It happened to her all the time lately. She didn't know why, but she'd been losing her way in the dungeons after Potions class. She was a sixth year and she should definitely know her way around by now, but her mind would wander and when it would come back to her she'd find herself in an unfamiliar area of the castle. Although she'd been here for over five years she had tried to avoid the dungeons, as most other students that weren't Slytherin did, but now she could feel herself being drawn to the dark corridors with the whining winds that sounded like the cries of ghosts. Today, however, she realized that it wasn't the cry of a ghost she'd heard and an unexplainable sense of epiphany hit her. She’d finally found what she was looking for. Strange, that. She hadn’t known she’d been looking in the first place.

Ginny hadn’t always been a sensitive girl, but something had happened in her first year to change her. That year she'd come close to death and danced with evil. Nightmares of those times haunted her in a slow ebb of broken pieces, coming to her in the dark of her bedchamber and running slick, cold fingers over her young skin. Sometimes, she had the idea that she was being called back to that place and so many times she had wanted to succumb to its lure.

The cries came from the shadows of the corridor to her left. Trembling, she turned in that direction and began her way down. The walls were made of stones and smelled of winter, as if the snow had wormed its way into them. Chills ran up her arms like a lover's caress and she crossed her arms over her breasts to try to hug some warmth into her body.

She was a quiet girl and had perfected the ability to come and go without much notice. The only thing about her that could be considered extremely loud was her accursed red hair that tumbled in loose curls down to the small of her back. While she would prefer to go unnoticed, the hair caught the attention of many and gave her a wild attractiveness that drew people to her. It was even now like a beacon of warm light in the shadows of the corridor that she was slowly descending, but it did not draw the attention of the figure that was seated on the staircase at the end of the hallway.

Though, Ginny's hair glowed around her shoulders, the figure at the end of the corridor shone brighter than her, with strands of silver blond hair falling around his face. She, of course, knew who it was that she was approaching. With each step she took, she risked the sarcastic ire, the only thing with which he was ever generous. However, she continued, drawn on by her curiosity. Wondering what could be the reason for Draco Malfoy sobbing tensely in a deserted corridor, his head in his hands.

She continued in that quietly, unobtrusive way of hers. Her feet barely whispered over the carpet and she swallowed thickly as she approached. Finally the distance was closed and she stood only a foot away from the oblivious Draco Malfoy, feeling keenly her intrusion and yet unable to turn away. She tried to speak, but words eluded her and all that escaped her mouth was a whispery gasp, which still drew the attention of the other.

Draco's head snapped up, his delicately arched brows furrowed with embarrassment and irritation at the disturbance. Ginny shifted her feet and looked away nervously before finally returning his gaze. "Why are you crying, Draco?" she whispered hesitantly, but compassionately.

Draco sat up and gripped the edge of the stair he was seated on. "What?! What are you doing here, Weasley?" he snapped brusquely.

Ginny ignored the roughness of his voice. Ignored him almost entirely as her gaze fell on his pale forearm, where he'd rolled his sleeve up to the elbow. Instinctively she flinched and grimaced when she realized what the angry red mark against his snowy skin was. She stared and stared, unblinking, for what could have been an eternity or only a second. When she let her eyes close, a tear slipped from under each lid as the skull and snake still burned her vision.

When she opened her eyes, she found Draco looking up at her with a little surprise and a lot of distrust. She was shaking almost violently now, trembling so hard that her teeth clattered. "What's wrong with you?" Draco asked, his eyes narrowing.

Ginny looked around them, confirming that they were still entirely alone and then she fell to her knees before him, only a step down from the one Draco was seated upon. He jumped in surprise and pulled slightly back from her.

Ginny's skin was humming. After years and years of being told how despicable this boy was, she found herself utterly alone with him. The excitement was like a spicy taste on her tongue, like firewhiskey or the clove cigarettes the Sirius Black sometimes smoked. Forbidden, and made all the more seductive by it. Her fingers twitched and her eyes skipped from his face to the Dark Mark emblazoned on his arm. She reached out, but stopped short for permission. "Can I-...touch it?" she asked in a shaky whisper.

Malfoy stared silently down at her upturned face for a long moment. Though his gray eyes were still shimmery from the tears he had just shed, not a single emotion flickered across his face. He didn't answer in words, just raised his arm and laid it on his knee. It was now inches from Ginny's face. She was so close to him, she noticed as an afterthought, but the skull smiling up at her took her attention again. She raised her hand, resting the heel of her palm against his arm before caressing the mark with a feathery touch of her fingertips.

She snapped her hand back as if she had been burned and indeed she had. Somehow, for some reason, the mark generated so much heat that the skin of her fingertips tingled. Without much thought, she sucked her fingers into her mouth, blinking her eyes to dry the tears. "It must have hurt," she said, turning her brown, almond-shaped eyes up to meet Draco's silvery-gray ones. She cocked her head to the side, thinking suddenly how strange it was that she had never noticed just how beautiful he was.

"Are you on drugs?" he asked in confusion. "Do you know what you're doing?" He shook his head.

Ginny offered him a weak smile. "I'm sorry," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. "I'm really sorry," she added.

Suddenly, she had the most peculiar urge and threw her arms around Draco's neck. He let out a cry of surprise as she scooted closer to him on her knees and rested her chin in the nook between his shoulder and neck. If she'd ever met anyone who really needed a hug, it was Draco Malfoy. "What are you doing?" he questioned her tensely, though he didn't try to push her away.

Ginny didn't answer, just clung a little tighter to him. He smelled like musk and amaretto and something unlike anything she'd smelt, something entirely him. It was a nice, dark smell.

Draco's hands slipped into her robes and gently cupped her breasts, his lips touched her neck and, though a sudden tremor flashed through her body at the touch, she pulled away and looked at him. "What are you doing?" she asked. She realized that his hands were still on her breasts and pulled them away. "Why did you do that?"

Suddenly, his face, which had for a moment seemed open, closed off again and he scowled at her. "Well, isn't that what you wanted?" he shot at her. "A piece of me, just like everyone else?"

Ginny blinked in surprise and shook her head. "No," she breathed. "I don't know what I'm doing here, I'm just....here." She closed her eyes and swallowed. When she opened her eyes, Draco had looked away from her. He looked as if he were about to get up and leave so she put her hands on his shoulders to make him stay. "No, I lied. Maybe I do want a piece of you, but....but I don’t know what. I get so confused sometimes."

Draco turned back to her, his eyes flickering with some unknown emotion. Ginny ran her hands from his shoulders to cup his neck. A strand of blond hair fell over one of his eyes and she reached over to brush it away. Ginny forced a smile, even if this was one of the most unexplainable, confusing experiences of her life. "You should know, I'm not all there. So, I guess we can just blame this on me being a bloody nutter."

Draco still looked confused, but he smirked at her. His hands slipped around her waist. "Will you kiss me?" he asked. The smirk was meant to look lascivious, but it was forced.

Ginny bit her lower lip and looked off to the side for a moment, a pink blush suffusing her high cheekbones. When she looked back at Draco he seemed almost nervous, maybe afraid that she would refuse him. But she wondered who could refuse him when he looked like he did. A pale doll of near perfection, only nearly perfect because his mouth was too hard and nose a bit thin, but still so beautiful that she wanted to sketch him. But she couldn't draw, she realized. She could, however, kiss him.

She released her lip from between her teeth and ran her tongue over it. Her hands cupped the back of his neck firmly, not wanting him to take the decision out of her hands. When she leaned into him, he tensed in expectation, but she didn't press her lips to his. Instead she nuzzled behind his ear and took in his scent once more before pressing a kiss to his neck.

With a sigh, he let his head fall forward against her shoulder and wrapped his arms more completely around her. Her chaste kisses continued to trail over his neck and jaw as he dragged her against him. She kneeled between his legs, pressed firmly to his chest, her fingers playing through the soft short hair at the back of his neck. She’d never held anyone this way.

Draco was twisting his head around, trying to connect his lips to her, but she was rather greedy for his porcelain skin. Her tongue flickered against his pulse and he groaned, humming warm breath against her neck in return. When he sucked her earlobe between his lips, swirling her hoop earring with his tongue, Ginny pulled back and covered her mouth with her hand.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, thinking he'd either frightened her or angered her. Although, he thought it might be exciting to see her angry.

A smile spread out behind her hand and she pulled it away. "It tickled," she said.

Draco thought she was probably a little crazier then she had let on before. The sparkle in her eyes that made all of this seem okay told him as much. Her hands fell back to his shoulders and she looked around at their surroundings. "Where are we?" she asked curiously.

"In the dungeons," Draco answered, wondering if would be okay to place his hands on her breasts again. He didn't think she would go for that though.

"Yes, I know, but where? I feel like I've burrowed my way to the center of the Earth," she said bringing her gaze back to meet his. Draco only stared at her, completely dumbfounded by this peculiar girl. "Is this really happening?" she asked, trailing her fingertips down his cheek. "You feel real enough."

"So do you," he answered.

"Ron will be worried about me, but I don't know if I can find my way back," she said, her hand flattened against his silk robes and smoothed up and down them. She touched him with a curious humor, like she was a child with a new toy. He didn't think he would mind being her toy.

"I'll show you the way back," he offered.

The smile she gave him caused his heart to stop then speed up. "Thank you, Draco."

Draco stood first and held out his hand to help her up. He also picked up her bag and slung it over his shoulder to carry it for her as they began to ascend the staircase that would lead them to the main floor. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the redhead that was still clinging to his hand with a sort of distracted smile on her face. Every now and then she would skirt her eyes over him, appreciatively. He was happy that she liked what she saw when she looked at him.

He had rarely ever noticed her before tonight and, truthfully, when he had it was rather unmemorable. She was simply Weasley's sister, the girl who had opened the Chamber of Secrets, the girl with the crush on Potter. He scowled. That just wouldn't do anymore. She was fragile, far too precious for a bumbling fool like Potter to be handling. He would damage her, hurt her. No, she would simply have to be his. Draco could give her the kind of care that she needed.

He stopped when they got to the main floor and she turned to him with a confused smile on her face. They had walked in silence, each musing over the other. Each of them falling a little in love with the other.

"Won't you walk me to Gryffindor Tower?" she asked sweetly and Draco almost smiled. She could see the corner of his lips rise just barely.

"I don't think that would be a good idea. You can find your way from here okay," he answered and handed her the bag he'd been carrying. She didn't want to relinquish his wonderfully soft hand from hers. "When can I see you again?" he asked.

She got a far off look in her eye. "When you get lost, I'll find you again," she said assuredly and raised his hand to press a kiss against the burn mark that he hadn't thought to cover again. His eyes seemed to cloud over with something at this action, though she wasn't entirely sure what emotion it could be.

He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his mouth against hers, making her his. He had a sneaking suspicion that this would last forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The End

It was nearing the end of the year and exams were finally over. The entire student body was enjoying the warm sunshine, including Ginny. She lounged lazily at the base of a tree. Beams of sunlight glinted off the glassy surface of the lake; wind whipped the branches above her. She let her eyes drift shut and enjoyed the breeze on her cheeks and the flashes of light that flickered over her closed lids, dancing and blinking a wildly vivid picture that only she could interpret.

The air drifting over the lake had the tangy smell of freshly melted snow. It tickled her nose pleasantly. A small, contented smile settled itself on her lips.

“Ginny?” Hermione asked beside her.

Ginny’s smile broadened a bit in response. “Mmm?”

“Ron and I thought we might take a walk. Would you like to come?”

Ginny chuckled a little. “Oh, I don’t think so, Hermione.” She could think of nothing she would like better than staying right where she was. Especially not tagging along behind her brother, knowing the entire time that he and Hermione would rather be alone.

“Are you sure?” Hermione countered with a slightly anxious lilt to her voice. “We’re a bit far from the castle and Harry has run off to play Quidditch.”

Ever since Fred and George had graduated and left Hogwarts, Ron and his friends had appointed themselves Ginny’s unofficial guard. It had gotten to the point where Ginny could barely walk to her classes without one of them shadowing her. It would either be Ron, pacing a few feet ahead of her, encouraging her to jog to keep his long-legged pace or Hermione at her side chatting animatedly about things that Ginny didn’t understand.

She liked it best when Harry was left on Ginny-duty, as she had come to think of it. He would linger just a few paces behind her, sometimes walking silently or other times engaging her in conversation about superficial things like Quidditch or classwork or the latest Witch’s Weekly articles about them. They would share a laugh about the assumptions that were made about their relationship. But at least Harry would pretend that he walked with her because he wanted to, not out of some obligation to baby-sit his best friend’s flighty and feeble sister.

Opening her eyes just a sliver, Ginny looked up at Hermione. The sun had left golden highlights in the coarse, brown curls that wisped wildly around her blushing face. She looked half hopeful and half nervous. “Hermione, I’m sure I can find my way back up to the castle,” Ginny told her reasonably. She might have added that she was not, in fact, a complete invalid or mental deficient, but she had no desire to be unkind to the other girl.

“Well, of course you can,” Hermione placated. “I just thought you might prefer to have some company.”

“Thank you, Hermione. That’s very thoughtful. But I think it would be very pleasant to have a few moments alone,” Ginny said. She shut her eyes again, with a small sigh. The wind had lifted strands of her hair and it tickled teasingly at her uplifted chin.

“Ginny?”

“Yes, Hermione?”

“Did you know that, sometimes, I envy you?”

The sun was a bit bright at that moment, and so Ginny did not open her eyes, but she raised her brows. “Why would you do that?”

“You always have this air of tranquility about you. And no matter how much we pester you and hover around you, you seem completely imperturbable. It would drive me mad with agitation. I just get this sense that you’re always laughing at a joke no one knows the punchline to,” Hermione explained breathlessly.

Emotions seemed to battle within Ginny’s breast. She felt that she had just been equal parts complimented and insulted. Sometimes Hermione Granger’s canny insights discomfited her deeply. Oh, the other girl would never really understand Ginny, but she saw more than anyone knew.

Ginny wasn’t really sure how to respond. She opened her mouth to speak, but was saved from having to respond when her brother interrupted the conversation. “You two ready?” he asked.

When had Ron’s voice become so gruff, she wondered. Her brother sounded like a man now. What had she and Hermione just been talking about?

“Ginny’s not coming, Ron,” Hermione said.

The air around Ginny shifted and she realized it was because Hermione had risen to her feet. “You sure, Gin-Bean?” Ron asked, his childish nickname for her conflicting with that new grown-up voice of his.

“Yes, Ronnikins,” she breathed, half-laughing and half-exasperated. “I’ll be fine. You two trot off and find some place to snog.”

“Oi!” Ron cried. She heard Hermione stifle a giggle.

“Come on, Ronnikins,” Hermione teased. Ginny could picture the other girl tugging at his hand while he shot a baleful look at his sister. Ginny had a fantastic imagination and she laughed at the picture of her affronted brother.

With the departure of her brother and his girlfriend, Ginny relaxed even further. The grass beneath her back was still cool and damp, seeping into her robes where the angles of her shoulder blades pressed into the ground. One arm was folded under her head in a mock pillow and she twisted a curl of her hair around the fingers of her other hand. The aloneness was a rare treat that she wanted to savor completely. To just let her mind clear completely of all its humming activity was near blissful.

The sun was no longer flickering playful swirls of color against her closed eyelids. The air around her cooled with its loss. There was a slight rustle of sound near the crown of her head and she blinked her eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. Draco Malfoy was crouching above her.

“Oh!” she cried with surprise, rushing up into a sitting position and twisting her body around to look at the blond Slytherin boy. Her palms pressed against the grass to keep her steady as her smallish smile broadened. “Hello,” she greeted.

His lips tilted up at one corner. She never saw him smile, but this particular smirk seemed a little less sneery than usual. “Hello,” he parroted, with a hint of amusement.

Pulling her legs up a little, she let herself settle in for a good, long stare. He was crouched in the grass, his left arm between his knees, the fingers splayed on the ground to steady his precarious position. It had been quite some time, she wasn’t quite sure how long as she had a hard time thinking in terms of hours or days or weeks, since she’d been able to look this close up.

The memories of that night in the stairway washed over her, pressed against him, his skin under her tongue, the swollen ridges of the Dark Mark scar rasping under the gentle touch of her fingers. He really was a divine creature. His features were too fine to be considered classically handsome, too sharp to be considered pretty, but there was a sort of cold beauty to the way they all blended together.

A laugh bubbled up from deep in her chest. He was staring just as baldly back at her. There was something hot lingering in the shuttered gray gaze that took her in. “Why don’t you sit down before you fall down?” she asked and reached out to pull at the hand he was using to steady himself.

With a surprised huff, he fell forward onto his knees and looked down at the grass with distaste before bringing his gaze back to her. She hadn’t released his wrist. “I haven’t spoken to you in weeks and already you are ruining my favorite trousers,” he commented dryly, shifting uncomfortably against the damp grass.

“Has it been weeks?” Ginny asked, a little wonderingly. How did she manage to lose the time? Certainly, there had been days and nights when she had wondered if she would ever speak with him again. If they would ever share another, strangely comfortable and intimate moment. But had those days added up to multiples of seven?

“Yes,” Draco answered irritably, scooting closer to her until his left knee was wedged between both of her. She sat back on her legs, looking up at him. “You’re impossible to get alone.”

She sighed her commiseration. “I know. My brother is rather protective of me,” she explained.

“Protective? He’s an obsessive compulsive! Why must he and his band of Mudbloods shadow your every step?”

Ginny decided to ignore the derogatory comment and dragged his hand into her lap, trailing her fingertips over the back, where a tracery of veins and tendons and knuckles raised the thin, pale skin. “They care about me,” she explained, only half paying attention to her words, so engrossed by the slim-fingered hand she was holding.

Draco’s breath hitched at her gentle caresses. It was strange how such a simple and innocent touch could be so incredibly erotic.

“How much does Potter care about you?” he asked in a slightly more raspy voice.

Ginny’s eyes rose back to his, looking up at him through her lashes. She gave him a coy and playful smile. “Haven’t you read the articles? Apparently, he and I are madly in love and engaged to be married as soon as I’ve finished with school.”

Draco was momentarily unable to retort when Ginny slipped his silver cuff link out of its loop. Her fingers drifted up under the cuff of his shirt to drag over his forearm. She touched him with a calm fascination, as if she were enjoying the texture of him. The same way one might luxuriate in the feel of a fine satin or a thick fur coat. He had an embarrassingly persistent erection at this point and was suddenly furious with himself for forgoing his robes in favor of his lighter summer clothes.

“He certainly stays annoyingly close to you,” Draco finally managed to mutter, unwilling to abandon his line of questioning. “But he never touches. I think I might have killed him if I saw him touching you.”

“Would you really?” Ginny asked, her fingers stilling as she looked up at him with her wide, saucer-like eyes. Draco remembered once thinking that she looked a bit vacant and wondered how he could have been so hugely mistaken. There were safely guarded secrets hidden behind those serene orbs that were turned up to him now.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. “I want you,” he said in a husky bedroom voice that he hardly recognized as his own. “I don’t want anyone else to have you.”

“Why?” she asked curiously.

Draco rolled his head against hers languidly. How could he explain to her that he felt like she was the only person who really knew him? She saw what he was being forced to become and she hadn’t flinched back from him. But neither had she been morbidly excited by his darkness. She was simply and calmly accepting. It was blissfully relaxing to be in her company. But more to the point, he was sure that he was the only person who could truly appreciate her. The protectiveness he felt towards this tiny, crazy creature was fierce, yet humbling.

“Because…” he paused to let his lips slide briefly against hers. “I think you might be able to love me.”

Her free hand came up and cupped his cheek. It was a painfully tender gesture that made him press closer, achingly.

“Well, then…” she mumbled and pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. Draco turned to catch her kiss fully. He grabbed her at the waist and twisted them until he was able to press her back down against the grass, sliding one of his legs between hers.

“Oh, my goodness,” she gasped against his lips and he smiled against hers in response.

His kisses were slow and coaxing, gentle and firm at the same time. For her part, Ginny became pliable in his arms, her fingers threaded in his fine hair. He thought she might protest when he pressed his hardness against her hip, but she only made a small sound in the back of her throat.

The hand that was cupping her cheek slid down her neck to linger at her throat. There was the strange urge in him to tighten his grip and hurt her a little, just to see if she would let him. He quashed the impulse immediately.

“Draco, please,” she murmured in his ear, her breath hot and ragged against his skin. There was a nervous tremor in her voice that broke through the haze of his desire and he pushed himself up on one elbow to look down at her.

When he pulled away, her eyes fluttered open to look up at him. She looked confused and troubled and he brought his finger tip up to brush away the worry lines.

“You’re so lovely, Ginny,” he told her in a soft voice. “I’d like to dress you in silks and silver. Will you let me put jewels at your neck or will you be too proud?”

Ginny blinked her owlish eyes at him and they shone with lucidity. Suddenly she went from looking like a fragile doll to a knowing woman. “They won’t let us be together, Draco,” she said astutely.

“Do you want me, Ginny?” he asked. It took all of his cool Slytherin resolve to keep his voice from being imploring and needy. “If you say ‘yes’, I’ll make all of the hard decisions for you. I’ll take care of you.”

Her eyes rolled away from his and she stared off at something behind his head. The leaves in the tree above them? Or maybe a patch of now graying sky. “Draco,” she finally said. “Draco. Draco.” He hummed with pleasure against her neck at the sound of his name being so tenderly caressed by her voice. “I like the taste of your name.”

“I like the taste of your neck,” he whispered before sucking at the skin with his lips and tongue.

“I have to tell you something,” she said in a resolute voice.

Parts of Draco’s body were aching from kisses and touches, but she pushed at his chest and he relented, rolling off her with a sigh of frustration.

Ginny rolled her head away from him and spoke to the air. “I don’t know how to explain, I get so confused.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he suggested, hoping they could go back to kissing and fondling. He doubted it would be very hard to distract her.

“No, you need to know what you’re promising to take on,” she said. “There are parts of me missing. Something bad happened to me and they tried to take it out of me, the Healers, but there was too much and they couldn’t get it all. After the treatments, the nightmares went away, but so did parts of me. Percy told me. He wasn’t supposed to, but he was furious. And I don’t know why. I don’t know… well, I can’t remember much of anything before my fourth year.”

Draco stared at the back of her copper-colored head while she spoke and, when she finished, everything fell into place. After the Chamber of Secrets, Ginny must have been plagued with nightmares. Seeking to cure their daughter, the Weasleys had had her memory modified. But he knew that procedures like that were dangerous. You can’t remove too many of a person’s memories without causing serious permanent damage to their psyche.

He’d never had the experience of being grateful to a Weasley for their pure stupidity, but at that very moment, he wanted to kiss both of her parents’ great dundering heads for having those memory modifications preformed on Ginny. He felt sure that if they hadn’t, he would not be having this conversation with her now. She would never have let him touch her.

Draco turned and curved his body around her back, slipping an arm around her waist. He nuzzled away the hair that was gathering in the crook of her neck and placed an almost-chaste kiss on the skin of her jaw.

“They broke you, Ginny,” he explained rationally. “It’s your parents’ fault that you are the way you are.”

“But why,” she croaked and convulsed with a sob. “Don’t they love me?”

“Sure they love you,” he said soothingly, reaching up to catch a tear that zig-zagged down her face. “But they couldn’t accept you, Ginny. Not the way I can.”

“You’re a Death Eater!” Ginny cried accusingly, but she still didn’t struggle against his hold on her.

Draco thought for a moment. “Yes, I am. Because my parents betrayed me too. We’re both a complete mess. That’s why we’re so perfect for each other.”

For a few moments, Ginny’s breath kept hitching, like she was fighting off the urge to go into an all-out crying jag. Eventually, she was able to calm herself. Draco had waited patiently. She finally turned in his arms and pressed her forehead against his again. “How can you want me?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“Don’t think less of me for wanting you, Ginny,” he warned.

“I don’t,” she assured him. She paused and he could tell that she was thinking very hard to bring up the words she wanted to express to him. “What would you do with me, if I let you have me?”

Something inside of Draco trilled with victory and longing. “I would cherish you,” he vowed.

“Kiss me again, soft and sweet,” she commanded and he obeyed her. As his tongue slipped past her lips, Draco’s eyes fell closed. He’d finally found something that he could call all his own. And he would never, never let her go.

It was the end of term and Ginny was on the Hogwart’s train, being pressed against on all sides by the other students. Her brother had loaded her trunk into one of the compartments and was up ahead with Hermione. Harry was nearly pressed against her back, his hand protectively gripping her shoulder. He so rarely ever touched her, clearly reluctant to give confirmation to the rumors that abounded about their relationship, but it seemed he did not wish to lose her in this crush of people.

There was a strange sense of guilt rising in her. Draco had clearly expressed his distaste at the concept of Harry’s touching her. It felt like a betrayal to him, allowing even this innocent touch from the boy that he detested so much. A wave of nausea rolled up in her stomach at the thought of Draco’s displeasure with her, if he saw them at this moment. She swallowed against the sick feeling and tried to wipe her face of its emotions. There was nothing for it, at the moment.

Once they made it to the compartment that Ron had claimed for them, Harry guided her in with that gentle, coaxing touch on her shoulder and released her. A sigh of relief rose out of her. “Thank you, Harry,” she told him, throwing a smile back at him over her shoulder.

Harry’s eyes shifted guiltily away from hers. “No problem,” he mumbled as he started hauling both of their trunks, which Ron had only deposited in the middle of the compartment, up into the luggage racks.

At that moment, Ron’s head peered around the doorway of the compartment. “All right, you two?” he asked.

Ginny was just settling herself on one of the cushioned bench seats by the window. She curled her legs up under her and pulled an old paperback novel from the pocket of her robes. “Fine, Ron,” she answered.

“Hermione and I have to go report to the Prefects compartment and then patrol for a little while. You guys will be okay?”

If Ron had seemed over-protective before, he had been even more so since the week before when Ginny had not returned to the common room until well after dark with no explanation as to where she had been and what she had been doing the whole time. She couldn’t very well tell him that she had been with Draco. When Ron interrogated her about it, Ginny had simply said that she’d gotten lost. He would normally have believed her, but she wasn’t much of a liar.

“We’ll be fine,” Harry answered for both of them, throwing himself down on the seat across from hers.

“And you’ll watch out for Ginny?” Ron asked Harry.

“I already told you I would,” Harry bit out, a little irritably.

At the tone of his voice, Ginny brought her gaze over to Harry. He wasn’t normally prone to losing his temper with Ron, but she could see that something was bothering him.

“All right then,” Ron answered, his own voice sounding a little steely. “Be back to relieve you in an hour or so.”

Ginny jerked her head around to stare at her brother in horror. Though it was always obvious and often alluded to, their constant guard duty of her had never been so clearly stated. Ron did not catch her look before taking his leave and shutting the compartment door. She stared blankly at the spot her brother’s head had just vacated, then suddenly and without much intent on her part, Ginny violently threw her book at the door.

There was a palpable silence in the compartment after her unexpected outburst, the only sound was the rising and falling of Ginny’s suddenly labored breathing. After a moment, Harry rose from his seat, retrieved her book and offered it back to her. Ginny stared at the tattered paperback for a moment, attempting to control her sudden irritation. With a muttered “thank you”, she finally took it from Harry’s outstretched hand.

Ginny leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, regulating her breathing. The possibility of a spectacular temper had always lurked somewhere deep inside of her, but it rarely, if ever, came to the surface. All of the Weasleys were known for having tempers, but that particular family trait had seemed to have skipped the youngest and only girl child of the family. She wondered briefly if it was an emotion that would have been dominant in her if her mind hadn’t been so thoroughly picked apart.

When she felt sufficiently calmed, Ginny let her eyes drift open again and picked her head back up. Harry was staring across the compartment at her. There was no trace of surprise on his face, as she had expected. There was really no sign of emotion on his face at all, other than the slight stiffening of a clenched jaw.

The two of them stared across the space at each other for what could have been seconds or hours. Very rarely, did Ginny allow herself to linger over Harry’s features. He was not the only one who did not want their possible intentions towards each other questioned.

She was surprised to see how much older he looked. The softness of youth had hardened; his cheekbones and jawline were more clearly chiseled and defined. There was the barest shadow of stubble on his chin. Harry must have to shave now, she thought wonderingly. His green eyes shone out from behind his too-small glasses. The Dursleys must not have replaced them since he was very small. And that wild, black hair of his was swept across his forehead to hide the tell-tale scar of legend, but sticking up at the back. She still found it strangely attractive, in a rumpled sort of way.

Harry was the first to break eye contact, turning his head to stare at the window as the train jumped to life.

For the first time, in a long time, the silence between them was strained and charged with unexplainable emotions. Ginny tried to reflect on how she felt about Harry, but had a hard time focusing on any one thought that flitted through her mind. All of her memories of him seemed to be fractured and glittering with refracted lines of light. Harry on his broom with a glimmering snitch clasped in his hand, Harry lying bloody and gasping on the edge of a maze, a dead boy cradled in his arms, Harry swishing his wand with determined confidence, Harry bruised and filthy, his child’s face staring down at her prone form, fear and guilt furrowing his forehead. That particular memory made her heart jump with fear.

“How much do you remember from the Chamber, Ginny?” Harry finally spoke.

She jumped a little and turned her face away from his as it flushed with warmth. They never talked about anything serious. Why was he asking this now?

“Not much,” Ginny whispered truthfully.

“I remember everything,” he finally said after a long pause.

Ginny didn’t respond for a long time, just pressed her forehead against the cool pane of the window and watched as the land rolled past them.

“You don’t know everything, Harry,” she finally muttered and closed her eyes as some of her memories rose up, with opaque and green fissures stitched across them. Black ink and stone walls leaking with moisture; a dark-haired boy who looked like a more put-together version of the one sitting across from her.

Both lost in their own thoughts, they let the silence drag out around them. An overwhelming urge to cry gripped Ginny and she shut her eyes against it. She wished that the boy sitting with her was blond and sneery, dressed in finely pressed wool and cashmere. He wouldn’t sit across from her, but beside her, his hand in hers. If she was sad, that boy would urge her head onto his shoulder and bury his face in her hair. She wanted him desperately at that moment.

Over the chasm, Harry finally spoke again, saying words that Ginny had never wanted to hear.

“I have these dreams about you sometimes. And in them, you’re always vibrant and smiling, flushed and sassy. You fly around with me on the Quiddich pitch and make stupid jokes and give me something to hope for, in the future. She’s not you, but the girl you could have been.”

Tears were running down Ginny’s cheeks now. He described his dreams so vividly that she could almost imagine that they were hers. But Ginny had never had dreams like those. The girl he was describing didn’t exist anywhere except for inside of Harry’s head. She sounded nice though, someone that Ginny wished she could aspire to be. How would she look in Quiddich robes, laughing and dashing around on a broom, playing with the boys? She could be beautiful that way.

“Being around you is like torture,” Harry finally mumbled.

When she glanced at him through the corner of her teary eye, she saw his face pressed against the window, mirroring her.

The girl from his dreams would have gone to him then, pulled his head against her breasts and rested her cheek against him. She knew this in a distant, but sure way. Perhaps, shadows of that girl did live in her. But she didn’t do any of those things. She cared for Harry, but she did not love him. The parts of her that could have were removed a long time ago. And he didn’t love the broken girl that she was anyway, he wouldn’t welcome her caresses. But there was one boy who would and that boy owned her completely.

Her thoughts were interrupted and dashed when the compartment doors were pulled together. The boisterous Irish-rich accent of Seamus Finnegan hit her in the face like a splash of ice cold water and had her sitting back from the window, blinking furiously. Quickly, she dashed the tears away from her eyes and turned to watch him and Dean Thomas enter the compartment.

“Oi, Harry!” Seamus stated as he flounced into the seat beside Ginny. He reached over and ruffled her curls like she was an adorable and affectionate puppy. “Ginny-girl.”

She glanced over at Harry. He looked bleary, like he had just been awoken from a long nap. He also looked suspiciously like he was about to punch Seamus in the face.

Inexplicably embarrassed, Ginny wrenched her gaze away from Harry. Her eyes fell on Dean, who was now sitting beside Harry, glancing from her to him. Unlike Seamus, he seemed to have recognized that they had just interrupted something intense. He shifted to the edge of his seat, like he might excuse them and flee the scene, but Ginny threw him a grateful smile. She tried to convey in that one look that she found their interruption extremely, extremely welcome.

“I got my letter from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Seamus told Harry, clearly oblivious to the tension in the room. “I’m to report to the Auror’s department with my NEWTS results on the 16th June. What about you?”

The anger left Harry’s face, but there was still a good deal of tension in the set of his shoulders. He leaned back in his seat and rubbed absentmindedly at the scar under his bangs. “Mine’s in three days,” he replied to Seamus’ question.

Seamus let out a slow whistle. “They’re not wasting any time, are they? I expect they’re eager to get The Boy Who Lived all trained up.”

“Don’t call me that ridiculous name,” Harry snapped irritably.


Seamus put his hands up. “All right, all right. No need to get tetchy,” he mumbled and sprawled carelessly back in his seat. “Sounds like they aren’t even waiting for you to get your NEWTS results back.”

Ginny shifted in her seat and watched Harry squeeze his eyes shut, a pained look on his face. He continued to rub at his scar.

“No, I expect they don’t care one way or the other if I’m prepared or not,” Harry muttered, just a hint of bitterness lingering in his words.

He shot out of his seat so suddenly that Ginny jumped.

“I’m going to the loo,” he explained as he headed to the door. He stopped briefly and turned to Seamus. “Stay with Ginny,” he commanded in a tone that brooked no room for argument and then he swiftly fled the room.

Seamus crossed his arms across his chest and let out a bit of a huff. “Listen to him, would you? Already prepared to lead his army, he is.”

Despite the aggrieved tone in Seamus’ voice, Ginny had the sneaking suspicion that he was fully prepared to follow Harry unquestioningly.

After Harry’s departure, Dean and Seamus settled in for a game of Exploding Snap and Ginny curled up to stare down at her book. She didn’t read any of it, but used it as an excuse to be excluded from the conversation.

Ginny decided not to reflect on her conversation with Harry. It did not do to dwell on what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Instead, she let her thoughts wander to a certain blond Slytherin. When he’d last left her, he had said he would see her on the train. She couldn’t imagine how that would be possible, with her brother and his friends hovering with such determination.

Still, she held onto the hope that she would get to see him one last time before the summer. He would not be coming back to school next year, if indeed, there was as school to go back to. The Dark Lord had declared all out war on all Muggleborns and any pureblood that stood in his way. People were already dying and going missing. Her own brothers were gone for weeks and weeks at a time, sent out on mysterious missions for The Order.

A knot formed in her stomach. Draco was a Death Eater, fighting on the opposite side of her family. She prayed that he would not be struck down by one of her own brothers, or gods forbid, her father. She prayed with even more vehemence that he would not be forced to do the same to any of her family. She was not prepared to deal with the self-disgust she was sure to feel when she forgave him unquestioningly.

Her fellow Gryffindors stayed with her, but Harry remained conspicuously absent. The sky outside of the window darkened to night as she waited for him to return. Ron and Hermione showed up before he did, still over an hour longer than Ron had promised to be. They must be very nearly to Kings Cross Station, she thought.

“What are you lot doing here?” Ron asked as he lingered in the doorway. The compartment was not exactly big enough for three teenage boys and two full grown girls. “Where’s Harry?”

“He went to the loo about an hour ago,” Dean explained. In his distraction, the card pile in front of him exploded, pelting him in the face.

“What’d he do that for?” Ron demanded with a scowl.

“Didn’t exactly explain, did he?” Seamus said. “Just told us to stay with Ginny and took off.”

That only seemed to deepen the scowl on Ron’s face. “Well, you can go now.”

“Finally,” Seamus said with clear relief and pushed himself out of his seat.

“Ginny-sitting not the glamorous job you hoped it would be?” Ginny asked, her own irritation rising as the group around her continued to talk like she wasn’t even sitting there.

For his part, the sandy-haired boy blushed and looked slightly abashed.

“All right, all right,” Ron interrupted and pushed his way into the compartment, ushering the other boys out so that Hermione could enter. “Get lost.”

“You’re welcome!” Seamus snapped from the corridor outside, before stalking away.

With the others gone, Ron fell onto the bench beside Ginny and stretched out his legs. He closed his eyes and wiped his hand down his face. If she hadn’t still been irritated with him, Ginny might have felt sad about how tired he looked.

“What is Harry on about, leaving Ginny with those two?” Ron asked Hermione, who had also seated herself on the other bench with a slightly exhausted air about her. She glanced at Ginny nervously, taking note of the blush of ire that was rising in the redhead’s cheeks.

“Harry Potter is not my keeper, Ron,” Ginny finally snapped. “It’s unfair of you to keep expecting him to watch over me.”

“Well!” Ron snapped back, turning his red face to Ginny’s. “Someone’s got to and I can’t always be around!”

“Why? Why does someone always have to watch after me?”

“Don’t be daft,” Ron said and turned away from her, dismissively.

Ginny shuddered against the sudden and foreign urge to smack her brother’s smug face. Instead of giving into her instincts, Ginny turned back to the window and addressed it, rather than him. “Just shut up, Ron. You’re a jerk.”

A tense moment of silence followed Ginny’s words, before Hermione finally spoke in a gently admonishing tone. “Ron.”

“Just leave it, Hermione,” he responded in a tired voice.

The sound of breathing and Hermione’s nervous toe-tapping filled the compartment for a long time. With her eyes closed and her head once again rocking against the window, Ginny let the slowing of the train lull her into calmness. They were nearly there and she still hadn’t seen Draco. She was now convinced that she never would. Never again. She vowed she would never take a lover, she would save herself for a boy who could never claim her. Not that there were any other men who could possibly want her with that same kind of shivering desperation.

A commotion outside in the corridor snapped the three occupants of the compartment to attention. They all leaned forward in their seat and looked at the door. Another loud bang sounded and Ron jumped up, pulled his wand and ran out of the compartment, Hermione close at his heels.

Ginny stared at the doorway they had just exited, feeling the shuddering of the train as it was coming to its halt. She placed her hand on her wand and considered following Ron and Hermione, but they would not thank her for possibly putting herself in harms way. Despite what they thought, Ginny was very capable with a wand.

As she hovered on the edge of indecision, Draco appeared in the empty doorway that she had been staring at. Her eyes widened with surprise and pleasure at the sight of him, all golden whites and grays. His eyes seemed to smile, though the expression did not travel down to the thin, bowed lips that had tasted her mouth with such reverence.

“Come on, Ginny,” he said and offered her his hand.

She only hesitated a moment before jumping up from her seat and going to him. He clasped her hand in his, cupped her cheek in the other and pressed a searing kiss against her lips. She gasped his breath into her lungs and let her eyes fall closed from the heady taste.

It was a very brief kiss before he began pulling her out of the compartment and down the strangely empty corridor. She could still hear the sounds of the commotion somewhere ahead of them, but she could not see what was going on.

“Where are we going, Draco?” she asked as she followed him. He came to an abrupt halt at one of the trains exits, pulled his wand and tapped the door so that it slid open.

“I’m taking you to meet my mother,” he explained as the smoking smell of train exhaust sailed into their waiting faces.

Draco jumped out of the train, turned and picked her up at the waist to help her out of the train. There were several people standing on the platform, craning their necks in search of their family members. Ginny didn’t have time to look around for long as Draco placed a hand at the small of her back and began guiding them through the crowd to where a tall woman with golden blonde hair stood.

Oh, she was beautiful, Ginny thought. That regal stature and those elegant silver robes, her chin held proudly aloft as her blue-gray eyes scanned the crowd for her son. Draco had her finely arched brows and high cheekbones. Other than that, she knew he took mostly after his father.

Narcissa Malfoy finally caught sight of Draco, leading Ginny through the crowd. A pleased smile lifted her lips and wiped the arrogance out of her face. However, when she caught sight of who he had with him, Narcissa’s brows drew together with confusion.

“Mother,” Draco said, as they came upon her. He leaned in and gave her a dutiful kiss on the cheek.

Ginny was momentarily distracted when she heard shouts at the other end of the platform, she pushed up on tiptoes to see over the heads of the crowd, but Draco’s hand in hers brought her attention back.

“This is Ginevra, Mother,” Draco introduced them.

That tall imposing woman looked down at Ginny, a shadow of suspicion wavering in her eyes. “Draco, what is-“

Narcissa’s question was cut off when Draco suddenly reached up and clasped the pendant hanging from his mother’s neck. His grip tightened on Ginny’s hand and she felt the tug at her navel. She was flying and whipping through space and then she was falling.

The three of them stumbled as their feet came in contact with granite. Ginny’s knees wobbled and she nearly fell, but Draco’s arm went around her waist to steady her. When she looked up, she was no longer in Kings Cross Station. Her eyes rounded in shock as she gazed up at the cold, imposing sight of Malfoy Manor.

Gray granite columns rose several feet in the air, piercing the sky and coming to a halt at the fringes of a slate roof. The glossy black shingles slanted down like the scales of a snake. Rows and rows of tall windows glimmered in the moonlight that hung ominously in the air. Ginny tilted her head and stared at the absurd addition of statue angels hanging from ledges on the side of the cold, humorless building that loomed over her like an over-sized mausoleum.

It was so massive that she was unable to take in its full capacity from her vantage point on the bottom stair of a wide, curved staircase.

“Draco!” a harsh voice snapped Ginny out of her silent perusal of her surroundings. “What in Merlin’s name is the meaning of this?!”

Narcissa Malfoy strode up a few steps, the soles of her expensive leather shoes clacking angrily against the hard stone. She spun like a virago and pierced her only son with a look so venomous and full of contempt that Ginny shrank in on herself.

She found herself turning to Draco, wanting to demand the same question of him, but he looked unperturbed as he removed his arm from around Ginny’s waist and straightened his cloak unnecessarily.

“Speak now, you ungrateful little brat!” Narcissa shouted, pointing one long-nailed finger at Draco.

“Calm down, Mother,” Draco began in a tone that said clearly that he found her display of anger a little distasteful. “I am just bringing my girlfriend home to meet you and father.”

“Girlfriend?!” Narcissa exclaimed, her voice cracking a bit. “Girlfriend?” she said again, this time in a cold, deadly tone. Again she spun dramatically and started marching up the steps to the double-doored entry of Malfoy Manor.

As soon as the older woman was out of ear-shot, Ginny spun on Draco with her own demands. “What is going on?! What are you thinking?”

“Ginny,” Draco said in a strained voice, placing his hand on her back and leading her purposefully after his enraged mother. “I warn you, I only have the patience to deal with one irrational woman at a time. Please, do us both a favor and remain calm for the time being. I will explain everything as soon as I get the opportunity, but now is most definitely not the time.”

As they stepped over the threshold into the foyer, Ginny was unable to contain a gasp when she took in the opulence of her surroundings.

“Lucius!” Narcissa was shouting as she whipped off her dark green cloak and let it fall in a forgotten puddle on the marble floor. “Lucius!”

“Here we go,” Ginny heard Draco mutter beside her as he turned to help her off with her cloak.

Somewhere down the echoing passageway, Ginny heard the distinct sound of a door slamming open and heavy footfalls on the rich marble floor. “Damn it, woman! Why are you shouting like a common Muggle fishwife?” she heard the cold drawl of Lucius Malfoy’s voice just as he appeared from around the wide curving staircase.

Narcissa stabbed her finger back at where Ginny was standing with Draco, while he hung both of their cloaks. “Look at what your son has done!” Narcissa shouted at Lucius’ clearly irritated face.

Lucius did not glance their way. Instead he crossed his arms over his chest and raised his chin imperiously. “Funny that he is only my son when you are displeased with him, Narcissa.”

“Look!” she demanded emphatically.

Lucius sniffed and finally, slowly, turned his head to look at Draco and his little package. The other Malfoy’s face tightened when he took in the sight of Ginny Weasley, standing nervously flushed and disheveled, just inside of his foyer. To Ginny’s immense surprise, he did not erupt with anger, just stared at them quietly with calculating eyes that looked exactly like Draco’s.

“Hello, Father,” Draco greeted him casually, sounding for all the world like he had not shown up with his father’s greatest enemy’s daughter in tote.

“Draco?” Lucius questioned just as casually.

“Yes, Father?”

“Why, exactly, is there a Weasley trembling in my doorway?”

Narcissa threw her hands in the air, clearly exasperated with her husband for remaining so calm when she was boiling over with rage. “Oh, she’s his girlfriend! His bloody girlfriend, he says!”

Lucius Malfoy’s face became stony before he turned to look over his shoulder. “Narcissa, if you do not cease your embarrassing theatrics, I will hex you,” he stated in a scathing tone that Ginny’s father had never once taken with her mother. Narcissa shot him a withering glare, but did not comment any further.

“Girlfriend, Draco?” Lucius inquired curiously, turning once again with a mild look on his face.

“As it happens, Father, she is,” Draco agreed, his back straight. If Ginny could not see the pulse jumping rapidly at his temple, he would not have betrayed a bit of his nervousness.

After a pause, Lucius finally commented. “Interesting.”

Narcissa opened her mouth to ask what was so damn interesting about it, but she thought better of it and snapped her mouth closed, folding her arms under her slight bosom.

“Snuffy!” Lucius shouted. Ginny jumped and goggled, thinking it the must be the most ludicrous exclamation that imposing man had ever made. She suddenly understood when a house elf cracked into appearance at his master’s feet.

Lucius looked down his nose at his tiny servant. “Snuffy, we have a guest,” he explained. “Escort her to the front parlor, ward the doors and windows and then bring her some tea and biscuits. I expect you are in need of refreshments after your long journey, Miss Weasley.”

It was the first time either of the elder Malfoy’s had addressed her directly since her appearance in this strange and terrifying place. She opened her mouth to respond, but found herself unable to speak. Not to this man, who she had been raised to think of as the very devil himself.

With barely a pause, Lucius continued. “I need to speak with my son in private, to discuss this new development. I’m sure you understand.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Ginny finally found her voice. It sounded very weak and feeble to her ears.

Snuffy, the house elf, trotted over to her. “This way, miss.”

Ginny looked down at the little creature, then turned to Draco. She was at a complete loss. She needed reassurance. Draco turned to her and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Go on, Ginny. I’ll be along in a little while.”

“But, Draco,” she whispered, hating the weakness that caused her voice to shake. The Malfoys were so imposing and confident.

“Ginny. Now.” Draco said. His voice was gentle but firm. “I’ll explain everything when I can.”

“Draco,” Lucius called, his own voice just as firm, but now tinged with a hint of annoyance.

“Yes, Father,” Draco said. He spared her one last look before striding away to leave her in the care of the house elf. Narcissa gave Ginny one long stare before twisting in her spot and following after her son and husband.

“This way, miss,” the house elf repeated and Ginny followed, feeling more lost and bewildered than ever before.


Lucius strode purposefully into his study, assuming correctly that his family would be following close at his heels. The door clicked closed behind them and he turned. The study, like every room in Malfoy Manor, was richly appointed. A huge oak desk, serpents carved into the legs, was set back against a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. The drapes were made of green taffeta, embroidered with threads of silver in delicate designs. Flames crackled in the fireplace that took up most of one wall.

“Narcissa,” Lucius addressed his wife as he took a seat in a winged chair, by the fire. “If you cannot remain calm for this conversation, you may leave now.”

Narcissa drew herself up proudly and sneered at her husband. “Do not condescend to me, Lucius. I do not take kindly to you treating me like a house elf in my own home. Especially, in front of that Weasley girl.”

“Ah, the Weasley girl,” Lucius said, as if he had just been reminded of why they were here in the first place. This was his way of ignoring Narcissa’s defiance. He turned to his son, who was still standing silently beside his mother. “Well, sit down,” he commanded irritably.

Draco took the chair across from his father, crossing his legs elegantly in a fashion that mocked Lucius’ near perfectly.

“Now, please explain, Draco, why there is a foul Weasley besmirching the house of my forbearers even as we speak. Has she defected, is that why you’ve brought her here?”

“Ginny hasn’t anything to deflect from. As far as the war is concerned, Ginny is Switzerland,” Draco commented dryly.

“None of us can afford to be neutral in this war, Draco. Sides must be taken. We’ve discussed this before.”

“Ginny will take whatever side I am on, Father,” Draco responded with confidence.

Lucius steepled his fingers under his chin and stared intently at his son. There was not a tick or tremor to be seen. His face was, quite emotionless. He had trained the boy well.

“And why are you so sure of that? What about her family?”

“Her family has betrayed her in the worst way possible. I think, with very little encouragement, she can be convinced to disown them completely,” Draco explained.

Lucius seemed to be forcing back a smile. His head was swelling with pride with each word from his son’s lips.

“And in what way has her family betrayed her?” Lucius questioned, summoning a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

“I don’t know all of the details, mostly because Ginny doesn’t, but it seems that they had several memory modification completed on her after the events in The Chamber of Secrets. In their attempts to remove the memories, they have also altered her very personality and in some ways, her ability to retain focus.”

“Then she is broken,” Narcissa commented, finally sashaying over to a chair between the two of them and taking a seat. It seemed that her interest in Draco’s explanation had somewhat cooled her anger for the moment.

Pleased to see his wife now taking a rational interest in the conversation, Lucius summoned a third glass, filled all three and floated one each to his wife and son.

Draco took the proffered whiskey with a polite “thank you” and sipped it while he waited for his father to mull over the new information before continuing. “Not broken, Mother. Just chipped a little, maybe a hairline fracture here and there, but still perfectly serviceable, with a little polishing up.”

“I’ve always known Arthur Weasley to be an intolerable imbecile, but I didn’t think even he was idiot enough to go digging around in the mind of one of his children,” Lucius observed.

“I know little of the Weasley’s,” Narcissa interjected, taking a sip of her whiskey. “But it is clear to everyone that Molly Weasley wears the pants in that family. If I had to guess, I’d say it was her idea.”

“You’re probably right, Cissy,” Lucius said with a chuckle. “I’ve never seen a more hen-pecked man than Arthur Weasley.”

“Why did you bring the girl here, Draco?” Narcissa implored her son.

Draco threw back the rest of his whiskey and placed his glass on the table beside his chair. “Because she’s mine. I wish to keep her.”

Narcissa gasped and Lucius gawked. Well, as much as Lucius Malfoy was capable of gawking. He caught himself immediately and narrowed his eyes at the boy who sat across from him. It had not gone beyond Lucius’ notice that he was quickly becoming a man, a man that he himself had groomed.

“You cannot possibly expect us to accept your little concubine into our home, Draco,” Narcissa bit off. “It is insulting to even suggest it.”

Draco tried to refrain from rolling his eyes. Why were all women, even his highly esteemed mother, so prone to melodrama? “She isn’t my concubine, Mother. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Stop using that word. It’s disgusting and common,” Narcissa lectured sternly.

“Then are you saying that your intentions towards the girl are…dare I say it…honorable?” Lucius asked, feeling inexplicably amused at this recent turn of events.

“That’s not exactly the word I would use, but close enough,” Draco said, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m sorry, but are we really discussing the possibility of our son marrying a filthy blood traitor Weasley, Lucius?” Narcissa asked with disbelief.

“She’s a pureblood, Narcissa. And she cannot help it, anymore than you or I, if she has undesirable relations,” Lucius pointed out reasonably. He had refilled his glass, but not offered more to his wife or son.

“But she is beneath him, Lucius.”

“Yes, I know that, Narcissa. But she is pureblood and her line is not so closely related to ours as the Parkinsons,” Lucius pointed out.

“I’m not marrying Pansy Parkinson,” Draco interjected, a disgusted sneer on his face. “She’s my second cousin. I don’t want cross-eyed offspring.”

“Do you care for her, Draco?” his mother asked.

“Pansy?!”

“No, the Weasley girl, you obtuse boy!”

“Oh.”

Lucius and Narcissa both turned and looked at their son. They both had unreadable expressions on their faces, but over the years, they had both become rather predictable to Draco. Lucius was looking for signs of weakness, picking him apart like a Potions experiment that might go wrong at any moment. Narcissa was watching him with maternal concern and just a little bit of snobbish superiority. These were treacherous waters and Draco must proceed carefully.

“If she can become worthy of me,” Draco began slowly. “There is every possibility that I could become…fond of her.”

Seeming to find this answer acceptable, Lucius threw back the rest of his liquor. “Very well, Draco. She may stay for now.”

“Really?”

“Certainly. It should be very interesting to see how this unfolds. It will definitely distract The Order, which can’t hurt.”

“Lucius, are you sure?” Narcissa asked, sounding tired and worried.

“I am.”

“Thank you, Father. May I go and speak with Ginny now?” Draco asked, already standing up.

“The Dark Lord will have to be informed, Draco,” Lucius warned.

“Must he?” Draco barely refrained from whining.

“He must. Now go inform your young lady of the good news.”

Draco was out the door of the study and on his way to the front parlor before he noticed his mother had followed him. “Mother,” he said, slowing enough that she could catch up to his quick pace. “I was hoping to speak with Ginny alone.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, the world does revolve around the hopes and wants of Draco Malfoy,” his mother said, with a shade of frostiness. “You have declared your intentions towards the girl to be honorable. As such, she will be provided with the appropriate chaperonage while she is residing under my roof.”

“Mother,” Draco sighed, stopping outside the door of the front parlor. “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a bit.”

Narcissa put her hand on her son’s arm when he reached for the handle of the door. “You have five minutes to talk with girl before I come in to collect her. The door is to remain open at all times and if you even think to defy me I will confiscate your wand for a week.”

Draco gawked at his mother, wondering why his most trusted ally had suddenly turned on him so dramatically.

“You may have convinced your father to go along with this atrocious little scheme of yours, Draco, but I am still mistress of this house. Lucius is my husband. He can dictate to me, you may not. If the Weasley girl is to stay, it will be on my terms.”

There was a pause, while Narcissa let this information sink in. “And your five minutes started a minute ago. I would hurry if I were you.”

Draco stared coolly at the diabolical woman who bore him into this world. He might resent her at the moment, but she was a Slytherin through and through. He couldn’t help but appreciate it. With a nod of acknowledgement, Draco shoved open the door and swept inside.