An Ideal Death Eater

Sing to Angels

Rating: NC17
Genres: Drama, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 25/02/2003
Last Updated: 26/03/2005
Status: paused

A 7th year adventure by a writer who attempts to resist cliches, whilst at the same time capturing originality. The characters grow up, grow apart, and then come crashing back together as they are taken on the ride of their lives. From the rather anti-climatic defeat of Voldemort, to their discoveries about one Albus Dumbledore, the wizarding world will never look the same to them again. Nor will it be the same when they are through with it. Not for the redeemed or evil Draco fan.

Chapters

1. And it starts . . .

2. Quidditch - It

3. The evils of men

4. Year of the Fallen

5. Draco in

6. Chess, Charlie, and Crashes

7. Friends

8. The care and feeding of an insufferable git

9. Nature takes its course

10. Cigarettes, sardines, and nasty magical colds

11. Revelations

12. Christmas Eve with the Weasleys

13. Reality (Edited for content)

14. Reality (full on naughty version)

15. Some small comfort

16. The Temptation of Ronald Weasley

17. Le Petite Mort

18. Back to school

19. Falling

20. Crashing

21. Living

22. Visit from an old friend

23. Liberation

24. Hero

25. Freedom: lost and found

26. Sweets for the sweet or Snape

27. In which no one is particularly surprised

28. Remember that you re my sweetheart

29. Diamonds and Rust

30. Man in the Box

31. Haunting Me

32. Mending

33. The Coward With A Kiss . . .

34. The Brave Man With A Sword

1. And it starts . . .

Authour’s Notes: Since I first started this story back in December of 2002, my writing has drastically improved. I’ve learnt so much about writing simply by being a part of the Harry Potter fandom.

I decided to go back and edit the first thirteen chapters for continuity errors, typos, grammar, style, etc. So that you, the reader, may better enjoy this story. Since I started this fic long before OotP came out, it is now considered an AU, but there are still OotP spoilers sprinkled throughout which actually made An Ideal Death Eater, and some of the main plot points, more closely related to canon.

Now for the warnings:

I have portrayed the characters in this story as closely as possible to canon. At times, they may seem out of character, but I ask that you keep reading because things you don‘t understand now will become clearer eventually. Everything unfolds and I try not to rush things. One of my main goals for AIDE is for the characters as we know them in canon to grow up, so this story deals with real issues whilst still maintaining the old world feel of the Harry Potterverse.

There are no evil people in this fic, aside from Voldemort, perhaps. J For every action, there is a consequence. For every consequence, there is a lesson to be learnt. Every character has more depth than what is immediately shown, so I ask that you don’t drop this story simply because one of your favourite characters is shown temporarily in a bad light.

AIDE is dark at times, humorous in others. I attempt to resist cliché and capture originality. Sometimes I will fail, other times I will succeed. There will be torture, slash, het, and character deaths. It all may get a bit graphic at times, but I assure you that I’ll give fair warning before you read something graphically violent or sexual. If you don’t feel up to reading a humorously dark fic, then stop now and find something else to read. For those who stay, please make sure to leave constructive reviews at the end.

Cheers,

Sing

Summer’s end was signalled by a high-pitched whistle that echoed through Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. The train to Hogwarts appeared to be the same shiny red it was the last time they had stood there, maybe even more so covered by a thick sheen of rain. With heavy hearts, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley boarded the Hogwarts Express, knowing that this was to be their final year as students attending that prestigious institute of learning. Ginny, entering her sixth year, trailed behind them.

"Just think, Hermione, after this year there won't be any more revision. You’ll be heartbroken," Ron teased as they all sat down in the cushy compartment Ginny had found empty.

"Oh," Hermione groaned, throwing herself in the seat across from Ron. Harry glanced up in mild surprise. "Don't remind me. Unlike some others, I actually enjoy learning new things. But, just because we are leaving Hogwarts soon, doesn't mean that we have to stop learning. I'll be attending the Aurors´ Academy in Belfast. I just received my acceptance letter yesterday."

"Way to go! At least now I know I won't be by myself next year." Harry pounded Hermione on the back hard before he forgot that she was quite a bit smaller than him and stopped. "Oh, sorry, Hermione."

"That's all right, Harry. I know you're excited," she coughed out after the air had caught up with her lungs once more.

"You're both going to Aurors´ Academy?" Ron exclaimed, crossing his arms and pouting like a petulant child. "What about me?"

Harry sighed, ready for another argument, another explanation. "You didn't want to go, remember?"

"Yeah, but that was only because . . . well, I didn't want to leave Hermione and Ginny in England by themselves," he finished quietly.

Dark brown eyes flashed with annoyance at the edge of Harry‘s vision. "You thought I wouldn't be accepted into the Academy, Ron?" Hermione asked, her tone deceptively sweet.

"Well, not that exactly . . ." Ron trailed off. "Aww ruddy hell, you're gonna bosh me anyway. So it doesn't matter what I say now, does it?"

"Ronald Weasley! I've asked you not to swear in front of me. Think of your sister at least." Hermione shook her head and picked at the edge of her cloak.

Ron glanced at his sister, his mouth twitching, and then back to Hermione across from him. "I said ruddy, and hell‘s not a bad word. ´Sides, she's a mouth like a sailor that one does. You should hear her at home!"

"It’s small wonder with examples such as yourself," Hermione said, icily prim.

"Hermione, maybe you should give S.P.A.S a rest just now. We have a ways to go and the train hasn’t even started moving yet," Harry sighed out of the side of his mouth.

"S.P.A.S?"

Ron snorted at Ginny. "Yeah. Society for the Prevention of Adolescent Swearing."

Harry rolled his eyes; it was going to be a long trip.

Suddenly, the door to the compartment was flung open and a dark-hooded figure stepped forward, filling the frame with his shoulders. Silvery droplets clung to the expensive black velvet and seemed to wink as the fabric shifted.

And the drama was only just beginning.

Ron sucked in a breath and screamed. "Aah! A Death Eater!"

The figure snorted and pushed the hood back, allowing the washed out sunlight to gleam softly over his moon-tinted hair.

"Bloody hell," Harry breathed. "Is that old Spindle-legs there?"

This statement earned him a hard thump from Hermione and he winced. "Sorry, Hermione."

Ron recovered himself, flushing briefly with anger and embarrassment. "Same bloody thing as a Death Eater."

Hermione was staring at Draco Malfoy in puzzlement, not even bothering to reprimand Ron. Ginny just swallowed, her eyes the size of dinner plates.

"He looks . . . different."

"Yeah," Ron piped up, fully recovered. "He isn’t a spider."

Harry snorted and Draco only glared more fiercely.

"Don’t think I’ve forgotten your little joke from last year, Potter. I’ll be returning the favour soon, have no doubt about that."

"So what, you decided to come and scare us half to death in that get-up? Not much of a revenge if you ask me." Ron snickered.

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously. "No, I figured I would give you all fair warning." He turned to sweep out of the small room but paused to aim a crisp glance at Harry on his way out. "Be on your toes this year, Potter."

With his exit, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and Ginny rubbed arms that had suddenly gone numb with cold.

"What did you do to him last year, Harry?" Ginny asked, a little unsure she wanted to hear the answer.

Ron smacked her arm in a friendly manner and guffawed. "Oh it was priceless, really. Harry there turned him into a spider on the train home before hols and he was almost squashed by the food trolley coming through!"

"I wouldn’t laugh too hard, Ron. You screamed like a girl when you saw him come racing towards you on eight legs," Harry smirked. "Besides, I didn't even think of his getting almost squashed," he added in a whisper to himself.

"Wasn’t my fault! I’m scared of spiders, you know that." Ron slumped forward and crossed his arms. Ginny however, was howling with mirth.

"I wish I could have seen it! Ron screaming and Malfoy skittering." She wiggled her fingers in a motion that could only be determined by Harry as that of a spider, creeping about.

"Was it just me or did Malfoy seem— " Hermione broke off, searching her extensive vocabulary for the proper word. "Wider?"

"Well, he’d almost have to be wouldn’t he? Couldn’t have gotten any thinner than he was before," Harry answered.

"Aye, that grub was about the lankiest git I’ve ever seen. Even worse than poor Harry here after the twins tested that growth toffee on him."

"Hey!"

"Well, you are pretty thin, Harry." Hermione patted his arm soothingly.

"I’ll catch it up soon enough," he argued. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for that toffee. I’m not supposed to be this tall!”

Ginny shook her head. "The way these two eat, I’m surprised they haven’t tripled in size. If I ate as much as they do, you’d have to roll me down the street."

"They’re boys, Ginny. They can do all sorts of things that would put us in an early grave," Hermione said before heaving a long-suffering groan.

"Too right! I’d hate to see you both in the Quivering Rooster or some such place. Not fit for ladies."

Ginny and Hermione turned a cool glance in Ron’s direction. "Have you been frequenting such a place, Ron?" Ginny asked coolly.

Ron sent a silent plea to Harry for help, but he only shook his head. "Sorry mate, you opened your mouth."

"I didn’t go by my bleedin´ self!"

Harry’s ears turned bright red as the girls glanced at him. "We— I mean— "

"Oh Ron!” Hermione shrilled. “What would your mum say?"

"She won’t know if you don’t squeal on us."

"But that place is dangerous! There are all sorts of bad elements there," Hermione gasped. "Think of those horrid women strutting about in almost nothing."

Harry smothered a grin and winked at Ron from beside Hermione.

"I think they were thinking of those horrid women, Hermione," Ginny snapped peevishly. "Honestly, and Ron wouldn’t even let me go on an innocent trip to visit Colin this summer."

"Innocent?" Ron roared. "That bloke has had his way with more girls than you could count. Like I’d leave you alone with the likes of him. Creepy little feck."

"He has not!" Ginny shouted back fiercely. "He only told you guys that because— " she stopped and closed her mouth quickly.

"What?"

"Nothing. It isn’t any of your business."

"Like he— "

"Ron!” Harry barked. He could feel a pressure behind his eyes start to build and he knew he was going to have a migraine soon enough if Ron didn‘t just stop. “Leave her alone, all right."

"But she— "

"Drop it; you're acting like a two year-old. Let’s all try to get some rest before we’re back at Hogwarts. We were all up late packing for school," Harry grunted as he bunched up his cloak and stuffed it behind his head.

He didn’t feel the need to sleep so much as he was just tired of the bickering. Ron muttered something off colour under his breath and followed suit. Hermione yawned and put her feet up on Ron’s lap, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. Ginny’s legs weren’t long enough to reach across the seat so she tucked her heels underneath her and leaned over to put her head on Ron’s shoulder.

It was this scene to which Harry awoke later, startled to realise that they were already at Hogwarts Station.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry rubbed sleep-crusted eyes as he gazed around the room. Dusk was setting in and he could hear the last of the students stomping off the train.

"Wake up everyone, we’re here."

Hermione yawned and stretched small, slim fingers up into the air above her head. "Already? We just went to sleep."

"Ron, wake up." Harry shook him lightly and frowned when it failed to rouse him. "Ron!" he snapped.

"Butterflies! Aaah!" Ron jumped up as if he had just sat on a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Ginny fell to the floor and smashed her face against the seat’s edge.

"Ow! What did you do that for?" she cried, rubbing at the blood dribbling down her chin. Harry felt his lip twitch for only a moment before he helped her up and put his handkerchief against the wound. The Weasleys were all overly dramatic.

"We’ll take you to Madame Pomfrey as soon as we get inside Hogwarts," he assured her.

Hermione stopped fussing with her cloak and crossed her arms, smirking up at Ron. "Butterflies?"

He scowled. "Yeah, butterflies. They’d scare you too if there was loads of them flittering about your head."

"Were."

"Were what?"

"Never mind," Hermione moaned as she moved over to Ginny. "Let me take a look at that." Ginny lifted her chin obligingly as Hermione prodded the wound gently with her finger.

"That will need a suture charm, and I don´t know how to do that yet. But I can make it stop bleeding." Hermione raised her wand and touched it to Ginny´s bottom lip. "Sanguin Ligare!"

Instantly the blood stopped gushing and the wound sealed over. The split was deep though, it would need to be put back together or poor Ginny would appear as if she had an upside-down harelip.

"Hey!" Ron shouted. "The door is locked."

"Locked?" Harry frowned. "Use your wand if it’s stuck."

"Alohamora!"

The door remained stubbornly locked, despite Ron’s desperate attempts at pulling it open.

"You’ll only injure yourself, you perverse thing. Someone must have charmed it," Hermione calmly stated what seemed like an obvious conclusion to her.

"Malfoy," breathed both Harry and Ron.

Ginny‘s face paled and her mouth fell open, her breath coming in small pants before she ran over to the door and tugged the handle as hard as she could. "Help! Let us out of here." Ginny pounded on the door, hyperventilating slightly as she struggled with the lock. "I can´t stand being stuck in here like this!" she sobbed.

"Shh, Ginny. It’ll be alright," Hermione soothed as she made Ginny take a seat and breathe calmly and deeply before turning to look outside. "Ron, see if the window will go up. We may be able to float down if we can squeeze our way out of it."

Both Harry and Ron pushed and pulled with all of their might. It didn’t budge by a fingerbreadth.

"Rumpere!" Ron screamed at the casement. It did nothing; the window was magically shielded. The spell bounced off and hit Harry’s glasses instead, causing them to shatter.

"Thanks, Ron," Harry mumbled as he removed his glasses and fumbled for his wand to repair them.

"Sorry." Ron flushed brightly and toed the floor with the tip of his shoe.

Suddenly, the train lurched and began to leave Hogwarts Station. Through the window, they could all see Malfoy smirking at them. He raised a hand in mocking farewell and Ginny returned it, rudely.

"Ginny!" Hermione slapped her hand. "I don’t care if he is a prat, that was just awful."

She shrugged and took her seat again. "We’re stuck on the train and going back to London. He did it, so he deserved a full salute."

"We’re going to miss the feast," Ron moaned as he and Harry’s stomachs rumbled loudly, the sound echoing off of the walls. “Again.”

"Is all you think about food related?" Ginny snapped.

"Well, not all I think about . . ." he mused.

"Oh, right. I forgot about your collection of Playwizard under the creaky step on the stairs at home."

Ron´s eyes bulged. "How did you— "

"Percy showed me. He thought I may want to burn them if you ever hacked me off too badly."

"Percy is an annoying, swotty git. I’m gonna— "

"This isn’t helping anything!" Harry raised his voice and cut Ron off before he had a chance to detail his brother’s demise.

"Well, what are we going to do? Sit around and play Exploding Snap? We are on our way back to London!" Ron yelled, red-faced and panting from a curious mix of frustration and embarrassment.

"Both of you stop it, I’m getting a migraine." Ginny put a hand to her head and leaned back into her seat.

Harry looked around the compartment forlornly. What a way to begin his seventh year.

*~*~*~*~*

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

~ William Blake~

"Mr Malfoy," Professor McGonagall pulled the boy aside after his Advanced Transfiguration class was through.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Professor Dumbledore sent me a note stating that you are to go directly to his office after this class was over."

Draco studied the note in her hand blankly, idly wondering what sort of punishment was in store for him after his little trick on Potter and his crew.

"Go on, he´s expecting you," McGonagall urged with a tiny push to his back.

Draco grumbled as he made his way toward the Headmaster’s office. He knew where it was, but since his Head of House, Professor Snape, dealt with most problems Draco had never been there before.

The spiral stairs were down and he stepped into the small nook, waiting to be taken up towards whatever fate had in store for him today. It was bad enough that Potter and his group managed to make it back from London so quickly. Only took one night and in they stomped, bright and fresh as if they had spent the evening in their dorms sleeping on feather mattresses instead of a cramped train car.

Draco groused some more before finally stepping up to the Headmaster’s door and knocking softly.

"Come in, Draco."

He sucked a deep breath through his nose and walked into the warm, cluttered room. The heat was almost too much. The permanent frost that usually covered his body was being shocked off to retreat elsewhere for the time being. His fingers tingled as they started to thaw. It was nearly close to being full-blown pain.

"You wished to see me, Headmaster?" Draco bowed his head in what he hoped was taken as a gesture of respect and subservience. Obedience was a lesson thoroughly drilled into his brain from day one.

"Yes, come take a seat." Dumbledore gestured to the chair before his desk. Draco sat as he was bid and waited impatiently for the Headmaster to say something.

It was a long time in coming.

Dumbledore tilted his head to the side and surveyed the boy long and hard before finally beginning to speak.

"You’ve grown this summer, Draco."

"Yes, Headmaster."

The man waved this aside. "Call me Dumbledore. Enough of that Headmaster bit; makes me want to look around for who you’re addressing."

Draco did not smile.

"Lemon sherbet?" Dumbledore offered.

"No, thank you."

Dumbledore shrugged and popped a few of the sweets in his mouth, chewing them softly before he continued.

"You look to be more of a man this year, Draco. I understand the other students were teasing you last term because you were so tall and thin. But you’ve filled out, I see."

"Yes, sir." Draco fought hard to keep the bite out of his words. Spindle-legs, among others, had not been his first choice of nicknames.

"That’s good, that’s good." Dumbledore leaned back and put another of the Muggle sweets into his mouth. "I think you know why you are here today, Draco."

Malfoy lifted an elegant brow. "Not exactly, sir. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"

"You were seen charming a compartment door on the Hogwarts Express yesterday."

He didn’t have to say which door; Draco knew full well which door it had been. "I believe they were mistaken, sir."

"Possible," Dumbledore nodded, his old voice strong and sure. "Very possible. However, I’ve summoned you here for another reason. All punishment aside, I believe you suffered enough on your way home last year for me to further bother you with house points and that sort of rubbish. I’ll leave that between Mr Potter and yourself."

"Then why am I here, sir?" Draco asked, honestly puzzled.

Dumbledore sighed and steepled his fingers closely. "What I am about to say can be taken anyway that you wish. I only mean to inform and possibly prevent further harm to yourself and others."

Others being Potter and his followers, of course. Draco swore silently to himself but continued to arrange a blank mask on the outside.

"I would like for you, if at all possible, to at least restrain your temper when it comes to Mr Potter and his friends. I know that the rivalry between you is legendary, but for the sake of the world, put it aside and concentrate on your studies this year.

"I don’t expect you to be friends, merely not so openly hostile towards each other. I’ve already had this conversation with Mr Potter and the rest of his group. So you shouldn’t have too much of a problem with instigation on their part." The old man knitted his eyebrows together and looked over his half-moon spectacles to further relate the serious nature of his words. "They are all in grave peril each and every time they step outside of Hogwarts. Harry for obvious reasons; Miss Granger and Mr Weasley because of their connection to him.

"The incident on the train, although seemingly harmless, could have cost them their very lives. Voldemort´s supporters are everywhere and see everything. It was a ripe opportunity to finally have done with The Boy Who Lived and we can’t allow it to happen again." Dumbledore shook his head sadly before continuing. "It is dark times we are in now, boy. Darker still yet to come. It’s not the time for petty rivalries."

"I understand, Headmaster," Draco parroted the acceptable response, fully well aware that he had called him `Headmaster´ once again. Why the old man thought he could be trusted was unclear to him. Maybe he was being toyed with. Any fool knew that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. And it was furthermore commonly known among the Hogwarts crowd that Draco was just as dark and unfeeling as his father. Draco revelled in their petty assumptions.

"Do you truly understand, I wonder." Dumbledore faded back into his thoughts, obviously musing something carefully. "You may go, young Malfoy."

Draco stood to leave but was instantly set upon by a large, scarlet-feathered bird. He tried to shove it off his shoulder but to no avail.

"What does it want?" he ground out, not caring anymore that he sounded hardly civil. The professor did nothing, merely waiting for what would happen next. The beautiful phoenix spread its wings and bent down to carefully rip open Draco’s fine, Egyptian cotton shirt with its beak.

"Sir, get this thing off of me at once!" Draco shouted, attempting in vain to push the bird away.

Dumbledore didn’t answer, didn’t move, still watching with hooded eyes as the bird finally revealed Draco’s pale chest under the remains of his white oxford. From the corner of its eye appeared a large, pearly drop of fluid, which seemed to hover a moment in the air before splashing on Draco’s skin.

From the instant of contact, Draco felt a burning where the tear had fallen. Heat radiated and spread out to every pore of his body. Light-headed, he fell back against the chair and grabbed his aching chest in one hand. The bird sent out a keen of song that further aggravated Draco’s sensitive brain before flying off to land on top of a large cage in the corner of the room.

"What did it do to me?" Draco cried, still clutching his chest with a violently trembling hand.

"I’m sorry, my boy,” Dumbledore answered mildly. “I don’t like to bother Fawkes when he is keen on doing something. That was only a tear that you felt. Apparently he felt you in need of healing."

"Healing?" Draco whispered furiously, looking down to see if there was actually a wound where the tear fell. There was none. "I’m burning all over!"

There was a twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye that Draco almost missed. "You may want to see Madame Pomfrey then. It’s possible you are allergic to phoenix tears."

"Y-yes,” Draco whispered, hating the way his voice trembled. “I think I’ll do that. Am I dismissed?"

"Of course, go and see Poppy now. Maybe she can help."

Draco nodded dumbly and stood to leave. How he managed to stumble to the Infirmary, he hadn’t the faintest clue. He only knew that there was a roaring fire in his chest, and his brain fairly exploded in full sensory overload as each sound, each step he took, every drip of water down the cool, stone walls crashed against him like waves breaking on shore.

Madame Pomfrey checked him over, placing a wonderfully cool hand on his feverish brow before clucking her tongue and sending him straight to a standard bed.

It was only after she had administered a very pungent, foul-tasting potion that he was allowed to rest. The thunder in his head was dulling, as if someone had pulled up a blanket to shroud his mind. Sighing half-contented, Draco drifted off to sleep.

Reviewing is good for the soul.

2. Quidditch - It

Authour’s Notes: To my beta readers, Claire and Alexis, who are the only ones out of the multitude I started with to stay with me thus far. I love you girls!

It was two days before Draco felt confident enough to attend classes again. The burning had faded into slight and ever-present warmth surrounding his extremities. A light buzzing was the only trace that there had ever been such a massive rush to his tired brain. Madame Pomfrey assured Draco, in strangely unconfident tones that fell flat on Draco’s ears, that this was normal and it would fade soon enough on its own.

‘Soon enough’ never seemed to arrive though. The air in the dungeons where the Slytherin dormitories resided was damp and chill. It had bothered him before only in the way a stray hair that tickles your check would. Now it was warm because he was warm, and it brought a sense of foreboding each time he came down to sleep at night or study in the common room. He found himself looking over his shoulder, waiting for that damnable bird to attack him once more and finish the job it started in the Headmaster’s office.

It was for this reason that Draco decided to start studying in the library after classes were ended each day. Whenever he could, the lower levels of the castle were avoided except to sleep at night. The dungeons were supposed to be chill and damp, he muttered often to himself. Not warm, not sultry, not muggy with heat from his body.

Insomnia was yet another of the mysterious side-effects from a phoenix’s tear. Vivid images and flashes of colour connected to strange longings and fears hounded every waking moment, and par for the course, those which were not so much waking as sleepwalking.

Draco’s grades suffered for this; even in Potions where everyone knew he was the professor’s pet. Lack of concentration was also a concern in Quidditch where the Slytherin team was worked harder than ever at each practice, often not returning until late at night just before curfew was called.

Slytherin would open the season in the first game of the year against none other than Gryffindor. All players were required to be in top form and Draco clearly wasn’t.

He wasn’t looking forward to this game.

*~*~*~*~*

In spite of being nary an inch over five feet, Ginny knew that she was considered one of the most remarkable Chasers the Gryffindor Quidditch team had seen in many a year.

She flew lightening quick, notwithstanding her ancient Cleansweep, dodging Bludgers with mad loops and swirls as if she had been born a bird and not a very small girl. Having six brothers who lived, ate, and breathed Quidditch helped tremendously in this regard, even if by doing so she was considered something of a tomboy.

Her sensible wool cap flew off after a particularly dangerous flip and she let her dark auburn curls blow behind her like a flag. She was well aware that the sun-lightened streaks of gold she’d carefully mixed through her hair with a charm made it apparent from a long distance that she was a Gryffindor. It was the first game of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and Ginny grinned as the crowd took note of this with wild applause.

“Ginny! Heads up!” Ron chucked the Quaffle in her general direction, confidant that she would catch it. Which she did of course, flying off toward the Slytherin goal and feinting to the left in order to confuse their Keeper. It was a very stupid move on his part, she thought, and Ginny allowed herself to grin only after she had sent the Quaffle past his right side. Oldest trick in the book.

Cheers went up from the stands as she circled the hoop in a lazy victory dance and sped down almost vertically to retrieve the ball. Millicent Bulstrode, one of Slytherin’s Chasers, beat her to the punch though and raced off across half of the pitch before Ginny could blink an eye.

Determined, Ginny leaned forward over her broom and was coming close to the centre hoop, the rest of the team far ahead attempting to cut Millicent off. Gregory Goyle of the Slytherin team was flying nearby however, Beater at the ready, and whacked a Bludger hard towards Ginny’s head for no apparent reason. Ginny’s eyes widened and she flew sharply up, closer to the central hoop in order to avoid it.

The Bludger missed its target, what she assumed was her head, and hit her broom handle instead, cracking the antique in half. Ginny felt it snap and started to fall before she made a wild leap and grabbed the centre ring with one hand.

Looking around, Ginny noticed that none of her team-mates were anywhere close, they had gathered near the Gryffindor post where Millicent was in a tangle of arms and feet with Seamus Finnigan. Ginny rolled her eyes and tightened her grip on the ring, the cold metal biting into the soft flesh of her palms.

Not even the announcer was aware of her predicament in all the commotion from across the pitch.

Breathing heavily, Ginny tried to pull herself up in order to better grip the wet, slippery ring. But she was positive0 that the weather and fate seemed against her that day. Ginny felt her one hand slip and she started to fall.

Shutting her eyes, Ginny silently prayed that she would fall on a soft, not terribly breakable part of her anatomy. She was jerked out of that plea by the feel of a broomstick beneath her, her breath lodged in her throat. The slight weight of her landing made the broom overbalance, sending it into a wild somersault while the person riding the broom clutched onto her from behind.

When it rebalanced, she took a moment to clear her head and glanced behind her, instantly wishing that she hadn’t.

“I didn’t know it was raining Weasleys today or I would have brought my brolly,” Malfoy snickered, his pale eyes gleaming and his face flushed with exertion.

Biting back a retort, Ginny sighed and turned to face the front. “Could you please fly me to the ground, Malfoy?”

*~*~*~*~*

Draco spared a glance around the pitch and noticed that Ginny’s team-mates were still embroiled in watching the mad dash for the Quaffle over at the Gryffindor end.

“I could . . .” he mused. “Or I could dump you here and see if you could make your own way down.”

He could hear her teeth grinding and she twisted the handle of his broom in her tiny hands, likely wishing that it was his neck. Draco grinned. “Please, fly me down, Malfoy.”

It was hardly a suitably phrased request.

“Since you asked so nicely.” Draco pushed the broom down into a steep, vertical dive, imagining her horrified face with a smirk as she gasped and leaned back. Apparently the littlest Weasley wasn’t so arsing confident when she wasn’t the one controlling the broom.

This felt better, Draco thought to himself. Just a little friendly torture between enemies. For the first time in weeks, his head was clear and he knew exactly what he was about.

They were about twenty feet above the ground when he saw it: the Snitch!

Draco nervously glanced behind him, noticing that the Gryffindors had finally realised their star Chaser was riding on his broom, but they were still far in the rear. Looking above and to the right was Potter, pushing forward and solely occupied with keeping the Snitch in sight and ignoring all else. Draco grinned in anticipation as a plan formed itself in his mind. Distraction, he learned at an early age, is the key to all spur-of-the-moment plans.

He pushed Ginny’s back until her chest was firmly planted in his broom handle, covering her body completely with his own. She gave only a muffled squeak and tried desperately to push him off. He moved his hands in front of hers and leaned closer, trying to build speed and conceal her bright red hair with his cloak.

The Snitch was so close he could almost taste it! Just above and ahead. Potter was closing in though, right behind him, hand stretched and seeking.

“Hold the broom steady or we‘ll both go under!” Draco whispered to the thoroughly squashed Ginny under his chest. He didn’t wait to see if she replied, but brought his feet up to hold and stood carefully on the broom handle, deliberately using Ginny’s bottom for balance.

Potter pulled up swiftly beside Draco, his chin dropping when he finally saw Ginny clutching the broom under her for dear life and apparently being groped by his rival. The distraction was enough though, and it gave Draco the advantage he needed. The Snitch was already firm in his grasp! The tiny wings fluttering against his fingers, trying to escape, but he wouldn’t let it escape. Not ever again.

Trailing them closely was the entire Gryffindor team, murder in their gaze. Harry was the closest though, almost able to touch them. Draco sped off faster, allowing time for a victory loop-de-loop and a friendly smack to Ginny’s behind before touching the ground.

She fell over with a soft thud upon landing, grass brushing in sharp contrast to her reddened cheeks.

“It should rain Weasleys more often, apparently it’s a lucky omen,” Draco drawled, dusting off his cloak and staring at the prize in his hand with something close to disbelief as he studied the golden Snitch laying on top of his leather gloves. “Should have checked Trelawney’s forecast.”

Draco didn’t have much time to feel smug though when Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team showed up.

“You’re dead, Malfoy!” Ron Weasley shouted, ignoring his sister who still lay huddled on the ground and shivering.

Draco turned around, allowing himself to coolly look the redhead up and down as if measuring his value. “Wrong, Weasley. She’d be dead if she hadn’t fallen on my broom. I thought you Gryffindors were all about family and bravery,” he sneered, even though he well knew that Ginny probably wouldn‘t have died from the fall unless she landed on her neck. “But I suppose you wouldn’t have noticed if your precious sister nearly died because you were too busy being crammed up Millicent’s arse.”

“Son of a b— ”

Ron was only barely contained by Seamus and Harry, their arms wrapping around his torso from behind. But by the looks on their faces, it was obvious they weren’t terribly keen on holding him there. Time to go.

“Well, I suppose this little beauty put Slytherin in the lead for the Cup, eh?” Draco held the glinting Snitch up in the late autumn sun, inspecting it closely between thumb and forefinger before pocketing it. Madame Hooch be damned, he was going to keep this as a souvenir of his victory over Potter. Finally, something to write home about. “Later, losers.”

*~*~*~*~*

The Gryffindor common room was fairly quiet that evening. Rain pelted the windows and lent a dull grey cast over what was a normally colourful room.

Seamus and Ron were playing chess in a dreary corner and Hermione was reading a book so close to the fire that her hair crackled on occasion from contact with the heat. Ginny reclined on a sofa, covered by her cloak and staring into the flames. Everyone else was either studying or out on the Quidditch pitch receiving a harsh lecture about teamwork and several laps around the field courtesy of their Captain, Mr Harry Potter.

Somewhere inside, she knew that no one blamed her for what had happened earlier that day. Brooms break and Malfoy always was a rotten tosser, so that wasn’t anything new. But fear . . . that was something else entirely. Ginny felt sure that she could have kept Malfoy from getting the Snitch if she had only had the temerity to make him lose his balance or fly the broom closer to the ground. But fear kept her from it and the game was lost. Not only that, but the slimy little git actually managed to get house points for keeping her from breaking her neck!

She had been so terrified after the match that Harry had been forced to send her to the common room with Ron and Seamus half-carrying her into the warmth it promised. At least it had given them an excuse to stay out of the rain.

There had been no control, it wasn’t her broom and he had— Ginny stopped and shuddered as she recalled Malfoy’s hand steadying himself by grasping her bottom in his hot fingers.

It was peculiar though. Malfoy had always struck her as someone who would be just frostbitten as his attitude, skin cool like a snake. Instead they had burned her even through the thick padding of robes and corduroy trousers. Ginny almost wondered if he had branded his handprints into her backside.

“I’m going to take a shower, Ron,” Ginny murmured as she stood and stretched, walking towards the sixth-year baths. Ron grunted his assent and waved a hand in her general direction to show that he had heard her.

Stripping down, Ginny felt the need to check just to make sure there was no visible sign of Draco Malfoy’s ferret-like fingers on her body. There were none, as expected. And though the rational part of her knew it was foolish, the emotional side stated that it was necessary to bathe his indelible presence away.

The showers were soon steaming, curling her hair about her face, and suddenly Ginny felt ill at ease. It wasn’t helping anything but was in fact making the sense of Draco Malfoy’s aura even stronger.

Disgusted, Ginny turned off the showers and put her dirty uniform back on. Maybe a nap before supper would help. With this thought in mind, she trundled down the hall to the sixth-year dormitories and fell onto the soft, feather mattress of her bed.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was thoroughly worn out and drenched to the skin when he came through the portrait hole and into the common room some hours after dusk.

Ron was playing a game of chess in the corner with Seamus, and Hermione was reading as always before the backdrop of a roaring fire. No one else was around as his team-mates had already retired to the shower rooms just off the pitch.

Harry sighed and flopped down in front of the fire, accidentally hitting Hermione's book with one hand. He could see her blink with her mouth open to make a comment from the corner of his eye, and he looked up to see her studying him. Her lips closed quickly and her eyes softened.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione laid a hand on his arm in concern. He flinched, not expecting her to touch him.

"Nothing much, I just have a bad feeling about this year. It's been too quiet for too long and it seems like everywhere I look there are signs of bad things to come." A log in the fireplace splintered loudly, appearing to confirm his fears. Hermione only sniffed in disgust.

"You've been in Professor Trelawney's class for too long. That old crackpot has been filling your head with nonsense for years and it's finally started to sink in. You should have dropped Divination ages ago."

Harry crossed his arms and scowled, making Hermione drop her hand to the rough hearthstone. "I'm not talking about real signs. It's just . . . I have a horrible feeling that Voldemort will chose this year to strike."

Hermione looked toward the ceiling, not quite rolling her eyes, but the message was clear. "You said the same thing last year and the year before that. Honestly, Harry, you need to calm down."

He furrowed his brow and leaned forward almost menacingly. "How can I calm down?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice. "Voldemort is always there, and if he isn't, there is something else: Death Eaters, Basilisks, evil professors. I want to calm down."

"Yes, he is always a threat, things could go wrong at any time. But you can't live your life in fear of retaliation!" Her usually quiet voice was starting to become shrill as more words poured forth. Ron and Seamus looked up from their game in the corner and were watching the exchange silently. "I don't care if you want to ignore me and sit in your room, drinking Fire Whiskey every night and fail all of your classes because I'm not going to put up with it anymore. When you decide to grow up, I'll be here. But until then, I'm not talking to you. I can't watch you do this anymore." Her lip trembled slightly and there was a crack in her voice as she said the last word.

Hermione stood swiftly and grabbed her book, stomping up the stairs as fast as her short legs could carry her. Harry was about to go after her, but decided to let her cool off instead. He raked a shaking hand through his wet hair and closed weary eyes against the fire, which was making them dry up and sting.

If Harry had looked up at that moment, he would have seen the glint of dark amusement from two eyes hidden in the shadows.

*~*~*~*~*

It had been two weeks since the infamous Quidditch match against Slytherin and Ginny was beginning to feel normal again. Hermione and Harry apparently had had a falling out and that left she and Ron to pick up the pieces. One of them was always with Hermione, talking to her between classes or asking for help with assignments. The best way to keep Hermione from withdrawing completely was to make her concentrate on schoolwork. Harry, of course, kept himself company with a bottle of Ogden's Fire Whiskey, like always. This did nothing for Hermione’s nerves of course, and lately she had been even worse company than before, petulantly snapping at anything with or without a pulse.

Ginny had been up late the night before, studying for her Potions exam, so she was yawning as she made her way into the Great Hall for breakfast. The effect of her lazy stretches was startling on the entire male population. They all stopped to stare at her, whispering furiously behind hands to their fellows. Ginny pretended not to notice, deciding that it must be because of the incident, even though that was ages ago. She plopped down into her seat and grabbed a piece of toast, liberally smearing it with butter and jam.

Hermione was sitting beside her instead of at her usual place between Harry and Ron. She also noticed the furtive glances and giggling, for once not as caught up in her own problems. "Ginny, why is everyone staring at you?" she whispered.

Ginny looked around, dropping her toast when she became aware that everyone was staring at her, not just Slytherin house. The entire Hall gave a guilty jerk and went back to eating their breakfasts.

"I-I haven't the faintest, Hermione." Ginny was shaking. It was first year all over again. The whispers, the stares, the look of disappointment from others at their table. What did she do?

"Are you sure?" Hermione prodded.

"Yes, I'm sure. I haven't done anything."

Suddenly there was a roar of applause when almost every boy in the Hall stood up and shouted praise as Colin Creevey came skidding in to breakfast. He gawped about, panic etched clearly into his skin. Everyone laughed and sat back down to enjoy their meal.

Ginny glanced up into his startled eyes as he raced over to her chair and started trying to drag her out of it by force. She slammed down her fork and pushed him away. "Colin! What on earth are you doing?"

He didn't stop though, but became more insistent as words poured out. "I need to talk to you, it's urgent."

Ginny looked back down at her plate while she absently plucked his shaking hand off of her arm. "Whatever it is, you can say in front of Hermione, she can keep a secret."

Colin shook his head. "No, this is something about you, not just me."

"Go on, Ginny. Obviously it's important."

Ginny gave Hermione a sceptical glance. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, go ahead, I'll be fine.” The corners of her mouth quirked up wryly. “You don‘t need to suffer my infantile temper anymore than you do already."

This was all the assurance Colin needed and he proceeded to drag Ginny out of the Hall and into a disused classroom. He spared a glance around the room, looking for intruders. His entire body was shaking and for the first time, Ginny was truly worried about him.

"Colin?" she placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat rapidly against her palm. "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter? You wouldn't ask that so calmly if you knew what has happened."

"What?" Ginny‘s eyes widened.

Colin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Someone stole my portfolio."

Ginny gasped and took a step back. All of the stares she had been getting this morning at breakfast were suddenly making sense and she knew without having to ask. "Why didn't you tell me before? D-did they . . ."

Colin nodded. "It's worse than that though, Gin. Whoever stole it sold some of the pictures."

She felt certain that her eyes were the approximate size of dinner plates. "Sold! Sold to who?"

Colin backed up a few paces, seemingly ready to physically defend himself against her notorious wrath. "Playwizard magazine."

"Playwizard!" she screeched, her throat suddenly raw from the force. "Someone sold your nude studies to Playwizard!"

Ginny paced up and down the room, barely restraining herself from taking her anger out on Colin. Who would do such a thing? "What about the pictures of Padma and Parvati?"

Colin shrugged. "I don't know. They aren't in the magazine though, it's just you."

She sneered, "How thoughtful of them."

"I'm sorry, Gin."

"Sorry? You're sorry? My life is ruined because I wanted to help you get into art school and you're sorry!"

"I didn't know! I thought that they would be safe. And your life isn't ruined. People will forget about this eventually, Gin. Just give it some time. It‘s not as if you were completely unclothed. Just, erm, mostly."

Ginny covered her face in a lattice of trembling fingers. "What will my mum say? And all the boys in school are probably ogling me this very minute." She straightened up and she could see the homicide written clear in her eyes just from looking at his face. Colin skirted back a little further. "I want to know who did this, and then I'm going to kill them."

Her voice had been quiet, but there was determination and a very dangerous fury, which belied the silence that stretched between the two friends. Colin edged forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "If it'll make you feel better, you can tell everyone my little secret."

Ginny glanced up at Colin, startled. Yeah, she was getting stared at, and later on it would probably progress into catcalls and pinches to her backside. But Colin . . . he would probably be beaten on a daily basis and called names she couldn't bear thinking about. She put an arm about his waist and squeezed.

"Oh no, Colin. I couldn't possibly do that to you. They would eat you alive."

Colin's lips twisted wryly, his forehead beaded with sweat. "No worse than what they are going to do to you."

"No, it would be much worse. Believe me about that. This isn‘t your Muggle world, I‘m afraid." Ginny sighed and rested her head on his chest, all her anger at him melting. "Poor Colin."

He laughed. "Poor Colin? How you can hug me after what I've let happen is beyond my ability to know. You truly are a saint."

Ginny scoffed and smacked his arm in a playful manner. "I'm hardly a saint. Come on, we need to get back to the Hall and have some breakfast. Something tells me that this is going to be a long day."

Reviewing is good for your soul, and mine, too!

3. The evils of men

“Ginny!”

She groaned. Ron was pounding up the stairs to the girl’s dormitories at a furious pace, bellowing her name as he went along. There was no use in hiding from him, they were brother and sister and eventually would have to see each other again. Stupid arse wouldn’t even let her bathe in peace.

“I’m in the bath, Ron.”

Stomp, stomp, stomp, slam! Ron stood in the doorway, red-faced and brandishing a magazine, not noticing that she was in a state of undress. Fortunately for her, bubbles were covering the most important parts.

“Can I help you?” Ginny asked acidly.

“Sweet Merlin, cover yourself!” Ron raced over with a towel and attempted to wrap it around her shoulders.

She batted it away with one hand. “Why bother, everyone’s seen me in less than this already.”

If it were possible, Ron’s face turned a more violent shade of purple and a vein throbbed on his neck in an interesting manner. He indicated the magazine by a shake of his hand.

“Care to explain this to me?”

“Not really, but since I know you won’t let me finish my bath until I do . . .” Ginny tossed her head to the side, bubbles half-covering her face. “Colin needed nude studies to complete his portfolio for art school. So I helped him out. I didn’t know that someone stole the pictures last week.”

“That’s just what he told you.”

“No,” Ginny disagreed vehemently. “You don’t even know him. Colin would never do that to me. Besides, the pictures of Padma and Parvati aren’t in there." She pointed at the magazine with a dripping finger. “So this was done to get me personally.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “Padma and Parvati posed for him too? I’m gonna kill the poncy little— ”

Ginny’s eyes flashed in anger. “Don’t you dare call him that!”

Ron was quiet for a moment, breathing deeply of the steamy air through his nose. Something in his expression broke and he started forward. “Gin, whoever did this is going to pay. If you say that Colin didn’t do this, then I believe you. But I’m still going to have a talk with him. I don’t want to know what you and he are on about, and I don’t— ”

“He’s gay, Ron,” Ginny cut him off wearily. “He is nothing but my very best friend.”

Ron’s eyes grew even larger. “He’s gay? But all of those girls that he’s been with . . .”

“He says it is pretty common behaviour before someone realises they like people of the same gender. I’ve done a lot of research and have tried to be there for him the best I could. Don’t you dare go and open your mouth now.”

“I won’t, I promise. But if he didn’t— ” Ron’s face flushed an even deeper shade of red. “Malfoy,” he ground out.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “You always go back to him when something goes wrong. How on earth would he know about, much less be able to steal, Colin’s pictures?”

Ron’s hands wrung themselves over and over before fisting and dropping to his sides. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

“Then by all means, find out if you can. But can I please finish my bath?” The bubbles were starting to disappear and soon there would be nothing left to cover her naughty bits but the clear water. Ron nodded, deep in contemplation, and closed the door, leaving Ginny to her thoughts.

*~*~*~*~* Chapter Three

The next day, Ginny ventured out into the hallways with her head held high. She had taken extra care with her appearance that morning. Liberally covering her face with Lockhart’s Fabulous Freckle Fader and applying the small amount of paint charms she used with special precision. It wouldn’t do for her to look as if all of the gossip was affecting her sleep, which it was.

All talk stopped as she passed by and it took every ounce of courage and control to keep walking and ignore the stares. It had taken almost five years and Colin’s gentle insistence for her to gain the self-assurance she had now; it would not be ruined because of some stupid photographs. The Potions classroom was just a little further, if she could just sit down and get lost in her textbook . . .

“Mmmn, Weasley. Loved the one of you and the Patil girls draped over that sofa like the tarts you are. Now I’ll have something to bait my mastiffs into mating with at home.” The words were spoken softly into her ear and she stopped. The warm breath of the speaker was still moist on her neck. He was the one who stole the photographs! Ron had been right all along, but how had it been done?

Ginny turned round quickly as Draco was straightening up, grinning with sharp, white teeth. “You stole Colin’s pictures!”

This accusation received nothing but a haughty smirk in return. Ginny looked up and realised that her head only reached just above chest height on the arrogant beast. But her arms were at exactly the right level . . .

“At least you won’t be mating anymore.” She had the satisfaction of watching the puzzlement shift his features before pulling back her fist to slam into his crotch. The boy crumpled and almost fell on top of her before she regained the good sense to step back. He laid there, holding his goods, face purple. “You’ll pay for that, you little bitch.”

Ginny had to admire the fact that his words weren’t squeaky like Ron’s had been when she’d done the same thing to him last year, but were instead a breathy hiss. People gathered in a ring, watching as Draco writhed on the floor in agony. She glanced around, thankful that Ron wasn’t nearby to ‘protect’ her from Malfoy’s wrath. Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to be able to move anytime soon. She smiled sweetly down at him and blew a mocking kiss.

“It’s been fun, Malfoy. Remind me to— ahhh!” The world tumbled end over end as Draco grabbed her ankle and dragged her onto the floor, the back of her head clunking painfully on the hard, stone floor.

His face was pressed close as he whispered almost into her mouth. “You aren’t going anywhere, Weasley.”

Draco sat up and flipped her body over his lap. Ginny thrashed wildly about and she could feel him grunt as he struggled to hold her down. She could just see as he raised his large, long fingered hand and paddled her thoroughly on the bottom like a small child. The fact that he had just been embarrassed was nothing to the ridicule she would garner from this. More ridicule, blast him. Malfoy soon pushed her off of him and stood up, watching as she rubbed her backside fiercely.

“Now hurry along, little girl. Maybe next time you’ll remember that you shouldn’t try to run with the big boys.”

Ginny glared up at him from her position on the floor and watched as he swept out of the dungeons toward wherever he had been going in the first place. The crowds soon dispersed, guffawing and shaking their heads. Not only had she hit her head and been spanked like a two year-old in front of her peers, but now Ginny was late for her Potions exam.

*~*~*~*~*

It had been a long day and Draco sighed wearily as he flopped down on the green leather sofa in the empty Slytherin common room. The hard-won clarity of the morning had been reduced so far that it took every ounce of control he had not to break into tears. So it stood to reason that he didn’t want to deal with Pansy tonight when she slithered down the stairs.

“Oh Dray-co! You look so worn out! Let me kiss you all better.” She sat down on his lap, uninvited, and tried to kiss him on the lips. Draco allowed a hiss of pain escape and shoved her off onto the floor.

“Get off me, woman!” He rubbed at his crotch slightly and winced.

“Poor Dray-co, are you still hurting?”

“What do you think, you twat?” he ground out.

She tilted her head to the side, allowing hands to support her weight on the cold stone floor. “You must be really angry at Potter to have sold those pictures to Playwizard. When that little weasel tells him it was you, he’ll have your rocks on a stick.”

Draco shoved a hand through his hair, disrupting its usual coiffed perfection. “You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why did you tell her?” she persisted.

“I didn’t tell her outright. I just wanted a good laugh was all.”

Pansy narrowed her eyes and took in his form. “You‘ve been acting odd lately. What happened to you?”

“Nothing’s happened to me. I’ve just been tired is all.”

“Mmn-hmmn. It isn’t like you to give away the game before you’re ready to do so.”

Draco grunted in response and ignored Pansy, staring into the fire.

“You know,” she murmured, touching a hand to his thigh and slipping it further up. “I think I know just what you need.”

“Not tonight, Pansy. I‘m weary.”

“You don’t have to do anything but sit there.”

“I said not tonight!” he snapped. Pansy leaned back, her face openly fearful.

“You are different, Draco.” She actually forgot to say his name in an affected way, eyes widening. “Crabbe and Goyle say that you won’t let them walk with you anymore and you actually received house points for saving that chit’s life!”

“Crabbe and Goyle irritate me even more than you do. And as for the Weasley girl, do you really think I wouldn’t have been punished if I just pushed her off of my broom?”

“W-well . . .” she floundered, her fingers twisting in the rug under her hand.

“Exactly. Now if you don’t mind, I was busy before you came in flouting your non-existent charms.”

Pansy jumped to her feet, facial flesh quivering with rage. “I’m never sleeping with you again, Draco Malfoy. Never!”

“Next time you make a threat, Pansy darling, take away something other than that over-used little quim of yours. Because frankly, I was starting to lose interest anyway.”

“I hate you!” Pansy shouted, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as she ran up the stairs to the girl‘s dormitories.

“Ah well, nice to see I still haven’t lost my touch,” Draco whispered to himself, absorbed once more by the green flames of the fireplace.

*~*~*~*~*

“You punched Malfoy in the rocks? Are you mad?”

Ginny sighed, trust Ron to overreact. “What did you expect me to do after what he said to me?”

“You should have come and found me instead of clocking him like that. You were asking for trouble.”

“Well, I found it apparently. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, what’s done is done. And I‘m perfectly capable of defending myself, thanks much.”

“Do you realise that you’ve practically started a war? Malfoy will never leave us alone now. After what Dumbledore said— ”

“Have you already forgotten that he was the one who sold those pictures of me?”

“Well, no— ”

“Malfoy is the one who started this, not me.”

“But Gin— ”

“But Gin, nothing!” she snapped fiercely. “I’m not a little girl anymore, Ron.”

“You certainly are little! Malfoy is at least three inches taller than me and I’m six-foot! I don’t care how well you think you can defend yourself, you are still too small to be running around pounding people in the goods. You’re lucky that all he did was spank you.”

“It was enough,” Ginny admitted, ruefully rubbing her bottom. “He has hands like an iron skillet.”

Ron shook his head. “I’m going to go have a talk with Harry, if he’ll listen. We have to be prepared for what Malfoy might do next, and what I‘m going to do to Malfoy.”

“It’ll be easy enough for him to do something with Harry and Hermione fighting like they are.”

“You can’t fight with someone if you don’t acknowledge they exist,” Ron stated, his face suddenly even and vacant.

“I think Hermione went over the top. If she really wants to help Harry, she should just talk to him instead of screaming her head off and pretending he‘s not there. She’s scared of losing him and thinks that this is the best way but it’s not.”

Ron visibly flinched at her words but hung his head instead of saying anything further on the subject. “I’m going to go and talk with Harry.”

As Ron made his way out of the room, Ginny called out. “See if you can get him to talk to Hermione and I’ll see what I can do with her.”

Ron stood there, staring blankly at his sister a moment before nodding. “Yeah, you do that.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Hermione, you have to talk to Harry. This has been dragging out for far too long.”

The girl sniffed and tossed her long, frizzy brown curls over one shoulder. “I have nothing to say to that disgusting drunkard.”

Ginny pursed her lips and studied Hermione for a moment before speaking. “You know, it isn’t like you to pick a fight with Harry. Usually it’s Ron you’re mad at, this just doesn’t feel right to me.”

“No, Ginny,” Hermione whispered severely, turning to look her directly in the eyes. “You know what doesn’t feel right? Harry drowning his problems in a bottle instead of talking it over with Ron or I. Not only that, but when he does finally start talking about what‘s bothering him, he starts in on the same rubbish we’ve hashed and rehashed for years!”

“Then it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s been after him lately.”

“But I can’t live my life when Harry is always going on about You-Know-Who! It makes me wonder why I even bother studying for my N.E.W.T’s at all.”

“So that’s what has you so upset. You’re afraid that Harry’s right and he won’t be able to stop You-Know-Who from killing you.”

“Not just me, everyone. I’m afraid for everyone and I can’t— I can’t live this way. The constant fear, looking over my shoulder for You-Know-Who in every corner. It makes me wonder why I haven’t run screaming back to the Muggle world. Then Ron is always saying something about how doom and gloom Harry is and how he drowns his troubles in a few pints and a few girls down in Hogsmeade almost every weekend. I can’t bring myself to call him on it, and it isn’t even really my business what he does in Hogsmeade, but I’m worried about him. We‘re all falling apart.”

“Hermione, just go and talk things out with Harry. You’ll feel better. If You-Know-Who really is going to do something soon, then this is certainly not the time to be bickering with your friends.”

“I suppose you’re philosophy is something like ‘make the best of the time you have, eh?” Hermione queried contritely.

“Something like that.” Ginny made a shooing motion with her hands. “Now go on up there and talk to Harry and Ron, maybe this can all be worked out before Christmas hols and we can have some fun this year.”

Hermione smiled in a heartbreakingly true way and made her way out of the common room and up to the boy’s dormitories while Ginny took the opportunity to get some Potions homework done.

*~*~*~*~*

It was nearing midnight when Ginny put the finishing touches on the two foot Asphodel essay Snape wanted as punishment for being late to class that morning. Ginny rubbed the back of her neck and stretched, glancing up to the boy’s dormitory entrance. Things had been quiet up there for some time now and it made her curious.

She pressed the blotter firmly over her Potions essay and rolled it up. No one else was in the common room this late except for Neville who had fallen asleep over his Herbology homework on the floor in front of the fire.

Carefully, Ginny stepped over Neville and made her way upstairs to the seventh-year boy’s dorm. The door creaked as she opened it and there was mumbling from Seamus’ bed as he turned over, clutching a stuffed Quaffle to his chest and burying his face in it contentedly. Ron and Neville’s beds were empty, but Harry’s had the curtains partly drawn. Ginny lifted her hand to draw them back and smiled softly when she took in the scene before her.

Harry was on the left side, glasses halfway down his nose, his face relaxed and tranquil. Hermione laid in the middle, squished between the two boys with an arm around each of their shoulders protectively. Ron curled up into her side, resting his flushed and sticky face on top of her stomach.

Ginny sighed, feeling left out, but happy that they had all resolved the problem. Things were back to normal again. Hermione and the boys always had a closeness that became less restrained as the years passed and danger brought them nearer to each other. No matter how much Harry tried to keep them at a distance.

Most people would see their behaviour as odd or even aberrant. But this was as natural as breathing to the Trio. Trio. That is what they were, and there was no room left for a fourth to join them on the bed and make it a Quartet.

Ginny pulled the quilt her mum had made for Harry the year before out of his trunk and draped it over their slumbering bodies, careful not to wake them. She gave in to her urge to smooth Ron’s hair before wandering back down the stairwell. Ginny woke Neville from his place before the fire and scooted him along to bed before going upstairs herself.

Huddled away from the creeping autumn chill by thick blankets and curtains, Ginny wished, not for the first time, that she had more friends like Hermione and Harry were to Ron.

4. Year of the Fallen

Weeks went by and things returned to normal. Harry didn’t spend every night in the loving arms of Ogden’s Old Fire Whiskey and Hermione stopped pretending that he didn’t exist. Ron put the fear of Merlin in the entire male population of the school in regards to treating Ginny respectfully and the days wore on.

Christmas holidays were closer than ever, and in the mad rush to do well on mid-term exams, Draco Malfoy actually forgot to berate Harry and his friends at every given opportunity. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it again, though.

All in all, life was good if not exactly relaxing. Quidditch matches were still brutally competitive as ever and Ginny strained to overcome her newfound fear of brooms.

"Ginny, it isn’t like it’s Malfoy’s broom or anything. Just fly the sodding thing. It’s the last match before hols and then you can practice some more at home. Harry’s had you on the bench since that Slytherin game and you have to play today."

"Why did Claire have to be sick today? Couldn’t she have been sick tomorrow?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Like she really woke up and decided `oh, I think I’ll be sick so Ginny has to get her fat arse off of the bench´."

"My arse is not fat!"

"It will be if you don’t get off it and get some exercise. At least then I won’t have to worry about Malfoy selling more pictures of you to Playwizard."

"How dare you!" Ginny shrieked as she rapped Ron smartly on the head with her broom and turned to walk away, hoping that her ruffled dignity was apparent from the straight set of her shoulders.

"Oi, Ginny!" Harry called from across the pitch. "I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better, but could you please not hit my Chaser over the head? We’ve still a game to play."

Ginny grumbled as she mounted her broom, resisting the urge to send Harry a rude gesture in reply. At least she could content herself in the fact that this game was against Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin. It could be done, just a friendly game of Quidditch and then tomorrow they would all be leaving for the Burrow.

She looked up into the stands to see Hermione fluttering her hand madly and Ginny smiled, waving back as she took off from the ground. Colin was somewhere close to Hermione, a few rows back, and was staring lustily at Ernie MacMillan, totally ignoring Ginny.

Madame Hooch pitched the Quaffle high into the air and Ginny took a deep breath before pelting after it, not having time to wave at Colin. Justin Finch-Fletchley grabbed it first as he whooped and raced off towards the Gryffindor goal. Narrowing her eyes, Ginny leaned forward over her broom to gain speed and stopped in mid-air as a flashback of being bent over by Malfoy flooded her mind. She shook her head to clear it and pushed blindly forward. ‘He isn’t here, just keep playing,’ Ginny berated herself. Justin was far ahead and Ron and Seamus were already catching him up.

Ginny spared a glance at Hermione for support and drew up short when she saw Malfoy talking to her. Whatever it was that he said must have hurt because Hermione was huddling down into her robes as far as possible. As he leaned forward to smirk superiorly into her face, Ginny’s temper snapped and she flew straight for the stands, regardless of the fact that she was in the middle of a Quidditch match.

Hermione had already had enough and was making her way past Malfoy to get down the stairs when it happened.

Tripping over someone’s rucksack, Hermione’s arms wind-milled for only a second before she lost balance completely and fell backwards over the railing. She screamed once and was plunging towards the ground at a great rate of speed. Malfoy’s mouth was a perfect `o´ as he rushed forward to catch her but too late.

Ginny was close by and threw her broom recklessly into a downward spiral, shouting Hermione’s name and praying to catch her before the earth did. For a moment, about twenty feet from the ground, Ginny could feel Hermione’s hand touch her own and gripped it tightly to slow her descent. Closer, closer, closer, Ginny told herself. But she wasn’t fast enough and Hermione slipped, stopped, and bounced once before becoming very still.

Just narrowly avoiding the ground herself, Ginny pulled up and landed, jumping off of her broom to cradle Hermione in her arms. Harry and Ron weren’t very far behind and the latter leapt from his broom before it was less than three feet from the ground.

"Hermione!" was echoed by both of the boys, a cry that pierced the crowd’s whispering, as they knelt beside the motionless form.

"I-I tried to catch her, but I wasn’t fast enough and my hands slipped. I’m so sorry— " This last word was partially cut off as a sob escaped Ginny’s mouth and she clapped a hand over it, rocking Hermione back and forth. Madame Hooch was running across the pitch with Madame Pomfrey in tow.

"What happened here?" Madame Hooch demanded.

"Hermione tripped and fell over the railing. I couldn’t catch her in time," Ginny cried, holding onto Hermione more protectively than before.

"I see. You shouldn’t have moved her, Miss Weasley. Now put her down so Poppy can have a look," Hooch said brusquely as she removed Ginny’s arms from around Hermione and placed them by her sides.

Madame Pomfrey looked down at Hermione and shook her head, allowing her wand to pass over Hermione’s body and clucking when the light encasing the tip turned a different colour.

"She isn’t dead. But there’s some internal bleeding and broken bones. I may have to call someone in from St. Mungo’s to operate. You should feel lucky that you slowed her fall or she’d be dead now."

"But she’ll be all right?" Harry pleaded, gripping the tiny woman by the shoulders.

"Maybe, it all depends on how fast we can get that bleeding under control. A human body can— "

"What are you waiting for then! Take her back to Hogwarts and call that fellow from St. Mungo’s!" Ron shouted, cutting off Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse frowned at him but didn’t comment as she created a stretcher and made it float over the pitch towards the castle and into the Infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*

"How bloody long does it take to do surgery on someone?" Ron asked, pushing a freckled hand through his limp hair.

"Don’t say bloody," was the only response Ron received from Harry.

Ginny was just as worried as the other two, who had resorted to pacing and staring blankly at the walls. Harry had taken it upon himself to make Hermione’s presence felt by correcting Ron periodically when he wasn’t blanking out, and Ron grumbled and swore as he walked from the Infirmary doors and back to the wall in a dizzy circuit.

It was early evening and Ginny’s stomach was rumbling. She pushed herself off of the bench opposite of the Infirmary and stretched her aching limbs.

"I’m going down to the kitchens to get us something to eat. Any preferences?" Her enquiry was met with silence on Harry’s part and Ron shook his head.

"I couldn’t think of eating anything right now, my stomach is all tied up in knots."

Ginny nodded. "I’ll bring back some sandwiches and juice, just in case."

The hallways were dark and rush torches were spaced neatly down each side of the corridor all along this wing. What light they cast was dim and flickering at best. Just as she was turning the corner en route to the kitchens, a tall figure shrouded in black knocked her down. Ginny started to apologise before she realised that they had knocked her down and stopped. Then she caught a glimpse of their face and froze.

"Malfoy?" she queried, turning her head to the side just to make sure that Ron wasn’t going to make an appearance and then looked up again toward the cloaked figure. His face was half-hidden under his hood and what little there was showing didn’t give much indication of his thoughts, if any.

"What are you doing here? Come to finish her off?" Ginny sneered as she put her hands down on the rough stones to help her stand back up. Malfoy didn’t move to offer assistance, but pulled even deeper into his cloak.

"I didn’t mean for her to fall," he said so faintly that Ginny had a difficult time making out the words.

"You didn’t push her but you may as well have done."

"I tried to catch her!" Draco defended angrily.

"I know," Ginny sighed. "I saw you reach for her. But we were both too late." She looked up into his face but could see nothing but darkness. "Anyway, why do you care? She’s just a Mudblood. I thought Malfoys didn’t associate with her kind."

"I don’t care."

"Then why are you here?"

Draco actually flinched at this and Ginny tried to blink the surprise from her expression. "Are you feeling guilty, Malfoy?" she ventured.

"Of course not," he snapped, but the response lacked his usual bite and Ginny could see how his shoulders were slouching down. It wasn’t like him at all.

"You do. You feel guilty because you upset her so badly that she lost her balance and fell. You feel bad because you couldn’t catch her before she— "

"Shut up," he whispered hoarsely. "Just shut up. You don’t know anything about me, so don’t presume."

"Why do you care, Malfoy?" she persisted. "Why do you care what happens to one of us?"

Draco opened his mouth to respond and shut it tightly as Ron came skidding around the corner, not noticing him there.

"Ginny, she’s awake! We can go in to see her now."

Ginny turned back to say something to Malfoy but he was gone. She peered into the shadows, but there was nothing so she allowed Ron to guide her back to the Infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*

"How are you feeling, Hermione?" Ginny asked, taking up her left hand as the right was being occupied in Harry’s tight grip.

She turned her head slightly to the left and smiled weakly. "I feel like I was hit by a Bludger."

Ginny laughed through thankful tears and gave her hand a squeeze. "No, just the ground."

Hermione nodded and closed her eyes wearily. "Where’s Ron?" she asked, eyes still closed.

"I’m here, Hermione." Ron sat on the bed when Ginny rose to vacate the coveted spot. Hermione nodded again and relaxed more deeply into the bed.

Before she had the chance to fall asleep, Ginny asked: "What did Malfoy say to make you so upset?"

Hermione blinked her eyes at the question and shrugged. "It wasn’t important, just Malfoy being a Malfoy."

Ron was quickly becoming purple with rage and Harry’s hand shook on top of Hermione’s coverlet.

"What did he say, Hermione?" Harry ground out. "I want to know what to tell him while I’m mashing his aristocratic nose into the floor."

Ginny almost said that Malfoy had tried to catch her, but kept silent as Hermione began to speak.

"He said that . . ." she swallowed. "He said that I’m a tease."

Ron drew back and gaped like a fish. "A tease? How are you a tease?"

"Because I’m always, you know, I’m always hugging you two and being affectionate."

"That doesn’t mean anything, we’re just close is all," Harry said, leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed. He had dropped Hermione’s hand in the process and now had a very dark look upon his face.

Ron had picked up her other hand and now held them both. "Hermione, don’t ever listen to something that stupid arse says again. Do you understand?" He shook her hands slightly for emphasis and placed a gentle kiss over her knuckles. "He’s only jealous because he doesn’t have a— a friend as good as you."

Harry snorted, "I don’t think Malfoy has any friends."

Ginny decided to broach a new topic. "Are you still coming to the Burrow for Christmas, Hermione?"

"Oh I don’t know, Ginny. I’m still feeling awfully weak and Madame Pomfrey said that I have to be here for her to watch over me for at least another two days just to make sure that I don’t bleed anymore."

"We’ll stay here with you then," Ron said quickly.

Hermione only shook her head. "No, you all should go; I’ll be along before Christmas. Just as long as Mrs Weasley doesn’t mind that I sleep most of the time."

"She won’t mind, Hermione. In fact, I’m going to owl Mum right now and let her know about what happened." Ginny dipped her head down and gave Hermione a quick kiss on the forehead, followed by Harry and Ron.

"We’ll leave so you can rest now," Harry said with one last pat to her hand. Ron didn’t want to go, but Ginny grabbed his arm and dragged him away.

"Come on, Ron. We’ll write to Mum and ask her to set Hermione up in Bill’s room since he won’t be home for the holidays."

Ron nodded and allowed Ginny to lead he and Harry out of the sickroom.

5. Draco in

Authour’s Note: This is a particularly sinister chapter. Warnings for torture and dark themes. The linked pictures I only thought necessary to avoid being peppered with questions from people who don’t know what certain objects are, or what they are used for. I apologise if it seems a bit heavy-handed to some of you.

"Be still, be calm, be quiet now, my precious boy.
Don't struggle like that or I will only love you more.
For it's much too late to get away or turn on the light.
The spiderman is having you for dinner tonight."

~ The Cure - Lullaby

“Father, I don’t understand why we have to do this now.”

Draco Malfoy stood in the middle of his father’s study, covered in chain mail with an ornate billhook in one hand. The mid-afternoon sun was bright and it bathed him in gold as he paced across the basket-weave parquet flooring.

“You must know how to defend yourself properly if the time ever comes that you can not use magic.”

“But these are Muggle weapons, and ancient ones at that.” Draco looked down at the pole in his hand, his brows furrowed with contempt. “It isn’t very likely I’ll be able to get my hands on a billhook in the middle of a fight. Besides, I hardly think it appropriate to be cowering behind metal chain like a frightened child.”

“Your opinion on the subject matters little. You will do this. Now, disarm me if you can.” Lucius sniffed, holding his mace slightly to the side. Full metal plate armour gleamed with fresh polish over his father’s torso and Draco felt it wasn’t fair that he only had a tunic of mail for protection against his father’s spiked mace.

What a way to spend the holidays.

He desperately longed for one of the ‘Earl and Flicks’s Menthol cigarettes - with new and improved Calming Charm!’ that resided in his trouser pocket. It was the only way he had found to be even close to normal again, especially since coming home.

Draco acknowledged his father with a curt nod and darted forward, catching the mace’s tipped end between the spike and hook of his weapon and wrenched it out of his father’s grip just as the man was about to swing. This took his father by surprise, but it didn’t show on his face. It never would.

Fluidly, Draco threw the mace behind him and with the same movement curved his hook somewhere under the side joints of Lucius’ breastplate, pulling the man to the floor.

Placing one foot on his father’s chest, Draco dipped a hand into the rough linen tunic under his mail and pulled out a misericorde, hovering the stiletto over Lucius’ heart.

“Do you yield?” he asked the traditional words without a hint of emotion in his voice.

Lucius’ eyebrows rose and he nodded, sitting up. One corner of his mouth jerked up in what, for him, would be a smile. “Maybe there is hope for you yet.”

“Thank you, Father. Do I have your permission to withdraw?”

“Not just yet, there are some matters I must discuss with you.” He stood from the floor and walked over to his desk, sitting behind it but making no motion for Draco to take a seat himself.

“After you leave school in June, there are two things that will happen. One is your marriage, of which you were already aware. But the second is something I’ve only recently been able to discuss with My Lord. He has agreed to accept you into the ranks of the Death Eaters early.”

Draco’s eyes widened and Lucius took this as a sign of surprise, rather than the anger it really was.

“Yes, I know. You are still very young yet. But as a favour to me, the Dark Lord has consented to my request to have you join us immediately upon finishing school.”

Thoughts swirled through Draco’s mind; along with emotions he didn’t know he was capable of having. A Death Eater? He had always known that he was to be married immediately after graduation to a Rosier cousin whose name he didn’t even know, to produce more heirs for the thinning Malfoy herd. Now this? Was he to have no freedom or would he be forced to bow to the demands of master after master his entire life? Draco made himself keep a neutral face about the matter and swallowed hard.

“I am . . . honoured, Father. However, I have no wish to join the Death Eaters at any time in the future. I’m sure that you understand.”

If it wasn’t possible before for someone’s face to turn black, Lucius made the exception.

“Understand? You’re honoured? There is no choice in this, Draco. You will be a Death Eater. You were written in as a future member of our ranks the day you were born!”

Lucius’ eyebrows were beetled into a single line over his forehead and the normal pallor of his skin was blotchy and unrecognisable. Draco kept a firm reign on himself to keep from taking a step back.

“Father, I— ”

“You disgust me!” Lucius stood up. “Remove your shirt and wait for me in the Chamber.”

“Father, if you’ll let me explain— ”

“Another sound from you and it will be an extra twenty.” Lucius stated more calmly than before, looking down his nose at the boy. “The Chamber, now.”

Draco didn’t dare say anything further, but walked with steady, deliberate steps out of the room and down the hall into the Chamber.

Long ago, when Malfoy Manor was built, one of the very first rooms completed was a torture chamber leant out to priests during the Inquisition.

Although it started in Spain, the movement spread rapidly through Europe and across the Channel into the British Isles. The first Malfoys of the area had brought their beloved customs with them from France, as they were priests whose loyalties had lain with those who were persecuting their own people. Malfoys always had been ones to save their own skins first and those of others later if at all. Wizards and witches by the score were brought into the Manor to be stretched, burned, shorn, and often buried in unmarked graves on the land if they didn’t confess their ‘sins’.

Now the youngest master of this house looked around him at the various implements of torture and wondered which his father would use this time. It had been almost six months since he had displeased his father so badly. The spider incident, as Draco lovingly referred to it, was the first and last time he’d set foot in this room.

Draco quickly took off the heavy chain mail and the linen tunic underneath, which left him to face the chill in only a pair of trousers. Perhaps that was part of the torment. Lucius strode through the door just as Draco was placing his shoes and dagger on a stray chair.

“Which is it to be tonight, boy?”

Draco didn’t allow his shoulders to fall, but raised his head firmly and walked around the room. It seemed that he was to pick out his own method of punishment tonight.

He walked by the Catherine Wheel and tongue stretchers; thumbscrews weren’t painful enough, and Father would punish him more severely if he took the coward’s way out. Water torture: that would suffice. He pointed at the contraption and Lucius shook his head.

“You could be drowned. How would I explain that to the Dark Lord?”

Draco frowned and continued to walk along the narrow pathways past various instruments of pain. Punishments seemed even more unbearable when he had to deliberate like this instead of getting it over with. But Lucius enjoyed the ritual of it all; it comforted him as mulled wine on a cold night heartened most.

“The Hot Seat?” Draco asked.

“Don’t be daft, I want heirs from you someday.”

Torture could be a very tricky process. Too much pressure one way or another and the victim was either dead or horribly mutilated. Lucius had no use for a crippled son, and too many uses for a dead one. Charms to cover scars and to seal wounds came in useful at the Malfoy ‘home’. Then again, some of the marks he made couldn’t be concealed.

Lucius sighed in exasperation and picked up a pair of thumbscrews. “These will have to do; I don’t have all night to be about this. I’ll just hang you by your fingers for a few hours and that should make up for it.”

Draco’s fingers were shoved between the spiked, metal plates and Lucius twisted the screws on each side until Draco’s bones started to crunch and the pads turned purple. He bit back a gasp.

“Hmmn, on second thought, what would I do if you had no fingers? I’d best suspend you by the wrists instead.”

The thumbscrews were released and Draco didn’t dare rub his hands to bring back the feeling. A thick rope was tied around his wrists, the other end thrown over a rafter, and the ground was no longer under his feet as he was pulled up to hover over the floor by a few inches.

Lucius regarded him critically. “Twenty lashes. Then you may come down when you apologise and agree to fulfil your family obligations.”

Draco rolled his eyes and held a tight rein on his vocal cords. His father seemed to enjoy flapping his lips; that was the real torture. Maybe if he bit his own lip it would keep the sarcasm in check and this would be over with soon.

The whip cracked and there was the even, fiery sting across his back that he remembered and loathed, yet craved at the same time. He had been content without it before, but now Draco realised that it was the only form of love he would ever receive from his father.

That was one . . .

*~*~*~*~*

“Mrs Weasley please, I can’t eat another bite.”

Molly sighed and put down her serving spoon. “If you say so, Harry. But you’re terribly thin and I worry about you.”

“Muuum! Harry’ll throw up if you make him eat anymore. He’s always been a skinny little bloke.”

Harry sat up straighter and glared at Ron. “I may be a skinny bloke, but I’m hardly little, am I?”

“Well,” Ron admitted. “I suppose not, seeing as how you’re almost an inch taller than I am.”

“More than an inch, I’m an inch and three-quarters over six.” Harry smirked at Ron, very satisfied with himself and pleased by the fact that he could still act like a five year-old without cares on occasion.

“You are not!” Ron shouted, spewing kippers everywhere. “I’ll kill Fred and George if you are.”

“Yep, measured myself just last week.” Harry crossed his arms smugly and lifted one corner of his mouth.

Ron looked at him witheringly. “I wasn’t talking about your— ”

“Ron!” Ginny gasped.

“What? I was going to say his shoe size.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Sure you were.” She turned to their mother. “Speaking of, when are the twins going to be here, Mum?”

“Merlin only knows; they’re still in America looking over new ideas for the shop, so they may not be here until Christmas Eve.”

“Oh,” Ginny clasped her hands together in an earnest way. “I hope they bring me something keen, you know they’ll do their Christmas shopping there.”

“Oh, I hope they’ll bring me something keen!” Ron mocked in a high-pitched voice.

“Quiet you,” Ginny swatted her older brother on the head. “Or I’ll tell Charlie to keep the present he bought you for Christmas.”

Ron’s eyes lit up. “What is it? Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Ginny crossed her arms and winked at Harry. “Harry knows, but I’m not saying a word about it. You’ll have to wait until Christmas.”

“Come on, Harry, tell me what it is.”

Mrs Weasley smacked her son over the head with a wooden serving spoon. “Leave them alone. You’ll find out on Christmas and not before.” She stood up and smoothed down her wrinkled calico apron. “Now Charlie is Portkeying in tonight and I want you to leave him alone about your present. He‘s still recovering from that dreadful splinching incident a few days ago.”

“Yes, Mum,” Ron agreed, rubbing his head where the spoon had hit. “When are Dad and Perce going to be home today? I have this Muggle thing I picked up from one of our Muggle Studies trips to Snowdon last week and I want to show him.”

Molly’s face fell. “Percy won’t be home today, and not for Christmas either. He’s on an important business trip for the Ministry and won’t be able to come.”

Ginny sighed, “You mean we’ll be missing two brothers this year?” Mrs Weasley nodded and Ron put his head over a fist.

“Rotten. I never thought I’d say this, but it won’t seem the same without Percy here to bore everyone to death with his reports on cauldron thickness. And without Bill here, it‘s bound to be no fun.”

Harry and Ginny murmured their agreement. Since Harry had spent his last two winter holidays with the Weasley clan, he had come to expect certain things: Fred and George to tease the girls, Charlie to talk about dragons and teach him some Quidditch moves, while Bill always managed to convince his parents to let everyone open presents early, and Percy— Well, it was always loads of fun to tease the poor boy about his unflagging devotion to the Ministry.

This Christmas was going to be terribly different.

*~*~*~*~*

“Are you ready to apologise, Draco?”

Lucius Malfoy stood beneath him, waiting expectantly for a reply. Draco carefully drew in a breath; if he hung here much longer, he would suffocate from his own body weight and the need to breathe would no longer exist.

“Sir, I apologise for my actions earlier. However, I still do not wish to become a Death Eater.” What had possessed him to say that? He could have easily lied and found another way to get out of it later.

“Still the same.” Lucius shook his head. “You are a stubborn boy, and I will break you eventually. Why don’t I give you another hour or two to think about it?” He picked up the whip that had been discarded earlier. “And here is a little motivation to speed things along.”

*~*~*~*~*

It had been six hours and Draco was still dangling over the intricately detailed stone floor. He had had much time to study the pattern and knew the way each piece fit into the next by heart. He looked up when Lucius came thundering into the room.

“Well?”

Draco tried to inhale in order to speak, but his breath was shallow at best, making his speech thin and strained. “Sir, I apologise for my actions— ”

Lucius waved this away. “Save it, I’ve heard enough tonight. I’ll be by in the morning to see if you have changed your mind.”

Draco watched as his father walked away. There were many thoughts racing through his brain, but only one kept repeating itself.

He wouldn’t be alive come morning.

The weight of his body was too much for his lungs to take and already it was agony to breathe enough to speak those words to his father. The bindings had worn away a good deal of his flesh and the blood that flowed caked his arms with long, brownish streaks.

It was time to make a decision.

With new-found strength, Draco started to swing his body backwards and forwards. If he could only reach the misericorde he had left on top of his tunic. The chair with his clothes was only just out of reach, the dagger glinting softly through the folds of cloth.

One mighty swing and Draco managed to hook his feet around the chair, arching his body to bring it closer. It dragged along the floor and he winced at the noise it made. Hopefully his father was already in bed and wouldn’t hear.

It was there, just under his dangling legs and Draco stepped on the cushion, which supported him enough so that he was finally able to take a real breath. He stood there a moment, regaining strength, before he picked through the cloth with his feet and found the dagger.

Another moment went by as Draco thought of how he would manage to reach it with his hands and not use his fingers. He wrapped the dagger with his feet as best he could and kicked back on the chair, toppling it over and leaving him free to sway. The ropes bit into his wrists again and fresh blood flowed over the old.

He built momentum, bringing his feet a little closer each time until he was finally able to touch the blade with fingers blissfully numb from circulation loss. He knew that all his Seeker flexibility would come in handy one day. Draco wriggled his hands until he felt that the edge of the dagger was against the rope and moved his fingers carefully up and down.

A misericorde is long and thin, meant only to stab, so its edge is dull. But Draco kept working, and after what seemed an eternity, the final thread snapped and he was free.

The force of impact stunned him for a moment, and Draco found himself wondering if he would be able to stand, much less walk to his room. Arms, which had been above his head for hours, refused to come down and it took almost ten minutes just to keep his limbs from floating in the air when he relaxed them.

If he were found somewhere other than this room there would be hell to pay. But if he wasn’t found at all . . . It was at this moment that Draco decided he had had enough. He wouldn’t be a Death Eater, and he wouldn’t be a pawn in his father’s games any longer. Even being dead was preferable to that, however Draco had a very strong urge to live.

When he was able to put on the shirt, he did so and crept quietly out of the Chamber toward his room. His wand was lying where he had left it on the desk and he carefully pocketed it. The contents of his moneybag were emptied out on top of the bed and Draco frowned; fifty Galleons and a few Sickles wouldn’t get him very far.

Draco ignored the money for the time being and proceeded to stuff a few items in a bag. He would buy food when he was gone; the house-elves would tell his father if they saw him in the kitchens. Wand, clothes, money . . . He needed more money.

Grabbing his Cloudstriker IV from the closet, Draco tiptoed his way through the narrow hallways to his father’s study. The door was locked of course, but he knew the incantation and things proceeded without incident.

He knew that his father kept some money in his desk to give the elves when they went to market. The drawer was locked as well, but here Draco had a problem. He could always smash the top of the desk but that would be noisy and could take too much time. It was probably protected by a password, but what was it? Draco set down his broom and sat at the desk.

Knowing his father’s turn of mind, he whispered several things before the phrase ‘Dark Mark’ allowed him entry into the little stash. Draco’s lips twisted wryly: how typical.

Draco stuffed several small leather bags into his pockets and was about to close the drawer before his eyes rested on a book: his father’s journal. It was too good to pass up without taking a peek.

He read through a few boring passages, flipping the pages before he caught sight of his own name and started to shake as he scanned lines which had been penned only hours before.

Draco is becoming more difficult to control. I’ve been assured by My Lord that the Tir nOg curse does not wear off and can only be broken by phoenix tears. How likely is he to have crossed paths with a phoenix?

The boy is irritating beyond measure, and if My Lord were not in such need of him I would have drowned the brat years ago; I could always make more heirs. But My Lord has invested much time and effort in making sure that our line was bred to be the cream of humanity and thus I respect his decisions. Draco is the culmination of his dreams, and it honours me beyond measure that the Dark Lord has chosen my son to be his physical vessel for the new world about to be created.

I must remember to write back to that little poof from the Ministry. He becomes ‘desperate without my company’. What a sentimental idiot.

For a moment, Draco couldn’t move. But then a noise from the hallway made him jump and he realised that his father was walking to the Chamber to check on him. Father had lied when he said that he wouldn’t be back until morning just to scare him! But Draco didn’t care that he had fallen for the bait and was even more determined than ever to get away.

He ripped the last page from the journal and stuffed it in a pocket to study later. The book itself went back to the drawer and he closed it carefully. Draco stood up, loaded down with his bag and gold, and opened the window. He mounted the broom and flew out into the cold night air. It was only when the wind started biting his toes that Draco remembered he hadn’t put any shoes on.

Shoes could be procured, Draco thought and he turned the broom toward London.

Reviewing is good for your soul and mine, too! Don’t you just feel the need to unburden yourself? I know you do.

6. Chess, Charlie, and Crashes

“Charlie!” Ginny squealed as she threw herself at the redheaded man walking through the front door.

“There’s my little smoke puff!”

The rest of the Weasleys hung back when Ginny’s feet went flying as she was swung up into the air. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you, too.” Charlie suddenly grinned. “Come over here, Ron, and give us a squeeze.”

“That’s okay, I don’t feel like getting clocked in the face by Ginny’s feet.”

Charlie put her down and stomped over to give Ron a bear hug. The fact that he was now several inches shorter than his baby brother didn‘t seem to faze him in the slightest. “Aww what’s the matter? Is ickle Ronnikins too grown up to hug his big brother?”

“No, I just can’t breathe is all,” Ron managed to choke out.

“Eh, you’re a tough little chap.”

“Little?!”

Ron was dropped and exchanged for Mr and Mrs Weasley. “So what are you making for tea, Mum?”

Molly hauled back and smacked Charlie on the head. “In the house less than five minutes and all you can say is ‘what’s for tea’?”

“Sorry, Mum,” Charlie rubbed his temple and grinned ruefully. “Harry! Good to see you.”

Harry crept backwards, attempting to avoid the seeking arms. Fortunately for him, Charlie settled on a handshake and a dizzying blow to the back.

“Don’t kill the poor boy, Charlie,” Mrs Weasley admonished.

“He can take it, can’t you Harry?”

Harry only nodded and sat down on the couch. Charlie was soon next to him and Ginny settled herself on her brother’s lap.

“Tell us about the dragons, Charlie. I want to hear all the news.”

Ron groaned. “Ginny is the one you should have smacked, Mum. I don‘t think I can handle another lively discussion on the differences between the horns of a male and female Gre— ”

“Ronald! Our brother can talk about whatever makes him happy. I don’t tear out my hair every time I hear you talk about the Chudley Cannons do I?”

“But that’s Quidditch. You like Quidditch!” Ron was feeling offended and would soon be so mired in his childhood habits that it would be impossible to talk with him.

“Come on, be nice and stop arguing with everybody. Your brother is home now.” Harry felt it was his duty to pull Ron out of his infantile behaviour before it got out of hand.

“That doesn’t mean that Ron will stop acting like a baby. In fact, he usually acts like more of a baby when the big boys are here,” Ginny interjected in a mischievous tone.

“Do not,” Ron pouted.

“See?” she pointed out, bouncing on Charlie’s lap with glee.

“Enough, you two. It’s time for tea, your Mum says.” The normally quiet Mr Weasley raised his voice enough to be heard and there was a stampede as the four young adults raced each other to the kitchen and the wonders it contained.

*~*~*~*~*

“That was your best meal ever, Mrs Weasley,” Harry sighed, rubbing his contented belly.

“Yeah, Mum. That was great!”

“It was only steak and chips with a bit of egg. Nothing fancy really.” Molly blushed at the complement and sipped her tea. “More eggs, Charlie?”

Charlie waved his one hand while resting the other on top of his solid stomach. “No, I’m all right.”

“Harry?”

“Uh uh, I think I was still full from earlier.”

Ginny stood up from the table and started clearing away the dishes. “After I do these, I think I’ll take a bath and go to bed. I’m awfully tired for some reason.”

“You do that dear, I’ll help you.”

Mrs Weasley rose from her chair and followed Ginny over to the sink. Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered. “Wanna play chess for a bit?”

“Sure. But why are we whispering?”

Ron shrugged as he looked out the window at the first snow of the season. “Don’t know. Let’s play in front of the fire though, it’s nippy tonight.”

Harry agreed and soon they were involved in the match to end all matches. Ron actually looked confused for a moment when he realised that Harry had put his king in check so quickly.

“How did you do that?” Ron asked, narrowing his eyes.

Harry shrugged. “Don’t know; it just seemed like the thing to do.”

“Hmmn, better watch my game from now on. Next thing I know, you’ll have my queen,” he muttered to himself, not really paying attention to the board. “Knight to D5.”

The knight moved up and over one space to the right obediently. It was only after a moment that Ron realised his mistake and flushed. Harry grinned good-naturedly as he ordered his bishop diagonally to capture the black queen. She screamed something profane at Ron before she was swept off of the board.

“You were saying?”

Ron gritted his teeth. It was only chess, nothing to get upset over, he told himself. But his inner voice was hollow and the words didn’t sink in completely. “Rook to A4.”

The game went on for a while longer before Ron smiled triumphantly. “Checkmate.”

Harry sighed and flipped his king over on its side. “Well done, Ron.”

“Thanks, Harry. You may have captured my queen, but I won the game.”

“No need to be smug about it,” Harry groused. He had the odd feeling that Ron wasn’t referring to just chess with his last statement. Ron grinned though and the suspicion melted away.

“Sorry, Harry. Just got carried off with it is all.”

“Quite all right.”

“Oi, you fellows! Mum’s made cocoa so come into the kitchen,” Charlie shouted to them from the doorway.

Harry smiled and stood up from the floor, offering out a hand to help Ron up but he waved it away.

“You go ahead, I’m going to clean up first.”

Harry shrugged. “If you say so. Want me to bring you some back?”

Ron shook his head and Harry walked off towards the brightly-lit kitchen. The fireplace in front of Ron was mostly embers now, but he stared into it as if it held all the secrets of the world.

*~*~*~*~*

“Where’s Ron at, love?” Mrs Weasley asked Harry, her eyebrows raised in concern when he walked into the kitchen alone.

“Oh, he said he’s going to clean up first and then he’ll be along.”

Molly studied Harry carefully before going back to her cocoa. “There are biscuits here if you want them. Just chat with us for awhile, you’ve been at school all year and we didn’t get to see you for very long this summer.”

“All right, though there isn’t much to tell, it’s been a fairly dull year so far. Except for Hermione and Ginny taking falls out on the Quidditch pitch, of course.”’

Arthur shook his head sadly. “I’m only glad that the girls weren’t more seriously injured. Is poor Hermione still laid up in the Infirmary?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, but she should be able to come to the Burrow in a few days or so.”

“That’s good. I was so worried about her when Ginny and Ron sent me that owl.”

Molly sniffled and Arthur leaned over to cover her hand in his own. “She’ll be all right, Moll. Don’t worry about that one, she’s tough as dragonhide even if she is just a little girl.”

“I’m convinced that this is the year of the falling Weasleys,” Charlie added to the conversation. “Why just last week I fell off of the Opaleye we’re trying to break into saddle.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “You’ve an Opaleye out there?”

Charlie didn’t get a chance to answer though as he was thumped soundly by his mother. “Why didn’t you tell me that you fell off of a dragon? And what were you doing trying to saddle one in the first place? You know they don’t take well to riders.”

“Mum, I didn’t think— ” Charlie was saved from having to explain this to his mother by the sound of a tremendous crash from upstairs. It took only a minute for the four to glance at each other in question before they all took off running up the stairs to the top floor behind Ron who had been closer.

“Ginny?” Mr Weasley shouted. “Ginny, are you all right?”

A door opened at the end of the upstairs hall and the sleepy red-haired girl rubbed a hand over her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Oh thank heavens!” Mrs Weasley shouted and clasped her baby close.

“Mum, I’m fine. But what was that noise?”

During this time, the boys had all been creeping toward the bathroom with their wands drawn and followed by Mr Weasley. He stopped them before they were able to open the door.

“If there is something dangerous in there, I had better go first,” he said quietly. Charlie nodded and pushed Ron and Harry behind him with Ginny and Mrs Weasley peering around from back of them.

Carefully, Mr Weasley turned the knob on the bathroom door and creaked it open enough for him to see inside. He stood there for a moment, blocking the path before pushing the door all the way against the wall.

“A boy has fallen through our roof, Molly.” Arthur tilted his head to the side in puzzlement as Mrs Weasley pushed him out of the way to see for herself.

“Sweet Merlin! It is a boy!”

Harry was able to peek over Mr Weasley’s shoulder just enough to make out Draco Malfoy’s still form lying on the tiled floor.

Mrs Weasley stood there blinking for a moment before she seemed to come to herself again. “Arthur, Charlie, pick him up and take him down to the second landing. Put him in Percy’s room. Ginny, you come with me.”

She was about to make her way downstairs when Ron stopped her. “Mum, do you know who that is? That’s Draco Malfoy!”

Mrs Weasley turned on her son, fire in her eyes. “I don’t care if it is You-Know-Who! He’s obviously hurt and needs my help.”

“But Mum— ”

“No, not another word. He came into my home for one reason or another and if you don’t want to help then go to your room.”

Ron narrowed his eyes and sullenly huffed down the hall, slamming his door. Mrs Weasley humphed and dragged Ginny downstairs with her. Harry was still speechless, but he shook it off to offer his assistance.

“I’ll open the door for you.”

Mr Weasley and Charlie grunted in thanks as they lifted Draco up by the arms and feet and took him down to the first storey corridor. Harry followed them and opened the door while the two puffing men placed Draco on Percy’s bed.

“What’d I tell you Dad, it’s the year of the fallen,” Charlie stated sagely as he let Draco’s shoulders fall to the bed with a thump. “Except he isn’t a Weasley though, is he? Wonder what he was doing on our roof in the first place.”

“He had a broom, but it’s broken now. I saw it when we picked him up,” Mr Weasley commented while dusting himself off. “A Malfoy, in my own house. Thought I would never see the day.”

Charlie jerked back when he went to dust off his hands. “Dad, take a look at this!” He held his palms up so his father and Harry could see the fresh blood that was staining them.

Harry looked down, frowning as he noted the red and brown stains starting to seep through Draco’s shirt. “We need to turn him over, I think the wounds are on his back.”

Mr Weasley and Harry flipped Malfoy over on his stomach. Mr Weasley pulled the bag from Draco’s shoulder and lifted his shirt.

“Oh my— oh.” These were the only intelligible words that escaped Mr Weasley’s lips. Charlie peered curiously around his father’s back while Harry and Mr Weasley remained silent.

“What is it?” Charlie stopped at the sight of many crisscrossing lines in red striped over Draco’s back, some half healed and others newly broken open. Not much else could be seen for the blood that had congealed in places, obscuring the pale flesh beneath.

“W-who do you think did this to him?” Harry managed to stutter at last. He didn’t receive an answer because Mrs Weasley came bustling in with bandages and potions; Ginny was behind her carrying a bowl of warm water.

“Now, let’s just take a look— ” Mrs Weasley froze in horror, almost dropping a bottle of purple fluid. “What happened to him?”

“We don’t know. Charlie just pulled back and there was suddenly all of this blood.” Harry swallowed. “It wasn’t there before.”

Mrs Weasley composed herself and poked one of the slashes with a gentle finger. “I think these were sealed over when he put the shirt on and opened again when he fell.” She shook her head and sat on the bed beside Draco. “Ginny, bring me that water and a cloth. I have to clean these wounds out before he can be healed up.”

Ginny handed her mother the bowl with shaking hands and collected the bottles she was given in return.

“Charlie, I want you to stay and help me. The rest of you go downstairs; I’ll call if I need help.” Mrs Weasley nodded to his wife and herded Harry and Ginny out of the room, closing the door.

*~*~*~*~*

“Help me get these clothes off of him,” Mrs Weasley asked Charlie as she started snipping Draco’s shirt away with a pair of scissors.

“What are we going to put him in? Mum, do you realise how insane this is? A Malfoy at the Burrow.” Charlie touched his mother on the shoulder in order to receive some sort of acknowledgement. She only stared back at him coldly.

“I don’t care who it is. This boy needs our help and I’m going to do it. Look at him. Do you see these marks? I would bet my life that they were made by a whip. A whip, Charlie. Merlin only knows what the boy has been through.”

“But he isn’t some stray Kneazle you and Ginny have taken in, this is a Malfoy! There are probably a hundred Death Eaters out looking for him now. If they find him here . . .”

“Go to that wardrobe and get a pair of Percy’s pyjamas, he can wear those until I find something better,” Mrs Weasley commanded as if she hadn’t even heard her son.

“Mum, aren’t you listening to me?”

She turned then to look up at her son. “I’m listening, now bring me those pyjamas.”

Charlie pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything else as he strode over to the wardrobe and laid hands on a pair of striped flannel bottoms. “Here, you won’t be able to put the top on him until after those wounds are sealed, though.”

Mrs Weasley took the flannels and set them aside. “Help me get his trousers off.”

Charlie obeyed and they managed to pull the pyjamas up over Draco’s hips. His mother clucked silently to herself. “The poor boy doesn’t even have any shoes on his feet. Hand me my wand.”

Molly put a warming charm on Draco’s feet, which had started to turn blue with frostbite. “Out in the snow and wind with no shoes, no cloak or gloves; he must have left wherever he was in a hurry and fell off his broom from exhaustion.”

She soaked a cloth in the basin and bathed the wounds on Draco’s back, the water quickly turning from clear to pink and then a deep red. Charlie busied himself by folding Draco’s trousers but stopped when a paper and several small leather bags dropped out. He picked up the bags and saw that they were full to brimming with Galleons so he closed them up and put them on the trunk at the end of the bed. The paper was different though and he glanced once at his mother before unfolding it. She more than likely wouldn’t approve of him snooping through other people’s things.

Charlie scanned the first few lines and gasped aloud. His mother echoed this closely and they both looked up.

“What?” they said together. Charlie decided to go first though.

“Take a look at this, Mum. It fell out of his pocket.” He handed the paper over and watched the horror spread over her round, usually pleasant face.

“Merciful . . . oh!” Molly closed her eyes and held the paper to her breast. “How could a father— ” She snapped her eyes open and briskly wiped them with the back of a freckled hand. “He is not going back to that place, even if I have to smash Lucius Malfoy’s thick head with my skillet. I couldn’t live with myself if I let— he‘s only a child.”

Mrs Weasley brushed away another tear and handed the parchment to Charlie. “Put this back in his pocket, I don’t want him thinking that we’ve been going through his things like scavengers. And don‘t you dare tell the rest about what we‘ve discovered.”

Charlie nodded. “I won‘t. But Mum, do you know what the Tir nOg curse is?”

“No, but I’m sure it’s something dreadful. I’ll ask your father, if he doesn’t know, maybe Hermione will, as she’ll be coming to stay in a few days. Ron and Harry always go on about how bright she is and how much she knows.” She picked up a jar of salve and was about to apply it to Draco’s wounds when she stopped and motioned Charlie over. “I almost forgot this, what with that horrible letter. Come take a look.”

Mrs Weasley moved out of the light so that Charlie could see what she was pointing at. At first there were only thin lines from the whip, but underneath there were bits of . . . paint? No, a tattoo.

“Mum,” Charlie gasped. “He has an entire Seize Quartiers on his back!”

Molly nodded. “I didn’t notice at first because of all the blood. But look, you can see a bit of fleur-de-lis over here, and there’s a lion.”

“Who would have their lineage tattooed on like that?”

“Mmmn, Draco Malfoy apparently; although I have a feeling that it may have been his father’s doing. Heaven knows that I wouldn’t want that hideous thing on my body.”

Charlie shook his head. “Disturbing.”

Mrs Weasley agreed and they were both quiet for a moment while she applied the salve and bandages. She started to pull the mangled shirt out from under Draco, but when she came to his wrists she sucked in a breath.

“It only seems to get worse as I go along. Charlie, why don’t you take this bowl downstairs and send Ginny up with some fresh water and tea. I have the feeling I’m going to be here a while.”

He sighed and trudged dutifully down the stairs to find Ginny. “Gin-love, Mum wants you upstairs.” Charlie shook his sister’s shoulder to wake her from where she had been dozing in front of the fire. She yawned, stretching small, ivory fingers above her head.

“All right, I’m up. What does she want?”

“Just for you to make her a cuppa and bring some fresh water.” Charlie handed her the washbasin and Ginny gasped, staring into the swirly red depths.

“Is he dead, then?”

“No, just— I’ll let Mum tell you. I’m worn out from being in Rumania one minute and merry old England the next. Not to mention the littlest Malfoy tumbling through our roof like Father Christmas. Which means, dear sister, that I‘ll be rooming with the twins instead of in Percy‘s room once everyone’s flown home. ”

“That would wear anyone out,” she laughed lightly. “You just get some rest and I’ll see you in the morning.” Ginny kissed her brother on his scratchy cheek before she made her way into the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*

It was so dark out tonight, he couldn’t even see the stars or trees. And his broom . . . Draco opened his eyes suddenly, body arched backwards with a jerk. He wasn’t on his broom. Where was he!

The room was lit by the soft, warm glow of a candle placed on an unfamiliar table. He seemed to be on a bed of some sort, but it wasn’t his. Oh God, had Father found him? There was a woman at the table, greying auburn hair spilling over the arms she had folded under her head. She looked familiar, but Draco couldn’t place where he’d seen her before. It didn’t seem to matter anyway, she was asleep. And the oddity of a large, cast-iron skillet beside her hand didn’t really sink into his foggy brain.

Now was the chance to leave.

Draco pushed up from his stomach and set hesitant feet to the floor. The bed was soft and warm, but he couldn’t risk staying there any longer, Father could be on his way. The blood had been washed from his arms and his old clothes stripped off. Draco could feel the stiffness of bandages over his back when the muscles rippled. His wrists were tended to as well. Whoever that was had seen to his wounds.

The bags of Galleons were sitting on top of his trousers, apparently untouched, but his tunic and bag were no where in sight. A glance out the window told him that it had stopped snowing, but was more than likely still biting cold and would remain that way even though the sun was close on the horizon. Father was probably right on his heels and it wouldn‘t do for him to be caught so close to freedom. The snow didn’t seem so frightening anymore. He quickly donned his trousers, tucking the small bags of gold into his pockets carefully.

The window was unlocked and Draco slid it open easily, an icy blast in the warm room making him shiver. A look around the room showed that his trusted Cloudstriker IV was in pieces and tucked into a corner. He would just have to do things the hard way. Draco had already placed one foot out of the window and was seeking purchase on the slippery roof below when a voice made him freeze.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Pulling his foot out of the window, he turned toward the doorway and took in the form of a middle-aged, balding red-haired man in his night robe. Draco started and suddenly he knew where he was.

“Well?” the man persisted, arms crossed over his chest.

“Good evening, Mr Weasley.”

Arthur spared a glance at his sleeping wife and then it was back to Draco. “Mr Malfoy, my wife was awake most of the night tending to your wounds, the least you can do is tell her you’re leaving.”

“O-of course, sir.” Draco could be unfailingly polite when it suited him, but the stutter in his voice annoyed him and it came out as more of a sneer. Mr Weasley frowned deeply at this and walked over to wake his wife.

“Molly, your patient is up and about,” he said with a gentle shake.

“Hmmn? Oh, oh he’s awake?” Mrs Weasley sat up quickly and looked towards the bed. “Where did he go?”

Arthur nudged his wife. “Over there, dear, by the window.”

Draco straightened up as she turned to look at him, seeming ready to bolt at any moment. But Mrs Weasley didn’t notice and she pattered toward him, arms out. She also didn’t notice the wide, panicked look in his eyes as she embraced him in a firm, but careful way.

“My dear boy, I was afraid you’d be out for days! Would you like some tea? Well, of course you’d like some tea after all you’ve been through, poor mite. Come downstairs with me. Or would you rather I bring it up here to you?”

There were so many words spilling from her lips so quickly that it made Draco’s head spin. “Um,” was all he was able to manage.

“Molly, give the boy a chance to let things sink in before you pepper him with questions.”

But Mrs Weasley wasn’t listening to her husband as she clasped her hands in sudden inspiration. “Oh, pepper! I’ll make a Pepper Up Potion! That’ll warm him, come with me.” She grabbed a bandaged wrist without thinking and Draco hissed in pain. Mrs Weasley let go and put a hand to her lips.

“Oh, I’m sorry dear.” So she grabbed his arm instead and dragged him down the stairs into the kitchen. Mr Weasley followed them and she left both at the table, humming to herself as she pulled out the potion and a various tea things.

“She gets carried away at times,” Arthur explained as he sunk into a chair beside Draco. He merely nodded, still dumbstruck by Mrs Weasley’s ‘attack’. It was a few moments more before he was able to speak at all.

“It isn’t as if I’m not— ” Draco paused, willing himself to say the proper words. “Grateful, for what you’ve done. But, why am I here?”

Mr Weasley looked surprised. “You mean you don’t remember?”

Draco shook his head. “The last thing I remember was being on my broom.”

“We don’t know much more than you do, I’m afraid. But when we found you, you had fallen through the upstairs roof.”

“Fallen through the roof!” Draco’s eyes widened just a fraction. Mr Weasley nodded and Draco looked down at the well-worn table dully. “Am I anywhere close to London, then?”

“London is only ten miles or so from here.”

Draco acknowledged this and closed his eyes. It wasn’t far at all. He couldn’t risk hailing the Knight Bus, but a long walk would do no harm. He rose to leave.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr and Mrs Weasley, but I’m afraid I must go now. I’ll pay you for the roof and— ”

“You certainly will not!” Mrs Weasley glowered from below him and to the left, spoon in hand. Her fierce protectiveness, combined with the fire in her eyes made her seem ten times more threatening than even his father and Draco stared for a moment before regaining his senses.

“But I— ”

“Sit,” Mrs Weasley commanded, pointing the wooden utensil at him.

Draco complied, feeling very apprehensive at being cowed by such a small, dumpy woman.

“Honestly!” she started prattling as she set out the tea things. “No shoes or cloak and he thinks he can walk to London! In the snow!”

Draco looked down at his feet and curled them under his chair in embarrassment, then realised he was also half-naked and crossed his arms over his chest. Decent people didn’t walk about with no shoes or even a shirt to cover them. Mr Weasley chuckled.

“Let me get you a shirt, at least.” He left the table and went up the stairs, his footfalls soft in the quiet house. Mrs Weasley had taken a seat next to him and proceeded to pour some Pepper Up into a small cup.

“Here dear, drink this.”

Draco looked at the cup, remembering the feel and sight of steam blowing out one’s ears and shook his head. He really needed a cigarette. “Can’t, I’m— allergic.”

“Oh,” Mrs Weasley looked disappointed. Draco felt a twinge of guilt and dug his fingers into his arm from disgust while she spoke. “Well, I suppose a cuppa would do you just as well. You aren’t allergic to tea, are you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good, good.” She made up some tea with cream and sugar, handing it to him. “You drink up and I’m going to take a look at these.” Mrs Weasley pushed up her sleeves and gently peeled the bandages from around one wrist while Draco lifted the cup in his other hand obediently. She clucked softly and rubbed a bit of purple salve into the wound. “Terrible, terrible.”

“It’s really nothing, Mrs Weasley. I’ll be fine.”

Molly placed the cloth over his wrist again, tying it off with a knot. “Now, it’s time we had a little talk.” She narrowed her eyes at him and Draco had a distinctly uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“If it is about the roof— ”

She waved her hand as a cup of tea was poured and she took a sip. “It isn’t about the roof, dear.” Molly seemed to think for a moment before taking another taste of her tea. “Those wounds on your wrists are from a rope, aren’t they?”

“Um.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Yes, Mrs Weasley.”

“And the ones on your back from a whip?”

Draco was too intimidated by Mrs Weasley to do anything more than nod. He hated this feeling; he hated feeling, period. The woman had no right to pry into his business. Not to mention that she’d brandished a spoon at him earlier as if he, Draco Malfoy, were no more than a common house-elf.

“That’s what I thought. I would ask who did this, but I don’t think it necessary.” She paused, taking another drop from her cup before muttering passionately. “The next time I see Lucius Malfoy, it will be with a wand in my hand.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “No, you can’t! If he— Mrs Weasley, don’t tell him where I am. It’s enough that I’m in your house, but after what I’ve done— ” He cut himself off, not allowing himself to reveal what he was about to say. Too much had been said already. Damn these soft-hearted people; they’d be the death of him.

Mrs Weasley patted his hand. “Don’t work yourself up so. I’m not saying a word, and neither is anyone else,” she said slowly, looking at the doorway. Mr Weasley stood there, carrying a shirt in one hand, which he handed to Draco.

“I won’t say anything about this. I have the feeling that it is better if I don’t. However, I would like to know what is going on,” he said with a very pointed look at Draco. He swallowed, knowing he would have no peace until he told them something.

“My father wanted me to— do something. But I refused so I, ah, ran away.”

Mr Weasley lifted his eyebrows and took a seat beside his wife. “I believe there is more to the story than that. If we are to help you, we need to know what we are you helping you get away from.”

Draco closed his eyes. “Sir, don’t make me say things that I’ll regret.”

Arthur gazed at him for a moment, measuring, before he took a slip of paper out of his pocket and set it on the table in front of the boy. “I believe this is yours?”

Draco could feel the blood drain from his face. It had been foolish to take that from his father’s journal in the first place. Now his father could kill him for several things, not least of which was revealing concrete proof of Malfoy allegiances to the Weasleys.

“Where— ” His head was spinning and Draco raised a hand to his chest, making himself breathe slowly. “Where did you get that?”

“I found it in the hall, actually. I didn’t realise it belonged to you until after I read it.”

“You— read— ” Draco couldn’t breathe; he tugged at his neck, pulling in ragged breath after ragged breath. “He will kill me now.”

“No,” Mr Weasley stated firmly, uncharacteristically firm. “He will not.”

“Dear.” Molly turned to her husband. “I’m going to owl Professor Dumbledore. Perhaps he may know— ”

“No!” Draco shouted before he was able to restrain himself. “Don‘t interfere,” he whispered in a more subdued way. “It would be better for you and your family if you just let me go. I’ll hide, move to another country, Father won’t be able to find me.”

The heat was building in his chest, burning every thought to ashes. Draco’s nose was watering and it took more self-control than he had to keep the tears at bay. One slipped down his cheek anyway and hid in the light whiskers covering his face. Draco put a hand up and it came away wet. He looked at it, confused; he‘d never done that before. At least not that he could remember.

“What’s happening to me? What did you do?”

At that moment, there were footsteps behind him followed by a yawn.

“Oh, hullo Mum. Couldn’t sleep eith— ” Ginny stopped, hovering somewhere above his quivering shoulders, he could almost feel her breath on the back of his neck. “Mum? Dad? What’s going on?”

7. Friends

Authour’s Notes: Warning to Ron fans. My beta, Claire, is the biggest Ron fan I know. I am also a Ron fan (finally), so don’t worry your pretty little heads about him. He is going to be all right. Truly!

Mrs Weasley had occasion to fret three days later when Hermione sent word that she was able to travel to the Burrow and would be arriving that afternoon at the same time as the twins who were done with their business trip early.

“Oh, what am I going to do? The twins are coming by Portkey and Hermione will be at King’s Cross! How can I possibly be here to greet the twins and there to take care of Hermione at the same time!”

“Molly,” Arthur Weasley squeezed his wife’s shoulder firmly. “You don’t have to personally greet everyone who comes into our home. The boys can go to pick up Hermione at the station and you can still be here to see to the twins.”

“But what if she— ”

“Mum! She’ll be fine, honest. Harry and I’ll take good care of her. S’not like she’s made of porcelain or anything.” Ron was in the kitchen when he heard his mother fretting on about transportation.

“Besides that, do you think it wise to leave Malfoy alone here?” Harry spoke up, glancing outside to where the blonde in question was leaning against a tree, having a smoke.

Mrs Weasley shook her head. “I suppose there’s no help for it.” She looked out the window to where Harry had been gazing a moment before and her face hardened as she stomped to the door, slamming it into the frame.

“Draco Malfoy!”

Draco choked on his cigarette and glanced up.

“Put that thing out at once and come inside!” Mrs Weasley left the door open as Draco marched in, scowl firmly in place. “Honestly,” she continued once he was inside and the door was shut. “That stuff does horrible things to young ones, stunts their growth.”

One raised eyebrow was the only response she received from the six-foot three inch Malfoy. This was ignored of course as Mrs Weasley went back to baking her pies, her wand waving over them dangerously. Ron glanced at Harry and squirmed before Mr Weasley broke the silence.

“Well, my lunch hour is over. Boys, if you’re coming we had better leave.”

Ron and Harry waved good bye to Mrs Weasley and followed Mr Weasley to the fireplace where he started lecturing them.

“Now, make sure that you have plenty of Floo powder in your pouch and that it doesn’t all get burned, there is a shortage you know.”

“We know, Dad! Hermione said that she wanted to do a little Christmas shopping before we come back, but we’ll be home before dark.” Ron crossed his arms and stared at his father. He’d already heard that speech at least three times that day.

“Just you be sure that you are all here when I get home. I don’t relish hearing your mother have a tantrum tonight because you aren’t.”

“Tantrum, Arthur?”

Mr Weasley looked up to the doorway where his wife stood, her arms folded with a very solid looking spoon peaking through. He smiled weakly.

“Poor choice of words, love.”

Mrs Weasley snorted and turned round to go back into the kitchen. Ron could hear her admonishing Draco for touching the freshly baked mince pies. If ever there were a time to leave, it would be then.

“Let’s get out of here, Ron,” Harry whispered. “Before Malfoy wants to come along.”

Ron nodded to Harry as his father jumped into the flames with the command of ‘Ministry of Magic’. Harry followed, shouting out ‘Diagon Alley’ as he disappeared into the greenish flames. Ron took a moment longer though, sorting something out in his head. Then he smiled as he tossed Floo powder into the grate and trailed after Harry.

When Ron looked up, Harry was standing nearby, dusting soot from his hair and clothing. He did the same before they stepped away from the fireplace in Madame Malkin’s and walked out into the alley proper. Ron slung a friendly arm around Harry’s shoulders as they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron and from there, Muggle London.

“Harry, why don’t you let me pick up Hermione? I know you wanted to go take a look at the new Firebolt prototype they have up at Quality Quidditch Supplies.” Ron added a teasing grin to these words that he hoped looked genuine. Apparently it wasn’t because Harry glanced at him sharply.

“I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t drag Hermione in there, because if I go at all, it’ll be with you and Hermione.”

Ron attempted to keep his face from falling and pressed a bit harder. “I know, that’s why I figured I’d be gracious just this once and let you go and take a look while I get the baggage at King‘s Cross.”

Harry drew his eyebrows into the beginnings of a frown. “Did you just call Hermione baggage?”

“No, no,” Ron protested, taking his arm from about Harry’s shoulder to wave in front of him. “I just figured that you would want a little time to do some shopping or what. I know you didn’t go on that last Hogsmeade weekend with us.”

“Ron, I haven’t been to Hogsmeade since the beginning of term. I was planning on Flooing back here tomorrow so I could get my shopping done. Today is Hermione’s day. I’ve been beastly to her lately and I wanted to make it up.”

“Oh,” was all that Ron could say as he bowed his head and struggled to compose his features into something resembling chagrin. Inside though, he was seething. “I was hoping to have Hermione to myself for a while so we could shop for your present.”

Harry blinked for a moment before laughing. “Go on then. I’ll meet you at Florean’s in about two hours, all right?”

Ron grinned, this time legitimately, and shook Harry‘s hand. “Done then.”

He raced off, leaving Harry staring at him in the middle of Diagon Alley.

When he reached Platform-Nine-and-Three-Quarters, Ron noticed that the Hogswarts Express was almost empty of passengers, which left the platform not nearly as crowded as it usually was. Ron spotted Hermione right away and waved to her as he broke into a run. She was frowning when he came up short, puffing for air.

“Where’s Harry?”

His face fell slightly before he replaced it with a grin and grabbed the girl up in a bone-crushing embrace, squishing Crookshanks in the process, who spit and clawed frantically.

“Ron!” she admonished. “I still have injuries, you know. Madame Pomfrey only let me go because I promised to rest and not do anything strenuous.”

“Sorry, Hermione,” Ron gasped out. “But blimey it’s good to see you!”

Hermione smiled brightly and patted him on the shoulder as he lifted her small trunk with ease. “It’s good to see you too, Ron.”

Ron beamed as he cut a path through the pre-Christmas crowd toward the bus stop, holding onto one of Hermione‘s hands so they didn‘t get separated. The station was noisy so neither spoke until he set her trunk down on the curb. Muggle London was rather exciting, but it didn’t interest him right then. Hermione was busy stuffing Crookshanks into a basket that was permanently attached to the top of her trunk with many a yowl of protest from said cat. Then she looked up from her exertions and smiled widely.

“It really is good to see you. I think I have Madame Pomfrey’s face eternally engraved into my memory and I‘d almost forgotten that anyone else existed.”

Ron laughed as he stuck Hermione’s case on the luggage rack and followed her onto the bus. He kept her busy laughing so much that she didn’t remember Harry wasn’t with them until they had arrived near the Leaky Cauldron.

“Ron, where’s Harry?”

“Oh,” he waved off while taking Hermione’s trunk off of the bus. “He wanted to catch up on his shopping since he hasn’t had the chance to go to Hogsmeade for so long. We‘ll be meeting him at Florean‘s in about an hour.”

Hermione stopped in the act of taking her cat from its box preparatory to entering the Leaky Cauldron and narrowed her eyes. “You told me that he spends every weekend in Hogsmeade.”

Ron felt his stomach flip and his breath catch painfully in his chest. He swallowed hard before carrying her luggage into the wizarding pub. “I-I must have been mistaken.”

Hermione whirled on him, her arms full of ginger-fluff. “No, you told me that he was in Hogsmeade last weekend. You even specified exactly what he was doing since he wasn’t with us.”

“Hermione, I— ”

“You told me that he was at the Quivering Rooster getting drunk again and that I should just let him blow off steam how he saw fit! Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t! He told me that— ”

“You’re a very bad liar, Ron.” Hermione cut him off, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion. “I can tell when you’re not speaking the truth. Usually,” she amended. “What are you hiding?”

“Don’t believe me then! See if I care. You can take your own bloody baggage.”

Ron stormed out the doors back into Muggle London, leaving Hermione standing there with Crookshanks, looking on the verge of tears. The pub had stopped talking and watched as she sniffed once and picked up the handle of her trunk to drag it into Diagon Alley.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was smiling as he opened the door to Florean’s an hour later, the tinkling bell matching his mood. But the sides of his grin drooped abruptly as he spotted Hermione’s small figure clutching her cat in a lonely corner booth. Where was Ron? He strode up to her in a determined manner, ready for anything.

Almost.

Upon sighting Harry, Hermione burst into fresh sobs and ran towards him, Crookshanks hanging on precariously as she launched into his arms.

“Oh Harry, it’s horrible!” she cried, smothering her face in his shirtfront. He rubbed her arms briskly and guided her back to the booth, sliding in beside her.

“What’s the matter? Did you and Ron get into a row again? It’s been a while but it was bound to happen eventually,” Harry mumbled the last as if he regretted speaking his thoughts aloud.

Hermione shook her head, tears glittering like tiny diamonds upon her spiky eyelashes. “It’s worse than just a fight, Harry. H-he’s been lying.”

“Lying?” This didn’t particularly surprise Harry, but it seemed serious to Hermione so he gave her his full attention.

“He told me before Christmas break that you had already done your shopping in Hogsmeade last weekend. So he offered to take me out for your present when I came back from Hogwarts. But when I asked him where you were, he said you were shopping because you hadn’t had the chance to go to Hogsmeade before we left for the holidays.” She said this all very earnestly and almost entirely without taking a breath, the words stumbling over each other in her haste.

Harry frowned. “It is odd, but nothing to really get upse— ”

“But that isn’t all.” She cut him off. “When was the last time you were in Hogsmeade?”

“Uh, last trip before summer holidays, I think. Ron and I went to— Well, we went somewhere for just the guys. Please don’t beat me up about it, Hermione. It was a while ago and I only had a few drinks and . . . things before we came home. Sorry,” he added hastily, blood rushing to his cheeks. Hermione wasn’t paying attention to this last part, but her eyes were magnificent with righteous anger. His eyes widened and he hastened to repeat himself. “I said I was sorry, Hermione!”

“No, it isn’t that,” she whispered, so softly that he almost didn’t hear her. “Ron has been telling me that you’ve gone down to Hogsmeade every weekend to drink and— well, keep company.”

Harry felt his face burn white-hot at that point, his knuckles crunching against the table. “Keeping company? With who?”

“Everyone from what Ron says.”

“I’ve never— ” Harry sputtered. “Well, I have, but not— How dare he tell such an outrageous lie! Why didn‘t you ever say anything to me before?”

Hermione shrugged, her face very pale except for the dark smudges under her eyes. “Ron convinced me to leave you alone about it. He said that you wouldn’t appreciate my interference and frankly I was— I didn’t feel comfortable about bringing it up.”

“But he’s made me out to look like some drunken whoremonger!”

“You mean you really weren’t drunk all those times you refused to come downstairs?” Hermione asked hopefully.

Harry ducked his head, blushing again. “Well, I was drunken at least. But I kept it to myself. I didn’t go down into the village to— uh, ‘spread the joy’ as it were. I was depressed and when I went with Ron to get pissed last summer it seemed to help so much, especially since my scar has been throbbing almost constantly since third task. When I drink it stops for awhile, and . . .”

He swallowed and looked up at Hermione earnestly. “I know it was awfully stupid of me to get drunk almost every night, but I‘ve only been at Hogwarts all year, I promise.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes in thought and twisted one fuzzy brown curl around her finger. “So you say that you’ve not been to Hogsmeade in months and Ron says that you have. I can tell when you’re lying and you aren’t. And I stupidly assumed that Ron was telling the truth so I didn’t bother thinking otherwise. What would he gain by all this?”

Harry didn’t know, but at that moment he had the urge to punch his best friend right proper and it irked him because that was something he’d very rarely wanted to do before in all the years they had known each other. Sure, Ron annoyed him sometimes; all friends had their ups and downs. But never had he felt this— violence in his soul towards Ron.

The two sat together, thinking it over and saying very little. Harry ordered some tea to warm them and now swirled the grounds idly in the bottom of his cup while looking out the window. The sky was darkening with the invasion of twilight and it would be completely dark in less than an hour.

“We should head back to the Burrow soon or Mrs Weasley will be worried. Do you know where Ron went?”

Hermione shook her head. “I haven’t the faintest, but I hope he stays away from me for the time being.”

“Hermione, Christmas is the day after next and we’ll be staying with the Weasley’s for another week plus some odd days. As much as I’d rather not, we should really try to be civil at least. Hopefully, we can sort this out.”

“Sort this out? Are you mad? What Ron has done goes beyond ‘sorting it out’! It’s almost like he doesn’t want us to be friends any— ” Hermione broke off and her eyes went wide.

“What is it?” Harry asked, setting his cup down.

“He doesn’t want us to be friends anymore. Harry, that’s it,” she whispered softly in a stunned sort of way.

Harry scoffed. “Don’t be daft, of course he wants to be friends with us.”

“No, you don’t understand. He doesn’t want us to be friends.” Hermione had clamped her hands firmly onto the table and was leaning to the side towards Harry, her face very close. The fury in her eyes was almost palatable in the air and Harry was quite glad that it wasn‘t he who had roused her anger, but for some reason, he found that he could appreciate her current state. “He’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” That stumped Harry and he wasn’t able to speak for a moment as understanding hit him. He was suddenly very aware of Hermione‘s face so close to his own, and the way her eyelashes fluttered against her plump cheeks. Harry regained use of his vocal cords, but only just enough to croak out a continuance to his previous statement. “What does he have to be jealous of, anyway? It isn’t as if we— well, you know, we’re all just friends.”

“I know. But think about it, Harry. You’re Captain of the Quidditch team, and you were responsible for winning the Cup not only last year, but third year too. You were offered Head Boy as well, but you refused. You’re rich, famous, and— ” She glanced down, the tips of her ears turning red. “A-and easy on the eyes. It’s enough to make most go mad with envy.”

“But Hermione.” Harry felt his face heat up again. “I never asked for any of those things! And being famous is horrible, Ron knows that. I thought he got over this in fourth-year.”

“What if he didn’t? What if he’s just let it stew? I still remember what he told me about the Mirror of Erised, what he saw there. You have all of the things that he has dreamed about for so long.”

“I’ll give them up! I never wanted any of it; I just want my friend back. And he probably just wanted to make sure that he was never the third wheel or something; I don‘t think it was a matter of us not being friends.”

Hermione shook her head, ignoring the last statement entirely. “It isn’t as simple as all that, Harry. You’re still you, and it’s eating him up inside.”

Harry sighed and ran a shaky hand through his already dishevelled hair, wincing as his fingers hit a snag. “Maybe I shouldn’t stay at the Burrow this year. I’ll go back to Hogwarts and— ”

“No!” Hermione said, fiercely gripping his hand. “You’ll go back to the Burrow. We’ll have a lovely holiday. And Ron will get over this eventually.”

“But Hermione— ”

“No, we will go back to the Burrow. Everything will be fine.”

“What if it isn’t?”

“It will be,” Hermione stated, a look of determination had set her eyes and Harry knew better than to argue when she was resolute to do something. He only hoped that she was right.

“We’d better go now, it’s dark and Mrs Weasley won’t be happy with us if it gets much later than it is.” Harry looked down into his cup and noticed that the tea leaves had settled into a heart-shaped ring at the bottom. He continued to stare, willing it to go away until Hermione grabbed his arm.

“Harry, what are you looking at?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.” He rose and offered to take Crookshanks so Hermione could get up. She gasped in pain and doubled over, forcing Harry to drop the cat in order to keep her from falling. But she waved him away after a moment and stood straight again, clutching her side.

“I only moved too fast. Madame Pomfrey said that my ribs are still tender yet.”

Harry frowned. “You shouldn’t have left Hogwarts, Hermione. We could have stayed with you and had Christmas there.”

“No, I’m really all right.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and didn’t comment further as he started to grab her trunk but then stopped. “When did you and Ron have that fight?”

“A few hours ago.”

“Where?”

Hermione shrugged. “At the Leaky Cauldron, why?”

Harry gritted his teeth and steered the girl forward. Barely out of the Infirmary and she’d had to drag her trunk, small though it was, through most of Diagon Alley. Yet another thing to talk with Ron about. That was, if talking involved many recitations of ‘stupid git’ and fists on the wing.

He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, and was surprised to find himself in front of the Leaky Cauldron so quickly.

“I hope Ron is back at the Burrow when we get there. Mrs Weasley will be upset otherwise.” Hermione said, teeth chattering slightly from the cold as they entered the cavernous pub. Harry scanned the room, looking for Ron and frowning when he wasn’t seen.

“I was hoping that Ron would be here, he has the Floo powder.”

Hermione waved her hand at him, scoffing. “We can just pay for some to use here.”

Harry shook his head. “Not here, Hermione. There’s a shortage you know. Mr Weasley made sure to tell us that at least three times before we left the Burrow. They say that no more will be sold until after the new year and most people have run out already.”

“Oh. Drat, Ron anyway! Why did he have to go off like that with our only way of getting home?”

“It isn’t the only way, we’ll just go back to Diagon Alley and hail the Knight Bus,” Harry said decisively. But another patron, hearing of the dilemma, spoke up.

“Sorry, lad, but din’t you ‘ere? Knight Bus is out o’ commission for another fortnight at least.”

“A fortnight!” exclaimed Hermione. “What happened to it?”

He only shrugged. “Don’na know rightly meself, summat about one o’ the charms gone wonky and crashin’ the bus.”

“Sodding bus!” Harry swore softly before flinching and glancing down at Hermione, who wasn’t paying attention to him anymore and was looking for an owl. He thanked the fellow and hurried over to where she was, dropping her trunk with a thud. This time, she did admonish him.

“Harry! Those are my things in that trunk.”

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry sighed. “We should owl the Weasleys and ask for some more Floo powder.”

“Poor Mrs Weasley is probably so worried right now. You told them that we’d be there before dark and it’s starting to look like we’ll never be back to the Burrow!” Hermione was wringing her hands over and over while Crookshanks perched on her shoulder, grooming himself. Harry however, did a double take at Hermione when she said the last word, and even Crookshanks seemed to pause.

“Come on,” Harry said, turning her in his direction. “Let’s go owl the Weasleys.”

“Should we tell them that Ron is gone?”

“No, Mrs Weasley would be in a panic. We had better just hope he shows up before they send the Floo powder back. If not, we’ll have to tell them in person.”

“I’ll write that it got wet from the snow and we can’t use it. That way they won’t know that Ron isn’t with us.”

“But what if he’s there already?”

“Hermione, don’t you think that Mr Weasley would have come looking for us if he had?”

“I suppose so,” she sighed. “This really is rotten luck. Why is he acting this way?”

“I don’t know the answer to that, Hermione. I only hope we can get it straightened out before hols are over.”

8. The care and feeding of an insufferable git

“Mum, just go to bed already! It’s near midnight and you‘ve sent the Floo powder out with Pig. They‘ll be back eventually.”

Mrs Weasley looked at her daughter, twisting her hands and sparing a glance toward her husband for reassurance.

“Ginny’s right, Molly. We should go to bed. I have to be at work early tomorrow to help the Department of Transportation with the Knight Bus situation since they‘re short handed.”

Shaking her head, Mrs Weasley sighed. “I suppose there’s no help for it. I’m only glad that you work for the Ministry, Arthur. Otherwise, we’d have no Floo powder either!”

Mr Weasley only patted her on the shoulder while she continued. “I suppose you’ll stay up to wait for them, Ginny?”

Her daughter nodded and went back to scrubbing the dishes she had set aside in all the confusion from earlier in the evening. The twins’ homecoming had been anticipated heartily, the explosions and rough housing had not. She looked up at her mother’s retreating form and blew a strand of red hair out of her eyes. Poor Mum, she thought to herself.

The kitchen was set to rights slowly. Broken crockery was swept into a box for her mother to repair in the morning, and the table was wiped down and set with a new tablecloth. By the time Ginny was done, her hands had gone back to being their normal colour and appearance instead of the red, wrinkled messes they were when she had finished the dishes.

A kettle went on the fire to boil and her special cup came out of the pantry along with some tea and sugar. Ginny sat down at the small kitchen table, aching for the use of her wand to make the water heat up faster. She opened a jar in the middle of the table and took out a biscuit to munch on while the kettle steamed.

Ginny was just about to pick up the Daily Prophet when Draco sauntered into the kitchen. He raised an eyebrow at her and sat down.

“What are you doing awake?” Ginny asked, annoyed by his very presence. A smirk graced his face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Ginny snorted. “Not really. But I was relishing the fact that I had the kitchen to myself just now, and then you had to come and ruin it.”

“Poor baby,” Draco said, nicking the newspaper from in front of her.

“I was about to read that!” Ginny snapped, reaching out to grab it back when the kettle behind her started screaming ‘I‘m hot! I‘m boiling hot!’.

“Oh, making some tea are you? Pour me a cup,” Draco yawned, leaning back against his chair and twining his stocking-covered feet on the table. Ginny narrowed her eyes as he opened the paper and obscured his face from view. He’d have some tea, all right!

She rose from her chair and walked over to the kettle, taking another cup down from the cupboard while she lifted the pot off the hook. Two cups of tea were poured, both with liberal amounts of cream and sugar. One cup went to the table on her side, the other was allowed to trickle onto Draco’s leg before she set it to rights. Draco cried out and stood, flapping his pyjama leg to get the hot liquid away from his skin.

“Oh my, how clumsy of me,” Ginny giggled while holding out the rest of his tea. “There’s still some left though.”

Draco growled and snatched the cup, slamming it onto the table with force enough to make more spill over the sides. “What’s wrong with you, woman?”

Ginny shrugged and sat down opposite of him, carefully taking a sip of her own scalding hot tea. “Seemed like the thing to do.”

“Did it?” The look he gave her was dangerous and Ginny would be quailing if she had been paying attention, but she was reaching for another biscuit and didn’t see as she continued to prattle.

“Yes, I’m not your bloody servant, you know.”

“You’ve a terrible mouth on you for such a little thing,” Draco grumbled as he sat down and wiped ineffectually at his pyjamas with a crumpled handkerchief, pulling his dressing gown closer around his chest.

Ginny looked up and smirked as she took a bite of her biscuit, sugar covering her lips. Draco pushed the jar towards her before picking up the paper again. “Go ahead, eat them all if it’ll keep you quiet.”

Snorting, Ginny pushed them away. “I wouldn’t give you the pleasure, Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes and reached for his cup, but the bandage around his wrist unravelled and fell to the floor. “Sod it,” he swore softly, bending to retrieve it.

Ginny caught a glimpse of his arm; flesh only just covering the wound and she could tell it was starting to get infected. Sighing, she stood up and came around the table toward him.

“That bandage is dirty, you need a fresh one.”

Draco snarled somewhere in the back of his throat at her and made to pull his arm away from her seeking fingers. She ignored him and put a firm hand on the skin just above his wrist. “Come with me to the tap.”

He didn’t want to, but Ginny pulled him up and walked over to the sink. The water ran warm and she shoved his hand under the tap, scrubbing at the wound gently with her soft fingers. She could hear Draco grit his teeth in pain and had to admire his control once again.

Ginny picked at the knot on his other wrist and threw the bandage away, giving that wound the same treatment before she patted both wrists dry with a towel. From the cupboard above, she took out a jar of purple ointment and a roll of linen.

“Sit down,” Ginny commanded, placing the medical supplies on the table. Draco complied, quietly watching her every move. Scooping up some of the ointment, she spread it liberally over the wounds, rubbing in small circles to work it into the skin. Ginny took out the roll of linen and wrapped it around Draco’s wrist a few times before tearing it off with her teeth and splitting the cloth down the middle so she could wrap the ends around into a knot.

“There’s one,” she sighed, brushing away a vagrant strand of hair with the back of her hand before furrowing her brow. “I don’t mean to pry, but how did you get these anyway?”

Draco gazed at her dispassionately. “Rope,” he said, voice tightening.

“Rope?” Ginny’s eyebrows shot up while she smeared the other wrist with ointment, studying the wound carefully. “Someone tied you up?”

“In a way, but I’d prefer not to talk about it if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, right,” Ginny said, still rubbing his hand absently.

Draco lifted one corner of his mouth in amusement. “Are you going to put the bandage on or hold my hand all day?”

“What?” Ginny looked down and blushed. “Oh, sorry.” She grabbed the spool of cloth and started wrapping his other wrist.

“Perfectly all right, I know I have an effect on women.”

Ginny sniffed while she bent over her work. “Full of ourselves, are we?”

Draco shrugged. “It’s true, they can’t keep their hands off me.”

As if to make his point, he glanced down to where she was tying off the linen. Ginny let his arm drop and ran an absentminded finger over her lips, unconsciously smearing them with a bit of the ointment.

“Were you born an arse or do you do it for the attention,” she said hotly after a minute, sitting in her seat again. The tea she’d left on the table earlier was cold now and she set it down with a sour expression.

“It isn’t for attention from you, so rest easy, little weasel.”

Ginny gritted her teeth, to think that she had just helped the prat! “I have a name, Malfoy.”

He smirked and reached into his dressing gown for a cigarette. “I have a name, too, Weasley.”

Sighing, she reached out a hand. “Since you’re apparently going to be here for at least a few more days, you may as well call me Ginny.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow before setting down his pack of cigarettes. “Draco,” he lifted the proffered hand and quickly dropped it back. “Very nice to meet you,” he stated, sarcasm fairly dripping from each word.

Ginny laughed despite herself and rose to make some more tea. “This is cold, do you want some fresh?”

“Only if you promise not to spill it on me again, a man can only take so much.”

Ginny felt her lips quirk. “I suppose that I can restrain myself.”

*~*~*~*~*

Ginny made them fresh tea and was pursing her lips to blow on it when she suddenly stopped. Her lips remained pursed in a comical moue. Draco glanced up and snorted, shaking his head as he turned a page and went back to the paper. This shook Ginny out of her contemplation and she looked up, annoyed.

“I was just thinking, Mal— Draco, and it occurred to me that you still haven’t given me an explanation of how you managed to find those pictures of me.”

He looked up, vaguely surprised. “Why do you feel I owe you anything?”

Ginny glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. The action pushed her breasts up slightly, causing them to spill over the top of her blouse. Draco smirked, remembering that the youngest Weasley had very nice breasts. Or they would be, if it wasn’t for the freckles. The skin that peeked over though was a creamy shade of pale without a spot in sight. Maybe they had faded since the pictures had been taken.

Draco realised he was staring and jerked his eyes up to her face uncomfortably. The glower she directed at him intensified and he almost blushed. Then he crumpled his brow and stared stonily at the newspaper, small print swimming in front of his unfocused eyes. Draco tossed the paper on the table with a snarl.

“All right,” he bit out. “Your little friend left them in the library.”

“Colin left his portfolio in the library? He would never do something so stupid.” Ginny tossed her head and sniffed, clearly not believing him.

Draco let one corner of his mouth lift in a leer. “Well, he was rather . . . flustered, I suppose.”

“Flustered? About wh— ” Ginny stopped, her eyes getting round. “Oh, was that when you caught him with— ”

“Ernie Macmillan? Right on target, you are. They were so engrossed in each other that they didn’t even notice I was there.” Draco shivered slightly. “Still gives me nightmares.”

Ginny put a hand over her mouth, giggling softly. “Poor Colin! He was so embarrassed when he told me about it later.”

“Poor Colin? Poor Draco, is what you should be saying. I was scarred for life from that.”

Ginny cackled some more before donning a stern expression. “Just because I’m laughing doesn’t make me any less angry. Why did you sell the pictures to Playwizard?”

Draco shrugged. “Seemed like the thing to do. I knew that your brother and Potter would be furious. Not to mention that it ticked you off something wild. All in all, it was a win-win situation. How could I pass it up?”

Dazzling his eyes with her rage, Ginny slammed her cup down on the boards, coming around the table to hover over him. The sensation of having to look up at her was novel, especially since her magnificent cleavage was in his direct line of sight. Said cleavage heaved with indignation while she fumed for a moment, thinking of what to say. Finally, she smacked him on the face with an open palm seemingly on whim.

“What is wrong with you, anyway?” Ginny asked, her lips quivering when they weren’t being used to speak. “How could you do that to me just to get back at my brother and his friends? I’m a human being you know.”

Tears were building in her eyes, and Draco glanced down at his knees so he didn’t have to look at them. But when she spoke next, he could hear them trickling in her voice and it made the fire in his chest build to a crescendo, sparks flying through his veins.

“I have feelings, you know.” Ginny trembled out, her voice cracking on the third word. Draco couldn’t say anything; he only stared at the ground as his head began to roar.

“At least look at me, you good for nothing prat!” The sound was watery and sizzled when it hit his ears. It made him more furious. She could make him feel these things, what he assumed was guilt and regret for hurting someone who had just taken care of him. It wasn’t supposed to be this way!

“I didn’t think of it like that,” Draco managed to say, putting a hand to his burning cheek. When he raised his eyes to look at Ginny, he saw that she had stepped back. Her face drooped in exhaustion and she sat back down in her chair.

“All I want is an apology. You’ve done horrible things to me in the past, but I can be the bigger person and forgive you. If— ” she broke off, tilting her head to the side to study him while wiping away her tears. “If you apologise, I’ll put it behind me.”

Draco gazed at her from across the table, wondering for a moment if he even cared, found that he did, and scowled at the realisation. “I— ” He took a breath, not wanting to say the words that came out. “I apologise. Now bring me another cup of tea.”

Ginny blinked at him for a moment in wonder, and then howled. “You— ” she giggled. “Get your own fecking tea!” She put a hand up to cover her mouth, still chuckling. “Bring me a cup of tea, indeed.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, chuffed briefly, and went back to his paper, crossing his feet at the ankles to put them on the table. Ginny was still tittering and he hunched further down into his seat, pulling the daily up so he didn’t have to look at her. This is how he was still sitting when Harry and Hermione walked into the kitchen a few moments later.

9. Nature takes its course

Authour’s Notes: There is a bit of fanart for this chapter. Just click on the link when you get to it.

Several hours after they had sent an owl to the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione, sans Ron, were dusting themselves off in front of the fireplace at the Burrow. Crookshanks’ tail was a bottlebrush of nerves and the cat raced upstairs immediately to lick his wounded pride while his mistress and her friend took off their shoes and cloaks.

Harry set Hermione’s trunk upstairs before stumbling into the kitchen, dragging her with him. Mrs Weasley would most likely have left them something to eat if she wasn’t still up and about herself. In the letter, it had been clear that they thought Ron was still with them and Harry was wracking his brain for an excuse as to why he wasn’t. Hermione pulled up short behind him with a gasp and refused to go further. It wasn’t until he glanced up that he noticed Draco Malfoy was sitting in the kitchen with Ginny.

Both of them looked up when they saw Harry’s approach and Ginny smiled, patting a seat beside her. “Hullo, you two. Care for a biscuit?”

“Ginny, what is he doing here?” Hermione whispered, pointing at Draco. Harry groaned when he realised that he hadn’t told her about Malfoy yet.

“Sorry, Hermione. I forgot to tell you about that. It seems that— uh, Malfoy is staying at the Burrow for a while.”

Her eyebrows shot up somewhere very close to her hairline at this announcement and she took a step back, tugging her arm out of Harry‘s hand.

“What’s going on around here? Is this a trick? Who are you all? What happened to the Weasleys?”

Harry sighed and turned to her while the others looked on curiously. “Hermione, it isn’t a trick. I’m Harry and that really is Ginny, I assume. Malfoy— Well, I’ll let him explain if he wants to as it’s none of my business and I’m not quite sure why he’s here myself.”

Draco sniffed and looked down his nose. “It isn’t any of her business either and I owe no explanations.”

“Well,” she grit out. “At least I know that it’s still Malfoy, even if the rest of you have gone round the bend.”

“Hermione, it’ll be all right,” Ginny soothed, jumping from her chair to fling her arms about the girl. “Malfoy isn’t that bad. Well,” she amended. “He is bad, just not completely intolerable.”

“Thank you so much,” Draco spat acidly.

Ginny glanced up and threw him a bright smile. “You’re welcome,” she chirruped, sarcasm making her eyes dance.

Harry raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything as he took Hermione by the arm and led her to the table. “Come on, Hermione. Let’s get something to eat and go to bed. It’s been a long day.”

She sighed, allowing Harry to lead her. “You’re right about that.”

“Where’s Ron?” Ginny asked as she sat down again.

“Ron had an argument with Hermione and took off. We were actually hoping that he was here,” Harry answered as he pulled out a couple of plates and foraged in the cold cupboard for food.

Ginny’s eyes widened. “You don’t know where he is?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. He left me at the Leaky Cauldron and we haven’t seen him since.”

“What happened?” Ginny pressed.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hermione sighed.

“Oh,” was all the other girl said, picking at a biscuit before giving up and throwing it in the dustbin. “I’m just glad that Mum is asleep now. Dad had to convince her to go to bed because she was going to stay up until you all came back. She asked me to be here instead, just to make sure you came home safely.”

“Maybe he’ll be here in the morning,” Harry supplied, placing a plate of cold meats and some bread in front of Hermione before sitting down with his own meal.

“I hope so,” Ginny fretted, brushing crumbs from the biscuit into her hand before throwing the lot away. “I’m going to bed though, it’s very late and we’ve a lot to do tomorrow for Christmas.”

Malfoy had remained silent throughout the entire exchange, but at this he started, eyes glazed with exhaustion. “I agree, it’s time to go to sleep.”

Ginny and Draco left the kitchen. Hermione stared after them until the last footstep was heard on the stairs and then turned back to Harry, questions in her eyes.

“Why on earth is Malfoy here at the Burrow?” she hissed eventually.

Harry shrugged, taking a bite of his makeshift sandwich. “I told you I don’t know everything. But if you really want to know . . .”

“Yes, I really want to know. But let’s go sit in front of the hearth and talk. It’s cold in here and my ribs ache.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said, clearly not remembering that she was still not healed all the way. He grabbed their plates and followed her out of the room to a stretch of floor in front of the larger fireplace in the family room before resuming the conversation.

“A few nights ago— ” Harry didn’t know exactly where to begin, so he started with the main action. “Malfoy fell through the roof.”

Hermione sat up straighter at this. “He did what?”

“Fell through the roof.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I think he was trying to get away from something though because he’d been riding a broom and we found some things of his on the roof. Not only that, but . . . well, he was all messed up.”

“Messed up?”

“Yeah, like he’d been beaten or whipped or something. I’ve never seen wounds like that before in my life.”

“Oh my,” Hermione gasped, putting a hand to her lips. “What happened then?”

“Uh,” Harry scratched his head. “Mrs Weasley took care of him, cleaned him up and what not. Since then, he’s been here and she acts like he’s a long-lost Weasley or something.”

Hermione frowned for a moment, twirling her hair thoughtfully. The skin of her face was naturally pale, but the fire seemed to overlay it with a soft glow of gold and red tones. Straight, dark eyebrows drew together over squinted eyes and her lower lip was busy being worried by her pearly teeth. Harry realised that he was staring and quickly looked away.

“I suppose it makes sense for Mrs Weasley to take care of him,” Hermione said after a moment of contemplation. “I mean, she and Ginny are always taking in strays. If Malfoy was in as bad a condition as you say, then it would bring out her nurturing instincts.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled, still not looking at Hermione. “You should have seen her this afternoon. Caught sight of Malfoy having a quick fag out in the garden and threatened to whack him upside the head with her spoon.”

“Malfoy smokes?” she asked, eyebrows raised as she took a bite from the bread on her plate.

Harry only nodded. “Apparently so. I suppose that it fits his image.”

“I wouldn’t think so. He’s terribly vain, you can tell.”

“Who cares if Malfoy smokes?”

Hermione shook her head in impatience. “But it’s an insight into someone’s character, don’t you see?”

“I suppose so. They aren’t like Muggle cigarettes, these ones have calming charms on them.”

“Exactly!” Hermione said, getting excited about the new riddle and sitting up on her knees. “So the question is: what does Malfoy have to be nervous about?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it isn’t as if he’s worried about Voldemort rising again. The Malfoys are all Death Eaters or good as from what I’m told.”

Hermione shuddered. “Ugh, yet another reason that I don’t want him to be here. He’s going to ruin the holiday and we’ll all be lucky to escape with our lives after some stupid adventure or another.”

“Probably,” Harry grinned teasingly, feeling comfortable again. “But don’t worry about it. I don’t think he’s going to murder us in our beds or anything.”

“I certainly hope not.” Hermione puffed, crossing her arms before uttering a soft cry. “Great,“ she muttered. “Now I’m never going to be able to sleep!”

“You’ll sleep fine tonight, Hermione. Trust me.”

“I’m afraid to go to sleep now. What if the Death Eaters come looking for Malfoy while we’re asleep?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I doubt they’ll show up here. Dumbledore asked the Weasleys to put a charm on the property so no one can Apparate inside the hedgerows.”

“Malfoy got in,” she pointed out.

“I don’t think he Apparated, and stop worrying, Hermione.”

Her lips twisted in a smirk. “Aren’t I the one who usually tells you to stop worrying about Voldemort?”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I thought I might trade you for the night.”

“You’re impossible,” Hermione said jokingly, slapping him on the arm with a smile. But the light in her eyes faded after a moment and she frowned.

“We really should wait up for Ron. Mrs Weasley will be awfully cross when she finds out that he isn’t with us and we didn’t even stay up to wait for him.”

Harry sighed and looked into the fire. “You’re right. And if he comes back tonight, it’ll probably be by Floo.”

“We’d better stay here then,” Hermione said, getting up to sit on the sofa and be more comfortable. “Why don’t you get your quilt, Harry? Oh, and my dressing gown please.”

“All right,” he answered.

Harry tiptoed up the stairs to the room he shared with Ron while at the Burrow. A quick look at the other bed confirmed that Ron wasn’t there so he grabbed the quilt and went down to Hermione’s room for her dressing gown before going back downstairs. Hermione gave him a questioning glance as he sat down next to her feet on the floor.

He shook his head, knowing what she was thinking. “He wasn’t there, Hermione.”

She sighed and leaned her head over the back of the couch, letting it support her for a moment. “I suppose there’s no help for it then,” Hermione stated while gazing at the ceiling. Harry handed her the blanket and her dressing gown and sat on the floor, resting against the sofa with his feet tucked underneath him while she put it on. A moment later he felt a hand on his head, gently rubbing fingers through his hair. Harry sighed and unconsciously pressed his face against her quilt-covered knee.

“I’m so comfortable right now, I may just fall asleep anyway,” he mumbled.

Hermione laughed and removed her hand. Harry glanced up. “Why’d you stop?”

“Sorry, I’ll go on if you like.”

He closed his eyes again as she continued. “Yes, please. My head hurts something dreadful and I promised you earlier that I wouldn‘t drink anymore, so I don‘t have that to make me feel better.”

“Poor Harry,” Hermione leaned down to whisper in his ear teasingly, her hot breath causing all the hair on his arms to stand at attention. “All that racing around, being heroic. Must be terribly hard on you.”

“You have no idea,” he muttered, self-consciously pulling his jumper down over his lap. It really wasn’t right to react like this, he told himself. But Hermione kept running her soft fingers through his hair, gently working out the knots and smoothing it all flat. It was just the friendly thing to do.

But her bare toes, peeking out from under the covers, became obsessively difficult to ignore. Especially when they wriggled so pinkly near his fingers. Harry raised a hand to grasp one of them, rolling it softly between thumb and forefinger. Hermione squealed quietly, if it was possible to do so, and moved her foot out of the way. He smirked and grabbed it again, scraping a fingernail over the silken arch.

The expected reaction was for her to draw it back and giggle like mad. Instead, she curled the toes under. Harry raised his eyebrows and did it again, the foot in his grip coiling wildly before Hermione reached down a hand.

“Harry, stop it.”

“You’re supposed to be laughing right now.”

“I’m just not ticklish, that’s all.”

“Yes, you are.”

“All right, I am. But not there.”

Harry grinned and fell to his knees. “I know where.”

“No, don’t!”

“I’m going to do it.” He flipped the covers back to expose her legs.

“No, not my kneeeees!” she laughed out while trying frantically to push his hands away. “Harry, it isn’t fair when you’re not ticklish at all,” Hermione managed between breaths.

“I know, very evil of me wouldn’t you say?” His lips twisted wryly and he looked up with his fingers still wrapped around the backs of her legs, the skin there hot and sweaty. She snorted indelicately and leaned back on the couch.

“I’ll just call you Malfoy from now on, shall I?”

“Don’t you dare! I’m much better looking than he is,” Harry said as his chest puffed out and he affected a pose that he knew was quite ridiculous and meant to be dashing in a mocking way.

Hermione laughed. “Who told you that you’re better looking?”

“Well, you did. Said that I’m rich and easy on the eyes. Then there are all the girls at school, and the magazines . . .”

She rolled her eyes and reached down into the couch. “Harry Potter, I think you’ve gotten a big head. Let me just get my wand and I’ll deflate it for you.”

Harry reached out one hand to grab hers, the other still draped over her knee. “You can’t use magic outside of school remember?”

“Honestly, Harry! I wasn’t about to hex you, I only wanted to pull the quilt up.”

“Oh,” he said simply, releasing her hand.

She shook her head and snuggled further under the blankets. “You know, it’s been a while since we really laughed.”

Harry nodded and put his head in her lap, turning to face the fire. His eyes closed against the warmth and his hands found the back of her knees again, squeezing them in comfort. “I know, far too long. It’s a terrible thing to grow up.”

“We all do it eventually.”

He sat back on his heels and looked up at her face, which was pensively absorbed in the quilt. “I don’t want to get older. I want to be like this forever.”

She twisted her head to gaze at him softly, reaching up a hand to play with his messy hair. “We have to, there’s no turning back.” Hermione leaned forward until her flushed face was only a few inches from his own. Her words seemed to carry a double meaning that made Harry‘s pulse flicker with sudden yearning. “Ginny told me we should all make the best of the time we have. And we can’t be children forever, Harry.”

It was there, in her eyes. She felt it too and he didn’t wait for her to hesitate. Harry wrapped his fingers around the back of her head and balanced his mouth on hers, pressing in deeply. Her eyelashes fluttered for a moment against his cheek as she sighed out warm breath into his lungs. The kiss was profoundly satisfying on some primal level, like they had been dancing around it for hours, days, and years.

In a gentle way, she slipped her mouth open and urged it back down over his with quiet enthusiasm. His hands, which had been resting under her knees, bunched reflexively and gathered the skin into small folds. Harry moaned softly as she extended the kiss, her tongue grazing his teeth. His fingers grew bold by the action and moved higher, up her thigh to make small circles on the smooth and sensitive inner flesh.

Hermione’s hands crept down to pull him closer to her. Harry was still on his knees, the coldness of stone seeping through his trousers until he lifted her up and pushed her against the couch, not breaking contact with her mouth. The kiss remained hungry and they struggled to feed it and breathe all at once, roaming their hands and fingers into new territory.

Harry eventually dragged his mouth from hers, marking a path to the flushed skin of her neck, his breath coming out hot and rapid against her ear.

“Hermione,” he gasped as her hand found a new place to settle. “What are we doing?”

She sighed in frustration and snatched her hand away. “I don’t know, Harry. Snogging?”

“We should stop, if Ron comes in . . .” Harry swallowed, trying to keep his thoughts in order while Hermione’s hard nipples were pressed against his chest. It was very difficult to remember his name at that point, but something told him to stop. She was ignoring him anyway and looking into the fire. Harry forced himself to sit up, covering his lap with the quilt. “Hermione, look at me.”

Her gaze eventually drifted over to settle on him, but he almost wished that it hadn’t since her eyes flickered with anger and some discontented emotion. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages, Harry. Ever since third task, I think. It wouldn’t even have entered my mind until long after if it wasn’t for that Skeeter woman. And now you’re telling me to stop, because of Ron?”

Harry coloured and attempted to smooth down his clothes. “I-I didn’t know that, Hermione. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because Ron has been filling my head with all sorts of nonsense about you and that tart of the week business ever since fifth year. Plus you were still so depressed over Cedric and I thought for a while that you and Cho were . . .” Hermione trailed off and stared at him, tears filling her eyes.

“Cho and I were never— well, we never actually had a relationship. We kissed once and that‘s about it. I haven‘t really had a— with any other girls.” A flash of pale leg and firm breasts pressed up against him flared in his mind, but Harry ignored it.

“Ron told me different. Had you two snogging in cupboards and everything, after that it was worse. It’s because of Ron that I never told you anything and you want me to just stop everything in its tracks because of his feelings? You really don’t care for me at all, do you?”

“No, I do care for you, Hermione. I care so much sometimes that I— but I’ve never realised before how much until you told me about him lying to you. And tonight it just felt so right to kiss you. But we still have to remember Ron. He would have reason to be upset if we really did make him the third wheel, and he’s our friend even if we are angry with him.”

“Angry? That’s all? I’m absolutely livid! He’s done this for almost two years now. His actions were petty and vengeful. There may be something we don’t know about that’s making him act this way, but how can we ever trust him again long enough to find out?”

“I thought I knew him,” Harry muttered, running his thumb over his swollen lips. “But I suppose that I don’t. We still have to try and make things right, though.”

“Harry,” Hermione sat up and cupped one of his cheeks in her cold little hand, gazing at him pleadingly. “Forget about Ron for a moment. What are you going to do about us?”

He blushed. “We could— well, I assumed that— ”

Hermione lifted her eyebrows in inquiry and Harry swallowed hard. “Do you want to maybe, give it a go?”

“Give it a go?” She was ruffled now and her hand was quickly drawn away. Hermione turned her head back towards the fire and snorted. It was getting delicate and she probably mistook what he had meant. Good God, what had he meant? Snogs, walks in the snow, meaningful conversations? Sure, that sounded about right; it was what all the other couples did. It was what was expected. Right?

“I didn’t mean that . . . Cor, Hermione! You know I have feelings for you and everything. I just said it. Is there anything I can say to make this right with you?”

She gave him an arch glance out of the corner of her eye, softening just a little. “You can tell me that you’re madly in love with me and we should run off to Bora Bora to start a colony for abused House Elves.”

Harry blinked at the unexpected humour and shook his head, a grin tugging his lips. All thoughts of Ron fled his mind and it was like a light shone down on him when she was happy again. “I’m madly in love with you. But let’s not run off to Bora Bora; I don’t want to share you with a bunch of House Elves.”

Her eyes lit up with wonder. “Do you really mean it or are you just trying to make me shut up?”

“I really mean it.”

“Really?” she said in a very un-Hermione like squeak.

Harry grinned. “Really, really, really mean it.”

“I suppose that’ll do for now. Give us a kiss to seal the treaty?”

Hermione was smiling widely, her face in shadows due to the fire being at her back now. Harry reached up both hands and placed one on either side of her face, pulling it closer to his own. He brushed his lips over hers for a moment before sucking gently at her mouth.

“Consider it sealed.”

Hermione put a hand to her lips as he leaned back. “Brilliant,” she chuckled.

Harry sighed as he traced over the arc of her jaw with his fingertips. “I suppose Ron will adjust to it all eventually. We’ll just break him in slowly and make sure that we include him in everything. Well,” Harry amended. “Not everything.”

“Slow is good. Never is better though.”

“You want to hide this forever?” Harry asked, letting his hand drop to her arm. She moved her fingers to give him a squeeze.

“Of course not. It’s just that this is very odd for us and we should wait before telling anyone, just in case.”

“In case?”

Hermione scowled. “Oh all right. I just don’t want to tell him, that’s all. He’s been positively horrid and I’m still angry.”

“Things will work out, you’ll see.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Hermione sighed, staring down at their intertwined hands and noticing that her blouse was missing a few buttons.

“See what you’ve done!” she exclaimed, pointing at the mangled white oxford. “I look like someone’s had their way with me.”

“Someone did have their way with you. Sort of.” Harry patted her leg while he tried hard not to laugh out right.

Hermione huffed and stood up, smoothing down her skirt. “I’m going upstairs to change into my nightclothes. If anyone saw me now . . .”

“Sorry,” Harry smiled, not feeling very apologetic at all. “Come down to the kitchen after you’re done and we can have a nibble. There are still loads of mince pies in the cupboard from earlier.”

“Oh good, I’m still hungry.” She dipped down to give him a quick peck on the cheek and tiptoed upstairs to change.

Harry sighed and bent over to collect their plates from earlier before getting up and wandering into the kitchen. The dishes almost fell though when he noticed that Draco Malfoy was sitting in the same place he had been earlier, nursing a fag as if it were life support.

“How— what are you doing in here?” Harry hissed, depositing the plates in the sink with a clunk. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Draco smirked and took another puff from his cigarette, tapping the ashes into a cup. “I should be asking you that, Potter.”

“How long ago did you come in here?”

“Long enough.” Draco’s lip twitched slightly before he took another puff and pinched the end of his cigarette, causing it to disappear into thin air. “Have fun, did we?”

Harry gritted his teeth and sat down opposite of Draco. The frustration and unfulfilled desire from earlier was making him peevish. “If you tell the Weasleys that I— that we— well, I’ll kill you if you say a word to anyone.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow, lingering smoke circling above his head. “Awfully testy, Potter. Hit a wall?”

Almost growling at the other boy, Harry clenched his fists tightly under the table while Draco continued.

“Look, I don’t really care what you and Granger do. But it will be terribly interesting when the other member of your trio finds out.”

Flinching, Harry looked down at the bright, floral-patterned chintz that covered the rough kitchen table. “What have I done?” he whispered.

The question was rhetorical, but Draco didn’t hesitate in answering. “You’ve just screwed yourself out of a friend, is what.”

Harry allowed his head to hit the table and moaned, covering it in both arms. If Harry had looked up then, he would have seen the calculating look that Draco was aiming at his head as the boy soaked this in with apparent delight.

“Cigarette, Potter?”

10. Cigarettes, sardines, and nasty magical colds

It was an hour after dawn when Mrs Weasley came down the stairs. She immediately headed for the kitchen to prepare the morning meal, but stopped at the doorway.

“Good morning, children. You’re all up early.”

“We haven’t slept, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said, picking at the tablecloth.

“Oh, why not? Did something happen?”

A glance next to him told Harry that Hermione wasn’t going to say anything, and Draco, who was sitting across from him, didn’t care either way. He could use another of those cigarettes that Malfoy had given him earlier, it really had calmed him. Too bad Mrs Weasley and Hermione were there. “Ron didn’t come back with us last night. And we waited up, but he hasn’t been here.”

Mrs Weasley’s eyes rounded and she put a hand to her chest. “He hasn’t been home! Why didn’t he Floo with you and Hermione?”

“We had a fight,” Hermione whispered, still not looking at the woman.

Harry put a hand over hers and squeezed. “Ron left her at the Leaky Cauldron and took off into Muggle London.”

“Muggle London!” Mrs Weasley exclaimed with a gasp, winding the front of her dressing gown in twitchy fingers. “Why didn’t you go after him, Harry?”

“I wasn’t there. Ron said he would go and pick her up so that they could buy presents without me hanging about. By the time I found out he was gone, it was almost an hour later.”

Mrs Weasley turned her face toward Hermione. “What did you two fight about?”

“Um.” Hermione squirmed in her seat, clearly uncomfortable talking about it. “I found out that he— ” she took a deep breath before looking Molly directly in the eyes. “He was lying to me about something.”

“About what, dear?” she asked mildly.

“About Harry. Ron told me some horrible things and I— They just weren’t true.”

Mrs Weasley’s eyes flickered down to where Harry was holding the girl’s hand, her face hardening imperceptibly. “I see.”

“I plan on going out today to look for him. I just wanted to wait until you woke up so you would know he wasn’t here,” Harry said, rising from the table to walk towards her. “Don’t worry, Mrs Weasley, I’ll find him.”

Mrs Weasley looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “You tell Ron to come home when you catch up to him. I’m not even angry, I just want my baby home with me.”

Her shoulders shivered convulsively and Harry gave them a squeeze before walking out of the room. He still hadn’t slept and was about to go back out into the world in order to find Ron. Harry didn’t hear when Malfoy had slipped out of the kitchen room to tap him on the shoulder.

“Potter.”

Harry turned around. “What do you want?”

Draco pulled a small leather bag out of his dressing gown and pressed it into Harry’s hand, closing his fingers over it. “Pick me up some fags? Earl and Flick’s, you know the ones. I’m about to die here, haven’t had one since I gave you the last earlier.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry stuffed the money in his pocket. “All right, but go to sleep for God’s sake. You‘ll thank me later. I‘m sure the twins have all sorts of surprises cooked up for you.”

Draco smirked. “Something like the sweets they tried to feed me last night? I remember what happened to a Ravenclaw a few years ago when they ate one, sprouted feathers and turned into a bloody bird.”

Harry sniggered, “I’m sure.”

“I don’t think they’ll bother me again, though,” Draco mused, placing a finger over his lips to cover his grin. “I split it and slipped the same sweet into their dinner last night. I’ve never seen a half-man half-bird before, much less two at the same time. Don’t think I want to again as it isn’t pleasant to look at, upsets the stomach you know.”

Trust Draco Malfoy to get one up on the twins.

“I’ll get your bloody cigarettes, just keep out of Mrs Weasley’s way today or she’ll have you sitting next to the fire holding her yarn. She knits something fierce during the holidays and it isn’t fun.”

“Done it already, fell asleep if I recall. Then she called me a poor dear and sent me upstairs.”

“Lucky arse,” Harry grumbled before he stepped away and in front of the fireplace, throwing powder on the grate. “Diagon Alley,” he shouted and walked into the flames.

*~*~*~*~*

It wasn’t going to be a quiet day, Ginny had decided. At least Hermione and Draco were out of the line of fire and fast asleep in bed. Separately, of course. Something urged her to add that last bit in, just to make sure things were perfectly clear.

As she sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea carefully, Ginny spotted the newspaper from the night before and reached for it eagerly. Ha! Now there were no blasted annoying Malfoys to keep it from her. Unfortunately, Ginny was yet again too late as her brother George swept it from her reach and made to sit at the table. Sod it all!

“Ah George, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Charlie told him as he followed his brother into the kitchen, giving a solid blow to George’s back.

“I’m Fred! Can’t even tell us apart, ya worm.” Fred stood straighter, hands on the back of the chair he was about to sit in.

Charlie stiffened. “I can so tell you apart.”

Fred snorted, “Aye, it wasn’t confusing last night when you helped that Malfoy prat bug our food.”

His brother snickered quietly. “I’m an equal opportunity prankster. Didn’t want to upset one by leaving the other out, did I?”

“Stupid bugger, you’re supposed to be with us!”

“The jokers getting joked by their own inventions was too priceless for me to stop him, Fred,” Charlie said, with a twinkle in his eye.

“I’m George!”

“Sure you are, mate.” Charlie laughed as he walked away. Apparently it was a foolish thing to do because the twin, whichever one it was, picked up a skillet and boshed him hard on the back of the head. Ginny rolled her eyes, unconcerned, and grabbed at the day-old daily the boy had let drop. Finally!

“Charlie!” Mrs Weasley screamed as her son lay on the floor, flopping and twitching like a landed fish. She immediately turned her attention to the twin, eyes glinting like small, hard stones. “You’ve killed your brother!” Mrs Weasley screeched as she reached out with one hand to pinch Fred or George’s ear and the other hand went around a large, wooden spoon.

“Mum! He’s all right, honest.”

“You’ve killed your brother!” Mrs Weasley’s shrill voice rose several more octaves before she started beating Fred or George about the head and shoulders. Charlie, who was still on the floor, held his stomach and pointed at the twin, silent tears of mirth flowing down his crinkled cheeks. Ginny studiously attempted to ignore the entire scene, immersing herself instead in an article about the Knight Bus crash.

It wasn’t possible anymore to ignore the others as another brother made his way into the kitchen. After that, it was a game of catch the Weasley as both twins chased the miraculously recovered Charlie around the room and their mother puffed after them, red-faced and brandishing her beloved spoon. Ginny calmly climbed up onto the table and sat cross-legged, watching the carousel of red hair go by.

When a blonde head appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, Ginny grinned. Clearing her throat, she announced Malfoy’s presence. “Hey George, there’s Draco now.”

Four people stopped and turned to look at the lean figure standing in the frame, a single eyebrow raised in inquiry. Fred and George rushed forward to grab at him and the game began anew.

“Come here, Malfoy. We want a word.”

Draco though, was fairly light on his feet and he managed to lead the merry Congo line around the table twice and then out the door into the snow-covered garden. Fred and George were on his heels, followed directly by Charlie with Mrs Weasley and her spoon bringing up the rear.

Ginny scooted to the edge of the table and slipped down, walking over to shut the door. No one had any respect for the poor, over-worked fireplaces.

“What was all that about?”

She spun around and spotted Ron next to the table, looking slightly rumpled but none the worse for wear.

“Ron!” Ginny ran and flung herself at her brother, squeezing him tightly around the middle. He chuckled lightly and pushed her back.

“Careful there, don’t crush the merchandise.”

“We were so worried! Harry left this morning for Muggle London to look for you. Where have you been?”

“I just had to sort some things out. Mum isn’t cross, is she?”

Ginny lifted an eyebrow and folded her arms over her chest. “What do you think?”

“Thought as much,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t slept yet, so I’ll be in my room.”

“That won’t stop her, you know.”

Ron looked down at his sister and pecked her on the forehead before turning toward the stairs. Ginny sighed and gritted her teeth. Weasley men could be so blasted stubborn!

*~*~*~*~*

“Ron!”

Harry shouted and waved when he saw a familiar red head tucked in a corner at the Leaky Cauldron. The boy lifted his head and smiled weakly.

“Hullo, Harry.”

“Hullo yourself, there.” Harry slipped into the seat next to his friend and looked down at the table. Should he say something about what Hermione had discovered the day before? Harry shook his head and pushed thoughts of the girl and all problems with Ron firmly out of his mind. It was time to keep the peace or Ron would take off again. “I uh— just came back from Gringott’s, had to get some Galleons switched over. Good thing I saw you here, I was about to go into Muggle London looking for you. Where’ve you been?”

Ron shrugged a shoulder and stared into his pint of Butterbeer. “I just wanted to be alone for awhile. Hermione really cranked me yesterday.”

“You and Hermione have had fights before, that’s nothing new.”

“Maybe.”

Harry was silent for a few moments, hoping that Ron would open up about what was wrong, but disappointed when he didn’t. Things were changing rapidly and it wasn’t in a good way. Not to mention that it took a lot of effort to keep from punching Ron in the nose instead of playing it cool.

“Well, I was going to do some shopping after I found you. Care to join me?”

Ron snorted and took one last gulp from his mug before slamming it on the table. He wiped some foam off his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up. “No, I’m going home; haven’t slept all night.”

“None of us have, Ron.”

“What were you doing up all night?”

The narrow glance of suspicion from Ron made him flinch, especially since it wasn’t entirely unfounded. “We were waiting for you to come back. Your mum’s been sick with worry.”

“She’ll get over it.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry burst out suddenly, standing up to look his friend in the eye. This wasn’t the Ron he knew.

“Nothing,” Ron sighed, twiddling his thumbs a bit before hooking them into his pockets. “I’m just tired. Happy shopping, Harry.”

With that, Ron strode across the room to the fireplace and threw a pinch of Floo powder from his pouch into the grate, heading for the Burrow. Harry stood there for a moment, hurt and angry, not to mention a little guilty. If Ron knew what he and Hermione had been about the night before . . . But he didn’t, couldn’t possibly know anything. Besides, Harry and Hermione had already decided that they would make sure to include Ron in most everything, so he wouldn’t feel left out when they went somewhere or talked. He only hoped that it was enough.

Harry turned and shuffled his feet, walking out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the heart of Muggle London.

The streets were crowded. Small wonder, as it was Christmas Eve. He was thankful that he had thought to have some Galleons converted at Gringott’s before going to look for Ron. With the Floo shortage and Knight Bus problems, not to mention that Christmas was the next day, it was his final chance to buy presents for the Weasleys and Hermione.

Hermione.

It was going to be difficult this year to buy something for her. On most occasions when presents were called for, any heavy, leather-bound book that looked like it hadn’t been touched in several years seemed just the thing. But now . . . gah! It was so bloody complicated. Especially with Ron and his oddity still whirling around in his head. Time to settle things out. Deal with Ron later; buy shiny trinkets for others now.

The shops were packed and Harry felt somewhat like a sardine as he pushed his way through, picking up different items for the assorted Weasleys and pausing briefly at a cafe for a cup of coffee to perk him up before moving on. Christmas was complicated at the Burrow and it would be much easier just to go to Harrod‘s instead of poking around in all the little stores, but Harry just wanted it to be done so he could get some sleep and the department store was miles away.

Sighing, he threw a few Muggle gags into his basket along with a remote-controlled race car for Mr Weasley. The man had enough batteries to light London for years, so Harry figured that he might as well get some use from them.

As he walked down the street, loaded with parcels, but trudging dutifully onward, Harry realised that he still hadn’t found a present for Hermione yet. What did one get for their girlfriend? The word still felt odd and Harry found himself vocalising it a few times, oblivious to curious onlookers, just to drill it into his head. A girl who was a friend? More than a friend now, since she’d always been that. His snogging partner? Significant other? None of it seemed to fit the newly discovered wonder that was Hermione.

Something girly perhaps. Hermione used to complain frequently that they never saw her as a girl, just another one of the mates. Harry looked up when he realised that his parcels, hands, and the path under his feet had taken on a pinkish cast from the light of the shop beside him.

Checking his money once saw that he still had several twenty pound notes left to be spent and only one person to spend it on. Would it be all right if he maybe spoiled her just this once? With a grin, Harry realised that he probably would spoil her a lot more often now than he used to do. Decision made, he walked into the shop.

*~*~*~*~*

“Bundle up a bit more, Draco. There’s a dear.”

Mrs Weasley was oblivious to the narrow look the boy gave her as she went about building up the fire in the hearth. He was wrapped snugly in a thick blanket with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. It was all very undignified. Especially when a tiny voice from inside the stick stated loudly that his temperature was officially above normal.

There was a funny tickling in the back of his throat and before Draco could make out what it was, the thermometer flew from his mouth with a violent sneeze. His nose and eyes watered and the world was bleary for a moment until he was able to wipe his face.

Molly shook her head and muttered a quick repairing spell at the broken glass on the floor before picking the now intact thermometer up. “Just as I suspected, you have a cold.”

“I do nod haff a coald,” Draco stated carefully, annoyed by the fact that he did seem to have a lisp or something now. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the twins laughing and pointing at him. Even Ginny and Charlie were trying to hold in a giggle or two. At least runty Ron was still upstairs pouting, but Granger was peeping around the doorway with wide eyes.

“Terrible thing about that snow sprite. If you hadn‘t fallen on her while trying to get at George, her sister never would have hexed you,” Mrs Weasley prattled on while pulling another blanket around his shoulders. “Ginny,” she called. “Bring me Grandmum’s potion; you know the one.”

At this, the twins howled even louder until their mother thumped them on the head.

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Malfoy. And here we wanted revenge for your stunt earlier. This is priceless, really,” George said, rubbing his ear.

George was now differentiated from his twin by the fact that he had a large, purple stain on his face from the inkbottle Draco had thrown at him when they came back inside. Fred tittered beside him, slapping his knee.

“You’ll love this. Mum puts lots of garlic in Grandmum’s potion. Too bad you’ll probably be feeling better later; George and I could’ve had loads of fun with this.”

“There’s still fun to be had, Fred,” George said, turning to his twin in mock solemnity.

“Indeed?” Fred tried to raise only one of his eyebrows, but failed, so he settled for sticking his nose in the air.

“Indeed.”

George took his brother by the arm and they skipped merrily around the sofa, much to the annoyance of Draco, singing a song about ferrets and germs. Mrs Weasley was distracted from thumping them again by Ginny’s arrival with the potion. The twins stopped and grinned as their mother brought a spoon out of her apron, their faces alight with anticipation.

“See, Fred?” George pointed out, acknowledging the spoon with a shake of his finger.

Fred nodded, donning a falsely stuffy air and sniffing. “Much fun to be had.”

Draco eyed the yellowish liquid warily as Ginny poured a goodly amount onto the utensil her mother held. “Whad’s in dad?”

Ginny beamed innocently at him and batted her lashes. “Garlic, honey, burdock, feverfew, and the extra special ingredient: dragon dung.”

Gagging, Draco shook his head vehemently. “You’re nod giffing me dad sduff.”

Eyeing her mother, Ginny smiled and took the spoon from her grip, walking toward Draco with it held out like a sword. “Yes I am,” she chirruped brightly. “You’ll drink this and be back to your less annoying self.”

He tried to get up, but there were hands on either shoulder pushing him down and moving suddenly wasn‘t an option. Draco decided on keeping his mouth firmly sealed, barely able to breathe through his clogged nose. Mrs Weasley covered a laugh as Ginny stood in front of him with one hand on her hip.

“Open you’re mouth, Malfoy.”

Draco remained maddeningly silent and narrowed his eyes at her, daring the girl to make a move. Sighing, Ginny reached out a hand to pinch his nose shut.

“Just have to do this the hard way then.”

She waited patiently as Draco continued to hold his breath. When he felt his lungs burn though, he had to open his mouth to get some air and she shoved the spoon full of potion in, he could hear the clank of metal against his teeth. He almost spit it back out, but was eventually able to swallow, eyes watering all the while.

Mrs Weasley and Charlie were guffawing as they made their way into the kitchen for some tea, and one of the twins ruffled his hair rudely before they followed their mother. Ginny stood with her arms crossed and a smug look on her face.

“Now that wasn’t so hard.”

“Are you drying do gill me?”

Ginny leaned forward, an inch from his face. “No, I’m not ‘drying do gill’ you. If I didn’t do it, Mum would have.”

Draco grinned suddenly and it obviously put her off since she attempted to step backwards. He reached out and pulled Ginny to her knees before him, moving his head forward to kiss her soundly on the mouth. She struggled for a moment but he held on, tickling her lips with his tongue for good measure, until he had to stop for breath.

Jumping to her feet, Ginny wiped at her mouth. “Ack! What did you do that for?”

Draco smile grew broader and he leant back against the sofa, folding his arms behind his head and gazing at her from hooded eyes. “You officially haff a coald. Now bring me a cup of dea before you fall ofer.”

Ginny’s eyes widened dramatically and she dropped her hand before running into the kitchen. “Muuuum!”

He pulled his arms down and burrowed further under the warm blankets, stretching his feet toward the fire. Payback really was a lot of fun.

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11. Revelations

When Harry entered the Leaky Cauldron sometime near dusk, he almost literally ran into Mr Weasley. Fortunately, a friendly wizard at the Enchanted Christmas Shoppe in Diagon Alley had shrunk all his packages into a self-expanding box. Otherwise, they would have been broken by his hasty withdrawal from the door.

Mr Weasley turned around and spotted Harry, reaching out a hand to steady him while casting a nervous glance out toward the setting sun.

“I’m so glad that I found you, Harry. We have to go back to the Burrow immediately.”

Harry suddenly got a very cold feeling in his stomach that spread and tightened over his ribs. “Why? What’s happened? Is everyone all right?”

Mr Weasley waved this away. “Everyone’s fine. But Minister Fudge was persuaded to close down the Floo Network until after the holidays.”

Dumbstruck, Harry began to speak, but Mr Weasley kept him silent with a quick motion of his hand. “I’ll explain it to you and everyone else when we get back to the Burrow. But we have to go before sunset or you’ll be stuck here until January.”

Harry nodded and allowed himself to be led over to the Leaky Cauldron’s fireplace. He stepped into the green flames after Mr Weasley and shouted for the Burrow.

Tumbling out of the hearth, Harry turned around just in time to see a small card fly out of the fireplace. He picked it up and read in stunned silence.

By Order of the Ministry of Magic

Greetings,

Due to the Floo powder shortage, the Ministry of Magic has shut down the Floo Network until after the holidays. The Network has become too expensive to maintain in comparison to the amount of people able to make use of it. Please allow extra time for other modes of transportation during your holiday visits this year.

Happy Christmas,

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic

“This followed me out. How could they do such a thing?”

Mr Weasley took the card Harry offered him and looked it over gravely before tossing it back into the hearth.

“Come into the kitchen, Harry. I’ll ask Molly to put the kettle on and tell you all about it.”

Harry nodded and set his box on the couch, following after Mr Weasley. Draco and Ginny were sitting at the table with Mrs Weasley, both bundled up in blankets and sneezing intermittently. Mrs Weasley looked up at Harry and Mr Weasley, smiling brightly.

“You’re just in time, I made some fresh tea.”

Mr Weasley briefly pecked his wife on top of her head and took a seat beside her, motioning for Harry to sit down as well.

“What happened to them?” Harry asked as Mr Weasley passed him a cup of tea. Mrs Weasley smothered a laugh behind her hand and Draco shot her a dirty look.

“Draco wad playing oud in duh snow when he sdepped on a snow spride and god cursed by her sisder,” Ginny volunteered, taking a shaky sip of her tea.

“I wad nod playing in duh snow,” he said carefully. “I wad drying do gill George.”

Harry glanced at Mr Weasley out of the corner of his eye and both burst out laughing, tears streaming down their cheeks. Mrs Weasley stopped giggling behind her hand and stood up to pull down a bottle from the cupboard. Draco’s eyes widened and he stood up quickly, letting the blanket drop from his shoulders.

“No, no more of dad. I’m nod daking id!”

Mrs Weasley grabbed a spoon out of her apron and made her way over to him carefully. “Yes, you are. Don’t be such a baby, dear.”

“I’m nod being a baby. You’re drying do poidon me!”

Ginny rolled her eyes and Harry tried hard not to laugh again. Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy would ever be afraid of Mrs Weasley?

Smiling sweetly, Mrs Weasley pinched his nose until he opened his mouth and then shoved the spoon inside. Draco twisted his mouth in disgust, but swallowed all the same.

“There now, not so horrible. But it really is difficult to pinch your nose every time. Why don’t you just buck up, dear?”

Draco wrinkled his nose at her and made a funny snorting sound, but didn’t say anything further until Mrs Weasley turned toward her daughter.

“Led me do id!” Draco shouted out, a wicked grin on his face.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him and opened her mouth obediently.

Mrs Weasley only tutted at Ginny’s behaviour and shook her head. “You already gave her a cold, Draco. I think she’s been tortured enough for today.”

All the while, Harry was sitting at the table with a confounded expression on his face that was mirrored by Mr Weasley.

“Molly, how did Draco give Ginny a cold?” Arthur asked, his voice faint with growing suspicion.

Mrs Weasley only glanced slyly at Draco out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t know, dear. Draco, care to explain to Mr Weasley why Ginny has your cold?”

Harry raised his eyebrows as Ginny turned a vivid shade of red and Draco sat back down, grumbling something under his breath. Mr Weasley was staring daggers at the pale blonde head in front of him and was about to say something until Harry spoke first, not quite feeling up to hearing a battle to the death between Weasley and Malfoy.

“Did Ron get back to the Burrow all right, Mrs Weasley? I met him at the Leaky Cauldron this morning, but he didn’t say much to me before he Flooed back here.”

Mrs Weasley shook her head and sat down next to her husband, pouring him another cup of tea. Draco held out his cup and she poured some for him as well before answering Harry.

“He’s been up in his room all day and won’t talk to anyone. I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she sighed and looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers around the tablecloth.

“I’m only glad that he decided to come home today, it would have been too late tomorrow,” Mr Weasley said, breath steaming over his tea cup.

Mrs Weasley looked up at this, her eyes startled. “Too late? What do you mean?”

Mr Weasley set his cup on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. “Minister Fudge decided to shut down the Floo Network until after the holidays and the Floo powder shortage has passed.”

“What? Why did he do a thing like that?” Mrs Weasley exclaimed, sucking in a breath.

Mr Weasley twisted his lips in a frown, shooting an apologetic glance at Draco before stating, “Lucius.”

If Draco was angry or embarrassed, it wasn’t visible except for the white knuckles clutching at his cup. “Id shouldn’d surprise you, he’s a basdard.”

The cold, gripping feeling from earlier was back and Harry tried desperately to drown it in tea. His hands were shaking and he suddenly felt the urge to find Hermione and hold her tight. No one was safe though; something was coming. Perhaps it would be better to put Hermione and everyone else somewhere he couldn’t find them. Then maybe Voldemort wouldn’t be able to hurt them either.

“Draco, Molly and I need to have a word with you later. But it can wait until after tea, if you’d like,” Mr Weasley said.

Harry had the feeling that he should eavesdrop on that conversation as it likely didn‘t have anything to do with how Ginny caught Malfoy‘s cold. He didn’t like the fact that he knew next to nothing about why Malfoy was even still there. Mrs Weasley stood up from the table and set the empty teapot in the sink.

“I’m going to start tea right now, actually. Harry,” she glanced at him distractedly. “Why don’t you take Draco and Ginny into the other room and play a game or something?”

It had been a long time since Mrs Weasley had treated him like such a child, but Harry put it down to nerves and complied. Draco rose from his seat grudgingly and followed Ginny and Harry out of the kitchen.

Draco plunked down next to the fire, putting his hands so close to it that they could easily burn if he wasn’t careful. Ginny sat on the sofa though, keeping her blankets wrapped firmly about her shoulders. The familiar sound of explosions drifted down the stairs, along with laughter from three Weasley boys. Ron wasn’t laughing though; Harry would recognise it if he were. It was time to talk to him. And Hermione, where ever she was.

“I’m going to find Ron and Hermione. I’ll be back in a moment,” Harry said absently to Ginny.

Draco reached out a hand to stop him. “Podder, did you ged my fags?”

Harry looked down and laughed. “I don’t think you’ll be able to smoke them for a while, Malfoy.”

“Yes I can.”

Harry rolled his eyes and undid the strings on the box he’d set on the couch earlier. The parcel expanded rapidly before bursting into several brightly wrapped presents and a brown paper bag. Digging into the sack, Harry pulled out ten green boxes that said ‘Earl and Flick’s Menthol Cigarettes - with new and improved Calming Charm!’.

“Here,” Harry said, depositing all but two onto Draco’s lap along with the small purse of gold he’d been given earlier. “Happy Christmas, Malfoy.”

“Why are you keeping dwo?”

Harry shrugged. “Consider it my fee for buying the things in the first place.”

Draco glanced up at one of the boxes and noticed that the wrapping had been removed. His eyes lit up with a demented sort of glee. “Oh Podder, you’re a naudy boy.”

Nose twitching furiously, Ginny finally burst out with laughter. “Harry! You led Draco giff you a fag? Mum’ll be furious when she finds oud dad he sdarded you smoking.”

Harry flushed deeply, realising that Hermione would be angry, too. Good thing he picked up some lovely little mints from the smoke shop. Those cigarettes really were growing on him, too. Sod it.

“Giff me dad sack, Podder. I can’d carry all dees ad once.” Draco reached up and snatched the brown paper bag out of Harry’s hand, quickly stuffing it full with the little green boxes. He stood up then and walked toward the stairs, a smug grin plastered on his face. Must be nice to feel so giddy at the thought of corrupting someone, Harry thought.

“Come on, Podder. We’ll haff a fag upstairs. I’ll effen show you my secred hiding spod.”

Harry shook his head and grinned despite himself, following Draco up the stairs. The blonde turned off at the second landing and went into Percy’s room, pulling one of the boxes from the bag before handing the paper sack to Harry.

“Dere’s a loose floorboard under duh desk. Sdick dem in dere.”

Snickering at Draco’s speech impediment, Harry crawled under the desk and touched the floor with his fingertips, searching for the loose panel. It wasn’t fair that Harry had been coming to the Burrow for years, yet Draco Malfoy was here for less than a week and he’d already found interesting hidey holes.

Harry felt one give and pulled it up. There were all sorts of letters inside and Harry looked at them in puzzlement before taking one out.

“Are these yours?”

Draco frowned and slid off the bed, a cigarette between his lips dangling haphazardly. “No, I’ff nefer seen dose before. You pulled up duh wrong board, you sod.”

Harry sat on the floor next to the desk, a curious Draco beside him, and turned the envelope over in his hand. It was addressed to Percy in an ornate script. Suddenly, Draco gasped and snatched it from Harry.

“Dis is my fader’s handwriding! I’d recognise id anywhere.”

“What would letters from your father be doing in Percy’s room?”

Draco sniffed loudly, trying to talk until Harry handed him a handkerchief out of sheer exasperation.

“For cripe’s sake, blow your conk, Malfoy. You sound disgusting.”

Honking into the cloth a few times, Draco blinked bleary eyes at Harry before clearing his throat. “Ah, that’s better. Now I don’t sound like an idiot anymore.”

Harry wisely kept his opinion on that to himself while Draco looked back down at the letter in his hands before ripping open the envelope to get inside. A slip of parchment fell out and Harry nicked it before Draco had the chance to do so himself.

“It’s from my father, I think I should read it if anyone!”

“Just give me a moment, Malfoy,” Harry said absently as he had already started to scan the ornate, flowing scrawl.

Percy,

You know that I care for you, of course. But I do not think that the time is yet ripe for me to leave N— — . Our Friend may still have need for company and I would hate to deprive him of someone he is fond of.

Make sure that you are at my home on the 23rd. Do not be late as there will be a splendid feast. Our Friend will be most disappointed if you do not bring him a present since he went to so much trouble procuring time for us to be together. Bring the new cloak I gave you as well, it suits you perfectly.

With affection,

L— —

Harry clutched the paper tightly in hands that trembled. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who ‘Our Friend’ was.

“What does it say, Potter?”

Draco attempted to grab the parchment from him, but Harry clung to it tenaciously.

“You don’t want to read this, Malfoy, trust me. I have to give this to Mr Weasley.”

“Gobshite, give me the blasted letter.”

Harry could see how wide Draco’s eyes were, and smoke pooled from the cigarette in his hand to wreath the boy‘s face. With one last look to convey the fact that he didn’t want to give it to him, Harry handed the paper over.

Draco snatched it up and read quickly, his normally pale features blanching further in horror as his fag fell to the floor and disappeared.

“No,” he whispered hoarsely, dropping the paper like it was a snake. “My father didn’t write that, he couldn’t have done. It‘s a bloody trick.”

Running shaky fingers through his hair, Harry picked up the box of cigarettes Draco dropped and pulled one out. He put it to his lips and puffed, watching as the end turned bright cherry red without need of a flame. Smoke filled his lungs and he could feel the calming charm at work. Already it was clearing the shock from his system and allowing him to think. Harry could easily see now why so many people depended on them.

He looked up and noticed that Draco’s eyes were wide and disbelief still overlaid his features. Harry passed him another cigarette and Draco took it gratefully, sucking at the filter in a desperate sort of way.

“I have to show these to Mr Weasley.”

“Are you mad?” Draco hissed, smoke pouring out of his mouth like a dragon. “It’s bad enough that you know my father’s a— ” he closed his eyes and swallowed. “My father’s a p-poof. But to tell the Wea— ”

“I have to tell them, Malfoy!” Harry cut him off severely. “It’s their son who’s consorting with your father and they need to know.”

Draco was very still for a few minutes, his only motion being the even rise and fall of one hand to his lips. Harry thought he was completely in another world and was about to say something when he spoke.

“You can tell Mr Weasley about it, and I assume Mrs Weasley, too. Just don’t tell any of the others about this.”

The look he gave Harry was almost pleading, or as close to it as Draco Malfoy ever was. Maybe he was human after all. Harry nodded quietly and folded the note into one of his pockets. Malfoy seemed relieved and stood up, holding out a hand to Harry.

He looked at it in amazement and then stared up at Draco. This would probably be the only show of gratitude he’d ever receive from a Malfoy. Harry was vividly reminded of his first year and the offer of friendship he had been presented with then. Harry shook his head to dislodge that thought and pushed himself off the floor.

“I’ll give this to Mr Weasley after tea or when everyone’s gone to bed.”

Draco nodded, his eyes glittering strangely in the half-light. “I’ll be there, too. I can’t hide from this forever, and maybe I can— ” He broke off and Harry could hear the grate of his teeth. No more words came out and Draco walked out of the room.

Harry stayed there for a moment, wondering if Malfoy was actually going to offer his help. He was still the same smarmy git he’d always been, but there was something very different about Draco Malfoy now. Harry shrugged it off and made his way out of the room and down to the end of the corridor.

The door to Hermione’s room was open a crack and he pushed gently. It was dark inside, but he could see from the light in the hall that she was lying face down on the bed; the fluffy head he knew so well cradled in her arms.

“Hermione? Are you awake?”

She sat up with a start, sniffing quietly. “Harry, is that you?”

Harry frowned and stepped inside, closing the door. It was obvious that she had been crying; he could see the tear tracks down her face even in the dim moonlight. Sitting on the bed, Harry pulled Hermione to him, awkwardly patting her back. Weeping females had never been one of his strong suits.

“Hermione, what’s the matter?”

Her shoulders shook harder and she nuzzled her face into his soft woollen jumper. After a few more clumsy thumps on the back and several hiccups, she spoke.

“Oh Harry, Ron is such a— a— !”

The last word was interrupted by another hiccup and she pressed her face even deeper into his chest, clawing her fingers around the fabric of his sleeve. To say Harry was puzzled was a given.

“What‘s happened now?”

Hermione shook her head violently and twisted both wool and skin with her frantic hands. Harry winced slightly but didn’t move otherwise.

“I h-had a fight with -hic- Ron earlier.”

“What did you say?”

She pulled away from his chest; her eyes and nose were glistening in the faint light. “I tried to talk to him, be nice and -hic- everything. But Ron made me so mad and started talking in that annoying way he does. You know, when he wants to make me angry. All ‘don’t its’ and ‘sight lots’ but no real words, Harry. Then I was suddenly so cross that I just floundered; I couldn‘t even speak. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out but a bunch of nonsense. And he— he laughed at me!”

Harry’s eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Hermione’s small frame shook with the sobs trying to escape. “Are my brains turning to mush now? I can‘t even speak properly he makes me so cross. What if it was important? What if it were Voldemort there and I couldn‘t hex him because I was so angry?”

“Hermione,” Harry said, lifting a finger to trace her cheek gently. She may have been overreacting, but he knew that Hermione took herself very seriously. With all the bad feelings he‘d been having lately, Harry knew that this certainly wasn‘t the time for Hermione to doubt herself or her intelligence. She needed to be strong. “I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re the brightest person I know and that won’t ever change. This isn‘t the end of the world.”

She gazed at him sadly. “It is to me.”

“You’re fine. Honestly, everyone gets cross and lets their feelings take over sometimes. And I’m going to pound Ron for laughing at you.”

Hermione was about to say more, but he stopped her with a kiss. He let it linger a moment, giving them both some small comfort before pulling away. Harry reached up and stroked her hair.

“Go to the loo and wash your face. Then come down to the kitchen, tea’s probably ready.”

She nodded and gave him another kiss before sliding off the bed, making her way out into the hall and upstairs to the bathroom. Harry followed after a moment, aiming a dirty glance toward Ron’s room as he passed it on his way down the stairs. It was getting harder and harder to remember that Ron was supposed to be his friend.

12. Christmas Eve with the Weasleys

Authour’s Notes: Thank you to the lovely Tegan for fanart in this chapter.

Mrs Weasley made more mince pies and there was still a Christmas pudding boiling merrily away in a pot on the kitchen hearth, waiting for the next day's tea. The roast chicken on the table was tender, and there were pots of mash and other vegetables spread out over the table along with fresh baked bread and honey butter. Gravy boats winked happily from the reflected light and urged those seated to be liberal with their contents.

But Draco couldn't eat a bite.

Glancing from the corner of his eye, he noticed that the stupidest Weasley, Ron, appeared to be having the same problem. Draco smirked to himself in satisfaction.

The twins were chattering away with Ginny, making her giggle across from him. Draco appreciated this only because it made her ample breasts shake and bob with each titter. How someone could look at something so nice as a well-rounded tit and not be aroused was beyond him. Draco comforted himself with the knowledge that he knew where he stood on that subject.

Harry and Hermione remained quiet, the latter picking at her food but still eating. The fact that the famous trio were on the outs perked Draco up a little and he took a bite from the bread on his plate. This made Mrs Weasley smile at him from over her fork and he wanted to bung the whole plate just to make her stop. It wasn't as if she really cared.

Especially when she found out about his father.

That wouldn't be until much later; after everyone else went to bed and Potter did his duty as saviour of the free world by bringing that horrible note to the Weasleys' attention. Draco reassured himself with the knowledge that Hermione would most likely be chewing Saint Potter out later for picking up another bad habit. Smoking. This time, Draco smiled mischievously at his plate and started eating in earnest.

"Put something in our food, Malfoy?" George asked, his face still splattered with a slightly dimmed version of the purple ink stain from earlier.

Draco shook his head. "Not tonight; I think I've filled my quota for the day."

Ginny snorted. "I'll say. I don't think even Fred and George could manage the mischief you've caused in just twenty-four hours."

She apparently hadn't bothered to mention to her brothers exactly how she'd caught a cold earlier that day. But since the potion had finally taken effect, there was no reason for her to mention it. Draco certainly wasn't about to either; he liked his rocks in his pants the way nature intended and not strung from the ceiling like a twisted Christmas banner.

Fred perked up at Ginny‘s statement. "A challenge, dear sister?"

Cringing, she shook her head. "No, no challenge at all. Forget what I said, in fact. You and George are brilliant as is."

George didn't accept this as an answer though. "Ah, but the challenge has been issued so you can't take it back."

"Fred, George, there will be no tomfoolery at this table tonight. Let's have a nice meal free of your pranks for once, boys." Mr Weasley said this to the twins, but he cast a glance at Draco as well.

For his part, Draco had the feeling that the twins were now even more determined to pull a joke on someone. It was only right that he take preventative measures.

Draco glanced at Mr Weasley, but saw that the man was busy talking with his wife and not paying anyone else the slightest mind. Forcing his lips to be still, Draco picked up a pea with the edge of his fork and lobbed it directly at Fred's head.

Unfortunately, Charlie bumped his elbow at a crucial moment and the pea went soaring over the table to land snugly between Ginny's breasts. Draco's eyes widened and he quickly looked back down at his plate, tearing into the chicken there with his several times accursed fork. The meat was a breast piece, too.

Sneaking a glimpse from under his hair, he noticed that she seemed to find it anything but amusing. The twins hadn't noticed, though, as they were too occupied with plotting his demise.

Ginny picked the pea out of her bra carefully, looking up to see who had thrown it. Draco became even more interested in his food then, trying to ignore her. He did a good job, too, because when a glob of mashed potatoes hit him in the face, he was very surprised.

Draco raised his head, mouth open in shock. The twins immediately stopped scheming and laughed out loud; slapping the table and making it shake. Ginny was taking a bite from her bread, her eyes innocently rounded. Harry had looked up from his whisperings to Hermione, and even Ron noticed that something was going on.

"Ginny!" Mrs Weasley admonished loudly, getting up from the table to hand Draco a towel. "Why on earth did you do that?"

"He threw a pea at me," she defended, letting her lip pout out slightly.

Draco's nostrils flared as he tried to contain his embarrassment, but the action was hidden by the towel he was using to wipe his face. Ron was now snickering along with everyone else and he could feel his blood begin to simmer with rage. He stood up stiffly and grabbed a gravy boat, leaning over the table to pour it down the front of Ginny's dress.

She gasped loudly and jumped from her seat, batting at her clothes frantically while the twins shrieked with laughter and Mrs Weasley yelled.

"Draco!"

Ginny pushed her chair back and came around the table like a hell-bound harpy. Before Draco knew what she had done, there was a cracking sound and the stinging imprint of her hand on his cheek.

"That was my favourite dress, you manky git!" she cried.

He put a hand to his face, feigning shock and smirking all the while. "Keep your food to yourself next time."

She stared at him incredulously. "You started it!"

Mr Weasley finally rose from the table himself to address the two in a stern voice. "Children, go wash up. I expect that you'll both behave when you come back."

Draco's face burned at being called a child and he aimed a narrow glance at Ron, who was laughing louder than anyone else, before sweeping out of the room in a huff. Ginny followed behind him, head hanging sullenly on her neck like a broken flower stem.

"I'm going to get you for this, Draco Malfoy," Ginny hissed in his ear as they were climbing the stairs.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and shrugged. "Blame yourself for sinking to my level in the first place."

Ginny tapered her eyes but didn't say anything more as she stomped into the loo and slammed the door. Draco heard water in the sink running and sighed, folding his arms and leaning against the wall in anticipation of a long wait. Couldn't he have just washed his face in the kitchen? Draco shook his head and shivered at the thought of cleaning himself up like a common dinner plate.

A few moments later, Ginny opened the door and Draco moved closer to it, almost blocking the frame. The front of her dress was drenched in water and clung to her body like a second skin. Draco could see how cold she was by the way her nipples had budded and pressed through the thick cotton material.

"What are you staring at?" Ginny snapped peevishly as she made to go around him.

Draco stood his ground and smirked, allowing his gaze to linger over her curves and also allowing a plan to blossom in his devious mind. "I was just thinking to myself how lucky that pea was."

"You're a nutter," she said, wrinkling her nose in exasperation. "Now move out of the way so I can change."

His smirk turned into a full-fledged grin as he moved further into the washroom, forcing Ginny to back up as he closed the door behind them. Draco directed a glance at her rounded hips, and the way her small, soft belly was accentuated by the dripping fabric of her dress. She reached up a hand to nervously finger the red curls falling over her shoulder, the ends slightly damp.

Ginny was pretty enough, and her body whispered secrets of desire that he needed to hear. The ample padding to her backside told him that she'd keep him warm, at least, as he pounded it into the cold, tiled floor. Ginny would be screaming his name soon and that would prove he wasn't a poof like his father.

The gauntlet was thrown.

"D-draco?" she asked, eyes wide as she backed up so far that she hit the wall. "What are you doing?"

Draco didn't say a word but continued to advance on her until he could feel the wet material of her dress against his solar plexus. Ginny's lip trembled slightly in anticipation, wondering what he was going to do next.

"Are you going to— "

He cut her off by swooping down and arresting her mouth with his own. Ginny's arms fluttered uselessly for a moment before reaching up to twine themselves around his neck. That surprised him almost as much as when she poked her tiny pink tongue past his lips. Ah, so willing . . . it was a shame he hadn't done this before.

His hands skimmed over her hips, and Draco reached down under her thighs to pick her up. Ginny's legs wrapped around his waist easily as he pushed her further against the wall.

She moaned into his mouth and continued the attack, her small fingers tugging at his hair. Draco suckled her tongue while reaching up to grab one of her pert breasts in his long-fingered hand, twirling a nipple expertly through the wet material of her dress.

Ginny broke away from the kiss and tilted her head, groaning softly in the back of her throat. Draco moved to replace his hand with his mouth, nibbling at her pearled nipple through the cloth. Ginny's fingers tightened over his scalp and her hips quivered against his stomach.

Draco slid a hand down her belly to the top of her thighs, rooting through fabric before he found her knickers. He pulled his mouth from her breast and grated the stubble on his chin against her lips.

"Say my name," he demanded harshly into her ear.

Ginny swallowed, her mouth slack and glazed over with lust. Draco could feel the internal debate she was having and it excited him. One finger edged the lace around her leg before slithering inside, stroking the wet curls there.

"Say my name," Draco challenged again.

Her lips quivered in response. "Draco," she breathed. "Let go of me."

Where did that come from? The sheer nerve of her! Draco gave spiteful pinch to the soft skin of her thigh before pushing away from the wall. Ginny fell to the cold, tiled floor from where she had been perched on his hips. She winced at the impact and rubbed her bottom, glaring up at him.

"You're a tease, Weasley," Draco said slowly. His teeth were clenched so that the words came out gritty and almost breathless.

Ginny blinked slowly, eyes unfocused but filled with anger as she jumped to her feet. Her face was tipped up toward his, only inches away. "I'm a tease? You're the one who has flirted with me ever since you came here! And even at school before that. You're just a pathetic little boy, Draco Malfoy. A stupid, rich prat who thinks that he can— "

"Shut up, you daft twat. You honestly think that I've been flirting with you? I wouldn't give you the time of day if I wasn't stuck in this house."

She smirked slightly. "Poor little Drakkie, can't find Crabbe and Goyle to help you out this time?"

Draco's eyes widened with anger and . . . fear. "Don't ever— "

"This is my house, Malfoy, not yours. I'll say what I please."

"Bitch," he hissed.

Ginny shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, Malfoy. But I'm going back to the kitchen. Why don't you," she spared a withering glance at the bulging seam of his trousers, "Clean yourself up."

Then she walked out of the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Draco stood still a moment before he was able to regain his bearings on reality. His throat and nose burned and there was a peculiar clutching feeling in his chest. One thought sustained him as he washed his face at the sink. It kept him going while he peeled away his wet shirt and climbed into the bathtub, filling it with icy water. That one thought kept pounding in his head.

She would pay for this.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was picking at his food, uneasy about the task that lay before him. How did you tell someone that their son was diddling a Death Eater?

Hermione sat next to him, morosely eating the delicious mince pie on her plate. It seemed that both of his friends were feeling just as blue as he was because Ron hardly touched his food either. At least everyone else seemed to be having a good time.

Mr and Mrs Weasley ate their pie, speaking to each other quietly except for the occasional giggle from Mrs Weasley. Charlie was helping himself to another one, and the twins were still laughing over the scene between Ginny and Malfoy earlier.

Harry glanced down at his watch and frowned. Earlier was almost twenty minutes ago. What was going on up there?

"Hermione," he whispered, touching her hand with his fingers to get her attention. "Why don't you go and see if Ginny needs any help? They've been up there an awful long time."

Hermione snorted softly before whispering back. "What, are you afraid that she might be snogging Malfoy?"

Harry grinned lopsidedly at her. "Already happened once, or so I'm told."

"What!" she exclaimed, louder than intended.

Everyone at the table looked up at her before going back to their pie. Except for Ron, who continued to stare at the two darkly. It almost made Harry feel guilty until he realised that he had nothing to feel guilty about. Ron was excluding himself. Wasn't he?

"Just as I said, Hermione. Be a love and spy for me?"

She giggled and patted his leg under the table. "I'll check, but after that I'm straight for bed."

"Mind if I come up and tuck you in later?" Harry murmured.

Hermione's eyes flitted around the table before giving him a barely perceptible wink. "Maybe."

He laughed and looked at the pie in front of him as Hermione excused herself from the table and went upstairs. Shrugging, Harry took a bite, the taste of fruit, butter, and spice melting over his tongue. After that, it was easy to finish off and he even snatched up another one after that. Ginny came back into the kitchen eventually and finished eating her food, but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

Conversation around the table was quieting and gradually, everyone drifted off, leaving Harry alone with Mr and Mrs Weasley.

"Harry dear, would you like another pie?"

He shook his head and patted his stomach in a way that he'd found convinced Mrs Weasley that he was indeed pleasantly full. It was difficult to resist though as Mrs Beeton had nothing on the woman as far as kitchen skills went. "No, Mrs Weasley. I'm full up."

She nodded and stood to clear all the plates away. Mr Weasley finished off his tea and looked up at Harry speculatively.

"Harry, could I ask you to bring Draco downstairs? The missus and I need to have a word with him," he asked in a way that didn't really brook refusal.

"Mr Weasley, there is something that he and I need to discuss with you first. I think it may be more . . . well, it's very important."

Mrs Weasley looked up from the sink and put her wand down, frowning at him. "What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry squirmed in his seat. "I think that Malfoy should be the one to say something about this; it really isn't my place to say anything, but I promised him I'd be here."

Mr Weasley spared his wife a Look. "This sounds more important than the Floo Network. Bring him down, Harry. We'll have a chat."

Harry nodded and stood up from the table, leaving the kitchen and plodding up the stairs. He really was dreading this and he felt sorry for Malfoy. That was a first in and of itself; the boy had been a complete prat since the moment they met and now he felt sorry for him? Then again, who wouldn't in this situation?

The corridor to his right was dimly lit and Harry couldn't make out the faces of two figures that were embroiled in a heated argument near Draco's room. But he knew the voices and climbed more quickly in anger.

"But Hermione, I lov— "

"Don't say it, Ron! I can't hear it now. I told you that I don't feel that way about you anymore. You had a chance and you wasted it."

Harry could see the taller figure lean down to kiss the small one and he broke into a run, tripping over the last step. There was a massive crack heard then as Hermione reached up to slap Ron and turned toward the wall, hiding her face in shaking hands.

"Ron, what are you doing?"

Ron looked up at hearing Harry's voice and narrowed his eyes. "Stay out of this, Harry. This is between me and Hermione, it's none of your business."

"I'll say it's my bloody business! That's my gir— " Harry stopped, eyes wide. He was about to say that . . . to Ron. Oh God. He'd been so blind and it had never even occurred to him that— Ron was in love. He had never been worried about being the third wheel at all. It was always about Hermione. None of this would have mattered, so long as she was happy, but—she didn't want Ron. Right?

Ron had stilled, his shoulders stooped forward. "So that's it, is it?"

He glared down at Hermione, who was still hunched against the wall and not looking at anyone. "You're with Harry now. How long has this been going on? How many years have you two been lying to me?"

Harry clenched his fists and his face flushed an ugly red colour. He spoke quietly in a voice that ached with guilt and betrayal. "Bit rich for you to talk about lies, Ron. You've been telling Hermione that I'm the town whore for ages."

Ron's eyes widened and his nostrils flared with rage. "You're stupid to believe anything she says. If anyone here is a whore and a liar, it's her."

Hermione shrank even further into the wall, her small frame shaking. Harry stepped forward then and slammed Ron against the door to Draco's room, his anger a tight coil waiting to be unleashed.

"Take that back, Ron or so help me, I'll pound you flat."

"Go on, then. Take a shot, Harry."

Ron was challenging him, almost as if he wanted to see what would happen when the famous Harry Potter lost his temper. Slowly, Harry removed his hands from Ron's shoulders. He breathed slowly, in and out, forcing the rage to subside.

"Hermione and I will leave tomorrow morning. Maybe you'll have come around by the time school starts again."

Ron laughed. "And how are you going to leave? You're stuck with us other rats here."

"I'll find a way," Harry ground out. "Even if I have to carry her down the road on my back, we‘re leaving. If I have to spend another day here with you, I might do something we'll both regret."

"I doubt you'd regret anything, Harry."

Harry looked at Ron, his breath coming in great heaves. Then he glanced down at Hermione. This was too hard; it wasn't supposed to be like this. They were both his friends, how could he make a choice like this?

Eventually, it was the way Hermione's shoulders were shaking in combination with Ron's glare that made it easier to decide between love and friendship. Even if things didn‘t work out romantically, he and Hermione would always be friends. But Ron . . .

"Goodbye, Ron," Harry said softly before turning away and leading Hermione back down the hall and upstairs to her room.

Of course he regretted it, Ron had been with him since his first day on the train to Hogwarts almost seven years ago. They'd been through so much together and had always remained friends.

Until now.

It wasn't Hermione's fault. If it hadn't been her, it would've been someone or something else. Ron had always been jealous, only now Harry knew how far that extended. Given the choice between the best friend who was jealous of him and the best friend, the woman, he loved, Harry had chosen her.

Now that he reflected upon it though, he realised that it may not have been the wisest choice. Voldemort was still there, lurking in the shadows for the moment when everything would hang in the balance and Harry would have to make more agonising decisions in regard to those who were important to him. It would have been kinder to break her heart then, and have done with it. But he couldn‘t bear to see her in pain, and he knew somehow that she wouldn‘t have accepted his apparent indifference. Hermione had fought by his side for almost seven years. A rejection from him would never change that.

Voldemort and the drama of life were eating away at all Harry valued, leaving ghosts behind.

And Hermione would never be safe, even if Voldemort died this moment and didn‘t trouble them again; life was out there. Life was waiting for them like a praying mantis.

How could he live without Hermione when she was the one good thing remaining in his world?

13. Reality (Edited for content)

Draco was lying on his bed, listening to the argument outside his door. The Trio was now a Duo, plus one corked-off git. Instead of the amusement he expected to feel, Draco was cold inside. A heavy hand of foreboding gripped him tightly. This didn’t feel right at all.

There were many things in Draco’s life that he had accepted as fact long ago, but they were now twisting and writhing off into a category labelled ‘unknown’. It made him wonder if anything was definite in this world.

Fact number one: The Trio will always be there to annoy, embarrass, and confuse him.

Draco snorted and wondered if it was such a bad thing after all that their little group had broken up. But the cramping of his stomach told him otherwise. As much as he hated to admit it, they were a necessary annoyance. One always needed a nemesis after all, and three together was even better. At least then it had been interesting to play them off against each other. Now it was only one jealous prat and a couple of lovebirds so absorbed in their own little drama that they wouldn’t notice if Voldemort slithered up and kicked them in the arse.

Then there was his own personal play unfolding. That damn Weasley girl.

Draco blinked in surprise for a moment. He hadn’t thought of her as a Weasley for a while now. Hell, he hadn’t thought of the Weasleys as Weasleys since shortly after he crashed through their roof. Each had an individual name and personality to go with the face he saw everyday. Calling them all ‘Weasley’ was too confusing, so he’d settled for using their given names and the habit stuck.

But it was dangerous.

A given name allowed for attachment and, dare he say it, a wary camaraderie. Now, in the quest for a good shag, he’d allowed himself to think of the littlest Weasley in ways that would no doubt have her brothers stuffing their fists down his throat before he could blink.

He glanced at the door, hearing nothing but silence from the hall, and shrugged. Apparently she hadn’t run squealing down the stairs to tell them all that the bad man had snogged her senseless in the bathroom. Or maybe they had just forgotten in the excitement of precious Pott--

Knock, knock, knock.

Well, there went that idea.

“Malfoy, are you in there?”

Speak of the devil.

Draco rose from his bed, stretching lazily. A cold bath had done wonders for his temperament, but he still wanted to be left alone. He opened the door and lifted an eyebrow in question.

Harry was standing in the hallway, his shirt wrinkled with wet spots around the shoulder. No doubt from his little love-hen, who had surely cried her eyes out after the interlude in the hall.

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sent me up to fetch you. I told them that we had something we needed to talk with them about.”

Draco nodded and stepped out into the landing, shutting his door behind him. Potter seemed to be nervous because he was twisting his fingers through the god-awful rug he called hair. Telling the Weasleys about their son would be bad enough without having that idiot trip all over himself with anxiety.

Straightening his shoulders, Draco stood taller and forced himself to follow Harry down the stairs and into the kitchen. The house seemed eerily quiet without explosions and laughter coming from the twins’ room, who must have actually turned in early in anticipation of Christmas.

Draco twisted his lips in wry amusement. What a lovely time to be told that your son is making nice with the enemy. Then he shuddered as he recalled just who that enemy was, and Draco wondered idly if he was still considered the enemy.

To him, the Weasleys were now nothing more than regular human beings. Sure, there was the occasional chuckle when he thought about how threadbare their carpets were or how chipped the teapot was. But if it had been his family in the same situation, would they have taken him in with open arms after he had fallen through their roof and made the lives of their youngest children miserable for years before that?

The question didn’t even merit an answer. Draco knew that his father would have thrown whoever dared enter the Malfoy sacrosanct out on their ear if not much worse. He certainly wouldn’t have taken care of them if there were as few Galleons in the Malfoy coffers as there were in the Weasleys’.

Draco frowned. He didn’t like to be indebted to others if he could avoid it. Perhaps when everything was settled, he could. . . but everything would never be settled! Lucius Malfoy had invested time, effort, and many a bow and scrape to his master for Draco, but never a drop of affection. With this combination, he’d be lucky to escape with his life if his father ever found him. No more Hogwarts, no more expensive brooms, no more Quidditch, no more. . . life.

The reality that Draco had been avoiding for so long finally crashed down on him. When he looked up, he found himself sitting in the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was hovering over him in concern, with no recollection of how he had made it down the stairs and into the warm, bright room.

“Draco.” She was shaking him on the shoulder, pressing one of those ever-present cups of tea into his hand as if it would make everything well again.

He blinked and swallowed, staring at her before allowing his eyes to drift over the table to Harry and Mr. Weasley. The teacup fell from his trembling hand and shattered on the floor. He couldn’t do this to them!

They were staring at him mutely. Mrs. Weasley dug her fingers into his shoulders, and it seemed like she wanted to embrace him, but her husband held her back with a glance. Surprisingly, it was Harry who seemed to know what he was thinking and clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Malfoy, you have to tell them.”

Draco knew that his eyes must seem blank and staring to the others, he certainly felt blank and staring. Try as he might though, he couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled box of cigarettes and a folded piece of parchment. He set the note next to his teacup and fumbled with the box for a moment before handing Draco one of the short, white sticks with an apologetic glance at Mrs. Weasley.

“Maybe he’ll calm down enough to say something if he has a fag first.”

Mrs. Weasley sniffed and dropped her hands from Draco’s shoulders, walking back to the seat next to her husband. Mr. Weasley was staring at him intently, waiting for something to happen.

Draco lifted the cigarette to his lips and pulled a draught of mentholated smoke deep into his lungs. After another two drags, he could feel the calming charm work enough so that he could speak.

“Potter, give that letter to Mr. Weasley.”

Harry did as requested, albeit reluctantly. Obviously he didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news either. Draco could see the fear tightening around Mr. Weasley’s eyes, but the man accepted the paper and took a deep breath before unfolding it.

Absentmindedly, Harry took out a cigarette as well and started puffing away, the air around the end of the table where the two boys were at filling rapidly with smoke. Mrs. Weasley only had time to throw them a dirty look before her husband spoke up.

“I don’t understand. Does this mean more than I think it does?”

Draco sighed, taking another puff from his cigarette before pinching the end. It disappeared in a wisp of smoke and he watched it dissipate. Mrs. Weasley, by this time, had already grabbed the letter from her husband, scanning it desperately for clues.

“Does it help you to know that the handwriting belongs to--” Draco swallowed hard, fingering Harry’s box of cigarettes clumsily before taking another one out and putting it to his lips.

“The handwriting on that letter is my father’s.”

He had expected an explosion of denials, but what he received was a stony silence. Mrs. Weasley was shaking her head over and over, clutching the letter to her chest while her husband glared at Draco.

“Is this a joke, boy? I don’t take kindly to such cru--”

“It isn’t a joke, Mr. Weasley,” Harry cut the man off. “I was the one who found the letters, Draco didn’t even know they were there.”

He had just been called by his first name, but somehow this didn’t sink in. What did register was the fact that Potter had just defended him. This all felt terribly wrong.

“No!” Mrs. Weasley shouted out. “It can’t be true! My Percy would never do something like this. He’s still pining for Penelope, he wouldn’t just throw her out the window.”

Mr. Weasley took in Draco’s still form with measuring eyes. “I don’t believe they’re lying, Molly. This may not be what it seems, but they aren’t lying.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief and put a hand to his forehead. He wanted another cup of tea, but Mrs. Weasley was still in histrionics and he was afraid to bother her for something so trivial as tea, lest he get smashed over the head with her skillet.

“You said that there were letters? More like this?” Mr. Weasley asked Harry.

“I don’t know if they are all like this, but it looked like they all had the same handwriting on the front.”

“Bring them to me, Harry. I want to know what’s going on.”

Mr. Weasley’s tone was firm and left no room for argument. Harry stood up and did as requested while Mrs. Weasley received some comfort from her husband. Draco opened an eye and glanced up at them.

“I want you to know that I appreciate your bringing this to our attention, Draco. I’m--” Mr. Weasley stopped and let a very small smile lift one corner of his mouth. “I’m very proud of you.”

Draco stared. These words, from a man who had been mortal enemies with his father for longer than either one could probably remember and here he was, saying that he was proud of him as if none of that mattered. Saying that he was proud of him as his own father had never done. Not once.

“I-- do you need me here anymore, Mr. Weasley? I’m very tired.”

The older man shook his head, pulling his wife a little closer to him. “I think we’ll be fine. If we need to ask you something, it can wait until morning. Go to sleep.”

Draco acknowledged the words with a small dip of his head and stood up, stumbling out of the kitchen on wobbly legs. He brushed by Harry as he made his way up the stairs, not bothering to say anything to the other boy. It had been so long since he had done more than doze and the door to his room was in sight.

Every time his head would hit the pillow, events from his past would play themselves through his mind. Normally there would be nothing wrong with this as he was reliving some of his more amusing memories. But ever since the incident, as he referred to it, his dreams carried a deep burning in his chest and he found it difficult to breathe at times. Something was so horribly wrong and there was nothing he could do about it. What he wouldn’t give for some real sleep. Draco stumbled against his door and was about to turn the knob when a small voice made him stop.

“Draco? I thought you went to bed.”

Sighing, he twisted his head around so that he could look at Ginny. In her nightdress. This wasn’t what he needed right now.

“I was until you showed up,” he stated blandly.

Ginny frowned and moved closer. “I was just going downstairs to get some water.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“Why?”

Such an innocent question with a very complicated answer. It didn’t have to be, though.

“Just listen to me for once, stay out of the kitchen tonight. Your parents are talking and don’t want to be disturbed.”

“What are they talking about?” she asked, her eyes very large in the softly lit hall.

“I don’t know,” Draco lied. He moved back toward the door again, eager to escape another draining episode like that of earlier. The stupid girl apparently didn’t have enough sense to stay angry for long periods of time, and at the moment, he didn’t have the emotional strength to go for round two with her just yet.

Now there was that small hand on his arm, gripping it tightly with concern.

“Is there something wrong? You don’t seem yourself.”

Draco almost laughed; it really was too amusing. After he had dropped her on her arse in the bathroom earlier, she was coming to him now asking if he was all right. He didn’t really want to be alone, but he also wasn’t up to another one of their arguments either.

But the warm hand on his arm was there for comfort, not war for once, and Draco couldn’t bring himself to snap at her or pull his arm away.

“Ginny, there are a million things wrong with me. Right now, they all seem to be ganging up at once and I’d really like to be left alone, if you don’t mind.”

He could feel her hand slip away and Draco half turned to look Ginny in the eyes. She was small, and so fragile looking as she pulled her arms up tight against her chest in an attempt to keep away the winter chill.

A warm frisson went up his spine as he noticed her famous nipples peaking from under one of her arms and the soft cotton of her nightdress. She didn’t even have a dressing gown on. Now the abandoned desire from earlier was rearing its head and he groaned in exasperation.

Ginny was looking at him speculatively, her head tilted to the side as if he was a great puzzle that she was trying to figure out.

“You don’t really want to be left alone, do you?”

“If I said I do would you leave?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not going anywhere. Tell me what’s the matter.”

Draco sighed in frustration as he opened the door to his room. The stupid chit wouldn’t leave him be.

“Have it your way, but at least come in. It’s freezing in this hall and I’m not about to start telling you all of my dirty secrets out here.”

Ginny eyed him warily, no doubt looking for an ulterior motive, before shrugging her shoulders and following him inside. The room itself was cold and she shivered, rubbing the backs of her arms.

“It isn’t any better here, you know.”

Draco chose to ignore this and flopped down on the bed dramatically, motioning for her to sit in the chair at the desk across from him. She complied, pulling her nightdress down over her legs modestly.

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen every inch of her body already, even before their little interlude in the bathroom. Those pictures that the Creevey boy had taken were very. . . revealing. Now that he was here with her in person though, he drank in the soft expanse of her belly, not firm and flat, but gently rounded under the thin cloth. His eyes then trailed up to her breasts with the peach coloured nipples he knew became so small when she was aroused. And then his betraying eyes travelled further, up to her-- he was staring at her, and she knew it.

Not allowing himself to be cowed by Ginny's murderous expression, Draco continued to peruse her at his leisure, raking his eyes over her shivering body.

"I'm not here so you can undress me with your eyes, Draco Malfoy," Ginny spit out acidly. There was a rosy flush creeping up her cheeks and Draco found it very flattering despite her general colouring.

"Then why are you here, Ginny Weasley?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for a fag. After two puffs she still hadn't answered and the smoke from his cigarette was circling her head and she tilted it to the side to study him. Her face was blank and serene and she would have looked terribly innocent if it wasn’t for her eyes, they were a little too sharp. Finally she spoke.

"I'm here because you need someone to talk to and I--" she broke off, twiddling her fingers together. "I thought that I might be able to help."

"What makes you think that I would tell you anything?"

Ginny shrugged spasmodically. She was still weaving her fingers tightly and Draco could tell she was making an effort to reign in her temper. "Why not me? I know you would never tell any of my brothers anything. And if it's important, my parents would probably be the last to know."

Draco laughed briefly, taking another lungful of smoke before stretching out further on his back, one hand propping up his head. "Actually, your parents already know. I brought it to their attention a few moments ago and your precious Potter is down there now to keep them from falling apart."

That surprised her. "What happened?"

Pinching the end of his cigarette, Draco shrugged. "It really isn't any of your business, but then again, he is your brother."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Is this about Ron?"

"You would think that, wouldn't you? But no, it's the more disgusting one."

"Just tell me already! You know that you will eventually, so stop beating around the bush."

Draco measured her slowly up and down, taking in the frustrated face and clenched hands. It was true, she would find out soon enough from someone else, so he may as well be the bearer of bad news. But God, did he really have to tell her about his father? What if she assumed that he was a poof too? How could she though, after what had happened earlier? Draco was assured that his manhood would remain intact if he told her; there had been no confusion then about where his desires lay. He nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"Did you know that your brother Percy is gay?" he asked confidently.

Ginny blinked in confusion for a moment before inclining her head to regard him. "How did you know about that?"

Draco started, thrown by the fact that she not only knew, but didn't seem to care. "I-- we-- Potter and I found some letters under a loose floorboard."

"Oh." Ginny covered her mouth. "Poor Percy." She shook her head for a moment before looking up. "I still don't understand why you're so upset about it though. After Penelope found out that he liked boys, she was upset, but that's only because she'd been his girlfriend for years. You don't have anything to do--"

"The letters were from my father, Ginny," Draco cut her off quietly, pulling out another cigarette and putting it to his lips so he didn't have to see the disgust and horror on her face. It was bad enough that he could hear her gasp. When he did finally glance up, it was only because she had sat beside him on the bed. Ginny laid a hand on his arm, forcing him to look into her tear-filled eyes.

"I'm sorry, Draco. You must feel terrible."

"Yes, well, how would you feel if it was you in my situation?"

Ginny's eyes bored into his as she reached up to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind his ear. “Like me; hurt, angry, confused." She paused, allowing this to soak in before continuing. "Is this what that whole thing in the bathroom was about? Are you unsure of the way you feel so you needed to test--"

Draco grabbed her hand and set it on top of his lap, pressing down firmly so she could feel his erection through the fabric of his trousers. "Does this feel like I'm confused?"

She sucked in a breath at the obvious evidence of his arousal, and he supposed it also surprised her that he was in that state because of her.

"N-no," she stuttered, trying to pull her hand away but he kept it in place, his eyes flickering over her face.

"I'm not confused, Ginny. I know exactly what I want."

The futile motions of her hand trying to escape made his erection bob and quiver, thinking that it was finally going to be appeased when apparently, it was wrong.

"I'm not here for a shag, Draco. I came in here because I thought you might need an ear. Since it's you though, I should've known better."

Ginny wrenched her hand away from his crotch and stood up, her ruffled dignity evident from the way her shoulders straightened and set rigidly. He couldn't let her leave, not now!

Draco reached up and grabbed her arm, tugging hard with the intention of making her sit down again. He must have pulled too hard though because instead of sitting down, she fell onto him with a muffled cry of indignation. Her back was firm against his chest and Draco brought an arm up to pin down her wriggling waist, the other arm snaking over her breasts to clamp a hand on her mouth.

"Quiet!" he hissed into her ear. "Do you want the entire house to come up here and see you like this?"

Ginny shook her head violently. He couldn't see her face, but he imagined that she appeared to be very annoyed. Draco slowly removed the hand over her mouth and she gave a vicious snap to them with her teeth as they receded.

“Son of a--”

Draco cradled his injured hand and pushed her to the floor with his elbow. “What’s wrong with you, you stupid cow?”

“Wrong with me?” she started huffily, picking herself up off the floor to hover over him like a ghost in her white cotton. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me! I come in here to help you, give you a friendly shoulder, and all you can do is maul me like some animal.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow and smirked, lying on his side like a lazy cat with one hand propping his face. “Is there a less bestial way to maul someone?”

Ginny fumed for a moment, her face blotching an angry red as she sputtered. “How-- you-- you’re incorrigible!”

One corner of his mouth elevated in amusement. “But you like me that way, don’t you, Ginny?”

“No, I do not. Why can’t you behave like a normal boy instead of a prat?” she asked, hands out and almost pleading.

Draco shrugged. “Normal is for silly little romantic twits, like you.”

He jumped from the bed and stalked her across the room in a twisted tango. For every step he took forward, she mirrored it by taking one step back. “You don’t like normal anymore than I do. You hate it; despise it, even though you want everyone else to believe that you are such a good girl. Inside though, you’re as much an animal as I am.”

“No, I’m not. You shouldn’t dare to compare yourself to me, Malfoy. You’re nothing but a cold-blooded reptile. You don’t like me, you don’t like anyone but yourself,” she whispered shakily, stepping back further toward the door.

“Don’t presume,” Draco chided, waggling his finger mockingly.

Ginny visibly quailed as her back hit the door and dropped a hand to search for the knob. However, Draco was too fast and he grabbed the seeking fingers carefully.

“Now, now,” he whispered in her ear. “None of that, gosling. Just admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Admit what?” she asked harshly, trying to pull her fingers out of his grip and failing.

“Tell me that you fancy me, that you want me. Go on; whisper it in my ear right here. I won’t tell a soul.”

Draco leaned back to see the effect of his words and was startled by the pure venom in her eyes.

“I hate you,” she breathed, slowly enunciating each syllable. “And I hope that your pecker shrivels up and falls off.”

Sweeping over her body with his eyes, Draco noted that her skin was contracted with goose bumps and those beautiful little nipples were diamond hard under her nightdress. Wasn’t that interesting?

Draco dropped her fingers and spanned her waist with his hands, pulling her to him. She didn’t resist, almost as if she were anticipating it. He must remember to get her this riled up every time, it apparently did wonders for her libido.

“You wouldn’t really want my pecker to fall off, would you?” Draco asked, lips twitching.

Ginny stared up at him mutinously. “Yes,” she replied firmly.

He sighed. “This game is very amusing. However, don’t you think it time we set it aside in favour of more... enjoyable pastimes?”

She faltered then and dropped her gaze to the floor, mumbling. “What are you on about?”

“This,” Draco gestured to himself and then her. “The fighting and bickering, the arousal that always follows. I don’t mind the last, but a man can only take so many hot cuppas to the goods before he becomes slightly wary of the whole notion.”

Ginny looked back up into his face, searching, but not finding what she was seeking. “This isn’t arousal, Draco.”

He only gave a pointed glance at her straining breasts and the heated flush creeping up her neck. “Really?”

She crossed her arms over her chest with a glare. “Yes.”

Draco leaned down to kiss her, forcing her mouth open, as she stood rigid with fear. He grabbed the backs of her arms, kneading the soft flesh before she relented and threw herself into the activity with more enthusiasm than even he was expecting. Ginny loosened her arms and her small, curious fingers snaked down his stomach to claw at the edge of his shirt.

Instead of continuing to kiss her as he wanted to do, Draco pulled away and whispered into her ear. “What is it then?”

Apparently, once her mind was on something, Ginny had a difficult time letting go of the idea. She demonstrated this by pushing him across the room and into the opposite wall. Draco’s back hit hard against the plaster, all breath in his lungs escaping with a loud whoosh as he stood there, unable to move from shock.

She attacked.

Ginny reached up her small hands and pulled his face close to hers. “You’ve convinced me,” she said before sucking at his mouth frenziedly.

Draco’s eyes were still open and wide as saucers. The unexpected perks of arguing with a redhead were suddenly becoming clear. The notion that he was actually seducing her flew directly out the window and he gave up the pretence, quickly becoming an active participant instead of a sounding post for Ginny‘s lust-filled rampage.

Her lips were cool and moist against his as she bit and clawed her way up his frame until she was perched on his hips like a child. Their difference in height soon became unnoticed as she clung to him, digging her cold fingers into his scalp for balance and nibbling on his ear.

There was a fire roaring in his chest. Unlike the previous times it had happened, this was instead a pleasant warmth that spread down into his fingertips. When he dropped one of his hands to push up her nightdress, sparks literally crackled the air. It was a true meeting of witch and wizard unlike any he had experienced before.

Pure lust guided his fingers up her thigh to the nexus between her legs, rubbing the warm spot until he could feel a small liquid gush through the fabric of her knickers. Ginny’s moans fuelled Draco as he dipped an experimental finger around the lacy edge and past her damp curls, stabbing deeply inside of her.

Ginny gasped and clenched hard on his finger as he plunged it in and out of her overheated flesh rapidly. Her hands slid down to his face, her clever tongue tracing his lips before dipping into his mouth.

Keeping a steady rhythm below, Draco moved his tongue against hers, flicking the inside of her mouth in time to the thrusts of his finger. Ginny’s hips ground against his hand, swivelling desperately before he removed it.

The low moan from her throat was one of disappointment. She slid down over his hips bonelessly, breaking away from his mouth long enough to pull him onto the bed.

Draco fell on top of her, his weight crushing her breasts against his stomach as she snaked a hand between them to unbutton his trousers.

The tables were turned now.

. . . . . . . a bit later (Edited for content. For the full version, including artwork, join my yahoo group @ http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stafic. You must be of age.)

Draco moved down her body to lay a flushed face on top of her stomach, allowing her to rub her fingers through his hair distractedly. The only sounds between them was their laboured breathing and as long as she was quiet, he would let her continue petting his hair.

“That was . . .” Ginny trailed off, blessedly silent again. Draco grumbled something, his eyes closed and still panting from his exertions. It was all well and good for her, she only had to lie there, he had done all the bloody work. Now if she would shut up, he could finally go to sleep and even have a nice warm pillow besides.

“We really shouldn’t do this again. I mean, what would my mum say?”

God, couldn’t she put a clamp on it!

Draco pointedly attempted to ignore her, but she prattled on, making his perfect little pillow wobble and shake with each word.

“Draco? Are you listening to me? I said we shouldn’t do this again.”

“Shut your trap, woman and let me sleep,” he mumbled. Draco could feel her body tense. Wonderful, now she was in a huff.

“Shut my trap? Get off of me, you disgusting--”

Draco lifted his head and opened one eye, squinting at the faint light from the lamp on the desk. “Yes, shut your trap. Your stomach happens to be a very comfortable place to have a lie-in and I’m tired. Can’t sleep with all that yapping, can I?”

He didn’t know where it came from, but Draco suddenly found himself clobbered over the head by a round, wooden object and shoved to the side of the bed. Ginny was shaking with rage, grumbling to herself as she hunted for her nightdress. Finally she found it but didn’t put it on immediately as she was still too angry to do much more than splutter incoherently.

“That’s the last time I ever sleep with you, Draco Malfoy!” she hissed in a stage whisper.

Draco only raised an eyebrow and rubbed the back of his head. “I’ve heard that before, gosling. They always come back, you know.”

“They?” Ginny asked, standing in the centre of the room with her arms crossed, looking for all the world like a small volcano about to explode. “Who are they? God, you’ve probably slept with half the girls in Slytherin, haven’t you?”

Draco shrugged. “Something like that. You’re no loss.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Actually, I take that back. You’re more cushy than any of the others, and quite the lay.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in outrage. She was about to scream, and he couldn’t have that. It was stupid to mess around with a girl who had. . . five, no six, brothers. But it was even worse to make her angry on top of it all.

“Oh calm down,” Draco soothed, sliding off the bed to walk toward her, not ashamed of his nakedness. “I meant that all in a good way. Really, you are spectacular. Ginny.” He added this last part to make the message hit home, smiling with all his teeth in what he hoped was a very charming manner.

“I’m cushy?” she managed to ask in a strangled whisper.

“Well, of course. Your belly is so soft, and your bottom is padded perfectly.”

“Padded!” Ginny’s hand flew immediately to her hips, pushing at the small amount of fat tracing them with a sullen finger before reaching up that same hand to smack Draco across the face. “How dare you say that to me!”

And away she went, opening the door and slamming it back into its frame, before tromping away up to her room, not wearing a stitch. Draco sighed; there went that lovely, self-heated pillow he’d wanted. It was damn cold in the room and he shivered, realising that his stones had just shrunk to the size of raisins. Well, if that wouldn’t impress the girl . . .

He snorted and climbed back into bed, not bothering to clothe his body, but opting instead to burrow under the thick quilts. Draco lifted himself up to beat the feather pillow a few times, trying to get it into the right shape before giving up entirely. Damn her.

She really was comfortable.

14. Reality (full on naughty version)

Authour’s Notes: There is fanart for this chapter, and I warn you that it gets a bit graphic later, but nothing too serious. I do suggest that younger readers skip the last section of this chapter.

Draco was lying on his bed, listening to the argument outside his door. The Trio was now a Duo, plus one corked-off little sot. Instead of the amusement he expected to feel, Draco was cold inside. A heavy hand of foreboding gripped him tightly. This didn’t feel right at all.

There were many things in Draco’s life that he had accepted as fact long ago, but they were now twisting and writhing off into a category labelled ‘unknown’. It made him wonder if anything was definite in this world.

Fact number one: The Trio will always be there to annoy, embarrass, and confuse him.

Draco snorted and wondered if it was such a bad thing after all that their little group had broken up. But the cramping of his stomach told him otherwise. As much as he hated to admit it, they were a necessary annoyance. One always needed a nemesis after all, and three together was even better. At least then it had been interesting to play them off against each other. Now it was only one jealous prat and a couple of lovebirds so absorbed in their own little drama that they wouldn’t notice if the Dark Lord slithered up and kicked them in the arse.

Then there was his own personal play unfolding. That damn Weasley girl.

Draco blinked in surprise for a moment. He hadn’t thought of her as a Weasley for a while now. Hell, he hadn’t thought of the Weasleys as Weasleys since shortly after he crashed through their roof. Each had an individual name and personality to go with the face he saw everyday. Calling them all ‘Weasley’ was too confusing, so he’d settled for using their given names and the habit stuck.

But it was dangerous.

A given name allowed for attachment and, dare he say it, a wary camaraderie. Now, in the quest for a good shag, he’d allowed himself to think of the littlest Weasley in ways that would no doubt have her brothers stuffing their fists down his throat before he could blink.

He glanced at the door, hearing nothing but silence from the hall, and shrugged. Apparently she hadn’t run squealing down the stairs to tell them all that the bad man had snogged her senseless in the bathroom. Or maybe they had just forgotten in the excitement of precious Pott—

Knock, knock, knock.

Well, there went that idea.

“Malfoy, are you in there?”

Speak of the devil.

Draco rose from his bed, stretching lazily. A cold bath had done wonders for his temperament, but he still wanted to be left alone. He opened the door and lifted an eyebrow in question.

Harry was standing in the hallway, his shirt wrinkled with wet spots around the shoulder. No doubt from his little love-hen, who had surely cried her eyes out after the interlude in the hall.

“Mr and Mrs Weasley sent me up to fetch you. I told them that we had something we needed to talk with them about.”

Draco nodded and stepped out into the landing, shutting his door behind him. Potter seemed to be nervous because he was twisting his fingers through the god-awful rug he called hair. Telling the Weasleys about their son would be bad enough without having that idiot trip all over himself with anxiety.

Straightening his shoulders, Draco stood taller and forced himself to follow Harry down the stairs and into the kitchen. The house seemed eerily quiet without explosions and laughter coming from the twins’ room, who must have actually turned in early in anticipation of Christmas.

Draco twisted his lips in wry amusement. What a lovely time to be told that your son is making nice with the enemy. Then he shuddered as he recalled just who that enemy was, and Draco wondered idly if he was still considered the enemy.

To him, the Weasleys were now nothing more than regular human beings. Sure, there was the occasional chuckle when he thought about how threadbare their carpets were or how chipped the teapot was. But if it had been his family in the same situation, would they have taken him in with open arms after he had fallen through their roof and made the lives of their youngest children miserable for years before that?

The question didn’t even merit an answer. Draco knew that his father would have thrown whoever dared enter the Malfoy sacrosanct out on their ear if not much worse. He certainly wouldn’t have taken care of them if there were as few Galleons in the Malfoy coffers as there were in the Weasleys’.

Draco frowned. He didn’t like to be indebted to others if he could avoid it. Perhaps when everything was settled, he could— but everything would never be settled! Lucius Malfoy had invested time, effort, and many a bow and scrape to his master for Draco, but never a drop of affection. With this combination, he’d be lucky to escape with his life if his father ever found him. No more Hogwarts, no more expensive brooms, no more Quidditch, no more . . . life.

The reality that Draco had been avoiding for so long finally crashed down on him. When he looked up, he found himself sitting in the kitchen. Mrs Weasley was hovering over him in concern, with no recollection of how he had made it down the stairs and into the warm, bright room.

“Draco.” She was shaking him on the shoulder, pressing one of those ever-present cups of tea into his hand as if it would make everything well again.

He blinked and swallowed, staring at her before allowing his eyes to drift over the table to Harry and Mr Weasley. The teacup fell from his trembling hand and shattered on the floor. He couldn’t do this to them!

They were staring at him mutely. Mrs Weasley dug her fingers into his shoulders, and it seemed like she wanted to embrace him, but her husband held her back with a glance. Surprisingly, it was Harry who seemed to know what he was thinking and clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Malfoy, you have to tell them.”

Draco knew that his eyes must seem blank and staring to the others, he certainly felt blank and staring. Try as he might though, he couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled box of cigarettes and a folded piece of parchment. He set the note next to his teacup and fumbled with the box for a moment before handing Draco one of the short, white sticks with an apologetic glance at Mrs Weasley.

“Maybe he’ll calm down enough to say something if he has a fag first.”

Mrs Weasley sniffed and dropped her hands from Draco’s shoulders, walking back to the seat next to her husband. Mr Weasley was staring at him intently, waiting for something to happen.

Draco lifted the cigarette to his lips and pulled a draught of mentholated smoke deep into his lungs. After another two drags, he could feel the calming charm work enough so that he could speak.

“Potter, give that letter to Mr Weasley.”

Harry did as requested, albeit reluctantly. Obviously he didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news either. Draco could see the fear tightening around Mr Weasley’s eyes, but the man accepted the paper and took a deep breath before unfolding it.

Absentmindedly, Harry took out a cigarette as well and started puffing away, the air around the end of the table where the two boys were at filling rapidly with smoke. Mrs Weasley only had time to throw them a dirty look before her husband spoke up.

“I don’t understand. Does this mean more than I think it does?”

Draco sighed, taking another puff from his cigarette before pinching the end. It disappeared in a wisp of smoke and he watched it dissipate. Mrs Weasley, by this time, had already grabbed the letter from her husband, scanning it desperately for clues.

“Does it help you to know that the handwriting belongs to— ” Draco swallowed hard, fingering Harry’s box of cigarettes clumsily before taking another one out and putting it to his lips.

“The handwriting on that letter is my father’s.”

He had expected an explosion of denials, but what he received was a stony silence. Mrs Weasley was shaking her head over and over, clutching the letter to her chest while her husband glared at Draco.

“Is this a joke, boy? I don’t take kindly to such cru— ”

“It isn’t a joke, Mr Weasley,” Harry cut the man off. “I was the one who found the letters, Draco didn’t even know they were there.”

He had just been called by his first name, but somehow this didn’t sink in. What did register was the fact that Potter had just defended him. This all felt terribly wrong.

“No!” Mrs Weasley shouted out. “It can’t be true! My Percy would never do something like this. He’s still pining for Penelope, he wouldn’t just throw her out the window.”

Mr Weasley took in Draco’s still form with measuring eyes. “I don’t believe they’re lying, Molly. This may not be what it seems, but they aren’t lying.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief and put a hand to his forehead. He wanted another cup of tea, but Mrs Weasley was still in histrionics and he was afraid to bother her for something so trivial as tea, lest he get smashed over the head with her skillet.

“You said that there were letters? More like this?” Mr Weasley asked Harry.

“I don’t know if they are all like this, but it looked like they all had the same handwriting on the front.”

“Bring them to me, Harry. I want to know what’s going on.”

Mr Weasley’s tone was firm and left no room for argument. Harry stood up and did as requested while Mrs Weasley received some comfort from her husband. Draco opened an eye and squinted at them.

“I want you to know that I appreciate your bringing this to our attention, Draco. I’m— ” Mr Weasley stopped and let a very small smile lift one corner of his mouth. “I’m very proud of you.”

Draco stared. These words, from a man who had been mortal enemies with his father for longer than either one could probably remember and here he was, saying that he was proud of him as if none of that mattered. Saying that he was proud of him as his own father had never done. Not once.

“I— do you need me here anymore, Mr Weasley? I’m very tired.”

The older man shook his head, pulling his wife a little closer to him. “I think we’ll be fine. If we need to ask you something, it can wait until morning. Go to sleep.”

Draco acknowledged the words with a small dip of his head and stood up, stumbling out of the kitchen on wobbly legs. He brushed by Harry as he made his way up the stairs, not bothering to say anything to the other boy. It had been so long since he had done more than doze and the door to his room was in sight.

Every time his head would hit the pillow, events from his past would play themselves through his mind. Normally there would be nothing wrong with this as he was reliving some of his more amusing memories. But ever since the incident, as he referred to it, his dreams carried a deep burning in his chest and he found it difficult to breathe at times. Something was so horribly wrong and there was nothing he could do about it. What he wouldn’t give for some real sleep. Draco stumbled against his door and was about to turn the knob when a small voice made him stop.

“Draco? I thought you went to bed.”

Sighing, he twisted his head around so that he could look at Ginny. In her nightdress. This wasn’t what he needed right now.

“I was until you showed up,” he stated blandly.

Ginny frowned and moved closer. “I was just going downstairs to get some water.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“Why?”

Such an innocent question with a very complicated answer. It didn’t have to be, though.

“Just listen to me for once, stay out of the kitchen tonight. Your parents are talking and don’t want to be disturbed.”

“What are they talking about?” she asked, her eyes very large in the softly lit hall.

“I don’t know,” Draco lied. He moved back toward the door again, eager to escape another draining episode like that of earlier. The stupid girl apparently didn’t have enough sense to stay angry for long periods of time, and at the moment, he didn’t have the emotional strength to go for round two with her just yet.

Now there was that small hand on his arm, gripping it tightly with concern.

“Is there something wrong? You don’t seem yourself.”

Draco almost laughed; it really was too amusing. After he had dropped her on her arse in the bathroom earlier, she was coming to him now asking if he was all right. He didn’t really want to be alone, but he also wasn’t up to another one of their arguments either.

But the warm hand on his arm was there for comfort, not war for once, and Draco couldn’t bring himself to snap at her or pull his arm away.

“Ginny, there are a million things wrong with me. Right now, they all seem to be ganging up at once and I’d really like to be left alone, if you don’t mind.”

He could feel her hand slip away and Draco half turned to look Ginny in the eyes. She was small, and so fragile looking as she pulled her arms up tight against her chest in an attempt to keep away the winter chill.

A warm frisson went up his spine as he noticed her famous nipples peaking from under one of her arms and the soft cotton of her nightdress. She didn’t even have a dressing gown on. Now the abandoned desire from earlier was rearing its head and he groaned in exasperation.

Ginny was looking at him speculatively, her head tilted to the side as if he was a great puzzle that she was trying to figure out.

“You don’t really want to be left alone, do you?”

“If I said I do would you leave?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not going anywhere. Tell me what’s the matter.”

Draco sighed in frustration as he opened the door to his room. The stupid chit wouldn’t leave him be.

“Have it your way, but at least come in. It’s freezing in this hall and I’m not about to start telling you all of my dirty secrets out here.”

Ginny eyed him warily, no doubt looking for an ulterior motive, before shrugging her shoulders and following him inside. The room itself was cold and she shivered, rubbing the backs of her arms.

“It isn’t any better here, you know.”

Draco chose to ignore this and flopped down on the bed dramatically, motioning for her to sit in the chair at the desk across from him. She complied, pulling her nightdress down over her legs modestly.

Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen almost every inch of her body already, even before their little interlude in the bathroom. Those pictures that the Creevey boy had taken were very . . . revealing. Now that he was here with her in person though, he drank in the soft expanse of her belly, not firm and flat, but gently rounded under the thin cloth. His eyes then trailed up to her breasts with the peach coloured nipples he knew became so small when she was aroused. And then his betraying eyes travelled further, up to her— he was staring at her, and she knew it.

Not allowing himself to be cowed by Ginny's murderous expression, Draco continued to peruse her at his leisure, raking his eyes over her shivering body.

"I'm not here so you can undress me with your eyes, Draco Malfoy," Ginny spit out acidly. There was a rosy flush creeping up her cheeks and Draco found it very flattering despite her general colouring.

"Then why are you here, Ginny Weasley?" he asked, reaching into his pocket for a fag. After two puffs she still hadn't answered. The smoke from his cigarette was circling her head and she tilted it to the side to study him. Her face was blank and serene and she would have looked terribly innocent if it wasn’t for her eyes, they were a little too sharp. Finally she spoke.

"I'm here because you need someone to talk to and I— " she broke off, twiddling her fingers together. "I thought that I might be able to help."

"What makes you think that I would tell you anything?"

Ginny shrugged spasmodically. She was still weaving her fingers tightly and Draco could tell she was making an effort to reign in her temper. "Why not me? I know you would never tell any of my brothers anything. And if it's important, my parents would probably be the last to know."

Draco laughed briefly, taking another lungful of smoke before stretching out further on his back, one hand propping up his head. "Actually, your parents already know. I brought it to their attention a few moments ago and your precious Potter is down there now to keep them from falling apart."

That surprised her. "What happened?"

Pinching the end of his cigarette, Draco shrugged. "It really isn't any of your business, but then again, he is your brother."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Is this about Ron?"

"You would think that, wouldn't you? But no, it's the more disgusting one."

"Just tell me already! You know that you will eventually, so stop beating around the bush."

Draco measured her slowly up and down, taking in the frustrated face and clenched hands. It was true, she would find out soon enough from someone else, so he may as well be the bearer of bad news. But God, did he really have to tell her about his father? What if she assumed that he was a poof, too? How could she though, after what had happened earlier? Draco was assured that his manhood would remain intact if he told her; there had been no confusion then about where his desires lay. He nodded to himself in satisfaction.

"Did you know that your brother Percy is gay?" he asked confidently.

Ginny blinked in confusion for a moment before inclining her head to regard him. "How did you know about that?"

Draco started, thrown by the fact that she not only knew, but didn't seem to care. "I— we— Potter and I found some letters under a loose floorboard."

"Oh." Ginny covered her mouth. "Poor Percy." She shook her head for a moment before looking up. "I still don't understand why you're so upset about it though. After Penelope found out that he liked boys, she was upset, but that's only because she'd been his girlfriend for years. You don't have anything to do— "

"The letters were from my father, Ginny," Draco cut her off quietly, pulling out another cigarette and putting it to his lips so he didn't have to see the disgust and horror on her face. It was bad enough that he could hear her gasp. When he did finally glance up, it was only because she had sat beside him on the bed. Ginny laid a hand on his arm, forcing him to look into her tear-filled eyes.

"I'm sorry, Draco. You must feel terrible."

"Yes, well, how would you feel if it was you in my situation?"

Ginny's eyes bored into his as she reached up to tuck an unruly strand of hair behind his ear. “Like me; hurt, angry, confused." She paused, allowing this to soak in before continuing. "Is this what that whole thing in the bathroom was about? Are you unsure of the way you feel so you needed to test— "

Draco grabbed her hand and set it on top of his lap, pressing down firmly so she could feel his erection through the fabric of his trousers. "Does this feel like I'm confused?"

She sucked in a breath at the obvious evidence of his arousal, and he supposed it also surprised her that he was in that state because of her.

"N-no," she stuttered, trying to pull her hand away but he kept it in place, his eyes flickering over her face.

"I'm not confused, Ginny. I know exactly what I want."

The futile motions of her hand trying to escape made his erection bob and quiver, thinking that it was finally going to be appeased when apparently, it was wrong.

"I'm not here for a shag, Draco. I came in here because I thought you might need an ear. Since it's you though, I should've known better."

Ginny wrenched her hand away from his crotch and stood up, her ruffled dignity evident from the way her shoulders straightened and set rigidly. He couldn't let her leave, not now!

Draco reached up and grabbed her arm, tugging hard with the intention of making her sit down again. He must have pulled too hard though because instead of sitting down, she fell onto him with a muffled cry of indignation. Her back was firm against his chest and Draco brought an arm up to pin down her wriggling waist, the other arm snaking over her breasts to clamp a hand on her mouth.

"Quiet!" he hissed into her ear. "Do you want the entire house to come up here and see you like this?"

Ginny shook her head violently. He couldn't see her face, but he imagined that she appeared to be very annoyed. Draco slowly removed the hand over her mouth and she gave a vicious snap to them with her teeth as they receded.

“Son of a— ”

Draco cradled his injured hand and pushed her to the floor with his elbow.

“What’s wrong with you, you stupid cow?”

“Wrong with me?” she started huffily, picking herself up off the floor to hover over him like a ghost in her white cotton. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me! I come in here to help you, give you a friendly shoulder, and all you can do is maul me like some animal.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow and smirked, lying on his side like a lazy cat with one hand propping his face. “Is there a less bestial way to maul someone?”

Ginny fumed for a moment, her face blotching an angry red as she sputtered. “How— you— you’re incorrigible!”

One corner of his mouth elevated in amusement. “But you like me that way, don’t you, Ginny?”

“No, I do not. Why can’t you behave like a normal boy instead of a prat?” she asked, hands out and almost pleading.

Draco shrugged. “Normal is for silly little romantic twits, like you.”

He jumped from the bed and stalked her across the room in a twisted tango. For every step he took forward, she mirrored it by taking one step back.

“You don’t like normal anymore than I do. You hate it; despise it, even though you want everyone else to believe that you are such a good girl. Inside though, you’re as much an animal as I am.”

“No, I’m not. You shouldn’t dare to compare yourself to me, Malfoy. You’re nothing but a cold-blooded reptile. You don’t like me, you don’t like anyone but yourself,” she whispered shakily, stepping back further toward the door.

“Don’t presume,” Draco chided, waggling his finger mockingly.

Ginny visibly quailed as her back hit the door and dropped a hand to search for the knob. However, Draco was too fast and he grabbed the seeking fingers carefully.

“Now, now,” he whispered in her ear. “None of that, gosling. Just admit it and I’ll let you go.”

“Admit what?” she asked harshly, trying to pull her fingers out of his grip and failing.

“Tell me that you fancy me, that you want me. Go on; whisper it in my ear right here. I won’t tell a soul.”

Draco leaned back to see the effect of his words and was startled by the pure venom in her eyes.

“I hate you,” she breathed, slowly enunciating each syllable. “And I hope that your pecker shrivels up and falls off.”

Sweeping over her body with his eyes, Draco noted that her skin was contracted with goose bumps and those beautiful little nipples were diamond hard under her nightdress. Wasn’t that interesting?

Draco dropped her fingers and spanned her waist with his hands, pulling her to him. She didn’t resist, almost as if she were anticipating it. He must remember to get her this riled up every time, it apparently did wonders for her libido.

“You wouldn’t really want my pecker to fall off, would you?” Draco asked, lips twitching.

Ginny stared up at him mutinously. “Yes,” she replied firmly.

He sighed. “This game is very amusing. However, don’t you think it time we set it aside in favour of more . . . enjoyable pastimes?”

She faltered then and dropped her gaze to the floor, mumbling. “What are you on about?”

“This,” Draco gestured to himself and then her. “The fighting and bickering, the arousal that always follows. I don’t mind the last, but a man can only take so many hot cuppas to the goods before he becomes slightly wary of the whole notion.”

Ginny looked back up into his face, searching, but not finding what she was seeking. “This isn’t arousal, Draco.”

He only gave a pointed glance at her straining breasts and the heated flush creeping up her neck. “Really?”

She crossed her arms over her chest with a glare. “Yes.”

Draco leaned down to kiss her, forcing her mouth open, as she stood rigid with fear. He grabbed the backs of her arms, kneading the soft flesh before she relented and threw herself into the activity with more enthusiasm than even he was expecting. Ginny loosened her arms and her small, curious fingers snaked down his stomach to claw at the edge of his shirt.

Instead of continuing to kiss her as he wanted to do, Draco pulled away and whispered into her ear. “What is it then?”

Apparently, once her mind was on something, Ginny had a difficult time letting go of the idea. She demonstrated this by pushing him across the room and into the opposite wall. Draco’s back hit hard against the plaster, all breath in his lungs escaping with a loud whoosh as he stood there, unable to move from shock.

She attacked.

Ginny reached up her small hands and pulled his face close to hers. “You’ve convinced me,” she said before sucking at his mouth frenziedly.

Draco’s eyes were still open and wide as saucers. The unexpected perks of arguing with a redhead were suddenly becoming clear. The notion that he was actually seducing her flew directly out the window and he gave up the pretence, quickly becoming an active participant instead of a sounding post for Ginny‘s lust-filled rampage.

Her lips were cool and moist against his as she bit and clawed her way up his frame until she was perched on his hips like a child. Their difference in height soon became unnoticed as she clung to him, digging her cold fingers into his scalp for balance and nibbling on his ear.

There was a fire roaring in his chest. Unlike the previous times it had happened, this was instead a pleasant warmth that spread down into his fingertips. When he dropped one of his hands to push up her nightdress, sparks literally crackled the air. It was a true meeting of witch and wizard unlike any he had experienced before.

Pure lust guided his fingers up her thigh to the nexus between her legs, rubbing the warm spot until he could feel a small liquid gush through the fabric of her knickers. Ginny’s moans fuelled Draco as he dipped an experimental finger around the lacy edge and past her damp curls, stabbing deeply inside of her.

Ginny gasped and clenched hard on his finger as he plunged it in and out of her overheated flesh rapidly. Her hands slid down to his face, her clever tongue tracing his lips before dipping into his mouth.

Keeping a steady rhythm below, Draco moved his tongue against hers, flicking the inside of her mouth in time to the thrusts of his finger. Ginny’s hips ground against his hand, swivelling desperately before he removed it.

The low moan from her throat was one of disappointment. She slid down over his hips bonelessly, breaking away from his mouth long enough to pull him onto the bed.

Draco fell on top of her, his weight crushing her breasts against his stomach as she snaked a hand between them to unbutton his trousers.

The tables were turned now.

He reached down and pulled the soft, cotton nightdress over her head and allowed his eyes to wander slowly over her rosy skin. Ginny was pushing his trousers down now, along with his boxers. One flick of Draco’s hand and the white knickers she was wearing were gone, ripped away at the seams and tossed across the room. He lifted his arms up, letting her slip off his shirt and trail her hands over the soft, abundant hair covering his torso before bringing his mouth down to seal over hers.

Ginny’s small tongue pushed against his teeth, edging one after the other as Draco pulled her legs up around his hips. Her little fingers, warmed from the heat of their bodies, crept between them to place the tip of his erection at her entrance, rubbing it over her clitoris several times before leaving off to trace her hands over his bottom and up his sides.

Draco allowed it to remain there for a moment, very still until he heard a frustrated rumble start in the back of her throat. Then he tilted his hips forward with a smirk, thrusting himself deep inside of her before pulling back to do it again.

Ginny dug her fingernails into his side, scratching open a mostly healed weal on his back that quickly beaded with blood. Draco bit her tongue with blunt teeth in retaliation before shoving his pelvis hard against her body, making circles with his hips as he moved in and out.

She groaned, releasing his mouth to bite his neck, scraping the skin with her teeth and lips. Draco increased his frenzied rhythm, pounding her into the mattress until she could no longer keep her hold on his neck, but instead concentrated on staying on the bed.

Draco could feel her muscles tightening around him; her body shuddering and he knew that she was close to her release. The hands around his waist were flexing spastically. He decided then that it would be better to make her want him. To keep her coming back for more so he could throw it in her face.

The perfect revenge.

Once more Draco kissed her; bruising her lips between his teeth and grunting into her mouth while pumping the lower half of her body. Ginny gripped his hips with her thighs and dug her heels into his backside, breaking away from his mouth and arching her back so that her soft breasts were in his face. Draco pulled one of her nipples into his mouth, biting and suckling it as he continued to roughly slam his pelvis against hers. At last Ginny stopped quivering, and he softened, sliding out from between her legs.

Draco moved down her body to lay a flushed face on top of her stomach, allowing her to rub her fingers through his hair distractedly. The only sounds between them was their laboured breathing and as long as she was quiet, he would let her continue petting his hair.

“That was . . .” Ginny trailed off, blessedly silent again.

Draco grumbled something, his eyes closed and still panting from his exertions. It was all well and good for her, she only had to lie there, he had done all the bloody work. Now if she would shut up, he could finally go to sleep and even have a nice warm pillow besides.

“We really shouldn’t do this again. I mean, what would my mum say?”

God, couldn’t she put a clamp on it!

Draco pointedly attempted to ignore her, but she prattled on, making his perfect little pillow wobble and shake with each word.

“Draco? Are you listening to me? I said we shouldn’t do this again.”

“Shut your trap, woman and let me sleep,” he mumbled. Draco could feel her body tense. Wonderful, now she was in a huff.

“Shut my trap? Get off of me, you disgusting— ”

Draco lifted his head and opened one eye, squinting at the faint light from the lamp on the desk. “Yes, shut your trap. Your stomach happens to be a very comfortable place to have a lie-in and I’m tired. Can’t sleep with all that yapping, can I?”

He didn’t know where it came from, but Draco suddenly found himself clobbered over the head by a round, wooden object and shoved to the side of the bed. Ginny was shaking with rage, grumbling to herself as she hunted for her nightdress. Finally she found it but didn’t put it on immediately as she was still too angry to do much more than splutter incoherently.

“That’s the last time I ever sleep with you, Draco Malfoy!” she hissed in a stage whisper.

Draco only raised an eyebrow and rubbed the back of his head. “I’ve heard that before, gosling. They always come back, you know.”

“They?” Ginny asked, standing in the centre of the room with her arms crossed, looking for all the world like a small volcano about to explode. “Who are they? God, you’ve probably slept with half the girls in Slytherin, haven’t you?”

Draco shrugged. “Something like that. You’re no loss.” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “Actually, I take that back. You’re more cushy than any of the others, and quite the lay.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in outrage. She was about to scream, and he couldn’t have that. It was stupid to mess around with a girl who had . . . five, no six, brothers. But it was even worse to make her angry on top of it all.

“Oh calm down,” Draco soothed, sliding off the bed to walk toward her, not ashamed of his nakedness. “I meant that all in a good way. Really, you are spectacular. Ginny.” He added this last part to make the message hit home, smiling with all his teeth in what he hoped was a very charming manner.

“I’m cushy?” she managed to ask in a strangled whisper.

“Well, of course. Your belly is so soft, and your bottom is padded perfectly.”

“Padded!” Ginny’s hand flew immediately to her hips, pushing at the small amount of fat tracing them with a sullen finger before reaching up that same hand to smack Draco across the face. “How dare you say that to me!”

And away she went, opening the door and slamming it back into its frame, before tromping away up to her room, not wearing a stitch. Draco sighed; there went that lovely, self-heated pillow he’d wanted. It was damn cold in the room and he shivered, realising that his stones had just shrunk to the size of raisins. Well, if that wouldn’t impress the girl . . .

He snorted and climbed back into bed, not bothering to clothe his body, but opting instead to burrow under the thick quilts. Draco lifted himself up to beat the feather pillow a few times, trying to get it into the right shape before giving up entirely. Damn her.

She really was comfortable.

Reviewing is good karma!

15. Some small comfort

Harry walked out of the kitchen on his way upstairs. Mr and Mrs Weasley had gone from being devastated, to frantic, to stoic in the space of an hour and Harry, who still hadn’t slept yet, found it all too much to handle.

He hadn’t told the Weasleys that he would be gone before they woke up in the morning. Harry regretted his hasty words to Ron earlier, and hadn’t really planned on leaving. But after a brief talk with Hermione while he walked her to her room, she convinced him that they shouldn’t stay any longer.

So he had a letter in his pocket, which he had meant to leave on the kitchen table, but was too tired to wait for them to clear out. As he passed the corridor leading to Draco’s room, he shrugged. Malfoy wouldn’t feel it was his duty to stop them from leaving, or tell the Weasleys before he and Hermione were gone. So if he gave the letter to him, he might actually pass it along to Mr and Mrs Weasley and Harry could finally get some sleep before the long trek to London in the morning.

Harry stopped on the stairs and turned off towards Draco’s room. He tapped lightly on the door. Was he asleep? Probably not; it seemed like the boy was always awake and ready to annoy. Harry heard stomping and then the door was flung wide open.

Draco stood at the threshold, fully unclothed. “Damn it, Gin— ” He stopped and blinked for a moment before hiding behind the door. “Bloody hell, Potter. What are you doing here?”

“I, uh— ” Harry took in the state of the room. There was clothing strewn everywhere and the chair at the desk was knocked over. Near the door, there was a white scrap of cloth that suspiciously resembled a pair of women’s underthings. He scowled and walked into the room, ignoring Draco for a moment.

“What the hell have you been up to, Malfoy?”

“What the hell have I— ” Draco stopped and closed the door, picking up the piece of cotton on the floor to cover himself as he edged over to the bed and found his trousers. He slipped them over his hips while Harry turned and studied something on the desk to avoid seeing him.

“You don’t have any right barging in here like this, you know,” Draco continued once he was at least half-clothed. Harry picked up one of the loose cigarettes on the table and put it to his lips, drawing on it deeply before he turned to confront Draco.

Christ, he was a hairy bugger! You’d have never thought it to look at the guy. But he had what looked like an honest-to-God blonde rug on his chest. Harry thought of his own, almost hairless chest with a pang. It wasn’t at all fair. Then he noticed the huge purple bruise on the side of Draco’s neck and forgot all about chest hair.

“Have you been messing around with Ginny, Malfoy?”

Draco raised an eyebrow and was attempting to look innocent. “No, of course not. That would be stupid, what with all those brothers she has and everything.”

Harry saw right through the act and pierced him with a solid gaze until Draco held his hands up in surrender.

“All right, so I’ve been fooling around with her. It doesn’t mean anything. And it’s not like it’s any of your business anyway.”

“It is my business when I know that you’re just a little slime-ball who’s only after her for . . .” Harry flushed slightly and raked a hand through his hair, glaring at the floor. “Well, you know what I mean; and I know that Ginny will be terribly hurt when she finds out.”

Draco smirked and reached around Harry to grab a cigarette for himself, still grinning as put it to his lips and inhaled. “Yeah? Well, she’s the one who jumped me. So why don’t you go and tell her to keep her little paws off of my delicate sensibilities?”

“If that’s the case, it’s only because you led her on,” Harry whispered furiously, finally looking back at Draco instead of the floor.

Waving a finger at him, Draco tutted. “Ah ah ah, Potter. I don’t think she really gives a rat’s knickers whether or not I like her. Truth is, I don’t and she doesn’t like me either.”

“But— ” This confused Harry, who had never learned the concept of the casual conquest that his friends were always talking about. Sure, he’d slept with a girl at the Quivering Rooster the year before. But that had been once and he still wasn’t sure whether he liked the whole thing or not. It had been so . . . impersonal. Now here was Malfoy talking about Ginny like she was— but no, not Ginny.

“I don’t believe you, Malfoy,” Harry stated flatly.

Draco shrugged. “Suit yourself, but you can go and ask her if you’d like. I would, but she’s still cross with me.”

Harry sniffed and crossed his arms. “Probably for a damn good reason.”

“No,” Draco said, running a thumb under his chin in thought while the cigarette still burned between his fingers. “I don’t know what made her so angry, really. I mean, all I said was that she’s comfortable. That’s a complement, isn’t it?”

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah, you know. Padded in the right places. She has this soft belly that I just— ”

Harry held up a hand and closed his eyes. “I don’t want to hear— ” He stopped and snapped his eyes open again in wonder. “Hold on. Did you actually tell her that she was, uh, ‘padded’?”

“Of course.”

“You must to be the stupidest sod I’ve ever met.” Harry burst out, laughing. Draco seemed to be offended and that made him laugh even harder. “Malfoy, I don’t profess to know anything about women, but I learned at least one thing about them from watching Hermione and my Aunt Petunia. You don’t ever imply that they are less than perfect unless you like your bollocks to be wrapped around your knees.”

“But I didn’t say anything wro— ”

“You told her she’s fat.”

“No, I said that she’s well padded, there’s a difference you know. She probably isn‘t even eight stone soaking wet.”

Harry shook his head and chuckled. It seemed that Draco had dug himself into such a hole that Ginny would probably never want to lay eyes on him again. It didn’t look like there was any need to interfere after all. Ginny would most likely hex him if he ever came near, much less touched her. And it wasn’t as if Draco would get off his high horse long enough to actually apologise. Harry couldn’t resist a good dig though; the opportunity would likely never come again.

“You’re not very bright, are you, Malfoy? Women are all— ” Harry waved his hands, trying desperately to indicate something that was escaping him at the moment.

“Well, they’re all— sensitive. And they see things that don’t mean anything as having more importance than the things that do mean something.”

“So what should I do?”

“Probably nothing you can do now. Damage is already done and I’m glad for it.”

Draco scowled. “Oh sod off, Potter. You’re just jealous because Granger won’t uncross her legs.”

Harry’s face flushed a brilliant shade of red and his hands clenched in anger. “Don’t speak about Hermione that way again! I’m sick of you treating her the way you do.”

Draco shrugged and sat down on his bed. “Aw, did I hit a sore spot?”

The fists by Harry’s sides unravelled slowly, and he forced himself to keep calm. He was too tired now to put up much of a fight, and he still had to find a way to get Hermione and himself to London in the morning.

“Look, Malfoy,” Harry said after he was calmed a little by picking up another cigarette and taking a few deep gulps from it. His nerves were small frazzled bundles already and this was only Malfoy baiting him. It wasn’t worth it to give the boy the pleasure of making Harry even angrier. “I came in here to give you this.”

Draco arched an eyebrow at the paper in Harry’s hand. “What’s that for?”

“I’m asking you to give it to Mr Weasley in the morning. I would leave it in the kitchen, but they’re still talking and I’m exhausted.”

“Ah, so you are leaving then.”

Harry’s eyes popped in surprise. “How did you— ”

“You forget that it was in front of my door you had that little drama earlier. I heard every bloody word.”

“Oh.” Harry looked down at the scrap of parchment in his hand. “Well, will you give it to them?”

Draco shrugged and took it from his hand, pocketing it. “With pleasure.”

Harry’s lip bowed in disgust. “I’m sure.”

“At least I’m honest, Potter! You’ve screwed over your best friend just for a spot of naughty. I’m sure that’ll sit well with them.”

That was it!

Harry reached down and seized Draco roughly by the arms, squeezing them tightly. “I love Hermione,” he said, bringing his face so close to Draco’s that they almost bumped noses. “I need her. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. You wouldn’t know what love was if it bit you on the arse and screamed in your ear.”

Draco pushed Harry away from him, standing quickly. “Love is for fools, Potter. But I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. All those feelings you have? They’ll get you or her killed one day. So have fun while you can, because your time will run out eventually and you’ll be left holding onto an empty shell.”

The dispassionate twist to his words made Harry shake. Draco had hit upon his every fear so squarely that it made Harry wonder whether he was really that transparent or if the boy had been spouting a universal truth that he’d somehow missed.

Harry backed out of the room with his eyes on the floor, fumbling for the doorknob behind him. In a daze, he made his way upstairs to Ron’s bedroom. He had been sleeping there, but he couldn’t possibly do that now, could he? So instead, he walked back down to the second landing and to the end of the hall until he paused outside of Hermione’s room. Could he? Harry supposed that it would be okay if he slept in her bed just this once since they would be gone before Mrs Weasley woke.

Harry opened the door a crack, letting the light from the corridor shine into the room.

“Hermione?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

There was no answer of course as the girl was very much asleep. Harry sighed and took off his shoes, closing the door behind him and tiptoeing carefully over to where she lay sleeping.

A half moon hung in the sky outside of her window and the pale light washed over her features, softening the bushy hair into a dark halo and relaxing the frown lines that had started to appear on her forehead. She really was beautiful.

Harry shook her lightly on the shoulder. “Hermione, do you mind if I sleep with you tonight? I don’t want to bother Ron if I can help it.”

Her eyes opened blearily and she took in his shadowy form with a yawn. “Of course, Harry. I don’t mind.”

Harry set his glasses on her night table and climbed over her body to be between her and the wall, almost stepping on Crookshanks as he burrowed under the covers and pulled her back against his chest. She muttered something contentedly under her breath before the deep even breathing and occasional soft snore told him that she was asleep again. He held her close to him, still fully clothed, for a long time.

Even though he hadn’t slept in going on two days, Harry was having difficulty falling asleep. He wanted to savour the feel of her in his arms forever. It relaxed him and made him realise what had been missing that time he’d been with the girl from the Quivering Rooster.

The feeling of warmth and friendship and familiarity, of true intimacy. That’s what he had missed. But now he felt other things and it scared him. Malfoy was probably right, the little voice in his head was probably right; Hermione could be taken from him easily. On a whim Voldemort could creep up one summer while she was with her family and they wouldn’t know what hit them.

She’d be gone forever.

Harry shivered and pulled Hermione a little closer, his arms squeezing her carefully around the middle in an attempt to keep the fear at bay. As Harry started drifting off to sleep, his only thought was that he would never let her go anywhere again without being by her side.

*~*~*~*~*

Ginny tossed and turned in her bed. She was still so angry with Draco that it kept her awake. That and the nagging feeling that she had forgotten something. More than the incident with Draco earlier, that sense of something important pressed on her. What was it that she couldn’t remember?

She sat upright and turned the flame up on her bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. Her room seemed the same as it always had, full of fluffy little stuffed animals and posters of the Holyhead Harpies on the walls. Nothing was out of place. Ginny swung her feet over the bed and walked around, glancing at her books and the half-done schoolwork on her desk. She shook her head.

That wasn’t it.

But beside the essay on Ashwinder eggs, lay her potions kit and suddenly she remembered, sighing with relief and walking over to it quickly. Ginny thanked whatever was looking out for her that the answer had come to her at all. Perish the thought of more Malfoy brats running around, much less that they be her Malfoy brats.

Ginny shivered and pulled out an old copy of Witch’s Weekly, absentmindedly flipping through until she found the potion she was looking for. A vial of slippery elm essence was taken from her kit and she pulled out her cauldron, pouring a measured dose inside and heating the bottom with a small candle she kept for potion making at home. A single Diricrawl feather followed the liquid and Ginny hunted around for some powdered Glumbumble treacle and tapped a very small amount of it into her cauldron, stirring constantly while patting the table down for some frozen Flobberworms.

Getting frustrated, Ginny stopped stirring and upended her potions kit. When she found the box of frozen Flobberworms, she let out a small howl of anger and threw it against the wall. The damn thing was empty!

Quickly, Ginny grabbed her spoon and began swirling the potion around to keep it from burning. She thought about it for a moment and shrugged. Flobberworms didn’t add anything really; they only thickened it up. So what if the potion was a little thin? It would do.

She let the potion come to a boil before blowing out the candle underneath. What she wouldn’t give for the use of her wand just then. As it was though, Ginny had to wait for the potion to cool. She poked at it with her spoon and noticed that it was the proper silvery-blue colour.

“Like his eyes,” she muttered. “Blast the pair of them, too.”

Ginny sniffed and filled the bowl of the spoon with some of the thin liquid, pursing her lips to blow on it in an attempt to make it cool down faster. Being impatient though, she swallowed it down in one gulp, making a face at both the bitter taste and the heat.

Waving a hand over her tongue, Ginny blinked a few times and put away her potion things, pouring the remainder of the birth control potion into an empty vial. It was best to keep it, just in case. In case of what though, she didn’t know since she was bound and damned determined never to sleep with Malfoy again.

And he was Malfoy again. Not ‘Draco’. No, no, no, he would remain ‘just Malfoy’ until the day she died. Stupid, stupid thing to do. He said that her hips were padded! The sheer nerve of the prat still had her reeling. And to think that she was the one who jumped on him!

Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Ginny turned the knob on her lamp, making the flame go down once more until it was almost completely out and crawled into bed.

Then there was a light tap on the door and she groaned. Who the hell was bothering her at this time of night? It wouldn’t be Draco. Malfoy. Damn that git. It had better not be him or she’d wring his neck.

Ginny opened the door and there he stood, not looking at all apologetic for what he had said earlier.

“What do you want?” she hissed at him, glancing down the hall to make sure that Ron and her parents were still in their rooms.

Draco ignored what she said and pushed past her, taking in her bedroom with a sweep of his silvery-blue eyes, even though it was dark and he couldn't possibly see anything. “Well, isn’t this . . . cute.”

“I asked what do you want. Or are you deaf as well as stupid?” Ginny was fuming as she closed the door, softly though so as not to waken sleeping red-haired giants who would be just as displeased with Ginny to see a boy in her room late at night and would probably kill them both instead of just Draco.

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Ginny could only make this out by the faint gleam of moonlight on the white part of his eye contrasting with his dilated pupil.

“I had a chat with Potter earlier and he led me to believe that what I said to you before may have been taken in a different way from how I’d meant it.”

Ginny frowned for a moment. “Did you tell Harry about . . .” She trailed off, unable to actually vocalise what she was referring too. There was no need, however, as he understood what she meant.

“No, he figured it out himself when he saw your knickers on the floor. Along with the broken chair. Or it may have been the fact that I opened the door stark naked and started to call him by your name.”

After a brief silence, Ginny laughed despite herself. It really was too amusing. She bit her tongue just as she was about to snarkily ask why Harry had been in his room in the first place, but that seemed too cruel to say, even to him, in light of recent developments.

“Well, I hope that you at least cleaned the place up.”

She could feel rather than see the embarrassed flush creeping over his cheeks. Apparently he hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“So, is there a reason for this nocturnal visit? If you think I’m sleeping with you again, you’ve gone round the twist.”

“Actually, I came to clear things up. Believe it or not, I don’t like to be misunderstood.”

Ginny snickered while he continued. “No, I’m serious. When I insult someone, I want them to know it. It isn’t any fun if they don’t understand.”

“Oh, so noble of you, Malfoy.” She crossed her arms and waited for him to finish what he had to say so she could bung him out on his nose.

“I mean it. Now, what did I say earlier that made you tear out of the room like you had a Skrewt attached to your arse?”

“It was just you being you, Malfoy. You’re a stupid git and I should never have slept with you.”

“Ah,” he traced over her arm with a careful finger. “But you did. No taking that back, is there?”

“No,” Ginny ground out. “There isn’t. But it would help tremendously if you would leave so I could forget about the whole thing.”

“Do you really want me to leave?”

Ginny uncrossed her arms and held them out, palms up. “Yes! For God’s sake, leave me alone.”

“But you haven’t told me what made you angry yet.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Explain it further then. Because if it was only me being me, as you put it, you never would have slept with me in the first place.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration and closing her eyes, Ginny sighed. “Fine, you want to know what really got to me? When you called me ‘comfortable’ and said that my hips were padded!”

Draco lifted an eyebrow. The only means she could tell that he did so was from the way the silvery light pouring out of the window shifted against the fine, reflective hairs over his eyes. She knew that he would never admit that Harry was right, just as she somehow knew she would never get an apology from Draco; Malfoys didn’t seem the repentant type.

“But you are comfortable. That’s a compliment. And if you know me so well, which you claim to do, you’d know that’s a very rare thing for me to hand out. As to your hips being padded . . .” He trailed off and she could feel his eyes on her. “Well, Potter told me that you might have taken that the wrong way. I didn’t mean that you’re fat.”

“Thanks much for clearing that up,” Ginny retorted sarcastically. He still hadn’t actually apologised to her yet and she tapped her foot impatiently, hoping that she was wrong and he would say he was sorry. “Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to apologise at least?”

Draco seemed to be turning the thought over in his mind. “No,” he said at last. “You mistook what I meant and flew out of there without even asking what I actually did mean. So no, I don’t see the need for an apology. And I‘m gracious enough not to ask for you to apologise.”

Ginny gaped at him. That was terrible logic! Brilliant, she grudgingly admitted, but terrible all the same. “Are you daft? You should apologise.”

She could see a twinkle in his eye from the echoed light and the smooth planes of his face turned up in a smirk. “Make me.”

Sighing in defeat, Ginny walked over to her bed and crawled under the thick quilts there. “I officially give up, Malfoy. I’m tired, now go away.”

Ginny turned over and huddled further into the bedclothes, trying to get warm. So she was surprised when instead of hearing the door open and close, she felt Malfoy’s slender, burning body slip under the covers behind her.

“What the hell are you doing?” she mumbled. “My mum will skin you alive if she sees you in here.”

“Then you’ll just have to wake me up early, won’t you?” he replied, breath warm in her ear.

She flipped over so that she could stare at him, eye to gleaming eye. “Why are you here, anyway?”

“I told you already,” he muttered, moving his body down to lay on her stomach.

“Told me what?” she asked the top of his shiny blonde head irritably.

“You’re terribly comfortable to sleep on.”

*~*~*~*~*

Harry woke with a start when he no longer felt Hermione’s warmth on his chest. But upon further inspection, he could see her brushing out her long brown hair and twisting it up into a bun on the back of her head. He relaxed.

She was fine really, nothing amiss.

Hermione had noticed that he was awake and moved over to sit next to him on the bed. “Harry, it’s time to go now.

The sun was just cresting the horizon outside of the window and the light struck her in the face, shadowing it with gold and red. As the moon before it had done, the sun softened a million tiny hairs, which had escaped her bun into a nimbus of light around her head. Harry ran his Quidditch-roughened palm over her face in wonder, marvelling at the stark contrast in textures.

“You’re very pretty, did you know that?”

Hermione glanced at him shyly for a moment and kissed the tip of his nose. “You need to put on your shoes, Harry. We’ve a long way to go yet.”

Harry yawned and pulled his hand back. “Not so far, actually. I’ve decided that it’s ridiculous for us to go all the way into London today. We can just walk into Ottery St. Catchpole and find somewhere to stay for the day. I’ve still have some Muggle money left over from yesterday, at least enough to get us a room somewhere and into London tomorrow.”

She shrugged. “That’s fine with me. I just want to leave here. I can’t bear being near Ron another second.”

“You’ll still have to deal with him at school, Hermione.”

“I can ignore him at school,” she sniffed. “Honestly, he tried to kiss me, Harry! And I’d already told him no when he asked before.”

Harry drew his eyebrows together in a frown. “When did he ask you that?”

She waved her hand. “It was when I had that argument with him before tea last night. He kept telling me that he loved me so much. And— ” Hermione looked down and swallowed. “I feel badly for him, Harry. Honestly, I do. But when I told him that I couldn’t love him back the same way, he really hit the ceiling! Started calling me all these horrid names and I lost my temper entirely and . . . well, you know what happened next. He laughed at me so I ducked in here to have a good cry.”

Something was still nagging at the back of his mind though. “You told him last night in the hall that he’d had his chance but lost it. What did you mean by that?”

Hermione blushed. “Well, I used to have a thing for him when we were younger. But he never noticed, or if he did, he didn’t say anything to me about it. Then I just— I started seeing you in a different light and forgot that I’d ever felt that way about him. It wasn‘t much more than a childish crush, anyway. Nothing like what I feel for you, Harry.”

Harry nodded. “So you don’t still feel anything for him? You’re sure?”

Laughing, she smacked his chest lightly. “No, you goose. Otherwise, I’d be snogging him right now instead of you.”

“But you aren’t snogging me right now.”

“Oh,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him gently on the mouth, a rosy blush still on her cheeks. “You’ve been snogged.”

Harry chuckled. “I feel like I should buy a tee-shirt to commemorate the occasion."

“No,” Hermione said, looking him in the eye. “Save the tee-shirt for another time.”

Oh yes, he thought to himself, he would definitely buy something when that occasion came around.

“Come on.”

Hermione stood and pulled at Harry’s shirt to get him sitting up fully, handing him his glasses from the night table. She looked around for his shoes and knelt down, putting them on his feet and tying them up quickly. He glanced down at the top of her head and chuckled.

“Have you decided to be my house-elf for the day, then?”

She smirked and hit his leg. “No, just being nice. Get up now, sleepyhead. You still have to get Hedwig and your trunk from Ron’s room.”

Harry groaned and fell back on the bed. He’d forgotten all about that. Damn it. He put a hand over his eyes dramatically. “Since you’re playing house-elf, can’t you get it for me?”

Hermione tsked softly and pulled him to rights. “No, you have to get it. I’m still recovering, remember?”

Grumbling to himself, Harry stood and walked out of her room, going up the stairs to the first attic where Ron was sleeping. The door was open a crack and he poked his head through, wincing as a shaft of sunlight bounced off the violently orange walls to hit him in the eye.

His travel trunk was close to the door, with Hedwig in her cage hooting at him softly from on top of it. Harry put a finger to his lips and picked up the trunk, carefully so as not to disturb the owl or Ron.

It wasn‘t heavy, but how he was going to carry his trunk and Hermione’s was going to be a definite problem. Quietly, he took the one he had already downstairs, setting it next to the door before turning back to fetch Hermione’s and stacking it on top with Hedwig‘s cage sitting on Crookshanks’ box. It had snowed more overnight, so he figured that if he could find a flat piece of wood to set them on, he could easily sled it all over the snow. If either of the trunks were damaged, it would be his and that was no big loss as it was falling apart already.

Hermione came down the stairs then, bundled up in her heavy winter cloak and carrying his as well.

“Here’s your cloak, Harry,” she said, gesturing for him to bend down so she could wrap it over his shoulders and pin the front together. “It’s terribly cold outside and I don’t want you to freeze.”

He grinned to himself as she fussed over his clothes for another minute or two. It wasn’t anything different from what she normally did, but the way she did it spoke volumes to Harry. She murmured in tones, which conveyed that he was very important to her, not that this was obligatory on her part in any way. Her mothering annoyed him to no end when they were younger, but he understood her motivations now and he felt warm inside.

It was . . . nice.

Without thinking about it, he gave her a brief peck on the forehead, seeing a million days in the future go by where he would do the same exact thing. It made him smile, the fact that there was one person in his life that he would always be able to count on. The assurance of her affection for him.

“Are you ready to go?”

Hermione looked down and put her feet into a set of overshoes by the door, motioning for him to do the same. They shrunk down to fit their feet and the warming charm on them kept their toes from getting cold.

“I’m ready. Let’s go, then.”

Grabbing her hand in his, Harry opened the door and stepped outside, pulling the trunks along behind and leaving deep furrows in the snow as they walked toward the sleepy little village of Ottery St. Catchpole at a brisk pace.

So they were a good distance down the road and out of sight entirely when several hooded figures Apparated outside the hedgerows surrounding the Weasley home.

16. The Temptation of Ronald Weasley

Authour's notes: First, I'd like to thank Clairey and Alexis, as always, for their lovely beta reading jobs. You two are the best. Also, I'd like to address all of you Ron fans out there: this is the chapter you've all been waiting for. After this chapter, Ron seriously gets his own say in the story and starts to take a more active part in the events around him. Chapter 15 *the one you're about to read* is one of the most pivotal in the whole story, but not for the reasons you may think. This chapter delves a little more into what motivates Draco and LOADS into what motivates Ron. As I've said numerous times, this is certainly not the end. Anything that you don't understand is probably something that I've covered/will cover in future chapters. There will be a lot of sifting over these events and the events leading up to this chapter later. Everything is uncovered gradually. After chapters 15-17 are done, that is where the plot/story REALLY starts. What has happened till this point has been like a very long prologue and the real action begins in chapter 18.

At this time, I'd like to thank all of the reviewers who have faithfully followed this story, commented, and trusted me with their favourite characters. I've even had a few famous fic authours like Anise and Sarea Okelani review this little thing and I think I was completely speechless when a Portkey.org reviewer said that I'm their new favourite authour in place of Anne Rice. Wow. I do appreciate every review, but most especially, those reviewers who have picked apart my story and given constructive criticism. It helps my writing more than anything else and ensures that YOU, the reader, have a quality story.

Cheers,
Sing

Ginny heard a sound out in the hall and she woke with a start. Without glancing down, she could feel that Draco still had his head on her stomach; his soft breathing was warm and moist through her nightdress.

She hadn’t seen him sleep very often since he’d arrived at the Burrow. Sometimes she wondered whether he even needed to as he was always up in the middle of the night, bumping around downstairs or in his room. It would be a shame to wake him now, but she had no choice. Someone was coming down the hall.

“Draco,” she whispered, nudging his back with her hand. He ignored her, wrapping his arms more tightly around her hips and mumbling something against her belly.

“Draco,” she tried again, shaking him harder. This time he woke, his eyes heavy-lidded, and he sat up partially to blink at her.

“What is it?” Draco asked thickly, rubbing his face.

“There’s someone coming, you have to hide,” Ginny said urgently, casting a quick glance at her door.

“Mmmn,” he mumbled, quietly slipping off of the bed and looking around for a moment before stumbling into the large wardrobe against her wall.

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief when he closed the door. She sat up and let her feet swing over the side of the bed. Then she walked over to grab some clothes from her trunk and was about to shimmy out of her nightdress when she heard a bang down the hall, followed by screaming.

Draco burst out of the wardrobe then, suddenly wide-awake. He hunted around for the source of his anxiety, but stumbled against the window ledge in his haste, smacking his arm soundly in the process. While he was rubbing his elbow, he glanced outside, his eyes growing very wide.

“Ginny,” he hissed. “Come here and look.”

She said something rude and ignored him, walking toward the door to investigate what was going on out in the corridor. But he stopped her by striding across the room and clamping a hand over her mouth, dragging her to the window.

“Look,” Draco whispered softly in her ear, the arm wrapped around her waist trembling slightly. “Do you see them?”

Ginny squinted her eyes and finally saw what he was talking about. If Draco’s hand hadn’t been over her mouth, she would have screamed. As it was, a low moan escaped and she fell back, letting him support her sagging body.

“Is there a way out of this room without going into the hall or out the window?”

She shook her head, still dazed. Death Eaters were outside of her house this very minute! Ginny felt Draco drag her backwards toward the wardrobe and he opened the door before pulling her inside with him and locking it up tight.

The space was confined and full of soft blankets and boxes. Draco released her and sat down on a trunk just as they heard the door to her bedroom open with a bang. There was a hollow sound of hard soled shoes against wood flooring, walking around and apparently investigating her room.

Ginny stepped back softly and sat on Draco’s lap, burying her face in his chest. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she waited for the Death Eater to find them. She could hear thuds and heavy footfalls from upstairs, followed by crying and screams of pain.

“Draco,” she whispered shakily. The hair on his chest under her cheek was warm and real. Ginny ran her hand over the crisp whorls and she could hear his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage. He was always so warm.

“Shh.” He put a trembling finger to her lips and pulled her closer to his body. If it was to comfort her or him she didn’t know, but at that moment the wardrobe door rattled and she heard a deep laugh, which made her forget that she even cared.

Draco’s body tensed and he slid Ginny off his lap to stand up directly in front of the door, waiting for it to be opened.

Muttering could be heard from outside and she recognised that someone was doing an unlocking spell. Draco picked up the first object his hands landed on in the darkness and gripped it tight.

The door was flung open then and Ginny didn’t get a chance to see who it was before Draco attacked.

He sprang from the wardrobe and knocked the intruder over, bashing the man’s head with an old Muggle clock. The black-cloaked figure laid face down, blood trickling from under the hood. Draco stood over him, breathing hard with the clock still fused to his hand.

“Draco,” Ginny stuttered, standing up on wobbly legs to walk over to him.

“There’s probably more of them, we’ll never get out of here alive.”

“And you’re so right, my dear,” a voice laughed from the bedroom door. Draco and Ginny whirled around to see another hooded figure standing there.

“Avery,” Draco ground out, his lip curled in disgust. “Just another of Father’s little toys come to play with the big boys, I see.”

“You shouldn’t speak that way to your elders, boy. And your father will be very interested to find you here of all places.”

Draco dropped the clock he was holding and frowned. “If you aren’t here for me, then why— ”

“Do you really think that you’re the sole reason for anything we do? Truly, I’d have thought that you would know better than that.”

Ginny was silent as she crept up to Draco and put a hand on his arm. “Draco, why are they here?”

Avery snorted from the doorway. “This is priceless: Lucius Malfoy’s son, rutting a Weasley.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “I take my pleasure where I find it; it’s no concern of yours. Besides,” he smiled grimly. “Father has no right to say anything to me about sleeping with a Weasley.”

Avery slipped his hood down, his head tilted to the side in cool curiosity. “How do you know about that?”

“Percy wasn’t very clever. And I’m sure that Father will be very put out once he learns that his little playmate didn’t burn each of the letters he sent.”

The Death Eater blanched visibly. “The little bastard.”

Draco shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Where are these letters now?” Avery demanded.

“I don’t know. I turned them over to Mr Weasley.”

“So you’re a traitor as well, then? How many more of our secrets did you spill?”

There was a twinkle in Draco’s eye then and it frightened Ginny but only served to enrage the Death Eater. “You’ll never know.”

Avery swore vividly before stomping across the room to kick his fellow Death Eater, who still lay immobile on the floor, and grab Draco by the upper arm. He turned then to regard Ginny.

“You’ll come along nicely, little girl, or I’ll rip him open with my wand right now.”

Ginny forced herself to laugh. She didn’t love Draco, and most times didn’t even like him, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see him dead. “Do what you want to him; I don’t even like the bastard.”

Avery started at this and Draco laughed out loud. “Aw, what’s the matter? Did you honestly think that she‘d listen to you just because you threatened my life? Ginny wouldn‘t piss on me if I were on fire.”

Tom had taught her well, she could play this game to the end. “Oh Dray-co, you hurt my feelings! I’d at least let my brothers piss on you.”

“As if they—”

“Enough, both of you! I don’t care if either of you die right now, but My Lord might. So be quiet before I lose my temper and My Lord loses his.”

Ginny blanched and shrank back against Draco, reaching behind her to grab his hand, gripping it tight. He didn’t squeeze back, but he didn’t snatch it away either.

Avery prodded Draco in the back with his wand. “Downstairs, both of you.”

Draco moved his legs and stiffly started walking out of the room, Ginny still clinging to his arm. She could feel him struggle to contain the fear he was surely feeling. Every few seconds, the arm in her grip would tremor, but just barely. It was enough to know that even Draco Malfoy could be frightened of these men.

As they were shoved down the last few steps and through other rooms into the kitchen, Ginny wondered what would happen next. Would they all be killed or was there an even more sinister purpose for them in mind? Her eyes roamed around the room and she wanted to sag against Draco in relief; at least everyone was safe—for now.

Charlie and Fred were supporting her parents near the stove while George lay at their feet, an unnatural shade of pale but breathing. They looked up as Avery brought Ginny and Draco in. Ron stood outside of the Weasley huddle and slightly to the left, directing a scowl at Draco that made Ginny shiver.

The other Death Eaters, who were surrounding the Weasley family in a ring, moved aside as Lucius stepped forward. Ginny could feel Draco tense up at his father’s approach and stand straight.

The older blonde stopped directly in front of the two and motioned for Avery to step back. Ginny started shaking and buried her face in Draco’s upper arm, not wanting to look Death in the eye. She knew it was cowardly, but seeing this man face to face brought all her repressed memories of Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets tearing to the surface, leaving nothing in her place but a little girl who was desperately afraid. Lucius Malfoy had slipped the book in her cauldron. It was through his actions that Tom had used her, made her do horrible things to her fellow students. Because of his sycophantic, wicked deeds that she’d been ostracised and stared at for almost two years after she’d opened the Chamber. Lucius Malfoy had broken her as surely as Tom Riddle ever did. And he was standing in front of her right now.

“So you’ve been here all this time, have you?” Lucius whispered smoothly, addressing his son. “And here I thought that you may have gnawed off your arm like an animal and bled to death in the snow. It pains me to see that my offspring has sunk so low as to hide among Muggle-lovers."

“I haven’t sunk as low as you yet, Father,” Draco replied calmly. From her place, Ginny could hear his heart pounding a mile a minute against the hollow of his chest. Then the mighty crack as Draco’s head was forced to the side from his father’s slap.

“I wonder if Our Lord will still have any use for you. After this, he might deem you tainted goods.”

“Rather tainted goods then his bloody slave. You make me sick with your bowing and scraping. You’re like a dog.”

Draco said this with so much disgust that it made Ginny gasp. He would be killed now, surely. And she was right here beside him, which meant she would be dead, too. But before Lucius could reply, there was a commotion near the door and a hushed, almost reverent silence filled the room.

Ginny looked up and clearly wished that she hadn’t. For there, in her very own kitchen, stood Lord Voldemort.

*~*~*~*~*

Ron clenched his fists when he saw one of the Death Eaters drag his sister down the stairs, clinging like a vine to Draco Malfoy. It made his blood boil, especially considering the fact that she was in her nightdress and Malfoy didn’t even have a shirt on. Did she know how ridiculous she looked gripping him like that? How much danger her life was in just by standing next to him? Ron wasn’t stupid. He’d seen glances pass between the two, and all of the playful bickering during happier times. Not to mention that it was impossible to ignore the huge bruise on the side of Draco’s neck. Ginny was going to die because she’d stupidly chosen Malfoy of all people to seek comfort from. At least if she was with her family, she’d have a fighting chance.

Then a chill went over the room and Ron turned to see a slight figure dressed in black robes appear in the doorway. He seemed to glide as if he was walking on air instead of the ground, his slitted red eyes sweeping over the room and its occupants, resting occasionally on one person before moving on to the next. Finally, he stopped in front of Draco, and Ron shivered, desperately afraid for his sister.

“So,” Voldemort hissed. “The boy is here. This is good.” He looked down at Ginny, almost frowning as if trying to remember something important before his face stilled. “Ah, Ginny . . .” he sighed in a way that Ron didn’t like at all.

Lord Voldemort lifted a long-nailed finger to scrape down her arm in what could only be described as a caress. It was almost as if he were trying to soothe her, but coming from Voldemort, it seemed completely unnatural. Ginny’s eyes widened with fear, the skin of her face paling chalk white.

“Surely you remember— an old friend?” Voldemort asked. His voice had a very high register, which broke and cracked on words as if he were unused to speaking.

Ginny did nothing, her lips pressed tightly together as if holding back a scream. Ron noted with some satisfaction that Draco seemed just as frightened of the Dark Lord as the rest of them were.

Ron was able to draw up enough courage to divert Voldemort’s attention, though where the strength came from, he didn’t know. Perhaps it was the sheer terror etched into Ginny‘s face that sent him over the edge of rational, self-preserving thought.

“Leave my sister alone!” he shouted, shocking even the Death Eaters.

Voldemort turned to pin the young man with his gaze and Ron instantly regretted saying anything as the dark wizard floated closer to where he stood.

“You are Harry Potter’s friend, are you not?”

Ron had to laugh at that. Someone always wanted Harry. Perfect Harry who could do no wrong. Harry who had all the things Ron had ever wanted for himself. Including Hermione.

“No, I’m not,” Ron said in complete honesty. “Harry’s a stupid prat and I hope he rots.”

Mrs Weasley gasped and gripped her husband’s arm. From the look on her face, it seemed that she was not anticipating Ron’s survival through the end of his conversation with the Dark Lord.

Voldemort seemed surprised by his answer though, and came closer, putting a hand on Ron’s chest. He shivered at the touch and gagged from the smell of rotting wood and earth that seemed to cling to the evil wizard like a haze. The red eyes narrowed, taking in his face.

“So, you are no longer his friend. Perhaps you’re his enemy then?”

Ron tried to be casual in the way he shrugged his shoulders, but the action came out more as a spasmodic twitch. “I suppose so.”

Voldemort’s smile was a horrible thing to see. The skin actually cracked in places as his lips twisted up in a skeletal grin. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘my enemy’s enemy is my friend’?”

Ron glared. “You’re not my friend.”

“Oh, but I could be,” he bated. “I could be a very good friend. You want to be in the spotlight? You want to hear people chanting your name just like Potter? Power? Wealth? I can make that happen.”

“Ron, no!” Ginny shouted, taking a step forward before Draco clamped a hand over her mouth and pulled her back against his chest.

“And what do you want me to do, then? S’not like you’d give me all that for free.” Ron could see his mother’s face from the corner of his eye. She was crying softly while his father gazed at him sternly, shaking his head. Fred was uncharacteristically sombre, and Charlie glowered, his short, stocky frame tensed to spring. The Death Eaters, about ten of them together, had come from all parts of the house to form a circle around them, each with wand drawn and held stiffly by their sides.

“It’s simple. Be a friend to both Potter and myself. The only difference being that you tell me everywhere he goes, starting with where he is now."

“I don’t know where he is right now,” Ron answered truthfully. The deal he was offered sounded so tempting. His family could finally have everything they needed. He would have any broom or robe he ever wanted. Girls would be pouring out of the woodworks, desperate for his company, Hermione included. No more hand-me-down wands or clothes.

But there were several things holding Ron back. First was the fact that Voldemort was anything but reliable; he could turn on someone in a heartbeat. Then Ron glanced at his mother and father, the former crying profusely and the latter glaring at him as if he’d sprouted an extra head. And then there was the memory of a small, shy, black-haired boy who had made friends with him on a train several years before. He hadn’t laughed at Ron’s threadbare clothes, or even his stupid ginger-fluff hair; Harry had accepted him without reservation. No matter what had happened between them since that day, there would always be that and Ron couldn’t ignore something so important.

“And,” Ron continued after a moment. “You can go to hell. I’m not helping you kill Harry.”

He braced himself then, waiting for the killing curse to be spoken but it never was. Over near his parents, Ron saw Fred pull his hand out of his pocket with a flash of silver. He couldn’t see what was there, but he knew it was sure to be something that would speed up their deaths considerably.

“Hey baldy! Get away from my brother!” Fred shouted, slamming an entire handful of various metal baubles at the ground near their feet. There was a vast explosive sound and the air was filled with several colours of smoke, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to see anything. Ron coughed, hearing the Death Eaters mill around distractedly while Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy shouted orders. Squinting, he could barely make out Voldemort’s shadowy form through the clouds.

He knew it was stupid, and very dangerous, but Ron didn’t allow his misgivings to stop him. Reaching into the drawer behind him, he pulled out a large kitchen knife and plunged it down into the cloaked figure before him.

Ron felt a pounding in his head as he sliced through Voldemort again and again. With every high-pitched scream of pain he elicited from the dark wizard, Ron saw Harry rejecting him, Hermione rejecting him, the two sitting together at dinner with knowing grins on their faces. The blushes and glances that spoke mutely of their secret romance.

Ron roared loudly as he continued to hack and slash past the point where it was needed. He didn’t notice the Death Eaters gaping at him in fear and wonderment, or his own family cringing away from him. Ron saw Ginny in his mind. He saw her face as Voldemort stroked her arm, almost promising to do more than simply touch her—

He couldn’t have stopped if he wanted, too. Ron was like a man possessed and the anger burned bright. He bellowed like an animal while he continued to strike the still body beneath him. By the time the smoke cleared, Voldemort was on the ground.

Ron stood over him, the knife in his hand dripping with dark red blood and he had difficulty catching his breath. Everything around him was suddenly quiet. No one moved or spoke for almost a full minute. Voldemort was clearly dead; his skeletal body void of breath and covered in blood. The red eyes had closed forever.

Lucius Malfoy let out a soft cry and strode forward, kneeling beside his fallen lord.

Draco still stood with Ginny across the room, smirking. “Well, Father; loyal dog that you are, you’ll have no trouble finding another master. I can even write you a recommendation.”

The Death Eaters broke at these words and Lucius stood back up, attention divided between his fallen master, his master’s killer, and his son. Finally he settled on Ron and strode forward, wand at the ready.

“You’ve sealed your death, boy!” he shouted.

“No,” another voice said calmly. Another Death Eater stepped from the circle and threw back his hood, revealing the enraged face of Percy Weasley. “You won’t touch my brother, Lucius.”

Mrs Weasley screamed then, sobbing into her husband’s shoulder. Mr Weasley held her tightly to him. Fred and Charlie seemed confused more than anything else. Ron’s mouth gaped open as he saw his brother: his stuffy, intellectual, and always gentle brother, wearing the black robes of a Death Eater.

Lucius turned away from Ron with a sneer to address Percy. “Who are you to stop me?”

Percy flinched and walked closer, his legs working under him stiffly. “You said that my family would be safe forever if I joined with your cause. You said that we were only here to get Harry. But Our Lord is dead now, there’s no need to do this.”

“And I also said that I loved you,” Lucius said with an exasperated roll of his eyes. “How gullible are you, Weasley?” He looked down his nose as Percy’s face collapsed in on itself, his horn-rimmed glasses shining as brightly as the tears running down his cheeks.

“I was a fool,” he whispered hoarsely, shaking his head from side to side very slowly. “I was a fool to ever believe your lies.”

Lucius lifted an eyebrow. “If it makes you feel better, I’m very convincing.” He smiled coldly. “Not that I care either way. Good-bye, Weasley."

He raised his wand then and chanted the killing curse. Ginny screamed out and tried to run toward her brother, but Draco’s arm was wrapped firmly about her waist. Ron closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see the green light shoot out the end of Lucius’ wand and strike his brother in the chest, as he knew it would. Ron could hear his mother’s sobs, his father shouting, and the sickening crack of bone against limestone. When he opened his eyes again, Percy was on the floor.

The glasses that had made him appear so studious and attentive, so intelligent, lay crushed to the side. His face was serene and relaxed. There was no mark on Percy’s body that stated clearly he was dead. But it could be surmised from the silence of his lungs and the twisted pallor creeping over his flesh.

“Percy!” Ginny screamed, stretching out a hand to touch his fallen body even though it was across the room. “Don’t go, Percy!” she sobbed brokenly, covering her face with her hands. “Don’t lea-ve me,” her voice cracked as her shoulders shuddered with raw heaves and moans.

Lucius pocketed his wand with a dramatic flourish. “One Weasley down, several more to go.”

Ron gritted his teeth. The arrogant bastard had his back turned and— and he was still holding the knife!

Before Lucius could move further, Ron leapt forward with an enraged yell and planted his blade deeply into the man’s back. The knife was dull and nicked from hitting several of Voldemort’s bones, but it still worked. It glided easily in and out as Ron pushed it to the hilt again and again. Once for Percy, once for his sister, and once just for being born. The bastard deserved to die a thousand deaths for hurting his family and the knife rose and fell with an easy rhythm. After killing a Dark Lord, a Death Eater seemed easy in comparison. Voldemort had been sub-human, and registered somewhere in the realm of a dangerous animal that needed to be put down. But the part of Ron’s mind that said killing another human being is wrong winked out and he saw everything through a red-tinged haze of blood lust.

*~*~*~*~*

As if Ron’s actions had finally freed them, his family broke out of their stupor and fought back. Molly, her face red and streaming tears, picked up her skillet and bashed in the skull of the nearest Death Eater with a wild, chilling cry. Fred and Charlie wrestled two more to the ground, snatching away their wands. Mr Weasley hit another square in the face and took a wand as well, crying ‘Expelliarmus!’ at the one hovering near his daughter and Draco.

Ginny broke away from Draco’s firm grip and grabbed the biscuit box from the table, throwing it at a Death Eater who was in the middle of cursing Ron. It hit the man full in the face and shattered ceramic and shortbreads, blood dribbling from his nose.

There were only two black robed figures left who had not been injured, and they pointed their wands at Ron, shouting the killing curse in unison. Fred and Charlie took aim and fired two different hexes, sending one to his knees and the other flying across the room.

Draco coolly picked up a wand off the ground, sticking it in the chest of one man who was trying to rise. It didn’t take much brainpower to figure out who was winning now, and Draco wanted to insure that he was on the proper side.

“Call off your hounds, Avery. You’ve lost the war.”

The man stiffened and glared up at Draco. “Lucius should have killed you first.”

“But he didn’t,” Draco stated evenly, glancing around at the other Death Eaters being rounded up. “Now you’re as good as dead because of his mistakes.”

Avery sneered at him. “I’m not afraid of death.”

Draco let one brow rise. “Really? Do you mind if I test that theory?”

Charlie came over and kicked Avery sharply in the temple and took the wand away from Draco. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

Draco scoffed. “I doubt I’d regret killing this vermin.”

“You would if you got sent to Azkaban for it,” Charlie said darkly, glancing at his brother Ron over his shoulder. “Don’t go berserk on us now, china. We‘ve already got him to worry about.”

“He won’t go to Azkaban. He killed the Dark Lord. Hell, if anything they’ll be throwing flowers at him in some stupid parade and shouting his name from the rooftops.”

“I didn’t mean that. He’s— well, scary would be the word for it. I couldn’t have done what he just did.”

Draco’s reply was interrupted by a loud moan from Mrs Weasley.

“Percy!” she cried. “Oh, my baby."

She knelt down on the floor beside Percy‘s lifeless body, oblivious to her husband and son working around her to restrain the Death Eaters. Cradling his head against her breast, she wept, rocking to and fro. “My baby,” she murmured softly into his hair, running a hand down his arm and back up to his shoulder.

Draco felt it rude to disturb her grief and walked over to where his father’s body lay. Lucius was still and covered in blood, face down in puddles of it even. The stones under him would never be completely free of the stains; there would always be a reminder that it was this spot where Lucius Malfoy died. This house, with its mended rugs and chipped crockery.

Glancing up, he could see that Ron was still out of it. The boy hadn’t moved a muscle in several minutes and was in danger of remaining that way permanently if someone didn’t intervene. Well, today wasn’t Draco’s day to play hero.

Tomorrow didn’t look good either.

Turning around, Draco grabbed the bright chintz cloth off the kitchen table and covered his father’s body with it. The man deserved at least a modicum of dignity, even if he was a first-rate bastard.

He wouldn’t cry, the arse didn’t deserve tears. But someone had forgotten to tell his body that because there they were, two small rivulets of water streaming down his cheeks. It was the second? Third time maybe that he had ever cried.

Draco looked up when a shadow fell over his father’s corpse. It was Fred. The boy shook his head sadly and patted Draco on the shoulder.

“He was an arse, but still Da, y’know? Don’t feel bad for letting it out, we all do sometimes.”

Then he was gone, walking back over to where his twin was only just coming around from a massive blow to the head. George had missed a lot, not that he’d be sorry about that, though.

Mr Weasley was trying to make Ron let go of the knife still stuck to his palm. He glanced up to offer Draco a weak smile and a shake of his head as if to apologise for his son’s actions. It hadn’t been strictly necessary to kill Lucius Malfoy. But what was done was done and nothing would change that.

Draco let his eyes wander over a few feet to take in Voldemort’s twisted body. It was strange how no one else seemed to notice it lying there. The whole affair felt somehow— anticlimactic, too easy. Just last night he’d had a first-class shag, followed by a good night’s rest on a pleasantly soft body, then this morning he woke up and witnessed the death of the Dark Lord.

He walked over to the table, picking up one of the chairs that had been knocked over, and sat down. Ginny was holding onto her mum now and the rest of them crowded around the body of their fallen brother. The betrayer.

If they could forgive Percy, even in death, shouldn‘t he be able to forgive his father?

Please review, it makes my life worth living. Well, at least it makes me want to write more. Remember the months and months I've spent on this and the months that will probably follow what with formatting, editing, re-editing, and more writing. (Do you feel guilty yet? I know I do.)

Cheers, Sing

17. Le Petite Mort

Authour's Notes: I'd like to thank you all for the reviews so far. They mean a lot to me. Also, I thank all of those who have stuck with this story so far. Trust me when I say, you're in for a journey. lol. I decided to collapse chapters 16 & 17 together, so that the real adventure begins in chapter 17. I know that some of you expressed doubts about Voldemort's death. One reviewer fondly stated that I had 'blown the whole story' because of the way that Voldemort died. Well, I don't think I blew the story. Ron killed him with a knife, the end. You'll all get to see more of the consequences of his actions in chapter 17, I believe it is now. Things are about to really heat up, so hold on to your knickers. Also, I want to see if any of you catch the meaning between the lines, so to speak, in this chapter; the part between Harry and Hermione, more specifically. I know that most of you have asked what happened to Harry and Hermione while all of this was going on. Well, here's your answer. *smirks*

Oh, and I know that some of you wanted to know more about Percy. Well, he gets his very own chapter, just for him, later on. Chapter 27 is Percy's story and I've already written it. As for all of your other unanswered questions, they will all be answered in time. Everything is answered in time. :)

Harry was cold.

The short walk he had anticipated seemed to last forever. He glanced down at Hermione, who was clinging to his hand, and thought to himself that she didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to be out in the snow just because he’d lost his temper.

“Hermione, we should go back.”

“Go back?” She looked at him as if he’d suddenly grown a bird’s beak, the cold wind reddening her cheeks and battering fine hairs that had escaped from the knot she had wound on the back of her head. “Of course we shouldn’t go back. I can’t imagine having to face Ron again; at least not this soon. And it’s Christmas; I want to enjoy it.”

Harry frowned but kept moving. He wouldn’t go back if she was that adamant about it. But there was this feeling that kept urging him to ignore Hermione and walk back to the Burrow. Not to mention that his scar was throbbing more than usual.

They broke through the trees then and the tiny village of Ottery St. Catchpole stood at the bottom of the hill. Smoke from dozens of chimneys filled the air and Harry welcomed the earthy smell of burning peat. It was so quaint and old-fashioned, just like the village itself. He walked more quickly, anxious to dry off in front of one of those roaring fires.

“Harry, slow down! You do remember that my legs are much shorter than yours are?” Hermione asked him. Her teeth were chattering so much that it was difficult to make out what exactly she was saying, but Harry understood.

“Oh, sorry.” He stopped and waited for her to catch up before slipping his frozen fingers back into her hand. “Come on, it’s not much further.”

“I see it,” she sighed, gripping his hand tight. “I’m so hungry I could eat a Hippogriff. Are you sure they’ve lodgings down there?”

“Yes, I came here last year with Mr. Weasley. Remember when he became obsessed with Muggle beer?”

Hermione giggled. “I remember. Mrs. Weasley was furious when you brought him back. He was more than three sheets to the wind that night.”

Harry smiled briefly. “Well, he’d had more than just a few pints. He kept drinking and scribbling into his notepad. The terrible thing was that he could never figure out what he had written and Mrs. Weasley forbade him to ever go back again.”

Hermione sighed, breath clouding in front of her mouth. “I do feel awful now, Harry. Perhaps we should have stayed. I mean, we’ve spent the last two Christmases at the Burrow. Maybe I could have ignored Ron.”

“Do you want to go back?”

She thought about it a moment and shook her head. “Not now, we’re already here. Maybe we can go back later.”

Harry nodded. They were coming up on the first street and the inn he remembered wasn’t much further ahead. It would be stupid to go back now.

A sign, half covered with frost read ‘The Sparrow’. The building was made of stone and seemed incredibly old, but secure. Obviously, it was well cared for.

Harry dropped Hermione’s hand and pulled out his money pouch. There were a few Sickles at the bottom along with four twenty-pound notes. It would surely be enough for a room in the village and passage to London on one of the tube trains that came through Thorney, which was only a mile away. He could always get more at Gringott's once they arrived back in London.

The innkeeper seemed surprised to see two young people walk into his establishment so early on Christmas morning, but he welcomed them anyway and ushered them up the stairs to a modest sized room. Harry paid him with two of the twenties and set their trunks down near the door.

Hedwig, Hermione, and their cloaks all received an odd glance from the innkeep, but the man kept his peace and accepted the money. He said breakfast would be available in a few hours and to have a Happy Christmas before closing the door.

Hermione walked over and lit a fire in the grate. She rubbed her hands briskly and tossed a few bricks of peat into the hearth before settling on the small sofa in front of it.

“I’m freezing,” she said, holding the backs of her arms. “This place is terribly drafty.”

Harry shrugged out of his cloak and hung it near the fire to dry, slipping out of his overshoes and regular shoes.

“The building is made of stone and the windows are sealed tight. Once the fire gets going, it’ll be warm.”

"I hope so,” Hermione shivered out. “Could you bring me the quilt off that bed?”

Harry grabbed it and walked back to the couch, wrapping it around her shoulders before kneeling down to take off her shoes.

“You’ll get mud and snow all over the sofa,” he murmured.

Hermione grinned at him, eyes dancing. “I thought I was the house-elf today.”

“We’ll take turns,” Harry returned dryly as Hermione wriggled her toes at him. It brought to mind that night they had sat in front of the fire at the Burrow. The night he had kissed her for the first time.

“Come keep me warm, Harry. There’s plenty of blanket for both of us.”

Harry stood and motioned for Hermione to lean forward so he could sit behind her. He pulled her back against his chest while she fussed with covering up his legs, tucking the ends underneath their bodies. Hermione didn’t make a bother over him because she thought he was weak, she did it because she cared and Harry respected that. It had taken ages to understand, but now that he did, Harry was glad that there was someone who would always fuss over him. Just a little bit.

“There,” she said at last. “Like a cocoon.”

He mumbled something against her hair and squeezed his arms around her middle a little tighter. There was definitely something to be said for being more than ‘just friends’.

It was Christmas morning and they were together. He could see stretching out before him years upon years of Christmas mornings spent with Hermione, holding her like this. There was the winter perfume of her hair and the softness of her body in his arms, the warmth of his love keeping her safe from the world.

Harry couldn’t imagine being more content with life than he was at that moment.

Hermione sighed and tilted her head to the side, leaning it against his left shoulder. “This is nice,” she murmured, tracing a finger over the pattern of the quilt. “Just the two of us, no interruptions.”

Harry rumbled his agreement and buried his face in her neck. He was so sleepy and she was so warm, her heart beating against his chest. The heat between them was intensifying, becoming tangible, and Harry pressed a few tired kisses to the flushed skin under his lips.

Hermione’s breath hitched and she shifted against him, her hand gripping his knee under the blanket. Harry could feel something stirring down below and he kissed her neck a few more times before moving up to her ear. His hands seemed to be guiding themselves up over Hermione’s torso to cup her breasts.

“Hermione,” he breathed into her ear. Harry felt his own hot breath reflected against her skin. Her name was repeated again and again as his hands moved over the buttons of her blouse to reach inside and touch the soft flesh.

He felt drunk. A warm feeling, like that of drinking Fire Whiskey straight from the bottle, washed over him and Harry closed his eyes, revelling in the contact of skin on skin. Hermione moaned softly, kneading his thigh with her cold fingers.

“Harry,” she said, the sound coming from the back of her throat. “What are you doing to me?”

He didn’t answer, but instead dropped one of his hands to her leg, hitching her skirt up slowly, his fingers dancing over the outside of her thigh. She sat up then and half-turned her body to face him. Harry thought for a moment that she was going to make him stop, but instead she kissed him soundly on the mouth.

Her tongue flickered against his lips while her hands came up to hold the side of his face. Harry trailed his fingers over her ribs, down to her waist. He kissed her back then, the need for her evident from the way his fingers curled over her blouse.

Control was fast slipping away.

Harry slid to the right and pushed her back against the couch, climbing on top to nestle his body between her thighs. Hermione looked him in the eye then, straight and true. She held his gaze a moment longer before he bent down to kiss her throat. Harry trailed his mouth down to the well between her breasts, pushing the material that clung to them aside with a trembling touch. Things were going so fast that it made his head spin and he latched his lips around her nipple in the hopes that it would all stop whirling if he just had a firm hold on something. She arched and gasped, bringing her legs up to lock ankles over his back.

Hermione had him now. He wasn’t spinning anymore.

His hand kneaded one breast while working the other with his mouth. The taste of Hermione’s skin was all that he had imagined it to be; hot, buttery-smooth and melting over his tongue. The nub in his mouth was pebbling, turning hard with desire and her breath clouded his glasses. Hermione pushed his head away and looked him in the eyes again. Harry thought she was finally going to say something, tell him to stop, and he felt a flush of frustration and embarrassment stain his skin. But Hermione only removed his specs and set them on the floor, she didn’t say a word.

Now everything was softly out of focus and her tiny, cold fingers fumbled between their bodies, tugging at his belt until it was free and flinging it into the fire. Harry pushed her woollen skirt up with shaky hands and plucked clumsily at the scrap of cotton cloth underneath until he was able to pull them down her thighs the same time as she released the buttons on his fly. Hermione was pushing his trousers down and kicking them off with her feet as he kissed her on the lips again, his tongue plunging deeply into her mouth and tasting the winter cold from outside. Her hands roamed over his lower back to the band of his boxer shorts, sending them to meet their fellows on the floor quickly. Hermione’s crisp button-down and white, cotton bra followed, and Harry was somehow able to contort her body enough so that he could pull her knickers the rest of the way down her legs. There was suddenly very little left to cover the two lovers.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry knew that he should say something, to stop this before she regretted it. To the best of his knowledge, she’d never done this before, and he’d only had a few rolls in the hay with that girl from the Quivering Rooster. But Hermione, sensible Hermione, had no intentions of halting the exploration of teeth and tongues, and she demonstrated this by kneading his bottom with fingers that were thawing from his body heat.

Harry moved away from her mouth and toward a tender earlobe to the side, the heat of it all making him see double. “Hermione, we should stop.”

“No,” she shushed while peppering kisses over his neck. “I want to be reckless for once, Harry.”

“But—” Harry licked his lips, still tasting the salt of her skin. “We’ve only just started a— a relationship and you‘ve never . . .”

“Harry.” She grabbed his face with one hand and turned it so she could touch her damp forehead against his. “We’ve known each other for years. It’s different for us.”

“But—”

Hermione cut him off by pressing her moist lips to his, inhaling his breath, and he forgot every argument he had against the wonderful feeling she was creating inside him. Harry opened his mouth and she plunged inside, roughing his tongue while reaching between them to stroke his erection with trembling fingers.

“Hermione,” Harry gasped out, hunching forward and breaking his mouth away to place it instead over the wildly beating pulse on her neck. The need to complete the act was irresistible, especially as the peaked tips of her breasts strained against his chest in urgency.

The fabric of the sofa was coarse under Harry’s hand as he pushed himself up to hover over her. Hermione’s skin had taken on a ruddy glow and her breath was hitching in excitement, making her breasts heave and fall dramatically. She brushed the hair from his eyes with her free hand.

“Harry.” Hermione’s voice wavered. “Don’t stop now.”

This crumbled all resolve and he closed her eyes with the gentle pressure of his mouth, shifting his hips to push his erection against her entrance. It was slow, and Hermione turned her head to bite his forearm with sharp teeth, her eyes screwed tightly shut as Harry pushed further and felt the small liquid burst of something breaking at the same moment a sharp, stabbing pain lanced over his forehead.

Harry sucked in a breath and stared down at Hermione, who was now gazing up at him expectantly, tears welling in her large, brown eyes. He ignored the ache in his head and, eyes never leaving hers, he slowly built a rhythm comprised of strokes both deep and shallow in relation to her breathing. Hermione’s ridged inner muscles clamped down and her hips awkwardly rolled up to meet his as he inhaled, thrust, exhaled, plunge, inhale, exhale.

The hair next to his fingers was crisp but soft, and Harry released the clip holding it together so he could wind a skein around his hand to hold her head back, exposing the sensitive flesh of her neck. Hermione’s breath was coming in great gulping pants and a rumble started deep in the back of her throat. His lips were cool compared to the skin beneath them as he covered her neck in kisses before suckling a spot just below her ear, feeling the mad fluttering of her pulse. It seemed to go on for hours, days, and years.

Harry was trying desperately to remember what one of his friends had told him about women. There was a spot somewhere that if he touched it, she’d—well, have a good time. If he could only find it . . . Harry reached down between them to stroke her with his thumb, searching for a small knot. When Hermione gasped, he knew that he had found it. Harry rubbed in gentle circles as he sheathed himself in her warm, moist flesh. Hermione was tensing all around him as the thrusts became more urgent and he sucked her neck harder, gnawing the flesh to keep himself from screaming as his release drew closer. There was one, and then two more deep strokes before he could feel himself droop and slide out of her wet opening.

Harry collapsed, letting his arms come around to hold her closer to him as he gave her a gentle peck on the lips. The pain of his scar was gone, gone completely for the first time in years as if it had never been and he relaxed further against her. Hermione sighed contentedly and returned the embrace, her ankles slipping down from his hips to lie over his calves.

“Mmmn, I don’t think I’ve felt this nice in . . . well, ever,” Hermione whispered against his neck. “You do know how to warm someone up, Mr. Potter.”

“Glad I could oblige, Miss Granger,” Harry mumbled, burying his face in her hair.

“Well, as warm as it is this way, my ribs are starting to hurt.”

“Oh.” Harry scrambled off of her quickly, before sitting down to pull her close to him. “I forgot that you’re still tender there. Did I hurt you?”

Hermione shook her head in the negative before resting it on his shoulder. “No, I’m fine.”

Harry stared at the embers in the grate and fiddled his fingers nervously. “We shouldn’t have done that, Hermione,” he said after a moment.

“You do things all the time that you aren’t supposed to do. I‘m terribly impressionable, you know.”

“But you’d never—”

“Harry.” Hermione sat up and placed a hand on each side of his face, resting her forehead against his again. “The rules don’t apply to us. We’ve been friends for almost seven years. That’s more time getting to know each other than most people these days.”

He stared at her for a moment, her eyes a large, brown blur, before shaking his head and laughing quietly. “I really am a bad influence on you. I never thought I’d hear you say rules don’t apply.”

She pulled away and smiled softly. “Yes, you’re the absolute terror of my waking hours.”

“Mmmn, waking.” Harry glanced over at the bed. “Why don’t we sleep in for awhile? Then we can go downstairs and eat breakfast and trade gifts.”

Hermione stifled a yawn and picked up the quilt, wrapping it around her half-naked body as she made her way to the bed, flopping down on it like a child. Harry followed her example and was soon spooned up against her. He still had his shirt on and he was thankful for the extra warmth, as the bed itself was very cold. She shivered and wrapped his arms around her body more tightly.

“I’m dreadfully tired all of a sudden, and I had a full night’s rest and everything.”

Harry smiled and kissed her neck. “I wore you out, then?”

She scoffed and batted his hand, already falling asleep. “You’re awfully full of yourself, Mr. Potter.”

“So you’ve told me, Miss Granger,” he mumbled into her ear as his eyelids closed. A gentle snore was his only reply.

*~*~*~*~*

Who would have thought that Fred Weasley was intelligent?

Draco surely didn’t. But he had to give the boy credit for keeping his cool throughout the long day that followed Voldemort’s death.

Fred started simply enough. He mourned with his family, murmuring things into his twin’s ear while still managing to embrace his father as they hovered over the body of their dead brother. But after a suitable amount of time, perhaps an hour, he stood up and examined the Death Eaters, making sure that their bonds were tight and there was no chance of them escaping. Then he checked on his other brother, Ron, who was still standing in the same place he had been after killing Lucius.

Fred went over to whisper something in his father’s ear before walking outside, past the hedgerows, and Apparating away. Draco still sat at the kitchen table, dimly taking in everything that happened next.

Only a few moments after he’d left, Fred reappeared, dragging along Cornelius Fudge, who was still in his tasselled nightcap and dressing gown. The man shrieked when he saw the shrivelled remains of Lord Voldemort lying on the floor and a gaggle of Death Eaters tethered together with rope over near the larder. For a moment, Draco thought that the Minister would faint, but was sadly disappointed.

“Now do you believe that You-Know-Who came back?” Fred queried acidly, hands on his hips in the posture of one deeply exasperated.

Fudge nodded dumbly. “I-I see that I may have been mistaken. I’ll call the Aurors in at once.”

He attempted to Disapparate there before Fred reminded him that he had to walk outside of the property first. Fudge shuffled out, flapping his slippered feet over the stones and out of the kitchen door.

Fred chuffed and took a seat opposite of Draco, shaking his head. “Who’d have thought that I’d be ordering around the Minister of Magic?”

Draco didn’t say anything; he was staring at the group still huddled around Percy. All of the red heads gathered so close to each other seemed out of place against the bleak atmosphere. They were too bright and vivid, the colours melding into a single fire that would never warm their brother again.

Fred followed Draco’s eyes to their source and put a hand to his face, attempting to wipe away the sticky trail of former tears.

“I’m done with crying,” he said softly. “I suppose I was never made for it in the first place because they just won’t come to me anymore, no matter how much I want them, too.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow in response, but his focus was on Ginny. Her tears had trickled down into one or two every now and then, with maybe a soft sigh or gulp of breath to break the monotony. He couldn’t stop thinking of how ugly she was just then: the splotches on her nose and cheeks, under her eyes, and over the usually pale expanse of her neck. Freckles that had almost faded completely away reappeared with a vengeance and the combined effect was hideous.

It only furthered his conviction that grief, like any other emotion, was an appalling thing to see.

“I appreciate you keeping her out of harm’s way today, Malfoy.”

Draco glanced over at Fred, finally acknowledging that he was there. Maybe he wasn’t as intelligent as Draco had given him credit for after all.

“I had no wish to die. If she had gone out there and thrown herself in front of Percy, she doubtless would have dragged me with her.”

Fred shook his head again; it seemed to be habit forming. “You’re a cold fish, Malfoy. I don’t suppose it would kill you to say that you did it to keep an innocent girl safe?”

Draco sniffed at the thought. Ginny was hardly innocent. “I worry about myself first, others last if at all. Or hadn’t you figured that out by now?”

The older boy turned to glance at Lucius’ body before coming back to Draco. “That’s what he thought, too.” Fred indicated the corpse with a jut of his chin. “And look where he is now. You’ll get the same if you don’t change your attitude.”

“A threat, Weasley?”

“No,” Fred said slowly, rolling the word around in his mouth. “Just a friendly warning. You may be an annoying little arse, but I don’t think you’re so far gone as to deserve his fate.”

Draco could see the pity in Fred’s eyes and it disgusted him. The Weasleys had seen him at his worst, and they’d been the cause of some of it, but none of them had dared to be so open about their commiseration until now. Not even soft-hearted Ginny, who had empathised, but never degraded him so much as her brother was doing right now.

Fred stood up and looked around the room, making sure everything was still in order before turning his attention back to Draco. “I’m off to see if I can find Harry. Do you know where he is? Poor bloke should know what’s happened.”

“I don’t have a clue. I heard he was on his way to London though.”

“London.” Fred whistled. “Wonder what capped his bum so bad that he just up and left like that.”

Draco didn’t say anything, but stared pointedly at Ron. Fred understood.

“Ah, well they’re always bickering about something or t’other. I’ll just send out Pig, he’ll find Harry and bring him back.”

It wasn’t as if Draco cared, why did the boy keep prattling on and on about stupid things? Nerves were stretched tight enough without Fred flapping his gums to make it all worse. Chattiness seemed to be a family trait.

But he still watched as Fred walked out the door to capture the pesky little owl and bring it inside where it fluttered vapidly above Draco’s head. He had the urge to swat it, just to see if it would splatter on the stones like an egg, but he didn’t.

Fred had found a spare piece of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. He chewed the feather in his hand softly for a moment before dipping it in the ink and scribbling over the paper, his tongue between his teeth as if it were a particularly troublesome bit of schoolwork instead of a simple note.

Once he had recaptured the owl and tied the note to his leg with a spare bit of twine, Fred sat back down in his chair, watching Pigwidgeon fly out the open door.

“That owl is the most annoying thing I’ve ever seen,” Draco said, rubbing the back of his neck. “When the bloody hell are those Aurors supposed to arrive?”

Fred shrugged. “Whenever that fat arse, Fudge, gets around to it.”

“Mmmn,” Draco replied. He was gazing at Ginny then, noticing that her face had become its normal colour again and her eyes were dry. Maybe she would be up to making a pot of tea now, it was dreadfully cold all of a sudden. Perhaps it was the fact that the door was still open and letting in the snow. Or maybe that he was still shirtless with bare feet.

As if Ginny had read his mind, she rose from the cluster of Weasleys and walked over to the sink. He watched as she pulled the teapot from the cupboard and filled it with water and tea leaves from a tin on the counter. Apparently she no longer cared about the fact that she wasn’t supposed to use a wand outside of school because she grabbed a spare one from the floor and used it to heat the water inside of the teapot.

After a moment, she waved the wand over the pot and muttered something under her breath. The tea leaves shot out and hovered in a mass for a few seconds before throwing themselves in the dustbin.

Ginny flicked the wand toward the cold cabinet and directed a pitcher of cream to the table. Another wave sent several teacups over along with the teapot and a spoon.

She sat down then, next to Draco, and began to pour out cups of tea, spooning in sugar and stirring in the cream. Ginny handed one to Draco, then to Fred, and kept one for herself.

“You’re a bloody mind reader,” Draco said, gulping at the hot brew.

“I had to do something useful. I couldn’t bear just sitting there anymore. Besides,” she murmured, staring into her cup and sloshing the liquid around. “Tea heals all things.”

Draco scoffed. “It won’t do them any good, will it?” he said, pointing with his chin first at Percy and then at Lucius.

Ginny stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “You’re a bastard.”

“Well, it’s official now; seeing as how your brother hacked up my father like a butcher. I doubt anyone would buy cuts of him, though. Probably poison somebody,” Draco muttered. “Although it seems that Father was a rather crafty butcher himself,” he finished with a hollow chuckle at his own crude joke. The stupid bint didn’t have any right calling him a bastard, not now. He noticed that Fred was looking at them but he really didn’t care.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Ginny said, putting a hand on his thigh in comfort.

Draco flinched and pulled away; she wasn‘t apologising for calling him a bastard, was she? No, she said it for that twit she called brother. “What are you apologising for? You weren’t the one with the bloody knife, were you? Besides, it’s better this way. Now I don’t have to deal with the bugger anymore.” Draco laughed then in a self-deprecating way; he simply couldn’t stop making those stupid jokes! But he felt as hard and unyielding as stone, so perhaps it didn’t matter if his humour was misplaced. “Buggerer, that’s what he was, too: a damn poofter.”

Draco threw his teacup against the wall and it shattered into fragments that rained down on his father’s body. Ginny set a hand on his cheek, turning him to face her.

“Draco, calm down.”

“No, I won’t. How do I know I won’t end up like him? It’s not like I’m going to go soft and become one of Potter’s lemmings, is it?” Draco stared at her intently, his eyes flickering over the pulse in her neck. Then he reached up to wrap his hand around her throat; the fluttering of her heartbeat under his fingers soothing him. “I’m vicious. I’m cruel. And I could kill you with a snap of my fingers.”

Fred stood up but Ginny motioned for him to sit down again. She turned her eyes back to Draco and gazed at him calmly. He still had his hand around her neck but she didn’t even flinch. Was the girl daft?

“If you really think that you could kill me now, go ahead.”

She was daft, or maybe insane. Didn’t she know well enough not to bait someone like that? It was almost a dare, the way she stared at him, her breath slow, even, and completely fearless. Draco squeezed just a little but she didn’t budge. How could he do this when she was looking right at him? Her eyes seemed to penetrate his soul and he shuddered, dropping his hand and looking away.

“You may be vicious,” Ginny said softly in his ear. “And you may be cruel. But what separates you from your father is the fact that he would have strangled me just now, but you didn’t. As long as you don’t cross that line, Draco, you won’t meet his end.”

Draco ignored her and reached over to pick up Ginny’s cup, swallowing some of her tea. It was cold now. In just the space of a few moments the liquid had almost turned into a block of ice.

“Pour me some more,” he said, shoving the cup toward Ginny without looking at her. She snatched it away and slammed it on the table.

“Are you going to avoid everything your whole life?” she asked in exasperation.

Draco flicked his eyes up to meet hers then, leaning forward. “It isn’t any of your bloody business what I do with my life. Just because we—” He broke off and glanced at Fred from the corner of his eye. “It doesn’t give you the right to meddle in my affairs, woman.”

“Meddle in your affairs? Damn it, I’m just trying to help you, you stupid prat!”

“I never asked for your fecking help in the first place, so keep your little freckled nose out of it.”

“Go to hell!” Ginny shouted, standing up to glower at him. Draco stood up, too, and she had to tilt her head up as he bent down to look her in the eye. He felt a little dizzy standing there, as if all of his anger had drained into a very pointed part of his anatomy. And it was pointing at her.

“I’ll see you there,” he whispered before turning around and walking up the stairs to his room.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry woke to a persistent tapping somewhere in the room. He lifted his head and looked around, straining to suss out what exactly was making the sound. Eventually, he glanced up at the window and saw that it was Pigwidgeon, fluttering in a fluffy grey mass outside of the inn.

He groaned and sat up, sliding out from under the quilt and away from the warmth of Hermione’s wool-covered backside. Opening the window brought in a blast of cold air that hit Harry directly in the privates. He shivered and closed it up as soon as the owl was inside. Hermione stirred on the bed.

“Harry?” she asked sleepily. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, love,” he murmured while attempting to catch the wretched bird. “It’s just an owl post.”

“Oh,” she said, turning over to face him. “Well, what’s it say?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I catch this stupid owl.”

“Pig? I hope it’s not from Ron.”

Harry finally grabbed the little owl, who was hooting happily against his fingers, and detached the note on his leg. He unrolled it and read carefully, tilting his head to the side in puzzlement.

“Who’s it from?” Hermione asked.

“It’s from Fred. He says that we need to come back to the Burrow as soon as possible. There’s been some sort of— well, he doesn’t really explain, but it seems urgent.”

Hermione sighed and sat up, swinging her feet over the side of the bed. “I suppose there’s no help for it then. We were going to go back anyway.”

Harry shrugged and searched around for his trousers, slipping them on. He couldn’t find either his boxers or his belt. But Hermione’s bra and blouse were dangerously close to the fire, so he snatched them up to keep them from burning and handed them to her. She accepted them and quickly put them on, noticing with apparent distaste that a few buttons were missing.

“Harry,” she said, looking under the sofa. “Have you seen my knickers?”

He thought about it for a moment before smiling sheepishly. “I, uh— I tossed them over there.”

She sat up on her knees and stared at him from the floor. “There?”

“Um, I think they went into the fire. Don’t you remember?”

“No, I was a little distracted at the time.” She blushed a rosy pink and walked over to her trunk, pulling up a section of lid that didn’t have a cat cage on top of it.

Harry smiled and walked to where she was, her bottom stuck in the air as she bent over to root through her clothes. He grasped her hips and pulled her to him, leaning over to kiss her neck. Hermione went still and allowed him to continue for a moment before standing up straight.

“We need to get going, Harry. Whatever it is that’s happening could be important.” She reminded him in a tone that clearly said she was making an effort to be stern.

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her middle. “I wish it could be later. We have a—” He stopped to kiss her neck again. “A lot of catching up to do."

Hermione turned in his embrace and raised an eyebrow. “Catching up? What have we missed?”

Harry grinned wickedly and ran a hand down her back to squeeze her bottom. “This.” He kissed her on the mouth briefly letting his tongue glide over her lips. “And that.”

Hermione recovered after a moment and shook her head. “Harry Potter, you’re an absolute fiend,” she said teasingly. “Besides,” she laughed. “Pig doesn’t need a show.”

He frowned then. “No, I suppose not. It would be odd, wouldn’t it? Having a bird in here while we— you know.”

“But there’s Hedwig, she’s been over here this whole time along with Crookshanks.” Hermione pointed behind her at the box and cage on her trunk and laughed. “Poor animals, we’ve scarred them for life, no doubt.”

Harry covered his face. “I’ll never be able to look Hedwig in the eye again.”

“I don’t think they mind, Harry.”

He shook his head and put on his shoes while Hermione slipped on some new knickers. “I suppose we’ll leave our things here. We will be coming back tonight, right?”

Hermione nodded. “I suppose so. I don’t imagine that we have to be there for very long.”

Harry murmured his agreement. “I don’t think that it’s anything too bad. Probably just Ron and Malfoy got into a fight over Ginny or something.”

“Ginny?”

“Yeah, her and Malfoy— well, they’re a lot more than— whatever they were before.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean— she did it with him?”

“So I’m told. I went to give him the note for Mr. Weasley and his room was a mess. And,” Harry snickered; he couldn’t help himself. “When he answered the door, he was completely starkers and started calling me ‘Ginny’.”

A shocked look passed over Hermione’s face before she gave in to helpless giggles. “He was naked?”

“Yeah, it was horrible. He could probably beat Professor Lupin in an ‘overall hairiness’ contest.”

“Oh, my.” She patted him on the shoulder, still tittering. “Poor Harry. At least you didn’t walk in on them.”

Harry shuddered. “I think I would’ve had to Obliviate myself if that ever happened.”

“Those two are like oil and water, heaven knows why they came together like that.” Hermione said, and then paused for a moment before adding: “Maybe Ginny will have some potion, I’ll have to ask her about it.”

“Potion?” Harry crinkled his brow, hopelessly confused.

“Yes, you know that potion? The one to keep me from getting—”

“Oh.” Harry cut her off, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. “Right, I’d uh, I’d forgotten about that.”

Hermione shook her head. “Honestly Harry, if your head wasn’t attached, you’d forget that, too! You should know better.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry blushed, ducking his head.

“That’s all right, dear,” she said reassuringly, patting his cheek. “That’s why you have me. I’m the brains in this relationship; you get to be the hero.”

*~*~*~*~*

Ginny watched Draco stomp his way up the stairs. He was acting like a child. Then again, his father had just died, not much more than an hour ago.

But she couldn’t think about him right now, despite the warmth flooding through her system, despite wanting to run up those stairs and tear his trousers off. She had her family to worry about.

Well, what was left of it anyway.

Her eyes travelled over to Percy, still composed and peaceful in their mother’s arms. Other than Ginny, Fred seemed to be the only one able to pull himself away long enough to do something useful.

Ginny sighed and sat back down, feeling distinctly uneasy about everything. Ron was still standing in the same place he had been before, his features sprayed with blood and never changing much except when he muttered an odd phrase here and there that she couldn’t make out. Would he ever recover from this? He had just murdered two people with his bare hands. Yes, they were evil, one barely even human. But it was two lives silenced forever, with a knife wielded by her brother.

Her brother.

Her brothers.

They had always protected her; kept her safe from harm. But to go this far? Ron had killed Voldemort, he had done this even though he had never been able to say the man’s name before. That strength, that anger, where had it come from? And Draco’s father, why had he killed him? It would have been just as simple to bash him in the head with something heavy. But she knew that if it had been her with the knife, she would have used it, too.

Ginny was spared from any more contemplation by the arrival of the Aurors. They came in as if fully expecting to walk straight into a war zone, wands at the ready. Their leader held his wand up and directed them to split into groups to search the house while a small band would stay with him.

“There’s a Death Eater in my room,” Ginny said, standing up to walk over to the man. He grunted and waved at the Aurors waiting to go upstairs. “My room is on the third floor, and Draco’s up on the second landing, but he‘s not one of them.”

The Aurors all left after hearing this bit of information, except for the five or six remaining in the kitchen with the older man.

Ginny studied him for a moment, wondering who he was and how he had managed to get such a large group together so quickly.

“So you live here, I assume?” he asked gruffly, soaking up everything in the room with a sweeping glance.

Ginny nodded. “Yes.”

“Could you tell me what happened?”

She nodded again. “We were attacked earlier by a group of Death Eaters. Then—” She almost said Voldemort, but restrained herself at the last moment, remembering that not everyone could bear to hear his name. “Then You-Know-Who arrived and wanted to know where Harry was. He started talking to my brother Ron, since he’s a friend of Harry, and then—” Ginny broke off. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t put Ron in Azkaban? Not for killing Voldemort, but for killing Lucius.

“Go on, girl,” the man prompted her impatiently.

“W-well, my brother Fred distracted everyone by throwing a— I’m not sure exactly what it was, but there was smoke everywhere and then Ron stabbed You-Know-Who with a knife before the Death Eaters could see him do it, and now You-Know-Who’s dead.” Ginny pointed over to Voldemort’s corpse, frozen in the act of clawing the air. “He’s just there.”

The man nodded, rubbing his generous chin. It was as if this sort of thing happened to him everyday and it grated Ginny just a little. “And the others? What killed them?”

Fred came up then and stood behind Ginny, hands on her shoulders. She relaxed visibly and managed to speak. “Lucius Malfoy killed our brother Percy with the killing curse and then— Ron killed him.”

The old Auror’s eyes travelled slowly from Voldemort, to Percy, to the cloth covered Lucius, and finally to Ron, who still hadn’t moved. The hardness in his gaze softened a little and he turned back to Ginny. “Your brother is very brave to have done what he did. I only hope that it doesn’t destroy him.”

Ginny sighed in relief. “You mean he won’t go to Azkaban?”

The man laughed softly, breaking the pretence he wore with a shake of his head. “Azkaban? Merlin‘s beard, whatever gave you that idea?”

“Because, well—” She twisted her hands in her nightdress, realising for the first time that it was all she was wearing. Ginny flushed for both her attire and for the fact that she had actually believed Ron would be imprisoned for killing a Death Eater. “It was foolish of me to think that, wasn’t it?”

“My girl, your brother could murder everyone in this room and I still doubt anyone would send him to Azkaban for it; not after what he‘s done for us all.”

Ginny nodded, still wringing her hands. “Thank you for that, sir. May I be excused from the rest of your questions? I‘m very tired and my brother Fred is here. I‘m sure he wouldn‘t mind answering for me.”

Fred clapped her on the back a few times as the man waved her off. “Of course, I’ll send one of my men up with you.”

“No, that’s all right. I’m sure that they’ve found anyone who may be hiding by now.”

The old Auror shrugged and she escaped the kitchen, passing the Aurors coming from downstairs. Two of them were dragging the Death Eater who had been in her room between them. The others all gave a friendly nod, and one of them said: “All’s safe for you up there, no need to worry.”

Ginny mumbled a thank you and walked slowly up the stairs. As she was passing the second landing though, a hand shot out and grabbed her arm, pulling her into the darkened corridor. She was about to scream but her mouth was covered by another‘s, drawing away her breath. Ginny beat her fists against the person’s chest, twisting in their embrace. They broke away from her mouth, but still held her tight.

“What took you so long?” Draco whispered harshly into her ear.

She didn’t relax much, but was still relieved that it was only him and not a Death Eater. “You scared me to death.”

In the dark, Ginny could see the twin corners of his lips lifting in a smirk. It wasn’t nice, barely even human.

“There are other ways to die, you know.”

Before she could protest, he had her pinned against the wall, reaching his hand down to tug at her nightdress. Ginny realised that she needed this as much as he did; the feel of flesh to warm her, to remind her that she was still among the living.

Draco lifted her by the waist and pushed his hips between her thighs, already rock hard. He buried his face in her neck as she reached down to unbutton his trousers and push them off his hips. Neither of them had bothered to dress properly after their last encounter, so there were no impediments as he shoved up into her.

Ginny gasped, bringing her hands up to support herself against the wall. Her eyes closed as Draco thrust into her roughly, his pelvis slamming against her own with force enough to knock the breath out of her body. It felt as if there were a million ants crawling over her nerves, finding that wound within her that would never heal.

He was making small sounds, words that she didn’t understand grunted into her ear that soon became more audible.

“The French call the moment of climax Le petit mort.” Draco groaned as she milked him with all the strength she had left. “But I’ve had enough of death today. We’ll have to name it something else.”

Ginny moaned, her head going back to expose her throat, and her fingers dug at the plaster of the wall. Her hands bled, but the wall held firm. She didn’t know what was real anymore, but it didn’t matter.

It felt so good to be alive.

Reviewing is good for the soul. Especially when it's constructive reviews. I take everything my reviewers say into consideration, so just remember that. This is also the point where I guilt trip you into saying something to let me know what you thought of this chapter. It doesn't have to be good. Heck, I'd rather hear your issues with the story/chapter rather than hear 'that wuz grate' one more time. *shrugs*

Cheers,

Sing

18. Back to school

Title: An Ideal Death Eater
Authour: Sing to Angels
Authour's Notes: I'd like to thank Claire and Alexis both for their time and effort. If it wasn't for them, AIDE wouldn't be here and it certainly would have many more mistakes in it. :) Also, I've been going through reviews and I just thought I would respond to a few concerns.

Some of you think that the characters are being stupid. Well, I agree! They are doing stupid things. But hey, think of it this way: they're teenagers. How many of us did stupid things and make bad decisions or lack control when we were their ages? *some of you still are their age, I'm sure, so you should know* All I'm saying is don't get angry at me and say my writing sucks because I have the characters act like teenagers. If you want to say that my writing sucks, give me a better reason than that because I'm always willing to listen and am actually quite eager for constructive criticism.

I'm glad that you all find it amusing that Draco is hairy. I think it's quite interesting myself. *smirks evilly*

Some of you understood the psychology behind Draco and Ginny letting loose in the hallway, and some of you didn't. It's understandble since we aren't all psychology majors *myself included*. Hey, just look at them for a moment. You've just narrowly avoided death, what are you going to do? Go to Disney Land? Nooooo. They were highly charged and emotional at the moment, so I don't think that they gave a rat's arse about being caught just then. It was an affirmation of life. As in: we're still alive after Voldemort broke in and started screwing things up! Woot! As for Harry and Hermione... they were rather spontanious as well. So I don't think it would have been plausible for Harry to run out in the snow with his pecker hanging out to look for somewhere to buy condoms while Hermione waited on the sofa. Would you?

Psyche752 made a comment about the innkeep being surprised to see a young couple on Christmas morning and wanting a room, and how this could possibly corrolate to Harry's messiah complex. I laughed my arse off over that one because it hadn't at all occured to me! I'm quite dense, you see. Alexis was a bit abashed though when I told her because she hadn't picked up on it either. We both had a good laugh over that one. So thanks.

Let's see *looks at reviews* Ah, Colin. No, he wasn't just a ploy to get Draco and Ginny interacting. He actually develops quite a bit in this story. In this chapter, you see a ittle bittle tiny bit of his development. But you'll all see more of him, don't worry your pretty heads.

Ennui - Yes, I went to chef school so I'm aware of that *clears throat* that thing with the carbon and the reasons behind it. heh. *wink*

Tegan - Thanks for all the lovely, book-length reviews. I've been paying my karmic debt by reviewing JOTH and Plaything *link at the bottom* in the same way you do for me. And it's an interesting idea about Draco's fighting skills, but I have something else in mind. heh.

flucias - I write musically? Cool! I quite like leaping. :D

Anise - I suggest that everyone read your work. It's quite an interesting story and we're finally getting to the uber-nifty *no that isn't a word* parts! Thanks for your long review, after I post this, I plan on reviewing JOTH 15 *everyone go and read it immediately!*. And you're right, I do like to use misdirection. However, sometimes I like to be obvious as well just for the hell of it. But being able to discern when I'm being obvious and when I'm being sneaky... ah! You never know until I get there. And I simply have to quote something from your last review here: Everyone wants to give him (Draco) more complexity than he's gotten in canon so far. But it usually tends to boil down to either a.) he dissolves into gooey fluffiness, skipping and singing and followed by bunnies and puppies or b.) he's the evil rapist/murderer/Satan incarnate heh. I so agree. I just like to make him human. There aren't enough human!Draco fics out there these days. Thanks for being a fellow non-fluff!Draco writer, Cathy. :D About the only fluff that this story will see is with Harry/Hermione, and even they have serious issues they need to work out. I'm 99% anti-fluff.

To everyone else, I thank you heartily for the reviews and keep them coming because I always want to know what you all think and it just may be you who influences a chapter of AIDE or makes me rethink a character's fate.

Right, I think that I've wittered on enough, and I know that I've managed somehow to offend half of you. And some of you are dying to know what happened to Ron while the rest of you just wish that he would die. Well, you're all about to find out. Have fun reading!

What care I for fortune or fame?
They never mattered a lot.
I don’t have a right to complain,
As long as I’ve got what I’ve got.
~ Dorothy Dandridge

Draco stared out the window, bored stiff.

It had been a week since his father’s death and he was due back at school soon. Lucius’ funeral had been the day before, and the Ministry was still in the process of ‘cleansing’ Malfoy Manor. Draco smothered a laugh, thinking of the hidden torture chamber and how many items and books on the Dark Arts they were carting away. His father was likely rolling in his grave at the thought that Malfoy Manor had been raided again.

The Ministry had been very interested to hear Draco singing like a bird as his mother watched him with her stony gaze. He didn’t know much about his father’s personal affairs, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out the man’s password to the vault under the drawing room floor: Morsmordre.

And Lucius thought he wasn’t paying attention at all those Death Eater meetings.

The Aurors were having a blast, to be sure; digging through Malfoy possessions like greedy scavengers. But Draco had managed to save a few books from the fire.

His father’s journals.

Draco hadn’t had a chance to thoroughly read them yet, but just by skimming the pages, he knew that they were his only chance to understand what was happening to him.

The solicitor cleared his throat then, pulling Draco away from his thoughts. Father had proved his characteristic arrogance even in death when they realised he had never written a will.

Perhaps that was a good thing.

“The estate hearing for Rosier Lucius Malfoy will now commence.” The elderly man boomed out importantly, even though there were only two people in the room to hear him.

Draco watched his mother stiffen at mention of his father’s name while Draco himself remained unperturbed. He just wanted to go back to sleep; intelligent people weren‘t awake at ten o’ clock in the morning.

“Since no will was written by the deceased, Benderblott’s Intestacy Rules dictate the Ministry’s distribution of the Malfoy Estate as follows.” The solicitor cleared his throat once more and Draco groaned, wondering if he’d ever be able to leave at the rate the man was going. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know that Lucius didn’t write a will.

“To Narcissa Adele Emeric Malfoy, the sum of one hundred and twenty-five thousand Galleons and her personal effects, plus one hundred and eighty-seven thousand, five hundred Galleons, eight Sickles, and fourteen Knuts to be put into trust from which she may draw interest. Upon her death, said trust will be inherited by her son, Emeric Draco Malfoy.”

Draco could see the muscles along his mother’s jaw twitching, but he said nothing. He knew that it made her furious to hear that her son would benefit from her death. He almost smiled.

“And to Emeric Draco Malfoy, in addition to Mond-Beleuchtetes Wasserhaus in Chalfont St. Giles, the sum of one hundred and eighty-seven thousand, five hundred Galleons, eight Sickles, and fourteen Knuts.”

Oh wasn’t it a joy, he’d get that rotten manor house out in the middle of bloody nowhere. He’d have to change the name now; Mond-Beleuchtetes Wasserhaus was far too German sounding for his tastes. And his family wasn’t even from Germany. Hadn’t the Muggle royalty changed their name from Hanover to the more British ‘Windsor’ during some war? He’d never been one for Muggle Studies; even it was a required course. Besides, Draco preferred the simpler ‘Malfoy Manor’. At least he wasn’t poor though, and he didn’t have to wait for his money either since he’d turned seventeen in November.

Two weeks before, he’d fallen from his broom and crashed through the roof of the Weasley home. Had he really only been there a week? It seemed as if he’d been there forever. Not that the experience was completely unpleasant, but Draco was glad to be gone from there and back in the world where he belonged.

The solicitor droned on and on about stupid things, the important bit was over already and Draco blotted the man’s voice out until it was necessary for him to sign the appropriate documents. Which he did.

Draco stood and reached into his pocket for a cigarette, enclosed in the silver case he’d bought for himself. His mother gave him a dirty look as they left the solicitor’s office, but he couldn’t care less.

When he had finally come home to the manor, telling her the news of his father’s death and bringing with him scores upon scores of Aurors, she had slapped him across the face for the first time in his life and pronounced him no longer worthy to be her son.

Well, there went those lovely packages of sweets he was used to getting that kept him through the school year. She still stayed with him though; in the hotel suite he’d rented for them in Vertices Alley. The woman was full of contradictions.

Things weren’t the same between them now. Before she would always ask after his welfare, make sure that he had enough warm cloaks for school, and dutifully sent him little presents during the year. Draco knew that it was loneliness more than anything that had prompted her to do this. Affection wasn’t in her vocabulary. She had wanted her son close, because she had wanted someone to talk to and sympathise with her many ‘illnesses’.

Now she wouldn’t even speak to him.

That was fine with Draco. He didn’t know whether he would be able to fake concern for her sicknesses anyway, he was more worried about himself. Now that he thought about it though, it was a blessing in disguise that of all the roofs he’d tumbled through, he had tumbled through the Weasleys’. If he wasn’t there to see his father die, if he hadn’t been vouched for by Mr. Weasley, he could very well have looked forward to being ‘imprisoned pending investigation’ by the Ministry for all the illegal Dark Arts materials at Malfoy Manor. As it was, Draco professed his willingness to ‘help’ and everything had gone smooth as cream; they even allowed his mother to stay out of prison.

The famous Malfoy-Weasley feud had gone on for a century at least, so when Arthur Weasley stepped forward to defend a Malfoy, the Ministry couldn’t do anything but listen. The man had even told Draco once again how proud he was of his ‘bravery’ and that he was always welcome at the Burrow. Draco stifled a derisive laugh; Mr. Weasley wouldn’t have said that if he’d any idea that his precious daughter was getting banged on the second landing while Aurors carted Death Eaters out of the kitchen.

In the end, everything worked out to Mr. Weasley’s advantage. He was still officially on leave due to Percy’s death, but when he returned to work, it would be to a larger office and a better job. All thanks to the fact that his runty little son was good with a knife and Arthur himself seemed to be very ‘diplomatic’ with hostile people.

Draco narrowed his eyes as he crossed the street with his mother and led the way to a small, quiet pub for them to have brunch. He almost smiled at the look of haughty disgust on his mother’s face when she realised that they would be eating there. There was a time when he would have mirrored her expression, but those days had passed. The pub was clean and there were very few patrons, so it suited his needs. Plus he wanted to eat something of substance instead of the delicate foods available on the hotel’s menu.

He found a small booth for them to sit in and scanned the menu, ignoring his mother’s glare. If she wouldn’t speak, that was fine, he would order then.

“Two pork and cider pies,” Draco told the menu. “And two pints of butterbeer.”

At this last, Narcissa actually flinched and Draco had to fight a grin. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you wish to order, Mother?”

Still she said nothing, turning her head away so that she didn’t have to see their plates and cups pop up from the table. Narcissa’s silver eyes squeezed shut, her face pinched and wounded. Draco picked up his fork and sighed, jabbing first at the cover of his pie and then at his mashed potatoes. He really was hungry, but at the same time—

“Don’t play with your food,” Narcissa snapped suddenly, pulling out a scented handkerchief to hold over her nose.

Draco lifted his head. “Oh, you’re talking now I see.”

Her eyes were cold over the cloth she held to her face and she whispered from behind it harshly. “Why did you bring me here? This place is as common as a goblin and I refuse to eat a bite of—” She pointed a thin finger at the pie as if it were a pile of dung. “That whatever it is.”

“It’s called a pie, Mother. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? If not, you really need to get out of the Manor more often.” Draco lifted his fork and took a very deliberate bite, watching her the entire time. It was a good pie, but he’d tasted much better. The way it tasted only mattered so much though; he wasn’t about to let the woman ruin his appetite now that he had one again.

Narcissa flickered her eyes between the pie and his face before settling for somewhere on the table. Her eyelids drooped a little and her skin paled even further if it were possible. Draco rolled his eyes. He was honestly curious about how she managed to make herself look that sick in the space of a minute.

“Oh Draco, what did they do to you? You act as if— as if you’re no longer proud of your heritage.”

“I’m proud, Mother; believe me I’m proud,” Draco whispered harshly. “But I’m not stupid. After what Father did— do you really think our name hasn’t been tarnished enough? It was bad before, but people were forgetting; they didn’t remember anymore why they cursed our name. They didn’t remember the hundreds of witches and wizards we sent screaming into their graves centuries ago.”

He paused for a moment when he realised that he was losing control and his voice had risen to where anyone in the pub could have easily heard him speaking. Draco sucked in a breath and reined his anger before continuing on in a more neutral tone.

“But now they know why they hate us so much, Mother. Everywhere I go they pull their children close and mutter protective charms under their breath. I don’t mind the awe or the fear, but it’s bloody annoying when they throw things through the fecking windows while I‘m sleeping.”

“Don’t speak to me—”

“I’ll speak to you however I please, now that you’re actually talking back instead of ignoring me.” Draco put his palms flat on the table and leaned forward. “What did he make you do, Mother? Go on, you can tell me. Did he pass you around to his friends? Or did he save the lady of the manor for his master alone?”

There was a resounding crack as Narcissa’s hand struck his face for the second time in his life. “How dare you! You have no pride, you are not loyal, you don’t even bleed the same colour as I do anymore,” she whispered loudly despite the stares from the pub’s patrons. “You aren’t my son at all. You’re acting like Luc—” She stopped and was silent for a moment, her breathing laboured.

Draco turned his head back and gazed at her, his eyes burning with fury. People had always said that he resembled his father, that he was an exact replica in fact. But seeing his mother now, her face fierce and sharp angled with quiet rage, he didn’t know how anyone could possibly say that. A feminised mirror image silently battled with him until one finally relented. Narcissa shrank back across the table, but not fast enough to avoid Draco’s hand as it snaked out to grab her arm, his knuckles whitening with the strength of his grip.

“Be careful, Mother,” Draco hissed. “Or I’ll toss you out on your arse quicker than you can blink.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” she replied in all confidence.

He lifted one corner of his mouth in a sneer. “I can do much more than dare now that I’m the master of Malfoy Manor.” Draco relaxed his face into something more closely resembling a smile, releasing her arm. “Now do eat up, Mother. After all, you need your strength if you’re going to walk back to the hotel.”

*~*~*~*~*

Harry sighed as he looked out of a window in the Gryffindor common room. He and Hermione had been there a week already and school wasn’t due to start until after the weekend was over.

It had been nice with just Hermione and the odd Gryffindor around. There were only three other people who had stayed over the holidays and they were all much younger, so they gave a wide berth to their elders.

Hermione slept in his bed since there were no other seventh year boys around to comment on it, and no seventh year girls, for that matter. It had been a wild celebration all over the school since they had gotten back and Harry was more than just a little sick of it. He had even seen Professor Flitwick dancing about in the halls like a child, shooting multi-coloured sparks from his wand into the air. One thing that bothered him, though, was his visit to Dumbledore the day they came back to Hogwarts.

Harry thought he saw something kindle the man’s eyes for a moment before it was promptly squashed back down and he had told Harry and Hermione to go back to Gryffindor tower and rest. Hermione said that she hadn’t noticed, but the possibility that he might have disappointed Dumbledore with his rash actions haunted Harry almost as much as his last conversation with Mr. Weasley.

He stood up from the window ledge and sat on the sofa, gazing into the grate as he allowed the memories of that day to wash over him. The day he and Hermione had returned from Ottery St. Catchpole to find the Burrow in a frenzy of activity. Aurors were everywhere, surrounding the house and stomping their way through the garden. If it hadn’t have been for the scar on his forehead, they wouldn’t have even let them onto the property.

The kitchen was a disaster area. Death Eaters were being petrified and floated into one corner to be tied together. And then he saw the bodies.

The first one was Percy, laid out on the kitchen table. The black robes he wore didn’t really startle Harry so much as his expression. It was peaceful and soft, more relaxed in death than he had ever seen him in life. Hermione gasped and clutched tightly onto Harry’s arm, burying her face in his shoulder.

Further into the room, one of the Aurors was levitating another body, covered in the bright floral chintz that Harry recognised as the kitchen tablecloth. He didn’t have a clue who it was, but from the dark robes billowing out the bottom, he had a feeling that it was someone who deserved it.

Beyond this was a small circle of people gathered around another body. Mr. Weasley turned around from where he was standing in the circle and looked at Harry, beckoning him closer with a relieved expression on his face. Harry dropped Hermione’s hand and shuffled forward, almost afraid to look, afraid that he would see red hair again. But no, it was another black robed figure, his body thin and twisted, blood congealed on the floor underneath him.

Harry recognised Voldemort immediately.

The corpse looked dry and the skin cracked in places like an old leather book someone had forgotten to oil. From under the slanted eyelids, Harry could see a glimpse of red.

“W-who—” Harry swallowed, taking a deep breath and looking around for Hermione. Mr. Weasley patted him on the shoulder to get his attention, pointing over to where Ron was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his dead brother.

“Ron did this? He killed—” Harry had felt sick then, barely able to keep from throwing up his guilt for all to see. Hermione had come over finally and was gripping his arm, staring mutely at Lord Voldemort’s mortal remains.

Mr. Weasley nodded, wiping his face with the hem of his sleeve. “We were quite worried about you, Harry. But I’m glad to see that you’re all right now.” He glanced up and studied Harry shrewdly for a moment before gazing fixedly at some point on the wall. “Why did you leave?”

“I . . .” Harry trailed off, unable to say that it had all been because of something so stupid and trivial as a fight.

Mr. Weasley turned and was staring hard at him now, his eyes not exactly sympathetic. “You were under my care for the holidays, you and Hermione both. You had no right to leave without telling us. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could have found you wandering out in the snow. You would be dead and it would be my fault.”

“I left you a note, sir,” Harry mumbled.

“A note?” He asked incredulously. Mr. Weasley’s face was flushed and irritated looking. “You left us a note? You couldn’t even come and tell us to our faces that you were leaving; taking Hermione with you and risking her life, too?”

It had struck Harry then just how stupid he had been. Instead of keeping Hermione safe, she could have been in even more danger than before. Mr. Weasley wasn’t looking at them now; he was staring at Ron.

“I’m sending you both back to Hogwarts. Maybe Dumbledore will be able to convince you of the seriousness of what you’ve done. I’m very disappointed in you, Harry. This lack of respect on your part is something I won’t tolerate. I can’t accept responsibility for your welfare when you deliberately put yourself in harm’s way. And—” The man dropped his gaze to the floor, tightening his lips. “And you’re no longer welcome here; at least not for a while. Perhaps in a few months when you’ve learnt some respect and you can show me that you really are the Harry I knew, then we’ll see.”

Mr. Weasley still wouldn’t look at him. Harry felt a tear slip down his cheek and Hermione was riveted to his side, frozen in horror. This man had been a father to him, and his wife a mother. And now they were rejecting him all because of one stupid mistake.

“Harry? Harry,” Hermione said into his ear.

Harry looked around and he realised that he was still staring at the fire, which had banked down to embers. He was in the common room, and Hermione was here. He looked up to see her twining her fingers through the gold chain around her neck; playing with the amber heart he’d finally given her a few days after Christmas. He had known that the tiny insect trapped inside would appeal to her scientific nature while the warm amber represented her heart, as silly as it sounded. And she was showing that to him now. It was in her eyes, her concern for him and her love. Hermione would always be here to wrap him like that insect with her tenderness and heat and—

“Harry, are you all right?”

He sighed and shook his head to clear it of the images of Voldemort and Mr. Weasley that flooded back with her words. “I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

Hermione sat down beside him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “You were thinking about Christmas again, weren’t you?”

She never referred to it as ‘the day Voldemort died’ or ‘the day the Weasleys kicked him out of their family’, it was always just ‘Christmas’. Harry nodded, reaching over to hold her hand.

It all felt so horribly wrong. He was supposed to kill Voldemort, he was supposed to risk his life for everyone else, and it was what he had prepared himself for for years. Harry squeezed Hermione’s hand a little tighter, not realising that he was hurting her until she gasped.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, dropping her hand. “I’m sorry for all of this. Ron shouldn’t have had to kill Voldemort. I should have been there.”

Hermione sighed and reached up to pull his cheek down to lie on the top of her head. Her fingers were warm on his scalp and he almost moaned at the pleasure of that one simple act.

“There isn’t anything you can do now. Ron killed him and he’ll never bother us again. So what if it wasn’t you? You weren’t born just to kill Voldemort; you’ve other purposes in life I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed unexpectedly, and Hermione glanced up at the bitter sound. “But I’m supposed to be the hero, remember?”

Hermione sat up straight and pulled away. Harry felt cold inside again at her withdrawal. “Is that what bothers you so much? That Ron is being praised and petted when you aren’t?”

Harry shook his head, frustrated with himself. “No, that isn’t it. Ron deserves all of that, and he earned it. I just— it’s as if I don’t know what to do with my life now, Hermione. Voldemort is gone and I concentrated on him for so long— I never actually expected to live past a certain age, so now I have to figure out what to do now that my life expectancy has gone up.”

“So you’re angry because you’re still alive?” Hermione clucked her tongue. “Honestly, Harry. You were going to be an Auror weren’t you? I mean, we’ve both been accepted and it seems silly for you to change your mind now.”

“I’m not changing my mind, I just don’t see the point in it. Voldemort’s dead and almost all of the Death Eaters have been rounded up, so what’s left to fight? Why be an Auror when there’s nothing to do?”

Hermione sighed and plucked at his sleeve absently. “Harry, there will always be evil to fight somewhere. Voldemort wasn’t the only evil thing on earth. There are dark wizards everywhere who aren’t even connected to him, and innocent people out there need protection from them. Protection only you can give.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but still felt a bit sceptical. He also felt more than a little foolish and Hermione had spoken to him in a tone one might use with a child who was being unreasonable. That in particular annoyed him to no end. She was right, of course, and he knew it. But that didn’t mean he had to give up the small voice of immaturity he’d managed to hold onto just yet. He was only seventeen and he had a right to it, after all.

“I still don’t know. Maybe I should give the whole thing up and do something else. There’s still that letter from the Wimbourne Wasps. I could be a Quidditch star.”

She penetrated him with a piercing stare from under her eyebrows. “Harry, you get flustered when someone recognises you now. Can you imagine how it would be if you were a Quidditch star? You’d have people mobbing you worse than they do already. And,” Hermione added almost to herself. “Girls would start popping out of closets and such. It would be dreadful.”

He blinked at her for a moment before laughing and pulling her close. “You’re jealous of some imaginary girls, aren’t you?”

Hermione blushed, smiling a little. “I suppose that’s silly, isn’t it?”

“Very silly,” Harry agreed, more cheered now than he had been in a while. “So what has you awake so early in the morning?”

Hermione glanced at the clock and her mouth dropped open. “It’s almost ten o’ clock! Why did you let me sleep so late?”

“You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, closing her mouth. “Well, I actually came down to see if you had any Flobberworms. I’m out.”

“Did you check my potions kit?”

“Yes.”

Harry frowned. “Then why are you asking me for Flobberworms if you’ve already looked. It isn’t as if I keep them in my pocket.”

Hermione sighed and picked at his sleeve again. “Just thought I would ask,” she mumbled, glancing up at him surreptitiously from under her eyelashes.

“You want me to go down to Hagrid’s cabin, in the snow, and get them for you.” Harry guessed.

She smiled. “You know me too well.”

Harry raised his eyebrows and she grinned. “Please? You’re already dressed and everything.”

Mumbling to himself, Harry stood up and looked around for his overshoes. “I suppose it wouldn’t kill me. What do you need them for anyway?”

Hermione laughed. “I need them for the potion, you know which one I mean.”

“Oh,” Harry said, cottoning on. “That really is necessary. You don’t have anymore of the one Ginny gave you?”

“No, I ran out yesterday. But she gave me the formula, so I don’t have to worry about hunting it down.”

Harry nodded. “Well, give me a kiss at least before you send me out to catch my death of cold.”

She stood up and smacked him soundly on the lips, wrapping him up in a heavy wool cloak. “Don’t be long, love. This is our last day before everyone comes back to school and the house is full again.”

“I know. After tomorrow you have to go back to your room. I’ll miss you terribly then.”

“I’ll still be here, Harry. I just won’t be able to sleep in your bed anymore.”

Harry nodded grumpily and gave her another kiss before walking out the portrait hole.

“Stupid rules,” he rumbled to himself. “This year’ll take forever to end.”

Still bemoaning the unfairness of it all, Harry stomped through the snow down to Hagrid’s cabin. There was smoke curling from the chimney and he would be grateful to get inside and out of the cold. He knocked on the thick oak door and stamped his feet to keep them from freezing while he waited for Hagrid to open it.

When the door creaked and Hagrid appeared, Harry frowned. “What’s wrong, Hagrid? Are you sick?”

Hagrid’s face was an unhealthy shade of grey and his beard was more unkempt than usual and quite greasy looking. It appeared that he hadn’t left his cabin or done anything with himself for at least a week or more.

“Hullo, Harry. I’m jus’ a bit under the weather. Did yeh need summat?”

“Hermione sent me down for some Flobberworms, she’s out,” Harry said slowly, thinking it peculiar that Hagrid hadn’t invited him in for tea by now.

Hagrid nodded and closed the door, returning after a moment with a box of frozen Flobberworms in his hand. He gave them to Harry. “If I’m no’ here, yeh can alwas dig up the back trench fer more. Sorry I can’ let yeh in ter chat an all, I migh’ be catchin’. Don’ want yeh sick.”

“I understand. Have you been to see Madame Pomfrey? I’m sure she has something for whatever it is you have.”

Hagrid shook his head. “I’ll be righ’ as rain soon enuff. But uh—” He glanced around as if looking for someone before continuing. “If anythin’ happens ter me, take care o’ Fang fer me, will yeh?”

“If anything— Hagrid, are you sure you’re all right? I think I should take you to the Infirmary and let Madame Pomfrey have a look. You don’t sound good.”

Hagrid shook his head again, not budging an inch on the matter. “Don’ worry abou’ me. Jus’ remember what I said, Harry.”

And the door was closed in his face.

Harry stood there for a moment, blinking away the harsh glare from the sunlight on the snow reflected against the thick shiny door of Hagrid’s cabin. Something was very wrong. The feeling that had all but disappeared with Voldemort’s death started creeping up again. Maybe Hermione was right, there was still something left to fight.

*~*~*~*~*

Ron smiled broadly and leaned back against the cushy seat in his own private compartment on the Hogwarts Express. At least it was supposed to be private, but somehow, several very pretty girls had managed to find him anyway. And there they were, clustered around him like a garden of flowers and chattering away animatedly.

“So you really did it? Kill him, I mean,” one of them asked, her curly black hair glistening in the sunlight pouring through the window.

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah, I cracked him good. Voldemort was just a scared little baby.”

The girls all gasped and leaned closer. “Oh you said His name, how dreadful!” One of them whispered in his ear.

“You’re so brave,” another girl sighed.

“He wasn’t a big deal, I think. He looked like a skeleton and sounded like a pennywhistle.” Ron waved his hand as if dismissing the whole affair.

They all giggled, leaning closer. Ron was quickly running out of room. If they didn’t back up, his lap would be full of women. Not that he seemed to mind.

He grinned and held up his hands to back them off. “Easy now, I won’t be able to breathe in a minute!”

“We’re so sorry, Ronny! Come on now, behave yourself,” a blonde girl with bright blue eyes said, swatting at some of the other females who were practically on top of him. “Tell us more,” she pleaded, her eyes gleaming like very round, shiny buttons.

Ron looked over her head and winked at Ginny, who was sitting across from him. She snorted and dug into her bag for a book, mumbling to herself. He shrugged and continued with his story.

“Well,” he said, putting his finger to his lips in mock thought. “I held my wand high, like this!”

Ron shot up and brandished his wand for all to see, swishing it dramatically. They all oohed and aahed, clapping their hands with glee as he acted out a false play on the events of Christmas morning before taking his seat again.

“Then I poked him in the eye with my wand and said: ‘Don’t touch my sister!’ Before he could do anything else, I yelled out the killing curse and he went splat against the wall.”

“You saved your sister!” A girl breathed in dramatically, the action pushing her breasts out and closer to Ron’s face, before turning to look at Ginny. “Aren’t you proud of him?”

Ginny lifted one eyebrow but said nothing, not even bothering to lift her head from the book she was reading. This was quickly becoming unbearable. At least Harry had never played to the crowd like this. He always discouraged the silly-headed chippies and arse-lickers that trailed after him like loyal sheep. Ron on the other hand . . .

She looked up then to see that two of the girls actually had climbed into his lap now instead of just threatening to do so. They were cooing in a sickening manner and petting his face and hair while several more were stroking his arms: a regular harem.

Ginny put away her book and came to her feet, picking up her satchel to find another compartment. There was no way she could possibly study in here with that going on.

“Oi! Gin,” Ron yelled out behind her. “Where’re you going?

She didn’t bother answering, but instead pulled the door closed behind her, rattling the glass in its frame. Ginny walked a ways, her head still down until she bumped into someone. She looked up to apologise, but her breath was taken away and she dropped her books to hug the person close.

“Colin!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around his thin chest. “It’s so good to see you.” Her muffled voice sounded against his jumper. She could hear the rumble of laughter as he pulled her tight and gave a sound kiss to the top of her head.

“I’ve missed you, too, you little hag.”

Ginny pulled away and swatted at him playfully before retrieving her books. “Prat.”

“I know. I’m rotten, aren’t I?” He grinned, looking down at her from his lofty height of about five-foot eight. Colin’s wispy brown hair was falling into his eyes and he pushed it back with a casual flick of his fingers.

Ginny put her hands on her hips and pursed her mouth before giving up and breaking into a smile. “I’ve so much to tell you.”

Colin raised his eyebrows. “I’ve heard most of it already, several versions in fact.”

“You won’t have heard the one I’m going to tell you.”

Colin glanced around before pulling Ginny into his own compartment. It had remained mostly empty except for two terrified looking first years.

“Out of here, you lot,” he said, shooing them away. Once the two girls had run out, he sat down and motioned for Ginny to sit beside him. “So tell me what really happened. For some reason, I can’t imagine your brother killing You-Know-Who with a well-aimed piece of toast.”

Ginny giggled. “Hardly. Ron was just telling a gaggle of girls in his compartment how he poked the Dark Lord in the eye and killed him with a flick of his wand.”

Colin laughed, slapping his leg. “That’s a good one.”

“I know, he’s a huge head about it all now. He’s even taken to saying His name.”

Colin whistled. “Wow, I didn’t know he had it in him.”

“I know.” Ginny smirked. “You should hear some of the stories he’s telling everyone.”

“I think I already have. So go on,” Colin said, leaning back against the window to face her, his hands behind his head. “Tell me what really happened.”

“Well, you must make sure that this doesn’t go beyond us. We’re not supposed to tell anyone what really happened as they’re trying to keep it quiet for various reasons. But I know you’ll sit on it.” Ginny inhaled deeply. “On Christmas morning . . .”

So Ginny told him about Christmas day, and how Ron had killed Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about Percy, and she left out obvious details of what had occurred after the Aurors arrived. But Colin lifted his eyebrow and pierced her with a stare.

“I heard that Draco Malfoy stayed at your house over the holidays, but you didn’t mention him at all.”

“Oh, didn’t I?” She flustered, gazing at a point somewhere below Colin’s eyes, which happened to be his nose. “I must have forgotten. He really wasn’t that important to the whole thing anyway.” Ginny smiled weakly.

Colin wouldn’t let it go though and he kept after her about it. “I smell something here,” he said, dropping his arms and leaning forward. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing,” Ginny insisted, her eyes rounded with feigned innocence as she continued to stare at his nose.

“You can’t even look me in the eye, Gin. What have you been up to over the hols?”

Ginny sighed in exasperation and aimed a glare at him. “It’s not as if I’m proud of this, mind, so don’t tell anyone what I’m about to say.”

Colin smirked. “What’d you do, snog him or something?”

Ginny looked him directly in the eye then, not blinking until Colin gasped and sat back, understanding at last that she meant something more than a little kiss.

“You didn’t! With him? Are you mad?”

“Shh,” she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard, even though they were alone. The walls seemed to have ears lately and Ginny was anxious. “Yes, I did.”

“Why though? I mean—”

“I don’t know! He was there and, well, it just seemed like the thing to do.”

“With your mortal enemy? You do remember that he was the one who sold those pictures of you, don’t you? He’s a Malfoy, for ABBA’s sake!”

Ginny wrinkled her brow. “Who?”

“Never mind that. Look.” Colin lifted her chin and gazed into her eyes. “You’re biting off more than you can chew here, Gin-girl. This isn’t like the innocent tumbles we had; he’s dangerous.”

“You think I don’t know that?” she snapped, pulling away. She couldn’t look at him anymore, not when he still had that betrayed look on his face. It wasn’t as if Colin felt something for her other than a very deep friendship, but she knew he was horrified all the same.

“Why did you do it then? And you brewed the potion at least, right? Please tell me that you did because I don’t think I’d be able to handle you getting preg—”

“Yes.” Ginny cut him off by clamping her hand over his mouth. “Of course I did, I’m not stupid.”

Colin was still looking at her. She knew that if he kept it up, she’d spill and it would be over. Sucking in a breath, Ginny told him everything: all the flirting, the thing about Lucius and her brother, Draco’s reaction to that, and the bathroom scene.

“So he attacked you in the bathroom then? I’ll kill—”

“No!” Ginny shook her head in exasperation. It really was a relief to finally tell someone other than Hermione what had been pressing on her mind, but it was difficult to form the words sometimes when even she didn’t know what she’d been thinking. “You don’t understand, Colin. We didn’t do anything more than snog there. We did it later that night in his bedroom. And he didn’t attack me, either, it was more like— well, I jumped on him.”

Colin’s eyes rounded to something close to saucer sized while she continued. “And I don’t know why I did it. I mean, I don’t even like him and I certainly don’t love him.”

Colin seemed to visibly relax then, patting her hand. “It’s one of those then. Don’t worry about it so much. You’ll forget eventually and everything will be right as rain. Too bad you weren’t so aggressive when we were messing around or I might be straight now.” His lips quirked then as he fought a smile. “So how was it?”

“Colin!” Ginny gasped, her mouth hanging open. “How could you ask me that? I don‘t ask you about your sex life, do I?”

“That’s because you told me once that you were fine with me being gay as long as you didn’t have to hear the naughty details of it. I, on the other hand, don’t give a fig and I’m an overly curious bastard.”

“Oh right,” she said, biting her lip in embarrassment.

“So?” he prodded, nudging her leg with his knee.

“All right!” Ginny burst out. “It was good, really good. In fact, I think I’m still bruised.”

“Oooh,” Colin said, perking up a bit. “Like that, eh? I wonder if he’d fancy a frolic with me down by the lake. You know, like father, like—”

Ginny smacked him on the side of the head and stood up, stamping on his foot for good measure. “Don’t you dare start on him! That would be too mean and I wonder why I ever told you anything in the first place.”

Colin was stuck between cradling his head and massaging his foot. “All right, all right. I won’t say anything. I thought you didn’t like him?”

Ginny flounced back on the seat and crossed her arms, staring at Colin’s shoulder. “I don’t,” she said flatly.

“Mmmn hmmn, don’t worry chicken, I believe you.” Colin winked at her outrageously and Ginny couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re impossible.”

“I know.” Colin smiled, laying a finger by his nose and crinkling his eyes. “It’s part of my charm.”
Remember to review! And a big thanks goes out to Jessica for the DJ code. You can all come by to annoy me or read about what's going on in the AIDE world by going to http://deadjournal.com/users/singtoangels or by joining http://groups.yahoo.com/group/stafic where the updates are sooner and the cookies play!

And this story isn't D/G or anything, but I think that it's perverse and fabulous. Check it out. Plaything. It's quite, quite naughty and dark though, so be warned.
Cheers,
Sing

19. Falling

Authour's Notes: Well, I was planning on dropping this since OotP made some of my plot points positively retarded. However, I changed my mind. So AIDE will not be abandoned. That said, I think that you will find a few things later that correspond with OotP very well. However, in chapter 17, it was stated that Narcissa's maiden name is Emeric, but we know from OotP that this is not the case. I believe that I may just keep it as I have written though. And her family situation is revealed a bit more in chapter 17 when Percy talks about it. *laughs* It's actually rather funny because I managed to peg the whole inbreeding thing for purebloods. I'm quite pleased. I don't anticipate too much from OotP filtering in here, but just to keep my options open, I'll say that there may be hints here and there. So now you can consider this story an AU after GoF.

I'd like to thank Claire and Alexis, as usual, for their fabulous work beta reading. I love you girls. And my faithful reviewers, of course. Both Draconia and Tegan have submitted some fanart for chapters 12 and 15. If you'd like to see them, they're in the files section at my yahoogroup.

Just a quick question though before I let you all loose to read. Are most of you planning on reading anymore fics that were started before OotP? Just answer in your reviews so I can know some other people's thoughts on the matter.

On Draco's first day back at Hogwarts, Pansy Parkinson had turned his charming offer of a quick tumble down flat and it had ruined his entire week, especially considering that none of the other females in his house would touch him, either. The little squash-nosed bitch was on the same side as every other Slytherin. At least they hadn't done anything other than hurl insults and leave nasty presents in his bed. Yet.

Draco didn't feel the need to explain his actions to his housemates; after all, self-preservation was certainly a Slytherin trait. For some reason, though, they didn't seem to remember that. Then again, it could have been the fact that half of them now had fathers in Azkaban. The Ministry had even raided the Bulstrode estate in Chalfont-St.-Peter, which was not far from his own home, even though the Bulstrodes had had the remarkable sensibility to not get involved in Voldemort's mess.

So here he was, trudging through the halls with only ten minutes left before curfew. He'd been having difficulty sleeping for ages and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a descent night's rest. A book would have to take the place of sleep and, if he was lucky, a nice boring one would send him straight out.

As he rounded the corner, he saw a familiar redhead walking out of the library with a couple of rolls of parchment in her hand. Draco smirked to himself. If he couldn't sleep anyway, he may as well have some fun.

Draco caught up to her easily as she stepped into a dreary looking corridor, his voice making her freeze.

"Are you up for another go, gosling?" he purred into her ear before stepping back to admire the blush that rose on the nape of her neck.

Ginny didn't turn to face him, but to her credit, she didn't run either. Draco reached up to trail his hands suggestively over the back of her arms. It had been over a week since he'd come back to Hogwarts and he was feeling a more than a little frustrated and . . . peckish for company.

She sucked in a shuddering breath and continued to stare straight ahead. "We can't do this again, Draco. We had fun, but that's all it was."

"Who says I want more than a spot of fun?" Draco asked, leaning down to trail his lips along her neck. "Or maybe, just your fun spot." He could feel the muscles in her arms bunch and tighten, shivers coursing through her body; now to give her the proper motivation.

"Mmmn, you're a hot little tart." Draco stuck his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent. "Oh, an apple tart, it seems. How long have you been steaming away under these robes, Ginny? Just itching for me to give you-"

Ginny abruptly turned to face him, her nose almost squashing into his chest. The graceful blush from a moment ago had darkened to a florid red. "Don't speak to me that way," she ground out, staring him directly in the eye. "I'm not your personal sex slave, and you can't have me whenever you want. In fact-"

Draco pulled Ginny up into a searing kiss, cutting her off and smothering her body with his. When Ginny moaned into his mouth, he almost smiled. He knew she fond of a good snog more than anything else; girls were like that. Her scrolls dropped to the floor unheeded as her hands slipped down to fumble at the clasp of his robes. Draco gave in to his amusement and smirked against her lips.

It was just that easy.

*~*~*~*~*

He didn't think it would ever be possible in a million years, yet it was. He, Ronald Weasley, was getting sick of all the attention. Okay, so the parade down Diagon Alley was nice. And all of the companies that came to ask for his endorsements were wonderful. But frankly he was starting to get annoyed by all the girls. And the staring, that was tough, too.

Every time he had walked into a room for the past two months, the females would freeze and gawp like star-struck fools. All right, so that wasn't too terrible after all, rather nice actually. But when he went to the lav and a girl hopped down from the top of the stall to land on his shoulders, Ron decided then and there that enough was enough.

As quickly as possible, he pulled the girl down and was about to gently send her on her way when he received a well-aimed punch to the jaw, quickly followed by the sound of a chant and a burst of green light.

"What the-" Was all Ron managed before he fell to the ground, stunned by both the blow and the binding curse on his legs. In front of him was a pair of fancy black heels. Ron allowed his eyes to trace their way up the black stocking covered legs and further until he saw a pair of frosty blue eyes above a decidedly pug-like nose. Merlin's teeth! She was tall for a girl.

"Parkinson?" Ron groaned, shaking his head and trying to sit up, even though his legs were bound by magic. His wand had been thrown over near the stall and there was no way he could possibly reach it.

"That's right," she said. Her jaw was clenched and her wand in danger of snapping from her tight grip.

"I suppose you aren't here for a snog then?" He smirked sarcastically at her while rubbing his aching jaw. It probably wasn't the most intelligent thing to say, he reflected later. Pansy's eyes darkened to an even colder shade of blue and she swiftly kicked him in the stomach.

"I hate you," she shrieked. "You can't imagine how much I loathe the very sight of you and your slut of a sister."

Ron's forehead crinkled and he attempted to gather his breath to speak. "Ginny?" he squeaked. "What does she have to do with anything? For that matter, what did I do to you that's so horrible?"

"As if you don't know." Pansy crossed her arms and paced above him, her heels clacking against the tiled floor. "You killed the Dark Lord and my father was arrested with all the others who raided your house on Christmas."

Ron tried to speak but she cut him off with a sharp downward slash of her hand. "I don't want to hear your excuses. It's bad enough that you killed the Dark Lord, but your sister . . ." Pansy trailed off and pulled a small knife out of her robes, testing the edge with her thumb. "Your sister stole my boyfriend."

The gleam in Pansy's eyes did little to ease Ron, and the knife in her hand was making him nervous, bringing back memories of Christmas and Percy and Voldemort. He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on what was just said. "Who's your boyfriend?"

Pansy sniffed and tossed her perfectly coiffed, pale blonde hair. "Draco Malfoy," she said, as if it were flawlessly obvious.

Ron stared at her. He had forgotten all about that bruise on Malfoy's neck when he and Ginny were brought downstairs. Everything had happened so fast that it just didn't occur to him afterwards that- oh God. "Malfoy? Malfoy and my sister?"

The knife in Pansy's hand gleamed as she tilted it in her hand. "Yes, your sister and Draco. They've been at it like mooncalves all over the castle since after hols. You honestly haven't noticed?"

"No." Ron choked, shaking his head to clear the image of Ginny clinging to Malfoy on Christmas morning. Voldemort running his fingers down her cheek and how she cringed, how she held onto Malfoy. "I didn't know anything about this."

Pansy lifted one eyebrow. "Interesting. Everyone must have been too afraid to tell the 'saviour' of the wizarding world about his slag of a sister. You may have killed the Dark Lord, but I, for one, am not afraid of you. You're still a freckled beanpole named Weasley and I don't see how anyone in their right mind could possibly think that you killed the Dark Lord." She idly twirled the knife in her hands, flickering the blade between her slender fingers while she gathered her next thoughts. "It isn't as if I care about Draco; he's a traitor and we all despise him. But this is a matter of pride for both myself and Slytherin." She studied Ron a moment longer before reaching a conclusion. "I'll allow you to live today." Pansy pointed at him with the knife. "Provided of course that you keep your sister in line. But I can't speak for the other Slytherins, and I can't say I won't kill you later."

Ron narrowed his eyes and glared but didn't say anything. She was still holding a weapon, after all.

"I'll be watching you; we will all be watching you. One false move on the part of you or that strumpet you call sister and I'll cut you to ribbons." Pansy waved the knife around and Ron followed it with his eyes. "Won't it be fitting?" She smirked. "To be killed by Muggle means, since your family loves them so much."

Shaking his head, Ron mumbled his agreement if for no other reason than to keep the peace. She couldn't possibly know how he had killed Voldemort, very few did and they were sworn to silence.

"I'll keep Gin away from Malfoy. I would have done it anyway, had I known what they were doing." He lifted his face and looked Pansy directly in the eye. "Next time though, maybe you should consider ways to keep your boyfriend interested. If this is a trend, I don't want Crabbe or Goyle to be next on my sister's list."

Pansy's eyes widened at his last sentence before she brought up her foot and slammed it down on Ron's hand, her pointed heel digging into his knuckles. "I would never!" she screeched. "I'd almost rather sleep with a Muggle-lover like you before I'd touch either of those two idiots!"

Ron inhaled sharply and smirked while rubbing his hand. She was so incredibly thick. "Join my fan club then; seven sickles gets you a signed photograph and a romp in the sheets with the famous Ron Weasley."

"How dare you speak to me that way!" The girl trembled with rage, stamping the ground like a horse. After a moment, Pansy composed herself and stared at him coldly, her lip curling around one side of her short nose. "You'll pay for this, Weasley. But I'm late for Charms so it'll have to be later."

Ron rolled his eyes. The girl must be squeamish about bloodshed; otherwise, he'd be a puddle already. "Yeah, remind me to write it down on my calendar: Chelsea smile courtesy of Pansy Parkinson at three sharp.

With a delicate sniff, Pansy turned up her pinched nose and strode out of the bathroom, her robes swirling around her angrily.

"Oi! What about my legs?" Ron shouted. He didn't really think she would come back, and he wasn't disappointed. "Jolly brilliant," he sighed. His wand was still over near the toilet and that was at least ten feet away.

Firming his lips in resolution, Ron attempted to drag himself closer using only his hands and arms. It worked all right, but very slow going. After he had hold of his wand and was whispering the reversal spell, he thought about Ginny and exactly what he was going to do to Malfoy.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry glanced around the garden he was digging in behind Hagrid's hut, looking for Flobberworms to replace Hermione's rapidly dwindling supply. He grinned to himself and shook his head. This was much more interesting than a simple friendship. Then again, when had their friendship ever been simple?

Hermione was everything that was complex and mysterious about a woman, and he especially loved the differences in her attitude towards life since their short stay at The Sparrow. Before she'd always been so . . . perhaps tense was the word for it. Hermione didn't seem to care about things like rules anymore and flagrantly disobeyed several on a daily basis. She was like a butterfly peeping out of her cocoon for the next adventure. What had shocked him senseless though was when she'd snuck into the boy's dormitory one night and climbed on top of him, still possessing mind enough to cast a silencing charm before ripping off his pyjamas. They were having the time of their lives and he always managed to discover a new facet of her every day.

Hermione was insatiable.

Which is why Harry didn't mind so much when she sent him out to collect ingredients for her potion. The way Hermione saw it, her mind being innately tuned to fairness and equality as it was; he was only doing his part to further their night-time explorations.

Seamus and Dean had told him a few days after they returned to school that new relationships were always like that. You'd shag your brains out the first couple of weeks and then not so often after that. Harry mentally counted back and was startled to realise that it had been over two months since they'd first slept together and the passion he felt for her still hadn't dimmed. Possibly it was because she seemed like a completely different person every day so the passion didn't have a chance to wink out before someone new showed up. When Harry thought about it more closely, she seemed a little unstable and he really should talk with her about it.

But he remembered the day they first slept together and his face darkened while he continued to dig, thinking of Christmas and forgetting about Hermione's unhinged behaviour. Harry had thought about it numerous times and he knew with certainty the exact moment Voldemort had died. He remembered how the pain in his scar had flashed white-hot briefly while he was- when Hermione had felt pain their first time. Harry wiped a dirty hand over his brow and continued to dig into the slushy mixture of mud and snow, not wanting to remember anything that had happened after he and Hermione were at the inn. But by refusing to sink to the bottom of his thoughts, Dumbledore's anger at him and Mr. Weasley's disappointed face swam to the surface.

He was just about to stand up when the thought of Mr. Weasley reminded him that he was supposed to get extra Flobberworms for Ginny. Harry didn't like it. In fact, he hated it. But there was nothing he could do; Ginny would continue to see Draco no matter what anyone said. And he had said. Oh, he had said a lot. So had Hermione. In the end though, it had come down to one thing: Ginny was allowed to make her own mistakes. She wasn't an adult yet, but Hermione made him realise that they had no right lecturing Ginny about her choice in companions. Later that night, Hermione had confided in him that Ginny would likely suffer enough when Draco was through with her so they shouldn't make it worse, but only be there for her when they could.

"But, Hermione," he remembered saying. "This is Malfoy we're talking about! I know he seems to have changed a little, and even Mr. Weasley told him that he's always wel . . ." Harry trailed off and had to swallow a bitter lump in his throat before he could continue. "I just don't like this, Hermione. Not one bit. And it may not be our business who Ginny sees, but are you honestly ready to just stand by and watch while Malfoy tears her heart into little pieces?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and it was one of possibly three times that Harry had ever seen her anger directed at him, even if it was only because of the sheer frustration she felt at the situation.

"Of course I'm not ready to stand by and watch!" she snapped. "But there isn't anything we can do! Ron won't speak to us and I don't think it best that he be involved anyway. He isn't exactly level-headed when it comes to his family. I've spoken with Ginny several times already and she still thinks that she can sleep with that rat Malfoy for a while and come out of it unscathed. She says that she doesn't feel anything for him, that they're using each other, but I think it's all a lie she's telling herself. She won't listen to me, or anyone else, not even Colin. I highly doubt that she'd listen to you, either, so I say we support her feelings if nothing else. I won't lose her, too."

Tears welled up in Hermione's eyes, but she blinked them away angrily. Harry knew that as angry as she was, she still missed Ron and the other Weasleys. So did he. Ginny was the only one that still connected them at all to that warm and generally happy family, and now she seemed to take on several empty roles in their lives.

"I'll be there for her," Harry had sighed. "And I'll bite my tongue because you think it best. But just remember that I don't like this at all. Not one bit."

A shaft of piercing sunlight in the eye brought him back to the present. The corners of Harry's mouth tucked themselves into his cheeks and his eyebrows sloped down in a frown at the thought of doing nothing about the Ginny situation. The things he did for Hermione. He looked down into his box and noticed that there were six long, brown, shiny Flobberworms nestled into the old rags covering the bottom. It would surely be enough for the two of them, wouldn't it?

Harry stood up and tried to dust the snow from his robes but only succeeded in making a mess. Classes were over for the day and he noticed, as he walked back toward the castle, that Hagrid was still locked up inside of his cabin. He hadn't seen him since yesterday's Care of Magical Creatures. Harry shrugged and knocked on the oak door, observing that it had lost some of its shine since his last visit. No one answered, and he frowned, knocking again. He finally decided to just open the door and have done with it. The man never came out anymore except to teach classes and he hadn't been that way since Madame Maxime died sixth year in a Death Eater attack.

Hagrid wasn't there, and it looked like he hadn't been there all day. Harry deduced this from the dry, flaky mud tramped all over his floor and the bottles of Ogden's Old Fire Whiskey laying around on their sides, the liquid inside half-evaporated. He sighed and closed the door, focusing on getting the box of Flobberworms back to Hermione instead of the remembered warmth of liquor coursing through his limbs.

Harry stopped and fumbled with the box of cigarettes in his pocket, taking one out and inhaling deeply. He still had them even though Hermione thought she had destroyed them all. She wouldn't know if he had just one with maybe a smoke shop mint afterward. Damn Draco Malfoy for ever putting the things in his hand. He now depended on them the same way he had depended on Fire Whiskey before hols. There were only two things that calmed Harry down when he was feeling nervous or uneasy: Hermione and cigarettes. And since Hermione was still studying in the library, that left his trusty little white sticks.

Despite the fact that Voldemort was dead, and he really was this time, Harry still had the same feeling of impending doom that had haunted him ever since his fourth year. There was a body though; he had seen Voldemort's body along with the rest of the wizarding world since the Ministry had insisted on displaying it to the public as proof that the Dark Lord was no longer a threat. And the Death Eaters who hadn't been captured at the Burrow on Christmas were slowly being rounded up and sent to Azkaban, and weren't much of a threat.

So why were his hands shaking?

*~*~*~*~*

Ginny sighed and stretched. The silk sheets under her back were hot and she squirmed uncomfortably. Usually the dungeons were damp and chill, but in a bed with the curtains pulled shut and a body lying on top of you, it could get too warm for comfort very fast.

"Be still," Draco mumbled against her stomach. "I want a nap before supper."

Ginny's lip curled into a smirk that was very similar to the one Draco usually wore, and deliberately rolled out from underneath him. "I agree; you do need your beauty sleep. But since you may want to leave school one day, I don't suggest it."

Draco lifted an eyebrow and grabbed his pillow instead. "This is better anyway, your stomach isn't as soft as it used to be. You've been playing too much Quidditch." His voice was muffled and distorted by the pillow, but she heard him.

Ginny looked down at her stomach and pressed at it with her finger, noticing happily that it was much firmer than it was the first time they had slept together. It was true; she had been playing Quidditch an awful lot lately, both for practice and for fun, so maybe it was finally paying off. She noted her bottom with a frown though; Quidditch didn't seem to be whittling that down any smaller. Perhaps some more callisthenics were in order.

"If that was meant to be an insult, Draco, find another audience because I'm pleased with myself, thank you very much."

He grunted and lifted his head from the pillow. "I suppose you would be at that." Draco waved a hand at her and flopped his face back down into the feathery softness. "Go on then, you don't want to get caught in my room again, do you?"

"Definitely not." Ginny still remembered her encounter with Crabbe and Goyle one evening with a shiver. Nasty pieces of work they were, too. If Draco hadn't stepped in and proclaimed his 'ownership', they would have had their way with her right there. Even though most of Slytherin house hated Draco for what he'd done and who he was currently associating with, they still curiously feared his wrath. But Ginny was certain that the rules could change any time, so she wasn't about to take any more risks than she was already.

As she rooted around for her clothes and mindlessly put them on, Ginny thought about how much her encounters with Draco had changed. When they had first come back to school, it had just been rough shags against the wall in unused corridors. Now they had settled into a routine that basically consisted of Ginny sneaking down to his room through a secret passageway after classes. They would shag, of course, and occasionally talk. Most often though, Draco would fall asleep and refuse to let her leave until he woke up for supper in the evenings. How she found the time to study and keep her marks up in class, she never knew.

"Draco, I'm leaving now. I won't see you tomorrow though, I promised Hermione that I would spend some time revising for my Potions exam next Friday."

His head snapped up quickly and he frowned. "Why the devil do you have to do that? You're almost at the top of your year. Tell Granger to go shag Potter and leave you alone."

Ginny's eyebrows rose at this. "So you'll miss me tomorrow?" she asked hesitantly, afraid to break the unwritten rule.

"Of course, even you said I need my beauty sleep. How am I supposed to do that without wearing myself out first?"

She nodded and turned away to pull on her shoes. It wasn't as if she expected more; to Draco she was just a convenient shag and a piece of furniture for him to lie on afterwards. Ginny hated the fact that she wanted more now than she had before, when it was obvious that he would never change. Hermione was probably right after all, but Draco was an addiction she wasn't ready to give up yet.

Draco surprised her with a peck on the lips when she turned to say good-bye. But his eyes were blank pools when she looked up into them. "You will come to me tomorrow?"

It wasn't a request and Ginny simply nodded. He played her like an instrument, and he always seemed to know just how to make her do what he wanted. With one small kiss he melted her like putty in his hands. She hated it.

Ginny stood up and grabbed her books, walking out into the corridor after making sure that no one was there to see her leave. She went to the panel that hid the secret passageway and knocked on it twice with her wand before it opened and she climbed the stairs. The other end was close to Dumbledore's office and she always had to make sure that no one was around before closing the panel behind her.

Today was different from other days because she saw her brother Bill pacing anxiously in front of the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Ginny dropped her books and ran to hug her brother.

"Bill! Where have you been? We tried so hard to find you and Mum sent you-"

He embraced her carefully before cutting her off. "I know, I received a stack of letters when I came back to Cairo. I've been on business for Dumbledore for almost three months now and I wasn't able to owl you all to say I couldn't make it to the funeral. I was barely able to owl Mum saying that I would miss Christmas." Bill blinked back a few tears and swallowed hard. "Poor Percy. Did they catch the one who killed him?"

Ginny realised with a start that he didn't know anything about how Percy had died and she wasn't sure that she was the one to tell him. "Yes, they're dead."

Bill nodded grimly. "Good. I would have done worse if I'd been able to catch the bastard. How's Mum holding up?"

"Haven't you been home yet?"

"No, I had to come here straight away."

"Oh." Ginny sighed. "Well, she's doing all right. We all are. I suppose that you heard about Ron?"

At this, her brother grinned and his chest puffed out with pride. "I did. My little brother defeated You-Know-Who, I couldn't believe it."

"Neither could I," she whispered. "Ron has a huge head about the whole thing now," Ginny said in a louder voice. "He struts around as if he owns the world and he always has a gaggle of girls following him everywhere; it's positively sick making."

Bill threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly, his fang earring dangling. "Knowing Ron, he enjoys every minute of it."

Ginny could feel her lip twitching in amusement. "I suppose he does."

Bill smiled and hugged her close to him again. "I've missed you all so much. Perhaps after I've finished my business with Dumbledore he'll let me come up to Gryffindor tower and say hello to everyone."

Her eyes lit up. "Oh, that would be wonderful! Maybe we ca-"

At that moment, the spiral staircase descended behind them and they turned to see Dumbledore walking toward them.

"Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley, I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Of course not, Professor. Ginny and I were just talking about some family things."

Dumbledore nodded and fixed his gaze on Ginny. She felt uncomfortable and began to squirm; it was almost as if he knew where she had been. "I see. And what were you doing in this part of the castle, Miss Weasley?"

"I was- I was j-just, um . . ."

"Remember, Miss Weasley, Mr. Filch guards this hallway a little more carefully than most. You may return to your house now where I assume that you'll be revising for your upcoming exam in Potions?" He lifted an eyebrow at her, his blue eyes twinkling, and she blushed. Dumbledore probably knew about her and Draco, everyone except Ron already did.

"Yes, Headmaster. I was just on my way back." She stretched up on her toes to give her brother a quick kiss and bent down to collect her books. "I'll see you later, Bill."

Her brother gave her an odd look, but shrugged and waved all the same. "Good bye, Gin. Say hello to Ron for me."

Ginny had just picked up her last book and was about to head off to Gryffindor tower when the tiny smile on Dumbledore's face stopped her cold. He was such an odd old man, and he probably did know about her and Draco.

"I will." She promised Bill, and walked down the hall. Halfway down, she stopped to see if they were still there, but Bill and Dumbledore had gone.

Reviewing is good for your soul and mine, too! If you'd like to join my yahoogroup for updates, the URL is groups.yahoo.com/group/stafic I didn't really get that many reviews last time, so I'm wondering how many people are still reading this. If you are, just a quick line to let me know if you would be so kind.

Thanks guys. Hopefully chapter 19 will be out shortly after Alexis comes back from Myrtle Beach.

Cheers,

Sing

20. Crashing

Authour's Notes: Hello my faithful followers! I mean, uh-my beautiful readers . . . *wipes forehead in relief that they didn't catch on to the brainwashing*

I know that it's been quite a while since I updated. However, circumstances out of my control have prevented me from reading fic unless I print it out to take home, reviewing fic (I loved the new chapter of JOTH, Cathy! I just can't tell you how much until I get my phone back. So I will review it . . . eventually. And I love tea rose perfume, too! It's my absolute favourite.) or posting it. I lost my phone about 19/07 and have been using the internet at the library to keep up with my mail. *sighs* I keep thinking that I'm going to get it back, and then a new bill pops up. *double sigh* Anyway, enough about that crap. Suffice to say that I'm terribly sorry about all this. I haven't abandoned AIDE, cross my heart. And I've been writing all sorts of other smutty goodness, too. Those on my list will have access to that because it's not the right pairings for Portkey and may be too risqué for ff.net.

As a gesture of thank you for the nice letters asking if I had croaked and the continuing support from you, the readers (not to mention that Alexis sent three chapters to me when she finally got back from her three month day trip into Bed, Bath, & Beyond) I'm posting two chapters together with the third (chapter 21) to follow shortly after (probably after my son's birthday party since that seems to be taking up my days, his actual birthday was Sunday). I had thought that I wouldn't be able to post anything due to the fact that my 3 ½ floppy drive died, or rather, was killed (all those with two year-olds at home can imagine my agony when I discovered the remains of several small biscuits shoved in there one morning) However, my CD ROM is alive and well, so I had the brilliant notion to buy some re-writables and put my files on those to take to the library. (You wouldn't believe how long it took me to think of that. I'm quite dense, you know)

About this actual chapter: I saw a review at Schnoogle (where I have failed to remember to post chapters time and again, so it's permanently stuck at chapter 13 until I fix this) that said Ron is not in character and I'm using him as a plot device to get Harry and Hermione together. That was never my intention. *pauses* Oh all right! Until roughly chapter 4, that was my intention. However, thanks to the lovely Claire, I grew quite fond of Ron and decided to change his storyline a bit. Thus you all saw Ron killing Voldie instead of Harry. I hadn't planned that and it was quite accidental, but in a good way. After I grew so fond of the Weasley boy, I decided that he needed his own plot and I delved deeper into his little red head. I'm not trying to make him a bad guy here; I'm just trying to make him real. There are no actual bad guys in this story, except Lucius and Voldie perhaps, just people who are either misguided or giving vent to their passions. This chapter and those which follow are more Ron-centred to a point, then it weaves back into the rest of the plot for a while and Ron is still there, just not as vocal. I believe some people, like Sarea, will appreciate his story. *winks*

About Draco and Ginny: Yes I know I know. You're all dying to find out how they actually feel about each other. There's a bit of that in these next three chapters and more as things progress. I've actually written the ending to this story (not that I've finished, whoa, far off from that!) and finally decided how things will end up for everyone once the Big Bad/Good is out of the way. I may change it later though, so I'm keeping mum. I want to see what Clairey thinks of it first before I decide anything seriously.

About Narcissa: There is a major plotline/tapestry thread partially concerning her later in the story. I know that I said I wouldn't change her surname from Emeric, however, I changed my mind when I realised that I could make this major plotline more believable if I stuck with canon on the point of her family background. So according to OotP (cover your eyes if you haven't read it) her maiden name is Black. According to AIDE, her maiden name is Black and her mother's name was Rosier, Lucius' aunt. Draco speaks about this later, so I didn't want anyone getting confused. When I have the chance, I'm going to go back and fix the other chapters to reflect this. It's a very small change, but very important.

So after the rambling, chapter nineteen is commenced!

Io non so ben ridir com’ i’ v’intrai How I came to it I cannot rightly say;
tant’ era pien di sonno a quel puntoSo drugged and loose with sleep had I become,
che la verace via abbandonaiWhen first I wandered from the True Way.
~ Dante’s Inferno, Canto I

Ron was stalking down the halls in search of his sister. Classes had been over for some time and Ginny wasn't in Gryffindor tower last he'd checked, but maybe she had come back since then so he decided to try again.

He had been trying to keep what Pansy had told him about Ginny and Malfoy out of his mind all afternoon. It made his blood boil to think that his sister had sunk so low as to sleep with someone like Draco Malfoy. Not only that, but the entire school knew about it and no one had told him, not even Harry or Hermione. Sure, they were probably angry with him still, but something like this transcended anger. If they were ever really his friends, they would have told him. Perhaps they didn't know? It would be typical considering how little attention they had paid to rumours in the past.

Ron hadn't thought of Hermione for a while except when he would see her brush past him in the halls and a little spasm of pain would shoot through him before he turned away. And Harry, well, he still saw him every time they had practice on the Quidditch pitch. But relations between them were strained and Ron wished so many times since Christmas that he hadn't lost his temper at them both. It was hard to tell who was right and who was wrong anymore.

He also wished that he'd never thought of lying to Hermione in the first place. It had been a stupid thing to do, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he would have been found out eventually.

Things had started innocently enough.

Ron remembered the friendly kiss Hermione'd given Harry at the end of their fourth year. He'd dwelled on it almost all summer, along with the anger he felt about not getting a kiss, too. But he didn't know why it upset him so much; it seemed quite innocent. Perhaps it was the fact that Hermione hadn't thought he needed a kiss. After all, he was traumatised, too! When they came back to Hogwarts for their fifth year, he could see that Hermione was getting more emotionally attached to Harry and he'd felt left out. The first lie had been so spectacularly easy to say: Harry couldn't go for a walk with them because he was snogging Cho Chang.

"But don't talk to him about it, Hermione," Ron had whispered in her ear. "He's very sensitive when it comes to Cho and doesn't want anyone to know. You know, because of what happened to Cedric last year and all those rumours that flew around about you two. I only found out because I saw them and he made me promise to sit on it."

Hermione's face had gone beetroot before settling into a shade paler than normal. She'd nodded and accepted his offer to go for a walk around the lake.

It hadn't been his intention to keep her and Harry apart, at least not at first. He only wanted some time alone with Hermione where she would pay attention to just him instead of her O.W.L's or the other member of their Trio. And Harry was always off doing . . . Harry things. Like drilling the Quidditch team or making rosters because he was Captain, so Harry had no time for him either until sixth year when Ron became a Chaser.

It was terribly lonely during his fifth year and Ron didn't think he could handle Harry going on about Quidditch Captain and how rough it was without wanting to strangle him.

Later though, as he started to notice how pretty Hermione looked when she nibbled on her quill in class, or the way her robes started filling out in interesting places, he knew that he didn't want to share Hermione at all.

Harry always had everything: money, fame, and oodles of girls ready to pounce if he gave the word. And what did Ron have?

There was a time when he thought-- he'd hoped, that Hermione returned some of his feelings. She would blush sometimes when he asked her to go for a walk with him, or her eyes were especially bright when she spotted him coming toward her. But after a while, even that started to fade away, and she would gaze at Harry longingly from across the room where he sat, wallowing in self-pity or Firewhiskey. Sometimes both.

Ron kicked a bit of rubbish on the floor, delighting in the crunch it made against the wall. It was too late. He had been too scared to say anything to her and he lost; she'd moved on. Or back, maybe. Back to perfect Harry Potter. Back to the boy she'd obsessed about protecting her entire time in school. Harry who had everything he really needed. There were always loads of people about, willing to lend an ear or whatever Harry needed, whenever he needed it; even if the stupid sot was too thick to see them. And until Voldemort, what did he, Ron Weasley, have? Nothing. No money, no fame, and there certainly weren't girls coming out of the woodwork for him were there?

Ron winced as he thought about the scene with Pansy earlier and patted his leg absently. Well, they were coming out of the woodwork now, or rather, the loo. Only this one didn't want to shag him, did she? Nope, a friendly speck of brutality was all she was after, messy brutality. Stupid, pug-nosed witch needed to learn how to keep her boyfriends in line. Ron snickered at the thought. She probably took them in a line, too. Pansy was known around Hogwarts as being more than a bit of a scarlet woman, as his mum called them. Then again, Ron wasn't much better, and he admitted this to himself for the first time. He was taking it a bit far with all the girls, but how could he help it when they threw themselves at him like they did? They had even taken to popping up in the hallway between classes and dragging him into unused rooms. He couldn't count the amount of times he'd missed Charms because a bit of wicked had waylaid him in the corridors. Perhaps it was getting out of hand after all.

He wished, for the twentieth time in as many minutes, that he still had Harry and Hermione around. They had a right to be angry, and he knew he'd done wrong, but he missed his friends now more than ever before. Everywhere Ron went, people wanting to be his friend bombarded him, but they were shallow friendships at best. No one dared to disagree with him or have a pleasant banter like Hermione, and there was no Quidditch talk or rough-housing like he'd had with Harry; everyone only wanted to hear about Voldemort or how big his-- Well, Ron felt lost and it was pointless to continue when he knew what he wanted. Perhaps if he got on his knees and threw himself before them then they would take him back. And that's just what he would do, after he had a word with Ginny.

Ron reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and gave her the password, climbing through the hole behind her and walking into the Gryffindor common room. He looked around for his sister while he was still in the shadows and frowned when he saw her happily pouring over a book next to the fire. She sat facing him and he walked toward her, noticing that her robes weren't buttoned properly and she only wore one sock. It was as if she didn't even care what people thought of her anymore.

Ginny's face brightened at his approach and she tossed her book aside to stand up and hug him. Ron stood stiff as a board with his arms by his sides while she embraced him, but she didn't notice and started chattering animatedly.

"You'll never guess who I saw today! Outside of Dumbledore's office I saw--"

Ron narrowed his eyes and grabbed her upper arms in a crushing grip. "I know who you saw," he whispered, even though he didn't have a clue as to who she was talking about. But by the look on her face she knew who he really meant. "I know."

Her eyes grew wide with fear and she tried to back away but he wouldn't let her. "R-ron, I-"

Ron felt his face flush hot when he saw Ginny's jaw quivering as if she wanted to say more, but didn't. All activity in the common room ceased. Ron turned to look at everyone and most flinched visibly under his accusing gaze. "Get out. All of you get out."

Most of them did as he said, dropping their quills and parchments for the relative safety of their dorms. Only Colin Creevey had enough courage to stand up for Ginny.

"Leave her alone, Ron."

"She's my bloody sister and if I want to talk to her, I will. Now get the hell out of here!"

"No. You're frightening her; can't you see that?" Colin pleaded, his palms upturned and reaching.

"She deserves more than a good scare after what she's done."

Colin sized Ron up for a moment before looking at Ginny. "I'm getting Harry and Hermione."

He bolted up the stairs and Ron turned his attention back to Ginny. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to hear from Pansy Parkinson that you've been shagging Malfoy?"

Something in her eyes snapped and she pulled herself out of his grip. "Because I knew you'd be an arse about it and it's none of your bloody business who I'm with!"

"None of my business? I'm your brother and I have a right to know what you're doing."

"No, you don't," Ginny said quietly. "I stay out of your private life; even if I think you're thoroughly buggering yourself with all those girls. Even if I think that your head's swelled so big that you can't see anything anymore. You don't care about me, you never did. This is all because your pride is hurt. You're not doing this out of love for me, but out of love for yourself."

How could she say that? How could she dare? Didn't she know that it was because of her that he had found the strength to kill Voldemort? It was the terror, etched so deeply into her face, that threw him over the edge and made it possible for him to lift that knife up high and bury it into the Dark Lord's back. It was his love for Ginny that overcame his fear. Now here she was, throwing everything in his face after he had done so much for her. Here she was-- with the same horridly fascinating chalk-white complexion and pale lips pressed together as if she were going to scream . . .

Panic blinded him to reason and Ron pushed Ginny in the chest; anything so she wouldn't look at him like that! She stumbled over a footstool and fell to the ground with her ankle twisted underneath. He blinked for a moment at what he'd done and was about to apologise when he heard the fast patter of feet down the stairs behind him. Ron turned to see Harry and Hermione pulling their robes on hastily as they ran toward him with Colin scrambling after them. Ron's eyes narrowed slightly; there was no doubt about what they'd been doing when Colin had interrupted them.

Hermione went to Ginny and quickly assessed the damage to her ankle before turning a gaze full of venom on Ron. "What did you do?"

"I--" Ron broke off and gazed at his sister, who was wincing every time Hermione touched her ankle. Good God, what had he done? "Ginny, I--"

He was cut off when someone shoved him from behind. Ron turned and they shoved him again, this time in the chest.

"She's your fecking sister, man! Your own flesh and blood, and look what you've done!" Colin roared at him, his mouth twisted into a grimace and his eyes burning like twin coals. He was shorter than Ron, yet there seemed to be an inner strength that loudly proclaimed he could be a worthy opponent if motivated, despite his wiry frame.

Ron beetled his brows. "I didn't mean to do it. And it's none of your damn business anyway, you little ponce. Like you said, she's my sister."

Ginny gasped and looked at Colin. His eyelids were twitching and, without warning, he drew back his fist and punched Ron in the jaw. It was the second time that day someone had hit him, not to mention the same exact spot, and Ron was getting more than a little sick of it.

"You're dead, Creevey!" he shouted, blood spraying from his lips. "They'll be able to sweep you into a--"

Harry stepped forward and shoved Colin behind him. "No, Ron. You're not doing anything to him or anyone else. Just get out of here and let Hermione and I take Ginny to the Infirmary."

All thoughts of apologising to them fled and Ron stared at Harry, his chest heaving with indignation. "Get out of here? Are you daft? I'm not going anywhere until I have a talk with Ginny about her choice of companions."

Hermione stood up and wedged her way between Harry and Ron. "It isn't any of your business, Ron! She's a big girl and if she wants to be with that git Malfoy, then she can. We can't do anything to stop her or change her mind. Believe me, I've tried."

They knew! They had let Ginny trot around the castle with Malfoy and hadn't even told him about it. Were they ever his friends at all or did they just hate him that much?

"I can't believe you. You knew and you didn't tell me?"

Hermione couldn't look him in the eye, but instead stared at a point below his chin. "Yes, we knew. And we didn't tell you because it wasn't your concern."

"Not my concern? Why does everyone keep saying that?" Ron yelled. "How many times do I have to say that she's my sister and it is my concern? Malfoy is evil."

Harry put his hands on Hermione's shoulders protectively. "I don't like Malfoy anymore than you do, Ron. But even you have to admit that he's changed."

"He hasn't changed," Ron sneered. "And if you think he has then you're thicker than I thought."

"Leave them alone, Ron," Ginny wearily said from behind him. He turned to her and she continued. "And leave Draco alone, too. You don't know anything about him."

"Really?" he asked. "I know that he's the son of a Death Eater; the same Death Eater who slipped that bloody evil book into your cauldron your first year. I know he thinks that Hermione's inferior just because she isn't pure-blood. I know that he's an evil wanker who can't seem to keep his nasty, slimy hands off of my baby sister!"

Ginny smirked. "And I know that he's not a wanker. And his hands are very nice, thank you."

Ron inhaled sharply. How could she just throw it in his face like that? "Mum would be ashamed of you. In fact, I think everyone will be ashamed of you once they find out."

"Mum and Dad like Draco," she retorted.

"Maybe now, but when they find out that you've been messing around with him, I can guarantee that Dad is going to kill him."

Tears trickled from her eyes and she looked up at him, her face twisted in anger. "Don't you dare tell them! I'll tell them myself when I'm ready for them to know."

"But I thought that--" Hermione said before she seemed to think better of it. Ron glanced at her from the corner of his eye and he could see she was struggling to stay quiet.

"What?" Ron bit out.

"It's just that-" Hermione's hands twisted in her robes uncomfortably before looking at his sister. "Well, I thought you said that it wasn't anything serious, Ginny. And you should tell them if it's . . ." She trailed off nervously, as if she didn't want to vocalise her own thoughts anymore.

Ron looked back at Ginny. She wasn't exactly smiling, but there was something on her face that he didn't like.

"Maybe it is serious. I'm not saying that I love him or anything, but . . ." One corner of her lip perked up. "Well, I fancy him a bit."

"You won't see him again, Ginny. I mean it. If I find out that you're sneaking off places with him, then I'll-" He struggled for a moment. "Well, I'll lock you up in your dormitory!" Ron said a bit more firmly. "And I'm going to kill Malfoy," he added in a whisper.

"You can't tell me what to do! Who do you think you are?"

"I'm your brother, damn it! And if I say that you're not to see Malfoy, then you're not to see him and that's final."

Harry reached over Hermione to lay a hand on Ron's shoulder. "Ron, you can't do that. Especially if Ginny has, well, feelings for him. None of us like it, but you don't see us locking her away like a prisoner, do you?"

Ron turned to Harry. If they were ever friends then Harry would have told him about this. If they were ever friends, Harry would be helping him hunt down Malfoy right now. "Don't touch me, Potter."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Stop being such a baby and grow up, Ron. Why don't we just agree that you'll leave Ginny alone, and Harry and I'll apologise for not telling you about her and Malfoy."

Ron was just about to tell Hermione to rightly piss off when he heard the portrait in the hall scraping open. They all turned to see Bill walking toward them, looking slightly haggard. His face was serious, as it rarely was, and he regarded them each in turn, lingering on Ron and Harry. Obviously he could see that there was something going on, but he didn't stop to ask questions.

"You'd all better stop what you're doing. We need your help."

Hermione was the one to step forward and she pushed herself from between Ron and Harry to greet Bill with a look of apprehension. "What's happened?"

Ron had a bad feeling as Bill looked down and rubbed the back of his neck before finally meeting Hermione's eyes. "Hagrid's missing."

*~*~*~*~*

Draco sat up in his bed with a scowl and looked at the clock on the wall above Crabbe's bed. The small hand was still about two marks away from pointing to 'eat supper, you lazy git'. Since Ginny had gone, this meant that he wasn't about to get that nap he wanted anytime soon. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do now that Slytherin was out of the running for the House Cup.

He sighed and leaned against the headboard. When had his sleep schedule become tied up with whether or not Ginny Weasley was in his bed? Late in the night she sometimes crept into his room, as if she knew that he couldn't sleep well without her there. He hated that she had this-- this power over him. Even more than that, though, he hated that she seemed to know it.

It wasn't love.

Draco was honest with himself about that. He wasn't even sure what love was exactly; some sort of fluffy Gryffindor-type feeling, no doubt. This thing with Ginny was more about comfort. She was comfortable. Not just in the way that her body was soft and pliable and nice to nap on, though he reminded himself to tell her to stop running around so much because she was becoming decidedly less soft. No, Ginny Weasley was all around comfortable, almost motherly in a fashion when he allowed her to fuss over him. That notion was rather twisted when he thought about it. He liked her because she was motherly? God, he hoped that wasn't it!

Draco frowned and pulled one of his father's journals out from under his pillow, just a little dark reading before supper might possibly take his mind from other things. He sighed and opened it to where he'd left off before and started scanning the lines out of boredom, if nothing else.

He'd already learned at least two things of significant interest from the journals: the curse his father had written about before was somehow connected to an Irish myth, and even Lucius wasn't perfect. Well, the last bit was obvious, being the uphill gardener that he was. But still, it made Draco smile every time he saw a misspelling here or there. The Tir nOg curse was most likely the Tir nan Og curse, if it was indeed connected to the land of Tir nan Og, as Draco suspected.

Draco thumbed through the leather-bound book until he came to a page that he'd marked with a silver ribbon. There was a line Lucius had written in a margin here that particularly captured Draco's interest: a land wherein there is naught save truth, and where is neither age nor decay, sorrow nor gladness, nor envy nor jealousy, hatred nor haughtiness.

Obviously the man had copied it from some other source, the language was too archaic to be otherwise. But most interesting were the words 'envy' 'jealousy' 'hatred' and 'haughtiness'; they'd all been crossed out.

Draco narrowed his eyes and grabbed a quill. He would get to the bottom of this whole thing. He summoned his inkwell and a scroll of parchment from across the room and set to work.

He copied down the passage before flipping through the journal for the other entry he had marked. Ah, there it was. A few lines scribbled hastily in the margins of another entry. They seemed to be more quotes from something, but they made no sense; at least not in his father's journal.

Where the hair is like a blossom of the golden primrose,
Where the tender body is as fair as snow.

Then on the opposite page was written:

Where the youth never grow to old age,
Handsome people without blemish.

Well, what the devil was all that supposed to mean, anyway? If the last four lines described the curse at all, it wasn't much of a curse. Draco looked down at his naked chest. Apart from his ever-fluctuating emotions, he hadn't physically changed much aside from growing hairier perhaps. At least not that he had noticed. And he had a feeling that this curse, whatever it was, had little to do with excessive body hair.

Draco's gaze trailed from his chest and down to his wrists. They were scarred from the ropes his father had used the night he'd run away. Then he remembered his back and how it looked now, crisscrossed with pale pink lines from his father's whip. Now that he thought about it, he'd never had a scar before. Most people had something; a skinned knee that escaped their parent's notice or a wound too deep for spells to cover completely, or even a damned lightening bolt on an equally damned forehead. But he had no mark on his body from anything that may have happened before the phoenix shed a tear for him, except the Seize Quartiers perhaps, if that could be considered a blemish. Well, he considered it a blemish, but Draco wasn't sure who dictated the rules and what they considered a blemish.

God, it truly was an eyesore. He had a copy of it on his bedroom wall at the manor. It was interesting enough, and Lucius had told him, with uncharacteristic patience, what it meant and which bloodlines were bred into the Malfoy family.

Draco hadn't lied to his mother when he said that he was proud. He was proud of his heritage, as dark as it was. He was proud of the fact that no Muggle or half-blood had ever tarnished the Malfoy name. And although the Malfoys hadn't been in England as long as some other wizarding families, only a paltry four or five hundred years, they had been well-established in France before that. His mother had no right to say he wasn't proud. She had no right at all because she was just as bad as he was. She had run away once, too.

Oh, it had been shocking to see written down on parchment that Narcissa Malfoy, his mother, had run away from Malfoy Manor. Draco went to another marked passage in the old journal and reread it with relish.

Narcissa ran away today. We've been married for just under six months and I should have known that she would; the Rosier side of the family has always been weak and simple-minded. Narcissa is quite like my mother in that. A pity, but My Lord did all he could with that lot. She has no pride in her name and I must find her before she does something foolish. If it's ever known that she has left I will be humiliated, and I will not allow that to happen.

I have told her friends that she has gone to visit her mother. None of them know that my aunt is dead, so it makes little difference. Narcissa will be well acquainted with my Chamber when she is found.

Draco made a note to ask her about that. As much as she had berated him for leaving the manor, it would be amusing to see her face when she found out that he knew about her little jaunt in the countryside. It hadn't been a particularly long absence, only a week or so, but it was enough to bring a smile to Draco's face just knowing that she was human, too.

He looked up at the clock and sighed. It was about bloody time. He shut the book and shoved all of his notes inside. But as he reached under his pillow to put it away, he noticed something soft and fuzzy that he hadn't come across before. Pulling it out, he realised that it was Ginny's sock.

Draco brought it immediately to his nose and sniffed: it smelled like grass and patent leather from her shiny school shoes. He closed his eyes for a moment and could see her lying on the neatly trimmed grass of the Quidditch pitch; smiling through her fingers, her eyes alight with pleasure. It was lovely except she'd never done that, not for him anyway. Not anywhere but his own private fantasies had she looked at him like that. And why should she, he asked himself? It didn't matter whether Ginny smiled or not as long as she did what he wanted.

He tossed the sock on the bed angrily and stood up to find something suitable to wear. It wouldn't do to look like he'd been in bed all afternoon, even if he had.

Draco chose a pair of tapered black trousers and a dark grey roll neck from his new spring wardrobe to wear under his standard Hogwarts robes. He noticed that his trousers were a bit too long, draping over the tops of his shoes. Draco made a mental note to have a stern word with his tailor before he bent to discreetly fold the hems to a more comfortable length. He combed his hair into place with slightly more precision than he normally used, observing that his widow's peak seemed to be misbehaving. It wouldn't do to look like Potter with his untamed mess. Bloody hell, why was the thing being so unreasonable?

After his hair was finally tamed with a quick spell, Draco rubbed a bit of cologne behind his ears and practiced a charming smile in the mirror. The mirror, for its part, sighed in admiration.

"Striking as always, Mr Malfoy," it assured him in a throaty contralto.

Draco straightened his trousers, smoothed his robes down, and walked steadily out of his room, thinking all the while that the Ginny affair was getting too complicated.

It was time to find a new girl.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was gasping for a smoke.

He had been out most of the night with Hermione, Ron, and Bill looking for Hagrid. There were other people searching as well, but they had their own little group away from everyone else. He couldn't believe that Ron and Hermione had actually managed to be civil to each other for the almost three hours that they'd been out looking.

Colin had taken Ginny to the Infirmary after her spat with Ron, and Hermione had told him to stay with her there until she was healed properly. It wasn't as if she had to ask, Colin would gladly walk over hot coals for Ginny; even if he was queer as a nine bob note. Not that Harry held that against him or anything, but it felt-- well, odd, to say the least. Especially when he remembered the boy's former camera-happy obsession with him.

Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and ran a hand through his hair as he waited for Hermione to collect Ginny from Madame Pomfrey. Couldn't she just let Colin walk Ginny back to the tower? He was tired and wet and bloody freezing, which, on top of everything else did nothing for his mood. Harry sighed and pulled out a cigarette. He was in the hallway and, according to his map, Filch was at the other end of the castle. Harry put the cigarette to his lips and drew from it deeply. Then he frowned; the calming charm didn't seem to be working very well and the cigarette was quite stale. But the habit itself was comforting, so he shrugged and continued to smoke, pacing up and down the hallway out of sheer boredom. What the devil was taking so long, anyway?

From inside the Infirmary he could hear firm steps coming toward the door and he quickly pinched his cigarette, popping a mint in his mouth for good measure. Hermione strode through the doors, flanking Ginny with Colin on the other side. Her hair was wild and floated around her head like a nimbus of electric energy. It matched the lightening in her eyes. She was obviously angry about something.

"When I get my hands on Ron, I'm going to tear him in two," she bit out.

"Yeah, elbow him in the corkers for me while you're at it," Ginny muttered.

Harry walked over and put his arm around Hermione, but she wouldn't have any of it and shook him off. She was too angry. It was more than likely a combination of holding her tongue in front of Bill and being reminded of Ginny's injuries again. Hermione suddenly stopped in her tracks and sniffed the air.

Uh oh.

"Have you been smoking, Harry?" she asked pointedly.

Harry considered telling the truth, but in her current state she was likely to rip him apart, so he opted for what sounded like a good lie. "Uh, no. I stopped smoking, you know that."

He forgot that she could always see through his lies.

Hermione pulled his face down to hers and sniffed at his mouth before prodding it open with one of her fingers and pulling out his smoke shop mint. She looked at it with disgust and held it daintily between pointer and thumb. "What's this then?"

"Uh . . ."

"You can't tell me that it's not one of those mints you suck on after you've smoked a cigarette because I can see the writing on still."

And it was true. In ridiculously tiny letters that were only partially eroded it said: 'E&F smoker's mint'. By the look in her eyes, Harry could tell that he was in for a tongue lashing of the most unpleasant sort.

"Perhaps Colin and I should go ahead without yo--"

"You stay precisely where you are!" Hermione screeched at Ginny before turning back to Harry. She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment and her breath was very shallow, as if she was trying to contain her rage, but failing. Harry slowly realised that he had managed to get on her last nerve and this wouldn't be one of her normal tirades. He unconsciously flinched and tried to move away.

"You stay, too, Harry Potter."

There was no way to avoid this, so he sighed and looked down at the ground in a very pathetic manner he hoped would soften her a little. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I know I shouldn't have lied to you about that, but I--"

"Shut up." She cut him off. Harry kept his eyes on the floor while she continued. "This is exactly the reason why I no longer speak to Ron: lies! I think that you owe me a bit more courtesy than that arsehole considering that I'm your bloody girlfriend."

Harry did look up then and his mouth was hanging open in shock. "H-Hermione? Are you feeling all right?"

He could see that Ginny and Colin were equally stunned, but they were quiet. Hermione stood there, staring daggers at his head for a moment before she answered him. "I'm fine."

But Harry could see that she wasn't fine, her hands were clenching and unclenching into fists and she looked like she was on the verge of tears. Hermione sniffed once and just as he was about to put a hand on her shoulder she shook him away. "Just-- just leave me alone for a while. I need to think."

Harry frowned. "Hermione, this isn't just about me smoking, is it? Did I do something else? I mean--"

"It isn't--" She shook her head and sniffled again. Her entire body seemed to slump. "I just have something on my mind, Harry. I need to puzzle this out."

Harry blinked and swallowed; this didn't sound good at all. He nodded and patted her on the shoulder hesitantly, afraid that she would snap again. He trusted Hermione though, so he wouldn't push the issue, as he was sure she would tell him-- in time.

"Go on to the library, then, I know that's where you want to go. I'll let you alone."

Hermione did cry then and she brought his face down to kiss his lips quickly. "Thank you for understanding, Harry. And I'm so very sorry for snapping at you."

He was a bit surprised that she would kiss him in front of Colin and Ginny since they were both very private people and hated public displays of affection. But he smiled and brushed a stray hair out of her face before pressing the Marauder's map into her hand.

"It's all right. You've had a hard day. Just don't stay up in the library too late."

She nodded and squeezed his hand once before racing down the hallway toward the library at unusual speed. When she had gone around the corner Ginny finally spoke.

"I never thought I would see the day when Hermione would swear."

Harry frowned. "Me neither. What happened in the Infirmary?"

Ginny continued to stare at where Hermione had disappeared and rolled her lip between her thumb and forefinger. "Nothing really," she mumbled around the intrusion. "She sat and read a book while my ankle was given a final check over."

"What book?"

"Um." She furrowed her brow in thought. "It was one of the books off of Madame Pomfrey's shelf, I think. In fact, I'm sure it had to have been because Hermione didn't bring any books with her when she came to get Colin and I."

"What on earth could she have read in one of those books to make her so upset?"

"Well," Colin spoke up. "It's not like she needed much to set her off if you think about it. She's been through a lot tonight the same as us. But whatever she read must have upset her because she dropped the book like a hot coal and ran back over to us. Then she noticed Gin's foot again and started talking about how she was going to squish Ron into itty, bitty, bite-sized pieces."

Ginny interrupted him at this point. "Her heart didn't seem to be in it, though. It was more like she was trying to think of something else to distract herself from what really had her worried." She crinkled her nose at Harry. "D'you know what I mean?"

One of the corners of Harry's mouth drooped in a half-frown and he nodded. "I know what you mean. What did the book look like?"

"Just a book; one of those really thick ones that she always reads. Um, brown cloth cover, I think." Ginny patted Harry on the arm. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch the name of it."

Harry nodded absently. "It's all right. I wonder if Madame Pomfrey would mind if I looked for it."

"Tomorrow, will you? We do have classes in the morning." Colin mentioned this with a pointed glance at his wristwatch.

"Oh right," Harry said. "We should go back to Gryffindor tower, then. Is your ankle good to walk, Ginny?"

"Right as rain."

She smiled tentatively and Harry smiled back, but his heart wasn't in it. His heart was halfway across the castle sitting in a dark, musty library.

Reviewing is good for the soul!

21. Living

Pansy had followed him the week before while they all searched for that over-grown oaf, Hagrid. She watched his bright red head bob around under bushes and up in trees, calling out to his sinfully delicious brother late into the night. It ought to be a crime for a Weasley to look that good. He was so . . . interesting with that earring dangling against his throat like that.

She shook her head and went back to her potion. Pansy was surprised that the younger Weasley spoke to Potter and Granger at all, but then again, he was in Gryffindor and they were a notoriously thick bunch. For that matter, so were all the Weasleys. Pansy sighed and twirled her hair, regretfully admitting that her statement included the good-looking one with the fang earring.

Her eyes travelled slowly over to Ron's bowed head and smirked. They were in Potions now and the idiot was roughly chopping up hemlock with one hand while at the same time throwing fistfuls of dried mandrake root into his cauldron. What a sorry excuse for a wizard. This was the boy who killed the Dark Lord? He must have backfired a hex or something because Ronald Weasley certainly wasn't on par with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Pansy laughed before ducking her head and glancing at Ron from the corner of her eye. He couldn't even make a Flying Ointment correctly! Ron wasn't far away, and when he caught her looking at him, she could see every freckle on his face clearly.

"Problem, Parkinson?" Ron whispered cheekily, his eyes flicking toward the wand on her desk and then back to her face.

Pansy smiled at him brilliantly, showing all her teeth. He was scared of her, no doubt about it.

"Yes," she answered in a treacle-like drizzle of words. "I have a problem with you, of course. I don't know how Professor Snape expects me to concentrate on my potion when I have to be in the same room as an ugly sot like you."

Ron rolled his eyes and leaned closer to her, even though there were no less than two tables between them. "Is that the best you can do? I think you're slipping. Then again, if I had to look at that mug first thing every morning, my game would be off, too."

Pansy narrowed her eyes and glanced up quickly at Snape. He was making a pointed effort to ignore the class while he marked sixth-year exams. "You think you look better than me, Weasley? That's a laugh."

"For Merlin's sake, either move over there or shut it, Ron," Dean Thomas grumbled, poking the other boy in the ribs. Ron scowled at him for a moment before turning back to his cauldron.

No matter, she would catch him after class. Pansy looked at Snape again; only he was glaring at her this time. He was already vexed with her, no point in making him even more upset than he already was. She flinched and went back to making her ointment, mashing the berries of deadly nightshade carefully with her mortar and pestle before adding it to her cauldron. The potion was a sort of dull grey colour when she was finished.

"Enough time has passed. Your Flying Ointments should be a blue colour similar to this." Snape held up a colour wheel for the class to see and tapped the appropriate colour with his wand. "Thick and viscous in consistency."

The arsing potion wasn't even close to the brilliant blue that it was supposed to be! She thought back through the ingredients and realised that she hadn't added the Billywigs yet. A glance at Millicent's area beside her showed that there were only two of the pesky insects left, still trapped and buzzing madly inside of the jar.

Most would have squished them with their pestle first, but Pansy took pleasure in tossing them into her bubbling potion alive. She could easily imagine that they were actually a certain ginger-haired Gryffindor. There! Now it looked about right. With any luck, Snape would be done with them soon and then--

Pansy's head snapped up when she heard a chorus of giggles around her. What was so bloody amusing? She couldn't see anything out of the ordinary except that they all seemed to be pointing at her. Even Millicent was tittering in what she probably thought was a feminine fashion. A quick glance down revealed nothing unusual. What was wrong?

"Is there a problem, Millicent?" she ground out at her bushy-haired classmate.

The girl snorted indelicately before she grabbed a hank of Pansy's curly hair and roughly plucked a sticky web of goo from it. The class snickered again before Snape growled out a warning about detentions and they all went back to their work. But before he did, Pansy scanned the room. She reasoned that Blaise was too subtle for that type of childish trick, as were most of the other Slytherins. Pansy found the one Gryffindor who wasn't laughing behind their hand at her and narrowed her eyes. The fool didn't even realise how conspicuous he looked by trying to play innocent. Oh, he was really going to pay.

Right now.

Pansy snatched up her wand and stomped over to Ron's desk. He glanced at her mildly, the barest of smiles playing over his stupid freckled lips.

"Yeah?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows at her.

Before anyone could stop her, she pointed her wand in his face and fairly screamed: "Poxis!"

There was a loud squack and her wand melted from her hands and turned into a rubber chicken. Or maybe it was a duck. Pansy stared at the remains of her wand and she could feel a muscle on her cheek start to flex and twitch involuntarily. She gritted her teeth together and was about to pull out the small knife she kept on her person, regardless of the consequences, but Snape had risen from his desk while this happened and was directly beside her.

Snape looked at the rubber fowl, then at Ron, before he favoured Pansy with a piercing eye. He lifted an ebony brow and the class held it's collective breath, cringing as they anticipated the scathing words that were about to be uttered by the greasy Potions professor.

"Well, that was unexpected."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Like Snape had said, it was unexpected.

Well, at least when Pansy had smacked him in the head with the rubber chicken that had previously masqueraded as her wand. Ron had been heartily anticipating the rest. Too bad she couldn't have cursed herself instead of beating him up with a toy.

Grudgingly, Ron had given Pansy her real wand back and he was currently looking forward to three fun-filled days of detention to accompany the fifty house points that had been taken away from Gryffindor. No one minded too terribly though, after all, it was an amusing way to end a hideous double Potions class.

At least it was Friday now, so there would be no more Snape until Tuesday morning. Hopefully. Knowing Ron's luck, he'd step on the man's foot sometime over the weekend and earn another three days of detention for himself.

Ron saw Hermione rushing up ahead of him, free of Harry for once, and he had the sudden urge to talk to her. All right, the urge wasn't sudden. He had wanted to talk to her alone since the whole mess started. His one attempt back at the Burrow had ended in disaster. He still smacked himself every day for laughing when her speech slipped. Well, it had been rather amusing at the time. She was on her high horse, launching into one of her endless moral tirades when there it was. Anyone would have laughed, wouldn't they? At least a chuckle? Upon reflection though, Ron realised that with that one action, he had cut himself off from her more thoroughly than even the lies he had told her about Harry.

He winced when he thought of calling them lies. But he had to admit it to himself: they were lies. They were barely even half-truths. Well, all right, so Harry was quickly becoming a drunk at the time, and he did shag that one bird at the Quivering Rooster one night, if Ron remembered properly. But Harry wasn't going into Hogsmeade every weekend to get his jollies like he'd told Hermione.

The thought of jollies led him abruptly back to where he didn't want to go: Ginny. She was wrong when she had accused him of not caring during their argument about Malfoy. It was just the opposite. Ron did care, very much. Unfortunately, when he was honest with himself, he realised that it was a very thin line he walked between pride and love.

Harry had always shaken his head at the Weasley dramatics, as he often called it. So was this whole thing with Malfoy going on because Ginny wanted attention or because she really did care for the prat? Malfoy seemed able to match the Weasley family as far as dramatics went, so if she was looking for excitement, she had probably found it.

Ron still hadn't had the chance to pull Malfoy aside since the discovery and pound his brains into mush. And today he had been curiously absent from classes. Perhaps someone else had already beaten him to the job and cracked Malfoy in his bleedin' skull, good and proper like the arse deserved.

He was interrupted from his violent musings by two feminine giggles. Ron turned just in time to see a blonde and brunette blur push him through an open doorway and into a musty, disused classroom somewhere near the library.

"Oooh, Eloise, we've finally caught him!" a voice whispered somewhere near his ear. Ron groaned. This was not happening. Again. He had to get to Hermione before she disappeared into the library and fell into one of her damn boring books.

"Um, girls. I really have to be somewhere about now so if you'd just---"

"Don't you want to play with us, Ronny?" another voice cooed. "We'll make it worth your time."

"Honest engine." The first girl agreed and she began to strip off his robes.

Oh God, this wasn't going to be easy, was it? He had to think of something decidedly not attractive and warm and . . . nice smelling. Um, Snape: in a dress, with a feather boa. Oh, their hair felt like feathers against his thigh. No! That was very bad. Um, umm. . .

"Girls, please. Can't we do this some other time? I really need to be somewhere else right now."

"We've been waiting all week for the chance to get you! It's our turn and you're not getting away."

"Too right," the other agreed as she ripped at his trousers. He couldn't see it, but he could hear the coy pout in her voice. "We have an appointment with Master Longstaff."

Master Longstaff? How did they find out that's what he had named his---oh, oh no. No, don't touch it! No! Um, pirates, with nasty swords. Big rusty swords and rotting teeth and-and greasy hair. Snape! Yes, Snape, all nasty and evil and---Snape-like.

"Oh come on, Master Longstaff! We'll give you a lovely kiss if you cooperate with us."

One girl whispered something to the other before she stood up and leaned over to tilt his head back. In the darkened classroom, very little was visible except for her glittering eyes.

"Naughty Ronny. I know what you're doing and it won't work."

He was about to tell her to naff off when she attacked his mouth, sliding her tongue between his lips. Ron was so distracted that he let his guard down, and Snape fled his mind just long enough for Girl Number Two to get a rise out of old Longstaff.

"Oooh hello, Master!" said the girl kneeling before him.

Bugger all, he was only human. Hermione could wait, he supposed. After all, these girls had an appointment to keep.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco groaned as he sat in bed, counting his many grievances with life in general. He was in hospital; cross; terribly thirsty; he'd noticed a freckle on his nose that morning; and he couldn't sleep. Blaise would pay for this, he and his new little arse-lickers, Crabbe and Goyle. How dare they attack him? Didn't they know that he was both a Malfoy and a Slytherin through and through?

He was still thinking of ways to get revenge when he heard a hesitant cough outside the curtains surrounding his bed. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was. Who else would visit him in the Infirmary? He sighed. Why couldn't she leave him alone?

Ginny's red head peeped uncertainly around the curtains before pulling them back and stepping closer to his bed. She stared at him for a moment, taking in his black eye and the bandages around his ribs before sitting beside him.

"I had to ask Professor Snape where you were. I couldn't get anything from your housemates."

"Did you really think they would tell you?" Draco snapped peevishly. She could be so bloody dense at times. He wondered why Professor Snape had told her where he was. There was certainly no love lost between Snape and the Weasley brood.

Ginny shook her head and sighed. "No, I suppose not. Snape said that Blaise and a few other Slytherins jumped on you last night." She gazed at him and tilted her head to the side. "Why did they do that? Why now? It's been ages since . . . that day. And you didn't really do anything that bad. I mean you were just looking out for yourself. Isn't that what any other Slytherin would do?"

Draco chuckled quietly for a moment. It really was too funny. A Gryffindor had grasped his motivation, one that was so very, very Slytherin, while it had completely escaped his housemates.

"I think any one of them would have done the same thing I did, but they would all rather die than admit it. We do have our pride, you know."

Ginny nodded and leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead as his lips were heavily swollen and bruised. She didn't seem to notice his scowl, but then she rarely ever did. "Enough of them. I came to cheer you up."

Draco lifted an eyebrow at her and looked down to where she was pulling a mass of bulky, knobbled cloth out of her robes. "What the hell is that?"

Her brows drew together and she seemed hurt for a moment before unfurling the cloth to reveal that they were, in fact, two very thick green socks. "I knitted you some socks. You're always going on about how cold your feet are. Even though, I don't know how they possibly could be, what with that hair all over them."

Didn't she ever shut up?

She sighed before continuing. "But, I suppose the bottoms of your feet get cold, right?" Ginny pulled the covers back from his lower legs and slid a sock on one of his feet, still talking all the while. "I made a right balls-up of my exam in Potions today. I told you I needed to revise more and I only had one chance this past week to do so. You know, with Hagrid's disappearance and everything.

"Snape was terribly mean to me when I asked him where you were. He told me that I should ask Neville to tutor me because my marks were so wretched. Honestly!" she cried out while pushing a sock down over his other foot with more force than was strictly necessary. "Neville, of all people! Everyone knows he does abysmally in Potions. I was so irritated that I almost cursed the sarcastic bastard. I would have, too, if he wasn't a professor."

Ginny was mumbling now and Draco was glad that he couldn't make out her words. He wished that she would just go away.

"Oh." Ginny snapped to attention and covered his feet with the duvet again. She scooted up close to him and started tinkering with the pitcher of water on his nightstand. Yes, good, I want some water, Draco thought to himself.

"I haven't had the chance to tell you since last I saw you but, well, I had a row with my brother last week."

"And this affects me how?"

She scowled and poured some water into a glass before shoving it roughly into his hand. Maybe she really was psychic. "Ron found out about us."

Draco shrugged and took a sip of the water. That was so much better really, his throat was feeling a bit scratchy and it wouldn't do to sound like Longbottom's toad, would it?

"Who in their right mind would tell your brother about us? I'd think that he would be just as eager to kill the messenger as he would me."

Ginny cleared her throat. "Um, Pansy Parkinson told him."

Draco nearly choked. "Pansy? Why would she---" He narrowed his eyes and made himself think about it for a moment. What was the girl playing at now? She had something to gain from telling, obviously, since she wasn't in the habit of giving information unless it benefited her in some way. Well, it seemed that she had a lesson to learn when it came to crossing a Malfoy.

"I'll take care of it," Draco stated shortly.

"Take care of it? What are you going to do? Draco, please don't hurt Ron. I know he's an arse sometimes, but he means well. Er, I think."

"Shut up, you twit. I was talking about Parkinson."

Ginny sat up straighter and he could see that she was pulling her pride together. He was surprised that she had any left after catering to his every whim for so long.

"Don't speak to me that way, Draco Malfoy! I've had it up to here with your attitude. If you can't speak to me like an equal, then don't speak to me at all."

Draco shrugged. It didn't bother him. Maybe she would leave now. "Are you quite done?"

Her amber eyes flashed, and Draco found himself suddenly longing for a cup of tea, foamy from the sugar but no cream. He thought that this was a bit odd, since he was quite fond of cream, but ignored it as Ginny started to rant.

"I came here to cheer you up and---and I made you some socks and---look, if you want me to leave then just say so instead of being an arse!"

"Leave then."

Ginny narrowed her eyes and slapped him on the face hard enough to make his head snap. She didn't seem to be so concerned about his injuries anymore. "You're a cold bastard, you know that?"

Draco managed a smirk, even though his head was still ringing from her physical and mental blow. "So I've been told."

With one last glance, Ginny stomped through the Infirmary doors and far away from him. It would have been good riddance except that he still wanted a cup of tea and no one was around to get it for him. Damn it.

There was no way in hell that he would be able to sleep now.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry trudged into the Gryffindor common room, thoroughly exhausted. He was in a bit of a temper because practice hadn't gone very well that afternoon. Their star Chasers, Ginny and Ron, didn't come to practice and hadn't even bothered to notify anyone that they wouldn't be there.

He found out later that Ron had caused a scene in Potions that afternoon and was currently serving detention in the dungeons with Snape. Harry chuckled quietly and sat down in a large chair near the fire to warm up his feet. He wished that he had been in Potions that afternoon just to see what Ron did to Pansy Parkinson instead of with Madame Hooch and Professor McGonagall going over strategies and rosters for the upcoming match against Ravenclaw for the House Cup.

Harry realised, not for the first time, that he missed Ron. He always seemed able to lighten the mood in any room and bring a breath of fresh air with his patented Weasley histrionics. Aside from when he was being a conceited bastard, Ron was a generally pleasant person to be around and Harry felt the absence of his friendship keenly.

Even more now though, since Hermione had spent most every waking hour in the library for the past week. He didn't know what was going on and as usual, she wouldn't tell him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Hermione, he trusted her with his life, but she was hiding something and he was anxious to know what it was.

Absently, Harry pulled a slightly damp cigarette out of his robe pocket and put it to his lips. No one else was in the common room aside from a few fifth years revising for their O.W.L's, and who were they to tell him what to do?

Hermione was in trouble and she wouldn't let him help. It was a bit frustrating, really. They had shared some of their deepest, darkest secrets with each other, but she couldn't even let him help her with this, whatever 'this' was.

It almost seemed as if Hermione wasn't the same person anymore. Granted, she was still a bookworm as always and seemed to prefer books over most people, but there was something that struck Harry as terribly off about her behaviour of late.

He took another drag from his cigarette and let it dangle from his fingers carelessly, staring into the fire while he attempted to puzzle this out.

The new side of Hermione had at first seemed pleasant, intriguing, exciting, and mysterious . . . arousing even. But now it just seemed so wrong. Hermione wasn't supposed to swear, she wasn't supposed to encourage rule breaking, and she wasn't supposed to kiss him in public.

They'd both agreed that it was necessary to keep their relationship as private as possible. Who knew when they were being watched and photographed? They didn't need another scandal similar to their fourth year.

It seemed like an eminently sensible thing to do, and it suited their respective personalities. Their relationship was too intimate, too personal to share with anyone else and frankly, it was embarrassing to see other people snogging in public so why would they want to do that to everyone else? Perhaps that's why he'd been so shocked when she kissed him full on the lips in the middle of the Great Hall at breakfast before racing off to Arithmancy.

Ginny and Draco, they were the exuberant ones. Neither cared anymore who saw them snogging or--- whatever else they did while people were watching, which was quite a bit.

Harry threw his cigarette into the fire and hunted for another one. He brought it to his lips and began the rhythmic process of puffing and exhaling while he pondered.

Hermione was supposed to be a rock: solid, dependable, and rational. Harry's duty was to keep the rock from breaking and give it support. Lately though, the rock was crumbling and there didn't seem to be enough glue to keep it together.

Hermione was disintegrating.

Perhaps it was the stress of everything that had happened at Christmas; Hagrid's disappearance; N.E.W.T.'s coming up; and the ongoing Ginny-Draco-Ron production.

Hermione ought to be outside of all this with him, not embroiling herself in the middle of it. Or should she? Gah, it wasn't making any bloody sense, was it?

And what the devil was she working on that had her so occupied of late?

Harry pinched the cigarette in his hand lazily and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. He needed to talk to her about this, but she was always revising for either the N.E.W.T's or that damn project. He'd have to go to the library and talk to her there. Maybe he could pull her away from the books long enough to---

He started a bit when he heard the portrait door swing open and bang on the outside wall. Hermione came flying into the common room, dishevelled and teary-eyed.

She seemed to be hunting for something until she caught sight of Harry lounging in front of the fire and raced over to him, throwing her body onto his lap and sobbing wildly. Her fingers dug into his shoulders painfully and he couldn't see anything but a cloud of fluffy brown hair.

"Oh God, Harry! Oh God, I don't know what to do, this is too much and I don't think I can take anymore. I'm losing my mind and this isn't real. Tell me it isn't real."

Harry took hold of her shoulders and gently peeled her face from his chest. "Hermione, what's wrong? What's happened?"

She sniffed for a moment, her face blotchy and swollen from tears. "You mean you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" he asked, growing more panicked by the moment.

Hermione took a deep breath and her lip trembled while she searched for the strength to speak.

"They've found Hagrid."

Pssst . . . Reviewing is good for the soul, pass it along!

22. Visit from an old friend

Authour’s Notes: I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to get this chapter out. Alexis beta read it almost a month ago, but I wanted to make sure that I had everything perfect and all my plots in a row before I sent it out. I still don’t have everything just so, so I substituted one word with meaning in this chapter for another that doesn’t have much meaning so I can have everything fixed by the next chapter.

Also, I lost my old computer with all of my notes and this entire story. If it wasn’t for my dearest Clairey and Alexis, this story would be toast because I don’t think I’d be able to bring myself to re-write the over 150 pages of story after what’s already been published. *sighs* But, fear not, for it’s all saved. Send some chocolates their way because they truly are amazing. Especially considering that Alexis just started college at OSU and still found time to resend the missing beta’d chapters for me to redo.

Everyone say hello to Lucius, my brand new 2.2G processor, 40G HD black, silver, and green computer. This means that I can make music videos again *yay!* and I can see colours again with the 17” monitor. *rubs her evil hands*

Once again, I thank everyone for their lovely comments. The constructive criticisms really mean the world to me and help me spot places I need to fix. Now go on, go read the story now. I know you want to do.

Cheers

I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on, as if in pain:

And dreaming through the twilight

That doth not rise nor set,

Haply I may remember,

And haply may forget.

~ Christina Rosetti - Song

The day outside was clear and bright. Tiny shoots poked through the snow, gently unfurling their leaves to bask in the warmth of the sun. Life was beginning again after the long, dark winter.

Perhaps that’s why Harry felt that this day was highly inappropriate to bury the dead.

Harry looked out over the grounds Hagrid had loved and cared for so earnestly, and squeezed Hermione’s hand gently in his own. She was beautiful. Even with her puffy eyes, face blotched red, and her nose running, she was gorgeous. Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on top of her head.

He had to appreciate her beauty and strength because she could be gone any moment. Harry had assumed that once Voldemort was dead that the worst was over, and life would thrive and grow.

Apparently he was dead wrong.

There was something at work here that went beyond Voldemort; he felt it in his very bones. Hagrid’s death seemed to be perfectly explainable, but something still nagged at him about it.

Hagrid had taken on forest trolls before and come out on top. Even in a drunken daze he should have been able to best it. But he hadn’t won this time.

His body had been torn almost past recognition. He was battered, bruised, and long dead when they’d found him under the receding snow two days before. The only reason that anyone knew it was a troll that killed him was the hank of coarse, purplish hair in his hand.

Then there was Fang.

The great boarhound had gone missing with Hagrid and everyone assumed that they were together somewhere, but the dog’s body wasn’t found anywhere nearby. Harry was determined to find the dog and take care of it if he was still alive. After all, that had been Hagrid’s last request to him almost two months ago.

Hagrid knew he was going to die. Looking back, Harry realised that he should have questioned the man more closely. There was something very odd going on and Harry was going to find out what it was if it killed him.

It wasn’t as if he’d expected to live past seventeen anyway.

Hagrid had been the first magical person Harry ever met. He had saved him from the Dursley’s, shown him the world in which he belonged, and was the very first friend Harry ever made. Even though he hadn’t really spent much time with the man for years.

The half-giant certainly wasn’t accused of being the brightest star in the heavens, but he had a simple wisdom that managed to penetrate most situations. Harry would miss that along with everything else.

He would even miss those hideous rock cakes.

Dumbledore was done with the eulogy now. Harry watched as he waved his wand in the air and directed the earth to part and accept Hagrid’s remains, wrapped tightly in a winding sheet that could likely have covered the entire floor of the Gryffindor common room.

Harry was thankful that wizards didn’t bury their dead in coffins. Hagrid deserved to rest inside the earth, close to the nature he had loved so much without being contained by stone or wood.

The student mass broke and a few tossed flowers from the greenhouses or cards they had made on top of the grave. A simple plaque stating Hagrid’s name, date of death, and the inscription marked it.

When he was among us we were strong.

We are poorer for the lack of his company.

Rest in peace, faithful servant.

Hermione nudged him and Harry started forward, carrying a small basket of rock cakes and some tea to set on Hagrid’s grave. Perhaps he didn’t need to eat wherever he was now, but Harry was sure that the gesture would be appreciated.

Harry looked up to see that Ron was the only other one who had remained behind. Everyone else was gone.

“Hullo, Harry,” Ron whispered, staring at the ground and rocking back and forth on his heels. His hands were buried deep into the pockets of his trousers.

“Hello, Ron,” Harry said, glancing at Hermione. She sniffed away a few tears and closed the gap between the two boys. They stood together, shoulder to shoulder, much like they once had and seemingly united in their grief.

“Ron,” she stated clearly, acknowledging the other boy’s presence.

He nodded at her, glancing up briefly before turning his attention back to Hagrid’s grave. “Hermione.”

No one spoke for a moment until Ron pulled a petrified slug from his pocket and awkwardly set it on the ground beside Harry’s basket and the other offerings there.

“I never imagined that he would die. I mean, I knew that he would one day, but— not this soon. Not like this.”

Harry acknowledged Ron with a grunt and turned around, pulling Hermione with him as he walked away. He wished that Ron hadn’t broken the silence; it reminded him of too many things he wanted so much to forget.

“Harry,” Ron called out from behind them.

Hermione stopped, so Harry turned around, waiting for him to speak again.

“Can’t we—” Ron stopped to lick his pale lips. “Can’t we put this behind us, Harry? We’ve known each other since first year and it’s bloody ridiculous to go on like we have. I’m sorry, right? I’m sorry for overreacting last week, and I’m sorry for lying to Hermione about you—”

Harry raised a hand to cut him off. “Ron, I miss you, too. I miss being friends with you and having adventures. I miss laughing over stupid pranks. But what you did was completely unforgivable and just because I’m speaking to you off the Quidditch pitch doesn’t make us friends again. As for Hermione, I don’t know how she feels so you’ll have to ask her.”

Hermione, for her part, looked confused more than anything else. Finally, she spoke to Ron. “If Harry can find it in him to forgive you than so can I. But it’s too fresh now, Ron. Maybe some other time we can all sit down and puzzle this out like rational individuals, but not now. Not today.”

Ron’s face distorted and coloured deeply. “It’s always logic with you, isn’t it, Hermione?” he whispered bitterly. “Can’t you, for once in your life, think with your bloody heart?” He pounded his chest. “I’m fecking dying here!” Ron screamed, his arms and face raised, fingers digging at the sky. “And you don’t care.” His eyes flicked between the two before coming to rest on Harry. Ron’s arms dropped and his hands twisted inward. “Neither of you care about me at all,” he finished softly.

Hermione’s back straightened as she walked forward to peer into Ron’s face. “We do care about you. But you destroyed our friendship, Ron. You lied to us! You lied to me, to Harry, and to your family. We are all broken now.” Hermione poked him hard in the chest with one finger before finishing softly. “And you only have yourself to blame.”

Harry felt that she was being too harsh and was about to step forward, but Hermione whirled around and grabbed his arm, propelling him back toward the castle.

“We’re done here, Harry,” she gritted out, her strides so long that he actually didn’t have to pace himself for once.

Harry was about to turn back when he heard a deep, wracking sob from behind him and the thud of someone falling to their knees in the soft earth.

Hermione pulled up short and tightened her grip on his arm. Her shallow breaths puffed white in the cool air and she lifted wide, brown eyes to his face. Should they go back?

Ron’s sobbing was muffled, as if he had buried his face in the ground. Harry clasped Hermione’s hand and a moment of understanding passed between the two. Ron had lost too much this day, he shouldn’t’t lose his pride as well. He’d only be angry about it later and it wouldn’t’t do anyone any good. It was better if they just walked away.

For now.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ginny walked down to Draco’s bedroom by way of the secret passage. She was especially cautious to make sure that no other Slytherins were hanging about the corridor. Now that they weren’t afraid of Draco anymore, bad things could happen.

She considered knocking first, but quickly dismissed the thought. All seventh year Slytherins were accounted for in the Great Hall and Draco was most likely sleeping.

He hated it when she woke him up.

Draco had been terribly rude to her the other day, but she supposed that he had a right to be vexed considering his state when she’d arrived. Then again, when was he not an utter arse?

The door to Draco’s dormitory swung open easily and Ginny crept inside, being careful not to make any noise. When she reached his bed and peeped through the curtains, she could see that he was indeed asleep.

It didn’t seem to be a very pleasant sleep, and Draco moaned, tossing his arms and hitting the pillows under his head as he struggled to remain unconscious. There were deep circles under his eyes and he appeared rather . . . delicate. Even though all of his injuries had healed, it looked like one good hex would finish him off.

Of course she would never tell him that.

Ginny slipped off her cloak and shoes and slid into bed beside him. His body was almost feverish, as it always was, and he started to relax when she petted his hair. She smiled slightly and looked at his face, made guileless in sleep.

It was just that easy.

“Ginny?” Draco asked rather fuzzily, waking a little. He sounded lost and somewhat sweet.

She shushed him with a kiss and continued to stroke his hair. If only he would stay asleep so she could pretend for a little while that he was a nice person, someone that lo—

“What the devil are you doing here? I thought that they were having ceremonies for that great oaf today,” Draco muttered, shifting onto his back and brushing her hand away.

Ginny sighed. He insisted on spoiling her every fantasy. Then again, she reckoned that Draco wouldn’t be half so interesting if he was snuggles and kneazles all the time. Or even part of the time.

“The funeral is over. They’re having a feast for him in the Great Hall now.”

“Ah,” Draco said, coming more awake. “Did you—”

“Yes. I brought you a sandwich and some fruit.” She answered his question before he had finished asking.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know what he was going to ask for. Draco was fairly predictable and usually satisfied with a nibble, a shag, or a kip. Occasionally he wanted something to drink, too. Which she had forgotten. Damn.

“What about something to—” he started.

“I forgot.” Ginny replied, handing him a small bundle containing three pears and a ham sandwich wrapped in linen.

“Mmmn,” Draco grunted, taking a bite from one of the pears. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye before he resumed munching. “How was the funeral?”

“Awful. I cried through the entire thing and had to fight tears coming up here. It reminded me too much of Percy’s funeral.”

Ginny shivered and pulled the silken, green and black duvet over her legs, leaning closer to Draco to absorb some of his naked heat.

“Yes, well, funerals aren’t exactly my cup of tea either. Then again, I wasn’t fond of the yob like you Gryffs were so it doesn’t really matter much.”

Draco ate his sandwich with uncharacteristic haste, less than three bites and it was gone. She’d never seen him do that before. Usually he took his time, eating every bite slowly and thoroughly before moving on to the next. Draco had always said that to do otherwise was uncultured and boorish.

God knew that no one could possibly consider Draco Malfoy to be boorish, could they?

“Are you anxious for something, Draco?” she asked him.

Draco shrugged and set the two remaining pears on his night table. “I’m tired still.”

Ginny lifted an eyebrow. “You haven’t done anything but eat, sleep, and attend classes since the Slytherin game against Ravenclaw and that was well over a month ago. Maybe you should think about finding something to occupy your time besides sleep. You’ll feel better.”

Draco matched her eyebrow with one of his and smiled lazily. “You forgot shagging, Ginny. I eat. I sleep. I shag.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I came, I saw, I conquered . . .” She poked him in the bottom with a teasing finger. “I got fat from lounging around on my arse sleeping all day.”

“I’m no where near fat,” he countered.

Ginny agreed, if anything he had grown thin over the past month or two. She hated to admit that she worried about him.

“I suppose,” she conceded. Ginny sighed and stretched, her fingers stiff and splayed above her head while she yawned. “It’s like a bloody disease, this sleep thing.”

Draco shrugged and lay on his back again, closing his eyes. “I’m afraid that I’ve no cure for it.”

Ginny smirked and threw a leg over his hip, pulling herself up to sit on his waist. Draco opened his eyes with a start.

“What in God’s name are you doing, woman?” he asked her, quite puzzled it seemed.

She shrugged and started to pluck at the buttons on her white oxford. What was she doing? Granted, Ginny had been aggressive with him in the past and often started their shagging sessions, but she always allowed him to dominate her in the end.

Today was going to be different.

“I’m looking for the cure,” Ginny whispered, pinching the nipples on his chest just a little too hard. Draco groaned and she could almost hear Lord Hardwick stand to attention and salute. Brilliant. She’d never done it this way before, but there was a first time for everything.

Ginny pulled off her blouse and bra, tossing them in a corner. She knew that he slept without a stitch, so there would be no problems there.

Draco reached up to cup her breasts with a sigh. “Ah, I’m afraid I haven’t seen you birds for a while. Have I missed anything terribly exciting?”

“Nothing at all,” Ginny answered for her body parts. “But they’ve been lonely. Why I heard them lamenting for you just the other day: oh where, oh where, has our little Dray-co gone? They’re an impossible bunch, really.” Ginny slid her hands over Draco’s and encouraged him to squeeze just a bit. “Horribly demanding girls, always wanting something.”

“Mmmn,” Draco agreed, warming up to the unusual verbal game. “They must be punished.”

He slid his hands down to her waist and pulled her forward so he could taste one nipple. Ginny sighed and arched into his exquisite kiss, the scent of amber rising from his hair with the movement.

Draco released the first with a gentle smacking noise. “Lesson number one,” he mumbled, turning Ginny so he could suckle the other breast for a moment with his warm mouth. “And lesson number two,” he finished.

Ginny scooted back so she could rub herself over Draco’s erection. His eyes widened slightly and a wolfish grin lit his face.

“You’re not wearing any knickers.”

She smirked and kept rocking her hips against his, creating some friction. Ginny had fainted once, and the same icy-hot shivers she felt immediately before doing so were coursing through her again.

“I needed something to keep me occupied this afternoon and I knew just the bloke to help.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow and folded his arms behind his head, shifting his hips just a little. “And who, pray tell, might that be?”

“Oh,” she breathed, her eyes closing as she continued to grind down on his pelvis. “You know, Draco Malfoy. He’s this Slytherin fellow I’m acquainted with.”

Suddenly Draco’s hands were on her hips, bunching in the fabric of her skirt and adjusting her position so that she hovered above his erection. Draco pushed her hips down just as his rose to meet her, sheathing himself inside of her with a slam.

Ginny was almost certain that she saw stars.

He pulled her upper body toward him and kissed her on the mouth while encouraging her pelvis to move up and down at the same time. Eventually Draco broke away from her mouth and trailed a path down her chest with his tongue until it curled around one nipple. The light sucking sounds came from far away, as if she’d plugged her ears with cotton.

“Do be quiet now,” Draco murmured around the intrusion. “I’m enjoying this immensely.”

Ginny didn’t care; she closed her eyes and reached up to dig her fingers in his hair, bringing him as close as possible to her chest. She had forgotten to move her hips until Draco reminded her by jolting his up a few times.

Every time she came back down it was like a spark inside of her belly. He was hitting just the right places with each slide in and out.

Ginny became more frantic and was soon pushing against him as hard as she could, as fast as she could, building, building . . .

Draco’s hands came around to grasp her bottom, his long, hot fingers digging into the soft flesh as he attempted to penetrate her more deeply, control her movements.

Ginny threw her head back and bucked against him, moving her hips in a circle and squeezing her muscles. It was all stars now; flashes of light behind her eyes, but she kept going until she could feel her legs turn to jelly.

Another jolt as Draco reared beneath her did the trick and she was melting, sliding down until she was lying flush over him; chest to chest, his shaft still buried within her.

It seemed a perfectly natural place to be, perched on top of Draco Malfoy, his body within her own as if had never been anywhere else.

He grunted and pressed the soft flesh of her hips with his fingers, grinding into her. Ginny squeezed her muscles half-heartedly, content to lay there and do nothing until he pinched her bottom sharply. Ginny’s eyes flew open and she gasped as he lit a spark within her again. She strained against him, nipples abraded by his moderately furred chest.

Draco groaned, hot breath tickling her ear, and she felt his body slump with his release. His chest was heaving under her cheek and she ran her fingers through the soft hair around his nipple.

It was comfortable to lie on someone afterward. Ginny sighed shakily and smiled. Perhaps a nap was in order.

Draco didn’t attempt to dislodge her, and his arms came up to hold her closer as he caught his breath. Ginny’s eyes started to drift shut. She was so relaxed. So alive.

“Mmmn, that was lovely, Draco. Lovely, love, love, Draco,” Ginny whispered nonsensically as she slipped further toward sleep.

She didn’t notice Draco tense beneath her at the words; she was already too far-gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry was walking along the paths surrounding the Forbidden Forest late that evening. Thankfully, he had managed to convince Hermione that they should make amends with Ron. But there was time for that later. Right now, Harry had a promise to keep.

He sighed and scuffed a rock out of the way with his feet. A glance at Hagrid’s hut chilled him; it was empty and all of the lights were out. It seemed unnatural that a place which had once been so warm was now so cold and void.

Harry picked a branch up from the ground and started to swing it in lazy arcs, whistling the special call for Fang that Hagrid had taught him years ago. If the dog was anywhere nearby, he would respond.

Sure enough, after roughly two minutes of whistling, the great boarhound came running from the Forest to greet Harry with a whine. Fang was much thinner than the last time he had seen him and covered in cobwebs. Harry knelt down to stroke the beast and offered him a few bangers he had saved from supper.

Fang wolfed them down sloppily before sitting down on his haunches to scratch at a particularly annoying flea. It was then that Harry noticed there seemed to be a scroll tied to Fang’s collar.

Curious, Harry gently peeled the strings back and slipped the parchment out. It was difficult going because the dog was muddy and the dirt had crusted the strings almost entirely over, but he somehow managed to free it.

The parchment crackled as the crust of mud fell away when he unrolled it and began to read. It was difficult to make anything out in the darkness, so Harry lit his wand. The words were scrawled sloppily and the ink had faded a bit, but he could just make it out.

I knew you would find this. You always did keep your promises to me. Take care of Fang for me. He’s a good dog even if he is a cowardly beast. And I left something for you where you dig for Hermione. I’m sorry that I’m not there for you, my boy. But you’ll see why soon enough, I imagine.

Hagrid

Harry felt tears prick his eyes and he swallowed the lump in his throat painfully. He missed Hagrid so much!

Fang was whining again and Harry wiped a hand over his eyes quickly before trudging toward Hagrid’s hut to settle the dog onto a warm pallet for the night. As they passed the back ditch though, Harry paused. This is where Hagrid had talked about in the note. He always dug for Flobberworms here, Flobberworms for Hermione.

Harry fell to his knees and started to pull clogs of mud from the ground with his hands. Fang, seeing that Harry seemed to be having some fun in the dirt, decided to follow suit and was soon digging holes into the ground eagerly. Harry threw clumps of mud and worms over his shoulder and kept going. He moved to a new section every so often, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

After a while, Harry became tired and rested back on his heels. He was covered in dirt and rapidly melting snow. The ground was still hard from winter and his fingers were frozen. Fang suddenly let out a low cry and Harry darted forward just in time to save a small box from the dog’s appetite.

“What’s this then, Fang?” Harry asked the boarhound. The dog didn’t reply, of course, but he whined softly and nuzzled his head into Harry’s muddy palm.

Harry opened the box and discovered a letter addressed to himself inside.

Harry

What I’m about to tell you is going to upset you. But you’re a strong man, not a boy anymore. Now don’t read this out to yourself! Be quiet.

I found out some bad things about a few professors of yours, and I suspect I was made to do some bad things meself, but I don‘t know. I don’t know anything anymore, it seems. Now you can’t go talking about anything important on Hogwarts grounds, they’ll hear you anywhere you go. There are some mighty powerful spells on this place, so watch your back and your mouth. I reckon you’ll have to go into Hogsmeade to make any plans. I don’t rightly know what’s happening, but it’s bad. Some people want me to be quiet and are afraid that I might say something to someone about it, but I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to know.

Now, there’s a box in old Snape’s office. It’s made of metal and it has something in it he don’t want nobody to find. I don’t know what’s in it, but I suspect it’s bad. Dumbledore had me bring it back from London, you see. It was buried under some old Muggle house there. Then he handed it over to Professor Snape for safekeeping, but I reckon I saw too much or something and I suppose I’ll be gone soon. Dumbledore always did trust that man too much for my liking. There’s one last thing, but I don’t know if it’s important or not. Professor Snape’s been going out into the Forest an awful lot lately. I’m not sure what he’s up to out there, but I saw him take a ruddy huge cauldron in there some time ago, so I suspect it’s some sort of potion he’s working on. Hermione’s a clever girl, and she’ll help you figure this all out. But don’t trust no one else! I’m not sure I even trust Dumbledore anymore.

You have to find the box, Harry. I don’t rightly know how much time I have left before someone finishes me off, and I don’t know who’s in on it and who‘s not. Just don’t trust nobody, Harry, and you’ll be all right. I know you can do this. Now be a good lad and look after Hermione. And make up with Ron, he’s always been a good friend to you, even if you do have your differences. You kids are smart, but you’ll need all the help you can get for this one and you’ve always worked better as a team than you have alone. Remember that.

Hagrid

Harry blinked for a moment before slowly folding up the letter and placing it in the pocket of his cloak. Hagrid knew he was going to die. He left a note on Fang and a letter in the back trench where he knew Harry dug for Flobberworms once a week.

And what was this about Snape? A box in his office? Why didn’t Hagrid trust Dumbledore? He used to worship the man and suddenly he didn’t trust him?

Harry felt his head spinning as he walked around the corner and opened the door to Hagrid’s hut. It was cold and empty inside, and it made Harry shiver. He flicked his wand toward the hearth and lit a fire while Fang snuffled about for his pallet.

Harry paced the floor for a moment before he decided to sit down in a chair in front of the fire and warm his hands. He sat on something hard and smooth, so he extracted it from beneath him to examine it.

It was a half-empty bottle of Dragonwood Bourbon.

He remembered the first time he tasted it. Hagrid had invited him over for tea, and let him have a jigger of bourbon to calm his nerves after a particularly bad nightmare about Sirius. Harry had more than just a jigger that night, and morning found him sleeping outside of the hut in wet grass, sprawled next to Hagrid and clutching bottles to their sides. The sky had been a dome of pure blue with wisps of white cloud spun round the top. It was the first time Harry remembered being completely numb, but happy, and he’d struggled since to find the sensation again. Drinking was even better than flying.

Harry felt the chill of temptation. It would be so easy to have a few sips and forget all about this new mystery, but Hermione’s sorrowful face kept swimming in front of him and he couldn’t do it.

Why couldn’t Hagrid trust Dumbledore with this? Surely if Snape were trying to kill him, he could have gone to Dumbledore. Was it that Dumbledore didn’t believe him when he tried? Harry rolled the bottle of bourbon between his hands and tapped it nervously with his fingernails.

He pondered on all this for some time, the possibilities running through his head seemed to be all wrong and yet . . . they clicked somewhere deep inside of him. It was the beginning of the mystery he’d felt in his bones. Harry had known that Voldemort’s death wouldn’t make everything sunshine and daisies again, and he’d been right.

Defeated, he lifted the bottle of bourbon to his lips; the burn slipping down his throat evaporated Hermione’s voice from his mind.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Please leave constructive feedback to ensure the quality of forthcoming chapters. Also, if you’re in a smutty mood, why don’t you check out The Smutty Project? A brand new archive that’s already full of smutty stories of every shape, size, and pairing.

http://long-december.org/smutty

23. Liberation

Authour’s Notes: Well, it had to be done, I suppose. Every other authour in the fandom does it, so I suppose this is my tribute to the ‘establishment’ *rolls eyes* In this chapter, and hopefully, only this chapter, you’ll find references and lines that are flat out stolen from a television show and a film. The Mr Floppy line comes from the wildly funny Manchild. I love ASH and Nigel Havers to bits. They may be older, but they are dead sexy. And the snippet ‘bring a friend’ refers to a line spouted by yet another dead sexy man: Alan Rickman. *sighs like a schoolgirl and sings ‘oh Alan, how I love thee so. Wouldst thou consent to be my sex toy and read poetry in bed . . .’* It’s from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. I thought it fit Draco’s character and the scene brought to mind the (brilliant and naughty) arrogance of the Sheriff.

Since I generally take pride in writing my own (admittedly crappy) dialogue, this will hopefully never happen again. There are some lines that are so deeply ingrained in me from other fandoms that it usually snaps me out of a fic I’m reading if it’s not that fandom. ‘Hands in new places’ instantly comes to mind as being overused in this fandom and borrowed from the Buffyverse.

And several of your referenced the mystery in your reviews. My dears, there are several mysteries yet to unfold. Some of them connected to others, some of them not.

Ron is really growing to be one of my favourite characters to write. In chapter twenty four, I hope to make you all get a bit misty, but in a good way, so look forward to that.

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part,

Nay, I have done: you get no more of me,

And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,

That thus so cleanly, I myself can free.

~ Idea (Sonnet LXI) – Michael Drayton

He had finally done it.

Draco sauntered into the Great Hall that morning extremely pleased with himself. He had given the little cow plenty of time for grief after Hagrid’s death, almost a week, before he sprang it on her a few hours before breakfast.

After all, it was the polite thing to do.

He glanced over at the Gryffindor table to see the littlest Weasley staring back at him wistfully. She seemed to be taking the news well. At least she wasn’t crying anymore.

Granger was glaring daggers at him and he returned her gaze with a smirk and a wave. Potter didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything, and Brother Weasley was sitting at the far end of the table, picking at his bacon and eggs.

Draco smiled to himself and started piling his plate with food. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and he was determined to enjoy it to the utmost.

He knew that none of the Slytherin girls were interested in him anymore, but that was all right. He was more than willing to open the channels for inter-house communications.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle shoving black pudding in their enormous gobs. It would only be a moment more before—

Crack!

Draco smiled broadly and began to eat in earnest as he watched three of his housemates, the same ones who had been stupid enough to pummel him last week, turn into little yellow canaries and hop about on the benches. Perhaps some good had come of shagging the Weasley girl after all. Juvenile, yes. Effective? Most definitely.

Pansy, at the end of the table, gave a shriek as her cat mysteriously appeared from out of nowhere and began to chase the birds across the table. Naturally they couldn’t fly since they weren’t really birds, although they could climb remarkably well, and the cat came very close to eating the three canaries until Snape swooped down from the staff table like a ginormous bat to stop the madness. Draco sighed and savagely impaled a sausage in a fit of pique. Foiled again.

“What is this?” Snape asked, holding up a small bit of innocuous looking chocolate by two fingers as if it were the dirtiest of Mudbloods.

Draco laughed along with the rest of his housemates until Snape silenced them with a sneer.

“I recognise this, and the effects. The Weasley twins fed Longbottom one once while they were still here.” He glanced around the table and then came to Draco. “I wonder who could possibly have procured this from them,” Snape drawled accusingly.

Draco gave him the most innocent look he could muster and shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone knows that the Gryffindors loathe us, Professor. Perhaps it was one of them.”

Snape squinted at him, and then let his gaze sweep the rest of Slytherin house. “Very well,” he growled. “I suppose I must take this matter up with Professor McGonagall. Ten points to Slytherin for Mr Malfoy’s suggestion.”

Draco’s housemates clapped politely and went back to their meals while Professor Snape gathered Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle in his hands and shoved them into a pocket of his cloak. Draco thought it was too bad that he wouldn’t be around to see them burst through the man’s cloak in a moment.

Pansy’s cat was still mewling plaintively, and Draco gave it a sausage for compensation. It would have to do without a feathered meal today.

Down the table, Pansy glared at him. She knew what he had tried to use her cat for. Draco returned her glare the same as he had for Granger: with a smirk and a wave. He wasn’t done with her yet, but he’d let her sink into security before he blasted her right proper. It had to be something appropriate, something Slytherin. Something that could not be connected back to him.

Breakfast went swimmingly after the canary incident, and Draco soon found himself strolling through Hogsmeade in a fine mood, feeling more like himself than he had in months. Things seemed to be even brighter when he spotted a luscious-looking Hufflepuff standing outside of the Three Broomsticks with her friends.

Hufflepuff girls were so easy, and so hard working.

Draco put on his most charming smile and straightened his clothes before swaggering over to meet her. If he had to sing for his supper, so be it.

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” he stated smoothly. As if anyone didn’t know who he was.

The girls clustered around him tittered and whispered amongst themselves. His prey stepped away from her friends and appraised him shyly. She was a pretty thing: brunette, tall, blue-eyed, and nothing like— Just what he needed.

Perfect.

“I’ve always wanted to talk to you,” she whispered, boldly looking into his eyes.

“And so you are.” He reminded her. Draco studied her form. It wasn’t bad, a little too thin, but good enough for his purposes. “Say, why don’t you meet me behind Honeyduke’s in about five minutes and we can have a . . .” Draco smiled as the girl blushed. “Conversation.”

Her round blue eyes widened considerably and she glanced over his shoulder. “I thought that you were with—”

Draco shook his head and forced himself to smile again. He was beginning to get annoyed, and his face hurt from all the smiling. “Of course not. I never was. I don’t know how that rumour started in the first place.”

The girl grinned knowingly and looked over at her friends, who were still cackling like mad magpies. “I suppose I could meet you behind Honeyduke’s.”

“Splendid,” Draco said. He turned dramatically, allowing his cloak to flare out behind him before stopping to look back over his shoulder as an interesting thought occurred to him. “Bring a friend.”

The girl raised her eyebrows and shrugged. Clearly she wasn’t adverse to the idea. Draco made his way toward Honeyduke’s and leaned up against the back of the old stone building, waiting for his playmates to arrive.

It didn’t even take them five minutes.

“Ooh, Tilda, I thought you were joking,” a new girl squealed as she walked up to Draco with the girl who was supposed to meet him.

“I told you, Mandy. It’s Draco Malfoy.”

The two whispered together for a moment before glancing at Draco and grinning widely. Tilda cleared her throat and addressed him.

“We’ve decided to give you a treat as a sort of ‘welcome back to dating’ present,” she said very seriously as she walked up to him and unclasped his cloak.

Draco raised an eyebrow and Mandy flushed. Who said anything about dating? “Yes, welcome back to dating, Dray-co.”

He repressed the urge to scream. He hated it when people drew his name out like that. It reminded him of Pansy’s fumbling attempts to corner his affection and Gin— Weasley’s teasing.

“Right,” Tilda said. “Let’s take you for a test drive.”

What the hell was a test drive? Was she a Muggle-born? Then again, did it really matter right now? He wasn’t marrying the girl.

Mandy knelt in front of him and unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down roughly along with his pants. Draco winced. The girl looked disappointed when she realised he wasn’t standing to attention yet.

“Well, hello, Mr Floppy. Why such a soggy face? What’s say we perk you up a bit,” Tilda said as she grasped his shaft in her cold fingers.

Draco barely muffled a protest. Mandy was making good use of her mouth while Tilda manhandled his bits and pieces so it wasn’t all bad. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. Well, it was an interesting sensation, but it was really doing nothing for him. These girls didn’t know what the hell they were doing.

Mandy took her mouth off of him and sat back. Tilda let go of him as well and they shared a glance.

“Is there something wrong with it?” Mandy asked him, her button-like eyes glinting blankly.

Draco sighed and pushed her out of the way so he could pull his pants and trousers up. “No, there isn’t anything wrong with it.”

Tilda’s eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “This isn’t one of those things where you’ll say ‘it isn’t you, it’s me,’ is it?”

“No,” Draco shook his head and buttoned his trousers angrily. He picked his cloak up from the ground and settled it over his shoulders as he walked away, still speaking.

“It is you.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry tapped his fingers nervously on his table inside of The Three Broomsticks. He had asked Hermione to meet him and she was late. Harry knew that Ginny was still upset over Malfoy, so he suspected that had something to do with it.

The nerve of that ferret!

Hagrid wasn’t even cold in his grave, it had barely been a week, and the arsehole dumps Ginny. Couldn’t he have waited? Harry frowned and drummed his fingers a little harder out of frustration. He supposed that it would have only made it worse, but really, did it have to be now!

Harry frowned. He was being selfish and he knew it, but there was too much going on now to humour Ginny and Malfoy’s dramatics any longer. He didn’t even have time to sort things out with Ron. Harry rubbed his hands up his face and scratched his scalp.

Bugger.

Someone tapped Harry on the shoulder and he jumped. Looking behind him, he saw that it was Hermione. Harry breathed a sigh of relief and pushed a stool at her.

“Sit down,” he said gruffly and without preamble. He’d been waiting to talk to her all week and they needed to work something out before the day was over. They didn’t have much time for pleasantries.

“You seem awfully short today, Harry. Is something the matter?” Hermione asked as she opened the menu and browsed it absently. She had brought Crookshanks along and the cat scrambled up into her lap and began to purr, nuzzling her fingers and bumping her hand aggressively.

Harry scratched his nose. “Sorry, Hermione. I know I should be nicer, especially considering that I’ve hardly seen you all week, but— well, something important has come to my attention and I’m feeling a bit hedged.”

Hermione paused from her perusal of the menu and flicked a startled glance at him before asking for a Butterbeer. The drink appeared and she took a dainty sip before clearing her throat and giving Harry her full attention.

“Now, what exactly did you discover?” she asked matter-of-factly, folding her fingers together.

Harry noticed that her hands were shaking on the table and she was trying desperately to keep them still, her knuckles white from the strain.

“Here, I want you to read these.” Harry handed her the dirty scraps of parchment and tried to ignore how she instantly relaxed. “I found the first note on Fang’s collar and the second behind Hagrid’s cabin.”

“What is it?”

“Just read them,” Harry insisted, taking a tentative sip at his Butterbeer and pulling a face. He would have preferred something much stronger. Perhaps he could take Madame Rosmerta aside while Hermione wasn’t looking and ask her to spike his—

“Oh, Harry!”

He flinched and looked at Hermione with wide eyes. Had she read his mind or something? Oh, no, it was just the note; it had upset her. Harry’s breathing unhitched and slowed back to normal.

“I suspect that Hagrid didn’t die fighting a troll in the forest, Hermione,” Harry whispered to her in tones that wouldn’t carry past their table. All the same, he glanced around the pub nervously.

Tears came to Hermione’s eyes and she flicked them away angrily. “What does this mean, Harry? Why didn’t Hagrid trust Dumbledore to help him? And what about Snape; what’s in that box?”

Harry shrugged, took another sip of his Butterbeer, and winced. He called Madame Rosmerta over to the table.

“Yes?” she asked, draping a towel over her shoulder and swinging back her long, dark hair.

“Erm,” Harry glanced at Hermione, but she was looking the note over again. No doubt for a shred of evidence she had missed. At times like these, Harry blessed her for her thoroughness. “This Butterbeer is flat. Could you bring me another?”

Madame Rosmerta lifted his mug and was about to take it off to get some fresh when Harry stopped her. He glanced at Hermione again but she was still distracted. Crookshanks sat on her shoulder now and, if Harry didn’t know better, he would swear that the cat was reading Hagrid’s notes.

“Could you possibly liven it up a little for me?” Harry whispered to the woman plaintively, trying to ignore how Crookshanks’ ears automatically twisted in his direction. “I’m having a rotten day and it’s awfully cold outside. I could use the heat.”

She looked out the window at the budding trees and green grass of spring breaking through the slushy snow and winked. “I’ll see what I can do, Harry.”

Harry gave her his most winning smile before settling down to arrest Hermione’s interest from the parchments. “Well, are you up for another adventure?”

Hermione gazed at him, her face plainly saying that she wasn’t enjoying this. “I suppose that I could drop what I’m working on now to look for any spells or charms which could help us get into his office undetected. We just need to act like nothing is wrong; pretend that we are normal and treat Dumbledore and Snape the same as we always do.”

She’d read his mind. Like always. Harry wondered why he even bothered with opening his mouth. Hermione already knew what he was going to say anyway.

“Brill,” Harry said. His Butterbeer popped up out of the table and he smiled appreciatively when the heat of the spiked brew scalded his throat and brought a sweat to his brow.

It was nice to have a purpose again.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Clack-clack-clack.

Ron groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he walked down to the dungeons. Another detention today with Snape and he hadn’t been allowed to go to Hogsmeade. Now he seemed to have another stalker on top of all that.

Bloody marvellous.

Ron turned to confront the person who was making such a racket and they nearly bumped into him. What did he do to the Slytherins to make them hate him so much? Oh right, he’d killed Voldemort.

“Piss off, Parkinson,” Ron muttered and continued shuffling toward the Potions classroom for his lovely evening with Snape, completely ignoring the girl.

“I’ve come to kill you, Weasley,” she stated simply.

Ron glanced at her over his shoulder when he heard the hiss of a knife being pulled from its sheath. Bloody hell, he didn’t need this.

“And what did I do today? Breathe?”

She narrowed her eyes and came closer. Clack-clack. “I’ve a job to do and you’re it. You killed the Dark Lord, and my father—”

“Yeah, yeah, your father’s in Azkaban. I heard this already, Parkinson.” Ron rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like she could do anything but threaten him unless she wanted to go to Azkaban herself. He started walking again.

“I’m not done with you yet, Weasley!” she screeched. “I want to see your face when I twist this in your guts.”

“Why don’t you take that knife and sho—”

“Aw, what’s the matter, Pansy?” a new voice broke in. “Is Blaise ignoring you, too? You could always call on Crabbe or Goyle to satisfy those animalistic urges, you know. You don’t have to stoop to crawling after Lord Weasley . . .”

Ron recognised the voice. It belonged to the slimy toadstool that hurt his sister earlier that morning. And he still hadn’t gotten his licks for touching Ginny in the first place.

“Malfoy,” Ron ground out and turned to face the Slytherin who was lounging casually against the wall, waiting for one of them to make a move. Draco looked ill and exhausted, with dark smudges under his eyes. He also didn’t seem as tall or menacing as Ron remembered Malfoy to be. Honestly, he looked rather pathetic, but Ron had no sympathy for him.

“Weasley,” Draco returned, coolly glancing between Pansy and Ron. “So, have you decided to expand your conquests to Slytherin house?” he asked in a falsely cheerful tone. “You’ll find the pickings slim, I’m afraid.”

Ron tensed and glanced at Pansy. She was glaring at her housemate so hard that if looks could kill, Malfoy would be six feet under. Maybe things weren’t going so well for Malfoy with Pansy and it could be used to his benefit. Ron managed to catch her eye and indicated the blonde boy with a slight inclination of his head. Pansy narrowed her eyes and looked between the two for a moment before nodding hesitantly.

It was probably one of the first real truces between Gryffindor and Slytherin in over one hundred years, however temporary.

Pansy drew her wand the same time Ron did and they shouted curses at Draco together.

“Poxis!”

“Incendio!”

Large spots suddenly covered Draco’s skin and flames burst on his robes. He jumped around, trying to put out the fire. Draco didn’t even notice the nasty disease he had been cursed with.

Ron turned away from Malfoy batting at his chest with a smirk and glanced at Pansy. Her mouth curled up smugly at the ends, and she seemed to enjoy watching Draco squirm and shout. Pansy's eyes reflected the fire like chips of glass, which was quite disturbing to Ron.

“What was that you did to him?” Ron asked curiously, scratching his head. He remembered that she had attempted to cast the same hex on him once but, thankfully, it had been a rubber wand she’d used.

“It’s some Muggle illness.” Pansy giggled. The laugh seemed genuine and rich, bubbling out of her. “From what I understand, the spots itch like mad and—” She stopped short and stared at him from across the corridor. Something close to fear crossed Pansy’s face and she started to tremble.

Ron furrowed his brow. “Don’t get all flustered. You can always kill me tomorrow, Parkinson,” he assured in a condescending tone. “Just not right now. Snape has that pleasure this evening, and I’m afraid he’s a rather greedy sort.”

“Professor Snape,” she murmured, looking down at her knife and then at Draco, who was slumped on the ground and digging at the spots on his arms furiously. “Of course, but he isn’t expecting you—” Pansy bit her lip. “I'm supposed to— He’ll be so angry—”

Ron narrowed his eyes and stepped toward her. Something odd was going on, other than the obvious lunacy of actually being civil to a Slytherin. “What are you supposed to do?”

Pansy looked up, her wide blue eyes startled. “Nothing,” she managed to sneer, but it was weak. “Get out of my sight, Weasley.”

“Gladly.”

Ron stopped to stare at Draco, who was scratching at his neck now. “Don’t touch my sister again, Malfoy. You’ll get worse next time.”

Then he walked away, feeling slightly better than before and humming a tune he’d heard on the Wireless that afternoon. Ron didn’t notice the calculated, menacing look Draco was aiming at him and Pansy.

24. Hero

Authour’s Notes: Ron is really growing to be one of my favourite characters to write. In chapter twenty four, I hope to make you all get a bit misty, but in a good way, so look forward to that.

How fond are men of rule and place,

Who court it from the mean and base . . .

Nay, ev’n with fools whole nights will sit,

In hopes of being supreme in wit.

If these can read, to these I write,

To set their worth in truest light.

~ The Lion and the Cub - John Gay

Harry wasn’t sure why he even bothered with Quidditch anymore.

Granted, it was a welcome relief from more serious issues, but he felt as if he were betraying something or someone simply by playing the game. There were other things that he should be doing: researching silencing charms with Hermione; figuring out why Hagrid didn’t trust anyone but him in the end; or cramming for N.E.W.T’s. Harry anxiously glanced across the pitch to see Ron adjusting himself on his new Firebolt II.

Or making amends with Ron.

Bugger, this was going to be a crap game. And it was for the House Cup against Ravenclaw, and more specifically, Cho Chang. It wasn’t as if Harry felt something more than pity and a strange sense of kinship for Cho, but all the same, it was always awkward to beat Cedric’s old girlfriend. That, among other things, felt like a betrayal as well. Even after so many years.

Harry looked up and searched the Gryffindor stands for Hermione; she usually was not far from the announcer’s box. There she was . . . reading a bloody book! He needed her right now. He needed her to focus on him for just a moment instead of the stupid silencing charms and whatever else it was that she— There, now she was looking up at him, offering a tremulous smile and a wave. Harry sighed in relief and touched his fingers to his lips briefly before waving back.

It would be easier to play if he knew that she didn’t disapprove of what he was doing. As soon as they won the Cup, Harry planned to take Hermione somewhere to celebrate. It had been far too long since they had spent any time together. Well, time that wasn’t researching charms and enchantments. Harry nodded to himself and flew over to give his team one last bit of encouragement.

He waved the Gryffindors over, and they all formed a circle around him, waiting for his words. Harry noticed immediately that Ginny didn’t look well, and Ron was studiously avoiding his eyes. Seamus seemed in excellent form though, and a few of the other players were attempting to keep everyone in good spirits.

It wasn’t helping much, but it was a start.

Harry cleared his throat and began the speech he’d prepared. “Right, this is it, team. We’re only one hundred and eighty points away from the House Cup, but Ravenclaw only needs one hundred sixty. This is the very last game of the season and the last game at Hogwarts for us seventh years. Now, Ravenclaw is good, but their defence is weak and that is where we need to strike.

“Ron, Ginny, Seamus: I want the three of you to get the Quaffle and keep it to yourselves with that Shamrock Cluster play Seamus taught you. Ravenclaw has a wicked offence . . .” Harry faltered as he caught Ron's blazing blue eyes. Oh today was going to be a very, very bad day. He cleared his throat and struggled on, wishing desperately for a fag. “So, um, watch out for their Beaters.

“Dean, you need to keep your end up, too. Don’t let any of their shots get past you if you can help it. Remember that move you learned from Wood over hols? Today is the day to use it.

“Dennis and Therese: instead of aiming for their Chasers, try to keep their Beaters off balance. And keep an eye out for Ginny because I don’t think she’s feeling well today.”

Harry looked at Ginny again and frowned. Why on earth had she insisted on playing today? It wasn’t as if they didn’t have someone who could fill in for her. “Actually, are you sure that you’re up for this game, Ginny? You look crap, no offence.”

Ginny managed a scowl and tightened her hands around her broom. “I’ll be fine, Harry,” she snapped. “I’m just not feeling well today. I was up most of the night revising for my Transfiguration exam.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck, feeling a bit confused as to whether he should accept her excuse or bring in a reserve to take her place. He knew that she wasn’t up revising last night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come into the common room and not seen her moping in a chair before the hearth. Even in the middle of the night she was there, staring into the fire as if it held all the secrets of life.

“Right then. Well, that’s it, everyone watch each other’s backs. I’m going to be keeping my eyes peeled for the Snitch, but we need at least thirty points before I can grab it or we lose the Cup. We have to be a team if we’re going to win this thing.”

The team split up and assumed their positions, all except Ron, who was glaring at him.

“You just love giving orders, don’t you, Harry?”

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. He was hoping that Ron hadn’t taken his walking away at Hagrid’s funeral the wrong way, but apparently he had. Harry realised that it was a bit foolish when he reflected upon the situation later, but at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do.

“I’m the Captain, Ron. It’s my job to give orders.”

“And you love it,” Ron returned, beetling his ginger brows in fury.

“Ron, we can’t do this. I promise that I’ll grovel later, but right now, we have a game to play. Our last game at Hogwarts.”

Ron scowled at him for a moment more before tilting the end of his broom towards the sky and shooting off across the pitch.

Harry firmed his resolve and followed until he was floating just above Hooch and the Quaffle was released. He managed to catch Cho’s eye and nodded to her. She returned the gesture succinctly and flew away. Harry sighed and started looking for the Snitch.

It was going to be a long game.

*~*~*~*~*~*

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

~ La Belle Dame Sans Merci - John Keats

Ron flew in circles around the pitch, not really paying attention to where he was going or what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a nagging voice said that he was supposed to be in the broom tail-locking Shamrock Cluster with his fellow Chasers, but he couldn’t be arsed about something like that right now. He’d likely fall from his broom and land on his neck if he tried.

Seamus tossed him the Quaffle from the left and he caught it, absent-mindedly chucking it in the general direction of the goal. Naturally, the Ravenclaw Keeper batted it away and laughed when one of their Chasers picked up the ball. Ron frowned and kept going, earnestly attempting to ignore anything and everything.

He didn’t care if they lost this game or won it; it just didn’t bloody matter anymore. Ron heard cheers go up from the Gryffindor section when Seamus stole the Quaffle back from Ravenclaw and started making his way toward the goal. At least someone was taking the game seriously.

Ron saw Ginny take it out of the corner of his eye and watched with mild interest as she flew to force it past the Ravenclaw Keeper. A roar went up when she succeeded. His eyes wandered past his sister and absorbed the sunlight glinting off the lake and the deep shadows of the Forbidden Forest.

He squinted his eyes in the half-light, just making out a hooded figure wandering toward the edge of the Forest— and the large troll looming behind him.

Ron swore briefly and took off like a shot, ignoring his team mates calling to him. Ahead, he could see the troll pick this person up and their frantic kicking. It reminded him of first year all over again. Ron pushed his broom harder, the tail screaming in the wind. If he could help them— if he could save them, perhaps he could feel— what, redeemed?

“Get a grip, Weasley,” he muttered, leaning forward and tightening his hands around his broom as he prepared to dive.

The figure struggled, desperately trying to get away and screaming shrilly. Ron saw the hood of their cloak catch and tumble off to reveal coiffed, blonde waves of hair surrounding the face of Pansy Parkinson.

For a moment, Ron considered stopping, but he steeled himself and pressed on. It didn’t matter if it was Parkinson: she needed help. In the distance, Ron could hear the announcer yelling something to the crowd and someone calling for him.

Ron pulled out his wand and shouted the first spell that came to mind: “Petrificus Totalus!”

The troll was still squeezing, but it moved more slowly now, as if it was in a daze. Pansy squealed louder, in agony, and pushed against the huge fingers, trying to pry them from her waist. Ron repeated the spell several times and added a few stunning spells for good measure. Finally, the troll froze with his large, beefy hand still wrapped around Pansy’s mid-section, her ribs creaking from the pressure. She was red in the face and seemed to have trouble breathing. But when she saw who had just saved her life, Pansy’s face drained of colour.

“Weasley,” she gasped, squirming in the troll’s grasp. Her hair was tumbling about her pale face now and was barely restrained by the numerous pins that contained it before the troll had shaken her so violently.

“Parkinson,” Ron returned evenly, pocketing his wand and narrowing his eyes. He should leave; she wasn’t in danger anymore. Ron sighed and held his hand to her as he hovered just over the troll’s shoulder.

Pansy ignored his hand and managed to wiggle out of the troll’s fingers. “I don’t need your help, you imbecile.”

Ron smirked. This was something he could deal with. He glanced back at the pitch while he waited for her to come to her senses and realise that she needed help getting to the ground. There were several figures coming their way, most likely teachers.

When he turned back to face Pansy, he was startled to see her in mid-leap. Ron barely had time to adjust himself before she grabbed his robes and brought him tumbling to the ground with her. He could hear his new Firebolt II snap beneath their weight when they hit the slushy turf.

“You bastard!” Pansy screeched. She sat on his chest and tried to seize his neck in her thin, cold fingers. Ron fended her off, but not easily, and they rolled over and over in the mud before he was finally able to restrain her.

“What’s your problem, Parkinson? I just saved your bloody life and you try to kill me again!” Ron managed to pin her arms under his knees and deeply inhaled a few breaths of cool air into his lungs. He tried to remember not to actually sit on her since her ribs were already cracked.

“You really are stupid, Weasley.” Pansy set her mouth in a cold, hard line and stared at him for a moment.

Ron wondered just how long it took to walk over from the Quidditch pitch and why no one was riding their brooms. “I’m not stupid, just explain it to me. Hell, I’d be happy if Malfoy saved my life and I hate the bastard. I don’t know that I would thank him, mind, but I wouldn’t try to kill him ri—.”

“I’m in your debt now!” she screamed into his face, tears welling in her eyes. “You want to play the hero,” Pansy sobbed. “But you’re not. You’re just a bloody fool and I’m paying for it!”

Ron stopped for a moment and looked at her. “Is your life worth so little that you’d rather die than be in my debt?” he asked her softly. Ron was surprised at himself, but he didn’t take the question back, he waited for her response.

Pansy was wide-eyed and terrified. “I-I don’t know. I want to kill you for what you’ve done to my family, to Draco, to our world. But I can’t now, it’s forbidden.” Pansy turned her head away and sighed bitterly. “I can’t kill you; my life is in your hands and I think that I would rather die.”

Ron sat up and released her arms when he heard the teachers get closer, some of them puffing audibly from the jog. It was all getting way too serious for him, he couldn’t handle this: her tears and her pain. The fact that she was sad because she couldn’t stick a knife in his heart! A grin tugged his lips at a sudden thought and he leaned forward to whisper to her before any of the teachers could hear him.

“You know, I can think of ways that you can work off your debt, Parkinson. I’ve a few friends who don’t have much luck with the ladies and—”

Pansy slapped him across the face and scooted back, hugging her knees tightly. Ron was quite pissed off. He’d just saved the stupid twit’s life, tried to lighten things up with a little joke, and she slaps him.

“You’re a whore, Parkinson,” he muttered heatedly. “You’re just a stupid Slytherin whore and you can’t even say ‘thank you for saving me from the troll, Weasley’ or at least keep yourself from attacking me for showing up in the bloody first place. I notice that no one else flew to your rescue. Where’s your precious Dray-co now? He’s probably watching this and laughing his arse off.”

Ron felt bad when she hunched down further and sniffled, but she didn’t stay that way for long. When Pansy looked back up at him, her eyes were hard as agate and glinting with contempt.

“A whore?” She chuckled mirthlessly and shook her head, mud dripped from the strands of once perfect hair and spattered over her stubby nose. “You don’t have any room to talk, Weasley. So don’t pretend that you are better than me because you’re not, you bloody hypocrite.”

Ron stepped back to allow a flushed and breathless Madame Pomfrey to examine Pansy. He couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to think. So instead of saying anything further or waiting for his team mates to catch up to him, he ran. Ron ran as if all the hounds of hell were chasing him, which in a way they were.

Just not in the literal sense.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco watched Pansy’s rescue with disappointment at first, and then a dark glee as he realised that not only had Gryffindor just lost the House Cup, but Pansy was now indebted to Ron Weasley for the rest of her life. The troll aside, it was more brilliant than anything even he could imagine.

He supposed that Pansy had her comeuppance now, even though she wasn’t mauled to pieces for sticking her nose in his private life and hexing him with that dreadful Muggle disease. Draco scratched his arm absently and smirked. What Pansy had now was worse than death— for a Slytherin, anyway.

Draco was debating with himself about whether or not Ron had been dealt with properly when Ginny caught his eye. He growled in the back of his throat, all thoughts of retribution gone as soon as he saw her face. She looked pale and tired with dark rings around her once bright brown eyes.

Something in him burned and he squelched the feeling. He wasn’t as pleased as he should have been to see her so miserable without him. Instead he was remembering when she came to visit him in hospital, and how her face lit up that day when she was lying in the grass, peeping around her fingers at him in the sunlight—

But that had never happened!

She had never looked at him that way. Ginny had comforted and fussed, she threw her head back in passion, or her eyes blazed with lust, but she’d never, ever gazed at him with that look in her eyes.

Draco swore to himself and turned away from her. He didn’t want to see her delicately walk across the field as if she were dying inside or dead already. Ginny had almost said that— that word to him. She did say it, actually. Draco didn’t know whether she’d meant it or not, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out either.

He stood up and wearily made his way through the crowd and down the stairs. N.E.W.T’s were coming up and he was nowhere near prepared. It wasn’t as if Father cared anymore, the man was dead. And Mother didn’t give a toss what he did with his life now that he’d ‘betrayed’ the family name by saving his own skin in a volatile situation. Just so long as he did his duty by marrying that Rosier girl.

Draco scoffed as he walked across the grass of the Quidditch pitch toward the castle and his dormitory. He was so tired, but there was so much to do. Malfoys don’t sleep all afternoon. Malfoys make perfect marks in class. Malfoys win any game they take part in, cheating when necessary. He glanced back without consciously willing himself to and caught sight of Ginny’s retreating back walking into the Gryffindor locker room.

And Malfoys don’t give a damn about anyone but themselves.

You know, you could think of this as a review drive. For every review you send me, I’ll donate a dollar to charity. *blinks* Yeah right. If I had a dollar right now, I’d be living high on the hog. But I do spend an incredible amount of time, effort, blood, sweat, and tears on this story, so would it kill you to write down a few lines telling me what you think? It doesn’t even have to be good things, just honest opinions and insight. I would like to know how many of you are still reading because I’m becoming discouraged by the lack of reviews. Especially when I go to ff.net and see stories written entirely in netspeak garnering 500+ reviews. *continues to guilt trip for a while* And elephants are our friends.

Cheers,

Sing

25. Freedom: lost and found

Authour’s Notes: I know that some of you are still going ‘ew’ or ‘oh’ or ‘erm, okay’ about Hairy!Draco. Believe it or not, it is part of a major plot point, so stick with me there. You’ll all learn more about it later.

And Ron gets even more character development in this story. This is one of my favourite chapters so far. I’m anxiously waiting until I can post chapter 27 and everything that happens after that. I’ve been *slowly* working on chapter 30, but it’s coming along. By the time it’s all ready to post, my writer’s cramp will be gone and I‘ll have written the last chapters.

Now to personally answer some reviews because it’s fun and you all deserve it. Plus I haven’t actually done it in yonks.

Jennifer: Right on the nose. Draco got scared off by the evil L word. Kudos to you and everyone else who picked up on that. I tried to make it obvious, but I suppose that it took some thought because I just sprung it out and everyone was like: what the hell? And yes, I love Hermione. Hell, I am Hermione *bushy auburn/brown hair, swotty know-it-all, etc.* I am also Ginny, too *the girl shares my birthday, makes it easier to write her because she does things I have/would done/do* Are you asking because I haven’t given her a ‘voice’ yet? Meaning, she has not had one, single POV in the entire story? Has anyone noticed that? Hmmn. I’m saving Hermione for last. And What Would Happen by Meredith Brooks is one of my favourite songs, too. I think it’s better for Hermione’s POV at the Burrow when she and Harry kiss for the first time, though. I don’t know. Let me listen to it again. *scampers off to listen to music for a while, gets lost, wanders aimlessly, then comes back* Yes, bananas are quite good with peanut butter. Oh what were you saying?

HermionehasHarry: If you want to read my other stories, they should all be up in the files section at my yahoo group (for ff.net readers, the url is g r o u p s . y a h o o . c o m / g r o u p / s t a f i c without the spaces, of course) I don’t think any of them contain the pairings here, though. One pre-slash story and a whole lot of het smutlets. *evil grin* If I could think of a way to do it without fucking everyone off, I’d sneak some Ron/Draco into AIDE, but I won’t pull a Cassandra Claire. Honest engine.

Anise: Thank you for your reviews. I’m sorry it took me so long to get to reviewing the last two chapters of JotH. I have no excuses. But the reviews are there! Finally. Yes, I fancy Slutty!Hogwarts. Everyone is screwing someone or something. I like to write smut, but I don’t like plotless stuff so . . . have to make it character driven, you know. And yes, we say that in Florida.

To be completely honest, I don’t morally judge my characters or their actions. Each one is like a living entity. In RL, I’m also fairly non-judgemental. Someone likes to have their bottom caned and their skin flayed with a dull spatula, more power to them. Just, erm, don’t ring me for a date, all right? :D I knew reading that enormous book of Grimm would rub off somehow. It was my favourite as a child and still to this day, I read it.

Poor darling Cathy. You need a break from filming. *pets head* They had better let you chill out for a while before you make a real hack-and-slash film.

Asia: Yes, I wrote for Btvs. And yes, I was/am a Buffy/Spike shipper. I will, however, never claim those works as my own. Hmmn. Perhaps the Wesley/Faith vignettes, but that’s about all. The rest are positively horrid. Ptooey.

Stephanie: ‘And now I have a question. When people enter D/G territory, and go "what should I read?", people mention Serpent's Bride, and that stuff by MochaButterly; if you're lucky they mention fearthainn and maybe Anise, but why don't they mention 'An Ideal Deatheater'? As I said to

you, the world may never know. Does anyone else know?

On with the arsing fic now! No more talking. Pipe down over there, you. I’m trying to send subliminal messages to people so they’ll send me cigarettes and marmalade in the post. Shh.

He caught me in his silken net,

And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,

Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;

Then stretches out my golden wing,

And mocks my loss of liberty.

~ Song - William Blake

Harry helped Hermione through the portrait hole and into the Gryffindor common room. He hadn’t bothered to shower after the ‘game’ and he was still sweaty and dirty when they sat on one of the sofas in front of the hearth.

It was such a bloody farce! There was no game left to be played after Ron ran off to save Pansy Parkinson and Ginny started to lag behind Seamus.

Harry shook his head and sighed, laying his cheek on Hermione’s shoulder. He thought about the newest troll attack and what it could mean. Shouldn’t Dumbledore have done something about the trolls by now?

“I’m so tired of all this, Hermione. When does it end? When can we leave and start our lives somewhere else? I used to think of Hogwarts as a haven, but it’s different now. It doesn’t feel safe or comfortable anymore.”

Hermione patted his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It isn’t much easier out there, Harry. The real world, both Muggle and wizard, is just as scary.”

He closed his eyes against the heat of the fire. “There are other things, too, you know. I think that Ron took our leaving last week the wrong way and now we have to apologise to him and explain ourselves.”

“We were going to apologise anyway, Harry. Well, at least I was. You were right; I was far too harsh on him. But I was upset and I’ve been working so hard lately—” Hermione broke off and pressed a fluttering hand to her eyes. “I think that I need a break from all of this. I’ve pushed and pushed for the past seven years and it’s starting to get to me. And when I try to be devil-may-care, it never seems right to me.”

Harry squeezed her hand and kissed it absently. “You’ll pull through. We only have a little longer until this will all be behind us. One last adventure.”

Hermione laughed. “Life is an adventure, Harry, and we’re only just starting to live it. We’re young and there are a billion and one things that lay between here and whatever comes after.” Hermione drooped. “I’ll never get a break.”

Harry smiled and sat up a little, pulling her in for a kiss. “If you want a break . . .” He tapered off and waggled his eyebrows at her.

Hermione smirked and batted him playfully. “Not now, we still have business to take care of, if you’re up for it.”

“Right,” he sighed, letting his arm slide down to her waist. “Well, what did you find?”

She glanced around the common room, and, satisfied that it was deserted, took out her wand and muttered a charm. Harry felt the air around them crackle with energy for a moment, as if someone had just turned on a television.

“What’s that?”

Hermione raised her head and smiled at him proudly. “That is a Silence Sphere. No one can hear a sound we make within a ten foot radius, even using magical listening devices.”

Harry laughed and cupped her cheek to kiss her quickly on the mouth. “Excellent! So are we going down there tonight, then?”

She nodded. “It would be better if we didn’t waste anymore time than necessary. We need to get inside, find out what’s in the box, and get back out before Snape or Filch comes in and finds us.”

Harry looked across the room and he could see Crookshanks meowing at them, but he couldn’t hear the sound. “Erm, we can’t hear anything outside of the Sphere either, can we?”

“No. That’s the downside, so that means we need to be extra careful tonight. We need the map, your cloak, and this spell. The other twist is that I have to disperse the Sphere in order to cast any spells on that box.”

“Why don’t we just transfigure something to look like the box and take the box?” Harry asked.

She shook her head. “Snape may have placed a charm on it so it can’t leave the confines of his office. Besides, glamour transfigurations fade over time and he would be less likely to notice if we simply transfigured what is inside the box and ‘borrowed’ it for a while before putting it back after we’ve studied it.”

“So what do you think ‘it’ is, anyway? I mean, it must be something really bad to have Hagrid as scared as he was.”

“I don’t know. It could be anything, really. For all we know, it could be nothing and we’ve done all of this for no reason. Maybe Hagrid was just paranoid.”

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought and shook his head. “No, I’ve had a bad feeling since I went to see him after Christmas. Whatever it was, it definitely was something.”

Hermione scoffed. “You and your weird feelings. You’ve been around Trelawney too much, Harry. You’re starting to sound like her.”

He frowned but said nothing about it further. Hermione never was very good at understanding the less tangible parts of life. Everything was logic. Harry wished that he was able to be more logical, but now that he finally was able to trust his feelings and instincts without fear of Voldemort‘s mind games, he was loathe to give them up.

“Why don’t we go down to the Hall, get a nibble, and then come back here to wait? We can’t go down there now, and Snape will probably be prowling his office until after midnight.”

Hermione stretched her fingers out in front of her and nodded. “Sounds wonderful, I’m starved.”

Harry smiled and pointed his wand at the invisible bubble around them. “Finite Incantum.”

He saw Hermione grinning at him and tilting her head so that her eyes glinted in the firelight wickedly. “Perhaps after we eat, we can come back upstairs and, um, prepare some more for our N.E.W.T’s.”

Harry kissed the tip of her nose; his body unwinding instantly at the knowledge that Hermione wasn’t going to be all books tonight, despite her promise to prepare.

“Your wish is my command,” he said, mock solemn, before kissing her mouth hungrily. Who needed food, anyway?

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ron was numb when he stumbled into the Gryffindor locker room about an hour after the game. He had taken a walk after their loss, and most of the team had cleared out by the time he came back. The entire time he’d been walking, Pansy’s voice echoed in his head, calling him a whore. The word repeated endlessly.

Mumbling to himself, Ron stripped off his dirty corduroys and thick, cable-knit jumper. He grabbed a towel and wobbled into the shower room, shivering when the steam hit his frozen body. The water that came from the tap was warm, though, and he quickly positioned himself under it, soaping up and watching as the mud sluiced off his body and down the drain.

They’d lost the bloody House Cup. And it was all thanks to his stupid save-the-damsel-in-distress response to Pansy’s attack. He hadn’t even known it was her from the air; he’d just seen someone about to be buggered to bits by a troll and flew to the rescue. Stupid morals. Maybe he was taking this hero thing too far.

Ron blamed that on Harry.

Pansy was right when she’d said that he was no hero. He was forever destined to be Ronald Weasley, professional sidekick to the stars. Now he wasn’t even that anymore.

He was still so bloody angry with them! But he needed them in a way he felt that they never needed him. They made him whole and complete when now he was alone and fragmented. Something made him snap at Harry, something inside of Ron made him turn his former friend away. Perhaps it was the anger he still felt because they had left him alone after Hagrid’s funeral, after he had poured his broken heart out to them. Or perhaps it was some twisted need to torture himself.

It would take a miracle for Harry and Hermione to forgive him now. Especially Hermione as she was the armour under Harry’s robes: no one sees it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Without her, he could have had a chance to be friends with Harry again - maybe. Who needed women complicating things, anyway?

Ron had everything solid and real, now that he’d defeated Voldemort and become the champion of wizards everywhere. Galleons rained down on him from a seemingly endless source; the newest model brooms were his for the asking; his father had a cosy office in the same corridor as the Minister for Magic himself. But Ron had little of the more incorporeal things. He’d traded away friendship, and honour, and love.

Love.

That’s all he wanted, really: to love someone who loved him back. Was it such a difficult thing to find? He’d looked for it under the skirt of every female that had accosted him in the past couple of months without realising it. He hadn’t known, until today, when Pansy called him on it, that what he really wanted was for some lovely, spirited girl to hold him in her arms and make everything go away, someone that he didn’t have to play hero for just so she would notice him.

He wanted to be lost and found all in the same breath. Did that make him a whore?

Ron soaped up his body, trying to wash away the shame that he felt clinging to his skin. Perhaps if he scrubbed hard enough— But the water wouldn’t make it go away; he’d have to learn to live with it.

Over the sound of the shower, he heard a familiar clacking and groaned. She’d found him again. “Parkinson, I’m trying to wash up,” he called over his shoulder. “You can at least wait until I’m dressed to start your threats.”

Silence first, then the lopsided clickity-clack of her broken heels against the tiled floor again. Brave girl, Ron thought, maybe he should give her a shock. Smirking, he turned around to face her, not bothering to cover himself. But the smile crumbled when he saw her face.

Through the dirt, tears had obviously fallen, leaving muddied make-up tracks over her cheeks. Pansy’s eyes burned into his and she lifted the knife in her white-knuckled hand a little higher, preparing to strike.

“At that again, are you? Well, go ahead and give it a go so I can finish my shower,” Ron mumbled in a tone that belied the lightness of his words.

Pansy’s hand started to shake as she stepped closer, and mist from the showerhead clung to her hair like dew. She stood there, not moving for a moment before she dropped the knife with a clatter. Pansy stared up at him, fresh tears spilling from her eyes and rolling down her cheeks, washing away the last traces of her paint charms. Her mouth was slightly open, as if she were dumb with fear or some nameless emotion. Only wisps of her expensive violet perfume lingered in the steam, rising to his nostrils with the strong smell of earth and grass.

“Are you frightened of me, Weasley?” she asked hoarsely and without rancour. She sounded more like a child who desperately needed a guarantee than a hardened Slytherin.

Ron gazed into her eyes and ignored the tears. He concentrated on her, for really the first time, and swallowed nervously. Pansy would always be in his life now. Her debt to him was a bond stronger than anything else he knew; ancient magic. But he didn’t want her indebted to him. He wanted her free.

“Bloody terrified,” Ron assured, his tone gentle.

Pansy lifted her hand and splayed it on his chest. Ron noticed that it was the same hand she’d held the knife with. Her once perfectly manicured nails were ragged and broken, the cold fingers trembling over his heart.

“I hate you,” she rasped. “Do you understand that?” Pansy’s mouth twisted in an ugly line. “I – hate - you.”

Ron sighed and kept his eyes locked with hers. Then slowly, as if her touch was poison, he reached up to cover her hand with his own, pulling her body close with his free arm.

He inclined his head down to whisper in her ear. “I hate you, too.”

Pansy’s body shuddered against his and Ron rocked her back and forth, having had much practice at this with his sister when they were young. He noticed that her blonde hair was dull and greyed with dirt and clumps of wet snow, so he grabbed the shampoo and poured some on her head. As he worked it up into a pearly lather, she gripped him tightly. Ron pushed her head back to soap up her face, paying special attention to her stubby nose and the mud splattered on her plump cheeks, carefully gliding his foam-covered thumb over a bruise on her forehead. She kept her eyes closed and leaned into his palm while he continued to clear the mud away.

“I hate you,” she mumbled again, water dripping into her mouth and making her white teeth glisten. “I hate everything about you.”

Ron nodded and pulled her under the water with him to wash the soap off. “I hate the way your heels sound on the floor.”

Pansy opened her eyes and looked up at him through the water streaming down her face, her gaze guileless and subdued. “I hate your freckles.”

He fumbled with the frog and toggle on her robes and gently pushed it off of her shoulders. “I hate your nose.”

She didn’t pull her eyes away, even when he started plucking at her green and silver school tie. Pansy lifted her hand and ran it through his hair, studying the strands intently and rubbing them with her thumb. “I hate your hair.”

Ron finished unknotting the tie and threw it on the ground with a small, triumphant grin. “I hate your hair, too.”

Pansy dropped her hand and allowed him to pull off her muddy school jumper and blouse, her eyes downcast. “I hate Gryffindor.”

Ron’s fingers caught in the solid gold pendant between her breasts, making her breath hitch. His hands looked so . . . normal on her body. They weren’t freakishly huge, but just right as they slid down her stomach, his freckles the only contrast between them. He released the clasp on her skirt and shoved it over her hips, kicking it away with his toe. “I hate Slytherin.”

Pansy stood there in her bra, knickers, and heels while he grabbed a bar of soap and rubbed it over her exposed skin, dipping it into the indention of her belly and up over her bruised ribs. Her eyes were level with his chin and he wished that she were just a little taller so he didn’t have to look down at her.

“I hate the fact that you saved me today,” Pansy whispered.

Ron stopped bathing her and blinked. He could see the tightening of her cool blue eyes as she admitted this to him. Did she really regret not being squeezed to death by the troll? No, that wasn’t it. She hated that it was he who saved her and not someone else, that her pride was taken by his actions. How could he hate her so much and still want to keep her safe?

How could he hate her, yet still feel guilty for taking the only thing that was purely hers?

It seemed that they should probably have a long talk sometime soon. Ron gazed into her eyes, and he knew that she would one day show him much more than what he saw on the surface. It was instinctive as breathing, this revelation. Ron knew that she was as frightened as he was of the energy between them. It was explosive and new, but then, it had always been there; running hot steam under the surface. He merely hadn’t noticed until now just what it meant, what it could mean.

They both clung to other people, the same people who overshadowed them. Ron walked a thin line between love and pride with his sister. Perhaps the difference between love and hate was just as blurry.

“I hate that you saved me, too.”

Ron lowered his head and kissed Pansy then, pulling her to him with both arms. She reached up to entwine hers around his neck as the water fell on them from above. Pansy responded to him with a deep hunger, her mouth working furiously against his, a sob vibrating her throat. Ron pulled away and admonished her with soft, breathless words before kissing her again.

“Gently, Pansy,” he mumbled over her lips. “Gently.”

*~*~*~*~*

Ginny pushed open the entrance to Hogwarts and stepped inside. It was completely dark outside now and she only wanted to make it up to her dormitory and rest. Her body was weary and ached all over. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept properly and Ginny found it difficult to even place one foot in front of the other.

She saw Draco coming up from the dungeons, walking toward the Great Hall for supper, no doubt. Ginny stopped and leaned up against the wall, breathing shallowly as she attempted to hold out just a bit longer. He had to pass by her, though, and she prayed that he would keep going and not notice her. Or at least pretend that he didn’t.

Draco was always good at pretending.

The lighting in the corridor was dim and she could hear the steady clip of his perfectly polished shoes against the stone. Ginny noticed that he had grown thinner. His cheekbones were sharper, more prominent, and there were deep hollows under his eyes. But Draco’s robes and trousers were pressed and neat as always, and his hair was carefully styled into place. No matter how he felt inside, Draco would always make the effort to appear indifferent, flawless, and Draco Malfoy.

He noticed her.

Ginny sucked in a breath and pushed away from the wall. She wobbled as her weight settled on her legs more fully, but she drew her head up and looked him square in the eye. Ginny had her pride, too, after all.

“Hello,” he said, blankly, as if she were a stranger.

“Hello,” she returned, just as empty. Ginny could play this game if she had to, but she didn’t want to do. She wanted him to hold her and soothe her and tell her that everything was sunny and bright. But that wasn’t Draco Malfoy.

He started walking again, but stopped to peer at her over his shoulder. “You should go to the Infirmary, Weasley. You don’t look well.”

Concern from him? It didn’t seem possible. “I don’t think Madame Pomfrey has a cure for my malady.”

Draco turned then and took a few steps toward her. “And what malady would that be, Weasley? A broken heart?” he mocked in a falsetto tone. Draco shook his head and smirked, his voice returning to its usual rich and seductive depth. “You’re so pathetic. You got what you wanted and I got what I wanted, at least until I didn’t want it anymore. You can’t blame me if you became attached.”

Ginny swallowed back the lump in her throat. “How can you be so cold, Draco? How can you pretend that I mean nothing to you?”

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer. “Don’t call me that, you’ve no right to it.”

She laughed briefly. It was bloody amusing, and her vision was dimming so that she could barely see his face. Ginny’s nose was close to Draco’s chest. His familiar, earthy musk carried on his body heat and rose in waves to meet her. Draco was wearing that sandalwood and amber cologne again and it was making her light-headed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Malfoy. I forgot that Draco and Malfoy are two different people. Draco may be a snide, sarcastic arse, but Malfoy is just an utter bastard.” Ginny twisted her lips briefly. She could be brutal, too. After all, she’d had two masters to teach her the delicate art of cruelty. “Like father, like son, I suppose.”

Draco pushed her back into the wall and pinned her against it with his hips, placing an arm on either side of her head. “Don’t start with me tonight. I’m in no mood for your games.”

She gazed up at him and attempted to hold his eyes steadily, but the sudden movement made her head swim. Ginny’s eyelids shuttered and her mouth was suddenly dry.

“Draco, please let me go, I don’t—” She swallowed and closed her eyes. The room was spinning all around her and Ginny couldn’t find a focal point when she opened her eyes again. “I don’t feel well.”

She could feel his sneer and his hot breath against her ear. “More games, Weasley? I’m not amused.”

“No. No games. I just—” Ginny looked into his face and saw a flicker of anxiety in his eyes before he shut down again. She tried to push him away, but her arms were weak and fluttered uselessly between them. “Please let me go.”

His eyes searched her face for a moment more, looking for guile or trickery, but he seemed satisfied and released his hold. Ginny stumbled for a moment and slid down the wall to land on her bottom.

All she could see were his shoes and trouser-clad lower legs. Ginny felt his fingers brush the top of her head briefly before he stepped back.

“I’m tired, Draco,” Ginny whispered. She raised her head to see his face, but it was in full shadow and she could only make out the glacial glittering of his eyes.

Ginny wished that he would swoop her up and tuck her into a warm bed. He’d curl up behind her and allow her to absorb some of his heat. She was so cold all of a sudden.

Draco bent down and curved his fingers around her upper arms, lifting her into a standing position she could barely hold.

“Ginny!” he barked, shaking her a little. “Stand up! I won’t carry you.”

Her head lolled and she could barely make sense of what he was saying, much less comply. “Draco, please—” Ginny licked her lips and gazed at him from under heavy eyelids. “Help me get to my common room. Please, Draco.”

She could see him debate the issue, but it didn’t register in her mind. Draco carefully slipped her down onto the stones and walked toward the Great Hall. He didn’t turn back to look at her when he opened the doors and strode inside, his cloak swishing gracefully behind him.

Ginny pressed her cheek against the cool, rough stone floor and a tear leaked from her eye. She tried to fight it, but she was too tired and she didn’t care anymore just who saw her.

After a long moment, she felt a warm hand slip behind her knees and another under her back. The person lifted her up and held her close to their chest. Ginny opened her eyes and was about to thank him for coming back, but stopped when she saw Colin looking down at her expectantly.

“Malfoy said that you needed some help,” he whispered, brushing aside a few hairs that clung to her clammy face. “I’m taking you to see Madame Pomfrey.”

Ginny shook her head weakly and closed her eyes. “No, just take me to my room please. I don’t need to go to the Infirmary.” She knew that Colin was frowning at her, but she didn’t care.

“Are you sure, Gin? You look crap, no offence.”

Colin’s voice rumbled in his chest and it soothed her a bit. She managed a smile. “You’re the second person to tell me that today. I’ll drink some Pepper-Up in the morning and I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Ginny bit back a howl. Draco had left her here. He couldn’t even help her to Gryffindor Tower. He didn’t want her, and he didn’t care. Ginny buried her face in Colin’s robes and allowed herself to cry.

“I’m just so tired, Colin,” she sobbed. Ginny’s shoulders trembled and Colin murmured sympathies to her, rocking her in his arms.

“Shh. It’s all right, Gin-girl, I have you. You’ll be fine. You don’t need him.”

Ginny shook her head and breathed deeply of Colin’s smell. It was clean: sunshine, new spring grass, and just the slightest acrid taint of photo processing potions.

“But he needs me, Colin. Don’t you see?” Ginny asked him earnestly, studying the boyish innocence of his face, and how the flesh was rounded around the jaw and over his eyes. Would he understand when she didn’t understand it herself?

“Draco needs me.”

Reviews are our friends. Let me know what you think about Ron and Pansy. I quite fancy the pairing, myself. Has all the delicious possibilities of D/G, but with more chances for actual emotions and romance. Likely, the only romance you’ll get from AIDE, I have the feeling. But perhaps not. I’ve yet to decide. I don’t think I write romance well. It always comes off stiff and fake.

I feel a trifle guilty and pathetic for begging so much for reviews in the last chapter. I was having a very bad day and felt unappreciated. But by no means does that mean you shouldn’t continue! Goodness. Reviews are good. I don’t expect every chapter or anything, but if you read a chapter you really liked, do let me know. Big thanks from the bottom of my heart to those reviewers who practically write me a novel. I love it when people pick this apart and analyse the details. Truly, it makes my millennium.

Cheers,

Sing *crawls back in her hole*

26. Sweets for the sweet or Snape

Author: A fool who, not content with having bored those who have lived with him, insists on tormenting generations to come.
~ Montesquieu

Authour’s Notes: A nod goes out to Mynuet, Sarea, 714, and a multitude of others. Heads up to Stephanie, the girl who seems to be on a one-woman mission to rec AIDE to the world. Claire and Alexis, for loving me so much. (Remember Alexis: men are from musk, women are from vanilla) My personal Lizard and my Steve for being themselves. And the Lizard of slashiness for drawing some outstanding art for you all to enjoy in chapter 27. Go check out her stuff, she’s really good. While you’re at it, read The Prefect’s Bathroom, located on her site. http://lizardcorner.topcities.com/

For it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart. It was not my lips you kissed,but my soul.
~ Judy Garland

When Ron woke up, the room was completely dark. His body was dry now and he could feel Pansy’s weight pressing on him. He was still naked; she had only her bra and knickers on; and it was freezing. He was hesitant to move for fear of waking her, not to mention it was warm where her body met his, so he decided to stay where he was and make himself a bit more comfortable.

Ron stretched his hand out toward his wand and was just able to grasp it in his fingers, sharply reminded of another time he had crawled for his wand on another cold floor. He summoned his cloak and covered their bodies with it, grinning all the while. The floor of the locker room was cold, but it would have to do. Ron didn’t feel much like moving.

Pansy stirred in her sleep, tossing an arm over his chest and mumbling to herself. Ron smiled and pulled her closer to him, taking the chance to study her.

She wasn’t a classic beauty, but pretty enough. Pansy’s eyes were large, wide, and blue when she was awake, and they were somehow even lovelier because they contrasted with her nose and delicate, thin-lipped mouth. It was as if the imperfection of one feature made the others more attractive.

Her pale hair was cropped off just below the shoulder, and she usually had it set in stiff finger waves, but now it was mussed and slightly damp. Ron decided that he liked it better this way.

He closed his eyes so the sight of her wouldn’t distract him anymore, and started wondering exactly what had happened. Ron thought that he would’ve been able to comprehend it better if they had just had a quick shag and went their separate ways. But neither of them wanted that, and both had been content to kiss, and murmur, and pet each other.

Ron didn’t understand it at all.

One moment she was trying to kill him again, and the next they were snogging and clutching each other as if their very lives depended on it. The whole thing was just bloody confusing and Ron groaned softly. He wondered what, exactly, he’d gotten himself into.

He didn’t love her. He couldn’t love her; he barely even knew her. But there was something about Pansy that called to him, something urgent and desperate and right, and when they kissed, it exploded around them like fireworks.

Ron opened his eyes and looked at Pansy again. What was it about her that touched him inside? He pondered this some more, absentmindedly running his fingers over her upper arm. If Hermione were there, she would pick it all apart into neat, tidy categories and label everything precisely. Maybe that was a start.

Pansy is a Slytherin. She’s arrogant, bossy, rude, and sneaky. She’s quick with a wand and probably knows more curses than Snape. Pansy has the most annoying shoes that clatter when she walks and sound like a herd of stampeding hippogriffs coming down the hall. She has an ugly, pug-like nose that she likes to turn up when something annoys her or if she finds the person unworthy of her attention. She’s slept with half of Slytherin house, including Draco Malfoy.

Pansy is a Slytherin.

That was the biggest hurdle to overcome. Slytherins and Gryffindors just did not get along. It was a Hogwarts tradition that stretched back over a thousand years to when Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin parted ways. It was just the way things were.

Ron nodded to himself and started playing with Pansy’s hair, winding the soft golden strands around one finger. So was there any reason at all to make him feel the way he did about her? Whatever this was that he was feeling. Ron still wasn’t quite sure on that point, so he furrowed his brow and forced himself to think of her good qualities in the hopes that it would become clear.

Pansy was tall. Even without her high heels on, she came closer to meeting his eye than any other girl he’d met aside from Millicent Bulstrode. Pansy had long, slender legs that seemed to go on forever, a slim waist, and small, pert breasts. She was clever, but not so clever that she was in another galaxy (with some other girls he knew, who would remain nameless). Pansy seemed genuinely devoted to the people she cared about, even if they didn’t give a fig for her. She cared about her appearance and took great pains to put her best foot forward. Even if that foot sometimes wound up in someone’s arse, namely, his.

Ron grinned ruefully and continued to twirl her hair. She could take care of herself for the most part and didn’t have any qualms about hexing someone if they irritated her, or stomping their hand into crumbs. Pansy was a bit scary when angry and didn’t stop herself from grabbing the nearest blunt object and making good use of it in the heat of the moment.

He liked that, even if it meant that it was usually Ron who had incurred her wrath. That part of Pansy reminded Ron of someone, but he couldn’t remember who it was for the life of him.

Pansy stirred in the circle of his arms and he looked down to see her staring at him. He mentally added the fact that she had remarkable eyes to the good side of his list.

“Hullo,” Ron said cheerfully. “Did you have a good rest?”

She scowled at him and scrunched her small nose. Ron found this terribly appealing for some reason and moved that part of her anatomy into the ‘undecided’ category. “What on earth am I doing on the floor lying next to you?”

Ron raised his eyebrows. Well, that was a mood breaker. The nose was definitely going back to the ‘bad’ side. “Um, I gave you a bath and we sort of—um, well, there was snogging involved, and then we decided to fall asleep in the locker room somewhere along the line.”

Pansy pushed his arms away and sat up. She was still half asleep and seemed to have a difficult time remembering what had happened. Pansy pushed her hair back and rubbed her swollen eyes before directing a hazy, heavy-lidded glare at Ron.

“Did I shag you?” she asked, her voice still rough with sleep.

“No shagging,” he assured her.

She sighed in relief and laid back down on the floor, appeased for the moment. “I’m still confused.”

Ron nodded. “Me, too.”

Pansy turned over to look at him. “Why did you kiss me?”

He wrinkled his forehead in thought, but he couldn’t think of a reason. “It seemed like the thing to do?”

“Mmmn.” Pansy drummed her fingers on his chest absently before glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “You know I still have to kill you, right?”

Ron groaned and put a hand over his face. “I thought you gave that up finally.”

She shook her head and licked her lips as if she were trying to decide how much she should say. “You don’t understand. I’m supposed to kill you. I can’t now because of the debt, obviously, and I’ve failed. That night in the dungeons was my last chance.”

“Last chance? But you’ve had loads of chances since then! You’re not making any sen—”

“Someone told me to kill you, you thick sot!” Pansy screeched in exasperation, her voice echoing off the tiles.

Ron sat up and grabbed her by the upper arms, finally understanding. “Who? Who told you to do it?”

Pansy’s eyes darted away. “I can’t tell you, he’d kill me. It’s not as if I wasn’t eager enough to do it anyway. I wanted to avenge my father and — everything else. But I suppose if your father burst into my house and tried to kill my family, I would have sent him to Azkaban, too.”

“I didn’t send him there myself, you know. And why’d you use a knife? Couldn’t you have just hexed me, or poisoned me, or something? Why did it have to be a knife?” Ron asked. He could feel the blood on his hands, late at night when he was trying to sleep. If he touched his face, he could almost still feel the hot, sticky spatter of Lucius Malfoy on his cheek.

“I don’t know. He just gave me the knife and said to kill you that way, that it was appropriate. I thought I could do it. I thought I was strong enough to plunge it right in your heart, but I couldn’t.” Pansy glanced at her hands, then at his face.

“Who is it though? And why do they want me dead?”

Pansy sighed. “I can’t tell you who it was. You’d look at him the wrong way and he’d know that I told you. You Gryffindors wear your hearts on your sleeve and your suspicions in your wand.” Her eyes narrowed for just a moment. “You have no subtly, whereas he is the master of it, Weasley. He probably knows that I’m here with you now. The only thing I remember him saying was that you ‘upset the balance and threw off the game’.”

“Game?” Ron asked incredulously. “What game? The only thing I can think of is that he was talking about Voldemort, and that was no game. He was going to kill my entire bloody family! He wanted to kill Harry.” Ron put his head in his hands and shuddered. “I did it with a knife. Can you imagine? Voldemort crumpled on the floor like a sack of potatoes when I stabbed him with some Muggle knife my father brought home years ago.”

Ron paused and looked down at his hands. It wouldn’t be too hard to imagine that the tiny brown spots were actually bloodstains. Every freckle on his hands seemed to burn all at once, consuming his flesh, imprinting it with the miniscule tattoos that proclaimed him a murderer.

“Do you know what it’s like, Parkinson?” Ron asked suddenly. “Do you have any idea how it feels to stab someone?” Her eyes widened, but he pressed on. “Do you know what blood feels like when it gushes over your hands? Or the smell of it? The smell is so thick that you can almost taste it in the air, sort of zingy and coppery.”

Ron pressed his fingers to his mouth, almost expecting it to be there again. “I don’t think that you have it in you to kill someone like that, Pansy,” he said softly, letting her given name roll off his tongue again in the most intimate way. “I didn’t plan it out, I didn’t think. It just happened, and everything was over before anyone could breathe a word to stop me. The Death Eaters couldn’t see anything for the smoke, and when it cleared, Voldemort was dead. I mean, everyone was bloody gobsmacked and I wonder why no one did it before if it was just that easy. There are only a few people who know how he died other than my family, so whoever this guy is, he must be one of them and I’m going to find out with or without your help.”

“But I can’t help you,” Pansy gasped, her breath quickening. “Don’t you see? He knows everything that happens here at Hogwarts and he’ll know that I’m the one who told you. There’s just no way.” Pansy shook her head. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you about this. I’m not sure if I hate you or if— well, whatever that other thing is.” Her eyes welled up and she wiped them hastily with the heel of her hand. “I’m so sodding confused!”

Ron snorted. “You think I’m not? I mean, you were trying to kill me a few hours ago and now I’m cuddling with you in the Gryffindor locker room. What’s worse is that I like it! Supreme confusion, this.”

Pansy nodded and rested her forehead on his chest. “And we didn’t even shag. It’s the oddest thing I’ve ever done.”

Ron ran his hand up and down her back, basking in the shiver of pleasure that tingled his nerves. He felt that it was probably the most beautiful thing he‘d ever live to experience. “Tell me about it.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

10th October, 1997

I’ve discovered the secret that Percy Weasley thinks that he hides so well. I informed My Lord and he was pleased. Although I had blackmail in mind, he thought of something much crueller and more likely to win the boy to our side. Unfortunately, this means that I must use myself as bait. The boy seems to have developed an attachment to me and it won’t be difficult to seduce the little sycophant.

I am Lucius Malfoy. I succeed where others fail, and I am positive that I can win both his trust and his heart. My Lord is eager to see this done well before Christmas, so I have little time.

Research and observation has told me that the boy is a bookworm and dedicated only to his work and his family. Apparently he had a falling out with his parents a couple of years ago, so he’s been especially attentive to them since then. He strikes me as a perfectionist and is one of those bourgeois, lower-class nothings who like to pretend that they’re higher in station than they really are. Before I destroy him, I’ll take pleasure in telling him just where he stands in the world and where he always will be.

Narcissa is ‘sick’ again and I’ve grown tired of her histrionics. If it weren’t for the Rosier blood flowing through her veins, I would have rid myself of her years ago. At least she’s become intelligent enough not to cross me, and she leaves me to the whores and mistresses that warm my bed at night.

Her blood is too precious to be wasted though, and she is most certainly still of childbearing years. Perhaps I will have another child if My Lord decides that Draco is not what he wanted after all.

I’m still unsure of how My Lord managed to go through time and space to arrange marriages between families before he was even born, though I admire his power. Perhaps if I especially please him, he will share his secrets with me. His current body is weak and Draco’s will be much better. I’ve shown him the more recent pictures of the boy and My Lord seems pleased with his growth and development. The curse has kept Draco compliant and healthy, and my insistence has insured that he is well respected, if not liked, by his housemates and they will follow where he leads.

My Lord has said that he will perform the ritual after Christmas. He wants Harry Potter in my Chamber before he takes his new body, so that means I must keep Percy Weasley happy and occupied until then. But once he has helped us pass the barriers and into his parent’s home, he is of no more use to us.

I’m only thankful that I do not have to seduce the boy who drives the Knight Bus, as well. Fortunately, MacNair is taking care of that situation. He’s always been arrogant about his Charms knowledge, so I suppose he is the best candidate for crashing the gaudy thing. At least he doesn’t have to kiss the spotty driver, lucky bastard.

My luck has dwindled even lower it seems. Avery has such an abrasive personality that I shouldn’t have to accompany him to America to take care of the white willow bark negotiations. But he’ll likely bungle even that if I’m not there to steer him in the proper direction. If he vexes me, then he’ll surely vex the Americans, so I don’t see the point in going myself since that is our aim.

Draco closed his father’s journal with a thump and buried it under his pillow again. The silk of his duvet was hot and made him sweaty so he threw it off.

He didn’t know why he kept reading the journal; it only irritated him. Draco wanted to know what the curse was and if it was completely gone, but there was little to explain it aside from the fact that it seemed to make him easier to control and kept him healthy. The last part at least was true. He’d never been sick until that day at the Burrow when the snow sprite cursed him.

Draco shoved his hand under his pillow so he could feel the leather grain of his father’s journal, but he encountered something knobbly instead and pulled it out. Draco frowned at the sock in his hand. It was one of the ones Ginny had made for him. How did those damn things keep getting under his pillow, anyway?

It seemed as if he was always being cursed.

He flung it across the room and fell face down into his pillow, hoping that it would muffle his screams of exasperation. Draco didn’t want to be reminded of Ginny. It was a neat little package he’d already thrown into the bin, and he wanted it to stay there. Rubbish didn’t just jump out and attack you every time you threw it in the bin, did it? No, it stayed where it belonged.

Rubbish didn’t make you feel guilty.

“Aaaaah,” Draco moaned into his pillow. He flipped onto his back and jammed the pouf over his face. So he admitted it. He felt guilty. It wasn’t the end of the world, even if it was something relatively new. At least he could identify the feeling this time. Most of the things that were floating around in his mind were impossible to label.

Draco could admit that he’d been callous in pawning Ginny off on someone else outside the Great Hall. He didn’t want to deal with her anymore! It wasn’t as if she were his bloody responsibility or anything. Ginny was a big girl and she could take care of herself. And if she couldn’t, well, that’s what her poncy little friend was for.

He nodded in affirmation of this logic and rolled over to get some sleep. Draco was still for a while, his eyes tightly shut, waiting for the bliss of unconsciousness to come. After half an hour, he was twiddling his fingers in frustration and forcing himself not to think of Ginny and her pleading.

The way her brown eyes had watered did not make him feel guilty. Her hair, once so full of life and vitality, did not make him upset when he saw how dull it was now. It didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Bugger!” Draco shouted. He burrowed his head under the pillow, holding it over his ears as if it would protect him from his own mind. Someone muttered something off colour and tossed a shoe in his general direction. Draco lifted the pillow to watch as it bounced off the bedpost and onto the floor.

He twisted and squirmed in his bed, willing the sleep to come. Draco finally sighed and gave in to what he wanted. He cast a warming charm on the material and allowed himself to pretend that the pillow was really Ginny. Draco imagined that the silken covering was her soft belly skin, and if he moved his arm under it just right, it was her breathing.

Draco fell asleep soon after that.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry glanced at his map again. It confirmed that Snape was in his private chambers and no one was in or near his office. Harry motioned for Hermione to release the spell that held the Silence Sphere around them so they could pass the wards into Snape’s office.

Hermione cleared her throat and whispered the password that Harry had managed to get earlier that day. “Wits sharp.”

The door to Snape’s office creaked open and Harry nodded to Hermione. The plan was simple: she would go into the office, find the box, open the box, and make the switch. Harry would guard the door and keep an eye on the Marauder’s map to make sure that Snape didn’t come and find them.

Hermione had practiced chanting her spells as quietly as possible all that afternoon. She had finally arrived at the point where Harry couldn’t hear her speak the words even from right next to her, but the spell would work anyway because she had pronounced it properly.

So even if the walls did have ears, they wouldn’t hear much.

Harry looked down at the map. He concentrated solely on where it showed Snape walking a circuit of his bedroom. Round and round, back and forth, likely pacing. Did the man never sleep?

A quick peek around the office door revealed Hermione hard at work, casting various charms on an old, iron-banded wooden box that sat on Snape’s desk. That had to be it; there were no other boxes. She blew out a breath in frustration and poked her wand into the brass keyhole, mouthing a spell that turned the end of it into a key. Hermione gave a small squeak of delight when the lock clicked and quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, shooting an apologetic glance at Harry. He shook his head and mouthed the word: ‘hurry’.

Hermione nodded and carefully opened the box, gazing at the contents with puzzlement. Harry took this opportunity to glance at his map again and almost cried out. Snape was coming!

He waved to get Hermione’s attention and pointed at the map. She beetled her brows and reached into her pocket for the quill she had brought with her in order to have something to transfigure. Hermione whispered a few words and Harry looked back at the map. Just as he was about to pull her bodily out of Snape’s office, Hermione rushed up to him. Harry threw the cloak over her and closed the door as Hermione waved her wand over them, casting the Silence Sphere.

“Did you get it?” he asked finally. His heart was in his throat and he knew that Snape was going to open the door to the Potions classroom any moment.

“Yes. Although I’m starting to think that this is someone’s idea of a joke. I mean, hones—”

“Hermione, we need to leave now. We can study whatever it is when we get back to Gryffindor. Snape is just outside of the room.”

She sighed and put her wand away. “Well, where is he? It doesn’t take this long to walk from his chambers, they’re only three doors down.”

Harry frowned and looked back at his map. Snape had stopped directly outside of the door and he didn’t seem to be moving one-way or the other. “Um, Snape’s just standing there; it’s like he’s waiting for something.”

Hermione threw her hands up in frustration. “Perfect. Knowing Professor Snape, he’ll stay out there all night just to spite us.”

“At least we have the Silence Sphere and the cloak. We can sit down over here until he goes away.”

He walked over to a bench and pulled her into his lap. Hermione squealed and laughed when he started tickling her outer thigh. Harry found himself suddenly hoping that Snape would stay outside the door for a while.

“Harry! You’re impossible. Professor Snape is only a few feet away and you’re getting randy with me?”

Harry grinned and kissed the flushed skin on the back of her neck. “It is a bit naughty, isn’t it? Knowing we could be caught any moment.”

Hermione shivered under the pressure of his lips. “I suppose it is.”

She relaxed against him for a moment before bolting upright again. “Wait a moment, Harry. I wanted to show you just what we came here for.”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. If he’d had any doubts about Hermione acting oddly before, she had just confirmed that she was, indeed, normal again.

“What is it?” he asked huskily.

Hermione wiggled around so she could face him and pulled something from a pocket in her robes. The squirming of her backside on his lap made him bite his lip, but he tried to give her his full mental attention.

“This is all that was in that box. It doesn’t look particularly auspicious to me, but then again, this is the wizarding world. It could very possibly be a Portkey.”

Harry frowned and lifted the object from Hermione’s hands. It was dark inside the cloak, but he could see that it was a small, embossed metal box with a hinge lid. The texture of the metal told him that it was a bit rusty and the peeling paint on the cover spelled out: Schub-rt’s Scru—tious Sherbets. The box looked incredibly old.

“I really hope this is more than a box of sherbets or I’ll be severely disappointed.”

Hermione smacked him lightly on the arm. “Harry, be serious for a moment. I hope that we’ve only discovered that Snape has a secret liking for Muggle sweets. I don’t care how much effort we’ve put into finding out, it’s better than any alternative I can imagine!”

Harry curled his fingers over the lid but Hermione slammed her hand down over his. Some rust flakes fell on his trouser leg from the impact, but he didn’t bother with brushing them away.

“Are you mad?” she hissed. “If it is a Portkey, opening it up could activate it and take us to God only knows where! We’re not prepared. We need to do some more research and—”

Harry shook her hand away and ripped open the top, bracing himself for the behind-the-navel pull of a Portkey activation, but was relieved when he didn’t feel it.

“Nothing happened. It really is just a box of sherbet lem—”

“Hello? Is someone there?” a small, tinny voice called out, cutting Harry off.

“Did you hear that, Hermione?”

Hermione nodded and pointed at his hand. The voice was coming from there and suddenly a little ball of white light rose from the shallow box and hovered just in front of them.

“Who are you?” the orb asked.

Harry glanced at Hermione, but she only shrugged. “I’m, uh, I’m Harry Potter.” He raised his eyebrows and squinted his eyes against the sudden brightness. “Who are you?”

The ball of light seemed to flicker, as if considering the question before answering. “My name is Albus Dumbledore,” it said in a creaky, pompous boom. “I’m the Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Harry blinked rapidly and rubbed at his eyes. The little ball of light was still there and he could have sworn that it said—

“Um, you’re who?”

The orb flickered in annoyance. “I said that my name is Albus Dumbledore. Are you hard of hearing, boy?”

“N-no, sir.” Harry stuttered. “It’s just that, well, you can’t be Professor Dumbledore.”

“I agree,” Hermione said.

She studied the empty box now that she had light to see it. Harry took the opportunity to peruse the Marauder’s Map. His eyes passed briefly over Snape, who was still pacing outside of the Potions classroom. But then Harry flicked his gaze to the Headmaster’s bedchambers in the far corner. There was a small dot labelled ‘Albus Dumbledore’ with a little bubble hovering over it that said: ‘Zzzzzzz’.

“Ha!” Harry crowed, triumphant. He tapped the map with his finger and shoved it closer to the little ball of light. “You see that? It says that Dumbledore is in his quarters, so you can’t possibly be him.”

Hermione nodded academically. “Not to mention that you’re little more than an animated candle flame; no offence intended, of course. Certainly not a professor.”

The ‘animated candle flame’ flitted closer to the map, peering down as if it were nearsighted. It gave a startled yelp and jumped back.

“But-but, I’m Albus Dumbledore!”

Harry shook his head and gritted his teeth to keep from screaming. “No, you’re not.” He pointed at the Headmaster’s chambers again. “The Marauder’s Map says that Albus Dumbledore is asleep. And if you look over here to where we are, it says—” Harry froze. “It says—”

“What?” Hermione squinted down at the map. Harry trailed his finger reluctantly over the map to show her, searching for the little dots that said: ‘Harry Potter’ and ‘Hermione Granger’. But when the pad of his finger grazed over the Potions classroom, there was another dot. One that hadn’t been there when he checked to see if anyone was inside of Snape’s office earlier.

It was labelled, in impossibly tiny letters: ‘Essence of Albus Dumbledore’.

27. In which no one is particularly surprised

Authour’s Notes: This is the chapter which contains Big Cliché Number One. I’ve tried my best to keep it fairly realistic and everything, yet still stay within the HP realm. Contained herein is 80% of the plot, believe it or not. At this time, I’d like to thank Claire and Alexis for being the little cuties that they are. I also have a live journal now if anyone wants to check it out. My username is singtoangels (for those of you on ff.net who can’t see the link) and the link is http://livejournal.com/users/singtoangels It’s my public journal for things such as cookies from AIDE, ficlets, smutlets, and updates on how much I’ve written and when the next chapter might be out. It also contains boring things like rants and fun things like recs.

I know that I really left you all hanging in the last chapter, and I’m sorry, but the resolution with that is slow in coming. I finished chapter 30 a couple of weeks ago and that contains a bit more, but it’s still not resolved with what exactly Albus Quaffle is. I’ve started chapter 31, and I’m slowly but surely getting all my plot threads back together after the death of my old computer right buggered me by losing my notes and everything.

A heads up to Colin lovers. Chapter 28 is going to be a real tear jerker with him. He’s going to make you cry. Me, the hard-assed bitch that I am, cried at his dialogue, so expect some warm sniffles.

I’m excited about the next chapter coming out. It’s all about Percy and just what the hell motivated him to join up with Lucius and the Death Eaters. It has art from Lizard and Glockgirl and I’m quite pleased at that. Two pieces of art for one incredibly long chapter. Yay!

Go on now, go read. You don’t want to be arsed with my inane and copious notes anymore. Shoo!

(Psst: Sharlene, don’t worry about your fat mouth, just tell me what you think. Hee hee.)

I existed from all eternity and, behold, I am here; and I shall exist till the end of time, for my being has no end.
~ Kahlil Gibran - Anthem of Humanity

Ginny awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. The sunlight glinting through the windows was bright and cheerful, and there was enough of it to tell Ginny that it was almost noon. Apparently Colin told her dormmates not to wake her up for lessons.

She grumbled to herself and went to swing her legs over the bed, but they bumped into something solid.

“Wha—? Hermione? What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

It was true. Hermione was sitting on the edge of Ginny’s bed, her back rigid and her hands folded calmly on her lap. She seemed to have been waiting for some time because Ginny’s outburst startled her.

“Oh, I see that you’re finally awake.”

“Erm,” Ginny rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, I s’pose I am.”

Hermione nodded and stood up. Her manner was strangely businesslike as she carefully smoothed her skirt down. “I asked if I could bring your work up to you. It gave me an excuse to be here and the perfect time to do it. Everyone’s in lessons right now.”

Ginny nodded warily. “All right. Um.” She stretched her arms out over her head and yawned. “Thanks for bringing my coursework and everything, but uh—”

“I didn’t come up here just to bring that!” Hermione snapped coldly. “Get out of bed and follow me.”

Ginny blinked and decided not to bother asking what was going on. She grabbed the dressing gown beside her bed and slipped it over her shoulders, choosing to go without her slippers for the time being, in case Hermione yelled at her again because it took too long to find them.

Hermione walked stiffly to the sixth year girls’ lavatory across the room and Ginny shuffled after her, still half-asleep. She watched as Hermione pulled several vials from a rucksack she was carrying and line them up carefully on the sink.

“What are those?”

“Something I’ve been working on,” Hermione muttered as she started to mix ingredients together. “It’s amazing how utterly backwards the wizarding world is about some things, but completely open about others. I mean, you found that stupid potion in the back pages of Witches’ Weekly, yet I had to create this potion through research in Muggle chemistry because, apparently, no wizarding equivalent exists.” She held a vial up to her eye and swirled it around carefully. “I’ve looked through loads of books in the Restricted Section and all for nothing. And Madame Pomfrey wouldn’t let me near her precious medical books again.” Hermione made a scoffing sound at the back of her throat and mumbled something that sounded like ‘old-fashioned hypocrites’. “It’s positively ridiculous,” she said a bit louder. “Give me your hand.”

Ginny was hesitant, but she stretched her hand out anyway. Hermione snatched it up and quickly pricked her finger with a pin, causing Ginny to cry out.

“Oh, be still! It’s just a pin prick.”

She squeezed the end of Ginny’s finger to extract a large, ruby drop of blood before upending it over one of the vials. She let go of Ginny’s hand and swished the light blue liquid around, mixing the blood in thoroughly before pricking her own thumb and carefully dripping some of the blood into the other vial.

“There,” Hermione said with satisfaction. “Now we just have to wait for one and a half minutes and if it changes colour, we’ll know for sure.”

“Uh . . .” Ginny was a little more awake now, but still groggy enough that she completely missed the point. However, she had the feeling that even if she were in full possession of her senses, she would still be confused. “What will we know for sure?”

Hermione stared at Ginny for a moment before blinking and clearing her throat. “Well, we’ll know. Don’t tell me that you haven’t suspected at least.”

“Suspected what?”

Hermione shook her head in exasperation and pinched the bridge of her nose so hard that the tips of her fingers were white. “Ginny, you do know that the potion you made at the Burrow was faulty, right?”

“What?!” Ginny was suddenly wide-awake and panicked. “The potion was faulty? B-but I did everything it said! The only things missing were the Flobberworms, and they only thicken it so I don’t see—”

Hermione nodded. “I know that’s what you thought, and I—well, I can only blame you so much because I took it, too, and didn’t bother to check for myself if it was brewed properly. Though I realised later what you left out of the first batch when I read through that book of Madame Pomfrey’s. I’ve done research on that potion, you see, and it was defective to begin with. Even though it does work roughly eighty-percent of the time, there are better methods for long term contraceptives with some of the more common tinctures such as slippery elm mixed with progesterone and or estrogen producing herbs.” Ginny blinked stupidly at her and Hermione sighed in exasperation. “Forget about that for now. You see, the Flobberworms in that ‘preventative potion’ . . .” She trailed off for a moment and glanced at the vials. The liquid was still the original colour. “Well, the Flobberworms are the most important ingredient. They build a—” Hermione screwed up one eye and squinted at her. “Are you sure you want to know this? It’s a bit disgusting.”

Ginny nodded, her heart thundering in her throat so hard that she didn’t trust herself to speak. She forced herself to stare at Hermione’s face so she wouldn’t look at the vials of potion behind them.

Hermione took a deep breath. “All right. You know that Flobberworms produce mucus, correct?” Ginny fluttered her eyes and she continued. “Well, the Flobberworms force your body to produce more mucus, and the other ingredients are sort of a directive to tell your body exactly where to produce this mucus. So the mucus forms a protective layer over your cervix by direction of the Diricrawl feather and the other ingredients are mostly inactive or strengthening by increasing the natural acidity of your, um—” Hermione cleared her throat, her cheeks noticeably red as she nearly tripped over herself to keep talking. “Anyway, this layer, once fully formed, keeps the man’s ejacula—”

Ginny held up her hand at this point. “I understand, Hermione.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool tiles of the wall. “I didn’t think that I could be so thick,” Ginny muttered.

Hermione’s eyes were a trifle hard when Ginny peeped out from under her lashes to look at her. “Well, I feel a bit foolish myself for blindly trusting you to brew that potion correctly! I’m in just as much danger as you are, you know. The use of that potion represses your monthly so long as you take it, as I’m sure you know, so I have no idea if I’m preg—”

“Merlin, don’t say it! I don’t think I can handle hearing that word. Especially now.” Ginny moaned and scrubbed her face with her hands as Hermione started again.

“You need to hear it! Because this is reality, Ginny, and you can’t act like a two year-old about something so important that may affect one or both of us.”

But Ginny was staring at the vials now; she couldn’t avoid their presence any longer. One was a dark purple while the other remained the same crystal blue. She closed her eyes and breathed very slowly in and out.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to act like a child again, Hermione. Look.” Ginny pointed at the sink and Hermione turned to see the change and gasped.

“Oh my—Merlin!” Hermione whispered. She clapped a hand over her mouth and stepped back. Her callous manner seemed to melt away and she was all at once only concerned for Ginny. “Oh my God. Oh, oh, Ginny! What are you going to do?”

Hermione quickly enveloped Ginny in a hug and held her tight, whimpering in her ear. “Oh what are you going to do? You have to tell your mum and she’ll be so disappointed. And Professor McGonagall, what will she think of this?”

Ginny stepped out of Hermione’s strangling embrace and shook her head. “No. I-I’m just not going to tell them, is all. I mean,” Ginny looked down at her stomach and poked it gently. The firmness she’d been so proud of had turned out to be a baby. How—disappointing. “The school year is almost over and I suppose that I can hide this under my robes until then. After that, maybe Mum will let me go to Colin’s for summer hols and—and I can have the baby at his house! Then I’ll bring it home and say that I found it on a doorstep and she’ll want to take care of it and she’ll be proud that I decided to take in a poor orphan baby and—and—” Ginny put a hand to her lips and her voice cracked on a sob so she stuffed her fingers in her mouth and bit them, hard.

Hermione was staring at her blankly. “That’s ridiculous, Ginny. No one would ever believe that. You have to tell her about this. We’ll go right now to Professor McGonagall and I’m sure that—”

“No!” Ginny yelled. Her face was hot and she wanted so much to lie back down on her bed and cry. Or curl up with Colin or— “Draco. Sweet Merlin. He can’t know about this, he just can’t. He’d kill me. Or ignore me. Or laugh. I don’t know which would be worse. Oh God.”

“But this is why we need to tell Professor McGonagall! If he finds out, he may try to hurt you. And I know that you may be a love-sick fool, but surely even you can admit that you’ll need protection from him. And I don’t think that your robes will hide your belly until the end of the year. We still have a little over three months and you’ll start rounding out long before then.”

“No! She’ll tell Mum and then Mum will tell Dad and then—and then— no! Just no. You’re not telling McGonagall anything about this. Do you hear me?” Ginny squeezed her eyes shut. “And I’m not in love with him. I never was.”

“Oh please, Ginny! Don’t assume for a moment that I’m stupid. You’ve been mooning around ever since he broke up with you. And worse than that, before he broke up with you, you were acting like some sort of servant to him. ‘Yes, Draco. No, Draco. Oh let me knit a jumper to keep your poor little black heart warm, Draco.’” Hermione slapped the sink and the vials shook in their holders. “You were worse with him than you ever were when you had that crush on Harry. You won’t do anything without your precious Draco’s consent!”

“That’s not true!” Ginny argued hotly. “I don’t love him. I never will love him, and even if I did, it’s none of your business.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “I’m trying to help you! Don’t you see? When it comes to Malfoy, you’re blind. You can’t see how—how evil he is.”

Ginny scoffed. “Evil? He’s not evil. All right, he’s a git, a first-class arse, even. But Draco isn’t evil.” Ginny scowled at Hermione. “And you’re not telling McGonagall. Because then she’ll ask who the father is and I’m not going to tell her. I’m not telling anyone about this.”

But Hermione was collecting her vials together with a determined air and shoving them back into her bag. “I’ve not been myself for too long. All this stress lately— I thought that it would be all right to take a page from Harry’s book and have a bit of fun, lighten up . . .” She was mumbling to herself and the vials were clinking inside of the rucksack. “This is the last straw. I wasn’t meant to break the rules. I’m not made for it.” Hermione shook her head and turned to push past Ginny. “It’s high time that I was myself again. Starting right now.”

Ginny’s eyes widened and, panicking, she threw her weight into Hermione and pinned her to the wall. Hermione was only slightly taller and heavier than she was, but Quidditch skills and fear combined to make Ginny almost invincible. The small, hard roundness of her belly throbbed when it bounced against the other girl’s.

Hermione inhaled sharply and squirmed against her. The bag fell to the ground with a crash, spilling shards of glass over the tiles. “What’s wrong with you? Are you mad? Let me go!”

“Don’t tell McGonagall,” Ginny demanded. “Just don’t tell McGonagall and I’ll let you go. Promise me!”

Hermione shook her head, her bushy hair tickling Ginny’s face. “I’m not going to promise you anything, Ginny. I have to tell her. I have to tell her for you. You can hate me, and rage at me, or never speak to me again if you want, but I’d rather that than see you even more hurt by this. Or dead.”

Ginny twisted Hermione’s arm, her thumb pressed painfully into the soft flesh and Hermione cried out into her shoulder. “Promise me, Hermione. Because I know what my parents will tell me and I don’t want to do it! Promise me.”

Hermione sobbed, tears running down her flushed cheeks and Ginny stepped back, startled by her own anger. She put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Hermione. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

But Hermione took one last, wide-eyed look at Ginny’s trembling form and ran out of the lavatory, cradling her elbow. Ginny closed her eyes and sunk to the floor. She didn’t care that her knees were in broken glass, or that she bruised her forehead when she let it fall against the tiles. Ginny only knew that she had just hurt one of her best friends in the world. A friend who was looking out for her well-being, even if she didn’t know just how much trouble she would cause by going to McGonagall.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ron cracked his neck and stood up, rubbing his cold and aching backside. Pansy had left sometime during the night and hadn’t bothered to wake him. She also hadn’t bothered to leave a note to let him know that another troll didn’t eat her on the way back to her dormitory. Then again, if she were eaten, she wouldn’t have been able to leave a note, would she?

He frowned as he put on his hard, muddy Quidditch robes. He shouldn’t care if a troll ate Pansy. The night before aside, she was still a Slytherin. But even though she was a Slytherin and a would-be murderer . . .

Ron still fancied her.

His shoes were coated in flaking bits of mud, but Ron mindlessly shoved his feet into them and tied the stiff laces together. He remembered his broken Firebolt II with a pang and couldn’t bring himself to retrieve the pieces of it from just outside of the Forest, so he trudged off through the dewy grass to the castle and his dormitory.

It was still early morning, but it seemed as if everyone had already left for breakfast. If he hurried, Ron thought that he just might get to the Great Hall before all the bacon and marmalade were gone. He dug through his trunk and pulled out some school robes that weren’t terribly wrinkled.

Ron was just about to shuck off his underpants when a glint of light caught his eye. He turned to look and saw it again, flitting behind the curtains of Harry’s bed.

“What the devil . . .?” Ron muttered to himself, and as he crept closer, he could hear muffled grunts and the rustling of bedclothes. Ron’s body became rigid and he turned stiffly away. Harry was probably ‘entertaining company,’ if Hermione could be considered company.

“Stupid pillock,” Ron grumbled, pulling his school robes over his head backward in his hurry to get away.

“I said get in the box!” He heard Harry shout suddenly amidst more rustling.

What type of weird game were they playing now? He’d heard from Seamus and Dean that Hermione and Harry’s bedroom behaviour was rather . . . eccentric, but this was just odd. Was he really talking to his—?

“If you don’t get in the box, I’m going to thump you. I mean it!”

Ron sat on the edge of his bed and tied his shoes with his head cocked to one side, listening. He hadn’t yet heard Hermione, and Ron couldn’t help but overhear—

“You don’t like the box? Well, what else am I supposed to put you in? You can’t just go flitting about like a faerie, you know.” Pause. “Yes, I know that you’re a—a wizard with rights and—you sound an awful lot like Hermione.”

Ron’s hand jerked suddenly and he broke his shoelace. Harry wasn’t with Hermione? Who was he talking to then?

“Um, no I don’t have any toys. Oh wait! Seamus sleeps with a plush Quaffle, so if you don’t mind bunking with him and keeping quiet at night, I don’t see why I can’t stuff you in there.”

Shuffling toward the door, Ron’s mouth was slightly open and he craned his neck to see who Harry was in bed with, but the curtains were mostly closed and all he saw was one of Harry’s naked feet dangling off the edge.

“No, you should be all right.” Pause. “Well, Seamus is a nice enough guy, but I don’t know if he kicks. I’ve never slept with him.”

Ron shook his head and carefully closed the door behind him, making his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ginny sat at the Gryffindor table that evening, ignoring Colin’s concerned chatter and letting her soup drip off the end of her spoon before picking up another bite to do the same. If Ginny concentrated on playing with her food, then maybe she could forget that she was— that word. And she could also forget about Hermione and her promise to inform McGonagall about the situation. Ginny hadn’t seen Hermione all day, but then she’d been in the bathroom or in bed since she’d found out about—her condition. She was getting to be as bad as Draco with the sleep thing, but she supposed that she had a good reason.

The thought of him made her glance over to look at the Slytherin table unconsciously and her chest tightened. There he was: a polished blonde ideal, holding court among a throng of young Ravenclaws and two Slytherin fourth-years. Girls that were old enough for him to have fun with, but too young to know any better. Ginny snorted and let her spoon fall into her soup bowl with a clatter.

The rest of his housemates kept shooting dirty glances at Draco, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention to anyone but the garden of girls surrounding him. He was most distinctly not looking in Ginny’s direction since his body was turned away from the Gryffindor table.

She frowned and let her eyes rove over the rest of the hall. Pansy Parkinson was staring at the Gryffindor table, though; in what she probably thought was a covert manner, of course. Ginny followed her line of sight and was startled when it led to Ron, but she was even more shocked to see that her brother was openly looking back! And he wasn’t scowling or making rude gestures, Ron merely sat there, his brow furrowed as if he were working out a particularly nasty Arithmancy problem while he studied the Slytherin girl. Ron looked confused, whereas Pansy appeared to be content just to fixate on him from the corner of her eye as she ate her blancmange. Ginny shuddered. That was just scary.

“What’s wrong with your famous brother?” Colin nudged Ginny in the arm with a chicken leg he’d been gnawing.

“Absolutely no idea.” She absentmindedly swiped at the grease on her blouse with a linen napkin. “I think that Parkinson is star-struck, though.” Ginny pointed subtly with the crumpled cloth at the Slytherin table. “Then again, Ron did save her life.” She wrinkled her nose. “Although I don’t know why. I mean, she’s a fellow student and all, but I can’t see Ron diving in to save her like that and just ignoring the game yesterday; that’s more Harry’s bit. He could have told Snape or someone just as easily and let them handle it.”

Ginny peeked at Ron again. He was absently picking at a chicken and leek pie. Every once in a while he would stuff a bite in his mouth half-heartedly. “I don’t think that he knows why, either.”

Colin shrugged and took a sip of his pumpkin juice. “Well, darling, let Ron sort out his own messes. Maybe he’s broadening his horizons. I mean, he’s already had nearly every girl in his year from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, not to mention several from our own house. So perhaps he’s getting friendly with the snakies now.”

Ginny scoffed and almost laughed outright. “I hardly think so. Ron hates Slytherins with a passion.”

“They all look the same in the dark, chicken. An arse is an arse, or whatever.” Colin’s nose twitched slightly and Ginny laughed lightly.

“Pervy bastard.” She smacked him on the leg in a friendly manner and finally took a bite from her now-cold beef and barley soup. Or she would have taken a bite if a shadow hadn’t have fallen over her plate.

Ginny looked up and almost screamed when she saw Professor McGonagall; the one person in the world she didn’t want to see right now as it could only mean one thing. McGonagall seemed slightly more severe than normal, her already thin lips pressed into a tight line.

“Miss Weasley,” she crisped. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meal, but the Headmaster and I would like a word with you.”

Colin’s eyes widened slightly and he glanced from Professor McGonagall to Ginny’s drained face and back again. “Gin? What’s happened, Professor?”

“I’m afraid that I can not tell you, Mr Creevey. This is a private matter.”

Colin scowled, but it softened when Ginny clutched his thigh under the table. He put an arm around her and squeezed carefully. “What’s the matter, Ginny?” he whispered.

“Come with me. Please, Colin. I-I don’t want to go by myself.” Ginny’s voice was breathy and low; she could barely find the strength to speak. Surely Professor McGonagall would let her bring Colin; she needed him.

“Miss Weasley, kindly stand up and come with me now. You may talk to Mr Creevey later.”

McGonagall stood firm and people were beginning to stare. Ginny searched for Draco to see his reaction, but he had already left the Hall.

“She wants me to come with her. Surely Professor Dumbledo—”

Professor McGonagall cut Colin off before he could finish. “I’m sorry, Mr Creevey. But this meeting is for Miss Weasley, not you.”

“But I’m her friend!” Colin burst out, and made to stand up. Ginny put her hand on his arm and drew him back down.

“I’ll be all right, Colin,” she whispered. “I knew this was coming. Will you wait up for me?”

His face was flushed with anger, but he nodded and pressed her suddenly cold fingers. “Go on then, love. I’ll be in the common room until you come up to bed.” He looked her in the eyes sharply. “Where I expect a full explanation of what the devil is going on here.”

Ginny swallowed hard and nodded before standing up to follow Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall. She tried to step bravely, but her insides were quivering.

“Why are we going to see the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall? I haven’t done anything wrong that I can think.”

She could almost swear that the Professor’s lip twitched slightly before answering. “Don’t play innocent, Miss Weasley. You know full well why you’re being called to his office.”

Ginny’s throat swelled and she couldn’t breathe for a moment. When the feeling of panic subsided, she gave one last attempt to save her pride. “I won’t tell you or anyone else who he is, Professor. You can give me V-Veritaserum if you’d like, but I’ll bite my own tongue before I say a word.”

Professor McGonagall’s face softened and she chuckled before uttering the password to make the stone gargoyles in front of Dumbledore’s office part and the spiral staircase appear. She placed a warm hand on Ginny’s shoulder.

“I’m so glad to see that this generation of Gryffindor are as brave as their predecessors,” McGonagall stated with a dry twist to her lips. “And a confession would be quite unnecessary, my dear. Despite appearances, I do keep up with school gossip. Now up the stairs you go.”

Reviewing is good for the soul!

28. Remember that you re my sweetheart

Authour’s Notes: I’ll try to keep these brief for once. I’m rather prolific and rambling, so I need to learn to just keep it down to a few lines. Anyway, for those shippers out there who like to skip to the parts containing their favourite ship, I ask you not to overlook this chapter unless you want to be confused to later happenings in the story. Many hints and clues and other things are dropped herein. Conclusion of events that happened in chapter 26 will be in the next chapter. For now, enjoy my favourite chapter. At least one of my favourites. :D The fabulous Glockgirl and Lizard contributed art to this chapter. Thank you so much, girls. I love you to pieces forever and ever. And Abigail also wrote a couple of Percy/Lucius smutlets as an AU to the events of this chapter and is writing a third as we speak. To read the first two, go here

Goodnight my love,

The tired old moon is descending.

Goodnight my love,

My moment with you now is ending.

~ Sarah Vaughn

“Mr Weasley?”

Arthur looked up and sighed. There was one hell of a mess in his new office, now that the holidays were over, and he needed to concentrate. If he didn’t think about work, and only work, he would lose his mind. All these distractions . . .

“Yes, Lauren?”

Lauren, his new assistant, shuffled into his office on one broken high heel and set a small, brown parcel on his desk. “One of the Aurors working over at Mondbluetuties--” she paused as she stumbled over the unfamiliar word, “uh, Malfoy Manor found this. They thought that you might want it.”

Arthur picked up the package and hefted it in his hand. It felt like a book of some sort. “Why would I want anything from that God-awful place?”

Lauren was still looking down and she made a convulsive sort of motion with her shoulders that could be liberally interpreted as a shrug. Arthur was sure that there wasn’t anything actually wrong with her, but she was so terribly shy and strange. Poor girl.

“I’m not sure, Mr Weasley, sir. They said that you would definitely want to keep it.”

He frowned and looked down at his paperwork before glancing back at the wrapped book, if that’s what it was.

“Thank you, Lauren.” Arthur looked up and attempted a smile. “Why don’t you break for tea? I’ll call you in if I need any help here.”

She nodded her head and slowly made her way out the door. He thought briefly of asking her to bring him some tea, too, but stopped himself. Lauren would more than likely spend half an hour making sure that she put in the right amount of cream to suit him.

Hesitantly, Arthur cut the strings on the parcel and pulled back the plain brown paper to reveal a small, leather-bound book with the word ‘Journal’ stamped on the spine. The thing that made his heart lurch though was the name written on the first page in a neat, copperplate hand: Percy Ignatius Weasley.

He drew a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. Did he want to read this? These were his son’s most intimate thoughts and it would be like an invasion of his privacy. Then again, there were so many unanswered questions. The most prominent of these was why Percy had chosen Lucius Malfoy, of all people, to— he couldn’t bring himself to even think of it. Would he be able to read about it?

Arthur reached down and opened a drawer at the bottom of his desk - the one containing Muggle contraband - and pulled out a small flask. He took a gulp of the bracing whiskey before wiping his lips and placing it back in his desk. Breathing deep, he stared at the book for a moment longer until he couldn’t stand the tension any more. Arthur opened the book to the first page and began to read.

*~*~*~*~*~*

5th October, 1997

This is a new beginning for me, so I thought that I would buy a new journal as well.

I suppose I should start by saying that I’ve told Penelope my secret. Mum is convinced that she and I will get back together again. I don’t want to hurt her feelings, so I haven’t said anything to contradict this.

One day, I think that I’ll tell them; but it will probably be a very long time from now. I know Dad has his heart set on grandchildren as much as Mum does, and he would probably be the most hurt by all this. Not to mention that Ron is still at school and not mature enough to understand. Ginny says that he would rage and storm, but he would get over it. Despite what she says though, I think that it would hurt them all very much and I don’t want to do anything that would destroy the new and tentative peace of our home.

Ginny has been very supportive of my decision to call it off with Penelope. She says that her friend Colin went through the same thing just last year and she understands how I must feel. It’s a comfort to know that I’m not alone in this, as Penelope was anything but understanding. I suppose that I can’t blame her for that. We’ll be friends again someday, I imagine. But for the moment, this is too painful for her. At least I can rely on her silence, as I’m not ready to come out to my family just yet.

I’ll close for now; I still have to write the reports on the new flying carpet embargo for Mr Malfoy. I don’t know why he’s taken a sudden interest in this section of the Ministry, but I’m determined to prove that I’m not just another Weasley.

Till tomorrow,

Percy

11th October, 1997

I’m on my lunch hour now, so I thought that I would take some time out to update this journal. Normally I’m much better at keeping up my duties, but the importance of this book has fallen to the bottom of the heap time and time again as I find more that I simply must finish. Someone put a dungbomb in my inbox again, so until the Ministry’s elves have finished cleaning all the reports that were there, I have little to do. If I wasn’t quite sure of my demotion before, I’m positive of it now.

I’ve been working closely with Mr Malfoy and I find that he’s a wonderful man. I know that he and Dad have been at each other’s throats since they were children, but I don’t know why. He’s very charming and always unfailingly polite. I can’t abide bad manners and boorish behaviour, but he seems to know this already. He seems to know a lot of things about me.

I asked him, jokingly, if he had been watching me. Would you believe that the man winked at me? He’s so devilishly handsome with his platinum hair and dark, grey eyes, and I suppose that I have a bit of a crush on him. It’s too bad that he has a wife and child, not to mention that he’s a good deal older than I am.

I fear that he would lose respect for me if he knew my secret, and I wouldn’t want that to happen as I truly enjoy his company. He’s a very powerful individual and a bit dark. Then after that Azkaban incident, I suppose he has a right to it if anyone does. But he has a keen mind and a hunger for knowledge that . . . Well, speak of the devil and he appears. I must go now. Mr Malfoy has come to join me during my lunch hour and it would be very rude to keep writing while he’s speaking to me.

Till tomorrow,

Percy

15th October, 1997

I’m positively giddy, just now. I was kissed tonight. Let me write down what happened.

I was in my office, as I usually am, finishing the reports on the flying carpet embargo. Everyone else had gone home already, as they don’t generally like to stay after hours to finish their work, lazy sots that they are. I like that time best, though, as there’s very little to distract me and I enjoy the solitude. It isn’t like the Minister’s office was, people coming and going at all hours due to necessity.

I suppose it must have been somewhere close to seven, since it was already dark outside, when Mr Malfoy walked in. He was wearing the most delicious cloak made of velvet and lined with lamb’s wool. Ooh stop it, Percy, you’re a terrible boy. Anyway, he asked me how far along I was on the embargo report as he needed it soon. I was just finishing up so I asked him to wait a moment and he’d have them. Truthfully, I think they were a mess, but he said I’d done well. My heart was in my throat the last five minutes of working on them due to the luscious Mr Lucius Malfoy’s presence directly behind me.

He asked if I’d eaten yet and I told him no. To be honest, I hadn’t a bite all day and I was famished. Lucius, as I’ll call him from now on, asked me to Apparate with him and have a nibble at this lovely little café in the French section of Diagon Alley. I would have been a fool to say no. Even if I didn’t fancy him, his good influence could seriously further my career.

We strolled down Diagon Alley and onto Vertices toward the café. After we’d ordered, he spoke to me of his passion for rare books and asked if I was similarly inclined to appreciate good literature. I am, of course, and we talked about this subject for a while before moving on to speak of our respective families.

I must admit that I was a bit hesitant to speak of my family. Not that I’m ashamed of them anymore, I love them very much and have thoroughly learnt my lesson, but I know that he and Dad don’t exactly see eye to eye. I also remembered something about a diary in Ginny’s first year, but I don’t see how father could have thought that it was connected to this man. He’s so affable!

So I spoke instead of Ginny and my mother. Ginny is my favourite sibling and my only sister. I fear for her sometimes because she’s so adventurous. But she has a good heart and will make any man she marries one day a very happy husband. If she’s inclined to go that way, that is. If not, I’ll support her as much as she’s supported me. I don’t have much to fear in that regard, though, because she seems to appreciate men as much as I do. I wouldn’t wish my situation on her or anyone else, but especially Ginny as she’s so very sweet and giving.

I think my mother would be all right with this whole thing, but I don’t want to hurt her. And as much as she would protest, I know it would hurt. I don’t know what it’s like for a parent in this, and I suppose I never will, but all the same, I’ll avoid hurting my family when I can. Merlin knows that I’ve hurt them enough as it is.

I told Lucius a bit of this, leaving out obvious things and mostly speaking of my sister. She does well in school and on the Quidditch pitch. I’m proud of her accomplishments so far. Even though she wasn’t made a prefect, she seems to take school as seriously as I did. At least that’s what her marks tell me. I can only hope that she is able to have the very best life can offer her, and if there is anything I can do for her, I will do it. She deserves no less.

That isn’t to say that I don’t love my brothers, but Ginny has always had a special place in my heart. I suppose that I feel closer to women in the familial sense than to the men of my family. I don’t quite understand them and they surely don’t understand me.

I can still remember the delight the twins took in bothering me when I was at my schoolwork over hols. Or later, after I started working for the Ministry. How they would hover in the doorway of my room like two daemons come to tempt me away from my quill and parchment. I think that if I’d ever deigned to turn and face them, they may have run screaming for Mum. But as it was, I would hold my tongue and pull my hair until they left me in peace.

I told this to Lucius and he laughed. Oh he has such a nice laugh, very rich and deep. He said that his wife isn’t exactly what he would call friendly and he never had any sisters so he doesn’t know women that well.

When it came time to pay for our meal, he insisted on covering it. I felt a bit embarrassed, almost as if we were on a date. Thinking back on it, I suppose we were. We Apparated back to the Ministry building so I could gather some work to take home with me. Lucius laughed that wonderful, rich laugh again and said that I work too much. He’s right, but I need to work. I need to be useful. I need to feel as if I’m helping my family. Father doesn’t seem to understand this and we’re always arguing about it. Some things never change, I suppose. He thinks I’m power hungry. But really, is that a bad thing?

I told Lucius this and he shook his head, a small smile playing about those beautifully sculpted lips of his. ‘You are useful, darling,’ he said. Then he stroked my face with the back of his hand and I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I’d dreamt about it a million times, but I was never actually that close to another man in that way before; I could see his eyes glittering only inches from my own. Then he kissed me, gently on the mouth, and said that everything would be fine before walking to the Apparation room down the hall.

I’m still reeling. It could have meant nothing to him. He’s very European and don’t the French kiss each other on the mouth when parting with dear friends? I only wish I knew.

Till tomorrow,

Percy

21st October, 1997

Well, I know that Lucius meant something a bit more than a friendly peck now. He’s come to take me back to that café almost every night since last I wrote here. Just tonight he kissed me again. He really kissed me this time. It was a full body sort of thing, he leaned into me, and . . . well, it’s a bit embarrassing to write it all here. But suffice to say, I know more where he and I stand: in the same boat.

There is no way that he, Lucius Malfoy, could possibly tell everyone that he fancies men (our society being as antiquated as it is), much less that he fancies me. I’m a Weasley, he’s a Malfoy. It’s the same thing faerie stories are made from. And I know that he fancies me, he said so.

I know that there’s a great difference in our ages, and in our stations, but when I’m with him— I feel like I could fly. I’ve never really felt that way before. Usually I’m so obsessed with my work that I don’t take time out to enjoy life. But I am now. I’ve earned it. I was a model student at school and I’ve been a model employee at the Ministry. I deserve a bit of fun and adventure.

I was a boy the first time I saw Lucius Malfoy. He and Dad were having an argument about something or other when we went to Diagon Alley to buy my school supplies for my first year at Hogwarts. I don’t remember a word of what they were arguing about, but I remember his face. I suppose it was a bit of hero worship then, even though he is and was no hero. But he wants me. Me, plain Percy Weasley. It’s mind-boggling, the entire concept.

He sends me the loveliest notes. They’re all very vague of course, and he always signs them with an ‘L’ instead of his name. But as vague as they are as far as referring to certain people or places, they are full of tender affection written in his formal manner. They’re never commonplace or crass, which is something I deeply respect. I keep them in a bundle under a loose floorboard in my room. It wouldn’t do for Mum to find them while cleaning, even if she didn’t know who sent them. They’re too personal to me and I don’t want to share them, or him, with anyone.

I do have to share him though. He has a wife and a child, which I can’t allow myself to forget. I feel badly every time he kisses me, but he assures me that his wife knows his habits and they reached an agreement on the subject long ago. I still feel absolutely wretched though, knowing that he has a wife.

Lucius says that it was an arranged marriage. I didn’t know until he told me that she is actually his cousin, although I should have guessed because they look almost exactly alike. Years ago, it was fairly common among pure-blooded families to marry within the family line, but I didn’t think anyone still did that in this day and age. (Then again, my family has always been far removed from the rest of blood society, so I’ve never had much of a grasp on the older traditions among fellow pure-blood families) I also didn’t know that he was related by marriage to the Blacks. His wife, Narcissa; her mother was a Rosier and her father a Black.

I remember reading about that family in The Daily Prophet when Sirius Black first escaped Azkaban. It wasn’t good at all. The whole family was supposed to practice very Dark magic and I suppose they must have. (No matter what mother or father may say, I believe that Black was guilty as charged.) However, they say that the Malfoys practice Dark magic, too, but I’ve yet to see something as horrible as everyone suggests about them.

His son is contracted to be married after he leaves school to another cousin from Lucius’ mother’s side, a Rosier. It’s really fascinating, all this. He has so many connections to wealthy, pure-blooded families throughout Britain and France. If I ever want to find a position elsewhere, Lucius would surely be able to find me something. He laughs, though, and says that I’m needed here for the moment.

I’ve learnt so much from him already. For instance, I hadn’t the faintest idea why many wizards have an aversion to Muggle-born witches and wizards. I assumed that it was some sort of deeply ingrained prejudice, at least that‘s what Dad always told us. After all, our society is very old-fashioned still when compared to other countries. But Lucius told me, over a cup of coffee as he says he can’t abide tea, that Muggle-borns don’t live as long as pure-bloods, and most pure-bloods are afraid of their lines becoming polluted by Muggle blood because it means that their descendants won’t live as long as we will, and there are increased chances of having a Squib for a child or further down the line.

It’s really quite fascinating and I hadn’t thought of it before. I think now that I’m a bit relieved that I didn’t marry Penelope after all; her mother was a Muggle-born. It’s horrible to imagine our children living half-lives simply because their blood wasn’t pure. I feel sorry for them, though. Hermione, Ron’s friend, told me that her grandmother died when she was eighty. Can you imagine it? Only eighty years on this earth and dying of old age? Headmaster Dumbledore is somewhere close to one hundred and sixty now, if I remember correctly, yet he is still vibrant and in excellent health.

Perhaps Lucius is right when he says that they shouldn’t know our world. I mean, it’s terribly cruel to show them witches and wizards, some of whom will live to be well over two hundred, when they themselves will only live to see half of that at best. It upset me a great deal and I should really think on it. I must say though that Lucius seems to be converting me to his very idealistic way of thinking more and more.

Till tomorrow,

Percy

1st November, 1997

Ah, everything seems to be work lately. I’ve been very busy, what with the new reports on the international standard wand weight coming out tomorrow, and I still haven’t finished my report on the Ministry’s new white-willow bark policies. It seems that they are having a devil of a time with the Americans in regards to importing it, and I believe that it will wind up inflating the price of headache potions and Floo powder if the disagreement isn’t settled soon. A Mr Avery is supposed to be handling negotiations, so I must have this report finished as soon as possible before he leaves for America with Lucius tomorrow.

But I’m on my lunch and I’ve had enough of working for the moment, so on to my favourite subject and guilty pleasure: Lucius. Today is All Soul’s Day and Lucius said that he has a very special friend that he wants me to meet. He said that this man understands our predicament and is eager to help us procure some alone time. Also, he has some special plans for the afternoon since it’s a bit of a holiday, even though I’m working. I hate to admit that I’m excited to be leaving work early, but I am.

Till tomorrow,

Percy

*~*~*~*~*

The flask of Muggle whiskey was still in his drawer, and he poured a generous amount into his cup before taking a sip. Usually, he was loathe to drink, especially in the office, because it upset his wife. But today was an exception and surely Molly would understand just this once if he came home a bit tipsy.

It had been well over two and a half months since Percy died, but Molly was still grieving deeply. Arthur was grieving, too, but in his own, more quiet way. His wife could be a bit dramatic at times, but everything she did was out of love for others and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that it was time to move on, because he hadn’t done so either.

Molly did seem a bit better lately though. He hadn’t heard her cry for almost two weeks, and just the other evening she’d greeted him at the door with a smile. Perhaps Molly had finally found something to keep her occupied during the day with all the children finally gone. Bill’s visit the week before must have done its work.

Arthur flipped through the journal and skimmed a bit, glossing over Percy’s meetings with Voldemort and Lucius. He couldn’t bear to read anymore about how they had twisted Percy’s mind into believing their rubbish with convincing debates, playing on Percy‘s natural sympathy. If he hadn’t known better, Arthur may have been inclined to believe it himself. As it was, he knew them for the lies and half-truths they were. He couldn’t blame Percy, though. He just couldn’t do it.

*~*~*~*~*~*

23rd December, 1997

I’m to be initiated tomorrow night. I admit that I’m nervous and I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. My Lord has said several times that it’s the best way to keep my family safe because I will soon have the power and influence to make sure that they are well protected.

I feel a bit nervous about staying at Malfoy Manor with Lucius. His wife is directly nearby, but she hasn’t been anything but kind to me. She knows of my relationship with her husband and doesn’t seem to mind. I feel selfish for asking Lucius to leave her before.

Sometimes I’ll bring her a tea tray, as she’s usually sickly, and we’ll talk. I hesitate to say that we’re friends, but we have an understanding and don’t speak of Lucius to each other.

Narcissa strikes me as a very gentle woman, and if it weren’t for her formal manner, she would remind me a bit of Penelope. She’s too well bred to show her emotions beyond a lifted eyebrow or a slight twist of her lips and I admire her very much for that. If not for the situation we’re in, I think that we could be very good friends.

Lucius doesn’t seem to think much of his wife, but that is his business, I suppose. If I fancied women, I would certainly pick someone like her for a partner. Lucius is annoyed by her constant sickness and says that she’s ‘acting’, but I don’t see anything that points in that direction. Perhaps she is, and I couldn’t blame her for it. She seems lonely and even sicklier since her son’s disappearance a few days ago.

I remember Draco only vaguely from school. My impression of the boy then was a spoiled brat with a foul sense of humour. Surely he’s grown since then, as everyone grows up eventually. Narcissa seems to be concerned for him in a very hazy way, and Lucius is more angry than upset, I think. If it were Mum and Dad and one of us went missing, they would be out of their minds with worry. But everyone deals with things in their own way.

Lucius goes out every night with his ‘brothers’ to search for the boy, but they haven’t found a trace of him yet. I’ll soon be in that brotherhood and I’m still a bit frightened. Dad always told such horrible stories about the Death Eaters, and I’m too young to remember the time when My Lord was in power before. But he says that everything is necessary to cleanse our community of Muggle-borns and it’s for the best. My Lord tells me, when we sometimes speak in front of the fire late at night, that no one will be harmed and I find myself believing him.

It’s uncanny, but he seems to really care for me as a friend and understand me. I don’t think even Ginny could understand me as he and Lucius do. But tomorrow night I will belong to that select brotherhood. They will take me into the fold and I will have power. I can take care of my Mum, and Dad won’t have to work in that horrible, cramped office of his any more. Why, I could be Minister of Magic someday if I wanted! Then everyone in the wizarding world would respect the name Weasley and say to themselves: ‘what a lovely, upstanding, wealthy family! Who would have supposed that young Percy would do so well?’

Young Percy will do well. Ginny and Ron will have new robes and school supplies, and Mum will have a lovely cottage in Hogsmeade for holidays. Dad will have time to enjoy his life instead of constantly worrying about our welfare. Everything will be perfect.

Till tomorrow,

Percy

24th December, 1997

This is the night. I’m terribly anxious sitting here with Narcissa until they call me. She’s fallen asleep already, poor dear. I suppose she’s worn out from our conversation.

It really is the oddest thing. We rarely ever speak of personal matters, preferring instead to talk about a book we’d read or what products we’re keen on using in our hair. This evening, though, when I came to see her, she sat me down very close on her bed. I usually sit in a chair beside her during visits, but not tonight. She said that she had much to tell me before I take my vows to My Lord.

She started out with a story from her school days, how she’d been carefree and naïve then. I can’t imagine her ever laughing, but I suppose everyone does when they’re young, don’t they? Narcissa went on to say that she’d met Lucius for the first time when she was eighteen and fresh out of school. I’m aware that she’s younger than Lucius, but I still don’t know how young. She left Hogwarts the same year Bill entered his first year there, so she must be about thirty-six or seven. She’s still very youthful looking, not appearing much over twenty five, but there’s something in her eyes that makes me wonder about Lucius at times. He could be nicer to her even if he doesn’t feel much affection for her. She’s still his wife, after all.

Narcissa drifted on a bit, lost in memories, and I let her tell me about them. I have the impression that she doesn’t usually have anyone to talk to, and my presence in her home gives her an opportunity to do so freely.

Then she took my hand and looked at me earnestly. She has very pretty eyes, a pale grey colour similar to Lucius’ and they’re terribly appealing. She’s almost a twin to Lucius, and I can see the family resemblance easily. Perhaps her face is more delicately pointed than his, and her eyes are more like pools of emotion. Draco is lucky to resemble his parents so closely. Sometimes I almost wish that I was different and she was different, but . . .

She told me that I reminded her of a friend she’d once had. That I’m intelligent and gentle, like he was, and that maybe I would understand.

‘I won’t speak ill of my husband, but I don’t want to see you hurt, Percy,’ she said to me. ‘You’re a good child to your parents, and I’m sure that they’re proud of you, but you mustn’t do this tonight. You’ll sign away all of your freedom and be forced to do things which may go against that delicate conscience of yours.” Narcissa tapped my chest with one of her long, elegant fingers. “Our Lord’s heart may be in the right place, but I believe that he goes about things with unnecessary violence. And Lucius isn’t known for his compassion, either.’

I covered her hand with my own and brushed some of the white hair away from her face. I wonder if it was ever blonde at all, instead of this lovely silver. She seems all silver and pale and interesting; shimmering like some fragile princess in a gilded tower.

‘Narcissa, Lucius would never hurt me, and My Lord is an honest man. Don’t believe the lies that you’ve read over the years. They’re working for the greater good and even if they weren’t, you know that I would do anything to help my family, don’t you? This will benefit them more than it will me. Surely you understand that.’

She gazed at me sadly for a moment before nodding her head. ‘Of course I do. You have your pride and that is very commendable. Sometimes I feel that pride is all I have left of myself.’

Narcissa was silent for a space, and she would squeeze my hand every now and then while she dozed lightly. I sat there with her and sang a lullaby I remember Mum used to sing when I was small. Sometimes I wish that I was still that little boy and didn’t have this responsibility pressing on me. But I do, and I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else.

After about an hour, I rose to go, but she asked me to stay with her for a while longer. Of course I sat back down. It was still a good two hours until midnight and I had nothing better to do with my time.

‘Percy,’ she said, rubbing the back of my hand with her thumb and staring at me from out of those marvellous eyes. ‘Your visits have meant a great deal to me. I hope that, whatever decision you make tonight, you’ll continue to come to me?’

I smiled at her. How could I not? She’s a beautiful woman and a very dear friend. ‘Of course I will,’ I replied. ‘We’re good mates, aren’t we?’

Narcissa closed her eyes and smiled slightly. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her do so. ‘Yes, Percy. We’re good mates.’

I thought she was asleep then, but she wasn’t. ‘Percy, you must never betray my husband.’

‘Why would I do that? He means the world to me.’

‘Yes, but.’ She licked her lips here and opened her eyes. ‘You may not like some of the things you’ll be doing soon. Lucius won’t hesitate to kill you if you betray him.’

I was flabbergasted. I can’t conceive of the thought of betraying Lucius or My Lord, but most especially Lucius. He loves me and I don’t think that he would ask me to do something that would go against my conscience. I told her this and she smirked, reminding me a bit of her lost son.

‘I can conceive of a great many reasons why you may betray him one day. I even betrayed him once myself; ran away shortly after we were married to seek refuge with my cousin.’ Her brow crumpled from the weight of her dark thoughts. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact that I’m his wife and he would have a difficult time explaining my disappearance, I would have been dead. As it is, I’ve wished many times that I were, over the years.’ She sighed and sat up a little against her pillows. ‘You he wouldn’t have to explain though. No one knows that you’re here aside from the brotherhood and myself. Please be careful, Percy. I would miss you if you were gone.’

I was both touched and horrified. Horrified at her sadness and the fact that she had left Lucius, and touched by her concern. I think sometimes that she isn’t all there upstairs. Maybe she fell on her head as a child.

‘I’ll be careful, Narcissa. I promise I will. And you’ll see, everything will be all right. You’ve nothing to worry about.’

Narcissa smiled again, weakly, and pulled my face down to hers, giving me a gentle peck on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, like the ones parents share with their children. ‘I’ll miss you, Percy.’

‘But I’m not going anywhere.’

‘All the same, I’ll miss you.’

She patted the space beside her and urged me to share some of her quilt, as there was more than enough for two people. Eventually she fell asleep against my shoulder and I started writing this. It’s only half an hour until my initiation and I must get ready. I’ll give Narcissa a kiss on the forehead and leave her a note to let her know where I’ve gone. Tomorrow is Christmas and perhaps I can persuade her to have an early coffee with Lucius and I, since I plan to visit with my family in the afternoon. I have the most beautiful locket for Ginny; I hope she likes it. In fact, I think I’ll mark this passage with it so I don’t lose it. I’m always losing small items and I really want her to have this.

I’ll come back here in the evening. Maybe Lucius’ son will come home to spend Christmas with his parents. And I wish Narcissa wouldn’t worry over me so much. I’ll be back. I promise.

Till tomorrow,

Percy

That was the last entry Percy had written in his journal. Arthur picked up the locket and weaved the chain through his fingers. It was very pretty. A golden dragon’s claw held a small, ruby heart that broke into two parts when you pressed a small, gold catch on the side. On the back was an inscription, which read: To Ginny, who gave me the courage to follow my heart. There was a picture of Percy and Ginny as children nestled inside of the locket, waving at him.

It was all too much and Arthur rested his cheek on the cool, satiny finish of his desk, faintly registering pleasure as it chilled his too-warm skin. He kept the locket firm in his palm, fingers curled over it protectively as the tears started leaking from the corner of he eye. His shoulders trembled with the aftershocks of reading about his son’s final hours and he clutched at the trinket, the chain biting into his hand. Arthur wondered silently if he should let his wife read the journal. Would it bring comfort or misery? Even after reading it himself, Arthur still didn’t know which emotion he felt.

He supposed that it at least gave closure, and he decided that Molly should read it after all. But not now. It was too soon and the pain was too fresh. This would only sink her back into the depression that she was only now emerging from. Their children were once again out of the nest and scattered to the four winds. Two were at school still, and the rest were all out and about, leading their lives and struggling with the day to day. Molly needed something to take care of, someone to concentrate on other than herself. Perhaps when Ron left school he would consider coming home for a while to keep her busy.

Arthur remembered with a painful smile that Voldemort’s promise to Ron hadn’t been a lie exactly. He’d promised his son wealth and fame if he betrayed Harry. Now Ron had these things, but all because he had not followed Voldemort. It was a bit ironic.

One of these days he needed to have a talk with Harry and apologise. He wasn’t angry with the boy anymore, and Molly harped at him for his hasty words on a daily basis. Harry was growing up and was just as much a son to him and Molly as the rest, despite breaking off his friendship with Ron. Harry needed guidance and love more than Ron did, though. The poor boy had no real family to speak of except for those blasted Dursleys. All children make mistakes.

A frantic tapping startled him from his thoughts and Arthur had to think for a moment before he remembered that he had a window in his office now. He stood up swiftly to let the creature inside. It fluttered around for a few moments before landing on his desk and sticking its leg out for him to take the letter. After the letter was removed it flew away, not waiting for a reply or an owl treat.

Arthur shrugged and opened the letter. It bore the Hogwarts crest at the top and read:

Mr and Mrs Weasley,

Your presence is requested at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. This concerns your daughter, Virginia Weasley. We’ve scheduled an appointment for you both this evening, approximately an hour after dark falls, in the Headmaster’s office.

Yours sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

What the devil was this about then? Was Ginny in trouble?

Arthur sighed and looked at his clock. It was three hours until he was due to leave work, and roughly another two after that before he and Molly had to be at Hogwarts. He summoned a Ministry owl and scrawled a quick note to his wife, asking to have supper prepared early, as they had to go somewhere that evening.

He wouldn’t tell her what was going on until he got home, there was no use upsetting her about all this. It was probably nothing to worry about. If Ginny had been in an accident they wouldn’t set up an appointment for them, would they? Arthur only hoped that this wasn’t bad news. Any more pressure on Molly and she would likely have a heart attack.

Since he couldn’t concentrate on his work anyway, Arthur decided to write out a quick note to Mrs Malfoy, thanking her for her kindness toward his son. She had tried to at least make him think about the violence involved with being a Death Eater, even if she hadn’t disputed that all of Voldemort’s propaganda were lies. She probably believed them herself. But she had tried, and even though her advice to Percy came too late to save him, Arthur was grateful.

Right before he sent the letter out, he remembered that she had moved back to Mound-bluet— Malfoy Manor the day before and scribbled out the name of the hotel and wrote that instead. Arthur felt fortunate that he could at least spell the name, even if he couldn’t pronounce it. He sprinkled some sand on the envelope to dry the ink and blew it away before attaching the letter to another Ministry owl and seeing it off.

No more work was done that day, as Arthur was lost in thought of both what might have been and what was coming next.

Reviewing is good for the soul. For the soulless, like myself, it may help you fellow writers out there with good karma and many review-like returns. Muah! ::flaps cloak and Disapparates in a poof of dramatic, green sparkles::

29. Diamonds and Rust

Authour’s Notes: Yes, I’ve been a bad-bad girl. I also lost my phone temporarily, so updating was sort of difficult. However, here is the chapter you’ve all been waiting for. Before you read, though, a request: Please don’t get disgusted and stop reading after this chapter. I’ve led you this far and I promise that this is intrinsic to the plot in a sneaky roundabout sort of way. It’s also a side-effect of one of the major plot points and a contribution to the overall theme. I’ve done my best to keep the tone as canon as possible, but clichés happen to the best of us. As my friend Thalia says, everything is a cliché. Look forward to more interesting developments between Draco and Ginny in the future, it’s just a bit long in coming. And I do hope everyone likes Narcissa, she really starts becoming more a part of the story during and after this chapter. Five points to those who can make out all the parallels clicking into place in this chapter.

For VioletJersey, you will get a little squee in at the end of the chapter I’m sure. ;)

Again, I thank everyone for sticking with me this far. Your reviews have been wonderful and I look forward to seeing how everyone takes this new development in the story. Good or bad, let me know what you think. Be honest and I’ll consider your opinions as near and dear to my heart.

I do have a request though: Please god do not tell me any more about Cassandra Claire and the Draco Trilogy. I appreciate the comparison, but the more I dwell on AIDE’s comparison to DT, the more heartsick I become. AIDE is my carefully unfurled flower - nurtured over time and watered regularly - and as I learn more about writing and read more fan fiction, the less I like DT. Yes, I did read it, but that was so long ago that I barely remember anything from it. So to repeat myself: I’m happy that you like/dislike my fic, but please no more about CC and DT. Now that I’ve been a bit of snobby wench, feel free to read now. :P

‘The daughter especially shall be handled without cherishing.

For cherishing marreth sons, but it utterly destroyeth daughters.’

~Juan Luis Vives

Ginny walked into the Headmaster’s office with McGonagall’s hand gripping her forearm firmly, almost as if she were afraid that Ginny would run away. The older woman’s lips were thinned and her eyes had regained their steel. Ginny swallowed nervously when she saw the back of her parents’ heads. Then a flash of silver caught her eye and she followed it to where Draco and his mother were sitting. Ginny whimpered.

“Ah, Miss Weasley! And Minerva, most excellent.” Dumbledore stood up when the two women entered and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement before gesturing broadly to the rest of the group. “Please join us, ladies,” he said brightly, conjuring another plush armchair into existence beside Mrs Weasley and urging Ginny to sit down.

“Are you finally going to tell us why we’re all here, Headmaster?” Draco asked, his tone one of lazy indulgence whilst he tapped his long fingers on his armrest. Ginny saw a shuffle in the shadows near the crystalline perfection that was Mrs Malfoy and realised that another person was here: Snape.

“I thought it would be polite to wait for Miss Weasley to join us first, young Mr Malfoy. But you may catch up on your beauty sleep soon enough, I promise you.” Dumbledore smiled obliquely at Draco’s scowl and Ginny had to bite her lip to contain the nervous giggles that were bubbling in the back of her throat.

McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. “May we begin now, Albus?” she asked briskly. “I’ve a large stack of exams to mark and I fear we’ll be here until tomorrow if you don’t stop playing with them and get to the point!”

Dumbledore winked at her and she flustered. “Quite right, Minerva. Thank you for being, as always, the voice of reason.” Then he turned his sparkling gaze on Ginny and she squirmed in her seat. “Anytime you’re ready, my dear.”

Ginny’s eyes popped wide. “M-me? I couldn’t possibly—I mean—I don’t even know what we’re here for.” She lifted her head and congratulated herself on a good save.

McGonagall pursed her lips and Mr and Mrs Weasley only looked nervous. Draco and his mother remained completely unperturbed and Ginny envied their calm composure.

Snape snorted and stepped out of the shadows, the soft swish of his robes disturbing the still air. “Enough of this nonsense.” Snape drew himself up and addressed Dumbledore directly. “I apologise, Albus, but I would prefer to be done with this some time tonight and if you leave it up to the Weasley girl, we’ll never leave.” He pointed his wand at a startled Ginny and pronounced: “Paternatus Revealo Octo!”

The air around Ginny became thick and close, but when it cleared, she saw before her the shadowy forms of herself and Draco and - standing between them - two red-haired children, both about eight years old. Ginny’s mouth fell open. She heard her mother’s shocked yelp beside her and her father’s sharp intake of breath. It was a good thing Hermione had never found this spell. Ginny felt sure that she would have dropped dead from the upset if Hermione had cast it on her that morning.

Ginny gazed numbly at the two children for a moment before glancing over to see Draco’s reaction. He was wide-eyed, but he wouldn’t have seemed otherwise affected if it wasn’t for the way he was gripping the arms of his chair. Draco’s mother, however, seemed furious and she kept opening and closing her mouth without making a sound. She had finally lost a bit of her icy composure.

When Ginny turned back to look at the forms of her children again, she caught sight of Dumbledore. The Headmaster was leaning forward in his chair; raptly studying the shadowy boy and girl with a surprised, but strangely pleased smile tugging at his lips. Then he nodded at Snape and the scene disappeared.

“This is preposterous!” Mrs Malfoy finally managed to strangle out. “How dare you offer us that—that illusion and try to claim—to claim that—”

“No one has claimed anything so far, Narcissa,” Dumbledore said mildly while folding his hands on his desk. “However, if you follow the logical conclusion, it appears as though you are going to be a grandmother.”

Mrs Weasley started sobbing and Mr Weasley attempted to soothe her while glancing anxiously at Ginny from over her shoulder. Mrs Malfoy was still babbling incoherently.

“Impossible! I’m too young to be a grandmother! I’m not even thirty yet and a grandmother!” She harrumphed and sat up rigidly in her chair.

Draco seemed to have recovered by this point, though. “You’re thirty-seven, Mother,” he said dryly.

Mrs Malfoy glared at her son and then smoothed out the skirt of her robes with trembling fingers. “Grandmother,” she muttered softly. “I never . . .”

“Oh Ginny!” Mrs Weasley wailed, lifting her head from her husband’s soaked shoulder. “How could you do this to us? We’ll never be able to hold our heads up in public again! I thought that after Bill almost had his accident with that French tart that you lot would think more on this sort of thing. Babies! At your age!”

Ginny was mildly shocked by her mother’s use of the word tart, considering it a subtle barb pointed at her. So she pursed her lips and decided to confront it all head-on . . . by shifting the attention to someone else. “Well, I didn’t do it to myself, you know.”

Mr Weasley finally acknowledged Draco with a sharp, whip-crack turn of his head. Ginny had seen many emotions flicker and distort her father‘s face over the years, but the ugly red flush creeping up his neck seemed to bode badly for Draco. Ginny almost smiled, but she managed to contain herself by mimicking Mrs Malfoy‘s frosty air of indifference.

“You did this!” Mr Weasley hissed, pointing his finger at Draco. “I let you stay in my home, against my better judgment, and you do this to my daughter!” he raged.

Draco had apparently never seen Mr Weasley when truly angry, and he recoiled back into his seat, his dark-circled eyes wide again. “I didn’t know about this!”

Mrs Weasley stopped crying so suddenly that it was as if someone had turned off a tap. “You didn’t know?” she screeched. “It’s all fine for you, isn’t it? Don’t have to worry about other people’s feelings, do you? Oh, you are just like your father!”

Draco’s eyes tapered dangerously and he said in a quiet voice: “Your daughter is just as guilty as I am. And I am nothing like my father, madam.”

Mrs Malfoy made a strange little hiccough noise and started mumbling again. “No pride. No pride! My son. He doesn’t care about the family name at all. No, not at all.”

Draco gritted his teeth, the sound particularly loud and sharp in the already tense environment. “Oh, do shut up already, Mother. I’ve grown quite sick of your little dramas. So perhaps if you could keep your opinions to yourself for once, we could get on with thi—”

Mrs Weasley stood up and slapped him across the face with an open hand. “Don’t speak to your mother that way, Draco Malfoy! I won’t stand for it.” Her fisted hands were knuckle-deep in the spongy mass of her hips as she glared at Draco.” I may not be fond of her, and I’m not fond of you at the moment, either. But I will not sit here and let you speak to her that way. Do you understand?”

Draco’s mouth dropped open and he managed to nod after a moment.

“Now apologise to her, right now!” Mrs Weasley stood with her hands now splayed open over her hips, tapping her foot expectantly.

“Yes, of course.” Draco whispered in a dumb tone. He turned to Mrs Malfoy. “I’m sorry, Mother,” he parroted.

She stared first at him and then at Mrs Weasley, blinking her large, silver eyes owlishly. Dumbledore stood and motioned for Mrs Weasley to take her seat again. Ginny had silently cheered for her mother when she’d slapped Draco and wished that Dumbledore hadn’t interfered so that she could do it again.

“Everyone calm down and we can discuss this like adults.” Dumbledore looked sternly at Mrs Weasley. “You’ve always had a bit of a temper, Molly. Do you think that you can control yourself long enough so that you all can start deciding what the next course of action will be?”

Mrs Weasley blushed. “I’m sorry, Albus. It won’t happen again.”

Dumbledore nodded and sat back down behind his desk, steepling his fingers over the wood. “Now, Miss Weasley—do you know how far along you are?”

Ginny stared at her shoes. “It was about Christmas, I suspect,” she mumbled, glancing at Draco’s pallid profile from the corner of her eye. “But I don’t know for sure.”

He snorted and looked away. “You should have been taking a potion to prevent this sort of thing.”

“I was, you thick sot! It didn’t work.”

Draco smirked. “Well, you did say that Professor Snape wanted Longbottom to tutor you in Potions, didn’t you?”

“I’ve not been feeling well, obviously, and I’m normally excellent in Potions!”

Dumbledore cleared his throat and Ginny forced her eyes up to him, but he was looking at her father. “Arthur, is there anything that you would like to add to this? You’ve been quiet for a while.”

Mr Weasley ignored Ginny and settled his gaze on Draco. “I suppose that you’ll be man enough to do the right thing? Or did I misplace my trust in the fact that you’re mostly an honourable man?”

Draco smiled arrogantly and leaned back in his seat, folding his hands calmly over his thin middle. “I’m sorry, Mr Weasley, but I can’t marry her. I’m already engaged. Magical contract, you know.” He pushed his shoulders further into his chair to get comfortable and brought one foot up to rest on the opposite knee. “Can’t be broken.”

Mrs Malfoy narrowed her eyes. “You’ve already broken it, you foolish boy!” She coughed delicately into a lace handkerchief. “It was broken the moment you compromised the Weasley girl.”

Draco whipped his head around so fast that it made Ginny‘s brain tilt. “What? You mean I’m free? I don’t have to marry that Rosier girl?”

“You’re not free, Draco.” Mrs Malfoy spat.

But Ginny’s head was spinning while they continued to bicker, only this time from something else. She remembered Hermione’s words from that morning: ‘Yes, Draco. No, Draco. Oh, let me knit a jumper to keep your poor little black heart warm, Draco.’ And that would be her life. She would live in a cold, dark manor house, far away from her family, knitting socks and ordering house-elves to make tea while she chased after hordes of little red-haired Malfoys. And every night, she would go to bed looking into Draco’s beautiful, blank eyes; listening to his petulant demands. He would play her like an instrument, using her own emotions against her, her own love against her.

Every night for the rest of her life.

“No,” Ginny whispered. “I won’t do it. You can’t make me do it.” She turned her gaze to her father, pleading. “Don’t make me marry him, Dad. Please. I-I don’t want to do this.”

But Mr Weasley wouldn’t look at her, he was squeezing his fingers tightly around a gold object in his hand, his eyes screwed shut and whispering something that sounded suspiciously like 'not again'. Even her mother twisted her face away, staring at the far wall and some of the silver trinkets that lined the Headmaster’s office. Ginny finally turned her beseeching eyes to Draco.

“I don’t love you,” she lied. And for the first time, she admitted to herself that it was a lie. Ginny loved every inch of him: the thick dusting of dark gold hair that trailed down his chest, thinned on his firm stomach, and ended below; each and every scar that threaded over his back; the almost-desperation that radiated from him when she left his bed for her own; his keen intelligence and barbed wit; the hope that perhaps one day he could— Draco’s eyes now were hazy for a moment, and his mouth went slack before he schooled his features into something more Draco-like again. Ginny pressed on. “And you don’t love me,” she murmured. “Don’t let them do this to us, Draco. Please.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but his mother cut him off.

“Draco must maintain the family honour, girl. His blood speaks for him, not you. We are Malfoys; and as such, there are certain standards and traditions that we must keep. You’re of pure blood, from one of the oldest families in the country, and are a—” Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “A suitable match for my son. Even if you are a Weasley.”

Draco chuckled, seeming genuinely amused. “Don’t go on so about family honour, Mother.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “I know for a fact that you weren’t always so concerned about Malfoy honour.” Draco put a finger to his chin and tapped it mockingly, as if thinking. “Or was it someone else who ran away shortly after being forced to marry my father?”

Mrs Malfoy blanched and looked faint. “W-who told you about that?”

Draco shrugged. “Father. Post-humously, of course. I managed to save his journals from the Ministry. It’s not as if you or he would tell me anything otherwise.”

Mrs Malfoy’s eyes filled with tears and when she closed them, one slipped like a glittering liquid diamond over the globe of her perfect white cheek. She quickly put her handkerchief to her mouth and turned away. Professor McGonagall stepped forward and conjured a cup of tea. She pressed it into Mrs Malfoy’s trembling hands and whispered words of comfort.

But Ginny didn’t have much sympathy to give Mrs Malfoy; she was too worried about what would happen next. She twisted her lips bitterly as she recalled something else Hermione had said on several occasions. “Hermione was right, you know; the wizarding world is ridiculously old-fashioned and hypocritical.”

Mrs Weasley puffed up and turned to her daughter. “Well, we may be old-fashioned, as Hermione says, but it is the way things are done! And no one has ever been able to say that the Weasleys aren’t honest and upright, even if they do call us blood traitors. We work hard for what we have and we’ve always had a solid reputation with decent wizards.” She glanced surreptitiously at Draco and Mrs Malfoy before continuing. “We’ve always done the right thing and so will you. And your brother may be famous now for kil—defeating You-Know-Who, but even that will only stretch so far when The Daily Prophet hears about this! And surely they will if this isn’t taken care of quickly.” She wrung her hands and frittered. “Oh, what people will say . . .”

Mr Weasley placed a hand on his wife’s arm, a flash of gold chain peeping from under his fingers. “Perhaps we’ve been a bit hasty, Moll. I mean, this is a different time from when we were young, and maybe the Muggles have the right ide—”

“Don’t you dare say another word, Arthur Weasley!” Mrs Weasley shrilled, shaking off her husband‘s hand. “We are not Muggles. I’ve let you fill the children’s heads with all sorts of their nonsense for far too long as it is, and look where they are now! Ginny will marry him. She’s made her bed - and she‘s already sleeping in it!”

Mr Weasley’s face quickly turned beetroot, and he opened his mouth to reply, but Dumbledore cut in first.

“I know that I may be over stepping my bounds here, but I’m afraid that I agree with Molly on this, Arthur. Yes, the Muggles are a bit more accepting of this sort of situation. However, I must say that our society, regrettably, is not.” Dumbledore shook his head. “I wish that there were other options open to your daughter and young Mr Malfoy, but again, we are not Muggles. Their ways are not our ways, however much we may wish it were so.” He looked up at the ceiling, and around at the portraits on his wall. The occupants were all very poorly feigning sleep. “Perhaps one day, things will be different. One day we can all be free to live our lives without fear.” Dumbledore flicked a stern glance at Snape and the man flinched visibly before moulding back into his usual sour expression. “And choose our loves where we see fit without suffering repercussions and exile from those whose high regard we hold dear.” Dumbledore looked at Ginny now. “But, unfortunately, today is not that day.”

“But I don’t want to marry him!” Ginny burst out. “Doesn’t that count for anything? It would be horrid and I’d be miserable for the rest of my life.”

Draco snorted. “And surely it would be a picnic for me.” He smirked. “I didn’t hear you complain before I stopped shagging you, though.”

“Yes and I’m quite sure that your tarts of the hour know nothing about how you really are! A cold-blooded bastard who—”

“Shut up!” Draco yelled, standing up so fast that his chair fell over behind him. “I’ve told you never to call me that!”

Ginny stood up, too, and faced him, completely unafraid. “Oh, what are you going to do, Dray-co? Hit a girl?” She sneered. “You’re so pathetic.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly and came to his feet, studying his watch before addressing the other Professors. “I’m sorry, but I must collect Mr Lupin at the front gates; we have some business to discuss. I’m sure that you two are adequate to handle this situation until I return?”

Snape nodded, his black eyes glittering with ill-concealed malice. Professor McGonagall also briefly acknowledged the Headmaster, waving her wand absently when Mrs Malfoy dropped her tea cup from shaking hands and it shattered on the floor. Everyone was silent as Dumbledore left, but after a moment, Mrs Malfoy spoke.

“I’ll say this, and then I’m going home.” She turned to appraise Ginny, really looking at her for the first time with her quicksilver eyes. “You seem to be a strong girl. Capable of standing up to my son, even.” Her lips quivered as if she was repressing some emotion - perhaps a chilly laugh or a scream of impotent rage - but they stilled after a moment, and she continued in a thin, strained voice. “But you also seem to care about your family, and if word of this situation is made public, other things may be discovered as well if they dig deep enough.” Mrs Malfoy glanced at her hands. Her delicate feet were trembling as if she wanted nothing better than to run from the room. Ginny could easily empathise with that. “It’s not publicly known, for example, that your brother, Percy, was a Death Eater. And his—other associations could embarrass both of our families if they were discovered.” She stared at Draco and his face flushed, his hands curled into fists of impotent anger. Then she turned her silver eyes back to Ginny. “However, if you were to marry Draco, it could ease your family’s—danger of being exposed considerably, and perhaps take some of the Dark taint away from the Malfoy name as well. So I suggest that the two of you make whatever concessions are necessary.”

Ginny considered her feet, tapping her shoes together and idly wondering how long it would be until she could no longer see them. Finally she tipped her head back up to stare at Draco. His face was turned away from her, but his cheek was twitching. She was sure that he would scream if he could right then. Ginny felt the same way.

“And I think that you’ll find, as your brother did,” Mrs Malfoy continued. “That Mond-Beleuchtetes Wasserhaus, our home, is a very pleasant place. Our grounds are extensive and the night-blooming alchemist gardens famous throughout Britain. The house itself is quite large - though no longer technically a manor - and you may even have your own room if you wish—”

“She will not have her own room!” Draco snarled without warning, his flashing, pale grey eyes snapping over to look at Ginny. “She will stay with me,” he finished calmly.

There was a gleam of something fierce and wild suddenly in Mrs Malfoy‘s eyes for just a moment before her head nodded in a strangely servile manner.

“Yes, well, whatever you prefer, Draco.”

Her lips curled up at the ends in the barest of triumphant smiles. “And she’ll be able to keep me company whenever you are gone.” Mrs Malfoy continued, sighing at the right places and letting one hand drift out in an elegantly casual supplication to her son. “I grow so lonely in that house by myself . . .”

Ginny could tell that there was much to learn from her future mother-in-law.

Draco gritted his teeth together and turned away to walk over to his mother, helping her from her seat a bit more forcefully than necessary.

“Let me help you to the gates, Mother,” he ground out. “I’m sure that you can talk to Mr and Mrs Weasley about the contract tomorrow.” Draco went to lead her from the room, but Mr Weasley bounded from his seat to stop them.

“Just a moment there, Draco.” He shuffled his feet for a moment before looking at Mrs Malfoy. “I just wanted to thank you for what you tried to do for my son. We appreciate the effort even if he—” Mr Weasley swallowed hard. “Even if he didn’t follow your advice.”

“Arthur, what are you on about?” Mrs Weasley stood up and came over to them, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as a silent peace treaty.

“I’ll explain it later, Molly,” he said patiently before addressing Mrs Malfoy again. “You have our thanks, Narcissa.”

Mrs Malfoy looked at him for a moment impassively before nodding her head in acknowledgement. “He was a fine young man, your son. Even if he was naïve when it came to the way the world works. I’m only sorry that I could not keep my husband otherwise occupied. Lucius always was a rather— passionate man.” She traced her fingers around her throat where a small, silver scar glittered in Ginny’s sight.

Mr Weasley nodded before wiping the heel of his hand over his eyes roughly and sitting back in his seat. Mrs Weasley took this opportunity to look Draco over, pursing her lips. He straightened his posture almost unconsciously, no doubt anticipating the coming lecture. Ginny felt her lips curve into a smirk as she made eye contact with him over her mother’s shoulder. He scowled at her.

“Now, Draco—” Mrs Weasley began. “I suppose that you’re going to be family, so I shouldn’t club you over the head with my frying pan, which is what I feel like doing right now.” She glared at him for a moment. Ginny chuckled silently beside her. Usually she saved the frying pans for family, or whatever else was within reach. “I know that you’re a respectful boy under that exterior, and you’ll treat my daughter properly.” Mrs Weasley poked him in the ribs and he winced. “Merlin knows that you need a wife! Apparently, you don’t know how to take care of yourself, and I know that Ginny will at least feed you!” She tutted for a moment and fussed with his robes, smoothing them down over his chest and shoulders absently, Draco tightened his lips, but didn’t otherwise move or say anything. “So no more funny business for you, young man.”

Mrs Weasley waved her finger in his face before she broke away from the stern act and pulled him into a smothering hug. Draco’s eyes popped out and he tried to push her away. Mrs Weasley eventually stepped back and wiped at her wet cheeks before impulsively hugging Mrs Malfoy as well. She took it less graciously than her son, but again, Mrs Weasley didn’t notice.

“Now off with you. I’ll expect you tomorrow about tea time, Narcissa?” Mrs Weasley asked with a brisk air that Ginny had learnt over the years meant that she was forcing herself to be cheerful.

“I—” Mrs Malfoy sighed and tenderly rubbed her side. “I suppose that will be fine.” She turned toward the door again. “Come, Draco, I need to be home.”

She opened the door and walked out, her full, rich robes roiling gracefully around her ankles as Draco followed behind her. He caught Ginny’s eye as he left, but she couldn’t read his expression.

“Now, Ginny—”

Ginny groaned as her mother and father launched into a speech. It was mostly her mother talking about how disappointed she was, with her father injecting bits here and there. Roughly half way through, Snape rolled his eyes and left the office. Only McGonagall stayed behind, looking as though she was trying desperately not to laugh - which would utterly destroy the fragile balance of teacher/mentor she strived to maintain - at Ginny’s discomfort.

Eventually though, after many a severe word was repeated until Mrs Weasley finally broke down and hugged her as Mr Weasley was pushing her through the door, Ginny was able to escape back to Gryffindor tower with a pulsing headache.

Colin was waiting up for her in the common room. It was almost midnight now and everyone else had gone to bed. He smiled and beckoned her over, patting his lap.

“Come over here, Gin-girl. You look tired. Rest up while you tell me all about it?”

Ginny flopped down on the sofa and let her head fall in his lap, burying her face in his stomach. “My head is splitting and I really don’t want to talk about it. But I promised you, so I suppose I can give it a try.”

“Aww, poor Ginny.” He lifted her hair off of her neck and started rubbing her head absently. “Tell Uncle Colin. Sounds like you had quite an experience.”

Ginny moaned and nestled deeper into his fuzzy jumper. Colin always smelled so nice. It wasn’t a sexy beast sort of smell like Draco had, it was more the eau de biscuits, grass, and dirt that seemed to cling to some boys. “You have no idea.”

“Well?” he prompted.

“You’re going to murder me.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Try me.”

Ginny sighed. “Well, first things first, I suppose,” she mumbled. “It seems that I’m pregnant.”

“I could have sworn you just said— you did say, didn‘t you?” Colin rattled out and Ginny stuck her face further into his jumper to avoid having to look at him. She hoped that the grassy smell would calm her down, and the biscuit smell wouldn’t make her hungry again.

“Oh, it gets worse,” she confided to the thick woollen folds of his jumper.

“How could it be any worse!” Colin pulled her up to look at him. “Ginny, you said that you were taking that potion. You said that you would be all right!”

Ginny pushed her hair out of her face and climbed onto his lap, swinging her legs up to rest her feet on his right hipbone. “I know. But Hermione did some research and it turns out that the potion was crap to begin with.” Ginny fingered the collar of his shirt that was peeking through under Colin’s jumper. “She did say that it works, but not well, even when made properly; and I made such a thorough cock-up of the first batch that I’m assuming . . .”

Colin wrapped his arms around Ginny and tugged her back to his chest. She could feel the echo of breath in his lungs and closed her eyes, lulled by the sound.

“You said it gets worse?” he asked after a moment. His voice rumbled under her cheek and it comforted her. Colin was so familiar and so safe.

“I’m being forced to marry Draco.”

He held her back at arm’s length, his eyebrows almost in his hairline. “You’re having me on. Say that again?”

Ginny looked away. “I said that I’m being forced to marry Draco.”

Colin spluttered. “But they can’t do that! No one can force you to— What is this, the Dark Ages? It’s the twentieth century, here, Gin. I mean, I knew that the wizarding world was behind the times, but—”

She nodded. “Hermione said much the same thing today.” Ginny laughed bitterly. “Oh, I can’t wait until she finds out about this! She’ll probably start some type of organisation or formal protest.”

This was all Hermione’s fault and Ginny didn’t plan on speaking to her for a long time, if ever again. If only the girl hadn’t blabbed to McGonagall just because she was finally feeling like normal Hermione again. If only she’d let Ginny continue on in blissful ignorance for a while longer.

Ginny’s breath hitched and she let her head thud onto Colin’s shoulder. “Oh, God. I don’t want to marry him, Colin. It’s going to be a nightmare. But it’ll be worse if I don’t marry him. Because of Ron, The Prophet is sure to have a good go at us, and Mrs Malfoy said that they’ll probably dig up all sorts of rubbish on both our families; things that no one knows, about Percy and Mr Malfoy and— oooohh.” Ginny groaned.

They were both quiet for a while, thoughts swirling through her mind. She was just about to fall asleep, safe in Colin’s warmth, when he spoke:

“I’ll marry you, Gin.”

Ginny’s head snapped up and she looked him squarely in the eye. “What?”

“I said that I’ll marry you,” he stated firmly. “So long as you marry someone, The Daily Prophet won’t be able to say anything, and they won’t go digging around in your past - or Malfoy’s - because they won’t have a reason.”

“Oh, Colin, don’t joke about that! It isn’t funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be, Ginny.” Colin took her hand in his and squeezed it. “I may prefer men, but I’ve always loved you. You know that you’ve always been the only woman for me, the only woman that ever tempted me to go back to women.”

She placed her free hand on his cheek and swallowed a lump in her throat. “No, Colin. This is my mess and I couldn’t let you throw your life away like that.”

“But I wouldn’t be throwing my life away, Ginny!” His eyes misted and Ginny’s nose and lungs throbbed in response. “I’d be with you,” Colin whispered, lifting his hand to caress her cheek with his thumb, his fingers curled around the back of her ear. She was close enough to smell his sunshiny breath on her face. “And we’ve always been happy together. We’re the best of friends, and that’s a fine base for a marriage. You could even see other men if you wanted to; I wouldn’t mind at all so long as you returned the favour. Or we could make it a real marriage; you know I’m good for it. Either way, we could take care of your baby together. I’ve always wanted to have kids someday, but I never thought I would because of my preferences. We could be happy, Gin. We could be a family together. I know we could.”

Ginny sobbed and kissed him chastely on the mouth. It would be so easy to marry Colin. Ginny was more than tempted to be selfish, to keep him for herself and piss on Draco Malfoy. But she couldn’t do that to her best friend, no matter what he might say. “Colin, I don’t think it would work,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I would be miserable because I’d know that you would be unhappy.” She put a finger over his lips. “And you can’t tell me that you wouldn’t because I know you. You like parties and dancing with your mates.” Ginny looked at her belly and swiped her lips with a dry tongue. “You don’t deserve to be tied down like that.”

“But I wouldn’t be unhappy.” Colin protested softly. “I wouldn’t. I’d have you and we could be—”

Ginny shook her head and Colin stopped talking. “I know we could. We could be a lot of things. But this isn’t one of them, Colin.”

He was weeping freely now, and his voice was rough when he spoke again.

“I just can’t stand by and let you marry him, Ginny. I can’t allow you to be thrown away like that!” His lip trembled. “You stupid pure-bloods with your stupid traditions and rules, and—” Colin’s chest heaved and shuddered before he closed his eyes. “You deserve so much better,” he whispered. “And I feel like I’m losing you.”

Ginny put her arms around him and nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck. “I know that Harry has always been your hero, Colin, but you are mine,” she murmured against his moist, flushed skin. “Just stay with me a bit longer?” Her voice crackled and she smothered her face in his collar.

“I need a friend, tonight.”

Flame me please, it’s terribly cold where I am now and we’re out of kindling.

30. Man in the Box

Authour’s Notes: I’m sorry that it’s taken so long to get this chapter out. I was hoping that I would have found a second beta reader to look this over, but since my best option doesn’t have the time due to uni restraints and none of the other volunteers ever wrote back to me, I’m posting this today with only one beta putting it through the wringer - my beloved Alexis.

Currently I’m writing up a scene in chapter 33, but I skipped over 32 so I need to go back and do that because it’s a very important chapter. I have no idea when chapter 30 will be posted since that relies solely on Alexis’ free time and if I can find a second beta reader to help speed things along for her.

About chapter 30, I’m quite excited about it because some of the issues with Percy and Lucius come more into play and Narcissa gets her first real POV with all the lovely and twisted thoughts in her head.

As for chapter 29, this chapter, there are so many clues as to what exactly is wrong with Draco here, which I almost hope no one picks up on. If anyone does, though, send me an email or review explaining your theories. I probably won’t confirm it, but it may make for lively discussion.

Again, I thank all the lovely reviewers that make my life and AIDE a bit richer with your words, constructive comments, and support. Cheers.

Draco escorted his mother through the corridors and downstairs to the main entrance of Hogwarts, a million thoughts whirling through his head. He belatedly noticed that she was speeding ahead of him and he leapt forward to grab her arm.

“What’s the rush, Mother?” he asked, squeezing her upper arm painfully and delighting in her quiet intake of breath. “You seemed happy enough to plan out my life a few moments ago and now you want to leave? How very rude.”

Narcissa sniffed contemptuously and continued to walk. “I want to go home. I’ve been in that dreary hotel for months and I’ll enjoy being the sole mistress of Malfoy Manor just a while longer before you bring in that little Weasley tart.”

“You were the one who pushed for marriage,” Draco said icily. “I don’t really care who I marry, but I’m sure that we could have worked out an arrangement with the Weasleys so that I would still be free to marry the Rosier girl. We needed her money and now we don’t have it.”

Narcissa was silent for a space. She kept turning down stone corridors, striding purposefully to the main entrance without her usual elusive, mincing steps. Then she started to speak at last: “The wind is blowing the other way now, and everyone associated with the Dark is being weeded out like before. But this time, I fear we must adapt or lose everything. I don’t foresee You-Know-Who coming back, and there are none now who have his power, aside from Potter, perhaps.” Her eyes were on the double doors at the far end of the corridor and she still wouldn’t look at him. “Besides, I was fond of the Weasley boy and I need a companion. I’m afraid that your cousin is simply too foolish for me to deal with.” She paused. “And we’ve plenty of money, Draco.”

“We could always use more of it. Galleons don’t grow on trees, you know. And if you wanted a companion, someone pure and wholesome to attach your name to, you could just as well have hired one or remarry. You didn’t have to make me marry someone simply to keep you from being lonely or ostracised.”

Draco studied his mother in the flickering torchlight. Her lips were thinned and her eyes haggard. She didn’t look as if she’d slept well lately. He knew exactly how she must feel.

“You should fix your hair. You’re starting to seem unkempt.” Narcissa didn’t look at him as she said this, and her pace didn’t falter.

He raised his eyebrows. “Unkempt? Me? I’m as impeccably groomed as always, Mother.”

“Your hair is sticking up in front. Surely you know a basic flattening charm at your age.”

Draco ran his hand self-consciously over his head, and sure enough, there was a tuft of hair at his widow’s peak that was misbehaving. Again.

“Blasted hair! I don’t know what’s wrong with it these days. It simply won’t behave.”

Narcissa pursed her lips and stopped long enough to pull out her wand and charm his hair flat again. Then she peered into his face.

“You’re freckling.” She reached up a finger and almost touched the thin skin under his eyes. “Just there. Have you been out in the sun?”

Draco blinked at her. “Been out in the sun? No more than usual.” He scoffed. There was only the one on his nose and he’d charmed that away days ago. “I don’t have freckles.”

She started walking again. “Yes. You have freckles. Perhaps it’s a disease and the Weasley girl’s given it to you,” Narcissa drawled, her voice lilting and entrapping the name ‘Weasley’ as if it were a fly in her beautiful new web.

“You can’t catch freckles. And we don’t freckle.”

“You’re right. We don’t freckle.” Her steps faltered for a moment and she clutched at his forearm to keep him close, but then released it as if he’d burned her. “You’ve changed, Draco. You’re almost as thin as you were in your sixth year and I’d swear that you’ve shrunk.”

“Have you been drinking absinthe again, Mother? Seeing little green faeries, too?” Draco contributed a brittle laugh to the perfectly enchanting conversation he was having with his mother. All the while, he was trying to pretend that he didn’t notice how the loose cuffs of his sleeves came down over the backs of his hands. Perhaps his new spring wardrobe wasn’t all a tailor’s mistake . . .

“No,” Narcissa whispered, her eyes narrowing to cat-like slits that glowed in the gloomy corridor. “You have changed. It isn’t in my imagination, this. What have you done?”

“I haven’t done anything, Mother,” he said testily. “But why don’t we ask Father about what he’s done? Oh, that’s right, we can’t. He’s dead.”

Narcissa scoffed and started walking again, setting a fast pace. “Your father has nothing to do with this.”

“I rather think he does,” Draco countered. “Have you ever heard of the Tir nan Og Curse?”

Narcissa stopped dead in her tracks, but she remained facing the main entrance. Her face was lost in shade, and Draco could tell that she was watching Dumbledore and Lupin come inside the building.

“I see that you have,” Draco noted wryly.

“Lucius wouldn’t have dared curse you with that,” she whispered, moving closer to the protective shadows on the wall.

Draco slunk into the darkness to stand behind his mother, quietly watching as Dumbledore and Lupin walked by them. Lupin’s more perceptive werewolf eyes caught Narcissa’s as he passed, and he inclined his head in a nod of acknowledgement that held more respect than a formal bow from most would do.

“Father did dare,” Draco said into his mother’s ear after they were gone. “But I only know this from his journals. I want you to tell me the rest because I haven’t been able to find anything on that curse.” Draco scowled and hissed the next few words through clenched teeth. “I’ve been through Father’s journals and almost every book in the library here. All for nothing. Not one mention of it anywhere aside from some stupid couplets about flowers and fair brows.”

“You wouldn’t find anything on it, Draco,” Narcissa replied. “It’s a family curse.”

“Would you mind much explaining it to me, then?” Draco asked caustically, coming to stand in front of her as if his visual presence would help his case at all. “Seeing as how I’m thoughtful enough to escort you down to the front gates, the least you can do is tell me a bedtime story.”

Narcissa bit her lip in a rare display of hesitation before she brushed past him and started walking again. “I’ll tell you as we walk.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and followed her. “How kind of you,” he said dryly, pausing to open the main doors for her like a dutiful son.

“From what I understand,” she started. “The Tir nan Og is a bartering curse. In exchange for certain boons, you must pay a price.”

“Excellent,” Draco said wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose with white-tipped fingers.

“Yes, well,” she looked up at the bright half-moon above them. “I don’t know much else about it. Just that it is supposed to protect the victim’s physical form from harm and make them perfection.”

Narcissa stopped to brush the wisp of hair from his forehead again. “You never did have this problem before. Lucius certainly never did, either. I wonder—” She stopped speaking and quickly turned around again. “No.” Her shoulders shook but she kept moving hurriedly, almost stumbling over the stones and holes hidden by the silvery grass.

“What?” Draco raced to keep up with his mother. He saw her draw her wand, but she was too far ahead for him to hear the spell she cast. “You can’t just stop there! I want to know.”

She gazed at him calmly when he finally caught up; her eyes steady and cool once again. “I don’t know any more than that, Draco. The curse seems to be broken now, though. Why are you so concerned?”

“So concerned?” He almost gaped at her, until he remembered that Malfoys don’t gape. “This is my body we’re talking about here! And it’s slowly changing on me. I don’t even recognise myself anymore. I can’t remember what was here before and what’s new.”

Draco touched his chest, feeling the thick hair crisping under his shirt. Then he moved his fingers over his face, outlining his nose and mouth and eyes, pressing his cheeks with the cold pads of his thumbs. “My face hasn’t changed, but the rest of me— my skin and—and hair.” Narcissa wasn’t even looking at him. “I’m bloody shrinking, Mother!” he shouted.

She finally turned back to him. “If Lucius really did curse you, then you are finally seeing your true appearance. This is how you really look, Draco. All the imperfections that make you wizard instead of deity are hidden no longer.” Her eyes swept over him, noting every change, he was sure. “Truly, I don’t see much difference.”

“But you were just now telling me that I had changed! That I’m differ—”

Narcissa shrugged gracefully and opened the large, wrought-iron gates with a flick of her wand. She stepped through them and coolly studied him for a moment.

“Perhaps I overreacted.”

Then she was gone, Dissapparated into the breezy, star-dappled night and leaving her son clinging to the frozen bars of the gate knowing little more than he did before.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry spent most of his evening attempting to, once again, learn a bit more from ‘Albus Quaffle’, as he’d started to call it. Or call him, rather. Harry was still confused on that point.

The only interesting detail he had discovered so far was that the last thing the stuffed Quaffle remembered was duelling with Grindlewald . . . in 1945.

“Well, it was dark that night. Rainy and blustering outside and we were both caught in it,” Albus Quaffle had said, bouncing his plushy body up and down at the end of Harry’s bed, testing his new ‘flesh’. “I think that the last blitz had knocked out the eclectra city over half of London and we were in a seedy Muggle section of town.” The ball swayed from side to side. “I chased him into an abandoned house. The floorboards were creaky, so it wasn’t difficult to tell which room he was in, even without the trail of water from his wet robes. I cast a silencing spell on my shoes and crept up to the door he was hiding behind. I could hear him breathing.” The Quaffle fluttered in an imitation of life. “I waited for him to get comfortable, to think that I had gone, before I threw the door open and confronted him. We duelled. Yes, some of my finest spells, those were.” Albus Quaffle rocked back and forth as if nodding. “But then I looked up into his eyes and—” The ball wrinkled as if frowning. “I don’t remember anything after that. There was a blinding flash of light; it lit the entire building, I think. Then it was dark until you found me.”

The rest of the conversation degenerated into babbling about school and his students after that. Harry quickly grew tired of hearing about war-time Hogwarts and the adventures of a notoriously dim Cornish boy named Dickon Crackenthorpe.

Harry leant his head on his hand and stretched out on his side, nodding sleepily as Albus Quaffle continued to chatter.

“And I told him that you simply can’t make a potion to turn iron into gold!” The Quaffle wobbled on his seat. “That’s more Transfiguration work, and even then it’s impossible since iron repels magic. Even young Miss McGonagall told him that and she wasn‘t very good with Potions; Transfiguration was more her cup of tea. But the structure of iron, you see—”

Harry yawned. “I’m sorry, Albus, but I’m exhausted. Could you tell me about, er, structures later?”

“Oh, of course! I’m terribly sorry, my boy. I tend to rattle on about things that young people don’t generally care to know.”

“Uh-huh. You may want to go back to Seamus’ bed before he comes back from— wherever it is he goes at night.”

Albus quivered and leapt from Harry’s bed to land with a squishy thump on the floor. Then plop-scuff-plop as he hopped along to the other side of the room. Harry didn’t care how Albus managed to get up on Seamus’ bed so long as he left Harry alone.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to look at a plush toy the same way ever again,” Harry muttered, dispelling the Silence Sphere around his bed. He turned over to beat his pillow into submission and curled up with his knees against his chest. Sleep found him quickly and it was blissfully dreamless except for a short one where Hermione - wearing a bikini made of aluminium - was playing cricket using Albus Quaffle for a ball and Dobby was the bowler . . .

Harry woke sometime later with a start. His body tensed and he listened for a moment. He was about to let his eyes drift closed again when he heard muffled shouting downstairs.

He leapt from his bed and opened the door. Behind him, his dorm mates had woken up, too, and were peering thickly at him.

“Whas’s all the racket about, mate?” Dean asked sleepily.

“Yeah, I’ve got an exam in Herbology tomorrow,” Seamus mumbled, stuffing a pillow over his head. Albus Quaffle discreetly moved closer to the edge of Seamus’ bed as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t.

“Shh. It’s not me,” Harry said. He strained his ears. “I’m trying to listen. There’s something happening in the common room.”

He saw movement from the corner of his eye and turned his head. Ron had woken up, too, and was looking at him with the same expression he’d had countless times before when they were younger and a mystery was afoot.

Ron’s ginger eyebrows rose and he came over to stand beside Harry. “Do you know what’s happening?” he whispered.

Harry shook his head. “I can’t hear anything.”

“Think we should go down?” Ron asked, looking steadily at him, measuring.

Harry didn’t have to think about it twice. Ron had made the first move; he wasn’t going to bollocks it up again. Even still, he held a breath in anticipation before letting it out in a loud gush. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Ron opened the door, allowing Harry to take the lead. They crept down the stairs with their backs to the wall. Once they reached the bottom, they could see Hermione, Ginny, and Colin in the common room. Harry put a finger to his lips and they listened.

“ . . . and you had no right!” Colin was saying harshly to Hermione. “Just because you’ve been having an identity crisis is no reason to make Ginny suffer like this.”

“I thought she was in danger and I did what I thought was best!” Hermione shrilled. “It’s about time someone did. I didn’t know that would happen. And you can’t put all the blame on me.” She moved her head slightly toward Ginny, who was sitting on Colin’s lap. “This is your mess. I warned you that no good would come of it and you didn’t listen! You just kept on and on, running about with him all over the castle. You’re only upset because I told Professor McGonagall and now you have to take responsibility for your actions!”

“It wasn’t your business, Hermione!” Ginny shouted, standing up to meet her eye. “It was my problem. Mine!” She beat her fist against her chest once before her fingers flew out to point at the common room entrance. “But now it’s Draco’s problem, and my parent’s problem, and everyone else’s problem. They’re blackmailing me, Hermione, and there isn’t anything I can do to stop them.”

Hermione scoffed. “They can’t make you marry him. The Daily Prophet won’t be able to find—”

“What!?” Ron shouted from behind Harry, pushing him aside to rush across the room. “Who’s marrying Ginny?”

All three seemed shocked out of their skins. Harry glanced up the stairs and shooed away a few other students who had come down to see what was going on before stepping into the room himself and casting a silencing charm on the doorways.

Ginny was flushed with anger and Hermione’s eyes crackled. Colin wasn’t looking terribly pleased with all this, either.

“You’re marrying Malfoy, aren’t you?” Ron grabbed Ginny by the shoulders and Harry thought for one fearful second that he and Hermione would wind up taking Ginny to the Infirmary again until Colin stood up and pulled her back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his slender hands protectively over her stomach before glaring up at Ron.

“Don’t do that. You’ll hurt her again.”

“Oh sod off, Creevey!” Ron exploded. “Why are you always here, anyway?”

“Because he’s my friend, Ron,” Ginny said heatedly. “And unlike some people, he actually gives a toss about me.”

Ron closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He seemed to be collecting himself. “All right, Gin,” he said after a moment. Ron still had his eyes closed, but he continued in a calm voice. “Just tell me what’s going on. I promise I won’t go bananas.”

Ginny lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Harry. He shrugged. “Um. You may want to tell us what this is about, Ginny.”

Hermione sidled closer to Harry. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her onto an armchair with him. Ron finally opened his eyes and sat down on the sofa, flexing his fingers over his knees.

“Go ahead, Gin-love,” Colin said gently. He kissed Ginny on the cheek before sitting on the couch, far away from Ron.

She twisted her fingers in her hair and glanced up from under her long, copper lashes. “Well, I’ll give you all the short version. Mum and Dad—” Ginny took a deep breath. “AremakingmemarryDracobecause—” She gasped before continuing a bit slower. “B-because I’m preg—” Ginny frowned. “You know, that word.”

“Pregnant,” Colin supplied wearily, scrubbing his face with his hands. “She’s pregnant.”

“What!?” Ron shouted. He jumped to his feet. “Where is the little ferret-faced bastard? I’ll make him wish he were never born! He thinks he can do that to my sister and get away with it then—”

Ginny stepped back and tripped over Colin’s foot, landing half on his lap and half on the cushion beside him. “You said you wouldn’t go bananas!”

“But you—I—I need—” Ron glanced around for a moment, his eyes flickering confusedly toward Harry and Hermione. He sighed and slumped a bit. “I need a piss. I’ll be right back.”

Ron trudged off up the stairs. Everyone blinked and Ginny chuckled after a moment. “That went better than expected.”

Colin eyed Harry. “Did you give him drugs?”

“Er, no. Did you give him something, Hermione?”

Hermione’s mouth was slack and her eyes slightly unfocused. “Uh. I didn’t give him anything.”

“Maybe it’s his new girlfriend,” Colin said lazily. He twirled a few strands of Ginny’s hair around his finger. “You know, that Slytherin girl.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath. Surely he hadn’t heard correctly. “A Slytherin? But Ron hates them more than I do!”

Hermione stirred in his arms. It looked like she had fallen partially asleep. “What about a Slytherin?”

“Colin said—”

“I’m not dating Pansy Parkinson!” Ron said loudly. He had come back from the loo seeming slightly shaken and his hair was messy and wet. It looked like he had dunked his head in the toilet, but Harry hoped that it was only under the tap.

“Did I say Pansy Parkinson?” Colin asked serenely.

Ginny was obviously failing to stifle a grin. “Did he say dating, for that matter?”

“Oh shut your gobs,” Ron muttered. His face twisted into a parody of righteous indignation, but Harry could tell that there wasn’t much heart in his protests. “You’re mad, the both of you, and you’re only on about it because I kept that troll from squishing her into marmite.”

Colin smirked and Ginny seemed to be in better spirits than she was before. Harry hated to break the more pleasant mood, but he was really keen to get to the bottom of this marriage mystery. He cleared his throat.

“Ginny, what’s all this about blackmail, anyway?”

Her face fell and she looked up at Colin. He squeezed her hand gently and she sighed. “Well, because Ron killed You-Know-Who, our family’s quite famous now.”

Ron squirmed in his seat but didn’t say anything.

“And,” she continued. “Mum and Mrs Malfoy are under the impression that if word of my . . . condition leaks out, the dailies will have a fit and dig up all sorts of things to drag our names through the mud just because they can.” Ginny frowned and bit her bottom lip. “Like Percy and Mr Malfoy. Our dad could even lose his job.”

Harry suddenly felt cold and pulled Hermione closer to him. Her head was tilted back and she was snoring softly into his shoulder now. She must have been terribly exhausted to fall asleep during such an important conversation, too much revision, probably. And it looked like he had a few Obliviates to cast on his nosy housemates before morning, so he‘d probably be just as exhausted come daybreak.

“So why do you have to marry Malfoy, then?” Harry asked, partly because he couldn‘t think of anything better to say and partly because he was curious as to why Ginny would allow herself to be blackmailed into marrying a Malfoy - no matter the consequences. “That won’t prevent the Prophet from finding out that you’re, erm, expecting.” He felt uncomfortable even saying the word and squirmed under Hermione’s weight.

“Don’t you get it, Harry?” Colin said, his eyes blazing. “I mean, I thought you would have noticed that we’re living in a world that hasn’t had a social revolution in centuries.” He chuckled mirthlessly. Harry had never heard Colin so bitterly angry before except perhaps when Ron had pushed Ginny over that footstool. “Apparently it’s a terrible stigma in the wizarding world to be an unwed mother. Especially if you’re from a pureblooded family.” Colin’s fingers lingered over Ginny’s face as if she were a rare gem he was gazing at through a window but couldn‘t touch. “Think of how wrong it was fifty or sixty years ago in the Muggle world and you’ll have the idea.”

“But—”

“It’s just not on, Harry!” Ron said angrily. He stabbed a finger in Ginny’s direction. “Girls aren’t supposed to go around getting themselves into fixes like this.”

“Yeah, but you have girls all over you from what I’ve heard. No one ever says anything bad about them do they?” Harry said heatedly. He felt somehow that this was all terribly unfair, aside from the obvious marriage issue. God, to be married to a Malfoy . . . a fate worse than death in his eyes.

“That’s different,” Ron murmured. “It’s not in public. The only ones who know about it are me and them. Even if everyone knows that I’m—” He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t go telling people who they are.”

“Yeah, it’s just fine for you!” Ginny cried, pounding her tiny fist on Colin’s knee. He winced, but didn’t say anything. “It’s not bloody fair that you can get away with it but I can’t.”

“It’s that way in the Muggle world, too, Gin.” Colin said. “Just that people aren’t so shocked anymore if a girl turns up . . .” He trailed off with a sigh and pulled her closer to him.

“Creevey, I’m keeping my temper in check, but if you don’t get your paws off my sister—”

“Grow up, Ronald,” Ginny said quietly. “He’s just my friend. You know he doesn’t fancy girls.” She glanced up at Colin from the corner of her eye. Harry was close enough to hear her whisper: “At least not normally.”

“So how did Hermione find out about this?” Harry asked, eager to keep Ron from imploding.

“Oh,” Colin said softly. “That.”

“Yes, that.” Ginny almost spit out the word. “Well, it seems, Harry, that your girlfriend has spent the past few weeks researching preventative potions and developing tests through Muggle clemency.”

“Chemistry,” Colin corrected absently.

Ginny waved her hand dismissively and leaned forward a bit so that Colin was blocked from her view. “Hermione woke me up this morning with this test thing. She didn’t tell me what it was for until after she’d pricked my finger and put a drop of my blood in a vial with this blue potion she created.” Ginny rubbed her hand. “Then she told me that the potion we’d been using from the Witches’ Weekly back pages was flawed.”

Harry’s mouth was very dry and he suddenly had difficulty swallowing or forming words. “Flawed?” he squeaked.

“Oh yes. She spouted off a bunch of Muggle things I didn’t understand before she started making sense again. Apparently, the preventative potion only works most of the time. There’s always a good chance that it won’t work even if you make it right.”

“Is Her—is Hermione— um— too?” Harry stumbled his words and his forehead broke out in a cold sweat as possibilities ran through his mind, none of them good and all of them including bushy-haired, green-eyed children clambering up his trouser legs as if he was Mount Harry.

“No. Her test was fine,” Ginny spat. “But mine . . . well, you know how mine turned out obviously.”

“So all this time that potion wasn’t even working?” Harry gasped out.

“It does work,” Ginny insisted. “Uh, sometimes, anyway.”

“Oh God,” Harry whispered. “Are you sure—”

“For Merlin’s sake, Harry!” Ginny shrieked. “She’s fine! We were talking about an actual problem here. You know, what I’m going to do now?”

“Leave him alone, Ginny. Harry’s just shocked, ‘right?” Ron glared at her and she backed down, pulling her feet up to sit on them.

“It’s always bloody Hermione,” Ginny grumbled.

Harry stood up as quickly as he could manage with Hermione’s limp form dripping over his arms. He was upset with her, too, because she hadn’t said anything to him about this, but he didn’t want to hear Ginny badmouth her while she was asleep and couldn’t defend herself, either. “I’ll just take her to bed then, shall I?” he asked coldly.

“Yeah, you might want to get her out of here, Harry.” Ron was looking at his sister. “It’s about to get loud again and she probably needs her rest.”

“You remember Lockhart’s charm?” Harry asked him. “Because I can guarantee you that if ninety percent of our housemates aren’t Obliviated . . .”

Ron turned back to look at Harry, letting his eyes rove over Hermione for a moment, before nodding. “Good idea. I’ll get to it after I deal with the future Mrs Malfoy over here.” Ron rolled his eyes and jerked his head in Ginny’s direction.

Harry let one side of his mouth twist up in a wry smile of acknowledgement and went up the stairs with Hermione. He grunted along to his dormitory and fumbled with the doorknob before he was finally able to get the door open.

He set Hermione on his bed and collapsed partially on top of her, drinking in her moon-lit profile as he caught his breath. Harry could tell that she was worn out and her face was still pinched with worry, even in sleep. He was angry that she hadn’t trusted him enough to say anything about this, but he regretfully supposed that it was just her way: she never said anything until she was completely certain that her theories were correct.

Harry climbed into the bed beside her and pulled off her shoes before covering them both with a thick quilt and settling down into the pillows. He stayed awake for a long time, staring at the tester over his bed until the first rays of sunlight crept over his body.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Ginny slinked down the secret passage that led to Draco’s dormitory, quiet as a mouse with her lantern dimmed. She simply had to speak with him. He must know that this would destroy them both, so why was he being so agreeable to the marriage issue?

Her heart was in her throat as she turned the knob and tiptoed over to his bed. Ginny hadn’t really expected him to be asleep, but he was.

Draco’s profile was clear in the faint light filtering through the drapes around his bed, bleached into a sharp contrast of black shadows and warm flesh. His mouth was blank and uncreased by the habitual sneer, and his eyelashes were only dark, feathery lines overlaying the hollows underneath.

Ginny allowed her hand to hover over Draco’s face, tracing it in the air with her fingers, before drifting down to shake him gently by the shoulder.

“Draco, wake up.”

His eyes snapped open and gleamed strangely in the golden-dim lantern light as he looked at her. “What do you want, woman?”

She had the sneaking suspicion that he hadn’t been sleeping after all. But Ginny steeled herself and sat down beside him. “We need to talk.”

Draco snorted and rolled away from her, hunching his head down between his shoulders. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Ginny pulled him back to her so she could see his face. “I rather think there is.”

“Go away.”

“No,” she stated firmly. “We will talk about this, Draco. So either you can get off your lazy arse and we’ll go to the common room, or I’ll start right here in front of your dorm mates and air all our dirty laundry.”

“Stupid cow,” he hissed. “You wouldn’t dare.

Ginny lifted an eyebrow, feeling more in control of her emotions than she had for quite some time. Anger was a remarkable restorative, it seemed. “Try me.”

Draco’s gaze locked with hers for a moment before he sighed in exasperation and sat up. “Hand me my slippers.”

Her eyes flicked down to where his wool-lined slippers were peeking out from under the bed. The urge to just grab them and slide them over his feet was overwhelming, but Hermione’s shrill voice, which had recently become her conscience, kept playing over in her head: ‘Servant—servant—you’re nothing but a servant to Draco Malfoy. He doesn’t appreciate any of the small gestures you make out of love! He can’t love, remember?’

“Get them yourself, Draco,” Ginny said flippantly. “I’ll be in the common room.” She stood and left his dormitory, walking up the dark stairs to the deserted Slytherin common room. Or at least it should have been deserted.

Pansy Parkinson’s eyes widened and swept over Ginny before narrowing in hatred. “Weasley,” she spat. “Why are you in my common room?”

“Actually, Pansy, this room is for all of Slytherin; not just you,” Draco said mildly from behind Ginny. She turned to look at him. He stood tall and regal in his green silk dressing gown, the embroidered snake curled over his left breast pocket adding a touch of menace to his wardrobe. But it also made Ginny keenly aware of the faded pyjama bottoms and old T-shirt she’d inherited from George under her tattered dressing gown.

Pansy pointed at her. “She’s not a Slytherin.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ginny muttered under her breath.

Draco was almost grinning, cruel amusement lit his eyes from within. “No, she’s not. But she is the future Mrs Malfoy, so show the proper respect.”

Ginny and Pansy both gawped at him. But whilst Ginny’s mind was spinning in confusion bourn from his open admission of their engagement, Pansy spluttered incoherently at the news itself.

“How—what—but you couldn’t possibly—a Weasley, Draco!”

Here Ginny smirked and glanced at Draco from the corner of her eye. He likely didn’t know what she knew about Miss Perfect Slytherin. “Oh don’t get your knickers in a twist, Parkinson.” Ginny tapped a finger on the side of her cheek in mock-thought. “But wait a moment! I do believe that’s my brother’s job, isn’t it?”

Pansy’s face drained of colour, and Draco lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Really now? You’ve been shagging the new saviour of the wizarding world? Mighty defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” he taunted. “What is the world coming to these days?” Draco whispered sibilantly.

Pansy’s hands fisted at her side and the flesh of her jaw trembled. “I didn’t sh-shag him.”

“You did do,” Ginny said viciously. Perhaps if she were cruel enough, the Slytherin bitch would go away. “Or at least you want to, don’t you?”

“No!” Pansy gasped. Her fingers twisted deeply into her perfectly tamed curls, mussing the pale, blonde hair into a rat’s nest. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’ll never¾ I’m not like Malfoy. I don’t associate with Gryffindors or Weasleys!”

“Go tell someone who’ll believe you, Parkinson.” Ginny said dismissively. She flopped into a chair and put her feet up, letting them dangle over the arm. If that wouldn’t make her go away—

Pansy sobbed and covered her face with her hands. Ginny felt a twinge of guilt, but it evaporated as soon as she remembered what Ron had reluctantly admitted earlier: that Pansy had tried to kill him.

Several times.

“Good-night, Pansy,” Draco said. He shooed her toward the stairs. “Out like the obedient little slag you are.”

She took off running down the stairs toward what Ginny assumed must be the girl’s dormitories, tears streaming down her ugly face. Once Pansy was surely gone, Draco studied Ginny from across the room.

“That was uncharacteristically malicious of you,” he commented finally.

Ginny shrugged. “She tried to kill Ron. You can’t expect me to trade hair charming secrets after that, can you?”

“Suppose not.” Draco settled into the chair beside her and pointed his wand at the embers in the hearth, making them roar to emerald life with a short incantation. “Now, why did you feel it necessary to drag me out of bed at this ungodly hour?”

“Just to talk.”

He scoffed. “If that’s all you wanted, I’m going back to sleep.”

“You weren’t asleep before.”

“I was close to,” he grumbled. The green light from the fireplace reflected on his skin, giving it an unhealthy, malarial sheen. “Let’s get on, then.”

Ginny turned her head away from him and absently picked at her fingernails. “Why did you agree to it, Draco?”

When she glanced at him again, his eyes were closed and the back of his head was flush with his chair. “Is that all you want to know?”

“Not all.”

“Mmmn,” he grunted. “I suppose you could say that I subscribe to the ‘better the Kneazle you know’ theory. That Rosier girl . . . well, she could be completely unsuitable to my needs. If Mother is any indication, she probably is that.”

Ginny’s heart shuttered. He admitted it so coldly . . . “So you only chose me because you know me?”

The pupil of his eye turned toward her from under a cracked lid. “Not only. My mother and yours were breathing down my neck as well, and of course there are those—” He waved his hand in the general direction of her stomach. “You know.”

“They’re babies, Draco.” Ginny sighed and rested her cheek against the side of her wingback chair. “They’re our babies.”

“Well, you had best thank Professor Snape next time you see him. I would have doubted their paternity if I hadn‘t seen them for myself.”

Ginny sat up quickly, stung. “You know that you were my only lover, Draco! How could you say that?”

“I don’t know anything about your life outside of my bed,” he said in a soft, ominous whisper. “For all I know, you could have been shagging Creevey, too. You certainly weren’t a virgin when I first had you.”

She bit her lip. “Colin and I were together a long time ago. We were each other’s first. Then he discovered certain—” Ginny dashed a look at Draco, remembering his aversion to all things homosexual since his discovery about Lucius and Percy. “Things about himself and we parted as friends. That’s all we are, and all we’ll ever be.”

Draco was perusing her from under his lashes, his eyes glinting spitefully. “Little Colin Creevey . . . His own brother won’t talk to him now, from what I hear. At least not at school.”

Ginny curled her hands into fists on her lap. “Dennis is a slimy little bastard and he only treats Colin that way because our society doesn’t accept his romantic preferences.”

“Would you prefer to live as a Muggle?” Draco asked derisively.

“Yes, I believe I would.” Ginny lifted her chin high and met his eye with a challenge in what she hoped was a steady gaze. “I would gladly give up my magic if it meant I actually had a choice in how to live my life.”

Draco gave a short bark of unpleasant laughter. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. We have a choice, Ginny. But are you prepared to accept the consequences for both us and our—” He paused and glanced at her belly. “Our children, if we don’t give in to what they want from us?”

Ginny looked down and let her fingers slide over the barely noticeable bump under her dressing gown. Even though the thought that something was alive inside of there had yet to register, Ginny still felt a wave of protective fear wash over her. She shivered and clutched at her stomach. “I suppose not.” Her eyes shifted back to him. “Why are you being so mild tonight, Draco? You’ve hardly been your usual arsing self.”

He didn’t reply immediately, but instead traced a pattern with his finger over the rich embroidery on his dressing gown. Draco’s voice was soft with a hidden edge when he finally spoke. “I suppose that it would be best if I didn’t antagonise you any more than necessary if we’re going to be married soon.”

His winter-hard eyes found her face in the stillness after he‘d spoken. Ginny fancied that if she wiped the rime of frost from them that she’d find globes full of swirling snow and deep, dangerous eddies.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t relish living the rest of my life in fear of flying crockery.”

The break in silence and tension made Ginny’s hand jerk, but she chuckled nervously to avoid that mad, contemplative quiet again. “I don’t throw things. They’re still in my hand when I hit you with them.”

“Mmmn. True.” Draco nodded thoughtfully, taking her mild amusement and sucking it back into the dark vortex of his strangely unemotional state with all the ease of swatting a fly. “But we should at least make an effort to be civil.”

Ginny murmured her disagreement. “It won’t be nearly as much fun that way, you know.”

“Our marriage isn’t about fun. It’s about keeping up appearances and living - respectably - below the notice of the press.”

“Sounds lovely,” she muttered sarcastically.

They were both silent for a long time, Ginny absorbed in thoughts of the future. She still couldn’t make herself believe that there were two incredibly tiny bodies growing within her own. Objectively, she knew it was true, but on the inside, it hadn’t become truth. Ginny was aware of the fact that her belly would swell and everything else that came along with her condition. But she didn’t know if she could ever bring herself to believe it until she saw their delicate limbs with her own eyes.

This only fuelled her resentment at being forced into marriage.

Carefully, Ginny reached out and touched the back of his hand. “Draco.”

He raised an eyebrow in response.

“Do you want to feel them?” she asked in a quiet voice that was very unlike her own.

“Why? They’re too small to feel.”

Ginny studied his blank, hooded eyes for a moment before tugging his fingers toward her. “There’s a knot, though. Madame Pomfrey showed me where to look. Maybe if you can feel it, too, then I know I’m not mad.”

She let go of his hand and it glided in the air above her belly for a brief time, as if it had a brain of its own to decide with. Finally he snatched it back and stood up.

“Enough of this,” Draco said harshly, the thin glass of his diffidence suddenly shattering and allowing Ginny to see the rage he‘d kept hidden so far that night. “I’m not interested in those two things! I don’t want to feel that soft belly of yours grow hard because of their greedy little bodies.”

Ginny gaped up at him, her mouth slightly open due to sudden revelation. “You’re jealous,” she whispered.

He scowled. “Never. I’m angry because—because—” His face broke as he floundered and Ginny felt a smirk creeping over her lips.

Draco reached down and dug his fingers painfully hard into her upper arms. Ginny winced, but didn’t say anything. “You’re mine, Ginny Weasley. Perhaps not yet in deed, but you still belong to me. And I see those beasts as encroachers on my property. Nothing more.”

Ginny laughed in his face and pulled away. “Aww, is ickle Dwaco going to miss his favouwite pillow?” she teased. “Dwaco’s a bit jwealous, isn’t he?”

He leant forward with a snarl. “Don’t mock me, you daft bitch!”

She forced her body to relax, her eyes to remain calm and unperturbed. “What are you going to do?”

Draco stepped back and raked his hands through his hair. “Bitch,” he said again.

Ginny pretended to look at a watch. “Twice within three seconds.” She met his eye. “You’re slipping. You could hardly call that original, or worthy of the great Draco Malfoy.”

He turned his back to her and stiffly made his way down the stairs to his dormitory. Ginny sat up a while longer in the Slytherin common room, though, turning over in her mind all the possibilities that life with Draco Malfoy would bring. She eventually concluded that she could have done worse, but not by much.

31. Haunting Me

Authour’s Notes: I am terribly sorry that this took so long to get out. But this chapter is a good size, about 20 pages, so hopefully this will keep everyone happy until chapter 31. I’m happy to report that I’ve begun writing chapter 34, and I estimate that there will be a total of 40 chapters. I still need to re-write my outlines, but everything is in my head so it’s not a huge deal, really. Just me being disorganised. :P

There are loads and loads of interesting revelations in this chapter, character and plot-wise. And no, there’s no direct D/G action in this chapter, but the next should well make up for it. As I’ve probably stated, I never claimed this to be strictly a D/G story. This is a general story with romance/smutty sidelines. Everyone gets a voice (eventually) so please don’t get upset that Harry, Hermione, or Narcissa get a turn. Or even the plot.

And just to let you know: if you didn’t read chapter 27, you’ll be lost. I suggest reading that before this chapter.

Everyone have fun and I’ll update again as soon as possible.
I have learnt silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to these teachers. ~ Kalil Gibran
Narcissa Apparated just outside the hedgerows surrounding a large, ramshackle house. It looked like several gigantic parcels had been carelessly piled, one on top of the other, to the sky.

How revolting.

She smoothed down her robes and stepped lightly on the winding path leading to the front door. Before she went too far though, a man stepped out from behind a hedge and held up his hand.

“You can’t go any further. This is a private home so unless you have an appointment . . .”

Narcissa drew herself up. “As it happens, I do have an appointment. Mrs Weasley has invited me for tea.”

The man raised a sceptical eyebrow at her. “Aren’t you Narcissa Malfoy? I saw a picture of you in the Daily Prophet when your husband died.”

Her lips tightened. “Yes, I am Narcissa Malfoy, and I suggest that you move before I—”

“It’s quite all right!” a voice puffed from behind the man. “You can let her through. I’ve been expecting her.”

He turned and smiled when he saw Molly Weasley. “Are you sure, Mrs Weasley? I mean, she is—”

“She’s safe as houses, Dimsley.” Molly blushed. “Here you are, dear; I made you a tea tray. I know that it’s terrible weather out today, so I thought you could use some warmth.” She handed a small tray loaded with cake, sandwiches, and tea over to the guard. “Now there’s enough to share with Miss Adams over there.” Molly glanced slyly down the hedgerow to where a female Auror was patrolling. “So make sure she gets some as well.”

She winked at Dimsley and he flushed to the roots of his dark hair. “Of course, Mrs Weasley. I’ll see that she has some of your famous—uh, ahem, rum cake here.”

Molly patted him on the back. “Good, good. Run along now.”

The man trotted off obediently, still smiling. Narcissa took this opportunity to thoroughly study her future relation. Well, she amended, a closer relation. Narcissa almost shuddered at the very thought, but knew that she had little choice. Molly Weasley was short and over-plump with greying auburn hair that was piled on the back of her head haphazardly with a wand poking out of the mass. Narcissa briefly wondered whether her future daughter-in-law would look like this when she was her mother’s age and made a note to mention the matter to her son, just so he could see what sort of mess he had made for himself.

After the wedding, of course.

“Come in, Narcissa.” Molly waved her hand toward the house and shooed her along. “Come in. I’ve just made some tea and we can have a spot while we iron out the details of the wedding contract.”

Narcissa smiled frigidly and allowed herself to be herded, rather like a cow, she thought, into a large kitchen. She’d never been in a kitchen before, except once when she was a very small girl. It was not an experience she wished to repeat, but new situations called for adaptability, so Narcissa kept her comments to herself.

In the hearth, a small kettle was boiling over. The smoky-sweet smell of burnt tea was thick in the air. Mrs Weasley bustled over and lifted it from the fire before pouring some in an earthenware mug.

“Your tea’s ready, dear!” she shouted up the stairs. Molly noticed Narcissa staring and smiled. “Oh not to worry. This isn’t for us. My son prefers it this way. I have to burn it for him or he can’t taste it. So he says, anyway.” She pulled out two chairs from a large, rough-hewn table covered with tiny doilies. “You can sit here, if you’d like, and I’ll get our tea tray and some parchment.”

Molly laid a tea towel down on the other chair and bustled off just as Narcissa was sitting down. She sighed and wondered when exactly her life had become so complicated that she was forced to consort with people like the Weasleys. Then she looked next to her and every thought oozed out her ears.

“Good lord, Narcissa! What the devil are you doing here?” Percy said as he floated down into the seat beside her.

“I-I—”

“Oh, Narcissa!” Molly said as she came back into the room with several scrolls of parchment in hand. “I forgot to tell you about my son, Percy. I don’t think—”

“We’ve met, Mum,” Percy said, taking a sip from his mug.

Narcissa noted, horrified, that the tea wasn’t actually suspended, but fell to the seat below to be absorbed by the tea towel. It wasn’t as if she had never seen a ghost, but this particular one took her by surprise. And she’d never seen one attempt to eat before.

“Narcissa and I were actually quite good friends at one time, weren’t we?” Percy said.

His figure was hazy and iridescent white, a muted flicker of his former self. Narcissa felt her knees shaking and struggled to keep them from jarring his chair. She wondered if he would feel it if she did.

“Yes,” Narcissa managed to whisper. “Good mates.”

Percy smiled and leaned closer to her, the light not reflecting on his glasses as they used to do when the two of them put their heads together and whispered conspiratorially about clothes and hair potions. “I’ve missed you, Narcissa.”

Narcissa wanted to smile, but her face was still frozen in shock. I’ve missed you, as well, she could have said if her throat wasn’t so constricted. Narcissa started when Molly plopped a cup of tea in front of her.

“Here’s the cream, and the sugar is right there.”

Narcissa inattentively stirred several spoonfuls of sugar into her tea. The fact that Molly Weasley should have made up her tea as was proper not registering because she was still staring at Percy. He grinned at her and took another sip from his crude mug. The earthenware didn’t look right sitting in his shimmering, ghostly hands. Percy had always insisted on using the finest china when he was staying in her home. Then, there was nothing but the finest china at Malfoy Manor.

“I didn’t think you’d be so shocked,” Molly was saying. “I had no idea that you knew our Percy before—” She cleared her throat. “Well, before.”

Percy spoke up quickly, likely in some attempt to circumvent that line of thought. “How are those Red Caps coming along, Mum? Have you managed to oust them yet?”

Molly glanced to the floor behind her. “They’re almost gone. I suspect that they’ll disappear soon enough.”

He nodded. “Good, good.” Percy turned back to Narcissa. “So what are you doing here, anyway? Not that I don’t appreciate you stopping by, mind, but . . . well, it is a bit odd, isn’t it?”

Molly cleared her throat again and fidgeted uncomfortably. “I really should have told you last night when your father and I came home. But I was so distraught and I didn’t think Arthur needed another shock so soon after the one we’d just had.” She sighed. “It seems Narcissa is going to be part of the family soon.”

Narcissa flinched and hurriedly gulped down some of her tea, not caring for once that it slopped over the sides of her cup. “Yes. My son is marrying your sister,” she choked out.

Percy gasped. “But I thought that he was already contracted to one of your cousins.”

She shook her head. “The contract was broken when he compromised the girl.”

“Compromised! Oh my God.” Percy’s pale, transparent face looked shattered. “Poor Ginny. I had hoped . . . Merlin’s teeth!” he swore.

“Now, now, Percy,” Molly tutted, “No need for language.” She rose from the table. “I’ll go and get my mother’s wedding contract to use as a guide, shall I? And our lineage, of course.” Molly almost sneered here, if Weasleys were capable of it at all, it would have been. Then again, Molly Weasley was half Black, too, and Merlin knew that they could sneer; Narcissa considered herself a prime example.

“I’ve already seen Draco’s pedigree,” Molly was saying snidely when Narcissa tuned back to the conversation. “So I don’t think we’ll need a copy of that.”

Narcissa’s lips thinned and she glared at the woman’s back as she ascended the stairs. She had always been fond of great-aunt Eliza, but unfortunately, none of the things Narcissa liked about her had been passed on to her daughter. Molly Weasley certainly didn’t get that garish hair from the Blacks. It was almost as bad as Andromeda’s daughter’s hair after she’d visited that Muggle music conservatory.

She felt Percy’s tentative touch on the back of her hand, which drew her away from family prejudices. It was like ice and she shivered, so he pulled it away.

“Sorry. I forgot about that.” He leaned toward her. It seemed like he wanted to touch her again, but he didn‘t. Narcissa noted that she couldn‘t feel his breath against her face when he spoke. “Don’t let Mum bother you. She always means well, even if—” A blood-curdling scream rent the air above them. “Oh no!” Percy said, floating out of his chair. “She must have gone into the attic. He’s been hiding up there, you see, and—I need to go check if he’s done any harm. Blast him!”

Narcissa watched Percy rise up through the ceiling and lifted an eyebrow. She shrugged and sipped at her tea. Perhaps the mad bat had fallen and broken something; preferably, her neck. Narcissa frowned. She had never been a violent person and she wondered where the thought came from. Then she remembered where she was currently sitting - and why - and she wondered no more.

Even she had her limits.

After a time, Percy brought his mother down the stairs. She was shaking, almost as pale and white as her son, but still furious. “How could you not tell me that he is in my home? I don’t care if he stays in that attic for the rest of his—well, unlife! I want him gone, gone, gone!”

“But, Mum we can’t leave! Neither of us can. You know that,” Percy said, his voice raising an octave or two. One of the things Narcissa had always found comforting about Percy Weasley was his voice. It was at all times gentle and soothing, even when raised; never grating, like his mother’s.

“I will not have Lucius Malfoy in my house!” Molly shrieked. “I don’t care what you have to do! Make him leave or I’ll call in a Banisher.”

Narcissa’s leg lurched under the table and hit the wood sharply. She sucked in a breath and rose partially from her chair. “Lucius?”

“Yes,” Mrs Weasley said tartly. “Your husband’s ghost is up in my attic. And, from what Percy says, has been there since before he came back a couple of weeks ago.” She pursed her lips. “He killed you, Percy! I don’t want the murdering ghost of that man in my home. Your father doesn’t even know that you’re home yet and what he’ll say when he finds out that Lucius Malfoy is in our attic . . .”

Narcissa wobbled and felt a faint coming on. “Oh God,” she moaned. Percy glided forward and helped her back to her seat.

“Don’t go to pieces now, Narcissa. You’ll be all right.” He called over his shoulder: “Mum, could you bring her some smelling salts? She doesn’t like Pepper-Up very much.”

Molly rushed to her potion’s chest, eager for something constructive to do. “Yes, yes. Oh let’s see here – don’t faint yet, Narcissa!” She rambled through the drawers. “Smelling salts, smelling salts . . . I’m horrible to be speaking about her husband that way, even if it is . . . Here they are!”

She hopped over to where Percy was supporting Narcissa with his icy hands and unstopped the cork of smelling salts directly under her nose. “Take a good whiff of this, dear, and you’ll come right around.”

Narcissa inhaled obligingly and the noxious fumes did manage to clear her head a little. She felt Percy release her shoulders, and Molly stepped back once she saw that Narcissa wasn’t going to faint.

Draco’s face kept swimming through her mind, and seeing Percy beside her only compounded the sudden white-hot rage that was flowing through her.

“I need to speak with him,” Narcissa said firmly. She stood up and shakily made her way toward the stairs. “If you’d be so kind as to show me, Percy?”

He hesitated and glanced at his mother. “I don’t think you should, Narcissa. He’s really—” Percy lowered his voice to a confiding level. “Well, he’s really quite mad now, I think. I suppose being bound to this house has sent him around the turn.” Narcissa lifted her head to gaze at him piercingly and Percy shrugged. “Fine, fine. I’ll show you up.”

Narcissa followed Percy up the stairs to the third attic. It was at the very top of the house, and she was getting woozy from the height and climbing all those stairs. He opened a trapdoor and pulled down a rope ladder.

She looked at it scathingly, but still put one foot on, looped the long hems of her robes over her arm, and climbed into the room above. It was stuffy, smelling strong of dust and mould. Percy stayed by her side, hovering protectively. Narcissa peered into the darkness and called out: “Lucius? Are you here?”

His sudden appearance made the room light up and she stepped back.

“Lucius.”

The silver form of a ghost suited him as much as it disfavoured Percy. He, like Percy, still wore the blood-stained black robes of a Death Eater, but they seemed to fit him more. His eyes and hair were, not surprisingly, much the same colour they were in life. It vaguely reminded her of when Lucius was young and first courting her parents for her hand; the bright and gleaming prince riding up the front drive in his elegant carriage and immaculate robes with a glittering smile.

“Ah, Narcissa,” he sighed wearily. “Have you come to take me home?”

She gazed at him dispassionately. Many years of close association with him had tarnished the Sickle-shine of Lucius’ presence in her eyes. “No. You must stay here.”

He frowned and started pacing an inch above the floor. “I don’t like it here,” Lucius said petulantly. “There are all sorts of Weasleys living down below and they have a ghoul in that wardrobe over there.” Lucius pointed off into the darkness. “I must go home and prepare for Master.” He grew increasingly irritable and restless, shoving his finger through his translucent hair. “He’ll be arriving soon and then all of the Mudbloods and Mug—”

“I’ve come to ask you a few questions, Lucius,” Narcissa said calmly. She thought she would have felt something, standing here with him. But when Narcissa was honest, she realised that she had been more upset to hear of his continued existence than she was when given the news of his death. At least now she could find out if he really did curse their son.

“You’re always wanting something, Narcissa.”

“Yes, well I’m in a position to ask you now.” She folded her hands. “I would like to know if you placed the Tir nan Og Curse on Draco.”

“Of course,” Lucius said casually. “The Dark Lord wanted a perfect vessel, so I was going to give him one. He even helped me with some of the alterations.”

“You were going to sacrifice our son’s body and mind to him? He’s your heir! Surely even you aren’t that foolish.”

Lucius scoffed. “I could always have made more if I had wanted to, Narcissa. The gender manipulation charms are easy enough to manage, even for you.”

She smiled cattily, content in the knowledge that he could not have made more heirs. Draco’s birth had, blessedly, ended the possibility of future children from her body. But Lucius didn’t need to know that. At least not while he was being useful.

“Draco found a way to break it.” Narcissa stepped closer. “I suspect that the emotional turmoil was immediately effective, but the physical effects are still appearing. He’s different every time I see him. I give it another four or five months before the curse fades completely away.”

“Bully for Draco,” Lucius muttered childishly. “I only renewed it less than a year ago. His schoolmates were calling him ‘Spindle-legs’ . . . hardly an appropriate name for a Malfoy.”

“Whereas Lucius is an entirely appropriate name for you,” Narcissa murmured. She’d waited for so long to be able to say something like that to her husband. And there was nothing he could do about it.

He glared at her, his glassy form wavering. “So what were your other questions?”

Narcissa glanced at Percy. “Why did you kill him when I asked you distinctly not to do so?”

Percy started when Lucius laughed and glided closer to Narcissa.

“Because he was no longer useful to me and he was interfering.” Lucius whirled around and floated over to a tiny window, his colourless eyes gazing longingly at the sun. The light shone through him and puddled on the dusty floor in a pattern that made Narcissa feel as if she were underwater. “But I suppose that I’m being punished for it now.” He turned his head and roved his eyes over Percy, lingering on his crumpled face in a way that seemed to pain him. “I still have to look at him,” he whispered huskily.

Narcissa could hear Percy sob beside her and it spiralled her anger to new heights. “He is my friend, Lucius. I begged you not to do it.” Her hands fisted by her sides. Now she understood how people could give in to violence so easily. “I begged for him!”

“Yes,” Lucius sneered, coming to himself again. “I recall that you begged quite prettily for another friend once, too. And you still pined for him. At least until you found out what he was.” He came closer and let his hand pass through her arm instead of grasping her. “The thing you allowed to touch you.”

“Percy was different,” she whispered, watching the subtle shift in light that was Percy’s tears, not wanting to see the sudden lucidity in Lucius‘ eyes. “Is different. He understood me, I think. And you didn’t want him, not really. But I did. Just like our son, you took him away from me as well; made it so that Draco couldn’t even love his own mother.” Lucius’ laugh rang in her ears and she wanted to block it out, but couldn’t. “You tried to make him a miniature copy of yourself, but it didn’t work the way you wanted, did it? He still rebelled.”

“I suppose that must have been your blood, wife.”

Narcissa laughed mockingly. “Yes, well he didn’t get his strength from you, obviously. You always were a pushover for the Dark Lord.” She turned to pin Lucius with her eyes simply because she felt confident that she could now without restraint. “Creeping off into the night to do his—”

Lucius did grab her this time, around the throat. Her hands came up to push him away, but they closed over chill, empty air. He throttled her back and forth until blesséd Percy pulled her from his grasp.

“Narcissa, go!” Percy commanded, still struggling with her husband. Lucius’ eyes were wild as they locked with those of the younger spirit, their transparent bodies colliding and slipping against each other in a struggle for dominance. “Go back downstairs! I’ll take care of him.”

She turned and fled from the attic, scrambling down the ladder and flicking her wand at the trapdoor to make it seal shut behind her. Narcissa leant up against the wall and tried to catch her breath. She hadn’t done anything that active for years.

Narcissa raised her wand again and cast a calming charm on herself. Then she straightened her robes with a flick of her fingers and smoothed her hair before she went down to start writing the marriage contract. It wouldn’t do to look like Molly Weasley with her mess, would it?

*~*~*~*~*

Harry huddled under his invisibility cloak, trying to ward off the chill creeping into him from the cold stones beneath his slippered feet. Hermione was tucked safely in his bed for the fourth night in a row, but he couldn’t sleep, not even with her there to warm him.

The finalisation of their hastily constructed plans had taken over, ticking away in his head like a bomb. What if they couldn’t find it? What if Hermione was wrong? How else would they discover what really happened in 1945? The doubts gnawed at Harry, twisting his stomach and his mind into knots that had no end, no beginning. All he could do was sit up and stare at the walls, helplessly attempting to unravel them and make the strategy form some sort of sense. However, Harry counted it lucky that he was awake tonight in the common room, mulling over what could be a very dangerous situation.

Because little Colin Creevey was up to something cloak and dagger and decidedly un-Gryffindor.

He’d watched Colin slip down the stairs, his round eyes shifting almost comically from left to right as he looked to see if anyone was about. Colin hadn’t seen Harry hunched in an armchair, shadows blanketing him in the corner of the room.

After Colin crawled out the portrait hole, Harry ran upstairs to fetch his cloak and map. The rest was history. Cold history. Boring history. And bloody hell, Hogwarts was an uncomfortable place to spy on someone. Harry shifted again and tried to make his body, half-propped against a window ledge, comfortable.

Why was Colin Creevey sitting on a window ledge, not far from the hallway that branched into the Slytherin dorms and common room? Harry’s stomach churned in anxiety. Surely he wouldn’t confront Malfoy about Ginny, would he? After so long? It’d been half a week since the news came that she was, erm¾ well, it would be insane to start an argument with Malfoy on his own turf. Not with all of Slytherin house to back him up.

Harry glanced at his watch: almost three by Muggle time.

He was mad.

The corridor seemed endless. Shafts of moonlight streaming through the windows broke the darkness into neat, manageable pieces. Harry saw a flicker down the way that grew steadily larger.

Dumbledore was coming.

Colin didn’t notice. He was still concentrating on the Slytherin hallway, fingering his wand. Harry slipped into the shadows beside the window, closer to Colin.

Dumbledore cleared his throat when he was almost close enough to touch. Colin flinched and stood quickly to face the older wizard, his forehead was spangled with sudden condensation in the half-light.

“Headmaster Dumbledore, I¾ ”

“Hello Mr Creevey,” Dumbledore greeted Colin mildly, cutting him off. “I would ask what you are doing out of Gryffindor tower so late¾ ” he broke off and glanced between Colin’s wand and the Slytherin hall. “But it seems more than plain what your intentions are.”

Colin’s skin darkened and he looked away. “He’s going to pay for what he’s done to Ginny, sir.” Colin shifted back to Dumbledore and he looked him boldly in the eye. “And I don’t care what you say, no one’s going to stop me. I have to keep her safe.”

Dumbledore looked slightly surprised and almost pleased. “I must say, Mr Creevey, that you seem to exemplify the bravery of a Gryffindor, but you haven‘t tempered this with good sense.” He gestured for Colin to sit back down. “Do you know what would happen to you if you went through with your plan tonight?”

Colin’s face adopted a mulish set. “I don’t care. Any price is worth seeing him dead.”

Harry’s mouth fell open and he almost said something until he remembered that he wasn’t actually supposed to be there.

“Even Miss Weasley’s peace of mind?”

Colin’s face shuttered in confusion. “Sir?”

Dumbledore budged Colin over a bit and settled in beside him. Harry crept as close as he dared so he could hear better.

“If you were to kill Mr Malfoy tonight,” Dumbledore said in his vague tone, resting his hand on Colin‘s knee. “As you had planned, Miss Weasley would be heartbroken and you would likely lose a friendship that is very important to you.”

“She’d be all right after a while,” Colin protested, his chest hitching and his eyes watering. “And she’d have me to help her. Ginny wouldn’t turn her back on me.”

Dumbledore shook his head. “She loves him.” He raised his head just enough so that one bright blue eye glittered in the moonlight. “And you know that too well, it seems. It isn’t just to protect a friend that you are doing this, and it isn’t only for revenge.” Dumbledore paused, his breath rattling in his lungs. “You’re afraid that he’ll take her away from you.”

Colin’s eyes were especially round as he turned this over in his mind. But the Headmaster wasn’t finished.

“At your age, you can’t be expected to know the difference between deep, honest friendship and true love.” Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles so that they perched a little higher on his long, crooked nose. “Some never discover the difference. What you feel for Miss Weasley is friendship, communion, understanding. And yes, you love her, too. She supports you, and has done, for a long time. She defends you against those in this school who don’t understand your preferences, or are frightened because they feel the same impulses you do, but are too scared to admit it. Even to themselves.”

Dumbledore sighed, his body slumped and suddenly seemed so terribly old. “It’s as I told Miss Weasley: we live in a world where these things are not accepted. You know this, as do I. And like myself, you are angry at these restrictions.” Dumbledore’s eyes glazed, as if he were seeing something besides the boy huddled beside him.

“For now, this is the price you must pay for your magic. As the Muggles advance in other ways, we grow stagnant. As a race, we don’t change, or grow, or learn anything new. We are taught what our parents were taught, and their parents before them.” A faint smile lifted the slack corners of Dumbledore‘s lips as his hoarse, old voice continued. “But one day - hopefully not too far in the future - wizardkind will live at peace with those who are different. The people who make a difference and change our antiquated notions with intriguing new ideas. A revolution of the most exciting sort, Mr Creevey.” His eyes found Colin again and the smile faded.

“But even for that, we must pay a price.” He was quiet for a moment longer, his face grey and strained as if he were under an unimaginable pressure.

“There’s always a price,” he whispered.

Colin was wide-eyed. “Do you truly think that wizardkind will¾ change?”

Dumbledore nodded. The mood suddenly changed and his bright eyes squinted in a friendly manner that suggested a smile. “I have it on good authority that it will be so. Perhaps even in your lifetime.” He stood up. “Now, forget this nonsense with Mr Malfoy and let Miss Weasley deal with this in her own way. I know you’re her friend, her closest companion even, but this is not the answer to her problems. Do you understand me, Mr Creevey?”

Colin shuffled his feet and bowed his head swiftly. His sandy fringe shaded his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“I trust you can find your way back to Gryffindor?”

“Of course, sir. And¾ ” Colin looked up. “Thank you. I needed to hear that.”

Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder and Colin started back to Gryffindor, Harry tiptoeing behind him. Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked pointedly at him. Of course he’d known that Harry was there.

Harry stopped following Colin, and when the boy was only a speck in the distance, he removed his cloak.

“I’m glad that you kept an eye on young Mr Creevey tonight, Harry. But you really should stay in your dormitory at night. There are¾ ” Dumbledore paused and shook his head. He reached into his robes and pulled out his odd little pocket watch, staring at it intently before continuing. “There are all manner of things creeping about at this late hour.” He smiled sadly. “Some of whom can give you so many detentions that you’ll never leave Hogwarts.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Harry parroted and turned sharply back to follow Colin. He didn’t want to speak to Dumbledore, he just wanted to go to his dorm and curl up with Hermione. He wanted to forget about Hermione’s stupid plan and Albus Quaffle‘s nonsensical ravings about Grindlewald, forget that he had ever doubted Dumbledore, even though something still nagged at the back of his mind . . .

“And Harry . . .”

Harry stopped but didn’t turn around. He could hear Dumbledore’s steps echo on the stone floor, coming closer. Suddenly, Harry was quite aware of his own unprotected back.

“If you have any questions, you need only ask me,” Dumbledore said, gripping Harry’s shoulder in a friendly manner before walking past him to be absorbed by the shadows of the corridor.

He couldn’t forget. Not yet.

Harry walked back to his dormitory, deep in thought. He wasn’t surprised to see Hermione awake when he got there. A quick glance at Seamus’ bed confirmed that Albus Quaffle was also awake and wondering where he’d been.

“We have to find the Mirror and discover what happened to Dumbledore back in 1945. Soon.” Harry whispered to Hermione as he climbed under the duvet, motioning Albus to come closer.

Some frazzled strands of hair fell across Hermione’s face in the moonlight, slashing her cheeks with dark, fuzzy shadows. When her mouth opened to address Albus Quaffle, it glittered in a wet, inviting way. “Albus, please tell us again what the last thing you remember about your duel with Grindlewald was.”

Albus Quaffle puffed up and crept closer to the edge of Seamus’ bed, almost teetering. He generally responded well to Hermione’s soft requests and would spill more details than he would to Harry, though, Harry suspected that most of the ‘details’ were fabrications a la Lockhart.

“After I crashed the door open with one of my finest spells,” Albus began proudly. His little plush body swelled alarmingly as he drew himself up. “I threw a Jelly-Legs Jinx at him. He almost blocked it, but my spells never fail, so he toppled to the ground. Still, though, old Grindy kept throwing those hexes at me and I kept blocking them. Then he said an odd one I’d never heard before and caught my gaze with his own.” Albus’ plush brow wrinkled in concerted thought. “And I remember his eyes,” he said softly. “Dark and looking at me so intently that it was almost as if¾ well, as if he were looking into my soul.”

Hermione was nodding, half-asleep again but making an effort. It was Harry who realised what Albus could be talking about. “Hermione! That’s it!”

“Hmmn?” she answered hazily. “I’m awake, truly I am.”

Harry turned and shook her shoulders slightly, making her look at him. “Remember my Occlumency lessons with Snape?”

Her eyes widened. “Yes! Oh goodness, yes!” Hermione’s shoulders shuddered under his hands as she reached into his bedside table for a quill and parchment, no doubt to write extensive notes and drill him mercilessly in the process.

“Hermione, stop. Just listen for a moment. I could be going the wrong way here,” Harry said, grabbing her searching arm. Albus just blinked at them in stuffed simplicity from across the way.

“Yes, but you could be going the right way!” She pulled her arm free and started searching for a quill again. “Honestly, just let me write down some notes. Bring Albus here and put up the Sphere. I was too sleepy to remember.”

Harry could have smacked himself. The Sphere. He was always forgetting the blasted thing. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and scooped up Albus, careful not to wake Seamus, and climbed back under the bedclothes with Hermione. Harry shut the curtains tight around them while Hermione lit a candle and cast the Sphere.

“All right,” Hermione said as she preened her parchment down to a smooth, uncrumpled sheet and leaned forward in her best interrogator pose. “Now Albus, can you remember the precise word or words Grindlewald used?”

“Not particularly.”

Harry rubbed his hand down his face and groaned, but Hermione shushed him and continued. “Are you sure? Not even what it sounded like?”

“Mmmmn.” Albus Quaffle seemed to have a remarkable range of expressions . . . for a plush Quaffle.

“Please?” Hermione wheedled. A naughty smirk tugged at her lips. “I’ll give you a kiss.”

“Hermione!” Harry gasped, horrified. There was no way he was going to let his girlfriend kiss that¾ that toy.

She threw him a withering look as if to say: ‘don’t be a prat about it.’ Harry crossed his arms and waited for the toy to decide. Not like it took much thought.

“I suppose I could try for a nice young woman such as yourself,” Albus said at last. Harry didn’t like the beady squint to his button eyes as he told them this. It looked terribly smug.

Hermione waited patiently and Albus sighed. “Well, it was rather like ‘lemony melons,’ but I don’t know why he’d be talking about fruit in the middle of a duel.”

Harry snorted. “I suppose a twa¾ ” He caught Hermione’s stern eye and cleared his throat. “I suppose a nice person like you would think it sounded like fruit.” He grunted. “Close enough to the actual spell, I reckon . . . if we were making a summer pudding.”

“We’re only looking at the word phonetically, Harry. He can’t be expected to know the spell itself.”

Harry nodded in grudging agreement. “It still doesn’t make sense, though. The closest to that is what Voldemort did to me at the Ministry building in fifth year, but I still knew who I was. To my knowledge, Occlumency can’t be used for anything more than that, it can’t replace your soul, and this sounds like . . . well, it sounds like¾ ”

“Dispossession,” Hermione said crisply. “It sounds like Professor Dumbledore was kicked out of his body and was then possessed by Grindlewald; the most evil person in wizarding history aside from Voldemort.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Harry hissed, ignoring Albus’ spluttering protests about possession. “We’ve known Dumbledore since we first came to Hogwarts. If he was actually Grindlewald, we’d have figured it out before now. If this theory is right, he could have shown his evil self loads of times since 1945. Besides that, Dumbledore was the one who encouraged us to spread word of Voldemort’s return, encouraged m-me to defea¾ ” Harry sucked in a breath and let it go sharply, his hand raking his hair so it stood on end for a moment before flopping over. “It just doesn’t make sense, Hermione!”

Hermione frowned. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what logic is telling me right now. Perhaps¾ well, perhaps Grindlewald didn’t actually like Voldemort very much. I think he would have been his professor still, in 1945. For only a year or so, perhaps, but still enough to know and dislike him.”

“Say, who is this Voldemort fellow you keep talking about?” Albus asked, sidling up to Hermione and blinking at her adoringly.

Hermione looked down and smiled, rubbing the back of what would be his ears. Harry could swear he heard the perverted fluff ball purr. “Voldemort was an evil wizard,” she said. “The most evil in recent history. I suppose he was a bit like what I’ve heard of Grindlewald. He slaughtered Muggles by the hundreds and tried to convince everyone that only pure-bloods are worth anything in the wizarding world.”

Albus shook his head. “Doesn’t sound at all like Grindlewald. He wanted to protect the Muggles, not slaughter them.”

Harry and Hermione both leaned back. “Protect the Muggles?! Why was he an evil wizard, then?”

“I don’t know. I just tried to help the Ministry stop him, the unnatural fiend. He was getting people all riled up talking about equal rights for house-elves, and Muggles, and centaurs¾ imagine such a thing! They’re not even human! And Muggles barely so themse¾ mmmph!”

Harry clapped his hand over the toy’s ‘mouth’ and stuffed a pillow over him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing! Harry slowly met Hermione’s stricken eyes. “There is no way you can tell me that this thing is Albus Dumbledore. I don’t care. If this was the real him - and he sounds an awful lot like the demented love-child of Lockhart and Malfoy to me - then surely people would have noticed such a drastic change in the man. He couldn’t have gone from being someone like this to someone who sounds like¾ well, sounds like you, actually.”

“I thought you said that Albus Quaffle did sound like me,” Hermione sniffed. Two great fat tears were threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“Yes, well, when he said to me that he was a wizard with rights when I tried to make him shut up, I thought he did. It’s something you would say. But this?” Harry shook his head. “This is your worst nightmare.”

“How are we going to figure this out, Harry?” The tears that were threatening did fall down Hermione’s cheeks and Harry reached up with his free hand to wipe one away. “I’m just so confused.”

“Me, too,” Harry admitted, dropping his head. “If Dumbledore has never actually been Dumbledore . . . I don’t think I could handle it. I had to¾ but I won’t have to do. We’ll prove that this is a load of gobshite. We will when we find the Mirror and cast the incantation. We‘ll see it with our own eyes.”

Harry raised his eyes to Hermione’s face again. “Help me?” he pleaded softly.

Hermione nodded and pressed a wet kiss to his cheek, twining her fingers through his hair. “Always, Harry. I‘ve come this far, and I‘m the one who dug it up from the library, so I‘m not about to back out now. But we should¾ ” She frowned as if thinking, her fingers splayed and tapping his cheek. “We’ll need Ron, too. It wouldn’t be right to do this without him, don’t you think?”

Harry smiled grimly and ignored Albus’ muffled cries from under the pillow. He pressed down a little more firmly out of spite, satisfied to hear a squeak.

“Yeah. We need Ron for this one.”

32. Mending

A/N: Hello darling readers. Sorry it’s been so long but I’ve been waiting to hear back from Alexis and she’s gone MIA so I decided to just post this now and edit it later if she ever comes back from where she’s gone. Goodness, I miss her. Needless to say, this hasn’t been beta read so any mistakes or funny looking things are all mine. If you see anything, don’t hesitate to let me know so I can fix it.

Anyway, there are a few hints in here from events that happened waaaay back at the beginning of the story, and some references to things that were later edited into chapter one. So if you started reading AIDE after The Big Edit, go back and re-read chapter one so you know just what Dumbledore is talking about later.

To all those who love smut, you should be happy with some smutty goodness in a few chapters, so please be patient. I’m also about to move, but I don’t anticipate that affecting updates too much since they’re infrequent anyway. But I’m going to attempt to make another update this week before I move next weekend.

So yes, in this chapter you get some mother/daughter moments, trio moments, and Draco vs. Dumbledore moments before it ends. Hope everyone enjoys! ::waves::

“Hold your arm up a little higher, dear.”

Ginny sighed and did as her mother requested. She was tired of this wedding nonsense. She wanted it to be over already. Ginny glanced over at Mrs Malfoy. The woman was watching her discomfort with one eyebrow raised, a haughty smirk firmly in place. It was like being stuck with a female Draco.

One who wasn’t afraid of her mother.

“These robes are . . . charming, Molly.”

Mrs Weasley sighed and flicked her wand at Ginny’s robes once more before replying. “They’ve been in my family for a few generations. We wear them when we marry. It’s tradition.”

“They look like they’ve been in your family for several generations. And honestly,” Mrs Malfoy tsked as she picked up the edge of the robes between her delicate fingers and examined it. “You could at least have cast a charm on it to keep the moths away.”

“Well,” Mrs Weasley sniffed. “I can take care of that. I have some of Mrs Buttering’s Cloth Restorer here.”

Mrs Malfoy lifted her carefully sculpted brow again. “That will repair the holes?”

“That will repair the holes.”

Mrs Malfoy scoffed and continued to study the robes, threading the bronze silk through her fingers. “I suspect that this was beautiful when it was new,” she acceded. “When would that be, Molly?” she asked as she looked up, a dagger-like sharpness underscoring her saccharine tone. “The fifteenth century?”

Mrs Weasley’s face flamed. “Eighteenth.”

“Ah, I see,” she sighed. Mrs Malfoy folded her long fingers together and rested them at her waist. “Tradition is all well and fine, but usually a bride would prefer something less tattered, I would think.”

“They were a gift to my grandmother Prewett from Muggle nobility,” Mrs Weasley ground out, her teeth clicking in agitation.

“Muggle?” Mrs Malfoy asked, the slight rise in pitch indicating her horror at the thought. “My son will be standing next to your daughter - in front of international press, may I add - whilst she’s wearing antique Muggle robes!”

Mrs Weasley smiled grimly as she tucked another pin in place with her wand. “Yes.” Tuck. “And there will be no press at the wedding. It needs to be kept quiet for the moment.”

Mrs Malfoy sat down and swiftly summoned a house-elf to bring her a cup of strong tea. Ginny smirked and hid her face by raising the billowing, iridescent cloth of her sleeve up a little higher.

“Mum, were these robes really . . . ?”

“No,” Mrs Weasley whispered back. “I just told Narcissa that to bother her.” Her eyes were sparkling with mirth. “Grandmother Prewett’s family had about as much interaction with Muggles in the eighteenth century as the Malfoys do now.”

Ginny chuckled and peeped over the edge of her sleeve at Mrs Malfoy, who was sneaking a green splash of something from a tiny silver flask into her tea. But then she sobered when she really looked at Mrs Malfoy. The woman had the same exhausted, pinched face her son had in recent weeks. It reminded her of Draco again.

“Why do I have to do this, Mum?”

Mrs Weasley zipped along one more seam with her wand, apparently thinking of an answer. “Because this is the way things are, Ginny. I already had this argument with your father. He may like Muggles, but we aren’t Muggles. Arthur knows this.” She smoothed down a fold in the cloth of Ginny’s skirt and dabbed it gently with the cloth restorer. “There’s nothing to be frightened of, dear.” Dab, dab, dab. “Draco is a good boy. I would try to arrange something else for you if I thought otherwise.” She tipped the bottle onto the cloth in her hand again. “Perhaps you can get him to mellow. He needs the influence of a good woman.”

Ginny saw her mother glance critically at Mrs Malfoy from the corner of her eye.

“Mum, he doesn’t listen to anything I say. It would be pointless to even try.”

Mrs Weasley smiled at her. It was one of those secret smiles Ginny remembered so well from her childhood when they were doing something her mother didn’t want the men in the family to know about; sneaking special biscuits just for them or reading silly romance novels together. “You don’t get a man to do something by telling him to do it.”

“But¾ ”

“You have to be more subtle than that, Ginny.”

“How?”

Mrs Weasley blushed. “I’m sure that you can figure it out, dear.”

Ginny’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Oh!” Then the thought of her mother doing that to her father . . . She wrinkled her nose and Mrs Weasley laughed.

“Don’t play innocent.” She poked Ginny with her wand. “You know what I mean.”

“I suppose so, Mum.” Ginny picked at the heavy Alençon lace on her bodice. “I just don’t think that Draco and I are going to work out, is all. He’s so cold to me lately. I¾ I don’t know what I did or what to do.”

Mrs Weasley was silent for a long time, pinning, hemming, sewing on buttons. After several minutes, she spoke again. “Draco isn’t comfortable with his feelings, poppet.” Flick. Swish. “Perhaps you made him feel something that he doesn’t want to admit to feeling.” She stuck a few pins in her mouth and concentrated on the skirt of Ginny’s robes.

Ginny thought that she could understand that. Tom had told her many times that emotions are a way to manipulate people into doing what you want them to do. And Draco would never want to be manipulated. She pushed aside the niggling thought that he was also manipulating her . . .

“I still don’t know what to do,” Ginny whispered. Mrs Malfoy was nodding her head in a sleepy manner just inside Ginny’s field of vision.

Mrs Weasley ripped out a seam with her wand and pinned it back in place before sewing the seam up a little tighter. “You’re a woman now, Ginny. This is what we do. We talk. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they don’t. It isn’t always fair, but it’s how things are. We’ll always be the ones to sacrifice.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “Why do I suddenly want to read those pamphlets Hermione put on my bedside table about women’s liberation?”

Mrs Weasley made an indelicate noise through her nose and pulled some pins out of her mouth. “Hermione Granger needs to mind her own business.” Tuck. Tuck. “The thing she doesn’t understand is that women are not superior to men and vice versa.” Zip. “Women are good at certain things, and men are good at others. It’s the way things are.” Tuck. “For instance, I don’t think the world would have half as many people as it does if men had to have the babies.” Zip. “They’re all still babies themselves when it comes to pain.” Swish. “You saw what happened when your father caught his finger in that silly Muggle thing last summer. He could have cut it off and made less fuss.” Flick. “And when Draco was hexed by that snow sprite over winter holidays you would think that the world was going to end.”

Mrs Weasley stopped sewing and grasped Ginny by the shoulders. Her gaze was more intense than Ginny had ever seen before. “I don’t want you to be miserable, Ginny. I want you to have a happy marriage like your father and I have. But there are some things you simply must do yourself. This is one of them. Draco won’t put his pride on the line because he’s too wrapped up with being a Malfoy, whatever that is.” Mrs Weasley pulled Ginny close to her bosom suddenly.

Ginny remembered this from childhood and wished that she wasn’t sixteen going on seventeen and about to be married to someone who didn’t give two Knuts for her. She closed her eyes and inhaled her mother’s scent, spare threads from sewing tickling her nose. Her mother’s breath was deep and even, calm under Ginny‘s ear and cheek; her chest warm and soft as homemade bread.

“My little Ginny is all grown up now.” Those were tears in her mother’s voice. Ginny fancied that she could hear them trickling down over her worn cheeks. “Save him. Save yourself.” Mrs Weasley pushed Ginny back to look at her and wipe her own cheeks. “Have pride. You’re a Weasley. Don’t give him what he wants just to give it to him. Make him earn your respect. But don’t let pride do you in. It can do, believe me on that, little love.”

Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but her mother put a calloused finger to her lips. She had the sudden, terrible impression that her mother knew precisely what she was talking about here. Surely in her youth . . .

“Don’t talk. Just think about it.” Mrs Weasley sniffed a few times and beamed through her tears. “Now turn around and see how well the robes fit.”

Ginny turned to gaze at herself in the floor-length mirror behind her and didn’t recognise herself at all.

She looked like a woman.

The bronze silk skirt was covered by a filmy, dark cream-coloured material that shimmered when the light hit it. Her bodice was silk, too, and it swelled up over her breasts. They seemed fuller and larger encased in silk. Her waist smaller than usual with a rounded hump that no one would see under the skirts of her robe. The bottom half of her sleeves flared out and draped in the same billowy material that swathed her skirt, utterly sheer and transparent. It took her breath away.

“Mum, you wore this when you and dad were married?”

Mrs Weasley smiled and tucked her wand into the waistband of her robes. “Yes. But you look more comfortable in it than I ever did.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Be careful, though, there’s a hoop that’s supposed to go under the skirt of those robes. You may have trouble manoeuvring it during the ceremony.”

Ginny frowned. Yes, there was a reason that she was standing in these beautiful robes. She had to get married. Her mother prattled on, not noticing the expression on Ginny’s face.

“There are little pockets in the skirt that you can slip your hands into. The hoop is charmed, so it will bend if you press it with your fingers. That way you can walk through doors and everything.”

“Mum.” Ginny shook her head and licked her lips. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she’d wear any other robes but these. These robes had history and had seen generations of happy brides. If she wore them, perhaps she’d stain them with her misery and ruin the next bride. Then she thought that the next bride could very possibly be her own daughter.

Maybe the robes were lucky and could rub off some of their good luck instead of the other way around.

“They’re perfect, Mum.” Ginny turned and smiled as widely and as brightly as she could. Even though on the inside, her heart was racing a panicked tattoo. “Everything will be just perfect.”

Mrs Malfoy had roused from her stupor and wended her way around imaginary furniture to inspect the newly restored robes. Ginny suspected that she’d had an awful lot of tea.

“Merlin,” Mrs Malfoy commented, her elegant fingers tripping over the lace on Ginny’s bodice. “Is that Alençon lace?”

Ginny smirked.

*~*~*~*~*

Ron decided that this was not one of his better days.

Pansy ran from him every time he came near; Millicent Bulstrode refused to help him convince Pansy to stop running away, and had an excellent right hook to boot; Ginny was holed up with their mother and Mrs Malfoy in some unused room in the Astronomy tower to play dress-up with some old robes; and Harry and Hermione were trying to convince him to join in their latest scheme, which involved the Mirror of Erised.

No knight was complete without a mystic quest, was he?

“You’re mad, the pair of you.” Ron crossed his arms and leant up against the rough stone wall behind him, but his arms were wrapped around himself more to keep them from trembling than to look uninterested in the conversation. “Why do you need me?”

Hermione flicked her eyes to Harry and licked her lips. There had been a time when such a small action on her part would set off a firestorm in his stomach and . . . other places. But now he wasn’t affected at all. He supposed that most of his attachment to Hermione was lust and some strange part of his mind that told him that she was the only one who ever stood the slightest chance of having him, but now that he had worked so much of that out of his system . . .

Harry stepped forward. “You know we’re sorry, Ron.”

“Do I?” Ron raised his eyebrows. “Just because I’m talking to you doesn’t mean that we’re friends again, and it doesn’t mean that I know you’re sorry, either.”

They both seemed uncomfortable now, Hermione most of all. “Of course we are. Things tangled up and got out of hand.”

“Out of hand?” Ron asked incredulously, snorting to blow off some of the steam filling his ears. “I’d say that it was more than just out of hand. You two did the most heartless¾ “ Ron closed his eyes. “I didn’t know that either of you could be cruel. Especially to me.” He twiddled his hands, his eyes cracked open just enough to see Harry before him. “We were in a rough patch, but we could have worked it out, honestly.”

“We thought we were doing the right thing, Ron.” Harry stumbled over his words and rubbed the back of his neck. “Or at least, I thought we were. Didn’t think you’d want us to see you— um, well . . .”

Ron leaned forward, the skin of his face painful and tight over his cheekbones. “It wasn’t just because of Hagrid, that’s for sure.” His eyes stung but remained agonisingly dry. “I don’t need either of you anymore. I can stand up on my own two feet.” Ron rested his chin on his chest, examining his new dragonhide boots and counting the scuffs he‘d already adorned them with just since Harry and Hermione arrived. “I can cast my own shadow, you know.”

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth and the sound made Ron look up. He glanced over to see Harry standing grim and heroic in the subtle light of the unused corridor, much more so than he himself did, Ron thought.

“We never meant to¾ ”

He cut Harry off. “Well, you did.” Ron scraped the heel of his shoe against the wall again. Hermione’s incredible brains and Harry’s incredible bravery and talent . . . “I know you never meant to do it. It’s just the way things were.”

Were sounded so terribly final, all of a sudden.

Harry‘s smile was forced and brittle. “If you‘re all grown up and independent, then we really need you now. More than ever before.”

They needed him. What did he have to offer? What could they possibly want him for?

Ron heaved a sigh and twisted his lips. “You really need me?” He caught Hermione’s eye. “Both of you?”

She nodded, her eyes very wet and bright. “Always. And for more than just this, Ron.”

“We can cast a really big shadow together. Right, Ron?” Harry’s gaze was penetrating, his spectacles reflecting the light from the torch he held.

Ron chewed his lip for a second more before making his decision. If he went on this adventure with them, would he lose everything he had become? Would all of that new-found control abandon him? He reached out suddenly to curl his fingers with Harry’s, their palms facing away from each other. Hermione let her hand flutter down to seal over theirs. Perhaps it would be just a business deal, but if he was truly lucky, this would bring them together again.

“I’m in.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco came to a stop at the spiral stairs leading to the Headmaster’s office, which were down since Dumbledore was expecting him. He was keenly aware of what happened the last time he was there, the last two times, actually. They were both bad. Draco sucked in a breath and prepared to walk into the proverbial lion’s den, fully expecting to be attacked and killed this time by that stupid bird.

Dumbledore called for him to enter and he did, striding quickly past Fawkes’ perch, and stopped directly before the Headmaster’s desk.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Ah yes, Mr Malfoy. Please take a seat.”

Draco’s eyes shifted down to the chair beside him briefly before looking back at Dumbledore. He did not sit down.

Dumbledore inclined his head. “As you wish. I’ll attempt to be brief.” He leant back in his chair and stroked his long, white beard. “I would congratulate you on your upcoming marriage to Miss Weasley, but I feel that would be in bad taste considering the circumstances.” He pursed his lips as if vexed about something or the other. “Instead, I would like to offer you some advice.”

Draco could feel his lips twisting up in a sneer. “Really?”

If Dumbledore saw this, he ignored it. “Yes. Your father is gone and, to be honest, we both know that his advice would be a trifle skewed.”

“Ah.” Draco straightened his back at the injury to his father. Lucius may have been a bastard, but it wasn’t polite for other people to acknowledge it. At least not in his presence.

“Have you thought of what you will do after you leave school in June?”

“Run an orphanage for cast-off Muggles, of course,” Draco replied snidely. “I’ll be married to a Weasley, so I suppose it’s expected of me to cater to the lowest of the low. Can‘t get much lower than something the Muggles have cast off, can you?”

Dumbledore shook his head and sighed. “Be serious for a moment, Mr Malfoy.” His long-fingered hands steepled and he pressed the palms flat before pulling them back and squeezing them together over and over. It was an oddly nervous gesture for the usually over-confident Headmaster and Draco‘s practiced eye caught it. “I think that the Weasley family did you a great service.”

“Service!” Draco spat, the word offending his sensibilities in the extreme.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes were uncharacteristically stern, commanding Draco’s attention. “Yes, they helped open your eyes to a world of emotion and love and laughter you’d never known before. You were— ” His eyes shifted suddenly to Fawkes’ before looking back at Draco “You were guided there, by chance or what-have-you, to learn from them.”

“And what did I learn?” Draco asked, his voice hoarse, thick with guilt and anger. “I learnt that they have children who betray them, that one of their sons is a jealous prick, and their daughter will jump in bed—”

“Enough!” Dumbledore stood up and walked around his desk, coming so close that Draco wanted to step back only to find that he could not. “I have done everything in my power to ensure that you had a choice in your destiny, Mr Malfoy,” Dumbledore whispered, his eyes unreadable. “You have no excuse anymore for your behaviour.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “You knew about it!” He stumbled and fell into the cushy grasp of a chair that was now suddenly behind him. Dumbledore seemed larger than life from this position and he scrambled to get to his feet, but found that, again, he couldn’t move.

Dumbledore looked down at him with an almost grandfatherly concern. “I watched you very closely for a long time, trying to determine why you were so cold and detached from your fellow students. At first I thought you were only a nasty little boy.” He smiled and Draco scowled. “But then, I came across the answer in a sudden flash of insight.” Dumbledore leant back up against his desk. “If you’ll recall, Mr Potter is now quite a bit taller than nature intended him to be. The Weasley twins dosed him with an experimental sweet that had no cure.” He closed his eyes and nodded as if to some music Draco couldn’t hear, pulling his curious pocket watch out and glancing at it. “Foolish of them to be sure, but I don’t believe there is any lasting harm and Mr Potter seems to enjoy the extra inches¾ ”

Draco cut Dumbledore off. “Do you have a point, sir, or shall we be here all night recalling Potter‘s joy at being closer to a real man instead of a midget?”

Dumbledore smiled that ghostly, mischievous smile of his, the one that made Draco want to strangle him with his own beard. “Yes, Mr Malfoy, there is a point to all this. The change Mr Potter went through was quite similar to the one you went through in your sixth year. It was that drastic, physical change and the sudden reversal at the beginning of your seventh that confirmed it for me.”

Draco stared up at him mutely, praying to finally hear some answers.

“Of course, I‘m speaking of the curse, which you already know about.”

“Tell me what it is,” Draco almost pleaded before he could stop himself. Malfoys don’t beg, he reminded himself. “What did it do to me?” He looked down at the cuffs of his robes, falling further over his hands than they had the week before. “What is it doing to me?”

Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his nose. “That curse is not meant for growing children. I speculate that it was cast upon you as an infant and reinforced as needed over the years.”

“But how do you know about that curse?” Draco asked. “It’s supposed to be a Malfoy curse.”

“Oh it is.” Dumbledore nodded and leant back to rest on his desk. “Chertien de Malfai was the first to cast it on his kin.” His lips twisted down in a dark frown. “But he learnt it from someone else.”

“Wh¾ ”

Dumbledore raised his hand to cut him off. “I won’t tell you anymore of this. The curse is mostly gone now, and good riddance to it. It should not have survived long enough to plague you.” His head nodded down as if he were about to fall asleep, though his eyes were still sharp. “I regret that I had not noticed this sooner, Mr Malfoy. I would have rectified it before this year had I known.”

“I’m sure,” Draco replied tersely. “May I leave now?”

Dumbledore looked up and waved his hand toward the door. It opened. “If you ever need someone to talk with, I am here. The door is always open to you, however late it may be.”

Draco rose from the chair now that he was free to do so, and rolled his eyes as soon as his back was toward the Headmaster. That stupid, twittering fool. Draco plonked down the stairs and back to his dormitory to revise for his N.E.W.T’s. He hadn’t discovered anything new about the curse and it was an utterly pointless¾ That stupid, twittering fool. Of course!

Chertien de Malfai.

Turning abruptly in the corridor, Draco headed to the library.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“I’ve said it before and doubtless will again.” Ron considered Harry and Hermione very seriously, his eyebrows raised so that his expression seemed to say that he was at least open to the possibilities. “You’re barking.”

Hermione sighed in frustration and Harry frowned. Trust Ron to be difficult. “No, we’re serious. We think that Dumbledore¾ ”

Ron waved his hand at Harry and went back to scowling at Hermione’s notes. “I know, I know. You told me. You think he’s this Grindylowe fellow.”

“Grindlewald,” Hermione corrected. “Didn’t you ever pay attention in History of Magic?”

“That was over two years ago, Hermione!” Ron exclaimed. “Blimey, even you had problems staying awake during Professor Binn’s lectures.”

“Actually, Hermione,” Harry started. “I may be a bit dim when it comes to History of Magic, but I did my essays and I don’t remember ever hearing of Grindlewald more than once. And it was just a passing reference at that.”

Hermione frowned. “Hmmn. You may be right, Harry. Now that I think on it, all of the information I gathered about him was from the library. I don’t remember ever doing an essay on him, either. Odd for such a supposedly famous Dark wizard.” She shuffled some parchments around, looking through them each carefully before setting them aside. “And they all say that he was an ‘evil wizard’, but they never state what exactly it was that he did . . . mentions of Muggles,” she mumbled, flipping through her research. “Nothing solid or expanded upon.”

“He was on one of my Chocolate Frog cards,” Ron said quietly. “I remember now that they mentioned Grindlewald on the back of Dumbledore’s card.” He met Harry’s eye across the table. “It said that Dumbledore defeated that bloke ages ago, Harry. He’s long dead and even if he weren’t, we’d be able to tell if Dumbledore was evil.”

“Well, the way Albus was telling it, Grindlewald would be running for Muggle Lover of the Year these days,” Harry added, thoughtfully pulling on his lower lip.

Ron‘s mouth twisted in a frown of confusion. “Albus?”

Hermione threw Harry a worried look. “Perhaps you ought explain.”

Harry sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I ought to just show him.”

Ron raised his eyebrows and stood up when Harry and Hermione did. “Where are we going?”

“Just up to the dormitory. It’s late, so Seamus should be asleep by now,” Harry replied.

“What does Seamus have to do with this?”

“It’s his Quaffle,” Harry explained patiently just before he opened the seventh-year dormitory.

“What?” Ron stepped back a pace. “I’m not¾ ”

“Oh Ron!” Hermione whispered frantically. “We’ll explain everything once we show you. But you have to be quiet. I’ll cast another Sphere just to make sure. All right?”

Ron beetled his brows, cross and confounded as usual. “All right,” he grumbled. “But you had better have an excellent explanation for why we’re stealing Seamus’ Quaffle in the middle of the night.”

Harry rolled his eyes and lead them into the dark, quiet room. Seamus’ bed was just under a window, so there was plenty of moonlight to guide them. Albus Quaffle slid out from under Seamus’ arm when he saw them and crept to the edge of the bed.

“Did that¾ !”

Hermione made a shushing noise at Ron while Harry grabbed the Quaffle and motioned them all to sit on his bed. Hermione cast the Silencing Sphere, and the first thing he heard was two loud, annoying voices.

“Did you know that that Quaffle is moving by itself?” Ron asked shrilly.

“If you think that I’m telling anyone anything after the way you‘ve mishandled me then you’re sorely mistaken!” Albus started up.

“He talks!”

“Both of you be quiet!” Hermione said loudest of all, her voice stern and brow knitted in a scowl.

Ron’s skin suddenly took on a ghostly hue and he scooted across the bed away from Harry. “Is that who you’ve been cheating on Hermione with? A¾ a plush, talking Quaffle?”

Hermione’s head whirled toward Harry, her hair whipping his cheeks as she arched an eyebrow at him. “Cheating on me?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he raised his hands to defend himself. “No! Good God, no! I haven’t done¾ With Albus, Hermione? I hate him.”

“Then why did I hear you talking about stuffing something in Seamus’ Quaffle one morning a while back?” Ron asked, flicking narrow glances between the toy in question and Harry as if he was watching a lively tennis set.

Harry laughed in relieved surprise. “Oh Merlin!” He clutched at his stomach to contain himself, but only laughed harder when he looked up to see Ron’s horrified face again. “Albus is¾ you thought¾ “ He snorted and clapped a hand over his mouth.

“I’ve told you about casting a Sphere before you talk to Albus, Harry,” Hermione admonished in a stern tone, though her lips were twitching madly. “Now Ron thinks that you’ve been shagging a plush toy!”

Harry and Hermione leaned against each other and shuddered with silent laughter. Ron sat back on his hands, his eyebrows shadowing his glare. “You two are the oddest people. You know that, right?”

“I quite agree, young man,” Albus piped up finally. “And very rude!” His little soft face was collapsed in a deep frown.

Through tears of mirth, Harry saw Ron glance down at the Quaffle. “This thing isn’t half bad after all.” He looked up at Hermione. “Now would you mind terribly explaining who the hell it is?”

Reviewing is good for my soul. It may also be good for your soul, but that theory hasn’t been extensively tested yet. Would you like to participate in that survey? Just leave a review and we’ll . . . well, we’ll see how many people feel better afterward. :p

33. The Coward With A Kiss . . .

Author’s Notes: It’s been a while since I updated. Been doing all sorts of moving and shaking and working lately. My free time is pretty nil. But I do have a few other chapters waiting to be uploaded, but I’m keeping them until I can do some final edits and stuff on them since I still am beta-less. I’m very particular about the betas I work with, if you couldn’t tell from my writing. Usually I ask that they know more about writing and English than I do, otherwise, what’s the point?

So anyway, aside from my fruitless search for perfection (god, I miss Alexis right now), AIDE is starting to wrap up. I have the final chapters outlined and ready to write when I get the time. I’m estimating about 40 chapters of this right now. Still working out kinks. And working them in.

I do want to take this time to thank you all for the reviews so far and to keep them coming. If it wasn’t for those reviews, I wouldn’t bother updating because I’d think you’d all lost interest by now. But thanks go to Kelly for leaving a lovely, long review the other day to remind me. I really appreciated your comments because they were thoughtful, questioning, and honest. Aurora Borealis1, you’re spot on, love, so a biscuit for you. A heads up to Sue Bridehead the reviewer for unwittingly leading me to the following quote, thank you. Joseph Campbell is the best. You will surely be appreciating later bits of this story, I assure you.

Um, I would like to know which words I’m misspelling since I seem to get a few reviews saying that. I run everything through spellcheck and it’s set to UK ENGLISH in case anyone is confused on that point. The ¾ things I’ve tried to correct in this chapter. Hope everyone enjoys this chapter.

The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek. -- Joseph Campbell

“I’ll take the tray. Now be gone, elf,” Draco snarled as he kicked the air behind an impertinent house-elf wearing a large, floppy, and poorly-knitted hat. The elf snapped his fingers and sent Draco a glare before fully Disapparating from the room.

“Liberated help, indeed,” he muttered.

Draco glanced back at his mother, lounging calmly on a divan with a cold cloth over her eyes. Her hands were draped dramatically over her head, shielding her face further from his view and he from hers. Most excellent.

He pulled a small, blue phial from his pocket and added three drops of clear liquid to the bottom of her cup before tucking it away again and carrying the tray over to the small table beside his mother’s divan.

“Tea’s here, Mother,” Draco said quietly. He poured a cup for her, carefully adding sugar to suit before passing it over.

“Just set it down, Draco.” Mrs Malfoy waved a long-fingered ivory hand in his general direction and pressed at the cloth over her eyes. “Do be a dear, though, and pull those drapes shut. The sunlight pierces my brain like a— ” She sat up partially and turned her blinkered head toward him. “What is that thing? A needle? Yes, one of those.” She laid flush against the pillows again. “I should know about those by now. I’ve had to watch Molly Weasley with one enough to be sick to death of them. And I have such a migraine . . .”

Draco rolled his eyes and did as he was bid, flicking his wand at the curtains. Only they seemed to catch on something unexpected and he was forced to actually stand up and free them from the wall. When he returned, Mrs Malfoy was sitting up and slowly sipping at her tea. She had poured out a cup for him as well, liberally dosing it with cream and almost no sugar. Draco was honestly surprised that she remembered how he took his tea.

He drank a bit and looked at her from under his eyebrows. She didn’t seem any different, but then, she wouldn’t to the untrained observer or even herself. Time to test.

“I see that you’re not completely without use, Mother.”

Mrs Malfoy sighed and picked up a biscuit to nibble at it delicately. “I’m afraid that I am almost completely useless. I only sleep, eat, and compla--” She stopped and looked up at him sharply. “Draco, did you put something in my tea?”

He shrugged casually, swiped a petite four from the tray, and popped it in his mouth, intending not to admit to anything but instead he said: “Just a mild form of Veritaserum, Mother.”

Draco clapped a hand over his mouth and looked up at her. Had he accidentally dropped some in his own cup? From the look of amusement on her face, apparently he did not.

“Veritaserum? For me? Well, that’s . . . expected, I suppose.”

“Did you put some in my cup as well?” Draco demanded.

“Of course.” Mrs Malfoy picked up a pair of silver pinchers and dropped three more lumps of sugar in her cup. Two vertical lines marred the perfection of her pale brow. “You never did make my tea sweet enough, Draco.”

“Some people prefer to drink a cup of tea instead of liquid sugar,” Draco replied dryly. “Why you feel the need to drown yourself in it, I’ll never know.”

“So little in my life is sweet, perhaps,” she sighed, lifting her spoon from the cup without a sound.

Draco searched for clouds and sky through the blank barrier of the ceiling again. “Don’t be maudlin, Mother. It ruins my image of you.”

Mrs Malfoy’s eyes were unusually lucid when they met his. “Down to business, Draco, since we have little time before that farce of a wedding you’re to be participating in soon.” She glanced at the clock behind him and back again. “What did you want to know so badly that you felt it necessary to dose me with Veritaserum first to find out?”

“Hmmn, well . . . “ Draco attempted to stall, but found his tongue wanting to take away his Slytherin preference to distract and pounce. “I want to know about Chertien de Malfai and the curse I am, or was, under.”

“Ah,” Mrs Malfoy leant back against her pillows, balancing her teacup on her lap. “I suspected as much. Ask me, then, since you know I can not refuse you anything now.”

Draco finished chewing his cake and grinned rakishly. “Who was Chertien de Malfai?”

Mrs Malfoy lifted one eyebrow. “He was such a boring man, Draco. Chertien de Malfai was the first Malfoy in Britain. Before that, they lived in France, and . . .”

“Something useful, Mother.” Draco prompted impatiently. This was too much. He had to have a cigarette. Right now. “I already know most of this.”

“Yes, well, I suppose useful to you means the curse.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “He was the first to cast it on his family. Chertien de Malfai learnt the curse from Grindlewald the Dark sometime in the fifteenth or sixteenth century. They were great friends, all told, and what is not usually told is that they were lovers of a sort.”

Draco had just taken his second puff from one of the precious sticks in his silver case when he choked on the smoke. It burned his lungs and Draco could do little more but cough and splutter for a moment before he regained his composure. “Lovers?!” he gasped. “You mean Father wasn’t the first— ”

Mrs Malfoy shook her head, a wicked smile tugging her lips. “Oh no, certainly not the first. Although I believe Lucius had Chertien stricken from the family records whilst Percy— ” She stopped and the smugness drained from her face. “Well, it was when Percy was there that Lucius did it. He grew angry one night and blew a hole in the mural with his wand the day after Percy arrived; threw a goblet of wine at it as well, if I recall.”

Draco’s skin was creeping and it was a decidedly unpleasant sensation, so he moved forward with his questioning. “All poofing aside, what else was so special about the man?”

Mrs Malfoy tipped her head elegantly and drained her teacup. “I have no idea. It wasn’t until the next generation that all the odd burnings and tortures and other amusing things took place.”

“Lovely to know your view on that area of our history, Mother,” Draco said slowly, drawing on his cigarette again. He decided that the calming charms must have had some sort of negative reaction with the Veritaserum he’d drank because the smoke pouring from the lit end of his cigarette started making patterns he found difficult to ignore. They were actually quite . . . pretty. Ooh, and that one was the very image of a wolf sitting on his mother‘s hea-- Draco shook his head to clear it and squeezed the filter of his cigarette between his fingers so it would disappear.

Mrs Malfoy was languidly raising a hand, palm to the sky, and sliding another biscuit toward her with the tip of a finger from her other hand when he looked back at her. At least her movements weren’t creating light trails anymore.

“And the curse itself?” Draco asked in an attempt to focus on the conversation again. “What do you know of it?”

“What I’ve told you already,” she insisted. “It is a bartering curse. You must--”

“Yes, I know,” Draco cut her off. “’One must pay a price for certain boons.’ So what are the boons and what is the price?”

“It can be manipulated a bit, but the basic curse consists of removing certain emotions like joy and sorrow - or fear and bravery - and in return giving you perfection of form.”

“So what did it take from me? What did it give to me?” Draco asked, leaning forward in his seat, waiting with baited breath for her answer.

“I suspect it improved your natural looks.” She contemplated his hair with a frown. “Covered certain natural and artificial imperfections, and obviously it made you taller since you seem to be shrinking at an alarming rate.”

“And the price?” Draco whispered.

Her eyes roved over him again. “Likely your ability to feel things as normal people do; intensifying certain emotions your father felt were good for servitude to the Dark Lord and erasing others that were not. Twisting you up inside.”

“But the curse is gone now?”

“It seems to be fading.” The edges of her lips warped, bowing into a sort of frown. “And I must say that I preferred your previous look because that hair of yours simply refuses to behave.”

Draco pushed his hair back with a snarl. He was still light-headed and she wasn‘t making this easy. “I don’t care about my sodding hair right now, Mother. I want to know more about--”

She cut him off by tapping her spoon soundly against her cup. His mother was too graceful and involved in etiquette to have done it without purpose. “Let me ask you a question now, Draco.”

He sat back and glared at her whilst she patted down the wrinkles in her robes and set her cup aside.

“Do you really object to marrying the Weasley girl?”

The ‘no’ came out completely against his will and Draco gritted his teeth to keep in any other unacceptable admissions.

“I see,” Mrs Malfoy said. “And how do you feel about the girl? Fancy her, do you?”

“Yes, I fancy her. Other than that, I don’t know. She scares me.” Draco stuffed his fingers in his mouth and bit them quite hard, preferring the pain to saying anything further on the subject.

“You don’t love her, do you?” Her shapely eyebrows rose to a great height as she waited for his reply.

“I--I don’t know,” Draco said, relieved and more than a little curious at the same time. “She’s comfortable to sleep on, and she’s a romping shag and I keep having these dreams about her . . . Mother, please don’t make me say anymore! Ginny is mine, and I’d like to wring Creevey’s bloody neck if he ever thinks about touching her-- Mother! Again. I quite like her.”

Draco slumped over and couldn’t bring himself to look directly at his mother. “You’re a bitch,” he said in all honesty.

“Noted,” Mrs Malfoy said calmly. When he looked up, she was examining her fingernails for imaginary dust and debris. “But could you-- do you love me, though?” she asked softly. Her heart - and Draco had never thought of her having one before - was in her eyes as she waited for his answer.

Draco didn’t really have to think about it. “Of course I’m fond of you, Mother. But I don’t think that I know you well enough to love you.”

“Yet you know this Weasley--” She muttered under her breath and frowned sharply before beseeching him again. “Do you have even the vaguest impression of what it is?”

“Absolutely no idea,” Draco said happily, pointedly ignoring his mother‘s pleading eyes. “And I really do prefer it that way, you know. Love makes things too complicated.”

There was something in the back of his mind, which told him that wasn’t precisely true, but the instant jubilation and gratitude he felt at being able to lie again quashed it firmly into a corner to be quickly ignored.

“I thought I knew what it was once,” Mrs Malfoy mused, picking at the lace coverlet on her lap. “But I was very young, and foolish, and it was an odd sort of situation anyway.”

Draco raised an eyebrow and snatched up another biscuit since he deemed those safe for consumption. “Don’t tell me it was Father.”

“Ah, but the Veritaserum’s worn off now, Draco. Therefore, I think I’ll keep my secrets a while longer if you don’t mind, since they are the only things that are truly mine and I prefer not to dwell on such youthful indiscretions.”

It was as if Draco were looking at a great, shifting puzzle and another piece suddenly slid into place. “You ran away from Father to be with someone else, didn’t you?”

Mrs Malfoy’s leg twitched and her eyes slid closed. “I don’t wish to talk about that, Draco.”

He took that for a yes and picked up his cup to take another sip when he remembered the Veritaserum and set it down. He was very thirsty after so many dry biscuits and he needed a drink. “Did you poison the pot or just my cup?”

“Just your cup. I wanted some tea, too, after all.” Mrs Malfoy took a flask from her pocket and conjured a tiny glass for herself. Draco watched her pour the familiar green liquid in the bottom. She didn’t even bother with sugar, fire, or ceremony anymore, it seemed. His mother drank it straight down with a clean jerk of her hand.

“If you don’t lay off of that, there won’t be a wedding.” Draco paused and smiled widely as a thought occurred to him. “Would you like me to bring you another bottle?”

Mrs Malfoy sent him a crisp look over her glass before she tilted it back and drained it dry. It was an uncharacteristically crude gesture on her part, but she seemed past the point of caring. Then she repeated the gesture with a refill. Twice. “As if anything could keep you from your precious little Weasley girl.”

Draco winced. Mrs Malfoy set down her glass and picked among the morning pastries and biscuits, taking her time in selecting one to eat. She had just plucked a jam tart from the pile of sweets when a knock sounded at the door.

“And speaking of tarts,” she said unsteadily as she poked at the flaky pastry in her hand. “That’s probably yours at the door now.”

Draco shook his head at his mother’s addled wit and wearily flicked his wand at the door. It opened to reveal Mrs Weasley.

“Oh, I was wrong,” Mrs Malfoy said gleefully, her eyes silver crescents. “It’s the other one. What flavour do you think she would be, Draco-my-lovely?”

“Mother,” Draco warned, not spoiling for a pre-wedding fight between his mother and his mother-in-law-to-be. He shuddered. “Less faerie juice, if you please.”

Then, it would be ever so entertaining to see how hard Mrs Weasley had to be pushed before she Avada Kedavera’d someone. Just for future reference, of course. He could take notes.

Mrs Weasley was glaring at his mother, but she managed to restrain herself and addressed Draco. “I thought you should know that it’s almost time to present yourself downstairs. Ginny’s nearly ready.”

“Lovely.” Draco absentmindedly plucked the silver flask from his mother’s hand and threw it over his shoulder, ignoring her protests. He sighed and flicked open his cigarette case without thought, bringing one to his lips. Draco gestured toward her with his smoking hand after he‘d taken a few calming puffs and addressed Mrs Weasley. “We’ll be ready as soon as she can walk without running into imaginary trees in the corridors. Mother has a terrible dependency, you know.”

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips tightly and nodded once before closing the door behind her, muttering something about Malfoys and their vices.

Draco looked down to see Mrs Malfoy staring, in a most enthralled manner, at her hands. “Do grow up, Mother.” He grabbed his dress cloak from where it was draped over a chair and swirled it around his shoulders, pushing the toggles through the loops of ribbon along the front. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry walked down the halls with Ron uncertainly. Hermione gripped his hand tightly as they made their way toward the tower that would house the wedding and the feast afterwards. Hermione was attempting to nerve herself by keeping up a steady stream of chatter about wizarding wedding traditions versus Muggle ones. At least it kept her from speaking in the open about plans she was just itching to discuss again.

“And of course they must eat a symbolic egg after the ceremony, but I’m not sure if they will now, seeing as Ginny is already--”

“Oh look,” Ron interrupted with the air of one who was desperate to find something else to talk about. “It’s Millicent Bulstrode. I wonder what she’s doing in this part of the castle.”

Hermione looked at Ron strangely. “I don’t see anyone. And why would you care if she’s down here or not?”

Ron shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Just thought it was odd, is all.”

Harry quickly felt a migraine coming on which had nothing to do with a mystical force. It was a strangely familiar and comforting pressure, though, so he decided to ignore it and hope it went away soon. Actually . . .

“You two go on ahead. I’m going to run over to Pomfrey and ask if she has any headache potions.”

Ron cast an eye on him. “Feeling all right, mate?”

“Yeah, it’s just that I don’t want to ruin the wedding later by having a headache.”

Ron and Hermione both scoffed.

“It could do with ruining, I think,” Hermione said crisply. “I hate even thinking about how mediaeval this all is. Poor Ginny--”

Ron snorted. “Poor Ginny can take care of herself. If I didn’t hate the bloke, I’d give my sympathy to Malfoy. Smug bastard that he is.” Grumbles followed.

Harry took this opportunity to break away. “I won’t be long. Save a seat for me.”

He relished the chance to escape for a moment and slowed his pace as soon as he rounded a corner. Harry wasn’t precisely sure whether he would actually go looking for headache potions, but if he wound up in the Infirmary, he wouldn’t mind.

Things were clicking into place now. Being with Ron and Hermione both again made things seem frighteningly more real all of a sudden. The scheme Hermione had come up with was like old times. Harry half-expected to open a door and find Fluffy guarding a trap door, or to come across the Mirror they were now looking for.

Harry never thought the Mirror of Erised was of any practical use before Hermione discovered a passage about it whilst looking up information on how to avoid being spied upon by Dumbledore. It really was the perfect solution to their problems. Grindlewald, or Dumbledore, whoever he was, would never tell them the truth when directly confronted. But Albus Quaffle seemed terribly insistent that Grindlewald was a Muggle lover and ‘not a bad fellow, but for that Muggle thing’, despite what the Chocolate Frog cards and slim gleanings of history they found said. What was the real story?

Smirking to himself, Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and continued his ramble around the castle. It had to work. Hermione was too clever for it not to be a smashing breakthrough in this latest mystery. The only real problem lay in finding where Dumbledore had hidden the bloody Mirror.

Then there was the required sacrifice.

Harry stopped and stared out a window that overlooked the grounds and part of the lake. The answer wasn’t in the new spring grass, nor was it to be found in the gentle sun-gold waters of the lake.

For the Mirror to work with the incantation Hermione had discovered, it required that one of them sacrifice a desire in order to see a particular desire. Right now, they wanted to see the past and what really happened between Dumbledore and Grindlewald. But what would they be willing to give up?

When Harry had encountered the Mirror before, he had seen his parents and extended family. Whilst it was still true that he desired the love and presence of his parents, there were other things now that he wanted in life; more adult things.

He had Hermione, or at least he assumed she was his as much as he was hers. That was a little foggy and he hoped that whatever he saw in the Mirror had nothing to do with her. Then, Ron had decided to forgive them, or did they forgive him? Harry pressed a hand to his eyes. All the thinking was making his headache worse than it was before. Nothing was clear anymore, it seemed.

He sighed and kicked a piece of crumpled parchment someone had left in the hallway, satisfied by the small thwack it made against the opposite wall.

So if they found the Mirror, someone would have to give up a desire. Did that mean that the desire would never come true or simply that the person would stop longing for it? If he saw only his parents in the Mirror, maybe Sirius and Hagrid, too, Harry decided that it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to stop wanting them to be there. No matter what he did, they weren’t coming back and that was the truth.

Perhaps losing the desire for something made it so that you no longer bothered to try, so it wouldn’t come true that way. Was that it? How had Hermione explained it to them earlier?

Harry plopped down in a window ledge and buried his head in his hands. He probably should seek Madame Pomfrey out actively if he wanted his headache to go away. He also reasoned that less thinking was in order since it seemed to disagree with his health.

Soft, shuffling footsteps echoed down the hall. Harry looked up to see Dumbledore coming toward him, his face serene and untroubled.

“Ah, Harry. Feeling all right today?”

“As well as can be expected, sir, considering the circumstances.”

Dumbledore nodded and held out a tin of sherbet lemons. Harry refused them, naturally. Any thought of sherbets automatically recalled Albus Quaffle and he didn’t want to think anymore that day. He just wanted to get through it.

“I may not completely agree with this wedding, Harry,” Dumbledore sighed. “But I feel that it’s probably for the best considering Mr Malfoy and Miss Weasley’s temperaments.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him. “You mean you want them to kill each other?”

The light in Dumbledore’s eyes was jovial. “On the contrary, I believe that their more volatile passions may cool long enough for their feelings for each other to surface. Provided that they are given their own space for a while, of course.”

“Malfoy doesn’t have any feelings,” Harry grumbled. “He doesn’t care about Ginny at all. Certainly not about their children.”

“I think he cares for Miss Weasley very much,” Dumbledore disagreed. He leant down and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “He won’t hurt her, Harry. He can‘t whilst I am here.”

Harry shrugged. “I suppose not. I should probably be giving my sympathy to Malfoy.”

Dumbledore threw his head back and laughed. He patted Harry’s shoulder a few times and stood straight again. His eyes were the same sparkling blue orbs of merriment that Harry had known almost his entire time at Hogwarts. Dumbledore didn’t look or sound any different from how he always had. If this was Grindlewald, he didn’t seem like an evil person.

As Harry watched, Dumbledore nodded solemnly and started walking away, his soft shoes thumping steadily toward the small hall where the wedding would be held.

Harry stood up and balled his fists, all thoughts of headache gone as he summoned the famous Gryffindor courage to aid him.

“Grindlewald,” he called softly. “Your name is Grindlewald.”

Dumbledore stood frozen, his back still to Harry when he spoke. “That’s a very peculiar accusation, my boy. Especially considering that Grindlewald died long before you were born.”

“True, though,” Harry replied.

Dumbledore dipped his feeble, grey head in acknowledgment. “We have much to discuss, Harry. Come to my office after the wedding feast. I’ll be waiting for you.”

He started walking away again, but Harry stopped him with a shout: “I won’t be alone!”

The old man half-turned, his gaze the only gleaming point in heavy shadows. “I wouldn’t expect you to, Harry. But . . . choose wisely, and well, from amongst those you trust.”

Harry locked stares with Dumbledore for only a moment before bolting back toward the wedding hall. He had to prepare Ron and Hermione for a social call later.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“The robes are fine, Mum, honestly.”

“Well, more pearls won’t hurt, will it?” Mrs Weasley waved her wand and added a row of delicate seed pearls to the hem of Ginny’s wedding robes.

Ginny rolled her eyes and glanced over at her father for help. He smiled shyly and stepped forward before his wife added more lace to Ginny’s sleeves.

“She’s fine, Moll. Ginny already looks like a sorceress in those robes.”

Mrs Weasley huffed and stepped back. “I just don’t want Narcissa to say that Ginny’s robes are too plain, Arthur.”

Ginny glanced down at herself and then quickly up at the mirror in front of her. There were so many pearls and laces and ribbons that to add anymore would be vulgar, but Ginny didn’t say anything more than: “She won’t be able to call these robes plain, Mum.”

Mrs Weasley sighed and stepped back. “It’s almost time, dear. I need to go put my gloves and hat on.” She shoved Mr Weasley toward their daughter on her way out of the room. “Talk to her as I’m getting dressed, will you, dear?”

He stumbled briefly before straightening up. Ginny displayed her best half-smile to assure him and smoothed down the front of her bodice. “It really is too much.” She fingered the lacy front. “All these extras Mum added.”

Mr Weasley put his hand in his pocket. “I’m afraid that I need to add just-- one more thing.” He withdrew his hand and dangled a gold chain and pendant in front of her.

Ginny frowned and lifted her hand to touch it. “What’s this, Dad?”

He looked down and shuffled his feet. “It was your Christmas present . . . from Percy.”

Ginny’s eyes widened and she met his nervous gaze. “Oh, Dad,” she breathed. She touched the ruby heart and smiled wistfully at the golden dragon’s claw grasping it snugly. Ginny lifted her hair and turned around. “Put it on? I want to wear it today.”

She saw his arm reach awkwardly around her neck and felt him fumbling with the clasp. The ruby settled low in her bodice and Ginny patted it before turning back to her father.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “I’m glad you gave this to me today.”

Mr Weasley lowered his eyes and nodded. “Percy wanted very much for you to have it. It was-- it was one of the last things he wrote about.”

Ginny frowned. “Wrote about?”

“In his journal. The, uh, the Aurors at the Malfoy estate sent it to me a few weeks ago. They thought we might want it.”

“Oh,” she said as she fingered the cool ruby hanging over her heart. “It must have been difficult for you.” Ginny looked up. “Does Mum know?”

Mr Weasley shook his head. “I haven’t told anyone but you. It’s too painful and too personal to share. Even with your mother. It would only upset her. She’s been so happy lately, with the wedding and all, that I feel it would just cause her undue grief.”

“This isn’t the time to keep secrets, Dad,” Ginny said, threading her fingers with her father’s. “We’ve all been keeping them and look where we are now.”

He smiled faintly. “I suppose you’re right. I can show it to Molly later; after all of this wedding madness has calmed down and she’s bored again.”

Ginny laughed loudly and attempted to embrace her father, but her skirt was too full, so she settled for gripping arms with him. She’d missed his quiet presence, his powerful curiosity, his love for his family and his wife. Ginny saw her father with brand new eyes in this sparkling moment between them.

Mrs Weasley came back then, wearing a pair of pristine white kidskins and a large hat covered in flowers with a tulle veil obscuring the top half of her face. She checked the buttons of her pale purple robes and the corsage of tiny, yellow cinquefoils pinned to her bosom.

“Are you ready, Ginny?” she asked inattentively whilst turning her round collar down and smoothing it with quick, precise flicks of her fingers.

“Yes, Mum,” Ginny sighed. “I’ve been ready for ages. Doesn’t mean I want to be ready.”

Mrs Weasley stopped preening and glanced up at Ginny critically through the obstruction of her veil. “Don’t give me that tosh. Now turn around so I can make sure I’ve not missed anything.”

Ginny slowly rotated with her arms held out. She felt like a bell with the large, hoop-skirted robes and form-fitting bodice. A giant could come by and use her upper body as a handle, letting her skirts swing back and forth. Ginny wondered if her screams would sound like the tinkling of a bell to the people below, but decided not to test that theory, tempting as it was to give voice to her nervousness and fear.

“I suppose it will--” Her mother stopped and pointed sharply at Ginny’s neck. “What’s that there?”

Ginny whirled round the rest of the way and clutched at her pendant, her skirts struggling to catch up with her. “It’s just-- um, mine.”

Mrs Weasley walked forward to examine it and Ginny haltingly allowed her. Her mother visibly relaxed and smiled. “Ah, that must be Percy’s necklace. Wherever did you find it?”

Mr Weasley stared. “How did you know about that?”

“Oh, I, well, he told me about it. Before he--” She cleared her throat and stepped away. “We really should be going now, dear. They won’t wait forever, and we still must meet Draco and Narcissa at the doors before going in.”

Mr Weasley glanced between his daughter and his wife for a moment, but said nothing. He held out his arm for Mrs Weasley to take, and Ginny followed them out of the room.

As soon as Draco saw them, he marched up to Ginny and her mother, cigarette in hand. “You can’t invite that Mudblood Granger to my wedding or the feast! I won’t allow it.”

“Draco Malfoy!” Mrs Weasley gasped. “How dare you say that word!”

Draco ignored Ginny for the moment and span on his heel to address Mrs Weasley, a ferocious glint in his eye. “Clamp it, woman. I’m marrying your daughter, not every half-breed from here to Edinburgh.”

Mr Weasley stepped forward angrily, almost nose-to-nose with Draco. “Now see here, you spoilt--”

But his wife pulled him away and took a menacing step toward Draco, her eyes flashing murder before they flickered over to Mrs Malfoy.

“Narcissa, dear, I think that you need to have a talk with your son about propriety and respect for his elders.”

Mrs Malfoy shrugged her thin shoulders. “But you’re so much better at it than I am.”

Mrs Weasley gnashed her teeth audibly. “Draco, as much as I would like more grandchildren, I’ll eviscerate you if you don’t behave today and that‘s a promise.”

Draco’s eyes widened and he stepped - unconsciously, Ginny was sure - behind his mother. Mrs Malfoy, for her part, looked unmoved by any of this, and she yawned delicately behind her hand.

“Today shall be a happy day for both of you,” Mrs Weasley continued, her voice laced with venom and honey. “I’d hate to have to do something drastic.” She picked up the hem of Ginny’s robes and obsessively added yet another row of seed pearls to the hem with her wand. “And Hermione will be attending the wedding and the feast, whether you like it or not. I want her silly little head to be reeling at the evidence of her handy-work.”

“Molly!” Mr Weasley chided. “That’s uncalled for. Hermione’s a lovely girl.”

Ginny was confused as to who she thought was right. She was still angry with Hermione, but she also considered her a good friend and wanted her to be at the wedding. It seemed like she’d get her wish now.

Meanwhile, her mother snorted. “A lovely girl who’s been filling our daughter’s head with all sorts of nonsense.” She paused to tug at an imaginary wrinkle on Ginny’s robes. “I’m just glad that Ron figured it out for himself before I had to think about how I would coax children out of her if they married.”

“Yes, because Pansy Parkinson is going to be so much easier to convince,” Draco crooned slyly, glancing at his nails in an exercise of boredom. He lifted his face and addressed Mrs Malfoy. “Are we still waiting for Professor Snape, Mother, or can we go in yet?”

Ginny outright giggled at the look of undisguised horror on her mother’s face. She tried to scowl at Draco, but her mirth made it completely ineffective.

“No!” Mrs Weasley gasped. “Not another one. Oh, my Ron!”

Mr Weasley led his wife to the doors. “Come now, Molly. You don’t want to get all worked up. Let’s lead the children in now and you can fret later.”

“But Ron could be off doing God knows what with the Parkinson girl right now,” she protested, planting her feet firmly on the floor. “Is Harry sure that he fancies Hermione?” She looked past them at the wall, a frown tugging her lips. “I mean, young love rarely lasts. Maybe she’ll get sick of Harry and be interested in Ron again.”

“Mum!” Ginny exclaimed. “You leave them alone. Hermione is practically all Harry has left, and they’re friends with Ron again. Don’t plot any matchmaking schemes, please?”

Mrs Weasley burst into sudden tears and buried her head in her husband’s chest. He wrapped her in his arms and patted her back quietly. “There, there, Molly. Maybe you’ll be able to plan another wedding soon. Imagine how fun that will be, hmmn?”

She lifted her head up just enough for air and wailed: “All of my children are leaving me!”

Ginny saw Draco roll his eyes and lean back against the wall, chatting quietly with his mother. She suppressed her desire to do the same, even if she wasn‘t overly fond of Draco‘s mother. Mrs Weasley blew her nose into a handkerchief loudly and cast a drying charm on Mr Weasley’s damp robes.

“I still have you, though,” she sniffled. “And Percy. And the chickens.”

Mrs Malfoy glanced at them all sideways, but said nothing. Ginny was busy being quietly horrified, but Mr Weasley grasped his wife’s shoulders and squeezed affectionately.

“Perhaps you should rest for a bit, love.” The lines of his face were tensed to the point of snapping. “You’re not yourself.”

She shook him off and looked down whilst she composed herself again. “No, I’m quite all right, dear. Just nerves.”

Ginny and her father shared a glance. Ginny supposed that she wasn’t the only one who thought her mother had gone round the bend, but they said nothing to each other about this. Their silent communication was all that was needed to assure one another that they had, indeed, heard correctly.

“I see Professor Snape,” Draco said loudly. “Finally.”

Ginny looked over her shoulder to see her Potions’ professor bearing down on them swiftly. She stepped aside to assume ranks. Draco quickly pinched his cigarette.

The Professor would walk in first with Draco’s mother. Since he was Head of Slytherin and a long-time family friend of the Malfoy‘s, it was only fitting that he take Lucius’ place today. Her parents would follow next. Then it would be just her and Draco.

Draco’s hand gripped Ginny’s firmly as he led her through the double doors; she looked at him in surprise when she felt it, damp and trembling. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“You know this is permanent, right?”

Ginny sighed and tried to focus on the platform looming ahead, where exactly she would stand to be married. “Yes, I know. But what can we do?”

Draco shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Mmmn,” Ginny mumbled in acknowledgment of their imminent imprisonment. That must have been Hermione’s voice again, she thought. Marriages should be happy, Ginny mused. It would be dull, and lonely, and lacking in certain physical areas, but she could surely find something to make it bearable.

Ginny plastered a smile on her face as they neared the Wizengamot’s representative. He spoke a few traditional words to the crowd before asking for their wands.

It was with hesitation that Ginny slipped hers from her sleeve and placed it in the gnarled palm waiting to bind her wand to Draco’s, but all the same, she did so. Behind her, Ginny could hear the twins grumbling and muttering with Charlie, Bill, and Ron; likely plotting Draco’s death or, at least, a severe hexing.

Ginny found the smile was not so forced after that.

You know the drill. Reviewing and goodness and souls and all that. Feel free to beat me or pet me or what-have-you.

34. The Brave Man With A Sword

Author’s Notes:

Oh my poor, poor readers. ::shakes head:: I’ve been away for so long and I feel absolutely dreadful about it. The only excuses I have is work and life dramas. Well, hopefully you’ll all forgive me for that after you read this chapter. There’s fumbles. There’s deception. There’s sex. Yes. And it’s rough sex, too, so be forewarned. But who’s shagging whom? Ahh . . . Well, you shall see. Forward on, gentle reader, forward on. (This chapter’s Beta Reader shall be played by the ever kind and humble Mathaliel. Bless her.)

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword.

~ The Ballad of Reading Gaol.

Ron generally hated attending wedding feasts with Muggle-born guests because of all the questions they asked. ‘Why do wizarding feasts have this or that‘, etc. But the good thing about having Hermione 'Know-it-all' Granger about was that she could explain all the finer points of tradition to the Muggle-raised Harry Potter.

The downside of having her around was that she never stopped explaining.

"I suppose that those are the fig-wrapped almonds to symbolise . . ."

After roughly ten previous statements by Hermione that covered the history and preparation of almost everything Harry put in his mouth, Ron tuned her out.

Ron made designs with crumbs and bits of his elderberry flower fritter in the sweet cream. He pushed at the food on his plate half-heartedly. He'd never liked wedding food much anyway; everything always had bloody flowers in it. You couldn't even take a bite of something solid, like a nice beef roast, without encountering at least three types of brightly coloured flower petals.

Ron gulped down a goblet of broom bud wine before refilling it and downing two more. Ron found himself scanning the intimate crowd of friends and family for one particular face, even though he knew it was an improbability bordering on an absurdity that she would be here.

Pansy had made it abundantly clear after their shower interlude that she wanted nothing more to do with him. Ron couldn't understand why he longed to see her face, hold her slim body against his own, kiss her mouth . . .

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and gulped down another goblet of wine. The almond-flavour lingered in his mouth as he carefully found his feet. Harry stood as well, but Ron motioned for him to stay where he was.

Ron needed to be alone and think things through without the well-meaning chatter of his friends. If that meant he would have to miss having a slice of the wedding cake, he’d still risk it. Ron was terribly fond of rummy, plummy, moist fruitcake . . . crunchy marzipan . . . but he’d suffer like a man.

Perhaps he should have asked Harry to bring him a slice later.

Ginny was arguing with their mother as he passed them on his way to the door, so he stopped to listen for a moment.

"But where's my egg, Mum? Draco is supposed to crack an egg and give it to me before we eat the cake."

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips and paused before she bit into a thin slice of beef entombed in marigold petals. "I think Draco's cracked enough of your eggs, dear," she said with some asperity.

Ginny frowned and looked away. Ron felt a tiny smirk twist the flesh of his face. He opened the doors of the hall, already in a better mood. The cooler air of the corridor felt remarkable on Ron's flushed face. He took big gulps of it into his lungs, relieved to have escaped the people inside.

Ron wandered out of the corridor and found himself tramping down to the dungeons without much thought. Maybe Pansy'd be done with detention by now and he could find out where--oof!

He looked down and smiled cheerfully at Millicent Bulstrode.

“Millie Dear!” Ron cried happily. “It’s such a pleasure to see you today. My, is that a new blouse? Here, let me help you up.”

Millicent regarded him warily before accepting his hand up from the floor. “I don’t know where she is, Weasley.”

Ron blinked. Weren’t Slytherins renowned for their subtlety and not their abilities as Seers? “Um. Where’s who?”

She lifted one eyebrow at him. Why was it that all Slytherins seemed to be able to do that? Did Snape give eyebrow-lifting lessons or something? Ron grinned back at her and offered his arm. Girls were too easy sometimes, and Millicent Bulstrode was no exception. She dusted off her bum, slung her rucksack over her shoulder, and linked Ron’s proffered arm through her own.

“She doesn’t like you, Weasley. You’re deluding yourself.”

Ron furrowed his brow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn‘t lift just one of them. “Of course she likes me! Fancies me to death. Snogging. Everything.”

Millicent rolled her eyes. “Why Pansy? Why not one of the other girls who chase after you? I heard you were dragged off into an unused Charms classroom by three Ravenclaw fifth-years just last week. That had to have been loads of fun for you.”

Ron stopped and blew his fringe out of his eyes. “Well, they had fun. At least until I managed to body-bind them and run away.”

“Think that will work on you?” Millicent asked, her eyes glinting with suppressed amusement. “As much as I’m flattered, I really don’t enjoy being followed everywhere I go in the hopes that you’ll see Pansy.”

Ron slumped over and let his back hit the wall. “But I really, really fancy her, Millie. You just don’t know.”

“I rather think I do. And don’t call me Millie!” she warned, waving her beefy hands at him menacingly.

He cringed. “Sorry. I’ll remember that next time.” Ron cleared his throat. “Anyway, uh, Millicent, don’t think you could sneak me into your common room, do you?”

She stared at him blankly.

“Erm, right. Suppose you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to be head-over-heels for someone who couldn’t give a piss for you.”

Millicent’s mouth hardened and she punched Ron in the arm. “You think you can play on my sympathy? That won’t work with me.”

“Ow! I wasn’t trying--”

“You were.”

“I suppose so. Um, so you know what I mean, then?” Ron smiled hopefully, keeping his expression purposefully open and adding just the smallest measure of puppy-dog entreaty.

Millicent pursed her thick lips and spun on her heel. She took firm strides back in the direction she came from and Ron slumped down even further until she called to him.

“Coming, Weasley? I haven’t all day to desecrate the sanctity of my common room with your filth, you know.”

Ron perked up immediately and ran to catch up with her. He could kiss her for this! That is, if she wasn’t so repulsive and he wasn’t hung up on Pansy.

“Thanks, Millie!”

“Don’t call me Millie,” she said firmly. “My name is Millicent.”

Ron ruffled his hair. “Yeah, I know that.”

She rolled her eyes and continued to lead him further into the dungeons. Condensation dripped down the walls and Ron had to watch his step so he didn’t fall flat on his face. He wished that his memory wasn’t such crap or he could have gone there himself. Getting inside might have been a problem, but Ron felt confident that he could have beat up a firstie or something.

He took the opportunity to study Millicent. She wasn’t that bad, perhaps. Sleek-Easy would probably help tame her bushy, black hair. And Ron remembered coming across some sort of potion when he was rambling in Ginny’s room one time that she used to take the hair off of her legs. Why did girls do that? Hmmn. Maybe it would work for Millie’s upper lip. Then he could help her pull whatever bloke she had her eye on. It would be the nice thing to do for her after all the help she had been.

“So who’s the lucky lad, anyway?” Ron nudged her slyly. “I’ll help you bag him if you want.”

Millicent kept walking, her podgy hand tightening on the strap of her rucksack. “I don’t think so, Weasley.”

“Aw, come on! After this, it’s the least I can do.” Ron blinked. “Unless it’s Malfoy and then I just can’t do because Mum and Ginny would kill me.”

“S’not Malfoy,” she muttered. “We’re almost there, Weasley. Keep your trap shut or I can’t get you in.”

“Right,” Ron agreed, narrowing his eyes in the gloom. He was quiet for a moment before his curiosity got the better of him. “So is it Harry, then? I mean, he’s taken, too. That would explain your touchiness on the subject.”

Millicent stopped and hit him with her rucksack. “I said shut up!”

“Okay, okay.” Ron rubbed his shoulder and looked up. The tapestry to the Slytherin common room was just ahead. “There it is, I recognise it now. Give me the password and run so you don’t get in trouble with your sister snakes.”

She blew her hair out of her face and tugged at her rucksack. “I really shouldn’t do this.”

“Don’t be such a baby.”

Millicent shifted from foot to foot. “It’s Serpens Cavea.”

“That makes brilliant sense and I should have guessed, but thanks.”

Ron was so giddily, drunkenly happy that he kissed her on the cheek and rushed off for the tapestry. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that he’d have to send Pansy to check on Millicent later. She seemed sort of feverish.

===========================

Ginny, who had been up since dawn in preparation for her wedding, was thoroughly exhausted by the time she made it to her new room. Some detached part of her mind noticed that all of Draco’s and her belongings were now neatly stored at the foot of an enormous four-poster bed that took up most of the small tower room.

The hangings on the bed were burnished gold velvet trimmed with cream satin and draped in thick puddles over the mahogany posts. The room itself was circular, with no corners in which creepy things might hide. It was safe, familiar, and welcoming.

Ginny set her lantern down on the bedside table and pulled the shade low. She sighed and turned to see Draco standing in front of a lead-paned window facing the lake, his hands were splayed on the glass and frost outlined his fingers.

She walked toward him hesitantly, but stopped when Draco turned his head slightly in her direction. The full moon chose that moment to reveal herself from behind a filmy mantle of clouds. Silver light flooded the room, casting Draco’s profile into a sharp silhouette with oddly-illuminated edges.

“Come here,” he whispered, his voice rough as if he hadn’t just spoken a few minutes ago when they had left the remnants of the feast behind.

Ginny shivered and gripped the backs of her arms. There was something dangerous about Draco tonight; something lithe and prowling . . . a feral gleam in his eyes that made the tiny hairs all over her body prickle. Her spine tingling, Ginny edged back toward her trunk.

“I’ve been in these robes all day, Draco,” she said, forcing her voice to sound slightly whiny, but still light and unaffected. “Let me change into my nightdress before we start bickering about sleeping arrangements again.”

Ginny chanced a look at him from the corner of her eye, but Draco hadn’t moved. He hunted her with his eyes, following the progress of her hands as she loosened the ties of her skirt and stepped out of it. She bent to pick it up and suddenly, he was there. No footfall had betrayed his movements, and Ginny gasped in the beginnings of true fear.

Draco’s hands grasped her hips and pulled them tight against his own, his fingers trailed up Ginny’s side and to her back to loosen the bodice she still wore.

“Let me help you with that.”

His voice was still uneven and wild. Ginny shuddered and repressed a moan at the exquisite torment his slowly sliding fingers and heavy breathing on her neck were wreaking on her senses. She fought the hot ribbon of passion weaving itself around her belly and thighs.

“I--I thought that we weren’t going to--”

“Shh,” Draco soothed. It rang strangely hollow to Ginny‘s ears, as if his mind was elsewhere. “You’re mine tonight . . .” He moved his mouth to the side and nipped her earlobe. “ . . . and every night for the rest of our lives.”

Ginny’s eyes widened as he slipped her bodice down over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She jerked away from him and crossed her arms over her chest. She was nearly naked now and there was no defence against him, only a thin barrier of white cotton to prevent--

“We are not doing this, Draco,” Ginny said firmly. “I told you that I would never sleep with you again and I meant it.”

She turned and shoved his chest with her hands, pushing him away. He stumbled backwards and barely prevented himself from falling over by catching hold of the bedside table.

“I’m sure they can find another room for you tonight, Draco,” Ginny said, boosting her confidence by imagining that her voice was a thick acid eating at his lust and dominance. “You’re not staying here.”

The lantern on the table had flickered out when Draco jostled it, so she couldn’t see anything except his glittering eyes in the enfolding gloom. But she heard him as he moved closer now and closer, his breath hot on her face, the light stubble on his jaw grating the thin skin of her cheek.

Ginny fumbled for her wand on the bed behind her, her heart beating a sharp staccato against her breast, almost in time with Draco’s, which was pressed against her chest. He wasn’t speaking, he utterly ignored her squirms and physical protests.

“Stop it!” Ginny shouted, trying to sound indignant and failing in her own ears as his arms closed around her and his tongue darted out to lick her throat. “Merlin, please stop it,” she cried. Her eyes stung and itched with tears but Draco didn’t stop.

His fingers clamped the sides of her head and he kissed her on the mouth, biting her lips to gain entry. It was hardly pleasant at first, but Ginny found some perverse part of herself giving in to the raw hunger and animalistic lust that he exuded. Draco was the sun and she was spinning in his scorching orbit. Perhaps it was too bright or too hot, but God . . . it felt so good.

“It’s much too late to get away, Ginny,” he confided to her mouth, pressing urgent kisses to the juncture of her lips. “And I can’t escape either.”

Draco threaded his fingers in Ginny’s hair, grasping thick handfuls of it and massaging her scalp lightly with his fingertips.

“So make the best of this then?” Ginny asked, revelling in the sparks that trailed in the wake of Draco’s touch. This was almost like the first time, but he was the aggressor - the initiator - now. Tables turned. She closed her eyes. “This is all we have, I suppose. I don’t think you could ever— ”

“No,” Draco cut her off. “I don’t think I ever could.” Ginny felt his lips twist down sharply against her cheek. “I wasn’t made for such things, you know.”

“Things like love?” Ginny ventured, gently breaking some agreement that she didn‘t remember making. “Everyone is made for love.”

“Not me,” Draco murmured.

The moon kept shifting behind her shroud, now light and now dark, fluctuating almost as swiftly as Draco’s mood, but at that moment she chose to trickle into the room and illuminate his face. His fine, pale brows drew together and his eyes were dangerous again. With a snarl, Draco pushed Ginny back on the bed and climbed on top of her, pinning her wrists firmly to the eiderdown with his hands.

Ginny’s head was still spinning from the sudden movement when Draco reached between them to pull her knickers down over her thighs. They tangled and caught half-way down, even with Ginny lifting her hips to help, and the way he shoved them over her legs scraped the skin off in places. Ginny’s breath caught in her throat. Draco’s face was so intense - concentrating solely on what he was doing - but it was also almost as if he wasn’t actually there and had no control over the movements of his body.

“Slow down,” Ginny whispered shakily. “We have time.”

He didn’t speak, but he made a grumbling sound somewhat like a purr and quickly shed his robes, the buttons of his trousers popped off and fell on the floor like rain.

“Talk to me, Draco,” Ginny implored him, the raw spots on her legs burning. “Please talk to me.”

Ginny had passed the point where she cared about maintaining her protests against reopening their physical relationship, but this didn’t seem at all right. Yes, she wanted him. Merlin, did she ever want Draco in her arms, his touch and his breath in her ear. What had come over him?

Draco stilled and blinked down at her for a moment, his body tense, then he leant down to sniff at her neck, trailing down over her breasts and belly with his hands and nose, parting her legs to . . . Ginny arched up and clutched at the bedclothes. Draco had never-- he’d never done this before.

His slender, devilish tongue was working all sorts of magic in a place that he’d clearly stated over a month ago he would never go again. He wrapped his hands around her thighs and squeezed. While Draco’s tongue lapped circles and darted quickly in and out of intricate pockets of flesh, exploring every fold and crease, his teeth just barely grazed the heart of it all. They were only slightly too rough, but Ginny liked it that way. If she’d had higher brain function, she would have admonished herself.

Somehow, Ginny’s hands wandered from the bedclothes to Draco’s hair. She wove her fingers deep and plucked at his scalp with her fingertips, soft sighs and moans escaping her lips. The time she’d shocked herself with one of her father’s Muggle plugs leapt to her mind, but with the knowledge that this was infinitely more pleasurable than that had been.

As if Draco had perversely read her thoughts, he stopped and crawled back up over her body, settling his weight heavily between her thighs. Ginny could smell his sweat and musk clinging to her fingers and she explored his chest, lightly biting his nipples and sucking his skin into her mouth.

Draco tossed his head and growled low and deep in the back of his throat. Ginny glanced up at him and slid her hands around to cup his bottom, squeezing his flesh rhythmically in invitation. He pushed her thighs wider apart and hardly positioned himself at all before thrusting into her. His hips crashed to hers with a savage cadence, like a drumbeat or a heathen dance. It was base and earthy and timeless.

Ginny’s back bowed involuntarily and her body melted into the bedclothes as Draco pressed on, burying himself inside of her again and again, filling her. That luscious feeling was building like a slow, steady crescendo, pulsing through her veins.

She bucked her hips against him, trying to find a measure when there was none. Draco’s fingers skated up her ribs and twirled her nipples with his deft touch, lighting her skin on fire.

Draco didn’t ask Ginny if she liked that or this, he somehow knew and moved instinctively. And so did she. Ginny wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing her hips closer to his, meeting his thrusts with a swivel of her pelvis. Her arms went round his neck and suddenly her entire body was off the bed, clinging completely to Draco and pressing herself as close to him as she could get.

His pearl-coloured ear was near her mouth and she bit it lightly with her canines, summoning forth a growl from Draco. He shoved her back onto the bed again and pushed her knees to her chest. Ginny groaned as he went deeper into her body than before, hitting shivering spots that she’d never knew existed.

When Ginny felt herself peaking, she could barely move for Draco’s weight on top of her, pressing her into the bedclothes. She writhed and twitched and moaned her pleasure, Draco’s answer a soft roar in her ears.

Ginny’s legs slipped free from Draco’s tight grasp and slid around his chest. She rested her heels on his back and he dropped his head to her breast, panting. They laid still for a few minutes before Ginny weakly lifted a hand to stroke his hair back from his face, twining the soft strands between her fingers. Ginny didn’t know what had come over him so suddenly, but she quite liked it, even though she knew that she shouldn‘t.

Draco was still inside of her and he moved his face slightly to the side and started sucking leisurely on her nipple. He nibbled at the soft underside of her breast and roughly tongued the crease. Ginny closed her eyes, her head spinning at the pleasure that was slowly building all over her body. Though it seemed impossible, Draco was hardening and undulating his hips against hers again. It must be some magic from the wedding because this was hardly normal.

Ginny suspected that it was going to be a very, very long night.

==================================

"I see that you have reconciled."

Harry nodded at the Headmaster as he let them into his office. "Yes, in a way."

He wasn't about to say anymore on the matter, it was private and come hell or high water, he was keeping it that way. But Dumbledore only moved his head slowly up and down in acknowledgement.

"Ah," he hummed. "I'm glad for you all." Dumbledore waved his hand over a low table set in the midst of four, squashy armchairs gathered together in a rough semi-circle. "Take tea with me? To celebrate your friendship."

Hermione plucked at Harry's sleeve, but he ignored her silent warning. If Du-- Grindl-- who ever it was wanted them dead, they wouldn't have survived long enough to make it to his office, much less be offered tea.

All around them the portraits were watching keenly. Phineas Nigellus kept a shrewd, steady watch from the corner of his eye as he pretended to ignore the scene taking place below. Harry squinted up at him before leading Hermione to a chair and settling into the one beside her. Ron came up to flank her other side, which left Dumbledore to take the chair opposite.

Harry pulled out his wand and flicked it at the table, summoning a tea service for four. Then he realised just how weak and clumsy the gesture really was. He shrugged apologetically at Dumbledore.

"Hope you don't mind, sir. Hermione prefers a rose blend, you see, and I wasn't certain . . ."

Dumbledore leant back in his chair and sighed audibly at the thinly-veiled message that he was no longer trusted by Gryffindor's famous - and now reunited - Trio.

"This won't do, Harry. Perhaps you should tell me what I can say or do to make you trust me again."

Hermione lifted a tea cup and precisely measured in a single spoonful of sugar from a crystal bowl Harry was particularly proud of conjuring up. "With all respect, sir, there is little that you can say which will change our opinion, I think."

"Then to show you may be the way, is that it?"

She thoughtfully licked her lips, weighing and measuring her words. "Again, sir, I don't think--"

"The Mirror of Erised." Dumbledore laid his proverbial card on the table and took a sip of tea from a cup that wasn‘t part of Harry‘s service. "It's what you've been looking for."

"I, well, that is to say we-- we've been looking for it to tell us--"

"To show you the past, which is infinitely preferable to listening to an old man's ramblings. Just so, Miss Granger?"

"Aye, sir," Ron muttered whilst Hermione was busy gaping like a fish at the Headmaster. "But we have to make a sacrifice for it to work that way."

Harry suddenly shoved his way into the conversation as a thought occurred to him. "That's really why you hid the Mirror in second year, isn't it?" he accused. "You didn't want us to know anything before now; worried that we'd figure you out!"

Dumbledore set his cup aside and regarded him attentively. "Yes and no. The Mirror has many strange and wonderful properties." He groomed the tip of his beard with his fingers, pulling at the tiny knots with his fingernails. "I had planned on telling you my story eventually, Harry, but as I said in your fifth year, I--" He pressed his lips together. "I didn't think you needed to be burdened anymore than you were already."

"You never cared about burdening me!" Harry sneered. "You've never cared about anyone who got in the way of your plans. People like Hagrid."

"On the contrary, I care a great deal," Dumbledore said, wearily contemplating his fingers. "Too much, at times, for the comfort of my conscience." He shifted in his chair. "You see, I once was like young Mr Malfoy in the sense that I was . . . cursed with perfection of form." Dumbledore chuckled, even though Harry found nothing amusing about the conversation thus far. "Though it may be hard to believe now, I once was a handsome, strapping youth."

The lights in the room seemed to flicker for a moment, shifting shadows over Dumbledore's face and Harry could suddenly see someone who looked nothing at all like the Headmaster before it was gone. He wasn't ready to credit it entirely to his imagination, but he wondered all the same.

"Draco Malfoy has been cursed for the entire time you've known him, until the beginning of this year, when it broken by a good friend of mine." Dumbledore's eyes suddenly lost their twinkle entirely, becoming two deep blue pools of depression. "I am the one who created and introduced what is now a family curse to the Malfoy line." He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, completely ignoring the effect his words had on his audience.

"I took the idea from old Irish legends about a land of no pain and no sorrow, but also no happiness and no growth. People never aged or died, but they never really lived either." Dumbledore let his hand float up over the arm of his chair and waved it back and forth like wheat in a field, a gentle swaying motion. "Constantly stuck in a state of perfection that they couldn't enjoy.

"It was a bartering curse, you see. For one wish granted, a price was taken." Dumbledore's eyes were suddenly quite keen and penetrating again. "It was the price I sought, not the vain glory of physical beauty and eternal youth. I had already found ways to prolong my life, so that held little draw for me. But a curse which blunts one's passions comes in useful when one must make concessions that may go against one's conscience and nature."

"Or yours," Hermione pointed out quietly.

"Quite, Miss Granger," Dumbledore agreed. "But the time for discussion has ended, I think. I could explain myself all night and you still wouldn't understand." He rose from his chair and walked to the door. "Better to show you."

Hermione caught Harry's eye and leaned in to whisper: "This seems too easy, Harry. It's not right."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, his clear blue eyes shifting about nervously. "It could be a trap or something; we don't know what we're walking into."

Harry straightened and turned his head to see Dumbledore regarding them with the half-formed parody of a smile on his face. Then he acknowledged their desire for privacy and stepped through the door and into the stairwell.

"What else can we do?" Harry asked them seriously, binding their attention to him. "We can sit here like three suspicious sheep, or we can prepare ourselves and follow him."

“Prepare ourselves to be right buggered like sheep, you mean,” Ron muttered.

Harry stared.

“What?” Ron asked defensively. “S’true.”

"We have reason to be suspicious, Harry," Hermione said, primly ignoring Ron‘s last statement entirely. "What we don't have is reason to follow him."

"Except to find the Mirror," Ron added with a quiet insistence that made Harry paranoid.

Hermione threw her hands in the air and stood suddenly to hover over them. "Gryffindor isn't a synonym for incredibly thick lunkhead!"

"What does syn--?"

Harry shook his head at Ron. "Don't."

Hermione flung her hair behind her shoulder, the brown fuzz moving in one great mass, and regarded them patronisingly, her hands on her hips. "We have to be cautious, boys. This isn't a game."

"When has it ever been a game?" Harry asked heatedly. "Never, that's when. Not when Sirius died, not when my parents died, and certainly not when Hagrid died!"

Blood rushed to his face and his wand shivered in his grip, red sparks poured from his pocket where it was kept.

"We're doing it again," Ron said sharply. "How are we supposed to do anything, much less find the Mirror, if we can't go five minutes without arguing amongst ourselves?"

The new, adult set of Ron's face, coupled with the fact that he'd actually made sense, made Harry‘s flesh creep. He would have asked who had taken Polyjuice to impersonate Ron, but decided that it was an insulting question, so he kept his peace.

A glance at Hermione showed that she was seriously considering Ron's statement, the situation as a whole, and their conversation so far. She always did think of everything. Harry could almost see all the words whirring around in her mind like trousers and t-shirts in his Aunt Petunia's tumble dryer. He anticipated the wisdom that usually came out of her mouth after such long contemplation.

"Why are you so keen on that Mirror, Ron?" she asked suddenly.

Ron opened his mouth to reply a few times, his cheeks colouring stubbornly. "Well," he finally croaked. "I thought that I could be the one to . . . sacrifice a desire."

Harry goggled at him. "Why?"

Ron shifted uncomfortably and Harry expected many different answers - half of them to do with Hermione or time turning - but not what he heard instead.

"Pansy," Ron whispered. "I— I ," he cleared his throat and turned to look at Harry. "I really fancy her, Harry. You couldn't possibly understand how hard it is. I mean," Ron licked his lips and ducked his head to avoid Hermione's inquiring stare, huddling into himself. "I don't care that she's a Slytherin, or even that she tried to kill me a few times. Pansy is-- she's just . . ." he trailed off, helplessly spreading his hands and at an utter loss for words.

"Special," Harry finished for him, glancing at Hermione.

Ron nodded gratefully. "But even the thought of dating her is mad. It's impossible. I mean, I had to beg Millicent Bulstrode to let me into the Slytherin common room earlier and she wasn‘t even there! You see what I mean? It‘s mad to think it. They could have hexed me into next week, but I risked it just to see her face!"

Something in his tone made Harry's eyes burn, so he shifted his attention to the side quickly. There was no way he was going to let Ron give up the potential for happiness, even if it was utterly insane. But they still needed a sacrifice . . .

"Don't worry about the sacrifice, Ron," Harry said, bracing a hand against his friend's shoulder, resolved as to what he had to do. "We'll find another way." He slowly looked up into Hermione's eyes. "But we really should get going now. Dumbledore won't wait forever."

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