Meet Me at the Center

Draco unfolded the note and stared down at the thick black letters on the parchment.

Meet me at the center.

Ginny’s writing. Ginny’s perfume, subtle as the warm breeze that blew all round him as he stood outside the rounded hedges. So like her, he thought. No begging. No explanation. But no invitation, either; not really. What would happen if he did find her at the center of the hedge maze? Would she accept him then? He folded the note back up and saw that something was written in tiny letters on the other side.

No magic.

Creative swearing would most likely not be the way to appease the gods, so he stifled the words that rose to his mind and entered the maze through a gap between two hedges. After all, how hard could it be?

An hour later, he stopped and glared at the endless winding hedge, wiping the sweat from his brow. Dead ends, sharp branches scratching his skin, and a furtive, futile attempt to use his wand—it had all led to this! He felt something crumple in his hand and realized that it was the note.

Close your eyes.

“Mad,” he said aloud. “Impossible. I’ve probably been wandering about for days. I haven’t been able to find anything with my eyes open—“

More writing appeared.

That’s the point.

He felt the tips of his fingernails digging painfully into his own palms. I’ll die out here. I didn’t bring food or water. And now she’s making impossible demands! I ought to turn around and leave. No girl is worth it. But it would be just as impossible to find his way out, and he knew it.

Trapped between two dooms, he stared straight ahead, fingering her note over and over again. A few minutes passed. He realized that he was reading the new words with his fingers, tracing the minute embossment of the ink as clearly as a blind man reading Braille.

Come to me.

Draco closed his eyes. Then he began to walk surely, solidly, like a man reaching a destination he has known by heart all his life.

Ginny sat at the very center of the maze, her red-gold hair glimmering over her shoulders. She lifted her head when she saw him, and the sun set her beauty ablaze. He approached her hesitantly. She held out her hand. He took it in his, and then he had to shut his eyes more tightly, because he had begun to cry. A Malfoy never cries, he thought. But then, Malfoys are never supposed to do a thousand things that I’ve already done for her sake.
He felt her pick up his hand and raise it to her cheek, and he felt the wetness on his fingertips that meant she was crying, too.

“I knew you’d come through, Draco,” she said at last.

“What happened to Potter?” he asked.

She motioned for him to sit next to her. “Oh, he’s wandering about somewhere in the maze.”

“I think we should leave him to starve,” muttered Draco.

Ginny shook her head. “No. I feel sorry for him, really. He’ll never understand how to find the center.”

“So what’s the secret?” asked Draco.

“Well, how did you find me?”

“I followed the instructions on your note, even though I didn’t want to in the least,” he admitted.

“You didn’t trust me?” Her golden eyes looked sad.

He shook his head vigorously. “I swear that wasn’t it, Ginny.”

She leaned closer, and he felt the greater warmth of her body against the heat of the sun. “Perhaps you didn’t trust yourself.”

He looked away slightly. “Perhaps.”

“You still don’t know what it is, do you?” she asked.

“Mmph.” There had to be a limit to non-Malfoyish activities at some point, thought Draco. Admitting that he was wrong seemed like a very good place to stop.

But she scooted closer, and he no longer cared very much.

“You wanted to find me. But even more than that, I think you wanted to find yourself.”

He saw himself mirrored in her huge golden eyes. No longer a boy, he thought. Not yet a man. Never the man my father wanted me to be. But a strange thought struck him. Perhaps he really could find the man he wished to be, even as he had found the center of this mysterious maze.
And when she leaned in and kissed him, he was sure of it.


Bitter Things


“So what do you have?” Draco Malfoy asked the informant on the other side of the dark alley. “And it had better be good.”

“It is,” said a voice that seemed teasingly familiar to him.

“I don’t do business with anyone I can’t see,” he said brusquely.

The figure stood still as he strode forward and twitched the cloak aside. Ginny Weasley’s bright red hair shone back at him. Her mouth twisted into a bitter, cynical smile. “Surprised, Malfoy?”

“I suppose you could say that.” He watched her warily.

“Don’t fret your pretty little head over it. I’m here to help.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised, he thought. After all, his side knew the truth. Ginny’s family had rejected her completely.

“So what secrets do you have to share, Weasley?” he asked.

She shrugged. “It’s not a matter of secrets. My contribution to your father’s campaign to become Minister of Magic is to pose as your new girlfriend. That’ll undermine Harry quite nicely.”

“I suppose it will,” he said.

She was installed in the guest bedroom in his London flat. They began attending public events together, and she smiled and stroked his arm and snuggled into his side when the cameras clicked. He wondered what she really felt. The warmth of her body stayed with him through the long, lonely nights as he lay awake in his own bedroom, staring at the ceiling.

At a large public dinner, Draco felt Ginny stiffen against him. Harry Potter was standing next to the punch bowl on the other side of the room, and his eyes were filled with hatred.

“Take me away,” Ginny whispered into Draco’s ear, her voice fragile.

They went back to his flat.

“Why are you really helping us?” he asked after they’d drunk their way through nearly an entire bottle of Firewhisky.

“Because Harry…he…” Her eyes went unfocused, as if watching a horror unfold that he could not see.

“Shh, Ginny,” he said. He realized too late that he had called her by her first name.

“Have you learned why the Weasley girl decided to aid our cause?” Lucius asked him the next day. Draco stood in front of his father’s desk, his hands clenching into fists where they could not be seen. He did not answer.

That night, a knock came at his bedroom door. “I can’t be alone,” said Ginny, shivering.

“Then come to me,” said Draco. He threw the covers back.

She went into his bed, and he made love to her with more gentleness, more generosity, than he had ever dreamed was in him. Afterwards, they fell asleep in each others’ arms.

Very early the next morning, Ginny was already up and dressing. “I have to go,” she said.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He tried to collect his thoughts and failed.


“I’ve made a mistake,” she whispered.

Draco tightened his lips and strode out of the room, refusing to look at her.

“I believe we need a final touch,” said Lucius an hour later. “I’ve received a reliable tip that compromising information about Potter may be found at the Ministry.”

“You can’t,” said Draco. “They’ll catch you; there are no secrets in that place--”

His father had ceased to listen, he knew.

“Where are you going?” asked Ginny when he stormed back into his flat and grabbed a cloak.

“I thought you wouldn’t care,” he snarled.

She bent her head. “I do. And I don’t want to leave you… Draco.”

“Then we’ll go together,” he said, and he took her hand.

They opened the door to the filing room to see Harry Potter and several Aurors frogmarching his father out of it. The Weasley family rushed forward in a body, and they absorbed Ginny with smiles and embraces. Finally, numbly, Draco understood what had really happened. As Ginny was pushed out the door, she dropped her head and did not look at him.

Six months later, Draco stood on a sandy beach in front of a villa, looking out at the cold North Sea. They gave him everything he asked for, here. It was nearly a luxury resort. If one could somehow manage to block the death and despair lurking in every breath of air in Azkaban, of course.

A small, slight figure approached him from the path leading to the woods. His lips tightened. He had been refusing all visitors, so who—

Ginny’s red hair shimmered in the sun. He stared at her.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“I—I tried not to betray you, Draco.” She looked away from him. It was no answer, as he knew very well.

“You didn’t try very hard, then, Weasley,” he said. “Tired of family dinners at the hovel so quickly?”

“It’s not like that. My family won’t really take me back,” she said. “Unless I marry Harry, and I won’t.”

“Isn’t a white wedding with Potter your lifelong dream?”

She raised her head to him, sorrowful, defiant. “He raped me eight months ago, Malfoy. A month before I first came to you. Nobody would believe me then; they won’t now. No reason why you should.“

Somehow they were kneeling in the sand, holding each other up, and he was whispering her name over and over like a magical spell that could never be broken.

“I won’t go away from you,” she finally said.

“Ginny,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “I am here until I die. You can’t get me out.”

“I knew that.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“You can’t get out, Draco. But I can stay.”

The meaning of what she had said spread over him.

“I’m selfish. I’m weak,” he said. “I should let you go. If I had any decency in me, I would. But I won’t.”

“Good. Because you’ve healed me, and I won’t leave you now. No matter what.” She kissed him.

No matter what. “I like the sound of that,” said Draco.

And they walked into the bright sunlight of Azkaban, every bitter thing become hope.

A/N: Thanks to all readers and reviewers, especially:
Sunnystorms, cherryredxx, Malinka, and Pitzi.
Here's Part Two! :)

A/N: Okay, *I* liked this pun, anyway. ;)

+++
Bad Heir Day


Ginny examined her hair in the mirror. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” she muttered. “I don’t look a bit different.”

“You wouldn’t let the hairdresser elves do what Madame Medusa suggested,” said Luna. “I suppose that’s why.”

“Luna, they wanted to put a beehive on my head! I’m allergic, you know.” Ginny patted her curls dubiously. “Though I suppose it’s a nice break from dodging Cruciatus for hours on end at the hands of the Carrows.”

“It certainly is,” agreed Luna. “I’ve heard that they’re going to start in on even worse tortures soon. Waterboarding. The rack. Listening to boy bands.”

Ginny shuddered. She sniffed the air. There it was again! A whiff of dark, dark coffee, possibly mixed with chocolate.

“Luna, how much longer will you be?”

“A couple of hours,” Luna said vaguely. “They’ve still got to put in the snakes.”

“Then I’ll, um… be back later,” said Ginny.

Actually, Ginny did know why she’d let Luna coax her into coming to Madame Medusa’s Hair Salon during one of the rare Saturday mornings when they were able to sneak out of Hogwarts. She’d heard rumours that strictly rationed coffee had been smelled on the premises. And nobody, but nobody, could hinder Ginny Weasley from the hunt for some serious caffeine.

The rich, sensuous smell of coffee only increased as she tiptoed down the corridor. She pushed at the door at its very end. Her mouth fell open.

Draco Malfoy was sitting under a hair dryer, an enormous cup of coffee beside him.

“Oh!” she said involuntarily.

He turned round.

Her gaze flicked from him to the steaming coffee. “You—you—“

He looked at her with shock that was quickly masked. “Yes, Weasley?”

“You’ve got coffee,” she breathed. “Can I have a sip?”

“No, you can’t, partly because you’re a disgusting blood traitor with appalling fashion sense.” Draco gave her a long, leisurely survey from head to toe. “Taking all of those robes off would make for a remarkable improvement, Weasley… anyway, you don’t have time for coffee, I’m afraid.”

“Why not?” squeaked Ginny, unable to take her eyes off the swirling steam rising temptingly from the cup.

“Because now you’ve learned the deepest, darkest secret of the darkly dark-ish Dark Side,” said Draco.

“But I don’t know anything about Voldemort’s evil plan to rule the world.”

“Oh, that’s not the deep dark secret,” said Draco. “This is.” He leaned to one side. At the very edge of the table sat a bottle of Platinum Playwizard #.001. Open. Empty. Used! She stared.

“So straight to the Malfoy dungeons you go, just as soon as I’m out from under this dryer,” said Draco. “You can’t be allowed to spread the news.”

Ginny thought fast. “What exactly has Voldemort promised you, Malfoy?”

“Oh, the usual things. World domination. The power of life and death over all sentient beings. Controlling interest in every new Starclucks franchise in the wizarding communities.”

That last offer was a powerful lure indeed, thought Ginny. Still, she had quite a card to play. “It’s too late, Malfoy. I know the truth now.”

“I don’t see how you’ll get the news out whilst chained to a wall in the dungeons, Weasley.”

“Rumour has it that Rita Skeeter’s down there too, Malfoy. Do you really think I’ll be able to keep secrets from her, even if I wanted to? She’s been known to get information from flobberworms in comas.”

“Damn. I told the Dark Lord that he’d get better press if he didn’t torture journalists,” said Draco.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Everyone in the wizarding world will know the terrible truth, Malfoy. Your hair is just plain brown. Isn’t it?”

“No… no… you can’t…”

She reached out and ran her fingers down his school tie, tugging on it lightly. “Isn’t it?”

Draco sank his head into his hands, suspiciously close to Ginny’s cleavage. “Yes! It’s true. Plain, plebian brown. I confess it all. Mother is the only Malfoy who’s a natural blonde. Father’s in here getting his roots touched up every four weeks as well. He said he’d disinherit me if I didn’t keep the terrible secret…”

Ginny reached even further forward and smoothed his eyebrows. “Hmm. So that’s why these are so dark.”

“Uh…”

“And if I’m locked in the dungeon, then you can’t very well visit me, can you?

“Why would I want to visit a Weasley?” He looked down. “What are you doing? You’re trying to get the secrets of evil and doom out of me through horrible tortures, aren’t you? Er, not that I want you to stop, or anything.“

“Hmm. I think a golden-toned shade might go better with your skin,” said Ginny, continuing her activities.

Draco gulped. “I might be able to convince Father to let me bring down your daily bread and water. Perhaps we could arrange it for those hours when you’re chained to the wall. I’m sure you’ll be writhing about quite a bit…”

“So I couldn’t get off the wall?”

Beads of sweat began trickling down his forehead. Ginny doubted it was the effect of the dryer. “You might be allowed some short breaks, as long as you promise not to tell anyone.”

“Or you could just not send me there to begin with. Then we’d be able to visit all we liked, Malfoy.”

“How?” he croaked.

“We can meet here.”

A few moments passed.

Ginny wondered briefly if Malfoy blushed the same shade of pink from head to toe. It might be interesting to find out.

“Perhaps I’ll need to have my roots touched up more often,” said Draco. “Every week. Every day. Every hour. I’ve got to keep up the Malfoy name, you know.”

“Will you bring coffee?”

“I could arrange for special delivery from dedicated caffeine-elves. As long as you carry on with that tickly thing you’re doing.”

“Mr. Malfoy, I like the way you think.”

+++

The Evaluation.

“Harry, I don’t want this,” said Ginny. “You know that. I want to work with Muggles. I don’t want…” She waved a hand helplessly. “This anymore.”

Her gesture encompassed everything that she wanted to escape in the wizarding world since the war-- Fred’s death, Harry’s coldness, Ron’s overprotectiveness, love and grief and…

…and…

“But you will do it,” said Harry, a hint of steel in his voice.

“It wouldn’t look good if I left the wizarding world, would it?” she asked. “That would hurt your chances of re-election.”

Harry nodded.

She gave a mirthless chuckle. “We’re not the angels we used to think we were. Are we?”

“I never claimed to be one,” said Harry.

But in a way, he had, and she saw in his face that he knew it. Harry’s face was always easy to read. Not at all like another she could name.

“We are the fallen angels, Harry, if we’re anything at all,” she said. “But I’ll do what you want.”

Ginny walked through the long-term spell damage ward, her teeth set on edge. A chirpy orderly walked at her side.

“It’s so very different to that dreadful Muggle work with dementia, I’m sure,” she said, patting at her hairdo.

Ginny shrugged.

“There’s always hope, you see.” The orderly smiled.

Yes, there was always hope. But in a way, thought Ginny, that made things worse. Patients might improve one day; they might even emerge from the fog enveloping them. Or not.

There was a new patient for evaluation that day. The orderly handed her a clipboard, and Ginny read the name.

She froze. It was a name she had never thought she would see again. Then she forced herself to open the door.

She saw him standing on the other side of the room. It would have been easier if he had changed, had aged far beyond the five years that had passed since the war, she thought. But he had not. He stood looking out into the rain as if time had passed him by in an enchanted dream. He looked the way he had the last time she had seen him, when he had destroyed her with his words and actions, and she had thought she would never rise from the ashes again. She’d heard a rumour that he had died the summer after the war, and she had chosen to believe it.

It would have been kinder if he had, she thought. He would have rather died that to live on as a shining shell of his former self.

For a vicious instant, she was glad that things had turned out this way. It was no worse than he deserved.

“Hello, Malfoy,” she said, fighting the instinct to turn and run as far and fast as she could. She walked towards him, clipboard in hand. He waited for her without saying a word.

“How are you today?” she asked.

No answer at all. She couldn’t even be sure he’d heard her. She wasn’t sure if she’d be able to evaluate him at all; she needed some sort of response for that. Well, then, she’d evaluate his lack of response. She’d stay at least an arm’s length away from him at all times. She would—

He turned. He gave her a sweet smile, like the ones he had given to her in the secret days they shared before their world was blown apart, and he had a hand in the destruction.

Then he opened his arms to her.

For an instant, Ginny was sure that she was about to fall apart as thoroughly as she’d done on that last night when he’d left her for the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord he’d sworn himself to, the devil he had not been able to escape. She closed her eyes, struggling desperately not to cry. Then she felt his arms close around her with only a ghost of their old strength.

“Draco, Draco, she sobbed, knowing that there could be no real answer.

“Shh, Ginny,” he said, his frail, thin hand stroking her hair. And she knew that no matter how far angels had fallen, they could rise from scorched and shattered earth.