Okay! Finally! I have a great new beta reader (sticksrouge11) whose help & suggestions got this story out of my brain and onto the page. I promise I will update as soon as I get the chapters back, but in order to do so, I am putting "Getting Personal" on temporary hold. Okay? Oh yeah, for everyone who doesn't know, Burgosdamasco is fine with the idea I'm using (yippee).
CHAPTER 1 At the Manor
Malfoy Manor was everything Ginny Weasley had imagined, but nothing she had expected. The furniture, the wall hangings, the flooring, even the garden was absolutely exquisite. The colors and the textures were rich and luscious, coordinating in the most in the most elegant ways. The rooms were large and open, but instead of having a cold and formal feel, each one felt lived in and well cared for. The Manor and its grounds were protected with multiple, fierce charms and hexes, keeping it unplottable, and safe from prying eyes, so Ginny and Luna were free to roam as they wished.
For reason's she could not fathom, Narcissa put her up in Draco's suite of rooms, even though there were a half dozen guest suites to choose from. Being in Draco's room gave her access to his inner most being in the pictures that decorated the walls, the books on the shelves, the forgotten magazines under the mattress, and the clothes hanging in his wardrobe. Ginny didn't know whether or not she liked being in his room, as sometimes she caught his scent and her heart whispered for him.
Luna stayed in a suite next to Narcissa's room, as she was still prone to the occasional nightmare even though Draco had done an excellent job of selectively erasing her memories. She couldn't understand why Ginny sometimes stared at her with such intense sorrow in her eyes or why Narcissa Malfoy treated her so kindly, but she accepted it with her usual grace and oblivion. In fact, after only a few days at the Manor, Ginny discovered that not only had Draco erased some of her memories, but he had modified them as well. Luna recalled nothing of being in prison, she barely remembered the war, and never once said a word about Neville. Ginny wanted to ask, if not Luna then Narcissa, but she didn't.
As for Narcissa, Ginny expected her to be grieving; after all, her husband - no matter how terrible he had been - had died. And maybe she did grieve in private, for the three women spent the majority of their days alone, because when Ginny was with her, she was always full of grace. She tried to offer some sort of condolences to Narcissa about Lucius, but Narcissa brushed them off with a wave of her hand.
"Our marriage wasn't what one would call good," she said with a small smile. "at least not in our later years."
Ginny watched her one lazy afternoon as the three stretched across sun warmed benches in the garden, reading or at least pretending to. She was falling in love with the Manor, and as much as she missed her cozy room and chaotic lifestyle at the Burrow, she adored the uncharacteristic peacefulness she had found. It was true, she mused, that after the prison, she probably would have thought the Order's house to be peaceful.
"Narcissa?" she spoke, breaking the stillness.
"Yes dear?" she glanced up and set her book aside.
"I was just wondering, the first time I saw you was at the Quidditch World Cup, when it was here, and then . . . then you didn't seem so nice." Ginny felt her cheeks heat up.
Narcissa just laughed. "There was a time when I, as well as my son, truly believed that we purebloods were better than others."
Ginny watched her with her eyebrows knit together.
"Obviously, my late husband and your father have never gotten along. Rightly so I suppose, since my husband tried to kill you in your first year at Hogwarts."
Luna let out a high pitched laugh at Narcissa's words, but never looked up from her magazine.
"But, just like you already learned, war changes everything," Narcissa continued. "For the first time, I was able to admit that my husband was wrong. I witnessed terrible things, and it changed me." Narcissa stood and slowly paced the small sitting area. She stopped and leaned down to smell one of the large flowers, her blond hair falling across her face. "And I had thought it was too late to save my son. I may have been, but you weren't."
Ginny stretched against the stone bench and sighed. "But I haven't heard a word from him."
"Neither have I," she said softly, plucking the flower and handing it to Ginny.
"But he said You Know Who was going there. Draco said he was mad, furious. Don't you think it would have been in the papers?" She had taken to reading the Daily Prophet religiously, and yet there was never any mention of Draco or the prison.
"No. If something did happen there, we may not know about it yet. Or perhaps it was just . . . too great to print."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, if the Dark Lord did something, something terrible, the Ministry may not want to cause another uproar."
Ginny brought the flower to her face, using its large petals to cover the tears forming in her eyes. She missed Draco. At night, trying to sleep in his large bed, she would catch his scent or his dark laugh or his memory lingering close by, and cry until she was empty and sure she could never cry again. And she missed her family. She desperately wanted to contact them, to let them know she was still alive, still well. But Narcissa had reminded her that since her family was all prominent Order members, surely they were being watch, perhaps even by some one on the inside. If any supporter of Voldemort knew Ginny was alive, Draco would be blamed; after all, it had been Daily Prophet news for weeks when she disappeared.
Ginny hadn't known how to respond to that, so she didn't mention it anymore.
She had a hard time adjusting to the sudden freedom and spent most of her days confined to one room, unable to talk to Luna without recalling the horrors that had been forced upon her. She couldn't sleep at night without nightmares, but being awake in the dark made her unexplainably fearful, her subconscious waiting for the screams and cries and unforgivable curses. Narcissa made a dreamless sleeping potion to take every night, and slowly, it settled on Ginny that she would never be the same. No matter how long she lived, the scar on her lip may fade, but the wounds inside would probably never even heal. She didn't understand war, and spent nearly an entire week raging about it, unable to comprehend how one person's selfishness should have such devastating effects on everyone else.
The rage was exhausting, and quickly faded into an unnamed kind of depression, where Ginny went through the motions of living, but inside, she was sure she was dying. She couldn't eat anymore. It took the majority of her energy to remember that she had to dress, to bathe, to breathe. It was strange, that as much as she missed her family, she missed Draco much, much more. The silent pressure of not knowing whether Draco was still dead or alive became too much for Ginny. She stopped getting out of the bed, didn't even pretend to eat, instead she laid on top of Draco's silky green bedspread and let unspoken tears rolled into her ears.
Is he dead?
Is he alive?
Does he think about me?
Did he even care about me at all?
Does he love me?
The pain in her chest that grew larger each day was a physical one, consuming every part, every cell, every atom of her being.
Alive? Dead? Miss me? Love me?
Narcissa came to check on her, and so did Luna, but Ginny would roll over and turn away from them, unfair, she knew, since her grief was for Narcissa's son. If Draco really was gone - Dear Merlin, please, no! - then Narcissa would have lost her husband and child.
Early one morning, Ginny woke, tangled in Draco's black Egyptian cotton sheets, a smile on her lips and her memory still full of the dream she had dreamed.
I'm still here, he had whispered, waking her from a restless slumber as he climbed into his bed beside her.
Are you real? she had asked, knowing full well she was dreaming.
I'm real. And when this is all over, I'm coming back for you.
His perfect lips grazed her cheek and forehead, and this brushed across her mouth. His hands slipped under her nightgown and across her too skinny body and within seconds he had slipped himself inside of her, moving up and down, gently, slowly, leisurely, as if time were of no matter. When she came, it wasn't just once, but twice, overlapping each other and rocking her body with pleasure.
I love you, he whispered when he was finished, his breath heavy and his skin slick with sweat. I love you.
Ginny didn't want to get out of the bed yet; she wished she hadn't even woken. Draco's scent was still heavy on her lips. She lay in his bed until she could stand it no longer, and then, comforted by her dream, pulled a robe over her nightclothes and went down stairs to find Narcissa.
When she entered the large dining room, Narcissa looked up from her place at the head of the table, startled. Quickly she wiped at her eyes and folded the paper she was reading. "What a surprise to see you out of bed!" She smiled, but her voice cracked.
"Draco's still alive," Ginny said, sitting down.
"I know. I can feel it."
"Me too," she nodded, unconsciously rubbing her hands across her thighs.
"What made you change you mind?"
"I dreamed about him."
Narcissa's smile changed, but Ginny could not pinpoint how.
"What?" Ginny asked quickly. "What is it?"
"Nothing," she shook her head, and began to dispose of the newspaper. "Nothing at all."
"Can I see the paper?"
"There's nothing about Draco today."
"Tell me."
Narcissa sighed and handed Ginny the paper. Quickly, Ginny scanned the front page, her eyes widening in horror.
In the remains of what is suspected to be Dartford Prison, another body was identified. Auror Neville Longbottom's wand and remains were found late yesterday afternoon. Having disappeared nearly three months ago, his whereabouts were unknown, but the Ministry had hoped for the best . . .
"The remains?" Ginny repeated. "Why didn't you tell me he was gone?"
"I didn't know for sure," Narcissa shook her head, her eyes glistening. "Draco asked me not to speak of him to Luna, but I wasn't positive."
"Draco knew?"
"I suppose. Or he suspected."
"He erased him from her memory, didn't he?" Ginny sat heavily in the straight backed chair.
Narcissa nodded.
After a long silence, Ginny asked, "Do you think he did it?"
Narcissa didn't answer her. "Make sure Luna doesn't see that paper. You don't want to trigger anything."
"Do you?"
"I don't know. I don't want to think so, but I honestly don't know."
Ginny watched her said face for several moments before glancing back at the newspaper. "It doesn't mention a memorial."
"I noticed that, but now is not a safe time for our kind to gather in large numbers."
"It doesn't seem fair to keep her from it," Ginny said sadly.
The look on Narcissa's face said clearly, Since when is life fair? "I know," she answered.
"So Dartford was destroyed."
"So it seems."
Ginny shook her head. "How long ago? This doesn't say anything! He didn't tell me that."
"Ginny, you had . . . a dream."
"But it felt real."
"I know." Narcissa dabbed at her eyes again. "I know."
"So where's Draco?"
Narcissa shook her head, her blond hair falling loose and as she began to cry, Ginny joined in.
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