Every time that Draco had stumbled into a conversation with Ginny she'd been alone. Now that he was actually looking for her to talk with she was constantly surrounded by people. If it wasn't Oafish Dean, it was the stupid trio and if it wasn't either of them it was just some random fifth years whose only conversations seemed, to Draco, to consist of discussions on hair and the opposite sex.
Now was such a time. Draco scowled at the mass of giggling girls in front of him and rolled his eyes as one of them noticed him stood behind them and smiled shyly. He glowered back at her until she turned away, whispering something into Ginny's ear. Ginny turned to look at him then, her expression blank. Draco stared at her, his eyes willing her to stay.
She kept his gaze and as the other girls moved on Ginny stayed where she was, her arms crossed in front of her, her expression stony.
"Weasley," Draco started, surprising himself with the lack of a sneer in his voice. Ginny began to tap her foot impatiently, her eyebrows rising as she waited for him to continue. Draco stopped, realising he had no idea what to say. Apologise, the word rose to the forefront of his mind but Draco's everyday personality did nothing but laugh at it. Malfoy's, particularly Draco Malfoy, did not apologise.
Ginny sighed. "Is there something you actually want, Malfoy, or do you just want to spend the afternoon drooling over me?"
Draco's eyes widened at the implication and he felt the familiar snag of anger. "I'd be more likely to drool over a hippocampus than you, Weasley."
"Then could you possibly hurry up and say what you were going to say? I have better places to be and better people to see," Ginny's eyes narrowed imperceptibly, "Unless of course, you're just going to threaten me again. Learnt anything else interesting since last week?"
Draco blanched and ran his hand through his hair. He missed the slightly shocked look on Ginny's face as she watched him mess up his normally perfect hair. "Look, about that."
" 'That'? Oh, you mean how you threatened me when all I was doing was trying to show some concern for you?"
"Yes, that. Well, I just wanted to say that maybe I didn't go about it in the best way."
Ginny looked incredulous and then a slow grin spread across her face. "Malfoy, are you trying to apologise?"
"No!" Yelled Draco, vehemently, inwardly wondering what the hell possessed him to seek out the youngest Weasley. Though he knew that it was because of the gnawing guilt that had kept him awake for days, seeing her angry face everytime that he closed his eyes. Recalling his sleepless nights, it occurred to Draco that apologising might be a good idea. "Fine, yes. I was trying to apologise."
Ginny burst out laughing as Draco looked on indignantly. "What?" he asked irritably.
"Oh, nothing, Malfoy," she smiled, "you're the only one who could apologise with a sneer in their voice. Now, say you're sorry."
"What!"
"Say it."
"Fine. Sorry," mumbled Draco. Ginny grinned. "How can you be so fine with all this?"
Ginny shrugged, her expression wistful. "I've had worse done to me, Malfoy. Don't think that you're the epitome of pure evil or anything."
"Don't tell me that, I just got the business cards printed up," Draco said, forgetting for an instant that he was talking to a Gryfinndor, the banter rolling of his tongue.
Ginny laughed. "Sorry, maybe you could add 'im' and be the 'epitome of impure evil'."
Draco grinned, an expression that shocked Ginny due to it's lack of malevolence. "Surely, that's just as bad."
"Bad? Why, Malfoy, I assumed you'd like the title of pure or impure evil. Look good on your CV and all."
The smile faded from Draco's face. "I sincerely doubt that that's the qualities that rulers of evil look for. Wouldn't want a challenger in their ranks, now would they?"
Ginny paused for a moment, her expression serious. "What do they look for? Battered and bruised bodies?"
Draco span to face her, all humour gone from his face leaving a cold mask. "I thought we'd agreed to let that drop?"
Ginny stood firm. "Nope, we agreed that I forgave you for threatening me over it, but no dropping of the matter was discussed."
"Well, let it drop."
"No."
"Why, would I tell you a damn thing, Weasley?" Draco hissed, "So you can run off and tell your little noble friends? The choice was mine."
"You chose to have that…" she spat the words out, "that done to you?"
He leaned in close to her, practically feeling the anger radiating from her. "Yes."
Ginny's eyes flashed up at him. "Then you're a fool."
Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps. But I'm not a fool that you have to worry about."
"What if I already do?"
"Ginny," she started at the sound of her first name, "you'd worry over a Nundu if it looked at your with a sweet expression."
"Don't worry, Draco," a thrill that Draco was sure Ginny hadn't intended ran through him when she said his name, "you're never in danger of having a sweet expression."
"But yet I'm in danger of having you worry over me."
"Why is my worry a danger to you?" Ginny asked weakly, her eyes flittering over the planes of his handsome face.
"It's not," Draco said bluntly, "It's a danger to you." Ginny's eyes widened.
"You're in that deep." It wasn't a question. Her eyes flicked to his arm and Draco covered it instinctively, though intellectually he knew there was nothing to hide.
"Don't make me threaten you again," Draco implored, hating how she made his voice feeble.
She looked up at him with wide, brown eyes. "What makes you think I'd listen?"
He stared at her for a moment, something flickering between them when a shout interrupted them.
"Ginny!"
Her eyes widened in horror and she pushed Draco into a doorway, covered by shadows, with a frenzied; "Ron!"
Leaving Draco hidden in shadow, Ginny ran down the hall, intercepting her brother as he walked down.
Draco watched him look curiously over her shoulder. "What you been doing?"
"I just went for a walk," Draco was impressed at how easily the lie seemed to roll off her tongue.
"Right," said Ron, "Well, you best go pack, don't want to miss the train, do you?"
Draco could practically see Ginny's eye roll. "I'm not you Ron, I packed yesterday. And I'm not five, you know."
"I know, I know," Ron said as he draped an arm over her shoulder to lead her away so involved in his explanation of big brothers and little sisters that he missed Ginny's glance over his shoulder.
Draco didn't though and while he couldn't quite work out what the expression meant, he couldn't rid his mind of the look in her eyes the entire way back to King's Cross.
*
Christmas had certainly lost it's appeal since he'd been a child. Draco stared out of the window of the carriage into the busy London station. The student's face shone with the relaxation of a good holiday, one in which they'd most likely eaten much more than they should have and received stupid little presents that they had been thrilled by. Draco let his head drop back against the upholstered seat. Then why did he get to feel like he'd been dragged through a impenetrable door and then back again?
His wand lay in his hand and Draco let his long fingers caress it. That was the reason. He held his wand up, admiring it in the faint light from outside. Draco had always loved his wand, the ability to cast complex spells had rolled off his tongue as easily as the words of the language he'd been raised in. He weaved it through the air, leaving a trail of green sparks in it's wake.
And now he could do so much more with it. He remembered the 'lessons' he had learnt this holiday, this time so much more like actual lessons. He remembered the dead look of the creatures that he had killed, the words to the death curse running off his tongue, no different to the words he would mutter for a levitation of a glass.
They looked like crumpled balls of fur when he had been finished with them. He remembered his and Blaise's joke so long ago with Snape and winced.
Least he hadn't thrown them off the top of the North Tower. No, a voice whispered viciously in his head, you just tortured them to death. Draco swore and gripped his head in his hands, lettings his memories dissipate until he felt himself come back to normal.
"Draco?" Pansy's voice cut through his thoughts and he looked up hurriedly.
"Hello, Pansy." She came to sit opposite him, Draco instantly noting the dark circles under her eyes. He stared at her for a moment until she met his eyes, a gentle shake of her head telling him that she didn't want to talk about it.
"Christmas sucks, doesn't it?" Pansy asked bitterly, her usually eloquent tones missing.
Draco laughed at her phrasing, agreeing bitterly. "Yes. Yes it does."
Suddenly Pansy leaned over and gripped his hand, her eyes desperate. "My father he…" She choked on the words, and Draco knew that this was something she wasn't supposed to share. "I don't know if I can, Draco," she sobbed out.
Staring into her watery eyes, Draco gripped her hand back. "I know," her eyes lit up hopefully until Draco pushed her hand away and laughed bitterly, "but what else can we do?"
Pansy looked as though she was about to cry, a sight that shocked Draco, until after a few deep breathes she seemed to regain herself and leant back. "I know," she mumbled, her eyes fixed on the station outside, "I will always do what is best for the cause."
There was something about her words that disturbed Draco but he wasn't given the chance to ask as at that moment Blaise ambled in with Teddy not far behind. "Crabbe and Goyle are raiding the food cart and Millicent's keeping them in check," Teddy supplied helpfully as he dropped into the seat next to Pansy.
Blaise sat down more gingerly next to Draco, who shot him a sympathetic glance. Pansy watched them both before tossing two small bottles at each of them.
"Drink it," she ordered in a maternal fashion. Blaise looked at his dubiously as Draco gulped his down, keeping his eyes fixed to Pansy.
Blaise experimentally sniffed his and Pansy rolled her eyes. "Do you want to go into the Great Hall looking like you were bashed upside the head with a skillet?"
"A skillet?" asked Teddy curiously. No-one bothered to reply to him, with Blaise slowly sipping the potion, his face screwing up at each taste, and Draco watching Pansy steadily.
She smiled grimly at him before saying bitterly; "I'm helping."
*
Draco was finding that it really was very difficult to miss Ginny Weasley even in a school of hundreds of students. That bright red hair acted as a beacon and for that Draco was grateful. It meant that the sight of it gave him an opportunity to run.
"Blaise, really could you imagine Pansy dating anyone who isn't some Slytherin high-flier?"
Blaise shrugged. "I don't know, a couple of the more ambitious Ravenclaws might meet her standards."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I barely meet Pansy's standards. A Ravenclaw certainly won't do."
"You only reach her standards because you're supposed to marry her."
Draco winced. "Ah, yes. My marriage to the lovely Miss. Parkinson, won't that be grand?"
Laughing Blaise dropped a friendly hand on his shoulder. "It'll be fine," he said, emphasising each word.
"Sure. That's if Pansy sorts herself out."
Blaise stopped Draco with a hand on his chest and turned a concerned expression on his friend. "Is she all right? I mean, I know she seemed a little off when we first got back but she's been fine since." Blaise looked dubious. "Right?"
Draco sighed tiredly, "I don't know." He met Blaise's incredulous gaze. "I really don't!" He defended himself.
Blaise held up a placating hand and the pair began to walk along the corridor again. That was when Draco saw her.
Ginny was walking towards him, chatting with Granger. Draco placed a restraining hand on Blaise's arm, ignoring the boy's indignant glance. Granger scowled at him as they drew level but Draco ignored her as well, his attention fixated on Ginny.
Her eyes shot to meet his briefly and then they turned back to Granger, not revealing anything to Draco.
"What was that about?" Blaise asked angrily, throwing Draco's hand off his arm.
"Do you really think that harassing Mudbloods in the corridor and getting ourselves in trouble with our Muggle-loving Headmaster is the best way to earn the Dark Lord's favour, Blaise?" Draco asked scornfully in a low voice.
Blaise looked suitably chastised, though he scuffed the wall with his shoe petulantly. Draco rolled his eyes and tugged Blaise's robes.
"Stop being such a child," Blaise made an indignant noise and muttered something that sounded like 'hypocrite' until Draco fixed him with a knowing look and he stopped, "Want to go practice fencing?"
Blaise smirked. "And beat you without even trying? Of course."
Walking along, Draco snorted. "What? Will my hands be tied behind my back?"
"No, it will be my pure skill." Blaise said in a mock arrogant air.
"So, I'll be blind, right?"
"Skill, Draco, skill."
"Am I going to lose both legs between here and the practice room?"
"Skill."
"Oh wait, is a heavy object going to render me unconscious so you can just poke me with the sword?"
*
Shooting glances at Ginny across the Great Hall over breakfast had become something of a hobby for Draco. Fervently praying that no-one noticed was his other favourite occupation. Draco sighed, taking a large bite of his toast as he watched Ginny do the same on the other side of the Hall.
He couldn't talk to her, Draco didn't trust himself when it came to being around the youngest Weasley, so all he had left was fleeting glances across the crowded hall and through the teeming corridors that in reality did nothing but make him want to talk to her even more.
So intent was Draco in his appraisal of Ginny that he nearly missed the swooping owls that flew through the hall, depositing papers as they went. Draco retrieved his and steadfastly ignoring the curious stares of the others he dropped it to the side. Continuing to eat his toast, Draco didn't feel the need to retrieve the paper until shocked gasps when up around the hall.
A sinking feeling filled Draco and his eyes met Blaise's over the table. Filled with foreboding, Draco grabbed the Daily Prophet, mindful of the other Slytherin's gazes locked on him.
The headline stared back at him, turning Draco's insides to ice. 'Malfoy Escapes'. It was simple for the normally flamboyant Prophet but Draco didn't need to read any more, his heart had already stopped. Or he was fairly sure that the feeling in his chest was similar to what people must feel when their hearts stopped. He didn't dare meet Blaise's gaze, merely tossing the paper at him.
Draco pushed his chair back slowly, not registering Pansy taking the half-eaten toast from his hand and placing it back on his plate. He didn't feel her hand on his arm, or hear her voice saying his name. He didn't notice Blaise yelling after him as he walked steadily from the room, his face a cold mask, his steps even and echoing in the silent room as they all watched him go.
*
As he lay spread-eagled on his bed, Draco distantly decided that he had spent far too much time admiring the canopy of his bed. It couldn't be healthy for a sixteen year-old boy to spend that much time in his bed, doing nothing but staring at the roof of it.
Draco fixed his mind on this rambling detail, refusing to acknowledge the enormity of what he had just read.
His father had just escaped from Azkaban. Everytime the thought skittered across his mind it hit him like a fist to the gut. He should be thrilled, he knew that. He should have walked out of that hall with a smirk firmly in place, showing everyone that Malfoy's were better than them and they couldn't be kept back by the pompous Ministry.
Instead he'd all but ran out, unsure of how he was supposed to deal with the fact that his father, the man he had always wanted to be, had just escaped from jail. Draco's lip curled up involuntarily in disgust. His father was a fugitive.
And Draco had always wanted to be just like him.
His mind whirling with the thought Draco began to aggressively punch the mattress, not caring that anyone could walk in at any time and disturb him, and see the tears that were threatening to run down his face. Punch, he wanted to be his father, punch, his father was a fugitive, punch, his father was worthless, punch. Draco fell back against the bed, dry sobs wracking his chest as he tried to sort through the tumult of emotions that were careening through him.
The small owl that swooped through the window was barely noticed by Draco until it found it's way through his curtains and dropped the letter on his chest. Staring at the plain envelope, addressed with his name, Draco felt nausea rise up his throat.
He'd know his father's handwriting anywhere.
*
Ginny was waiting for him when he emerged from the dungeons later that night. Draco took one look at her as he swept past her on the steps to the Great Hall and kept on walking, causing Ginny to quickly stand and hurry after him.
"What do you want, Weasley?" Draco asked coldly, his attention on the doors in front of him.
"I thought we'd got over your inability to let me worry about you?" Ginny said irritably, practically jogging to keep up with him.
"Apparently not." Draco answered pushing on the doors to the grounds. He turned to face her, his expression impassive. "Go away, Ginny."
He saw her start as he used her name again and then he closed the doors on her, keeping her in the warm, safe castle and leaving him to face the dark, cold grounds.
He waited a moment to see if she would follow and pushed down the pang of regret when she didn't. Draco tugged his cloak around him tighter and strode along the path, past the icy lake, where the giant squid was unsuccessfully batting the ice, and not stopping till he reached the edges of the forbidden forest.
He stared at the trees, their gnarled hands reaching for each other, creating a maze for anyone who ventured into it. Draco couldn't see more than three feet in and he ignored the fear that ran down his spine at the memory of the things that resided in the forest. Sucking in a deep breath, he pushed past the bristly undergrowth that lined the trees and climbed through the mass of branches that inhabited the forest.
Finally finding himself in the small clearing that he had been directed to, Draco resolutely ignored his misgivings at being in such a foreboding place. Trying not to notice the strange sounds that were emanating from the darkness around him, Draco grabbed the small sachet that rested in his pocket and tossed the powder on the ground in a rough circle.
"Incendio," he muttered, watching the flames rise from the forest floor, purple and ethereal in the darkness. Draco stepped towards them, feeling the chill that arose from the flames, a contradictory temperature that always surprised Draco. "Father?"
Slowly, an image of Lucius Malfoy began to inhabit the space between the flames, his body grainy at first and then becoming more solid as the spell took hold.
Draco wondered where his father was holding up his end of the spell, and as he slowly began to take shape he watched him critically. His face and body were more gaunt than before, his clothes were rags and his normally immaculate hair hung in tangled clumps around his face.
But he was still Lucius Malfoy. And Draco still felt the power and aura of authority that radiated from him, an aura that apparently even Azkaban couldn't destroy.
Lucius spent a few moments critically evaluating Draco, and the cool eyes that slid over him were so familiar that Draco didn't even feel the need to squirm. After he was apparently satisfied with what he saw, Lucius smiled at his son. "Draco, it is good to see you again."
Draco nodded acquiescence. "You too, Father."
Lucius fixed him with piercing eyes, that were so like his own. "I hear that you have come far since I left you."
"Yes, Father," Draco paused, unsure of how much information to volunteer. "I have begun my training."
Lucius raised an eyebrow, reminding Draco of who he inherited the expression off. "Begun? My son, I heard that you were practically finished with it."
"I suppose, Father." Draco didn't elaborate, his eyes leaving his father's knowing gaze and straying over his clothes. The sight that met him made Draco's eyebrows rise in shock. "Are you hurt?"
Lucius looked confused, an expression that didn't sit well on his face. "What? No."
"But," Draco gestured at his clothes, "the blood."
Lucius looked down at himself and laughed, a real, humour-filled laugh. "Oh, that is not mine," he smiled at his son. "I had to kill a Muggle for his clothes."
Draco fought to keep the disgust from his expression. "You killed a Muggle?"
Lucius stared at his son as though he didn't know him. "Yes, Draco, I required his clothes."
Draco nodded hurriedly. "Of course, sorry Father. I was just worried about you."
Though still eyeing him warily, this seemed to mostly convince Lucius. "All right," his eyes suddenly lit with manic glee, "I must go. But Draco," he reached a hand out, as though to pat Draco's shoulder but instead he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the grinning skull and entwined serpent. "We shall be Death Eaters, together, my son."
Draco managed a watery smile in return before his father's figure became more indistinct, still proudly showing him the Mark.
As the flames died down, Draco dropped to the forest floor, hugging himself. His father had killed a Muggle. Draco shook his head, his father had killed lots of Muggles. He would kill lots of Muggles in the service of the Dark Lord. Draco fingered his clothes, they were what his own father had taken a life for. It wasn't in the service of the Dark Lord, it was for the thrill. He could have stolen clothes, he needn't have killed a man.
Draco rubbed his arm where the Dark Mark would be. We'll be Death Eaters together.
Draco sat there till the faint rays of sunlight began to penetrate the canopy of branches above him, a single thought running through his mind.
I don't want to be my father.
*
Draco walked around in a daze for days. His friend's attempts to draw him out of his funk didn't work in the slightest and soon only Blaise was poking him in the arm during mealtimes in a hope to get him to contribute to the inane discussion around him.
He also had to avoid the curious gazes of the teachers who were watching him constantly. He imagined that it must appear strange to them. He was Draco Malfoy and his father's escape should have had him sneering and taunting Potter and his little cronies all day long.
Instead he did everything in his power to avoid the trio and their assorted tag-alongs, going as far as to stop glaring at them through Potions. Even Snape looked shocked at that change in classroom dynamics, though Draco often thought he saw something in the teacher's expression that looked almost like pride.
Draco was perfectly happy continuing this way but his friends had other ideas.
"It's an intervention," Teddy declared happily, hopping up onto a table in the deserted classroom his fellow Slytherins had dragged Draco into.
Draco looked incredulous. "Never heard of it."
Looking slightly fearful, Teddy explained. "It's a Muggle thing. Well, an American Muggle thing."
Pansy groaned at the expression on Draco's face as Teddy said this. "Theodore, I thought that I made it perfectly clear you weren't to do anything but sit and look, well, not pretty exactly, more like a piece of furniture that occasionally had coherent thoughts?"
Teddy shrugged and jerked his finger at Crabbe and Goyle who were stood by the door, like two lumbering monoliths. "I thought that that was their job?"
Draco held up a hand, retrieving the silence he wanted. "Let me get this straight. You drag me into a room against my will, to have some bizarre Muggle psychoanalytic 'intervention'?"
Blaise stood from his slouching position against the wall and moved towards him. "Yes," he said, coming to stand barely a foot away from Draco, "and you're not going anywhere till we work out what's up with you."
Draco stared defiantly back at him. "There is nothing wrong with me. I'm just dandy. Of course, I've not been my most buoyant the last week but if it makes you feel better, Blaise, I could perform a one-man show of 'Gertrude and the Angry Hinkypunk' in the middle of the Great Hall complete with shadow puppets."
"Would you include the musical numbers?"
"Blaise, I'm fine," Draco insisted, exasperated. Blaise stared back at him evenly.
Pansy spoke up then, her eyes flickering between the two boys. "You just didn't have the reaction we expected you to have when your father escaped, Draco."
Draco turned to look at her and noticed that her eyes held that hopeful air again. "Maybe I just realised that I don't want to be like my father."
Pansy sat up, her hands gripping the table, knuckles white. "You mean…" she trailed off, her eyes wide.
"Yes, what do you mean by that, Draco?" Blaise growled threateningly, spinning Draco around with an iron hand clasped around his shoulder. Draco looked pointedly down at the hand until Blaise moved it and Draco then raised his eyes to look at his oldest friend.
"I mean I want to be better than him." Blaise stared at him for a moment and Draco wondered how he would interpret what he had said. Teddy had breathed a sigh of relief, Pansy had looked as though her last hope had been dashed though she had covered it quickly but he knew that Blaise, out of all of them, would see the other meaning of his words.
But Blaise just nodded and left the room, the others following him. Pansy moved back for a moment to give Draco and impulsive hug, allowing him to see the wetness in her eyes and then she was gone, leaving Draco alone in the room.
He sighed deeply and pushed open the door, entering the empty corridor. He came up short when he found the corridor not as empty as he had previously assumed with Ginny standing directly in front of him.
"You know," he started conversationally, "I heard that stalking was generally only an activity that psychopaths participated in, Miss Weasley. Something you'd care to share?"
Ginny didn't smile. "I saw your little Slytherin buddies and figured that you might be around."
"We do all flock together, that's true. We can't stand being around people who don't have as good hair."
Suddenly, Ginny seemed to lose her composure letting out an angry; "Argh! For God's sake, Malfoy, could you possibly stop with the witticisms and actually talk to me like a normal person?"
"I could try," Draco answered solemnly, "What is it that you want?"
Ginny stared up at him. "You've been avoiding me. I want to know why?"
"What?" said Draco, genuinely confused, "I haven't been avoiding you."
"Yes, you have," argued Ginny, punctuating each word, with a finger jabbing his chest.
"No, I haven't," countered Draco, realisation dawning, "I've been avoiding the trio."
That brought Ginny up short. "Oh." Draco stared down at her, taking in her faded robes, tangled hair and flushed cheeks. "Are you all right? With your father and everything?"
He had stopped listening. She was everything that his father would hate. And she was everything that Draco wanted. I don't want to be my father. I don't need his approval anymore.
Without another thought, Draco suddenly grabbed Ginny and dragged her into the deserted classroom behind him.
"Malfoy! What the hell?" He cut of her protests by claiming her lips with his own.
He gripped her around the waist, feeling her hand pushing at his chest and clawing at his back. He didn't move his lips away as he felt her hands begin to drag him close, her scratches becoming caresses.
He let himself fall into the sensations of her soft lips under his, yielding to the pressure of his kiss. The moans of approval she made against his mouth, sent a shock through Draco, igniting the burning in his blood.
Slipping his tongue into her mouth, Draco pushed her up against the wall, feeling Ginny's body moulding perfectly against his. He tightened his grip on her, his arms circling her small body, his hands tangling in her fiery red hair, realising that he never wanted to let her go.