Five years worth of interest

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all. Though if she wants to give me Harry or Draco for Christmas I wouldn’t object.

Summary: It would be so much easier if he’d disappeared forever. H/G, D/G

If there was one thing Virginia Weasley had learnt in her twenty-three years on this Earth it was that she was completely incapable of making a decent soufflé. Ginny stared at the deflated dessert mournfully. She’d tried everything to make it work. Her grandmother’s recipe, her mother’s improved spells, even Muggle methods of baking. Nothing worked and now she was stood in a devastated kitchen wondering whether she had any ice cream left in the freezer. The doorbell rang shrilly in the silent flat causing Ginny to stare at the clock on the cooker in horror, her groan accompanying the second ring of the bell. And now Harry was here.

Praying that she didn’t have flour all over her face Ginny raced down the tiny hallway to the faded front door. Doggedly dragging her hands through her long, red hair Ginny yanked the door open and plastered on a smile. Presented with the sight of an attractively, and most likely intentionally, rumpled Harry Potter confidently leaning against the wall, casually cradling a bottle of white wine, Ginny felt the accustomed weakness in her knees.

Harry’s eyebrows raised until they nearly touched his messy black fringe at the sight of Ginny clothed in an apron and a smear of flour highlighting her cheekbone like some very pale blusher. “You said seven right?” he asked, shifting his weight so that he could gently wipe the flour off her cheek.

A blush replaced the white powder on her cheeks as she glanced down at her clothes. “Yes, I said seven.” Ginny started, a wry smile touching her lips. “But I baked.” Harry’s face lit up in a grin and he quickly dodged round the petite woman in the doorway to stride into her cramped kitchen.

“A soufflé?” laughed Harry, dropping the wine onto the table and turning back to Ginny as she emerged from the hallway. “Gin.” he humorously admonished her. Ginny glared at him for a moment before Harry’s infectious smile corrupted her and a slow grin spread across her face.

“I never learn do I?” She giggled, covering her face with her hands. Harry laughed along with her, coming forward to drop his hands on her shoulders.

“No, Miss Weasley,” he said, in his best impression of a strict school teacher, “what you do is never give up.” Ginny dropped her hands and looked up at him, amusement dancing in her brown eyes.

“Well, I hope I give up sometime soon, otherwise there is a very real possibility that I’m going to burn down my kitchen.”

Harry glanced around the tiny kitchen, moving his hands to gently rest on her hips as he did so. “Wouldn’t take much would it?” he said gently, glancing back at Ginny.

“Harry.” Ginny said, her voice holding a distinct warning. She moved his hands away from her body and began to clear the table free of her disastrous cooking attempt, avoiding his eyes.

“I’m just saying.” Harry said defensively, raising his hands in mock surrender. She turned to glower at him, her arms full of a pot and a palette knife. “The offer stands you know.” Harry casually murmured, as he moved to divest Ginny of the pile in her arms. She glanced up at him and turned back to the table, scrubbing it down with unnecessary force. Harry dropped the pot and knife in the sink and gently rested a hand on Ginny’s bare forearm. “Ginny.”

“I made pasta.” she said, dropping the rag she’d been cleaning with and turning back to Harry, forceful cheer evident in her tone.

“Ginny.”

“Okay, so I ordered pasta from the Italian place down the street.”

“Ginny.”

“All right, so mum made it. But, you saw the soufflé you want to trust me with other cooking respon….”

“Ginny!” Harry finally yelled in desperation. Ginny stared at him for a moment looking defeated.

“I made pasta.” she said, her voice small. Harry stared back at her for a moment and then turned away. Ginny quickly moved forward to grip his arm but was stopped by him twisting back around, brandishing a corkscrew.

He moved to the wine bottle on the table, pulling the cork out with unnecessary vehemence. He poured a glass for Ginny and turned to give it her, before dropping his hands onto the table. He leaned against it as Ginny stood behind him, hovering, unsure of what to do.

Harry shifted his hands from the table to steadily pour himself a large glass of the wine. He turned to look at her then, his green eyes inscrutable in his handsome face.

“Harry,” Ginny started, moving forward so that she was inches away from him. He watched her for a moment longer and then set his wine glass on the table behind him and gently lifted Ginny’s to the place next to it. She watched him for a moment and then he moved his arms to cup her face, drawing her to him as he kissed her searchingly and so passionately that Ginny’s hands flailed for purchase on the waistband of his jeans as she fell against him.

He pulled away then, breathing heavily, resting his forehead against hers. He moved back in to quickly brush her lips with his and then he loosened his grip on her face to reach for the wine glass on the table, moving it between their faces.

“Harry,” Ginny started again, her voice breathless.

“Shush.” whispered Harry, using the wine glass to brush her lips. “Let’s just eat some pasta, okay?”

*

There wasn’t much about Ibiza that Draco Malfoy liked. He’d never been one for lazing around in the sand, finding that the grainy substance always found it’s way into the most uncomfortable places that Draco really didn’t want to share with it. While some of the history of the place was vaguely interesting Draco had long ago given up caring about the past of the places he visited. The only other thing that Draco found even vaguely redeeming about the tiny island was it’s ability to allow young English people to become falling down drunk for a fraction of the cost it took them to engage in the same debauchery back home.

As Draco often felt himself much older than his twenty-four years, this wasn’t particularly helpful to him. Except for those nights, where he felt the memories becoming a little too clear, when a flash of red in a crowd had him halfway across the street before common sense caught up. On those nights the cheap double whiskey with a free tequila shot was very welcome.

Lying spread-eagled across a cheap hotel bed, the television blaring in the background Draco watched the web of cracks across the ceiling in deep concentration. Slowly letting his eyes roam over them his mind wandered. He was bored of this tiny island with it’s tourist traps and rolling countryside. He wanted, needed, somewhere new. Draco rolled lazily onto his side, his bleached white hair flopping into his eyes reminding him that he needed a haircut. Dangling off the end of the bed he dragged the heavy leather suitcase out from beneath it. Flipping the lid off he frowned worriedly at the sight he was presented with.

Piles of wizard money were haphazardly strewn over one side of the case, magicked to be triple the size it appeared. The silver sickles glinting amongst the heaps of gold betraying the fact that they were far outnumbered by the more valuable Galleon. But they weren’t what worried Draco. He had enough wizard money to last for years but he also had no way to spend it. He cursed inwardly, this self-induced isolation from the magic community was playing hell on his finances. He glanced back mournfully, fingering the too few wads of Muggle notes with distaste, his lip curled in it’s familiar sneer.

He was either going to have to spend a few more weeks working in the bar that had finally hired him or he was just going to have to island hop to somewhere probably so indistinguishable from Ibiza that he would end ripping out all his hair in frustration. Draco’s cool grey eyes closed irritably.

He’d really set his heart on Amsterdam. The heat was becoming too oppressive on the Mediterranean beaches he frequented and Draco fancied some urban normalcy in his life. He’d found himself in Amsterdam on the first summer after he’d left and Draco had found lots to do in the bustling streets that took his mind off the place he’s left.

Draco opened his eyes and turned his attention back to the jumble of money. Running his fingers through the pile of coins, letting them clink together, he sighed. His mind drifted back to the last time he was in Amsterdam remembering that young witch he’d met in one of the small coffee shops that cluttered the town. Letting a Galleon fall to the floor through his pale fingers, Draco deftly snatched a small bronze Knut from following the same path. Later in the musty hotel room she told him she’d recognised him and suddenly she hadn’t seemed so appealing. She’d screamed at him as he’d told her to leave, her brown eyes flashing as she stormed out, a trail of red hair following her. It was after that that Draco had realised it was going to be harder to hide than he’d originally thought.

And that was why he had a pile of wizard money that he dragged along with him, in an obstinate refusal to completely give up his old life. Draco dug his hand down deeper in the case, letting the cool coins envelop his hand. His long fingers closed round a thin piece of wood and with a heave Draco pulled it from it’s metal confines. A few coins skittered to the floor as Draco critically examined his wand.

Though he hadn’t touched it in over four years the wood felt achingly familiar against his now roughened palm. A few years of manual work had robbed Draco of smooth palms and pale skin but the wand didn’t feel any different as it had when his father had taken him to buy it twelve years ago.

Draco glanced around the room, the shabby interior irking him as much as it always did. His gaze fell on the coins scattered in the case. A flick of his wrist and he could be in London. A well placed hood and he could have wads of Muggle notes without anyone knowing he was there. Draco shrugged on a shirt, not letting go of his wand as though it were seared to his flesh.

He kicked the lid of the case closed and with a worried glance around the room and a quick prayer that half of him didn’t end up in Moscow he flicked his wrist, feeling the familiar sensation of being yanked back to somewhere he really didn’t want to go to.

There was something utterly disturbing about being back in a world where you could buy pre-dissected frogs off a street vendor. Draco paused by the gnarled old man and experimentally prodded one of the dead animals. “They’ll be three sickles for one, sir.” the old man told Draco, leaning towards him. Draco titled away, allowing himself a smile at the ‘sir’. It was nice to be reminded that he was still a Malfoy and that the automatic aura of authority he exuded was still respected. It was also nice to know that five years of menial work hadn’t damaged it any.

Readjusting the hood of his robes to ensure his face was covered, Draco turned and walked away, absentmindedly waving a hand in refusal of the man’s offer. He could hear the vendor’s disgruntled mutterings even as he passed Fortescue’s, which to Draco’s critical eye hadn’t so much as changed the colour of it’s awning since he was there last.

Some things had changed though. New buildings had sprang up from the charred remains of ones that had stood for centuries before the war had overcome the bustling street. Ollivander’s gleaming windows looked strange to Draco, who had always thought that half the shop’s disturbing character was found in it’s grime coated storefront. Even the paving stones he walked on bore scars from the war, blackened gashes that cut across them in a style, Draco thought wryly, that almost resembled lightening bolts. Draco dragged a foot along one such mark, imagining the scream that must have accompanied the gash as the killing curse that had caused it had hit it’s target. His foot stilled as he recalled the screams that had echoed off the buildings as the flames that enveloped the ancient stone walls were sliced through with curses.

Tearing his eyes away from the mark Draco quickened his pace, pushing past indignant witches and wizards in his hurry to get off the street. Staring fixedly ahead, not seeing the present but a cold night nearly six years ago, Draco barely registered the warm body colliding with his until they both fell to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. “Damn.” he muttered, suppressing the urge to yell at the person who had barged into him. The last thing he needed was even more attention brought to him. “Sorry.” he mumbled extracting himself and beginning to walk away, not even glancing at the heap on the ground.

“Wow, you’re a real gentleman, just leaving me here on the ground with a twisted ankle.” the caustic voice emanating from behind him froze Draco in his tracks. He knew that voice, particularly that tone as it was one that tended to be directed at him after he’d gone and done or said something stupid. And that had happened a lot.

Don’t turn around, Draco chanted to himself, reciting the mantra as he tried to make his feet work, tried to move on down the road and forget that voice. Don’t turn around. He knew what he’d see. A pretty face that was most likely marred with a frown and fiery hair that tumbled around her shoulders. The urge to turn around battled with the urge to run all the way to Gringotts. Hell, to escape this aspect of his past part of Draco was willing to run all the way to Amsterdam. Don’t turn around.

And then something inside of him snapped and against his much better judgement Draco slowly span around, keeping his face hidden in the shadow of his hood. She was sat where she had fallen, one hand rubbing what he presumed was the aforesaid twisted ankle. He’d been right about the frown and once again it was directed at him, but in such a way that Draco could barely stop the smile that touched his lips. He’d been wrong about the hair though. She had it pulled up in a simple twist that transformed her from a pretty girl into a beautiful woman. Because of course she was older now, five long years had passed since he’d left her, crying on the steps of the Burrow.

“Are you just going to stare at me or could you possibly lower yourself to helping me get off the goddamn street?” This time Draco let himself smile, she really was angry at him and he’d always found that particularly amusing. He continued to stare at her, taking in the deep blue robes that emphasised curves he was sure weren’t there before and noticing the notebook strewn on the ground next to her.

Draco was so wrapped in up in the way that tendrils of her hair had come lose and were framing her face that it took him a moment to realise that she had let out an exasperated sigh and was clambering to her feet. At the look of pain that crossed her features as she tried to put weight on her ankle Draco was by her side, lightly gripping her arm so that her body lilted towards his.

He dragged in a deep breath even as she muttered a sullen “Thank you” The feel of her so close was intoxicating and Draco couldn’t help but smell the scent of her hair, exactly how he remembered it. “Damn, that hurts.” Her arm closed round his in a delightfully tight grip as she manoeuvred herself till her wand was clutched in her hand. Draco heard the murmur of a quick healing charm and saw the light orange glow encase her ankle.

The feel of magic so close to him, made his entire body tingle, the static in the air feeling so foreign and yet so familiar all at the same time. He glanced down as he felt her arm pull away from him, trying to ignore the even more familiar ache that loss of contact with her brought.

She turned to him then, serious brown eyes trying to see into the shadows enveloping his face. “Thanks for the help.” Though she didn’t sound particularly thankful. A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Though next time you could help a little earlier.” The admonishment was gentle with a hint of humour and she sounded so like the girl that Draco had known and for an instant, loved, that Draco didn’t trust himself to speak. He wasn’t even sure if he could have if he’d wanted to, his throat was so dry at the sight of her standing there, watching him curiously.

“Fine.” he croaked out, thankful that the dryness of his throat made his usually smooth tones sound unrecognisable. He turned away then, not daring to watch her any longer, and marched down the street having completely forgotten the reason he was in Diagon Alley in the first place.

*

“You’re late.” The reproach came with gentle humour from a table in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny rolled her eyes and grinned, dropping into the seat opposite Hermione.

“Hermione Granger, Head Girl for life, hey?” she lightly teased, throwing her bag over the back of the chair. Hermione glared, hands clasped round a cup of coffee on the battered table in front of her.

“I was worried,” she laughed, “and yes, Head Girl is a role you keep for life.” Ginny giggled, knowing her friend was completely serious when it came to her rule-abiding responsibilities. “What happened?”

Ginny rolled her eyes as she gestured to the barman to bring her the same drink as Hermione. “Got pushed over in the street by some creepy idiot, twisted my ankle and had to wait around for him to decide to help me.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and she leaned across the table to look at Ginny intently. “Creepy? How was he creepy?” Ginny raised an eyebrow at her exuberant behaviour.

“Well, let’s see.” Ginny began, scrunching up her brow and placing a finger on her chin as though thinking hard. “There was that thing where he was wearing his ‘I love Voldemort’ sandwich board and ringing a bell that played all the screams of his Muggle victims.”

Hermione frowned, annoyed, and leaned back in her chair, arms crossed in front of her. “Ginny, don’t joke.” Ginny laughed and filched a sip of Hermione’s drink.

“I just couldn’t see his face that’s all.” Hermione still looked slightly worried as she took her cup back from Ginny.

“That is kind of creepy.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ginny, her eyebrows drawing together as she remembered the stranger. He’d seemed familiar though. The way he’d walked, the way he’d held her. Even his voice, scratchy as it was, she’d recognised in a indistinct way. She froze as an idea appeared in her mind.

“Ginny?” Hermione’s curious voice cut into her thoughts and she shook her head slightly to clear the memories that were circling through her mind.

“Hmm?” she replied, taking a sip of the coffee that had just been deposited in front of her.

“I just asked if you were okay?” The worried look was back in Hermione’s eyes and Ginny smiled tremulously to dispel it, her mind elsewhere.

“Fine.” she reassured, though Hermione was still watching her worriedly. Ginny’s mind swam with the memory of being held in the arms of the stranger and then being held in the arms of someone she’d thought she’d long since given up on. She took a long sip of her drink, trying to convince herself that there was no way that the man who had barged into her in the middle of Diagon Alley was the same man who she had thought she loved. The same man who had left her.

There was just absolutely no way that it had been Draco Malfoy.

“Ugly.” said Ginny absent-mindedly, twirling a piece of hair through her fingers as she stared out of the window. “Even more ugly.” An exasperated sigh made her turn guiltily to see Hermione stood in the entrance to the changing rooms, hands resting on hips that were clad in what was actually a very pretty pair of robes.

“Ginny!” Hermione strode over to the rack of robes hanging on the other side of the room and began to vehemently examine each one. “If you don’t help me pick a set of robes soon I’m going to be going to this research dinner buck naked!”

Ginny smiled wickedly. “Well I’m sure some of the junior research assistants wouldn’t mind.”

“Ginny!” was Hermione’s scandalised reply as she span to face Ginny, a faint blush colouring her cheeks.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” Ginny looked Hermione up and down. “The set you have on now are really nice.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her friend suspiciously. “You just said they were ugly.”

Ginny flushed uncomfortably. “Well, they look better in this light.”

“I’d like them to look good in all lighting conditions, thanks.” Hermione replied keeping her eyes glued to Ginny.

“Well,” stumbled Ginny, valiantly trying to seem as though she had been paying attention. “maybe if you walk back over there they’d look better now?”

“Uh-huh,” grunted Hermione disbelievingly. “or maybe if I walk back over there you’ll stop paying attention again and will resume your obviously very interesting appraisal of the window.” Ginny stared at her open-mouthed for a minute, searching for something to say. “What the hell is so interesting out there anyway?”

With a swish of robes, Hermione was next to Ginny peering curiously through the glass. Finding nothing particularly interesting, Hermione turned back to Ginny, a curious frown on her face. “What’s up with you, Ginny?” She placed a sisterly hand on her shoulder in concern, worried brown eyes meeting Ginny’s. “You’ve been off since the Cauldron.”

Ginny reached up to grasp Hermione’s hand. “I’m fine, really. Just thinking about the story I’m working on right now.”

Hermione’s frown didn’t lessen. “You sure.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment and then she took a deep breath and started; “It isn’t about Harry is it? Because you know the whole ‘moving-in…”

“God, no!” Ginny irritably pushed Hermione’s hand away and she stormed over to the other side of the room, arms clasped defensively in front of her. “Not everything is to do with Harry, you know.”

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath, carefully watching her volatile friend. “Look, I wasn’t saying that. I just know that you and him have had a couple of problems because of certain… issues that have arisen between you.”

Ginny turned a pair of angry eyes on Hermione. “And I suppose he told you all about them, hey?”

Hermione raised her hands defensively at the angry look on Ginny’s face. “No. Both you and him have told me about them.” Ginny’s arms dropped limply to her side, the anger draining from her.

Striding to retrieve her bag from next to Hermione she turned to her friend. “The robes look great. You should get them.”

“Ginny,” started Hermione, moving to grip her arm. Ginny stepped quickly away.

“I’m fine.” she leaned in to deposit a quick peck on Hermione’s cheek and then turned to leave yelling over her shoulder; “I’ll owl you later!”

*

Five years. It had been five goddamn years. Ginny stamped her foot in frustration, gaining a few odd looks off the other people milling around the market in Lower Diagon Alley. Trying to concentrate on the platter of Swiss chocolate hedgehogs in front of her Ginny tried to rid her mind of images of tall, blonde men. Tall, blonde, stupid, stupid, men, she corrected mentally.

A small figure chose that moment to push in front of her, little hands eagerly reaching for the chocolates only to withdraw them almost instantly with a wail as the hedgehog pricked him. Glancing down Ginny rolled her eyes at the bright blonde hair that lay thickly on the small boy’s head. “Typical.” she muttered, briefly shutting her eyes.

The little boy’s wails grew louder as he continued to try and grab one of the chocolate animals. Opening her eyes to see if someone responsible was coming to retrieve him, and seeing no-one that fit the description Ginny leaned down to grab one of his hands. “Hey, stop that.” she murmured gently. “They’ll just keep hurting you.”

He hadn’t turned around yet, still fiercely scowling at the chocolate, so Ginny was faced with his hair. She let her eyes wander off it, noticing how it was so fine but there was still so much of it. It was the exact same colour as Draco’s. The child couldn’t have been more than four, his slim wrist feeling as though she could break it in two. She found herself thinking that he looked just how Draco’s children would have looked. Or will look. Ginny scowled, or maybe they already look like this.

Draco could have children this age, that sneered and insulted with the acidity that was typically Draco. Or maybe away from the crushing influence of Lucius Malfoy his children had turned out fun and sweet like the Weasley brood. Ginny couldn’t really see it though. Ginny nearly laughed at the realisation that the child in front of her, in looks and age at least, could be the next Malfoy heir. And yet the part of her that she yelled at and tried to ignore most of the time still wanted to imagine that that child might have shocking red hair or dark brown eyes.

The spell was broken the instant the little boy turned round. A pair of bright blue eyes, at the moment occupied by barely unshed tears were framed by features, that while cute, held none of Draco’s characteristic aristocracy. “But I want one.” he sniffed. Ginny crouched down next to him just as a tall, blonde man came rushing forward to grab the boy from her arms.

“Simon!” he scolded, he was older than Draco, Ginny realised and the blue eyes that his son had inherited weren’t as cold or as beautiful as Draco’s silver. He turned to her. “I’m terribly sorry, he tends to run off.”

“It’s fine.” Ginny smiled at him, trying to pay attention as her mind was substituting him for another tall, blonde man. The man who wasn’t Draco smiled at her, and with his son in his arms he walked away. Ginny watched them go, her heart fluttering as she noticed that from a distance they could easily be a pair of Malfoys.

She was still staring after them when a pair of arms encircled her waist, a low and seductive voice whispering in her ear; “Guess who?” The timbre of his voice made Ginny’s heart quicken, until she wriggled around and found herself looking up into a pair of emerald eyes.

“Harry.” Ginny murmured, trying to keep the sudden flare of disappointment from her voice.

“Hey, Gin.” he said jovially, giving her a quick kiss hello. “What are you doing here? Thought you were shopping with Hermione?”

Cursing herself for her meandering mind and insisting to herself that she was happy Harry was here Ginny slowly twined her arms around her boyfriend’s waist. “I was. But there’s only so long that a girl can go robe shopping before she’s in danger of atrophying.” The little white lie that slipped out made Ginny wince but not before she realised how easy it had come. It seemed that thinking of Draco made her act how she had when they had been together. Meaning that lies slid out far easier than they should have done.

“You? Got bored of robe shopping?” Harry grinned. “That doesn’t sound like the girl I know and love.”

Quickly latching back onto what Harry was saying Ginny offered her own grin. “You know me too well.” It was true as well, she realised, a wave of guilt hitting her as she remembered what she been thinking about all afternoon. “But it’s just not as much fun when you’re not the one doing the robe buying.”

“Ah, well that explains it then.” Spinning so that their arms were linked, Harry steered Ginny away from the market. “Fancy a walk?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “And right now we’re what?” She gestured down at their moving feet with a grin. “Dancing a jig?”

*

“…and then of course Neville decided that it would be a good idea if he leapt into the lake after Trevor, who I’m pretty sure was perfectly happy chatting with the squid.” Harry’s acerbic telling of the familiar story complete with the obligatory hand gestures had Ginny clutching his side as she giggled uncontrollably.

“Well,” she gasped out between laughs, “It wouldn’t have been so bad if Nev had remembered that he couldn’t actually swim!” Wiping away tears of mirth she collapsed on a nearby bench, dragging Harry down with her.

Regaining her composure Ginny looked over at Harry who was watching her with a fond smile on his face. “God, we’re terrible aren’t we? I mean, Neville’s a dear, really.”

“And yet you always laugh at that story.” Harry pointed out, playfully poking her in the ribs.

“Well, it’s funny!” Ginny defended herself, grinning.

Harry smile grew larger as he shifted in his seat. “You know, that’s one of the many things I love about you.”

“What? My ability to mock one of my best friends?”

Harry gave her a searching look. “Look, I know things have been a bit rough with us lately.”

“Harry…” Ginny started but he held up a hand to stall her.

“And I know a lot of it was because you don’t want to move in with me.” He saw the protest forming on her lips and went on. “Or at least you won’t give me an answer.”

“Harry…” he raised his hand again but she ploughed on regardless, “it’s not that I don’t want to move in, it’s just that, well, I don’t know.” she stumbled over her words, inwardly annoyed at herself for once again not being able to offer an explanation for her reluctance.

“I know, Gin.” said Harry, which Ginny found quite spectacular as she herself didn’t really know anything. “It’s just that we’ve been going out for over four years now and well, this has to go somewhere, you know?” Harry edged closer to her, watching her earnestly. “And I love you.”

Ginny closed her eyes, knowing where this was going. “I’m going to ask you something. And I know it isn’t easy but please could you just answer?” Opening her eyes, Ginny found herself looking into the green eyes of the man she had been dating for so long, of the man she shared her bed with. And the man she was in love with. And yet Ginny couldn’t help but thing about a another man who she had never really dated though they’d certainly shared a bed. Another man who she had loved. And then that part of her was there again, another man that she still loved.

Ginny steeled herself for the question she was getting used to hearing and tried to prepare herself to finally give an answer. “Ginny Weasley, will you marry me?” Ginny’s mouth fell open in shock.

Well, she hadn’t been expecting that.

Draco stared at the goblin, one elegantly arched eyebrow the only sign of consternation on his otherwise blank face. “I’d be grateful if you’d repeat that, please.”

The goblin behind the large, ornate desk, smiled witheringly, an expression that didn’t quite fit right on his small, squat features. “Your fortune, Mr. Malfoy, has increased by a quite a large amount in your absence, interest you know.” Draco swept his eyes over the office; the instant he’d produced the key to his vault he’d been herded in here, meeting one of the goblins who apparently had been personally involved in his father’s affairs.

“Interesting.” drawled Draco, affecting the air of calm that he’d cultivated since a child. “It’s all very interesting. But do hurry and just change it all for me, won’t you?”

The goblin’s expression didn’t change, though his hands clenched together on the tabletop, annoyed by Draco’s insolent attitude. “That’s all being done right now for you, sir.” A sneer appeared on Draco’s face before a mask of cool composure slipped over it.

“Very well.” Draco leaned back in his chair, the cool, calm exterior that he’d had to wear as a child easily slipped back on. He studiously admired the black shoes that adorned the end of his long, crossed legs trying to rid himself of the ridiculous, unsettling sensation that was gnawing at his stomach.

His father had probably sat in this chair. His father had probably scowled at this very goblin. His father’s long fingers had probably wrapped around the ends of the mahogany armrests as easily as they had wrapped around his neck.

Draco leapt up, his exterior slipping for a moment, revealing a nauseous expression to the startled goblin. Trying to control his rapidly beating heart, Draco cursed himself for his weakness. And then flinched again as the familiar word had instantly been spoken in an inner voice that sounded so like his father. Noticing the goblin watching him warily, Draco frenziedly tried to take control of the situation the only way he knew how.

“How much longer is this going to take?” He growled, the scowl on his features causing the normally unflappable goblin to inch back. “You,” he continued, the word dripping with disdain, “may like this pitiful room but I have places to be that are more suited to my person.” Draco flinched inwardly at his words, his fathers voice echoing in his head, telling him that he should be a Malfoy and therefore cool, calm and composed in every occasion.

A ringing bell disturbed the beginning of the goblin’s reply before three large bags appeared on top of the desks. Draco blinked rapidly, the appearance of objects out of thin air causing him a slight shock. “I suppose you would like to check it, sir?” the goblin asked, waving a hand over the green, snakeskin bags, appearing to have chosen to ignore Draco’s outburst.

Draco stared at the goblin appraisingly and despite himself imagined what Lucius Malfoy would say in this situation. “Is there any reason why I should have to check these bags?” Draco asked smoothly, an eyebrow arching.

The goblin squirmed, his beady eyes not leaving Draco’s cool grey. “Of course not.” he replied, on the verge of sounding insulted.

Draco smiled blindingly, shocking the little goblin. “No problem then.” he said sounding more like the Muggles he’d lived with than the Malfoy heir and with a flourish of his wand he disapparated along with the three bags of money back to the little hotel room ensconced in Muggle London.

*

Aimlessly wandering through Thomas Kerr’s, an antique shop that Draco had thought reeked of taste and so was perfectly suited to him, he allowed himself a small grin. He was back in the sort of world he belonged. Smoothly navigating the polished furniture occupying the store, Draco ran a hand along a long, mahogany sideboard. The sudden memory of the chair in the Gringott’s office made Draco jerk his hand back roughly, dragging it through his hair as he took a deep, shuddering breath.

He hadn’t let the memory of his father affect him like this for years, Draco realised with a pang of disgust. The problem was that he hadn’t been around anything or anybody in years that could conceivably remind Draco of him. That’s all there is too it, Draco consoled himself, letting his gaze latch onto an antique grandfather clock in the corner. Once he was away from London again he’d be fine.

“Well if isn’t Draco Malfoy.” The acidic voice from behind him made Draco’s heart resume it’s frenzied beating and a suddenly icy feeling settled in his stomach as he prepared to face another reminder of his past. As he slowly span around Draco recalled how the last time he’d seen this boy he’d been sobbing over the broken body of his father.

“Blaise.” He said coolly appraising the man stood before him, subconsciously comparing him to the boy he’d once known. Well, he wasn’t sobbing. In fact, the composed mask of the man’s features was a rival for Draco’s in it’s utter blankness. An impeccable Muggle suit couldn’t conceal the aura of power that surrounded him even more palpable in this little Muggle store away from the hum of magic that permeated the air throughout the wizarding world. Clear blue eyes regarded Draco, cold in their calculating, searching gaze. A gaze that, if Draco remembered correctly, often saw far more than he would have liked.

“Draco.” Blaise replied in turn, removing his gaze from Draco to stalk over to admire the sideboard. “So you’re back in London?”

“Just passing through.” Draco followed him over to the sideboard giving the impression to anyone passing by that they were just looking at the furniture. “Can’t say I expected to see you here, in a Muggle shop no less.”

Blaise barked a short, sharp laugh. “Could say the exact same thing about you,” he hesitated for a moment, “my wife likes some of their pieces.” Draco glanced quickly at him and saw his shoulders tense at the admission.

“Very true.” conceded Draco, referring to Blaise’s first statement. He waited a moment, to see if any more information would be forthcoming and then leaned closer to the other man. “It’s been a long time, Blaise. I mean the last time I saw you…”

“I’d just killed my father.” The words were said calmly but Draco knew the other man well enough to notice the thinly veiled anger lurking just beneath them. Blaise turned to him, blue eyes that were now stormy fixing on his. “Really, Draco, I don’t think patricide is a topic either of us want to discuss, is it?”

They stared at each other for a moment, waiting to see who would look away first. Their eyes dropped away together, both knowing the rules of the game too well and knowing that they were far too well evenly matched. Draco skimmed his hand over the dark mahogany. “So your wife likes this store, Blaise?”

Blaise eyed him warily. “Yes.” He replied, letting a hint of distrust seep into his words.

“So you won’t be telling anyone about my presence here will you, Blaise?” Draco was both disturbed and pleasantly surprised at how easily the skill of giving subtle threats had returned to him.

Blaise suddenly grinned and dropped his elbows onto the furniture in front of him. “I’m in a Muggle store, Draco.” He said, the tone of his voice sounding like he found something incredible funny.

“Yes, Blaise. I had noticed that. What with me being stood right next to you and all.” Draco, replied irritated.

“And my wife likes this store.” Blaise continued, as though Draco hadn’t spoken.

“Yes, I got that. Oh and congratulations by the way. Is she pretty?” This time Blaise shot him an irritated look before he continued.

“And I’m wearing a Muggle suit.”

“And I’m sure it feels Fairy Soft against your skin but Blaise, what the hell…”

“And all the money in my wallet is Muggle and my wife is a Muggle and where have you been, Draco Malfoy?”

“What?” Draco gaped, caught up in the implications of what Blaise had been saying. “I’ve been around.” He spluttered, annoyed at himself for losing his footing in a game he’d thought he’d been winning.

Blaise looked at him for a moment, appraisingly, in much the same way that Draco imagined he had looked at Blaise. “Who would I tell, Draco?”

His voice was softer now, even though he was moving away from Draco, heading for the exit. “Who could I tell that would care that the traitor, the hero,” he said the word with a sneer, “has returned.”

“If I’m a hero, then so are you.” Draco sneered back. Blaise stopped and tucked his hands in the pockets of his perfectly pressed trousers.

“Yes, we’re all heroes.” He turned a melancholy expression on Draco who backed away at the unexpected emotion. “And yet we can’t even live our lives. Because the people who we stood by for all our childhoods, the people who raised us,” and Draco was rocked by a flash of his mother’s betrayed expression, “they all want us dead. Why?” Blaise cocked his head, considering. “Because we picked a different side. But the mark on my arm still itches and my wife still asks me why I ever got such an ugly tattoo and sometimes I still mutter ‘Accio’ without meaning to. And sometimes I remember that I killed my father, just like my best friend did his.”

Blaise was halfway out the door when he turned back, delivered Draco a mocking smile and called out over the shop. “So who would I tell?”

Ginny flopped onto the ratty, old armchair, exhaling heavily. The Burrow was exactly how she remembered it and she smiled, happy in the knowledge that some things never change. She’d missed this place, with it’s homely smell and loud clatter, so reminiscent of her childhood.

She dragged herself out of the chair, wandering over to the mantelpiece, trying to ignore the playful shouts of her assorted nieces and nephews in the garden. Her entire family smiled and waved at her from the photos on the mantelpiece and Ginny resisted the urge that she’d had since childhood to wave back.

Her eyes fell on a picture of her and Harry when they had just started dating. Harry’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, smiling for the camera, the backdrop of the Burrow’s garden making them look like the perfect couple. Skimming her hand over the photo, Ginny watched her picture counterpart occasionally dart her eyes away, a melancholy expression on her face, as though she were searching for something. The real Ginny stepped away from the fireplace, running her hands over her face.

She remembered all too well what she’d been searching for. Hadn’t she been searching for it ever since? She’d looked for it in the market yesterday, she’d even looked for it on her walk with Harry. Her stomach dropped at that memory, reminding her of the question she’d put a lot of energy into not thinking about.

She looked back at the picture, it hadn’t been that long after he’d left, and Harry had just been there. Harry. Harry who she’d loved, or so her family had thought, since she was eleven. Harry who everyone adored. Who had suddenly adored her. Perfect Harry. She heard Draco’s voice in her head then, Harry fucking perfect Potter. She smiled ruefully, that had been Draco’s personal motto even after he’d joined their side. He never really understood Harry and Harry had never really understood him. But to her, and to her family, he was Harry. The boy who was practically a member of the family already. Ginny stared at the mass of pictures, noting the number Harry was in. She looked down at her hands, her wedding finger bare. All it would be doing would be making it official.

She looked at the ring on her other hand. It was a simple band though very old, battered silver and Ginny knew that if she muttered the revealing charm he’d taught her, it would grow to show the Malfoy crest of arms. She slipped it off, admiring it in the light. There wasn’t a moment that she didn’t have it with her, easily lying to Harry that she’d found it in an antique store and had just loved the look of it. She frowned suddenly, a familiar train of thought running through her mind. She wore a Malfoy ring. Anyone who knew what it was, which basically meant her and Draco, would see it for what it really was.

Not just a pretty ring. But a brand. A mark that said she was Draco’s. And she had never taken it off. Ginny stared at it and wondered if she could wear the rings of two different men on two different hands. And she suddenly found herself wondering if it would matter that the ring Harry gave her would be the one on her left hand.

“Ginny?” She turned to see Ron in the doorway, holding a broken vase, with a curious expression on his freckled face. “What are you doing hiding out in here?”

Quickly dropping the ring in her pocket, Ginny shifted her attention to the broken pottery in Ron’s hands. “Isn’t that one of mum’s best vases?”

Ron winced, sitting on the sofa and unsuccessfully trying to piece it back together. “It was one of mum’s best vases.” Ginny rolled her eyes, pulling her wand out of her robe’s pocket.

“God, Ron, you’re such a drama queen.”

Ignoring Ron’s insulted “Hey!” she muttered a fixing spell and watched the pieces of the vase fly back together. That was simple, thought Ginny wryly, wish my life was a bit like a broken vase.

Ron stood up, annoyed, casually tossing the fixed vase in the air, only to catch it before it fell back to the floor. “I was going to be all manly and fix it with my hands.”

“Right, Ron.”

“Would’ve had women falling at my feet if it weren’t for you.”

“Sure, Ron.”

“You know,” he said, finally settling the vase in his arms, “it would have taught mum not to keep her best stuff out when the twins’ kids are visiting.”

“Yes, Ron, I’m sure that would have been mum’s first thought if you’d fixed the vase with superglue.”

“What are you doing in here anyway?” Ron asked, purposely changing the subject. Ginny shrugged, not meeting his eyes.

“Not much.” Her eye’s strayed to the mantelpiece. “I was just looking at some pictures.” Ron grinned heading to the fireplace and plucked the picture of her and Harry off the mantel.

“Ah, getting all sentimental bout you and little Harry are we?” Ginny narrowed her eyes at him.

“Have you spoken to Harry recently?” she asked, suspiciously, beginning to wonder why her brother had suddenly come in the house.

“Harry?” said Ron, doing his best annoying brother expression. “You mean my best friend Harry? Yup, I’ve talked to Harry.”

“About what, Ron?” Ginny drew out, sounding annoyed, which she was sure was exactly what Ron had intended.

“All kinds of stuff. Quidditch, work, that stupid wanker Hermione’s dating.”

“About me, Ron.” Ginny nearly, yelled, gripping the back of a chair so as to not strangle her brother.

“You?” Ron paused as though thinking about it. “Nope.” Ginny let out a sigh of relief even as Ron walked towards her, pointing the photo at her menacingly; “In fact, I can never talk about girls with him anymore, Gin. You dating my best mate has really screwed up our dynamic. I mean, I don’t want to hear about how good my sister is in bed…”

“Glad to hear it, Ron.”

“And I certainly don’t want to hear about what little tricks she might have up her skir…”

“Ron!” Ginny yelled. “That’s it,” she said, “I’m going back in the garden.”

She turned to walk towards the door when Ron’s laughing voice stopped her. “Sorry! Sorry. I was kidding!”

She turned to look at him, her mouth set in a frown. “I should hope so.”

“I love that you and Harry date.” A shot of guilt shot through Ginny, but she stayed watching Ron. His eyes were fixed on the photo in his hand, and he had a far too innocent expression on his face.

Having seen that expression many times when they were children and one of them had done something wrong, normally Fred or George, Ginny knew something was up. “Ron.” She said warningly.

“Okay, he told me.” His face breaking into a grin. He dropped the vase and photo on the sofa and crossed the room to envelop his sister in a hug. “And I think it’s bloody great.” He leaned back, leaving his hands on her shoulders. “And about bloody time.”

Ginny sighed. “Yeah, about bloody time,” she muttered. Ron laughed then.

“Knew that the only reason that you didn’t say yes to moving in was to get a proposal out of the bloke.”

Ginny looked up at him, her eyes flashing. “What?” she said, menacingly.

Ron didn’t appear to hear her. “I mean, really, Gin. He would have gotten around to it eventually.”

“Ron.” Her cold statement made him take notice and he looked down at her furious face. “What the hell do you mean I only said no ‘to get a proposal’?”

Ron looked suddenly scared, backing up a step. “God, Ginny, I was kidding.”

“It didn’t sound like you were.” She continued, the issue really irking her.

“Well I was.” Ron nearly yelled, becoming defensive.

“Fine!” Ginny yelled, throwing her arms in the air. “Whatever.”

“Whatever?” repeated Ron, incredulous. “You nearly bite my head off and suddenly it’s ‘whatever’?”

“Look, Ron, can we just stop talking about this?”

“No, Gin. We cannot. One minute we’re celebrating the fact you and Harry are engaged and the next you’re yelling at…” he trailed off, noticing how white Ginny had suddenly gone. “Ginny?”

“I haven’t said yes yet.” she murmured, her voice small. Ron stared at her for a moment.

“But you’re going to right?” Ginny didn’t reply, moving her hand to her pocket feeling the reassuring weight of Draco’s ring as she rolled it between her fingers. “I mean he loves you, and you love him…” Ron rambled, sounding desperate. “And there’s no-one else is there, Gin?” The last question held a layer of anger, the idea that his little sister could be cheating on his best friend obviously not sitting well with Ron.

But the question hit Ginny with all the force of a bludger and her fingers dropped the ring back into her pocket. There wasn’t anyone else. Ginny closed her eyes, remembering the way his grey eyes had looked as he had whispered that he needed her, the closet he ever came to love. And then she remembered the way his grey eyes had looked as told her he was leaving, that he was never coming back, that she might as well forget about him and that it wasn’t as though they’d had anything special anyway. There wasn’t anyone else.

Ginny opened her eyes, their expression firm. “Of course there’s no-one else. And of course I’m going to say yes.”

Ron smiled in relief, coming forward to hug her again, as Ginny pressed down all her memories of a boy with silver eyes and conveniently forgot that though ‘they’d been nothing special’ he’d never asked for his ring back.

*

Deftly dodging a red-haired toddler with skills borne from years of practice, Ginny made her way across the garden, occasionally waving her hand at cries of “Look at me, Aunt Ginny!”

She found Harry sat with Bill, deeply involved in what looked like a very important discussion on whether the Cannons would get relegated. “Harry.” He didn’t notice her straight away, still gesturing to Bill madly. “Harry.” She said again, a little louder, and this time he glanced up and jumped up from his seat, dropping a kiss on her lips. Bill smiled up at the pair, Ginny returning it nervously. “Okay, if I borrow him, Bill?”

Bill waved his butterbeer can happily, “Go for it.” Ginny rolled her eyes, instantly knowing that Bill knew about the proposal. Either Ron couldn’t keep his big mouth shut, or Harry was so sure of her answer that he’d gone and told everyone.

Ginny glanced up at Harry’s kind face and betted every galleon she owned that it was the first option. They stopped at a copse, far enough away from the garden that the kid’s screams intermingled with the chirping of birds around them. “Ginny?” Harry asked curiously, perching himself on a tree stump, loosely clasping her hand as she stood over him.

Ginny took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said without pre-amble causing Harry’s face to split into a wide grin as he rooted around in his trousers pocket.

“Ginny Weasley, you just made me the happiest man on the planet.” He whispered as he slid the engagement ring onto her finger. He stood up and lifted Ginny in a crushing hug. As she was swung off the blossom covered ground Ginny felt the ring, the older, more significant ring, a heavy weight in her pocket.

*

Draco didn’t know why he’d hung around London so long. He’d had the money to escape the dismal country for nearly five days now. Draco smiled ruefully, a day for every year he’d been away. He should have been long gone, but something was gnawing at him, something that he needed to face.

And for once Draco knew that it had nothing to do with a certain red-haired Gryfinndor. Standing in front of the monument Draco was for a moment floored by the sheer number of names that stretched over the marble. He’d heard all the statistics, he’d been there for the major battles but to see, carved into solid stone, the names of every one of the dead was still a bit of a shock.

Draco had originally scoffed when the idea of a war monument had come up. For one thing, it had been in the middle of an Order meeting and glancing around the table at the wizards and witches gathered there, Draco had harboured the unsaid belief that they’d be hard pressed to survive the goddamn war, let alone build a hefty, great monument because of it. For another thing, the idea had just seemed so very, well, Muggle.

But the majority of the Order had survived the war and the hefty, great monument had been built. And in some things Draco really wasn’t the same person he once had been. He’d seen memorials like this in France and other countries and he’d known people who had taken great pride in them. Just like the people here must do, Draco noted, glancing at the flowers strewn over the steps.

There was no-one else around so Draco let his hood fall from his face as he ran his fingers over the engraved names. He mentally added others, Parkinson, Goyle, Nott…so many more that would never see this wall. Draco clenched his fist. They’d picked the wrong side and all the pleading that he’d tried with his childhood friends had done no good. They’d all turned away and fought by that thing. And died by it’s side.

Draco lay his head against the cool marble, letting it calm him. He’d known staying in London was a bad idea but he been running from his memories of the war for so long that he’d forgotten how painful they could be. He closed his eyes, letting flashes of memory sweep across his eyelids in a slow-motion display of death and pain. He pushed himself away from the wall, pushing the memories away in the same motion. He couldn’t dwell on them forever. Parkinson, Goyle, Nott…he began to recite the names of his fallen friends, remembering how most of them had fallen at his own hand and absolving himself of each death as he let his eyes rest on innocent names carved in the marble.

Laying his hand against the wall one more time and feeling suitably catharsised, Draco raised his wand to go when a cool voice made him pause. “Draco.” His wand fell to the steps, clattering past the calm woman who was slowly climbing them.

He watched as she placed the flowers in front of the wall, running her hand over one of the names. “Percy,” he said, remembering her fallen brother. Ginny raised an eyebrow, an expression that was eerily familiar. She didn’t turn to look at him.

“You remembered.” Draco smirked despite himself, the retort flowing easily from his lips.

“I remember a lot of things.” They’d always been so very good at this, this easy banter, it was part of what made him want her in the first place.

She smiled then, turning towards him. “I’m sure you do.” Her eyes met his, brown meeting grey, and they both felt the familiar surge of desire that had been denied them so long.

Draco raised a hand to cup her face, murmuring her name. “Ginny.” He couldn’t tear his eyes away, knowing that the desire that he saw there must have been mirrored tenfold in his own.

Before he could stop himself, before the rational part of his mind started screaming that it was a very, very bad idea, he was kissing her. The feel of her soft lips on his, shocking him back in time, to when this had been simpler, more innocent. Or maybe it had never been simple or innocent for them and the only thing that Draco was remembering was how this was the other thing they’d been so very good at.

Ginny felt the tug of apparition in a distant corner of her mind, not even noticing that she was the one doing the wand-waving. Her entire focus was narrowed down to the feel of Draco’s lips against hers, bruising in their ferocity but matched by Ginny’s own desperation.

Another distant corner of her mind was telling herself that it felt just as good as it had the first time they had kissed, when in one of their usual taunting sessions Draco had suddenly dragged her into an empty classroom and kissed her. Of course, this time she gave herself into the kiss instantly, there was no half-felt mumbled negatives or weak pushes that had somehow made her draw him closer. No, this time she gave in as quickly as she had all those other times. She let herself feel the heat that instantly travelled up her body at his touch, she let his arms wrap around her and she let her hands travel up and down his back in urgent caresses.

His lips travelled down her neck as she felt herself dropped onto something soft, her bed she realised abstractedly. Gasping as his lips trailed kisses over her skin Ginny ran her fingers through his hair, so much finer than Harry’s. The thought made Ginny’s eyes shoot open, everything that had been lurking at the back of her mind darting forward.

“Harry.” she gasped, barely loud enough for herself to hear it let alone Draco, who was beginning to kiss down her body causing Ginny to moan in pleasure before she noticed his blonde head, so unlike Harry’s dark hair. The thought was like a bucket of ice on her senses and she pushed Draco off her. Scrambling back against the headboard, clutching her shirt together, Ginny tried not to notice how gorgeous he looked, hair all tousled with kiss swollen lips and an expression that showed just how much he wanted her. “Harry.” she gasped out, her eyes not leaving his. “Harry. I’m engaged to Harry.”

The expression on Draco’s face was inscrutable as he fell back on his heels. They stared at each for one, unblinking moment and then Draco laughed, a harsh, cruel sound, as he dragged his hand through his hair. “Well, of course you are.” His voice was like his laugh, harsh and unforgiving.

“Draco.” she tried. But he didn’t even seem to hear her.

“Harry fucking perfect Potter.” Ginny would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so tense. “Bet you jumped right into bed with him the minute I left, hey Ginny?” She cringed, thinking how close to the mark he was. But then anger, familiar anger, that had been directed at him for so long but had had nowhere to go, began to grow inside of her.

“That’s right, Draco,” she spat, “you left. Five fucking years ago. What? Did you expect me just to sit and wait for you to suddenly realise what you had left behind?”

“I never forgot what I left behind.” Draco said, his voice as angry as Ginny’s.

“Then maybe you should have come back and got me before I fell in love with someone else.”

“I couldn’t come back!” Draco yelled, climbing off the bed. “You know that!”

Ginny snorted. “We could have hid somewhere in Britain, Draco, you didn’t need to go haring off all around the world.” She sounded close to tears now. Draco suddenly thought of Blaise and his comfortable Muggle existence. They could have lived like that. But then he remembered the reason they hadn’t.

“I seem to recall asking you to come with me Ginny.” His voice was softer now, filled with regret. Her eyes shot up to his and she laughed softly, without a trace of humour.

“And I couldn’t leave my family.” He moved towards her, catching her chin.

“That would have been no different had we been in Cornwall or Greece.” Draco paused and smiled a crooked grin. “Expect in one you would have been missing your family on a beautiful beach in the blistering sun.”

She smiled, though it was tremulous and tears still glistened in her eyes. He sat heavily beside her and she was close to dropping her head on his shoulder in a way that felt so natural till she glanced around her room and saw Harry’s, her fiancée’s, shoes thrown against the wardrobe door. She sighed and dropped her head in her hands, unconsciously revealing the glittering ring to Draco’s perceptive eye.

“So you’re marrying Potter.” She looked up, startled that he would bring up that conversation. She glanced down and noticed the ring. Ginny held up her hand in front of her, appraising the ring, spinning it around with her other hand. Draco caught her other wrist and she tried to ignore the sudden shock that went through her with his simple touch.

He held her right hand loosely in his, and lifted her fingers up, displaying the Malfoy ring still resting there. “You’re still wearing my ring.” His voice was inscrutable and she stared at his profile, the hard angles of his face revealing nothing.

“I suppose you want it back.” She whispered, annoyed at herself for how breathy his touch was making her sound. With agonising slowness he moved the ring off her finger, each brush of his skin against hers making her gasp. Much as she had done in the Burrow, he held the ring up to the light to admire it and then reached for Ginny’s other hand, slowly slipping it on to her wedding finger.

It clashed terribly with the gold engagement ring and yet it felt so right there, lying heavily on the finger that meant they were joined forever. Though, as Ginny thought about it, that’s what the ring already said. She watched Draco gulp, as though he were holding back tears, though Ginny told herself that was stupid as she had never once seen him cry. He pulled it off that finger then, quickly with no tenderness.

As he stood he dropped into her hand, loosely clasping her fingers over it. His voice was rough as he spoke. “You shouldn’t wear the ring if you don’t mean it, Ginny.” He turned and walked out of the bedroom and it was only as Ginny heard the slam of the front door that she realised that she had no idea which ring he meant.

*

Idiot. Bloody idiot. Idiot. Draco cursed himself as he stood outside Ginny’s flat, shielding his eyes against the sun as he glanced up and down the street. He’d been stupid enough to lose Ginny once and now he’d gone and done it again. Though, if Draco thought hard enough about it, she’d been lost the moment he’d walked away the first time. However this wasn’t what Draco was cursing himself for.

He’d gone and left his bloody wand on the steps of the monument and he had no bloody idea where he was.

“You don’t know where you are, do you?”

Draco exhaled quickly. “No Ginny I don’t know where I am. And if you could tear yourself away from wedding preparations for a moment I’d be much obliged if you’d show me the way back to the memorial.”

He felt rather than saw her bristle at the mention of the wedding. “Put your hood up.” She ordered briskly, moving past him to stride down the street. He hurried to catch up, refusing to notice the way that the sun highlighted the gold in her mass of red hair. They hurried along in an uncomfortable silence for a while, until even Draco, who had been raised to expect uncomfortable silences began to feel annoyed.

Glancing to his side he noticed the set of her face, one that seemed to be holding back tears and the way she held her arms close to her body as though for protection. “Gin…” he started, not sure what he was going to say.

“There are no wedding preparations.” she suddenly said, her pace not faltering though Draco’s certainly did at the pronouncement.

“What?” he said sounding far to off-kilter for his own liking. “You mean you’re not marrying him?” Draco hoped that he’d put the right amount of derision into the word ‘him’.

“Oh no, I’m marrying him.” Draco felt the last tinge of fragile hope fade from his heart and he replaced his hopeful expression with his mask of cool acceptance. “But I only said yes a few of days ago.”

Days. The word echoed mockingly in Draco’s mind. Perhaps if he’d seen her earlier…No. He had seen her earlier and he’d done what was right.

“We’re here.” Ginny’s cool voice made him pause, taking in the wall of names in front of him. His wand lay at the bottom of the steps and he bent to retrieve it, checking it for damages. He raised his head to thank her and then leave, though he knew it would hurt even more this time when she started speaking again. “You knocked me over in Diagon Alley, didn’t you?”

Draco’s defensive nature instantly reared it’s head. “Hey, you ran into me!”

“Draco,” Ginny continued, merely rolling her eyes at his childish outburst. “you want to know why I said yes to Harry?” His grey eyes narrowed imperceptibly and his lips fell into a thin frown.

“Surprisingly enough, Ginny, no.”

“It was because I thought I saw you.” Draco paused, thoughts spieling through his head, trying to make sense of her.

“I’m afraid to say I don’t quite understand.” He saw the slight smile that graced her features at his eloquent language, something she’d always teased him about.

“You were never going to come back for me.” The smile remained on her face, though Draco could see the tears that were running down her cheeks. “If then, in that one moment when I was lying on the ground, hurt, you wouldn’t come back for me I knew. I knew you would never come back for me.” He saw her take a steadying breath and step away from him, her eyes closing to compose herself. Her voice was steadier as she began again. “And I had to move on, Draco. I couldn’t keep praying that someday you’d remember me. That someday we’d be together.”

Draco stared at her disconcertingly. “So you’re marrying Potter.” His voice was devoid of all emotion.

“Yes. I’m marrying Harry.”

Draco sighed and raised his wand to leave. “You know Ginny, we were the only two people who thought that we could ever possibly work.”

Ginny closed her eyes irritably. “That’s because we were the only the two people who ever knew there was a ‘we’ that could possibly work.”

Draco smiled then, not a smile of joy or even of cruelty, more one of regret. “Exactly.” He waved his wand slowly, feeling the beginning of apparition. “So maybe we were dreaming.”

“You’re getting married!” The exuberant voice woke Ginny from a fretful sleep marred with images of Draco and her that now, in the light of day, made her blush ferociously. “So what on earth are you still doing in bed?”

Ginny cracked an eye open reluctantly to see Hermione stood at the end of her bed, an agitated expression residing on her pretty face. “Well,” she began, her voice croaky till she took a sip of water from the glass next to her bed, “I was sleeping.” Hermione harrumphed at that and began to go through Ginny’s wardrobe, throwing random pieces of clothing on the bed. Ginny rose up on her elbows to watch her. “And how on earth did you get in my flat?”

“You gave me a key years ago.”

“For emergencies!”

“You’re getting married!” Hermione turned to regard Ginny seriously. “That is an emergency.”

“You make it sound so romantic.”

Hermione tossed a blue robe at Ginny and stood like the very stern taskmaster that Ginny knew her to be over her bed. “Get dressed.” she ordered, with a wave of her hand.

Ginny regarded her from bleary eyes. “Why?”

“Because you need to start thinking about some wedding robes!”

Ginny sat up straight. “I think mum would like to come for that.” Hermione waved her objections off, ambling into the kitchen to make coffee. “Calm down, Ginny.” she yelled, “we’re just trying them on! It’ll be fun!”

Ginny collapsed back onto the bed, thinking that it was very doubtful she would have fun trying on big, fluffy concoctions that some designers called wedding robes.

*

It was gorgeous. Ginny let the soft fabric, slip through her fingers, letting herself feel all it’s decadence.

“Wow.” Hermione murmured in an awed whisper. Ginny turned to stare at herself in the mirror. The robe fitted her body like a glove, showing off her shoulders and the mess of red hair that flowed over them. She experimentally twisted her hair up on her head and shuffled herself round to see what effect it had on the low back of the robe.

Hermione picked up the parchment that was perched on the wall next to where the robe had hung and began to read aloud. “Enchanted to never slip down or become dirty this new robe by designer Teddy Backer is sure to show you off to your best advantage.” Hermione raised her eyebrows at the plunging neckline. “Well, it most certainly does that.” She dropped the parchment to come stand next to Ginny, looking at her in the mirror. “Ginny, you look fabulous. Harry will have a fit if you wear that.”

Harry. Ginny’s heart flip-flopped at the name. For a moment she’d been able to pretend that she was just trying on robes for fun, but Hermione, in her sweet, best friend way, had gone and reminded her so very clearly of the fiancée that she had come unforgivably close to betraying. “How much is it?” she asked, to detract attention from her suddenly nauseous expression.

“Whew.” muttered Hermione, looking at the parchment. “Let’s just be thankful that your fiancée is a very rich man.”

Ginny winced. “That much?” She stepped away from the mirror, and ran her hands down the sleek fabric of the robe. “Damn. I really don’t want Harry to pay for everything.”

Turning back to the mirror, she frowned, annoyed. “I just really wanted to get my own robes.”

Hermione smiled sympathetically. “Oh, I know Ginny.” She patted Ginny’s shoulder consolingly. “But these things cost a bomb and Harry has all that inherited fortune and you’re…”

“Just an out-of-work writer who barely makes enough to live on.”

“Hey!” scolded Hermione, giving Ginny a brief hug. “A creative genius like yourself is never not working!”

Ginny smiled wanly. “Maybe I should just give up this writer thing.” At Hermione’s furious expression she attempted a wider grin. “Or maybe I could just pawn my engagement ring.”

Hermione laughed, pulling Ginny’s hand towards her to admire the ring, like people had been doing since she’d first got it. Hermione’s laughter died away as she stared at Ginny’s hand. “Ginny,” she asked curiously, “what’s your silver ring doing on here?”

Ginny glanced quickly down, noticing with horror Draco’s ring nestled above the diamond that Harry had given her. She barked out a short, fake laugh. “God, I’m stupid.” She looked up into Hermione’s disbelieving eyes. “Hey,” she said, straining for joviality, “someone made me get ready ridiculously fast this morning.”

She wrenched her hand away from Hermione and quickly dragged the ring off. “Ginny,” said Hermione, her hand still outstretched, “can I look at that ring?” With feeling of misgiving Ginny slowly handed the ring over.

Hermione span it around in the air, critically evaluating it from each angle, making Ginny’s stomach sink further. “You know what, Ginny?” Hermione dropped the ring in her palm, “I think this might be one of those old family rings.”

“Old family rings?” Ginny practically squeaked.

Hermione laughed. “Yeah, if you know the revealing charm it would show the crest of the family on it.” She shook her head as she handed the ring back to Ginny. “Very old families all have them, I can’t believe that you found one of these in an antique store.” She paused for a moment and then clicked her fingers. “Oh, I remember where I’ve seen one before, Malfoy used to wear one.”

“Really?” inquired Ginny innocently, turning away so that Hermione wouldn’t see the blush she was sure was colouring her cheeks.

“Yeah, he used to play with it during meetings.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Terribly annoying.”

“Hmm.” agreed Ginny, playing with her robe so she wouldn’t have to look Hermione in the eye.

“I suppose he probably sold it when he left the country.” At this Ginny’s hands stilled and she didn’t dare turn towards Hermione in fear she would see the tears that were threatening to fall. “Doubt he’s got much left at all of his old life.”

Ginny turned back to Hermione, trying to appear casual. “Well, he didn’t need to leave, did he?”

Hermione looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “With all the remaining Death Eaters out there calling for the ‘blood of the traitor’? He would have been slaughtered.” Hermione cocked her head. “Still would.”

Ginny gulped and moved to take her wedding robe off, suddenly desperate to not have such material evidence that she was getting married around her. Hermione moved to help her, seemingly forgetting their conversation.

Shrugging back on her own robes, Ginny couldn’t resist another question. “Why do you care so much about Malfoy anyway?” Hermione shrugged, engrossed in hanging the robe up.

“I always felt quite bad for him. I mean, he gave everything up.” Ginny looked at the silver ring and remembered frenzied meetings, lips dragging across each other, hands desperately groping for bare skin, with the realisation that he hadn’t quite given everything up.

She was jolted out of her reverie by Hermione looping her arm through hers and dragging her out of the shop. “Let’s go get coffee and I can tell you all about my new boyfriend so you can pass on the information to your brother and fiancée,” the word was accompanied by a small clap, “and they can decide to hate him while at least being fully informed.”

Allowing herself to be dragged towards the small coffee shop, Ginny glanced down at her hands once more.

“Oooh,” infused Hermione, “and then we can discuss wedding details.”

“Great.” agreed Ginny tiredly, her attention on her hands and her engagement ring that suddenly looked very bare without the battered silver brand above it.

*

Draco had spent the better part of two hours trying to find Ginny’s flat again. When he’d tried to retrace his steps from the memorial he’d somehow managed to walk in a very long circle and wandering around the streets looking for a familiar landmark hadn’t yielded that much use either.

Draco wasn’t used to finding places twice, his fear of discovery by the magical community had meant that he’d spent the last five years flitting from one place to the next with barely a pause. Even when he’d returned to favourite locations he rarely went back to the places he’d frequented on his first visit. It wasn’t till he finally gave in and asked for directions from a short witch who’d observed him suspiciously that Draco managed to find the tiny building nestled in a quaint area of magical London.

Tugging his hood down, Draco hammered on the door. Resisting the immature urge to hop from one foot to the other in childish impatience, Draco was infinitely glad when the door finally opened. Expecting a shock of red hair he had to cover up his surprise when instead he found himself faced with a pretty brunette. Trying to control the smirk that was fighting to appear on his face Draco merely said, as politely and cheerfully as possible; “Hello, Granger. Ginny in?”

The look on Granger’s face was priceless. Complete shock was etched into every one of her features and it didn’t improve when Ginny came up behind her, wearing the same expression tinged with something that looked like resignation.

Draco leaned sideways to talk to Ginny stood behind the frozen former Head Girl. “Hey Ginny.” Her mouth opened and closed a few times, no words emerging. Draco smiled rakishly. “Just thought you might like to know that I’ve come back for you.”

And with that Draco turned and walked down the hallway, down the staircase and onto the street, leaving two very shocked women in his wake.

It took Ginny a minute to register that Draco Malfoy had been stood in her doorway before she pushed past Hermione, whose mouth was still hanging open in shock, and raced out into the street.

Ignoring Hermione who she knew was close behind her, Ginny ran up to the hooded, striding figure and spun him around pushing his hood back a few inches as she did so. Draco merely smiled at her, and Ginny roughly tugged her hair behind her ears, suddenly realising how flushed she must have looked from her mad dash.

Scowling back at him, Ginny tried to concentrate on his smirking visage rather than Hermione’s eyes which were boring holes in her back. “What the hell was that about?” She angrily snarled at him.

Draco continued to smile complacently. “It’s just like I said, I’ve come back for you.”

Ginny looked for any hint that he was joking and seeing none her anger slowly faded. “But why now?”

Draco’s smile faded into a perfectly serious expression. “Because I was sat staring at a plane ticket that would take me away from every bad memory in my life and I still didn’t want to leave.” He leaned forward, his voice softening. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

Ginny ran a hand over her eyes in exasperation. “But what’s the difference, Draco?” She said, tiredly. “They’re still going to kill you.” She looked up at him and sighed. “And I still don’t want to leave my family.”

The sudden grin that broke out on Draco’s face startled her. “I’m not asking you to.” The cheerful tone of his voice made Ginny narrow her eyes at him suspiciously.

“Draco, what are you planning?”

His grin grew even larger. “Well, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Draco, are these,” Ginny made little quote marks in the air, “tricks illegal?”

“No.”

“Draco.”

“Just a little.”

“Draco.”

“Yes.”

“Draco!” cried Ginny, her hands waving in the air around her. Draco reached forward gripping her wrists.

“I’m just going to drop a couple of dark objects in the homes of people who want to kill me and then let the aurors deal with them.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “So no murder?”

Draco grinned. “Ginny, whatever do you think of me?” Disengaging her wrists from his hands, Ginny folded her arms in front of her.

“I think you’re Draco Malfoy.” He looked terribly insulted at this so she amended. “Who tends to do whatever he wants when he thinks it’s right.”

Draco looked away from her, staring at something only he could see. “What if I did kill them?” Ginny watched him and then placed her hand on his cheek.

“They want to kill you.” She looked over her shoulder at Hermione, who was watching the proceedings with a scandalised expression. “So, I think I’d be okay with it.” Draco let a small smile slip on his face but Ginny dropped her hand and wrapped her arms around her body. “I do love Harry you know.” She said, not meeting Draco’s eyes.

He winced, his eyes falling shut. “I know.” He opened his eyes to look at her. “I just thought you needed to know that you had a choice.”

“Draco.” Ginny said tiredly, but he merely grinned at her as he tugged off the hood that was covering his platinum blonde hair. “Draco!” Ginny cried, unsuccessfully trying to pull it back on.

A witch walking by suddenly stumbled, noticing the man stood in the centre of the pavement. “Draco Malfoy.” She said, her voice tinged with awe before Ginny sent her such a glare that she hurried along.

Ginny turned that glare to Draco. “What are you doing? Everyone will know you’re back now!”

Draco just kept on grinning as he leaned in to kiss Ginny on the cheek. Pulling back he raised his wand to disapparate, his grin growing even wider as he said with a cold laugh, “Let them come.”

*

“Draco Malfoy!” Hermione had been saying the same thing ever since Ginny had strode back to her and up to her flat. “Draco Malfoy!”

Ginny sighed as she walked into the living room, turning to face the furious witch. “Hermione, please.”

“Draco Malfoy!”

“Hermione.”

“Draco Malfoy!”

Ginny gave up and collapsed on the sofa. “Yep, that’s his name.”

“Draco Malfoy.” Hermione seemed to run out of steam and fell on the sofa next to Ginny. “Draco Malfoy.” She had the same sound of awe in her voice as the witch in the street had. Though Hermione’s was tinged with a bit more hatred. Ginny watched Hermione raise her hand to her forehead, as though collecting her thoughts. “Ginny?” she asked, her voice polite as though asking the time. “What was Draco Malfoy doing here?”

Tired brown eyes met each other as Ginny hesitantly slipped off her silver ring and handed it to her friend. Hermione’s eyes grew wide as the implication struck her even before Ginny whispered; “Malforium Manifesto,” to reveal the Malfoy crest that rose up from the ring.

“Oh my God.” muttered Hermione, staring in horrified fascination at the ring. “But you’ve had this years….oh my God.” She looked up at Ginny, the pieces finally falling together. “Ginny….how long?” She stumbled out.

Ginny closed her eyes, reliving her time with him. “Around three years before he left,” she ignored Hermione’s shocked gasp, “I loved him.” Ginny rubbed her eyes, tiredly. “Maybe I still do.”

“Ginny!”

Quickly turning to her friend, Ginny grasped Hermione’s hands. “Please don’t tell Harry.” Hermione leapt to her feet, tossing the ring back at Ginny as she did so.

“Harry is one of my best friends Ginny! I can’t not tell him.” Hermione eyes widened as another thought struck her. “Oh God, and Ron. When he finds out that you…”

Ginny followed Hermione up from the sofa, cutting her off. “You can’t tell them.” Seeing Hermione’s mouth open again, she raised a hand. “Draco is trying to destroy the remaining Death Eaters, being eviscerated by my brother and,” she choked on the word, “fiancée, won’t really help his case.”

Hermione closed her eyes, looking as though she was slowly coming to terms with everything she’d just heard. “Fine.” She finally said, her voice tight. “Just don’t expect me to lie for you.” She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, pausing to regard Ginny over her shoulder. “Though from the sounds of things you have plenty of practice in the ‘lying to the people you love’ area.”

Ginny fell back onto the sofa as she heard Hermione leave, staring at the ring in her hand, now embossed with the Malfoy crest. She grabbed a picture of her and Harry from the side table and held them up against each other.

“Ginny Potter.” She mumbled. “Ginny Malfoy.” She tried again, and sighed. Draco’s words rang in her head. Just thought you needed to know that you had a choice. Ginny closed her eyes, tossing both objects to the floor. If this choice was so great then why had it been so much simpler when it hadn’t been there?

To the outside world Blaise Zabini was a respectable businessman. He owned a fairly large house, had a pretty wife and two adorable children. His car was nice enough to let people know he did well but not so ostentatious that people would dislike him for it. Even to the inside world, which meant his wife and children and his few close friends, he appeared completely normal. Blaise Zabini liked this normal life. Which is why when he opened the door early on a Saturday morning he wasn’t particularly happy to see Draco Malfoy stood on his doorstep.

Draco had forgotten how much information money could buy you, even in the Muggle world. A few well-placed notes to the cashier in the antique store had yielded an address for his old school mate. Though he had to admit that said old school mate wasn’t looking particularly happy to see him.

“Hello, Blaise. Could I have a word?” Draco asked politely. The slamming of the door was his only answer. “Blaise.” He said through the door, perfectly confident that Blaise was still on the other side of it. Slowly the door opened to reveal a reluctant, suspicious Blaise in a dressing gown.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” A child’s cry of ‘Daddy’ was heard from within the house and Blaise closed his eyes in worry.

“Your kids?” Draco arched an eyebrow in question. Blaise merely stared back at him stonily. Draco sighed. “Can I come in?”

Blaise crossed his arms defiantly and Draco had to suppress the snicker that nearly emerged at the way his tough image was instantly destroyed by the dressing gown his old friend was wearing. “Why?”

“I wanted to see if your wife was pretty.” Draco replied flippantly, peering around him into the tastily furnished hall.

“Malfoy.” Blaise growled.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, peering through the living room window as he did so. “Fine. So I want to take down the remaining Death Eaters in Britain.” Blaise’s arms dropped to his side, his look of shock similar to the one on Granger’s face. But Blaise had been better trained to mask emotions then Hermione and his normal, serious expression soon replaced it.

Tugging tightly on the tie of his dressing gown, Blaise stepped to the side to allow Draco to enter. “I suppose you best come in then.”

*

Her mother bustled round the tiny kitchen, her voice bumbling over with enthusiasm. “Oh, my word. I’m so glad that this finally happened. I almost thought that you were going to be stubborn forever and never marry the boy!” Her back to the fireplace, Molly missed the look of indignation that passed over her daughter’s face as she watched her mother through the floo network.

Biting furiously down on her annoyance, knowing that the last thing she needed was a fight with her mother, Ginny merely smiled serenely as Molly turned and headed over to her, dropping into a chair in front of the fireplace.

Molly continued beaming. “Oh, you and Harry.” She dropped down in front of the fire then, mindful of her arthritic knees and awkwardly patted Ginny on the head. “I’m so happy.” Wiping tears away from her eyes, she turned back to the stove, before saying determinedly; “He’ll finally be a proper part of the family.”

“Yes.” Agreed Ginny absentmindedly her eyes straying to the clock of Weasley family members, noting all the extra additions that had been made over the years and seeing that Harry already had his own hand. Part of the family, thought Ginny. Her earlier thoughts came back to her. I’d just be making it official.

*

Draco was allowed a glimpse of two small blonde girls, fringes hanging in bright blue eyes, their father’s eyes, thought Draco, before they were bundled unceremoniously from the room and Blaise turned to face him, a grim expression on his face.

“What the hell did you mean by that?” He demanded, trying to look as imposing as possible in his dressing gown and slippers.

Draco groaned at the familiar words. “What? Am I just not making myself clear this week?” He mumbled to himself, noticing Blaise’s annoyed expression at the wait, he answered. “You heard me. I want to bring them down. Make them suffer. Like we have.” Draco looked around the nicely furnished living room and amended, “Well, like I have.”

Blaise suddenly flopped onto the sofa, dropping his head into has hands. “What do you want from me Draco?” He gestured at floor littered in his children’s toys and at the sideboard covered with pictures. Draco moved to the sideboard, picking one of the pictures up and seeing the smiling family, absently noticing that Blaise’s wife was pretty and that he should congratulate him on that at a more suitable time. He sighed and turned back to his old friend.

“I don’t want anything from you that could end with them being harmed.”

Blaise grinned wryly. “Anything I do with you and the world you represent could end with them being harmed, Draco, and you know it.”

Draco letting out an exasperated sigh and span to face him, Blaise raising from the sofa at the unexpected movement. “For God sakes, Blaise, don’t you miss it? Magic! Our world!” Blaise stared back at him and then slowly let his eyes flit to the photos.

“No.” He said simply. Draco groaned and flopped on the sofa.

“Well I do.” He mumbled like a petulant child. Blaise looked around his perfectly ordered existence, realizing that Draco Malfoy has just completely thrown it on it’s head. And that he would have to deal with him.

*

“Ginny, this is great news!” Charlie’s smiling face stared out at Ginny from the fireplace. Dropping her book down she went to kneel in front of the flames for the second time that morning, forcing a smile on her face.

“Hey, Charlie.” She murmured, twisting her robe in her hands.

Charlie’s smiling face turned into a mock frown. “And why is it, young lady, that I had to hear about my baby sister’s engagement from mum?”

Ginny smiled tiredly. “I just haven’t really got around to telling anyone yet, I guess.” Charlie waved a hand and grinned, telling Ginny that everything was forgiven.

“So why aren’t you jumping around in joy?” He asked, noticing Ginny’s pale, drawn face for the first time.

“No reason.” She muttered, fiddling with the rings on her hand.

“Ginny.” Only Charlie’s voice could hold worry and a warning at the same time. “Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Ginny sighed, wishing that she could unburden herself without him hating her, just like Hermione did. “Nothing, Charlie. I’m great. I’m getting married.” A small sob escaped her as she said the last sentence. Charlie’s eyes immediately filled with concern.

“God, Ginny. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Ginny stared at her brother, willing the tears not to run down her cheeks. “I’ve loved Harry forever, haven’t I?” She said in a low murmur. Charlie shrugged, watching her carefully.

“Well, you had a crush on him for ages and then you dated him, so in a way, yeah.”

“God, Charlie.” Ginny hastily wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her robes, suddenly feeling annoyed. “There were other boys, you know.” Charlie looked furious.

“Who? Tell me. What did they do? Where do they live?”

“I haven’t always loved Harry.” She murmured to herself, ignoring her brother’s overprotective ranting.

“Ginny.” Charlie stated. “I flooed to say congratulations on the engagement and now I’m beginning to wonder if you even want to be engaged.”

Ginny looked up at him and sighed. “I don’t know, Charlie. I love Harry, I really do.” She looked her brother in the eyes. “I just don’t know how much.”

*

Blaise stared down at Draco, eyes narrowed. “What caused this sudden change of heart?”

“Nothing.” Draco mumbled in reply. Blaise suddenly grinned knowingly and sat next to Draco, the knowing glint in his eye far to familiar for Draco’s liking.

“You’re in love with Ginny Weasley again, aren’t you?”

The spluttering from the other end of the sofa confirmed his theory. “How did you…But how?”

Blaise shrugged and grinned. “My natural brilliance.” Draco snorted and Blaise was reminded of the many shared conversations they’d had over the years. “Hey! I’ll have you know that I was third in class, only behind you and…”

“Granger.” They muttered in unison and shared a knowing grin.

Draco sat forward, the grin fading from his face. “Well, since you’ve got it all figured out. Yes, I love her.” Blaise snickered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘A Weasley!’ and Draco turned condescending eyes on him. “Excuse me, but aren’t you married to a Muggle, Blaise?”

Blaise coughed suddenly and sat up so that he was level with Draco. “So you’re in love with a Weasley, I’m married to a Muggle and we’d both like to take down the Death Eaters.” Blaise ran a hand over his face. “God, we would’ve hexed someone to Australia if they’d told us that first year.”

Draco grinned. “I’ve been to Australia.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Not the point, Draco.”

Draco turned then suddenly pinning Blaise with those cool, grey eyes. “How did you know that I was in love with Ginny, anyway?”

Blaise grinned and rubbed his hands together gleefully. “Oh, I’ve known for years.” At Draco’s scandalized expression he laughed. “Don’t worry you were very discreet but I’ve known you for years, you know.”

Draco didn’t look particularly happy at this explanation and motioned Blaise to continue.

“You kept disappearing in sixth year.” Draco cursed, thinking that no-one had seen his late night meetings. “That I noticed because unlike a lot of the idiots who inhabited Slytherin I had a brain and I was your friend. Then there was the whole thing in Diagon Alley.”

Draco stiffened and walked away from the sofa, folding in on himself. “Diagon Alley.” He murmured, flashes of the battle running through his head. A battle he’d been on the wrong side of. Blaise watched him carefully, remembering how volatile Draco had been after the battle.

“Your final initiation.” The bitterness in Blaise’s voice was kept in check, though he unconsciously rubbed his left arm in a gesture that he used far more than he would have liked. Draco turned to look at him, his eyes clouded, before he suddenly laughed dryly, realization dawning.

“The redhead.” Blaise nodded. “You saw me not murder a young, redheaded girl and suddenly I was in love with the youngest Weasley?” Incredulity laced Draco’s voice and Blaise laughed at his expression.

“Of course not.” Blaise stood so that he was eye level with Draco. “I saw you turn away from everything we’d been raised to believe. And I knew you. You wouldn’t have done that if there wasn’t something worth leaving it for.”

Draco crossed his arms insolently. “Maybe I just didn’t like murder and torture at the hands of some inhuman thing.” It was Blaise’s turn to look incredulous. “Fine,” Draco huffed, “so I had a reason other than the whole ‘let’s not torture and kill and I suppose we should be nice to small, furry animals’ thing to not to want to be a Death Eater. I still don’t see how you made such a leap of logic.”

“Well, after I joined you,” Draco was suddenly struck with the memory of Blaise standing on his doorstep, his expression stony, his arm bleeding from where his dark mark had been savagely hacked into. Slipping back to the conversation Draco realised that Blaise had continued. “I watched you and noticed little things.” Shrugging matter-of-factually he noticed Draco’s raised eyebrow. “Just glances and that, Draco. Don’t worry it’s not like you had the words ‘I love Virginia Weasley’ glowing in flashing neon above your head.”

Draco laughed and Blaise was surprised at the sudden realisation that he’d missed his old friend. Draco turned and collapsed on the sofa. “That still doesn’t explain how you guessed the reason just now, though.”

Blaise shrugged again, joining Draco on the sofa. “That was just a lucky guess.” Blaise leaned back against the cushions, folding his arms across his chest. “So you want to take down the Death Eaters?”

Draco glanced at him from the corner of his eye, noticing the clenched jaw and whitened knuckles. “That’s right.” He replied calmly. Blaise nodded once.

“So I guess you want to drop some dark objects into some people homes, tip of the aurors and then watch all hell break loose?”

“You know me so well.”

“You going to kill any of them?”

“The thought had crossed my mind.”

Blaise looked at him, just to see if he was joking but the solid set of Draco’s jaw told him all he needed to know. “Well then. I guess I could help.”

Draco grinned like a small child on Christmas morning and sat up clapping his hands together. “Great! This is going to be so much fun!”

Blaise watched him with a nervous expression. “You’re really looking forward to the whole killing thing aren’t you.” Draco waved him off with an impatient hand.

“God, no.” Blaise looked suitably relieved until Draco grinned wickedly. “Just the breaking and entering, really.”

*

Ginny kissed Harry as though her life depended on it, pinning him against the wall as soon as she walked through the door. “Wahey!” Harry gasped out between kisses, gently nudging her away. “What’s all this for? Practising for the honeymoon?” He added with a lop-sided grin.

Ginny stared at him, tracing his face with her fingerprints. “You want to marry me, don’t you Harry?” Harry looked shocked at the question.

“Of course.” He took her hand and lightly kissed her fingertips. “That’s why I asked you.”

“Right.” Ginny continued to stare at him until Harry began to fidget under her gaze.

“Ginny.” He frowned worriedly. “Is something wrong?”

Ginny seemed to shake herself out of her daze and she moved to cup his face with her hands. “Nothing’s wrong.” She lied as she moved in to kiss him again. I just need to know if I really love the man who’s willing to spend the rest of his life with me, that’s all.

*

“One of those evil enchanted swords would work, right? They’d have the aurors come running.” Off Blaise’s look, Draco explained. “You know the ones with the teeth…” Blaise still look confused so Draco just waved his hand. “Oh, forget it. It would’ve worked though.”

“What about a Book of Maleficus?” Blaise asked, gesturing at the list in front of him.

“Ooh, yes.” Said Draco scribbling it down. “Oh, and we should put a dagger of morbidity in Crabbe’s.”

“What is it with you and swords?” Blaise asked chortling as he shook his head.

“Swords?” Asked a new voice from the doorway, causing both Blaise and Draco to raise their heads. Blaise was up from his seat in an instant, hurrying over to the blonde woman stood in the doorway. She frowned quizzically at him. “Why are you discussing swords and who,” She gestured at Draco who had returned his attention to the paper, “is that?”

“Well, Sarah, that is,” Blaise also gestured at Draco, fumbling for words, “is an old school friend and we just discussing well, erm…”

“Which dark objects we should drop into our enemies’ homes.” Draco interjected calmly.

“Draco!” Blaise yelled. Draco merely looked up at him and then smiled.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He turned back to the parchment, scribbling something out. “It really should be two daggers of morbidity in Crabbe’s. I mean who would care about one?”

Ginny slowly crawled out of bed, disentangling herself from Harry’s arms. She dropped into the window seat, wrapping a sheet around herself tightly. Sighing, she leaned her forehead against the window, letting the tears run down her face.

The street outside was empty, everyone tucked up in bed with their loved ones this early on a Sunday. Ginny glanced back at Harry, the early morning sunlight slanting on his face, making him look like some sort of angel. Except he has the wrong hair. Ginny felt as though her head was going to explode, too many voices were yelling at her, telling her what to do.

Staring at Harry’s familiar face Ginny fought back the wave of guilt that settled on her every time she saw him recently. It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. And yet she couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t been lying to Draco when she’d said she loved Harry, and the feel of his lips on hers, whilst not quite as electric as Draco’s, still made her knees go weak.

Ginny watched a couple emerge from the house opposite, smiling and laughing, their arms wrapped around each other. She loved Harry. She thought wryly of her conversation with Charlie. I’ve always loved Harry. She remembered her first sight of him. A scrawny little eleven year old, wearing clothes far too big for him. Her heart had leapt. He was Harry Potter. When they were little and played, she was always the beautiful princess and Ron would save her, playing the big hero. In Ginny’s mind, the big hero was always Harry Potter.

And her crush had started and it had never really ended. There’d been other boys but even when she was with Draco she still retained some of the vestiges of her childhood crush, it was far too hard to escape. And after all, it wasn’t like Harry Potter had ever looked at her like that.

But then Draco left and Harry had looked at her like that. And he was safe, he was her security. Ginny blanched at the idea, it sounded so unromantic. But it was true, after Draco left her heartbroken she’d needed the opposite. Someone her family loved, someone she could trust unconditionally, someone she could rely on. And wasn’t Harry all those things? He was her big hero, after all. And Draco. Well, Draco was nobody’s hero.

Ginny span the silver ring round and round on her finger, not noticing Harry stirring in his sleep behind her. Except that Draco, while not her big hero of childhood fairytales, had always been her hero. So much braver than Harry, because what did Harry have to lose by picking their side? Draco lost everything. His mother wouldn’t speak to him, his father tried to kill him so many times she lost count and his friends cursed his name.

He hadn’t lost her though. And that had resulted in a single mindedness in their relationship that Ginny had loved. That she craved. Because she never got that with Harry. He had Hermione and Ron and so many people. She was just another one of his loved ones. She was Draco’s loved one. And sometimes she wished that she could just admit to herself that she loved…

“Ginny?” Harry’s sleep addled voice made her shoot around, clenching her fist around the ring guiltily. “What are you doing out of bed so early?”

Ginny turned her attention back to the window. “Just thinking about heroes.” Harry quizzically grinned at her and she smiled back at him, tightly. “Go back to sleep, Harry.”

*

“Ouch! For God’s sake Blaise, what ever possessed you to have children?” Blaise looked up from his perusal of his daughter’s toy chest to see Draco hopping on one foot whilst clutching the other, a look of annoyance on his face.

Glancing down to see the Barbie lying on the floor, he yelled; “Jessica! Come and pick your doll up!”

A small, blonde girl came barrelling through the doorway, she smiled sweetly up at Draco who had stopped rubbing his foot long enough to scowl down at her. Picking up her doll Jessica suddenly threw her arms around Draco’s legs before running out of the room yelling “Sorry, Uncle Draco!”

Draco looked angrily at Blaise, who was desperately trying to hold back a laugh. “Did you have to tell them that’s what they could call me?”

Heaving himself up from the floor, holding what he had been looking for, Blaise just shrugged at Draco’s murderous expression. “Yes. Just so I could see the expression on your face.” Draco’s scowl deepened. “And it was completely worth it.” Tossing one of the long, plastic swords he’d retrieved from the toy chest at Draco, he herded him out of the room.

Draco stood in the hallway, twisting the sword around in a mock fight with the air. “What are we going to do with these?” He lunged into his imaginary opponent, before straightening. “While I’d imagine they’d cause a riot if you went waving them around in all their plastic pointy glory in a public library I don’t see how any self-respecting auror would even possibly think that these could be elements of darkness.”

“Of course not,” said Blaise, hitting Draco’s sword with his, to begin a play fight. Their swords clicking together, he continued. “But I figure we could transfigure them into something truly horrendous.” Draco paused his sword dropping to the side, allowing Blaise to lunge in. “Hey! I win! Just like old times!” He smirked.

Draco looked aggrieved for a moment. “Firstly. ‘Just like old times’? Your memory has obviously been twisted by those Muggle mobile phones. Radiation, you know. And secondly, you’re going to help me with the actual carrying out of the Dastardly Plan? Because I don’t want you to put that pretty wife and those little brats of yours in danger. I just needed some strategic input. And thirdly, we’ve both been living as Muggles for five years, you really think our transfiguration skills are up to much?”

Blaise sighed. “Firstly, Draco. I always won. You just tended to cheat. Secondly, of course I’m helping. You’re likely to die and you know how much it would inconvenience me to have to go to your funeral. Oh, and could you stop referring to it as the ‘dastardly plan’? I can practically see the capital letters in your head and frankly it’s disturbing. And thirdly, transfiguration’s fun. And I want to do it.”

Draco cocked his head. “Okay, firstly…”

“Draco.”

“Fine, fine. But I’m still calling it the Dastardly Plan.”

“Could it at least be in lower case?”

“How about I just do little quote marks in the air?”

“That would be even more annoying.”

“So I can do it?”

“No.”

“We should have a little dance routine to go along with the plan. You know, so that we look jazzy as we carry out our Dastardly Deeds.”

“Are you going to put capitals on everything?”

“Basically, yes. Ooh, can I transfigure your daughter’s dolls into a replica can can line?”

“No, Draco.”

“How about a miniature banshee for them to play with?”

“No.”

“A werewolf? Go on. Please?”

*

Raising her wine glass in the air, Ginny tried to force a smile for the benefit of her family. It wasn’t easy with Charlie’s worried stare and Hermione’s incomprehensible one locked on her.

“Here’s to my youngest, and only, daughter and her wonderful fiancée. Congratulations, you two.” Arthur finished his speech while the room echoed ‘hear, hear.’ Harry’s hand felt heavy on her shoulder and having her entire family in one room was making Ginny stare longingly through the window at the garden.

“Ginny, could I have a word?” Ginny glanced up to find Hermione staring down at her, chocolate brown eyes serious.

“Sure.” Ginny managed to reply around the sudden lump in her throat.

“Hermione! Not trying to steal my fiancée away now, are you?” Harry grinned, leaning forward to give his best friend a hug.

“Hardly, Harry.” Hermione replied, kissing him on the cheek but keeping her eyes on Ginny. “I just want to talk to her.” Ginny recognised a forced grin when she saw one, she’d gotten very good at them the last few weeks. “Girl stuff, you know.”

“Girl stuff?” Harry laughed. “Steal away, then.” He gestured at Ginny expecting a mock slap or at least a witty retort. But Ginny had gone deathly pale and she followed Hermione out to the garden without a word, leaving Harry to watch after her, concerned.

*

Draco checked the contents of his bag over one more time. Dagger of morbidity, Elysium charms, orb of thesulus and some really bad stuff. Happily rubbing his hands together he turned to find Blaise stood with an odd expression on his face.

Blaise was clutching his wand in front of him, his face a mask. “That supplier you remembered in Cornwall was really useful.” Draco said neutrally, trying to snap Blaise out of it.

Blaise’s head shot up, cool blue eyes regarding him. “Yeah, he had some good stuff.”

“You don’t have to come, Blaise.” Blaise laughed softly and pulled a picture of his family from his wallet.

“Mind if I leave this here?” Draco nodded and Blaise perched the photo on the desk in the hotel room. “They might get into Hogwarts one day,” he muttered, more to himself. Turning around Draco saw the determination in Blaise’s eyes that he’d seen on so many occasions. When they were children trying to sneak past his father’s man-eating spiders for fun, when they were teenagers going into a battle in which they knew they would have to kill their friends, and now, when they were men who were going to reclaim their lives.

Blaise’s voice cut through his thoughts, cold in it’s finality and determination. “Let’s go.”

*

The garden suddenly seemed a lot less welcoming then it had a minute ago when she’d been gazing hopefully out of the window at it. Ginny imagined the less welcoming nature of her childhood garden had a lot to do with the young witch stood angrily in front of her.

“What are you doing with Harry, Ginny?” Hermione demanded, hands on her hips.

Ginny sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Marrying him, apparently.”

Hermione squealed in protest, spinning on her heel. “Apparently! Virginia Weasley you do not marry people on apparently!”

“No, Hermione,” Ginny yelled back, her voice rising, “you marry people because you love them!”

Hermione drew up short, staring at Ginny. “And do you love Harry?”

“Yes,” said Ginny softly.

Hermione paused for a long moment before coming to stand next to Ginny peering over the garden. “You know Malfoy’s not very nice, don’t you?” said Hermione, as though they were gossiping in the school toilets.

Ginny smiled slightly. “I thought you said that you felt sorry for him?”

“Well, yes,” Hermione sniffed, “but that was before I found out he was sleeping with you all over Hogwarts.”

Ginny burst out laughing despite herself. “There was a little bit more to it than that, you know!”

The serious expression Hermione turned on her quelled Ginny’s laughter. “Then perhaps you should tell me.”

“Why?”

“Because if you don’t pick Harry,” Ginny’s eyes widened as she realised that Hermione knew her far too well, “someone’s going to have to explain to your thick-skulled brother and heartbroken fiancée what the hell is going on.”

“You sure you want to do that, Hermione?”

Hermione sighed. “No. But who else? You going to tell one of your brothers?” Ginny choked on her answer at the thought, causing Hermione to smile slightly. “And I have to say that I am rather curious as to how you and the not-so-esteemable Mr. Malfoy became involved.”

Ginny looked up at her and smiled, “This could take a while.” The noise of quidditch match over the Wizarding Wireless Network reached their ears and Hermione grinned.

“I think we have the time.”

*

Draco had forgotten the aura of dark magic that hummed through your veins, making your bones tingle and planting dark images in your mind. He’d been brought up surrounded by it, but now standing on the edge of Vincent Crabbe’s property Draco was suddenly reminded of much he had had grown to loathe it.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Blaise’s voice cut through the night air like a knife or, even, a dagger of morbidity.

“Yes, who would have imagined that Crabbe would have managed to drag his knuckles off the floor long enough to get married?”

“Draco.”

“I know, Blaise. And I don’t like it any more than you do. So let’s just get in there, set off some dark magic sensors and apparate for our lives, okay?”

Blaise watched him, his face shrouded in moonlight. “All right.”

Throwing the bag over the high gate, in a distinctly un-suave like way, Draco started to climb the gate thanking God that purebloods were so anti-Muggle that it never even occurred to them that someone might break in the Muggle way.

Ducking across the lawn with Blaise inches behind him, Draco suddenly felt like he was in a spy film. He could hear Blaise’s sniggers and stopped in the shadow of an oak tree to pin an annoyed glare on his partner-in-crime. “What on earth is the matter with you?”

Blaise dropped his hand from his mouth, sniggering; “Zabini. Blaise Zabini.”

Holding back a laugh, Draco rolled his eyes; “You do realise we could die, right?”

“But least we’ll do it in style.” replied Blaise, gesturing at their all black ensembles.

“Great,” muttered Draco as they set off across the lawn again, “least I’ll leave a pretty corpse.”

It didn’t take them long to reach the side door that Draco remembered from visits as a child. Blaise glanced each way before dodging from the bush he was hidden under to the small door set in the side of the house.

“How did you remember this was here anyway?” Blaise whispered at Draco, who was staring in concentration at the bricks around the side of the door.

“Crabbe used to employ someone who snuck extra sweets in to him through this door, “ he replied absently, before suddenly grinning and tapping three bricks in succession, the door swinging open before him.

The house, lived in as it was, had the old, musty smell so often found common in derelict houses. Draco ran his hand along the wall, not surprised when it came away dusty. He didn’t imagine that many people had wanted to do business with someone as notoriously pro-Voldermort as Crabbe. The only thing that surprised Draco was that they weren’t living in a tiny shack yet.

Draco’s appraisal of the cleanliness of the house was cut short by Blaise’s hand upon his shoulder. Jerking around Draco saw that the study they were looking for was just in front of them.

Catching sight of himself in a mirror, Draco grinned and altered a stray piece of hair, ignoring Blaise’s exasperated sigh. After ensuring he looked Dastardly enough Draco strode into the study and froze.

It was like being back in the manor. His father’s study had been so similar, the same sharp lines, the strong smell of brandy with a hint of something that seemed like burning flesh. Though all the dark objects were gone, Draco still felt the hum that permeated the air. His father had hidden the dark objects in his room, though the power emanated by them often seemed so strong to Draco that he could feel it. Crabbe’s father, if he remembered correctly, preferred to show off his dark heritage, leaving the objects scattered around the room like common knick-knacks.

Sucking in a deep breath and trying to rid his mind of his father’s deep, disapproving voice Draco moved to the centre of the room, leaning down to help Blaise unload some of the ingredients that would set off the dark magic monitor.

Draco was so busy snickering over the cover of the Book of Maleficus that displayed a coven of witches doing naughty things that he didn’t instantly notice the large figure that moved into the doorway. Blaise’s quick, indrawn breath made him glance up into the eyes of Vincent Crabbe, still beady in a face that was far too large for them. Perfecting a cool mask Draco smiled insolently, “Hello, Crabbe.”

The last thing Draco saw before he slipped into unconscious was Vincent Crabbe’s smug grin above his outstretched wand arm.

Pushing the back door open Ginny was hit with a riot of sound. Her brother’s yells, her nieces and nephew’s squeals, her sister-in-law’s laughter and her mother’s voice telling them all to ‘calm down!’

“What on earth?” wondered Hermione from by Ginny’s side. The sight they were presented with when they entered the living room was not one they had been expecting.

A troop of red headed adults were looping and weaving around the room on what looked to be their children’s toy broomsticks. Harry’s dark head was visible amongst the mass of red, particularly when it landed in front of Ginny, a huge grin spread across it.

“We’re re-enacting the quidditch match,” he explained, gleefully.

“Bet mum’s thrilled.” Ginny said wryly, spying Molly Weasley trying to drag Fred to the floor by the back of his jumper.

Harry laughed, looking over his shoulder before fixing his attention on the two girls in front of him. “So, you guys have a nice ‘girl talk’?”

Hermione shot Ginny a glance out of the corner of her eyes before replying, “Yes. It was very illuminating.”

Ginny felt herself blushing as she remembered telling Hermione her past with Draco and the amusement she’d felt as Hermione’s eyes had grown wider and wider with each new detail.

“Get down now!” Molly’s voice cut through the screams of everyone in the room until each of her older brothers had settled sheepishly on the ground.

“Sorry mum, it just seemed like a good way to keep the kids entertained,” said Bill, not looking at all sorry as he walked over to his wife, Fleur, and threw an arm around her shoulders.

“Bill!” replied Molly, who was busily repairing objects her son’s had broken, “If you think that you can have…”

Molly was cut off mid-tirade by a tall, dark man with bright, blue eyes suddenly appearing with a faint ‘pop’ in the middle of the living room. He looked round the room quickly and upon seeing Ginny breathed a sigh of relief.

“Zabini?” asked Ron, puzzled. Blaise’s gaze barely flickered to Ron, keeping it pinned to Ginny, his worried stare making her insides turn to ice.

“Oh, God,” she murmured, knowing instantly what was wrong by the look on his face. She tried to walk over to Blaise but her knees gave way beneath her and if it wasn’t for Hermione suddenly gripping her arm, she would have fallen to the floor in a sobbing heap.

“He’s at St Mungo’s.” Blaise said, coming to stand in front of her.

A sudden surge of hope shot through Ginny at the idea that perhaps Draco wasn’t already dead. That perhaps she would still have the chance to tell him the truth.

“Who? Who’s at St Mungo’s?” asked Harry, his voice a mixture of irritated and concerned.

And then suddenly there were a lot of people asking a lot of different questions and Blaise was still staring at her and she dragged her arm away from Hermione and then…the silence of the hospital ward was deafening.

Blaise released her arm from where he’d grabbed it to apparate away. He smiled weakly at Ginny. “You appeared like you needed to leave.”

Ginny nodded dumbly and headed over to the bed that she somehow knew contained Draco Malfoy.

Dropping into the seat next to his crumpled figure, Ginny ignored the curious looks that the medi-witches and wizards were giving her. She supposed that it was the story of the year. Draco Malfoy suddenly reappearing and then being joined by none other than Virginia Weasley.

But Ginny didn’t really care about any of that, all she could concentrate on was how cold Draco’s hand felt in hers. He looked so different without his trademark smirk, his hair all tangled around his head like a halo. She gently traced his still features and bit down on the urge to lean over and brush his slightly parted lips.

“Draco?” she murmured, her voice choked with tears. “Draco, wake up. You have to wake up.” She gave in then and brushed his mouth with hers. “I love you,” she whispered to his still form.

Hastily standing up she rubbed her eyes with her now free hand and strode over to where Blaise was standing, himself trying to ignore the stares of those around him and trying not to look like he’d been listening to Ginny talking to Draco.

“Blaise,” he turned towards her, trying to appear surprised at her voice though through his worry he failed magnificently. “can you watch him? I have to go and do something.”

He regarded the pretty, red-haired witch curiously. He’d never really paid her that much attention, even after he knew about her and Draco, but now he found himself truly admiring her. She was strong. He could see that much from a cursory glance.

Nodding, he glanced over at the bed where Draco’s prone figure lay. “Watch Draco?” he smirked, “I feel like I’ve being doing that since we were four and he got his head stuck through the banisters on my staircase.” He smiled inwardly at the small smile that invoked on Ginny’s worried face. “Of course, I’ll watch him,” he answered, his voice softer.

“Thanks,” she said before heading to the apparition point at the front of the ward.

*

The first thing Draco was aware of was the pain. For a split second he thought he was back on the battle field with his father’s hands wrapped around his throat and then awareness came back and he remembered the sight of Crabbe’s smug grin.

Forcing the pain, mind-numbing as it was, to the back of his mind as he‘d learnt to do as a child, Draco opened his eyes to see what looked like a common hospital ward. He tried to ask for a glass of water but all that came out was a cross between a croak and a gasp. “Steady,” said a soothing voice, pressing a glass of water into his hand.

Draco took the glass gratefully from Blaise and gulped greedily, working past the pain in his throat. “Thanks,” he croaked out, collapsing back on the bed. “What happened?” Blaise concerned face hovered over him.

“You don’t remember?”

Draco shook his head. “Oh, I remember all right, I just meant how the hell did I get here?” He gestured with a weak hand around the bustling medi-wizards and their patients.

Blaise smiled grimly. “After Crabbe hit you with that Ruina curse I apparated us the hell out of there and brought you to St Mungo’s where I am sure you will be given the best medical treatment possible.” Blaise’s smile grew crooked. “After all, you are a Malfoy.”

“Yay me,” mumbled Draco, “Crabbe really collapsed my lungs?” He laid a gentle hand on his sore ribs as Blaise nodded bleakly. “How long have I been asleep?”

Blaise ran a hand over his tired eyes. “Nearly a day.”

Draco glanced up at him, taking in his black outfit. “You’ve stayed here the entire time?” he asked, incredulously sitting up slightly.

“Well, no,” admitted Blaise, “I had to go phone Sarah and do a couple of things and then I had to go fetch Ginny.”

“Oh.” Breathed Draco, leaning back. “What?” He suddenly yelled, jerking upright with a painful gasp. “What do you mean you went to get Ginny?” His throat was seriously hurting him now and the medi-witch from across the room was gesturing that he shouldn’t be yelling in his state.

Blaise looked completely unconcerned and began to examine his fingernails. “Exactly what I said. She came here. I’m pretty sure she said she loved you. Well, she was crying a lot anyway, and then she left. She was only here an hour ago.”

“Loved me?” said Draco, an eyebrow raising before a grin started to spread onto his face. “But then she left?” he frowned.

“Said she had something to do.” Draco looked askance at Blaise.

“I’m lying on a hospital bed close to death and she had errands to run?” Blaise shrugged and Draco let his cool mask slip over his features obscuring the hope that had been there before. “Well, if she had more important things to do.”

*

Ginny knew exactly what to expect when she walked through the doors to the Burrow. Her brothers would yell at her, her mother would be concerned, her father would watch it all with an impartial eye and Harry would…Well, Harry would most likely be the perfect, concerned fiancée he was. The perfect fiancée who would never, ever get himself in St Mungo’s because he was handling dark objects to bring his enemies down.

Well, unless said enemy was Lord Voldermort, that is.

Breathing deeply, Ginny pushed open the door to the Burrow, anticipating and receiving the reactions of her various family members.

“Quiet!” Ginny yelled over the din. Harry, who had ran to her side the moment she walked in, looked startled. Her brothers were shocked too, it wasn’t often the normally reserved Ginny yelled at them. “You all need to be quiet because I need to talk to Harry.” She turned to Harry who was regarding her worriedly. “Can we talk?” he nodded dumbly, taking her hand. Ginny cocked her head at the other members of the room who were staring at her. “In private?”

Harry pushed open the front door, holding it open for Ginny to step through, not noticing her slipping off her engagement ring.

Standing in front of her in the perfect Summer sunshine Ginny was suddenly beset by an image of what Harry would look like on his wedding day. He would look exactly the same as he always did except that the goodness that was in him, that was him, would make him practically glow. He looked like just then, his hair rumpled, hands shoved in pockets looking like nothing more than a little boy.

“Ginny? What’s going on?” Harry asked and then, noticing the tears streaming down her face, he darted forward trying to put his arms around her. “Who was at St Mungo’s? Are they okay?”

Ginny pushed him away and stepped back to observe him through determined eyes, trying to keep her sobbing in check. “I can’t marry you Harry.”

His shocked and wounded expression made her look away, for fear of suddenly changing her mind because she, not sweet, little Ginny, could make Harry look that upset, could she?

“What?” he gasped out, his voice a mixture of angry and upset.

“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t meet his eyes, her hand blindly holding out the ring as tears blinded her vision.

“Why?” Harry’s tear-choked voice made her look up at him, the sight of the tears streaming down his face only made her cry harder.

“Because I can live without you,” she gasped out between sobs. Tentatively she placed a hand on his cheek like she had done a thousand times before and Harry grasped it just like he always did though now the action was tinged with desperation. “Don’t hate me.” He turned away from her, pushing her hand away. “I…I know it sounds horrible but it’s…it’s true.”

Harry span around, his green eyes blazing, though he didn’t speak. He didn’t look like he could manage words.

Ginny fell to the floor, clutching her arms around herself, trying to choke out an explanation amid her sobs. “I just, when he said he was in St Mungo’s, I thought…and I couldn’t…” Ginny closed her eyes, not even sure of Harry was still listening or even if he was still there. She gulped in air, her voice wavering as the sobs wracked her body. “I couldn’t live without him. And I love you but…” She looked up at Harry’s snort to find him stood over her, not crying, his expression stony, and she repeated herself with vehemence, “I do love you.”

“But not enough.” Harry said bitterly, his voice harsh.

“I can’t live without him.” Ginny stared up at him, seeing Harry flinch when she said ‘him’. “If he died…so would I. But if it was you…it would…it would hurt more than I could imagine, I would never fully get over you but…” her voice trembled as she looked into the eyes of the man who’s heart she was breaking, “I could live without you.”

“Who is he?” Ginny shook her head, refusing to answer and Harry laughed bitterly. “So how long has it been going on? How long have you been screwing some other guy behind my back?”

Ginny shook her head, stumbling to her feet, trying to put her hands on him.

“Don’t touch me!” he yelled, pushing her away. Ginny wrapped her arms around her body as he glared at her and said, his voice low and threatening, “How long, Ginny?”

“It’s been over for five years,” she replied. Harry just continued to stare at her and she didn’t know if he believed her or not.

They stayed like that, staring at each other for, what felt to Ginny, hours though in reality she registered the clock tolling the hour meaning she’d only come out of the house ten minutes earlier. Harry’s green eyes pinned her and she felt the tears still running down her cheeks, their wetness on her skin familiar now.

Abruptly Harry strode forward and yanked her arm out, taking the ring from her palm, where she had clutched it when she fell to the ground. He stared at it, spinning it around like Ginny had spent so many hours doing with Draco’s ring. As Ginny saw the tears start to run down Harry’s face again he turned and threw the ring into the distance with a yell of rage.

“Harry?” Ginny said weakly, starting to move forward.

Harry’s cold voice froze her in her tracks. “Don’t Ginny. Just don’t.” His back was stiff as he spoke, his shoulders straight, his posture perfect. “Just don’t ever fucking speak to me again.” And with that Harry strode away, his walk angry, every footstep pounding the earth as though it had been it that had caused him such grief.

Ginny watched him walk away from her just as she’d once watched another boy, who was more similar to the other then he’d ever admit, do the exact same thing. As Ginny fell to the floor once more, her sobs muffled by the hands she threw over her face she realised that this time it was all her own fault.

*

“Really Blaise, the thought was considerate but I really did think that you’d grown out of phase where smearing paint on pieces of paper was your idea of a good time,” Draco said, tentatively admiring a brightly coloured piece of paper.

Blaise just grinned and flopped in the chair next to Draco’s bed. “It’s a ‘Get Well Soon’ card.”

“Well obviously.” Draco drawled turning the card upside down to admire it from that angle.

“From the twins,” Blaise explained, still grinning, obviously finding the look of dismay on Draco’s face hilarious.

“Your spawn decided to make me a card?” He asked, horrified.

Blaise frowned and grabbed the card back from him. “Please can you not refer to them as my ‘spawn’?” Draco just shrugged, popping a grape from the bunch Blaise had given him into his mouth.

“Who sent the grapes?” Draco asked as he finished chewing.

“Those would be from Sarah,” Blaise said, his expression becoming closed.

“Your wife?” Draco asked receiving a nod in return. “What did you tell her about little old me?”

“I said you were hit by a dark curse and were now in a Wizarding hospital in London.”

Draco laughed, it fading when he saw the utterly serious expression on Blaise’s face. “You didn’t?”

Blaise ran a hand through his hair, making Draco notice how tired he was looking. “Yeah. It was a very long, very complicated talk that more often than not dissolved into a very long, very loud yelling match.”

Draco winced in sympathy. “Ouch,” he popped another grape in his mouth, “and she still sent me grapes?”

Blaise shrugged. “She’s a nice person.” Draco looked like he was going to ask another question, or make another remark that he deemed witty so Blaise quickly changed the subject, “So have you seen Ginny?”

The change that came over Draco was intense. His features closed off, revealing the Draco Malfoy that most of the world saw. Cool, calm, composed and someone you really don’t want to piss off. Draco threw three grapes into his mouth and chewed slowly to avoid answering the question. He went to grab some more fruit when Blaise leaned over and grabbed the bag of grapes away from him.

Shooting him an annoyed look, Draco replied. “No, Miss Weasley has not yet been to visit me. And I have no reason to believe that she will be visiting me at any point in the future. So I’d be much obliged if you’d just shut that big trap of yours on the subject.”

“Right,” drawled Blaise, his inflection startlingly similar to Draco’s, “then I suppose that Mr Malfoy has not seen today’s Daily Prophet.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, the only sign he was at all curious as Blaise tossed the paper at him. His other eyebrow joined the first as above the article declaring ‘Son of Death Eater Eats Death and Spits it Back Out’ and ‘Zabini Back in the Groove’ there was a smiling picture of Harry and Ginny with the headline ‘Boy Who Lived is the Boy Who Got Dumped’.

Draco smiled crookedly, leaning against the headboard, hands clasped under his head.

Blaise groaned, “You know, she’s probably very upset over the whole thing.”

“Yep,” replied Draco, his grin not lessening, “but you know she picked me. And in my father’s words,” he looked at Blaise, “ ‘nyah, nyah, nah, nyahn, nyah, Potter’”

“Your father, Lucius Malfoy, owner of the savviest cane in England, L’Oreal ‘because I’m worth it’ hair, a sharp tongue he used on you frequently and an even sharper sword collection he used on you even more frequently said ‘nyah, nyah, nah, nyahn, nyah, Potter’?” Blaise asked dubiously.

Draco shrugged, his hands still behind his head, a smug grin on his face. “Nah, but I thought it suited the occasion.”

Ginny had decided that Summer was the month she hated most of all. It used to be Autumn because she hated the way that the rain made her hair frizz but a cursory glance over the past week had made her realise that she detested Summer for it’s bright sun and warm temperature and all round blahness. At least she lived in England and occasionally the bright sunlight was shattered by sheets of rain. But not today.

Ginny could see the sunlight filtering through her curtains and steadfastly ignored it as she buried her head underneath the duvet. The last thing she wanted was to look at the bright, happy world. What she wanted was to never leave the comfort of her bed cocoon ever again.

Unfortunately this wasn’t going to be the case. “Ginny.” The voice had been saying her name for the past five minutes and Ginny was no nearer to poking her head out from under the covers then she had been when it had first started. “Fine,” said the voice and before Ginny could so much as whimper in protest the duvet was unceremoniously tugged off her, leaving Ginny to whine and curl herself into the foetal position, closing her eyes against the bright sunlight. “Ginny,” the voice persisted sounding rather annoyed now and once again before she could mutter a word she was suddenly tugged up off the bed into a standing position.

Slowly opening her eyes Ginny found herself looking at a broad chest. Not Hermione then, her brain registered. She glanced up at the concerned face and said tiredly; “Hello, Charlie.”

*

“But I want to go home,” whined Draco, perched in bed amid a pile of fluffy, white pillows. Blaise, reading a magazine and steadfastly ignoring Draco’s pleas, rolled his eyes.

“So you’ve been saying.”

“I’m ridiculously bored.”

“So you’ve been saying.”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Are you going to say anything other than ‘I want to go home’?”

“I’m ridiculously bored.”

“And that?”

“No.”

“Then I’m not going to dignify you with a proper answer.”

“By Merlin’s beard, Blaise, I want to go home!” Blaise chuckled at the old phrase that he hadn’t heard in quite a while and grinned at Draco’s unconscious re-assimilation into the magical world. “I’m perfectly fine, now. Watch.” to prove his point Draco breathed in deeply and then let it out in an exasperated gasp. “See? I can do that whole breathing thing in my sleep now. In fact, I’m pretty sure that I am doing it in my sleep as apparently the fact that my chest is moving up and down and the fact that my heart is beating indicates that I am very much alive.” He beat his fists against his chest as an example of his alive state until all the energy seemed to drain out of him and he turned suddenly contrite eyes on Blaise. “I just want to go home.”

Blaise observed Draco’s apologetic expression and said softly; “And where is home, Draco?”

Draco shrugged and began to absent-mindedly fiddle with his pillow. “I don’t know. There’s always the hotel I was staying in and don’t forget that I do own that looming monstrosity that my ancestors declared to be a Manor House even though anyone within their right mind could see it was a castle. I mean, there are dungeons and have you seen the turrets on the upper east…” He trailed off at Blaise’s look, “ Anyway, I suppose that I’m number one on the Death Eater’s hit list now, even more so than before so I should probably find somewhere low profile.” Draco furrowed his brow in concentration, “I wonder if there are any villas in the South of France I could pop down to?”

“Draco,” said Blaise comfortingly, “you certainly can’t return to that musty old great castle of yours and a hotel room is far too impersonal and really, the South of France? This time of year? With your skin? And well there’s something that I have to…hey! What exactly did you do to deserve a higher ranking on the on the Death Eater’s most wanted list than me?”

Draco smiled, “Lets face it, Blaise, I’m the big fish here, a shark, if you will. You’re more of a goldfish.”

“It’s nice to know the Ruina curse only collapsed your lungs and not your ego,” Blaise replied wryly.

“Like anything that Crabbe could throw at me could collapse my ego.”

“I don’t think a nuclear warhead could collapse your ego.”

“It’s nice to see that you’ve come finally come to understand that, Blaise.”

Blaise shook his head and tried to get the conversation back on track before they started to throw playground hexes. “Anyway, I think you should perhaps stay in one of the hotels up Diagon Alley.”

Draco observed him as though he was crazy. “What and find my door battered in at three in the morning by some vengeful moron who thinks that a good way to kill a traitor is to gut him and hang him upside down from a lamppost? I think not, Blaise.”

“Actually there are very few vengeful morons prowling Diagon Alley anymore.” Blaise threw a copy of the Daily Prophet onto Draco’s lap, causing him to whinge.

“Blaise, really. Can’t you just keep me up to date on current events? All this reading is playing havoc on my eyesight.”

Blaise just poked at the newspaper. Draco sighed dramatically and picked it up, scanning the headlines. His mouth fell open and his eyes opened wide, an expression that didn’t suit the normally unflappable Malfoy. Blaise laughed at the sight of it.

“How?” managed Draco, his expression still completely startled.

“I followed our plan.”

“Blaise! You could have died!” Blaise gave a one shouldered shrug.

“It was nothing!”

“You just got the majority of remaining Death Eaters thrown into Azkaban and you’re sat there saying it wasn’t a big deal!”

“No, I said it was nothing. I personally think that it is a big deal.”

Draco stared at him, his gaze flickering from the paper to his friend until he did something that took both him and Blaise by surprise. The hug that Draco bestowed upon Blaise was short and accompanied by many manly slaps on the back but the fact that the normally restrained Draco Malfoy had just hugged one of his oldest and dearest friends, that he had never hugged before, was immense.

Drawing back Draco grinned at the shocked look on Blaise’s face. “Thank you.”

Blaise shrugged again, regaining his composure. “Really Draco however much you like to imagine that the universe revolves around you I had my own reasons, too.” Blaise grinned. “Jessica turned her sister’s hair blue last week.”

Draco grinned back. “Congratulations on the little witch though I’d prefer it if you didn’t rock my entire belief system like that.”

“I’ll remember that for next time.”

*

“Charlie.” Ginny said tiredly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing here?”

“I was worried,” Charlie answered as though explaining something to a small child.

“Well, no reason to be. I’m fine.” Ginny answered, her voice wavering.

“Right,” said Charlie, disbelievingly, sitting next to her and dropping an arm over her shoulder.

Ginny let her head rest on his shoulder, leaning in for support. “Sometimes I regret it, that’s all.”

“And most of the time?”

“I regret hurting Harry but then I think about…” she looked up at him and gulped, “I think about the other guy and know I made the right decision but then I can’t bring myself to go and talk to him because I know you’ll hate me so much.”

“Ginny, we could never hate you,” said Charlie, hugging her and diplomatically avoiding the subject of the other guy.

Ginny leaned away from him and stood up. “Oh, you would.”

Charlie looked up at her quizzically. “Ginny, who could possibly be so bad that you’re this worried. I mean obviously, mum will hate anyone who’s not Harry…”

“Charlie! Way to help.”

Charlie held his hands up. “Hey, it’s the truth! But who is it?”

Ginny took a deep breath and cringed as she looked at Charlie’s trusting face. “Draco Malfoy,” she whispered, though the name sounded unbearably loud to Ginny’s ears.

Charlie looked shocked for a moment then stood up and walked over to Ginny, letting out a low whistle. “Wow, Gin, Ron’s going to kill you.”

Ginny groaned and sat back heavily on the bed. “I know that! And Fred and George will kill me, and dad will be disappointed and Bill will just be Bill and eugh!”

“How the hell did you get involved with Draco Malfoy anyway?”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Long story,” she took a deep breath, “but I love him. I really do.”

Charlie watched her as she said this and then taking a deep breath of his own he pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet out of his back pocket and tossed it at her. “Then you best see this.”

Ginny’s eyes scanned the page before she looked up, shocked, at Charlie, grabbed her wand and apparated out of her flat, still wearing her pyjamas.

*

Draco was perusing the hospital magazine, occasionally poking some of the patients in the photos with his wand and giggling at their annoyed looks, especially when those wearing casts fell out of their beds, when an unexpected, but very welcome, voice made him look up.

“Hello, Draco.”

She looked tired but there was no doubt that she was Ginny Weasley. Albeit Ginny Weasley dressed in pyjamas with little ducks on them.

“Ginny,” said Draco dropping the magazine to the floor and making himself sit up straighter. “You’re here.”

Ginny smiled weakly at him and perched on the chair next to the bed, her fingers nervously playing with her pyjama bottoms. “Hello, Draco.”

“I think we covered that, Ginny.”

She flushed and stumbled, “Well, it’s just… I saw the Daily Prophet.”

Draco looked at her knowingly. “So did I.”

Draco’s grey eyes fixed on her melted most of Ginny’s nervousness away and she snickered. “Oh, I bet you laughed.”

Draco looked offended, “I’ll have you know I was very mature about the whole matter.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows, “So no taunts about how much better you are than Harry?”

Draco raised a hand to his heart. “Who, me? I was the epitome of a perfect gentleman.”

“Uh-huh,” laughed Ginny, “because you’ve always been a perfect gentleman.”

Draco smirked at her, “Didn’t hear you complaining about my lack of gentlemanly virtues before.”

Ginny just smirked right on back, “Well, of course not because I was getting something out of the lack of those virtues.”

“You’re right there,” Draco furrowed his brow in concentration, “I mean a gentleman wouldn’t have dragged you behind the greenhouse and…”

“Draco!” Ginny interrupted him, leaning forward to swat at him. As she did so, Draco grabbed her wrist and pulled her on to the bed with him so that their she lay half on his chest, her head just below his chin. She glared up at him accusingly. “You meant to do that didn’t you.”

Draco grinned, intoxicated by the feel of her so close to him, “Possibly. Are you complaining?”

Ginny gazed up at him, letting her fingers run through his fine blonde hair. “I’m not sure, yet.”

Draco frowned. “Why?”

“I only just broke up with Harry.”

“But you did break up with Potter.”

“Yes, but he’s going to kill you when he finds out, and my family will hate you and there are still going to be people out there who want to see you dead and…” Ginny’s tirade was cut off by the sensation of Draco’s lips pressed against hers.

She let herself fall into the feel of him, a distant part of her mind registering that he had pulled her closer, and that they still weren’t close enough. She tangled her hand in his hair, her other hand trailing over his broad chest. Draco’s hands ran through her hair, his kiss intense and desperate against her.

He pulled away finally and looked at her, her hair a mess from where his hands had been, her lips swollen, her eyes misty. He ignored the stares and whispers from the medi-wizards and witches around them and just gazed into her eyes, letting his finger run along her lips. Ginny raised her hand to his face and Draco moved it away, smiling as he saw the silver ring lying on the finger on her left hand.

He toyed with her hand as he continued to watch her, both of them silent, broken by Draco whispering into her ear. “It won’t be easy, Ginny, but then, has anything ever been easy for us?” She smiled sadly, agreeing with his words and unconsciously moved closer to him. “I just have one thing to say to you,”

Ginny looked up at him with questioning eyes and Draco knew in that instant that he would never, ever let her go again no matter what happened, he leant in to kiss her again leaving her breathless and then trailed kisses up her jaw till he murmured into her ear the words; “Nice pyjamas.”

THE END

A/N: Don’t throw things at me for the open ending! I have a sequel as well as prequel in my head! Strange really, I had this whole story mapped out and then got such a complex history for it that I could easily write a prequel, and I think I will. Especially because it means more Blaise. The sequels will most likely be short stories rather than a series though. And all these might take a while because I should be doing coursework! Hell, I should be writing an American Studies essay right now! (Btw, any good websites on slavery as a cause of the Civil War will be much obliged! J )

And then I’m a student so I have to fit in all that hanging out, getting drunk, sitting in the pub time. See what I have to deal with? Anyway, thank you for all the reviews they really do encourage me to write and you are all so nice! Thanks again!