1

Ginny skipped happily through the woods, twirling every now and then, letting her hands caress a tree's bark as she swung past. The sunlight coming through the trees left little spots of light that danced over her skin and flowing dress as she moved beneath it. Laughing, she collapsed against a tree.

The funny little blue bird flew towards her. She shot a spell off at it, but a bubble around the bird sprung up and absorbed it.

She giggled softly. "See? You stop it every time. Why are you always so worried?"

The bird sighed. "What if sometime I don't? Then you'll be all alone out here."

The redhead laughed again. "Nonsense! I'll always have you to talk to." The bird made such little sense sometimes.

"Never mind. How was your day today?"

Smiling, she stretched a finger out and the bird rubbed his head against it, his soft feathers tickling pleasantly. "Oh, very enjoyable! I found a wild rose today! And a monkey came by, but I shooed it away before it took my magic stick."

The bird sounded panicked. "A monkey? What kind of a monkey?"

"It was a very odd monkey, Mr. Bird! Mostly its fur was gray, but you'll never guess what color the fur on its head was!"

"What?"

"Bright blue!" she replied brightly. "Even brighter than you!"

.               .               .

Teddy's friends crowded around his bed as he told his story for likely the third time now.

"Crazy, I tell you! The lady was just out there, swinging through the trees like a wild woman! I crept closer, but before I could get a good look, she was firing curses off faster than I could blink! Non-verbal, too! If hadn't run when I had, I don't think—"

Madam Pomfrey strode up with a stern glare for each of his audience. "Mr. Lupin needs his rest if he expects that leg to heal. So all of you, shoo!"

Grumbling, his friends exited with wishes for a speedy recovery.

Once the Hospital Wing emptied, a tall figure entered, in nearly all black robes. The constant frown made his uncle look more like Old Snape every day. A small smile twisted up one corner of it when Draco's gaze fell on his nephew. "I heard you had a little mishap."

Teddy grimaced. "Yeah. How come you always know so much?"

"I am on the Board of Directors, you know," was the dry response. "Your grandmother informed me that something attacked you in the Forbidden Forest today." Draco's frown turned it into a question.

Teddy nodded. "It was horrible! This crazy lady—"

"Teddy, I need you to keep this quiet. The Board has this under control, but there is no need to tell students and teachers who don't already know. Alright?"

The boy frowned. "What's important enough to keep it so quiet?"

His uncle looked up, appearing far more worn out than any 30-year-old should. "I can't tell you that. But can you keep this quiet for me?"

"Of course, Uncle Draco."

He smiled fondly. "Knew there was some Slytherin in you after all."

"Hey! That's not a compliment!"

.               .               .

The bird was bigger today. It perched on her head, running its beak through her hair.

"It always amazes me how you still manage to take care of yourself so well," the bird remarked.

Ginny laughed. "Silly bird. You think I can make the magic stick fight off monkeys and dinosaurs, but can't tell it to get mud off and make my hair pretty? You do think my hair is pretty, don't you, Bird?"

"Mmm, always. What spells, er—" It squawked, then started over. "What can you make the magic stick do?"

"Oh, lots of things. Sometimes it feels like there's words I should be saying to the magic stick, but then the feeling goes away. I don't remember the words anymore, so I just let the stick decide. Mostly, I don't even know what the stick's doing, but the colors are very pretty." She plucked a piece of grass, twirling it around her finger. "You said you have a magic stick too. Do you know any of the words?"

"Try this one," the bird murmured. "Lumos."

"Lumos! Ooh, amazing!"

.               .               .

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy! What progress have you achieved with the phoenix feathers you imported last week?"

"Is there any truth to the rumor that Voldemort had an heir?"

"What was your trip to Hogwarts for yesterday?"

Looking out her window, Hermione observed the all-too-common scene. She almost felt sorry for the man, shoving past hordes of reporters as he walked the driveway up to his own business. Instead, she gathered her papers together, ready to brief him the moment he stepped inside.

The door closed behind her boss and Hermione sprang into action. "We've kicked them off the premises three times today, but they're very persistent. Would you like me to call security?"

He waved it away. "They can't hurt anything now. Call if they're still not gone by tomorrow."

"Very well."

His gray eyes met her brown ones, and even after four years Hermione could still see the hope he so desperately tried to hide, to protect from the world that kept ripping it up and flinging it back at him. But each time, he would patiently mend it, waiting to start afresh. 17 times they'd started over, now. "Any luck?" But the hope was still there, if not so vibrant as it had been four years ago.

"The phoenix feathers have proved… interesting when ground with ashwinder skin. But the moment it sets to simmer, anything added causes it to explode. We're working on that right now, but it's a few days off at least. Meanwhile, newt has shown a slight increase…" She droned on, delivering the minutia that he always devoured so eagerly.

Four years ago, it had shocked the Wizarding World when Draco Malfoy offered Hermione Weasley – working a back-office job in a backwater Ministry department – a ridiculously large sum of money to head Research and Development of Malfoy Inc. Curiosity got the best of her, and against her friends' and family's wishes, she accepted.

She did not go unrewarded. Malfoy Inc, known mainly for its high-quality cauldrons and other magical supplies, was opening a new branch of work—medicinal potions.

Soon enough, she figured out the mystery to why he'd wanted her specifically so badly. He was hurting. And with the Weasley's near-adoption of him, he was practically her brother-in-law. She was one of the few he trusted intellectually and to not take advantage of his pain.

In four short years, they'd made leaps and bounds in many areas of medicine. All, she secretly suspected, but the one Draco had always been looking for.

2

"Drink this."

"Ew, no! It smells horrid."

"I know it does, but you need to if you want your insides to be as pretty as your outsides."

Ginny looked at him skeptically, but swallowed the contents of the vial anyway. "Gross!" She made a face. "It tastes worse than it smells!"

"I know, and I'm sorry. Ginny, look at me. Do you know who I am?"

She smiled fondly. "You're my special Bird, of course."

.                             .                             .

"Uncle Dwaco, Uncle Dwaco!"

Hermione couldn't help smiling as little Evrie ran to greet her favorite uncle. With a small smile, Ron grabbed Hermione's hand. She gave it a squeeze. The world was a mess, her best friend was dead, but for a few hours here amidst this loving family, it felt like they just might pull through.

The Burrow was larger now, with all the influence the family found after Voldemort's downfall. Once, she'd overheard Mr. Weasley mentioning an anonymous benefactor that sent enormously large checks every now and then. Hermione looked over at 'Dwaco,' Evrie happily seated on his knee while he tried not to grin like an idiot. Mr. Weasley would have to be a lot thicker than she thought if he hadn't figured out who the benefactor was yet. George, Ron, Harry, Draco, and Teddy (having amusingly inherited a large portion of the Black estate through a loophole) were all wealthy enough, but only one on that list would feel the need to be anonymous.

"Is Evrie bothering you again?" Charlie asked the blond, knowing full well how much Draco was loving it.

"She was just telling me how good of a flyer she's becoming."

The girl smiled up at her father from her uncle's knee. "I'm very good, aren't I, Daddy?"

"Of course, sweetie."

She turned to her uncle. "Mommy lets me use her broom. But it's really, really big."

The Slytherin smiled. "So you think you could learn better on a broom your size?"

"Oh, yes!"

Charlie caught where this conversation was going. "Don't even think about it, Draco. She doesn't need a customized B-R-O-O-M."

"That's odd, Charlie. I could've sworn you were trying to tell me what to do with my money."

Hermione hid a smile behind her hand. Scenes like this were common since the Weasleys had adopted him. It was a good thing there were so many children in the family. It helped to diffuse the doting of the old bachelor.

On all but Evrie. The girl adored Draco and he loved her like a daughter. At first Charlie had been concerned but eventually he went along with it, even going so far as to name the Slytherin her godfather.

Inevitably, Draco gave the question to her. "Ginevra, would you like a broom of your own? One that's your own size?"

The girl grinned up at him. "Yes, please!"

Charlie groaned and ruffled his daughter's hair, conceding defeat.

Hugo toddled over to Hermione. "Mommy," he whined, "Rose won't give me and Freddy back our Frog Cards."

"Freddy and me, Hugo," his mother corrected. "Come on, I'll go sort it out."

.                             .                             .

"I saw your family yesterday."

She wrinkled her nose. "I don't have family. Lone Crazy Woman, remember?"

The bird gave an odd sort of sigh. "Yes, you do. Charlie, your favorite brother, named his little girl after you."

"You're a lying little bird. I don't have any brothers."

Silence. The bird fluttered with irritation. "Can I tell you a story?"

She grinned, stroking its back with a finger. "I love stories."

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful redheaded girl—"

"No! Make her blonde. And a princess!"

"Alright, she's blonde. But she can't be a princess."

"It's not a real story if she's not a princess."

The bird sighed. "She's already a noble. Does that work for you?"

"Alright," she relented. "But she has to marry a prince."

"Maybe. But there's no reason for me to tell the story if you already know the ending."

"Hmph. Fine. But this better be good."

"Oh, it is. Alright. So this drop-dead gorgeous blonde nobleman's daughter was named Guinevere Wesley. Her father was very faithful to the king, as was their entire family. Well, a large group of bad nobles got together to try to overthrow the king."

"Oh no!"

"That's exactly what the Wesley's thought. All six of her older brothers joined the army to defend the kingdom."

"Six? No, too many. Make it two."

"Six," the bird growled. "Let me tell my story."

"You're not doing a very good job of it…" she sang.

"So all six of her brothers joined the army, along with her parents. Guinevere wanted to help as well, though. But her family was very protective of her, and forbid her from putting herself in danger. She reluctantly complied. That is, until she met Dralian, the most handsome, charming man in the world—and the son of the most evil nobleman. They fell in love. And he decided to fight for the good army, against his entire family."

"He's even better than a prince! This is a good story!"

He cleared his throat, and it took him a few seconds to recover. "But now, Guinevere started fighting in the war, too, in every little way she could. And Dralian, filled with love and scared that he wouldn't get another chance, asked Guinevere to marry him."

"And she said yes!"

The bird laughed. "That she did. But when she told her family, they threatened to disown her, knowing who Dralian's family was and thinking that he was only a spy for his father.

"When the final battle came, in anger, Guinevere threw herself into the heart of it. She was amazing: a goddess of destruction. Death Ea— uh, bad guy after bad guy fell before her. The good guys won, but the unspeakable happened to Guinevere. Dralian's father injured her very gravely."

Ginny gasped. "What happened next?"

He took a few moments to gather his words, then let them out in a rush. "Dralian took care of her, her family forgave him, they married, and spent the rest of their days together, happy in their love."

"That's a wonderful story," she proclaimed with a sweet smile.

"Yes, isn't it?" But the bird said it without conviction. He fluttered in agitation, looking like he was itching to be gone. "Well, I'll be back tomorrow. Goodnight."

As he flew off, she could've sworn he softly added, "Guinevere."

.                             .                             .

Neville Longbottom patiently peered through the fence on the grounds of Malfoy Inc. He'd waited for three hours already, and wasn't going to leave till he got a chance to talk to its owner.

He was not disappointed. A few minutes more and Draco Malfoy himself Apparated outside the gate and started the walk in.

"Malfoy!" Neville called, running over. "Wait up a minute!"

The Slytherin paused, gate half closed behind him and an unreadable look on his face. "Longbottom? What is it?"

Neville paused, his courage failing earlier than he'd hoped. "Your potion," he finally stammered. "My parents were part of the trial tests. It cured them. We've been trying for years and nothing's ever worked. I just… wanted to let you know how much good your work's been doing."

"Well, bully for them."

Neville's mouth hung open for a second before it turned to anger. "They got their entire lives back! You think that doesn't matter?"

Draco spun on the Gryffindor, nearly growling. "Let me put this in terms your thick head can comprehend. Say someone is stranded in the desert, completely parched. They stumble across a diamond. Now it doesn't matter how bloody big the diamond is, because if they don't get water, they're going to die. Got it now? Congrats to your family, but I've got bigger fish to fry." He slammed the gate in Neville's face.

Merlin, Neville remarked silently, and here people said Malfoy had stopped being such a bastard.

3

Ginny huddled into a ball, crying softly to herself. She waited like that for hours, hoping she would eventually feel better. She didn't.

Suddenly, her bird flew in, with wings large enough that he wrapped them around her, holding her against him. "What happened, Ginny?" he asked soothingly.

She pressed her head into his feathery chest. "The scaries came by. I still hurt."

"Scaries? What kind of scaries?"

"Whooshing, freezing scaries. With grabbing, bony fingers. Made me see awful things. Things that aren't mine."

"Dementors," the bird mused. "Can you tell me any of the things you saw?"

She nodded tearfully and clutched the bird tighter to her. "Lots of bad things happened to lots of red-haired people. And a bushy, brown-haired girl." Ginny wrinkled her nose. "There was this lanky albino bloke that showed up more than all the rest though."

"Lanky? Don't you mean well-built and mouth-wateringly good looking?"

She laughed a little through her fears. "Nope." A sudden shiver racked her, tears leaking out again. "The worst one was of him. I, or the girl or whoever, was lying on the ground at an odd angle. I couldn't turn my head. But the albino boy stood over me, desperately flinging light from a stick at hordes of scary people." She looked up with sad, uncomprehending eyes. "He was crying, Bird. Like his life wasn't worth living anymore. That was the worst memory."

His wings wrapped tighter around her. "That's my worst memory, too."

.                            .                            .

Charlie gently stroked Evrie's sleeping face, tucking the blanket around her. He shook his head at the broom-shaped package leaning against the wall next to her bed. Well, mini-broom-shaped. Draco must've forked out big galleons if that logo was what he thought it was. Knowing Draco, it most definitely was. And it wouldn't be long before the blond tried to hire the head coach of the Holyhead Harpies as her personal tutor, either. That Charlie really would put his foot down on.

A lump entered his throat for his daughter's namesake. Oh, Ginny…

Ever since his baby sister was little, he'd been her favorite brother, and it'd warmed him to the core to know it. Who'd first taught her how to fly? Who'd turned her into a damn fine Chaser? Who'd taught her to be sneaky? Not Fred and George, as everyone thought. Everyone knew the twins were devious, which defeated the purpose, in Charlie's book. With an upright older brother to keep him in line and five younger siblings to rat him out, Charlie the Second-born had banked on being underestimated. And who'd taught Ginny that same principle? None other than himself.

With pain, he recalled that he'd also taught her how to fight. Maybe if he hadn't, maybe if Bill had been the one…

No. What was done was done. He had to move on, no matter how much it hurt. Ten years still left deep, unhealed wounds.

Sparing one last look for his own Ginevra, Charlie tried to focus on the wild game he'd need to import for the new Romanian Longhorn. It didn't work.

.                            .                            .

Ginny twirled her stick happily between her fingers, firing off blasts of green light at various plants. The bird fluttered by, examining the withered spots she left in her path.

"What spell are you using?" he asked her.

"The Happy Spell! I learned it from one of the memories the scaries gave me. It's now my goal to make everything happy."

"I'm not familiar with that spell."

"Here, I'll show you." She pointed her magic stick at a squirrel scampering by on a tree branch. "Avada Kedavra!" Stone-dead, it thunked to the ground. "See? I sent him to a happier place."

A huge grin on her face, she couldn't figure out why Bird looked so terrified. "Don't send anyone to a happier place, Ginny. Especially me. I'm still trying to find happiness here."

She wrinkled her nose. "Alright. But you better not give up."

.                            .                            .

Narcissa Malfoy considered herself a very reasonable person. She asked for a husband and a child, not love. Having received it from one of the two, she deemed it a fairly good bargain. A large house, a hefty Gringotts account, and a good name (once she'd cleared it) rounded out her fulfilled demands. The only ones she hadn't gotten were a suitable daughter-in-law and an heir to the name she'd so painstakingly cleared.

Of course, a husband who wasn't in Azkaban would be nice, but so would flying mermaids. At least the mermaids would be a nice conversation piece.

But Draco—Draco was always either extremely devastating or extremely rewarding. Never mediocre. Devastating when he betrayed his entire family, rewarding when that betrayal saved the few that were left. Devastating when he fell in love with a blood-traitor, rewarding when her death turned him to philanthropy. The public loved it.

Remaining a scandal-free bachelor, however, was the worst of all. Narcissa tried to keep from talking about eligible women whenever she saw him, but it was so very hard. It was a mother's job to see all her children married. With only one wealthy, attractive, intelligent, well-bred child, it should have been a cinch.

Not when that son was Draco.

A black scruffy owl intruded on her musings, dropping an ominous red letter on her lap. It unfolded, Lucius's voice loud and clear, even from inside Azkaban.

"Narcissa! I cannot understand the idiocy necessary to turn Malfoy Inc. to making medicinal potions! And our son has been seen with the Weasley scum again! How dare—"

Narcissa blasted the Howler with enough Dark Magic to bring down a small elephant. Lucius was an idiot if he thought he was anything but dead to her.

Footsteps tread down the hall and her son slipped in, leaning against the door frame. A smirk toyed with his mouth, something she saw little of after the war. "Another Howler, Mother? Such a shame that inmate keeps pestering us with those."

A smirk grew on her face to match his. "Nothing I couldn't handle." She set her wand back on the table. "What is it, Draco?"

His face grew serious. "Any idea why a Dementor would be at Hogwarts? And what the hell are they even made of?"

4

If the world is such a happy place, then why am I in so much pain? Ginny wondered to herself. Her arms hurt, her chest hurt. And she felt cold, so very cold, as she lay staring blankly up at the leaves on the trees.

Vaguely, she recognized the sounds of someone running towards her, but couldn't have moved even if she'd wanted to.

"Ginny!"

How do I know that's my name? she pondered. That's the name the girl in the bad memories had.

Suddenly, her Bird was kneeling next to her, staring concernedly at her. Leaves and bits of things poked out from his ruffled feathers. "Ginny, say something!"

She smiled weakly. "The horse-men didn't want to be happy."

He touched his wing to her side and it came away a funny shade of red. "You're hurt very badly. It took me a while to find you here."

She nodded, then stopped. It hurt too much. "I managed to happy quite a few, though, before they broke my magic stick."

Swearing softly, the bird picked her up in its wings.

"Where are you taking me? I demand to be put down this instant!" When slurred, it didn't sound quite as forceful as she'd intended it.

"I'm taking you somewhere where you can get better. How are you going to take care of yourself without your magic stick?"

"Oh. Good point." She patted his feathered cheek. "My own little Birdy-Dralian."

And the world slipped into black.

.                            .                            .

Blaise Zabini was wrapped in the arms of the most beautiful witch he'd ever seen when the Floo rang.

"Mhm, ignore it will you, darling?" she murmured throatily.

He chuckled. "Gladly."

"Blaise, you sorry git!" the fire yelled in a Draco-ish voice. "I'm collecting a life debt!"

Blaise paled. Draco had horded that debt since before they'd even gone to Hogwarts.

He flooed over to Malfoy Manor without even a goodbye to the witch on his couch.

"What is it?" he asked, stepping out of the fireplace. But he cut off the next words in strangled gasp when he saw who was lying on Draco's couch.

Ginny Weasley. Ginny bloody Weasley, the love of Draco's life and current dead woman. Had been dead for ten years. And was about to die again, if the blood dripping from Draco's hands was any indication.

Draco turned to his best friend. "You went through Pre-Medi-Wizard training, Blaise. You're the best I've got."

He'd dropped out after inheriting the family estates and never really cared that much in the first place, but there was no use telling Draco things that he already knew. Besides, there was no arguing with a life-debt. So he strode over to the unconscious Weasley, rolling up his sleeves. "Get me lots of towels and any healing potions you have."

.                            .                            .

It wasn't often that your boss called you at two in the morning to do research, Hermione mused. As it was an isolated incident, she complied just to humor him. Ron vowed to throw some nasty curses Draco's way, but Hermione just patted her husband's sleepy head as she left.

"I mean, it's not like you don't pay me enough for stunts like this, but… why?" she asked the Slytherin after half an hour of both of them pouring over books on Dementors, of all things.

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving the pages of his own Dementor book. "I had to get out of the house, I had to do something, and besides—I had a breakthrough. Here," He handed her a piece of parchment he'd been scribbling on. "this. I want to make a potion out of this."

Once Hermione put together what those particular ingredients meant, she gasped and looked at her boss with fury in her eyes. "That's Dark Magic!" she growled. "Very Dark Magic!"

"I know." With face scruffy and robe hastily thrown on, she didn't think she'd ever seen Draco this unguarded physically—and emotionally. The flicker of hope that she'd seen so carefully banked for the past four years now roared into a fire. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. "Which is why I won't ask you as your boss, but as your nearly-brother-in-law and, hopefully by now, your friend."

That last word caught her attention.

"If it doesn't work, then no harm done. But if it does, I vow to you on my name as a Malfoy that you would willingly risk ten times this for the results."

She looked back at the parchment, running calculations.

.                            .                            .

Narcissa silently observed the pale girl sleeping in one of their guest bedrooms. Ginevra Molly Weasley. If the war had lasted a few months longer, likely that redhead would now be a Malfoy.

In the few early hours of the morning while Blaise rested and Draco researched, Narcissa could finally get a good look at the girl that had so thoroughly captured her son's heart. Overly freckled and extremely tanned (Merlin she must spend a lot of time outdoors!) yet still slim and—in an odd, unrefined way—somewhat pretty.

Blearily, the girl opened her eyes and Narcissa swooped over in an instant. "How are you feeling? Is there anything I can have the House Elves get for you?"

The girl giggled childishly. "What a funny talking zebra. I thought only Bird could talk."

Narcissa could only stare open-mouthed in disbelief. "What in Merlin's name are you talking—"

"I did NOT say you could talk to her!" Draco yelled, racing into the room.

"Bird!" the girl cried happily at her son.

"Leave her, Mother," he intoned more gently. "She's sick."

"Obviously!" his mother snapped, stalking out. Her life had just gotten a whole lot less reasonable.

.                            .                            .

Blaise stumbled out of his guest bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Draco sat stiffly on the living room couch, an empty cup of tea clutched in his hands. He occasionally tried to take a sip from it, only to discover that it was, in fact, still empty. Blaise grabbed the cup from him, refilled it, and grabbed one for himself. "How is she?"

Draco grunted, taking an actual sip of tea. "Mostly healed, I think. Still a bit off in the head, but you are only a flunkee Healer."

Blaise shrugged. "Truth is truth, mate. I did all the memory restoring spells I could, but I never was anything near a prodigy there anyway. I'm assuming you want me to keep this whole thing under wraps?"

The blond finally looked up. "Yes. And thank you for… this."

Blaise smiled roguishly. "Anything for a life-debt."

.                            .                            .

"It's ready."

It took a few seconds for Draco's heart to start beating again. "You sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Hermione's head in the fire rolled her eyes. "When will you be coming for it?"

"Won't be. Floo over with it."

"To Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes. The wards are down."

A few seconds later the Muggle-born stepped into his living room, carrying a reeking flask. The gray liquid swirled and smoked, letting off wispy tendrils. She had to grip it with tongs as the flask froze anything touching it for too long.

He led her down to the guest bedroom, then stopped outside the door. "Hand me the flask."

"What? Why?"

Draco grinned slightly, taking it from her. "Cause you'll drop it. And I don't want to wait a whole 'nother week for you to brew another one. Come on."

Pushing open the doors, he watched his assistant's face. Success or failure, this moment would be one for the Pensieve.

"GINNY?!"

Laughing, the redhead looked up. "You brought me more of your animal friends! This is even better than the forest, Bird!"

Draco sighed as Hermione's face inevitably fell. "Yes, Hermione, the potion's for her."

"She…? You…?" The brainiac was bewildered. "I don't understand," she finally settled on.

"You don't have to. I just thought you'd want to be here for this."

Hermione stopped what she'd been about to say. "Absolutely."

He walked up to Ginny, the hand holding the flask shaking.

"Bird, why won't the otter talk to me?" Ginny pouted.

"Ginny, I need you to drink this. It will taste worse than anything else you've ever had, but you need to. You're still sick inside and this is the only way to heal you."

She patted his hand and it still sent a tingle up his arm. "Alright, Bird." She took the steaming flask up to her mouth, made a face, and started to lower it. Suddenly, she downed the entire thing in a single gulp.

Draco's heart felt like it would burst. "Come on, Ginny, work," he whispered inaudibly. "Please Merlin, work."

"Blech! I don't feel very good," she slurred and passed out. Hermione instantly started fussing, but Draco just sat down to wait. He'd gotten good at it in the past ten years.

5

The Blackness stretched endlessly. She didn't know where she was, who she was, only that she was running, desperately running…

A redheaded girl raced down the stone hallways of a castle, two younger children trailing her. "Hurry!" she called to them. "In here!" She tugged a pattern on the cord of a tapestry and the cross-stitched door on its fabric turned very real. Flinging open the door, she ushered the children inside.

"I knew there had to be a passageway in this corridor," a voice sneered.

The redhead spun, slamming the door shut behind her back. It turned back into fabric. Alone in the hallway, she faced down the owner of the voice, a lanky blond looking far too proud of himself. The only adornment on his robe was a shiny badge that read, 'I.S.'

"Your friends aren't here to save you," the boy smiled viciously. "They'd rather wander and leave you to the mercy of the Carrows."

"Go ask Alecto how her classroom got dyed red and gold, then," the girl spat. "Ask if all her 'pure-blood superiority' can get it off. And ask me how many mercies I'm expecting."

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Is that a confession?"

"What difference does it make?"

The boy shrugged, impressed by her indifference. "None. Detention."

A wicked grin lit her face. He never even saw the wand in her hand. "Nasum Vespertilio!"

Huge bats grew from his nose, swarming to attack his head amidst his shrieks. The girl quietly slipped through the tapestry door behind her.

.                            .                            .

Ginny opened her eyes blearily. Rich silk sheets and a thick comforter wrapped warmly around her. Looking up, she could see a canopy of thick green fabric. She shifted, sitting up a bit to see into the rest of the room. A bushy haired brunette draped over the couch, mouth open and drooling. The blond man in the armchair watched her intensely.

Scenes assaulted her memory. Scenes from a castle. Many of redheads loving her and she them. Family? Others, in the castle, defending her, helping her. Friends?

Then the strangest ones, of the slim blond man. Ones of her hexing him, hating him for hurting her friends. Ones of her tolerating him, laughing with him. Happy ones wrapped in his arms, fighting alongside him.

Her brain struggled, trying to make sense of all these disjointed new memories.

The confusing man rose to sit next to her on the bed. "Hello, Ginny. How are you feeling?"

She frowned. "Confused. Am I Ginevra Molly Weasley?"

His grin split his face. "Yes. Do you know who I am?"

"I'm not sure. I see things, but it's like I'm remembering someone else's memories."

"I can help you fill in those gaps, if you'll let me."

She smiled wryly. "A lot of the more confusing ones have to do with you." A newer memory surfaced, one that made less sense but was definitely her own. "Do you know a Dralian and Guinevere? I know it sounds crazy, but a bird told me a story about them and I have a feeling it was important."

.                            .                            .

A redheaded girl scrubbed at a trophy case, frown lines etched deep into her forehead. Behind her, a blond boy perched on top of a desk, smirking broadly.

"You missed a spot," he said. Black goo shot from his wand, sliming the newly cleaned glass.

The girl let out a growl of frustration—and kept cleaning.

"After Alecto forced Flitwick to undo the red and gold, she noticed her Sneakoscope was missing," the boy stated lightly. "The one she uses to catch your Hogwarts Rebels." He twirled his wand, still looking unconcerned. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

The redhead laughed. "Only took her this long to figure it out, did it?"

The boy frowned. "Why do you do this? You've gotten more detentions than even Longbottom and Lovegood, who we know are your Lieutenants. For what? Painting classrooms? Replacing all the Potions ingredients with stink pellets?"

The girl snorted. "If you're so superior, you tell me." She scrubbed at the black goo, looking angrier with each motion.

A long silence followed. The girl glanced back over her shoulder, surprised to see the boy frowning in thought.

"The Muggleborns," he said at last. "The Carrows have been too distracted to punish them in weeks." He looked over at her, something unreadable in his eyes. "You've gotten hundreds of detentions. Many of them nasty. You can't seriously be doing all this just for them."

The redhead flexed her hands, scars wrinkling across the back. "Why not?"

"They're…" he said hopelessly. "You're…"

Kneeling on the ground in front of the case, she continued staring at him, not even blinking.

"Get back to work," the boy snapped.

.                            .                            .

"You were fighting in the final battle of the War," Draco continued his explanation, "when four Death Eaters—"

"Bad guys in dark hoods serving a bald snake-man?"

"Yes, exactly. Well, four of them targeted you. Simultaneously, two cast Confundus and Imperius on you. I took out the third, but then the fourth cast the Killing Curse."

"Whew. Glad that one missed."

"It didn't."

She frowned. "I'm not sure I understand…"

"I'm not sure I do, either," he shrugged. "I did some research, found that the two spells did have some protective qualities—at a prohibitive cost to the castor. But everyone there saw you die. After the battle cooled, we went back to your body to mourn and found that it had disappeared. We assumed," he cleared his throat, "that Death Eaters had taken it."

Ginny's first memory was running from a herd of animals; running to the safety of the Forbidden Forest. Other memories still drifted aimlessly. "What then?"

"Your family buried an empty coffin. Just because there wasn't a body didn't mean we hadn't all seen you die. After that, we went on living our lives as best we could.

"Six years later, Remus Lupin smelled human from the Shrieking Shack during one of his transformations."

"Werewolf?"

"Yes, but a good one. Your family practically adopted him. So I, being the curious member of the Hogwarts Board of Directors that I am, went out to investigate. That's when I found you." She could tell he was struggling to keep down a rare genuine smile. She didn't know how she could tell, though.

"You were completely out of your mind," he continued. "You tried to kill me multiple times before I could start a conversation. Even when crazy, you're a hell of a duelist. I…" He looked extremely insecure, as if he were waiting for someone to pronounce his Azkaban sentence. "I assumed that once you were sane, you'd be highly embarrassed by your crazy years. So I watched you, visited you as close to daily as possible (though you still thought I was a bird), hoping I could cure you. I thought that would be what you'd want, but I had to gamble." He looked away. "I'm sorry if I was wrong—if you're angry that I kept you from your family for four years."

"Thank you," she admitted softly. "My family would've been hurt to the core, trying to take care of me." Her eyes stayed piercingly on him, trying to understand this stranger. "But why did you take care of me?"

He looked taken aback. "Do you know who I am?"

"No idea," she answered honestly. "But I'd love to find out."

He gave a twitch of a smile. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

"Ginny!" The brunette girl yawned happily. "You're up! How are you?"

"Much saner, I think," Ginny smiled. "Are you Hermione?"

The girl beamed. "Yes. Oh, you have no idea how absurdly wonderful this is! For ten years, Ginny, ten whole years I thought you were dead! And now, poof! You show up on Draco's doorstep."

Draco. That name clicked somewhere deep in her mind. He started to speak, but Ginny cut him off with a mischievous smile. "I don't remember much, but I think I was in some sort of dungeon up till recently. A strange bird swooped in and rescued me, though."

"It's a happy coincidence we were already developing memory potions." Hermione shot a look at Draco, who appeared highly uncomfortable. "Or else you might still think I'm an otter."

"Yes, what a fortunate coincidence," Draco replied dryly.

"An otter? Oh Merlin, I do vaguely remember that."

Draco smiled. "I'd love to horde you longer, but you have a family that I guarantee is dying to see you."

.                            .                            .

"Isn't this your dream come true?" the redheaded girl snarled, scrubbing the flagstones in the courtyard. "Your Dark Lord is back, ruling the world with fear and tyranny like you always wanted."

She got no reply. The girl looked up at the blond boy, seeing a horrified expression on his face. "You think I wanted this?" he asked quietly.

The girl flung her rag as she gesticulated wildly. "Of course! Why else were you so awful for seven years? All those times you called Hermione—"

"I never wanted this," he said, steel in his voice.

She looked at him, genuinely curious. "What did you want, then?"

"I wanted…" He searched for the words. "to do what was expected of me! To make my family proud."

"To be your father's son?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Your father is a Death Eater."

The boy looked away.

She asked, more softly, "So what do you want, now?"

6

Hermione was no fool. She'd heard the whole bit about how Draco had known Ginny was alive for four years without telling anyone. But while she didn't quite understand the reasoning that made it okay, all-in-all, she was plain overjoyed to have her best friend back. Which meant she'd forgive the one who brought her back of just about anything. And she'd gladly keep their secret, if that was what it took for a happy reunion. Hermione even looked up an abandoned fortress that would serve as a more appropriate location for Ginny's lie.

But as such, no one knew why Hermione had asked Mrs. Weasley to call a meeting of the entire family at the Burrow. Charlie sent a letter saying he couldn't make it, but Hermione sent one right back saying that yes, he could. Whatever else it was, she guaranteed it wasn't important enough to keep him away.

So that Sunday, the Burrow was crammed to bursting with redheads, spouses, and rambunctious children.

"Hermione, dear," Mrs. Weasley prodded once everyone was settled in the living room, "what was it you needed to tell us so urgently?"

Hermione looked around the room. Ron, angry at being left out, sulked next to Charlie, whose fingers drummed on the arm of his chair. Hermione just grinned. "Not everyone has arrived yet." She stuck her head out the front door. "Draco?"

He stepped into the room, beaming. An overwhelmed and nervous looking redhead adorned his arm.

A moment of stunned silence—then pandemonium exploded.

Mrs. Weasley fainted.

.                            .                            .

"So this is what you Rebels have been up to," a boy sneered. His brown hair lay limply against his forehead. An identical 'I.S.' badge gleamed from his robes.

The redheaded girl backed away from the Carrows' office door, terrified defiance playing across her face. Off in the distance, footsteps approached.

The brown-haired boy laughed. "You should be used to this by now. I'm sure Amycus will have plenty of pleasantries in store for you, after all that Order propaganda you permanently glued to his classroom." The footsteps sounded louder, at a run. The brown-haired boy grinned wickedly. "Deten—"

"Stupefy!"

The jet of light smashed into the brown-haired boy. He crumpled against the far wall.

Shocked, the redhead turned. The blond boy stood in the doorway, hands braced against his thighs as he panted, wand protruding from his hand. The girl and the boy stared at each other, neither sure which of them was more surprised.

"Detention," the blond boy said once he had his breath back and left as abruptly as he had entered.

.                            .                            .

Ginny was pulled out of a conversation with George by a tug on the hem of her robe. She turned to see a little girl about 7—the traditional red hair and freckles, but with bright blue eyes—staring up at her.

"And what's your name?" Ginny asked.

The girl grinned. "I'm Ginevra Hannah Weasley. Daddy says you're my aunt."

Ginny swallowed around a lump in her throat. "You're Charlie's girl?"

She nodded. "Yep! Wanna know a secret?"

"Sure. What?"

She motioned for Ginny to come closer, so Ginny crouched down until her ear was at the girl's level. "Uncle Dwaco's my favorite uncle. Out of all of them!"

Ginny laughed. "Well, good. I'm sure he'll be glad to hear that."

Her niece let out an exasperated sigh. "I've already told him. I just wanna know how soon he'll be my real uncle, insteada my sorta-uncle."

"What do you mean?"

"Daddy said Uncle Dwaco an' Uncle Remus are sorta-uncles while Uncle Ron an' them are real uncles."

Ginny turned a puzzled look to George, who was still watching the exchange with amusement.

"You know you were engaged to Draco before you…uh…died, right?" George explained.

"I had no idea." Ginny shot a look at Draco, laughing with Charlie, both clutching butterbeers. "He never even mentioned it."

George chuckled. "I guess it's hilarious, looking back now. Both families nearly disowned you guys. After you died, we felt guilty, even if the Malfoys didn't. And your little Draco, well…" George sighed, looking surprisingly serious. "We missed you so much, Gin. And while Malfoy wasn't you, he loved you nearly as much as we did." George shrugged. "Mostly Mum felt sorry for him. And which of us was going to tell her 'no'?"

The last pieces of the puzzle finally clicked into place. Engaged. To Draco Malfoy. Her bird, who had sat with her every day for the past four years. Engaged.

Draco caught her staring, grey eyes meeting hers across the room. Ginny waited for him to look away, but he kept drinking in the sight of her. She walked over, not breaking eye contact until she was next to him.

"You'll have to excuse me," Ginny turned to her family, "but re-meeting all of you has been exhausting and I need to lie down." She looked at her once-fiancé. "Draco? Could you take me home?"

He stood, offering her his arm. "Of course," he whispered.

.                            .                            .

The redheaded girl stood amidst a crowd of children her age, all gathered outside a door. A man with black robes and greasy black hair strode through their midst and the students milled behind him, preparing to enter.

"Professor!" The brown-haired boy from before called to the man. "Malfoy shot me when I was giving detention to Weasley! You can't let him get away with this!"

The man turned, raising an eyebrow. "Does she still have detention?"

"Yeah, but it's with Malfoy, not Amycus. He's mad. I—"

"Amycus's petty squabbles and Malfoy's apparent dislike of you are not my concern. I will take points if you bother me again, Nott."

Next to the redhead, a student raised an eyebrow at her. The redhead shrugged, trying to pretend she didn't know—as a smile twitched at her lips.

7

The redhead knelt on the floor, picking up scattered books and placing them into her arms.

A muscled boy with a vicious face stood over her. Another dreaded 'I.S.' badge gleamed on his chest. "Your books are in my way, Weasley."

Behind the vicious boy, the blond boy sat at one of the library's many tables. He peered over the top of his open book, watching.

"You knocked my books into your way," the redhead snapped.

"Are you talking back?" The vicious boy smiled. "Detention. With me."

Next to the redhead, a girl gasped. The vicious boy stalked out of the room, quite pleased with himself.

The redhead looked for the blond boy, but his face was already hidden back behind his book. With a sigh, she plunked her stack of books back down on the table.

"Not Crabbe!" the girl next to her said. "His detentions are the worst!"

"I guess it's been awhile since I had a bad one." The redhead couldn't help glancing one last time at the blond boy, still hidden behind his book. "I'll manage."

•           •           •

Ginny and Draco walked a ways down the road from the Burrow before he broke the comfortable silence. "So, where was it you wanted me to take you?"

Her nose scrunched. "Home? I don't know where it is. I vaguely remember a little flat."

Draco smiled. "You got that when they half-disowned you. It was sold ages ago."

Ginny flushed, glad the darkness hid it. "Oh."

"So I'm assuming you don't want me to take you back to your old room at the Burrow…"

She shook her head. "They'd never let me live that down. Where was I this morning? Can I go back there?"

A smile twitched at his lips. "Of course. But I do feel like I'm taking advantage of your faulty memory."

"Why's that?"

He turned his full gaze on her. "You just invited yourself over to my house."

"Oh! I didn't mean—"

"And while that would make me more than happy," he cut her off, "I'm not sure you know who I am."

She looked down at her feet. "George told me we were engaged, before."

His mouth twisted unpleasantly. "That's not what I meant. Never mind, I'll get you a hotel."

•           •           •

The vicious boy sneered at the redhead over a long line of wicked looking utensils. "Pick," he said. "Pick one that'll make the lesson stick and maybe I won't have to use all of them."

Defiance flashed in her eyes. "You're a coward. Face me with a wand and we'll see whose lesson sticks."

The vicious boy's sneer never wavered. "You want me to pick, then? I'd enjoy that."

The door opened. The blond boy entered, looking bored. "Weasley's needed elsewhere."

The vicious boy grunted. "How long till she's back?"

"Won't be," said the blond boy. "She'll serve her detention there."

Another grunt issued from the vicious boy, but he said nothing further. The redhead walked past him, looking dazed as she exited with the blond boy.

She walked next to him down the hallway, watching his face, waiting for him to speak.

He said nothing, not daring to look at her. Just as the redhead looked away, he spoke. "You never finished telling me about Sirius. I'm fairly sure everything my mother and aunt ever said about him was a lie."

•           •           •

Ginny sat on the luxurious hotel bed, knees clutched to her chest. Draco had paid for a room in the nicest hotel in Wizarding Britain, wished her goodnight, and promptly left.

That was three hours ago.

Although she was dead tired (and still sore from being trampled), the last thing she wanted to do was sleep.

It was terrifying being thrust into a world where everyone else knew you better than you knew yourself. Sure, she remembered quite a bit, now, but there was little personal attachment with it. Like watching bits and pieces of a play that was convoluted to begin with. And even in the parts she did know, occasionally sound dropped out or faces blurred.

She felt ungrateful, but it would be really nice to just know who her friends were. At least all her family were red-haired and stuck out at Hogwarts.

Ginny felt so helpless, so weak and alone. And she hated it.

Suddenly, she remembered a special quality of Wizarding fireplaces—and saw that her top-of-the-line room was indeed equipped with one.

She stepped in, grabbed a bit of the powder, flung it down and said the name, dearly hoping her memory was right on this person being a friend.

8

The redheaded girl entered an empty classroom, a smile that threatened to spill into laughter on her lips. "Crabbe didn't even look up, just told me where to find you."

The blond boy smiled back at her. "I told you he'd learn."

Her smile stayed as she dropped next to him, sitting cross-legged on the floor. A cauldron simmered in front of him, sitting atop a magically flameless fire. Various bits of plants and other substances scattered in piles around him.

"Pass me the root of asphodel," he said, never taking his eyes from stirring the cauldron as he stretched out a hand.

The redhead placed bits of plant into his hand, raising an eyebrow at the cauldron. "Draught of Living Death? Why?"

"Never mastered it. Do you need help with your…" He finally glanced at her, breaking off as he saw she had already pulled out a roll of parchment, copying onto it from a textbook. With a smile, he returned to his potion.

They worked in silence for a time, the girl stretched out on the ground in front of her book, her legs kicked up behind her. Finally, she groaned, her head dropping onto her book. "Why couldn't one of the Carrows have taken over Transfiguration? McGonagall's too bloody hard."

The boy laughed. Setting his potion to simmer, he leaned over her book, trying to read through the strands of red hair spilling across it. A purpling bruise on the back of her neck snagged his attention. "What's this?" he asked, one finger brushing her hair away from the bruise.

Immediately she sat up, pulling her hair over her shoulder to hide it. "It's nothing."

His face was stony. "I told you to use the fourth-floor corridors. They don't patrol there."

"Yes, and I can't always be on the fourth floor, can I?" she snapped. He looked away, and she sighed. "You've already gotten Crabbe to fill my schedule with detention. There's not much else the Inquisitorial Squad can do beyond duels, and I give better than I get. I'm fine." The blond boy still wouldn't look at her. She watched him, then flipped back a few pages in her textbook. "Now, we're well into human Transfiguration but I still haven't managed to even change the color of my hair. It's a ruddy nightmare."

"I bet it's the red. I've heard that's a stubborn color." He leaned over her shoulder to read the pages she'd flipped to. "Or maybe it's the people who are stubborn and the red hair's been falsely maligned this whole time."

Smiling at his tease, she watched him reading her book. Then, without any warning, she turned and kissed him.

Shock paralyzed the blond boy. The girl flushed as bright red as her hair. She fled from the room, leaving her book, bag, and papers behind.

•           •           •

Blaise Zabini stood awkwardly in his living room, staring at the even more awkward girl stepping out of his fireplace.

"Well, this is… unexpected," he stated, scratching his head.

Weasley flushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I didn't mean to intrude. I'll just be… going?" She scrunched her nose. "These work both ways, right?"

Blaise put his hand on her arm, gently steering her towards a couch. "Don't worry, love. The alarms already woke me up. Now I'm just flat-out curious."

"Oh." She chewed on her lip. "We weren't… close, were we."

It was a statement, not really a question, but Blaise answered anyway. "No, not at all."

"Could you explain a little? Because now I'm completely confused as to why your name is one of the five I actually remember."

He frowned. "Your memory really is buggered."

She ticked them off on her fingers. "Hermione Granger, Charlie Weasley, Luna Something-or-other, Blaise Zabini, and my own."

"Guess which one is not like the others," he muttered softly. "That is odd. Well, I guess you could say that, of Draco's friends, I was the one you got along with the best."

Ginny said nothing, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I was the only one that never took the Mark. You never trusted me, because I didn't like the Order, either. Or Dumbledore." He got tea for them from a House Elf and continued brightly. "If I'd been forced to pick a side, though, I would've joined the Order."

The words were out before she could stop them. "Because they won?"

Cup halfway to his lips, Blaise stopped. He snorted. "Five points to Gryffindor."

She blinked. "Seriously?" Blaise nodded. "Gee, I wonder why I never trusted you."

He shrugged. "I never said you were wrong for not trusting me." Blaise took another sip of his tea. "Still never told me why you Flooed to a random name that popped into your head. Still waiting. Still not very patient."

Ginny cleared her throat. "I don't really remember much of my life. What I do remember, I don't feel connected to."

Blaise snorted. "And you want me to fill those gaps for you? Tell you who all your wittle Gwiffindork friends were, what your favorite color is, what you like to eat in the mornings? Fat chance of that."

She shook her head sadly, strands of red hair falling into her face. "No, not at all." Ginny took a breath. "Draco said I didn't… know who he was. And I have a feeling he's not going to tell me what I need to hear. I picked your name because you were the only one I remembered Draco introducing me to."

Blaise put the tea down. Now he understood. "You want the good news, or the bad?"

"Everything." Her eyes flashed with determination. "And don't sugarcoat a single bit."

He leaned forward. This was not the time to joke. "He's a Malfoy and you're a Weasley. There aren't two families any more opposite than that. He's rich, powerful, influential and comes from a line of blood-purists. His father was Voldemort's right-hand man. Draco grew up with everything, while you had nothing."

Blaise could see her attempting to squash down the infamous Weasley temper. "That's his family. What about him?"

He shrugged. "Draco made Potter's, Granger's, and your brother's lives living hell for six years. Other Gryffindors, too. Maybe you. I honestly don't know."

She eyed the man in front of her. "When was it you and I met, then?"

Blaise instantly sobered. "Day before Draco refused to take the Mark and ran off to throw himself on the Order's mercies. Which weren't as many as either of you had hoped." He smiled fondly. "I was the only one Draco told about your engagement. Even with his life falling apart, he was so excited. I was going to be his Best Man. Till you died, that is."

Ginny's smile was slightly watery. "I think I would have liked that."

•           •           •

The vicious boy looked surprised as the red-haired girl entered the room. "You're serving your detention with me, today?"

"Yes," she replied with stubborn determination.

The vicious boy smiled. "Knew Draco would wise up. Now, I've heard you do-gooders don't like using Dark Magic. So I'll give you a little extra practice. Every time you fail to cast the Cruciatus on yourself, I'll show you how it's done. And trust me, I'm very good at it."

Gritting her teeth, the girl raised a wand to her arm. "Cruc—"

The door slammed open. The blond boy stood in the doorway, glaring at her. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

She lowered her wand. "Serving detention."

The blond turned his glare on the vicious boy. "Out. Now."

With a mutter about, "Never getting to have any fun," the vicious boy left.

The blond turned his glare back on the girl. "You're literally torturing yourself to get away from me."

The redhead wouldn't meet his eyes. Her words came with a forced detachment. "Yeah, well I messed up and I didn't want to have to hear you tell me that. So I guess just say it and get it over with and then we can go study. At least Transfiguration's better than the Cruciatus."

The blond boy had moved closer to her. "That's not why I'm here." She looked up into his face, curious, as he stepped within arm's reach. "I'm here to continue where we left off."

Tilting her face up, he kissed her softly. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him flush against her body as she kissed him thoroughly back.

9

Ginny woke up to a loud crash. Light poured through the windows of an unfamiliar room and she found herself on a couch with a blanket thrown over her. I must have fallen asleep at Blaise's, she realized. It felt good to have her memories line up for once.

Loud thumps came from the room over and louder swearing.

"What the bloody hell is the matter with you?!"

"I said tell me where she is right now, you sodding bastard!"

"Draco, calm down—"

"I will NOT calm the hell down! She doesn't have a wand, doesn't have a broom, and no one saw her leave the hotel. The only thing is Floo activity to your sodding house and you're telling me to bloody calm down?!"

Ginny scrambled into the next room. Draco pinned Blaise to the wall by his throat, leveling his wand at the other man's face.

"What the hell is going on?!" Ginny demanded.

Draco spun, lowering his wand. "Ginny!"

Blaise shoved Draco away from him. "You're bloody mental, mate."

Catching his balance, Draco coughed. "Sorry. I overreacted a bit."

Blaise snorted. "A bit?"

Ginny still couldn't believe what she had just seen. From the look on Draco's face, he couldn't either.

"Lovely first re-impression," Blaise muttered.

Draco's jaw clenched, and some buried memory told Ginny it was in anger at himself. She gestured toward Blaise. "You want to explain what just happened?"

The blond sighed. "You weren't in the hotel room and I panicked. Why are you at Blaise's place, anyway?"

"What, you object to me seducing your girlfriend?"

"BLAISE!" Draco reprimanded and Ginny complained.

"Draco, can I talk to you somewhere that's…" She struggled with the words. "...not here?"

Draco smirked. "Of course. But personally, I think it's the company, not the location, that you're protesting."

"I resent that!" Blaise yelled as the couple Apparated away.

•           •           •

At the side of a disused corridor, the redheaded girl and the blond boy had their arms wrapped around each other, kissing desperately. Footsteps approached. Instantly, they broke off, staring towards the sound. The brown-haired I.S. boy and the vicious boy turned down the corridor, illuminated by their own lantern. Still in the dark, the blond and the redhead weren't yet visible.

The redhead tugged the blond away, pulling him behind a statue. When she leaned against the stone wall at its rear, the wall opened inwardly. Happily, the blond boy followed her inside.

He pulled her against himself, about to resume, when footsteps sounded from the end of this passage, too.

A girl's voice laughed. "Neville, we'll be hung from our ankles if we try to pull that!"

The redhead flicked her head toward the voices at the end of the passageway then back toward the entrance into the corridor with the I.S. members.

The blond boy touched her arm. "Disillusionment Charm," he whispered, casting it on himself. Immediately, his shape blended in with the stone behind. He turned his head to her and she could see the stones ripple where his face would be.

The redhead whispered, casting the same charm on herself. Stones spread across her skin, letting all but the wariest eye pass right over her. She and the blond boy pressed their backs against the wall. As the giggling girl and boy walked past, the blond boy laced his stony fingers through hers. The passing couple never noticed a thing.

"Bloody hell," the stone-patterned redhead whispered after the couple had gone by. "The whole school is out to get us."

Still covered in stone, the blond boy captured her own stony face with a kiss. She giggled at the odd sensation, but he was tired of waiting.

•           •           •

"Blaise honestly won't be mad at you?"

Draco shook his head.

"But you nearly threatened to kill him!"

He was taken aback. "I did what?!" Then he realized. "Oh. Slytherins have a 'shoot first, ask questions later' mentality. If I'd really meant it, I would have already hexed him. Blaise has done the same to me, before."

"Odd sort of friendship you two have," Ginny muttered.

They strolled through Diagon Alley, Ginny enjoying taking in the location of many of her fuzzier memories. Holding his arm seemed to be second-nature and she didn't find herself questioning it. They stopped at Ollivander's to get her a new 'magic stick,' Draco kept teasing her, and then off to ice cream.

She hadn't had ice cream in forever and hadn't been sane in equally as long. It was a good combination and having a cheery blond smirking at the ice cream running down her chin made it all the more worthwhile.

The dream shattered the moment she stepped outside. Camera flashes exploded in her face.

"Miss Weasley! Where have you been for the past ten years?"

"What is the current status of the wedding?"

"Mr. Malfoy, what does your family have to say?"

"Miss Weasley, any plans to resume your Quidditch career?"

Ginny threw her hands over her face, desperately trying to shield from the flashes and reporters.

"Back off," Draco growled. They ignored him, pushing tighter around Ginny.

BANG!

All the reporters stopped in their tracks, swinging their attention to Draco. He held a smoking wand over his head. "Thank you. Now that I have your attention, I will end the career of the next person to touch Miss Weasley or take a picture of her. That is all."

He never raised his voice, simply calmly stated it as fact, placed a hand on her back, and steered her through the sea of reporters who were surprisingly eager to get out of the way.

•           •           •

Of course Narcissa saw the headlines. How could she not, when 26 different people all owled her a copy? Currently, she was reading the article in the Daily Prophet about the 'gallant young Malfoy heir, defending his lost jewel from the swarms eager to get a piece of her.' It was the only article with nothing but glowing reviews of the news. Narcissa always knew there was a reason they owned that newspaper.

No one had bothered to mail her that article, though. All the others spoke of Mr. Malfoy's 'barbaric behavior' and 'unnatural hatred of truth, justice, and the freedom of the press.'

"Oh, Draco," his mother sighed. "Why can't you ever just be normal?"

10

When Draco had asked her if she wanted to stop by Hermione's work, this was far from what Ginny had expected.

"You could've just asked me if I wanted to stop by Malfoy Incorporated," she growled.

Draco chuckled. "And miss the look on your face? Not in a million years."

The way every single person's eyes followed her as she walked past was getting unnerving. "Draco," she asked, "What kind of potions are you making here? This place is enormous!"

"We have roughly one hundred of the world's top Potions Masters, Hex-Reversal Experts, and Medi-Wizards working on cutting edge medical solutions."

"Medical solutions?" she questioned. That sounded like nothing she knew of him, incomplete as it was.

He gave an oddly fake smile. "Haven't you heard? Your death turned me into a philanthropist."

She didn't buy it, but before Ginny had time to press the point, Hermione swept her up in a hug.

"Ginny!" her best friend squealed happily, "This is such a wonderful surprise! Come on, let me show you the back areas. We've discovered around twelve different cures for mental illnesses. In only four years!"

"Wow!" Ginny exclaimed. "That's a lot…" She trailed off.

It clicked, and Ginny stopped dead in her tracks. Mental illnesses. And her bird had been coming to her every day for four years.

She turned to look at Draco. He slouched slightly, hands stuffed into his designer-suit pockets and face taut with suppressed emotion.

"All of this… for me?" she whispered. She couldn't cry, not here, not now with a hundred of the magical world's brightest minds all watching her!

A nod from Draco sent the traitor tears spilling down her cheeks. In an instant he was by her side, crushing her to him as her tears soaked his shirt. "Of course for you, love," he whispered, voice catching. "What better to do with an ungodly amount of money?"

Hermione silently backed away, giving the couple their space.

"But me… I…"

Draco stroked Ginny's hair, burying his cheek into the top of her head. "Ginevra Molly Weasley," he reprimanded softly. "You are a fool if you think this wasn't worth a hundred times every galleon spent. I always thought you were the sharpest witch I ever knew—don't go proving me wrong now."

She fought against a fresh wave of tears while he simply enjoyed the feel of her in his arms again.

"Besides," he chuckled, "you'd be surprised how lucrative medical potions can be."

•           •           •

"Draco, calm down! What's going on?"

The blond boy paced in the disused classroom. He snorted out a hot burst of air. "Father just told me the date of the ceremony."

The redhead's eyes crinkled in confusion. "The ceremony?"

"For taking my Mark!" he roared.

She stood silently, unsure what to do as he resumed pacing. "It's not like he'll take an excuse," the boy spat. "I should have known this would be coming."

"We'll sneak you out," the girl whispered. "You can be long gone by the time they come for you."

He stared at her for an eternity, hope he hadn't expected blooming. "Where?"

She shrugged. "Why not the Burrow? It's well-protected and no one would expect it."

The blond boy resumed pacing.

"Draco, I know you'd be giving up everything, but hadn't you already decided to? Isn't it worth it?"

He stopped pacing. The blond boy looked her straight in the eyes, something strange alight in its depths. "Marry me."

She took a step backwards. "What?"

"Marry me. Please. We can have something that no one else can take away."

•           •           •

Ginny had never seen Draco this nervous, not recently, as a bird, or in any of her scattered memories.

He fiddled with his wand, worry etching his face. The gates to Malfoy Manor loomed two feet away and Draco had made no move to open them. "Are you sure, Ginny?"

She squeezed his hand. "Draco, do you love me?"

He swallowed. "More than I thought possible. But you barely know me. Barely remember."

She shook her head. "The more I'm around you, the more it fills in the gaps." A sweet grin lit her face. "I even remember you proposing."

"You do?" He looked happily shocked.

"Well, mostly. But I really want this, Draco. Just cause I don't remember everything doesn't mean you get to treat me like I'm made of glass."

He gave a wry grin. "I wouldn't dream of it."

With a flick of his wand, the wards lowered, gates swinging open.

•           •           •

Narcissa perched in her favorite chair, waiting for the House Elf to usher her son into the sitting room. She would never have admitted it, but she was slightly nervous to meet the girl that held her son's happiness so completely in her hands.

Hearing footsteps, she rose, her fresh-off-the-runway robes rustling. Hair perfectly styled, dress coordinating with the furniture, Narcissa knew she was the epitome of stately elegance.

Her son walked in, looking sharp in his designer black and grey suit.

And there she was.

Ginevra Weasley, last child, only daughter of dirt-poor blood-traitors. Draco had warned her intensely to, 'Be nice, Mother,' but his warning went straight through her head. The girl was too muscled, dressed simply (high-quality, but she knew it was on her son's galleons), hair out of place, and FAR too tanned to ever be considered attractive in high society. Narcissa had seen her briefly before, but sick and in bed was nothing compared to sticking out like a sore thumb in Narcissa's prized sitting room.

"Mother," Draco warned sharply. He knew her too well. "This is Ginny Weasley, the only woman in the world I'd choose over you."

Narcissa stared at her son in shock.

"Draco!" the Weasley gasped with surprise.

But his gaze held no apology. Narcissa was stunned by the certainty in his eyes, the steel in his tone.

The redhead chewed her lip. "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. I didn't mean to—"

"Child," the older woman cut her off, "who do you think knows me better? You, or my own son?"

The girl didn't know how to respond to that.

Narcissa put on her best society-smile and gestured to the couch. "Sit, please, Ginevra. I'll have the House Elves get you something while you tell me all about yourself."

Her son grinned at some joke she didn't understand and Ginevra flushed as she took a seat across from Narcissa.

"Well," the redhead started awkwardly, "I don't actually remember much about myself. I know I was in Gryffindor at Hogwarts, have a large family, and was able to hold my own dueling your son even when crazy."

"Well!" Narcissa was aghast. "Anything you should actually be proud of? Hopefully you aren't planning on having a career," she practically spat the word, "are you?"

The girl frowned. "I don't remember, but I would assume so."

Draco winced. "Ginny was planning on being a professional Quidditch player, before. Just in the past week, I've gotten letters from three different teams, asking if she's still got it."

Narcissa couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. This was her worst nightmare realized.

Ginevra turned to Draco. "Really? I didn't know I was good at Quidditch. Why didn't you tell me about the letters?"

He shrugged. "I didn't want to rush you. Chances are, you still have the muscle-memory, but you haven't been on a broom in ten years. It's not going to be easy to get your edge back."

She nodded, understanding. But his mother was far from it. "Draco, darling," she cooed, "you can't honestly be supporting her playing Quidditch? It's disgraceful for a woman, especially so for the Lady of Malfoy!"

Ginevra lost it. "From what I know, being a Weasley is already a disgrace. Adding Quidditch to it isn't going to change anything."

"But you will be a Malfoy! I cannot allow you to disgrace that name any further!"

"Mother," Draco's voice was weary. "Did you stop being a Black when Father married you?"

Narcissa sniffed. "Of course not. Once you are born from the best, that can never be stripped away from you. Being born as a blight on the name of pure-blood is an entirely different matter."

"That's not it at all," Draco growled. He started to go on, but stopped when Ginevra laughed. "What's so funny?" he asked, voice filled with irritation.

The redhead grinned. "That's exactly it. You, Mrs. Malfoy, were born well-bred and can't help it. I was born a blight," Draco stiffened. "and can't help it."

"You are not a blight!" he said hotly.

The girl ignored him. "Weasleys are known for having lots of children, most of them male. I will also agree to accompany your son to whichever social events he wants, wearing whatever you deem appropriate." A small, cunning smirk twitched at her lips. "But I expect full autonomy in every other aspect of my life. For, as you know, a true Malfoy is servant to no one."

Narcissa felt a rare, genuine smile growing. For once—someone else who could be reasonable.

11

"Yes."

He paused. "Yes?"

She laughed. "You expected me to say no?"

"I expected you to say, 'Yes, when we're older,' or 'Let's get my family's approval first.'" His grin threatened to split his face. "Not that I'm protesting, mind you."

The redhead shrugged, trying to make the gesture seem nonchalant. "We might not have later. And what's the use of waiting?" A mischievous grin flickered across her face. "It's not like you'll get me to change my mind."

•           •           •

The fireplace roared in the upper sitting room (the one for family, not for guests. Ginny was pleasantly shocked that Mrs. Malfoy had offered it to them). She leaned against Draco as he ran his fingers through her hair.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he whispered. She made a noise of contentment and snuggled closer.

He chuckled and it echoed in his chest. "I never imagined Mother would tolerate you, let alone give her blessing!"

Ginny turned sideways to look him in the eye. "That's vaguely insulting, you know."

Draco smirked. "Insulting to her, yes. I should've had more faith in her ability to recognize quality. I mean, she raised me, after all."

Ginny shook her head good-naturedly. He really was something. But she remembered a thought that she'd been curious about for a while, now. "Draco, what happened when you refused the Mark?"

His smile turned somber as he ran his fingers through her hair. "You and Blaise snuck me out of Hogwarts, all the way back to your Burrow."

"Bet my family loved that," she murmured.

"Of course," he replied sarcastically. "Your brothers only tried to kill me four times in the first night. You chose not to let them know I was coming, by the way."

She turned her face up towards his. "How in the world did I convince them to keep you?"

"You'd been open in your letters to Charlie, at least, and thankfully he was there to help persuade everyone that I wasn't completely evil. It only worked because the twins were living at their shop and Ron was off Horcrux hunting. None of the other Weasleys had personal history with me.

"You had to trust me to Charlie's care, though, so that you could get back to Hogwarts. The whole idea of using the Burrow was that no one knew to suspect it. Both our covers would be blown if you 'coincidentally' also missed school the next day." He chuckled dryly. "I grew to really appreciate Charlie."

Ginny couldn't help it; she started laughing and couldn't stop.

Draco frowned. "What?"

She snorted. "Charlie does know how to handle dragons!"

He rolled his eyes. "Dear Merlin, tell me I don't have to go through your horrible jokes again. They were bad enough the first time."

She held her giggles back with effort. "But the opportunity's just so perfect!"

"Know what else this opportunity's perfect for?" he asked lightly.

"What?"

He moved closer, head only inches away. "Kissing you quiet."

•           •           •

Narcissa watched the two leaning comfortably against each other in front of the fireplace. If Draco caught her peeking through the door he'd never forgive her. But she just couldn't resist, and besides, it was a mother's job to be nosy.

She hadn't picked up on it earlier, but now she understood. The little Weasley could be covered in rags and grime and Draco would still love her. She was attractive, but wasn't about looks. She was proper enough to blend into society (with Narcissa's help), yet never would be about climbing the social ladder. Seeing the warmth on her son's normally icy countenance, Narcissa knew. The Weasley was life, was fire. And it was contagious for her son.

He was simply sitting next to the girl, but she hadn't seen him so openly happy in years. Draco leaned in to kiss the redhead and Narcissa knew that was her cue to leave.

•           •           •

Ginny threw her leg over the broom, familiarity overwhelming her as the handle lined up perfectly against the callouses in her palms.

"You kept my broom this whole time?" she asked quietly.

Draco nodded. "I knew you'd prefer your old Cleansweep, even if it is too ancient for a museum."

The Malfoys apparently had their own regulation-sized Quidditch pitch on their grounds and Draco was as enamored with night-flying as she was. Also, to already be getting possible recruitment letters meant she must've been damn good and she was dying to see if it was still the case.

Draco watched her, one hand resting lightly on his own Zephyr. Ginny gripped her broom, feeling the thrum of its magic waiting to be released.

Draco frowned. "Are you sure you're ready—"

Ginny leapt off the ground, corkscrewing up into the sky. Draco swore and shot after her. She perched up in the air, waiting for him.

"That was a brilliant Polskov Maneuver!" His face twisted in confusion. "Was it on purpose?"

She shrugged. "Isn't that how I always take off?"

He started to reply, then stopped. "Yes, I believe it actually is. Showoff."

Watching Draco soar over her, Ginny's heart thumped in her chest. So this is how it felt to fall in love. Ginny didn't understand this man completely, not by a long shot—she doubted anyone really did. But she couldn't wait to begin figuring him out all over again.

"You know, back there with my mother," Draco swooped down to fly alongside her. "it sounded strangely like you weren't against the idea of becoming a Malfoy."

A mischievous smile lit her face. "Did it? What on earth could I have meant by that?"

He cleared his throat. "So, Ginny. What are your feelings on eloping? Hypothetically speaking."

She giggled. "Our mums will kill us."

He shrugged. "Only if we tell them beforehand. My mother would also kill me if she isn't allowed to spend an exorbitant amount of money on the grandest ceremony the Wizarding World has ever seen." He paused. "So, was that a hypothetical 'yes'?"

Ginny grinned. "Only if we fly there. Race you!"

The End