Unofficial Portkey Archive

Dedicated to Tegan- who does as much as she can with what I give her. Who sifts patiently through my grammatical errors, gibberish, and all-around nonsense sentences and tells me about them with soft-blow constructive criticism. Thanks so much Tegan. and AntD who let's me torture her with my insane plot twists and gives me a backboard to bounce my future angst from. Thanks AntD

Chapter Nine: A Prowler, The Prophet, and the Last Remaining Price

Ginny had never been one to perfect the art of dueling. Sure, she had traded hexes and curses with her brothers and occasionally the ill tempered schoolmate, but she had never truly matched her skills against someone of equal stature, and the intruder who stood before her, his wand pointed in her direction, was not found wanting in the skills department. But none of this appeared to occur to Ginny's body as it instinctively fell into a defensive position, instantly arming itself with her own wand.

There was a moment, a timeless instant, when the two stood frozen and watching. Ginny's muscles tensed and a chill ran down her spine as she felt his bore into her. The sound of the rapid beats of her heart were pounding relentlessly against her eardrums. The smooth wooden weapon, under the curled fingers of her right hand, was shaking with the force of a fear she hadn't felt since the beginning days of the war. The smells of burning paper and hair reminding her that her possessions had begun to flame in a heap atop Colin's shaggy green rug feet away from where she stood. Taking the initiative, Ginny cast her own hex before her intruder could cast his.

One of Ginny's favorite dueling hexes hit her intruder with enough force to knock him to the ground, the hood of his cloak falling back, as he slid across the dirty floor and through the swinging kitchen door. But Ginny wasn't paying this mind, as for the second time that day, she acted instinctively and performed a spell she had learned when she was still too young, Apparating to the safest place she could recall in her overexcited state.

As her feet met the overgrown grass of the Burrow which was covered in a new coat of dew, her calves and ankles felt damp under her dress. The mid-autumn night air was making her shiver under her cloak, the warming charms that had never worn off not helping chase the gooseflesh away as she stood before the charred remains of the house she'd spent the first seventeen years of her life in.

"Why did I Apparate here?" she asked herself aloud, looking up at the black skeletal remains that had been her childhood home.

She had only visited the Burrow in her dreams, not daring to come during the day, much less make a visit at night. So why was she standing on the front lawn?

Her only answers were the sounds of the nocturnal animals who were conversing to each other in their own languages, agitated at her for disturbing their normally quite routines. The screech of a particularly annoyed owl pulled her from her thoughts, not allowing her the chance to reflect, and without a second thought Ginny Apparated to the safety of her brother's home.

With the night's events crashing down upon her, Ginny began shaking as she stood outside the home of her older brother Ron, hoping he had decided to come home. The pristine white sheep's wool of her cloak was unable to subside the chills that she was feeling on the inside at the memory of a menacing wand pointed between her eyes.

She quickly climbed the three concrete steps to the large front door and lifted the golden knocker. It was cold and surprisingly heavy underneath her fingers; she assumed it had a weighted charm placed upon it as a subtle hint by her brother and his roommates to dissuade late callers.

"Come on Ron, answer the door," she ordered aloud. In her anxiety, she was unconsciously shifting her weight from the balls of her feet to the thick black heels of her Mary Janes, her front teeth bearing down on the ragged nail of her thumb.

Silence was her only answer, but as she lifted her hand to the knocker to tap again, the sound of someone moving behind the thick red door made Ginny pause. She listened to the sounds of their many wards and locks being released and it opened revealing a muddled, Harry Potter.

His black hair was messier than usual, and he wasn't wearing his glasses, unveiling the results of a night of drinking in the premature lines of his face. In the small amount of light flooding out from behind him, Ginny could see he was bare-chested under his dark dressing-gown.

"Ginny?" he asked, vainly trying to hide his semi-naked form and steadily holding the door ajar. "What's wrong?"

"I need to see Ron."

"Why?" he asked, reluctantly widening the door enough for her to enter in way of an invitation. It was an apprehensive habit he had developed over the years, never allowing anyone into his home before he fully understood their intentions.

Rushing across the threshold into the warmth of their home, Ginny walked straight to the bottom of the stairs ignoring the neatly piled text books on the coffee table and the dog-eared messy heap of Quidditch magazines atop the end tables.

"Ron!" she yelled up the stairs, disregarding the other sleeping occupant of the cozy home.

"Ginny?" Ron asked, appearing at the top of the stairs in nothing but his white undershirt and candy stripped boxers. "What's wrong?"

"Man-in-flat," Ginny stammered, surprised at the shake in her own voice.

"What?" he asked again, running down the stairs to reach his sister. However, in the poor lighting of the front-hall, he stumbled on the bottom step, falling to the taupe carpeted floor.

"What is going on, Ron?" Hermione asked, her white dressing-gown floating behind her like a cloak in her rush to get down. "Who is here, Harry?"

"Ginny," answered Harry, from behind her. Ginny could see he had sobered from his sleep, as he fixed the extra pair of glasses he always carried in his dressing-gown onto his nose.

"What's happened?" Ron demanded, using the banister to lift himself from the floor. Ginny could see the long pink scar on the muscle of his upper arm that had only been marked by rusty freckles before the war.

"Was he a Death Eater?" Harry asked, his question more of a demanding one than one of interest.

Ginny had seen her share of Death Eaters, draped in their menacing black robes and white faceless masks, but her attacker had been wearing a shabby brown cloak and between the oversized hood and the barely lit flat she had not seen a mask. Remembering the panic she had been under, Ginny couldn't let herself rely on an unclear memory.

"Don't know," she answered, her eyes never leaving the comfort of her brother's as he moved to her, Hermione behind him.

"How can you not know?" Harry insisted, hastily. "It's a simple yes or no question? Was he or wasn't he a Death Eater"

"I said I don't know!" Ginny snapped, her voice breaking. "I walk into my flat, my home, to find everything I own destroyed. Only to be welcomed by a strange man pointing a wand between my eyes, so I hope you can see Harry why I wasn't too keen on checking to see if he was carrying the Dark Mark."

"Someone was in your flat? Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Ron asked, his hand under her chin maneuvering her face from side to side in a parental manner, checking for scratches and bruises. Ginny could smell the soap from the bath he had taken, when he wrapped his hands around her arms. She could feel his strong grip through the material of her cloak and knew she would bruise from his overprotective nature.

"Yes, Yes, and No," Ginny answered. The nervous excitement that filled the air of the small front-hall was beginning to disorientate her, and she tried to focus her energy on her brother.

"Everyone calm down," Hermione demanded, stepping down from the bottom stair and tying the belt of her dressing gown into a knot around her middle. "Let us go into the sitting room and discuss this rationally."

Seating herself between her brother and her friend, Ginny could feel her cloak being pulled tight under her, causing the silver fastening of her wrap to press against the base of her throat as tightly as her brother was clutching her arm.

"Alright, now Ginny let us start from the beginning. You came home after the ball to find your flat was destroyed," Hermione asked soothingly. "Am I correct?"

"Yes," Ginny answered.

"And then what?" asked Harry. He was standing behind them in the wide arched threshold that connected the front-hall to the sitting-room and Ginny had to turn to address him.

"I heard footsteps running down the hall, and a man appeared in my sitting room-"

"So you're sure it was a man?" Ron asked freeing her arm and rising from his cushion next to her. Ginny watched him move silently around the arm of the sofa to stand in the threshold with his best friend.

Ginny tried to recall the image of the intruder that she had seen not an hour before, but her memory was fuzzy. The intruder had been tall and broad, almost burly all signs the attacker was a man.

'But some women were burly too,' a thought offered.

"Yes," she answered uncertainly.

"Then what?" Harry asked, an irritated note in his voice.

"He pulled his wand, and I pulled mine," she answered, a sort of pride coursing through her at the memory of her reflexes being so quick.

"You dueled?" Harry asked, his disbelief apparent.

"If you call knocking your opponent on his arse, dueling. Then yes we dueled," Ginny said, letting her immodesty shine through in the strength of her voice.

"And then?" Hermione asked. Ginny could feel the girl's soft hand on her forearm, and she turned to face her.

"I hexed him, and he fell into the kitchen. Then, I Apparated to the safest place I could think."

"Here?" Ron asked.

"Straight here," Ginny lied, not looking at her brother.

"So you knocked your intruder, who could possibly be a Death Eater, unconscious and then fled here. Is that it?" Harry asked.

"Yes, I suppose that's it," Ginny replied acidly, looking back at him. She noticed his green-eyes darken at her reply.

"Where's Colin?" Ginny heard Hermione ask. She assumed her friend was trying to avoid an uncomfortable confrontation.

"At the Prophet, he had to work all night Merlin," Ginny said, hitting her forehead with the palm of her hand, feeling a pang of guilt for not worrying for her best-friend earlier. "I have to owl him before he gets home."

"Who cares about Creevey?" Ron asked, "We need to get over to Gin's apartment right away."

"I agree," said Harry instantly, as if it was second nature and didn't require any thought.

"That is just silly. Not to mention completely rash," Hermione chided. Her words were serious, but there was a tinkle of a laugh in her voice. Ginny assumed it was from her brother and Harry's foolish impulsiveness.

"Plus, you don't even have your wands," Ginny added, tactlessly scanning their semi-exposed bodies. But in the time it took her eyes to move from their bare feet to the top of their mussed hair, both men had drawn their wands from behind them.

"You were saying baby sister?" Ron asked, the beginnings of a smirk forming on his pale lips.

"Well," she replied lazily, trying to stall and hide the astonishment she held at her brother and his friend's reflexes. "I honestly don't want to know where you two keep those things."

"What things?" Hermione asked, giving an embarrassed smile. Ginny could see her friend's face blushing even in the soft light from the end tables' lamps.

Ginny's attention was pulled from Hermione as Ron asked, "Ready to go?" His question was clearly directed at his best friend, as Ron's blue-eyes rested on him, apparently waiting for Harry's confirmation. The scene of trust and enduring friendship that unfolded between the two young men before Ginny caused a small sting of jealousy to bubble within her.

"Yep!" Harry said.

With a loud pop, they disappeared from the threshold they had been standing in.

"They went without us!" Ginny said angrily, still staring into the space her brother and friend had been inhabiting moments before.

"Yes, I see that," Hermione said, in a nonchalant voice. "But, it will only be a matter of time before they realize they went without their underwear too."

Ginny looked back at her a queer expression on her face. How could Hermione be so calm about this? Yes, she had lived with the boys for some years and had been brought on their numerous 'adventures,' but she still should've felt a little apprehension.

Reading Ginny's mood, Hermione sighed, "Don't worry about them, Ginny. They can hold their own and there's very little chance that they'll find anything."

"I suppose your right," Ginny said, reclining back, letting her head rest on the back of the sofa. Strangely the adrenalin that had been pumping wild through her veins since she had stepped into her flat was slowing to a crawl and the small pains and annoyances that had affected her earlier in the evening began nagging her again. Starting with the pinch of her leather shoes.

"Do you mind if I take my these off? They can be terribly painful you know?" Ginny asked, bending over, playing with the silver buckle and black leather of her shoe.

"Of course," Hermione answered, slightly embarrassed that she hadn't suggested to her guest to get comfortable sooner.

"Actually, I have an extra set of pajamas if you'd liked to change. It's not as if you can go back to your flat or go anywhere else this evening."

In comfortable silence, both girls rose from the cushy blue sofa and walked the short distance to the staircase. Ginny followed Hermione up the stairs and into her host's bedroom.

Hermione's room was designed and maintained much like its owner. Ginny could see her shelved books, knick-knacks, and neatly arranged perfume bottles had been recently dusted, and the oak-vanity was void of any spills of powder or fingerprints on the mirror. She envied the carpeted floor as it lacked the piles of dirty laundry that littered her own. Not a forgotten sock kicked-off in the dead of night cluttered her floor. Ginny assumed that even her under-things and shoes were color coordinated and set at ninety-degree angles.

"Here you are," Hermione said, handing her a folded pair of pajamas and stopping her from analyzing the room any further.

"You can change in here," she explained, walking to the open door. "I'll be downstairs making some tea or coffee or whatever Harry brought home the other day. He was supposed to go shopping, but you know Harry?"

At the sound of the door shutting, Ginny flopped down onto Hermione's bed, the firm mattress and pastel quilt sinking under her weight. She undid the buckles of her shoes and slipped each off, massaging the raw red lines on the tops of and soles of her bare feet that were left by the leather. She unfastened the gold pin holding her cloak and let it slide down her bare back, the soft material reminding her of Draco's hands roaming her back. She sighed aloud. Draco was not a man she should spend her time worrying over, but the idea of him lying beside Pansy Parkinson at that moment, made the pit of her stomach flop with jealousy. She shook her head, successfully ridding herself of thoughts of the blonde, and pulled on the top Hermione had given her. The material was a little rougher than the well-worn pajamas Ginny was accustomed to wearing, and the white tubing found on the hem was irritating her skin. She stood, letting her dress fall to the floor and was stepping out of it, when she heard the boys pop into the ground floor.

~*~*~*~

"We secured the perimeter. The flat was clean," Ron announced, his voice and broad but drooped shoulders showing the evidence of his disappointment.

Ginny and Hermione stared back at him, both showing their inexperience with Ron's Auror's jargon.

"In other words, there was no one else there," Harry said, an image of dissatisfaction etched into the bright green eyes behind his glasses. He was gazing down at his wand with a detached look gracing the handsome features of his face. "By the way," he said turning to her, "Colin Flooed in while we were there. I thought the poor chap was going to have a heart attack."

"And my things?" Ginny asked, bracing herself for the worse.

"Sorry Gin," answered Ron. "Most of the books were still burning when we arrived. Harry put them out, but all that was left was a great pile of ashes."

"The furniture?" she asked putting her head in her hands.

"Well," Harry offered, "the sofa is salvageable with a few mending charms, but your television is beyond repair magical or otherwise."

"Great! Now Mum and Dad will have even more to complain about," said a familiar voice. Ginny turned her head to see who was in the threshold behind her. Colin was standing under the archway, a folded newspaper in his right hand but Ginny ignored it. She was just happy to see her best friend.

"Colin!" she cried. Without a second thought, she leapt from her seat on the sofa and rushed to him, flinging her arms around his neck. "Oh Merlin, I'm glad you're alright."

"I might say the same," he replied to her, his voice muffled in her hair. Quickly he curled his arms around her middle, matching the eagerness of her hug. Ginny could feel the camera he wore from his neck painfully pressing into her chest, but she didn't loosen her grip.

"I'll make some tea," Hermione said.

~*~*~*~

Ginny watched from one side of the blue island as Colin settled on the wooden barstool across from her, a set of yellow pajamas that Hermione had given him to wear, adorning his thin body. Together they sat alone in the kitchen after being shooed in like children by Hermione, so that she, Harry, and Ron could discuss 'The Incident'. Ginny looked down to the copy of the Prophet that Colin had slapped down on the counter between them. The moving black and white inked picture showed herself in the less than happy mood she had been in at the time.

"Read it," he ordered.

Harmless Fun or A Deadly Game: Weasley Brothers overstep their bounds by drugging their guests.

Despite the nasty byline that begged for her to throw it into the dustbin Ginny continued reading.

Yesterday evening as promised by this paper I, Lita Gross, attended one of the most exclusive social events of the year. The Annual Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes Charity Masquerade Ball began as a charming event whose guest list read more like the Wizarding who's who. Celebrities ranging from socialite Pansy Parkinson-Price to heiress Betty Bott danced the night away under the enchanted ceiling that lit itself with a maze of dazzling vibrant colours every few minutes. There is no doubt it was bewitched with the same fireworks charm that has been excessively popular at all the affluent parties this year.

"Popular?" Ginny scoffed putting down the paper, "I haven't seen that charm anywhere-"

"Just finish reading Gin, you'll have plenty more to be complain about," Colin interrupted.

The incident that launched the party's disastrous fate was the violent confrontation between Draco Malfoy, sole heir of the Malfoy family fortune, and Ronald Weasley, Auror and decorated war veteran. Mr. Malfoy was dancing with his beautiful young partner when an unprovoked Mr. Weasley attacked him. Mr. Malfoy, being obviously more mature, did not strike back. The childish squabble was ended when Mr. Weasley was restrained by his fellow partygoer and long time best friend, Harry Potter. What invoked the violent outburst? Envy? Jealously? Apparently not. Mr. Malfoy's dance partner was identified as Virginia Weasley, the youngest and only sister of the famous Weasley brothers.

What of Wraith? Pride? Lust? Sloth? Gluttony?

It seems any of these wicked traits can be easily invoked by taking a lengthy sip of WWW's new drink "Seven-Sins-Swing."

The controversial beverage was used to illegally experiment on the unsuspecting and by invitation-only guests. Although no formal complaints have been filed against the probationary twins, there will no doubt be criticisms.

The mysterious new beverage forces you to act on feelings that are normally restrained by your inhibitions. It seemed to be working its chemical and charmed magic on other party guests as well. Holyhead Harpies Seeker Cho Chang was seen hoarding a number of hors d'oeuvre filled trays, while Ministry worker Seamus Finnegan dumped goblets of the color changing liquid onto contemporary artist Dean Thomas.

As you can see from photographer Colin Creevey's photo, most of the guests fell victim to the more innocent and less potent sin of Sloth. Just another example where the Weasley Twins have created another loophole to dodge the consequences of their irresponsible actions.

Ginny folded the paper and put it back onto the clean top of the island.

"Stupid 'Envious' bitch," Ginny scowled, looking down at the newspaper as if it would argue with her.

"Nobody listens to her anyway, but don't you see Ginny. Now I know that it wasn't your fault...It was those devilish brothers of yours. I should have known you'd never lie to me. Running about with Draco Malfoy." Colin smiled, leaning onto his elbows, the pastel material sliding easily over the smooth counter.

"It wasn't my brothers' fault Colin," Ginny answered. Looking up from the paper at Colin, whose confusion was anything but hidden from her, she scraped her fingers through her thick hair, bringing it up and tying it with the elastic-band she'd stolen from Hermione's vanity.

It wasn't fair to Colin for her to keep lying to him; it wasn't as if he ever kept anything from her. She had been the first person he had confided in that he didn't find himself attracted to the opposite sex, but instead he found himself drawn more in the general Wizards' direction. She had been the shoulder he cried on when the father, he idolized, said to him that he couldn't handle his son being a Nancy boy. Besides, he had always been a good friend, and he wasn't going to run and tell the Trio. Taking a deep breath, Ginny began,"Colin, you're my friend right?"

"Of course I am," he answered.

"Then there's something I need to tell you."

The words flowed freely from her lips, her tongue becoming more agile with every sentence she completed. Her guilty conscience began to breath again under the lightened weight of her reformed lies.

She watched as Colin's squinty eyes grew wide with astonishment when she spoke of the map and when they narrowed with suspicion when she used Draco's name.

She kept from him the intimate details of the things she had discovered about Draco. Details about his mother's illness, the sunburn he'd suffered when going to Egypt, the way his skin was always so warm when he touched her, the twitches his lips suffered when he tried not to laugh, the grey his eyes turned when they darkened on her...

"Colin to Ginny?" Colin asked, waving his small hand before her eyes.

"Sorry Colin," she apologized, shaking her head to clear it of such thoughts. "Do you see why I have to keep it secret now? Why no one can find out? If Draco is successful, and he actually finds this place, the possibilities are limitless."

"Yes, Gin but it's Draco-I'm so evil, I was born to be a Death Eater-Malfoy that we're discussing here. He could easily 'limit your possibilities.'"

"He's not like that. He's changed and there's no evidence proving he was a Death Eater."

"Yes, but there's also no evidence proving he wasn't. The git just disappeared during the war and didn't return till it was over. Besides even if he wasn't a Death Eater, he was cruel. Do you remember the things he use to say, about you, your family, your mum."

"No, I haven't forgotten...But everyone deserves the chance to redeem themselves."

"I disagree," Colin said, leaning back on his stool.

"Some people don't deserve forgiveness for the things they've done."

"Everyone deserves some degree of forgiveness," she answered, the anger she was feeling at his ignorance boiling in her. "Especially if that person is trying to change."

"Well, he didn't seem like he was trying to change to me. Walking about the ball with Pansy Parkinson, who happens to be very light on her feet by the way, on his arm and snogging with you in the shadows."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I would never try and hurt your feelings Gin, you know this, but it was just another way for him to hold you in your place. Parading about with one of the social-elite and then playing with you, his little secret."

"You say it like more was happening than what actually was, as if I'm dirty or something. I'm not dirty Colin!"

"I don't see you that way, but he might. When it comes down to it and you strip away everything getting down to the bone, Gin, he's still the same Malfoy, who teased and tortured and was an incredible arse to you and everyone else, who thought it wasn't a good day until someone tripped, fell, and groveled at his big expensive shoed feet."

"You're right," Ginny lied, finding it easier to agree with her best friend's logic than to argue against him. Colin could be very pigheaded at moments, and it was effortless to let him believe he won even when he didn't.

"Of course I'm right." He shoveled a teacake into his mouth, giving her a smile of brown crumbs.

Ginny opened her mouth, ready to continue their friendly banter, but stopped short of speaking as the sound of shattering porcelain crashed into the kitchen.

*~*~*

Hermione paused opening the swinging door to their kitchen at the sound of Ginny's voice.

The first word she heard her friend use was Malfoy and then Map. This was odd in itself, but for some reason the words seem to fit together and hold a great importance, as if she had heard them somewhere before, but she couldn't remember who had spoken them or where.

Rare

Map

Egypt

Hogwarts

Utopia

Founders

Bound

Blood

Her mind began turning like the rusted gears of an old factory, missing pieces of her memory falling into place, filling the spans of lost and forgotten time. Her mind fighting against a magical wall trying to find an entire day that had been wiped clear was crashing straining her body, and she dropped the teapot she was carrying.

*~*~*

Surprisingly, Draco slept soundly that evening. If it was due to the alcohol that had been flowing freely through his veins or the relief he'd gotten from having Ginny Weasley agree to help him again, he did not know or care to examine it.

However the next morning was not so pleasant. The pounding of tiny mining dwarves resounded in the deepest caves of his head. He would have been perfectly content to lie in bed for the greater part of the cool November morning and emerge sometime that evening with a craving for something with a great deal of salt, demanding it from the Manor's cook, but he was the head of his household now, and with certain privileges came certain responsibilities.

He fought hard not to give into the overpowering urge to throw something heavy and iron at Tink when she opened the curtains of his massive stained glass windows, letting the sunlight spill through the multiple colored panes. He whined when she opened the door to his wardrobe and the hinge creaked.

'Where was Edmund?' he wondered, watching Tink move about his room gathering the effects he'd need for the day. Edmund rarely if ever allowed another house-elf to do his chores, and now Tink stood at the side of his bed, only her eyes looking at him over the horizon of his mattress.

"Where's Edmund?" he asked, his throat didn't feel sore but horribly dry, and his voice came out scratchy. He knew he needed water, and he'd order her to fetch him a glass after she answered his question.

"Tinks don't knows exactly sir," she answered, blinking her large brown eyes at him.

"A glass of water," he ordered, but the demanding words lost their edge as they fell to a whisper. His tiny house-elf quickly scampered to the silver pitcher he kept atop the small bar in his room, and returned with a tall crystal glass of cool water that he greedily accepted.

Draco took a long sip, relishing the feeling of the cool liquid slipping down his parched throat.

"You haven't an idea of where he is," he asked, thankful his voice was no longer scratchy, but strong. He was bored with Tink and concentrated on one of the three paintings that adorned the massive wall opposite his bed. It had been painted over a century ago, and Draco enjoyed watching the tall grass of the Manor's front lawn move like a yellow ocean in the autumn breeze. 'Where could my house-elf be?' he thought, his questions stemming not from concern for the health or well being of his servant, but rather from his want of a familiar attendant.

"Tink didn't says that sir," the tiny house-elf answered, "Tink says she doesn't knows exactly where he is sir."

Draco whipped his head around at her answer, the thin short wisps of his fringe falling onto his forehead. "Are you correcting me?" he demanded, snapping at his outspoken servant in an attempt to cow her.

"No sirs," answered Tink, looking down at her shoeless feet. "Tinks didn't mean any disrespect by it, sir. Tink will iron her hands sir."

Draco grimaced at the visualization of someone ironing their own hands and hoped he wouldn't regret his next statement, "Now there's no need to do that," he sighed. "Just remember your place next time. Do we have an understanding?"

"Tinks understands very well, Young Master," she answered, a hint of a smile playing along her lipless mouth.

The sight made him grimace more than the image of ironed fingers, and he exhaled loudly, laying back into his feather-stuffed pillows, pulling his duvet over the basic separates of the suit he'd fallen asleep in.

"Why am I being nice to house-elves?" he asked audibly.

'Weasley. It has to be Weasley,' he answered himself bitterly, remembering the uncharacteristic gentleness he'd bestowed upon her the previous evening.

"Ugh," he groaned. "What in the bloody hell possessed me to kiss her?"

He didn't know why he had felt the need to cover her lips, to touch her the way he did. Maybe it was the jealousy he'd felt when he had watched her dance with Potter and Wood, their large unkempt hands gliding over her waist as they directed her around the ballroom's floor. Maybe it was the way she was looking so innocent and seductive in that shimmering white dress she had worn. Maybe it was because he could sense the sincere empathy she had for his predicament or her habit of using an uninhibited style of kind and bold words when speaking to him. Maybe it was the headstrong manner she used in defending the people she cared for and that she had shielded him when her own brother had been the attacker. But maybe, it was simply because he had wanted to kiss her; he had wanted to know what the texture of her freckled skin would feel like crushed against his own; he had wanted to taste from her kiss the fierceness that she had never tried to hide from him; he had wanted to be engulfed in that scent that was so individually her. He had wanted it all, and Malfoy's always got what they wanted.

'Dear Merlin, I'm outright mad,' he thought, worried about his mental health.

He shouldn't let himself think of Ginny Weasley in this impish way. She wasn't just any employee he could do with what he wanted. No, she was Ginny Weasley, youngest daughter of Arthur Weasley, baby sister of six very large male Weasleys, and the only Untouchable from her department he was willing to trust. No, he definitely could not think of her this way.

He pulled his duvet over his head, hoping to hide from his problems in the darkness of the black comforter, but when he closed his eyes, the image of Ginny Weasley standing next to him on the balcony appeared: the moon accenting her soft features, the shine of her bitten lips, the deep crimson of her hair, the fairness of her skin where it wasn't bathed with freckles.

"Get out of my head," he whined turning onto his stomach.

Ginny Weasley was definitely going to be a distraction from his purpose and he didn't need distractions.

"Tink, find Edmund and bring him to my room immediately," he ordered into his pillow.

"But Tink's already told Master-"

He pushed himself out of the nest of pillows to yell, "I don't care! Search the whole Manor if you have to, just bring him here. I have a letter I need him to write for me."

*~*~*

Ginny poured herself a mug of black coffee hoping the bitter beverage would wake her up and help her forget the uncomfortable night she'd had sleeping in Ron's extra-firm bed. He had offered to sleep on the floor and Ginny suspected that he chose it because the wooden floor was softer than his stone like mattress. Behind her, she heard the door swing open, and tilting her head, she saw Hermione sit down at the small island in the center of the kitchen. She kept her back to her host, adding another cube of white sugar to her slowly browning coffee.

"Mornin'," she greeted, blowing onto the surface of her hot drink.

"Ginny," Hermione answered, in a tone that worried her.

"Yes," she replied, not turning around. Had something else happened? Did Colin find something after he left to clean their flat this morning? Did something happen to Ron or Harry when they went flying?

"I am not sure exactly how to bring this up to you other then to start off saying that I over heard some of your conversation with Colin yesterday evening, and I can't help but agree with him."

"You were outside the door eavesdropping?" Ginny questioned, turning around to face Hermione, hoping the porcelain cup in her hands wasn't shaking.

"I overheard you, when I was bringing the tea in last night."

"How much did you hear?" Ginny asked, desperate to hear that her friend hadn't heard much.

"Enough to start putting pieces together," Hermione answered regrettably.

"What pieces?"

"Over a month ago, a co-worker of mine came into my office speaking of a conversation that we had the previous day, but I hadn't remembered talking to him at all. Then there was that odd conversation we had over the telephone when you were going batty about some map that you claimed I knew about; then this week we had that strange incident with Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts when you called him Draco, but none of this made any real sense to me until early this morning when I overheard you explaining everything to Colin. Then things, missing parts of my memory, began snapping into place."

"That's impossible! No one can work through a Memory Charm," Ginny exclaimed more to herself than to Hermione. Dropping her coffee cup into the sink, Ginny felt her stomach flopping.

"Not really Ginny. Some people who've been trained to fight against Unforgivables have been able to break through the barriers, but with slight damages to their minds. I've read about them."

"Not that I'm not happy that your mind's performing well Hermione, but you seem to have everything in working order," Ginny asked, letting her eyes narrow on her friend. What wasn't Hermione telling her?

"Well," Hermione sighed, looking down to the island's blue top. "We had some extra training."

"Extra training? Of course it was 'extra training'" Ginny breathed, as if she understood.

"Professor McGonagall insisted Harry have it," Hermione replied. "The month after the end of our seventh year, they held a workshop of sorts. All three of us had to participate, even Neville was required to attend. It was just a basic training against certain charms in case we were ever-"

"Caught by the enemy," Ginny answered, curtly. "Well fortunately none of you were."

Hermione looked up, her untamed curls falling around her head, and Ginny saw a sudden anger pass over her normally comforting brown eyes when they locked with her own.

"So I reckon you remember everything," Ginny said calmly, testing the waters of their delicate conversation. "I won't blame you if you can't wait to scurry off and tell Harry and my brother everything?" she accused softly. The anger she felt at herself for opening her mouth misplaced itself onto the girl sitting across from her.

"You don't see them running in here do you?"

Ginny looked at the door half-expecting her brother to run in, accusations streaming from his lips. But the swinging door remained dormant, and she let her gaze fall back to Hermione, the confusion she was feeling freely gracing her face.

"Against my better judgment, I didn't tell them yesterday evening in hopes that you would have the maturity to tell them yourself or find your own way out of this problem."

"What problem?" Ginny asked.

"You and Malfoy of course."

Ginny opened her mouth to argue that Draco was not a problem, when a beautiful eagle-owl, she recognized instantly as Draco's, flew through the open window of the kitchen, a neatly tied envelope tied to his clawed foot.

"Bit early for post," Hermione commented, adding another block of sugar to her own coffee.

Ginny ignored her and untied the red ribbon holding the envelope from the bird's leg and read her name, smiling to herself at the neat silver lettering. She opened the envelope and pulled out her letter looking over it, she frowned. The hand writing didn't belong to Draco; she had received too many whiny letters from him to recognize his script but it was written as if from him.

She looked over the letter again, the scratchy handwriting looked as if it had been written by a young child, but it was legible. In plain print, were written the words: Drako will be takeing a hollyday to Amerika. Not only was he going to vacation, leave her with the piles of books and maps that needed to be researched and worked over, but he had added insult to injury by having someone else write his letter of dismissal.

"Holiday?" Ginny asked, in disbelief. "After everything that's happened, everything that needs to be done, he is going on holiday."

"Who's it from?" Hermione asked, feeding the handsome owl a small biscuit.

Ginny stuffed the letter back into the envelope it had come in, resisting the urge to crumble it under her fist and throw it into the dustbin. Anger at the blonde young man's thoughtless behavior stirred in her as she looked out the small window of the kitchen, a plan of her own running in her mind. If he was going to be so inconsiderate, she could be inconsiderate too.

"Hermione," she said, turning around, a fake smile pulling up her lips. "Have you ever seen Malfoy Manor?"

*~*~*

Draco sat high in the morning air, the new Comet 560 he had ordered resting between his khaki corduroy clad legs. The long-sleeves of the green knit shirt he wore protecting his fair arms, helping to keep his body as warm as it could possibly get. He had decided against dressing in full traditional Quidditch attire, choosing only the certain pieces he knew he would need to fly comfortably.

Accustomed to having only the needles from the pine trees that surrounded the manicured grounds of the Manor to disturb, the unseasonably cold wind was currently whipping at his face, stirring the short locks of hair that he hadn't bothered to comb back.

He waited patiently as Edmund gathered the charmed golf balls using his elf-magic to put them high into the air for Draco to practice catching. Draco, from years of exercising his favourite sport, had caught almost all the small white spheres before they could reach the ground. A small number, the house-elf had not fixed very high, had fallen to the dull grass below his airborne master, only adding to Draco's quick temper.

'Why does everything insist on defying me?' he asked himself, watching as Edmund charmed another ball to fly effortlessly through the air.

Bending low to his broom, he began to take a sharp dive enjoying the effect the quick descent had on his mind and body. When he was flying nothing else mattered, not the problems of his mother, not his failing Quidditch team, and especially not the predicament he had gotten himself into with Ginny Weasley.

He outstretched his arm to clasp his hand around the small white ball, when a heavy and unfamiliar object flew into him, nearly knocking him from his broom.

"What the hell?!" he yelled, clenching his thighs around his broomstick and grasping the polished handle with one hand to keep himself from falling. He squinted, his eyes trying to shield his vision as the object flapped its wings and feathers at him.

"Fecking owl!" he barked, answering himself as he used his free hand to bat at the foolish bird. "Edmund!" he called down, in hopes his daft servant understood that this surprise attack was not part of his morning's regiment. "Get this bloody bird off me!"

Draco heard the voice of the small house-elf booming up to him then a flash of white light that left his vision blinded by a black wall.

Darkness was Draco's only companion for several minutes. The bliss of no thought or sense was brief as slowly and painfully, the consciousness that had fled from him began to drift back.

The first solid thing he noticed was the aching throb in his right shoulder and the smell of dirt and grass.

"Young Master? Young Master?" a squeaky uncertain voice asked him.

He slowly turned over and sat up, but the action only succeeded in increasing the stabbing pain that ran rampant along his right side; he blinked his eyes at the pale blue sky and searing sun. His house-elf moved to stand and shade him, an envelope in one thin hand and an unattractive large brown owl perched on his shoulder, the weight of the bird causing the small elf to lean to the side.

'What just happened?' he asked himself, staring up from the ground at his tiny servant and his fowl companion. He looked around him, his Comet, intact, laid dormant a few yards from where he sat in the grass. He looked down to his feet, his shiny black boots sitting out of Edmund's small shade, reflecting the sun, his corduroy trousers stained with smears from clumps of dirt and grass that were now ingrained in the lined khaki fabric. There was a numbing pain that streamed up from his thigh but Draco tried ignoring it by moving to his knit shirt. The soft material already green, had traces of red-brown spread across his chest starting at the base of his right shoulder. He attempted to test his shoulder and rolled it in its socket, but the movement only resulted in a blinding pain that caused his body to lose its breath.

"Not that Young Masters cares but Edmunds think that Young Masters should not move too much," the tiny house-elf offered.

"And I advise that Edmund, the house-elf, mind his own bloody business," Draco hissed through his teeth, the pain in his shoulder rekindling his previous sour temperament.

He closed his eyes and bit hard into his bottom lip, prolonging the unavoidable task of witnessing what the ground had done to his side. He slowly opened his eyelids and looked down. His arm was laying limply against his side, the green sleeve torn showing his quickly bruising skin, but Draco ignored this. His attention was at the unnaturally awkward angle his limb had made, displaying the first place it had broken. His stomach felt queasy and the world around him grew fuzzy. He looked up to his tiny servant who was no more than a green and brown blur against a blue fog, for help, before the colourful cloud went black.

*~*~*

Hermione Apparated with Ginny to her friend's flat. She had been surprised at the sight before her, the overturned sofa, the pile of swept up splinters and shards of broken glass, the small pile of ashes and burnt paper that may have once been books or parchments.

"My goodness Ginny," she exclaimed, looking over the empty walls and dirty floor.

"Yeah, I know," Ginny responded. Her dark brown eyes, filled with dejection, swept over everything.

Both Hermione and Ginny jumped as Colin popped his head around the corner of their kitchen door.

"Merlin Colin," Ginny scolded, placing a freckled hand over her still chest. "Don't sneak up on people like that."

"Sorry 'bout that love," he answered, fully pushing the door open, revealing his younger brother and an equally dirty kitchen.

"Morning Miss Granger, Morning Ginny," Dennis greeted, sending them a boyish smile.

"Mornin' Dennis," Ginny answered, before turning back to Hermione. "I'll be right back," she explained and Hermione nodded, before she made her way down the short hall to her room.

"How's your mornin' been Miss Granger?" asked Dennis, as he helped his brother to return their sofa to its upright position.

Hermione couldn't help but smile at the young boy; he was always so respectful and polite. "You don't have to call me Miss Granger, you can call me Hermione."

"Hear that Den, you can call her Hermione," Colin said, pulling out his wand and repairing a rather large slash that was spilling cotton across the sitting cushions.

"Yes, but you're a Miss are you not?" Dennis asked, squatting down and sifting through the rubble of glass and splinters.

"True, but so is Ginny and you don't call her Miss Weasley," Hermione responded, a little impressed when Dennis fully restored the frame, minus the pictures.

"Yeah...But Ginny's just...Ginny," he answered, reaching for more debris.

"Gossiping about me are you?" asked Ginny, playfully. She walked to stand by Hermione, her clothes had changed from the set of blue pajamas she had been wearing to a sweater and old faded jeans, but she still failed to run a brush through her locks.

"Of course," Colin answered, mending another hole in their sofa. "I was just telling everyone about your lime-green knickers fetish."

"Oh, you know that's not true," Ginny said huffily, pushing the door to the kitchen open before walking in.

"She's right," he said loudly, before whispering, "it's really hunter green."

"Speaking of knickers," Ginny said, pushing the door open again, carrying the envelope from breakfast in one hand and a butterbeer in her other. "Thanks for cleaning my room, Colin. It looks great, but you didn't have to fold all my under things."

"I didn't clean your room. Dennis did," Colin snickered. Hermione looked over to Dennis, who was sitting, next to a stack of completed frames, his face blushing under his mop of mousy hair, his eyes wide with embarrassment and shock.

"I-I-I," he sputtered.

"Just joshin'," Colin quickly added. "It was me."

"It's okay, Den," Ginny said sprightly, surprising Hermione that her redheaded quick-tempered friend hadn't tackled the young man to the ground and pummeled him on Colin's first words. "I suppose it's an even trade, you clean up my flat and you can prance around in my lingerie."

"Where are you two going today?" Colin asked, seeming to just notice Ginny's fresh clothes.

"Just a little extra work," Ginny answered, and Hermione was again surprised when her friend finished her butterbeer in two hardy swigs.

*~*~*

Draco slowly opened his eyes, realizing that he had done that entirely too many times that day. High above him was the tall ceiling of his canopy bed, and the long dark curtains that hung down from it were open around him. Standing to the left of his bed was a tall thin woman, whom he recognized from her graying brown knot and blue apron to be a Mediwitch. He wondered briefly what she was doing in his room before the obvious answer presented itself to him.

"Mother?" he asked letting the worry he felt sound in his voice. "What's wrong she hasn't- She's not-"

'Dead?' he asked himself, too afraid to voice his suspicions. Sitting-up he let the clean dark sheets of his bed fall to his waist.

"No sir, Mister Malfoy. Your mother's perfectly fine. There hasn't been any decline in your mother's condition." Her soft soothing voice and gentle brown gaze gave him a warm comforting feeling, but if Mother wasn't dying then why was she in his private quarters and why wasn't he wearing a shirt?

"Tell me why you're in my room," he ordered, resting on the heels of his palms, unaware of the absence of pain in his shoulder.
"Edmund can answer that sir," he heard the squeak of his most prized house-elf, Edmund who stood opposite of the nurse.

"Young Master had fallen from his broom because of Edmund's elf-magic but it was not Edmund's fault. Edmund did not mean to hurt Young Master. Edmund-"

Draco lifted his hand demanding stillness from his servant. He'd rather choose silence than listen to the boring explanation of his account, when he'd determined how the events had unfolded himself.

"Enough Edmund," he said, narrowing his eyes onto his house-elf at the memory of the pain he endured when waking face down in dirt and grass. "I'll deal with how you'll punish yourself later."

He turned away from Edmund to address the Mediwitch on the condition of his arm, when he noticed the horrified expression she wore.

"Just a joke between myself and my free servant," he added quickly. She just moved her crowfeet lined eyes between himself and his house-elf.

"My shoulder," he said stiffly, aggravated at the accusations he read from her. "Isn't that why you're here, to treat my shoulder?"

"Yes sir," she answered. "I repaired your numerous injuries with a new drought we, the Mediwitches and I, have been experimenting on, for your mother of course. But I must warn you sir, it does have its side effects."

"Numerous?" Draco asked, ignoring the majority of what she had said.

"Well, you dislocated your right humerus from the muscles that form your rotator cuff-"

"I'd prefer my diagnosis in English."

The Mediwitch sighed before starting over, "You dislocated your right shoulder, pulled the muscles of your forearm and bruised a large portion of you rib cage. You also successfully caused two hairline fractures in your femur, or thigh bone. All evidence of the obvious attempts you took at trying to break your fall. I have a question Mister Malfoy. How far from the ground were you when you lost control of your broom?"

"I don't know. How far did I fall Edmund?" he gritted though his teeth looking with anger at his servant. He watched with a grim satisfaction as his ancient house-elf grimaced under his glare, his tiny hands holding the same white envelope Draco had seen him with on the lawn.

"What is this?" he asked, his free hand snatching the envelope from his house-elf.

He flipped the envelope over examining both sides, taking in the stationary and the blue wax branded with the Ministry's official insignia that sealed it.

"Open it," he ordered, handing it back.

Edmund struggled to open the envelope but the thick paper refused to yield under his gray-green fingers. He looked up to Draco, his large blue-eyes full of worry at his inability to follow his Master's simple orders. Draco saw determination fall across his servant's pointy face as he quickly cast his eyes down again at the task before him.

Feeling his anger slowly subsiding at the humourous scene before him, Draco watched with amusement as Edmund struggle with the white note. He knew there was a charm on his letters that prohibited any being but himself from opening the envelope, but it was nice to see some of his servants still held a respect for him.

"Oh, give it here," Draco snapped, snatching the envelope from his servant's struggling fingers.

Smirking, he pressed the envelope into his thigh and slipped his index finger underneath the flap to break the wax seal.

"Now that wasn't so difficult was it?" he asked sarcastically.

He lifted the letter from its home and winced as he felt a stinging cold sensation run over his back, shoulder, and arm.

Turning his head, he could see his Mediwitch running her gaunt fingers along the muscles of his back, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in her wake.

"Could you at least consider warming your hands before placing those icicles you call fingers on my body, woman," Draco snapped, rolling his eyes at her insensitivity.

"Sorry Mister Malfoy," she apologized softly. Her gentle tone making Draco feel a pang of guilt, but he quickly pushed it down as an effect of the medicinal potion she had given him.

"Congratulations Mister Malfoy," she said, patting him tenderly. "Your shoulder has completely healed."

"So it has," he replied, rotating his shoulder comfortably in its socket. "Good job, you can go home now. Take an early evening if you like."

She smiled graciously at him and Draco impatiently waited till the young Mediwitch closed the door to his room, before he held the letter up. Rolling his shoulder again, he began reading the report that was held one handed before him, his index finger and thumb holding it open.

Mr. Malfoy,

Late yesterday evening, V. Weasley was a victim of a breaking and entering of her flat, located in south London. At the time I wrote nothing seemed to have been taken, but many official Ministry and personal effects were destroyed.

The 'Captain' Weasley suspects Death Eater involvement, but there is no evidence to suggest that is the case.

-Mr. Smith

Draco read over the letter twice more, searching for any coded clues. Finding none, he lowered and folded the paper along its original two creases and put it in its original envelope.

'Interesting,' he thought, 'Who would take the time out to break into Ginny Weasley's apartment?'

A Muggle could have done it; they as a people were more inclined to do such things. No, if Aurors were involved, it had to be Wizard related. But what intelligent Wizard would take the risk of stealing from the Head Auror's younger sister? He had been in Weasley and Creevey's flat before, and they had nothing worth breaking the law over. Larceny didn't make since.

Draco hugged his knees to his chest, rubbing the bottom of his chin, scarcely aware of the blister, a result from flying gloveless, that had developed on his thumb. He patiently went over the archives in his mind, trying to recall anything that could help him decipher this curious riddle.

"Don't play fool Malfoy! I know the girl's working for you. Her brother raided my home and from the information I've collected, there's something I need to get back from her."

"Zabini," he said aloud, recalling Blaise's words and appearance perfectly the day his former friend had called on him. His infamous, Zabini temper furthering the look of fury that distorted his defined features. The cool violet of his eyes unable to hide the cruelty and sadism that lay in the clever mind behind them. The large tan fists Blaise had curled upon Draco's desk that Draco knew had done more than perform a simple Cruciatus on a few of his more attractive victims.

Maybe he needed to see Ginny after all, only out of concern for her safety of course. hardly

He sighed, "I need to write a response to Mister Smith." He crawled across his large bed, walked across the long room, and opened the dark stained double-doors of his wardrobe. "Quill and paper, Edmund. I need you to write this down." He straightened the hem of the fresh heather-gray crew neck sweater that he'd just pulled on, smoothing the loose fabric before running a hand through his short locks to remove the hair messing static. "I need to be periodically... yes, that's a good word." He smirked, changing from his stained corduroys to dark trousers. "I need to be periodically informed of the situation, but updated immediately on any important future developments."

"Is this all, sir?" Edmund asked, his tiny blue pigeon quill scratching across his small scroll.

"No, also if he ever sends that bloody bird here again, I'll have it shot and burned on sight!" he answered, sitting on his self-made bed.

"Yes, sir. Did you want Edmund to send Master's response now, sir?"

"No," Draco bemoaned, tying the black leather laces of his shoes into a bow. "Unfortunately, I have to re-write it. Bring it to the study and send Ginny Weasley another owl saying I need to see her right away."

*~*~*

Ron Weasley stood in Quality Quidditch Supplies, content in reading the unfavorable article on Malfoy's failing Quidditch team, the unfortunate Puddlemere United. His hair was still clean and wet from the warm shower he'd taken, after accompanying his best friend on a very satisfying flying practice. Ron had been hoping they, he, Harry and Hermione, could have spent the day together, maybe going over to Ginny's flat and looking over some of the evidence from her breaking and entering. But Harry had gotten an owl from the Cannon's Captain saying he was needed for their surprise practice, and Hermione had avoided him and Harry before they left and then was gone when he got home.

He was just spending his time productively, flipping through the well-known Men's Quidditch Magazine, before he left for lunch with Charlie. Ron was attending the meal in an attempt to try and spend as much time with his older brother before the Dragon Handler left for Romania.

"Daddy! Daddy!" The voice of the small toddler was out of place among the Quidditch literature, uniforms and trinkets, but Ron ignored it, chucking it up to an unfortunate young father who popped into the shop to escape the trials of parenthood and relive more carefree days, if only for a moment.

Not looking up, he chuckled to himself, thankful he hadn't tied himself down yet. He turned the thin page revealing a shirtless Angelina Johnson. It was a tasteful picture done for the male magazine's annual The Women of Quidditch issue. 'If Fred could see her now,' he thought gazing at the chaser's smooth bare back and silky black and streaked-gold hair.

"Daddy! Daddy!" The voice became louder as the child neared. The sound was more sluggish and dreamlike than a lively youngster's voice.

Ron spied over the edge of his copy of Brooms & Beaters, taking in the few patrons who were in. There was a young family looking at the newer models of the Bluebottle in the south display window, but their obedient children seemed to be under control and the few witches sifting through the discounted individual tins of handle polish appeared to be too far in years to be anything less than Grandmothers.

He looked back to his magazine, turning the page to admire an advertisement for the newest model in the Comet series, the broom Harry had been gushing to him over.

"Daddy."

Aggravated, at the irresponsible parent who would rather listen to their child cry for them, then be considerate to the other customers and pick her or him up, Ron dramatically snapped his magazine shut, only to feel something clasp itself to his leg. Looking down he saw a mass of short orange ringlets and layers of white and blue lace.

"Daddy," said the small nameless girl, in the same dreamy voice he'd heard before. She looked up at him, her blank crystal eyes making his heart stop.

He had seen those eyes before. He'd seen them narrowed with pain, wide with excitement, and soulless with death. They slowly blinked up at him, threatening to open up mental wounds that had taken him years to forget.

She leaned into the leg she had in her grasp, closing her ashen eyelash rimmed lids over the eyes he'd grown to know over the course of the war. He slowly bent down, trying to pull her away, but with difficulty; she was much stronger than she looked.

"What's your name?" he asked, more than sure of the answer he would receive. He had seen the picture and announcement that her Mother had made in the Prophet shortly after her birth.

"Rose! Rose Price!" Ron heard shrieked from the shop's door. A witch of his age ran in, her gold hair flying behind her, as she appeared to search for the child between the rows of Quidditch supplies and novelties. "Have you seen a little girl?" she questioned the store's manager, Mister Conner. "She's about this tall and she has golden red hair and blue eyes. She's wearing a white dress with blue lace-"

She stopped as Conner pointed in his and Ron guessed Rose's direction, as they stood next to the magazine and literature wall.

"Oh Merlin!" exclaimed the young girl, placing a well manicured hand over her ample chest. "Stay right there," she ordered pointing at the child Ron was kneeling with. She nodded her head deftly, the silky blue ribbon in her hair bobbing.

Ron stood, lifting her up with him as he straightened himself, and watched the young woman run from the store. The tiny magical bell barely signifying it shut, before it rang to open.

"See I didn't lose her Mrs. Price," she said, walking proudly to him and the toddler, a tall figure in powder-pink robes following behind. Ron immediately identified the slender woman and her overly-decorated, overly-curled brown hair, as Pansy Parkinson-Price. 'Price,' he mocked, still not fully trusting that his short-term friend had actually married the pug-nosed Slytherin.

"Rose," Pansy croaked, running to him and Rose. The evidence of her panic apparent in the tears that smeared her rouge and the terrified look that he had seen from his own mother when she'd lost Ginny in Muggle London the year before he had left for Hogwarts.

She snatched the girl from his arms and held her so tightly, Ron believed that she might break one of the child's ribs.

"Oh Merlin," she breathed, her thin hands running through the short brassy curls. "I thought he-"

"You're alright?" she asked, pulling away from the girl. "You're okay?" Again the little girl nodded before Pansy pulled her into another enthused hug.

Ron watched the display of affection before him with a mixture of spite and fondness. He hadn't seen a mother's love so openly given in a long time, and the last person he had expected to see it pour so openly from was Pansy Parkinson. He turned away from the scene to the wall of magazines putting the copy he'd been reading back in its original spot before either woman or child saw him and would decide to comment on it. He gazed at the many different publications trying to train his thoughts on anything but the pang of sadness he felt when he allowed himself to think of his own Mum.

"Weasley?" he heard his name behind him, and he turned to face the accusations he was positive would come from the former Ice-Queen of Hogwarts.

"Thank-you," she said so sincerely he was taken aback for a moment.

"Uh- you're welcome," he replied, not really knowing how. How did one reply politely to a sincere Slytherin? Did those things even exist?

"She wasn't too much of a bother I hope?" she asked, rubbing under her pug-nose with an handkerchief.

"Not at all," he replied, looking at the girl in her arms that reminded him of Ginny at that age. "She's really quiet you know."

"Yes, I know," Pansy replied, and Ron could hear a sadness that underlined her words. "Since she wasn't much of a bother, you wouldn't if we imposed upon you one last time."

Before Ron could answer her with a polite "no", she handed Rose to him, the now familiar weight clinging to his thin hip.

"I suppose I can watch the midget for a moment," he called after her. She grabbed the arm of the young blonde they had come in with, and marched her across the wooden floor outside the store.

"Thank-you," she answered, turning from him. Ron watched as she contorted the expression she wore of gratitude to one of fierce anger.

Ron watched and listened through the store's empty display window as Pansy stepped away from the young woman with an overwhelming coldness. The enunciated profane words springing from Pansy's mouth made Ron grateful that he wasn't the person at which they were being directed. The Nanny, he presumed, was near tears, as her former employer finished her verbal assault.

"You didn't have to be so harsh. She was just kid," Ron said, stepping from the shop's open door, Rose relaxing in the crook of his arm. He didn't understand why, but it felt oddly pleasant to have the silent toddler's weight on his arm.

"A kid who nearly lost my child," she huffed. Clapping her hands, she held them out to Ron and he looked back at her with confusion till Rose climbed into her arms.

"Yes, but she found her again," he defended.

"Correction, she only found Rose because Rose found you," she said, matter-of-factly, and Ron was oddly reminded of Hermione. She tilted her head to look up at him, but barely as she stood at nearly Harry's height, and Harry wasn't that much shorter than himself. "You have no children do you Weasley?"

"None that I know of," he replied, wondering where this line of questioning was going.

"Then I can't expect you to understand," she huffed, again, tilting her head so her knobby nose was lifted higher than most of the other features of her face.

Ron rolled his eyes at her haughtiness.

'Once a Slytherin always a Slytherin,' he thought.

"Well, I hate to run Parkinson. It was nice finding your only child with you and all, but I have this big case I need to work-"

"The Zabini Case," she stated, a knowing edge to her voice, as she waved a carriage down at the end of the row of stores.

"Yeah," he sighed, watching the one horse carriage pull up to the wooden sidewalk. "Wait how do you know about Zabini?"

"I can read you idiot," she snarled.

"Could have fooled me."

Pansy looked thoroughly offended, and the same angry expression she wore when assaulting the Nanny narrowed on him.

"I can hear and see too." She smirked.

"That's nice but what might that have to do with the price of buttterbeer in Canada?" he asked.

"It has to do with the fact that I know something you don't know," she smiled, her blue-eyes glittering on him as she switched Rose from one curved hip to the other.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he questioned, boring quickly with Pansy's childishness.

"That means," and Ron could hear from her voice she was taking a great deal of pleasure in telling him this. "Your 'Baby-Sister' has gotten herself into a lot of trouble working for Draco Malfoy."

"What?!" Ron nearly screamed, gathering a few suspicious looks, from the growing number of witches and wizards who began cramming themselves into Diagon Alley. He had not meant to be so loud, but the shock of what she'd said had thrown the small amount of tact he'd had out the window.

Her answer was nothing more than a smirk as she stepped forward to climb into her open carriage, but Ron put his hand on the nearby wall using his long arm to block her way.

"You're wrong! You're lying!" he accused, refusing to believe her.

"Bessie," she calmly addressed her female chauffeur, not letting her blue eyes wander to the driver but keeping them locked with his own. "Put Rose in the carriage will you? I need to have a moment to speak with Mister Weasley."

Both he and Pansy didn't move as the driver gathered Rose and moved back to her position next to the coach.

"I can assure you Weasley that your sister is indeed working for Draco Malfoy. I have no reason to lie to you. I'm not benefitting from giving you this- useless to me- information, but you did find my daughter and I think that's the equivalent of a Wizard's Debt.

You can do what you will with the information I gave you, but I would advise you for her health alone to get her the hell away from Draco," she finished taking a long needed breath. "I believe we're square now Captain Weasley, so Good-day," she said stepping under his arm.

"But-" Ron started, not really knowing what he was going to say.

"I said Good-day, Mister Weasley," she said, her voice exposing the aggravation she felt with him.

*~*~*

Draco looked up from his copy of the Prophet as Edmund ran in, slamming the door shut behind him. The shiny medals on his red jacket jingled as he sprawled his arms across the door, his gnarled hands half a foot short from both edges of the red wood.

"Edmund tried to stop Miss Wheezy Master, but-" he gasped, his tiny chest heaving to supply itself with much wanted air.

"That's quite alright Edmund. Let her in," he said, waving his hand.

"But Young Master," his house-elf pleaded.

"Just let her in," Draco snapped, his patience waning.

"Ah, Ginny," he greeted sarcastically, seeing her emerge from the dark threshold. "How lovely of you to storm into my Man-" Draco felt his tongue stop at the sight before him. Ginny, as usual, had not made any reasonably fashionable choices in picking the clothing she wore and her wild red hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush since yesterday, but that wasn't why Edmund had tried to stall them or what made Draco stop in the middle of his mock greeting. Walking into his study behind Ginny was a small brunette that he recognized immediately. The tailored clothing and robes she wore were impeccable and the step she walked with, the knowledgeable haughtiness that surrounded her, made Draco's fists curl into two balls on top of his desk.

"Granger?!" he asked, not attempting to hide the surprise in his voice.

"Malfoy," she answered, but he was sure that she knew his outburst of disbelief wasn't in way of a greeting.

He took a deep breath, barely parting his lips, as he exhaled out his rage and annoyance slowly.

'A Mudblood in Malfoy Manor!' he thought maddened at that fact and angry at Ginny for bringing her here. Slowly rising from his seat, he managed a weak but greeting smile.

"Miss Weasley, Miss Granger. Please take a seat," he said charmingly, offering the uncomfortable seats before his desk. "And do tell what or whom I owe this spontaneous uninvited call upon too."

Draco slowed his breathing as the millions of thoughts ran through his mind.

'Father would roll in his grave at the knowledge that a Mudblood stood in the same home as his Dark Lord once did,' he mused, mirthlessly.

'He'd have to actually be dead for that to happen,' a thought introduced.

'That is beside the point, both he and Mother would be completely scandalized if they knew,' he argued. 'I should toss her out.'

'She is a part of the Ministry. Do you need to be any farther on their bad side? Do you need them to snoop around here anymore than they do? No you do not and moreover your parents are never going to find out.'

'Weasley isn't sitting,' some other part of him observed.

Draco stopped listening to his thoughts and watched as Granger took the offered seat but Ginny defiantly stood before his desk, the irrational aggravation he could see she felt for him shading her cheeks.

"I will not sit down," she said, crumbling the envelope she carried in her fist.

"Please, Miss Weasley do sit down," he ordered through his clenched teeth. The politeness, she was aware he didn't have, fading. "And explain to me why you're here."

Ginny stared up at him, as he stood behind his desk, the colour of his tight knit sweater making the gray of his eyes noticeably darker even as he stood feet away from her. The fabric which should have been hugging the thin muscles of his body was hanging loosely from his limbs, as he offered the seat again.

Slowly, she sat down in her suggested chair. The anger she had felt for him began to ebb away as she took in the features of his face, her eyes never moving from the few short strands of light-blonde that rose above the rest on the back of his head.

"Since, Ginny has decided against speaking to you. I might as well," beside her, Ginny heard Hermione's voice pipe in. "She and I have come here to talk to you about the Founders Map you've acquired."

"Map?" he scoffed and Ginny could hear in his voice the smooth lie, he was ready to deliver. "I haven't an idea of what you're talking about-"

"She knows," Ginny said, matter-of-factly.

She took a small satisfaction at watching Draco as he sat behind his desk digesting the announcement. The elegant features of his face as always impassive, and Ginny tried to imagine the conversation his mind was having-the ideas his brain was firing and calculating behind his hardened eyes. Was he thinking of mind sweeping both her and Hermione? Did he conclude that she had broken her part of the bargain and told Hermione? Would he believe her if she said she didn't? Was he going to be cross with her?

"Excuse me Granger, but can I speak privately with Weasley for a moment," he said, in the polite but deadpan voice that did not offer her any insight into what he was thinking.

Hermione rose from her seat, but Draco lifted his hand to stop her as he stood.

"No need to get up. We will only be outside the door for a moment. Edmund!" he said. Ginny watched as his eyes moved from Edmund to Hermione and he gave the servant a knowing look. "Don't let her touch anything!" She read from his grey gaze, assuming that's what his message conveyed.

Ginny lifted herself from her seat and turned to the door listening to the gather and shuffle of papers from Draco's desk. She was midway across the study when she felt the long warm fingers of his hand clasp around her upper arm as he quickly moved them out the door.

The cool demeanor he had held in his office replaced itself with anger as he shut the door behind them, the grip he had on her arm tightening as he pulled them closer together.

"You told her!" he barked, his face rigid.

Pain was beginning to spread in her arm where his fingers connected with the remains of the bruise Ron had unknowingly left her. She tried pulling her arm from his grip but was unsuccessful in her feeble attempt.

"I did not," Ginny argued, offended by his accusation.

"Then explain to me how she knows," he ordered.

"I don't know, Draco," Ginny answered honestly. She still wasn't positive how Hermione had figured it all out. "I suppose, she broke through your stupid Memory Charm. She overheard me talking to Colin-"

"You told that insipid Poof!" he yelled, shaking her arm and causing another small wave of pain.

"Don't call him that!" she yelled back, angered at his degrading comment of her best friend and his hypocrisy. "And don't act so innocent, Draco. You can't stand here and tell me you haven't told Pansy."

He looked down at her; his face was so close to her own she could see the individual ash hairs of his eyebrows, the different shades of gray in his eyes and the distinct lines in his chapped lips. She could smell an unusual detail in his customary fragrance a whiff of sweet grass. But the anger she felt wafting from him didn't let her dwell on his scent as it provoked the small tints of yellow on the apple of his cheek, where her brother's fist had landed, to stain a light pink. Something briefly glimmered over his face and his eyes narrowed on her before she felt him let go and push her away. He was silent when he looked at her, his eyes clouded, then at the pale hand that had been holding her close to him.

He sighed, putting his hand down by his side, before answering her.

"I can tell whoever I please, Weasley, and that includes Pansy Parkinson-Price," he said, his voice dull.

Ginny listened to the way he voiced his former admirer's last names and she momentarily wondered if he was angry with Pansy for marrying another man. The suggestion made her briefly reexamine his intentions for all they had worked for. Maybe their map, their quest, had nothing to do with his mother. Maybe it was just a scheme of his to bring him and his lover closer together. Maybe he had only kissed her on the veranda to make Pansy jealous. The thoughts ran quickly through Ginny's mind, and she suddenly felt weak and queasy.

"You're not going to be sick are you?" he asked, looking down at her, and Ginny thought she caught something more than contempt in his eyes. "I only ask because these rugs are very expensive."

"She's the one that you're going on holiday with," she said, ignoring him and rubbing her arm where she was sure another bruise would appear among her freckles. "Where were you two going again?" she asked fumbling with the envelope she had received at breakfast and pulling the letter from it. "Oh yes, America," she read. "Dare I ask what dealings you might have in the States?"

"Weasley, since when do I need to ask for your permission, to take leave of my own time or report to you of my comings and goings?"

"Well, it's just a common courtesy to inform your partner-"

"Partner?" he scoffed, cutting her off. "Since when are you and I partners?

"I just assumed-" Ginny started, trying not to believe these words were coming from the same man who had kissed her so gently before.

"You're quite large on assuming things aren't you Weasley? But do not delude yourself into believing that you and I are equals on this little project," he drawled.

"Then I can safely assume that you and Parkinson are," Ginny accused, feeling a wave of jealous rise in her.

"Are what?" he asked, obviously confused.

"Are equals? I mean she was on your arm yesterday evening so I assume she knows of your little venture, and I assume that you hold her as your equal. Your pure-blue-blooded Muggle-hating-disgusting-equal and I the-lowly little Muggle-loving filthy-underling that works under you."

"Do not imagine you have the authority to tell me what I hold Weasley, because as far as I've heard I haven't said or thought any of what you've just spoken aloud. And exactly when was Pansy brought into this argument? What does she have to do with me taking leave?"

"You escorted her to the ball."

"True," he admitted. His tone telling her he didn't see the relevance.

"You left with her."

"I do not deny it."

"But we-you and I-us-the terrace-you-" she stumbled across her words, trying to find the right phrase for what they had been doing, but all she accomplished was a burning feeling racing its way to her face catalyzed by her embarrassment.

"Attacked me?" he offered.

"Yes." She sighed, happy at his ability to word the situation better than she, but astonished that he was for once taking responsibility for his own actions.

"I know. I have explored my own feelings on the incident and have overcome my shock, and I'm more than ready and willing to offer you my forgiveness and put it behind us. But only if your apology comes from the heart."

Ginny was in such a state of surprise at his bold and ludicrous statement she almost forgot to be angry.

"Pardon me Draco, but that's not how I remember-"

"And I suppose you wouldn't," he sighed in a mock pity, throwing the day's morning copy of The Prophet to her. She looked over the black and white headline, the picture, and the article that matched the ones she had read from Colin's first press this morning. "By the way great picture, nice scowl you have there, show's off your dimples really well. But that's not the point. What your brothers did to all those unknowing participants, though almost genius on their part, was very underhanded. I suspect there will be quite a back-lash. But that's not what we were discussing either was it? No. Now, if I recall you did drink at least three goblets yesterday evening, not including the one Finnegan poured down your front, so I can see you couldn't have possibly been responsible for your actions. I'm assuming Lust was the sin of your choice or was it Greed... because you surely seemed to want a whole lot of me."

'How can one person be so arrogantly charming,' she thought looking at his equally smug and dashing smirk. 'You've known others who were more charming, more dashing, more beautiful, more arrogant, more malicious, more conniving than he, and you know where that led you,' a wise thought offered to her. She unknowingly narrowed her eyes at memories that hadn't involved the man before her, but she poised her body to strike at him hard, anyway.

"Colin was right, you're still a bastard!" she spit through her teeth, using an insult that had hurt other men in her life.

Something crossed the silver of his eyes, but he recovered within the second and smirked.

"Now, Weasley I was just having a spot of fun with you, but since you have again reminded me that you have absolutely no sense of humour, I should explain to you my true opinions on the matter: I believe both you, I, and many other partygoers fell victim to your mischievous older brothers and their "Mystery-Punch" or "Seven-Sins Swig" as they've decided to mark it."

He sighed leaning against a small stretch of bare stone wall between two of the nosy paintings before he continued.

"Neither of us should be held responsible for the happenings between us. We were not ourselves mainly due to the dangerous combination of circumstance and chemical reactions tolled on our minds and bodies. We were driven by things that impaired our judgment and loosened our inhibitions. Neither you nor I meant it to happen and I think we're both mature enough to get beyond it. Don't you agree?"

Ginny studied him, his jaw, his mouth, his chin, searching for any sign of what she had been feeling or what she had seen deep in his eyes the moment before he kissed her but there was nothing, just a curtain of tangled silver and gray. She answered him slowly, "Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right. We are at an age where it will be simple enough to get past this. Our mission is much more important than some stupid little snogging session which might I say wasn't that good anyway-"

"I beg your pardon, but I'll have you know I'm very good at-." he broke in, baffled at her sly insult.

"And how would you know?" she interrupted, a playful note to her tone.

"I just know," he said confidently.

"Been snogging the mirror again, have you?" she asked.

"Oh, shut-it Weasley and get inside," he ordered, his hand on the doorknob ready to open it.

"She knows doesn't she?" she asked.

"Pansy you mean." Ginny nodded.

"She knows about the map yes, but nothing else," he walked around her ready to walk into his study.

"Why?" Ginny asked, turning with him, but not moving forward. "I thought this was a mum's the word type mission."

"Do you remember me telling you of that Egyptian friend of mine? Well...Pansy happens to be that Egyptian friend."

"Parkinson isn't exactly an exotic last name, and she doesn't look Egyptian to me," Ginny said laying her doubts out to him with the clip of her voice.

"Well I guess she wouldn't would she. She only has one-sixteenth Egyptian blood in her that she inherited from her mother side.

"Oh," Ginny said, feeling an unexpected and unnecessary relief. She unconsciously stepped forward and into him easily fitting between him and the door he was beginning to open.

He looked down at her curiously, letting the large doorknob support his weight.

"What does it matter if I brought her into this? You have Granger sitting in my study. I'd love to hear exactly why you didn't just Memory Charm her and send her on her way," he said, tapping the band of his ring against the metallic knob, tilting his head into her.

Ginny could feel her body tensing at Draco's invasion of her personal space, and to her self-loathing, it was a good tensing.

"Because she's my friend, and it wouldn't do any good," Ginny mumbled, remembering what Hermione had told her that morning.

"What does that me-" Draco's words were cut off by a screechy voice announcing its owner's arrival before she rounded the corner.

"Your door-elf said you would be in your office," the shrill sound of Pansy sounded down the hall. She stopped in the middle of a long stride, her dark pin-curls bouncing forward over the apples of her cheeks, a smug smile distorting her already unattractive features. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, her blue gaze moving from Ginny to Draco.

"Yes," Ginny said, surprised that Draco had said it with her.

"Good," she replied, as if Ginny and Draco hadn't made clear their irritation at being disturbed. "It wasn't that important."

Draco took a step back from Ginny and she was alarmed that her body missed the feel of his warmth beside her. He leaned sideways against the door's thick frame, and Ginny wondered if he could ever stand erect for more than a few moments before reclining onto something.

"I was looking over this book you gave me last week-" Pansy read, ignoring the fact that Draco was overlooking her. She held the book up and Ginny broke the eye contact she was having with him to look at it.

"I didn't give you a book," Draco argued, looking at her with suspicion in his eyes.

"Fine, I took it," she sighed. "I was looking over it this morning and my mother's family-when they were alive-knew the area well-"

"Get to the point, Pansy."

"You're going to need an Auror's clearance just to get into the vicinity near the tomb you want."

"Great! Where in the bloody hell am I supposed to get one of those?"

Ginny lifted her index finger to get Draco's attention, "I have an idea."

To be continued...

A/N: Well that was Chapter 9. I hope you enjoyed it, if not that's okay too. Don't worry about Draco and Ginny, there will be happier times in the next chapter. Ron and Pansy may have seemed out-of-character in this chapter but there is both a reason for it and they will be returning to their tactless selves. Any other questions just write them down in the review, I hope I'll have an answer for them.

I should thank the HP: Lexicon for information on Brooms and other Quidditch Novelties.

Thanks to-

Kirixchi- Kiss scene=INCREDIBLY hot? As y'know I follow your brilliant story and coming from you that's a major boost to my writing ego. So thank-you. On the H/Hr/R threesome, as much fun and challenging that would be to write, unfortunately my heart belongs to another ship. Guess which? Anyway, thank-you so much for the review it means a lot.

frecklegirl87- Unfortunately, I didn't have a snogging session planned in this chapter for them but a serious lip-lock could possibly be in their near future.

Awen and Anasis- I'm happy you 'love' it and hope that you enjoyed the D/G action. I know it wasn't physical (don't worry all things come in due time) but it was there. Thanks for the review.

Marina Black- Brilliant? You make me blush. Thank-you for the super sweet (if not undeserved) review.

Ezmerelda- (scratches head) No, I haven't posted this on MT or anywhere else besides here and FF.net. (shrugs) Anyway, I'm glad your enjoying it, and I hope that I don't disappoint.

paranoid- Plot=wonderful? Draco=perfect? Wow! Thanks so much, I'm glad you followed from ff.net. I prefer this system too.

Reese Darling- Thanks, I'm glad you found it interesting, funny, and liked the D/G action. I hope you like what else I have planned.

BrokenWings- Thanks for the review, I trust I gave you enough to tide you over till the next chapter. (which I promise shouldn't take so long

Last but not Least: sexybabehp17- Of course Colin forgave her, bestfriends generally do when one is put in a crisis situation. And don't worry about Mr. Malfoy he might not be the one making the moves. *wink-wink* I'm happy you liked it and thanks for the review.

-who all reviewed.