We do not have the truth to tell,
Some have flown while others fell
And what seemed to be right
Now darkens our way and clouds in our sight
And we do not have the eyes to see.
- Deepest Part Of Me, Dougie McLean
~*~
Once Harry and Ginny left for Canada, the Weasleys had moved from Ginny's flat to the Burrow, where there was room enough for everyone to stay in relative comfort while they waited for news of the kidnapping. Molly had retreated to the kitchen to bake bread - not because it was really necessary, but because she needed something to do during the interminable wait for Harry and Ginny to return.
It was late morning when they arrived by Floo, Harry holding Jamie's hand in his, and Ginny carrying Sarah, who was half-asleep in her arms. She stood stiffly as Molly swooped down on her grandchildren, enveloping them all in a lumpy hug, tears of relief streaming down her face. "Oh, my dears! We were so worried! Thank God you're all right!" Molly dabbed at her cheeks with her apron and hugged Ginny and Sarah again, then bent down to hug Jamie tightly as well.
It seemed like everyone was talking at once, and Harry twisted his head distractedly, trying to answer questions as they were fired at them. Arthur took a step forward and cleared his throat. "All right, all right. We all want to hear, but we'll get nothing done just standing around and shouting. Everyone, come sit down."
Ginny stayed near the door while Harry relinquished Jamie's hand to her with a brief, understanding glance. He allowed Arthur to lead him to the couch and began the long process of explaining what had happened the night before - Ginny sighed mentally. It was better that he do it anyway, because she hadn't done much except wait. Jamie rested his head against her hip and wrapped his arms around her leg, leaning his small solid weight against her. Ginny dropped one hand to ruffle his hair gently.
Hermione came up beside her touched Ginny's arm. "Will is out in the garden with the twins and Fred and Angelina's kids. He's fine, but if you want to see him..."
"No, it's all right. Did he even notice we'd gone?" Ginny asked.
Hermione shook her head with a small smile. "No, we took him home with us, and he had such fun with the twins that I don't think he noticed anything."
"Just as well. I'll check in on him a bit later, then...for now, I think we might go have a nap. It's been - " her voice faltered slightly, "a very long day. How does that sound?" she said to Sarah, who rested her head against Ginny's shoulder and nodded. "Daddy can tell everyone what happened, and we'll go have a lie-down." She reached down and took Jamie's small hand in hers, then climbed the narrow stairs to her old room. She pushed the door open and set Sarah down on her bed, sitting down and drawing Jamie up beside her as well. Sarah buried her head in Ginny's side, her small arms wrapped around Ginny's waist, Jamie on her other side doing the same thing. Ginny hugged them both to her for a minute, kissing the tops of their heads in a silent prayer of thankfulness. "Come on, then," she whispered finally. "You should rest."
"Are you going, Mummy?" Jamie asked, looking up at her.
"No, sweetheart. I'll stay right here," Ginny replied, squeezing him gently. "I won't go
anywhere."
Ginny slid Sarah's shoes off, while Jamie kicked his off onto the floor and crawled up to rest his head on the pillow. Ginny smiled down at him and lay on her back, Sarah curled up against one side and Jamie on the other, their small arms heavy across her stomach, their breathing evening out into sleep. The awful tension she had been carrying with her for days slowly eased as she stared up at the familiar patterns cast by her curtains on the bedroom ceiling, Sarah's breath and Jamie's filling her ears, trying to think of nothing at all.
~*~
Molly insisted on making supper for the children, and that they all stay to eat, which meant that the Burrow was packed to the rafters with adults and children and noisy beyond belief. Ginny sat on the stairs and listened to her mother bustle around and issue orders, alternately commanding her daughters-in-law and cooing at her grandchildren. She was happy to be back, happy to be safe, but there was still an ache in her chest and a dull pressure behind her eyes, even after a day's rest with her children cuddled against her. She rested her head against the wall, letting to the familiar voices in the kitchen wash over her, and tried not to think too hard about what had happened before they arrived safe in England.
In all honesty, the events of the night before were a bit of a blur - John had made her tea, and she sat in the kitchen sipping it slowly and chatting hesitantly with him. She could see why Draco admired him so much - John was pragmatic, funny and immensely kind, and seemed to have a knack for putting people at their ease. Even tense and worried, as he became after the phone call that came just after midnight, he was still a centre of calm. His strong hands on hers as he told her that Draco was in the hospital with a wounded arm, broken ribs and a punctured lung were all that kept her from breaking down completely until Neville and Harry arrived with the children.
Harry had only looked at her apologetically, while Neville handed his wand off and stalked back and forth in the living room, snapping out a clipped explanation of what had happened, his face red and his hands shaking. Harry had settled on the couch with Ginny, with Sarah and Jamie in between them, sleepy but watching 'Uncle Neville' try to control his temper. Ginny sensed that part of Neville's white-lipped railing at the incompetence of the Canadian Aurors was an attempt to mask that he was desperately afraid for Draco.
But there was nothing they could do. Draco was in a Muggle hospital, the Canadian Aurors having refused to take him to a wizarding facility - yet another reason why Neville was practically incoherent with rage - in something called an 'ICU', though Ginny wasn't quite sure what that meant. No one was permitted to see him, although John spent some time making quiet phone calls while Neville paced. Ginny hadn't been sure what to do - she wanted nothing more than to stay, to be as close as she could to him, to find out immediately what was happening. But it was Sarah's soft voice saying "Mummy, I want to go home," that finally decided the question. Home they went, a strangely subdued Harry and two sleepy, frightened children, to The Burrow rather than her own flat, where her whole family had been waiting.
Ginny sighed and slumped against the wall of the stair. Neville had stayed behind in Canada to talk to their Ministry and straighten things out. He'd said he would call or owl, but they'd heard nothing yet, and once again, she was back to waiting. She hated waiting.
"Ginny?"
Ginny raised her head and looked down the stairs. Percy was standing there, one hand resting on the worn lintel, looking at her with concern. "You all right?"
She nodded faintly. "I'm okay."
"You look upset," Percy replied, and climbed the steps. He sat down on the stair below her and touched her ankle lightly. "Want to talk about it?"
Ginny shook her head silently.
"Is it about Malfoy?" he asked. Ginny sighed and nodded. Percy hitched himself up a step and put his arm around her shoulders. He didn't say anything, which surprised her a little; of all her brothers, she thought Percy would be the one to choose to lecture her on Draco right now. He was the least accepting of her relationship with Draco; he was always so concerned with appearances that she couldn't see him welcoming the son of a Death Eater with open arms. But Percy didn't comment, just held her gently until she leaned into his shoulder and sighed.
"Neville's going to owl me when he has news," she said finally. She could feel Percy's head moving as he nodded wordlessly. "He said it wouldn't be long before we know -" she stopped talking suddenly as her throat closed. Percy's arm tightened around her shoulder and he murmured something soothing. Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I just -" She stopped again. "I feel as though I should have stayed."
Percy nodded again. "You couldn't help it, though. You had to come home, for the children, if nothing else."
"I know. I just wish I could be there and here too." She sighed softly.
He stroked her arm gently. "If he's a halfway decent fellow, he'll understand why you couldn't."
"I know," Ginny repeated. "I just..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
Percy shifted his weight slightly and squeezed her shoulders. "There isn't much you can do right now, here or there though, is there?" He glanced at Ginny as she nodded slowly. "I'm sure it's hard, love."
Ginny inhaled deeply, then let the breath out slowly. "It's just a bit much to take, to have Mum running around all cheerful, knowing that Draco is in hospital in Canada and I've got no way to know if he's all right or not. But thank you." She raised her head to smile at Percy. "For being here."
Percy coughed uncomfortably. "Well, I couldn’t very well let Fred and George...their solution to everything usually involves scaring people or exploding things." There was a loud thud and a chorus of giggles from the kitchen, and they could hear Molly yelling and the twins protesting their innocence. Ginny giggled. Percy frowned in faint disapproval and polished his glasses on the edge of his robe. "And speaking of which, I should go make sure they're not going to burn the house down."
He stood up, shaking out his robes officiously. Ginny stood too, and helped him brush at his shoulders with a small smile. "I mean it, you know," she said softly. "Thank you." She reached out and gave him a tight hug.
Percy stiffened in surprise, then hugged her back hesitantly. "Of course. I hate to see you unhappy. You're my favourite sister, after all." He gave her a small smile.
"I'm your only sister, silly," Ginny said, grinning.
"All the more reason for you to be my favourite." Percy shuffled and brushed his robes again. "But really...I'm sure there's no need to worry. He'll be fine."
Ginny nodded again. "I know." She followed Percy down the steps and into the kitchen. There was nothing she could do right now...she might as well let her family fuss over her and the children while she waited for news.
~*~
It was like floating up through water, sounds muffled yet curiously magnified, vision reduced to vague blurred shapes. He couldn't seem to move, although he was curiously unalarmed by this. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but all he could see was whiteness above his head. His eyes drifted closed again.
He might have slept, or not.
The next time awareness floated back, although he still couldn't move, and couldn't see much except the same white blur, he could hear distinctly the hiss and whir of a respirator, the monotonous beep of a heart monitor. This is a hospital, he thought hesitantly. What am I doing in a hospital? Laura is already dead. It occurred to him that the thought of Laura, and hospitals, and machines, should hurt, but it didn't. That was strange. He swallowed nervously.
Or rather, tried to. Something was stuck in his throat. He went to raise his hands, to pull whatever it was out of his mouth so he could breathe, but he couldn't move, couldn't lift his arms up. Panic began to nip at the edges of his lethargy, and he struggled against it. Somewhere above his head, the beeping noise sped up. Quick footsteps, then muffled voices near the foot of the bed - bed? - and a face swam into his vision. The woman was tall and thin, mousy hair pulled back from her narrow face. She examined something above his head dispassionately. He watched her with wide eyes, fighting the ever-growing panic. The woman looked down, into his eyes and smiled soothingly, the lines around her thin mouth deepening. "It's all right," she said. "You've got a tracheotomy tube in your throat, and that's why you can't talk. You've had a bad few days, but you'll be okay now."
What? he thought vaguely, unable to focus on her words any longer. It felt like there was something he should remember, something important, but he couldn't grasp hold of it. While he tried, the woman moved out of his line of sight, and with a faint hiss, the world faded again.
~*~
Early July, 2011
Neville gripped his tray and surveyed the questionable food selection mournfully. "You know, we really ought to find a new place to eat," he said to Hermione.
"I keep saying that, and yet we keep coming here. Too late to change your mind now. Go for the chicken, it looks the best," Hermione replied pragmatically. "Next time we do lunch, we'll go to that new place that's opened up down by Gringotts."
Neville sighed and dished some of the chicken onto his plate. "I'd say we should go now, but I haven't time. I'm supposed to be meeting with Cecil after lunch."
"What about?" Hermione asked idly, leading him to an empty table near the back of the Ministry cafeteria. They were finally resuming their lunch dates, now that life had settled down to something approaching normal.
"Couple of things...the kidnapping is one of them. The trial is supposed to be starting in a month, and we've got reports and statements and things to go over for the Ministry's defense team." The wizarding legal system had changed a great deal since the end of Voldemort's War, like so many other things. Gone were the days that criminals could be shipped off to prison without a trial - now everyone was entitled to a hearing, even when, in Neville's opinion, it was totally unnecessary. "We've finally got some of the reports back from the Canadian Ministry, got to go through them."
"Ah," Hermione said. She prodded at her food for a moment, then looked up at Neville with her 'information face' on. "So, since you're talking to the Canadian Ministry...have you heard anything about Draco at all?"
"No, not yet. I've spoken to his friend John, and all he can tell me is that Draco will be all right eventually, but he's still in hospital right now. He should be released in a week or two, and he should be ready to testify at the trial in August, but I don't know anything more," Neville said with a sigh. "I haven't been able to actually talk to him yet...apparently he's still on some sort of Muggle machine to help him breath, and he can't speak."
Hermione gave a small shudder. "A respirator I imagine. Awful things...my grandfather was on one for months when he was ill. However did he end up in a Muggle hospital, anyway? You never did explain."
"Because the Canadian Ministry is a xenophobic, insular, backward institution without an ounce of decency?" Neville spat. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, a mild rebuke in her expression. He took a deep breath and subsided; it just made him so angry when he thought about it. "The Aurors who were there, when Malfoy was shot, they refused to let him be treated magically. They thought he was a Muggle...I'd told them he was a wizard, but they didn't believe me, said that if he were a wizard he would have used a wand, wouldn't let him be magicked to a real hospital. And before I could get them to let him go, the real Muggle police showed up and the Canadian Aurors really wouldn't do magic. So the Muggle police who were there called an ambulance, and once he was in the Muggle hospital, there was no way I could get him out."
"That's awful! Poor Malfoy." Hermione shook her head. "And that's something I never thought I'd say. Have you talked to Ginny at all?"
"No, not really," Neville replied. "As I said, I can't talk to Malfoy yet, and there's nothing really to pass on. I imagine she feels terribly."
Hermione nodded solemnly. "She doesn't really say anything, but she seems...down. Sad."
Neville nodded slowly and pushed his food around on his plate. He could imagine how Ginny felt - he missed Draco, and they were only friends. "I've been owling her updates on how he's doing, but he can't talk to anyone, and she hasn't really said anything except to thank me for letting her know."
"She's been very quiet about the whole thing. I think she's feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment. Harry's been around quite a bit more since the children were taken, and I think Molly has been hinting, in her oh so subtle fashion, that she hopes there'll be some sort of reconciliation going on there," Hermione said. "Which I can't imagine is making Ginny feel any better."
"Is Molly still on her hating Malfoy kick?" Neville asked.
"Yes and no. I think she feels obligated to be charitable toward him, but she would far rather have Ginny be with Harry, despite what Draco did." Neville's lips tightened and he spared a moment to be grateful that he didn't have much contact with Molly Weasley, and was therefore prevented from speaking his mind. Hermione caught his expression and smiled ruefully. "It's a bit of an uphill battle for poor Ginny, when everyone in the family is more than happy to see Malfoy gone."
Neville tossed his fork down. "That is so -" he bit off the rest of the sentence. Antagonizing Hermione wouldn't do any good, after all. "It's not fair."
"I know it's not fair, but you can't really expect Molly or Arthur to be entirely reasonable about this. They only knew Lucius Malfoy, and you know that they didn't get along. They never met Draco after he came back, and they have only Ginny's word that he's really changed," Hermione said sensibly. "It's hard to expect Molly to have a sudden change of heart about a man she's expecting to think the worst of."
"Even after everything that man did to save her grandchildren?" Neville scowled down at his chicken. "He nearly died, for God's sake."
"I know that," Hermione replied patiently, "and Molly knows it too, but knowing it abstractly, in her case, doesn't mean she's automatically going to be happy about Ginny seeing him. And all told, I don't think she'd like Draco as much as she likes Harry. She knows Harry, he's like one of her own, and you know how upset she was when they got divorced. She just wants Ginny to be happy - "
"What if she's happy with Draco?" Neville asked. "Because between you and me, she is. And Draco cares about her - I'd even go so far as to say that he loves her"
"Well, I’m sure Molly would come around eventually," Hermione said. "Although it's a bit of a moot point at the moment, seeing as he isn't here."
"I know." Neville slumped over his tray and pushed his chicken around his plate.
"Well, it's up to Ginny, ultimately, and frankly, I'm a bit surprised that she isn't being more...proactive, for lack of a better word. She sort of seems to have given up." Hermione poked at her own plate, stirring her chicken. "I mean, she doesn't talk about him at all, really. She just doesn't mention it."
"I don't know," Neville said. "I'll look her up in the next few days and talk to her in person." He shrugged sheepishly at Hermione. "Maybe it'll help."
~*~
Late July, 2011
It was with a sense of profound relief that Draco left Foothills Hospital behind him. He had a suspicion that the nurses were just as happy to see him go as he was to leave - Draco wasn't exactly an ideal patient. Being confined to bed and unable to do anything but watch television and read, with brief forays into physical therapy to strengthen his lungs and his shoulder again, was indescribably boring. It made him snarly and a bit snappish, and he tended to take it out on the nurses. Which wasn't fair, but Draco didn't particularly care.
He finally managed to extricate himself from the bustling nurse reminding him to make sure to schedule his physical therapy appointments and get various prescriptions filled as soon as possible and met up with John, who was watching the proceedings with amusement. "Hey, ksik-kihk-ini. Ready to roll?"
"Get me out of here," Draco muttered, which made John laugh out loud.
"Good to see you're back to your cheerful old self," he chuckled, ignoring Draco's snarl as he followed John out to his truck.
John headed into the kitchen once they arrived at the house, but Draco stopped to stare at the box on the living room floor, nestled under the window like it had been shoved out of the way. He recognized it, which only made sense, since it was the rough wooden crate that Gringotts had given him to hold the ransom money for Jamie and Sarah. "What's this doing here?"
"Huh?" John poked his head around the corner. "What's what doing where?"
Draco walked over to the crate and shoved it away from the wall with his foot. "This. What's it doing here?"
John shrugged. "Dunno. Your buddy Neville said it was yours so I was keeping it for you."
"You mean it's been sitting here the whole time I was in hospital?" Draco asked, not sure if he should laugh or have a fit.
John nodded and walked around the corner to lean against the door frame. "Yeah, I didn't know where else to put it. It weighs a ton...I was gonna stick it in the basement, but it's too heavy to lift."
It didn't surprise Draco that John hadn't looked inside it - he was meticulous about not infringing on Draco's privacy. He bent down and pried the lid off the box, exposing the small mountain of gold coins inside, stirring them gently with one hand. John stepped forward to look at the contents of the crate, and blinked at the sight of the gold. "Holy shit."
"It's heavy because it's the ransom money. There was a spell on it to lighten it, but it must have worn off. D'you know how much money is in here?" Draco asked. John shook his head. "I can't remember the exact exchange rate nowadays, but I think it works out to about 5 pounds to a Galleon." Draco paused. "There's 5 million Galleons in the box." He waited while John worked that out in his head.
"Oh my God," John said quietly.
"25 million pounds," Draco said. "Which has been sitting in the middle of the living room floor for the last month and a half."
"Jesus," John breathed, his eyes wide. "25 mill - Are you serious?"
Draco nodded, smiling faintly.
"Holy shit!" John gasped. Draco grinned. "I don't...holy shit!" He gaped at Draco in horror. "Holy shit! It's just been sitting there! Del's been using it as a footstool!" He gulped. "Oh my God."
Draco raised an amused eyebrow. "You didn't know?"
John shook his head, incredulous. "No, I didn't know." He stared at Draco a moment longer, then burst into laughter. He staggered into the room and fell into the recliner, gasping for breath between guffaws. Draco sat too, waiting as John slowly calmed down.
"Oh, my God," John said when he got his breath back. "I had no idea. Who does it belong to?"
"It's mine," Draco said. "I lent it to Potter, because he didn't have enough money to cover the ransom."
"It's yours?" John goggled at him "Where the hell did you get 25 million pounds?"
Draco shrugged and coughed uncomfortably. "Part of my inheritance."
"Your inheritance," John said in disbelief. "And you just lent it away. What if you didn't get it back?"
Draco looked even more uncomfortable. "It's actually a rather small part of the total amount, to be honest. It wouldn't have made that big a difference if I hadn't."
John reached out and picked up one of the Galleons, turning it over in his hands. "How much money do you have?"
"Um, lots?" Draco rubbed at his shoulder, slightly embarrassed. "I'm not exactly sure. 15 or 18 million Galleons, I think."
John stared at him. "15 or 18 million - million - Galleons. You think," he said flatly. Draco shrugged his good shoulder sheepishly. "Fuck me. When you said your family had money left, I was thinking, you know, a few hundred thousand bucks. Not..." He trailed off. "Jesus. How much money would that be?"
Draco thought about it. "I'm not sure, exactly. What's 15 times 5?"
"Eighty-five," John said. "Eighty-five million pounds. My God. How much would that be in Canadian dollars?"
Draco shook his head. "I have no idea. Lots?"
"Jesus." John laughed again. "You know, I think I should start charging you for your half of the mortgage again."
"I'll pay it off, if you want." Draco smiled faintly. "I didn't even know the money was there until I went back...I thought they'd seized it all. I've been spending it, trying to think of ways to get rid of it."
"That explains the new wardrobe," John grinned. "But yeah, if you want to buy me a house, I have no objections."
"I was thinking of paying off Ed and Anne's loans too, but I haven't thought of a way to do it without them knowing it was me and getting mad."
"Good luck," John said. "Though you might be able to, like, go to their bank directly and do it that way."
"Something to think about, I guess."
John nodded and stared at the box thoughtfully for a moment. "Eighty-five million pounds," he said suddenly. "Man, that's a lot of money."
Draco nodded solemnly. "It'd be more if I'd managed to sell the manor."
John jerked his head back to Draco. "Manor?" Draco examined the ceiling intently. "You have a manor?"
"Yes," said Draco sheepishly. "It's part of the estate."
John narrowed his eyes. "Estate as in, what your dad left behind when he died, or estate as in big chunk of land in the English countryside?"
"Er, both."
John started to say something, then stopped. "Jesus," he managed finally. "It's like you've won the lottery or something. I don't think I can wrap my head around that much money."
Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not that big a deal, really."
John made a small, incoherent noise in the back of his throat. "Right. Because, you know, being richer than Croesus isn't a big deal." He grinned at Draco. "It explains a lot, though."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Explains a lot about what?"
"Just...stuff. I mean, I always knew you had this privileged upbringing, even if you never said outright that your family was this filthy rich. Nice to know I'm right, as usual." John grinned at Draco's infuriated expression. "Well, put a lid on that thing and I'll try to pretend there isn't more money than I've ever seen in my life sitting in the living room."
Draco replaced the top of the crate and followed John out to the kitchen, rubbing absently at his shoulder. John grabbed two Cokes from the fridge and handed one to Draco, who took it and sat down at the kitchen table. John sat opposite him and leaned back in his chair. "So what are you gonna do now?"
Draco shook his head. "I don't know. Wait and see if there's been word from Longbottom, I suppose."
"Oh, hey, that reminds me," John interrupted. He stood and rummaged around on top of the refrigerator for a moment, then handed Draco a packet of notes. "Those came while you were in the hospital. I was gonna bring 'em to you, but the doctor said I wasn't supposed to bother you about work until you were better. They're from Neville, I think."
"Damn doctors...why wouldn't I be able to read them in hospital?" Draco grumbled. "Incompetents. At least Longbottom's been able to work." He flipped open the top note, squinting slightly at Neville's indecipherable handwriting.
"Why don't you ever call him by his first name?" John asked suddenly.
Draco glanced up in surprise. "What?"
"Neville. You never call him Neville, it's always 'Longbottom'. I was just wondering."
"I'd never really thought of it," Draco said. "Force of habit, I expect. Unless you were in the same House at school, no one was ever on a first name basis."
"That is weird," John said.
"It's just how it was," Draco replied absently, sorting through the packet of notes. All of them were from Neville, and it wasn't until he'd reached the last one that Draco admitted that he'd been looking not for Neville's messy writing, but Ginny's neater hand. He shuffled the papers back into order with a pang of disappointment. He had hoped that she would write at least once, but there was nothing.
Draco glanced up at John briefly. "Anyone call?"
"Nope," John replied. "Just the letters from Neville. And can I just say that getting
letters delivered by owls is really freaking weird?"
"Mmm." Draco went back to reading the letters, not really paying attention to John. He wasn't really paying attention to Neville's letters either, to be honest; he couldn't muster up the energy. "I think I might go lie down," he said finally, ignoring John's quizzical look as he left Neville's letters in a neat pile on the kitchen table and left the room.
~*~
August, 2011
True to his word, Neville made time to visit Ginny the first day he had free. She invited him over for tea on Friday afternoon, and Neville sat quietly at her kitchen table as she bustled around, making sandwiches and setting the water to boil with a wave of her wand. She finally settled in the chair opposite Neville, placing a plate of food and the teapot on the table, wafting the cups over from the cupboard. "There," she said in satisfaction. "Now. How have you been, then?"
Neville grinned. "Fine. How about you?"
"Well enough," Ginny said with a smile. "Harry's been taking the children most of the
summer. It's the off season, so he's been taking them all sorts of places, to the beach and out to the country and to visit Remus and Sirius...they're having a grand time, loving every minute of it. He's got them this weekend, that's why they're not underfoot."
"That must be a relief," Neville said, and Ginny nodded with a rueful grin.
"Well, yes and no. He's been threatening to teach William how to fly sometime this summer, but I'm trying to convince him not to. He thinks poor Will has natural talent, but I think he should be keeping both feet on the ground...he's hard enough to keep track of as it is." Neville laughed at that, and they made small talk while they ate the sandwiches, Ginny regaling Neville with tales of Sarah and Jamie and William's exploits. Sarah and Jamie were doing well, despite their experience, which was a great relief. Ginny had worried that they would be affected deeply by the kidnapping, but they were remarkably resilient. Sarah occasionally needed to be reassured that the "bad men" couldn't get her anymore, but overall, they were doing fine.
Neville cleared his throat once they had chatted for a while, and played with his teacup. "I...I've heard from Draco," he said softly.
Ginny's shoulders tensed, but her hand was steady as she raised her cup, and her voice remained steady as well. "Oh?"
"He owled me yesterday. Just got out of hospital a couple of weeks ago. He's doing alright, feeling better, he says. He'll be here in a week, for the trial." Neville risked a glance at Ginny's face, but she was still and expressionless as water. She merely nodded and sipped at her cup, wrapping her fingers around the porcelain.
"Harry told me about it when he came to get the kids last week," she said calmly. "He's been keeping me updated."
Neville watched her solemnly. "How are you feeling?"
"I don't know what to feel, to be perfectly honest. I'm...tired. Sad. A little bit upset." Ginny drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I wish..." She trailed off and stared into the bottom of her cup as though trying to read the future.
"He hasn't talked to you at all?" Neville asked softly.
Ginny shook her head. "I tried calling him a couple times, but I couldn't get through."
"Oh." Neville fell silent, turning his cup slowly on its saucer.
"I almost don't want to. I feel like - I don't know. I don't blame him for not wanting to talk to me."
Neville glanced up sharply. "Whatever makes you think he doesn't want to talk to you?"
Ginny shrugged hopelessly. "Well, I can't get 'hold of him, and he hasn't tried to call me, so I don't know what else to think. But I can't blame him for wanting to avoid me."
"Whyever would he want to avoid you?" Neville asked in bewilderment. "You haven't done anything!"
Ginny opened her mouth, about to say something, but closed it and sighed. "It doesn't matter," she said softly.
"Ginny - " Neville broke off. "Of course it matters. Why on earth would he not want to talk to you?"
"Has he said he does?" Ginny asked, glancing at him sidelong. For once, Neville couldn't decipher her expression.
"He doesn't talk about anything personal, you know that," Neville replied. "He hasn't said so, but I'm sure he does." Ginny just nodded and stirred her tea, not looking at him. "Ginny, he does."
She shrugged. "Well, it's not important," she said, keeping her voice light.
Neville gaped at her. "Ginny, of course it is. He cares about you, and I know you care about him...how can that not be important?" He couldn't understand why she was being so cavalier about the whole thing. Draco's silence was a bit of a surprise, but knowing how silent Draco normally was about anything he felt deeply about, Neville wasn't all that shocked. But he thought Ginny would be a little more emotional about it - she wasn't usually one to hide how she felt.
Ginny shrugged again and cleared her throat. "Hermione tells me that they're talking about designing a new building for the Ministry," she said brightly. "That must be a thrill."
Neville sighed with exasperation. Ginny could be remarkably stubborn when she wanted to. "That's what they're saying, but I don't know that it will actually happen," he said in defeat.
~*~
It was late afternoon, the sun sinking slowly in the west and casting pure golden light across the yard and deck. It had been a beautiful day, and Draco and John had spent most of it in the backyard, John doing yard work and Draco lounging on the deck, alternately napping and watching John work. He was using his arm as an excuse out of doing anything, and John had only laughed and let him do it, happily puttering around, weeding the garden and trimming the hedges at the side of the house. He had just finished up and climbed the stairs of the deck, brushing dirt off his hands. "Hey, ksik-kihk-ini, I'm going to wash up and grab something to drink from inside...need anything?" Draco shook his head and John nodded as he went into the kitchen.
Draco heard him greet someone, so it was no surprise when Del pushed the screen door open and came outside, a glass of lemonade in one hand. "Hey," she said, setting her glass down on the table. She pulled one of the deck chairs away from the table and flopped into it. "How's the arm?"
"Fine," Draco said absently.
"That's good," she said. "John said you're heading back to England next week." Draco nodded silently, and Del raised an amused eyebrow at him. "So," she said, with an air that suggested she was about to drop something large and unpleasant on him, "have you heard from Ginny?"
Draco's head snapped up and he glared at her. "I hardly think it's any of your business."
"I take it that's a no." Del shifted in her chair. "Why haven't you called her?"
"Did I or did I not just say that it is none of your business?" Draco glared back. "Besides, she hasn't called me either."
Del looked at him for a long moment. "You," she said in disgust "are an idiot. Just call her."
Draco glared at her. "I am not an idiot. And what I do isn't any of your business." He wished John would come back outside to lend him moral support. He didn't think he was up to dealing with Del right now.
"You are an idiot. You've been going around being a fucking miserable bastard for the last two weeks, when you know as well as I do that all you really have to do is just call the damn woman and get it over with. You don't know that she doesn't want to talk to you because you haven't tried. Twit." Del pushed her bangs off her forehead with an irritated gesture. She needed a haircut - her hair kept escaping its ponytail and haloing her face in frizzy ginger strands. She glared back at Draco. "But if you want to sit around and angst about it, I guess it's up to you."
"I am not angsting about it!" Draco snapped.
"You are too!"
"I am not!"
"Are too!"
Draco growled under his breath. "I hardly think that my personal life is any of your business," he muttered.
"It is if I have to put up with you sitting around being a miserable bastard about it," Del shot back. "Which is exactly what you're doing."
"I am not -" Draco started, but Del over-rode him.
"You've been moping around for the last two weeks, having your little pity-party, all 'boo hoo, woe is me, Ginny hates me', when the only person to blame for the whole situation is yourself," Del said, her voice rising a bit. "You haven't talked to her so how the fuck do you know how she's feeling? If you really want to know, call her. Then if she tells you to fuck off, as she has every reason to do, you can feel just as sorry as you want, but until then you're just fishing around for undeserved sympathy."
"I am not fishing for sympathy," Draco retorted. "And she hasn't called me either...I'm not the only one involved here."
"How do you know she hasn't tried? I'll bet she has. It's not like John is ever home, and half the time your damn answering machine doesn't work. Maybe she has and there's just never been anyone here to take her calls, did you think of that? Maybe she's sitting in England right now, drinking tea with somebody and bemoaning the fact that you hate her now because you haven't called her back," Del said. "Though I hope she's got more sense than that."
"I don't recall asking you for your opinion," Draco said, as nastily as possible. "Nosy little busybody."
"Sweetie, you don't have to ask me, I'll give you my opinion when I think you need it," Del replied, her voice dripping with sugar, and leaned back in her chair. "Like now. Call her."
"What if I don't want to?"
"Then stop fucking sulking! Oh my God!" Del sat up straight and stared at him with an incredulous look on her face. "Hello! If you don't want to, then don't, and stop bitching. If you do, then call her and stop bitching! Are you noticing a theme here?"
Draco couldn't think of a very good reply to that seeing as Del was, for all intents and purposes, absolutely right. She smirked at him when he didn't answer. "You should call her."
"Would you please shut up?"
"I'm just sayin'." She shrugged casually and leaned back in her chair again.
"Well you can bloody well not," Draco said irritably. "I hardly think you've got any sort of authority to be doling out relationship advice." It was a cheap shot; Del had a notoriously bad relationship history, and was extremely sensitive about it.
"I may not have the greatest track record, but at least I don't sit around and not do anything when I'm supposedly dating people," Del snapped, her face red. "At least I fucking try." She stood up abruptly, shoving her chair back. "Besides which, we aren't talking about me. You are being a huge fucking colossal idiot about this whole thing, and if you had half a brain, you would fucking call the woman instead of sulking around like some sort of spoilt brat. But if you want to screw up your life, go right ahead!" Del spun around and stalked into the house, slamming the screen door as hard as she could, making the windows rattle.
Draco seethed quietly in his chair. He could hear Del's angry voice through the door; it was hard to make out what she was saying, but Draco had a good idea. John's rumbling voice came in reply, and a minute later Draco could hear the front door slam as well. A few moments later, John stepped through the door and walked across the deck to sit in the chair Del had vacated. Draco braced himself for John's usual lecture about not prodding Del's weak spots, but it didn't come. Instead, John leaned forward and examined Draco thoughtfully. "She's right, you know," he said quietly. "You should call Ginny."
"Don't you start."
"Well, c'mon, she's got a point. You could probably avoid being as miserable as you're making yourself if you'd just call Ginny."
Draco sighed. "I know," he said, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I just..." He stopped and stared down at the table moodily. The truth was, he was afraid to call Ginny. If her silence was any indication, maybe she simply didn't want to talk to him - after all, she hadn't tried to call him, that he knew of. And Neville never really said anything in his letters beyond "Ginny and the children are fine", and Draco didn't want to ask after them and send Neville on a well-meaning quest to find out what was wrong. Although, from the faintly accusatory tone of his last few owls, Draco rather thought Neville knew something was wrong.
John poked him in the arm."You just what?"
"I just don't know what I'd say," Draco replied, which was true. Apologize for being unable to keep even the simple promise he'd made her, that everything would be all right? For not being able to do what she had expected of him, or what he had expected of himself? Draco mentally shook himself. He couldn't really blame Ginny for not wanting to contact him, but he didn't say so to John.
"How about starting with 'Hi' and taking it from there?" John said reasonably. "I mean, you do want to, right?"
Draco shrugged. "I guess."
"Why don't you just talk to her?" John asked. "Worst she can do is tell you to take a hike, right?"
Draco didn't say anything. He thought it was fairly likely that Ginny would tell him to take a hike, and he was reluctant to hear it.
John made an exasperated sound in his throat when Draco didn't reply. "Fine. Whatever." He stood up again and brushed at his shorts. "It's your life."
~*~
Harry arrived on Friday afternoon to pick up the children, and Ginny sent Jamie to open the door for his father while she made sure that everything they might need for the weekend was packed. Since the kidnapping, Harry had taken Ginny's accusation of distance to heart and started making a real effort to see the children more often and spend more time with them. She was glad for it, and happy for the kids, who were delighted to be able to see more of their dad, but at the same time she dreaded the solitude of her weekends now. She had far too much time to think now, about everything that had happened, and to brood about the lack of communication from Draco.
Ginny knew from Neville that Draco was out of hospital now, but she hadn't heard from him at all, by phone or by owl. And she couldn't really blame him, which was perhaps the worst part of it. She had left him alone when he had needed her the most, and Ginny could hardly blame him for not wanting to contact her. When it came down to it, her children came first - however she felt about Draco, Sarah and Jamie and William were more important. She had thought he'd understood that, but judging by the total lack of communication, that wasn't so. She guessed that Neville and Hermione both suspected something was wrong, but Ginny hadn't said anything to anyone, not wanting to give her parents any more reason to snipe about Draco, whatever was happening between them - or not happening.
Ginny was distracted from her thoughts by a light tap at the door of Sarah and William's bedroom. She glanced up and smiled at Harry. He smiled back and leaned against the doorframe. "How's the packing going?"
"I'm almost done," Ginny replied. "Just a few more things and they should be ready to go."
Harry nodded and walked further into the room. He leaned against the edge of the bed and watched her fold shirts and place them in Sarah's bag. "So have you heard from Malfoy?" he asked casually.
Ginny inhaled deeply, but didn't look up from her folding. "What time will you back on Sunday?" she asked, ignoring the question.
"Ginny..." he raised his hand toward her, but Ginny ducked away.
"Harry, don't. Please." She stopped and sank onto the edge of Sarah's bed, bowing her head. "I really don't want to talk about it."
Harry lowered his hand and watched her almost sadly. "I just hate to see you this way."
"Harry, please." Ginny raised her head to eye him warily. "I know you mean well, that everyone means well, but I really don't..." she trailed off and shrugged."There's nothing to say."
"I just worry about you. I know I don't need to, but it's hard to not." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his feet against the carpet. "I know you've got Hermione to lend a sympathetic ear and all, but I reckon if you want to complain about how Malfoy's a great huge git, I could probably nod and agree with you," he said, schooling his face into a blandly helpful expression.
Ginny shot him a look, then shook her head and laughed. "I suppose you could." She sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. "It would probably be easier if he were being a git, but he's not. He's not being anything. Except absent." She stopped, not really wanting to tell Harry about her feelings for Draco right now. It wasn't really fair to either of them.
"Sounds like he's being a git to me."
"Harry..."
"Sorry," he said apologetically. "Not helpful, I expect."
"Not really. Ron badmouths Draco quite enough for everyone, thanks," she said with asperity.
"I know," Harry murmured. "He does tend to go on about it. Fred charmed a sock to stuff itself in Ron's mouth every time he brought it up last week at poker. He got the hint eventually."
Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "Is Draco a common topic at your poker games?"
"Not really. We were talking about the trial, is all, since it's in less than two weeks, and it came up." Harry shrugged again. "And Ron got on his usual rant about Malfoy, and Fred gave him what for. I think Fred likes him."
"Of course he likes Ron. Ron's his brother."
"No, he likes Malfoy. At least, that was the impression I got, that Fred approves of him or something," Harry said. "I wasn't expecting that."
He sounded subdued, and Ginny glanced at him curiously. "You weren't?"
Harry shook his head. "Everyone likes him," he said. "Neville, the twins, Hermione...Ron doesn't, but that's more to do with Ron's reluctance to let go an idea once he's got it in his head. Hell, if I hadn't known him when he was a horrible twelve-year-old brat, I might even like him." He sighed unhappily. "It's not fair."
"Not fair that you can't go on hating him, you mean?" Ginny said. Harry nodded, looking comically morose.
"Well, I can't, really, can I? I owe him my life twice over," Harry said. He didn't sound particularly happy about it. "It was easier when I thought he'd vanished, and I didn't have -" He brought himself up short and glanced at Ginny. "Well."
"You didn't have to feel guilty about knowing the truth about his father?" she asked softly.
Harry looked at her sharply, startled. "How do you know about -" he stopped abruptly. "He told you, didn't he?"
Ginny nodded solemnly. "After you met him for the first time, at Neville's office."
Harry ran one hand through his hair, making it stand on end, even messier than usual. Ginny reached out absently and smoothed it down again. "I - " He stopped and looked at her. "You're not...?"
"Angry that you didn't tell me? No." Ginny shrugged. "Why should I be? You don't talk about it to anyone, so it isn't as though I expected you to make an exception for me. And honestly, I knew, a little. It wasn't important."
"It was. It is," said Harry, and Ginny was a little startled at the anguish in his voice. "I should never have done what I did, and that he's had to live with that for all this time and no one even knows what he'd done...you know how important it was that Lucius Malfoy died - if he hadn't, the Death Eaters would never have been broken. Voldemort would probably still be alive. And I was wrong. You can't tell me it isn't important."
"Harry, I don't think he cares whether people know," Ginny said softly. "I don't think he really wants accolades from the wizarding world anymore. Maybe he did then, but now...I don't think it's that important to him. He has changed." She smiled suddenly. "I keep saying that, but I don't think anyone really believes me."
Harry shook his head and smiled back weakly. "Probably not. It's too much of a stretch. He was horribly jealous of me at Hogwarts, for all the things he thought I had and he didn't...I don't know. Maybe that's part of it. He had so much while we were growing up, and all I had was my fame, and his one truly noble thing he did, I took away from him." He sighed. "I was wrong."
"Harry; it's over," Ginny said firmly. "The war, the past, all of it. It's over, and what's done is done. You can't change it. If you want to make amends for anything that happened, then you should talk to Draco, not to me. But I don't think he really wants anything from you...he moved on long ago."
Harry gazed at her for a long moment. "You really love him, don't you?" he said finally.
Ginny didn't reply. She finished putting the last of Sarah's shirts into her overnight bag and zipped it up carefully. Harry took the bag from her gravely, his face solemn. "We'll come back Sunday night after dinner," he said softly. "And I'll be by next Friday as well."
Ginny nodded and summoned up a smile for him. "All right."
~*~
A/N: Huge, huge, huge thanks go out to Mahoney, Emily, and Banfennid, all of whom are wonderful lifesavers who gave me ideas, jumpstarted me and generally got me through this mess of a chapter. Thank you all so, so much. I luff you! You're the best! I have to thank Alex and Tinka, as well. They also offered their help for my evil writer's block, but I got this chapter out before they could get back to me (which is all my fault, and none of theirs). They are wonderful lifesavers and fantastic people as well, and I luff them too.
Some have flown while others fell
And what seemed to be right
Now darkens our way and clouds in our sight
And we do not have the eyes to see.
- Deepest Part Of Me, Dougie McLean
~*~
Once Harry and Ginny left for Canada, the Weasleys had moved from Ginny's flat to the Burrow, where there was room enough for everyone to stay in relative comfort while they waited for news of the kidnapping. Molly had retreated to the kitchen to bake bread - not because it was really necessary, but because she needed something to do during the interminable wait for Harry and Ginny to return.
It was late morning when they arrived by Floo, Harry holding Jamie's hand in his, and Ginny carrying Sarah, who was half-asleep in her arms. She stood stiffly as Molly swooped down on her grandchildren, enveloping them all in a lumpy hug, tears of relief streaming down her face. "Oh, my dears! We were so worried! Thank God you're all right!" Molly dabbed at her cheeks with her apron and hugged Ginny and Sarah again, then bent down to hug Jamie tightly as well.
It seemed like everyone was talking at once, and Harry twisted his head distractedly, trying to answer questions as they were fired at them. Arthur took a step forward and cleared his throat. "All right, all right. We all want to hear, but we'll get nothing done just standing around and shouting. Everyone, come sit down."
Ginny stayed near the door while Harry relinquished Jamie's hand to her with a brief, understanding glance. He allowed Arthur to lead him to the couch and began the long process of explaining what had happened the night before - Ginny sighed mentally. It was better that he do it anyway, because she hadn't done much except wait. Jamie rested his head against her hip and wrapped his arms around her leg, leaning his small solid weight against her. Ginny dropped one hand to ruffle his hair gently.
Hermione came up beside her touched Ginny's arm. "Will is out in the garden with the twins and Fred and Angelina's kids. He's fine, but if you want to see him..."
"No, it's all right. Did he even notice we'd gone?" Ginny asked.
Hermione shook her head with a small smile. "No, we took him home with us, and he had such fun with the twins that I don't think he noticed anything."
"Just as well. I'll check in on him a bit later, then...for now, I think we might go have a nap. It's been - " her voice faltered slightly, "a very long day. How does that sound?" she said to Sarah, who rested her head against Ginny's shoulder and nodded. "Daddy can tell everyone what happened, and we'll go have a lie-down." She reached down and took Jamie's small hand in hers, then climbed the narrow stairs to her old room. She pushed the door open and set Sarah down on her bed, sitting down and drawing Jamie up beside her as well. Sarah buried her head in Ginny's side, her small arms wrapped around Ginny's waist, Jamie on her other side doing the same thing. Ginny hugged them both to her for a minute, kissing the tops of their heads in a silent prayer of thankfulness. "Come on, then," she whispered finally. "You should rest."
"Are you going, Mummy?" Jamie asked, looking up at her.
"No, sweetheart. I'll stay right here," Ginny replied, squeezing him gently. "I won't go
anywhere."
Ginny slid Sarah's shoes off, while Jamie kicked his off onto the floor and crawled up to rest his head on the pillow. Ginny smiled down at him and lay on her back, Sarah curled up against one side and Jamie on the other, their small arms heavy across her stomach, their breathing evening out into sleep. The awful tension she had been carrying with her for days slowly eased as she stared up at the familiar patterns cast by her curtains on the bedroom ceiling, Sarah's breath and Jamie's filling her ears, trying to think of nothing at all.
~*~
Molly insisted on making supper for the children, and that they all stay to eat, which meant that the Burrow was packed to the rafters with adults and children and noisy beyond belief. Ginny sat on the stairs and listened to her mother bustle around and issue orders, alternately commanding her daughters-in-law and cooing at her grandchildren. She was happy to be back, happy to be safe, but there was still an ache in her chest and a dull pressure behind her eyes, even after a day's rest with her children cuddled against her. She rested her head against the wall, letting to the familiar voices in the kitchen wash over her, and tried not to think too hard about what had happened before they arrived safe in England.
In all honesty, the events of the night before were a bit of a blur - John had made her tea, and she sat in the kitchen sipping it slowly and chatting hesitantly with him. She could see why Draco admired him so much - John was pragmatic, funny and immensely kind, and seemed to have a knack for putting people at their ease. Even tense and worried, as he became after the phone call that came just after midnight, he was still a centre of calm. His strong hands on hers as he told her that Draco was in the hospital with a wounded arm, broken ribs and a punctured lung were all that kept her from breaking down completely until Neville and Harry arrived with the children.
Harry had only looked at her apologetically, while Neville handed his wand off and stalked back and forth in the living room, snapping out a clipped explanation of what had happened, his face red and his hands shaking. Harry had settled on the couch with Ginny, with Sarah and Jamie in between them, sleepy but watching 'Uncle Neville' try to control his temper. Ginny sensed that part of Neville's white-lipped railing at the incompetence of the Canadian Aurors was an attempt to mask that he was desperately afraid for Draco.
But there was nothing they could do. Draco was in a Muggle hospital, the Canadian Aurors having refused to take him to a wizarding facility - yet another reason why Neville was practically incoherent with rage - in something called an 'ICU', though Ginny wasn't quite sure what that meant. No one was permitted to see him, although John spent some time making quiet phone calls while Neville paced. Ginny hadn't been sure what to do - she wanted nothing more than to stay, to be as close as she could to him, to find out immediately what was happening. But it was Sarah's soft voice saying "Mummy, I want to go home," that finally decided the question. Home they went, a strangely subdued Harry and two sleepy, frightened children, to The Burrow rather than her own flat, where her whole family had been waiting.
Ginny sighed and slumped against the wall of the stair. Neville had stayed behind in Canada to talk to their Ministry and straighten things out. He'd said he would call or owl, but they'd heard nothing yet, and once again, she was back to waiting. She hated waiting.
"Ginny?"
Ginny raised her head and looked down the stairs. Percy was standing there, one hand resting on the worn lintel, looking at her with concern. "You all right?"
She nodded faintly. "I'm okay."
"You look upset," Percy replied, and climbed the steps. He sat down on the stair below her and touched her ankle lightly. "Want to talk about it?"
Ginny shook her head silently.
"Is it about Malfoy?" he asked. Ginny sighed and nodded. Percy hitched himself up a step and put his arm around her shoulders. He didn't say anything, which surprised her a little; of all her brothers, she thought Percy would be the one to choose to lecture her on Draco right now. He was the least accepting of her relationship with Draco; he was always so concerned with appearances that she couldn't see him welcoming the son of a Death Eater with open arms. But Percy didn't comment, just held her gently until she leaned into his shoulder and sighed.
"Neville's going to owl me when he has news," she said finally. She could feel Percy's head moving as he nodded wordlessly. "He said it wouldn't be long before we know -" she stopped talking suddenly as her throat closed. Percy's arm tightened around her shoulder and he murmured something soothing. Ginny closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I just -" She stopped again. "I feel as though I should have stayed."
Percy nodded again. "You couldn't help it, though. You had to come home, for the children, if nothing else."
"I know. I just wish I could be there and here too." She sighed softly.
He stroked her arm gently. "If he's a halfway decent fellow, he'll understand why you couldn't."
"I know," Ginny repeated. "I just..." She trailed off, shaking her head.
Percy shifted his weight slightly and squeezed her shoulders. "There isn't much you can do right now, here or there though, is there?" He glanced at Ginny as she nodded slowly. "I'm sure it's hard, love."
Ginny inhaled deeply, then let the breath out slowly. "It's just a bit much to take, to have Mum running around all cheerful, knowing that Draco is in hospital in Canada and I've got no way to know if he's all right or not. But thank you." She raised her head to smile at Percy. "For being here."
Percy coughed uncomfortably. "Well, I couldn’t very well let Fred and George...their solution to everything usually involves scaring people or exploding things." There was a loud thud and a chorus of giggles from the kitchen, and they could hear Molly yelling and the twins protesting their innocence. Ginny giggled. Percy frowned in faint disapproval and polished his glasses on the edge of his robe. "And speaking of which, I should go make sure they're not going to burn the house down."
He stood up, shaking out his robes officiously. Ginny stood too, and helped him brush at his shoulders with a small smile. "I mean it, you know," she said softly. "Thank you." She reached out and gave him a tight hug.
Percy stiffened in surprise, then hugged her back hesitantly. "Of course. I hate to see you unhappy. You're my favourite sister, after all." He gave her a small smile.
"I'm your only sister, silly," Ginny said, grinning.
"All the more reason for you to be my favourite." Percy shuffled and brushed his robes again. "But really...I'm sure there's no need to worry. He'll be fine."
Ginny nodded again. "I know." She followed Percy down the steps and into the kitchen. There was nothing she could do right now...she might as well let her family fuss over her and the children while she waited for news.
~*~
It was like floating up through water, sounds muffled yet curiously magnified, vision reduced to vague blurred shapes. He couldn't seem to move, although he was curiously unalarmed by this. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but all he could see was whiteness above his head. His eyes drifted closed again.
He might have slept, or not.
The next time awareness floated back, although he still couldn't move, and couldn't see much except the same white blur, he could hear distinctly the hiss and whir of a respirator, the monotonous beep of a heart monitor. This is a hospital, he thought hesitantly. What am I doing in a hospital? Laura is already dead. It occurred to him that the thought of Laura, and hospitals, and machines, should hurt, but it didn't. That was strange. He swallowed nervously.
Or rather, tried to. Something was stuck in his throat. He went to raise his hands, to pull whatever it was out of his mouth so he could breathe, but he couldn't move, couldn't lift his arms up. Panic began to nip at the edges of his lethargy, and he struggled against it. Somewhere above his head, the beeping noise sped up. Quick footsteps, then muffled voices near the foot of the bed - bed? - and a face swam into his vision. The woman was tall and thin, mousy hair pulled back from her narrow face. She examined something above his head dispassionately. He watched her with wide eyes, fighting the ever-growing panic. The woman looked down, into his eyes and smiled soothingly, the lines around her thin mouth deepening. "It's all right," she said. "You've got a tracheotomy tube in your throat, and that's why you can't talk. You've had a bad few days, but you'll be okay now."
What? he thought vaguely, unable to focus on her words any longer. It felt like there was something he should remember, something important, but he couldn't grasp hold of it. While he tried, the woman moved out of his line of sight, and with a faint hiss, the world faded again.
~*~
Early July, 2011
Neville gripped his tray and surveyed the questionable food selection mournfully. "You know, we really ought to find a new place to eat," he said to Hermione.
"I keep saying that, and yet we keep coming here. Too late to change your mind now. Go for the chicken, it looks the best," Hermione replied pragmatically. "Next time we do lunch, we'll go to that new place that's opened up down by Gringotts."
Neville sighed and dished some of the chicken onto his plate. "I'd say we should go now, but I haven't time. I'm supposed to be meeting with Cecil after lunch."
"What about?" Hermione asked idly, leading him to an empty table near the back of the Ministry cafeteria. They were finally resuming their lunch dates, now that life had settled down to something approaching normal.
"Couple of things...the kidnapping is one of them. The trial is supposed to be starting in a month, and we've got reports and statements and things to go over for the Ministry's defense team." The wizarding legal system had changed a great deal since the end of Voldemort's War, like so many other things. Gone were the days that criminals could be shipped off to prison without a trial - now everyone was entitled to a hearing, even when, in Neville's opinion, it was totally unnecessary. "We've finally got some of the reports back from the Canadian Ministry, got to go through them."
"Ah," Hermione said. She prodded at her food for a moment, then looked up at Neville with her 'information face' on. "So, since you're talking to the Canadian Ministry...have you heard anything about Draco at all?"
"No, not yet. I've spoken to his friend John, and all he can tell me is that Draco will be all right eventually, but he's still in hospital right now. He should be released in a week or two, and he should be ready to testify at the trial in August, but I don't know anything more," Neville said with a sigh. "I haven't been able to actually talk to him yet...apparently he's still on some sort of Muggle machine to help him breath, and he can't speak."
Hermione gave a small shudder. "A respirator I imagine. Awful things...my grandfather was on one for months when he was ill. However did he end up in a Muggle hospital, anyway? You never did explain."
"Because the Canadian Ministry is a xenophobic, insular, backward institution without an ounce of decency?" Neville spat. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, a mild rebuke in her expression. He took a deep breath and subsided; it just made him so angry when he thought about it. "The Aurors who were there, when Malfoy was shot, they refused to let him be treated magically. They thought he was a Muggle...I'd told them he was a wizard, but they didn't believe me, said that if he were a wizard he would have used a wand, wouldn't let him be magicked to a real hospital. And before I could get them to let him go, the real Muggle police showed up and the Canadian Aurors really wouldn't do magic. So the Muggle police who were there called an ambulance, and once he was in the Muggle hospital, there was no way I could get him out."
"That's awful! Poor Malfoy." Hermione shook her head. "And that's something I never thought I'd say. Have you talked to Ginny at all?"
"No, not really," Neville replied. "As I said, I can't talk to Malfoy yet, and there's nothing really to pass on. I imagine she feels terribly."
Hermione nodded solemnly. "She doesn't really say anything, but she seems...down. Sad."
Neville nodded slowly and pushed his food around on his plate. He could imagine how Ginny felt - he missed Draco, and they were only friends. "I've been owling her updates on how he's doing, but he can't talk to anyone, and she hasn't really said anything except to thank me for letting her know."
"She's been very quiet about the whole thing. I think she's feeling a bit overwhelmed at the moment. Harry's been around quite a bit more since the children were taken, and I think Molly has been hinting, in her oh so subtle fashion, that she hopes there'll be some sort of reconciliation going on there," Hermione said. "Which I can't imagine is making Ginny feel any better."
"Is Molly still on her hating Malfoy kick?" Neville asked.
"Yes and no. I think she feels obligated to be charitable toward him, but she would far rather have Ginny be with Harry, despite what Draco did." Neville's lips tightened and he spared a moment to be grateful that he didn't have much contact with Molly Weasley, and was therefore prevented from speaking his mind. Hermione caught his expression and smiled ruefully. "It's a bit of an uphill battle for poor Ginny, when everyone in the family is more than happy to see Malfoy gone."
Neville tossed his fork down. "That is so -" he bit off the rest of the sentence. Antagonizing Hermione wouldn't do any good, after all. "It's not fair."
"I know it's not fair, but you can't really expect Molly or Arthur to be entirely reasonable about this. They only knew Lucius Malfoy, and you know that they didn't get along. They never met Draco after he came back, and they have only Ginny's word that he's really changed," Hermione said sensibly. "It's hard to expect Molly to have a sudden change of heart about a man she's expecting to think the worst of."
"Even after everything that man did to save her grandchildren?" Neville scowled down at his chicken. "He nearly died, for God's sake."
"I know that," Hermione replied patiently, "and Molly knows it too, but knowing it abstractly, in her case, doesn't mean she's automatically going to be happy about Ginny seeing him. And all told, I don't think she'd like Draco as much as she likes Harry. She knows Harry, he's like one of her own, and you know how upset she was when they got divorced. She just wants Ginny to be happy - "
"What if she's happy with Draco?" Neville asked. "Because between you and me, she is. And Draco cares about her - I'd even go so far as to say that he loves her"
"Well, I’m sure Molly would come around eventually," Hermione said. "Although it's a bit of a moot point at the moment, seeing as he isn't here."
"I know." Neville slumped over his tray and pushed his chicken around his plate.
"Well, it's up to Ginny, ultimately, and frankly, I'm a bit surprised that she isn't being more...proactive, for lack of a better word. She sort of seems to have given up." Hermione poked at her own plate, stirring her chicken. "I mean, she doesn't talk about him at all, really. She just doesn't mention it."
"I don't know," Neville said. "I'll look her up in the next few days and talk to her in person." He shrugged sheepishly at Hermione. "Maybe it'll help."
~*~
Late July, 2011
It was with a sense of profound relief that Draco left Foothills Hospital behind him. He had a suspicion that the nurses were just as happy to see him go as he was to leave - Draco wasn't exactly an ideal patient. Being confined to bed and unable to do anything but watch television and read, with brief forays into physical therapy to strengthen his lungs and his shoulder again, was indescribably boring. It made him snarly and a bit snappish, and he tended to take it out on the nurses. Which wasn't fair, but Draco didn't particularly care.
He finally managed to extricate himself from the bustling nurse reminding him to make sure to schedule his physical therapy appointments and get various prescriptions filled as soon as possible and met up with John, who was watching the proceedings with amusement. "Hey, ksik-kihk-ini. Ready to roll?"
"Get me out of here," Draco muttered, which made John laugh out loud.
"Good to see you're back to your cheerful old self," he chuckled, ignoring Draco's snarl as he followed John out to his truck.
John headed into the kitchen once they arrived at the house, but Draco stopped to stare at the box on the living room floor, nestled under the window like it had been shoved out of the way. He recognized it, which only made sense, since it was the rough wooden crate that Gringotts had given him to hold the ransom money for Jamie and Sarah. "What's this doing here?"
"Huh?" John poked his head around the corner. "What's what doing where?"
Draco walked over to the crate and shoved it away from the wall with his foot. "This. What's it doing here?"
John shrugged. "Dunno. Your buddy Neville said it was yours so I was keeping it for you."
"You mean it's been sitting here the whole time I was in hospital?" Draco asked, not sure if he should laugh or have a fit.
John nodded and walked around the corner to lean against the door frame. "Yeah, I didn't know where else to put it. It weighs a ton...I was gonna stick it in the basement, but it's too heavy to lift."
It didn't surprise Draco that John hadn't looked inside it - he was meticulous about not infringing on Draco's privacy. He bent down and pried the lid off the box, exposing the small mountain of gold coins inside, stirring them gently with one hand. John stepped forward to look at the contents of the crate, and blinked at the sight of the gold. "Holy shit."
"It's heavy because it's the ransom money. There was a spell on it to lighten it, but it must have worn off. D'you know how much money is in here?" Draco asked. John shook his head. "I can't remember the exact exchange rate nowadays, but I think it works out to about 5 pounds to a Galleon." Draco paused. "There's 5 million Galleons in the box." He waited while John worked that out in his head.
"Oh my God," John said quietly.
"25 million pounds," Draco said. "Which has been sitting in the middle of the living room floor for the last month and a half."
"Jesus," John breathed, his eyes wide. "25 mill - Are you serious?"
Draco nodded, smiling faintly.
"Holy shit!" John gasped. Draco grinned. "I don't...holy shit!" He gaped at Draco in horror. "Holy shit! It's just been sitting there! Del's been using it as a footstool!" He gulped. "Oh my God."
Draco raised an amused eyebrow. "You didn't know?"
John shook his head, incredulous. "No, I didn't know." He stared at Draco a moment longer, then burst into laughter. He staggered into the room and fell into the recliner, gasping for breath between guffaws. Draco sat too, waiting as John slowly calmed down.
"Oh, my God," John said when he got his breath back. "I had no idea. Who does it belong to?"
"It's mine," Draco said. "I lent it to Potter, because he didn't have enough money to cover the ransom."
"It's yours?" John goggled at him "Where the hell did you get 25 million pounds?"
Draco shrugged and coughed uncomfortably. "Part of my inheritance."
"Your inheritance," John said in disbelief. "And you just lent it away. What if you didn't get it back?"
Draco looked even more uncomfortable. "It's actually a rather small part of the total amount, to be honest. It wouldn't have made that big a difference if I hadn't."
John reached out and picked up one of the Galleons, turning it over in his hands. "How much money do you have?"
"Um, lots?" Draco rubbed at his shoulder, slightly embarrassed. "I'm not exactly sure. 15 or 18 million Galleons, I think."
John stared at him. "15 or 18 million - million - Galleons. You think," he said flatly. Draco shrugged his good shoulder sheepishly. "Fuck me. When you said your family had money left, I was thinking, you know, a few hundred thousand bucks. Not..." He trailed off. "Jesus. How much money would that be?"
Draco thought about it. "I'm not sure, exactly. What's 15 times 5?"
"Eighty-five," John said. "Eighty-five million pounds. My God. How much would that be in Canadian dollars?"
Draco shook his head. "I have no idea. Lots?"
"Jesus." John laughed again. "You know, I think I should start charging you for your half of the mortgage again."
"I'll pay it off, if you want." Draco smiled faintly. "I didn't even know the money was there until I went back...I thought they'd seized it all. I've been spending it, trying to think of ways to get rid of it."
"That explains the new wardrobe," John grinned. "But yeah, if you want to buy me a house, I have no objections."
"I was thinking of paying off Ed and Anne's loans too, but I haven't thought of a way to do it without them knowing it was me and getting mad."
"Good luck," John said. "Though you might be able to, like, go to their bank directly and do it that way."
"Something to think about, I guess."
John nodded and stared at the box thoughtfully for a moment. "Eighty-five million pounds," he said suddenly. "Man, that's a lot of money."
Draco nodded solemnly. "It'd be more if I'd managed to sell the manor."
John jerked his head back to Draco. "Manor?" Draco examined the ceiling intently. "You have a manor?"
"Yes," said Draco sheepishly. "It's part of the estate."
John narrowed his eyes. "Estate as in, what your dad left behind when he died, or estate as in big chunk of land in the English countryside?"
"Er, both."
John started to say something, then stopped. "Jesus," he managed finally. "It's like you've won the lottery or something. I don't think I can wrap my head around that much money."
Draco shrugged uncomfortably. "It's not that big a deal, really."
John made a small, incoherent noise in the back of his throat. "Right. Because, you know, being richer than Croesus isn't a big deal." He grinned at Draco. "It explains a lot, though."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "Explains a lot about what?"
"Just...stuff. I mean, I always knew you had this privileged upbringing, even if you never said outright that your family was this filthy rich. Nice to know I'm right, as usual." John grinned at Draco's infuriated expression. "Well, put a lid on that thing and I'll try to pretend there isn't more money than I've ever seen in my life sitting in the living room."
Draco replaced the top of the crate and followed John out to the kitchen, rubbing absently at his shoulder. John grabbed two Cokes from the fridge and handed one to Draco, who took it and sat down at the kitchen table. John sat opposite him and leaned back in his chair. "So what are you gonna do now?"
Draco shook his head. "I don't know. Wait and see if there's been word from Longbottom, I suppose."
"Oh, hey, that reminds me," John interrupted. He stood and rummaged around on top of the refrigerator for a moment, then handed Draco a packet of notes. "Those came while you were in the hospital. I was gonna bring 'em to you, but the doctor said I wasn't supposed to bother you about work until you were better. They're from Neville, I think."
"Damn doctors...why wouldn't I be able to read them in hospital?" Draco grumbled. "Incompetents. At least Longbottom's been able to work." He flipped open the top note, squinting slightly at Neville's indecipherable handwriting.
"Why don't you ever call him by his first name?" John asked suddenly.
Draco glanced up in surprise. "What?"
"Neville. You never call him Neville, it's always 'Longbottom'. I was just wondering."
"I'd never really thought of it," Draco said. "Force of habit, I expect. Unless you were in the same House at school, no one was ever on a first name basis."
"That is weird," John said.
"It's just how it was," Draco replied absently, sorting through the packet of notes. All of them were from Neville, and it wasn't until he'd reached the last one that Draco admitted that he'd been looking not for Neville's messy writing, but Ginny's neater hand. He shuffled the papers back into order with a pang of disappointment. He had hoped that she would write at least once, but there was nothing.
Draco glanced up at John briefly. "Anyone call?"
"Nope," John replied. "Just the letters from Neville. And can I just say that getting
letters delivered by owls is really freaking weird?"
"Mmm." Draco went back to reading the letters, not really paying attention to John. He wasn't really paying attention to Neville's letters either, to be honest; he couldn't muster up the energy. "I think I might go lie down," he said finally, ignoring John's quizzical look as he left Neville's letters in a neat pile on the kitchen table and left the room.
~*~
August, 2011
True to his word, Neville made time to visit Ginny the first day he had free. She invited him over for tea on Friday afternoon, and Neville sat quietly at her kitchen table as she bustled around, making sandwiches and setting the water to boil with a wave of her wand. She finally settled in the chair opposite Neville, placing a plate of food and the teapot on the table, wafting the cups over from the cupboard. "There," she said in satisfaction. "Now. How have you been, then?"
Neville grinned. "Fine. How about you?"
"Well enough," Ginny said with a smile. "Harry's been taking the children most of the
summer. It's the off season, so he's been taking them all sorts of places, to the beach and out to the country and to visit Remus and Sirius...they're having a grand time, loving every minute of it. He's got them this weekend, that's why they're not underfoot."
"That must be a relief," Neville said, and Ginny nodded with a rueful grin.
"Well, yes and no. He's been threatening to teach William how to fly sometime this summer, but I'm trying to convince him not to. He thinks poor Will has natural talent, but I think he should be keeping both feet on the ground...he's hard enough to keep track of as it is." Neville laughed at that, and they made small talk while they ate the sandwiches, Ginny regaling Neville with tales of Sarah and Jamie and William's exploits. Sarah and Jamie were doing well, despite their experience, which was a great relief. Ginny had worried that they would be affected deeply by the kidnapping, but they were remarkably resilient. Sarah occasionally needed to be reassured that the "bad men" couldn't get her anymore, but overall, they were doing fine.
Neville cleared his throat once they had chatted for a while, and played with his teacup. "I...I've heard from Draco," he said softly.
Ginny's shoulders tensed, but her hand was steady as she raised her cup, and her voice remained steady as well. "Oh?"
"He owled me yesterday. Just got out of hospital a couple of weeks ago. He's doing alright, feeling better, he says. He'll be here in a week, for the trial." Neville risked a glance at Ginny's face, but she was still and expressionless as water. She merely nodded and sipped at her cup, wrapping her fingers around the porcelain.
"Harry told me about it when he came to get the kids last week," she said calmly. "He's been keeping me updated."
Neville watched her solemnly. "How are you feeling?"
"I don't know what to feel, to be perfectly honest. I'm...tired. Sad. A little bit upset." Ginny drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I wish..." She trailed off and stared into the bottom of her cup as though trying to read the future.
"He hasn't talked to you at all?" Neville asked softly.
Ginny shook her head. "I tried calling him a couple times, but I couldn't get through."
"Oh." Neville fell silent, turning his cup slowly on its saucer.
"I almost don't want to. I feel like - I don't know. I don't blame him for not wanting to talk to me."
Neville glanced up sharply. "Whatever makes you think he doesn't want to talk to you?"
Ginny shrugged hopelessly. "Well, I can't get 'hold of him, and he hasn't tried to call me, so I don't know what else to think. But I can't blame him for wanting to avoid me."
"Whyever would he want to avoid you?" Neville asked in bewilderment. "You haven't done anything!"
Ginny opened her mouth, about to say something, but closed it and sighed. "It doesn't matter," she said softly.
"Ginny - " Neville broke off. "Of course it matters. Why on earth would he not want to talk to you?"
"Has he said he does?" Ginny asked, glancing at him sidelong. For once, Neville couldn't decipher her expression.
"He doesn't talk about anything personal, you know that," Neville replied. "He hasn't said so, but I'm sure he does." Ginny just nodded and stirred her tea, not looking at him. "Ginny, he does."
She shrugged. "Well, it's not important," she said, keeping her voice light.
Neville gaped at her. "Ginny, of course it is. He cares about you, and I know you care about him...how can that not be important?" He couldn't understand why she was being so cavalier about the whole thing. Draco's silence was a bit of a surprise, but knowing how silent Draco normally was about anything he felt deeply about, Neville wasn't all that shocked. But he thought Ginny would be a little more emotional about it - she wasn't usually one to hide how she felt.
Ginny shrugged again and cleared her throat. "Hermione tells me that they're talking about designing a new building for the Ministry," she said brightly. "That must be a thrill."
Neville sighed with exasperation. Ginny could be remarkably stubborn when she wanted to. "That's what they're saying, but I don't know that it will actually happen," he said in defeat.
~*~
It was late afternoon, the sun sinking slowly in the west and casting pure golden light across the yard and deck. It had been a beautiful day, and Draco and John had spent most of it in the backyard, John doing yard work and Draco lounging on the deck, alternately napping and watching John work. He was using his arm as an excuse out of doing anything, and John had only laughed and let him do it, happily puttering around, weeding the garden and trimming the hedges at the side of the house. He had just finished up and climbed the stairs of the deck, brushing dirt off his hands. "Hey, ksik-kihk-ini, I'm going to wash up and grab something to drink from inside...need anything?" Draco shook his head and John nodded as he went into the kitchen.
Draco heard him greet someone, so it was no surprise when Del pushed the screen door open and came outside, a glass of lemonade in one hand. "Hey," she said, setting her glass down on the table. She pulled one of the deck chairs away from the table and flopped into it. "How's the arm?"
"Fine," Draco said absently.
"That's good," she said. "John said you're heading back to England next week." Draco nodded silently, and Del raised an amused eyebrow at him. "So," she said, with an air that suggested she was about to drop something large and unpleasant on him, "have you heard from Ginny?"
Draco's head snapped up and he glared at her. "I hardly think it's any of your business."
"I take it that's a no." Del shifted in her chair. "Why haven't you called her?"
"Did I or did I not just say that it is none of your business?" Draco glared back. "Besides, she hasn't called me either."
Del looked at him for a long moment. "You," she said in disgust "are an idiot. Just call her."
Draco glared at her. "I am not an idiot. And what I do isn't any of your business." He wished John would come back outside to lend him moral support. He didn't think he was up to dealing with Del right now.
"You are an idiot. You've been going around being a fucking miserable bastard for the last two weeks, when you know as well as I do that all you really have to do is just call the damn woman and get it over with. You don't know that she doesn't want to talk to you because you haven't tried. Twit." Del pushed her bangs off her forehead with an irritated gesture. She needed a haircut - her hair kept escaping its ponytail and haloing her face in frizzy ginger strands. She glared back at Draco. "But if you want to sit around and angst about it, I guess it's up to you."
"I am not angsting about it!" Draco snapped.
"You are too!"
"I am not!"
"Are too!"
Draco growled under his breath. "I hardly think that my personal life is any of your business," he muttered.
"It is if I have to put up with you sitting around being a miserable bastard about it," Del shot back. "Which is exactly what you're doing."
"I am not -" Draco started, but Del over-rode him.
"You've been moping around for the last two weeks, having your little pity-party, all 'boo hoo, woe is me, Ginny hates me', when the only person to blame for the whole situation is yourself," Del said, her voice rising a bit. "You haven't talked to her so how the fuck do you know how she's feeling? If you really want to know, call her. Then if she tells you to fuck off, as she has every reason to do, you can feel just as sorry as you want, but until then you're just fishing around for undeserved sympathy."
"I am not fishing for sympathy," Draco retorted. "And she hasn't called me either...I'm not the only one involved here."
"How do you know she hasn't tried? I'll bet she has. It's not like John is ever home, and half the time your damn answering machine doesn't work. Maybe she has and there's just never been anyone here to take her calls, did you think of that? Maybe she's sitting in England right now, drinking tea with somebody and bemoaning the fact that you hate her now because you haven't called her back," Del said. "Though I hope she's got more sense than that."
"I don't recall asking you for your opinion," Draco said, as nastily as possible. "Nosy little busybody."
"Sweetie, you don't have to ask me, I'll give you my opinion when I think you need it," Del replied, her voice dripping with sugar, and leaned back in her chair. "Like now. Call her."
"What if I don't want to?"
"Then stop fucking sulking! Oh my God!" Del sat up straight and stared at him with an incredulous look on her face. "Hello! If you don't want to, then don't, and stop bitching. If you do, then call her and stop bitching! Are you noticing a theme here?"
Draco couldn't think of a very good reply to that seeing as Del was, for all intents and purposes, absolutely right. She smirked at him when he didn't answer. "You should call her."
"Would you please shut up?"
"I'm just sayin'." She shrugged casually and leaned back in her chair again.
"Well you can bloody well not," Draco said irritably. "I hardly think you've got any sort of authority to be doling out relationship advice." It was a cheap shot; Del had a notoriously bad relationship history, and was extremely sensitive about it.
"I may not have the greatest track record, but at least I don't sit around and not do anything when I'm supposedly dating people," Del snapped, her face red. "At least I fucking try." She stood up abruptly, shoving her chair back. "Besides which, we aren't talking about me. You are being a huge fucking colossal idiot about this whole thing, and if you had half a brain, you would fucking call the woman instead of sulking around like some sort of spoilt brat. But if you want to screw up your life, go right ahead!" Del spun around and stalked into the house, slamming the screen door as hard as she could, making the windows rattle.
Draco seethed quietly in his chair. He could hear Del's angry voice through the door; it was hard to make out what she was saying, but Draco had a good idea. John's rumbling voice came in reply, and a minute later Draco could hear the front door slam as well. A few moments later, John stepped through the door and walked across the deck to sit in the chair Del had vacated. Draco braced himself for John's usual lecture about not prodding Del's weak spots, but it didn't come. Instead, John leaned forward and examined Draco thoughtfully. "She's right, you know," he said quietly. "You should call Ginny."
"Don't you start."
"Well, c'mon, she's got a point. You could probably avoid being as miserable as you're making yourself if you'd just call Ginny."
Draco sighed. "I know," he said, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I just..." He stopped and stared down at the table moodily. The truth was, he was afraid to call Ginny. If her silence was any indication, maybe she simply didn't want to talk to him - after all, she hadn't tried to call him, that he knew of. And Neville never really said anything in his letters beyond "Ginny and the children are fine", and Draco didn't want to ask after them and send Neville on a well-meaning quest to find out what was wrong. Although, from the faintly accusatory tone of his last few owls, Draco rather thought Neville knew something was wrong.
John poked him in the arm."You just what?"
"I just don't know what I'd say," Draco replied, which was true. Apologize for being unable to keep even the simple promise he'd made her, that everything would be all right? For not being able to do what she had expected of him, or what he had expected of himself? Draco mentally shook himself. He couldn't really blame Ginny for not wanting to contact him, but he didn't say so to John.
"How about starting with 'Hi' and taking it from there?" John said reasonably. "I mean, you do want to, right?"
Draco shrugged. "I guess."
"Why don't you just talk to her?" John asked. "Worst she can do is tell you to take a hike, right?"
Draco didn't say anything. He thought it was fairly likely that Ginny would tell him to take a hike, and he was reluctant to hear it.
John made an exasperated sound in his throat when Draco didn't reply. "Fine. Whatever." He stood up again and brushed at his shorts. "It's your life."
~*~
Harry arrived on Friday afternoon to pick up the children, and Ginny sent Jamie to open the door for his father while she made sure that everything they might need for the weekend was packed. Since the kidnapping, Harry had taken Ginny's accusation of distance to heart and started making a real effort to see the children more often and spend more time with them. She was glad for it, and happy for the kids, who were delighted to be able to see more of their dad, but at the same time she dreaded the solitude of her weekends now. She had far too much time to think now, about everything that had happened, and to brood about the lack of communication from Draco.
Ginny knew from Neville that Draco was out of hospital now, but she hadn't heard from him at all, by phone or by owl. And she couldn't really blame him, which was perhaps the worst part of it. She had left him alone when he had needed her the most, and Ginny could hardly blame him for not wanting to contact her. When it came down to it, her children came first - however she felt about Draco, Sarah and Jamie and William were more important. She had thought he'd understood that, but judging by the total lack of communication, that wasn't so. She guessed that Neville and Hermione both suspected something was wrong, but Ginny hadn't said anything to anyone, not wanting to give her parents any more reason to snipe about Draco, whatever was happening between them - or not happening.
Ginny was distracted from her thoughts by a light tap at the door of Sarah and William's bedroom. She glanced up and smiled at Harry. He smiled back and leaned against the doorframe. "How's the packing going?"
"I'm almost done," Ginny replied. "Just a few more things and they should be ready to go."
Harry nodded and walked further into the room. He leaned against the edge of the bed and watched her fold shirts and place them in Sarah's bag. "So have you heard from Malfoy?" he asked casually.
Ginny inhaled deeply, but didn't look up from her folding. "What time will you back on Sunday?" she asked, ignoring the question.
"Ginny..." he raised his hand toward her, but Ginny ducked away.
"Harry, don't. Please." She stopped and sank onto the edge of Sarah's bed, bowing her head. "I really don't want to talk about it."
Harry lowered his hand and watched her almost sadly. "I just hate to see you this way."
"Harry, please." Ginny raised her head to eye him warily. "I know you mean well, that everyone means well, but I really don't..." she trailed off and shrugged."There's nothing to say."
"I just worry about you. I know I don't need to, but it's hard to not." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his feet against the carpet. "I know you've got Hermione to lend a sympathetic ear and all, but I reckon if you want to complain about how Malfoy's a great huge git, I could probably nod and agree with you," he said, schooling his face into a blandly helpful expression.
Ginny shot him a look, then shook her head and laughed. "I suppose you could." She sighed and pushed a hand through her hair. "It would probably be easier if he were being a git, but he's not. He's not being anything. Except absent." She stopped, not really wanting to tell Harry about her feelings for Draco right now. It wasn't really fair to either of them.
"Sounds like he's being a git to me."
"Harry..."
"Sorry," he said apologetically. "Not helpful, I expect."
"Not really. Ron badmouths Draco quite enough for everyone, thanks," she said with asperity.
"I know," Harry murmured. "He does tend to go on about it. Fred charmed a sock to stuff itself in Ron's mouth every time he brought it up last week at poker. He got the hint eventually."
Ginny raised an eyebrow at him. "Is Draco a common topic at your poker games?"
"Not really. We were talking about the trial, is all, since it's in less than two weeks, and it came up." Harry shrugged again. "And Ron got on his usual rant about Malfoy, and Fred gave him what for. I think Fred likes him."
"Of course he likes Ron. Ron's his brother."
"No, he likes Malfoy. At least, that was the impression I got, that Fred approves of him or something," Harry said. "I wasn't expecting that."
He sounded subdued, and Ginny glanced at him curiously. "You weren't?"
Harry shook his head. "Everyone likes him," he said. "Neville, the twins, Hermione...Ron doesn't, but that's more to do with Ron's reluctance to let go an idea once he's got it in his head. Hell, if I hadn't known him when he was a horrible twelve-year-old brat, I might even like him." He sighed unhappily. "It's not fair."
"Not fair that you can't go on hating him, you mean?" Ginny said. Harry nodded, looking comically morose.
"Well, I can't, really, can I? I owe him my life twice over," Harry said. He didn't sound particularly happy about it. "It was easier when I thought he'd vanished, and I didn't have -" He brought himself up short and glanced at Ginny. "Well."
"You didn't have to feel guilty about knowing the truth about his father?" she asked softly.
Harry looked at her sharply, startled. "How do you know about -" he stopped abruptly. "He told you, didn't he?"
Ginny nodded solemnly. "After you met him for the first time, at Neville's office."
Harry ran one hand through his hair, making it stand on end, even messier than usual. Ginny reached out absently and smoothed it down again. "I - " He stopped and looked at her. "You're not...?"
"Angry that you didn't tell me? No." Ginny shrugged. "Why should I be? You don't talk about it to anyone, so it isn't as though I expected you to make an exception for me. And honestly, I knew, a little. It wasn't important."
"It was. It is," said Harry, and Ginny was a little startled at the anguish in his voice. "I should never have done what I did, and that he's had to live with that for all this time and no one even knows what he'd done...you know how important it was that Lucius Malfoy died - if he hadn't, the Death Eaters would never have been broken. Voldemort would probably still be alive. And I was wrong. You can't tell me it isn't important."
"Harry, I don't think he cares whether people know," Ginny said softly. "I don't think he really wants accolades from the wizarding world anymore. Maybe he did then, but now...I don't think it's that important to him. He has changed." She smiled suddenly. "I keep saying that, but I don't think anyone really believes me."
Harry shook his head and smiled back weakly. "Probably not. It's too much of a stretch. He was horribly jealous of me at Hogwarts, for all the things he thought I had and he didn't...I don't know. Maybe that's part of it. He had so much while we were growing up, and all I had was my fame, and his one truly noble thing he did, I took away from him." He sighed. "I was wrong."
"Harry; it's over," Ginny said firmly. "The war, the past, all of it. It's over, and what's done is done. You can't change it. If you want to make amends for anything that happened, then you should talk to Draco, not to me. But I don't think he really wants anything from you...he moved on long ago."
Harry gazed at her for a long moment. "You really love him, don't you?" he said finally.
Ginny didn't reply. She finished putting the last of Sarah's shirts into her overnight bag and zipped it up carefully. Harry took the bag from her gravely, his face solemn. "We'll come back Sunday night after dinner," he said softly. "And I'll be by next Friday as well."
Ginny nodded and summoned up a smile for him. "All right."
~*~
A/N: Huge, huge, huge thanks go out to Mahoney, Emily, and Banfennid, all of whom are wonderful lifesavers who gave me ideas, jumpstarted me and generally got me through this mess of a chapter. Thank you all so, so much. I luff you! You're the best! I have to thank Alex and Tinka, as well. They also offered their help for my evil writer's block, but I got this chapter out before they could get back to me (which is all my fault, and none of theirs). They are wonderful lifesavers and fantastic people as well, and I luff them too.
Leave a Review