Ginny felt her breath forced from her lungs as she plummeted through frigid blackness, Draco’s hand still wrapped firmly around her wrist.

But then they were standing side by side in what looked to be a public toilet, and the change was so sudden that Ginny couldn’t help but wonder if she had simply imagined falling into the basin.

Draco released her wrist and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes clear and sharp and brimming with a fierce sort of pain.

“Draco,” Ginny whispered tentatively, her anger replaced by a startling anxiety over what she was about to see. “Draco, where are we?”

“Sh,” he hushed her quietly, motioning for her to follow him around the stalls. Soft gasping sounds filled the room.

“It’s too late,” someone was crying.

“They turned the corner to see a figure clutching the sink, head bowed, babbling hysterically. The ghost of a girl, who Ginny recognized with a shiver as Moaning Myrtle, bobbed helplessly beside the boy, crooning as he cried.

“Surely you can find a way to fix it?” Myrtle said.

“No,” the boy insisted, “I can’t.” He raised his head slightly, and Ginny caught sight of his white blond hair and gasped. She turned to the Draco standing beside her, and he nodded grimly.

The younger Draco gasped into the sink, choking and sputtering on his tears. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wand for a moment, fingering it.

“Don’t,” pleaded Myrtle, twisting her transparent hands in agitation. She swooped into her stall and perched on the toilet. “Don’t…tell me what’s wrong…I can help you…”

“No one can help me,” the younger Draco said bitterly. He shoved the wand back into his pocket. His whole body shook visibly, and Ginny saw the elder Draco tensing beside her, his hands balled up at his sides. “I can’t do it…I can’t…It won’t work…and unless I do it soon…he says he’ll kill me…”

He gave a great shudder, choking on his own tears, and looked up in the mirror. Ginny felt her heart stop as the younger Draco’s eyes widened, and he whirled around with his wand drawn. Her heart clenched painfully at the sight of Harry standing in the doorway, wand also raised, and realized that this was the day that Harry had cursed Draco. This was that day.

Ginny gasped and reached for Draco’s arm without thinking. His younger self’s hex missed Harry and smashed the lamp on the wall, sending glass raining down on the bathroom floor. Draco was shaking beneath her fingers, his whole body trembling so hard that she wondered if he had even noticed her touch.

Myrtle was screaming for them to stop as curses bounced off the walls and shattered the sinks. Water was spurting from the exposed pipes, rushing across the floor and over their shoes. Harry slipped and fell to the floor, and the younger Draco stepped forward with his wand drawn.

“Cruci-”

“Sectumsempra!” Harry cried, brandishing his wand desperately.

The curse slashed across the younger Draco’s face and chest, spilling blood across the flooded floor. His pale skin went completely white as he staggered and then fell to the floor, his wand clattering from his hand, and everything went black.

The scene was changing, Ginny realized, her hand still on Draco’s arm, but she found she couldn’t focus on it. She remembered that night in the common room, when she had so quickly taken Harry’s side, snapping at Hermione for questioning the spell, and dismissing any thought that Draco could have been seriously injured. Never had she bothered to think about the spell Harry had cast, to think that his judgment might not have always been as perfect as she had thought. How could she have been so blind? How could she have been so stupid?

She shook her head slightly and the new scene came into sharp focus. Draco stepped from her, looking away from the scene, but Ginny felt her eyes widen as they adjusted to the dimmed light.

Voldemort was sitting in a high-backed chair in front of a fireplace, where a crackling fire provided the only source of light in the whole room. His red eyes shown brightly, reflecting the dancing flames, and Ginny gave a violent shudder as he seemed to stare right at her.

“Bring them in,” Voldemort hissed. A tall man in a long dark cloak nodded curtly and opened the door along the right wall, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he went to fetch those Voldemort sought.

“Are you eager to see your parents, Draco?” asked the cold, high voice again.

Ginny started and looked around to see a tall, thin figure standing in the corner. He stumbled nervously at Voldemort’s voice, but nodded slightly.

“What did you say?” Voldemort said harshly.

“I s-said, yes, my Lord,” Draco stuttered.

“Come here, young Malfoy,” Voldemort said icily.

Ginny watched helplessly as the younger Draco walked across the room. She looked back to see his elder self pressed up against the wall, watching in horror.

“You failed me this year, as I am sure you are aware,” Voldemort whispered, reaching out to touch Draco’s face with a long, white finger. The boy tensed. “Oh yes. And certainly you remember last summer, when I told you that if you failed, you would not live to see you parents again, do you not?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Draco replied in a quivering murmur.

“Indeed.”

Ginny’s breath caught as Voldemort drew his wand from his sleeve.

The door swung open; the tall man had returned. “My Lord,” he said.

“Very well.”

The man stepped inside the room, and two others followed him. The younger Draco’s eyes widened at the sight of his parents. Ginny hardly recognized Lucius, whose long blond hair was matted and streaked with white. He was stooped slightly, but when the firelight caught his face, she saw that his skin was waxy and yellow.

Narcissa, in contrast, stood tall and prim, her long hair glowing white in the firelight. She gave a little shriek at the sight of Draco, and Voldemort laughed at this, seemingly amused.

“Surprised to see your son alive, Narcissa?”

Ginny backed against the wall, next to Draco, and clutched his arm. He blanched at Voldemort’s comment, and turned his gaze away from his mother.

“I am eternally grateful to see him alive, my Lord,” Narcissa said quietly. Lucius shot her a look of contempt.

“Your son failed me, to be certain, Lucius. For that he should be killed. Others have surely died for less.” Voldemort laughed mirthlessly. “It would appear that he is a little hesitant to use his wand, and I thought we might instruct him. Come here, Draco.”

Shaking again, the younger Draco stepped forward, and Ginny knew that whatever was coming was certain to be horrific, for the Draco beside her was biting his lip so hard that blood had begun to trickle from the corner of his mouth.

“Imperio!” Voldemort called out, and the younger Draco’s body relaxed visibly.

He turned around; his body was light and moved through the air as if he were floating, and it was in this manner that he raised his wand.

“C-Crucio,” he said, and his face twitched slightly as the spell came out in a burst of light. Narcissa fell to the floor, screaming and screaming, rolling around and jerking at Lucius’s feet, who stared ahead impassively.

Voldemort was laughing, and the elder Draco sank to the floor, pulling Ginny with him, his face contorted in sobs, crying against her shoulder.

“That’s it, Draco,” Voldemort said amusedly. “That’s not so difficult, is it?”

Narcissa’s screams were fading now, and the room was dissolving as Ginny rubbed her hand up and down Draco’s back as he cried.

Ginny blinked, and when she opened her eyes again, there was a great deal more chatter. She squinted, as the brightness of the Great Hall was so very different than the dimness of Malfoy Manor.

She and Draco stood, but she took his sweaty, shaking hand in her own as she looked around. She smiled slightly as she saw a much younger Ginny sitting by her mother at one of the long tables with her head on Molly’s shoulder. Molly rubbed the girl’s shoulder, and tears came to Ginny’s eyes. Things had been simpler back then. Maybe they had made them too simple, thinking that they’d banished everything that was evil in the world when Voldemort died. But there is good and evil in everyone. Those who were pure and good in the times of war now spit on Draco as he walked the streets. There had always been more to the story, but Ginny had never wanted to see that until now. She missed having the line in the sand that told her what was right and what was wrong. She missed her mother, too.

The whole Great Hall was jubilant; there was laughter and relief and reunion. Ginny couldn’t help but smile at the undeniable energy that crowded the room.

But then she looked back at Draco and saw that he was focused not on the exuberance all around them, but on the three Malfoys clustered close together on one of the benches. They looked distinctly out of place.

Draco was leaning against his mother while she and Lucius talked in rapid whispers. As she leaned closer to catch what they were saying, Ginny felt Draco’s hand clench around her own.

“These idiot wizards. Celebrating at the defeat of our kind,” Lucius hissed in outrage, leaning back on the bench away from his wife and son.

“Not now, Lucius,” Narcissa replied coldly. She smoothed her son’s hair down, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

“They are such fools. They think everything will be better now, because the Muggles can rise up and eliminate us? I can’t believe…”

“Lucius, not now.”

“Narcissa, you seem unruffled at the fall of our Lord. Explain how this could be.”

“I am happy to see Draco alive, Lucius,” Narcissa whispered furiously. “I wanted to get through this war with our family intact. I don’t really give a shit about who won this goddamn war.”

Lucius looked like she had slapped him in the face. Draco was still leaning against his mother’s shoulder, his eyes closed, no doubt pretending to be close to sleep.

“I don’t really give a shit about Draco, Narcissa,” Lucius returned coldly. “The boy failed our Lord more than once, and-”

“As did you, Lucius.”

Lucius’s face was ashen now, and a vein in his forehead was throbbing. “We’re leaving. Wake the boy. Let’s go.”

Narcissa sighed but shook Draco gently, and the three of them rose from the bench and swept out of the Great Hall.

Ginny’s heart was either pounding so fast that she couldn’t feel it or it had stopped altogether. That day was supposed to have been glorious. It had been everything her family had fought for. Yet it had destroyed the Malfoys, ripping them apart. For Lucius to speak that way about Draco…

Ginny couldn’t see the happy families now. Her vision was blurred by a thick sheen of tears, and she looked up at Draco and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

He nodded, but took hold of her arms and pushed her away. “We’re not through yet,” he said hoarsely.

She looked up, and the scene was changing again. As everything whirled, Ginny caught flashes of Draco and his father in Diagon Alley, being sneered at. One witch even threw a piece of fruit at Lucius. There were sights of Lucius smacking Draco once they got home from these outings, and of him doing the same to Narcissa.

The memories finally settled and a new scene came into clear view. A young, tired looking Draco was sitting on a bed in a room that was obviously his. Falcons’ posters decorated the walls, as well as pictures from his earlier Hogwarts days.

His mother was standing at the end of his bed, looking down at him. Her expression was very worried, and her thin face was pale and drawn.

“Draco, dear, just stay up here today. Don’t go near the office, or the library, or our room,” Narcissa said in a pleading tone.

“Mum, I’m not going to avoid him,” Draco said angrily, staring down at his comforter.

“Your father is just under a lot of stress right now, Draco. He has his trial hearing tomorrow. Just promise me you’ll stay out of his way.” She leaned forward and kissed his forehead before smiling tiredly and leaving his room. The younger Draco lay back on his bed and punched his pillow angrily.

Ginny reached for Draco’s hand again and he let her take it this time. His fingers felt cold and dead against her own as the colors blurred together once more and the scene changed.

It was the same room, but night had fallen and shadows crept along the wall. The young Draco was still lying on his bed, one arm raised behind his head, his eyes heavy and half-closed. He gripped his wand loosely.

Faint voices could be heard downstairs. Draco’s hand tightened around Ginny’s, and she looked up to see that his face was crumpled in misery, and tears were lurking from the corners of his eyes.

The voices exploded from downstairs.

“You told him what?”

The younger Draco cringed, sitting up suddenly, the wand grasped tightly in his hand.

“I told him the boy was dead, Lucius. For Draco.”

Draco jumped to his feet at an echoing slap, running down the hall to the top of the staircase. Ginny ran after him, nearly dragging the elder Draco with her. There was a thud, and Ginny guessed that Narcissa had fallen to the floor.

“We were this close, Narcissa!” Lucius bellowed, his white hair wild and his face a deepening purple. “Another two hours and the castle would have been ours!”

Narcissa moaned from the floor. “But our son would have been dead!” she snarled, her eyes slit in anger.

Lucius’ boot collided with her side, and Ginny gasped from where they watched at the top of the stairs behind the younger Draco.

“Potter was lying there, unconscious, at the Dark Lord’s mercy, and you lied to him? It would have been over. We would have been proclaimed heroes, at the head of the Wizarding World. Now all we are is trash! Worse than the fucking Muggles, Narcissa!”

He kicked her again and pulled his wand out. The younger Draco gripped his wand tightly, shaking visibly and clearly torn. His knuckles turned whiter with each passing second.

Lucius flicked his wand and blood spurted from her body, spilling everywhere, matted in her long, tangled hair. The younger Draco leapt forward, running down the stairs as his elder self turned his head away, unable to watch.

“Avada Kedavra,” Lucius cried, and in a flash of green, Narcissa’s screaming stopped.

The younger Draco let out a cry like a wounded animal and charged his father, his wand outstretched and pointed. The boy was not shaking now. He was completely still in a calm sort of rage. The elder Draco was shaking violently, and refused to look at his younger counterpart, who was staring at his father with unrivaled hatred. Ginny had to fight off a bout of nausea as she suddenly understood how this scene would end.

“What do you think you’re going to do, Draco?” Lucius panted, a twisted smile on his face. “You couldn’t even kill the fallen Dumbledore. You expect me to believe that you could kill your own father?”

Ginny didn’t hear him say it, but she could practically feel the spell radiating from the younger Draco’s very core, and in a second flash of green, Lucius was cold and dead on the floor with his wife, and everything went black.

Author notes: Your thoughts, in the form of a review, would be most appreciated. I've missed you all tremendously.