Breaking His Heart by fallenwitch

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 6
Published: 10/08/2005
Last Updated: 24/04/2006
Status: In Progress

The War tears the Slytherin from his red headed witch. Heartbreak, damning choices, and
assumptions rule the day. A tale of love where angst meets romance on the long road to a possible
happily ever after. "He closed his eyes and drew in a long, unsteady breath as she began to
cry. It started out as a suspicious sniffle or two, and minutes later she was sobbing. After a
failed attempt to quiet her with various endearments, gentle kisses on her cheek, and empty words
of comfort, the Slytherin fell silent. One elegant hand stroked her silky crimson tresses to no
avail. What was he suppose to do? He wasn't equipped to handle this crass display of emotion.
Those damn Weasleys had no emotional restraint whatsoever. She was breaking his goddamn
heart."




1. Breaking His Goddamn Heart
-----------------------------



**Warnings:**

1) As usual, foul language abounds due to Draco's potty mouth and snarky attitude. Proceed
with caution if this type of thing offends.

2) This fic was born prior to the HBP. I have gone back and attempted to make various
adjustments to bring it more in line with the changes brought about by the HBP. However, the
morphed plot line continues to have a few holes. I hope you will forgive these as you make your way
through it.

**Author's Note:**

Okay, we're going to try this one more time. This fic was originally posted in July '05.
I stumbled with Chapter 3, hit a roadblock, and crashed. Due to the poking and prodding of lizzyop
and Marcia, it's back. I would like to thank them as well as the two other people who were
reading it at the time. It was such a mess that I decided to pull it, rework it, and repost it. To
make a long, painful story short, here it is. I hope readers will give it a whirl and let me know
what they think. Any constructive criticism is welcome as this one is teetering on the edge of a
premature cyber death anyway. - fallenwitch

**Chapter 1**

**Breaking His Goddamn Heart**

He didn't start the goddamn War. The Slytherin put an elegant, shaking hand to his forehead
and closed his eyes, trying to shut out the nightmare. What the hell did she expect him to do? No,
he couldn't just walk away. He was a Malfoy. His family was overflowing with bloody Death
Eaters. It was a family tradition. Exile? Not an option, at least not in this lifetime. They would
find his sorry arse, and when they did, he would spend the remainder of his life, all three
glorious seconds of it, looking down the business end of some Death Eater's wand, praying for a
quick Avada Kedavra.

What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she equate his impossible situation and lack of
options with not loving her enough? How were those things related? They weren't. The witch was
impossible and driving him insane. No, he wasn't a goddamn Gryffindor and had absolutely no
intention of starting now. That kind of arse backward bravery and nobility would get him killed. He
had half a mind to tell her to sod off.

No, he wasn't her Boy Wonder, savior of the wizarding world, thank you very much. If she was
interested in that sort of bullshit, he would hold the door for her and see how long Potter could
put up with her infuriating, stubborn, hard-headed ways. The Slytherin reckoned Potter could either
fight the Dark Lord or deal with the red headed witch, not both. She would be back on his doorstep
in a heartbeat, torturing him and trying to nag him into submission.

He couldn't think straight and found himself barreling headfirst down the most dangerous
path he had ever attempted to negotiate in his life. She would get him killed. If she would bloody
well back off, maybe he could devise a plan to get through the War in one piece. Hell, at the rate
he was going, he would get them both killed.

No, he didn't want to hear what she was saying to him and adding increasing decibels did
nothing to change his mind. When she grabbed him firmly by the wrist and yanked his hand off his
forehead, he merely opened his eyes and attempted to stare her down, silently. Stubborn wench. He
shook his head, eyes never wavering from hers. No matter how many times he told her, she would
never understand.

Her dark eyes were imploring him. Her fragile hand was on his cheek, holding him in her world,
refusing to let him go. Goddamn it. He would not allow her to break him, not here, not now, not
like this. Their fucking world was imploding on them, and he knew he wasn't strong enough to
hold it together. There wasn't enough strength in the wizarding universe to hold their little
illicit world together. Theirs was an ill-fated affair, an abomination, doomed to die a miserable
and painful death, squelched under the roar of the War. Her eyes told him she knew the truth of it
as well as he did.

Not knowing what else to do, the Slytherin took his frightened witch into his arms, holding her
fast to him, cradling her slight frame to his, attempting to comfort her with his love. When she
clung to him, desperately throwing her arms around him, he knew she wasn't fooled. What kind of
a wizard was he? He was a goddamn impotent wizard was what he was. The War was descending on them
faster and darker with each moment, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. There
was no place to hide where he could keep her safe. All he had left to give her was his love, and
even that was failing her. Here she stood, shaking and terrified in his arms, and he couldn't
give her a blessed Knut of comfort.

He closed his eyes and drew in a long, unsteady breath as she began to cry. It started out as a
suspicious sniffle or two, and minutes later she was sobbing. After a failed attempt to quiet her
with various endearments, gentle kisses on her cheek, and empty words of comfort, the Slytherin
fell silent. One elegant hand stroked her silky crimson tresses to no avail. What was he supposed
to do? He wasn't equipped to handle this crass display of emotion. Those damn Weasleys had no
emotional restraint whatsoever. She was breaking his goddamn heart.

His heart. The blasted sorceress from Gryffindor had managed to find a part of his anatomy he
never knew existed. She not only found his heart but had also absconded with it. He had no idea if
he would ever see the foul organ again. It had betrayed him, utterly and totally betrayed his
Slytherin arse in a most flagrant manner.

In an attempt to stifle her outburst, he pulled her body apart from his and caught her startled
eyes as he placed a long, firm, lingering kiss on her tear stained lips, tasting their salt in his
mouth, as the pain of their two worlds collided. When she attempted to say something, he ignored
her and continued to ardently kiss her and touch her and embrace her in the most distracting ways
possible, pouring his heart out to her until she threw herself back at him with abandon. He was
dizzy with her like this and shut out all other thought from his mind, focusing his world on her,
watching himself revolve around her like an afflicted planet caught in her irreversible and
unstoppable pull. She was his magnificent scarlet sun. Her luminous light burned his unworthy skin
with every touch, so excruciating was her presence to him now.

He drew her closer, attempting to meld her to him, until he felt her expire and collapse onto
him. He was sick with despair and continued to greedily gather her to him, until every point on her
flush and sticky body was touching his. Fear? His greatest fear wasn't The War or the pain or
even the possibility of death. It was forgetting. He wanted to sear her into his body's memory
so he could never forget. She was precious and glorious to him. He would never forget. Never. It
would be a sin against her and a violation of his all encompassing love for her.

----------------

Weeks later, the Slytherin and his witch were embattled again. Was she out of her ever-loving
mind? Absolutely not. He would burn in hell before he would allow them to continue their
relationship. He wasn't sure he could keep himself alive much less her as well. No matter how
excellent his occlumency skills, he would never place her life in such a precarious situation. Both
their existences would be wiped out with one handy stroke of a wand in the event of their
unfortunate discovery.

He stared at her, moonlight splayed carelessly about her fiery silk, her head tilted in defeat,
shrouded in shadows so deep he could only imagine the expression on her face. She stood next to
him, now silent. How many times did she want to do this? He had had enough. It was too goddamn
painful. No, he wasn't in denial. He knew as well as she did what was coming down the pipe.

He didn't want to talk or argue or think about their nonexistent future anymore. There
wasn't a goddamn thing left to say which hadn't been said already. All the Slytherin wanted
to do was to take his broken-hearted witch into his arms and hold her and caress her and make
glorious love to her until they were transported out of their miserable, hellish existence into
that other place. The place where only the two of them existed, where there were no divided houses,
no fractured wizarding world, no war. Where there was only this boy wizard and the witch who loved
him. He yearned for that place.

Turning, he grabbed her slight frame and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her and
holding her tightly, until he felt her relax. He reveled in her magic, in the spell she had cast
over his heart, in the strength of her love for him. He believed this love could see him safely
through the War and back to her.

He did not see her again for two and a half years.

-->



2. His Newly Realized Hell
--------------------------



**Chapter 2**

**His Newly Realized Hell**

He did not see her again for two and a half years. The intervening time had been brutal to the
Slytherin. When he looked in the mirror, he no longer recognized the wizard staring back at him. It
was an existence far colder, sicker, and more twisted than he knew himself capable of enduring.
That part of him which could not endure, simply died, withered away from the stench of the war,
never to be resurrected again.

A certain series of events forced the Slytherin out of the shadows and into the burning light of
the Order. He entered their heavily veiled and warded camp burdened with the enormous
responsibility of providing crucial information from the Dark Lord's den to help turn the tide
of the War. These were the tenuous closing days of the War, and they knew the young Slytherin could
help them secure a win, if he managed to stay alive long enough to be of use.

On the way to the small hut containing the core leadership of the Order, he passed rows and rows
of multicolored wooden shacks with makeshift chimneys spewing smoke. Children were yelling and
screaming and playing games across the grounds. Scattered women and the elderly were engrossed in
the tasks of war as well as with the raising of the many children shielded there, most not their
own.

Draco had not seen a wizarding child for over two years before coming here. What about the other
children, the Death Eaters' children? He suspected the Dark Lord had them ensconced somewhere
as leverage against any parent with a touch of ambivalence about his methods or mission. The sound
of children playing and their innocent laugher were music to his soul, which had been trapped in
darkness for too long. He watched their forgotten world with some fascination. Their existence was
a potent reminder of the fragile nature of wizardkind's future as the Dark Lord raged against
all reason and sanity and hope.

His purposeful stride arrested mid-step. Ginny? Surely not, but there she stood, no more than
fifty feet from him, and his starved eyes locked in on the sight of her, refusing to let go. Those
distinctive scarlet tresses and those remarkable dark eyes belonged to one witch and one witch
only, his witch.

He saw her standing with her arms thrown absent-mindedly around a small school aged child in
front of her, while she kept a watchful eye on several others, running and playing. She was even
more exquisite than his war weary mind remembered her to be.

So this is where they had been keeping her. She was safe and sound and very much alive, right
here at the heart of the Order, the place where they kept their most treasured and sacred
possessions.

He threw off his invisibility cloak as he approached her. The sound of her laughter floated out
across the grounds. It was a sound he had not heard in many years. His long dormant heart
lurched.

"Ginny!"

She looked up at the calling of her name.

He rushed to her, a much changed wizard. His elegant frame was draped in fine Death Eating
robes, the Dark Mark indelibly imprinted on his left forearm, and his beautiful face chiseled by
the mark of time. But his unmistakable frame was still tall, lanky, and lean; his eyes were still
that strange iridescent shade of grey; and his heart still held the same burning passion for her it
had when he saw her last.

Her searching dark eyes went wide as they caught his, igniting on contact, now less than a dozen
feet away.

"Draco," she whispered, eyes locked firmly on his.

He returned her glorious gaze for one heartbreakingly long moment, drowning in the wonder of her
all over again. Suddenly, the child she was holding broke loose, brushing past Draco in pursuit of
a loose ball thrown his way.

Draco stepped forward to take his witch into his aching arms. When his eyes fell to her now
unobscured figure, confusion and disbelief fell over his face as his entire world shattered,
goddamn shattered. He stood paralyzed, unable to move or think or react. When movement finally
returned to his uncooperative body, he tore his pain-riddled eyes from hers and abruptly turned
away, stumbling toward his original destination without another word, without another glance,
without another breath.

He left the nondescript shack, containing the headquarters of the Order, two hours later,
striding full speed toward the Apparation point, all the way on the other side of the goddamn camp.
Of course he saw her waiting under a large oak tree, staring at him. He refused to acknowledge her.
When she called to him repeatedly, he ignored the growing desperation in her voice. He didn't
give a damn. The Slytherin dismissed her as though as were nothing to him and continued walking
toward the Apparation point. He refused to meet her foul gaze again, ever. His eyes never wavered
from their objective, to get the hell out of the filthy place. No, he never looked back at her
miserable figure again. He couldn't. When she rushed after him in a panic, he merely
Disapparated before her eyes.

Draco collapsed into the nearest chair, amazed he had managed to Apparate home without
splinching himself. He had waited the entire War for this miserable day. Over the past two and a
half years, he searched every bloody day for some sign of her, anything. Nothing. Not a goddamn
thing until today. He groaned, wishing he had never seen her, wishing he had never known her,
wishing he could simply blow his fucking head off.

He contemplated driving a stake through his heart before he stopped himself, realizing she had
already taken care of that for him. He hung his head and closed his eyes as he saw her previously
magnificent figure before him. What the hell had she done?

Pregnant? Who's fucking child was it that she was carrying? Unless she had managed to obtain
a Time Turner, it wasn't his child. Goddamn it, Ginny. Could she not have waited for the War to
end before moving on with her life in such a manner?

What about the blessed vow she had made to him? Was the whole thing, including the Slytherin
himself, a fucking joke to her? Evidently, the joke was on him. He never believed her capable of
sinking so low, of running off and finding another while his back was turned. Where the hell was
her Gryffindor nobility now? Who was this wizard who had stolen her out from under him? If he had
the means of finding the bloody bastard, he would kill him with his own goddamn hands, forget a
fucking wand.

No, he had no idea when the blasted War would end, and the last time he checked they weren't
operating on his goddamn schedule. But he had waited for her, fully intending to wait the rest of
his worthless life, if needed. What was he to do now? She had betrayed him, failed him, and found
another.

While he was fighting and scraping to doggedly hold onto his cursed life in the midst of the
Dark Lord's growing insanity, she let go, erasing all meaning in his current situation. He had
purposely hidden his involvement with the Order from her prying eyes, fearing for her safety. It
was for her and her alone. Everything in his wretched life stemmed from his unquenchable desire to
be reunited with the damn witch. He had schemed and plotted and sold his ever loving Slytherin soul
for her. Now he found himself irreversibly trapped in a perilous web of lies and intrigue,
tenuously holding on, hoping to purge himself of its filth with the fall of the Dark Lord and the
end of the War.

Without of his knowledge, she had cut the only thing which tethered him in a world gone crazy.
He was now adrift and broken, utterly lost without her. She had propelled him forward through the
dangers and the intrigue, embueing him with the strength and the will to survive and to continue
attempting to right the wizarding world, to bring it back in line with the axis which had ruled its
existence since time immemorial, out of the hands of that filthy, twisted half-blood, to do what
needed to be done to allow them to go forward, together.

He bitterly recalled the price he extracted for his treacherous allegiance to the bloody Order,
which seemed like a bargain at the time. They gave the Slytherin their word, Ginny would be kept
safe throughout the War, away from the fighting, untouched by the stinking filth of the Death
Eaters' malignant ways. He desperately wanted her soul to retain its innocent purity, to never
be tainted by what he had only begun to glimpse at that point in time. He had no intention of
turning traitor only to find her dead or maimed or tortured beyond recognition, not if it was
within his power to keep her safe. When he sold his soul, he had no hesitation or second thoughts,
recalling the incredible rush of relief that flooded his world when he shook hands with them,
knowing only that, regardless of what happened to him during the War, she would go on, untouched,
until they met again. Whether it was on this side or the other side of the Veil, mattered little.
Her life was all he cared about.

He had trampled on his precious Malfoy identity, turned traitor on his family, and thrown away
his legacy for her. Of course he was prepared to give up his life should he fail and the Dark Lord
reign supreme at the end of the War. Why would he want to live in a world which existed without
her? That would be no life, only an endless sea of torture. Here he was, a traitor adrift in that
torture, now royally screwed no matter which way the War ended. His whole fucking existence was a
bloody joke.

What was it about him that was so vile to her now? Was it because she believed him to be a Death
Eater with no remorse? Was that what had led her heart to abandon him? She was his, and he knew her
as no other could. She would never engage in something of this magnitude without belonging heart,
body, and soul to the lousy wizard.

He groaned, remembering how he had recklessly pursued her against all reason, stalking the
unreasonable witch until he managed to wrestle her protesting figure into his web and entangle and
ensnare the sense out of both of them. He knew it was a dangerous gamble, but his heart would not
be stopped. All reason flew out of his pathetic excuse for a brain at the sight of her. He had been
sick for her. What they had engaged in was nothing short of complete insanity, filled with an
illness so deep, he would never fully recover. He was afflicted with the witch, never realizing it
was fatal, mistaking it instead for a lifesaving toxin.

As he sat in his newly realized hell, in a place void of all hope and with no possibility of
redemption, the Slytherin knew that the bloody fight of his life was over, and he never had the
opportunity to lift his goddamn wand off the ground. She was gone, irreversibly and forever gone
from his life, and he was absolutely devastated.

-->



3. The Rescue
-------------



**Author's Notes:** My deepest gratitude to gotsnape for her help with this chapter. Her
wisdom in all things writing knows no boundaries.

**Chapter 3**

**The Rescue**

(Three Weeks Later)

Draco Apparated into the campground containing the headquarters of the Order, frantic to save
the life of the pregnant witch he had sworn off three weeks earlier. After alerting their
leadership to the Dark Lord's impending attack, he raced off to find Ginny.

Panic propelled his boots across the still campground as the pounding of his heart filled the
air and the bitter winter current burned his frightened lungs. He didn't hear the shouting
erupting in the distance or see the lights turning on in every cabin across the place. His focus
was narrowed to the cottage that held his witch, because she was his witch, no matter what had
happened since he held her last. She belonged to him, and he would not let her die.

Without breaking pace, he withdrew his wand, aimed, and fired a spectacular hex, blasting open
her cabin door and flinging himself inside. It was dark. Too damn dark to see a thing.

*"Lumos."*

She was sound asleep on a small cot in the corner of the shack.

"Ginny!" He shook her and hauled her up into a sitting position. "Ginny, wake up!
We have to go."

Barely conscious, she stared at him grabbing her ankles and shoving her bare feet into her boots
before reaching over and snatching her winter cloak off its hook on the wall.

"Draco?"

"Come on, Ginny," he ordered, pulling her up by the arm and tucking the heavy cloak
around her shoulders. Her sleepy eyes were focused on him as she stood. He took her hand firmly in
his, threw on his hood, and rushed out of her cabin.

"What's going on?"

When they emerged, the throng rushing toward the Apparation stations on the opposite side of the
camp engulfed them. Ginny's eyes went wide as fear gripped her in the throat.

"Good lord, Draco. Are we being attacked?"

He didn't hear her. The roar of the crowds and the rush of the multitudes jostling and
yelling on their way to safety drowned out her voice. Draco pulled Ginny along as fast as he could,
but they were falling further and further behind the crowd. Ginny was unable to keep up with the
hurried pace. Finally, she stopped and bent over, panting with exertion. One hand held her pregnant
belly, and the other waved him on, attempting to shoo him along.

"Go on, Draco. I'll catch up to you. Go!"

He shook his head. What the hell did she think he was doing here in the first goddamn place?
Saving his own arse? The last time he checked, he didn't need to Apparate into ground zero to
get his Slytherin arse killed, thank you very much. Then he noticed she was pale and sweating and
struggling to remain standing. He threw his arms around her and felt her lean against him.

"I'm sorry," she said.

How pregnant was she? No wonder she couldn't run. While she caught what breath she could, he
held her firm in his arms and sent his eyes skyward. There wasn't much time before the Dark
Lord attacked. The Order's wards were holding - for now. Without taking his eyes off the sky,
he urged her forward again.

"Come on, Ginny." She nodded and walked as quickly as she could, his arms steadying
her. Then he grabbed her hand and began to run. Ginny stumbled after him, rushing to keep up with
his frantic pace. "Shit."

A sudden hush and collective shudder fell over the chaotic scene. Ginny looked up and saw the
Dark Mark emblazoned across the sky above the camp. Merlin.

That's when he heard it. When everyone enclosed in the camp heard the tremendous sizzle and
melting crack followed by a fantastic shuddering moan as the previously impenetrable wards
surrounding the headquarters of the Order fell, blasting the hell out of every sentient being in
the place.

Draco could not hold onto Ginny. The force of the blow ripped her from him. He saw her pregnant
form hit the ground a dozen feet from him as they were both thrown back. Picking up his battered
body, he scrambled over to her motionless form.

"Ginny! Ginny!" He was yelling her name over and over again, to no avail. She was out
cold. Draco heard waves of Death Eaters pouring into the camp and the hysterical yelling and
screaming preceding their sea of destruction.

With no other option left, he pulled the fallen witch into his arms and held her securely to his
kneeling frame. Then he looked up, ready to Disapparate them. At that moment, his pale grey eyes
locked with another set of similar eyes.

His father and a dozen other Death Eaters were headed straight towards them, staring at Draco
with Ginny in his arms. It was only then that the Slytherin realized the blast had knocked his hood
off, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

As his father lifted his wand and took aim, Draco Disapparated them to safety, his eyes never
losing contact with his father's.

----- ----- -----

Two days later Draco continued his vigil by Ginny's bedside, becoming more and more
concerned with each passing minute she remained unconscious and unresponsive. Was she dying? Had
her head injury put her into some kind of irreversible coma? What about her baby? What the hell was
up with that thing?

Of course he carried the rudimentary healing skills that all soldiers carried but nothing that
would have equipped him to deal with something of this complexity. He was a Death Eater, not a
Healer. He could kill her baby with one simple incantation, but that really wasn't the point,
was it? Merlin. This wasn't what he had in mind when he signed up to save her life.

He ran an anxious hand over his worn face before letting out an exhausted sigh. They were alone
in his dwelling of last resort, the safe cottage he had fortified, warded, and veiled years ago in
preparation for his entry into the Order. He never anticipated this particular scenario. There were
no Healers, no spying house elves, nobody. He was bloodied terrified that she was slipping away
from him, and he was powerless to stop her irreversible slide to the other side of the veil.

Draco slumped further into his chair and buried his face in his hands with no intention of
coming out, ever. What had he done? He had followed his heart, the foul organ that had caused him
nothing but grief over the past two and a half years, and slit his own throat in the process. What
a fucking disaster.

He remembered the moment the Dark Lord's plan to attack Ginny's camp fell upon his
well-placed ears. He had a fast decision to make. He could either let Ginny die and take his Malfoy
pride with him to the grave, or he could save her and kill her adulterous arse later. He chose the
latter.

Why didn't he hesitate before plunging in to save her? Because he was a goddamn Slytherin
impersonating a foolishly brave and noble Gryffindor, that's why. The bloody stuff was
obviously contagious and perilous to his health, not to mention his newly shortened lifespan. All
the "Scourgifies" in the world couldn't rip her from his contaminated soul. What an
arse backward thing to do.

Why didn't he stop to think about his allegiances and obligations or their vital connection
to the outcome of the War? He couldn't say. All he knew was when everything when to hell in a
handbasket, he was the one who ended up being fucked, royally screwed up the arse.

That uncomfortable moment happened when his father saw him on the ground at the camp of the
Order clutching a pregnant Ginny to his frantic frame. Draco remembered the look of outrage and
betrayal on his father's face. He could feel the rising fury with each closing footstep. Lucius
swiftly deduced Draco's allegiance to the Order and betrayal of the Dark Lord by viewing the
scene splayed out before him. He knew that Ginny was the reason for Draco's treacherous
betrayal and believed her to be carrying a future Malfoy heir in her pregnant belly.

It was this series of repugnant revelations that sent Lucius over the edge and into a state of
murderous rage. He would have struck them dead where they huddled if Draco delayed Disapparating
them another moment.

Draco groaned and attempted to push his face further into his hands, but there was no place left
to go. He was buried up to his precious neck already, and he had taken Ginny along for the ride.
Their fates were now intertwined and sealed, joined forever until death tore them apart. And that,
unfortunately, could be sooner than either of them bargained for.

He looked up and took her painfully limp hand into his, interlocking her fingers with his. Then
he placed their joined hands on his lips and stared at her. When was she going to wake up and tell
him what the hell was going on? He noticed days ago that she wore no rings. So what? It didn't
mean a damn thing, that's what.

He remembered his mother telling him she stopped wearing her rings during her pregnancy because
her hands were so swollen they no longer fit. Draco looked at Ginny's hands for the millionth
time. Were they swollen? How was he supposed to know? The only thing he knew was that her belly was
filled with some other wizard's child.

His eyes were drawn to that distasteful lump, growing like a tumor out of her. As he sat there,
Draco decided he loathed that baby and could care less if it dropped dead as long as it didn't
take Ginny with it. That wretched unborn creature had cost him a bloody fortune. The Slytherin was
sure they would have made it safely to the Apparation stations on the opposite side of the camp the
night of the attack if Ginny hadn't been pregnant. That baby had blown his cover, put
Ginny's life in peril, and placed the balance of the War in jeopardy.

Wasn't there a spell to turn off the raging faucet in his head? Merlin. It was bloody
paralyzing was what it was. He was drowning in his own collection of malignant and embittered
thoughts. That was the last thing they needed. Because in his mind, the three of them were now one,
even the blasted tumor, and it was his job to get them all safely through what was left of the War,
because it was fast coming to a close, one way or the other.

The seventh Horcrux had been destroyed by the Order several months ago, and the outcome of the
War now hinged on the long awaited and much dreaded duel between the Dark Lord and Potter, either
that or an assassination of one or the other. Both sides were scrambling to get the upper hand, and
with Draco's unfortunate discovery, the Order had just lost what little advantage it once
held.

Fuck it. Draco stripped down to his boxers and crawled into bed bedside Ginny. Then he carefully
took her into his arms and held her close to his frightened, breaking heart. He didn't know,
and he didn't want to know. He didn't give a rat's arse about her other wizard or her
other life. In his world, right here and now, she belonged to him, and he would protect her and
care for her until there wasn't a breath left in his cursed body.

And so Ginny's wizard held her and soothed her with his soft-spoken words of endearment. He
closed his eyes, shutting out the world he bitterly resented, buried his face in the nape of her
neck, and opened his embattled soul to her. He whispered his closely held secrets, shared his
shattered illusions, and confessed his terminal love to a woman who could no longer hear him, who
might never hear him. And then, without his consent, a peaceful, dreamless sleep took the exhausted
Slytherin away.

-->



4. You're Nutters
-----------------



**Author's Notes:** Much appreciation to gotsnape for her insightful injection of life
into this chapter. Her generous assistance was sorely needed. -fallenwitch

**Chapter 4**

**You're Nutters**

Draco startled awake at the violent shove. He found himself flat on his back, staring blankly at
the ceiling. Looking down, he saw Ginny scrambling awkwardly across the bed. What in the bloody
name of Merlin was she doing? Was she delirious? Hell, she going to topple off the bed and hurt
herself. Hauling his sleep-laden arse up, Draco made a spectacular grab for her, latching onto her
hips and pinning her safely to the bed. She swung around, eyes wide with panic.

"Draco, the loo. Where's the loo?"

The loo? Good lord, was that an emergency? He nodded and helped her off the bed and across the
room to the bathroom.

"It's right here," he said, flinging the door open.

Then he planted his feet and looked over at her for some sign of something. Did she need help in
there? She rushed past him and slammed the door in his face, nearly cutting off the tip of his
nose. Fine, that answered that question. She didn't need his bloody assistance.

Draco leaned against the wall and gratefully released the twisted bundle of pent up anxiety that
had scraped his stomach raw over the past two days. Instead, he welcomed the wave of relief that
rippled through his body, almost knocking him over with its blissful power.

Thirty-five interminable minutes later, Draco stopped pacing the floor of their bedroom and
approached the bathroom door, concerned. It didn't take that long for any creature on the face
of the earth to use the loo. What was going on in there? Was she alright? Had she gotten dizzy and
collapsed? She had been pale and unsteady on her feet when she went in there, but then again, that
didn't stop her from slamming the door in his face. He knocked lightly.

"Ginny?"

No answer. He waited a few seconds and knocked again.

"Ginny, is everything okay?"

No answer.

Just as his hand touched the doorknob of the bathroom door, it swung open. Draco stood aside to
let Ginny pass. She walked out with red eyes and evidence of hastily wiped tears still clinging to
her blotchy face. His eyes followed her all the way across the room, until she climbed back into
bed, pulled the covers up, and laid her head down on the pillow. Had she been sick? He knew about
pregnant women throwing up.

Draco hesitated before cautiously approaching her bedside and kneeling down to speak to her. Her
eyes were focused on her unfamiliar surrounding, ignoring the only other living being in the room,
the elegant Death Eater himself.

"What's wrong, Ginny?" Her eyes never left their distant focus. When Draco put his
hand on her shoulder, she glanced down at him briefly. "Is there anything I can do?"

She sighed and looked away. "Honestly, Draco, I think you've done enough already,
don't you?"

The cool tone in her voice stung him. What the hell had he done? Not at damn thing, at least not
yet. "What are you talking about?"

She ignored his question. "Where are we?"

"This place?" She nodded. "Don't worry. This is my cottage."

"I didn't know you had a cottage."

"We'll be safe here."

Her eyes widened at this. "Safe?"

"Yes, safe. There was nowhere else to bring you. It's veiled, warded, and unplottable.
We can hide out here indefinitely if we need to."

Ginny sat up. "Is that what we're doing here, hiding?"

"Of course." What the hell was she so irked about?

"And then what? We can't stay here forever, not with the baby coming."

Her heated, indignant tone grated on him. "Merlin, Ginny, I don't know." He stood
and raked an exasperated hand through his hair. Of course he didn't know how he was going to
get them out of the incredible mess he had gotten them into. He was too goddamn busy worrying about
her dying, pregnant arse to think about that. "Excuse me if I didn't plan for this
particular contingency."

She was on her shaky feet at the dripping sarcasm in his voice. "What, exactly, does
*that* mean?" she hissed, dark eyes flashing.

He stared right back at her with his infuriated eyes. What a bloody ungrateful witch. Whatever
happened to the small amount of gratitude he expected for saving her adulterous, pregnant arse from
every Death Eater in England?

"It means that I never thought I'd have to deal with a pregnant witch right now,
that's what." Before he could blink, she struck him across the face, hard. When she moved
to strike him a second time, his swift reflexes immobilized her wrist in his grasp. He shook his
head. She struggled against his iron grip, trying to free her wrist from the crushing lock he had
on her. "*Don't* do that again," he warned.

Ginny stared at him, startled at the foreign edge to his voice and the excruciating pain he was
causing her. Her knees began to buckle under. Was he breaking every bone in her wrist? She nodded
in agreement, and he mercifully released her. Then she snatched her hand back, straightened, and
massaged her bruised wrist while glaring at him. Did she see a flicker of regret in his eyes?
Arsehole. She spun around.

"Ginny, please - "

While her back blocked his view, she grabbed the nearest object, a brass bookend, with her
uninjured hand. Whirling around, she hauled off and threw it at him as hard as she could, hoping to
knock the bastard unconscious. She was fast, but he was faster. Not only did he deftly dodge the
bookend, but he also had the business end of his wand in her stunned face before she could
exhale.

"Are you completely mad, woman?" She was rabid and raving and completely nutters,
attacking him like this. What the hell was wrong with her? It wasn't his goddamn fault. He
didn't order the bloody attack on her camp just so he could experience the joy of kidnapping
her during what was left of his newly shortened lifespan.

Ginny knocked his wand aside with one swipe of her furious hand and stuck her finger in his
face. "Don't you even start that nonsense with me, Draco." She was seething mad, so
angry she could barely get out a coherent word to his arrogant, unfeeling face. "Put that
ruddy wand away before I snap it in half."

He raised an eyebrow at this but tucked his wand away in his robes, admiring her Gryffindor
courage. There wasn't another witch in England who would dare do that to his Death Eating
face.

"Stop being such a bloody git." She shoved him back with her uninjured hand. He
didn't react or even attempt to deflect her crazy antics this time. "This baby is as much
your responsibility as mine." Then she folded her arms across her chest and glared at his look
of callous incredulity.

"Mine?"

"Yes, yours. My parents, not to mention my brothers, are going to kill us, but they're
going to kill you first."

Draco leaned forward and stared at her. "You're nutters."

Ginny swung around and began rifling through the room, throwing objects here and there, looking
for her clothes. Making contact with her things, she pulled on her boots, threw on her cloak, and
grabbed her wand. She wasn't going to put up with his Malfoy bullshit. She might be pregnant,
but that didn't make her a doormat.

*"Expelliarmus!"*

Her wand flew out of her hand. One swift summoning charm later, and the Slytherin held it in his
sure hands. Ginny placed an irritated hand on her hip as she glared at his childish antics.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He hissed, furious beyond belief.

"Leaving."

Over his dead and rotting corpse. The Slytherin had just slit his own throat to save the
ungrateful hag, and she was about to go and commit suicide. He strode across the room, grabbed her
by the arm, and jerked her flush against him before glowering down her unreasonable throat.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

She stuck her defiant chin up in the air. "You're calling me nutters? Weren't you
the one who told me that we didn't need the anti-conception potion? That the anti-pregnancy
charm was protective enough? Well, I guess you were wrong, weren't you? If you're not
wizard enough to take responsibility for the child that you fathered, then I'm
leaving."

Draco nearly fell out of his robes.

"Ginny," he loosened his hold on her arm, lowered his voice, and stared at her,
"I didn't father your child." She looked up at him, shocked and hurt.

"How can you say that? Of course you did. You know that I've never been with anyone
else." Was she serious? "If you don't want to be involved with your own child, fine.
I'm leaving and don't bother owling me later." She yanked her arm hard, attempting to
break his hold on her.

"Wait a bloody minute, Ginny." He did not release her. "Of course I want to be
involved with my child. You know that. But that child isn't mine. How could it be? I
haven't been with you in over two and a half years."

She looked at him and laughed, laughed right into his heartless, sadistic face. It felt
horrible, awful. She wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She wanted to die right
then and there, in his miserable cottage, hidden away from the world in a cloud of Malfoy shame.
When he merely raised a concerned eyebrow at her, her laughter fell away into an uncomfortable
silence. The longer she stared at him, the more unsettled her stomach became.

"What are you talking about? We've been shagging each other for months, and you know
it." Her brave facade began to crack when he shook his head at her. Where was the malice in
his voice, the deception in his face, and the pushing her away from his heart? There was none. She
knew the Slytherin well enough to know when he was speaking the truth. "I don't
understand," she whispered, going limp in his hands.

"We've been at war for the past two and a half years."

"War?"

"The Dark Lord and the Order. You've been living at the campground for the Order,
remember?" She shook her head and heard him let out an exasperated sigh. "Merlin."
He took her into both his hands and stared at her. "Ginny, you've been living at that camp
for two and a half years with hundreds of children and older witches and wizards. Do you remember
any of it?"

She shook her head.

"Do you remember being knocked unconscious when the camp was attacked?"

Ginny shook her head again, watching the devastation fall over his face as question after
question fell from his mouth.

When his words began to sink into her incredibly thick, amnestic skull, she got a horrible
feeling in the pit of her precarious stomach. Was she going to be sick? Ginny reached out and held
onto Draco's outstretched arms. The bitter taste of bile was tugging at the back of her throat,
and she began to feel dizzy.

"Draco," she whispered, now unable to look him in the eye. Instead, she stared at the
point where the front of his robes made contact with his throat. "If you're not the father
of this baby, then who is?"

His soft, pale grey eyes were on her as he shook his head. "I don't know,
Ginny."

Draco watched as Ginny fell into a dead faint in his arms. He sighed and, for the second time in
as many days, picked up his pregnant fallen witch and placed her back in his bed. Then he stared at
her, as vulnerable as he'd ever known her to be, awash in his sheets, pale and confused, and
fighting him every bloody step of the way.

"Goddamn it, Ginny," he muttered before collapsing into the luxury of the chair beside
her bed.

**Author's Notes:** Still here? Thanks for reading. - fallenwitch

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5. Stop It, Draco
-----------------



**Author's Notes:**

1) Yes, Ginny has amnesia. Her memory stops sometime before the War when she and Draco were
still in the midst of their relationship, which is why she woke up assuming he was the father of
her child. She is amnestic for the duration of the War so far, including how she became pregnant
and the identity of the father of her child. Draco is devastated and angry became she gave him a
vow to wait for him until the War was over. Does that help any of the confused out there?

2) Am I starting to hear the beginnings of this fic crashing and burning? Oh, well, our story
continues for now... -fallenwitch

**Chapter 5**

**Stop It, Draco**

"Stop it, Draco."

"Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me in that tone of voice." What? How the hell did she know he was
glaring at her? Did the witch have eyes in the back of her head, Mad-Eye Moody style? "I
didn't start the War. I didn't attack the camp. And I didn't ask you to rescue me, or
have you forgotten that?"

Goddamn it. What an ungrateful witch.

"I never said I wasn't grateful because I am. But there's no need to glare at me.
You can beat me, kick me, and hex me into next week, and I still won't remember where this baby
came from, alright?" Then she closed her book with a snap, turned around, and caught Draco
glaring at her. She raised a delicate eyebrow back at him.

Without a word, Draco marched upstairs and slammed the door to his claustrophobic cell shut.
They had struggled through five tension-filled days together, barely tolerating each other. Or was
it just him?

The sight of her was pushing Draco over his last irritable edge, until he felt like he was going
mad, consumed by his seething pit of anger and outrage and, yes, jealousy. What wizard had wooed
her and stolen her heart, leaving his undeniable calling card behind? Draco wanted to grab her
fucking throat and throttle her. Either that or take her into his aching arms and shake them both
wake from their mutual, miserable screw up of a never-ending nightmare. It was a folie à deux of
unbelievable proportions.

Those blasted wizards in the Order. There was only one wizard he couldn't kill, at least not
until the War was over and the Dark Lord was dead. After that, Potter was every bit as much fair
game as the rest of those scumbags.

Potter? Draco had this sinking feeling in the pit of his pureblooded stomach that that four-eyed
freak of a Gryffindor Seeker had bested him again. No, he couldn't think about it now, so he
kept pushing the unreasonable beast of a notion to the back of his mind where it refused to stay
put. Of course he knew, everyone knew, that Ginny had been besotted with Potter for years, and that
the Wonder Boy finally took to noticing her in his sixth year.

They dated for a period of time before Draco came along and stole her away. Then the bloody War
started. Had her relationship with Potter rekindled and grown into something more over the past two
and a half years? Draco ran a frustrated hand over his disgusted face and groaned. Any wizard but
that freak of a wizard.

The thought of his Ginny carrying Potter's child was more than he could tolerate. He was
going to be sick. Yes, he was going to puke his guts out all over his prison cell of a room. Was
Potter going to haunt his Slytherin arse with a Potter junior somewhere in the known wizarding
world with Ginny as its mother? Merlin, it was a sick fucking world out there.

Draco threw his infuriated body down on the bed and began staring at the ceiling of his room,
the claustrophobic one he had been banished to when Ginny took over his room downstairs. It was a
glorified broom closet was what it was. He had hastily enlarged it into a room when Ginny regained
consciousness, and he was forced to give up the luxury of the chair beside her bed.

No, he didn't have the heart to kick the pregnant wench out of his room as he ruddy well
should have. Would you? So he suffered in relative Malfoy silence. Glancing over at his wand, Draco
summoned one of his spell books.

Where were those bloody house-elves when you needed one? He flipped through the dusty tomb until
he hit upon the desired page. His elegant finger stopped mid-page. After reading the directions
twice, he sat up, took his wand in hand, and pointed it dead center at the wall next to him.

Then he grumpily spat out the incantation.

A stinging blast of frozen winter air exploded into the place, toppling the surprised wizard
backward as an enormous gaping hole opened up, blowing the contents of his room around.

"Shit!"

The Slytherin was on his hands and knees looking for his wand, which had been blown out of his
unexpecting hand. The wind wasn't helping things. Where the hell was it?

"Draco! Draco, are you all right?" She was pounding on his door, but he couldn't
hear a thing. It was too damn noisy what with the wind and his own internal cursing.

By the time she had worked up enough strength to open the heavy wooden door against the
torrential blowing wind, he was gone from her sight, on the other side of the bed searching for his
wand. She ran inside, pummeled by the frigid night air, and saw only the huge hole in the wall.

"Draco? Draco!" Ginny stood, yelling out of the Hagrid-sized hole with one small hand
tenuously anchoring her to the wall. The wind and the cold ripped at her, sending her crimson silk
and robes streaming backward. "Draco!"

By the time he saw her, she was halfway out the hole, looking frantically for him. The Slytherin
dove for his pregnant package of red silk and freckles, wrapped his arms around her considerable
waist, and wrestled her gently to the ground, away from the goddamn hole.

"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, furious. She looked at him and shook her
head, one hand to her ear. "WHAT - THE - HELL - ARE - YOU - DOING?" The added decibels
did nothing for her hearing. He grabbed her wand.

*"Finite!"*

Complete silence blanketed the small room as the hole in the wall sealed itself.

"WHAT?" she yelled, startled by the sound of her voice echoing off the walls.

He sighed. "I said, 'What the hell are you doing?'" He had one infernal
eyebrow raised at her.

"Saving you."

"Do I look like I need saving?"

She eyed him from the top of his tousled platinum locks to bottom of his glorious boots.
"Yes."

Draco snorted before issuing a summoning charm. His long lost wand flew into his impatient
hands. "If I need your help, I'll let you know." She nodded before taking her wand
from him. Then he untangled himself from her, muttering loud enough for her to hear, "The last
thing I need is for you to fall out of that damn hole."

He picked himself up before offering her a hand. She brushed his hand aside and pulled herself
up, using his bed as leverage. When he turned around, Draco saw the total havoc he had wrecked upon
his miserable room. In the middle of the disaster was his shredded spell book. He picked it up.

*"Reparo."*

He shot her a nasty glance. "I'm capable of repairing my own book, thanks."

Ignoring his inflammatory remarks and irritated tone, Ginny casually strolled about throwing
cleaning and straightening spells as she went. "What were you trying to do?"

While his room was in a whirl, courtesy of the witch from Gryffindor, Draco sighed. "I was
trying to put in a window."

She glanced back at him. "A window?"

"You know how claustrophobic I get. I enlarged this broom closet earlier in the week, and
it needed a few windows. That's all."

"Oh."

Before he could turn his head, she had charmed three enormous windows into place, one on each
empty wall.

"Where did you learn how to do that?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

As he looked at the merciful windows, three sets of heavy curtains fell into place.

"I know how you hate the early morning sun," she said softly.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

She smiled. "You're welcome." Pause. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Can't we call some kind of a truce? If we're both going to be staying here
indefinitely... "

He sighed. Was he capable of putting aside his jealousy and anger and enormous feelings of
rejection? Not bloody likely. Malfoys were too genetically narcissistic to take this kind of
emotional humiliation lying down.

Her gentle hand was on his face, drawing him into her spectacular world, her dark eyes
beseeching his. Taking an unsteady breath, Draco shut his eyes. Having her this close was
interfering with his ability to think straight, the way it always did.

When he felt her soft, incredibly warm lips on his cheek and her face touching his, he threw his
arms around her and buried his face in the nape of her neck, drinking in her precious scent. Yes,
the Slytherin had finally gone over the deep end, into that dangerous territory which didn't
exist anymore. He was out of his mind with her. His desire to possess her, to own her, to have her
belong to him and only him was overwhelming his senses and any sense he ever had.

His. His. His. Only she wasn't his anymore.

He had no hold on her. She now belonged to some other wizard in the most painful way possible,
and it was tearing him apart. And no, four weeks wasn't enough time for him to adjust his heart
or wrap his mind around her new situation. Here she was in his arms, and he was impotent. Too
little, too late. He couldn't reclaim her love.

"Draco?"

He didn't want to hear her voice or see her pregnant belly or move from her arms. Why
couldn't he expire right here and now? What a fantastic way to pass from one side of the veil
to the other.

Her hands were cradling his head and her fingers were running through his silver blond locks.
When he looked up, she placed whisper-light kisses on his face. He moaned as she attempted to
comfort him in the way she always comforted him, and his heart exploded with a mixture of grief and
pained relief.

When his pale grey eyes stared into hers and his hands reached out for her face, there was no
resistance from her. He watched her dark eyes as his lips descended onto hers. The only hesitation
was his as he softly brushed her baby soft lips with his, testing her waters. To his surprise, her
willing lips met his and devoured his feeble attempt at contact with her searing, full-mouth kiss
engulfing him.

Her magnificent crimson tresses were in his hands. Her heated body was pressing against his as
he felt her back arch towards him and heard the faintest hint of a moan echo from her throat. Draco
was in a free fall, dangerously slipping away from all the carefully placed checks and balances of
their everyday existence. His hands were roaming in places they shouldn't, touching her in ways
best left behind. He was lost in her splendor, incapable of stopping himself. And she wasn't
asking him to stop. No, she was urging him on with each movement.

That's when he felt it, the firm, well-placed knee to his lower gut. Draco startled as he
was struck again. The third ruddy knee bloody well did it. The baby's triple dose of stiff
reality checks yanked the Slytherin out of his fragile fantasy and back into the harsh world he
resented.

Draco stiffly withdrew from Ginny's arms and placed an unsteady hand on his forehead before
turning away from her. What the hell was he doing, attempting to seduce some other wizard's
pregnant witch? Merlin.

When he turned around again, she was gone. He didn't even hear her footsteps on the stairs.
Draco rushed out in time to see her bedroom door close. He collapsed on the wooden staircase and
leaned his pathetic head against the wall, shaking. It was one fucking disaster after another. How
many more ways could he screw up before the end of the week?

**Author's Note:**

1) Folie à deux: A condition in which symptoms of a mental disorder, such as the same delusional
beliefs or ideas, occur simultaneously in two individuals who share a close relationship or
association.

2) Thanks for dropping by again! -fallenwitch

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