To be or not to be a Malfoy by Adrial

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 5
Published: 13/07/2005
Last Updated: 24/05/2008
Status: In Progress

At long last, you guys! The SEQUEL to "To be or not to be a Weasley." With Draco gone
for the summer, Ginny has to make it without knowing where his is or if he's been tracked down
by Lucius yet. And what happens when their bond is tested in the harshest way possible--The choice
between family or love?




1. Prologue
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**AN: Oh my GOSH. I can hardly believe that I got this chapter DONE. First of all, it has been
sitting on my hard drive for at least three months now in bits and pieces. I’ve barely sorted
through all the mess of false starts and pointless notes. I could’ve started fifteen new fics w/
all the different beginning chapters I wrote. But, phew! I finally finished. Last night I was
seriously contemplating leaving a note on the site to say that I’d rethought the whole sequel and
decided that I just couldn’t do it. Thankfully, I had a total epiphany tonight and actually might
have created a plot for it! So yay! And here it is. It’s going to start off fairly slowly as I
begin but it’ll pick up significantly as the chapters progress. This first chapter is just a
refresher basically and to establish everyone’s thoughts and emotions since the previous fic. I
really hope you guys still remember me and like it!**

**Enjoy!**

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To be or not to be a Malfoy

*sequel* *to “To be or not to be a Weasley”*

Prologue

Author: Adrial

*A hundred days have made me older*

*since* *the last time that I saw your pretty face
A thousand lights have made me colder*

*and I don’t think I can look at this the same
But all the miles that separate
They disappear now when I’m dreaming of your face

I’m here without you baby but you’re still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time
I’m here without you baby but your still with me in my dreams
And tonight it’s only you and me*

*
Everything I know, and anywhere I go
It gets hard but it won’t take away my love
And when the last one falls, when it’s all said and done
It gets hard but it won’t take away my love

I’m here without you baby but your still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time
I’m here without you baby but your still with me in my dreams
And tonight girl it’s only you and me…*


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An uncommonly cool breeze rustled the tattered shutters that encased a small, darkened window.
The grimy pane of glass was obscured by months of dust and neglect, and swallowed the glow of the
pale moon as it poured light onto the deserted street below. Nearby, invisible arms shook the
branches of scraggly trees that seemed to have been frozen in mid-stretch towards the sky. More or
less, not a soul lay disturbed as spring bid farewell before slipping past in the night for another
place in the world, thus leaving behind the tiny town for the wrath of summer’s fire.

On the coattails of the departing whispers of springtime, a massive figure, dressed in black
robes and armed with a heart of contrasting character, stepped into the darkened doorway below the
forgotten window. His ebony skin glowed with a sheath of light perspiration and he adjusted his
hood around his shadowed face, leaving only two luminescent blue eyes visible to the night.

Next to him, the rustle of robes followed as a second form appeared with the sound of snapping
branches. This considerably smaller figure was washed by the night’s glow as the moon peaked out
curiously from its bed of clouds to witness the new visitor’s arrival. His hesitation was evident
as he slowly removed his hood to reveal a pale face; playful moon rays glinted upon a flash of
contempt that flickered momentarily within the liquid color of his eyes before diving once again
into the black vapor that billowed ominously around them. For a moment, the tension in his
shoulders relaxed as he looked silently at his massive companion. But feeling the eyes of the night
upon his back, he swiveled his penetrating gaze to the skies as a young buck would freeze in the
forest, weary of those who craved his blood.

His escort waited a moment before grasping his shoulder and nodding away from the open street.
They stepped carefully across the cobblestone path and paused for a few seconds. After a moment, a
third anonymous figure emerged, addressing each of the two men with a careful nod. Flanked on
either end by the two imposing figures, the youngest figure closed his eyes silently for a moment,
feeling the rampage of his heart’s stress rattle against his ribcage.

The clouds parted once more for the silent orb to witness as the newly arrived man muttered
quietly into the air and the wind began to kick up around the hems of their robes. A lonely
streetlight fizzled before dying in the darkness, and the air thickened with the burning aroma of
powerful magic. The looming buildings bordering the narrow street stretched and groaned at the call
of magic, though no curious faces poked out from behind curtains to inquire the cause.

As quickly as the bustling breeze began, it halted at the feet of the three companions. More
words were silently spoken, but the only utterance that the newly buzzing night allowed was one
simple phrase.

“Welcome home, Mr. Malfoy.”


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*The Burrow*

*June 21*

Embedded in a sea of dark grass, Ginny Weasley turned over onto her side, her eyes squinted
closed. Her calm breathing was barely audible over the eerie melody of the night, but as she
dreamed, the crease between her brow deepened and only the clenching and unclenching of her fists
indicated the painful twist her heart gave every time the images faded and her world dissolved into
another snapshot of her past.

***********“Are you afraid of the dark, Weasel?”*

*“Maybe…” She bit her lip. “There used to be a ghoul up here. I’ve never actually been up here
before, well at least not without Ron or Dad or Mum. But that was ages ago…” She shivered again.
Draco smothered the impulse to hand his cloak over to her. She was actually frightened.*

*He smirked again. “Don’t worry, Weasel. The big bad ghoul isn’t going to get you.” Ginny
scoffed and smacked his arm.*

*“Wow, Ginny, with an arm like that, it’s a wonder you haven’t caused me serious
damage.”*

*“What did you just say?” She began to smirk devilishly at him. Draco didn’t like that smirk.
Not-at-all.*

*He swallowed, “Erm…that you hit like a prissy little girl?”*

*“No…before that. What did you call me?” She was smiling full-on now. Draco didn’t like that
either.*

*“Weasel?”*

*“No.”*

*“Flame-head?”*

*“I think not. I believe,” Ginny sat on her knees and practically bounced with glee, “that you
just called me Ginny.”*

A small smile played upon her sleeping face, but the visions persisted, unwilling to remain on
any one long enough for her to dwell on them. Her world turned bright with dawn and the smell of
the country filled her nose. Her hair was slick and her clothes felt as if she’d been doused with
water or, she remembered clearly, been on the back of a powerful broom, gliding through an endless
current of clouds with her arms locked tightly to keep from falling. Draco’s glaring face was
boring down upon her own.

*”You know nothing about me.”*

*“Oh, yeah?” Ginny glared at his profile, “What if I said that I could read you like a
book?”*

*“Right. Page one: Poor little Draco Malfoy—he’s so misunderstood!” His scornful tone kindled
the growing fire in his eyes.*

*Ginny hastily spat back, “Page One: Spoiled little rich boy—desperately ashamed of his
father!”*

*“Weasley…” Draco began warningly.*

*Ginny stood up furiously, “Page two: Draco Malfoy—afraid of becoming exactly what his father
wants him to be!”*

*Draco was standing now, as well. “If you don’t shut that bloody mouth of—“*

*“Page three!” Ginny continued, “Evil little slytherin biding his time until he gets his own
pretty little tattoo! Page four! Draco Malfoy is a cowardly git who is too afraid to stand up for
what he thinks is right because he’s too bloody scared of disappointing Daddy!”*

*Draco lunged at her, pinning her to the ground with his entire body, a vicious snarl smeared
across his face.*

*“Would you like me to turn to page five, Malfoy?”*

In her sleep, Ginny rocked and quaked. She knew what the next sequence of images would be. It
had been the same for two weeks; those faces, long and narrow black streaks of fear, luminescent
green orbs for eyes. They held Ginny’s fears in core of their being, and every time they haunted
her dreams, she would be enveloped in a suffocating cloud of anxiety that hovered gloomily over her
for days afterward, exactly like that night she’d spent in the infirmary last term, battling
against the hallucinations.

And then like clockwork, he would appear. Blue eyes turned hollow silver, skin the a shade
darker than death, smirking with hatred so tangible, she could hardly breathe around it.

*“It’s too late, Ginevra.”*

*Ginny’s eyes snapped open. Her lungs were burning unbearably, but she willed her heart to
keep beating.*

*“N-no…I…Dra—“*

*“There is no Draco, Ginny. He’s only a Malfoy. Always a Malfoy.”*

*Tears spilled from Ginny’s eyes, as his cold lips brushed against her ear once more.*

*“Never your Draco, again.”*

*“NO!!”*

As if breaking free of invisible steel chains, Ginny bolted upright into the night, turbulent
pools of brown darting around her fearfully. Her chest heaved and her eyes quaked with tears as she
drew her legs to her chest, rocking back and forth to calm her racing heart. From above, Venus
winked and glittered but the swaying girl noticed nothing. After taking a few long minutes to calm
herself, Ginny craned her neck and drank in the farewell aroma of spring, feeling the hot, sticky
humidity of the summer night cling to her hair and neck. She sighed, curling her feet into the soft
blanket of grass that surrounded her like a dark sea.

The moon’s rays flirted with the gentle curve of her cheekbones and small nose. Her auburn hair
turned black in the night lay strewn around her in a halo while she absently twirled her curly ends
with her index finger, trying with every ounce of her being to dull the ache in her chest. The heat
of the night seemed to stifle her, yet she remained completely immobile. Truthfully, she feared
that movement would make her existence in the current moment all too real to her. It had been
something that she’d feared for nearly two weeks now—trying to outrun her reality.

Devilishly, the rays lit upon two crystals in the corners of Ginny’s eyes. The round gems
quivered in their places for a moment before losing their grip on the edge of their auburn-lashed
cliff. They slipped solemnly down, winding across pale freckles and two pink lips pursed tightly
together.

Using her last defense, Ginny closed her eyelids over the accumulating moisture, but her will
was not strong enough. A thin silver line wriggled beneath her lashes and dove over her face with
fierce rebellion.

Above the battle of will and emotion, stars blinked brightly on the horizon as wispy clouds
overtook the sky, promising rain. Ginny’s heart gave one last painful throb and her body quaked
with the force. Curling onto her side, she fought away her fear and anxiety. The longer those
dreams haunted her nights, the more she feared for the worst.

Had the last year been for nothing? What would the summer bring? She mulled over these thoughts,
trying to sort out reasonable answers yet overcome by more questions that popped into her mind
before any reason was formed.

She took in a shaky breath and tried to calm herself. It had been the first time she had cried
since leaving Draco on the platform two weeks prior. For a while, perhaps the first few days or so,
she had actually believed that she would be alright. So what if she had no idea where Draco was? As
long as Dumbledore was confident in his safety, she was sure no harm would come to him. But then
there was the possibility that Dumbledore had misjudged his plan; what if Lucius, by some cruel
trick of dark magic, had slipped into his secret hiding place and stolen Draco in the night?

That day in the *Daily Prophet,* the announcement of the Ministry’s continued wizard-hunt
for Lucius Malfoy was printed in bold on the front cover. On the corner of the article was a
picture of Draco, her Draco, standing beside him in a portrait. His face was strained yet every bit
as aristocratic as she remembered. What was troubling was the allegation captioned beneath the
photo.

*As the hunt for one of You-know-who’s most dangerous followers, Lucius Malfoy, continues the
Ministry of Magic stresses to all to be on the look out. Malfoy is rumored to have rejoined his
fellow Death Eater fellows and, once again, these reckless criminals are not to be approached…While
authorities search tirelessly for Lucius, his immediately family, wife Narcissa and 17 year old son
Draco Malfoy, have been unable to be reached for comment. When questioned, sources say that no one
has seen or heard from Mrs. Malfoy or her son in months. Their whereabouts remain uninvestigated;
however, ministry officials say they will be on the lookout…It isn’t bold to say that both may be
helping hide Lucius or, worse, joined ranks beside their Death Eater husband and father in his
continued loyalty to You-Know-Who.*

Ginny had flung down the paper as if it were on fire. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to
survive three months if that was the rubbish she would be subjected to every day—having to wait for
the paper to tell her if Draco had been found, if he’d been taken by his father, if Dumbledore’s
security had been finally breeched. She didn’t know how she would be able to handle any more.

To exacerbate her situation, her brother had constructed a Ron-sized wall around himself to ward
her off. He wouldn’t speak to her until she vowed to admit to her relationship with Draco and to
cut off all contact with him at the same time. She blatantly refused and forced herself to believe
that it was none of his bloody business in the first place who she saw or didn’t. As far as she was
concerned, the only contact she would be having with Draco during the summer, anyway, was the
longing hope that he might actually think of her.

At least he hadn’t gone totally stark raving mad and blurted it all to their family, but she
could only count on his silence for so long. He probably didn’t want to give their mother a heart
attack. How bloody noble of him.

Ginny leaned back on her elbows and sighed. Her stomach was already swimming in anxiety as the
following morning’s post drew nearer. She shook her head to try to clear her mind of worry, though
only managing to jumble together the horrible visions of Draco’s name listed in black as one of
those attacked recently by a Death Eater, or worse…attacked and *killed.*

The screen door of her house suddenly creaked open and light flooded the back yard.

“Oy, Gin! Mum says if you don’t get your skinny ar—“

*“Ronald!”*

“What I *meant* to say is that our lovely Mum says if you don’t get in here now, she’s
going to give your share of dinner to the ghoul!”

Two shadows spilled out over the lawn and Ginny shifted her weight on her elbows, just making
out her mother and brother who were probably standing there with their eyes squinted against the
night, peeled for any sight of her.

Every part of her body felt as if it weighed about ten times its proper weight as she heaved
herself onto her feet, her chest feeling heaviest of all.

“I’ll be right there, Mum!” She called. The two forms illuminated by the light pouring out from
the kitchen retreated back inside at her response, and Ginny was left to walk the short distance to
her house in silence.

As she stepped inside, she barely had time to remove her dew-slicked shoes before she was
assaulted by a large, very itchy animal.

The animal, as it were, turned out to be an old dusty throw that Mrs. Weasley had wrapped around
her shoulders.

“I don’t know why you insist upon lying about in the dark at all hours of the evening like
that—How are we to know if anything happened to you?” She looked at her daughter sternly, ignoring
her exasperated pleas of “I’m fine, Mum!”.

“You’ll be just fine when you’ve eaten a decent meal and had a nice warm bath. Now sit down and
tuck in. We’re expecting Harry soon.”

Ginny shrugged off the horribly uncomfortable blanket and slid into her seat next to Ron’s. The
table was littered fit to feed a small regiment with thick puddings, steaming meat and endless cups
of pumpkin juice. But as Ginny stared at the small feast, she found her stomach turning and curling
over itself rather uncomfortably.

“Mum, I don’t think—“

“Ginevra Weasley, there’ll be none of that tonight. I’ve let you get away with skipping lunch
three days in a row. You will eat this meal and every other one that is set before you and be
thankful that you have one in the first place.” Mrs. Weasley scolded Ginny with red cheeks.

Just then, Ron noisily stumbled into the kitchen. He was toting a large trunk and large owl
cage. Inside, a beautiful ivory owl hooted agitatedly as her carrier unceremoniously plopped her
cage down on the floor beside the entrance.

“Tonks has just flown this in. I asked her to stay for a bit and eat but she looked rather
fussed about something and hurried off,” He shrugged and fished around for some of Pig’s old owl
treats to pacify Harry’s owl, Hedwig.

“I’m sure it was nothing, Ron. Why don’t you set Harry’s things in the den for now? Mundungus
owled just a moment ago to say that Harry will be escorted here later this evening.” Mrs. Weasley
busied herself with setting a place for Harry to eat later. He would have sat next to Fred, but
there were no more places set for any other visitors and the latter end of the table remained
empty.

Ginny took a moment to realize the staggering changes that had occurred in their household over
the past couple of years. At the table seated for ten, only three places had been set, yet the food
still spilled from one end to the other. Bill and Charlie, now both working full-time for the
Order, were each stationed in secret locations at the moment. They usually received an owl from
both at least once every two weeks to let their family know that they were “alright, just
busy.”

Percy….Well, Ginny quickly wrote of thoughts of him. She’d gotten used to his empty seat long
ago. Then there was Fred and George who had been swamped with the success of their rapidly growing
franchise. They were even in negotiations to open shop in Hogsmeade in the fall and had been
shacking up there while scouting a location.

Mr. Weasley was gone nearly every night and returned early in the morning, eyes puffy and
sleep-deprived, where he slept until ten and left again for another day at the ministry and night
with the Order.

And so there were three. The empty feeling of their home was so suffocating to Ginny that she,
at times, would knock over books or leave the wireless volume up just to fill the house with the
sounds of would-be inhabitants. Even Ron had been locked up in his room most of the time, though no
longer because of his row with Ginny. She secretly wondered if he was planning to open his own joke
shop with the way random owls would fly in and out of his bedroom window during the day just as in
the days when Fred and George received their secret orders over the summer.

Of course, she was too overwhelmed with her own ails to fret over her remaining brother’s odd
behaviour. She’d worry when he *stopped* doing strange things. She longed for the day that
Hermione would come to stay for the remainder of the summer as she usually did; it would be nice to
have a female to talk things over with.

Ginny slowly ate a bite of food and chewed for a moment before mumbling, “Will we be spending
the summer at Grim—“

“Ginny…” Her mother warned her. They were to be on the lookout at all times and that meant
watching any mention of Order business.

“Erm…we will be spending this summer like the last one?” Ginny played with her Yorkshire
pudding. Ron greedily filled his plate and tore off a turkey leg.

Mrs. Weasley shrugged, “I don’t know, dear. With the way things have been lately, it might…it
might be best after all for us to have a…safe place to go.” She seemed to have to force out her
response. Ginny and Ron glanced at each other knowingly.

During the last few months the homes of three aurors had been attacked. Though no one seemed to
have been harmed, The Order had been on its toes ever since—one of the homes had belonged to a
cousin of Kingsley Shacklebot’s. Mad-Eye and Tonks came by the day after news broke of the attacks
to raise defense shields against the Burrow. “Just in case,” they’d said.

The feeling that their home was no longer the safe haven of their youth overwhelmed both Ron and
Ginny, but Mrs. Weasley seemed to be having the most difficult time with the realization. With the
war in motion, hardly any place could be called “safe” any longer.

The party of three finished their meal with mounds of leftovers still remaining a short while
later. Mrs. Weasley kissed each of them in turn before heading upstairs to bed, leaving the dishes
to wash themselves in the kitchen sink.

Ron yawned rather loudly and patted his sister on the top of her head.

“Best be getting to sleep myself. Wonder what’s keeping Harry…” He turned to her for her
thoughts but Ginny was already off on her own train of thought and barely heard him.

“Gin?” He received no response and shrugged. “G’night then.”

Ginny was kneeling by Hedwig, offering her a stale owl treat and staring off into space
silently. After Hedwig had calmed down a bit, Ginny opened the door of her cage and let her stretch
her wings on the kitchen floor. Grateful for the break from her tight confinement, Hedwig flapped
up onto Ginny’s shoulder gracefully and affectionately nipped her earlobe.

“You really are a beautiful owl, Hedwig…” Ginny stroked one of her ivory wings and admired the
effect of moonlight on her feathers. She walked to the door leading to the back yard and carefully
opened it. Hedwig wasted no time before dashing off of Ginny’s shoulder and off into the early
night and Ginny watched her wings fly against moon rays until she became a spot in the clouds and
her eyes stung from the strain.

Just as she was about to close the screen door and head up to bed herself, a group of dark
shadowed figures dotting the night sky above caught her gaze. Startled, Ginny fell back against the
doorframe, her heart beating faster than ever. They were flying lower and lower, circling around a
central figure and heading straight for the yard of which she was facing.

Every cell of her wanted to turn back into the house and yell for help but the dark cloaked
figures were speeding so quickly towards the earth that she barely had a chance to slip back into
the house and into the kitchen, when five figures landed softly on the dark grass not ten yards
from her.

The central flyer, his broom slung over his shoulder, seemed to be staring directly through the
door and at her. He nodded towards one of his comrades who had been speaking softly to him for a
moment. Behind them, a shorter figure hitched his cloak around him and had his face craned toward
the sky, possibly to see any signs of having been followed. After a minute, he seemed satisfied
enough and turned back around to the mingling people around him. In the night, a round, electric
blue bulb situated right where an eye would have been on his face blinked brightly.

Ginny felt her fears slide off her like water, and she shook her head for having been so
paranoid. Smiling, she threw open the door and jogged over to the group.

“Harry!” She grinned at the flyer who had been in the middle of the others and ran up to him.
His hair was messier than ever and he was cold as ice when she wrapped her arm around him in a
quick embrace.

“Wotcher, Gin!” A tall, red-headed witch strode around them and beamed down at Ginny. Tonks
could have been mistaken for Ginny’s older sister with her auburn tresses and freckled cheeks. Her
eyes shone a dark shade of blue.

Mad-Eye Moody stalked over to them and grunted, “Why don’t you just bleeding call out to the
town who we’ve got ‘ere? Blimey…kids…” He growled but Ginny ignored him.

“Calm down, Mad-Eye.” A pale-faced man said. Ginny turned to him and waved in greeting.

“Hello, Professor Lupin.” Remus’ cheeks were as thin and sallow as ever, and Ginny remembered
the full moon that was spilling out over them that very moment. She wondered if the potion was
strong enough to sustain his broom-flying and hoped it was. He looked as if it was taking a
super-human effort for him to just keep standing.

“We better be off, Remus. Dumbledore will be expecting us.” A wizard with a very wheezy, aged
voice said. Ginny remembered him to be Elphias Doge.

“Right you are, Elphias. We’ll be seeing you too soon, I expect.” Lupin smiled weakly at Harry
and Ginny and mounted his broom. Ginny bit back the urge to invite him to rest the night there; she
didn’t want to offend him by suggesting he was too weak to handle Order business in his
condition.

“Thanks, guys,” Harry breathed, still shivering. Tonks gave them both another bone-crushing hug
and hopped onto her broom as well. Mad-Eye simply gestured to his eye without saying a word. Ginny
and Harry both nodded to his reminder to be on the lookout at all times. Elphias nodded to them and
soon enough, they were watching the four figures disappear in the clouds.

“Let’s get you inside, Potter, before you freeze to death.”

“That’d be nice, thanks,” Harry grinned and followed Ginny into the kitchen.

“So…how’s everything?” He said as Ginny started the water on the stove and took out a tea cup
for him.

Ginny didn’t look up from her work when she replied. “Oh, fine, fine…Ron’s been up to something
in his room ever since we got back, but other than that, normal as ever.” She handed him the cup
and shrugged.

“Normal? Here?” He snorted into his tea. Ginny laughed and sighed.

“Yeah, well…Mum says we might have to stay at headquarters for the summer. Everyone’s gotten
really shaken up since the attacks last month.”

Harry stared at his cup silently for a moment. “Er…yeah. I’ve been there for a week or so.
Dumbledore finally realized it’s *my* house, so I should be able to stay there once in a
while.” His tone wasn’t spiteful but loosely joking, and Ginny smiled a little.

“Just think, when we’re there, Hermione and I could help spruce it up a bit more. Some silk
draperies…new lighting…oh, I saw the most adorable dusky daffodil blue wall paper in *Teen
Witch* last week,” Ginny rambled, watching the color slowly drain from Harry’s face.

“Sounds…lovely, Gin.” He downed the rest of his tea as Ginny broke into giggles.

“Oy! When was anyone going to tell me we had company?” Ron stalked over to where they sat and
pulled up a seat.

“Alright there, Harry?” He helped himself to the tea. Harry nodded and leaned back in his chair.
It was hard to believe that just a few months ago, he was sure he’d never be able to have civilized
conversation with his best friend ever again. And all because of one brown-eyed witch.

He suddenly found himself imagining Hermione throwing herself into his arms when she arrived. He
wouldn’t even mind if it was in front of the entire Order, as long as it happened.

When he woke up from his thoughts, Ron and Ginny were smirking at one another and Harry felt a
flush creep onto his cheeks.

“So,” Ron quirked, “How’s *Hermione?”*

Harry crossed his arms over his chest defensively and countered, “She’s fine, thanks. And I
suppose you’ll know how *Luna’s* summer has been?”

Ron raised a finger to retaliate but was left open-mouthed and speechless. Ginny rolled her eyes
at the pair of them and scooted back in her chair to make her exit.

“I’ll let you two take care of the cups. Good to see you again, Harry. Goodnight.” She didn’t
wait for a reply before disappearing up the stairs. Once she was in her room, she threw herself
onto her bed, stuffing her face into her pillow. How lucky for them that they could actually speak
to their girlfriends. That they were simply an owl away. That at any instant, Ron or Harry could
floo to their homes and make sure they were OK. She hated feeling helpless, but it was all she
could do at the moment without having a way to reach Draco. So, with a sigh, she whispered another
prayer for him into the night that he would never hear.

Something hard poked into her cheekbone, and she felt a twinge in her heart as she reached
beneath her pillow and pulled out an aged journal. It was only a year or so old, but had been
distressed by the constant sifting of its pages. Ginny could see each one by heart already, but she
flipped through them anyway.

So many memories ago, she found a photo of herself and Draco (it was really the back of his
head) as he studied and she lay beside him on a seemingly real carpet of grass. They shifted in the
picture, and Draco lifted his eyes from his reading and looked at her briefly, a small smirk
playing on his lips. The next moment, Ginny threw open her mouth in laughter.

The pages fluttered shut over the happy memory as Ginny slammed the book closed. Stuffing it
back under her pillow, she wiped her eyes and pulled the sheets up to her neck.

Somewhere out there was her Draco. The cold slytherin with his arrogant smirk and platinum hair
that she loved to rumple. She could picture him sleeping in a foreign bed, doused in moonlight from
a window high above and warm, thinking of her. But a cruel part of her mind quickly snapped and
reminded her that he would have much more important things to think about than her, for
instance—staying alive.

With those battling thoughts to keep her from sleeping, Ginny spent another restless night
rolling over and over in her bed, aching for strong arms to hold her and tell her that everything
would be alright, for that ironic laugh to warm her heart…

Slowly, the hands of sleep crept upon her sometime in the night, pulling her into their world
until the sun would awaken her once more to reality. And in her sleep, Ginny felt as if she weren’t
alone, as if he was there in the whispers of nighttime, soothing her to sleep.


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In a cold, barren room, Draco stared silently at the ceiling. A lone window offered his only
view of the outside world but years of dust and grime blocked out any moonlight that might have
wanted access to the shabby abode. He sighed, contemplating his whereabouts and how in the world he
had gotten himself into this mess. Hatred for his father filled his veins while cold fear for his
mother’s safety froze in his chest. With no connection to anyone but a select few, he was sure to
drive himself mad before school began.

Grunting in frustration, he ripped back the covers and went over to the murky window pane. A
discarded rag sufficed to wipe away a nearly clear patch on the glass, and he peered through it,
taking in the full moon. A hazy red ring encompassed the silvery orb, and he suddenly found himself
thinking of her. Though he tried not to, it was all he could do to push aside the reminder that it
would be over two months before he would see her face again. Would she be alright? Would she forget
him?

The realization that he feared what he would do without Ginny in his life caused him to close
his eyes tightly and force the thoughts back deep into his chest. He was a fugitive now, in hiding
and in constant fear that at any moment he would be found and killed for treason to the Dark Lord.
What would he do if he couldn’t say goodbye to her? If caught, would his last thought be of amber
curls and hazel eyes just as Voldemort’s steady wand sucked the life out of his body.

Someone rapped on the door sharply. Draco remained silent, unwilling to speak to anyone at the
moment. After a second or two, the clink of silverware signaled that his dinner had been left at
the door and heavy footsteps stalked down the hall. He sniffed at the smell of boiled vegetables
and scoffed.

*If only I could have brought along an elf or something. Even fugitives need to eat properly.
And look at the state of my robes…What kind of ruddy idiot only allows someone to bring a week’s
worth of clothing to a place he’ll be living in for 3 months?*

In actuality, he perfectly understood that his absence could not be easily detected while he was
there and thus Dumbledore’s reasoning for his light packing. He doubted whether an empty closet
would suggest that he was gone on a mere summer vacation.

He had hardly left his room since arriving, but he knew that the constant sounds of different
voices of people passing through meant he wasn’t the only one shacking up there for the summer.
Perhaps Dumbledore was running some type of Death-Eater Protection Program for all to seek refuge
from their predestined loyalty to darkness.

Gazing at his surroundings, he scowled at the grimy wall papered décor and moldy wooden floor. A
tattered old portrait of nothing at all hung solemnly in the corner, the only bit of artistic touch
in the godforsaken hole he was calling “home” now. He vowed to find someone in the house next day
that he could persuade with a few galleons to do a bit of dusting to make the place more hospitable
to his refined tastes. With that thought to give him some purpose, he walked back to the bed and
lay down. On the bedside table to his left, a bright, silver object caught his eye. Round and
smooth, the surface glimmered like a beacon in the dank room.

Still legible in the light of the moon, Draco read the inscription on it carefully.

*Dans votre coeur, couche la vérité de mon amour pour vous.**

In the lonely embers of the dying night, Draco’s hands closed over the pocket watch Ginny had
given him before they’d left for the train. The gentle tick, tock of time vibrated beneath his
fingers, and he closed his eyes slowly. In that moment, he silently vowed to get himself through
this nightmare. In his sleep, his grip on the watch tightened as her face sifted in and out of
view, smiling and laughing, promising a future for him, one of sanctuary and love, hope and
redemption.

Even if Lucius Malfoy tore through the dusty window and threw mortality in his face that very
moment, Draco would have been content to face him as long as the impression of his auburn-haired
angel would forever remain in his mind. For with Ginny in his heart, Draco knew that his fight
against his father wasn’t in vain. His name, his heritage, even his inheritance could all go to
hell along with him if it meant keeping Ginny Weasley safe and happy. Finally, the pompous
Slytherin prince had something to risk his life for.

****************************************************************

***phew* Review please!**

**~Adrial~**

**Adrial_06@yahoo.com**

***In your heart lies the truth of my love for you.**



2. From the Ashes
-----------------

**“To be or not to be a Malfoy”**

**AN: Hey everyone! Thanks to the sweet reviews from last chapter. I, like many of you probably
are, am still reeling from the conclusion of book 6. I can honestly say that it was the best of all
the books and my new favorite (PoA is a close 2nd) . But the ending…oh, gosh. I won’t
say anything in case you guys haven’t finished or gotten it yet, but I cried so much. I felt like a
huge dork b/c I didn’t think I took the book so seriously, but sure enough…I was a sobbing
mess!**

**And afterwards with all the drama about the ships and blah blah blah…Personally, I considered
chucking the idea of D/G after the book, but then I thought: there’s still another book isn’t
there? We’ve got all the rights to play w/ ships until the end. : ) I don’t even mind H/G (gasp!)
but D/G is just so much more interesting and makes such great writing, doesn’t it? So three cheers
for D/G!**

**Now, onwards with my sequel! I trudged out of my HBP depression to continue this and I even
wrote the first chapter of a new D/G fic! It’s totally different, set after the war about 10 years
later, and I’m really having fun with it. I’ll be posting soon so look out for it! I hope you guys
enjoy this one!**

**~Adrial**


******************************************************************************************

**“To be or not to be a Malfoy”**

**Chapter 2: From the Ashes**

**Author: Adrial**


*Hearts are worn in these dark ages
You're not alone in this story's pages
Night has fallen amongst the living and the dying
And I try to hold it in, yeah I try to hold it in

The world's on fire and
It's more than I can handle
I dive into the water
(I try to pull my ship)
I try to bring more
More than I can handle
(Bring it to the table)
Bring what I am able

I watch the heavens and I find a calling
Something I can do to change this moment
Stay close to me while the sky is falling
Don't wanna be left alone, don't wanna be alone

Hearts break, hearts mend
Love still hurts
Visions clash, planes crash
Still there's talk of
Saving souls, still the cold
Is closing in on us

We part the veil on Archille's sun
Stray from the straight line on this short run
The more we take, the less we become
A fortune of one that means less for some…*

“World on Fire”—Sarah McClachlan

*****************************************************************************************************

“*Mum!* I can’t find my bloody quill again! If you see Ron or Harry, tell them that I am
sick to death of them knicking *my* stuff just so they can write more sodding letters to their
*stupid* *girlfriends!*”

Ginny threw her book bag into a growing heap of spell books, parchment, and random pieces of
clothing that was accumulating steadily on her bedroom floor. Growling, she stomped over to the
door and threw it open.

“If it doesn’t appear within the next *five* *seconds*, I’m going to turn your new
broom into toothpicks, Ron!”

She huffed when a strangled cry emitted from down the hall, quickly followed by the sound of
bounding footsteps. After a moment of struggle behind the door marked “Ronald’s Room”, a fiery
orange head of hair popped out, smoldering over a scowling face.

“What the *bloody hell* are you going on about at this hour in the morning, Ginny?!”

Ginny frowned and stamped her foot for emphasis, “I’ve told you to quit taking my things without
permission at *least* a thousand times in the past week, Ron, but NO! You had to go and take
*my* swan feathered quill just for that stupid little project you’ve been locked up there
working on like a maniac!”

At that moment, a double **CRACK!** sounded and Fred and George Weasley (Local heroes for
every mischief-maker from The Burrow to Hogsmeade) appeared in the hall way. They each bore the
grin that they reserved for times when they were expecting to witness one of their newest pranks
claim their first victims.

“What’s all the yelling about, eh?” George licked his lips like a hungry animal, taking in his
red-faced sister and oblivious younger brother.

“Just thought we’d say hello…” Fred quickly stalked over to Ginny. He bent over her and tugged
her head down roughly, inspecting her auburn tresses like a baboon searching for a particularly
juicy tick.

“Argh! Fred! What are you doing?” Ginny struggled. He ignored his sister but after a moment
sighed and stood up with a crestfallen expression on his freckled face. He immediately turned on
his brother.

“I thought I told you to put the Freaky Follicle potion in their shampoo bottles *last
night*, George! Can’t you ever remember to do what I tell you to?!” Fred dropped Ginny’s hair
and scoffed, “Do you see a polka dot mohawk or squiggling squid dread locks? I DEFINITELY DO
*NOT!”*

George’s face instantly reddened to the shade of one of their Dragon Fire Cherry Treats and he
pointed a skinny finger in his brother’s face.

“*I* did! Maybe if you had listened to me and changed the recipe like *I* suggested,
then it would have actually *worked.*”

Fred stalked over to his brother until they were nose-to-nose.

“Are you implying that I don’t know how to produce a simple hair-changing potion?”

“Only if you are implying that I can’t hear—which isn’t such a ridiculous notion in the first
place when I’ve got *you* constantly rattling off that giant mouth of yours in my ears all the
time!”

Their fight was interrupted by a jaw-splitting yawn, compliments of Ron. He looked at the two
vaguely for a moment before shaking his head.

“Oh, lay off it. None of us have even showered yet.”

Frozen in mid-insult, Fred and George’s scowls each melted like an ice cream sundae on their
faces, leaving a cherry-red hue of embarrassment on their cheeks.

“Right then…” Fred cleared his throat.

George smiled smugly. “Guess we’ll be testing our latest creation on Mum then,” He stared off
wistfully, “I can already hear the screaming.”

Fred’s eyes lit up at the prospect and they each turned on their heels. Ginny was about to turn
her attentions back to her thieving brother when George whirled around and tossed something towards
her.

“Oh, Gin. I nearly forgot your quill—borrowed it last night for an idea that couldn’t wait to be
written down. Hope you didn’t miss it.”

Ginny stared at her prized quill in her palms and felt her anger leaving her body in rivulets.
Her shoulders sagged and she nodded as they disappeared.

Ron had already sulked off to sleep for another twenty or so hours and she turned back into her
bedroom.

At her desk, she carefully placed her quill in the valley between the pages of a book she had
been trying to read for the past two weeks. It was useless. She could barely concentrate on
anything any more.

“Bloody…stupid… imbeciles…” She growled and grumpily dressed herself for the day that was
smoldering from outside her window. With a sigh she tramped down the stairs into the kitchen,
inhaling the warm and inviting aroma of breakfast with her eyes closed.

“Up with the birds again, are we luv?” Molly Weasley yawned and planted a warm kiss on the top
of Ginny’s head.

Ginny forced a smile and stood up to help her mother with breakfast. But the sight she met was
enough to knock her right off her feet. Instead of the unruly red locks that her mother had sported
since her birth, there were now bright, neon purple curls pouring from her scalp like a bubbling
cauldron of potion gone awry. With each of her movements, the squirming locks beamed fuchsia and
violet from root to tips that sparkled like joke shop diamonds. It was all she could do not to hunt
down Fred and George that very instant for torturing their poor mother yet again.

She gripped the counter’s edge and tried to think of a gentle way to bring it to her
attention.

“Erm…mum…” She began.

Molly hummed merrily as her wand conducted two dozen eggs to waltz into a bowl and begin to
scramble themselves.

“Hand me the sugar, Gin, would you?” Molly leaned over their special toaster that held sixteen
slices of bread and Ginny instantly slid between her and its aluminum surface.

“Erm...Mum, why don’t I make the toast this morning?”

Molly stared at her daughter quizzically for a moment before shrugging and busying herself with
the bacon.

“It’s so nice to spend a moment with my daughter. I feel as if I’ve hardly seen a hair of you
since you’ve been home.”

“H-hair?” Ginny swallowed and shakily dumped some bread into the toaster.

“Yes, dear…now I know that your OWLS should be arriving any day now, but I’m sure you’ll do
fine. You’ve come a long way with your spells this last year—Professor Flitwick wrote me a month or
so into the fall to commend your excellent work habits. What a lovely fellow, that Flitwick.” She
chuckled to herself and nudged Ginny with her wand, “A bit on the slack side in the hair
department, don’t you think? I must recommend a nice growth potion for him next term. Your father’s
is working wonders—“

“Mum, mind if I step out for a bit? I-erm…forgot to brush my teeth.” Ginny smiled nervously and
dashed out of sight before Molly could respond.

Ginny raced up the stairs to Fred and George’s old bedroom. All she had to do was follow the
extendable ear that started in the kitchen and ended at their bedroom door. Without warning, she
barged through and tackled the first twin she saw to the ground. It ended up being George.

“Oy! What’s the bloody idea?”

“You horrible little rat! If our mother sees that bloody sea creature living on her head I
promise I will kill you before she does!”

“Ah ha! The Purple Pillywog version,” Fred nodded with a scholarly air, “Tell us, Gin, was it a
bit wiggly? We were going for a more subtle undulation motion, but the damn test went bust at the
last minute and—“

**“AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!”**

Her ears vibrating from the blood curdling scream that shook the windows in Fred and George’s
room, Ginny forgot about George and stood rapidly. She glowered at them with a disgusted gleam in
her eyes, arms crossed and eyes narrowed in deep disgust.

“I hope you two have thoroughly enjoyed yourselves. Now I’m going to go make sure that our poor
mother doesn’t have a stroke while you two count the money you’re going to make off of this stupid
joke.”

With that, she turned on her heel and bounded back downstairs for damage control.

When she arrived in the kitchen, panting slightly, she soon learned that the horrified squeal
had not come from her mother at the discovery of her new sea-weed coif, but from a thin, brown-eyed
witch standing stock-still in the doorway.

“Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed, though its tone came off as a cross between “Oh, wow, I’m so glad
you’re here!” and “If you open your trap about my mum’s hair, I’ll maim you.”

Hermione seemed to be too shocked to say much, however, and when she met Ginny’s tell-tale eyes,
she quickly swallowed and fiddled nervously with the strap of her small suitcase.

“What in Merlin’s name is the matter?” Mrs. Weasley was holding the scrambling bowl of eggs
against her hip and eyeing Hermione with twin eyes of befuddlement.

Ginny could visibly see Hermione’s thoughts flitting over her eyes, trying to find some excuse
for her outburst.

“Oh, erm…I…”

“Yes, dear?” Mrs. Weasley leaned towards her slightly, allowing the sunlight that streamed in
from the open door to illuminate her lavender coils, giving them the likeness of a heap of purple
Christmas tinsel.

“Bug. Big one.” Hermione uttered and a blush rose to her cheeks at her unintelligent answer. She
had read Ginny’s mouthed explanation.

Mrs. Weasley turned from Hermione to Ginny slowly, the wheels in her head visibly turning. When
Ginny thought for sure that she was going to begin to grill them both, she surprisingly nodded
complacently and offered Hermione a sympathetic smile before retreating to her bowl of eggs.

Ginny beckoned Hermione across the threshold.

“Hello, Hermione! Lovely day, isn’t it? So glad you made it—*I’ll explain later.*” She
added the last bit while tugging the confused Hermione through to the den.

“I’m going to get Hermione settled, Mum, be back in a moment!”

Mrs. Weasley nodded from over her steaming pots and pans, failing to realize that Ginny was
already half way up the stairs having not waited for a response.

When they were a safe distance from earshot, Ginny let out a moan of frustration.

“Those idiots! Look what they’ve done to her now! Just last week it was Bubbling Dung Dots in
our porridge and she nearly chucked them out then…would have, I bet, if she hadn’t needed to them
to give us the counter-tricks to get rid of the wretched smelling bubbles that were popping out of
our mouths, ears, and noses.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded in agreement. It seemed that even after opening their own
successful joke shop, Fred and George still hadn’t managed to find other premises to test their
frightful concoctions. At least once a week they would show up with a new trick up their sleeves,
proud as could be, as if they’d gotten a gold star on a homework assignment and couldn’t wait to
put it on display for the whole family to see.

“…really out of hand,” Hermione was saying as she heaved her travel bag onto the extra twin bed
in Ginny’s room. “I’m going to march right up there and demand they set your poor mum right before
she has a chance to see it.”

“Right behind you, Herm.”

Upon reaching the twin’s old dwellings, they were nearly trampled by Ron and Harry as they
bounded down the corridor, broomsticks on their shoulders.

“’lo, Hermione!”

“—Ginny!”

They shoved each other like giddy first years waiting in line for the first quidditch game of
their lives and nearly tripped over one another’s robes as they tore down the stairs. Hermione
stood with her hands on her hips, a look of pure annoyance plastered across her face. And suddenly,
as if struck by a thought the size of a hippogriff, Harry screeched to a halt at the second
landing.

Ron, not quite in time to stop his building momentum, tripped over his own broom and grabbed
hold of Harry’s elbow to save himself, however in doing so ripped his threadbare sleeve and ended
up tumbling down a flight or two anyway.

Hermione gasped and Ginny smirked at the tell-tale thud of a body landing on solid ground.
Harry’s voice called, “Don’t think you’re going to get any leniency out of me just because you’ve
gone and broken your arm!” He then turned around, a sheepish grin on his face.

“I mean to say,” He ran back up the steps in two’s, stopping at Hermione’s feet with a silly
smile that seemed to beg for forgiveness, “Hello, Hermione.”

Ron’s colorful array of pained curses was drowned out by his mother’s frantic cries.

“Ronald Weasley! I’ve told you not to run down those stairs one too many times. You are
*not* five years—”

“BLOODY HELL, MUM! WHAT’S THAT GROWING ON YOUR *HEAD?!”*

The following events occurred in quite a blur of color, curses, screams, and crying as Mrs.
Weasley turned to the large looking glass that hung in the corridor beside the kitchen.

“Oh…my…—AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

Ginny growled and turned around to dig out the two perpetrators but need not have even bothered,
as two cracking CRACK!s sounded from below. Feeling as if bearing witness to a double murder that
early in the day had to be bad luck or something, she turned to Hermione and Harry to see if they
wanted to join her in a fast escape. But they were tightly embraced, looking completely
disconnected from the chaos going on below them. She felt her chest tighten with a stinging pain
and turned quickly on her heel and down the stairs. She was easily able to slip past her mother’s
red-face and flailing arms and into the back yard.

Ginny fled to the old shed on the far end of the lawn and threw the door open. The walls of the
ancient building groaned at the disturbance. She reached in and wrapped her hands around a broom
tucked away in the farthest corner. In the bright sunlight, sweat glistened on her forehead as she
swung her legs over the hovering broom. The sky jolted for a split second as the it shot off as
fast as possible; her back was back bent low over the front end while the wind beat against her
face mercilessly. Clouds went by in wispy gray blurs as she escalated and the massive lake behind
The Burrow appeared no larger than a puddle as she urged her broom higher.

Soaring on the back of the breeze, Ginny felt her thoughts trail behind her. Breathing became
harder, but she welcomed the burning sensation in her lungs and angled her broom towards the
familiar pasture that lay ahead. The eerie squawks of geese surrounded her, and she tried to crane
her head around to watch them beat their wings beside her. One amber eye caught her own for an
instant, staring curiously at the new red-haired bird that shared the sky with it now. Its fellows
glided skillfully around it, the perfect V formation Ginny loved to watch from the ground and now
flew around in appreciation of its beauty.

As the green fields below drew near, she bent her broom low to prepare to land, but out of the
corner of her eye, she caught a fleeting glimpse of silver…*Hair*? In the second the thought
had appeared and disappeared, she was already shaking her head in exasperation.

*Alright, I’ve gone nutters. First I’m flying with geese, now I’m—*

But she was forced to stop as her breath caught in her throat. As if bowled over by a large gust
of wind, the geese exploded into a fray of feathers and angry squawks. The deafening flap of wings
filled Ginny’s ears, and she strained to keep her balance as the frantic geese closed in around her
in obvious frenzy.

Ginny finally broke free, squinting through the stray feathers that flew around her like snow
flakes. The geese scrambled to reunite. And then something slammed hard into her back with the
force of a mallet. All her breath left her mouth in an inaudible gasp, and she felt herself slip
from her broom. At the last second, she lunged blindly and felt her hand wrap around it again. She
could hardly hang on to her bearings and simply dangled from the end of her broom, gasping
throatily. Eventually, with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she was able to throw her
legs back over the broom and right herself. Her lungs fought to inhale at the high altitude as she
steered shakily lower. Off in the distance, the disappearing V glided away, leaving its lone
straggler behind.

“Bloody hell…” She coughed, rubbing her chest with the palm of her shaking hand. She had no idea
what had happened, what had knocked her off her broom so violently, why the geese had been acting
so strangely. Her mind racing, she gritted her teeth and turned to head back to the Burrow.

Her heart was pumping wildly, making it even harder for her weakened lungs to inhale and her
head felt fuzzy. She glided below the clouds at a slow pace, passing over thousands of treetops and
finally the glistening lake. Tall and welcoming in the distance, the Burrow slowly came into view.
By then her mum would have sent Fred and George packing off to Diagon Alley, so things should have
been calmed down quite a bit.

Bending low to the ground and prepared to land, Ginny ignored the aching throb of her spine.
Ahead, she noticed that the back door had strangely been left open. Didn’t they know that garden
gnomes could run inside and wreak havoc with the door ajar like that? It flapped squeakily in the
cool breeze that had picked up suddenly, blowing her sweaty bangs around her face. She approached
it wearily but froze in place upon the threshold.

Lying as if forgotten upon the grass beside the door were two glistening black brooms, their
bristles tinged green and each emitting an eerie hum, signaling their recent dismount.

Ginny felt her chest tighten instantly. Without pause for thought, she flew into the house.
Something crashed to her left. Pigwidgeon was flapping around the kitchen and squeaking fitfully as
it rammed disjointedly into a tea saucer on the table and sent it clattering to the floor.

The only sound was its pitifully flapping wings, and Ginny turned around slowly, ears trained
for any voices or movement. She could feel the dark creeping up on her like it had for so many
nights in her dreams—like months before on a cold train flanked by an endless path of blue, frigid
flames.

*“Crucio!”*

*“Impedimenta!”*

The fire of both curses grazed the ends of Ginny’s hair as she flew to the floor. The sound of
footsteps hurtled towards her. She tried to stand but felt hands wrapping around her waist and
heaving her to her feet. Ready to fight, Ginny grunted and tried to free herself.

“Gin! Come on!” Harry’s voice filled her ears and she nodded, catching his emerald gaze.

“Harry, what the hell’s going on?”

He simply turned and gave her a stare that said now wasn’t the time to ask questions. His wand
was out and aimed in front of them. Ginny felt her insides coil uncomfortably at the thought of her
own wand tucked away safely in her school trunk. In the archway leading to the living room, a pair
of legs clad in black lay sprawled out, unmoving. She barely had time to react as the air exploded
around them with another curse.

Harry whirled around and threw her to the floor.

*“Protego!”* He rocked backwards and fell to the floor, but the curse aimed at him bounded
away from his shield.

“It seems your reflexes have improved since the last time we had the fortune to meet, Potter.” A
cold, slithering voice filled the room. Ginny’s gaze trailed from two, shiny black shoes up and up,
until she gasped in horror at the sight of a familiar pale face, framed by silver hair. Out of
cold, grey eyes, Lucius Malfoy looked at the two of them with mocking scorn.

“As have yours, seeing as I presumed to have knocked you to your death mere minutes ago,
Weasley.” His mouth slid into a menacing scowl at Ginny, and she gritted her teeth.

“It was you I saw…” She uttered, not really hearing herself at all. Harry’s hand was wrapped
around her forearm, squeezing so hard the blood was having a hard time circulating to her fingers.
She wondered with a sickening feeling swirling in her stomach where her family was. Were they safe?
Had they managed to escape? Would she find their bodies lying lifeless somewhere in the house? She
dared not look around lest she meet such a sight.

“This is between you and me, Lucius. Let her go.” Harry’s voice had deepened to a tone Ginny had
never heard from him before. She shook her head with a jerk but couldn’t find the breath to say
anything. She wouldn’t leave him to fight alone.

Lucius seemed to be considering Harry’s request for a moment, his black gloved hand resting
thoughtfully on his pointed chin.

“Well, considering the fact that I was sent to do away with every last person in this household,
I really don’t’ see the advantage of letting one go...however,” He snarled, wand poised directly
between Harry’s eyes, “I’d give anything to finish you off and then be on my way—“

“The Dark Lord said only the blood-traitors, Lucius!” A cold, hollow voice came from the kitchen
entrance and a sallow faced wizard appeared, shaking off the traces of Harry’s spell.

Lucius’ head jerked to the side for an instant that Harry used to his full advantage.

*“Reducto!”* The ceiling above both Death Eaters’ heads immediately came crumbling down
upon them. Lucius and his companion bent over quickly to avoid being decapitated by the larger
pieces. A desk slid through the gaping whole and landed in front of them in a hundred broken
pieces.

Ginny felt Harry’s arms around her and let him yank her away. He bent over and picked up one of
her mother’s old scarves that’d been lying around for days on their sofa.

“Hold on, Gin!” As he said this, he pulled her hand towards the scarf and as soon as the itchy,
wool fabric touched her skin, she felt her body lurch forward from her navel. The ground rocked
heavily around them moments later, and she fell to her knees beside Harry on cracked cement
sidewalk.

“H-Harry…” She gasped. Her back had exploded with pain from the blow she’d received from Lucius
only a short while before. Harry’s arms were pulling her up again, and he quickly thrust a piece of
paper into her face.

She read dazedly at the quickly scrawled writing.

*The head quarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at number 12 Grimmauld
Place.*

“Why—“ But he cut her off by tugging her forward. In front of them, two shabby houses groaned
and stretched as a new building squeezed between them. Realization finally dawned on Ginny, and she
shook herself to clear her head. Harry lunged for the door handle, but it flew open before he even
got close, and they were immediately being pulled into a gaggle of arms and worry-sick faces.

Ginny gasped in pain as someone wrapped their arms around her, squeezing her aching back
mercilessly. But when she saw that it was her sobbing mum, she ignored the pain and squeezed back
just as desperately.

“I’m fine, Mum, please don’t cry…” She rubbed her mother’s back slowly. Someone else had joined
their huddle, and her father’s voice came from close by her ear.

“We thought…well…we had no idea where you’d gone…” His voice broke, and Ginny reached behind to
grab him in a hug as well.

“Are they gone? Did you get rid of them? Why didn’t you let me stay, I would have helped!” Ron’s
belligerent voice filled the room. Ginny saw Hermione place a pacifying hand on his shoulder once
her mother had released her long enough for her to have a look around. Harry stood, panting, in the
middle of the floor, his wand clutched so tight in his fist that his knuckles blinked white. In the
other hand, the slip of paper he’d shown her was crumpled and shaking between his fingers.

Ron stopped glaring at Harry and quickly rounded on Ginny who was tucked between their
parents.

“And you! Where do you get off running off like that? Nobody knew where the bloody hell you’d
gone! We thought—we thought you were dead or something!” His face was red and boiling with fierce
emotion. Ginny gulped and felt her temper flare and then dissipate just as quickly. Ron was
fighting back tears.

Ginny felt her own eyes sting. She could hardly comprehend what had just happened; thoughts
raced like hundreds of evasive little snitches through her mind, maintaining their distance as she
groped blindly for them. She leaned against her mother’s chest and felt her heart beating strongly.
*Thump…th-thump…th-thump…* She listened to each beat and felt her own heart calm itself.
Harry’s arms were around Hermione’s waist, holding her closely to him as they all watched Ron
silently.

“I’m sorry…” She finally managed to choke out. Her mother smoothed the hair that lay limply
against her back and shushed her.

“Ronald, please calm down. We’re all fine, alright? Ginny…” She paused and inhaled deeply before
continuing, “Your sister and all of us are fine. That’s all that matters.”

Harry spoke suddenly before Ron could. “Are they others—have they gone to the Burrow? Lucius has
probably gone by now; I only managed to distract him long enough for us to use the emergency
portkey.”

Arthur nodded solemnly, “Remus, Mad-Eye, Tonks, and Shacklebolt left not a moment before the two
of you arrived.”

“Let’s all sit down, alright? Harry, you look a bit peaky, dear.” Mrs. Weasley reached toward
him and pulled him against her side, Ginny still on the other. Leading the way, they stepped into
the kitchen. For a fleeting moment, Ginny was surprised to fleetingly expect to see Sirius’s
smiling face from the far end, thrilled and excited for their unannounced company. Her eyes flitted
toward Harry, and by the way his mouth was pressed into a thin, nearly invisible line, she assumed
he’d felt the same.

“I’ll just…just nip into the pantry and see if I can’t find a few tea bags or something…” But
she seemed to be having a rather difficult time releasing her arms from around Harry and Ginny.
Torn, obviously, between letting them go and preparing tea, she remained rooted to the spot.

“I’ll get the tea, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione offered and hurried over to the pantry without
waiting for a response.

Ron stalked over to the table and threw a chair out before plopping into it.

“Where are Fred and George?” Ginny uttered, accepting the seat her father pulled out for
her.

“Diagon Alley—I was here at a meeting with the others and flooed to their shop as soon as your
mother arrived to make sure they’d made it there safely.”

Ginny’s eyes flew to her mum’s hair and she sighed gratefully upon seeing the usual mop of red
tangles rather than a squirming, hairy sea creature.

“Right….good…” She said absentmindedly. Hermione appeared, coughing up dust from the pantry
threshold.

“Nothing but an old case of fire whisky, Mrs. Weasley,” She announced. Mrs. Weasley waved it off
with her hand, “Oh, no matter. Just let me get my wand…” She dug into the apron she still donned
from breakfast and in a matter of moments each of them was cradling a steaming cup of tea, all
seated around the table silently. None bothered to touch their drinks, however, and the steam
slowly coiled down until the cups felt cool between their fingers.

Hermione and Harry had leaned as close together as possible, their intertwined hands laid openly
on the table, nothing like the previous year when they kept their secret carefully hidden beneath
the Gryffindor house table, away from Ron’s eyes and everyone else’s.

“They should be back any moment now,” Mr. Weasley said for the fifth time in the last half an
hour. But this time his words rang true as the front door squeaked open and shuffling footsteps
sounded from the foyer.

Harry leapt to his feet and met Remus at the door as he ambled in, followed closely by the two
somber faces of Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt. As Ginny took in Shacklebolt’s familiar towering
frame and ebony skin, she was instantly reminded of Draco’s mysterious companion, Eleston, and
wondered where he was that moment. Perhaps he’d been allowed to stay with Draco…

“I’m very sorry, Molly…Arthur…” Remus looked brokenly towards the two. Both were wide-eyed and
looked slightly baffled.

“What, what is it? Did you catch them?” Arthur asked quickly.

Tonks shook her head and sighed, “No…they were long gone by the time we got there. But…”

“But what?” Molly’s voice was high-pitched and she clutched Arthur’s hand tightly.

“Ruddy cowards set the whole bloody place on fire!” Mad-Eye bounded into the room, no doubt
having been outside, keeping an eye on any suspicious followers.

“Fire?!” Ron leapt to his feet, eyes blazing. “You don’t mean—“

“Mad-Eye, could you *be* any more tactless?” Tonks glared at him reproachfully.

“Look, rookie, this is not the time for dilly-dawdling around the truth. We’re in the middle of
a damn war, if you haven’t noticed!”

“Don’t call me a rookie! I’ve got as much right as you—“

“Fire?!” Molly had jumped to her feet as well, her hands covering her face in horror.

Remus stepped forward, the gravity of the truth weighing ever more upon his weak frame. He
placed a hand on both Molly and Arthur’s shoulders and nodded heavily.

“When we arrived…the entire place had been set aflame. We’re not sure how they broke through the
protective shields we had raised against any invasion….There was nothing we—but we managed to track
down your owls,” He said with a mournful smile, “The jittery little one was none the worse for
wear, but I believe Hedwig was returning from her hunt when she attempted to get through the flames
to you, Harry. Tonks caught her just before she could get near enough to get hurt. They’re just
outsi—“

“Our home…” Mrs. Weasley gasped. The reality of the news seemed to be sinking into all of them.
Ginny imagined her room melting away to ash, her books exploding into flame, Draco’s face curling
at the edges in a fiery bed, locked forever inside her journal.

Molly suddenly collapsed against Arthur, her chest wracking with the force of sobs that shook
her entire body. Arthur tried to soothe her by wrapping his arms around her quaking body, but he,
too, was caught in an agony nearly as tangible as hers.

Ron had sat back down and buried his head in his hands. Hermione and Harry stood at his side,
each pressing their hands against his shoulders.

“We managed to stop the fire, however, and…tomorrow we’ll send someone out to collect whatever
can be salvaged. For now, your family could—“

“You’ll all stay here,” Harry interjected. “You can have Grimmauld Place.”

“Oh,” Molly managed to gasp, but her sobs were so forceful that she could only shake her head in
defiance of his offer.

“Mrs. Weasley, I beg your pardon, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ll all live here
until…until whenever, alright?”

Arthur bowed his head over his wife’s and muttered to Harry his appreciation. Ginny felt her
eyes brimming with tears, and sat quietly down beside her brother, curling her arm through his and
leaning against his shoulder. This was all a very, very horrible dream… Tomorrow they would wake up
in their beds to the bright, humid morning and all walk downstairs, looking dazed at each other,
sharing the ridiculous nightmare they’d all coincidentally experienced, laughing about it over
breakfast…

That night as she laid in her bed, listening to the soft breathing of Hermione from across the
room, Ginny clutched her pillow to face and muffled her quiet sobs. She had kissed both her mother
and father goodnight a few hours before, watching them creep solemnly up to their new bedrooms. The
following morning they would wait until aurors finished their investigation of the fiery grave
where their home now lay to sift through the remains. She could already see the headlines in the
*Daily Prophet*.

*Why Lord Voldemort sought to murder pure-blooded family…* That would undoubtedly be the
opening. But Ginny and everyone asleep in Grimmauld Place knew why Voldemort wanted them dead. One
of the last lines of pure bloods, true, but also one of the most blood-traitorous of pure blooded
families as well.

Ginny gasped into her pillow, wondering at the thought of nearly losing her family just that
morning. What if they hadn’t been alerted by the intrusion charms set up around the house and
weren’t able to Apparate to safety? What if she hadn’t been able to hang on to her broom? Lucius
had aimed to kill her there while disillusioned and invisible to her—it would have been so easy to
say that she’d merely slipped off her broom while flying.

Above her, footsteps creaked as someone walked heavily across the floor. She stilled her
breaths, listening for movement. Her parents’ bedroom was across the hall, so it must have been one
of the Order on watch in the house—she told herself so, at least. A door creaked open slowly and
closed. The footsteps stopped for a moment. Ginny let out her held breath and curled deeper into
her blankets; Hermione murmured in her sleep, oblivious to the racing heart just five feet away
from her.

Whoever it was now pacing across the floor in a rectangle—Ginny listened to the direction of the
steps, counting each one, tracing an invisible line with her eyes.

*Straight…left…back…right…straight…left…back…right…straight…* She chanted the steps in her
mind and eventually her eyes drifted closed as the invisible walker lulled her to sleep with the
soft padding of their feet across the floor. In the morning, bright sunlight poured over her room,
and Ginny’s eyes sprang open.

She bolted upright and took in the dreary furnished room and moldy papered walls, completely
oblivious as to where she was. Suddenly, the previous day came hurtling back at her, and she fell
backward again feeling the dull throb of her back smart in protest. It resonantly thudded with
pain, each jab embedding reality into her mind. Along with that reality, she felt a painful twist
of guilt.

She knew she’d been weak ever since school had ended for the summer. She’d been emotional,
worried, and constantly thinking about Draco and whether he was dead or alive. She should have been
with her family the day before when the Death Eaters attacked. If she hadn’t been so stupid to run
off, they would have found her in her room and had more time to escape. She might have gotten them
out faster, maybe giving the Order more time to stop the destruction that once they left.

*It’s time to get yourself together, Ginny. You’re not helping Draco or anyone else in your
life by moping around like a stupid little girl.* She closed her eyes and sighed heavily. Today
was a new day. Sure, they were homeless, but they had each other didn’t they? She thought of what
holidays would be like at Grimmauld place and remembered the festivities of Christmas in her fourth
year with Sirius’ infectious cheer spreading everywhere. Everything would be alright. In September,
she would bound onto the Hogwarts Express and see Draco standing there, feigning disgust as she
walked past, sneering at her as if he’d love nothing more than to see her run over by the very
train they were boarding. Then they would meet later and laugh secretly at their convincing
charade, floating with happiness.

*That’s right, Ginny. It’s all going to work out. You’ve got your family to worry about
now.* She rolled out of bed and straightened the clothes she’d worn the day before. Downstairs,
her mum was leaning over the rickety stove and stirring an enormous pot of steaming porridge. Her
shoulders were slumped, and she didn’t even hear as Ginny sidled up to her. Slipping her arm around
her mum’s shoulders, Ginny squeezed and kissed her cheek lightly.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it, Mum?” Smiling, she removed the ladle from Molly’s still-stirring
hands and shooed her off to the table to sit. Molly eased into her chair with a look of mild shock
in her puffy, reddened eyes.

“I’ll finish up, Mum, don’t worry,” She turned and winked at her mother’s grateful, yet watery,
smile, “I’ve got it all together now.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**woo** **hoo! now review!**



3. Confinement
--------------



**“To be or not to be a Malfoy”**

**Chapter 3: Confinement**

**AN: Picking up where I left off so long ago and determined to finish this up by summer's
end. Hope you enjoy and sorry for the long hiatus! As always, reviews are appreciated!**

**~Adrial**

**********************************

*“Expeliarmus!”*

*“Reducto!”*

Ginny flung herself to the ground and shielded her head with bent arms as pounds of rubble
rained around her crouching body.

“Damnit, Ron! I've had to repair that ceiling five times today already!” Harry's face
was beet red and dripping with sweat as he glowered at his dueling partner. Ron backed up slightly
at the sight of Harry's anger and lifted his wand-laden hand to defend himself.

“What? Aren't we *supposed* to be practicing? What d'you want me to do, eh?
Transfigure a couple of tea cozies into water balloons and run `round like an idiot while I've
got Death Eaters on my arse or—“

“Tear down the whole bloody building and kill yourself?” Ginny spat and hastily uttered the
words that once again sealed shut the gaping hole above their heads. “Tough call, I say.” Luckily,
the room over the basement that they had been having dueling practice in for the past few days was
only a spare office room that no one used.

“Oh sod off, won't you?” Ron retreated to a bench against the wall to mope. “I liked you
better when you were moody and pissed off half the time like all the other girls your age,” he
mumbled, wiping reams of sweat from his brow.

Ginny raised her wand right as Hermione burst into the room. Her hair was wild and she was
straining beneath the weight of several thick text books.

*“**Protego!”* Harry's shield was just in time to block the bat bogey hex that
Ginny had fired off from pummeling straight into the harassed looking witch.

Hermione barely seemed to have noticed at all that she'd nearly been hexed or that Harry had
come to her rescue. Her eyes were darting from side to side as she devoured another page in an
especially thick, moldy book. As if swatting away a cobweb, she released Harry's shield with a
flick of her wand before passing right on through to the other side of the room and taking a seat
next to Ron.

“Alright, that's enough for now you two,” Harry panted and went over to lean heavily against
the wall, “Before someone loses a limb.”

It was by special permission from Dumbledore that they were able to practice defensive magic a
couple of hours every day while staying at headquarters. Being that the Weasleys had been actively
sought out by Death Eaters it was wise, he said, to be prepared to defend themselves in the
future.

“Nearly finished with next year's summer assignments, Hermione?” Ginny teased as she sipped
a bottle of water.

Hermione's answer was a noncommittal nod of the head as she delved deeper into her reading.
Ron had stomped off to glower somewhere more private and Harry gave up on distracting Hermione from
her reading after about five failed minutes and stomped off behind him.

It was all any of them could do just to find things to entertain themselves in the godforsaken
house that they had all come to loathe. Ginny felt like the walls were creeping in on her more
every minute and would one day finally bury them all alive if they didn't get out soon.

She had finished her summer assignments in one tortured afternoon that had constituted such an
aching need for activity in her bones that she had finally put quill to parchment and hammered out
the remaining five of Snape's essays and the whole of her Transfiguration and Charms
assignments.

For once in her life she was disappointed that her professors had given students a lighter load
in light of the chaos that was so rapidly consuming the Wizarding world. Ron had offered to solve
that problem by shoving the remaining mountain of his own work in front of her. She'd be
delegated the task of de-knolling the drapes in all of the bedrooms for the rest of the week after
setting his pitiful start to a charms essay on fire.

None of the Order was hardly ever around and meetings were becoming less and less frequent as
everyone was busy handling business outside of Grimmauld Place.

Ginny was itching to free herself of the wooly blanket of tension that seemed to have enshrouded
the entire household. No one laughed anymore; even Harry and Ron had been squaring off more than
usual. Hermione was forever finding new books hidden in different places around the house and
confining herself to the invisible worlds of literature whenever she wasn't breaking up battles
between her two hotheaded companions or helping Mrs. Weasley with the cleaning.

On one particular afternoon in the first week of July, Ginny had been carrying out the remainder
of her de-knolling sentence when she ran into Tonks in a corridor on the seventh floor of the
house.

“Wotcher, Gin!” The young Auror lowered her wand and tucked it back into her robes.

“Sorry, Tonks. I didn't mean to startle you.” Ginny set down her bucket of paralyzed knolls
and wiped the bangs from her forehead.

“What are you doing all alone up here?” She eyed Tonks curiously. Today her hair was platinum
blonde and curly. Ginny found the look extremely dizzying but chalked it up to inhaling too many
fumes from her knoll spray and shook her head.

Tonks smiled and furrowed her brow for a moment. In the next instant, her eyes had shifted from
hazel to electric blue and her hair straightened into a dark brown locks.

“Guess that look was a bit too exciting for this old dump, eh?”

Ginny nodded complacently, eyeing her quizzically. She had just noticed that Tonks was trying
most unsuccessfully to hide a small brown box behind her back. With raised eyebrows, she asked, “So
you've been up here practicing different disguises?”

Tonks looked taken aback. She shuffled the box a bit and in the next moment it had
disappeared.

“Erm, not exactly,” she offered lamely.

“Hey, what was that behind your—“ Ginny's question was cut off, however, as Tonks cleared
her throat loudly and brushed past her.

“Well, Gin, I'm off! Shacklebot and I have got guard duty in the ministry today. You'd
better get downstairs and see if your mum needs help with supper. See you later!”

Ginny furrowed her brow disappointedly as Tonks turned on her heel and scurried around the
corner to the stairwell. She was sure that Tonks, being part of the Order and all, had kept many a
secret from her in the time that they had known each other; but she had always been so good at
hiding them that Ginny never felt as if Tonks knew any more than she did.

Now she was left standing with curiosity beginning to gnaw at the edges of her conscious, and
she wanted to know what it was Tonks was hiding.

She turned about in the murky corridor. It was no different than any of the others—moldy old
portraits of snoozing, sneering wizards and witches, faded wallpaper the color of dust, and not a
living soul to be seen.

A cool draft slipped past her bare calves, and she shivered. An open window at the end of the
hall was the lone reminder that the world continued to exist beyond the walls that had imprisoned
them for the past few weeks.

She abandoned the bucket of knolls and made her way to the end of the corridor. Through the
window, she could see the backyard of Grimmauld Place. It was no bigger than her kitchen was at the
Burrow (she ignored the stab of pain the thought of her destroyed home brought), but its lush
blanket of green grass seemed to call to her. She could smell summertime in the air, and she licked
her lips, longing to be outside again. If only she could hop on her broom and fly away from there,
even if only for a moment, just to feel the wind in her hair, to feel free again.

A loud thump shook her from her reverie. Her heart began to beat rapidly, and she instantly
reached for her wand. She'd been too caught up in her daydreams to notice from which direction
the sound had come and after standing stalk still for a few minutes, she deduced that it must have
been one of her brothers practicing spells in a room nearby. She collected her bucket once again
and made her way back down the stairs.

Behind her, the small window remained ajar, letting a small stream of sunlight spill across the
floor. The beam ended at the bottom of a concealed door at the other end of the lengthy corridor.
The creak of floorboards disturbed the silence and the shadow of shuffling feet obscured the light
from within momentarily.

The dusty doorknob began to turn, and the door moaned as it pushed forward slightly. Blinking in
the semi-darkness, a pale blue eye peaked out from behind the musty wooden board. It was met only
by the lonely window in the near distance and made one more sweeping glance around the corridor
before vanishing once more.

Downstairs, Ginny joined her family for a late supper. Fred and George stopped by with a large
jug of firewhisky and they enjoyed one of the more pleasant evenings they'd had in a long time
joking with them and laughing over their bubbling goblets.

After dinner, everyone retired to the parlor for a game of exploding snap, Ginny joining
enthusiastically.

“Good evening, everyone!” Remus Lupin appeared in the doorway, looking haggard and worn, but
cheerful nonetheless. He had a stack of papers under one arm and a book in the other.

“Hello, Professor Lupin,” Hermione eagerly bounded from her seat and went to great him. “Did you
get—oh, thank you so much!”

She beamed when Lupin reached out and presented her with the tome of a book. It was nearly as
big as she was and her knees buckled as she struggled to carry it over to the table where she'd
been pouring over another selection.

From his side of the room, Ron shook his head. “Sometimes I question her sanity, I really do.”
Harry shrugged and took the opportunity to call the game in his favor.

“That was luck, Potter,” Ron said.

“Any news, Lupin?” Mrs. Weasley emerged from the kitchen, still drying off a dinner plate with
her apron skirt. Lupin bent to kiss her on each cheek and unfurled the package of papers from his
arms.

“Nothing too exciting today, Molly, just a few copies of the Prophet.”

“Excellent, we've just run out of toilet tissue,” Ron said, scowling, “That should do the
trick.”

“Ron, it'd do you well to read what they're saying,” Lupin said. “It seems the Ministry
is considering closing Hogwarts for the year.”

The statement was met with shouts of disapproval from the room's occupants.

“But they can't shut down, Hogwarts!” Ginny said. “We're safer there than anywhere else.
We've got Dumbledore and—“

“I'll show that idiot Fudge where he can stick that idea,” Ron said, standing up, “Right up
his fat bloody arse.”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, you watch your tongue!” Mrs. Weasley snapped, her face purpling
slightly. “All you lot, calm down. There's still two months left and this is only speculation,
right Remus?”
Lupin shrugged and took the glass of mead she offered him. “I don't know, Molly. The Ministry
is in shambles as it is, anything is possible now.”

The room lapsed into a comfortable silence as Lupin went off to prepare for the Order meeting
later that evening. Ginny grew bored after she beat Harry and Ron for the fifth time at snap and
she threw herself onto the couch where Fred and George were bent over rolls of parchment.

“What are you two up to?” She leaned in closer, peering over their shoulders.

“As if we're telling you,” Fred said, pulling the parchment closer to himself and scooting a
bit further down on the sofa. “Top secret stuff here, Gin.”

“Well if it's so secret then why are you working in the middle of the parlor where anyone
can read it?”

Ginny glared at them and got up from the couch. If there was one thing she was sick of at that
point more than the house and her brothers, it was secrets. Everywhere she turned someone was
covering papers up from her eyes or slamming doors in her face. She'd never felt more powerless
in her life and she suddenly missed being at school where at least she'd had the DA to help her
feel useful in the grand scheme of things.

“Oy, Gin, pass me one of those Prophets would you?” Ron was sprawled out on the carpet, rubbing
his bulging stomach that was filled with dinner from earlier.

“Planning on wiping your arse, are you?” Ginny grumbled, walking over to grab one from the pile
Lupin had left.

“They're good for one thing at least,” Ron quipped, “The Darla Demented comics.”

“And your immaturity strikes again,” she said. He took the paper eagerly and ripped it open to
the center page. Once he'd plucked out the comic, he threw the rest to the ground. Ginny knelt
to pick it up because she knew he wouldn't and her poor mum was exhausted from cleaning
already.

“Oh my God.”

Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and stared at her. Ginny's hands were
shaking violently and she squeezed the sides of the paper so that it shook as well.

“Gin,” Hermione dropped her book and came over. “What is it?”

Ginny's throat constricted and like acid, tears stung the corners of her eyes. The black and
white print blurred but she didn't look away. *No, no, no, please.*

Somebody tried to pry the paper out of her vice-like grip, and eventually, they had to rip it
from her hands so she was left clutching two shreds in her fists.

“Oh no,” Hermione said, scanning the paper. “It's terrible. They got Seamus'
parents.”

Everyone in the room got up and gathered around her to read the article. Ginny silently backed
up, her body rigid and wracked with fear. It hadn't been news of the Finnegan's deaths that
had shaken her so, but she was relieved to have a cover.

For below the headline paired with photos of the dark haired witch and wizard was a smaller
story, jammed in the bottom corner like an afterthought.

*“**Ministry Raid Reveals Murder at Malfoy Manor.”*

--___---___---___---___---___--___---___---___---___---___--___---___---___---___---

Draco slid the door closed, feeling the devious shade of hope that dangled briefly before him
slip away.

He would have sworn he'd heard her voice—soft and full of an energy he craved now more than
ever. The dank walls of his cell-like abode were slowly sucking the life out him, he was all but
convinced of it.

It tortured him not to know how his mother was, if she was still safe, if his father had somehow
tracked her down and was torturing her for information whilst his son chewed his nails to the quick
and roamed the darkened corridors of number twelve Grimmauld place like a ghost.

He'd been allowed a wand but there wasn't much to do with it other than keep his candle
lit and his face clean shaven. That day one of the younger Aurors he'd met so far, a witch with
hair the color of a coral reef, had dropped by with a game of wizard's chess to amuse him for
an hour or so. Inside he knew she must have felt sorry for him, but he cared not to admit how
refreshing he'd found her company, despite the countless times he'd bent over to pick up
pieces she'd knocked flying from the game board.

But she wasn't allowed to discuss anything about where he was or what was going on in the
Order, not that he expected any different. They were all so bloody secretive, trying to convince
him it was for his own good he was left in the dark to glower and wonder while they plotted and
pretended to be protecting him. All they cared about was getting to the Dark Lord and if he died in
the process, what great loss would it be?

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, realization dawned on him. He was the son of one the most
wanted death eaters in the country and had been privy to information about Voldemort's circle
of supporters that the Order would kill to have. Was he merely a pawn in the grander scheme of
things—just a way to smoke his father out from hiding and lure him into a death trap?

In his mind, Draco mulled over memories of waking up at night, drenched in a cold sweat and
shaking, listening to the sound of tortured screams filtering up through the cracks in his bedroom
floor. While his mother tried to distract him with toys and extravagant trips to small paradises,
he remembered watching the backs of many a black cloak sweep past him and into his father's
study or worse, when Lucius returned from the ministry in a particularly nasty mood, down the
spiral steps to the dungeon Draco never dared explore.

He had seen so many things in his lifetime living with Lucius Malfoy and in the months leading
up to his own induction as a fellow henchman for the Dark Lord, that he was surprised the Order
hadn't been barging through his door and interrogating him for hours each day already.

He jumped up from the springy mattress and stalked over to the window, sticking his head out to
feel the cool breeze on his skin. He sat down on a wooden chair by the small table where he and the
strange-haired witch had played chess before and buried his face in his hands.

If and when the Order finally decided to ignore the orders he was sure Dumbledore had given them
to leave him in peace, he knew they would try to wring him of everything he knew. A vision of a
black train and holding Ginny in his arms the night he'd turned his back on it all burned
behind his eyelids. He'd rejected the dark mark, rejected joining a cult full of blood-thirsty
killers. But was he ready to go even further, to join his father's greatest enemies?

A knock on his door startled him from his thoughts. He trudged over, dragging his feet heavily,
and twisted the old golden doorknob.

“Your dinner, Mr. Malfoy,” the wretched looking house elf said. Draco picked up the tray and
sniffed. The meals varied from day to day, some days he would have food so rich and homemade that
it momentarily made him forget his misery. On days like today, he stared bleakly at the runny soup
and stale bread and sighed.

“Take it away, I'm not very hungry.”

The wrinkled elf looked reproachfully up at Draco and withdrew the proffered tray.

“Very well, Mr. Malfoy, Kreacher apologizes the food is not pleasing to sir.”

He turned to make his leave, and Draco was about to close the door behind him before a thought
dawned on him.

“Hey,” he said, leaning out the door. Talking to an old house elf was completely foreign to him.
He had the urge to turn around to make sure no one could see him.

“Erm, Kreacher, can I ask you something?”

As if he'd been doused in cold water, the elf turned around to face Draco. He clutched the
tray with the pathetic meal close to his chest, shaking slightly.

“Kreacher will be glad to prepare something else for Mr. Malf—“

“No, no, forget about the damn food,” Draco said, a bit harsher than he meant. After years
subjecting his many house elves to abuse each day, trying to have a conversation with one was a
totally foreign concept. But he was desperate.

“I was wondering if you could tell me, Kreacher,” he said, swallowing over his dry throat.
“I'm not the only one living here am I? Are there others?”

Kreacher's huge, saucer-sized eyes widened slightly.

“Sometimes, I think hear voices downstairs,” Draco continued. “Younger people, people other than
the Order.”

“K-Kreacher must not speak of the Order business to no one,” the elf said, backing away from
Draco.

“This isn't about the Order,” he said, stepping further outside of his room. “I just want to
know if I'm the only one living here, the only—erm—student.”

Kreacher looked as if he were battling internally with some invisible force. Draco used his last
defense.

“You know my mother, Kreacher,” he said. “You know Narcissa would want you to help her son,
don't you?”

The quaking elf's eyes grew as big as dinner plates and he dropped the tray to the
floor.

“Kreacher is honored to serve the Black family, Kreacher is honored to serve Mistress
Malfoy's son, it is a higher honor than any Kreacher could ever—“

“All right, all right,” Draco said impatiently, “Then, since I am asking you as your former
mistress' son for this small piece of information, can't you answer?”

Kreacher bent over to pick up the fallen tray, sweeping his hand over the spilled soup until it
disappeared. Draco resisted the urge to yell at him again. He needed to know, had to know.

“Kreacher must return to the kitchen, Mr. Malfoy, he has more cooking to do,” the elf said,
turning. “There are many people living in the noble house of Black, Mr. Malfoy. Kreacher is up all
day cleaning and cooking and tending to the chores, but Kreacher waits for them to return to school
soon.”

Draco's heart skipped a beat. So, there were students living here, Potter being one no
doubt. What other underage wizards would be allowed in on the Order's headquarters? If not
Potter, then the children of certain members perhaps…He started to speak again but stopped himself.
Kreacher was getting at something.

The elf sulked down the hall a little ways before stopping and turning slightly on the pretext
of wiping dust off a molding old painting on the wall with the corner of his ragged pillow
case.

“Much to do with so many *blood traitors* living in his poor Mistress' home,” he
uttered quietly. “Kreacher almost wishes their house was never burned down.”

The elf bowed his head, muttering fiercely at himself, and scurried off, no doubt to submit
himself to punishment for his disobedience.

Draco stood frozen in the dark corridor. Outside, the clouds shifted, smothering the sun and
bringing the promise of rain.

“Burned…” He leaned against the door frame, gripping it with his hand until it was white and no
blood ran there.

That night, he lay in bed for hours, his eyes roving the dark ceiling above him—waiting.
Downstairs, muffled voices and the sounds of moving furniture gave him hope.

*She has to be all right.*

But he couldn't be sure until he saw for himself. The ancient clock in the hall outside
strained as it tolled twelve times. Everything in the house was still, save for the pounding organ
running rampant in his chest. He stood up and grabbed his wand from his bedside table. Gingerly, he
opened the door and padded down the hall.

Damn Dumbledore and damn the Order. His thoughts rested with one person, and if she had been
harmed while he was locked away, he didn't know how he could deal with the guilt, the rage, the
need to seek her out for himself. He shook his head to keep the image of her in her bedroom, crying
as flames swallowed her whole, from bringing him to his knees.

He had to know.

The staircase was a dark labyrinth of groaning slabs of wood that protested against his added
weight as he descended them. As he passed doorways, he pressed his ear against them, listening for
a voice or the sound of heavy breathing. It wasn't until he reached the third landing that he
stopped still in his tracks. The sound of muffled chatter was coming from a room three doors to his
left. It was slightly ajar and the dim light of a lantern poured out onto the floor and fell short
of his foot.

Thinking quickly, he pointed his wand at his white blonde head and felt a watery sensation
dribble down his body. He knew the disillusionment had worked for his foot had disappeared and
melted into the dank floor beneath it.

Steadily, he approached the open door, drawing his wand tight to his side.

“…but we can't just leave, can we? Won't every one come looking for us?”

“I've no choice. Dumbledore wanted me to find them so I've got to. We can talk to the
others, tell them we're on specific orders and hope they understand and leave us to it.”

“But you said so yourself, you've got no clue where to—“

“Did you hear something?”

Feet shuffled from within and Draco panicked momentarily, shoving himself against the opposite
wall and going rigid.

A few seconds later, the familiar, bespectacled face of Harry Potter appeared in the crack. He
scanned the corridor with one green eye, and Draco tried to stop breathing. At least his suspicions
were correct so far. Potter was here, and the other voice must have been his ever-present and
obnoxious sidekick, Weasley.

“It's nothing, Ron.” Harry retreated behind the door and shut it firmly closed behind
him.

Draco finally exhaled and used one hand to wipe a few beads of sweat off his face. The house was
stifling and his nerves were getting the better of him. If her brother was alive then she must be
all right, he said to himself, repeating it in his mind like a battle cry.

The rest of the rooms appeared vacant and he backtracked, making his way to the staircase again
to rove the last two floors. Ten minutes later, he returned, feeling quite dejected.

He'd found the room housing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and managed to hear the voice of the
insufferable Granger from a door down from them. She was talking to some kind of animal, he
gathered, and sounded quite maniacal. He didn't fancy spending too long listening to a mudblood
and her insane chatter, but he lingered long enough to note the trace of fear as she cooed over the
pet (a cat, he eventually gathered from the loud purring).

Feeling more dejected than ever, he silently dragged himself back up the stairs. Ginny
wasn't here. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that something
wasn't right. Perhaps Kreacher hadn't been talking about the Weasley's home. It could
have been Potter's family…but he'd said *blood traitors* specifically and Draco knew
there was no greater traitorous family in the eyes of the Dark Lord's supporters than the
Weasley clan.

Then where could she be? He paused briefly to catch his breath and gather his wits. Weeks of
inactivity had weakened him slightly and he thought sorrowfully that he'd be in poor form for
Quidditch come September. But what point would any of that make if he returned and she wasn't
there with him…

“Who's there?”

Draco froze for the second time that evening. The voice, small and tinged with fear and courage
at the same time, sounded from somewhere down the corridor. He must have been on the fifth or sixth
floor, he wasn't sure. The hall was washed in darkness and he couldn't make out a
thing.

“I know you're there, I heard you on the stairs.”

Draco felt a strange sensation wash over him, much like the time he'd stupidly stunned Ginny
during a Quidditch match and dove to her rescue she plummeted to her death. It was a mix between
relief and heartbreak.

Ginny was here, mere feet away at most.

He didn't realize he'd said her name aloud until the light of a wand blinded him and he
fell back against the railing clumsily. It creaked loudly and he swore under his breath.

“I'll ask you again,” Ginny said, now encased by the glow of her wand and inching toward the
spot where Draco stood. “Show yourself.”

Heart beating wildly, Draco lifted his wand and tapped the same spot on his head again,
whispering the spell that revealed him to her.

She was more beautiful than he remembered. God, he thought, had it really been that long since
he'd seen her last, lying with him by the black lake, convincing him to follow Dumbledore's
plan?

The desire to hold her filled him, but he held back. Her hazel eyes were wide and disbelief swam
within; her wand hand shook violently, casting the white light in all directions.

“Ginny,” he said again, drawing a step closer. The wand in her hand was shaking so fiercely now
it created a strobe light effect on their surroundings. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Are you a ghost?” She whispered.

Draco couldn't help himself; he chuckled softly.

“I could ask you the same question,” he said. They were no more than arms length apart now. He
needed to touch her so badly it hurt him to keep from sweeping her up in his arms.

“Draco,” she swallowed deeply and the moisture in her eyes slipped down her lashes and splashed
onto her cheeks. “I thought you were dead.”

In an instant, she had thrown herself into his open arms, clinging to him like a shipwreck
survivor to a floating plank.

He held her as closely as possible, stroking her hair and face with his hands.

“Sshh, don't cry,” he said, but she let out a choked sob and wrapped her arms tighter around
his waist. He felt extraordinary standing there with her again, and for the first time in weeks he
truly remembered why he was putting himself through hell.

When she stopped shaking, he placed his hand on her cheek and nudged her slightly so he could
see her face.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, let me tell you,” he said, though his tone was as serious as his
beating heart. Ginny closed her eyes wondered if this was real. As if to prove it to her, Draco
leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, softly at first until he couldn't hold back and
they hungrily devoured one another. The rickety railing groaned as he leaned her back on it, aching
to taste every bit of her.

“I can't believe you're here,” she whispered when they parted for breath. Her lips were
swollen and tingled. She traced his jaw line with her thumbs. “I was so sure I'd never see you
again.”

“I could say the same,” he said, his mouth splitting in a smile, but it'd been so long, it
ached with the effort. “Kreacher told me about your house.”

Ginny winced. She could almost still feel the purple bruise on her back from the blow Lucius had
given her that day.

“We're all fine though,” she said, cupping his hand on her cheek. “I read about your mum
today and I was so sure they'd gotten you, too.”

Draco's heart stopped and his hand froze on her face.

“What about my mother?”

Ginny's face blanched. He didn't know.

“Oh, Draco,” she said, feeling fresh tears spring in her eyes. “Haven't they told you?”

“Tell me what?” He looked at her so intensely she slightly recoiled in his arms. “Damnit, Gin,
talk to me!”

Tears were running freely down her cheeks, unchecked and splashing noiselessly on the carpet.
God, how could she tell him?

“I'm so sorry, Draco,” she said, forcing herself to look into his eyes. “Th-they found her
body this week. She's gone.”

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