’s why you can’t stay with anyone you know, because they are all Death Eaters.” Ginny’s eyes followed the jumps of the crackling embers as she reasoned this out.

“What makes you think any of that is true?”

“Please Draco, I’m not thick.” She twisted to face him, her side to the fire, tucking her legs underneath her. “I know who your dad was, and your aunt for that matter. I was at the Ministry when they tried to kill us. You’ve been surrounded by these people your entire life. You did some horrible things last year, but I know now that there was more to it, like you didn’t have a choice.”

Feeling slightly insulted at her insinuation that he couldn’t have done those things without direction; he opened his mouth to retaliate.

“Save it,” she cut him off, as if knowing he was about to start a pointlessly biased dispute. “You’ve been nothing but a bully since I’ve known you, but last year you seemed different, as if someone was out to get you. Then, it seemed as if you had done the unforgivable. But here you are, back where it all started, being tortured by your own demons.”

“You wouldn’t know anything about it,” he grumbled angrily, looking down at his clasped hands in his lap, irritated at her dead-on perceptiveness.

“Then tell me about it. I know that you think you’re so much better than everyone else, but I don’t think that you’re a killer, and I don’t think that you’d go as far as You-Know-Who just to show off your lineage.”

“It’s not about showing off lineage!” Jumping to his feet, he gestured fervently with his hands to show his indignation, the level of his voice rising. “It’s about the most powerful being in charge, it’s about loyalty to magical blood, and it’s about respecting where we come from!”

Ginny rolled her eyes as she turned back to the glowing fire. She actually rolled her eyes at him, the nerve! He stood there for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists as his blood boiled in fury at her insolence.

Sensing his glare, she stood from her seat and faced him with her arms folded loosely in front of her chest, her hair alight with radiance from the firelight. “You don’t actually expect me to take that high-and-mighty rubbish seriously. Muggle-born, Pureblood, why does it make such a difference to you? As long as you can still live in your mansion and drink your tea out of your expensive teacups, marry your rich and snotty Pureblood wife, why do you have to interfere with others’ lives? Do you really have nothing better to do?”

Finding her glowing splendour distracting, he looked down at the nauseatingly maroon carpet. It all sounded ridiculously pointless when you spat it out like that. He felt his confusion intensifying in an extremely unsettling way.

“Where do you think we’d be if Purebloods only married Purebloods forever and ever?” He glanced up at the softness of her voice into her remarkable russet eyes, feeling her stimulating influence overtake him slowly. “Eventually we’d be forced to marry our cousins. Don’t you see, Draco? That’s why Magic chooses Muggles, because otherwise, it would die. Hell, we’re probably even distantly related somehow.”

The thought of being related to her was unexpectedly revolting, and he pushed the thought from his mind. Shaking his head as if clearing out some of the confusion, he found his voice again.

“Don’t you ever feel like they’re stealing our glory, our birthright? Like they come from a world that shouldn’t have anything to do with ours? But there they are, more of them every year, buying our wands and filling our classes, completely clueless about where their power came from, power that never should have been theirs.” The more he spoke, the more confident his voice became and he remembered his disdain for those Mudblood first years, so utterly ignorant to even the simplest of Wizarding concepts.

Ginny’s hands found her hips in annoyance at his continued narrow-mindedness. “Who are you to decide something like that? Who are you to tell Magic who it should choose? Those Muggle-borns have no more choice to receive their power than you do.”

Draco opened his mouth, and then shut it with a huff, contracting his eyebrows in frustration at his loss for words. He no longer had his father to further encourage his prejudice; he only had his uncertainty on the subject, which was failing him miserably.

“You see!” she exclaimed, jumping on his lack of argument. “It doesn’t make any sense to persecute Muggle-borns! They didn’t steal their Magic, and without them, Magic would die out anyways.”

Making one last attempt at his dignity, Draco tried again, “Even so, you have to admit that Muggles are a far less advanced breed of humans. Why should we have to hide from them when we are the more powerful, when we could control them? They should be in hiding from us.”

Ginny pursed her lips, shaking her head. “Why does it have to be about control? Why do you have to hate a person because they weren’t lucky enough to receive a power that you so willingly abuse in order to hurt that same person? If there were a way for us to co-exist without fear of the other, wouldn’t it have been found already? This way of life, with us protecting Muggles from what they can’t understand, has worked out the best for both sides, and people like your master–”

“He is not my master,” Draco cut her off violently. A strange wind blew through the fire upon the word ‘not’. If he hadn’t been so heated at being affiliated with that snake-faced monster, he would have been slightly ashamed at his brief loss of control of his magic.

Giving him a hard look, her eyes darkening with passion, she spoke in a low, even voice, “Well, you sure still seem to answer to him with all this nonsense about control. Do you know what the Death Eater’s new calling card is? I read in the Prophet that after they’ve killed a Muggle-born and their family and ransacked their home, along with put the Dark Mark over the house, they leave ‘Magic is Might’ painted on the walls in that poor family’s own blood. Is that what you believe in? Do you have that much hatred in your heart?”

Any words of retaliation caught in his throat, and he felt slightly sick in his stomach. He knew that his life up until not long ago had been on a direct path to exactly those kinds of acts. After all he had been through, he was faintly surprised that he couldn’t imagine himself ever wanting to kill anyone, let alone leave them so humiliated in their own death; anyone– except one.

Ginny took a step towards him, her heart softening at his absolutely lost expression, his eyes seeming to search the fibres of the carpet for answers. At his silence, she took a more soothing tone, “I know you don’t, Draco. I know you have a good heart underneath all that hatred they’ve filled you with. Have you ever made a decision for yourself?”

Revealing a person who had no idea who he was, Draco’s grey eyes answered her as they searched hers for something, anything to help him. As his confidence in his learned bigotry broke down, she noticed that his eyes now resembled more of a dense morning fog before a downpour rather than the usual frigid ice. She knew that she was chipping away at the blackness built so solidly around his heart; she also knew that this was her opportunity to show him that a life of choice, trust, and love was so much more fulfilling than the life he had been raised to lead.

Quickly closing the gap between their bodies, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his broad shoulder in one of the most primitive signs of friendship. She waited a moment to see if he would respond, breathing in that warming musk, and smiled with her eyes closed as she felt his arms snake around her middle to press against the small of her back, embracing her in return.

His moment of sudden panic at being completely lost in his own life was promptly out shadowed by the surprise of having her small body pressing against his, and her exhilarating fragrance filled his nostrils as his arms reached around her flattering waist, pressing her tighter against him.

He told himself that it was instinct that made him hold her, that made him run his hands up her back and into her silky red hair. It had to have been an animalistic impulse that attracted him to her exposed and inviting neck, allowing him to take in her aroma at the source and graze her soft skin with his lips. But he knew in his heart that there was a strange emotion forming deep within him, strengthening in feeling with each mystifying encounter, a feeling too good to fight against. He also knew it wasn’t his instinct that forced her hand into his own hair, running her fingers through the smooth blond strands, or that made her breathe in sharply and tighten her other hand against his neck as his hot breath warmed her skin.

A quiet knock on the door caused the pair to break apart, hastily jumping away from each other.

“Mr. Malfoy, sir, Groble has brought yous your dinner, sir!” a squeaky voice carried through the thick wood.

Ginny let out a soft laugh as she met Draco’s eyes, her cheeks reddening to match her hair, and even he let a slight smile escape, more at her embarrassment than anything. Opening the door to let in the small elf, laden with a heavy tray of food, he shot an apologetic look in her direction, knowing that she would find this interruption her cue to leave, and also knowing that he would be disappointed to see her go.

The elf toddled to the end table, slid the tray onto it, gave them an extremely low bow as he grazed the carpet with his long nose, and then toddled out of the door.

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he looked up to catch her eyeing the open door.

“Well, I have a wicked long Potions essay to get started on,” she said to her shoes, nervously wringing her hands behind her back.

“Yea, I guess,” Draco mumbled back, examining the stone wall.

“Draco.” He found her eyes, feeling that warmth in his heart that he found so unfamiliar, and yet so pleasant at the sound of his name rounded out with the use of her tongue and lips.

“I’m glad you’re here. I’ve felt so alone here, and for some reason, I feel a little less so when I’m with you.” He noticed that she never broke eye contact when she said something she really meant, which made it so much harder to retreat behind his usual defences of cynicism and arrogance. If only it were anyone but her.

Unsure how he should respond, he gave her a weak smile. She smiled back, more broadly and kindly than him, and then walked out of his door.

Closing the door behind her, he rested his head against it for a moment. You’re losing it, Malfoy. She’s nothing special after all. He closed his eyes, remembering the feel of her skin against his lips, and the smell of her hair, like lavender, and knowing that in the battle between his head and his heart, his head was losing miserably.

---

Ginny leaned against the stone wall just outside Draco’s door, disturbed at the fluttering in her chest. She had felt these feelings before, and the guilt was beginning to consume her.

Harry’s out there, risking his life to save us all. I’m sure he’d be just thrilled to see you with his archenemy. If he only knew the thoughts in your head, he’d be furious, a voice lectured her, sounding strangely like Mrs. Weasley.

“I know, I know,” she whispered to herself, pushing off the wall to begin her walk to Gryffindor tower.

---

---

“And then I told the buggers to clear out or I’d curse them until their mums wouldn’t even recognise them!” Draco finished his story exuberantly as he mimicked legs scampering away with his two fingers. Ginny laughed as she tucked her long hair behind her ears.

“You’re so awful to those kids! Did you even consider not abusing that Prefect badge the moment you got it?” she asked with a disapproving shake of her head as an amused smile played on her lips.

Feigning a pensive look, he pretended to think for a moment. Then, as a derisive smirk spread across his face, he dismissed her question with an easy wave of his hand.

“Ha, yea right. They had it coming anyways.”

“I’m sure.” She smiled knowingly. Those poor first years had probably done nothing more than look at him the wrong way.

After taking a long swig from his bottle, he motioned towards her with it. “Nice idea, swiping the butterbeer from the kitchens. I’m sure those elves were only too happy to help you out.”

“Cheers.” She clinked her bottle with his before taking her own swill.

Looking around the deserted courtyard outside the castle entrance, Ginny took a moment to enjoy the fading autumn colours as winter steadily crept in with its bleak, grey hues. She remembered when she, Ron, Hermione, and Harry would take study breaks out here, lounging under the large, sheltering trees and laughing together. Almost sniggering out loud at the thought of their faces if they saw her here, having a friendly conversation with Draco Malfoy, she then remembered how lonesome the year thus far had been without them. She felt so cut off, studying for her maddeningly useless exams while the rest of the world was slowly being turned upside down, and her friends were out there, risking their lives. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort’s chaos reached Hogwarts, but until then, her mother insisted on the school being the safest place for her.

She pulled her robes more tightly around her to keep out the chill.

“Cold?” he asked as he polished off his bottle.

“Yea, I should probably head in anyways. McGonagall’s Transfiguration exam tomorrow is going to be brutal.”

Hauling himself from his seat on the ground at the base of the tree, Draco dusted the bits of leaves and grass from his robes, and then held out his hand to help her up as well. Ginny blushed slightly at his chivalry as she took it, hoping he wouldn’t notice the red flush spreading over her cheeks.

“Same time, say, Friday?” He folded up some old, blank parchment and put it in his pocket. He then caught her eye as he awaited her answer.

She felt an enjoyable tingle run through her chest as she met his eyes. They’d been so warm and easygoing lately, she was sure she’d never be used to it; the icy glare she had become accustomed to during her first five years of school with him hadn’t made an appearance for quite some time.

“Sounds good,” she agreed as they headed up the stone steps side-by-side.

During the past few weeks, the two students had found a strange consolation in each other, and were finally finding their days to be quite agreeable despite the loneliness of their situations. Their newly formed friendship was rather discomfited, given Draco’s lack of experience, but he found her ability to look past their former mutual dislike and to have a real conversation with him comforting in his seclusion from the world. There was also the unmistakable tension brewing between them, left to simmer for the time being, though neither would admit it to the other after that awkward interruption in Draco’s sleeping quarters.

They’d meet occasionally to talk of simple things, avoiding tender subjects such as his sketchy past, or Harry, whose mere mention created new feelings of jealousy in Draco, and guilt in Ginny. Given their stubborn personalities and their tendencies to speak their minds, they often argued. Sometimes it was about Draco’s inflated ego in his magical abilities due to his Pureblood status, which usually ended in a borderline friendly duel, or Ginny’s insistence that Muggles were people equal to Wizards. Their arguments were never too serious, and they would always agree to disagree if nothing else.

After deciding upon a meeting time, she would make a game of Draco finding her on the map; she never led him to the same place twice, and it made each of their meetings a little exciting. One day, a few weeks before Christmas break, Draco sat on his bed in his dormitory at one of these designated times, searching the map for her name.

“Shit!” he swore loudly at the names representing the two dots much too close to hers. Immediately taking off from his tower, wand at the ready, he tore through the corridors, pointing fingers and yelps of surprise from the other students be damned.

Reaching the dungeons, he streaked past where he knew the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room to be, turned a corner, and then burst into a classroom, hardly daring to imagine what he would find.

Crabbe and Goyle, each laughing maniacally, held their wands on their powerless victim. Ginny struggled from against the wall at the top of the ceiling, fifteen feet in the air, her feet kicking wildly as their spell held her suspended by her neck. She grabbed at air, willing her fingers to wrap around the invisible force keeping her from breath, her face a horrible shade of purple.

At Draco’s sudden appearance, they both whirled around in surprise, turning their wands instead on their former leader. As he dodged the two menacing curses sent his way, Ginny’s scream filled the chamber as she fell, the spell no longer supporting her weight. Landing with a crunch on the hard floor, she lay unmoving as a slow river of scarlet blood seeped into her mess of hair, darkening it to a crimson red as it matted in sloppy chunks to the stone.

A crazy rage suddenly filled him from head to toe at the sight of her motionless body, creating a violent shake in his very core that took a large part of his concentration to control. Unable to recognise where this fury was emanating from, he couldn’t regulate it; he could only command it.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?” he shouted, pointing his wand at each of the brutes in turn, slightly amazed at the amount of determination in their faces. They were never ones to think for themselves.

“She was breathing my air. That’s enough for me to take care of a blood traitor,” Crabbe growled, snarling in her direction.

“We heard you were lurking around here, hiding from the Dark Lord,” Goyle sneered. “We also promised our fathers that we would make you sorry you ever–” Mid-sentence, Draco hit him square in the chest with a powerful stunning spell, uninterested in anything he had to say. Goyle’s face took a more typically vacant expression, and he fell backwards with a crash. Never having had the ability to reinforce his spells with such powerful emotions before, Draco noticed that rage turned out to be quite potent.

Knowing that these Neanderthals would first waste time talking to build themselves up with their haughty words, Draco took the initiative and incapacitated the stronger one first. If it were just between him and Crabbe, he knew there would be no contest. Crabbe also knew this, and bolted for the door in a panic. Using all of his self-control to keep an Unforgivable from escaping his lips, Draco merely stunned his former comrade in the back, leaving him less than satisfied; he would have liked to inflict more pain.

With both Crabbe and Goyle down, Draco ran to Ginny’s side. Ripping off a sleeve to his robes, he bundled them under her head where he believed the blood to be escaping, and rolled her onto her back and into his arms. Her head lolled around limply as if she were just a rag doll, her features blank and her face pale. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw her chest rising and falling in laboured breaths.

He pointed his wand from beneath her knees at the door, shouting a spell to open it, and then ran full speed to the hospital wing, even more pointing and yelling from the students following him.

As he burst into the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey gave a small shriek at the sight of him, given that she hadn’t seen him since that fateful night. Her surprise and indignation at his noisy entrance to the stillness of her infirmary was silenced by his look of absolute desperation and the wilted form of Ginny Weasley in his arms, dripping small drops of blood from her head.

“Put her down here!” she barked, gesturing to the nearest bed, immediately taking control of the situation.

Draco laid her as gently as he could onto the white sheets, and stepped back. His bare arm, whose sleeve lay useless on the floor, sopping with blood, was painted scarlet. He felt utterly helpless. There was a pain gripping at his very soul for the unconscious witch, physically constricting his chest and chasing any other thought from his mind.

He had never felt this hopeless with fear before. All last year, when he and his mother’s life had been in danger, and when he had been expected to do things at which he knew he would fail, he had still never felt so scared. Fear of the fear itself strengthened exponentially until he could hardly breathe, and wouldn’t be able to properly until he knew the fate of this girl whom he had grown fonder of than he had yet to admit to himself.

“Mr. Malfoy, please leave! I need room; you may come back later.” The nurse pushed him towards the door, then commenced to muttering complicated charms as she made circular motions over Ginny’s head with her wand.

Taking one more look at the still body on the bed, the white pillow supporting her head already drenched in crimson, Draco slowly and reluctantly exited the hospital wing. He conjured an uncomfortable chair to keep him awake, stationing himself just outside the door; he wanted to be the first to see her.

---

The darkness was absolute, calm, and peaceful. Not a sound was welcome in this pleasant void of anything and everything. How did I get here? Am I dead? This thought had snuck in, making it plain that there was a leak of consciousness, allowing a few sounds and feelings to enter along with the thought. The sound of heels clicking on stone and of rifling parchment was allowed in. Then the dull thumping began, slow and painful, but that wasn’t the most curious of sensations. Ginny became aware of her hand, and her fingers, interlaced with other fingers. The back of her hand was pressed against warm skin. She made the slightest movement with her head, but went no further as the dull thumping instantly doubled. She daren’t open her eyes quite yet; no matter how many sensations were leaked into her sanctuary, light was still not welcome. She twitched her fingers, the back of her thumb grazing a smooth, distinguished nose.

The face of the man she should have thought of first was hazy in the back of her mind, the green eyes, usually so vibrant, were simple and uninteresting. In the front of her mind was the face of the man who had saved her. Saved me from what? His cool, grey eyes were sharp and clear, his soft lips forming a wide, genuine smile, so rarely seen, and it was just for her.

“Draco…” Ginny murmured, more of a moan than a word. She felt the fingers tighten against hers, reassuring her. A warm, soft hand came to rest lightly on the side of her face, and she leaned into it, choosing its comfort over the pain in her head. The feelings were slipping away, becoming weak and dim. As she lost consciousness, she tried to whisper his name again, to tell him not to leave her, but she barely made a sound in her throat before she slipped again into her void, back into a tranquil stupor.

---

Ginny opened her eyes to the dim glow of candlelight illuminating a room blanketed in the darkness of a very late hour. What a weird dream, she thought. Then she realised that she wasn’t in her bed; the bedspread covering her was itchy, and white. She tried to sit up, and then collapsed back onto the bed with a gasp as her head split into two with pain. Reaching to find the source of the anguish, she found heavy bandages wrapped around her head.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” Madam Pomfrey bustled over to her with a large, green bottle, pouring a thick, brown liquid onto a spoon. I sure hope she doesn’t expect me to take that. The Gryffindor eyed it with apprehension.

Sure enough, the nurse forced the spoon into Ginny’s mouth, shushing her protests. The brown potion tasted surprisingly sweet, like honey, and her head was already feeling less like she had been hit full on by a bludger.

“What happened?” Ginny asked, feeling again for the back of her head.

“I would ask that one.” Madam Pomfrey jerked her head in the direction to the side of Ginny’s bed, pursing her lips in obvious disapproval. “He hasn’t left your side all night.”

Already knowing what she would find, Ginny looked to her left at the curled up form, sleeping obviously uncomfortably in a chair next to her. His blond hair was hopelessly messy, and his face held an angry expression, most likely due to his sleeping position. She hadn’t even realised until now that he had a hold of her other hand, trapping it between his own two, her fingers woven in between each of his. A light smile played on her lips as she watched him sleep, knowing now the source of her odd dreams. Were they dreams? She tried to remember what had landed her here, but all she received was a bunch of haze.

The nurse came back at her with another potion for her to take. “Drink this, dear. It will help you get back to sleep.”

Ginny took the sleeping draught obediently and drifted into a deep slumber.

---

---

The next morning provided an abundance of blinding sunlight, the golden rays streaming in through the windows of the hospital wing, overpowering Ginny’s sluggish vision as she opened her eyes. Blinking away the fuzzy sleep, she looked around her, the scene from the day before filtering gradually into her mind. Draco still sat to her left, looking slightly more comfortable in an alert sitting position, reading a book on magical healing, no doubt from Madam Pomfrey’s own library. She smiled as she admired the sunlight reflecting off his gleaming, blond hair, having never thought of Draco Malfoy as studious.

“How’s the book?” she asked lightly, her voice a little hoarse.

He looked up at once from his reading, worry deeply imbedded in his stormy eyes. She broadened her smile to reassure him, and he gave her a small smile in return, the worry slowly replaced by something resembling warm gratitude.

“Not bad, a little boring. How’s your head?” he answered, closing his book and placing it on the floor next to him.

Ginny reached around to lightly touch the bandages covering the nearly healed wound in her head. Sitting upright, she was surprised at the lack of pain in response to her movement. She turned her head slowly from side to side, testing her range of motion.

Draco reached towards her with his left hand hesitantly, as if she may hurt herself, but seeing that she was just fine, he put his hand back down. She thought vaguely how strange it was that he was missing one of his sleeves, and her eyes widened as they landed on a large, grotesque scar covering his left forearm, hideously exposed without its cloth sheath. Noticing her line of sight, Draco quickly covered his arm with his hand.

“Is that what I–” she started.

“It’s nothing. Just an accident when I was small,” he cut her off, getting up to leave and looking thoroughly embarrassed.

Before he could get far, she half rose from her bed to grab his wrist and pulled him back down into his seat. Given that he was much stronger than her, and she had just spent the night repairing a head injury, he could have easily twisted out of her weak grip, but he allowed her to drag him back. Seated directly in front of him and slightly higher, she rested his arm on her knee so she could examine it. Her head was beginning to throb dully, but not nearly as distinct as the night before, and she was able to ignore it.

What met her eyes created a combination of disgust, pity, and more importantly, doubt in the Draco she had recently discovered. His forearm was horribly disfigured in crude, everlasting burn scars of a snake intertwined with a skull: the Dark Mark. Having never personally seen the Mark on skin, she assumed that this meant that Draco had in fact been inducted into Voldemort’s ranks as a true Death Eater. She felt a flood of emotions all at once; on top of feeling dizzy and slightly sick, she felt cheated, and a little angry.

Afraid to touch it, knowing how Voldemort was summoned, she unconsciously tightened her grip on his wrist in her anger as she inspected his arm, her heart beating rapidly.

Why do I feel so betrayed? Shouldn’t I have expected as much?

And then she remembered a crucial detail. Having heard during her stay at Grimmuald Place that the Dark Mark was always black once Voldemort had regained power, she knew that this ghastly mutilation was something else, something horrific. Shuddering inwardly at the thought of the pain he must have undergone, she looked into his face to confirm her suspicions. His eyes were averted shamefully, as if he wanted nothing more than to drop it. She could tell that this was something he had been forced into, and felt slightly guilty for her quick judgment.

“Did they do this to you?” she asked as kindly as she could, slackening her grip on his wrist and placing her other hand flat on top of the scar. The mark felt bumpy and smooth at the same time beneath her fingertips, and she felt him start slightly at her light touch.

His eyes gave away his surprise at her willingness to touch the disfigurement, but he still refused to meet hers. Instead, he scrutinised a far-off point past her head, slightly shaking his head from side to side. She took this to mean that he didn’t want to talk about it, but she pressed on.

“Why weren’t you given a real Mark?” she tried again, secretly glad that he had gone through the unimaginable anguish of this scar rather than being tainted with a direct link to one of the darkest wizards in history.

Shifting his gaze to another point on the wall, he remained silent for a few minutes. She watched a vicious internal battle take place in his tortured eyes, and she could see the part of him that wanted to tell her everything struggling to surface, so she waited patiently. Then he started speaking as if out of a memory, so low that she strained to hear him, a distant look on his face placing him somewhere faraway.

“My father had deeply offended the Dark Lord before I was to be bound to the Death Eaters,” he began, his voice impassive. He still wouldn’t look at her, but at least he was talking. She daren’t interrupt him; she hadn’t been able to get him to talk about his dealings with the Death Eaters until now.

“After that, he had a different plan for me than to join his army. He decided to use me to punish my father. I really wasn’t supposed to survive my attempt to kill Dumbledore, and when I came back alive, the Dark Lord tried to take care of me himself. That was when my mother died, to protect me, and by some act of Merlin, I escaped back to Hogwarts.

“They had branded me when I was appointed the task, to make me think I was a part of them, promising me a real Mark when I succeeded. It was also to remind me of my mission, and that they had my mother captive; if I failed, it meant her life. Like an idiot, I believed I was important enough to be given such a job, so I was proud at first.”

He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes as he exhaled slowly. The fingers of his left hand curled inward as if subtly beckoning, and Ginny took her hand from on top of his forearm and rested it in his. The pain in his face exposed the effort of repressing these memories, and she understood that he had never planned on sharing them with anyone.

A reassuring squeeze brought him back to reality, and he opened his eyes to look down at her hand, laying so innocently and perfectly in his, as if it had always belonged there. He closed his long fingers around it, the small amount of heat that they shared creating a pleasant tingle in his skin. He couldn’t imagine telling anyone but her his pitifully depressing story. No one else would understand; no one else would have bothered to ask.

“But you got away from them, and now you can help us stop them,” she encouraged earnestly.

“Help how, by hiding?” He rolled his eyes a little as he finally met hers, smiling slightly in an attempt to ease the gloomy mood.

The seriousness in her eyes caught him a little off-guard, and his smile faltered. She seemed to genuinely care for him, for what he’d been through, and for his well being. His heart started beating a little faster, and he suddenly felt nervous, his breaths getting shallower.

Through all his arrogance and sarcasm, he had never let himself get too close to anyone, something his father had taught him in his many life lessons.

“Women tend to… complicate things with their feelings and their expectations. It’s best not to lead them to expect anything from you, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun with them,” Lucius would advise his son with a smug smile. Draco would laugh sardonically, never knowing any better.

Any girl that had ever made advances towards him, flirted with him, kissed him, had always been for his amusement, and never led to anything substantial. Letting Ginny into his life had proven to be more gratifying than any complicated spell he had ever mastered, than any feeling of power he had gained over the younger students he used to torment, and he suddenly became anxious of this correlation being one-sided, that her stance ended at worry and friendship.

Breaking eye contact, he looked back down at their hands to take her free one in his so that each of his hands held hers separately, and he rested them on her knees. The tingling in his fingers strengthened as he ran his thumbs over her soft, pale skin. His heart continued to pound harder as the sensation spread throughout his arms and chest. He took a steadying breath to ease his nerves and find what little remained of his renowned, Malfoy confidence.

“Ginny…” Her name left his lips, barely above a whisper, but he heard it as if listening to someone else. He felt outside himself, watching the situation from far away, bracing against the worst. The only tether to his physical body was the feel of her fingers, the smoothness of her skin, and her small hands, so fragile in his.

The pounding of her heart thudded so loudly, she could tap her foot to its rhythm. She was acutely aware of every movement his fingers made as his thumbs grazed her skin, and the butterflies in her chest had been fluttering madly ever since he had taken a hold of her hands.

What small piece of her heart that still belonged unconditionally to her first love was struggling vainly against the rushing waves of desire for Draco to admit what they both knew was happening between them. At that moment, she sat contemplating what the ex-Slytherin’s lips would feel like against hers, and remembering the sensation of his hands running up her back to bury themselves in her hair, she almost squirmed in her seat in anticipation for him to finish his thought.

“Say it,” she whispered, and his eyes flew up to capture hers. The cool, grey orbs searched her gaze for what he wanted to know, as if he didn’t want to say it out loud. When he still didn’t say anything, she prompted him again.

“Don’t you ever just say what you feel?” she asked, her soft voice tinged with a hint of disappointment at his lack of nerve, coming to expect more from the proud Draco Malfoy.

As he watched her face fall slightly, he felt a sudden need to just blurt it out, not wanting to lose this moment, or face moments after. Taking a deep breath and exhaling audibly, he ploughed ahead, willing himself not to think.

“Ever since I’ve come back, you’ve been the only thing keeping me from going mad. Everything I’ve ever known, about my past, about myself, is lost, but when I’m with you I feel like I’ve found home. I know I don’t belong here, but if I left, I know you would find someone else, and for some reason I know I wouldn’t be able to stand the thought of you with any other man. You make me want to tell you everything, which still has me at sixes and sevens since I never tell anyone anything. I don’t know what it is, but you make me feel so un-bloody-hinged just being near you –” *

That was enough for her. Her hands left his as she grabbed his collar on either side and pulled his face towards hers. Even with the abruptness of the initiation, their lips met soft and sweet, and he moved his around hers gently as his hands came up to capture her face. A fire of yearning lit in her chest, and burned fervently as his hot breath ran over her lips between kisses.

One of his hands left her face to run through her hair, resting at the back of her head, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Her lips parted submissively to his restlessly awaiting tongue, and he entered her mouth, dancing with her in a slow, gentle waltz, savouring her taste.

Breaking off, he pulled back to take a moment to breathe, smirking faintly after opening his eyes to watch her face. She still seemed utterly engrossed in the kiss as her lips were flushed and still slightly puckered, her eyes remaining closed.

Exhaling with a sigh, her eyelids fluttered open to find him staring intently at her. A deep, crimson blush spread slowly across her cheeks as she realised her head was held up only by his hands, and she quickly straightened up, smoothing down her hair in an attempt to look composed. She giggled softly in her embarrassment, and he gave her a small smile.

“That’s pretty much what I wanted to say,” he said playfully, his confidence returning as he took her hands again. Holding each of them up vertically, palm to palm with his, he slipped his fingers in between each of hers, curling them lightly until his fingertips touched the backs of her hands.

“Well you’ll have to tell me that again later,” she flirted, twisting her wrists to give the back of each of his hands a soft kiss.

Enjoying the sensation of her breath on his skin, he leaned in to claim her mouth again.

“Ah, I see that you’re up,” a stiff voice sounded from the end of Ginny’s bed.

Ginny jumped outright at the interruption, ripping her hands back and sitting up straight with her eyes wide. Draco casually leaned back into his chair, shooting an irritated look at Madam Pomfrey.

“We were just talking–” Ginny started defensively.

“Never mind what you were doing. Mr. Malfoy, now that you see that Miss Weasley is in fact fine, as I told you, the Headmistress is expecting you in her office.” The nurse nodded curtly at Draco, slammed a tray of an array of potions on Ginny’s bedside table, and then bustled over to another bed where an unconscious third year student lay, his skin an odd shade of blue.

Draco shot a sly smile at Ginny, and then stood up, stretching his arms towards the ceiling in an attempt to work out the kinks of sleeping in a hospital chair all night.

“It’s alright; I was headed that way anyways to talk to her.”

“Talk to her about what?” Ginny asked. Before she had even finished the question, the events from the day before flashed across her mind as she remembered, and her face paled, her arms unconsciously hugging tightly across her chest, and she finished her thought with a silent, “Oh.”

“Something has to be done about them, and I’ll make sure that it is,” he stated purposefully. He leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, whispering in her ear, “I’ll come find you later.”

Blushing furiously back to a lovely glow as tingles shot down her spine, the unpleasant memories were chased to the recesses of her thoughts at his touch. She smiled shyly as she nodded, and then watched him saunter out of the Hospital Wing with a slight spring in his step.

---

---

Sitting down across from McGonagall in her office, Draco felt the familiarity of the situation wash over him. Hope she doesn’t start yelling again, he thought as he smoothed his wrinkled robes with his hands, conscious of how filthy he must look.

“I expect you are ready to explain why Miss Weasley is in the Hospital Wing,” McGonagall began as she sat back in her high backed chair, her hands clasped together on the desk as she raised her eyebrows expectantly. “She was very lucky that Madam Pomfrey was able to heal her so quickly, and that you were there to help her, but I won’t award you special honours just yet. I want to know exactly how something like this could have happened.”

He recounted the events of the previous day from opening the door to the classroom to running to the Hospital Wing with Ginny in his arms, leaving out details such as why he was there in the first place. The Headmistress pursed her lips suspiciously. Standing from her seat, she walked toward a cabinet and retrieved a small stone basin, then came back to set it in front of Draco.

“Show me,” she said simply, remaining standing behind the desk as she gestured to the empty vessel.

Starring at it, he realised what she wanted him to do, but he had never had a Pensieve before. He felt safer with his thoughts in his own head, and had never bothered asking for one. Having failed to yet learn the spell to retrieve a memory, he sat slightly embarrassed as he continued to ogle the basin.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, you should have learned this charm by now. Simply concentrate on the memory you wish to procure, place your wandtip to your temple, then use the nonverbal incantation ‘Recordatio,’” she instructed impatiently as she mimed placing a wand to her own temple with her pointer finger.

Draco obliged, and then watched uncomfortably as a long, silvery strand of liquid vapour left his temple, guiding it to rest in the Pensieve where it immediately began to swirl.

McGonagall gestured towards the basin with her hand. “After you.”

Slightly abashed at being ordered to enter his own thoughts, he shot a look of disdain at her before leaning towards the vessel head first. He found himself falling into it, swirling with the vapour until he landed on his feet behind himself, opening the door to the classroom. McGonagall landed beside him, and immediately followed his memory self into the room. Draco grudgingly followed, as he didn’t want to watch the scene again.

The evil laughter, the scream, the crash of a body on stone, it all unfolded exactly as it had happened, and he found his emotions, so easily concealed behind his superior demeanour his entire life, exposed painfully obviously on his memory self’s face. The rage towards Crabbe and Goyle as he cursed each of them, the fear for Ginny’s life as he picked her up and ran away with her, all on display for anyone to see, and he felt humiliated at his lack of composure.

As his memory self ran for the door, another scene flickered to life briefly, overlapping the classroom scene, barely a second long, but Draco knew exactly what memory it was. He saw the bright sunlight, the hospital beds, and the two students embracing in front of him, one on a bed and one in a chair, their blond and red hair clashing together as they explored each other’s mouths.

As quick as it had come, the memory was gone, and he and McGonagall were back in the classroom as it dissolved around them, the initial memory complete. Finding himself hurtling back into his chair, Draco landed hard on his backside, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Next time you extract a memory, you will have to be more focused,” McGonagall lectured, back at her desk with a slight smile adorning her face.

Scowling at her amused expression, Draco took either side of his chair and propelled himself upward to tower over her.

“You saw what they did to her, they should be expelled!” he exclaimed as he glared icily at the Headmistress.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed during his outburst, and when he was finished, she stood wordlessly and circled her desk. Draco took a step back, expecting her to lay into him for shouting, but she then walked to her open door, shot a silvery shape out of her wand, then walked back to her chair, sitting calmly.

“I’ve sent for Professor Slughorn and the two students you speak of. They will be expelled and sent home by tonight. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. Malfoy; I am glad that you appreciate the intolerability of the situation as much as I do,” she finally responded as her stern gaze met his glinting grey eyes.

Breathing heavily, he stared at her for a moment. “So, that’s it? They’re gone?” he asked apprehensively.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, that’s it. You may take your memory back, and don’t hesitate to inform me again of any such matters.” She gestured towards the Pensieve before pulling out two blank pieces of parchment, bewitching two quills to write the same print simultaneously across each of the pages.

Clumsily, he lifted the trailing end of the vapour to his temple with his wand, where it sucked itself back into his head. Shaking off the creepy feeling the process gave him, he turned to leave. At the doorway, he stopped and turned back around.

“Thank you, Professor,” he mumbled, feeling strange as he offered his piteous form of gratitude.

The quills paused.

“I know that turning in former friends is not easy,” she said as she set her wand down, and he looked her in the eye, “but times like these will really show you the difference between the man you used to be, and the man you want to be. Take Gregory and Vincent’s example that you made the right choice.”

His mouth set in a grim line, Draco gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement before he shut the door behind him and descended down the steps.

---

News of Crabbe and Goyle’s expulsion, as well as Ginny and Draco’s involvement, swept throughout the school alarmingly fast. By the end of the day, Ginny had recounted the story numerous times, how she had been cornered by the Slytherin brutes, how Draco had swooped in and saved the day, until Madam Pomfrey threw a right fit, chasing everyone out of the infirmary and forbidding any other visits.

Through the many questions, Ginny answered all of them pertaining to the fiasco the day before honestly, hoping to gain favour for Draco in the eyes of the students. Most were sceptical, assuming she had been spellbound by him somehow in order to disguise his true intents, but she insisted that he had changed, that they had recently become friends, and he had saved her life when he didn’t have to.

“Just think about it,” she had been explaining to a group of Gryffindors, “Why would McGonagall trust him enough to let him come back? It’s because she wants to protect him from the Death Eaters. You-Know-Who himself tried to kill him, but he got away. Draco has a price on his head as much as Harry now.”

“But wouldn’t he try something extreme, to get back the Death Eater’s support?” Colin Creevey asked from her side.

“No, definitely not, he’s too angry that they killed his mother, he wouldn’t go back to them,” she answered with a shake of her head.

“Does he have the Dark Mark?” a fourth year girl with curly brown hair quipped from the end of the bed, her balled fists covering her mouth and her eyes wide.

Suppressing a shudder, Ginny answered, “No, he doesn’t.”

“How do you know he’s not lying about everything, that he hasn’t been undercover the entire time?” Neville asked darkly from the back of the group, arms crossed over his chest, clearly unconvinced.

Ginny pursed her lips, knowing that Neville would be difficult to influence given his past dealings with Death Eaters and his belief that Draco had been one of them.

“I’ve seen the change in him, and he’s as determined to see You-Know-Who fall as anyone else here. You don’t need Legilimency to really see how much he hates the whole lot of them. They–” She stopped herself, not sure how much she should say. Not wanting to give away too much of his private life, and trying to encourage the new image of Draco the hero, she chose her words carefully at times. After a moment, she finished her thought, “They truly ruined his life, and he realises that now.”

In response to that last comment, the girls of the crowd uttered soft noises of sympathy, clearly looking for a reason to forgive the remorseful, former bad boy of Hogwarts for his transgressions. It wasn’t a secret that Draco had been a hot subject for gossip amongst the young witches for the past few years, being one of the more popular choices in schoolgirl fortune-telling games like ‘Who will you marry?’ and making cootie catchers. With each wave of giggling first years, it seemed as if the young Malfoy grew even more into his pristine good looks and his ruffian attitude, oblivious to the titters behind small hands and the scampering of feet if he were to glare in their direction.

The boys of the group just looked conflicted, as if they were still attempting to come up with excuses for Draco’s change in behaviour because of their past unpleasant dealings with him, but they also wanted to trust Ginny’s judge of character.

Only Neville’s expression remained stubbornly dubious to Ginny’s perseverance, but not only due to his doubt in Malfoy’s abrupt transformation. He had noticed the glow in her soft eyes as she described in detail how Malfoy had saved her life. The smile that adorned her face was laced in a subtle form of excitement he had only seen when she spoke of one other wizard, a boy shoved into manhood in his attempt to save the world from an evil that until only a few months ago, Malfoy had answered to.

Neville shook his head in disbelief at the quick round of amnesty going around for the traitor responsible for the wreckage of the castle, and the death of its Headmaster. He could tell she was too far gone, practically smitten by all the rubbish that git fed her about his mother’s tragic death and his change of allegiance; Neville knew that he couldn’t possibly care for anyone but himself, let alone the woman that gave him life.

It was about that moment when Madam Pomfrey had had enough of the commotion, and shepherded everyone towards the door with startling ferocity.

Ginny sat back against her pillows as she watched her friends leave, wondering how Draco would ‘find her’ with the nurse guarding the door. An absurd fantasy took shape in her mind as she drifted off to sleep, involving a dragon wearing nurse’s robes, and Draco, clad in medieval Muggle armour, fighting for entrance to Hogwarts with Gryffindor’s sword as she, the princess, called down helpful hints from the Astronomy Tower as to where he should plunge his blade.

---

Stealing cautiously down the corridor, Draco had every intention of paying Ginny a surprise, late-night visit now that everyone was gone. As he rounded the last corner to the Hospital Wing, he met the last face he would have expected to see patrolling the corridors at night, almost knocking right into him.

“Oi! Watch it, Longbottom!” Draco hissed as he stumbled backwards, attempting to keep the volume in his voice down.

“Out of bed at this hour, Malfoy? It’s too bad you don’t have a house to deduct points from,” Neville sneered, pointing his lit wand in Draco’s face. The amount of atypical confidence emanating from the clumsy Gryffindor was enough to generate a longing in Draco to duel right then and there, putting him back in his place, but he had more alluring matters to attend to.

Noticing the glinting Prefect badge pinned to Neville’s robes, Draco scoffed, “They made you a Prefect? Well I guess someone had to replace Weasel and that Mu– er, Granger. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do. Don’t hurt yourself with that wand; you may actually get some magic out of it.”

Shoving Neville out of the way, Draco continued down the hall.

“She may buy your piss poor story,” Neville called after him, causing Draco to stop in his tracks, one hand already bracing against the infirmary door, “but I don’t believe a word of it. If you hurt her, I swear to Merlin I won’t have any trouble with an Unforgivable Curse, you can count on it.”

The words ‘if you hurt her’ stuck with Draco for a moment, and he turned them over in his mind. An image of Ginny’s tear-filled, mournful brown eyes framed in glowing red hair flashed across his inner vision, and he felt a tug in his chest at the thought of himself being the cause of it. I’m turning into a bloody sap. What the hell is wrong with me?

Snapping out of his fuzzy reverie, he kept his eyes on a spot lower on the door than where his hand still rest, aware of Longbottom’s await for the typical, sardonic retort.

“I won’t hurt her,” Draco responded soft, but harshly.

Neville’s eyebrows contracted in puzzlement at this response as Malfoy pushed his way quietly into the Hospital Wing.

---

---

Draco tip-toed across the infirmary towards Ginny’s bed noiselessly, taking his usual seat facing her as she lay fast asleep on her side. Taking a moment to watch her as she slept before surprising her with his presence, he became hypnotised by her breathing pattern, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath, so long and deep that he found himself breathing in and out along with her.

The pillow was her prisoner between her two clutching hands, squished into a shape that pleased the contours of her head. Each lovely shadow created by the spread of moonlight spilling across her bed seemed to be situated perfectly along her face to accentuate her soft features. Her usually vibrant, red hair, now a dim shade of shadowy, bluish-red in the darkness of the late hour, sprawled in an organised disarray across her pillow and around her shoulders, free of the confines of the bandages.

Running his eyes along her figure, shielded protectively by the immaculate, white blanket, he admired her womanly outline, her small waist giving way to the steep, rolling hill of her hip, then gradually decreasing in altitude along her long legs, stacked one in front the other and lightly bent at the knees, finally ending at her small feet, hidden from view.

As his eyes explored, her breathing began to change, steadily quickening to a normal, wakeful rate as her eyes opened.

“Hey,” she whispered with a smile, pulling her blanket around her front self-consciously as she sat up and swung her legs around the side of the bed. He smiled back, a hint of a smirk lingering behind his cool, grey eyes at her bashfulness.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested as simply as if it were the middle of the day.

Ginny giggled softly, believing him to be joking, but when he pulled out the map to check if the coast was clear, she started to panic; she had nothing to wear but these thin, hospital robes.

“Draco, I–” she started desperately, gesturing to her garments.

“Ah… well, that just won’t do.” His lips on one side of his mouth curving upward smugly, he touched the tip of his wand to the drab fabric as he muttered a few spells.

The grey, cotton robes transfigured into the smoothest of satin in a brilliant light blue, lengthening to the floor and contouring to Ginny’s figure. The sleeves shortened until only straps held the gown against her skin. Lastly, the neckline began plunging into a deep V, and Ginny had to hiss “Stop!” before she felt indecent. She stood, marvelling at the cool satin caressing her skin as she gave a small twirl, and at the advanced magic it took to turn such dreary robes into something so beautiful.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but this is not exactly what I had in mind to go sneaking around the castle at night.” She raised her eyebrows as she gave him a look, but her words were lost on him.

Draco sat in a stunned daze as he ran his eyes down her body, and then up again. The soft blue of the gown set her hair aglow so that it radiated even in the dire light, illuminating her entire face.

Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he rose to stand before her. Her breath caught in her chest as she awaited what came next, her cheeks growing warm and butterflies swarming frantically in her stomach. She felt sensually exposed in the gown beneath his intense stare, and she took pleasure in knowing that it was the mere sight of her in it that rendered him speechless.

In one, quick movement, he moved forward to cup her face gently with one hand, and wind his other around her waist to press her against him. Her arms came up to rest around his neck, her fingers running into his silky, white-blond hair, and the pair closed their eyes as their lips met in a fervent kiss. Each pair of lips countered the other’s hungrily in an attempt to triumph over the owner’s mouth, their tongues waging a battle of their own.

Draco’s hands both started up her lower back, slowly running his fingers lightly up the silky satin, enjoying the sensation of the cool fabric. Leaving her lips, his own ran themselves in a torrent of slow kisses down her neck. One hand came up to the back of her head, lost in her long mane as his lips found their way to her ear. Looping the track of her outer ear with his tongue, his hot breath tickling her sensitive skin, her fingers in his hair lightly grabbed and pulled, and a light moan escaped her mouth, sounding as loud as a shout in the dead quiet of the night.

They both froze, practically comical in their awkward stance as they strained to hear any sounds in response to their offense to the absolute silence of the castle.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered in her ear, and she nodded eagerly. Grabbing her shoes beside her bed, they stole silently out of the Hospital Wing.

Breathing heavily, they walked side-by-side down the corridor as Draco perused the map for any patrollers. Seeing no one in sight for at least two levels, he stole a look at Ginny. She met his gaze, looking magnificent in the torch light of the hallway, and he could see the desire still in her eyes.

He stopped short, pushing her against the stone wall. The use of his hands unneeded to press their weight together, he used them to pin her hands above her head as he pressed his body against hers, claiming her mouth possessively.

She responded with compliance, allowing him to hold her wrists with one hand and run the other down the length of her body, sliding it along the smooth fabric, appreciative of each of her curves as his fingers outlined their shape.

As his hand roamed past her hip, one of her legs came up to wrap around his body, and he took hold of it just behind her knee to pull her closer to him while pressing his heat ever closer to hers. She let another small moan escape as he trailed kisses down her neck, to her collarbone, and his roaming hand left her leg to slide up, past her stomach, inching its way up her ribs.

“Draco, stop,” Ginny gasped, suddenly remembering where they were.

He immediately released her hands, and both of his came to rest against the wall on either side of her as he hung his head, his eyes closed. Breathing deeply, he attempted to regain control of himself. Pressing herself against the cool stone in an attempt to transfer some of her intense warmth into it, both of her hands flat at her sides against the wall, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes as well, revelling in sensations she had never felt this strongly before stirred within her.

“Let’s find somewhere to just talk,” she suggested breathlessly as she opened her eyes. His head rose and he kissed her lightly on the lips.

“I know just the place.” He grinned mischievously. Having rarely seen Draco’s face so lit before, Ginny couldn’t help but grin herself as he grabbed her hand to lead her away from the wall.

After checking the map religiously, ducking behind a coat of armour, or into an empty classroom on occasion, they found themselves staring at an expanse of blank wall on the seventh floor. Ginny thought absurdly that they were going to a D.A. meeting, but she knew that Draco had something else in mind.

She watched as he walked back and forth three times with his eyes tightly shut, silently mouthing what he wanted the room to give him. Finally after the last pass, a large door materialised.

Draco opened the door, and then gestured forward with a deep bow.

“After you, milady,” he said, putting on a pompous expression as he stood upright.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she responded with a giggle, giving him a quick curtsy before walking through the darkened doorway.

Stepping over the threshold, she gasped in amazement at the sight that met her eyes. The room resembled a smaller Great Hall, completely disguised as an ice fortress; the clear, blue substance covered everything from the walls, to an immense, pure sheet of frozen floor, to large icicles hanging down in bunches from the ceiling. Though the scene was made to look ice-cold, she couldn’t feel the chill.

As Ginny took in the room in awe, Draco walked over to an ancient gramophone in the corner, setting the needle to play the record already lying in the turntable. After some auditory crackling, a classical melody filled the room, brought to life with strings and brass.

Back in front of her, he took a more formal bow, one hand folded behind him and the other pressed against his middle. Hiding a smile, she gave another curtsy without the mockery of the previous one. He held out his hand to her, and she slid hers into it, aware of his other hand sliding around her waist, and she placed her free arm around his neck. On count one they melted easily into the rhythm of the song as if they’d danced together for years, gliding as one across the expanse of frost.

“I’m amazed at your lack of two left feet, Weasley; you never struck me as the girly, dancing type,” Draco smirked as his hand guided her into a twirl, and then back into his arms.

“Do you have any idea how long my mum had to wait before she could teach a child of hers to dance? My brothers would have nothing of it,” Ginny laughed. “You’re not so bad yourself, for a prat.”

He smiled at her friendly insult. “That gown, as soon as I saw you in it, I thought of the Yule Ball. You would have given Delacour a run, that’s for bloody sure.”

They settled into a slow rock, back and forth, swaying to the music.

Shaking her head amusedly at his compliment, she looked up into his eyes. Set against the milieu of frigid ice, she could see the faintest hue of cobalt blue brought out in his usually pristine shade of stormy grey. She could easily become utterly lost in those icy orbs, reading into the layers of meaning laid out for her when his guard was entirely cast aside.

“Why do you keep looking at me as if I’ll sprout a second head?” he murmured softy, pressing a kiss to her temple and resting the side of his chin against her head.

“Well, you… you’ve surprised me so much lately. Here I am, dancing with Draco Malfoy, a sure Death Eater and a traitor. But, at the same time, here you are, none of those things at all, dancing with me.”

“What surprises you so much? That I’m not a Death Eater or that I’m dancing with you?”

She thought for a moment. “Both. I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t have thought you were a Death Eater? I know now that you were forced into everything, but hardly anyone else knows that, and you were an enormous git for the longest time, probably still would be if you weren’t hiding all the time– ”

“I’m not hiding!” He pulled back to display his mild outrage as the tempo picked up. “I’m simply biding my time the only place I can and trying to keep a low profile.”

She smirked, and he cringed; he knew she was right.

“If I’m such a git, why are you dancing with me?” His sarcastic change of subject lacked subtlety, but she obliged nonetheless.

With a small shake of her head and an amused smile, she looked into his eyes as she replied, “Don’t you remember me spouting some rubbish about you having a good heart?”

Without a suitable response to such a mention, he returned her gaze with a blank face, his mouth relaxed to allow his lips to part slightly. As unreadable as he was trying to be, she noticed the warm flicker in his eyes, warming her own heart to know that he didn’t find the accusation insulting. She closed her eyes as she rested against his body and swayed to his lead.

“Well,” he sent her away from him with a movement of his arm until they were at arm’s length, and then tugged her back to spin back into him. “for a Weasley, you’ve turned out to be much more pleasant than your Weasel brother.”

“Don’t–” she started menacingly at his stab at Ron, her free hand meeting his flat one before he spun her away from him again.

“Easy,” he soothed. Pulling her back into his embrace, they again commenced to lightly leaning to and fro to the music. “I don’t get so worked up about childish rivalries anymore.”

She pulled back to look into his eyes again, her eyebrows crinkled in annoyance of past memories. “I would hope so. I remember the things you used to say, making fun of our family, our clothes, our house–”

Looking away from her reproachful eyes, he sighed.

“I thought it was obvious by now why I gave your brother such a hard time.”

Ginny had stopped swaying. Not sure of what he was getting at, her guard began building for one of their usual disputes. “Because we saw a human being when we looked at a Muggle born?”

His eyes snapped back to hers, surprised at the anger welling behind those rings of chocolate brown, and realizing that he was sending the conversation completely in the wrong direction.

“No, because, well…” he dropped her hands and took a step back. Making a frustrated sound at the back of his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly and took a deep breath. “I was jealous of your family. I just… never realised that was the reason I despised the lot of them so much. I figured I just hated them because I was supposed to.”

He let the breath out uncomfortably, realising how wretchedly dismal he sounded, but how much better it felt to say it out loud. Speaking those words made them even truer than they were in his head, but speaking them to her meant someone would understand.

She stared at him incredulously. “You were jealous of us? What with your vault teeming with Galleons and your Malfoy name? You could have had anything you wanted!” Her voice rose in disbelief.

Well shit, I guess she doesn’t understand.

Throwing caution to the wind, he pushed on, hoping that prattling on like a blithering idiot would be enough to convince her that he wasn’t trying to pick a fight about Muggles for once.

“I’ve just never had brothers or sisters to stand up for me, or push me around. My mother was always kind to me, but seemed to believe that expensive gifts were the only way she could show me that she cared. And my father, his idea of father-son bonding was duelling until I was knocked unconscious, and then lecture me on how much of a disgrace I am.”

After he’d finished, he left a moment for his words to sink in. Her incredulous look had softened to a combination of guilt and sympathy, but when she didn’t respond, he continued.

“I’ve always wanted a family like yours, and no amount of gold could buy me anything close. Now that I have no one at all, I’ve realised how much time I’ve wasted thinking I was so superior to people like your family because of the way you lived. None of that mattered in the end. I may as well disappear for all the Wizarding world will notice,” he finished bitterly.

After a moment of silence, Ginny spoke. “Is your pity party over yet?” she asked with a smile.

Jerking out of his revelation, Draco narrowed his eyes at her tactless remark.

Grabbing the front of his robes and pulling his body towards her, she then took both sides of his face in her small hands, forcing him to look directly into her eyes. Though he was a bit riled, his hands couldn’t resist the warmth presented before them, and pulled her hips closer.

“I’d care if you disappeared, Draco Malfoy,” she whispered forcefully.

“Why?” he whispered back in a growl.

“Because, I–” she paused, realising what she had almost said. Thinking fast, she revised her words, “I care about you, and I care what happens to you.”

Closing his eyes, almost disappointedly, he pressed his lips softly against hers in a slow and affectionate kiss, and then rested his chin against her head as he wrapped his arms around her small form, slowly starting up the sway to the music again.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” he said into her sweet smelling hair. He breathed in deeply, wanting to remember her every aroma, the feel of her hair and her skin beneath his hands and her body against his.

“I –” he began, and he could feel her tense against him, but he ploughed on before he could stop himself. “I think I love you, Ginny.”

As he said it, she knew the intense stir in her chest could only mean she felt it too. Before she could revel in her happiness of hearing Draco acknowledge his heart, Harry’s face forced itself into her mind, his emerald eyes accusing. She could hear the phrase clearly echo in her ears in the former Gryffindor’s voice, reverberating the time he had first uttered those three, magical words to her himself.

A silent, unseen tear slid down her cheek as she suddenly realised that she missed him with a deep and forgotten ache, forgotten with her promise to herself to wait for him. The guilt ebbed at her soul for the fact that she could bury him so deep in her heart that she hadn’t even thought of him in weeks, wondered where he was, what he was doing, if he was thinking of her. This realisation came most inconveniently, as she had been spending all of her spare moments lately falling in love with someone else.

Quickly swiping at her wet cheek, she put on an overly wide smile as she pulled away from Draco.

“I should get back before someone notices I’m missing,” she said lightly, trying to fill the thick absence of her repeating the confession back to him.

“Oh, right,” he replied, his eyes freezing over to a frosty shade of icy grey. She had taken notice long before that his eyes looked frigid when he was angry, or disappointed, and she felt another pang of guilt.

As they left the Room of Requirement, she looked down at her gown and realised that the brilliant blue was fading back to the drab grey, the fabric shortening from floor length and the sleeves lengthening. The material was changing back to itchy cotton, and she felt Draco’s happiness recede as her beautiful gown once again became her hospital robes. They walked back to the Hospital Wing in uncomfortable silence, and she noticed the sky lightening to reveal a fresh layer of snow on the grounds with the oncoming sunrise out one of the many castle windows.

Back outside the infirmary door, Draco wouldn’t look her in the eye, but merely offered a pitiable farewell before he turned away to walk back to his dorm.

“Draco,” she whispered desperately.

He stopped, but didn’t turn.

“I… I just can’t say it back yet,” she said as her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to say it, but she had to know something first, something only one object could show her.

“I’ll see you later, Ginny,” he muttered, and continued walking away.

The piece of her heart struggling to tear away and become a part of him throbbed horribly as she entered the Hospital Wing unnoticed, slid into her bed, and allowed tear after tear to slide across her face and into her pillows as she watched the sun rise through the great window next to her bed.

---

---

The next week found Ginny in turmoil with guilt and confusion. Freshly checked out of the Hospital Wing with a clean bill of health and a strict regimen of healing potions, she went about her classes in an exhausted blur, repeatedly torn from her self-consuming thoughts by glaring professors and worried friends.

Distracted, heart hammering at memories of the past few days, nervously searching the corridors for any sign of pale, blond hair she knew would never surface in the midst of so many people, she couldn’t deny it: She was in love. In fairy tales, being in love was usually the euphoric high before a dramatic climax in which one of the lovers would prove their commitment. For Ginny, at that moment, being in love felt more like stabbing her best friend in the back with an ice-cold knife, enjoyment underlying waves of remorse in her betrayal.

She was in love with two very different wizards. One was right in front of her, amending his past reputation as a cold and selfish Slytherin, indifferent to any concern not involving his own. With her help, his mind was opening to a vast expanse of possibilities that he never would have considered under the tight thumb of his father. He was surprisingly kind and gentle with her, and Ginny found herself blushing at the thought of what they could discover about themselves together. What’s more is she felt an enriching responsibility for his love for her, a feeling no one would have thought possible of the young Malfoy, and she was anxious to nurture it in order to help him learn more about the deeper recesses of his heart, neglected for so long and hopelessly abused.

The other was more of a dreamy idea kept alive in her memory, her knight in shining armour, selflessly riding off into the sunset to slay the dragon that threatened the good village people. She didn’t even know if he would survive, that he would succeed in his conquest to save the world and return to her to finish what they had started. She felt she sometimes only imagined their love to be the ridiculous, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other kind that deserved her patience and heartbreak, and her heart almost stopped at the idea that she would never find out. If only she could feel him, talk to him, kiss him to prove to herself that he had been real; she needed to know that she wasn’t turning her heart over in anguish for nothing, that there was a reason she was resisting what could be something wonderful.

The part of her that loved Draco argued relentlessly that she had no obligation to Harry: He left her, plain and simple. She could have put up more of a fight. She could have stuck by his side, screaming and crying until he gave up his protest, but she wasn’t one to plead. So she let him go, hoping that he was ready, that he had a plan, that there was no possible outcome involving failure as long as the trio stuck together. But then her feelings began to die away as she fell for the fair haired, stormy eyed refugee of Hogwarts; her love for the Boy-Who-Lived was slowly replaced with resentment towards the ever-increasing obligation to search for it. What kept her lying awake at night as of late was the troublesome realisation that if those feelings could fade, maybe they had never been real?

The part of her that still loved Harry, the part bleeding internally in an attempt to keep from disappearing completely, knew that if she gave her entire heart to Draco, and Harry returned to her victorious, it would be too late for him, and she may always live her life wondering, ‘What if?’ Not even giving him a chance to prove that their love was worth the wait before she wrote him off was what made her feel so awful; it wasn’t his fault he was The Chosen One, that he was targeted because of a prophesy, that he alone had the power to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and had to leave her behind for her own protection. With the whole of the Wizarding world cowering behind him, his only help on his quest were just two students, barely of age, a brain and a brawn. No one expected them to last, not with Harry’s face plastered across every Daily Prophet, the caption ‘Undesirable No. 1, One Thousand Galleon Reward’ pasted neatly underneath. None of it was fair to him, and neither was her falling in love with a man he hated while he was out risking his life.

Despite the deep shame of even considering breaking the heart of their only hope, she knew she couldn’t put her own heart on hold because of an obligation to the first man to love her. She just couldn’t.

Having one idea in her head as to where she could find the answer to the question in her heart, she skived off her last class of the day in complaint of a severe headache. Instead of taking herself to Madam Pomfrey as she was supposed to, she wandered listlessly toward that abandoned floor of the castle, anxious for the answer she wanted, but dreading it all the same.

---

He hadn’t talked to her in a week, and even in his disappointment and humiliation of putting himself out there and getting rejected, he missed her. It wasn’t just that she was his only friend in the world, but he had really meant his words to her. He was experiencing what it was like to put another’s well being above his own, and he just wanted to talk to her, to be near her, to see if she was happy.

On top of the anxiousness he felt after his confession, he couldn’t shake the notion that her lack of the response he wanted had something to do with that Potter git. Having become increasingly aware that she avoided talking about him as she and Draco grew closer, as if he were a dirty secret she didn’t want to trudge up, he found his usual feelings of bitterness and disdain towards the Scar Face to increase tenfold whenever his name slipped, and she would tense as guilt flashed across her eyes. Then the subject would abruptly change, and he would dismiss the whole thing as she turned her attention back to him, making him lost with contentment, and they’d once again be untouched by such bothersome subjects.

Having been conditioned to loathe any weakness such as love, he had to learn to cope with and smother these inclinations of disgust towards himself for being so pathetically vulnerable. The suppressed urges to ram his own face into his mirror at his repugnance in what he was becoming were released in his sleep, never allowing him rest. He suffered countless nightmares in which his father would torture Ginny in front of him, make her scream, make her beg for death as his son watched helplessly. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, his heart aching and cold tracks of tears running down the sides of his face.

Unable to take his isolation in his studies or his own thoughts any longer, he pulled out the map to seek her out, regardless of whether she wanted to see him or not. His eyes flew to the place where all this torment began, as if it were one of those times when they were supposed to meet, and she was already waiting for him. Her name residing in that classroom could only mean one thing: She was thinking of him. He left his tower abruptly without any concern for the time of day, or who he may meet in his negligence to his usual plan to roam the halls when they were most deserted. Lucky for him, classes were in session, but that detail was the furthest thing from his mind.

---

Directly in front of the large, enchanted mirror, the straight-backed chair cast aside, Ginny stood with tears running silently down her face. A happier version of herself was reflected back to her, but the arms wrapped around her this time weren’t the ones she expected. She almost felt disappointed to see the unruly dark hair and the emerald green eyes. If the desires of her heart, so plainly obvious now that she felt such distress, were to see a different face, why was she seeing Harry’s? She soon got her answer.

As if watching a moving photograph, her reflected form and Harry turned to face each other and embraced. As he pulled back, he took one of her hands into his own and gave her a sad smile as he slowly stepped away, letting go when she was finally out of reach, and once he had exited the picture, Ginny half expected to see the real Harry step out.

Confused, Ginny stared into the eyes of her reflection, standing alone with a wistful expression on her face. What could this mean? Then she saw a new figure approach from behind, and her heart leapt at the sight of his shining hair, his arrogant saunter, and his intense, grey eyes coming into focus. Unbeknownst to her, a slow smile spread across her face until she was practically grinning, her reflection mimicking the same change in facial expression.

Mirror Draco stopped right behind her, and she could practically feel his breath on her neck as his hands reached out to her waist to embrace her from behind. Suddenly she felt real hands snake around her middle, and she looked down in surprise as she recognised them. She then looked up see his chin resting on her reflection’s shoulder, returning her smile, and she felt that very chin land on her own shoulder.

Whirling around in his arms, she planted a kiss on his surprised lips, and then hugged him tightly around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered with her eyes shut tight.

He wrapped his arms around her middle and squeezed, burying his face in her hair in his relief to have her back in his arms. Remembering what they were standing in front of, Draco looked up, but was surprised to see just him and Ginny, arms around each other, exactly as they were as if it were an ordinary reflection.

“Hey, what’s wrong with the mirror?”

“It’s been you all along, not him. I want to be with you,” she breathed into his ear as she began kissing his neck.

“Potter?” Draco growled indignantly, pulling her hands away from his neck. He took a small step back to look into her eyes, not bothering to hide his resentment at having to compete with The-Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived as usual. So she had been thinking of him all this time. Having a cause to blame for his torture other than the object of his affection, he let his anger flow towards this unseen enemy.

Her lips curved upward at his outrage, shaping her infuriatingly knowing smile. He scowled at that smile.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist because I had feelings for him.”

“Had?” He wasn’t thick, he knew what she was getting at, but wanted to hear it with a longing that he hadn’t even realised he had until a week ago.

“Draco, I love you.”

She said the words as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, as if when asked where pumpkin juice came from, and the answer was so blatantly, painfully clear, that the words were said as if they needn’t be said at all.

His face remained stoic, but his eyes always gave him away. She prided herself in being able to read the many shades of icy fog, the concealed messages and buried secrets that he never meant to tell would always reveal themselves to her. She could see the happiness that he was fighting, the internal struggle with the ghost of his father that would never let him be, and the love that he felt for her as plain as if he spoke of the feelings out loud.

Stepping forward, she ran her hands up his chest, then his neck, and tangled her fingers into his hair. Her chin tilted upward and her hands brought his face towards her. He wrapped his arms around her upper body to pull her close to him. She closed her eyes and when their lips met, she kissed him like the end of the world was tomorrow and she would never have the chance to taste those lips again. Feelings of relief, happiness, and love flared inside her chest so intensely she was sure her heart would burst. They were no longer at Hogwarts, there was no Voldemort, there was no feud between Malfoy and Weasley bred to stand the test of time, there were only their bodies, pressed so close in an attempt to become one, and their arms, and lips, meeting so softly, so tenderly. She never wanted it to end, or it may never have happened.

As the passion intensified, their hands began to wander, and their feet shifted until Ginny was the one facing the mirror. Taking her lower lip between her teeth as his lips and tongue found a spot on her neck below her ear that made her arch her back into him, she chanced a quick glance out of one eye. Reflected back to her was just what was happening: she and Draco, entangled in a mess of arms and hair and lips, just as they were. She couldn’t have felt happier than that moment, when she realised she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

---

---

“Ginny, this is a really bad idea,” he said irritably as she led him by his arm.

“It’ll be fine,” she soothed. “They’ll remember that you saved my life, and all the nice things I said about you.”

“Is this really necessary? We could just go back my room and send for Groble; he likes you a lot.” Smoothing his robes absentmindedly, Draco kept his eyes averted from where they were walking, though his feet were all too compliant.

“They need to see what I see; they need to realise that you’re not the bad guy, and that we need to work together against the real bad guys if we’re going to survive.” She was all too chipper as she spoke of such dark subjects, but it was all for his benefit. Besides, I want my friends to meet the real you, she mused with a smile.

“Even if I don’t get hexed on sight by your lot, the Slytherins won’t hold back,” he muttered grudgingly.

“They won’t try anything right under McGonagall’s nose. Besides, I’ll protect you if you’re scared,” she teased.

“I’m not scared, and I certainly don’t need protecting by you,” he growled offensively, but kept walking.

Yes, yes, you’re not scared, that’s why you’ve worked so hard to stay hidden, she thought, but would never say aloud.

“We’re here! You ready?” she asked brightly.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” he grumbled.

Their next turn took them through the ceiling-high oak doors of the Great Hall, towards the end of dinnertime. The few students left took little notice of the odd pair straight away, and Ginny continued to walk swiftly toward an empty section of the Gryffindor table as if leading a Slytherin to sit with her was the most normal thing she could be doing. As they passed, several looked up from their plates or away from their conversations to stare. Voices died in volume and whispering began to spread in a wave of hisses. They sat down on the bench side by side, Ginny taking care so that they sat with their backs to the Slytherin table. A small Gryffindor first year yelped in surprise at the sight of the young Malfoy he had heard so much about sitting just down the bench, and Draco glared at him.

“This is bloody ridiculous; I shouldn’t be here,” he spat in distaste of being ogled at.

Ginny continued to smile and act normally as she filled her plate. “You have to rejoin society eventually; you might as well start here,” she articulated in an annoying, matter-of-fact tone.

“Only because you insisted, and you wouldn’t let the elves bring me anything to eat otherwise.” He submitted to piling up his own plate only because he was famished; he had held out for several days before giving in. As he guided a forkful of mashed potatoes towards his mouth, he felt a distinctive amount of pressure against his back forcing him forward slightly, then the pressure lifted and a loud bang and a crash was heard directly behind him.

He dropped his fork and turned at the commotion to see Astoria Greengrass, a fifth year, lying in an unconscious heap next to the Slytherin table, her face and hands covered in grotesque boils. Her older sister Daphne was glaring venomously at Draco from her place on the bench. She barked a few orders at some surly looking Slytherin boys, who then scooped up Astoria, one at her shoulders and one at her feet, and carried her out of the hall, Daphne hot on their heels. There were several titters of amusement and approval from the various other House tables, then the chatter resumed as normally as if Draco and Ginny hadn’t entered the hall, though the topics of conversation would surely revolve around the events of the past few minutes.

McGonagall had stormed down from the head table in pursuit of the cause of the disruption, looking livid as she swept past. Draco looked over at Ginny, who was snorting into her hand, her face bright red.

“Looks like she got what was coming,” she said nonchalantly, then proceeded to shove peach cobbler into her mouth in an attempt to look innocent.

“What did you do?” he asked as one side of his mouth tipped upward into a smirk, never having been more attracted to her than he was at that moment.

She swallowed in one gulp, and then grinned at him. “Just put up a shield charm as you sat down. I figured someone might try something from over there. Speaking of which–” She re-cast the charm with a flick of her wand behind his back.

“Impressive, Weasley,” he commented with cool but amused eyes before turning back to his plate.

The rest of the meal passed rather pleasantly with only the staring and occasional whispering to suffer instead of another attempted hex. Most students skirted around them, but a few of Ginny’s friends waved hello to her on their way out before nervously glancing at Draco and offering a polite smile. Upon Ginny’s hard nudge to his ribs, the edges of his lips would curve upward into a tight-lipped sign of recognition to their gesture, and then he would return to stuffing his face with rolls to avoid the awkwardness. She’d roll her eyes and shrug in a way that said, ‘See what I have to put up with?’ and they would nod sympathetically with a quiet giggle before turning to leave.

After several more dinners like this, each one beginning earlier, Ginny began to engage in conversations, usually dragging Draco into the discussion with questions like ‘Was Sprout this horrible when you were in sixth year?’ or ‘We’re having trouble with this spell, what are we doing wrong?’ She was blatantly obvious with what she was doing, and pushy, and assuming, but he loved her for it. Though he hardly desired this rowdy and hotheaded group of Gryffindors as close friends, he enjoyed the interaction. He felt less and less like an outcast, like he might just have a place in the world to come back to after everything he had destroyed being his father’s puppet.

The past week of ‘therapies’ as Ginny liked to think of them led up to the end of term feast, something she knew Draco had been longing to attend having missed several feasts already. When the two of them walked through the door to the Great Hall at the end of the last day of final exams, hardly anyone took notice, the buzz of conversation barely faltered, and there were even two seats saved instead of one amongst the students of the Gryffindor House.

Her inward celebration at successfully integrating him back into the bustle and chatter of normal student life had her positively glowing with pride. During the meal Draco actually passed a platter to a third year without even a hint of a sneer or a smirk, participated in a few discussions without prompting, and even cracked a genuine smile or two. Nothing could have ruined Ginny’s elation save for a disaster.

As the last of the pumpkin pie was scraped clean off their plates, the students settled into a lazy and comfortable state of fullness, chatting with each other about their long awaited holiday and what they planned to do with their weekend of complete freedom before going back home. Being so relaxed and at ease, most of them missed the silvery form shooting through the open doorway of the Hall, but those that did notice let out quiet gasps or shouts of astonishment as they followed its path with their pointer finger directly to the head table.

The Patronus settled itself in front of McGonagall, who had to bend low over her plate to hear what news would bring such a disruption to their celebration. As the rest of the faculty leaned in close for the quiet announcement, Ginny noticed that the shape of the Patronus was in fact a weasel. Her own father had sent this urgent message; the fact that the information came from the Order was even more troubling. Some of the professors betrayed the gravity of the news in their faces, sending a ripple of worry throughout the students as they all fell silent in anticipation of being informed. Giving the weasel a grave nod before it vanished into wisps of silvery smoke, McGonagall stood to face her audience, raising her arms unnecessarily to quiet the smouldering din.

“Students of Hogwarts, it is my deepest regret to end this happy celebration of the end of exams with terrible news, but I do not believe that keeping this information from you will help you in any way.” She paused for a moment, and the entire hall seemed to be holding its breath. “There has been an organised series of attacks carried out by the group known as the Death Eaters. The various establishments struck include several locations of Diagon Alley as well as the Ministry of Magic itself.”

The hall broke out in loud whispers upon the completion of her heavy announcement, several students raising their voices above the hushed conversations to ask questions that they knew McGonagall couldn’t possibly answer.

“Are my parents all right?”

“Did they attack wizarding homes?”

“Is anyone dead?”

Ginny snuck a look over her shoulder at the Slytherin table and noticed that hardly any of the House looked troubled at all by this turn of events. Most looked bored, or worse, smug. Without meaning to she caught the eye of a boy in her year with dark eyes and slicked back hair of deepest ebony, shiny with grease. He raised his goblet to her with a derisive smirk before draining it, and then gave her a wink. Her face flushed with fury as she impulsively reached beneath her robes. Draco noticed her lethal glare and placed a firm hand over hers as her fingers closed around her wand.

“He’s not worth it,” he whispered into her ear, and she tore her eyes away from the boy to calm herself in his silver depths.

Her anger died away as she let McGonagall’s words sink in, and a knot in the pit of her stomach tightened so severely at the sudden anxiousness she felt that her eyes filled with tears. Her father had sent that message, so he must be in the thick of this disaster. How many more of her family was affected; how many of them could be dead? Fred and George lived in Diagon Alley, so they were hardly safe. Was Ron, Hermione, or Harry a part of it? Were they all right? Releasing her wand, she grabbed his hand instead, interweaving her fingers in between each of his and squeezing tightly in an attempt to absorb some of his calm. He had no one to worry about outside of these walls, and she envied him for this freedom at the same time that she pitied him. The edge of one side of his mouth turned up in a form of reassurance that he was here for her, and she squeezed his hand again before turning back to the front.

The Headmistress raised her arms once more, and the voices instantly died down.

“Due to the nature of the magical enchantments protecting this castle, you are safest here for the moment. No student is allowed to leave the castle unless being boarded on the Hogwarts Express on Monday or given a Portkey by request of your parents from your Head of House. I encourage you to contact your families over the weekend, and if they desire you to stay where you are, then you are most welcome to do so.” She paused to take a deep breath and gaze down upon her students.

“Let us remember that a community divided within itself will never succeed to achieve a peaceful outcome. We must all learn to listen to each other, to work together, and to accept one another if we hope to rise through this. Though we may view the world differently,” her gaze swept over the Slytherins and lingered briefly before moving on, “that is no reason to let hate, anger, and revenge rule our hearts and allow one wizard to hold so much power over us. If there is ever a home that you require, we will always accommodate you here with kindness and compassion.” Her eyes then locked with Draco’s for a brief moment. “Be safe over this weekend, and after the Hogwarts Express has seen you safely home, enjoy a long holiday. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will not be resuming classes next term save for a resolution to this war. Good luck to you all.”

With that McGonagall sat down and began whispering fervently with the rest of the faculty. The students, stunned into silence for a split second, suddenly erupted into loud conversation as they got up slowly to make their way towards their dorms.

Draco eased Ginny up off of the bench as she seemed to want to continue to sit in a daze.

“Come on, Ginny, I’ll walk you back to Gryffindor tower,” he said in a calming voice.

Her eyes snapped to his in fear; she couldn’t even contemplate being alone right now.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” she asked, her voice hinting at a shame only portrayed by a girl who didn’t normally share a bed with a boy she had been seeing for so short a time.

“Of course, love,” he responded without batting an eye as he pressed a kiss to her forehead and wrapped his arms around her. He hardly expected anything based on this request, but the thought of her warm body next to his, that he could hold her for hours as he slept, comforted his heart in a way he couldn’t describe.

She smiled into his shoulder before pulling away. “I’ll meet you there; I just have to go get a few things.”

Upon his nod of acknowledgement, she scampered away, anxious to get ahead of the crowd so that she might set up her bed hangings to look as though she were already asleep and escape the dormitory without anyone seeing her leave.

Suddenly aware of the absence of his only alibi in rejoining the other students of the school for dinner when he was hardly welcome, Draco tried to hurry away from the mob, but became caught in the flow towards the door.

“Oi, Malfoy!”

Draco rolled his eyes as he turned towards the shout. This should be good.

He saw Neville approaching him purposefully through the crowd. Apparently sensing a duel, or at least a fight, the students surrounding them stopped their movement and backed up to give them space. Noticing the reaction his yell had earned him, Neville’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment; he looked as if he hardly expected an audience.

“What is it, Longbottom? Come to threaten me some more?” Draco couldn’t help but sneer.

“No, I, uh…” He nervously ran a hand through his hair. Taking a deep breath, he met Draco’s glinting eyes. “I just was thinking about what McGonagall had said, and I’ve been watching you. You really seem to have changed a bit, so I just wanted to see if you’d like to put all this rivalry rubbish behind us.”

Almost ready to scoff, all sound caught in Draco’s throat as Neville’s right hand came up, outstretched in a gesture of armistice. Ogling at the hand for a moment, Draco felt more and more stares fall upon them, including several from the head table. Well, what the hell.

“I guess we are working against the same son-of-a-bitch, so we might as well act like we’re mates,” he said with the slightest of smiles as his own right hand came up to clasp Neville’s.

A look of relief spread across Neville’s face. “Good man,” he exclaimed. As he let go and moved on, another figured came forward.

“I’m glad you’re with us, Malfoy,” Seamus declared as he also held out his hand, and Draco shook it without hesitation.

“Thanks, Finnigan,” he responded with a slight amount of surprise.

Soon half of Gryffindor house had taken the initiative to come shake his hand. Draco couldn’t have felt more on display than if he had been standing on the Gryffindor house table sporting horrid shades of maroon and gold with Looney Lovegood’s disgusting lion hat roaring atop his head, especially with the deathly glares he received from each and every Slytherin to pass him by on their way out. Before long, several Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students, mostly sixth and seventh years, had joined the throng of welcome. He couldn’t decide if he felt more humiliated or relieved. After the first twenty handshakes or so, he finally let a big grin break out across his face and allowed the glimmer of happiness in his heart at being forgiven and accepted to flourish.

---

After discussing the immediate issues at hand, and scheduling a faculty meeting for the following afternoon, Professor McGonagall hurried to her study after the feast for her next appointment. She then spent the next fifteen minutes pacing the length of her study, nervously checking the time of the large grandfather clock. Stopping at the window, she searched for any indications that the defensive enchantments were weakening, or signs of abnormalities besides the typical thick, frozen mist that had descended upon Britain within the last month; an ominous sign of what’s yet to come. The grounds looked peaceful, Hagrid’s small cabin windows lit and his chimney releasing a lazily rising column of grey smoke. A thick blanket of snow covered every surface of ground and the still lake looked gloomily foggy in the absence of the moon’s reflection.

As she continued to stare out the window, a soft pop and the sound of three pairs of feet hitting the floor was heard behind her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to gaze fondly upon her visitors, grateful to see them well, but with a feeling of deep unease imbedded in her gut as to the reason they wanted to come.

“I was worried; you were supposed to arrive several minutes ago.” She took in each of them in turn, appraising the various injuries adorning their faces, their starved figures, and the dark circles beneath their eyes. “I take it Aberforth is well?” she questioned.

“Yea, we got the Portkey from him just fine, though it was a job getting to him with all the wards set up in Hogsmeade.” Harry stepped forward to hand over the delicate pocket watch they had used as means to enter the school.

“Thank you, Professor.” Hermione also came forward to shake McGonagall’s hand earnestly.

“Is it almost finished? Whatever job that you cannot possibly let anyone help you with?” the Headmistress asked with raised eyebrows, hoping in her heart that they were here to ask for the guidance she so desperately wished to give them.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged glances. “Almost, Professor,” Harry responded. “This is our last stop.”

---

---

McGonagall nodded somewhat disappointedly. “Right, well you three will need shelter during your stay. All three of your beds are unoccupied in Gryffindor tower if you would like.”

A gratified smile spread across each of their exhausted faces at the thought of curling up beneath soft down comforters behind the familiar maroon hangings fringed in yellow-gold of their own four poster beds.

“I think that would be just what we need, Professor,” Harry spoke with relief.

A small smile broke out on her own face at anything she could do to make their journey easier. “You should get going if you hope to be in bed before tomorrow; I expect you’ll have a crowd of curious ears to fulfil before the rest of the Gryffindors will allow you rest.”

He nodded in agreement, and the three of them turned to leave. The other two already descending down the spiral staircase, Ron, bringing up the rear, had the sense to stop before he was through the doorway to turn and ask the Headmistress a very important question.

“What’s the password?”

---

After a long night of ecstatic welcomes, hugs, tears, and slaps on the back, Harry, Ron and Hermione were ready to turn in. Harry pressed an envelope into Hermione’s hand as they passed, and when she caught his eye before he turned from her to follow Ron up the stairs to their old room, she saw a mixture of liberation and yearning lingering in his gaze, pleading with her to see that the envelope made it into the right hands. She nodded and smiled encouragement in that long second, having seen the disappointment on his face in missing the one person he had been most looking forward to seeing.

Before retiring to her own room, she tip-toed into the sixth year girl’s room and laid the envelope on top of an alarm clock next to a bed with its curtains already drawn for the night. Assuming the girl inside the hangings to be asleep, she left the envelope there knowing that the first thing the girl would see as she reached to silence the deafening sounds of consciousness would be that untidy scrawl shaping the curves of her own name. Hermione entered her own room smiling as she imagined the girl ripping open the encasement of words from her beloved, the happiest witch to be woken by such an awful noise.

---

She found his note on her alarm clock the next morning when she snuck into her room before the other girls had awoken, most likely left by Hermione; she hadn’t even fathomed their return to Hogwarts so soon, and it warmed her heart to know that they were close and safe. The penned letter in that familiar, scratchy writing sounded as if it had been written and re-written until it was perfect, certain phrases sounding less and less like his own words until it could have been selected and copied out of a book of great letters written by lovers separated by time, space, or death. The words described the ache he felt in his heart when he realised he couldn’t know if she was alright, how much he missed how her hair always smelled like lavender, and how much he was looking forward to seeing her again. She may have laughed at the corniness in the way he requested her presence where they used to meet, if her heart hadn’t weighed so heavily at the thought of what she would have to tell him.

Ginny waited nervously under the great oak tree by the lake, their tree, tugging absentmindedly at a lock of hair pulled over her shoulder and crunching snow beneath her boots as she shifted from one foot to the other. Her eyes scanned the surface of the lake, searching for a ripple, a murmur of movement upon the still, pristine sheet of glassy water, but even the giant squid seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the climax about to ensue.

Closing her eyes to steady her nerves, she forced herself to remember why she was about to break the heart of a perfectly good man, why she was about the collapse his image of a woman, a girl he had left behind, the perfect image he had modelled in his mind during the long nights of waiting, hoping, and dreaming. Draco’s face was clear behind her eyelids, and the impression of the kiss they had last shared the night before still vivid as she held two fingers against her lips in remembrance. She was everything to him; he had told her so last night as she lay in his arms, gazing up into his haunting eyes of deepest mist. She had never felt so needed by anyone, a feeling she knew she couldn’t live without once she heard those words leave his lips.

She could no longer be the incentive for a job well done, cast aside in a shadow of heroism. Even she and Harry’s first kiss had modelled the depths of their relationship: He had won the House Cup, therefore all restraint of his attraction towards her was no longer a factor. Not that she had complained; she had been in love with him since she was a little girl, with her hero. Alas, he was still the hero, but she was no longer the school girl with a crush, and the enchantment in fulfilling a little girl’s daydream had worn thin as her heart found where it truly belonged, where it was truly needed.

She spotted him walking down towards her, taking the beaten path stomped down by countless students making a rendezvous under this very tree for hundreds of years. He held his winter cloak close around his thin shoulders as his red and gold scarf, knitted by her own mother, blew lazily behind him. There were several indications of battles fought over the past few months adorning his face and hands that she noticed right away as he drew closer, and the guilt in her heart reared its head to growl. The famous lightning bolt scar stood out darker than ever against his pale forehead. His ruffled hair looked long, as it hadn’t been cut in months, but even the unruly way it settled against his brow couldn’t hide that scar. Dark circles stood out underneath the green eyes seeking her out beneath the tree, and when they found hers, his anxious face broke into a grin, and she could see the quiescent depths of emerald light up at the sight of her.

As he approached, she opened her mouth to let out a formal greeting, but “hello” or “good morning” sounded so cool, so impersonal that it caught in her throat and she continued to hold his gaze with her mouth slightly agape. Finally reaching her, he silently held out both hands and pulled her into a tight embrace. Relaxing into his strong arms, she noted that he seemed taller than she remembered, emanating a confidence only achieved through an experience of something no one else has gone through.

“I’ve missed you so much, Ginny.”

“Harry… I need to tell you something,” she whispered.

“It’s almost over. We can pick up where we left off, finish what we started.”

She struggled with little effort against his hold, willing herself not to breathe in his intoxicatingly familiar scent too deeply.

“Please, we need to talk.” Her voice heightened in volume, in case he hadn’t heard her.

“I’m so glad that you’re here, that you’re safe.”

“Harry… stop. Harry, listen to me!”

Her tone escalated to angry within a few short phrases, and she pushed at him hard in her frustration that he wasn’t paying attention to her words. Taking a few steps back from her, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion beneath his dishevelled hair.

“Ginny, what’s wrong?”

She sighed; there was that look, that broken puppy-dog look that she knew she’d have to fight.

“There won’t be a place for us to pick up where we left off. I’ve moved on.” Blunt, and to the point; if only it could be as simple as that. If only they could just hug and walk back to the castle as friends, like in the mirror.

His shining green eyes clouded instantly with anger, making them dark as his features contorted to make the puffiness under his eyes and his pale skin look scary in the gloom cast by the low clouds.

“What’s the bloke’s name?” he asked in a mock offhand voice.

“That’s not important, what matters–”

“You bloody-well better believe it’s important!” he cut her off, incensed at her lack of denial. “Why would you need to move on if there wasn’t someone else to move on with?”

She paused, biting her bottom lip to find the right words without making him angrier, a lost cause as she blurted out the first words that came to mind.

“You left! You left me here! I never said I’d wait for you!”

He stared incredulously at her.

“I left to save you, to save the effing world! This is the thanks I get? I come back to see you before I might die, and you… you’re…” he trailed off, appearing repulsed by the destination this string of thoughts was leading him to.

She flinched as if smacked in the face with that word: die. Shoving it aside, she focused on the offensive words before that one, unwilling to let it sink in that Harry had contemplated facing his own death. How can she be doing this to someone so brave?

“The thanks you get? Was that my job, to just stand around and thank you?” Her eyes blazed at that remark, taking his anger down several notches in shame.

“No, of course not,” his voice softened as he looked away from her fury.

“You don’t need me; you were always on your own! He needs me. I could have come with you, I could have helped, but you couldn’t be bothered; you were too busy playing the hero.” Grasping at straws to give him an excuse she knew had no substance, she avoided the real reason, as she knew it would hurt him even more.

His eyes snapped back to hers in shock. “Playing the hero? Hi, my name’s Harry Potter, have we met before? Do you know me at all?”

The hurt in his voice told her she was going about this in the wrong way; if she was going to hurt him, she would do it with the truth.

“No, I know you never wanted to be the hero. That was stupid of me to say.” She paused to pull together her nerves. “I love him, Harry,” she whispered as a warm tear slid down her rosy cheek flushed with cold. He turned away from her to look out at the lake, to hide the mist gathering in his eyes and sighed shakily. She continued to speak to his back as tears collected at the inner corners of her eyes and fell without restraint. “I’m so sorry to ruin what we had by falling in love with someone else, by acting like you didn’t mean anything to me. Being with you was magical; it had been a dream come true for me, but he makes me feel…” she trailed off, not wanting to voice to him exactly how Draco made her feel.

“Different,” he finished for her in a whisper.

She took in a gulp of air as she dashed the tears from her face. “Yes,” she confirmed.

Turning back around to face her, he took her small shoulders within each of his hands, his eyes pleading. “Please, give me another chance, I do need you.”

She closed her eyes in frustration; she knew that even if Harry did come around to needing her, she couldn’t make herself love him like she did Draco.

“It’s too late, Harry.”

“No, it’s not.”

Upon these words leaving his lips, her eyes flew open to see his closed and his face moving towards hers. With a forcefulness brought on by desperation he had never shown her before, Harry took hold of either side of her face and crashed his lips against hers. She whimpered softly into his mouth as she closed her eyes again, less from outrage and more from a relief she hadn’t known she needed. These lips had never claimed her so possessively, so hungrily before, and the animalistic gain of her full attention to his hands running into her hair and pulling her face closer, to his tongue forcing its way past her lips, to his body being so closely pressed against hers, found a spark of life to feed on in a recess of her heart she had laid to waste. The old feelings were fighting to surface within her, and it took every conscious nerve of her being not completely consumed in the physical feelings of pleasure brought on by the man before her to break away from him.

She stumbled backward a few steps to put some space between their bodies, pressing the backs of her fingers against her lips to ease their violation and met his desirous eyes with surprise. After their first kiss, he had never been so forward with her; it wasn’t his style. They stared at each other for a few moments, breathing heavily.

“Tell me that you didn’t feel that too, and I’ll leave you alone,” he dared, his voice cracking with the strain to keep it steady.

She had felt it, and it had felt… the same as before. Aside from the mounting physical attraction she felt due to a vigorousness more typical of Draco than of Harry, everything she felt for him was the same. She loved him, that much was for certain – but not enough.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” She shook her head.

Something in his eyes changed just then, and he looked as if he needed something to take his building aggression out on.

“What’s his name?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes boring into hers as his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“Please, Harry, it won’t help you to know–”

“Tell me his bloody name!” he yelled outright, taking a step towards her, and she took several steps back in a panic.

“I won’t tell you, not when you’re like this!” she yelled back.

After a moment of glaring at each other, Harry gave up first. He let out a breath she hadn’t realised he had been holding in, and then stepped closer to her carefully. She flinched at first, but stood her ground; she was hardly scared of him, but the shouting hurt more than she thought it would. Taking one of her hands within his, he traced lines around her small knuckles with his pointer finger, creating figure eights that wove in and out of each petite bump. The pair of them watched his progress until he finally broke the silence.

“It was supposed to be you and me.” His voice had retreated to a low volume, and she would almost rather have him yell than to speak in this defeated, frail voice unbecoming of the great Harry Potter.

“Says who?” she asked softly, and his eyes came up to meet hers.

The pause that ensued seemed to last an eternity, and she couldn’t help but gaze into the most attractive features of his face. Beneath the glassy surface of moisture lay each of his beautiful green eyes, the emeralds bright beneath the film of emotion, although it looked as if they were melting down into liquid pools of the deepest jade beneath the tears he refused to let fall. This elongated moment seemed to decide whether this conversation had been real, and the first to break the silence would be the first to fully acknowledge the heavy truth: That things would never be the same between them.

“What world is worth saving without you?” he whispered.

It was at that moment that her heart finally broke, painfully, and in the few seconds it took for him to turn away from her, she was certain that she had made a mistake. On the verge of letting his name escape her lips, to call him back to her, to beg his forgiveness, she felt a tug in her chest as she took in a breath and parted her lips. That tug held her back, and she stopped. She needed to let him go; it wasn’t fair to promise him half her heart when he deserved so much more.

He walked around her with his eyes trained on the ground in defeat, then trudged up the path he had come down.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered once he was out of earshot as she watched his back recede from her vision, his winter cloak swishing back and forth around his ankles.

---

---

The morning after their arrival, Hermione and Ron walked Harry to the front entrance of the castle. As he buttoned his cloak and gave one more wrap around his neck with his scarf, Ron slapped him encouragingly on the back right before Hermione proceeded to throw her arms around his neck.

“Go get her, mate,” Ron said with a slightly forced smile.

Pulling out of Hermione’s embrace, Harry flash them a tired grin. “Thanks guys. You’ve really been so…” he trailed off as his cheeks flushed.

Ron’s face also reddened to a shade similar to his hair, and the two of them looked down at the ground in embarrassment. Hermione shook her head amusedly. Boys, she thought.

“We’ve been with you from the start, Harry, and we’ll be here till the end,” she said firmly as she brought up her hand to rest against his cheek.

Harry took a deep breath, gave them both a nod, and turned to open the door. The pair followed him to the courtyard just outside where they decided to wait for his return. As Harry disappeared from sight, Hermione sighed.

“I hope they get married,” she breathed with a smile.

Ron snorted uncomfortably. “If she had to end up with some bloke, I’ll be glad if it’s him.”

Hermione stole a sideways glance at him, admiring the effect of his shaggy red hair against the expanse of white snow surrounding him, and the adorable look of concern for his sister adorning his face. Her hand found his, as it frequently did over the past few weeks, and he shifted his gaze to land on her. They smiled at one another, innocently pretending that they weren’t hoping the other was thinking the same thing that they were.

---

After a seemingly short half hour, Ron stood abruptly from his place next to Hermione on the bench by the front entrance as he spotted Harry’s familiar form returning from the lake. He was alone, his shoulders were slumped, and his head hanging; this wasn’t a happy return.

“This can’t be good,” Ron observed, pulling Hermione up by her hand to stand beside him.

“Oh no,” she whispered, her voice tight with worry.

As Harry approached, Ron made the first attempt.

“What happened, mate?” he asked lightly as his friend barrelled past him, his face capturing the perfect mixture of contempt and defeat.

“Ask your effing sister,” Harry muttered, barely audible as he kept his eyes trained on the ground, not bothering to stop.

Ron and Hermione hurried to catch up to him, and they all entered the entrance hall together.

Once inside, all thoughts outside the doors left their mind momentarily as the trio noticed a curious figure cross the hall in front of them, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings. He appeared to be ticking off items of a list on his fingers, going over them soundlessly as his lips mouthed the words. It couldn’t possibly be him. His black robes placed him fittingly in the Wizarding school, but his pale-blond hair, distinct to only one traitor in their mind, was enough recognition for a bearer of a newly broken heart to unleash his frustration. As Harry reached for his wand, Ron also recognised the figure, and followed Harry’s lead. Hermione was the only one with the sense to realise that this person was obviously not hiding, was walking around as if he belonged here, and she hesitated.

With Harry and Ron’s abrupt movements, the figure seemed to sense his own impending danger, and ran for cover as two jets of red light flew straight for him.

---

As he exited Professor Slughorn’s office, Draco found himself listing the ingredients to the N.E.W.T. level potion he had just concocted in his head. Not having had final exams himself, he saw no reason to suspend his own studies if his professors were still willing to give him lessons.

Rarely noticing other students in the corridors any longer, even when they stared him down like a beast on the prowl, he almost missed the classic signs of reaching for a wand and whipping it around to his direction as he crossed the entrance hall. He caught the motion in the corner of his eye, and instinctively ducked behind the closest suit of armour as the word “Stupefy!” was bellowed by two separate male voices. Ducking his head and shielding his face with his arms, two jets of red light hit the metal with a loud clang, sending the figure’s limbs flying in all directions and destroying its wooden shield in an explosion of tiny splinters.

“Stop!”

He heard the young, female voice and was grateful for the intervention for he knew it would take him a fair amount of time to recover from a dual-stun like that, and his cover was literally blown to pieces.

“Harry, Ron, stop!” shouted the female voice again.

Draco’s head snapped up and his eyes flew open. Through the settling bits of wood, he glimpsed none other than Scarhead and his vacant-faced side-kick approaching him with their wands drawn. His hand flew to his back pocket, but had hardly grasped his wand when another jet of red light obediently left Harry’s wand upon his command, sent straight to Draco’s chest. Draco met Harry’s livid green eyes right before the room went black.

---

“Ennervate.”

His eyes fluttered open upon being revived to see Professor McGonagall’s face closely watching over his. Behind her were Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all watching him cautiously. His wand out and ready, Ron looked ready to strike if Draco were to make the slightest movement.

“Put that away Mr. Weasley. Mr. Malfoy is not in our custody,” McGonagall turned to berate him sternly.

Ron sheepishly lowered his wand. Draco realised that he was being looked down upon because he was lying on the stone floor of the entrance hall, and sat up with a grimace; his chest felt sorely bruised.

“Yea, Weasel, put that away. I wouldn’t want to have to do something I wouldn’t regret later,” Draco attempted to smirk through his pained expression.

The redhead’s wand was back up, though Hermione had now placed a small hand on his arm to restrain him. Standing shakily, Draco continued to sneer. McGonagall sighed impatiently.

“All of you, to your dormitories! Now!” she barked harshly at the gawking crowd. Slowly and reluctantly, the rest of the students filed out of the entrance hall until only the four young adults and the headmistress remained.

“Now,” she turned her severe gaze to her former pupils, “if I can trust you four not to curse each other, I have much more important matters to attend to than baby-sitting teenagers!”

“Sorry, Professor,” the three boys grumbled.

Hermione just shook her head at them, and then gave McGonagall a look that said, ‘I’ll look after them.’

“Very good.” McGonagall nodded, and then swept up the staircase towards her study.

There was an awkward pause of silence.

“So, what are you doing here?” Draco asked the one question they both wanted to know of each other.

“You first,” Harry countered contemptuously.

Heaving a sigh, Draco felt he should tell them; he needed every opportunity possible to feel he had earned his return to the castle.

“Long story short, the Dark Lord had been holding my mother captive all last year to force me to try and kill Dumbledore. He expected me to be killed in the process as punishment for my father, and hadn’t anticipated Snape finishing the job for me. When I returned to Malfoy Manor alive, he tried to kill me himself, but my mother broke free just before to jump in front of me, giving up her life for mine. Somehow I made it out of there in one piece. I came back here to tell someone where the Death Eater headquarters were, and pledged my allegiance against the Dark Lord in exchange for protection here.” He kept his eyes on the floor as the words flooded monotonously out of his mouth. Once he’d finished, he glanced up at the gaping mouths of the former Gryffindors; apparently they hadn’t expected him to actually tell them anything.

“So that’s where that tip came from,” Hermione spoke up in confirmation of his story. “I read about that raid in a Prophet I nicked while I was trying to find us food.”

Harry continued to eye him darkly. “You know, I’ve found that only Death Eaters call Voldemort ‘Dark Lord.’”

His eyes flashing with anger, Draco pulled up the sleeve of his left arm, bringing it up to Harry’s face. Hermione let out a muffled cry, and Ron took on a look of one that might be sick. Harry’s wide eyes landed on the pale, deformed arm, but he said nothing.

“Does this look like the Dark Mark to you?” Draco cried, moving his arm so that each of them could get a good look. When presented to Hermione, she proceeded to bury her face in Ron’s shoulder rather than look at it. Slightly pleased at having rendered the High-and-Mighty-Trio speechless, he went on.

“They burned the shape of the Mark into me to make me think I was a part of them, and as a reminder that they held my mother’s life. I’ve kept the scar this long to instead remind me of what they did to my mother, and of my promise to myself to make them pay.” As he finished, he shook his sleeve back over his arm to hide the mark from sight. “Now you,” he spat impatiently.

The three of them exchanged a hesitant look, and Harry gave the other two a nod that seemed to say that he would be the one to do the talking.

“We’ve been on a mission appointed to us by Dumbledore ever since he was killed,” he started. “We only have one more thing left to do before I have to face Voldemort myself, and once that last thing is done, he will be able to be destroyed.”

After wincing instinctively at the sound of the illicit name, Draco then stared at Harry dumbfounded, wondering what he could possibly mean by ‘he will be able to be destroyed.’ “What makes you think that you will be able to finish your mission here?” he asked.

Pausing uncertainly, Harry took a deep breath before continuing. “I can… kind of see into his mind, and I saw that the next place we would have to go to was Hogwarts.”

Ron and Hermione seemed to be shifting on their feet uncomfortably as Harry spoke, as if verbalising this phenomenon were forbidden.

Disgust being the only form of facial expression that Draco seemed to possess at that moment, he asked, “How?”

“It’s not important how, just that we can see into each other’s minds and I’ve figured out how to use it against him–”

“Hang on,” Draco cut him off, “he can see into your mind too?”

Giving an exasperated sigh, Harry reluctantly opened his mouth to answer.

“I’ve been able to see into his mind since fifth year, but he hasn’t tried to see into mine until recently. Once I figured out he was in there, I closed him out and he hasn’t been back since.”

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, naught a sound but the occasional stone from the house point hourglass rising or falling as points were earned or lost.

“What did he see?” Draco questioned, hoping a certain weakness of Harry’s hadn’t been revealed to the merciless lunatic.

Harry shrugged as his eyebrows contracted in disregard. “Nothing really, just some old memories; I stopped him before he could see where we were. He just saw some Quidditch practices at school, that time Ron flew me to Hogwarts in an enchanted car during our second year, a picnic by the lake with Gi–”

Even with half a word, Draco knew why Harry’s voice had caught in his throat. If the there was a dual correlation between Harry’s mind and Voldemort’s, who’s to say certain thoughts couldn’t be planted? An Idea, an emotion, a gut feeling that would lead Harry back to Hogwarts. From what Draco had heard from his father, Harry had taken the bait before. If Voldemort knew where Harry was, he wouldn’t be far behind.

Harry’s eyes flew to the ceiling high doors, betraying the reality that Ginny was still outside, and Draco’s own eyes shifted reluctantly to the entrance in horror. A chill began shuddering in his chest as another thought crossed his mind: what better way to break The Chosen One’s strong will than by threatening the well-being of a particularly important witch in his life. The trap seemed painfully obvious as Draco watched comprehension of Harry’s own stupidity darken the former Gryffindor’s pale features, both of their legs taking a stance to send them running to the door.

He could come in anytime he wants, Pansy’s words echoed inside Draco’s head, sending shivers to his heart as the full impact of the danger Ginny could be in right now hit him over the head with the force of a bludger.

A moment too late: a blood-curdling scream reached their ears from just outside the tall doors of the main entrance. Even with the terrifying experiences shared between the four teenagers that immediately drew their wands, not one of them could be prepared for what awaited them as the doors blew open with a loud bang and a gust of magical wind.

Lord Voldemort himself hovered ten feet above the ground just outside the entrance, his robes of midnight black billowing around him. His malicious, white face lowered slowly as his red eyes landed on his welcoming party. He appeared to be unable to enter, though he had managed to penetrate the outer perimeter of the grounds. They were safe for the moment, but their concern was for the redheaded girl dangling from Voldemort’s grip as he held her by her neck as far away from him as possible, waving her around as if she weighed nothing to him at all.

There was unison shout of “Stupefy!”, but Voldemort countered the meagre spells with an impatient wave of his wand. As his eyes landed on the face he had been seeking, his lipless mouth curved into a sick smile.

“If you want her to live, then follow me,” he announced cruelly to the Boy-Who-Lived, and then conjured a small, black orb, which he allowed to drop towards the ground. It bounced in the air until it settled about waist high in the middle of the entrance. He turned immediately and flew high into the sky, dragging Ginny behind him. His fluttering robes rode the wind as if they were wings.

Harry ran full-speed toward the Portkey, hotheaded and impulsive as usual, but Draco was faster. Taking a fistful of cloth from the backs of Harry’s robes, he yanked back, throwing him to the hard floor.

“You bloody prick; you led him right to her! Is this what you’ve been waiting here for, for something like this to happen?” Draco yelled, his pale cheeks flushed with rage.

Ron lunged for Draco, his arm cocked and his hand balled into a fist, but Hermione stepped in front of him, pushing with all her strength with both hands against his chest. His arm dropped at once since apparently he didn’t want to be hitting her.

“No, Ron, he’s right, this is all our fault! How could we not realise that Hogwarts was exactly where he wanted us to go?”

“He’s right?! The bloody Death Eater is right?”

Hermione’s bright eyes glistened as tears ran tracks down her face in salty, wet rows, but her expression was hard, determined as she glared at Ron.

Draco towered over Harry, still lying on the ground where he was thrown, staring up mutinously into the incensed grey eyes.

“What were you planning to do once you were taken to wherever that Portkey goes? Do you even know how to use the killing curse?”

“And I suppose you do, ferret! Did your snake-faced mate teach you all about that?” Harry stood to put himself in front of Draco until they were almost nose-to-nose, and then shoved him hard in the chest, nearly making them both topple over. Draco stood his ground, and then shoved Harry back with each emphasis of his words, making the dark-haired boy stumble as he struggled to walk backwards.

“You have to see them die in your mind, you have to will them to die, will their life to leave their body. You have to hate them with your entire soul or the curse will barely leave a mark!”

“You see! How would he know that if he wasn’t really a Death Eater?” Ron gestured towards Draco with outrage, making his point to Hermione, who was still holding her hands against his chest to keep him from lunging. He shook her off and turned from her to stare Draco dead in the eye. “How do we know we can trust you?” he spat at him venomously, the curl in his lip at his disgust in the young Malfoy reminding Draco all too much of a similar look his father used to give Mr. Weasley.

Draco took a deep breath. “Because she trusts me, and because I love her,” he declared, a little too quietly to be proud, considering his company. “I love her,” he emphasised as he caught Ron’s glare, basking in the hot hatred he had earned.

The silence that fell after his declaration was deafening.

In that moment of absorption, the bright emerald hue of Harry’s eyes took a much darker shade behind his round glasses as a rage of realisation began to swell. Both of his hands closed into tight fists and shook slightly at his side. Draco almost thought to arm himself and be ready for an attack, but the flash of anger suddenly passed and Harry let out a heavy sigh, his head hanging.

“She loves him too, Ron; she told me,” he muttered. The disappointment in his voice made it plain that he still had feelings for her, but had been sorely let down in his expectations. Ron’s eyes snapped to his friend in alarm, clearly thinking him mad. Hermione took a sharp intake of breath as her hand met her mouth in shock.

“What, Malfoy? That’s completely barmy, mate; she loves you,” Ron stated, as if Harry was just confused, and coercing him into believing that one fact would make it true.

“No, she doesn’t, not like... him,” Harry whispered, the emphasis of his last word indicating just how off-colour the thought made him feel. He kept his head down, his eyes on the floor. Hermione’s arm came around his shoulder and she rubbed his chest with her free hand. The sentimental moment the two seemed to be sharing as Ron continued to try to wrap his brain around the idea of his sister even associating with Draco Malfoy was wasting valuable time, and making Draco’s stomach squirm.

“Right, well I think we should go get McGonagall…” he started uncomfortably.

Harry’s eyes snapped open, and the determination residing in his ashen face as he resolutely stood as tall as he could told Draco exactly what he planned to do. Turning on his heel, he shook off Hermione’s arm and ran towards the Portkey. Ready for him again, Draco ran after him in an attempt to pull him back. Grabbing his robes tightly and preparing to pull backwards, Draco suddenly felt a familiar pull from behind his navel. As the two of them spun into oblivion, he heard Hermione’s shriek ringing in his ears, the words making no sense to him at all.

“What about the snake?!”

---

---

The unusual duo appeared out of thin air with a soft pop, but the unconventional way in which they had simultaneously been captured by Voldemort’s Portkey caused them to land in a heap on top of each other.

“Gerroff!” Draco yelled in frustration, attempting to untangle himself.

Blinking his eyes in the dim gloom, he struggled to look around from beneath Harry’s arm sleeve. They were outside, lying on frozen grass surrounded by fog, or maybe it was mist, so much mist. The smell of the damp, salty air brought back a memory as a small boy visiting his great-aunt who lived in an alcove of the high rock face on a secluded beach. Finally free of each other’s jumbled limbs, the two wizards struggled to their feet, wands at the ready.

“Where are we?” Draco asked in complete disorientation. They appeared to be standing on the edge of a towering cliff, over the side of which sounded like high waves of water crashing over rocks, though it was hard to tell through the shower of sea spray. He looked over to see if Harry knew, and way in which his mouth was set in a grim line against his face seemed to say that he knew exactly where they were.

“Such poor imagination, Tom,” Harry muttered under his breath, then turned to Draco as if acknowledging his presence for the first time. “This is where Voldemort came to as a child to torture the other kids in his Muggle orphanage. Below this cliff is the entrance to a cave in which Dumbledore and I searched for a piece of Voldemort’s soul hidden inside an object the night he died, but it had already been taken by someone else. There were six pieces of his soul hidden inside various objects, making his own broken soul inside his body a seventh piece. Ron, Hermione, and I have been searching for these pieces, and we’ve managed to destroy all of them except for his snake and himself. Once all of the pieces are destroyed, he will be mortal, and he can be killed.”

Attempting to absorb this information, Draco’s face gradually took on an expression of complete disbelief.

“So that’s why that snake seemed to be his third arm,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Yes, and it looks as though he’s led us into a trap,” Harry mused as he peeked again over the edge of the cliff.

Thinking fast, Draco realized something. “He led you into a trap. He won’t be expecting me.”

Before Harry could voice his protest, Draco bolted for the opposite end of the cliff, out of sight through the thick mist. Not a moment too soon, for Draco heard the loud crack of Apparition as someone joined them. He could see the dark shape of a black cloak suddenly appear between him and where he knew Harry to be. Now was his chance.

“The great Harry Potter,” a cold, familiar voice spoke. “Suddenly without the old fool to protect you. But no matter, you will soon have a chance to thank him for leaving you with nothing to help you.”

“I’d hardly call the means to defeat you as nothing,” Harry replied calmly, or at least his voice sounded calm. “Such a shame to destroy such valuable artifacts. Helga Hufflepuff’s cup? Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem? Salazar Slytherin’s locket? So obvious, Tom, as if you were leaving a trail of breadcrumbs.”

“Enough! That filthy Muggle name shall never leave your lips again!” Voldemort cried in a tone as close to panic as he seemed capable of producing. “Goodbye, Harry Potter.”

As Draco listened with his eyes closed to Voldemort’s cruel voice ringing throughout the cliff top as if amplified, he allowed his intense feeling of hatred and revulsion for the snake-faced monster to fill him to the upmost brim. He remembered his mother, every detail of her beautiful face as Voldemort’s killing curse sucked the life out of the eyes that were so like his. He remembered how scared she was, but her fear was let go during that short moment they had shared, and he could see how much she really loved him, her son. His every nerve became saturated in fury that he would never experience his mother’s love again, and he was soon trembling from head to toe. His eyes still closed, he allowed his wand to come up and point in the direction of the source of his agony, the source of so much pain and death for thousands of wizards and witches weaker than him, unable to defend themselves.

Upon Voldemort’s last words, Draco’s eyes snapped open.

“Avada Kedavra!”

A burst of dazzling green light flew from the tip of his wand for the first time and sailed straight into the black cloaked back, which then arched as if struck with a solid object. Draco ran forward to join Harry.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The black cloaked figure recoiled in the opposite direction, having been hit from the front by Harry’s spell. The two young adults now stood side-by-side, and Draco had the chance to see into Voldemort’s face. Their blows were causing him some pain, but hadn’t killed him. Harry and Draco looked at each other and nodded, then looked back at Voldemort.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!”

The two of them cried out the curse in unison, and the sheer force of their combined hatred seemed to shake the ground. The two jets of green light met each other halfway towards their target, and then balled up together. As the luminous orb met Voldemort’s chest, his body was suddenly lifted into the air. With a sonic boom that forced the two boys to duck and cover their ears, the ground began to shake violently. The body then fell back to the ground with a thud, and large cracks in the frozen grass began to snake from beneath it.

“Come on!” Draco roared as the edge of the cliff began to collapse beneath their feet.

He managed to use several large pieces of ground to find enough footing to more solid earth, but Harry was behind him, and not so lucky.

“Malfoy!” he yelled, and Draco turned.

Grabbing wildly at the pieces of earth crumbling in his hands, Harry was slipping downward out of sight. Voldemort’s body had long since tumbled over the edge to meet the tips of the rocks protruding through the misty spray. Throwing himself onto his stomach, Draco threw out his hand to catch Harry’s just before the rest of the disintegrating earth fell away; Harry was now dangling over the newly eroded edge of the cliff.

Just then, a strange black smoke arose from the crashing waves below. There was no fire, there was only sea water beneath Harry’s hanging feet, and this smoke seemed to be one entity, holding itself together as a mass and travelling in a certain direction. Draco stared at it in sudden fright, forgetting for a moment that a person depended on him for their life.

“Oi! Hoist me up!” Harry yelled, unable to see the smoke behind him.

Draco continued to ogle the thing as he struggled to pull up, but Harry had little footing and relied almost entirely on Draco’s strength.

“Uh, uh–” he stuttered as the smoke made a sudden bee-line for them, and Harry twisted around to find the source of Draco’s hesitation.

As soon as Harry had the smoke in sight, he let out a shriek of pain; the black entity had begun to enter his head through his scar. Draco could feel a horrible chill reach him through their linked hands, and felt the sudden impulse to let go, but he held on tighter than ever.

“NOOO!!!” Harry screamed.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tom Riddle wasn’t dead; his body was merely ruined. His dear Nagini seemingly destroyed, though he didn’t know how, he had only one last tether to life, and it was this boy. Somehow, that fateful night at Godric’s Hollow, a piece of his soul had torn off and been placed into a baby. How could he not know that this had happened? But it was all for the better. He could not be forced to move on as long as this boy’s heart still beats, and he would take the body for himself. He would recover, and become more powerful than ever. And what irony, to use this vessel that was meant to destroy him as his new keeper. The boy’s mind was weak; he would be able to crush it before he became consumed in filthy weaknesses he couldn’t withstand, the emotions that had forced him out before. He must be able to, or shall be forced to wander the earth as only one fourth of a complete soul with no means of recreating his body.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry could feel Tom’s presence overtaking his mind. The evil, maniacal laughter that was echoing around his head was sickening, but becoming familiar. As the smoke continued to enter his body, he felt a longing in his heart for it to join him, for it to become a part of him. No! If Tom grew powerful inside of him, he could overthrow his mind and take over his body completely. Think happy thoughts, think loving thoughts. Tom can’t stand love.

Who was that man I used to know, he rode on a Hippogriff, he was in prison, but I think he died. My friends! I can’t remember their faces. There’s a girl that likes to read. I remember the one that makes jokes all the time, but what’s his name? I remember… red hair… and chocolate brown eyes.

And then a face forced itself through the haze in his mind, the beautiful face of the girl he loved. Ginevra Molly Weasley. Her name was so clear to him now; he couldn’t imagine himself ever forgetting it. He realized he would never see her again, and his heart began to ache. Her face was already growing fuzzy; Tom was taking her away from him. Harry knew what he had to do.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Potter, snap out of it! Harry!” Draco screamed the name in hopes that Harry would wake up.

After the smoke had forced its way into Harry’s head, both of his eyes had turned entirely black and he went completely limp. Draco continued to struggle to pull him up, unable to reach his wand to levitate him unless he let go with one of his hands. With the dead weight he was attempting to hold up, letting go wasn’t an option.

Suddenly Harry’s head jerked up and looked at Draco eerily through the empty, black expanse where there should have been the whites of his eyes and color.

“Neither can live while the other survives,” he whispered.

“Pull yourself up! I can’t do this alone!” Draco yelled, attempting to ignore the strange words.

Harry continued to keep his gaze locked with Draco’s, making him more uncomfortable by the minute though he couldn’t look away. A single tear slid out of one of Harry’s eyes, oddly clear as it escaped the dark depths.

“Take care of her,” Harry said louder, in a strangled voice.

In that moment, time seemed to stop as Draco searched for Harry in the blackness of his eyes, but there was nothing there. If only he could just pull him up, then everything would be okay.

Harry reached down with some difficulty with his dangling hand, as if each movement were forced against an unseen enemy. Grasping his wand, he brought it back up. Draco’s eyes followed this movement with bated breath, hoping he was wrong, that no one could possibly be that selfless. Harry touched the tip of his wand to the hands clasped around his, and emitted red sparks that burned.

“No!” Draco yelled as he was forced to let go, and Harry fell silently as he closed his blackened eyes, disappearing into the sea spray. Bracing himself for the sound of impact, Draco lay silently with his eyes closed, hardly daring to imagine what state he would find The Chosen One in now. The sound of the crashing waves seemed to have engulfed any sound of a body landing against rocks, and he was somewhat thankful for that.

After what felt like hours, he pulled himself up, swiping at a few tears that had escaped unnoticed down his cheeks. Disapparating on the spot, he appeared just outside the gates of Hogwarts, his heart heavy with the news he would have to deliver. He had a fleeting thought of disappearing to somewhere far away, envisioning what could happen when he returned alone, given his history. But then he remembered Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the boy who died to save them all, and he held his head a little higher.

Almost immediately, before he could even summon them, he saw a crowd of figures running towards him. The faces of Hermione, Ron, and McGonagall all came into focus in the fog, as well as another figure he couldn’t see the face of running along behind them. One by one, each of their faces took on a spectrum of expressions from panic to shock at the sight of him.

Once he had gained entry, he nearly collapsed onto the ground from mental exhaustion, but he refused to let his weakness become the center of attention. The crowd gathered around him anxiously for news.

“It’s done; Voldemort’s gone,” he said hollowly, unable to fathom anything better to say.

“Where’s Harry?” Hermione squeaked through the hands held over her mouth, her eyes puffy and her face tear-stained.

Taking a breath to answer, Draco closed his eyes and attempted to force the horrifying images from his mind. The breath caught in his throat, and the painful expression on his face seemed to answer her question.

“NO! HARRY!” Hermione screamed, and Draco opened his eyes to see Ron’s arms wrap around her as she sobbed into his chest.

He caught Ron’s eye and braced himself to meet the loathsome look of blame, but the brown eyes so like his sister’s were swimming in tears, and he allowed them to fall shamelessly for his lost friend. Giving Draco a nod before he buried his face into Hermione’s hair, the two of them cried together.

Feeling a hand slide into his, he turned away from the mourners to look with shock into face of the one person he had been most afraid of never seeing again. One never usually returns to tell the tale after having had Voldemort’s claws dug into them. Ginny’s radiant hair set her face aglow with angelic luminescence, the tracks of tears running down her face sparkling in the wandlight.

“I’m… so-glad… you’re… safe,” she choked out as she reached up to touch his face.

Her voice was music to his ears, her touch intoxicating. He hadn’t realized how very close he had been to never feeling her skin on his again, never hearing the sweet sound of her kind words until this moment. The relief was almost too much to bear.

“I tried, I really tried, but I couldn’t. I never wanted–” he stammered around his broken words, unable to finish a thought as he gazed with a somber release into her eyes.

“Shhh, I know.” She whispered as she took her pointer finger and placed it against his lips. Her hand then came around to rest again against his cheek, and he closed his eyes to savor her warm contact.

“Thank you for helping him.”

Grateful for the lack of demand for an explanation, he pulled her into his arms and allowed her to soak his robes with her tears.

---

---

Six months earlier…


Dumbledore paced the expanse of his study before his Potions master, his typically calming demeanor momentarily at a loss. Black eyes followed the to and fro progressions of the Headmaster, hidden behind an even blacker curtain of greasy hair. Snape let a small breath escape before silently taking in another, his face a stoic mask of disdain that would never to betray the truth. Not that it mattered, Dumbledore knew everything; the one wizard that knew his true motivations.

“The final confrontation is coming, Severus. I can feel it. Young Malfoy becomes more desperate by the day. When that moment comes and his conviction fails him, I must have your word that you will carry out Narcissa’s Unbreakable Vow. I must have your word that you will be the one to kill me.”

Wincing mentally at what was being asked of him, Snape answered with a curl of his lip, “As you wish, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore halted mid-pace to give Snape a pained look, his blue eyes no longer twinkling.

“It is for the best,” he said softly.

The voice that spoke these words sounded tired, and in that short moment in which the Headmaster let his resolve falter, the deep wrinkles and long, white hair that usually reminded one of ancient wisdom merely spoke of profound age. He truly looked like an old man. Snape remained silent. Neither of them wanted this, but both knew it must be done. As quick as the look passed between the two men, Dumbledore’s eyes snapped back to the direction of his pacing.

“Once I am gone, you must always be on the lookout for the signs, Severus. Your part in this is the most crucial. You are the only one that is close enough to notice if he may have found out they have gone missing.”

He had heard it all before, dozens of times. No one could possibly want to follow through with this plan more than he; his chance for redemption was close at hand, his last chance. As Dumbledore’s words blurred into a drone at the front of his mind, he noticed the Headmaster absently rubbing his decaying right hand with his good one, a sure sign that his potion was wearing off.

“Please, sir,” he interrupted Dumbledore’s train of thought, eager to change the subject, “Allow me to brew you another batch of your potion. Without it, you are merely causing yourself unnecessary discomfort as the curse spreads.”

Waving off the gesture with his good hand, the Headmaster circled his desk to sit and rest a moment. Pacing took a lot more out of him than it used to; Snape knew there was little time left for him. At that moment, a searing burn radiated from Snape’s left forearm as if touched with a red-hot iron. The pain was brief, but he grabbed his arm in an attempt to dampen to feeling. A heavy dread stole over him, as it always did when he when he had to continue this charade, the only prize being his continued existence.

Raising his eyebrows expectantly, Dumbledore spoke in a careful voice.

“If he is calling, you must go,” he said simply.

Shooting a look of pure contempt at the Headmaster, Snape’s arm snapped back to his side before he turned on his heel. Fighting the familiar wave of nausea, he used the time it took to exit the castle to mentally prepare.


Present Day…


The first sign came as a general mood shift. The Dark Lord was constantly angrier than usual and could never be pleased. He became paranoid, sending out curses left and right. Unwilling to ask what distressed him, most of his followers attempted to stay clear of his smiting path.

It was the second sign that Dumbledore had warned him of that really took hold of Snape’s attention. Voldemort began to carry Nagini everywhere with him, never letting her out of his sight during the last couple of days. He killed Travers for seemingly no reason at all when the snake slithered up to the Death Eater during a meeting, and Travers allowed his hand to run over its scaly head.

Then Voldemort simply disappeared for the entire day, after which he brought back a souvenir. The Dark Lord never took prisoners, which could only mean he intended to trap someone. So this was how he planned to lure Potter.

Little Ginny Weasley was brought in by the Dark Lord himself, much to the amused and hungry stares of those watching her being roughly thrown at Snape’s feet in the main assembly room. She remained on the floor, motionless and breathing rapidly. Snape spit on her for good measure, and then bowed to acknowledge this gift from its bearer. Voldemort narrowed his red eyes at his right-hand man, his white face stoic.

“Keep careful watch over this filth. And Severus,” Voldemort lifted the snake from around his neck and handed it to Snape, who promptly set it around his own shoulders without hesitation, “do keep her safe. I will not be long.”

Without another word, Voldemort swept back out the way he had come. He had handed Nagini over to Snape for safe keeping, the one indisputable sign that he had discovered the absences of his Horcruxes and intended to kill Potter before any more of them were destroyed.

“Hello, pretty.” Greyback was the first to approach their victim. He crouched next to her, running a long nail harshly across her face. Her breathing quickened audibly as a soft squeak escaped her throat. The werewolf threw back his head and let loose a throaty howl that sounded like laughter, the surrounding Death Eaters joining in as they drew in closer around Greyback, Snape, and Ginny. This was going to be tricky.

“Enough!” Snape snarled, pulling Ginny to her feet with a fistful of her hair. A louder sound of pain left her lips as she reluctantly climbed to her feet, her hands coming up to pull at the fingers tightly wrapped into her red tresses. She kept her eyes tightly shut. “I should hardly think our Lord would want a disgusting animal to ruin my gift.”

“Your gift?” Greyback exclaimed in his raspy voice as he stood up, his rank breath hissing around the yellow teeth he now bared. “She’s hardly just for you!”

Immediately drawing his wand, he sent the werewolf flying backwards, slamming him hard against the wall, a canine yelp emitted through his fangs. Greyback then lay quite still on the floor.

“I’m sorely disappointed,” Snape said gravely as his eyes scanned the crowd. No one else dared to stand up to Voldemort’s most trusted servant, not when the Dark Lord was on such a violent rampage. “I was willing to share some of my oldest mead in celebration.” He shook his fistful of hair to indicate what they would be celebrating, causing Ginny’s body to wobble unsteadily on her feet, and she whimpered.

“Don’t let that thing ruin your fun, Severus!” Avery exclaimed heartily. “Come lads, we’ll drink to your good fortune, now won’t we?”

There was a murmur of agreement, for they all knew it was best not to disagree.

Snape smiled wickedly. He released Ginny from his grip and the girl promptly fell to the floor, tears leaking from beneath her closed eyelids. With a wave of his wand, he summoned a bottle of mead from his private stores. Pouring each of them a small amount into their individually conjured goblets, he visibly poured a generous amount in his own before turning to set the bottle on the nearest table. What the mindlessly trusting Death Eaters couldn’t see with his back turned was the swift way in which he waved his wand over his cup, making every last drop of the dark liquid disappear before turning back around. He raised his goblet high, and then looked down at the girl cowering before him.

“To you, my dear,” he announced sardonically with a sneer, and then pretended to drain his empty goblet.

Twelve more goblets found lips to empty the fatal liquid into, and almost instantaneously, twelve lifeless bodies hit the floor. As Greyback began to stir from unconsciousness, Snape promptly put a stop to his movements.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Ginny’s eyes finally snapped open as the deadly green light crossed her line of vision and the werewolf was struck before he had even begun to stand, put to sleep forever. Snape’s black eyes, so conditioned with malice it was hard to soften them in hopes to calm the terrified child, found Ginny’s and he stooped to help her to her feet. Opening her mouth to let out a scream, she flinched as he quickly moved closer. He clamped a hand over her mouth hastily before any sound escaped, hardly wanting the rest of the house alerted to the disturbance.

“Quiet, Miss Weasley, we’re very short on time!” he snapped in a stern voice more fitting for a Potions professor of a primary Wizarding school.

He pulled her to her feet, and then proceeded to procure from his robes a special blade that he kept on his person for precisely this moment. Ginny watched with wide eyes, shocked into stillness, as he lifted the heavy snake from his shoulders and rested it onto the table. Slithering in protest of being moved from her comfortable perch, Nagini lifted her head high in the air in question. In one swift movement, Snape lopped off her head with the sharp steel laced in Basilisk venom, and a loud scream seemed to escape the stump of her neck before her long body fell looping around itself, the head landing with fangs bared and eyes open atop the mass of scaly coils.

The Weasley girl continued to stare with her mouth agape, running far away apparently the furthest thing from her mind. He took her arm tightly and Apparated them as close to the gates of Hogwarts as possible. Sending his silver doe Patronus running to the castle with news of Ginny’s presence outside the gate, he then Disapparated away without a second look at her.

Now was the time. There was no turning back.

When he was released from the suffocating darkness, his black eyes swept the area.

“Here Severus, here is where he will most likely draw him to. It is where he was most in control as a child; it is where he will tie his earliest memory of power.” Dumbledore’s words from months before guided him on.

Walking slowly towards edge of the cliff, he attempted to make out a few figures in the thick mist. Suddenly, a loud boom was heard, so amplified that he had to cover his ears. He ran towards the source of the noise in time to glimpse Harry falling over the edge of the cliff and Draco attempting to hold him up. Before his eyes, he saw a mass of blackness enter Harry’s body through his forehead.

“Once Nagini is destroyed, the essence of what remains of his soul will be drawn towards the only part of himself left that is trapped inside Harry. You must allow the essence to enter Harry’s body and rejoin that last bit of soul that must also be destroyed. Tom Riddle will not be able to withstand it for long, for I know that Harry’s mind is too deeply concerned for those that he loves. You must wait for him to be forced out.”

And so he waited, watching from a distance as Draco attempted to pull Harry up, afraid that his sudden appearance would startle him so that he would drop the boy inadvertently. He waited anxiously, for it looked as though Harry was going to fall at any moment. Then, with a sudden burst of red sparks, the dangling boy disappeared from view.

Snape Apparated quickly to a particularly large, flat rock below the edge of the cliff, and then whipped his wand around as rapidly as possible.

“Arresto Momentum!” he cried, his eyes stinging in the violent spray of sea water all around him as he kept his sight on the dark haired teenager.

Harry’s body slowed to a less fatal speed, but one of his legs struck a protruding rock at an odd angle, and Snape could faintly hear the crunch of a breaking bone. Levitating the now unconscious boy to his flat rock, he could feel the cold presence emanating from him. Crouching down to mend the broken bone quickly, Snape then revived the boy as the cold waves crashed around them, soaking their clothes to the skin.

The eyes that opened to him were not the brilliant shade of green that had created so much guilt and torment within himself the first time he had laid eyes on the arrogant eleven-year-old. His eyes… her eyes… were gone, covered in an ugly expanse of blackness. The fiend had taken her life so long ago due to Snape’s own stupidity and cowardice, but he would not let him take her son, not when he could still see so much of her through his eyes. It was a pity the boy had so much of his father’s face, but Snape could not bear it if he had to watch Lily Evan’s eyes disappear before his very own.

“Potter! Wake up, Potter!” he yelled as he smacked the boy on the side of his face.

“Severus,” the voice that came from Harry’s mouth was much higher than usual, and created a chill that ran down the length of his spine. “What happened to Nagini?”

“Snape?” a completely different voice, the voice of a scared, young child then followed, the black eyes staring lifelessly upward into nothing. “I can’t get him out. I can’t remember them–”

“You’re a fool, Harry Potter! Give up, there is nothing left for you here,” Harry cut himself off in the higher voice as his eyebrows involuntarily contracted in rage above his empty eyes.

“If Tom is strong enough, he will attempt to block Harry’s memory of his friends. It will be up to you to help him remember, so that Harry might find the strength in his memories to fight.”

“Ronald Weasley!” Snape yelled into Harry’s vacant face. “He has red hair, and a large family. The two of you constantly disregard school rules. Hermione Granger! She’s an insufferable know-it-all and always has her nose in a book. Ginevra Weasley! Mr. Weasley’s younger sister, she is safe and back at the castle–”

“Ron,” Harry responded mechanically in his own voice. “He’s my best mate, always there for me. He loves Hermione, but he pretends he doesn’t. Ginevra…” He trailed off for a moment. “Ginevra… Molly… Weasley. She’s okay, she’s safe. Ginny.” Harry’s eyes closed as a small smile crept across his face. Snape began to panic.

“AAAAGGGHHHH!” Harry screamed so suddenly that Snape nearly fell off the rock, the haunted eyes remaining closed.

Out of his open mouth came a torrent of black smoke, and Snape stood to ready himself for the moment he had been waiting for. As the last of the smoke cleared Harry’s body, Snape struck.

“Everto Anima!” he shouted, the power of his spell encircling the dark mass, encasing it, compressing it smaller and smaller until it was crushed into oblivion. It was done.

Snape heaved a deep sigh of relief as he collapsed onto the rock beside the boy, who had opened his eyes again. They were back to his mother’s shade of emerald green, but Snape refused to let the elation filling his chest to be seen on his sallow face. Harry sat up slowly, eyeing him with apprehension.

“You couldn’t have known everything you needed to know to destroy him without Dumbledore’s help, could you?” he asked loudly over the waves crashing noisily around them.

Snape looked away, wiping the dripping water from his face with one large hand.

“And you couldn’t have stayed alive this long with the Death Eaters unless you had really proven yourself,” Harry mused to himself, since Snape felt no need to answer as long correct observations were made.

“He wasn’t begging for his life, was he? He was begging for you to kill him.”

“Dumbledore was dying,” Snape finally spoke up at this blunt remark, his features tight and his eyebrows contracted in discomfort. “He insisted that I kill him, said he wanted to make his death useful for me.” His chest felt tense; it was awkward talking about these things aloud after all this time, especially with the seventeen-year-old that he had despised for so long, that he had been appointed to protect by the remorse in his black heart.

“Is he gone… from me?” Harry asked tentatively, putting a hand on his own chest.

“Try speaking Parseltongue,” Snape suggested impatiently; it was rather obvious.

After making a few hissing noises, Harry allowed a large, relieved grin to spread across his face.

“I can’t do it! He’s really gone!”

Snape climbed to his feet, trying not to slip on the wet rock. “Can you Apparate?”

“Yea, I’ve had some practice,” Harry announced smugly.

Snape wrinkled his nose in annoyance at the comment. “Then good luck to you.”

The two figures on the rock disappeared from sight, and the waves continued to thrash about, oblivious at having witnessed a scene that would be marked in Wizarding history books for hundreds of years to come.

---

---

Once Snape released his rigid grip on her arm, Ginny found it hard to stand, her vision clouding and her head wobbling on her shoulders from the utter dizziness of how fast everything had changed; she was having trouble keeping up. He sent his Patronus galloping elegantly through the gates towards the castle, and as her eyes followed its peculiar shape into the dense fog, she jumped at the loud crack of Disapparation just behind her. Snape had left her alone. Snape, the one that had been undercover for Voldemort all this time, the one that Harry saw kill Professor Dumbledore with his own eyes. Snape had saved her, and killed thirteen Death Eaters and Voldemort’s pet snake in one fatal blow.

‘Quiet, Miss Weasley, we’re very short on time!’

His words echoed in her ears, confusing her. Had he had a plan all along? Had he been biding his time, cursed to live amongst murderers? What had he had to do in order to keep his cover, how many people had he had to torture, to kill? Hopefully just the one, she shuddered in remembrance.

Her eyes attempted to focus as several lit wands began bobbing eerily in the gloom, growing brighter as their conjurers came into view. Her relief to see familiar faces was mirrored tenfold in the faces of her brother, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall as they hurried to allow her access.

“Ginny!” Ron pulled her into his long arms with little effort, practically dragging her toes along the ground. He was so tall now that her face rested against the middle of his chest as her arms wrapped around his lanky figure. Hermione threw her arms enthusiastically around the two of them. Once they had decided that she was solid and unharmed, they released her from their grip and Ron pulled back to examine his sister’s face.

“Oh good, now Mum won’t have to murder me after all.”

Letting out a hollow giggle, she couldn’t bring herself to smile. The effort in stretching her lips across her face in an expression of joy was too painful once she realized that there were two faces missing that she desperately needed to see.

“Where’s Harry? Where’s Drac–” she cut herself off, suddenly aware that she hadn’t told any of the trio the name of her newfound love.

“Drake?” Ron scoffed, taking a step back, his facial expression the epitome of revulsion. “Is that your new nickname for the ferret?”

“Harry figured out it was him,” she breathed, an observation that hardly needed verification.

“We ran into Malfoy right after Harry got back from meeting with you,” Hermione spoke up, and Ginny tensed as she realized that Harry must have been furious to have seen him here, his broken heart only fueling his rage. “Malfoy kind of told us himself.”

She looked up into the older girl’s face, expecting some kind of admonition. Instead, what met her gaze was hesitant acceptance as Hermione gave her a slight smile.

“He seems so different, still kind of a prat, but different. He… he really seems to love you,” she rounded the words of the last statement reluctantly, much to the incredulous look of disbelief developing on Ron’s face.

As he opened his mouth to counter the remark, McGonagall cleared her throat.

“I am very glad that you’ve returned to us safely, Miss Weasley,” she spoke in a tight voice, her eyes glancing skyward every so often and her eyebrows seemingly permanently drawn together in worry, “but I believe it would be more advisable to finish this reunion safely inside.”

The three of them nodded, and proceeded to begin the hike up to the castle, following the Headmistress’s lead. After walking silently side-by-side for a moment, Ron was the first to speak.

“You-Know-Who left a Portkey for Harry to take if he wanted you to live. Malfoy kind of was hanging on to Harry when he grabbed it,” he said sullenly with his eyes kept on the ground.

Ginny’s mind had started to cloud over again as these words processed themselves into her brain, and her throat suddenly tightened to an excruciating degree. Her next breath was labored, and she gasped as she clutched her aching chest. It took all of her effort to keep her feet moving and not collapse right there. Looking for a distraction, she glanced to her left and saw Hermione also watching the ground as they walked, tears leaking silently down her face. The lump in Ginny’s throat would make her words sound strangled, but she had to ask questions; learning about the impending doom of two of the most important men in her life might be easier than dwelling in her brooding thoughts on what could be happening right now, or what may have already happened.

“Does anyone know where the Portkey took them?” she choked out as a few hot tears teetered over the edge and splashed down her cheek. She wiped them away angrily.

Their uncomfortable silence answered her question.

“How did you get back here?” Hermione abruptly changed the subject, looking over at her with her eyebrows contracted as if the thought had just occurred to her. “None of us could figure out whose Patronus had come to give us the message that you were here.”

“Um…” Would they believe her? “Snape, actually.” She saw Ron recoil violently in the corner of her eye and plowed on before she could be interrupted, the words flowing more easily now that the focus had changed to a new topic. “Once I was brought in, You-Know-Who handed him his snake, and then left me there. Then Snape tricked all the Death Eaters in the room into drinking this poisonous mead, and then killed Greyback with the killing curse. Then he sliced off the snake’s head–”

At these words, Hermione sharply inhaled as Ron’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. They had stopped walking.

“Was there anything special about the blade he used?” Ron’s voice cracked in his effort to keep it steady.

Ginny thought about it. “I don’t know, but I thought that it was really weird when the snake’s dead body seemed to scream before it fell.”

At this, a bizarre shriek escaped Hermione’s mouth as her face lit up with a huge grin. She then threw herself at Ron, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “He was in on it all along! The last one!” she cried, calling McGonagall’s attention to their absence fifty yards behind her.

“Blimey,” Ron sighed, smiling into her bushy hair. “I reckon Harry and Malfoy might have a fighting chance after all.”

Feeling very outside the loop, Ginny started to get frustrated. Seeming to notice the mounting annoyance on his sister’s face, Ron pulled Hermione’s arms away from his neck, his eyes bright above the deep, purple circles beneath them. The smile that painted his face looked unnatural, as if he were out of practice.

“I’m sorry Ginny, but I’m not sure if we’re supposed to tell you about this. Just know that this is very good news. Where’s Snape now?” Ron shifted the spotlight from his lack of information in an attempt to ease her with his cryptic words.

Ginny let out a loud and exasperated breath through her nose, pressing her lips together in aggravation at his dodge. “He just told me that we had very little time. Then he killed the snake and took me here; he Disapparated before I could ask him anything.”

“Do you think Snape’s gone to help them?” Hermione cried excitedly.

“What about Severus Snape?” McGonagall’s curt voice suddenly cut in sharply as she had finally backtracked to their huddle to see what the whooping was about. The light of her wand shifted to each of their faces in an attempt to absorb and interpret their sudden mood shift.

“Professor!” Ron’s face became even more animated as his excitement shone through. “Snape’s a double-double agent! He’s really been on our side all along! He’s just gone to help Harry and Malfoy!”

McGonagall’s stunned features and lack of speech revealed that she had not been included on any such plan involving Snape, but before she could speak, a crack was heard back at the gates. The four of them exchanged surprised looks. All at once, they began running back to the entrance, the Headmistress pulling ahead of them, surprisingly springy for her advanced age.

“It’s Malfoy!” Ginny heard Ron yell, and her heart leapt to her throat, though she couldn’t yet see him from behind the other three bodies in front of her.

She tried to shake the fog from her mind, creating a numbness to block out the horror of all she had witnessed that night. The haze made everything dream-like, as if she could wake up at any moment. As they drew closer, she was able to glimpse a peak between Ron and Hermione’s shoulders, but she was hardly ready to believe her eyes in her state of mind. Watching Draco stumble through the gate McGonagall enchanted to open for him, Ginny realized that he was alone and looked about ready to collapse. His stormy eyes were blank, void of any of the intricate layers of frosty grey she had come to love, his pale hair was thick with dirt and his face was streaked with grime. She thought she even saw tear-tracks through the filth down his cheeks.

“It’s done; Voldemort’s gone,” he said flatly, his voice reflecting the emptiness of his eyes.

“Where’s Harry?” Hermione’s soft voice shook and Ginny looked over to see fresh tears streaming down the girl’s face, her hands covering her mouth, bracing for the impact.

Watching his face carefully once the question had been asked, she saw the torture of what must have happened cross his features. He kept his eyes closed, his eyebrows contracted in what looked like physical pain as he took a deep, ragged breath. Unable to answer, his silence did the job for him. The clouds were rolling into her mind once again, numbing her, and she swayed on the spot.

“NO! HARRY!” Hermione screamed at the top of her lungs, and Ginny could only hope that Harry could hear her, that he would come to her call.

The hysterical sobs now coming muffled from Ron’s chest as he pulled Hermione into his embrace triggered the growing lump in Ginny’s throat, and her own tears began to spill freely down her face as a loud whimper escaped her mouth. She saw McGonagall standing outside the group, her expression of deep sadness betraying her years. Then she looked to Draco, who looked lost as he watched Ron and Hermione comfort each other. She walked up to him unnoticed, sliding her hand into his. He tore his gaze away from the pair and looked upon her with astonishment, his words seemingly stuck in his throat as he stared at her in awe. The emptiness in his eyes that had scared her a moment ago seemed to fill at the sight of her, and a flood of emotion swelled within the rings of silver.

“I’m… so-glad… you’re… safe,” she choked out as she reached up to touch his face, gazing into his tormented eyes. The foggy grey orbs searched hers for some kind of relief, as if the memories stored behind them were too much to bear.

“I tried, I really tried, but I couldn’t. I never wanted–” He struggled to finish a complete thought, and she could hear the struggle to keep them from cracking.

“Shhh, I know,” she whispered, knowing her own words would shake again if her voice rose any more in volume. She took her pointer finger and placed it against his cold lips to silence his pitiful and unnecessary defense, then shifted her hand to again cup the side of his face; his eyes closed at her touch. Her heart then throbbed painfully, each beat banging hard against her chest as she realized that he had been with Harry during his last moments. She knew with certainty from the bottom of her soul that he would have done everything in his power to try and save him; the Draco Malfoy she loved would never have left Harry Potter to die, no matter how great the rivalry.

“Thank you for helping him,” she whispered.

He then pulled her tightly into his arms, protectively stroking her tangled mass of hair as her tears continued to flow, his chin resting against the side of her head.

There were no words that could describe the surmounting remorse that built in her chest. Her last words to Harry had ruined his world. If she had only known– maybe she could have just pretended for those last few moments that they had together. She could have told him that she was being silly, that he was the one she truly wanted. If this horrible end had always been his fate, decided for him before he was even born, then what difference would it have made if he had left them with the peace of thinking she was his? Fate was cruel.

Her thoughts as well as her cries, softened by the comfortingly familiar smelling fabric of Draco’s robes, drowned out all other sound, and it wasn’t until she heard Hermione screaming once again that she was torn from her mental self-destruction. The shrill noise wasn’t the same hopeless sound that the girl had emitted minutes before, so full of despair that Dementors from hundreds of miles around had surely felt a surge of hunger, but an enthusiastic replication of happiness. It couldn’t have been actual glee; Ginny could hardly believe that there were any such feelings left in the world. Before she had pulled away to seek out the source of the disturbance to their bereavement, she felt the hum of Draco’s chest against her cheek as he spoke.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

His words were just above a whisper, so full of astonishment that she pulled back just enough to glance up into his face. What was left of the flush in his cheeks had disappeared, making them void of all color, and his eyes were wide as if he were staring at a ghost. Draco’s arms dropped away as she finally turned to see for herself, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves and try and clear out the haze readying to numb her to whatever horror was coming next.

Through the mist, the ghost stepped into their field of vision. Surely a ghost, though the earth-bound entities weren’t usually so solid, so colorful, so– alive.

“Harry,” Ginny breathed, and she felt Draco stiffen behind her.

Though all eyes were on him, he only had eyes for her. Even as Hermione ran forward to fling her arms around his neck, he held Ginny’s gaze, his lips pressed into a tight line of restraint as he stared at her from just a few feet away. She became conscious of the strong hands that had snuck up and wrapped around each of her shoulders, and seemed to notice them at the same time as Harry. His emerald eyes glanced momentarily away from hers to take in the protective stance of the man behind her, the man that had tried to save his life. She saw the conflict, his eyebrows contracting in subtle devastation as her hurtful words that spoke of someone else were confirmed, and she wanted nothing more than to go to him, to ease the suffering she had caused.

Her feet started forward, but her movement was hindered by Draco’s tightened grip. As she glanced back at him, he seemed to realize that he was holding her back, and quickly dropped his hands. The look that he gave her then held so much disappointment that she paused.

“You still love him,” he stated, his voice back to the deflated tone it held when he had first arrived back at the castle.

“Yes,” she confirmed, and his eyes narrowed as they searched hers. She gave him a small smile. “Not like I love you.” She brought up her hand to again rest it against his cheek, his eyes closing in hesitant relief. One of his hands came up to hold hers in place, and he turned his head to kiss her palm softly before she withdrew and turned away.

As she approached the trio, the very air began to radiate tension electrified by Harry’s staring, his eyes intensified by the display of affection. The thought that Draco had kissed her hand to mark his territory crossed her mind. Hermione and Ron edged away, Hermione catching Draco’s arm to steer him back towards the castle. His lip curled instinctively at the Muggle-born witch’s arm pulling on his, but he said nothing and allowed her to drag him along.

“They just need a moment, Professor,” she muttered softly to get McGonagall to head back with them. “We’ll expect you in five minutes, Harry,” she called.

The slightest of nods was given in their general direction, though Harry’s eyes never left Ginny’s. Her heart began to beat faster, her hands clammy. Was he angry? Was he crushed? Would he try and kiss her again? She found herself unable to decipher the blazing passion in his eyes, the determination in his face, and she became more nervous with each silent second. She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“I– we thought you were dead. Draco seemed to have seen you die,” she whispered.

He stiffened at the sound of the name, and she flinched.

“He tried to save me from dying, but he stole my life all the same.” He finally spoke, and the hardness in his voice made him seem ten years older, forced to grow up through unspeakable terms.

She bit her lower lip, hardly knowing what to say to that.

“We just talked about this, Harry.” She finally broke eye contact, unable to bask in the green spotlight he cast upon her any longer; she looked at the ground instead.

There was silence for a moment.

“You were actually the one that saved my life,” he said, his voice softening to a more recognizable tone, that of the seventeen-year-old boy she loved.

Her eyes flew up to meet his.

“Me? What did I do? I was off being kidnapped,” she almost snapped. Why did that remark make her feel so riled?

He smiled, which fueled her anger further.

“He was inside my head again, like at the Ministry,” he started.

The memory of sharing with each other what it had been like to be possessed by Tom Riddle came to mind. They had just started dating, and were telling each other secrets, experiences they had never told anyone else. Her first year at Hogwarts had been a nightmare, but Harry had understood. He had been the one to save her then. She could never remember what it was like to have Tom inside her head; she had always blacked out, waking up somewhere else with no memory of what had happened. Harry, on the other hand, remembered every excruciating detail. He had tried to describe to her what it felt like to share his mind with so much evil, to have wanted to give in. He had looked so ashamed.

“He remembered how he was forced out last time, and he tried to block my memories. He almost won, Ginny.” He whispered her name in that same shameful tone she remembered.

“But once I remembered you, he started to suffer. I could feel it in my heart; I could feel him writhing in his pain, our pain. He lost his focus, and then he couldn’t touch my memory of you. It hurt so much to think of you, but I could feel him tearing away. He couldn’t stand it.” Pausing a moment, he took a step forward and took her hands in his. “So, you saved me,” he said simply, shrugging his shoulders as if it were obvious.

She eyed him warily, her hands rigid in his.

“We’ll call it even,” she said slowly.

He shook his head, a light smile playing on his lips. “I owe you my life.”

“You owe me nothing. You saved me, I saved you. We’re square.” She pulled her hands out of his grip, her head spinning.

His eyes were hard again. “I won’t give up on you, Ginny. My love for you saved the world; don’t you see what that means? We belong together.”

“Don’t I get a say in what I want?” Her voice began to rise in pitch.

He paused, struggling with something. “I can’t force you to be with me. I’ll just have to wait for you to realize that you love me more. You may think he’s changed now, but he comes from bad blood. When you finally see his true colors, I’ll be waiting, ready to pick up the pieces.” Now he almost sounded smug.

“How can you say that?” she cried, “He’s done so much good! He saved my life! He’s nothing like his father. I… I see myself marrying him someday.”

Harry’s face fell, all smugness wiped away. “How can you know that? You’re only sixteen!”

“I feel it in my heart, I know that we’re meant for each other,” she said softly, a sting developing in the corners of her eyes at having to admit this feeling to him of all people.

“I see.” His eyes darkened to a deep jade. “Well, if you want to associate yourself with a traitorous name like Malfoy, I can hardly stop you.”

The stab cut deep into her heart, and she felt like she was gaping in offense at a stranger. How could someone like Harry Potter be so deeply rooted into his prejudice? And then she knew that it had nothing to do with the Malfoy family and all of their dark deeds, it was merely the fact that Draco had won, and Harry had lost. The intense desire to win had been implanted in him since birth, awakened by the knowledge of the successes and popularity of his own father. He had rarely ever lost, even against the darkest wizard ever known. The loss of his heart had truly crippled his ego, and against Draco Malfoy nonetheless, salt to the wound.

“I know you don’t believe that. I know that you can see the good in people.”

He shook his head again, seeming to close his ears to her words. “He’s bad for you, Ginny. I can feel it. He’ll break your heart.”

“He would never do that,” she growled fiercely, her eyes blazing.

“How do you know?”

“Please, just try.”

He gave her an exasperated look before checking his watch. “Damn, it’s been fifteen minutes. We’d better head back.”

Holding back tears of defeat, she nodded, suddenly feeling as if he was giving up on her. She should want him to give up on her; she shouldn’t feel this sudden surge of anxiety as he turned away.

“Harry, wait,” she whispered softly.

He stopped, but didn’t turn. The tears would not win this time, and she continued to blink them back, forcing the urge to let go deep within her gut. She stepped closer to him until she was directly behind him, and then hesitantly reached out to wrap her hands around his shoulders, resting her cheek against his back. He was soaked to the skin, and smelled of sea salt. Small pieces of ice that had frozen to his robes crumbled and melted beneath her touch, and she pressed her body to his with a fleeting desire to warm him.

“I can’t believe you did it. I’m so proud of you. I’m so happy that you made it back to us,” she mumbled against the wet fabric of his cloak.

She could feel his body expand as he filled his lungs with air, and then deflate as he let it escape with a deep sigh. The muscles in his back tightened and moved as he allowed his head to hang, then reached around with his left hand to grab her right, placing his firmly over hers and holding it in place on his shoulder.

“I love you, Ginny.” She could feel the rumble of his quiet words against her cheek as he spoke them.

“I love you too, Harry,” she responded automatically, knowing that it wasn’t a feeling she had to think about.

His left hand then lifted her right hand off of his shoulder and over his head, bringing her arm around so that they now stood side-by-side, hand-in-hand.

“But not enough,” he sighed, then set his legs in motion towards the castle, pulling her forward as well.

Her hand felt awkward in his. Certain curves and crevices were in the wrong places, there were calluses that she wasn’t used to, and his skin was rough; she realized whose hand she was comparing his to.

“Tell me everything that happened,” he started after a moment of silence, hardly a command but more of a plea.

As they walked back, she recounted her tale, and then prompted for his. When they were within view of the castle, she tugged her hand back, and he didn’t resist. Glancing sideways, she saw the hurt in his eyes as he stared at the ground. This wouldn’t be easy for a long time.

Once they’d pushed their way through the front doors, a deafening and enthusiastic cheer met their ears, chorused by the mass of students assembled in the hall. Hands grabbed the pair and pulled them into the celebrators’ throng. The air pulsed with relief and happiness until both Harry and Ginny were grinning from ear to ear. Now that their own miserable disposition was beaten and drowned by the pure elation radiating from each smiling face presented to them, they were able to realize the amazing truth of that day: Voldemort was finished.

---

---

“Oi, ferret!”

Merlin, what more shite could they possibly have up their sleeves? Draco rolled his eyes warily as he turned to face his caller.

Behind him he found Fred Weasley with his hand turned palm up in front of his freckled face as if presenting something, sporting a smirk and an evil glint in his eye. Draco realized a moment too late that there was a pile of fine yellow powder in the middle of the redhead’s hand. Fred took a deep breath and blew a cloud of dust right into Draco’s face. Closing his eyes on instinct, Draco sputtered and coughed after having inhaled quite a bit of the powder, but when he tried opening his eyes again, he found his lids were glued shut. Great.

“Sodding wanker!” Draco shouted as his fingers came up to attempt to pry his eyelids open again.

Howling laughter came from the twin in front of him, echoed by his counterpart from somewhere behind Draco.

“Excellent,” Fred quieted his laughter long enough to make a mock-pompous observation, “the Lid-Patch Dust is ready for the market!”

“Don’t you fret, Malfoy!” George chimed in cheerily. “There’s a simple charm that will sort that little problem out for you!”

Giving up on manually opening his eyes, Draco let out an irritated sigh. “And you won’t be telling me what that is.”

The laughter started up again, but died instantly a moment later.

“FREDRICK ALBERT AND GEORGE PHILIP!” the commanding female voice of Mrs. Weasley boomed from a few meters away.

“Got to go, mate. Enjoy!” Fred whispered before Draco heard the pair of them scamper off, snickering loudly.

“Draco dear. I’m so sorry about them.” Her call was more soothing and motherly as she approached.

Feeling like a five year old being picked on by his big brothers, he did all he could do at the moment and stood there waiting to be rescued. He would never tell anyone, but being the unwilling guinea pig for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes whenever he happened to drop by the Burrow made him feel more at home than one would think. Being picked on was better than being ignored, was better than being hated – was better than being alone. He had annoying older brothers; he had a family.

“Descohesum.”

Upon the counter-spell meeting his eyes, his lids peeled apart to find a warm and vibrantly full face in front of him surrounded in a halo of frizzy red hair.

“Thanks, Mrs. Weasley,” he muttered through a shameful smirk. “You’d think I could better look out for myself by now.”

“Molly, dear,” she scolded lightly with a wide smile across her face, her eyes twinkling. “I’ve told you before, you are of age. There is no more need for the formalities. Call me Molly.”

“Right – er, Molly,” he mumbled awkwardly as they walked back to the teetering house that looked as if it could fall to one side at any moment.

Taking a look at the shabby residence, he could remember when he thought of himself as so very superior due to his Pureblood lineage, worthy of the most expensive of everything. His wardrobe was always top of the line, his food made from the highest quality ingredients. His toys were hardly bought to play with, but to revere for their value. Money had bought him every earthly possession he ever wanted, and the thought of having so much of it repulsed him now. The sight of the friendly dwelling now reminded him of family rather than lack of Galleons.

Dipping occasionally into his inheritance for necessities, he only bought what he needed. A flat in the city near the Ministry for himself, and maybe for Ginny as well once she had finished her final year at Hogwarts. He wore moderately priced clothing, nothing flashy or unnecessary, but just nice enough for work. He bought his food from the Muggle grocer down the street, and had taken very well to cooking for himself. His elves still resided at Malfoy Manor, and when he gave them permission to keep the Manor in top shape, their large eyes filled with tears at the honor.

That had been the one time he had visited his father’s house since last June, over a year ago. Once thinking of selling it, he immediately thought better. He would return one day to show his children where generations of their heritage had come from, to teach them about their family history, the good and the very bad. They would learn their part in the fall of Tom Riddle so that when they cross the path of a person cruel enough to punish them for their name, they’ll at least know why. Maybe they’ll choose to live in the Manor one day, unburdened by dark memories, and begin a new history filled with love and laughter.

As he was led through the back door to the kitchen, Draco remembered why he had retreated earlier in the first place. Harry still sat at the huge kitchen table alone, looking bored as he supervised several large knives chopping away at different vegetables. It had been he, Ron, Hermione, and Harry sitting around the table before, but Ron had about chopped his finger off when Hermione had decided to brush his cheek with the back of her hand. After a sickening display of gooey eyes, they made a thin excuse about checking on the arrangements of the party decorations in the front yard, and then hastily exited out the back. Then it was just him and Harry, the latter no longer wearing his ‘I’m just fine’ face and taking to ignoring Draco. That was when the tension had become unbearable and Draco escaped out the back door as well in hopes of finding the birthday girl. No such luck.

“Where is your help?” Mrs. Weasley questioned Harry, and he seemed to snap out of his thoughts, his eyes un-glazing as they focused on her.

“Dunno,” he replied, and then turned back to his chopping.

“Well,” she started tersely, now apparently on a mission to seek them out, “here you go then.”

Plopping Draco back down into his chair, she gestured towards the work to be done, and then exited back out the door with a huff.

“Looks like you can’t escape this time,” Harry mumbled, his eyes on his knives.

“Guess not,” Draco replied, examining the scrubbed wood of the table. “I wouldn’t cross that woman if I knew what was good for me.”

Harry harrumphed, and Draco stole a sideways glance. A slight smirk brought Harry’s mouth up on one side. With the subtle break in tension, Draco then bewitched a few more knives to start chopping. There were several minutes of silence.

“I was thinking about something you said awhile back,” Harry spoke up. “You said that you weren’t sure how you escaped the night Dumbledore died. You seemed sure you should have been killed at your Manor.”

Draco stiffened, his knives freezing in midair. Why would Harry ever bring that up? Was he still that bitter?

“I want to tell you something about myself that might help you out with that.”

Harry put his wand down and allowed his knives to lie flat. Turning in his seat, he looked Draco in the eye for the first time in months. Setting his own wand down, Draco’s knives also settled onto the table. The fair-haired wizard’s mouth was a tight line, his eyes cautious. Attempting to mentally calm the steadily increasing beat of his heart, he readied himself. Harry took a deep breath, seeming to collect himself before he began to speak.

“The night Voldemort attacked my parents, he was dead set on killing me because of the prophesy made that I would one day defeat him. My dad was killed first trying to give my mum time to run. But then Voldemort cornered her with me in her arms. He told her to step aside, that I was the only one that needed to die. She loved me so much that she refused, so he killed her. Now it was just me and him, but he didn’t know that I was now protected by something so powerful, he couldn’t touch me. His killing curse rebounded onto himself, and he only survived because of the pieces of soul he had hidden in objects outside of his body.

“The love she showed by sacrificing herself was now running through my veins, protecting me as long as I wasn’t of age and I could call my house home. It continued to protect me when I lived at my aunt’s house because she shared a direct blood relation with my mum, her sister. The moment I turned seventeen, it was done.”

The disgust building in Draco’s stomach was slowly melting to realization as he began to understand why Harry was telling him these horrible things about his past. He tried hard to remember the date of the night his mother died. Two days before his seventeenth birthday.

“Your mother did the same for you. You weren’t of age, and you could still call the Manor your home. He recognized it this time, and he didn’t try to stop you for fear of what happened at Godric’s Hollow happening again. He couldn’t touch you until you left your house for good.”

Draco’s head was now reeling. How could anyone be that lucky? Two days later and none of this would have happened; he would be dead. He would never have met Ginny. He would never have helped Harry defeat Voldemort. How much of a difference had he really made to the outcome of the war? Could it all have been done without him? Would Ginny still be with Harry now? Did Harry wish it had been two days later? Draco felt a stab of irrational jealousy before realizing that Harry Potter wasn’t that spiteful, just heartbroken.

This development brought about a new awareness: Their love for the same girl, orphaned, scarred by Voldemort’s reign, protected by the sacrifice of their mothers – it was uncanny how much they had in common due to circumstance. If they hadn’t been raised enemies, they might have been good friends. Draco suddenly remembered the time when they were two eleven-year-old boys, fresh off the Hogwarts Express, and he had extended an invitation of friendship to The Boy Who Lived. His father would have been so proud of his son, obtaining the fame of The Chosen One for their side.

“I guess Lady Luck took pity on us bloody saps,” Draco muttered as he dropped Harry’s intense stare, absently rubbing the bumpy scar beneath the sleeve of his shirt. He could feel that Harry’s eyes had not dropped.

“You know I’ll be waiting for you to botch it up. I’ll be waiting for her to come crying to me when you’ve broken her heart.”

The severity of Harry’s words, heavily weighted in warning, got Draco’s full attention and his icy grey orbs locked onto the emerald green.

“Trust me,” Draco growled through gritted teeth. “I’m the last one you have to worry about.”

Harry sneered. “Don’t try to deny it. We both know you’ll always be a Malfoy through and through. Take care of you and yours, that’s your family motto, right? Malfoy?”

The malice in Harry’s words was overdone, too cruel to fit. He was putting on the strong face again, and Draco wasn’t taking the bait.

“Are you always going to love her?” Draco asked quietly, still keeping his eyes locked with Harry’s.

“As long as her name is Ginevra Weasley,” Harry responded without missing a beat.

As the surname left his lips, Harry seemed to realize in that moment, evident by the devastation in his face as he broke eye contact to stare at his hands, that there was a situation in which that stipulation would most certainly become compromised. A public declaration of love, an exchange of a timeless symbol representing everlasting commitment, and the name Ginevra Weasley would be lost forever. The notion had crossed Draco’s mind more than once lately, and he had begun to long for it. The idea had also plagued Harry’s thoughts, ever since Ginny herself had brought up the subject to him mere minutes after he had returned alive the day of Voldemort’s downfall, and he dreaded the possibility as much as one would dread their own death if they knew which day it would come for them.

Draco knew a change in name wouldn’t change the way Harry felt, but it would certainly draw a clear and defined line as to whom Ginny’s heart belonged. Draco thought for a moment how the thought must tear at Harry from the inside, and for the first time he wondered how he would feel if it were him – if Ginny had chosen The Chosen One. He had refused to let his mind wander that far since the thought of her merely thinking about Harry drove him mad, and his breath became ragged as his throat constricted at the notion of this hypothetical possibility.

He felt something in his chest, like he was feeling sorry for the unfortunate bloke sitting across from him, knowing firsthand what Harry had been daft enough to let slip through his fingers, but it was more than that. Draco’s body suddenly felt numb at the surreal realization that he had been so close to losing everything if she had gone with the sensible choice: The hero, the savior. He needed to find her, to touch her and kiss her, to show his gratitude that she had chosen him, but that would have to wait for now.

“Listen, Potter,” Draco mumbled uncomfortably, looking back down at the table. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you, but you don’t need to worry about me hurting her. She’s the only reason I have a heart at all.”

Draco heard a long breath being released, but kept his eyes down.

“It’s only because you have her that I can’t get past how you’ve changed, Malfoy,” Harry muttered in a way that men speak to each other when talking about their feelings. “I’ve seen how happy she is with you, and I’ve seen how different you are with her, and I know she’s not coming back to me.”

Draco looked up to once again meet Harry’s gaze, and the look of defeat told him that Harry was done fighting – for now.

“I just want her to be happy,” Harry whispered, the emerald depths of his vibrant eyes writhing in torment.

Draco took a breath.

“If she’s ever anything but, you have my permission to curse my sorry arse to oblivion.”

Just then, Harry cracked a smile. There was nothing humorous about surrendering one’s love to another, but he couldn’t help but imagining sending Draco running for the hills with his hands covering his backside, and Harry running after him, delivering curse after relentless curse. The densest of blokes could see that the smile adorning the dark-haired boy’s face did not extend to his sorrowful eyes, but Draco was not about to question any bout of progress sent his way.

“You can count on it,” Harry answered, his smile widening.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Harry birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday, dear Ginny!
Happy birthday to you!”

The warm chorus echoed across the grounds before a brief pause in which Ginny blew across the seventeen candles that adorned her large, homemade cake, and then a burst of applause erupted from the crowd.

As the family of Weasleys, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy proceeded to dig into the delicious dessert, Ginny beamed as she took in each of their faces. Her heart was glowing with contentment; her entire family was together again, whole and happy.

Though the series of attacks carried out by the Death Eaters had taken the lives of many, the worst of their own devastation had been the destruction of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. With the boom of business Fred and George had received once they released their Shield clothing line, they had more than enough Galleons to commence the building of a bigger and better shop, as well as to give a little help to those in financial need that had also lost their shops in the Diagon Alley attack. The twins had taken to mail-orders and living at the Burrow for now, much to Draco’s utter delight every time he came to visit.

During the attack on the Ministry of Magic, Percy had happened to come to Mr. Weasley’s aid after finding him cornered by several Death Eaters at once. It was then that Percy realized, as he stunned the masked cowards in the back, that he couldn’t bear to lose any of his family on such bad terms. He had been desperately trying to make amends ever since.

With Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage and Charlie being abroad during the attacks, all of Ginny’s family was safe and sound, and she couldn’t be happier.

A warm nuzzle where her earlobe met her chin brought her thoughts back to the present, and she turned to the fair-haired man sitting next to her to meet his lips for a quick I-can’t-kiss-you-like-I really-want-to-in-front-of-my-father kiss. Draco found her hand and stood from his chair, tugging her up as well.

“Come on, birthday girl. I haven’t given you your present yet,” he whispered in her ear as he walked her towards the line of trees that hid the open field where she used to play Quidditch with her brothers.

Once out of sight of her family, she stepped across his path to stop him, snaking her hands up his chest as she closed her eyes and tilted her chin upwards. He had already begun to meet her halfway, and their lips met hard, full of wanting. The sly looks of sultry desire she had been shooting his way whenever no one was looking had been driving him mad the entire day, as well as the way her hand kept happening to slide across his leg to his inner thigh ever so discreetly underneath the table. He punished her lips for it now, taking her face in his hands to pull her closer. There was nothing sweet about the way their mouths meshed together, grazing their teeth across skin and taking each other’s lower lip between teeth every now and again.

Though it took a great deal of concentration to keep his hands above her neck just this once for fear of where further wandering could lead to, Ginny’s hands had disappeared long ago beneath his shirt after first unbuttoning it in record time. He could feel her soft fingers exploring the curves of his chest, the beat of his heart, and he longed for that softness elsewhere. It was when her hands wandered further downward, now working at the buckle of his belt, that he felt a stirring that, though otherwise would have told him to keep going, now told him that it was time to stop. His hands released her face and flew down to clasp around hers as she went for the fly of his slacks.

“Bloody Merlin, Ginny, your family is right there!” he whispered fiercely, finally breaking contact with her ravaging mouth.

The pout that her flushed, red lips formed at this interruption was almost enough for him to give in.

“I thought you said you were going to give me my present,” she said, seeming genuinely confused.

Draco sighed, and then grinned. “I have a real present for you. What kind of cheap arse do you take me for?”

“But you promised for my birthday–”

Well, he had promised for her birthday, and bloody hell, it had taken so much self-control to get her to wait that long. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and then kissed her forehead.

“All in good time, love. Did you think for our first time I’d want to just shag you here on the wood’s floor fifty meters from your father and brothers?”

She looked thoughtful as she took in the bed of pine needles and dirt beneath her feet.

“We could Apparate to your flat,” she suggested, a flirtatious smile spreading across her face.

“Sorry, I don’t think I would survive the curses flying my way when I came back to return you.” Draco winked at her as he finished re-buttoning his shirt.

She nodded solemnly, and then closed her eyes as he pressed a kiss to each corner of her mouth before meeting her lips with his in a much softer way than before. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes to find her a little more composed, though not for lack of wanting. He knew it was time, and the stirring within him flared at the mere thought of what the night would bring; he knew she would sneak off to his place as she had all summer once her family was asleep.

“Now, for your real present,” he said with a sly smile, then reached into his pocket.

When he pulled out what looked like a small, black velvet box, Ginny’s eyes widened and she let out a quiet gasp.

“Wait,” he cautioned, then opened the hinged lid.

Lying against more black velvet, glowing white gold and glittering jewels stood out as if creating their own light against the ebony backdrop.

“Oh!” Her hand came up to her mouth in surprise, and the one syllable was all she seemed able to utter.

“This,” Draco started as he lifted the silvery chain and slipped the box back into his pocket, then came round behind Ginny, bringing each end of the necklace up around her neck, “was my mother’s. She told me once that every Malfoy woman that has ever worn it has found happiness with her true love and lived happily ever after. I was six at the time, but I know she would have wanted me to continue to pass it down.”

Linking the clasp, Draco then lifted her hair over the chain and kissed the back of her neck lightly. Ginny turned slowly to face him, her face skeptical.

“But I’m not a Malfoy woman,” she said pointedly, one hand lovingly covering the sapphire pendant surrounded in a circle of small diamonds.

Draco smirked. He had tested the waters, and had come to find that not only did she not abhor the idea of being his wife, but she also seemed a little annoyed that she wasn’t in the first place. Having watched her face carefully as he opened the velvet box, he saw the flash of disappointment flit across her face when she saw a necklace and not a ring, and he almost laughed out loud in relief.

“You will be,” he assured her before bringing her face to his once again.

Her heart glowed at the notion, and though she had become nearly desensitized to the thought of what Harry would think, she couldn’t help but allow her mind to wander briefly. His broken emerald eyes drifted into her thoughts, exactly as she remembered them the day she told him she loved someone else. She could feel the familiar twinge of guilt festering deep within her heart, waiting.

And then she pushed the memory from her mind. She had promised herself she was done feeling guilty for being happy. Instead, she turned her attention back to the lovely things Draco was doing with his tongue and imagined the day she would walk down the aisle and become a Malfoy.

---