Torn

Disclaimer: Any characters and situations that you don't recognize are solely mine. The rest belongs to Rowling.

Author's Notes: It is I back with a new chapter. To tell you all the truth, I nearly almost gave up on this story. My mind keeps on changing, as does the plot. The end has changed about four times, and I must tell you all that I have been switching back and forth between this one idea. Should I carry on with it? Yay or Nay? As of now I have gone with Yay. So, a tale of Star-Crossed Lovers this shall be. Now if this revelation has caused me to lose an eye from an over ripe tomato, then I am heartily sorry. But I do wish that those who remain will remain with me till the end and I do hope I still manage to entertain. Thanks to all for the reviews and the urgings to for updates. This chapter has been spliced into three, as it was far far far too long, so I'll be editing the next two and I'll have it in as soon as I can. Please tell me what you think, and thanks to all for your patience. Enjoy.

BB

*********

He was a powerful, immensely attractive wizard who saved the world from evil.

No.

The most powerful wizard with stunning good looks and a huge bank account.

Now that's just childish.

Protector of humanity and a gift to women.

A little too simple for my liking.

He disobeyed his father, dared to defy the Dark Lord and despoiled willing maidens with his dashing good looks and charm.

That's far too long and not to mention Freckles would hex my corpse for that one. Shame though.

If it wasn't for him, the world would be in shambles.

And he was fit.

Intelligent too.

“Now that could work,” Draco whispered to himself. With a whisper, the curtains around his bed post were drawn aside.

“What might work?” Blaise asked.

“My epitaph.”

He repeated his latest thought and Blaise snorted. “You might want to scratch out the intelligent part,” he said heading over to his trunk.

Draco contemplated throwing his pillow at him, but thought better of it since it wasn't hard enough. Pain was essential after all. Stretching his shoulders with a sigh, he got out of bed and headed to the washroom saying, “I'll have you know, without me we'd be dead by now or like the Longbottoms.”

Blaise shook his head. “Not you. Your dear father would never let you become like old Longbottom senior. He'd be ashamed.”

Draco paused, while getting his things. “You're right, he'd kill me. You'd be the Longbottom.”

“But I don't want to be a Longbottom.”

“Too bad. You fit the part being all soft and podgy.”

Blaise folded his arms over his lean frame. “Piss off I'm not podgy. You're the one that's needing a cut back. What have you been eating last night?”

Tossing his towel over his shoulder with a snooty air Draco pursed his lips and said, “You know I don't kiss and tell.” Then he smirked and shut the washroom door behind him.

The shower turned on and he paused in front of the mirror, his smile fading. He set the towel neatly onto the counter and took out his wand. Four toothbrushes were evenly spaced along the edge of the mirror, and each was labeled accordingly:

CRABBE. GOYLE. MALFOY. ZABINI.

Silently with his wand, Draco tapped his toothbrush and it quickly transformed back into its original form; a small vial filled with emerald liquid. Satisfied, he did the same with the towel and transfigured it into a thick cauldron.

“Yeah, go on Crabbe he won`t be out for a while. Prince Charming needs time to fix his hair and all.”

Draco could hear Blaise's raised voice from behind the closed door and he paused in uncapping the vial. Standing in the washroom wearing his silk pajamas, his shoulders rigid, his hair slightly mussed, and his trembling hands gripping the vial so tight that he worried that it might crack, Draco nearly laughed aloud at what a ridiculous sight he made. Still he made no movement and his ears strained to listen, waiting for the voices to emerge from behind the closed door. The water beating against the shower floor in its steady ongoing rhythm and the thumping of his heart straining to lash out of the cage of his chest were the only sounds he was aware of.

It was only when sharp laughter managed to escape through the cracks of the door that Draco allowed his shoulders to relax an inch, and he took a deep steadying breath.

He uncapped the vial and poured the liquid into the cauldron and with narrowed eyes he watched it simmer. From his pocket, he took out the folded handkerchief that was slipped into his hand the day before; the gold letters B.Z. stained with dark crimson.

With a charm, the blood seeped out of the white cloth and dripped into the cauldron in five drops. Pristine once again, Draco stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket, but not before he plucked the long curly brown hairs it contained.

“And he says he does the dirty work,” Draco muttered and, with his nose wrinkled in disgust, he tossed the hairs into the now boiling concoction and stirred it clockwise for a few minutes.

“Shouldn't you be doing this in the dungeons you sly devil?”

Draco's attention snapped to the mirror. He sneered in reply.

“Oh that's quite a look for you, dearest. Have you been practicing?”

“Quiet, you.”

He brought his attention back to the potion and jabbed it with the tip of his wand causing the liquid to turn a very eloquent shade of blue. The shower continued to run even as he was stirring counter clockwise and, keeping an eye on the simmering liquid, he nodded to himself.

The potion finished and now sealed back in its vial, Draco went about cleaning the room and transfiguring the cauldron and potion back to a towel and a toothbrush. The former he hung on the hook while the latter was placed deftly atop the label ZABINI. He replaced his own empty spot with the real thing.

Right. Now then.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Draco cleared his throat and shouted. “What!”

“Some people need to brush their teeth!” Blaise shouted back.

Draco quickly stripped off his clothes, jumped into the shower, then hopped out and wrapped the towel around his waist. He opened the door to see Blaise leaning on the doorframe and behind him Crabbe, Goyle and two others were seated on the beds tossing something back and forth between them.

Blaise pushed past Draco, haughtily plucked his toothbrush from its spot and said something about long showers and wrinkled skin. “I'll be in the prefect's bathroom.” he sniffed before sauntering out the door. One of the two boys who looked to be sixth years watched Blaise's back disappear down the hall.

“What you oggling Zabini for?” Crabbe said with what was supposed to be a wiggle of the eyebrows, but looked more like a nervous twitch.

The boy gave Crabbe a nasty look. “Don`t be foul.”

“Maybe he fancies him,” Goyle said then turned to the washroom door. “What d'you think, Draco?”

Draco in turn eyed the boy who was red in the face and then with a lazy smile he said, “Don't get your hopes up now, McLuhan. You're not his type.”

Draco shut the door to the loud guffaws coming from the room and met his reflection. This time the grin didn't leave his face even after he jumped back into the shower. They would soon forget his comment and quickly go back to their game.

Draco Malfoy. Exceedingly intelligent. Astoundingly attractive. The world will never see his like again.

There. That was more like it. Now where was the soap?

*********

From the moment Orla opened her eyes, a bond of trust formed between the children and the wizard who had helped them. It was an unspoken agreement between the witches; they could trust him. He could help. And so for him, what followed was rather unexpected.

“Sir?”

It was strange.

“Sir.”

For as long as he could remember he was always Wormtail. Had always been Wormtail. A Mr. Pettigrew he had been to his professors, but that was so long ago it seemed to be another life he had led. As for his first name only three people had ever used it. It was a stern “Peter” that often came out of his mother's mouth; a quite familiar “Peter” that slipped through Lily's lips, and it was a sad yet gentle “Peter” that had fell from Remus' own mouth on the night Wormtail had gone to his master. Other than those three he had always answered to and lived by his alias, and it seemed that on that night, on the sad yet gentle “Peter” night, it was the last time anyone was ever to call him by his birth name.

Hours after he had escaped from certain death and into the arms of a rather curious immortality, it was to be seen that he had left the boy Peter behind and was now completely, and almost regretfully, Wormtail. Therefore it was to that name he now associated himself with and answered to. No one had ever called him otherwise.

So naturally this `Sir' business was incredibly unsettling and rather awkward, though it had a quite refreshing note to it he found. At times in the loneliness of his room he often thought of the word with a sort of alien fondness. They weren't patronizing him, nor were they choosing to be submissive or obedient. Far from it. Instead the title was used in a strangely familiar manner, as if they were addressing an older brother or teasing a close professor of theirs. It was all very confusing.

“Sir?”

When they called him that, he always never thought to answer. It was if he was testing them to see if they were truly speaking to Peter Pettigrew the man and not some delirious vision, for that was who they must be addressing. For the title simply could not be associated with Wormtail the rat, but rather Peter the wizard. It was a small hope that he sometimes allowed himself to glance at.

“Sir?” the one named Petra was calling him now.

“Yes?” he asked quietly as he dressed Orla's bandages.

“Did you bring this?” With a pointing finger she indicated the tray of food on the floor.

Wormtail glanced at the steaming plates and nodded before turning his attention back to the bandages. “Yes.”

“Why?” Petra asked.

Wormtail paused in thought. Why had he brought the tray down? Was it an action of rebellion? No, when he had conjured the food no thought of disobeying his master had ever crossed his mind.

He knew the children were hungry. He knew the food the guards were bringing into the room did nothing to satiate the hunger, and he knew the feeling of the coarse, piercing starvation that could gnaw and scrape at your insides. No one should have to go through that. So quite naturally he thought to bring them the tray.

Was there another motif behind that? Did he need to explain to the child the sudden desire to bring them proper warm food? No. And so as he delicately traced his wand over Orla's arm in healing, he said simply in a gruff voice, “Because you were hungry.”

And yes that seemed to be enough, for Petra's lips pressed into a thin line, her forehead creased in thought and she made her way to the tray, knelt and began to eat. The other two followed after little hesitation.

They never talked to him, save for small moments such as the one that had passed. He was content with that and so, it seemed, were they. He felt their eyes on him but he never returned their stare. He only did what he was ordered to do, and that was to care for the one that was sick.

He raised the spoon to Orla's parched lips and she swallowed gratefully. With intelligent and curious eyes she watched him care for her and she wondered if there was anything behind this. It had taken a while for her not to jerk her limbs back whenever he had come near, but as the days passed Orla came to accept his closeness and the sudden jerk turned into a cringe which shifted to a slight fluttering of the eyes, and morphed into the solemn look that became her greeting.

Now on the days that she found strength to speak, she sometimes whispered teasingly as if she was speaking to an older brother, “Thanks, doc.” The first time she had done so Wormtail looked at her in surprise; his small eyes widening as far as they could go, which was not that far, but then his lips twitched and he silently continued with his work.

She was getting better. Now if he only had the strength and possibly the courage to do the next step. The question was would he get caught? Oh he most certainly would.

“You hungry, sir?” The one named Emma called out.

At first he had not wanted to learn their names, but only do what he was assigned. It soon though came to be quite difficult to not file their names away, and that small familiarity regretfully allowed them to seep into his skin. He briefly turned to Emma and shook his head saying, “I've already eaten.”

Emma shrugged and continued to shovel the food into her mouth while Adel wiped the corners of hers with the tips of her finger and thumb. “How's she doing?” she asked him.

Wormtail refused to turn his head and look in her direction. Even after all this time he still could not bring himself to look at her and not be reminded of Lily.

He placed the warm slice of bread in Orla's hand and allowed her the moment to feed herself. Slowly, as if painfully, she raised her arm to her mouth and then gratefully bit into the steaming bread and chewed. Wormtail fed her more soup. “She's getting better,” he said.

“How do you know?” Emma said, swallowing a mouthful and turning a suspicious eye his direction.

“Because she can eat.”

And as if enforcing his statement, Orla took another bite, turned to her friends and gave them a very bread-y smile. Emma smirked and Petra let out an appreciative laugh while Adel wrinkled her nose in disgust. Wormtail stayed silent and waited for the girl to finish chewing before he gave her the last spoonful. Then he stood up, wincing as his knees cracked and he looked irately at the solid bare floor. He had to get some carpet in here or at least some mattresses, even if they were old ones.

“I'll come back later with your dinner.”

Adel watched him go. “Not…not anytime before?” Her silver eyes were hard now and they glinted in the candle light. No longer was she the silent one who lingered away from the others and separated herself from any form of interaction. That had changed from the moment she had taken the knife in her hands. He guessed it was only inevitable for them to come out much different than from whom they were when they came in.

“No,” he answered. “My master doesn't have any need for any of you for a couple of weeks.”

“Why?” Adel asked. “What happened?”

“He's busy,” was all Wormtail allowed himself to say before he shut the door behind him.

**********

“Hey.” Someone had trotted to Hermione's side as she patiently waited for the deserted staircase to shift back to its original spot.

“Hello,” Hermione said to Eran who seemed to be struggling with her satchel. “Do you need any help with that?” she asked the younger girl as she reached to catch a book that slipped from Eran's arms. The book clattered to the floor.

“Thanks,” Eran said and sighed heavily. “I'm horrendously late.”

“For class?”

“Pfft, no. If it was class I wouldn't be in such a rush, would I?”

Hermione pursed her lips and sniffed. “That's not really the right attitude to have, Eran.”

Eran waved her hand impatiently. “I know I know. This is my future, I should be grateful I'm here, I'm lucky and all. Don't worry, Hermione. It's only Binns' class that I'm not very fond of.”

Before another word could escape Hermione's lips, Eran let another book fall to the ground and she swore loudly. Hermione bent to scoop the fallen books in her arms.

“Do you really need all of these with you?”

“Well I'm meeting a friend for some study time, so yes I do need all of these things. I'd shove them into my satchel if I could, but there's this gigantic rip and I can't seem to find anyone who could-”

Without a thought, Hermione repaired her bag. “There. I've even placed an enlarging charm so you can fit all you want in there. It won't be any lighter, but it will take the weight off your arms,” she said and Eran beamed at her.

She stuffed the remaining books into her bag. “Wow, not even a bulge. You're amazing, you know that?”

Hermione shook her head. “It's a really simple spell. You'll be learning it soon.”

“Yeah, what with the curriculum change, I'll probably catch a few more useful spells.”

Hermione gave her a smile. “Professor Dumbledore is only being careful. It's good to know the younger students would be capable of protecting themselves if anything were to happen.”

Eran nodded. “Yeah, speaking of careful how are you with the, erm, You-Know-Who stuff?”

Hermione blinked and Eran flushed. “I'm sorry. I'm such a big mouth, I shouldn't have-”

“No, it's alright. I'm just surprised, that's all. You know, you're probably the first student to ask me that.”

Eran grinned. “Do I get a medal?”

“A small one.”

“Works for me.”

The stairs fell back into place with a jolt and Eran adjusted her straps. “Well, I'm off. Take care of yourself, hey?”

“You too, Eran, and thanks for your concern and everything.”

“Anytime, and hey, you don't need me to cheer you up. You're Hermione Granger after all. Don't let the baddies get to you.” Then she was off down the corridor lined with armoured knights that seemed to salute her as she passed, and once around the corner she was gone.

Hermione, clutching her own books to her chest, made her way up another staircase and waited patiently as this too shifted to another hall; the stones grinding against each other with a heavy groan. She was quite early to meet Harry and Ron in their Room of Relaxation tonight, but she thought that with the extra hour she could get some reading done. The library was no longer an ideal place for study she found as of late. What with the recent news of her “going insane” as a cost of her “being controlled by the most evil wizard in existence”, (these bits were only snatches of conversation that ever so idly managed to reach her nearby ears) people found that the most important thing to do in this situation was stare. And stare they did. People found it not very hard to be obvious about it either.

Ron once told her that she should just hold a contest of her own and see who breaks the stare first. Immediately after that statement he was awarded with a nice aching lump on his head from a book she was reading. Madame Pince's roaming eyes were absent at the moment of attack. Regrettably, Ron's idea was not carried out and Hermione was forced to bare the staring eyes and loud whispers, thinking that this could be very much akin to Harry's experiences.

But all thoughts aside, she was to meet her best friends in an hour and all of their troubles were to be pushed away for the night. Presently, she wanted to only dwell on the moment at hand, as all of the troubles were becoming quite tiring and tedious.

Glancing up and down the deserted corridor, Hermione placed her hand on the doorknob and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her with a contented sigh. There were no eyes to watch her in here.

“…not very smart….should have….”

Her plan was to settle down in a nice comfortable chair and read a book until Harry arrived and she trotted up the stairs to the second floor to do just that. Browsing the shelves, she ran her finger along the spines of the books all lined up and crammed in together.

“Don't tell me…decision…can do about it…”

She pulled out a particularly thick one with loopy writing, and walked to the far corner where a chair sat by a bay window. The rows of bookshelves obscured her view of downstairs and would most assuredly hide her from view, but that didn't matter at the moment. Settling in her chair, she laid the book on her lap and opened it to the first page; her eyes feasted upon the words written. Already the noises of the outside world began to blur and fade as the book drew her in.

“You….always…I hate it when…..”

Roused from her reading by the incessant voices that managed to penetrate through both the door and her skull, Hermione couldn't help but glance in the direction of the shut door.

By the sounds of it two people were arguing and she was sure that their raised voices would bring about inspection. The muffled voices grew louder as they approached the room and they seemed to stop right in front of the door.

“I don't believe this.” Hermione muttered to herself. She stood, ready to bound down the stairs and out march out the door to reprimand them when the door opened on its own and a tall young man with shocking blonde hair slicked back with perfection stumbled into the room. He straightened and turned to face his assailant; an equally tall red headed girl, who marched in after him and firmly shut the door.

Neither Draco nor Ginny noticed Hermione up above them, and Hermione didn't make a move as she was too surprised by their sudden appearance. No time was wasted though and they continued their shouting match until Ginny was red in the face and Draco's eyes were narrowed slits of silver.

“What did you do that for?!”

“You said you wanted to find someplace private to talk about this, and I found us one!”

“You didn't have to shove me, Ginevra!”

“Well you should have walked in then!”

“We're not going to talk about this!”

“Yes we are! You never want to talk about anything that has to do with us so how are we supposed to fix our problems if you're always avoiding them?!”

“I'll fix them on my own!”

Ginny let out a barking laugh at this then said, “Oh, god, that is exactly what I'm talking about. You always have to do everything on your own!”

“Because I'll fix it, if I do!”

“No! No, you daft idiot, it will never be fixed with just you working at it. We are in a relationship Draco. A relationship. And how many people are involved in a relation-”

“Hang it, Ginny!”

“TWO PEOPLE!” Ginny roared. “It takes two people to make a relationship work! So if there's a problem then we need two people, that means you and me to-”

“I'm not fucking incompetent, I can-”

“You're not sodding listening to me! I'm not saying you're incompetent! I'm saying you're an arse! You never want to talk about anything with me unless it involves snogging.”

Draco's face darkened. “That's not true and you fucking know it.”

Ginny's eyes flared. “Really? Are you quite sure of that?”

Silence hung over them as Ginny waited for an answer and Draco didn't give her one. The two of them stared at each other, one daring the other to speak as if it was a game, a contest. The first to speak loses!

As those long moments continued to pass, Ginny's shoulders visibly sagged and when she spoke her voice was tired, almost pleading.

“You never. Tell me. Anything. I don't know what's going on inside your head. I feel as if I'm always second guessing what you're feeling from one day to the next, and when you slip up you just pat me on the head and tell me to run along and play. I'm not a child Draco.”

Draco sighed heavily. “I didn't say you were.”

“But you treat me like one.”

Draco didn't know what to say to this so he continued to stare at her as if she could find the comfort and apology in his eyes. All in vain it seemed, for Ginny took a step towards him as if appealing to him and said in a quite voice, “Talk to me. Tell me what's going on.”

A pained expression took a hold of Draco's features and he looked as if he was struggling with himself. His mouth screwed up, his eyes squeezed shut for the barest of moments, his fists tight; nails digging into the palms of his hands. “I can't,” he rasped.

She bit her lip furiously as her eyes welled up. “I was willing to give them up for you.”

Draco knew exactly who `they' were, and he ran agitated fingers through his hair.

“Ginny-”

“I told my mum and dad. My brothers will know by now, and I don't know what I'm gonna-” she brought a hand to her face and shut her eyes. “Oh god, the twins,” she moaned in half despair, half exasperation.

He wanted to say “Fuck the twins. Fuck them all. They can say and believe whatever they want it doesn't matter, Freckles.” But all that managed to escape his lips was a muttered, “Fuck them.”

Then Ginny eyes snapped open, her hand fell from her face and she stared at him in disbelief. Draco couldn't believe he had said that either but there they were; the cards lay on the table, easy pickings for all to see. Now he stood with his arms at his sides and watched her lovely features of incredulity twist into anger and all he could think of were the words: I'm sorry.

It first appeared ignited in her eyes, deep pools of blue fire that sparked their blazing fury, before it gradually made itself apparent down the rest of her body; down to her cheeks, brushing it with rouge; down to her chest rising and falling with each breath; and down, down along the length of her frame which quaked with small tremors, arms bent at the elbows ready to take a swing, fingers splayed, feet spread apart.

“Fuck them?”

In one swift movement she took a step, raised a hand and brought it down fiercely upon his cheek.

SLAP! Draco blinked and his head moved a fraction from the impact.

“Fuck them?”

SLAP! Her hand whipped across his face again and he raised his eyes to meet hers.

“Is that all you can say? Are those that supposed to be your words of comfort?”

SLAP! Again. Her speech emphasized by the sharp sounds of the hand making contact with the face.

“Is that supposed to make everything better?! Fuck them?! Look it's ALL FIXED NOW!”

And it seemed that one hand was nearly not enough for she began using both hands, swinging wildly, and he stood there doing nothing to avoid the blows and feeling each one fall upon his cheek, his shoulder, his chest.

And the tears were falling freely now, and her hair was in disarray, and she cared no longer if she was hurting him or not because all that existed was the man who could so casually brush her aside with two words and her wonder at how in the world she could still care for him.

“You don't give a shit about how I feel!” she screamed.

“Ginny,” he finally murmured, bringing his hands up to try and still her thrashing arms.

“You never listen to a word I say!”

“Gin,”

“And it is sodding clear to me now, that you don't give a damn about what is important to me.”

With a sudden tug Draco held her still and she paused and held his gaze with her cold stare.

“So what the fuck are we doing?” she said, her voice now growing quiet and almost devoid of emotion. “Why all the fuss? Why don't we just end it.”

Silence. The room was heaving with it, and now it was Draco's turn to look at her in complete and utter disbelief at her words.

The two stood still, the staring contest taken up once again, one disbelieving, one defiant and so the flurry of movement that happened next quiet surprised all members of the room.

“You stupid, daft, little girl,” was all he murmured before he kissed her; lips muffled her cry of surprise and with that action the tension that was thick in the room broke and dispersed. Draco pulled away, his lungs drawing in air and he took a hold of her arms again as if preventing her from escaping.

“You, stupid, daft, idiotic woman. I listen to every single word you say; every syllable; every sound. Sometimes I just want to rip my sodding ears off, but that's no good because I still hear your voice in my head, and do you want to know why? That's because every single sodding thing that you have said to me is tucked away inside. Buried so fucking deep that no one, not even the Dark Lord himself can tear it out with those sharp long fingers of his.

`I know and I remember. I know that you find it amusing that I furrow my brows when I read. I know that you think noon is prettier than a sunset. I know that it makes you laugh when I call McGonagall batty, but you don't really want to laugh because it's not that funny really. I know that out of all of your brothers you love think Charlie is the coolest, the twins are the funniest, and that you love Ron the most. I know that you hate it when you have to lie to Harry and Ron about coming to meet me.

`I know that you secretly love your mother's sandwiches even though they are dry most of the time. I know that when you were a child, you wanted to fly without a broom and tried to do it once, and you failed. Horribly. But that's what made Bill get you that broom. I know that Ron and your mum never left your side then, and you secretly gave Ron your left over soup that you didn't want.

`I know that you think highly of what Hermione thinks of you and you're terrified of how Fred and George are going to think of us. I know that you don't like the fact that I tell Blaise more than what I tell you, and I know that the fight you had with Ron was the worst you've ever had, and you hated the way he looked at you, but you hate even more that he's still talking to you when you know that he has all the right to ignore your existence.”

Draco's speech only succeeded in surprising Ginny even more, and she stayed silent, entranced, captivated by his voice and the words that carried and reached her ears.

She knew she was going to cry again. Draco's grip on her loosened and he slowly rubbed his hands along her arms.

“You think that I don't care. And now you want to just break off and walk away? Well fuck you, Freckles. You don't get to walk away. You're not gonna to go all Gryffindor on me and play the tragic hero. There are reasons why I don't tell you everything. Sodding hell, Ginny, there's a reason why everyone's so against us being together. I'm the baddie remember? I do the dirty work. I botched up the comforting part because I'm not any good at it, and I know it's a stupid excuse but it's the truth. So I make due with what I know.

`And what I know is that there is no way in hell that I'm gonna let you get hurt. So I keep things from you. I distance myself from you not because `I don't give a damn' as you so eloquently put it, but because I care about you, you stupid, overly sensitive lunatic. I care about you. I know what and who you consider important, and so I do what I can to help them because I know that helping them means helping you. And in a way, it's as if I'm telling you everything without you getting hurt.

`The less you know, the safer you are, and I don't want you giving me any shit about how you can take care of yourself, you're independent, you're not to be coddled because you were coddled all your life. It's better being coddled. You can't be coddled when you're dead.”

“I'm not going to die,” she whispered reassuringly, but Draco shook his head.

“Don't say that. Everyone dies. And if you go on in thinking you're too young, too strong, too skilled in magic then yeah, you're going to die. Listen to me, Ginny. Just listen. I know you're not a damsel in distress. I know that in a fight you'll hold your own and take some baddies down. Hell, I know first hand that your bat bogey hex is deadly, but this isn't a game. This isn't exciting. You've got to let me do these things on my own.

`So don't ask me any more what I'm doing, and why I'm keeping secrets because I'm not going to tell you. As for your family and friends, yeah I know I was an arse about them. But you know what? Yeah. Fuck them. It didn't originally come out right, but it works. Fuck them. Whatever they think about us is irrelevant. It doesn't matter. Why? Because we don't care. Because we're too crazy about each other to care. You know they love you and eventually they'll come around.” Draco paused and thought for a moment. “Except for Percy. But he's a wanker so it doesn't matter.”

Ginny smiled and let out a small laugh, and Draco's face softened as he reached a hand up and gently brushed her tears away. “Alright? So no crying now. I'm an arse I know, but I'm a crazy arse who's fallen for you so you'll have to put up with me.” Draco wrapped his arms around her and rested his reddened cheek against hers. “And if you ever mention ending it again, I'll pinch you.”

Ginny pulled away slightly a playful glint in her eyes. “Pinch me? What kind of a threat is that Mr. Big Bad Death Eater?”

“Oh it's the best kind. A dab of pain, leaves a little mark, but it doesn't harm the victim overall.”

“You think You-Know-Who will start using pinches?”

“I think he'll take it into consideration. Now come on then I'll walk you to your portrait.”

He opened the door to an empty hallway and she took his hand.

“Sorry for shouting,” she said over her shoulder as they paused in the doorway

Smiling he said, “No you're not,” and he closed the door behind them.

Hermione slowly shut the book that still lay on her lap and stared out the window at the glowing moon. A second later the door opened again with a small creak. She rose to her feet and put the book back on the shelf, and then walked over to the rail that overlooked the main floor. Harry stood in the middle of the room rolling up the invisibility cloak and Ron was busy laying food on the table.

“Do you believe him?” Hermione called down to them.

Harry looked up at her. “It was quite a speech.”

Ron shrugged. “Percy is a wanker.”

Hermione came downstairs and she looked at the food on the table. They must have taken a pit stop at the kitchen, and Dobby had been ever so generous as usual. It seemed the Draco problem and if there was one would have to be discussed at a later date, seeing as no one was really in the mood for talking about him at the moment, and the food was on the table.

“How are your knees?” she asked as Ron handed her a slice of cake.

Ron rubbed said knees and flopped onto the couch. “Christ, they feel as if their about to break off. I didn't think I'd ever be able to stand again.”

“So I take it wasn't a comfortable trip?” Hermione teased.

“Dunno if I even remember what comfort is, but Harry enjoyed it all I reckon. Didn't complain once and half way through it he got quite chummy too.”

Hermione laughed and raised an eyebrow at Harry who took a seat on the floor and began unwrapping a chocolate frog. He tossed the wrapper at Ron's head.

“You had to hold onto me too, you git.”

“Shh, don't tell Hermione. She's known to be the jealous one.”

“I am not!”

“Erm, maybe you've blocked it from memory, but I do remember that you're the one who sent birds from hell to peck me to death.”

“I only did that because you were acting like a prat snogging Lavendar in every inch of the school.”

“Yeah, well that's what you do with a girlfriend. If you weren't jealous, you wouldn't have acted so violently.”

“I was not jealous. You were acting horrid to your friends.”

“That's just an excuse. I was rotten with you.”

“And so I had every right to be angry.”

“No, you had every right to call me a stupid senseless git, not send a pack of wild animals at me.”

“They weren't a pack of wild animals. They were yellow canaries.”

“Act of violence means jealousy.”

“I was not jealous!”

Harry sighed as the arguing continued and he popped another frog into his mouth. “Good to know things are back to normal,” he said.

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