Ginny Weasley could make friends with anyone. What with her quick wit, her good looks, her sense of humor and her natural charm, you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who didn’t like her (excluding the Slytherins, of course). She was liked, adored, and envied, since she was everything every other girl aspired to be - charming, intelligent, beautiful. Her mother often told her, “Ginevra Weasley, you are a lovely young lady, but mind you don’t flaunt it too much.” For she, too, had heard of her only daughter’s long chain of seemingly never-ending boyfriends, and was determined that Ginny settle down in the end with someone she loved and trusted, and who could love and trust her. As of yet, there was no one that Molly or Arthur had deemed worthy.

The summer between her fifth year and her sixth year, after Harry, Ron and Hermione took off and disappeared to go and defeat You-Know-Who, Ginny was hit with a crippling depression for no apparent reason. Her brothers speculated to each other how little Ginny-Winnie was spending unusually long periods of time cooped up in her room, only emerging for meals and scarcely speaking to any of her family members. At first, they’d guessed that she was merely overworking Errol by sending him to Dean’s place too often, but Ginny had never let her little romances take her mind off her many ambitions and never neglected her family. Finally, Molly decided to get to the bottom of it, and while Ginny was having a lie-in one Saturday, she decided to rouse her family at seven in the morning and call everybody to the kitchen to consult them about Ginny’s situation.

After a long battle with most of them (“Awh, Mum, do we have to get up now? Just let the child be, I say”), Molly finally got all her children and her husband down to the kitchen. A very grumpy bunch they were, but at least they were down there. Molly seated herself at the head of the long rectangular table, and her family sat in their usual places. “Right,” she said firmly, gazing around at everybody’s bleary and yawning faces. “We need to discuss Ginny. And don’t tell me to leave her be, Fred,” she added sharply as one of her twin sons opened his mouth to speak (or was he going to yawn)? “Because I know you all miss her as much as I do.”

“But she’s living in the same house as we are, Mum,” Bill grumbled, looking cranky, which was rare. “I’m sure Ginny’s going to see sense soon.”

Molly’s face darkened and it was as though a storm cloud had just passed across her face, and everybody quickly went quiet, sensing the impeding lecture. “Now,” she said quietly. “I’m going to talk, and you are going to listen to me. Right,” she said, suddenly businesslike again. Arthur merely sighed a little and leaned back in his chair. Molly cleared her throat. “I know you all care about your sister as much as your father and I do. And I know that you must all feel sad when you see her face at the kitchen table each night. I don’t know if any of you noticed, but Ginny’s seeing too little sunlight, cooped up in that little room up there.” And she sighed heavily, her mind wandering off to the days of her own youth, when she herself had spent many an hour sitting by herself on her bed and thinking gloomy thoughts. When Bill had first been born, Molly had vowed to herself that none of her children should ever have to undergo what she had had to. She desperately wanted to help her youngest child, her only daughter, but how could she do that when Ginny wouldn’t allow even her own mother to help her? Passion rose in Molly Weasley as tears sprang to her eyes.

Immediately, Charlie was at her side, giving her a reassuring, firm squeeze of the shoulders, and she smiled and wiped away her tears quickly. “Oh, it’s all right dear, I’m fine,” she reassured Charlie, who resumed his seat, looking a little ashamed of himself. Fred and George exchanged guilty looks; Bill stared at the table, embarrassed.

Arthur smiled encouragingly at his wife and said, “I’m sure Ginny’s all right. It won’t last long, I’m sure - she’s never been able to stand staying in her room and doing nothing for long before. I’m sure she’ll get over it. Remember when she threw a temper tantrum over us not buying her a toy broomstick? She stayed in her room for three weeks and, as I recall her telling us, she was bored to death in there and finally came out because she wanted something to do.”

Molly gave a weak chuckle. “Perhaps you are right, Arthur, dear. Perhaps Ginny will come out soon.”

“Yeah, then we can give her plenty of chores, to make up for the last week,” George joked lightly, and although Molly sighed in exasperation, she couldn’t help a small smile, and the emergency Ginevra Weasley Support Meeting adjourned to general laughter.

Nothing scares Ginny Weasley. Nothing at all. Nothing. Nothing.

So was the mantra that pounded repeatedly in Ginny Weasley’s head as she sat gloomily by the window. It wasn’t like Ginny to be depressed, but she needed some quiet thinking time. A lot of quiet thinking time, since the person that she’d thought would be the one true love of her life had turned out to be a flop.

Her depression was mostly brought on by it, she supposed, since her last romance had crashed and burned. Yes, there were practically guys lining up at her doorstep, but all her boyfriends had been disappointments to her and to her family. At first, she’d thought that she had found ‘that special something’ in the famous Harry Potter. Then she thought Michael Corner was the one. And then she’d thought Dean Thomas had finally been the right one for her. But each had their faults. Harry was overprotective; Michael was a sore loser; Dean was clingy and a cheater. But her last relationship had lasted for a long time and she’d let down her guard and been truly happy for a while, until she’d gone to the bathroom of the Three Broomsticks one day in Hogsmeade to see Dean and Lavender Brown snogging each other at the place where the girls’ bathroom and the boys’ bathroom doors met. A small fight had ensued, and Ginny’s only consolation was that she’d dumped him… not that that was much of a consolation.

Now, as she sat by the window, her long red hair framing her face, a brooding expression covered her usually upbeat features, and her lips were pressed together. She had not seen sunlight for a long time; her skin was ashen and pale, and her eyes were dull and lacked the vibrant sparkle that they usually bore, and that had caught the attention of so many lords of creation. Ginny was no longer the shy, awkward young girl she had once been, and she was growing into a charming, confident young woman. She just wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet. Sure, she had dated a few boys, but the fact remained that it had been like playing a game. Love was a gamble, hadn’t her mother told her that once? And when Ginny had exulted over Harry, her mother had given her a long talk about ‘not being ready yet’. When Ginny had talked about Michael, her mother had given her more advice, although in an admittedly shorter form. When it had been Dean’s turn to be talked about, Molly had simply shaken her head and sighed.

Ginny stared out at the barren road in front of the Burrow, as she had done for the past month. Occasionally a car came zooming by, but that was the only thing of interest that happened in the mediocre little town of Ottery St. Catchpole. Few people lived there, and even fewer visited. So the news of a wedding being held there had been a matter of great interest, and one that had gotten all the neighbors staring curiously through their garden hedges. Ginny felt a little pang of jealousy as she thought of Bill and Fleur’s wedding. However unpleasant Fleur could be, at least she had somebody who loved her, and somebody she knew she could love. Ginny had once felt that way… or so she’d thought.

That day, as the young witch sat by the window, pale-faced and lonely as hell, her eyes fell upon her Hogwarts trunk. This was nothing special, as it had lain in the corner of her room for a very long time, but after so many days and nights of solitude, Ginny felt that she needed a change of scenery. She was bored, as her family had predicted, and she needed an adventure. Standing up, she rifled through a pocket in the side, and pulled out two pounds and a Sickle. It was what her parents had given her, in case of an emergency, and this was definitely an emergency.

Her mind raced for a while as to where she was going to go. She couldn’t very well just waltz into a wizarding pub at her leisure, as there were sure to be Death Eaters there, but perhaps a little trip to a Muggle one wouldn’t hurt. Her father had never drunk Muggle alcohol before - he’d said that his colleagues reckoned it had nothing on Firewhisky - but that was just their opinions. Maybe, just maybe, it might be different.

It was a while before she realized she had no idea where any Muggle pubs were. And what if she did it wrong? What if she didn’t know exactly what to order? What if they could tell she wasn’t of the required age? She huffed angrily through her nose. Well, it was either a Muggle pub or a wizard one. And she certainly couldn’t go to the latter.

Ah.

Fuck it.

She was going to go to the Muggle pub, and to hell with what her parents thought. Fred and George would think it was a laugh, and Bill and Charlie would too. Her mum would be furious, and her dad disappointed in her (after he finished asking her about what he called eckletricity), but Ginny really couldn’t care less.

With a sigh, she pulled on her coat and slipped the precious two pounds into her pocket. She tossed the Sickle carelessly back into her trunk, feeling a rare sense of optimism spark inside her but fizzle out almost immediately. Well, it was nice to know that there was at least some optimism in her at this time. A small smile flitting across her face for the merest second, she clambered out her window and slid carefully down the roof shingles.

The pale, vampire-like teenager sat in the very corner of the damp, musty pub, determinedly staring at an old, faded newspaper. There was nothing interesting in there, of course, and even if there had been he wouldn’t have been interested. Muggle affairs had nothing to do with him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a girl with a bulbous nose and a face dotted with pimples spilling with pus trying to catch his eye, as she had done for the past few weeks. Draco Malfoy had to resist rolling his eyes as she pretended to read her book while practically salivating over him. He’d come here for some peace and some quiet; he had not anticipated the Muggle girl that sat as close to him as she dared to and stared cultishly at him for hours on end. The only reason he’d come to this dingy Muggle pub was because nobody in their right mind would think to come looking for the handsome, charming heir to Malfoy Manor here in a Muggle pub.

A pattering noise on the windows made him look up briefly to see that it had started raining, and a very heavy rain it was. A sinking feeling occurred in Draco’s stomach as he realized he’d have to stay here until the rain stopped. He’d been lucky to even get in and out so easily each day, since he looked older than he really was (he still couldn’t get over the fact that you had to be eighteen to come of age in the Muggle world).

With an exasperated but resigned sigh, he absentmindedly stirred his Paulaner, and had read three articles that bored him more than History of Magic before he realized that there was something wet spilling onto him. He looked up from the bland newspaper to see that he’d accidentally stuck his wand into the drink and had unknowingly performed a refilling spell while he was at it. “Shit,” he cursed quietly, and immediately took his wand out of the mug. It stopped overflowing and the girl with the bulbous nose turned a bright scarlet, seemed to consider something, and rushed over to him with a cloth, blushing crimson red while she was at it. It was a most unbecoming color that Draco wished he had not seen her face don.

She thrust the cloth at him and he muttered his thanks. As he dried off, the girl hovered by him, before blurting, “My name is Melissa Greengrass, it’s a pleasure to meet you!”

She turned two shades redder. Draco groaned inwardly. Greengrass? Somebody from his school had found him. He’d met Astoria and Daphne already, but they’d never mentioned another sister. Hopefully, this was another Wizarding family - she had to be a witch, as the Greengrasses were a very large family - all of them, every single one, were purebloods. “Hello,” he said as quietly as possible, underlying each syllable with contempt. She waited, evidently wanting his name, which he gave to her in an undertone.

Immediately, her jaw dropped open. “Malfoy?!” she squealed. “My sisters go to school with you, don’t they?”

“Yep,” Draco said, hoping she wouldn’t mention this encounter at home.

Melissa’s eyes suddenly shone suspiciously. “I can’t go. Mum doesn’t tell my why. I just don’t know how to do magic.”

Draco processed this information for a long time before it hit him in a burst of inspiration. Ha-ha! A Squib in the high-ranked Greengrass family? I must tell… It was here that his thoughts paused. Did he want to tell his own family about the Greengrasses having a Squib daughter? Did he want to ruin their reputation like that? Did he want to tell his friends? Would they tell Daphne and Astoria? Did he want to tell anyone, really? There was nobody quite trustworthy enough. He managed a weak smile at the flustered Melissa Greengrass before something by the door caught his eye. A familiar red mane of hair whipped in through the door, quite soaking wet, as the owner of the magnificent mane of hair burst in, panting. A frown creased Draco’s forehead. A Weasley? Here? And what was more, the youngest one? Draco reached back into his memory and remembered that she must be sixteen by now. His father had always told him in a tone of greatest disdain that most of the Weasleys were born in the early summer, because they wanted to feel like a team. Young Draco had laughed at that, but now Older Draco wished that he, too, was part of a team. It was in times like these that Draco wished for someone to be able to turn to and be able to talk to.

Melissa was talking again, but Draco’s dark gray-green eyes were fixed on that Weasley girl - what was her name now? Oh yes, Ginny - who now sat on a stool with her head in her arms, looking quite lost. Ordinarily Draco would have been content to watch her humiliate herself, but for some reason at the sight of her pathetic, sorry figure, he felt a desire to be courteous - just for this one day, mind. So he nodded goodbye to Melissa (quite coldly), cutting her long monologue short, and made his way over to Ginny Weasley, not quite sure what he himself was doing.

It had not been easy getting to the pub.

Ginny had had to change buses four times, and had had to walk three kilometers until she got into town. Then when the rain had started to fall, she’d broken into a run, which had then turned into a sprint as the rain pounded down on her in full force. She hadn’t really planned where she was going to go, exactly, so it came as a huge relief to her when she saw Joey’s Pub on the side of the road. Whoever the hell Joey was, she was forever grateful to him for the placement of his pub. Daring to breathe again, she raced in, her hair flying behind her, and leaned against the doorframe to catch her breath. She was certainly never doing that again. I hope this stuff is worth it, thought she grumpily as she trooped up to the counter, reaching into her pocket.

The two pounds weren’t in there. She rifled around for a while, her heart suddenly sinking in desperation, before finally having to concede that the money was not in there. With a groan of despair, she sank onto one of the tall stools, and put her head in her arms. The bartender glanced at her in a bored sort of way; Ginny guessed he saw people like this every day. “Lemme guess,” he said in a voice reminiscent of Hagrid’s way of speaking, although certainly not as pleasant. “Ya boyfrien’ just dumped’cha, ya havin’ a fight wid yer folks, ya frien’s won’ speak tah ya?”

“No,” Ginny mumbled quietly. It would have been a relief if it were one of those things, given the fact that she didn’t even know why she was feeling so down nowadays. With that single monosyllable came an overwhelming desire to tell somebody as best she could about just what she was feeling right now. Taking a deep breath, Ginny raised her head to look at the bartender, who had arched an eyebrow at her, and was on the verge of spilling out all her emotions to this stranger that she had never met before suddenly a pale, wasted hand slapped some money down on the counter and slid it over to the bartender, who looked vaguely surprised.

“One Paulaner beer,” came a familiar drawl, and Ginny immediately spun around and plunged her hand in her coat pocket before she remembered that she hadn’t brought her wand with her, and even if she had she’d probably be expelled for doing magic in the presence of Muggles. So she settled for verbal assault.

“Malfoy,” she spat. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” he said in those maddeningly silky tones. “Oh, and Draco will do.” He took a dainty sip of some yellow-orange liquid.

Another glass was slid across the table by the bartender, but Ginny hardly gave it any thought as she boiled with rage and her face turned bright red. Who was he to come here and order her around? Who was he to come here and ask her why she was here and not give her a straight answer? Who was he to buy her a drink? There were a billion things Ginny could have said, but all she could think to say was, “I was depressed and I needed something to do. There, that’s my reason.” She downed the entire glass of beer and realized how strangely addictive it was. The bartender lazily refilled it, and she downed that too. One more time, and then another time, and she put down her fourth glass.

He chuckled, sounding genuinely amused, and Ginny reflected in the back of her mind how she’d never heard him laugh genuinely before and how unusually... pleasant it sounded.

No, no, no, she chided herself firmly as soon as the thought came, banishing it from her mind immediately. My family hates the Malfoys; therefore, so should I. So it was with ease that she asked brusquely, “What are you laughing at, Malfoy?” Ginny would not bring herself to use his first name - the day she used his first name was a day that would never come. She wouldn’t even be conversing with him if he hadn’t made a point of it - hell, she wouldn’t even be here if the rain hadn’t come!

He laughed again and said in a way that almost pitied her and did not patronize, “Well, I didn’t know that a Weasley would come down here with such a common reason... but then I suppose your family isn’t normal.”

Ginny had to stop herself from lunging at the little pest and snapping his head clean off his shoulders. “You - you little - ” she stammered, her face turning as red as her hair in her rage. And then she exploded. “You little bastard! You show up in front of me like it’s perfectly normal, and then you buy me a drink, pretending to be nice, and you turn around and prove you’re the little weasel you really are! You fucking bastard!” She had no wand, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt him physically - and frankly, all she wanted to do now was to hurt him physically. Ginny flew at him and gave him a solid whack in the stomach, her brown eyes glittering in rage.

The last time a girl had punched Draco like that had been in third year, when that insufferable Mudblood Hermione Granger had punched him across the face. Whereas in third year it had made him angry, now it just surprised him - along with the short outburst from her. Although she had laced her words with profanities, none of what she’d said stung more (her words stung? How had that happened?) than “pretending to be nice” and “turn around and prove you’re the little weasel you really are”. It was Draco’s turn to have a flushed face as he said, with some restraint, “I’ll have to know that I wasn’t just pretending to be nice, and ‘weasel’ is hardly an insult, seeing as you’re - ”

Here he paused for consideration. He wasn’t really trying to offend her - he certainly didn’t want another punch like that - and finally settled for a lame, “You’re a Weasley. That’s not - not necessarily a bad thing...”

Oh, it was a bad thing, all right. At least, that was how he’d always been taught it. His father had always told him that the Weasleys were a disgrace to wizards and witches, and Draco had always believed that, but he’d never had much contact with the youngest Weasley girl. He always assumed she was the same as the rest of them - good-for-nothing scum. But now, as she glared at him in a way that gave an entirely new meaning to ‘if looks could kill’, he realized, with some amusement, that she had quite a bit of pluck. So far, she wasn’t proving to be as wimpy or as stupid as her siblings and cousins. As he spoke, her expression twitched a little (why was he feeling so flustered? He should never have bought her the damn drink) but soon twisted back into her previous glare.

“What makes you say that?” she hissed, her words cutting through the air like knives. “Our families have been rivals ever since your dad first gloated to mine about getting a promotion while he was stuck at the bottom of the heap. And you,” she added, jabbing him in the chest with every word. “You’ve treated me and my family like scum all through our school years. And now you just come up to me in a pub and buy me a drink and start insulting me like the scumbag you really are!”

Draco, sensing another hit, immediately shifted back a little and said quickly, trying to redeem himself (why would he possibly want to do that? He was seriously starting to regret this and everything that came with it; Ginny Weasley was most certainly not as wimpy as her brothers and parents), “Well, if you must know, I’m here because I - I needed some time to myself to... think. And because I needed some peace and quiet.” Immediately he bit down on his tongue, and Ginny’s look of incredulous surprise was not completely unexpected.

“What?”

Oh, dear. Now he’d had to answer questions, and oh, how Draco hated answering questions. But he managed to keep a level head and said, more coolly than he liked, “You heard me.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up, then creased as she frowned again. “Why would the handsome, charming, perfect Draco Malfoy possibly need some peace and quiet? Don’t you have your fineries to attend to, your lovely Slytherin ladies to court, your big swimming pool to swim in?”

Something like jealousy tinged the last part. Draco saw a faint beacon of hope as to getting out of this conversation and said with something of his old smirk, “Oh, jealous, Weaslette? Hmm?”

Immediately another punch flew across the air and hit him squarely in the jaw. “Shut up!” she shouted, got off the stool, and stormed towards the door.

~

Ginevra Molly Weasley

As Ginny got off the stool and started towards the door, her shoulder was clenched tightly by the same pale, wasted hand that had slapped its way across the counter and bought her that drink. It was surprisingly strong, but she supposed that was what you developed after years of being a Seeker. She turned and hissed, “Don’t make me punch you again, Malfoy.”

She was pleased to see that at these words, he developed a humble expression, and said with a forced smile that looked as though he was sucking on lemons, “It’s the coldest day of summer, and you’re still soaked to the bone. You don’t want to go out there.”

She had a powerful internal struggle for a while, in which her more vulnerable side told her to stay and listen to reason, and her proud side told her to leave regardless. Eventually her proud side won over and she jerked her shoulder away from him and said haughtily, “I don’t need your advice.” Then, with a final look of contempt, she ran out the door, despite her feeling slightly lightheaded. As she closed the door behind her, she saw Malfoy just sitting there and staring into his empty glass. With a feeling of mixed triumph and dizziness, she stumbled onto the sidewalk and looked around dizzily. Where the hell was she supposed to go now? She had no idea where she was supposed to go, what she was supposed to do. Hell, there was nowhere she could go, and nothing she could do. But she had to try. She couldn’t just be lost on the outskirts of town forever. Ottery St. Catchpole, she thought numbly. Gotta get back to Ottery St. Catchpole.

Ginny staggered blindly down the street, and the beer took its toll on her. Damn. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn. She cried out, falling against a mossy wall. The world began to spin as stars danced before her eyes, and she was soaked by the rain as she fell against the pavement and a sharp pain stung behind her eyes. Her clothes were soaking, and her hair was limp against her face, but she couldn’t dry herself because there was no way she could dry herself and not get soaked immediately after. Fuck Malfoy! Fuck the pub! Fuck Dean! Fuck everything!

And finally, Ginevra Molly Weasley, the girl who was afraid of nothing, broke down, and began to cry, before it was as though a blow had been dealt to her head, and she fell down, unconscious.

The next thing she knew, she’d opened her eyes, and she was waking up lying on a patchy sofa, and she was wearing no boots. Her vision was blurry, her head was ringing, and she had no idea where she was. Ginny lay for a while before finally managing to sit up shakily to see a familiar head of slick blond hair by a crackling fireplace. He was holding her boots and twisting them idly over the flames. Ginny’s mind immediately snapped into their rightful place and cried, “Malfoy, what the hell are you doing?”

His head snapped around, and he managed a little smile. “You’re awake.”

“Yes, I am,” she snapped at him irately. “Give - give me back my boots - ”

Immediately, her head began to spin again, and she fell back against the soft cushions. Suddenly Malfoy was there, handing her some sort of squishy thing that was warm, and Ginny held it like a life preserver (which it probably was). Shivering, she curled around it, and Malfoy tossed over a duvet. She managed to glare at him despite everything. “Where am I?”

“Back of Joey’s Pub,” he said brusquely. “Bartender said you might have died. You should be grateful I actually went out there to get you back inside.”

~

Daco Lucius Malfoy

He didn’t even know what had made him do it. He’d seen her walk off recklessly into the raging storm, seen the empty glass, and had gone outside to see how she was doing. It hadn’t been a pretty sight. Ginny had been on the pavement, tears streaming down her face, curled up in the fetal position. Draco had hovered around her for a while before, finally, just picking her up in a fireman’s lift and taking her inside. The bartender had said nothing, but pointed him towards a little room in the back. Draco had not quite known what to do with her, but he’d done the best he could, and had just put her on the sofa, gotten a few warm things, and, with the help of Melissa Greengrass (who was a surprisingly nice girl, despite all the blabbering), he’d gotten up a fire, dried Ginny off (Melissa had done that), and gotten himself warmed up, too. Now, after he’d just told her what he’d done, she stared at him with an incredulous expression, and he looked back at the fire, determined not to catch her gaze. Her next words caught him off guard.

“Why are you being so nice, Malfoy?”

Why, indeed? Draco had to stop for a moment there and think: why was he being so nice to a member of the Weasley family? Because she was pretty? Because she was popular? Because she was smart, talented, creative? A million reasons danced through his head, but all he said was a short, “You’re different.” Then he returned to stoking the fire stonily, although he could feel her cold gaze on him. When Draco finally chanced a glance back at Ginny, she was staring up at the ceiling, appearing to be in deep thought, and he turned back away from her, allowing her time to think.

She finally said thoughtfully, “You’re not like your father. He would have left me out there - and probably have killed me in the bar, come to think of it. Then he’d pin it on the bartender one way or another.”

“I know I ought to defend my own father, but that’s spot-on.”

The last words came in a rasping whisper as a rush of disloyalty swept through Draco. He ducked his head and inadvertently, a tear formed in his eye. His father was ruthless, and the thought of him being able to kill so readily was unbearable every time he thought of it.

Ginny must have sensed his discomfort because she fell silent before saying in the same thoughtful way, “You could have turned out a lot worse. What with your bad background and your less-than-pure ancestry. I can’t believe Sirius and Tonks are both related to you.”

“Yeah, well,” Draco muttered. “We don’t really acknowledge the fact that they’re part of the family.”

Ginny huffed in what appeared to be an annoyed or angry way and fell silent again.

Finally, when Draco decided that the fire needed no further stoking, he turned and said uncomfortably, “So, uh, okay there?”

“Fine,” she said quietly. There was silence for a while as they just listened to the crackling fire, before Ginny managed a hesitant, “You’re all right, you know. I mean, in school you’re just a huge jerk, but I guess Ron talks about you in a slightly... biased way, I guess.”

Immediately, Draco’s spirits lifted a little (why?!), and he smiled just the tiniest bit in spite of himself. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

~

Ginevra Molly Weasley

When this little exchange was over, Ginny fell silent again, and her cheeks burned crimson under the soft duvet. When she peeked out over it again, she saw Draco smiling absentmindedly at the fire, smiled softly at him in her turn, and looked back up at the ceiling, the smile still on her face.

And she finally knew what love should be.

~

Draco Lucius Malfoy

Unbeknownst to her, Draco was smiling and thinking pleasant thoughts about how he’d finally found someone with whom he could identify. He realized that, despite everything his parents had taught him, the Weasleys weren't such a bad bunch, after all. They certainly had that spirit of teamwork, and helping each other when times were rough.

And he finally knew what he’d been looking for.

~

After the war was ended, Ginny sought out Draco, and together they walked back to the Burrow. They stood on the stoop and Ginny squeezed Draco’s hand encouragingly. “It’s okay,” she whispered. He looked very nervous indeed as she flung open the back door to the kitchen. A room full of surprised faces stared out at him - her family, Harry, Hermione, Cho, Fleur, Angelina, Kingsley. All stood there, dumbstruck, before Harry leaped up and pointed his wand at Malfoy. Hermione promptly shoved his wand arm down. Ginny announced to the astounded room, “Here’s our soon-to-be newest member, Draco Malfoy!”

And she produced the gleaming diamond ring with an elated grin.

The End.

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