The Sense by jane_valar

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Suspense
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 4
Published: 03/06/2003
Last Updated: 02/02/2005
Status: In Progress

"On a mission to find a cure to save his mother, Draco must find a way to manipulate Ginny
and her unique gift of premonitions. Their adventures send them from England to Egypt, from Asia to
the the Americas and also has them team up with the most unlikely of people."




1. Daggers, Draco, and Colin Creevey
------------------------------------

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.



Chapter I:



The silver hilt of the dagger shined in the dust-filled rays of sunlight drifting through the one
window in the small Ministry office.

"Well Gin. It looks pretty dark and evil," said Colin Creevey, a mousy twenty-year-old
photographer. He was shifting in his uncomfortable chair in-front of her desk.

The scarlet haired girl lightly slid the mirror like blade across the palm of her hand. She felt
nothing. Not cold, not empty, not pain. Nothing.

"Well," Ginny Weasley sighed. "It's either a very nice, very expensive, very
old, and *very* rare piece of weaponry, that consequently was confiscated from a death eater
or..." Ginny Weasley's voice trailed off as she gripped the hilt of the blade tighter. Her
fingers clasped so firmly she might have been chocking it.

"Or what?" squeaked Colin. His mouse like features filled with less than concern.

"Or I've lost the only contribution I make to this Ministry," answered Ginny sitting
down in her oversized and overstuffed red desk chair. It was old had holes and tears, but it was
comfortable. Her father had given it to her from his office upstairs. It was more than comfortable,
it was homelike and helped with her usual foul moods.

"Ginny, please," begged Colin. His usual high-pitched voice, brought down an octave.
"You feel so sorry for yourself all the time."

He stood up to stretch his short legs and cast an occasional glance at the harmless artifacts
overwhelming the tiny office. Ginny was one of three in her small department, and the Ministry had
given them an even smaller office to work in. His dark brown eyes drifted back to her taking in her
state. She looked so dampened, so worn thin.

"I'm bored," he announced. "C'mon, let's go out for drinks. My
treat."

"Colin Alan Creevey, it's three-o'clock in the afternoon! Do you honestly believe that
they would just let me leave in the middle of the day, because my puffy best friend decided he
wants to get pissed?" Ginny asked through narrowed eyes.

Colin looked unaffected by Ginny's outburst and stern look. His light brown hair was tucked
securely behind his ears, and his slightly large front teeth were shown in his smile. The vest he
wore was dark- olive in colour, with too many re-sewn pockets. It was faded, worn, torn, and
patched up but like her chair it fit Colin. His inseparable black camera, slung freely from his
neck.

"Honestly?" Colin asked mockingly. "Yes, I do."

"Don't make fun of me, Colin," she said her bright brown eyes falling back to the
item she was holding. Her grip loosening as she carefully set it on her desk.

"I've got enough to worry about. This is the second time I can't feel anything.
Nothing." She sat back sighing a bit. "What if it happened? What if I lost it? Dumbledore
said it could happen."

"Listen Gin, you can't make yourself feel something that's not there," he broke
in, his voice softened.

"Like love, eh?" Ginny said. She smiled dully at him.

"I guess," he answered slightly baffled at Ginny's question. "Anyway, if you
have lost it then good." Ginny's eyes narrowed even further on his. Was Colin glad that
she had lost her only use to the Ministry? Her only job. Her only means of support.

"Don't look at me like that." He argued, as if he had read her thoughts. "What I
mean is you can travel with me. Like an assistant or something." His voice took a conspiring
tone, "We can get pissed and take advantage of pretty boys. In places like: Paris, Dublin, New
York, Japan."

"Milan?" Ginny asked dreamily, her chin falling to her folded hands on her dark desk. She
had always wanted to visit Milan.

"Yes, Milan," repeated Colin. "Buggar," he murmured to himself as his face
fell.

"What's wrong Creevey?" Ginny asked. Her voice speaking as if to a baby. Sitting back
up she took hold of the dagger and turn it end over end in her hands. "Scared Gin-bug will
take away all your adoring ickle fan-boys?"

"That would never happen," Colin replied matter-of-factly. "No, I'm supposed to
be in Milan, right now! Doing a reshoot for Gina. That's why I was here in the first place, to
take a portkey."

"Are you going to be home for dinner?" Ginny asked her voice holding no disappointment.
She was used to Colin's business trips and was joyed at the prospect of having the flat to
herself.

"Probably not, love. Don't wait up either," Colin said. He picked his faux black
leather camera bag from beside his chair and made his way around her dark pine desk. He kissed the
mound of red waves that enveloped her before leaving the office.

"Wouldn't dream of it," called Ginny as Colin exited her small relic filled office.
Her eyes and concentration never wavering from the green gemmed knife.

~*~*~*~

Ginny stood staring at the dagger her pale hands wrapped gracefully around the hilt. Colin had left
her office three hours ago and she desperately wanted to play with her new "toy". At
least this toy didn't give her, cranial-splitting migraines, hypothermic shock, or unbearable
waves of nausea. She swung it through the air, imitating an Amazon warrior she had seen in a book
once. Scrapping her worn out white tennis shoes, across the floor less elegantly than the depicted
war mistress. Ginny's long yellow skirt swishing as she ducked an imaginary Greek solider's
sword.

She had always found sword fighting on par with the ballet, less of a sport and more of a finely
honed art. However, those were arts for the rich and being a Weasley you weren't given such
luxuries. She stabbed into the air, as her foot contacted a slightly loose floor board. In the next
instance, she was lying painfully on her back.

"Well, have we been trainin?" A soft Celtic accent laughed from above her. "Ready to
go to war, are we? Defen' the land of your people."

"Seamus Finnigan have you forgotten how to knock?" her voice held a sliver of anger. She
felt the all too familiar blush creep quickly into her cheeks, as she slowly stood up.

"Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," she said regrettably and put the blade on her desk. "It's
just you gave me a terrible fright." Ginny forced her eyes to meet his face and felt even more
annoyance at the suppressed smile he wore."Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes," answered Seamus. His crystal blue eyes following her progress to her seat.
"Your brother ordered me to give you this." He handed her a letter. Percy's red seal
burning on the colorless envelope. "And I was wondering if your not busy later." Seamus
found his voice trailing off, as Ginny's eyes scanned over the letter. Her lips briefly parting
as she pronounced each word silently. She always seemed a bit too intense when it came to the
Ministry.

"Oh, never mind," he said defeated.

"What did you say?" Ginny looked up to an empty office and shook her head. Seamus was
always disappearing. *'The boy was a bit of a mystery, really.'* Ginny thought.
*'A loud obnoxious mystery.'*

However, her attention found the letter in her hands again.

*To: Miss. V. Weasley

From: Mr. P. Weasley

Memo: I understand artifact: CT # 13075 has been in your possession for some time. I will need you
to bring it to my office, as it is needed as evidence in the trial and prosecution of one Mr. N.
Bates. If you would please come personally by my office, as we have other matters to discuss.

Thank you,

Mr. P. Weasley*

Ginny groaned walking past her coworkers matching pine desks. She knew the catalogue number too
well. The artifact in question had left her retching for a week after she had made bare skin
contact. She lost five pounds in the process.

From eyesight alone it looked like another beautiful necklace. The set sapphires, as clear and blue
as her brother's eyes. The thin soft golden chain holding them, consistently shining.

Underneath and undetected, simply touching the necklace could be fatal. Wearing it slowly and
painfully, slowed your heart down, to it's last beat. Mr. Bates had been selling the item and
it's brother made of rubies, in his shop for years. Stealing it back from his patron's
after their untimely deaths.

Ginny put on her required marigold yellow gloves. She was in no mood to experience the darkness
that seemed to overwhelm her every time she touched an object that had been tainted by dark
wizardry. After the diary incident in her first year she had developed a bit of a sixth sense, but
in her fifth year she discovered she had the ability to actually *feel* when dark magic had
been applied to an object by simply making skin contact. In the worst cases she had to relive and
share the feelings of it's last victim.

She went to one of the four ceiling to floor wooden cabinets, used her wand and muttered the
password. The large oak doors opened up. The necklace was sitting in it's glass case completely
harmless, surrounded by other seemingly harmless objects.

"Well, off you go," said Ginny pulling the glass container from it's home.

~*~*~*~

"Are you sure it's authentic?" asked a smooth drawling voice.

"Yes, quite sure sir," replied, Mr. Roberts, the balding curator, who was studying the
young pale haired man before him.

"Quite sure isn't much of an answer. Now is it?" the young man countered. His
corresponding pale eyes, dissecting the yellowed parchment.

"Absolutely sure, Mr. Malfoy," answered Mr. Roberts with false confidence. He was giving
his buyer a very coerced smile.

"Well, Mr. Roberts. For your sake, I hope you're right," he said, his slender fingers
touching the parchment's glass casing.

"You could always have it looked over. That would be wise." He dusted the dark cherry
lined frame with a white cotton handkerchief. They were in a special storage room, in a muggle
museum. A sort of common ground for him and his pointy faced, steely-eyed patron.

"Wise, indeed," the young man smirked. "Let us assume that I do purchase this map
piece from you, Mr. Roberts." He straightened, smoothing the soft charcoal colored material of
his suit coat. "I have it looked over but it's discovered to be a counterfeit, or worse
spoiled by the touch of a dark wizard."

Mr. Robert's jaw flinched involuntarily. He could feel sweat forming on his gray balding head
and brow.

"Mr. Roberts you wouldn't want to be selling me something like that. Now would you? My
father would be very disappointed. The ministry would be outraged. I'd have no choice but to
tell them exactly, where and who I bought it from."

"Mr. Malfoy."

"Mr. Roberts," he continued ignoring the older man. "You do know the ministry
doesn't look kindly on the selling of artifacts. Especially artifacts from such a notable
museum and being bartered from such a trusted curator."

"Mr. Malfoy!" yelled Mr. Roberts. He was beginning to grow uneasy and impatient with
their correspondence. "If you're implying something. I would really rather we have it out.
This," he indicated to the framed objected. "Was from my father. The sole piece of my
inheritance. Now my questions is: Are you interested? If not, I am sure I can take my piece of...
art somewhere else. I have had a number of buyers lined up for weeks. Who would all be glad to take
it off my hands." Mr. Roberts felt the cumulating beads of sweat run from his neck down his
spine, at the young mans icy glare.

He looked so much like his father at that age, if not better looking. The same grace in their step,
the same porcelain skin, the same chilly demeanor. *'But that doesn't help Lucius now.
Not where he is,'* thought Mr. Roberts, bitterly.

"No one likes a bad liar, Mr. Roberts. That's something my father taught me," said
Draco Malfoy. He threw a heavy black bag at the man. It fell to the floor with the distinct clink
of coins bounding off each other."I know you have no other buyers but I'm going buying it
from you anyway."

Mr. Roberts let out a breath that he hadn't known he was holding. He quickly snatched the
velvet bag from the ground. Spilling the golden coins out onto the palm of his chubby hand.

"Why?" he asked before berating himself for his curiosity.

"I want it," Draco smirked picking the frame up from it place. "Nice doing business
with you, Mr. Roberts. Trust me. I will have it looked over and come back to see how you're
surviving without it."

Mr. Roberts watched relieved, as the slender young man walked out of his museum. He swore to
himself this was the last time he did business with the Malfoys.

~*~*~*~

"Percy, you can't be serious. I can't. I won't!" Ginny strained. Her voice
coming back to her off her brother's office walls.

"Yes, you will Virgina." He said rising from his seat using his full height as leverage
in their upcoming row.

"Virgina look," he stated looking at his sisters tensed face. Her round cheeks pink with
anger, her arms crossed over her chest, and her deep brown eyes narrowed. "Do you like your
department?"

"Yes," she replied flatly.

"And what is your department in desperate need of?"

"Money," Ginny sighed. Her eyes looking down to the pale yellow skirt she was wearing.
Percy knew Ginny was close to breaking when she broke eye-contact.

"And what are the Malfoy's famous for?"

"Being evil-cold-blooded-blonde-butt kissing-bigots, with You-Know-Who shoved up their
ars..."

"Ginny!" Percy cut her off. The impatience and anger apparent in his voice. "I want
to work with him about as much as you do but we don't have a choice."

"No!" yelled Ginny, pushing a finger into her chest. "I don't have a
choice."

"Then Malfoy, will be expecting you at half past two tomorrow evening." Percy smiled as
he watched Ginny's face fall into defeat.

Draco Malfoy had owled him early in the evening looking for a unique authenticator that only the
Ministry held a department for and Ginny was the best at what her department did.

Percy had long ago arranged a system. People from Ginny's and other unique departments would
inspect someone's personal objects, outside of the usual loot from a deatheater raid, for a
large fee.

He looked to his youngest sibling and could feel her apprehension.

"Look Gin," he said giving her as brotherly smile as he could muster. He slid his
horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "He's willing to pay a lot and honestly
your department could use the Galleons."

"Fine," she sighed positively defeated. "Fine, I'll do it. But, you know just
walking into that place, might kill me. I just want to make that clear."

"You're so dramatic," said Percy, his brown eyes slitting, causing him to look oddly
like their mother. "He'll be expecting you at half past two." He handed her another
slip of paper, before sitting back into his shiny brown desk chair.

"Instructions on how to get there," he explained. "Read them CAREFULLY and PAY
attention, because you can't just apparate."

"Half past two," echoed Ginny. She turned on her heel and stormed out of her older
brother's office.




2. Meetings, Maps, and Mudbloods
--------------------------------

Chapter II: Meetings, Maps, and Mudbloods

Ginny resisted the urge to run as she stood before of one of the oldest and richest family estates
in all of Britain. It was tall, dark, gloomy, and more than a little trouble to locate. It
wasn't a simple apparation.

You had a choice to take a Ministry portkey or apparate to Malloy Square, a small town that was
mostly made-up of the Manor's staff. Then a smooth twenty-minute buggy ride with one of the
Manor's drivers, Mr. Hassleoff to the actual Manor. Now here she was standing before a pair of
dark heavy doors with an overwhelming unnatural fear.

"Please, it's just Malfoy," whispered Ginny to herself, pulling the gray rope to
sound her arrival. "Just stuck-up ferret-faced, Malfoy."

The door slowly opened and a rather oddly, but well dressed house-elf greeted her.

"You's be the Weasey. Master's been waiting for?" he asked. His blue-eyes,
tactlessly skimming her clothes. "Come in." He held the door even wider, as if Ginny
hadn't gotten the hint the first time. "Me names' is Edmund. Can's Edmunds gets
the lady's anything."

"No, thank you," Ginny answered, feeling quite self-conscious.

She was appalled by the elf's behavior and his unconventional name. She took off her green
cloak, as the small elf scampered away, leaving her alone in the entrance hall.

It wasn't the first time that she felt this small and insignificant. She felt this way a lot
working at the Ministry. However this wasn't the Ministry, this was something much bigger, but
the cold and un-welcoming feeling was still the same.

There were closed doors on each side of the hall and a grand staircase stood in the center. Ginny
silently wished the house-elf would return quickly so she could get this over with.

"Ms. Whezzy, Masters will see you's now," called Edmund, from one of the rooms'
doorways.

"Thank you," she said, after hurrying to the partially open door.

She didn't fancy getting lost. In her third year, she had heard rumors that if you were to get
lost in some manors, you would never be found. You would just disappear, not even your body would
be discovered. Sure, it was immature to listen to such tales, but she wanted to stay safe.

The room in question wasn't a room at all, but another long and dark hall. The candelabras'
burning in the spacious nooks in the stone walls were casting an eerie golden glow as she and the
house-elf passed. The looming setting was making Ginny very nervous.

She didn't like the dark very much. Her mother had told her once she had been a wonderful baby.
Rarely scared of anything, a true Gryffindor. She even went to bed without a fairy-light before
Charlie, and he was the bravest of all the Weasleys. Then it was her first year, and the nightmares
began. Tom came overthrew her life and the fear of the dark swallowed her.

Soon, she and her guide turned onto a hall with fewer doors. She assumed the rooms must be getting
bigger, because they were spaced further apart.

***

Draco sat in his study, waiting for his authenticator to arrive.

He knew she was a Weasley, the smallest and youngest to boot. The one with the unyielding crush on
Potter. The one that opened the Chamber his second year. The one living proof that sometimes even
his father could be an untidy git. True, he had covered his tracks well but not well enough to
prevent very unwanted attention.

But Ginny Weasley was coming and there wasn't much he could do about it. Unfortunately, he
needed her. She had the gift, an unnatural gift (even by a wizard's standards), a gift she was
never supposed to receive. She had the capability to tell him, if he was right and he hoped he was.
That the piece of map he had purchased was the real thing.

He heard his office door open, and in walked a small red head a green cloak draped over her folded
arms. She was shorter than average, an unmistakable trait inherited from her mother. Thin and
round, disturbingly where she should be. The undeniable trademark Weasley tresses pulled into a
sort of loose knot at the back of her head with curls randomly escaping and spilling out.

She was wearing an unfashionable handmade cream sweater, and khaki dress trousers.

Draco felt his mouth twitching at the sight before him.

*‘Well, well, the little Weasley's grown up.'*

"Weasley," he drawled, slowly making his way around his large desk. He casually leaned
against it waiting for Weasley to meet him.

"Malfoy," answered Ginny, a clearly forced smile on her face.

***

Ginny sat in an uncomfortable chair before Draco's desk. He was lounging lazily, his long crisp
charcoal trouser clad legs stretched from his seat to the empty top of his desk. His freshly shined
black shoes reflecting the candle light.

They had done their uncomfortable, at least for her, greetings and inquiries. Mostly on *her*
part and mostly about *his* mother. He kept his insults to himself and was oddly quiet.

*'Too quiet,'* Ginny thought, *suspiciously quiet.*

He had given her an old, yellowed to the point of being considered brown, scroll but on closer
examination Ginny saw it was a piece of something. A torn piece of a map. There were black lines
and words in Latin, English, French, and a language she wasn't familiar with, drawn all
over.

She touched it and held it up to a candle's light, which didn't make the tall blonde very
happy at all.

"You could burn it, you silly cow!" he yelled, snatching it away from her.

"Like you could tell," countered Ginny, unsuccessfully trying to snatch it back. She
didn't know why but the piece intrigued her. "It's nearly black anyway."

He reluctantly gave it back and three hours later they were still at the beginning.

"Well is it or isn't it?" he asked impatiently.

"Well is it or isn't it, what?" she replied. "It wasn't created with dark
magic and hasn't led anyone astray or," Ginny's voice sounded bored and recited. She
had told this to so many people when they called upon the Ministry, but rarely was anything
Percy's ‘patrons' brought were ever truly enchanted.

"That's all you have to say," asked Draco. He pulled his feet from their home on his
desk. "I pay you fifty-thousand galleons and you say it hasn't been touched by dark magic.
That's it."

"Fifty-thousand?" Ginny stammered. Percy had told her it was only twenty-five. She was
going to have to deal with him later.

"Yes, fifty-thousand," he answered. "Not so sure anymore though, not with such
little and useless information."

"Fifty-thousand?" she repeated, silently.

"Merlin's beard, have you gone deaf or something?"

Ginny just looked at him. Fifty-thousand galleons and he was going to take it away if she
didn't say something.

"I can have someone else, someone much better than me look at it!" She said, her words
flowing quickly, as she stood up and handed the piece to Draco. "Someone very advanced in
these...things."

"Who?" asked Draco, sitting back in his chair. His gray eyes slitting with suspicion at
her, over the map in his hands.

"Hermione?" Ginny replied.

"Granger? With *MY* map, I think not," he said. He was in the process of putting the
map back in its case. A task he trusted no one, not even Edmund, to do.

"You trusted me with it," argued Ginny. She knew she was begging, but she didn't
care. Her department desperately needed that money. "I'll guard it with my life. I
swear."

"Now Weasley, that's just disgusting. I hate when people beg," He looked at her a
smirk pulling at his thin lips. "Actually, I don't. Beg away, throw in some sexual favors
while you're at it."

Ginny felt her face blushing. Did he just say what she thought he said?

Draco obviously noticed her lack of cheeky comeback and colored cheeks. "Gods Weasley, you
have the sense of humor of a Grim."

"And you a hippogriff," Ginny smiled. She saw the highest point of his cheekbones barely
tinting baby pink.

"Oh yes, that one never get's old," he said flatly. He was handing her the frame
now.

"You're letting me take it?" she asked, smiling.

What had changed Malfoy's mind? Why was he letting her take it? Before she could blink, much
less ask any questions, the fair boy had pulled his dark wand out. She felt her eyes widen as he
muttered a spell and a light-blue spark drowned the room in blue.

"What did you do?" she squeaked, and felt her throat closing with fear.

"You said with your life. Am I correct?" He asked, pulling Ginny up from her seat by her
upper arm. She noticed Draco's grip was stronger than it looked.

"Yes, but.."

"But nothing," he interrupted, "You're going to prove it. I'm letting you
take it to the Ministry, your home, the shower if it's necessary," he paused to open the
study's heavy door, "it can't be taken more than three meters away from you at any
time."

"So I can let Hermione see it?" she asked, smiling. Her eyes moved down to where Draco
was still holding her arm and then back up to his face.

He was a great deal taller than she remembered and his hair was more than a shade fairer, almost
silver. Under different circumstances she would have loved to sit and study him for a little
longer.

Ginny wondered what he was thinking as he looked down at her, his gray eyes slit.

"Yes," he said defeated. "But only if the mud-blood can keep that big trap of
her's shut?"

He let go of her arm and shut his heavy door.

"Wait! I have more questions," Ginny said, to the door. She knocked but there was no
answer.

"Draco," she pleaded, in vain to the thick closed door. "Please, I need to know
where it came from? Whom you bought it from?"

"Hey," She heard a soft Scottish voice from behind her. "Aren't you Fred and
George's little sister?"

"Yes," Ginny replied. She turned on him her cheek's red and her brown eyes
bright.

Her jawed dropped a little at the burly man before her. His uncommonly short hair and his dark
chocolate eyes not much different from the days she had watched him on the quidditch pitch.

"Oliver Wood?" Ginny asked, smiling. "It's me Ginny."

"Well, you've grown. Las' time I saw you was at Fred's weddin," said Wood,
smiling at her his teeth impressively still intact despite being a professional keeper.

"Yeah," she smiled. "Umm, What are you doing here?"

"Quidditch business. Me boss, needed someone to come and familiarize," he rolled his
eyes, "ourselves with Malfoy. Seems he's startin some business with the team.
Investin' or somethin' not real sure." He scratched the back of his dark head.
"Eneway, found out I went to Hogwarts and sent me...You?"

"Umm... Ministry business," she said flatly, looking at her watch.

"Ginny, I shouldn't be too long. Would you like to ride back together?" he asked,
leaning into the door. His bright red cotton shirt complimenting his freshly tanned
complexion.

"Sure," she smiled wider. "But if you're not down in half-an-hour. I'm
leaving without you."

"Deal."

He walked through the door as Ginny started down the hall.

***

Ginny glanced at her watch it had been fifteen-minutes, when she heard the strangest string of
words in her life. When the voice's body opened the door, Ginny was shocked. White hair and
long legs stepped in and sat across from her.

"Oliver Wood, stupid prat," Draco was seemingly going into another rant. "You buy
the quidditch team with Flint's school rival, and somehow you're responsible for ruining
his life. Thick-headed, kilt-wearing, sorry excuse for a keeper..."

Ginny cleared her throat.

"What are you doing in my carriage?" he asked, his voice slightly edged.

Ginny wanted to answer, but oddly her voice caught in her throat.

"Decided to try the favors route then?" he asked, kicking the carriage door
open."I'd usually be thrilled, but tonight I'm rather late for an appointment, so if
you don't mind." He motioned with his hand to the door.

"This is my carriage," Ginny retorted. How dare he try to claim it, she had been sitting
in here for a quarter of an hour.

"No it's not. It's mine." He said, quickly closing the door.

"Is your name on it?" asked Ginny. Immediately she regretted her childish insult, of
course his name was on it. He owned it.

"As a matter of fact," he started, but stopped when he found himself falling into a
childish squabble.

"Fine," Ginny answered confidently, "I'll get Edmund to get me another
one." She was reaching for the carriage door's handle but Draco stretched his long leg out
to block her.

"Edmund?" He asked, mockingly innocent. "Gotten familiar with the help, have you?
Lot like that brother of your's Peter."

"Percy," Ginny corrected. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"Forget, I said anything," he said. His face turned to the window.

Ginny sighed frustrated. She looked out the window. They seemed to be already ten minutes into
their ride. She had missed her ride with Wood, all because of Draco. Loathing that she hadn't
felt in a long time, seemed to bubble with in her. Why did he have to be so annoying? Why did she
have to work with him?

"We're here," the driver announced, opening the small door.

Draco allowed to Ginny step out first. She tightly wrapped her dark green cloak around her and the
frame. Draco stepped out, unnecessarily straightened his black cloak and ran a hand through his
neat pale hair.

"Well Miss Weasley," he turned to her, "I think our working together will be
very...interesting to say the least. I do hope you and Granger have it figured out, before noon on
Friday." He turned on his heel and made his way down the dark street.

"What's Friday?" called Ginny after him.

He ignored her and turned into one of the many homes aligned on the small street.

"This has been one of the strangest days of my life," she murmured to herself, before she
made her way to the portkey.

***

Less than forty-eight hours after Draco had given Ginny the map, she found herself sitting in
Hermione's office. It was spacious compared to Ginny's and most in the ministry. Orderly
books, some not even held in the restricted section at Hogwarts, filled the floor to ceiling
shelves. Her multiple honors adorned the wall behind her desk, including the plaque for graduating
top in her class. Scrolls, inkwells, half-scribbled parchment, and a mountain of books covered her
desk. They obstructed Ginny's view, and the only reminder that the petite bookworm was even in
her office was a mound of brown curls.

Ginny had given her the frame half an hour ago. She had been expecting a simple appraisal, with the
magical origin, magical value, and if possible a price estimate. Draco would have to be pleased
with this information. He couldn't possibly take away her fifty-thousand galleons now. He had
seemed so angry that she couldn't tell him more, disgusted that she couldn't do it herself,
and put-off that she had asked for additional help. Ginny was hoping that her visit with Hermione
could give her extra material, something to please the overgrown brat.

Hermione was blatantly unimpressed at first sight. She'd carelessly rolled it over in her
hands, deciphered the words in English, Latin, and recognized the last language as Italian. Her
eyebrow's scrunched at some of the lettering. From the top corner to the placement of where it
was ripped it read: To taste with touch. She'd read that somewhere before, but could
neither remember when and where nor what it had meant.

She had attempted to take it across the room, but the frame swung back nearly knocking her off her
feet. She took the dark yellow cloth like parchment out of it's case, with the same results.
She couldn't take it more than two or three meters away from the red head. Ginny explained that
the reason she couldn't part from the frame was that Draco had bound her to it. Ginny had to
take it when she slept, cooked, and even bathed. Hermione wasn't happy that Ginny was
irresponsible enough to let Malfoy get so close to her with his wand, but she understood.

She studied the piece some more and racked her brain for all her memory of maps. She remembered the
Marauder's Map, and the Map of Guidance, which helped in the Goblin Rebellion. Then it
fluttered through her mind like a blue-jay in a sand storm.

It was a myth.

It couldn't exist.

Just like the Chamber of Secrets was a myth her mind countered.

Hermione left the map fragment on the desk. She was quickly across the room, on one of the sturdy
ladders that leaned in and hooked to her bookshelves. She nimbly made her way up, and used her arms
to slide the ladder to the right. She used her wand to charm books on and off her desk.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, pulling a large red leather bound book.

She picked the piece of map up, it's unusual clothlike texture foreign to her fingers. She laid
the red book on her desk.

"Do you know what it is?" Ginny asked, her face unable to hide her emotions. The way
Hermione's face was glowing with happiness, Ginny was sure that it must have been something
big.

"I'm not sure," Hermione answered. Her fingers were quickly fingering the pages.
While her deep brown eyes were scanning them. Ginny often wondered when she saw Hermione like this
if she was some sort of speed reader.

"Well?" Ginny asked. She was beginning to grow impatient and her voice betrayed
her.

Hermione let out a soft hiss, and Ginny understood. She often did that when she was with Harry and
Ron. A warning to be quiet, and let her work.

After consulting her books, incoherent mutters, and a stretch of unbearable silence, she
answered.

"You have to test it," she smiled. She was holding the piece in her hand and walking
towards Ginny.

"I've already tested it," Ginny countered.

"Not that kind of test. This a physical test. We must merely set it on fire, and all will be
revealed. Quite simple, really."

"Wait!" Ginny snatched the cloth away from Hermione. "You're telling me, that I
have to catch this very old, very expensive, very important, map on fire?"

"Yes," answered Hermione, her dark eyebrows knitting.

"Are you crazy? Malfoy will kill me!"

"No, he won't. If it burns then it's a fake and he spent a lot of money on a pretty
piece of parchment," said Hermione, and she seemed very pleased with herself.

"And if it doesn't?" asked Ginny. She didn't understand what Hermione was
saying.

"Well then Malfoy, has purchased something rare indeed, something that could change the course
of this war. It could even change the course of history.

"Do you have any idea what this is Gin?" Ginny shook her head.

"A myth, a legend, a fairytale..."

"I get the point. How's a myth going to change the world," Ginny interrupted.
Hermione wasn't making sense, and it was actually starting to scare her.

"I was getting to that," Hermione answered, annoyed by Ginny's interruption.

"I read that it was said to be forged by four of the greatest wizards of the
time.."

"The Hogwarts four?" asked Ginny, excitement getting the better of her.

"Well, yes," she answered slightly impressed. "How did you know?"

"Oh please, Hermione. When anything's done in three's it's always you, Harry, and
Ron. Anything done in fours is them." Ginny smiled at the blush that crept into Hermione's
cheeks. "Anyway, what was it made for?"

"They drew the map to find each other before they died. Remember, before Slytherin went mad,
they were all very close." Hermione sighed, "Every generation has their
Slytherin."

"Their traitor," Ginny hissed. She hated remembering the treachery of some of her
schoolmates, the way the war was slowly pulling everyone apart. The standard motto : Trust no one.
Now, she was trusting the one person she shouldn't trust.

"Yes, well, some say they died, others say they built a utopia, a paradise, a heaven. They
would go their before they died, and basically live happily ever after."

"How? Why?" Ginny broke in again.

"Virginia Ann Weasley are you going to let me finish?" Ginny blushed at Hermione's
outburst. Hermione rarely lost her temper and patience.

"It's said to make every desire come true," Hermione said, a slight haughtiness to
her as she spoke.

"Why would Malfoy want it?" Ginny asked, her eagerness not letting her mind digest her
thoughts. She was sure Hermione thought she was crazy, but the former Head Girl was carrying a
candle to her.

"Ginny, you can't be serious! Why wouldn't he want it?"

"Well, why didn't I feel anything? I mean, if Slytherin had his hand in creating it."
Ginny found it a little hard to believe that a piece of cloth could last that long, that any of
this was really happening. Was Draco really trying to take over the world?

It was Hermione's turn to interrupt. She explained to Ginny that Slytherin wasn't always
dark. He slowly fell into it, and the founders had lived comfortably together for years. They had
forged the map together, like they did the school, and then Slytherin turned. They divided their
map. Each taking the piece they had given the most with creating, and spreading it in the four
different corners of the world.

The map was far from being whole. There were the three other pieces. Hermione wasn't sure who
had contributed in the making of their piece, or where it was from. Though with a simple spell they
could use their piece as a sort of magnet to the other pieces. When it was complete Harry could use
it. That is if it was true.

She held the candle to Ginny, waiting for the red head to make her decision. Ginny picked the piece
up. The black writing and black lines contacting her skin. They were jagged and rough, unlike the
smoothness of their canvas. She wondered what it was made out of. Some short haired animal. It
would have to have been a very short haired animal. She looked at Hermione, holding her gaze as she
brought it to the flame. It hissed as if it were a small animal but it didn't singe. It
absorbed the heat and she let it drop. Amongst the black scrawl, certain red lines were glowing, as
if steering them.

"Merlin's beard, Ginny. We have to tell Fudge!" Hermione cried.

* * *

She lay there, a light against the black silk sheets, her long honey wheat locks thinned and limp
against her narrowed shoulders. He remembered twirling those locks as a child, calming him as he
fell asleep. The strong and dainty arms that held him tightly fell weakly at her sides.

She had grown so thin, barely a heap of covers where she lay motionless in the overpowering
four-poster, a gentle rise and fall of thick black blankets, as she took shallow breaths.

She lay there, the beautiful, obedient, and perfect wife of Lucius Malfoy. Her health deteriorating
by the day. She was sick, very sick, unable to do the simplest task of feeding herself.

He watched from his dark velvet chair, his fingers numbly tracing patterns on the smooth fabric. He
watched the nurse in her white and blue apron mutter spells over his mother. He'd hired her a
year ago, when he had discovered his mother unconscious, bleeding from the mouth, on the cold floor
of her room, unknowingly the last time she would leave her bed without assistance.

The doctor said it was unusual, undefinable, and un-treatable.

They would do what they could, but the best they could do was to just make her comfortable, make
the passing a little easier.

It was the worst day of Draco's life. The pain, the guilt, the frustration, the emotions of
helplessness coerced through him like the Hogwarts Express. He couldn't let his mother die. It
wasn't right. It wasn't her time. He went as far as to invite a muggle doctor to care for
her, but the outcome the same. There was nothing they could do.

"Draco," she breathed. Her voice once so smooth, was brittle and hoarse. The nurse had
left her, to gather much needed pain reliving and dreamless potions.

"Yes, Mother," He got up from his seat and went to her side. His long smooth fingers
enclosing her fragile ones. He could feel the bones through her pale, transparent skin.

She didn't answer. Draco knew she just needed his presence, someone strong to take care of her,
someone like his father had been.

"Mother, listen," he whispered, hoping that she could hear him. He bent a little closer
to her ear. A comforting smell from childhood filled his nostrils. She smelled of jasmine.

"Mother," he whispered again. "I have the map, and soon I WILL have your
cure."

Her answer was a small hitch in her breath. A sign, Draco imagined, that was good.

"Mr. Malfoy?" a small ravenhaired boy whispered from the door. Draco kissed his
mother's smooth hand and gently set it on the bed.

Draco turned on the boy, as they stepped outside. His face emotionless, almost as if he were at a
dinner party, and not at his dying mother's bedside.

"What?" he hissed, smoothly. His face was passive, but his voice was harsh.

"An owl brought this, sir." The gaunt boy was holding a white envelope on a silver
platter.

"I was holding court with my mother and did not want to be disturbed." His voice was
even, but dripping in venom.

"But Edmund insisted sir."

"Did he?" Draco asked. A light blonde eyebrow arching. If Edmund insisted it must have
been important.

He quickly snatched it off the serving tray, and sneered at the young servant. He watched as the
boy scurried through a service passage. Draco didn't understand his enjoyment from watching
people cower. Especially black haired boys, green-eyed boys, or boys with glasses.

He looked up and down the hall. Not a servant or house-elf in sight. He opened the letter
slowly.

It read:

Malfoy,

Little Red Riding Hood and The Mudblood went to Fat Arse.

Smith

Draco scoffed at the unoriginality in which his informant decided to code their
correspondence.

He wasn't surprised the Weasel betrayed him. He had been half expecting it. The girl was as
cunning as a Hufflepuff. Did she actually think that she could delude him? Obviously the mudblood
did. It had probably been her idea to go to Fudge.

Draco was angry and satisfied as the oak door cracked. He was in his study. Not the office Ginny
had visited earlier in the week, but in his study where he kept his concealed belongings. He needed
the problem to be fixed. If Fudge got his greasy hands on Draco's map, Draco could never use
it, he'd never find the island, and his mother would never be cured. He had to get the map
back. He pulled his parchment and quill from his desk drawer. The scratch of quill against
parchment was ringing in his ears.

He read over it when he was finished.

Smith,

Take care of the Mudblood. I will take care of Red. DO NOT MESS UP.

Malfoy

It was short and to the point. He liked it. Now he needed to find the address of one Ms. Virginia
Weasley.



Disclaimer: Don't own a thing.

AN: To anyone who reviewed thank-you so much. I hope to read what you thought about this one.
Criticism is welcome and taken in stride.



3. Missing Maps and Malfoy
--------------------------



Chapter 4: Missing Maps and Malfoy's Mother

Ginny woke up the linger of her own screams ringing in her ears. She had suffered another
nightmare. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her yellow cotton sheets, her white night gown
pasted to her body with cold sweat, and her breath coming quickly, as if she'd been running.
The soothing pink light of morning was slipping through her daisy-patterned curtains, and she could
make easily see as the shadows of night were slowly being chased away. This was her least favorite
way to rouse.

She felt something else beyond the cold shiver of her dark memories. She felt a loss, like
something dear to her had been stolen. That is when reality set in. She rummaged through her
sheets. It had to be there, it just had to be there. She felt another cold shiver run up her spine,
unrelated to her night-terror. Draco Malfoy's map was gone. Ginny ruffled the cover's, in
her panic, falling to the wood floor as she looked under the bed. Where was it?

When Ginny had checked every corner of the house twice, the Friday morning sun was shining through
all the windows in her and Colin's flat. She had lost it. She had lost Draco's Malfoy's
map and he was going to kill her. Hermione was going to kill her too. "Hermione." She
mumbled to herself. Hermione could fix this. Ginny ran to the phone in Colin's room. Colin
insisted they own one, and insisted Ginny learn to use it. His mother didn't enjoy receiving
owls everyday. She wasn't fond of birds.

"Hello?" A deep and hoarse voice, Ginny recognized as Harry's asked.

"I'm sorry to call so early, Harry, but.."Ginny was talking rather quickly in her
panic.

"Ginny." Harry interrupted. "Do you know how early it is?"

Ginny looked at Colin's digital alarm clock. It read nine, zero, five. She didn't
understand why Colin insisted they own so many muggle things.

"Nine O'clock." Ginny answered before she realized it was rhetorical question.

"Nine O'clock? Really." Harry asked again.

"Look, Harry I don't have time for this." Ginny was growing impatient."Let me
talk to Hermione."

"Hold on." Harry yawned. Ginny could hear him yelling for Ron or Hermione.

"This is Hermione." A high-pitched voice answered.

"Ron!" Ginny yelled. "Put Hermione on the phone, damn it."

"Fine." Ron whined. "Merlin when did Ginny lose her sense of humor."

"This is the real Hermione." A chipper and more feminine voice answered.

"Hermione, it's Ginny."

"I gathered that much." Hermione interrupted. "What's your problem?"

"Remember the map I brought you yesterday. Well, I woke up this morning and it's gone. I
don't know what I'm happed or what I'm gonna do."

"Calm down, Ginny." Hermione's voice was calm and a bit confused."Let's
start over. What map are you talking about?"

"Stop teasing me, Hermione. The map I brought you Wednesday. The map we brought to
Fudge."

"Ginny, what are you talking about? I haven't seen you since Saturday."

"Yes you have!" Ginny was annoyed. Why was Hermione acting like she didn't know a
thing it was as if she didn't remember?

"Ginny are you sure it wasn't one of your dreams?" Hermione's voice was still
calm and rational. She always spoke to Ginny like this.

Ginny's Weasley temper was ready to explode when a letter and a flower was dropped on her lap.
Colin was standing over her, the signs of a night drinking written all over his face.

"Ginny?" Hermione's voice was slowly fading.

"Roll over." Colin grumbled climbing over Ginny and into his bed, the stench of alcohol
wafting off him.

"What's this?" Ginny asked Colin holding the letter and the daisy.

"I don't know. It was on your bed." Colin grumbled pulling the dark homemade quilt
his mother gave him over his head.

"Ginny?" A concerned voice on the other end asked again.

Ginny wasn't listening. She opened the letter. It was expensive stationary, probably designed
solely for the one family alone. It's distinct seal were two snakes coiling around each other
at the top and bottom, seeming to endlessly swallow each other. The hand writing was neat. Ginny
could tell, even though there were only two words.

Nice try.

She had seen the stationary and writing before. It was on a letter Percy had given her on an
assignment. The guidelines to get to a manor. That stationary, that handwriting belonged to one
person alone.

"Ginny? Are you there?" Hermione's voice was bringing Ginny back.

"Yes," Ginny answered.

"Where'd you go? I was getting worried." Ginny could hear Hermione's sigh of
relief. "I was about to send Harry and Ron over. I don't like you being alone."

"That's not necessary. Colin's home." Ginny said flatly. "You were probably
right. It probably was a dream. Sorry for bothering you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Ginny said desperately trying to get off the telephone.

"Well," Hermione said defeated, "I think you need to see someone about those dreams,
Ginny. I mean they keep getting worse."

"I will." Ginny put the phone down, anger replacing her fear, questions drifting through
her mind. How dare Malfoy break in her house? How had he found out? What had he done to
Hermione?

Ginny dressed carelessly in her anger. She searched the house for her shoes, all she could find
were the knee length dragon-hide boots Charlie had given her on a visit to Romania. They were a
size to small, but she didn't care. She slipped them on under her trousers.

Malfoy had gone too far.

~*~ *~ *~

The red oak door to Draco's study hit the hinged wall with a crack. In walked the petite
redhead he who had overrun his thoughts all morning.

The night before, after much planning, he had apparated outside her flat, it being too risky to
just apparate in. Foolishly the two occupants hadn't established any wards to keep even a
muggle thief out. The flat wasn't big and he wandered it, arrogant in his stealth. He squinted
in the dark, at the picture frame covered walls. Some pictures were muggle, he could tell as they
did not move.

Draco soundlessly made his way down the hall, trusting the shadows to conceal him. He always took
comfort in the dark. Using the shadows as a blanket, as a shield.

The doorknob to the first bedroom made a barely audible click as he opened the door. The dark
colors of the curtains and empty bed signified it to be a boy's room. However, the posters of
nearly nude wizards hanging from the walls confused Draco.

He traveled further into the dark room and examined the contents of the boy's desk. There were
two normal pictures: A picture of Weasley and a mousy haired boy. The mousy boy would kiss her on
her smiling cheek, wave at the camera, then kiss her again. Disgusted Draco turned the frame over.
The next picture was of the mousy boy and a clan of mousy people.

"Creevey," Draco whispered into the dark with realization.

He was in Creevey's room. His Sickle gray eyes wandered back to the posters with amusement.
'I knew that Potter boots licking-Won't shut the hell up- little rat was a puff.' He
thought bitterly. Saddened that he could have used that information while still in school.

Draco's smile faded as he pulled out his at the sound of a low feminine moan. He needed to get
his map and he needed to leave.

He swiftly crossed the hall to the second bedroom. The map lay at the end of her bed crumbled
between her covers. He had taken it, when a blood- curdling cry pierced the still night air.

Draco stood motionless, as the dreaded question swam through his head. Had she caught him?

He turned around, wand out ready to face her but her eyes were shut tightly.

She was having some form of nightmare.

He stepped out into the hall ready to leave then, but she cried out again. For her mother this
time.

He hesitated and stepped back in. Her hands were clutching the yellow sheets of her bed. Her fiery
locks clinging to her face with sweat the way her thin nightgown clung appealingly to her body. He
wanted to leave, but she kept crying and Draco could not stand to hear a woman sobbing. It gave him
headaches.

He produced a flower from his wand quickly, took his pre-written letter from a pocket of his dark
robes and left both on her bed. His wand and map in hand, he used a familiar charm to wake her
up.

The light pink spell shimmered as it made contact with his deranged version of Sleeping Beauty. He
heard her scream as it gripped her subconscious, and hoped she didn't hear the familiar pop of
someone disapparating.

Now here she was but now she looked much more frightening then frightened. She wore a multicolored
hand-knit sweater that bore a giant white G. Her untamed wild red hair was falling everywhere. Her
deep brown eyes were narrowed, a look of utter determination on her face.

"You took it!" She yelled. Her voice a little hoarse.

"Took what Weasley?" Draco asked innocently. He was sitting behind his desk, his black
leather shoes crossed on top of it. It was a comfortable position in his oversized leather
chair.

"You know what, Malfoy," Ginny replied. "Don't play dumb."

"I don't seem to be the dumb one here, Weasley." Draco answered. He gracefully pulled
his legs from his desk and made his way around. "I didn't barge into someone's house,
into their private quarters and demand they give back something that wasn't mine to begin with.
I didn't go to the Minister of Magic, after being told not too. Did I?" He was casually
leaning back on his desk, his long legs stretched before him. His voice calm, but his eyes were
narrowed.

Ginny didn't reply, but she didn't cower. She wouldn't cower. This wasn't school.
She wasn't going to cry at the drop of a hat or run away with embarrassment. She wasn't a
little girl anymore, she was a twenty-one year old independent woman. Draco Malfoy was not going to
terrorize her.

"So you don't deny that you and the mud-" Draco caught himself, "that you and
Granger went to Fudge."

"No." Ginny sat down in the chair before Draco's desk.

"Honesty," Draco scoffed pushing himself off the desk. "That must be new for a
Weasley."

"What would you know about it?" Ginny rebutted. She didn't understand why, but she
felt a slight pang at his words. Even if he was Draco Malfoy she still felt guilty for lying to
him.

"Enough," he replied smugly.

"You would know enough," She laughed. "Your father lied to the Ministry for more
than a decade." She paused looking around the room, "And I haven't seen your mother
around, lately. Have they come to their senses, finally thrown her into St. Mungos too?"

Ginny knew she had said something wrong, something very wrong. Draco had rounded on her. His eyes
narrowed, his hands falling and gripping the arm rests of her chair trapping Ginny.

"Don't you EVER," he hissed through gritted teeth. His face lowered to mere inches
from Ginny's. "Talk about my mother."

"I'm sorry," Ginny squeaked out of surprise. She didn't feel so brave anymore.
She had never seen Draco lose his temper before, a rarity compared to Hermione.

"That's obvious," Draco said, pushing off her chair, but never breaking eye contact,
"I'd appreciate if you left, and mentioned this to no-one."

"But..."

"Don't worry." He spat, turning his back to her, "You'll get your
money."

The two sat in uncomfortable silence for what Ginny thought was eternity. A strange question
surfaced in her mind. How had Draco turned this on her?

She had come here angry with Draco. Her pureblood boiling inside her fair freckled skin with rage,
but he turned he into the guilty party. He made her feel like a first year, again. When in Potions
she'd added her porcupine quills before taking her cauldron off the fire. 'No.' Ginny
thought. 'He was going to do no such thing.'

"No." Ginny stood, feeling her Weasley temper restore her courage, "I won't go.
It's time for you to answer some of my questions, then. Number one, what did you do to
Hermione? Number two, what did you want with that map? Number three, what death-eater did you send
into my house to steal it?"

"Look Weasley, I don't have to answer one bloody question," Draco turned on her
smoothly, but Ginny was out of her seat. Looking up at him with the same determination that she
walked in with. Her hands gripping the collar of his black robes, pulling his face down to hers.
Draco's expression didn't change, but his insides were reeling at Ginny's
courage.

The same girl that had been cringing before him minutes earlier was pulling his face to her level,
aggressively. Later, when he turned it over in his mind, and his temper cooled, he had to admit it
was very sexy.

"No Malfoy," she said her teeth clenched, "Your going to answer every question I ask
you, or I'll..." Ginny knew she was lying, but she hoped Draco wouldn't call her
bluff.

"You'll what?" Draco asked cooly, repressing a smirk. Ginny Weasley was a strange
woman.

"I'll tell everyone," she spat. "I know what that map is Draco. Fudge might not
have believed me, but.." Ginny's brown eyes widened as she realized she had said too
much.

Draco smirked, grabbing Ginny's bare wrists and gently pulling them from his robes. She noticed
for the second time how soft and warm Draco's hands were.

"You want answers do you?" he asked, holding Ginny's slim wrists before him.

"There is a Quidditch match Monday at noon. Puddlemere versus Chudley. You're coming with
me."

"What?" Ginny asked. She was trying to subtlety pull her wrists away from him, but his
grip was too strong.

"If you want answers you'll be there." he said, letting go. His gray eyes skimmed her
clothes. "And wear something decent."

Ginny looked down at herself. The first time she'd really looked at herself all day.
Colin's jeans that were three times to big, an old Weasley sweater that was just as large, and
Dragon hide leather boots. Unfortunately Draco was right, she looked horrible.

"You can go now," he said, waving his hand like a teacher dismissing class, and turning
his back to her for the second time.

"Well, you better be there." Ginny said. She knew her voice wasn't menacing, but she
hoped to intimidate him a little.

"Oh I'll be there." Draco said snickering, squashing any hope Ginny had of him taking
her seriously.

TBC

To: kattie, GABRIELLE, Ori, Batgirl, isis, ennui, Resse Darling, Batgirl: Thanks so much.




4. Colin, Quidditch, and Let
----------------------------



Author's Note: This chapter and the future 5 chapters were all written well before OOTP was
released, so some major details may not be exactly cannon. Just read you'll know what I
mean.

Chapter IV: Colin, Quidditch, and Let's Make a Deal

Draco walked along the unending corridors of St. Mungos Hospital. Bright green torch lights casting
shadows on the pale blue walls, as a ‘guard' walked a few steps ahead of him and another a few
steps behind. They group walked in silence, the only noise the loud click of Draco's black
boots on the stone floor.

He had travelled here every other Sunday since the year he left Hogwarts. Every other Sunday since
the fall of the Dark Lord at the hands of Harry Potter. Every other Sunday since his father had
gone insane and had to be incarcerated. Fudge had been arrogant enough in his ignorance to sentence
Lucius Malfoy to St Mungo's other than Azkaban.

*'Stupid Fudge,'* Draco thought, darkly.*'Stupid, Fat, Foolish, Too-short,
bowler-hat wearing Fudge.'*

The armed guard, Draco knew as Michael from their brief meeting when he arrived, stopped at a
stretch of gray bricked stone. His head of light brown hair, which was cut unfashionably short,
fell a bit shorter than Draco's own. Michael taped his light-wand against the stones in a
pattern Draco had imprinted in his mind and he yawned with boredom as the dark-gray stones parted
like the Red sea.

The room Draco stepped into was a bright sterile white contrasting greatly to the darkness of the
hall. It held a single white sheeted cot and sitting at the only table in the room was a man he
didn't care very much to see. His long pale fingers gently clasped together laying on the brown
and beige chess board before him. His long white locks falling on his equally white uniformed
shoulders.

"Good afternoon, Draco," he drawled, as unsurprised to see Draco, as Draco was to see
him.

"Good afternoon, Father."

~*~*~*~

Ginny yawned stretching her freckled arms over her head. She was sitting in her dark office, the
only light coming from the small window. She liked going to her office on Sundays, it meant no one
would be there. No one to bother or berate her.

She was examining the dagger, again. The beautiful knife with it's odd jewels embedded deeply
in it's silver hilt. Ginny could see her face's reflection contorted in the flat blade as
if it were a carnival mirror. She was studying it closely when she noticed the smallest edge of
writing along the boundary: *To hear with sight.*

"To hear with sight?" Ginny read into her empty office, confused as to what it could
mean.

"What?" asked muffled feminine voice from the door.

Startled, Ginny looked up and in the threshold stood a tall blonde behind a stack of over filled
boxes.

"Good afternoon Holly," she greeted, making her way to help her coworker with the
boxes.

~*~*~*~

Draco sat in a small wooden chair at an equally small table across from his father. His
father's black marble Knight had taken his white marble Rook. He still was not quite sure how
his father accomplished this, but he had to take his father's word for it.

Lucius had begun topics on many things, but Draco had dropped each one quickly, answering with a
short ‘Yes' and ‘No sir'. He did not want to be here with every fiber of his being. The
only reason he made these awkward visits was to please his mother, and up to a year ago the visits
had been a mere twice a month.

"Draco," he began, dragging his black queen across the board. "How is that map
business of your's coming along? The Weasley girl still helping you."

Draco was not surprised to discover his father's knowledge of the map. He had been the one to
suggest the Belgian curator, Mr. Roberts, but he still felt a slight uneasiness having not informed
him of Ginny's involvement.

"Yes sir," he answered, curbing the surprise from his voice. He kept his eyes fixed on
the chess pieces, hoping his father might want to drop the subject.

"Do you care to indulge?" asked Lucius, his silky voice more demanding than
inquiring.

"The plan is coming along smoothly," he answered pursing his lips as he glided his
remaining white rook across the board to take his father's bishop, "Weasley's
involvement has been minimal and by tomorrow evening she will have none at all." He paused and
then added as an afterthought, "She was quite useless, really."

"My young son," Draco felt his father's smooth but cold finger pulling his chin up to
meet cool gray orbs, "that is where you are wrong."

"What do you mean?" he asked, pulling subtly away from his father. His eyes falling back
to the inanimate chess pieces. The Ministry refused to allow any magical objects within Lucius
Malfoy's grasp. Draco had to leave his wand when he arrived as if he were visiting a common
criminal.

"I mean,"whispered Lucius as he leaned over the game, his thin white locks brushing the
board and weaving between the pieces. "You could use her Draco."

"That skinny brat," he spat, sitting back in his chair, away from the table and his
father, "I think not."

"You think too much," replied Lucius, a sneer forming on his lips, his pale eyes growing
wide. He saw the excitement in and behind his father's eyes. The same distinguishable gray eyes
he saw every morning in the mirror, but the ones before him now had an eccentric gleam to them,
undeniably belonging to a mad man. He knew the Fudge's Ministry was quick to acknowledge his
father's insanity. The man was indeed crazy. The doctors and nurses agreed that it had been
many factors: The fall of his dark lord. The world he fought two wars for collapsing around
him.

His behavior was humiliating, running off into his own world, speaking in gibberish and third
person. Draco had been sure it was an act, something to fool the ministry. He was wrong.

After all the medi-wizard's tests, he was given the chance to speak privately with his father.
Draco was sure his father would turn to him with his thin lips curled in the Malfoy smirk and
explain to him how it was all staged. That it was his way of diverting the ministry and escaping a
lifetime in Azkaban. That he would be home to take care of his wife. To Draco's horror he just
sat in the chair speaking soothingly to himself.

Unfortunately, he was getting better. The episodes of embarrassing convulsions had subsided. He was
holding half lucid conversations and occasionally could hold a non-wizarding game of chess. Draco
would have claimed him sane. He held his self in the same demeanor Draco had remembered from
childhood, cold but clearheaded. The only difference was the irrational look in his eyes.

Now the same mad eyes coupled with the same smooth voice, was trying to convince him to use Ginny
Weasley. The same Ginny Weasley, who had brought his father so much disappointment Draco's
second year attending Hogwarts. Draco knew he shouldn't be entertaining his father's ideas,
the man was crazy. But to save his mother Draco would gladly snog a Dementor, and if that meant
making deals with a devil, the so be it.

Draco suddenly found himself very uncomfortable sitting across from a lunatic, and he quickly found
an excuse to break the intense eye contact with his father, glancing at his shiny new wrist watch.
To his relief it was nearly five o'clock and his mother's nurses would be expecting him
home.

"I have to go," he announced, hoping his voice was steady. He slowly rose from his chair,
as his father withdrew into his own, "Lovely time as always, Father."

"You'll do well to heed my word, boy," the elder Malfoy called to his son's
retreating back.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, even with his back facing his father, the man would
somehow know.

*~*~*

Ginny stood next to her bed, the entire contents of her wardrobe covering her daisy yellow sheets.
She had come home earlier than she had wanted, relinquishing the office to her lanky colleague.
Now, her only worry was finding something to wear.

She had never been taken on a *real* date before. While attending Hogwarts, she had accepted a
few invitations to Hogsmeade, but Ron quickly put an end to it. Since she began working at the
Ministry, she'd had enough offers for an after work butterbeer, but with her busy job no time
to accept any. Seamus and Neville, who both worked for the Ministry, had brought her on many lunch
dates and if all else failed she got to come home to her Colin.

*Colin,* Ginny thought, smiling to herself. Colin Alan Creevey, her best friend and forever
her rock.

They hadn't been close, barely talking at all, their first four years at school then a chance
encounter on the stairs to Gryffindor tower changed all that. Colin had been jumping for his camera
being, which was being held high over his head, by three boys from their own house and year. Ginny
threatened them, to give Colin his camera and leave him alone or else. The large fifth years
ignored Ginny, insisting on taunting Colin for being so small, un-athletic, and for his odd
fascination with the Boy-Who-Lived.

Ginny remembered jumping for the camera herself, but to no avail. She recalled reluctantly drawing
her wand from her robes and giving them another chance.

But again the boys refused to give it back, content in their knowledge that Ginny already had lost
the House thirty points when in Potions she'd dumped the contents of her hot cauldron on the
top of a foul mouthed Slytherin.

Ginny was ready to take the responsibility of losing House points and the torment of another
detention, but to her relief Hermione seemed to emerge from the stone walls of the corridor.
Hermione looked the part of an administrator, her prefect badge flashing on her black robes, her
lips set, and her two best friends flanking her sides. The boys immediately stiffened and without a
word the tallest boy, who was holding the camera, dropped it into Hermione's hands. Ginny
smiled to see her brother and Harry standing behind the brunette, smirking at each other.

. Colin had been terribly embarrassed, but thanked Ginny and Hermione anyway and that evening in
the Great Hall, he intentionally sat by her for the first time. Ginny was happy to find Colin could
be a bit of a chatter box, he could talk for hours without taking a single breath, leaving Ginny no
room for discussion but she liked it that way.

"Colin," Ginny called into the empty air of their flat.

"What?" answered Colin, from where Ginny was convinced was the kitchen.

"Come help me find something to wear," she whined, throwing a fairly new peach robe to
the bed.

"Don't have to yell ya' know," Colin replied, through a mouth of corn-beef
sandwich. He was leaning against the open door of her bedroom. "So," he asked swallowing,
"I reckon, another date with Seamus, eh?"

"No," Ginny said hoping her voice was casual.

"Well," he asked confused, "then who?"

"It's not a date, but I'm not telling you. You'll just make fun," she said,
picking up an awful pink dress Penny had bought her holding it to her blue cotton pajama clad
chest, before throwing it to the ground.

"C'mon Gin-bug, tell me," begged Colin, shaking his head at a blue jumper she was
holding. "I told you when I took out that model chap."

"You weren't embarrassed, you were damn well proud."

"I was not, models are shallow," he argued, handing her a knee length cream colored
dress.

"Oh, yes you were," she insisted, holding the new dress up. "You ran around the flat
for hours singing, *‘I'm taking out Jason Morgan'* at the top of your bloody
lungs."

"No, I wasn't. I was singing ‘I'm taking out *super-model* Jason
Morgan,'" Colin sang, giving Ginny a thumbs up to her new dress.

"Either way, it's not a date. It's…business and I'm not telling you," she
answered, gathering the rest of her clothes off the bed.

"Well, date or not, you're going to look lovely, Gin."

Colin helped Ginny put her clothes away, berating her for the not so fashionable choices that
filled her wardrobe. It consisted mostly of oversized Weasley sweaters, denim and corduroy
trousers, shoes that were either too big or too small, but at the back of her closet bound in brown
paper was prettiest cloak Ginny owned.

*~*~*

Quidditch was one of the few things Draco truly cared for. To him the game was more like a piece of
a rare art then a simple competition. The crowds cheering, the mascots dancing, the individual
players soaring higher and higher, the overall excitement added to the experience.

He admitted Quidditch was different when you were playing. It was more than just a sport, it was
the most beautiful and exciting experience you could imagine. The wind whipping by you and the
adrenalin pumping through your veins as you hover meters above the pitch, one fatal swift of a
bludger and they would be carting you off to the hospital wing. He missed playing, he really did,
but he couldn't. Good as he was in school, it was nothing compared to professional quidditch,
so instead he did the next best thing, and bought himself a quidditch team.

His quidditch team, Puddlemere United, was facing the Chudley Canons or as Draco preffered to refer
to them as talent less orange pigs, who unfortunately for all, learned to fly. Draco's already
burning hatred for the team only grew as he heard the announcement of the team's players on
that Monday afternoon.

"-and as Seeker, Mr. Harry Potter," an overly excited voice proclaimed from the
announcer's box.

Draco clasped his around his champagne glass a little too tightly and the light-gold substance
began shaking.

"Didn't know, did you?" asked Ginny, taking a small sip from her own glass. She was
sitting two seats away from him, her pale legs crossed. She was wearing a wide strapped, pale cream
dress that fell just above her name when she sat, giving him his first generous look at her fair
legs. ‘Suitable for muggles,' Draco thought, "but what else can you expect from a
Weasley.' Her mass of wild hair, was for once tamed, worn down and straight, covering her arms
and back like a deep red cloak. She was pretty Draco reluctantly admitted, his father's
unstable words ringing clear in his head. ‘Weasley, might be useful for something," he
smirked.

"Didn't know what?" he asked, dragging his eyes up her crossed legs, semi-crossed
arms, and eventually reaching her face. He took a sip from his cool glass.

"Don't play dumb," she answered, putting her glass on the table. They were relaxing
in his private owner's box, waiting for the match to begin. "You didn't know Harry
played for the Cannons."

"My Weasley," he started with sarcasm, "your surveillance skills are quite the
marvel, how did the Auror trainers, ever let you slip through their fingers?"

"I was too good," Ginny added, not sounding very confident, but her eyes never left a
certain orange pig.

"Obviously not good enough for Potter, he surely didn't notice."

"Look Malfoy," Ginny started, "I'm here about the map, not you and Harry's
immature post-Hogwarts battle of bigger…bananas."

Draco was in the middle of taking a sip of his bubbly and used all his self-control to swallow it.
"Well," he cleared his throat, "since we have all talk of bananas out of the way, I
believe we should get down to the real reason you're here."

"What would you like to know?" he asked, ready to only give Ginny the information she
needed to know.

Ginny and Draco shared the information each one had collected, occasionally stopping to watch an
amazing play as they zoomed through the crisp September air. They didn't get much bartered
between them as it was a quick game. Harry catching the snitch in an almost personal record,
bringing the Cannons' their third win of the season.

Draco took the loss much better then Ginny had been expecting. Surprisingly, he didn't break
his comfortable stadium chair, throw their shared bottle of champagne shattering it against the
wall of the large room, or he didn't run out the door proclaiming he was going to kill Walt Mc
Heel, the head coach of his team. He stiffly stood up, his pink lips, pressed firmly
together.

"Lovely," he exhaled, his thin nostrils flaring.

*~*~*

The stadium's large security troll opened the door to the owner's box. Draco let Ginny step
through first, allowing her to stand on the balcony by herself for a moment. She stopped at the
railing to look down onto the small groups of lucky fans adorned in blue and orange waiting
anxiously for their team player's to step from their locker rooms, each one hoping to get a
picture of their favorite player or an autograph.

"Pathetic," Draco mumbled over he shoulder in disgust.

She heard a group of young girls scream and she felt his head, next to her own, move as a tall
raven maned figure was making his way through the sea of orange and blue. A taller man with ginger
hair and freckles bound to his side, pushing people off as they grabbed for the Cannons' young
Seeker.

"Ron! Harry!" she called from the balcony, hoping her brother could hear her over the
noisy crowd.

She saw Ron looked up at the sound of her voice and felt Draco's warm fingers clasp around her
bare upper arm. Ron's sapphire eyes squinting as he sought her out. Ginny waved with her free
arm and he waved back. Ron grabbed his friends arm, saying something into his ear, and pointing at
the balcony Ginny and Draco were standing on. Harry looked up, his green eyes barely making contact
with her brown, as he waved and the two boys she considered brothers continued on their way
out.

Neither man noticed Malfoy standing so closely behind Ginny. He took in her disappointed expression
and obvious self-pity. Her brother and lifelong crush barely noticing her with the young owner of a
quidditch team alone in his private box, both barely waving as they continued with their busy
lives. Draco filed this emotion with the rest for future reference. He had collected all the small
sensitivities he had witnessed from her and placing them in a folder labeled, *‘Ginny'* in
his mind of filing cabinets. He knew they would be more than useful in the future.

"C'mon Weasley," he ordered, the hand around her freckled arm steering her away from
the railing and down the steps.

~*~*~*~

Due to Harry catching the snitch and ending the game quickly, they had been unable to exchange the
more important information, so Draco invited her to an early dinner.

The restaurant he chose mirrored the mood of their date, not a romantic spore in the atmosphere.
The air was stuffy and reeked of elderly wizards and witches. The utensils and dishes set before
her were polished to a silver shine, but were entirely too many for her taste. Her wooden chair was
anything but comfortable, and Ginny was positive it was magically manipulating her spine as it
perfected her posture.

Her eyes roamed over to Draco, who besides his young appearance, looked at ease in his
surroundings. His back straight, his head high in his arrogance, and his long fingers wrapped
delicately around the body of his glass as he took a small sip of the wine their water had declared
as being *‘a very good year'.*

"Great team you bought there," Ginny asked mockingly, remembering the huge loss his team
had suffered at the very hands of his school rival.

"Oh, yes," he said, taking another sip of his wine, "I see them taking the league
championship."

"Do you really?" asked Ginny, surprised at Draco's sudden enthusiasm for his team.
She'd been under the impression that the he'd considered them in less than a good light,
after not saying a word since they'd left the stadium.

"My God no," he snickered, lowering his glass. The mirthless laugh, wasn't a pleasant
sound to Ginny's ears.

"That's not funny," she insisted. "To cut your team down that way, do you really
expect them to do well with encouraging speeches like that."

"Oh please," he said taking another sip of his dark drink, "I've only met one of
them, that Scottish fellow…Wood."

"What?" she asked baffled, "You haven't even met your team, the men whose
futures you hold in the palm-"

"I bought the team. I'm not their coach," Draco interrupted, "I don't go
down to the pitch, give them hugs, kisses, pat their backs, and read them bed time stories.
That's not my thing," again he took a sip, "My *money* is all the encouragement
they need."

"I see," Ginny sighed, rolling her own half-full glass over in her hands, the dark purple
liquid turning red as it swirled onto the sides. They sat in silence a few more moments before
Ginny asked a question she'd been dying to know the answer. "So, you erased Hermione's
memory eh?"

"Not so loud, Weasley," he hissed, his eyes darting around to the other tables before
settling back on her own, "And to answer you silly question-No I didn't." He brought
his wineglass once more to his lips, before setting it empty onto the white table cloth. "I
haven't seen Granger in …well over a year."

Ginny didn't understand why, but she believed him, maybe it was the fact he had no use in lying
to her now. He admitted to Ginny that he had been the one to break into her house and steal his
map.

"But it was *my* map! I had every right to take it back," he hissed dangerously at
her, defending his actions.

He also admitted that he had knowledge of Hermione's memory being tampered, but that nothing
harmful had or would come of it. Ginny had exhaled loudly with this news, however Draco refused to
disclose who had done the tampering, leaving her with many unanswered questions.

"So," he said, staring at her, "Are you going to help or not?"

"Me?" Ginny asked, surprised.

Draco nodded.

"Me," she repeated.

"A name you call yourself," Draco said, massaging his brow with his fingers. "Now,
if you're going to burst into song, I'd rather be somewhere else. So are you or are you
not?"

"Not what?" she asked. *Did Draco Malfoy just ask for my help? Again."*

"Going to help me," he replied, a whiny tinge to his voice.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something, but Draco unexpectedly raised his hand to stop her.

"If you answer my question with a question, I might have to strangle you,
understand?"

Ginny paused for a moment weighing how serious Draco's statement was, "Why should I?"
she asked, her voice unexpectedly calm as she pushed him.

Draco's mouth opened then closed and his light eyes narrowed for a moment. He appeared to have
not been expecting this protest. *‘He's probably never been told no,'* Ginny thought,
watching him think.

"Double your pay," he offered, with a smirk.

"Double *my* pay?" Ginny asked insulted, crossing her freckled arms on the table,
"Do I *look* like a bought woman?"

"Do you honestly want the answer?" he asked teasingly and for a few seconds studied
Ginny's face. No sign of a smile, but narrowed brown eyes and a set pink mouth. He sighed,
giving an ounce of defeat, "What do you want?"

"First, I'd like to know exactly what you want with it," Ginny began, pushing her
wine glass around nervously with fingers trying to curb the urge to begin chewing on her
thumbnail.

"Part of what?" he asked.

"Part of the map," Ginny answered.

"What for?" he asked, one pale brow arching. He was beginning to question Virginia
Weasley's intentions, maybe his father was wrong, maybe he shouldn't involve her. She had
already tried to cross him once.

"You answer my question first," Ginny smiled, revealing a deep dimple among her many
freckles. She knew she had the upper hand and she was going to use it. *Draco doesn't want
me,'* she thought, *‘he **needs** me."* *Someone else needed you once
too,"* another voice offered up, but Ginny ignored it.

"Well, then we really are in trouble. I'll only give you a quarter of the map, and that
might I add is generous, but of your earlier question the subject is closed," he said, sliding
his uncomfortable chair back and standing up, "So it seems we have arrived at impasse, Miss.
Weasley."

He took a dark velvet sack from his long gray jacket and deposited a few gold coins onto the table,
marking the end of their dinner, his demeanor uncaring that Ginny had just refused to help him. He
was walking away from their table, expecting Ginny to follow, and she could feel her opportunity
slipping by. Maybe she was wrong and whatever plans Malfoy had for the map, he could do on his
own.

"Malfoy," she called after him scrambling from her seat and, thinking the sound of her
own voice was sickeningly pathetic. "I'll help you."

Draco abruptly stopped and Ginny ran into his back.

"You will," he said, standing to the side to allow her to walk before him.

"Yes," she said sounding defeated. She was making a deal with the devil she knew, but
what other choice did she have.

"I knew you'd see the light," he said smirking at her back as she walked ahead of
him.

TBC...

Author's Note: I know Ginny seemed a litte dismissive about Hermione's memory being erased,
but she doesn't forget these things and she seemed abit too hasty to help Malfoy. Well that
will come back too. Reviewers:

Adrienne: I'm glad you're enjoying the story and I hope you stick around. I can't
believe I'm the first new story your reading. Wow thank you so much and suberb writing, well
I'm not so sure about that, but again thank you. There will be more on Draco and his
mother's relationship in future chapters.

Batgirl: Thankyou so much, I hoped you liked this chapter too. Yeah, the UST's pretty high and
it get's higher.

Dawn Wood: Thankyou for loving the story and don't worry all your questions will be answered,
especially about Ginny's power and Draco's mother. They are both key roles.

Resse Darling: No, Mrs. Malfoy isn't at St. Mungo's I think that would put her too far away
for Draco's tastes, she's being cared for at Malfoy Manor. Don't worry it all comes up.
Thanks for the review.

gabrielle-Again, thank-you and don't worry there will be many more Draco Ginny fights.

Clair: Thanks for the review and well the sickness will come back soon.

ennui: I suppose Ginny would find Muggle things irritating and mundane after a while. Thanks for
the review.

Huge Thanks To: dracoginnyr, tosha1986, iziy, Erin,

To: 17842 Enter Name, 17837 Enter Name, 17179 Enter Name: I'm not sure who you are, but I
thankyou.




5. Harry, Heads, and Blaise Zabini
----------------------------------

Chapter V: Harry, Heads, and Blaise Zabini

Ginny's nerves were on end as she approached Hermione's office. The door was closed but she
could see more than one dark form behind the smoked glass. She also felt guilt for lying and with
holding knowledge of her memory lapse from the former head girl, but she had to get the book. Draco
had told her to before he left for Greece a week ago.

Now here she stood before Hermione's office gathering all her Gryffindor courage to knock. She
lifted her hand to knock when the door opened and she was looking up into the green eyes of Harry
Potter. He seemed shocked as he stood motionless looking down at her.

"Harry," she said smiling nervously. *'Did they have to make this harder?'*
"That was a great game last week."

"I guess," Harry said, scratching the back of his black head. He stepped to the side
giving Ginny room to walk in.

Hermione was sitting behind her desk. Her brown curls pulled into a tight ponytail creating a sort
of dome at the back of her head. It reminded Ginny of the short time in her sixth year when Dean
Thomas had gone through his artistic stage. He grew his dark hair out, wore large black sunshades,
a red beret, and insisted on using words like 'dig it', 'daddy-o', and called
everyone 'a cool cat.'"

"Hey Ginny," Hermione greeted the red head from behind her desk. "What can I do for
you?"

"Oh," Ginny squeaked, nervously rubbing the bottom of her light blue robes between her
sweaty fingers. "I was wondering if I could borrow a book."

Hermione gave Ginny a questioning look. It was common knowledge Hermione didn't lend her books
out and Ginny was quick to explain herself. She lied to Hermione telling her that she needed to
borrow the book for further investigation of a deatheater.

"It's all for the better good," she finished, smiling nervously.

Hermione was reluctant but Ginny pressed, proclaiming "I'll bring it back good as
new."

She let out a sigh of relief as Hermione climbed the sliding ladder. She pulled the red leather
book from it's place and handed it to Ginny.

"Oh, deja vu," she said, carefully placing her foot on each rung.

"Same cat or different cat?" Harry asked.

Both Hermione and Ginny looked at him puzzled. She sometimes did not understand Harry's strange
since of humor. He mumbled something about his cousin's favorite movie .

Hermione shook her head as she stepped off the ladder. "It just feels like I've done this
before," she said, sitting down in the brown chair behind her desk.

"Best not to tell Lavender. She'll swear it was from a past life," Harry chuckled,
from his chair. He was sitting slumped low in his chair, his long legs perching his worn out tennis
shoes on Hermione's desk. The act reminded Ginny of someone but she couldn't remember
who.

"Don't be ridiculous Harry," Hermione scolded, swiping at Harry's feet but with a
Seeker's reflexes he pulled them from her reach, before positioning them again.

Hermione gave an exaggerated sigh and Ginny knew she was going to allow Harry to leave his dirty
shoes where they were.

"You know I don't nor will I ever believe in the preposterousness of reincarnation. All I
was saying was it felt like I had done this before. You know what I mean. Don't you
Ginny?" she asked, addressing Ginny for the first time since she had sat down.

Ginny tried to stop the uncontrollable nervous fit of giggles but failed. "Yeah sure,"
she laughed, clutching the book to her chest and hating herself for never being able to lie
properly to Harry or Hermione, who were looking at her oddly. But she was glad for once that Ron
wasn't there, he would have known there was something wrong, that she was lying. Then he would
have used that brilliant chess player mind of his and put two and two together. He would brand her
a traitor for working for a Malfoy. Her father would be more disappointed in her than her first
year and her brothers would disown her. Everyone would hate her forever.

Ginny knew she was being irrational but she felt as trapped as a caged pixie. Her brother's
best friends observing her giggling self as if she were a grindylow in an aquarium. She had to get
out of Hermione's office and she had to get out now.

"Look at the time," Ginny grinned pushing her robe and jumper sleeve back to reveal a
bare wrist. "I have to go. Money is time. Time is money," she turned to Hermione,
"Thanks for the book and I promise to bring it back good as new."

Ginny nearly ran out the door and down two stairwells to her office. Clasping the book to her chest
and gasping for breath she collapsed against the closed door. Her two co-workers staring
questioningly at her. *'Malfoy owes me big time,'* She thought to herself.

~*~*~*~

While Ginny was collapsing against a door at the ministry, Draco was many countries away arguing
with a purple robed wizard in a tiny hut outside of Sikourio.

"What do you mean you don't have it?!" he yelled, standing up so he could tower over
the gangly man, an intimidation tactic he learned from his father.

The man, Draco was asked to call Brutus, had just told him that he had sold the rare dagger Draco
had traveled from London to buy.

"I mean I don't have it," the African-Asian wizard, answered. His deep voice never
wavering under the glare of the taller angrier man. Draco felt his jaw flinch as he ground his
teeth, desperately attempting to control his temper.

He had been refereed to Brutus after searching Knockturn Alley high and low for the very unique
dagger.

"Well who did you sell it too?" Draco spat through his teeth. His patience run as thin as
this man's bony wrists. He had wasted an entire week of his mother's precious time hunting
down this crazy-useless-bone collecting- weapon trading-hut living-wanker.

"Oh, I'm not sure I should say Mr. Longbottom. I don't think I really
remember..." he trailed off. His beady black eyes looked up to Draco's gray with a greedy
glint.

Draco understood the man's implication and dug through his dark robes for one of his trusty
black sacks. He pulled it from it's home and threw the bag at the haggard man with disgust,
"You can remember now can't you."

"Ah, yes it seems I can," Brutus answered. He was absently playing with a necklace of
yellowed werewolf teeth he wore around his neck. "I remember selling it to a young Mr.
Zabini."

"Zabini," Draco repeated, hoping his ears had not deceived him. "Are you
sure?"

"Yes, Zabini," the man assured, dumping the gold onto the wood paneled floor of his hut.
His beady eyes watering as he took in the heap of gold. "I will definitely remember to do
business with you more often Mr. Longbottom," he laughed, piling the galleons into six neat
stacks.

"No," Draco said, pulling out his wand, "You won't." He pointed his wand at
the tiny man on the floor and closed his eyes.

"Obliviate!" Draco's voice rang clear as his spell hit the man. His dark face seemed
almost whimsical as he asked the familiar question, "Who are you?"

"No one," Draco replied, his voice flat. He turned on his heel pushing the bamboo curtain
out of his way as he stepped out of the dark hut, into the Greek evening sun.

~*~*~*~

Ginny threw the red leather bound book onto Draco's desk. The gold lettering reflecting the
green and white setting sun from the stained glass windows behind his desk.

"D' ya know how hard it was to get that bloody thing?" Ginny asked. She was angry
Draco had not even bothered to owl her since his return two days ago. Not owling to see how she did
with fetching the book. *'Maybe because he could give a rat's fat arse, Ginny.'*
His eyes moved slowly from the book by his feet to Ginny. They held the same bored expression they
always held.

"Well do you?" she repeated, tucking an untamable red strand behind her ear.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Blaise Zabini is would you?" he asked, ignoring
her question.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something and closed it. She wasn't expecting that reply. A snide
remark of *'No, and I care even less.'* or *'Should I? I'll make sure and
put it on my list of things to discover before I impale myself on a pitchfork on my front
lawn.'* She was not expecting to be interrogated about the whereabouts of Blaise
Zabini.

"Well do you?" he urged, lifting a pale eyebrow up at her.

"Why would I know where Blaise Zabini is?"

"Well your brother attacked his home less than a month ago, stealing everything his family
held dear to them."

"Ron did not attack, he invaded. He didn't steal, he confiscated."

"Call it what you like Weasley, I could careless, but do you know where he is?" he asked,
again, a twinge of impatience to his words.

"You know I grew up with six brothers," Ginny said casually, sitting down on the couch he
had next to the fireplace, "If you keep talking to me in this manner. It'll just take
longer to get the information out of me."

Draco moved quietly from his seat as she had been settling herself comfortably on his coach. She
was surprised when she found him leaning against the front of his desk, his legs crossed casually
at the ankles. His unreadable gray eyes darker with the loss of light, holding no amusement.

"Trust me, Weasley," he said, his voice soft, "If I wanted something, not even the
most stubborn cow could keep me from having it. Now, where is Blaise Zabini."

"Not in Azkaban if that's where your thinking. Someone tipped him off and he ran before
Ron's team go there. It wasn't a complete lost though, they gathered enough evidence to
convict the little coward if he ever comes back."

Draco stood silent. Ginny guessed he was digesting this information and was thinking of his next
course of action; his silence encouraged her to keep going.

"Well, it was just your run of the mill deatheater goodies."

"Great," he said, flatly. He looked away from her and pushed the charcoal sleeves of his
fitted jumper a quarter up his forearm as he crossed them over his chest. "What's all the
interest in Blaise Zabini, anyway?" Ginny pressed.

She was intrigued with Draco's sudden fascination with the deatheater? Ginny had a friend in
classifieds who had checked into Draco's background for her. His folder had been more like a
filing cabinet but his only connections to the Dark Lord were his father and his manor.

"Nothing of your concern," he said, tilting his head to look at her again, "All you
need to worry that pretty little redhead of your's about is finding the other three quarters of
my map."

"Our map," she corrected, smiling at his sneer.

"Well, three-fourths my map," he replied, "So about this book of yours?"

~*~*~*~

"This is useless," Draco spat throwing the delicate book Ginny had brought him on the
couch barely missing the redhead. He had spent three weeks reading it and the last two hours
reading boring page after boring page. There was no information in the way of locations for finding
the other three pieces. He had found a tracking spell between pages three-hundred sixty and
four-hundred but it only worked if you were in close proximity. The book and tracking spell were
useless. Like his quarter of the map was useless without the other three pieces. Giving his mother
less of a chance then a Hufflepuff has in hell.

"It is not," Ginny argued from the floor. Her back was against the couch and stacks of
rare books encircled her. She had a large one open and covering her lap.

"Is so," he replied, summoning a gold-paged book off the top of one of the four stacks
around her.

He told Ginny he had required nearly all the reference books, diaries, and journals off Knockturn
Alley and from some of his father's old friends but failed to reveal to her that some were from
the Manor's library.

He heard Ginny sigh in defeat grabbing the mudblood's book from behind her head. Using it to
cross-reference one she already had.

"There are lot's of mentions of Cairo," she said, curling a lock of thick red hair
behind her ear. Her head snapping from one book to the other as she read each one over.

"Well, that might be due to the fact that you're reading The Chronicles of
Cairo."

"I guessed that much. It's just..." she stumbled, as she looked back to the three
books opened around her. "It doesn't end at the second novel. Where's the
third?"

"I suspect still it's shop in Cairo," he replied, keeping his focus on the gold pages
of his book, *The Journal of Seraphim White.* He was waiting for that little Gryffindor mind
of her's to ask why was it still in Cairo, and he would be happy to explain that the third book
was very expensive, not that he couldn't afford it. He didn't want to buy it on principle,
Malfoy's did not pay such high prices for the frivolous.

Fortunately, they had learned enough from the first two installments to justify the buying of the
third. Ginny had read to him two conditions to retrieving this particular corner of the map. Only
someone of Egyptian decent, who also had the ability to read hieroglyphics could take the map from
it's altar. Draco didn't fret when Ginny had made a fuss about not knowing anyone that fit
that description. She noted that Hermione could read Hieroglyphics, but as far as her knowledge
went Hermione was not of Egyptian decent. He simply smirked and nodded his head at her little
frustrated tantrum. He had someone in mind but he was reluctant to cross that bridge.

He shifted his eyes keeping his head still and his face impassive as he waited for her to respond.
To his annoyance she sat contentedly on the floor. Her red hair cloaking her face as she read from
the big books in her lap, her thumb between her teeth. A nervous habit he had discovered she had
while observing her at the quidditch game.

He was compelled, by his own childish pride, to use nasty but reliable school tactic to make his
presence felt. He could call her poor, comment on her century-old Oak-tree stump of a mother.

"Well," she said, sitting up with her book, her red hair falling out of her face. Draco
smirked to himself as his eyes quickly went back to his book. *'Gryffindors are so
predictable.'* "I suggest you get your skinny arse down there and get it,"

Draco held his book tightly, asking himself if he had heard her correctly. *'Yes,'*
his mind assured him, *'Yes, you have.'*

"Since, when does a Malfoy take orders from a Weasley, the tiniest and most insignificant to
boot," he sneered, happy to know he could still get a rise from her as his eyes flicked up to
watch her flush pink. "Actually, I should send you down there, make you do some of the
work."

Ginny opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out, so Draco continued.
"Unfortunately, I don't trust you with my money. You might try to run off and feed that
overgrown family of yours."

The room was silent so Draco looked back down at his book and only looked up when he felt
Ginny's anger so close to his desk. Her face wasn't as flushed as he was hoping but she was
quite pale. The white of her skin contrasted with the deep brown of her eyes producing eyes made of
ebony as she looked down at him, the first time Draco could remember her ever doing so. He was
tempted to ask her if it was something he'd said, as if it was commonplace to insult her family
and her honor. Instead, he just lifted an eyebrow innocently.

She smiled sweetly at him, an unsettling smile that unnerved Draco. It was the kind of smile given
from a madman or in his case a madwoman.

"Fuck you."

"Come again?" he asked. Her voice had been so sickeningly sweet that he was sure he
hadn't understood her besides, Ginny Weasly didn't use words like that.

"Fuck you!" she repeated slowly, pronunciation given to each syllable. "I was just
trying to be helpful, but *no.* You have to be the great spoiled overbearing git you
are!"

Draco drowned her out as he searched the drawers of his desk. Ginny Weasley had better uses than
ranting, and he was going to put her to them as soon as he found the dark purple coin pouch. It had
been his mother's when she was young, something to hold her pocket money.

"I don't even know why I'm working for you?" she continued.

"Because I'm giving you a piece of a priceless map but most of all you can't stand
being away from my irresistible charm," he lazily commented, opening the top left hand drawer
of his desk.

He finally found it in the second drawer and pulled it out by it's silver cord. He kept the old
pouch close because it reminded him of his mother. He bitterly smiled as he opened the soft velvet
bag and deposited some gold and silver from his own pouch an act he'd seen her perform many
times.

"And now to hear that you don't trust me. Not that I care, but I don't know what kind
of working relationship we have if."

"Here," he interrupted, throwing the bag at her. Her reflexes, not being that of a seeker
or even a keeper, weren't too bad and with difficulty she caught the bag.

He was going to send her to Diagon Alley to buy him a traveling cloak, in turn giving her a false
since of trust. If she thought he trusted her, then she would trust him. He was going over these
wicked thoughts in his head, when the most unusual thing happened. She closed her eyes tightly and
started gasping for breath. It reminded Draco of the time he'd watched her sleeping when she
had been calling for her mother.

She quickly came out of her convulsion giggling and with a clearly, forced smile.

"What was I saying?" she asked, ringing the dark coin purse in her hands.

"Just how wonderful I am and how grateful you are to be working for a man like me," he
smirked.

Something was definitely different about Ginny Weasley.

*~*~*~*

A large pyramid outside of Cairo:

"Mr. Malfoy back so soon," the dark complected gentlemen greeted, adjusting the golden
tassel of his rust-brown fez. "I assume you came back for the last book."

"For once you've assumed correctly, it seems I finally found a use for it," he
drawled, swinging the brown sack in his hands.

The petite man smiled revealing missing canines, as his dark eyes went to the sack Draco was
carrying. He spun and disappeared deeper into the shop. Draco decided, while he waited for the man,
to see what else he had in his shop observing the artifacts in the center of the dark and dusty
pyramid.

The man reappeared, the gold tassel a top his head swinging back and forth. In one arm he held the
silver bound book and the other held a torch. Draco eyed the torch, wondering how far the man had
to go in the tomb to retrieve it.

"Here it is," he announced with pride, slamming the book on to the counter, sending month
old dust onto Draco's expensive black robes. "Sorry," he mumbled trying to dust them
off, but Draco stepped out of his reach. He could afford new robes but he couldn't afford to
get the filth of this man off him. "Now do you have what I want, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco sucked on his teeth before he hoisted the heavy burlap sack onto the counter next to the
book. A mysterious red liquid staining it's bottom. "Excellent," the grubby little
man licked his lips grabbing for the bag.

Draco moved swiftly and grabbed his own part of their trade.

"Not a word," Draco said, feeling nauseous as the man dipped a dirty hand into the bag
bringing green and red matter to his lips.

"Not a word," the fez wearing demon agreed, through a mouthful of Christmas colored
matter. It made Draco feel as if his coffee and muffin from breakfast were going to meet him,
before he made it out of the tomb.

*~*~*~*

A tall man with pale blonde hair leaned against a wall of the pyramid he'd abandoned for
support. He was trying his best not to retch before the hoards of wizard-tourists admiring the
pyramids around them in the dead city. His broad shoulder's giving to his thinner forearms that
were wrapped protectively around an ash-gray book.

He bumped into a enfeebled homeless native, who was wrapped in dirty dark- brown robes. He looked
to have been pleading for knuts and sickles all day.

"Watch where your going?" the young man snapped, backing away from the other man. His
cheeks were bright pink, from the sun or his annoyance, and his blonde hair was falling into his
face. He looked more disheveled then anyone had ever seen a Malfoy.

"Sorry," the man mumbled, stumbling away from him and closer to the tomb. He gripped his
hole covered cloak around him tighter.

The taller man swiftly pulled his wand from a pocket of his robes, and in the frustration of not
being able to control his nausea pointed it at the man. The infamous Malfoy self-control wavering.
His left hand was steady as he held his weapon before him. His eyes, silver in the noon sun,
betraying his anger and irritation.

"Not worth it," he groaned in disgust before pushing past a family of blondes witches,
who were taking pictures with their tour guide. The man under the hood smiled as he watched the man
walkaway and he turned into the crypt. The tomb was musty and smelled uncharacteristically of
copper. He ignored the foul stench as he found his way down the long passages. He stood to his full
height, the limp and hunched back non-existent as he moved further into the pyramid. Finally, he
reached his destination, and pulled back his dirty hood to reveal a ponytail of sleek shoulder
length black hair and his violet eyes took in the brain eating filth before him.

"Mr. Zabini," the shop owner greeted, the young man with a smile of troll blood and
brains. "What can I do for you today?"

TBC....




6. Sunburns, Colin, and Silver Bells
------------------------------------




7. Chapter VII: Visions
-----------------------




8. Chapter VIII: Dances, Dreams, and Dangerous Dragons or (What
---------------------------------------------------------------

**This chapter has corrupted or a blank chapter was uploaded. Please contact the author and
request that they re-upload the chapter**



9. A Prowler, The Prophet, and the Last Remaining Price
-------------------------------------------------------

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.



10. Breathe
-----------

For my beta Tegan because she ROCKS!


Chapter 11: Breathe

Draco's options were limited and offered nothing that would truly help his mother. Should he
use the male-Weasley or scrap the idea and work harder with his Mother's Mediwitches? Each
choice was as bad as the other, and so his decision swayed from day to day, hour to hour. He felt
it wasn't fair to him. No one else was burdened with such taxing choices, so why should he be
left to make such impossible decisions.

He couldn't choose to side with Weasley. How could she have expected him to agree to let her
brother, *Ronald Weasley,* one-third of his eternal bane, know about their *project*,
much less help them with it? Did she not know him at all? Did she not know her own brother? Weasley
and Potter would have him thrown into Azkaban before she would have even finished the favor. In
Draco's mind the only punishment worse than serving a prison sentence, on a tiny little island
in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by soul sucking monsters would be to force him to work beside
the speckle faced git.

Was the bint completely mad? Probably.

With his undecided path weighing heavily on his mind, Draco settled himself into the small
uncomfortable chair that sat opposite the one person he'd ever sought guidance from, his
father.

"Nice set," Draco commented, taking in the new and quite expensive looking chess
set.

"Be more specific when you speak, Draco, or people may misread you," Lucius reprimanded.
"Now, is it the set we are playing or the chess set we are playing with."

Draco bit hard into the slick skin inside his cheek, looking down at his pieces, and willing his
face not to blush. He was a twenty-one year-old man and hated that his deranged father could still
shame him into submission.

"You have acquired yourself a very nice chess set, Father. Whoever would bring you such a
gift?" he asked, moving his only remaining pawn up a single square.

"Yes, it is nice isn't it," he answered, lazily dragging his bishop over the board to
capture Draco's immobile piece. "That so called guard? Michael isn't it?" Draco
nodded. "Is quite the simpleton, really. And simpletons are always easily persuaded. I've
told you this before."

"I remember," Draco replied honestly, his mind throwing back to one of the many times his
father had heaped his wisdom onto him. He could remember being so thrilled to have one of the most
influential wizards of the day, his father's attention focused solely on him.

"That's not all he has brought me," he continued, ignoring his son. "Lift my
mattress Draco. There's something beneath it that I think you will find quite
interesting."

Draco did as his father told him and rose from his chair quickly walking the two strides to his
father's small cot. He lifted the light mattress, if one could even call it that, to find a
gray Ginny Weasley and a hoard of other Weasleys staring back up at him. It was the week-old copy
of the *Daily Prophet* that had covered the masquerade ball, but what was his father doing
with it? He picked it up from its hiding space and brought it back over to the game.

"I also get the paper in the morning," he said, gently placing it face up on the heads of
their pieces.

"I wouldn't expect anything less Draco. It's important to keep up with worldly
events."

"Worldly events?" Draco scoffed, momentarily forgetting who he was speaking to, "Are
you and I reading the same newspaper? That," he looked at the newspaper with disdain, "is
nothing more than journalistic trash. I'd get more from a *Teen Witch Weekly* than the
lies I read in there-"

"Hush," Lucius ordered, putting Draco back in his place with a single word.

To distract himself from his anger at being treated like a child, Draco painfully curled his toes
inside the leather bounds of his shoes. His father was usually a patient man, but Draco
couldn't imagine unleashing his own temper on to him, so he sat silently curling and uncurling
his toes as his father continued.

"Journalistic trash? Lies, you say?" he asked and his son nodded. "Then read it to
me Draco, starting with, let me paraphrase," he said waving his hand in the air, *"The
incident that launched the party's disastrous fate..."*

Draco felt something rise in his throat as he plucked the newspaper back up. What was his father
getting at? He unfolded the paper, briefly glancing at the photo of Ginny. Her bitten lips making
him smirk behind it. He had been the one to make her mouth so swollen but he didn't have time
to think about what they had done as he began reading aloud: *"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."

"Disastrous fate,* Draco?" Lucius interrupted.

Draco read steadfast as he felt his father's indifferent gaze studying him, *"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-"* Lucius lifted his hand to signal Draco to stop, "I've heard my fill
Draco."

Not knowing how to reply, Draco sat silent in his seat before folding the paper in three and laying
it atop the chess pieces again.

"At twenty-one years my son has seen to it to publicly humiliate himself. Now what am I to say
to that?" Lucius asked, accenting his question with a single lifted brow.

*Yes, cause I was never embarrassed when you and Arthur Weasley scuffled,* he sarcastically
thought, remembering his father's violent encounter with the eldest Weasley.

"I was attacked," Draco retorted. "And I did as you said. I didn't
retaliate...what does it matter anyhow he's just a Weasley."

"Just a Weasley? It seems as if that *girl* was a bit more than *'just a
Weasley.'*"

Draco always refused to entertain the fear he had that his father could read minds, but now he felt
himself trying to build a wall around his thoughts, including his panic. "We were just
dancing, exchanging information, nothing more."

"From this picture," he replied lightly tapping the edge of the newspaper.
"She's grown into quite the young woman hasn't she?"

"If you're attracted to that sort."

"Are you?"

Without needing to think, Draco delivered the answer he knew was expected of him, "Absolutely
not. Besides even if I was-which I can assure you I'm not- what would a Weasley want with a
Malfoy?"

"The Malfoys are attractive people, Draco. There's no denying that we have good breeding.
You also can not deny the fact that you've exploited this on many an occasion-"

"Sorry, Father but my time here is short and valuable. Could we please suspend the lessons and
the theatrics?"

Draco regretted his statement as he saw the completely impassive expression his father wore. His
long body was in complete relaxation, as he studied every visible inch of Draco, tactlessly,
skimming from the style Draco wore his hair to the center of his chest where the black buttons of
his shirt lay before coming back and forcing Draco to look him squarely in his eyes.

"Since when did my son, my *heir*, develop such an *embarrassingly excess
disrespect* and forget himself. Maybe I should worry about this Miss Weasley."

Draco could feel his jaw twitching and feared the leather laces of his shoes might break from the
pressure of him curling his toes. What was Father's sudden obsession with linking him to
Ginny?

"Whatever your plans may be for that girl, I suggest you bin them, Draco. She has much better
uses than your bed."

"And the Male-Weasley? What might my uses be for him?"

Pushing his long frosty locks behind his white shoulders, Lucius's thin lips parted in a smile
that Draco hadn't seen from his father since he had been free. It was smile a man wore when he
was completely in control of a situation, a smile of smugness.

"If I'm not mistaken isn't it Auror Weasley?"

"Well, that is how that idiot Ministry insists on identifying him." Draco replied,
correctly anticipating that his father would ignore his answer.

"On your last visit you spoke of traveling to Luxor and Thebes with Miss Parkinson in tow, did
you not?" Lucius asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I think we've established that you read the paper, Draco. So why did you find it
necessary to sabotage a very key point in your plotting?"

Draco looked at his father; gray eyes so much like his own, stared back stoically. What was the man
talking about? How had he sabotaged a key point? And what did Weasley have to do with any of
it?

"Sorry, Father but I'm not following," he admitted.

"It's quite obvious to me now that my son's only been reading the Agony Hag column or
he would've been aware that at the moment Egypt's wizard and witches happen to be under our
Ministry's Law," he answered, in the same excited voice Draco had heard him use before
right before...

Fearing the oncoming seizure of hysteria from his father, Draco felt the bricks of his mental wall
split and a sting of sympathy for the man that sat across from him seep through. He had seen him
suffer it before, the markings of recovery and then the sudden relapse into a psychosis and it
wasn't something Draco desired or intended to relive. So when he spoke his voice was soft,
"I don't understand, how's that even possible?"

"Must I simplify everything with you," Lucius snapped, before giving into an exaggerated
sigh, that let Draco know that his father was indeed not regressing. "After your visit to
Cairo last month, Egypt found itself in quite the *little* bind and as an act of
*charity* our Minister Fudge offered them his *assistance*-"

Half-listening to his father's smooth but callous voice, Draco tried to appear interested in
his explanation, but his mind was too busy searching through t



11. I Went to Egypt and All I Got was This Stupid T-shirt
---------------------------------------------------------



I apologize to anyone who was following this story for the *long* wait, but sometimes real
life can get in the way. I'm not making any promises, but I can gurantee that the next two
chapters are running quite smoothly.
Warning: As of the moment this chapter is unBeta'd, but I do promise that it will be in the
near future. But as of now, it is not up to par with the writing of the previous three chapters, so
if you want to wait for the polished version, don't worry it will be uploaded in the next
week.

*~*~*

Chapter 11: I Went to Egypt and All I Got was This Stupid T-shirt

Benjamin Brown wasn't a very happy fellow as he strode down the lengthy hall to the small
office he'd worked in for the last four years. He'd just come from a well-earned two-week
holiday with his wife and son and the thought of returning to work raised his blood pressure to
dangerous levels. But hardly anyone could blame him for being unhappy as Mister Brown was one of
the few people desperate enough to be a Prison Governor at Azkaban Prison.

His day didn't appear to promise anything brighter as he approached the pine desk and Tyson
Arnold, the lanky young-man reclined in the tiny swivel chair using his *boss's* desk as a
foot stool.

"Guess whose autograph I have?" Arnold asked, in way of a morning greeting, a wide grin
gracing his thin face.

"Whose, Viktor Krum's? Don't be so proud that Bulgarian-git will give it to anyone who
stands still long enough for him to brand 'em," he answered, moving swiftly around his
desk and confiscating his swivel chair from the bag of bones.

"No," he answered and the horsey smile threatening to overcome his face grew wider.
"Better than that."

Aggravated with his co-worker's big toothed optimism Bennie snapped, "I give up.
Who?"

"Harry Potter," he answered, the childish glow ignoring his upper's temperament, and
holding firm.

Prison Governor Brown couldn't stop the snort of astonishment from his pug-nose. “You’re a
rotten liar. You know that. Everyone knows he don't give his signature to nobody."

"Well, he gave it to *me*," said the little sandy-haired bastard,
matter-of-factly.

"When?"

"Day before yesterday," Tyson answered, idly playing with his rusted ring of skeleton
keys.

"Is that so?" he asked, wheeling his chair backwards to a clipboard chart that hung from
a green tack in the wall and quickly sliding a pudgy finger down the list of names and dates.
"Schedule says you were working that day. Where'd you meet him? On your lunch
break?"

"Nope, right here," the Deputy answered, tapping a bony finger on the desk.

"Now, I know you're lying. Harry Potter's never stepped foot on Azkaban soil. My kid
brother was a coupla' years ahead of him at Hogwarts, says he can't take the dementors or
something. But I don't believe that *and* I don't believe you."

"I'll prove it!" Arnold said, his voice raising an octave. It was clear he was angry
at his boss's blatant disbelief but too afraid to voice it.

"How?"

"Check the sign-in sheet."

Governor Bennie aggravated with his Deputy's obvious procrastination or even more obvious
attempts at humor plucked the wooden clipboard from its slot. Not many people came to Azkaban for
visits and finding the date was simple as was the signature of the one visitor that day.

There it was: *Harry Potter.*

Normally, Bennie would have claimed it was a forgery but that signature had to be Potter's. The
Minister himself went over the list weekly and Deputy Tyson Arnold wouldn't have risked his job
for a practical joke. But there was something missing.

"Where's his Apparation License?"

Tyson looked very young and nervous as he scratched his unkempt hair. "Sorry, Governor but I
didn't ask him for one or search him either. I mean he's Harry Potter for Merlin's
sake. I could barely breathe much less ask to frisk him."

Ordinarily Warden Benjamin "Bennie" Brown would have been outraged at his worker's
incompetence but it was Harry Potter and he couldn't help but agree that he'd have probably
done the same.

*~*~*

Miss Fleur Delacour, soon to be Mrs. William Weasley awoke to the warm embrace of her future
husband's arms and the squawking of a very annoyed bird. Rolling over, she near screamed at the
sight that met her eyes. A brown and white falcon had perched himself on the headboard of her
sleigh bed, wagging an envelope tied to his bony leg like a blue flag.

"Horus?" her fiancé asked, releasing her to lift the fatigued animal. "What are you
doing here?"

"You recognize 'dis bird?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, untying the letter from its leg. "He belongs to a friend of mine
in Egypt."

Remembering Bill's reputation before her Fleur felt a pang of jealousy stab at her ego. "A
friend?" she asked, failing to sound unaffected.

"You remember Samir," he answered, soothing her jealousy. "He was at our engagement
party, he owns a few hotels in Luxor now... But I can't imagine why he'd be writing
me."

His crystal-eyes moved over the blue paper in his hand, his cheerful smile instantly falling away.
Worried, she sat silently on the bed watching his usually light-hearted manner replace itself with
a mix of anxiety and anger as he slowly folded the letter and slipped it back into its
envelope.

Unable to take the tension-filled silence Fleur cleared her throat. "What is that letter
about?" she asked.

But he ignored her, crawling out of the bed instead. "Sorry to cut this trip short love, but I
have to leave for London immediately."

"Why?"

"I have to see Percy," he explained, popping his long freckled arms out the short sleeves
of his black t-shirt.

"And when will you be back?" she asked, her temper beginning to rise at the thought of
her fiancé leaving her in bed to visit his stuffy young *frère*.

"Don't be cross," he said fastening the buckle of his belt. "I'll be back to
you by the end of the week if not sooner," he promised, bending down and kissing her soundly
on the lips before popping out of the room.

*~*~*

Ron enjoyed the cloudy morning as he ate his breakfast aside his silent companions. There was an
anxiety that had settled over the meal that he could only compare to the quiet time before a
Quidditch match, especially matches against the team of the boy who sat across from him.

Malfoy had pushed away his breakfast opting for parchment and the blue-prints Hermione had loaned
him, occasionally handing his notes and quill to Pansy, wordlessly ordering her to interpret
something for him. His slate-eyes followed his slow moving quill as he took another note but would
occasionally glance at the tomb that lay in the distance but always settled back on his papers with
a sneer. He was awfully sullen and short tempered for a man who thought he was about to retrieve
some priceless magical artifact, even if Ron and Harry knew better. Ron was confident their plan
was going to work, and in forty-eight hours Malfoy would be rotting behind bars, a place he should
have been sentenced to long before.

Despite the unpleasant taste of his own meal Ron couldn't suppress a grin at the image in his
mind. He, Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the wizarding world would finally be rid of them, the
whole Malfoy lot. In forty-eight hours life would be good.

"So what time are we going?" Pansy asked. Her breakfast no more than a small pile of
brown crumbs and paper. "In the tomb I mean?"

"As soon as Malfoy finishes with Bill's map. He's trying to hatch some great
plan," Ron explained, looking down into his cup of juice. He hadn't been able to quite
look Pansy in the eye after yesterday evening's incident. It had just been her bare back
he'd seen but she had been nude none-the-less.

"Yes, because flying by the seat of our trousers is an excellent approach," said Malfoy,
standing from the table. He threw his breakfast in the paper bag Hermione had designated as the
rubbish bin, before marching off in the direction of his tent.

"That's right Malfoy abuse the baked goods," Pansy called after him as he shoved the
canvas-flap shut. Her crystal eyes moved across the table to Ron again. "So, we have to wait
for one of his brilliant plans."

"It appears so," Hermione offered.

"Great, that could take days," Ginny said. Her words being the first Ron had heard from
her the entire morning. Earlier, she had seemed rather stoic grabbing her small prepackaged meal
from the basket but Ron had chucked it up to Ginny being Ginny.

"I'm finished," Malfoy announced, letting the green flaps fall shut as he emerged
from his tent Bill's blueprints in his fist. He didn't seem to register Ginny's
presence as he slid into the seat opposite hers.

"What's the plan Malfoy?" Harry asked.

The blonde parted the scroll on the wooden table, using the breakfasters' cups to hold down the
curling corners.

"We'll of course enter the building from the front, because from what I've read
there's only one way in and one way out, but I also must note that this map's not
completely accurate-"

"So my brother's map isn't good enough for you either?" Ginny questioned.

Malfoy was silent, frowning down at his neatly written notes and rolled print. "No
Weasley," he said evenly. "Unlike most things you've given me your brother's map
was *actually* useful for something."

Everyone sat quietly as Malfoy delivered his lay-out of intrusion and extraction. He used his dark
wand to direct their eyes as he resolved the obvious flaws of the map the false walls, the cloaked
doors, and the secret passages that he believed were intentionally foregone. He'd been unable
to confirm the location of the Altar Room but was confident that it existed and would indeed be
found behind one of the many cloaked doors. If it had been anyone other than Malfoy, Ron might have
been impressed.

"So that's it. That's the plan?" the broad Auror asked.

"Yes, and as you can see its fool proof," Malfoy answered, confidently.

"Or so one would think," said Ginny sarcastically.

"Well, we needn't worry about you doing any of that," the blonde shot back,
demonstrating the early signs of a sneer and rolling-up the blueprints.

Ron and the whole of the table fell quiet as Malfoy and Ginny glared at one another. Their eyes and
mouths were locked in a zealous battle of glowers and barbs that appeared to only concern the two
of them.

Instinct told Ron to pounce. Growing up he'd rarely let Ginny fight her own fights but
she'd dug herself into this with Malfoy and it was time she started taking responsibility for
her rashness so he just watched as she surrendered the battle and stood to stalk off to her own
tent.

He didn't understand why but he felt a shiver of suspicion pass over him. Something indeed was
happening between his sister and the Ferret. But what it was he did not know.

Sighing, Ron ended the tense silence, "We'll I'm the Auror here. So I say dress, lock
your things, bar your tents, and we'll meet back here in ten," he ordered.

"Ten, what?" Pansy asked her head tilted in confusion.

"Minutes, Pansy," he answered, crumbling his own wrapper.

*~*~*

Draco admired his reflection, taking in the fine blonde hair that had adorned his head since before
he could remember, the long nose that had taken him entirely too long to grow into, the angular
chin he inherited from his mother, and last he stared into the translucently pale eyes that were
undeniably his father's. He couldn't help but agree with his sire, the Malfoys were an
attractive clan.

At the sound of crumbling plastic, he didn't move from the mirror but flicked his eyes to the
opening flaps behind him. Expecting Pansy, Draco was surprised to see the girl that quietly closed
the door behind him. Standing just inside his tent was Ginny Weasley.

They watched one another. There was so much unspoken hate, unresolved words, and some other thing
that lingered between them. But he refused to give it a name, choosing to ignore it. He didn't
swallow it or compartmentalize it to study later. He simply ignored it, turning to face her.

As always she was dressed modestly, the only hint of eccentricity found in the obnoxious color of
her t-shirt. She was holding something long and wrapped tightly in the remnants of a burlap sack in
her hands.

The dark circles beneath her eyes that he'd noticed at breakfast proved to him that like
himself she hadn't returned to sleep after their row either. Those hooded eyes quickly moved to
his slightly exposed chest and he felt his mood lighten at the blush that raced to her cheeks. He
merely smiled to himself, leaning onto the base of his sink. Normally he would have already
buttoned his shirt out of propriety but watching her face flush was too much fun to abide to the
rules of etiquette.

"So this is what staying the hell away from you looks like. I'll have to keep that in
mind," he said, slowly fastening his brown buttons.

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy," she spat back with the same venom she'd held at
breakfast but Draco could hear the quiver in her voice. She was trying to cast a shadow of coldness
over him but it wasn't working...that well.

"I would never," he answered smugly.

"I didn't come in here to have a chat, I came because I have something you need," she
continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"Aren't we overly confident," he replied, growing angry at her dismissal of
him.

"Stop it, Malfoy! I came in here to give you this." Not moving any further into the room
she thrust the wrapped thing at him.

He sighed, pushing himself off his basin and seized the object from her hands. It was heavier than
he'd had expected and he nearly dropped it before pealing away the folds of brown fabric.

He couldn't believe his eyes as he looked upon the weapon. The book's illustration had not
done its subject justice from its mirror-shine blade to its bejeweled hilt; it was a beautiful
piece of weaponry.

Surprised he looked up at her, *How had she known he would need it?*

As if reading his mind Ginny answered him, "Pansy said it was required."

He couldn't believe she'd actually stolen it from the Ministry of Magic. If she were to be
caught with it, it would surely be her job if not more. "Where did you find this?" he
asked, confident in knowing her answer but wanting to hear it from her own lips.

"That isn't important," she answered curtly. Stepping backward from the dagger and
himself she moved to the open entrance. The air in the room had grown so silent, Draco almost
jumped at Ginny's abrupt exit, "I'm needed outside."

"Of course," he replied.

*~*~*

The tomb was more than the mere crypts and pyramids she'd visited on her previous holidays. It
oozed a more regal aura, like the magic it held inside was seeping through the sandstone bricks.
The lion head rain spouts stared down from their stucco perches dry and agape.

Ginny hated the heat that oppressed everything around her, and she couldn't wait to be inside
the tomb they were slowly approaching. She still had memories of when they had traveled to Egypt
before, and she could remember the cool if not stuffy air that the pyramids and tombs held deep
inside them.

But as far as her memory went none of those tombs had large signs outside them that read:
*Welcome visitors to the Aker Museum* in four different languages. "Do we just walk
in?" Harry asked. "No we just stand out here looking like daft fools," Draco
mumbled. "I suppose so," Ron said. Ginny assumed he hadn't heard the blonde because
it wasn't possible that Ron would willingly ignore him.

They all moved forward as a group, Ginny stood near the end. She was no longer the driving forward
initiative type and the nervous cramps that racked her stomach were a sign that now was not the
time to start again.

They were on the temples last set of stairs when they were approached by a floating being, clad in
antique British Royal Army fatigues.

Before anyone could introduce themselves he quieted them with a translucent hand. When he spoke, he
had a bored drumming voice, "Welcome to the Aker Museum. We are sorry to inconvenience you but
unfortunately we are closed for the season due to reconstruction. Please do come back
soon."

"Sorry," Ron apologized, pausing to read the officers name tag. "Mister
Hollingsworth. But we're not tourists. I'm here as an Auror, investigating a case on
missing artifacts."

A smile of mock pity nearly curled the officer’s face. It was obvious to all he doubted Ron's
honor. "May I see some identification sir?"

Ron pulled from his back pocket his Auror's ID and his Apparation license. The ghost's
gray-blue eyes roved over the two plastic cards as he read them before he straightened and looked
back over the small crowd a clear look of annoyance on his rugged features.

"I'm to believe that all of you are identification toting Auror's also."

Ron turned back to them, his crystal-eyes searching Harry and Hermione for an answer.
"Umm...." he began.

Sympathy for her brother stabbed at Ginny's heart but not as painfully as Pansy's elbow
digging into her side. Ready to snap, Ginny turned in her direction but was more than surprised to
see that she was only loosening another white-button on her blue shirt as she climbed a step to
sidle-up next to Ron.

"I'm sorry Officer Hollingsworth," Pansy began in a honey-sweet voice Ginny
had never heard her use before, "But our *Great Leader* here can be a bit daft sometimes.
It *seems* he completely forgot to inform us to bring *any* form of
identification-"

"All of you?" he asked doubtfully but Ginny could see he wasn't actually looking at
Pansy's face when he spoke to her.

"Yes, sir. We're so very sorry." Pansy answered, biting hard onto her bottom
lip.

"Sorry indeed," he said, casting a glare at Ron.

"I understand such an attractive English Officer such as yourself must get tourists all the
time asking for favor after favor, but for once could you just look the other way... I mean we
won't be inside long and I can assure you we won't bother a thing."

The officer stared back at Pansy, measuring her with his eyes and Ginny was almost impressed the
way Pansy never wavered under his comprehending gaze. "I don't usually do this, but
I'm letting you in and there are going to be very strict rules you must abide to."

*~*~*

Ron could barely see his hand much less the people around him. He could only discern where his
companions were by the sounds of their voices which was hard because every sound they made echoed
down the seemingly endless hall. The had walked deep into the tomb since parting from the security
ghost and the headache inducing must of renovating supplies hadn't curtailed.

"No magic!" Malfoy shouted, his voice revealing the outrage he felt. "How in the
bloody hell does that lifeless sot expect us to get about without any magic…At all? And what was
that he kept going on and on about? Catalysts and catastrophes it sounds like a load of rubbish if
you ask Me."

"Is he *ever* going to shut his face?" Harry asked, from his left. Ron could hear by
his slightly slurred words he was asking through clenched teeth.

"Not likely, Potter," Pansy answered.

She was walking ahead of him and Ron only knew this because every so often he would catch a whiff
of her flowery shampoo. She had surprised him by how easily she'd persuaded the guard to let
them in after she had gone up there.

"How did you do that back there? With the guard I mean."

"Simple, Weasley. I just gave him a peep of something he hasn't seen in a while. He might
be as dead as a founder but he's still a man," she answered, matter-of-factly.

The uncomfortably close drawling voice let Ron know that Malfoy was trailing less than a stride
behind him.

"Lovely to know that you'll sacrifice the little integrity you have left for nothing
Pansy, but I would much rather hear how Weasley expects to navigate us through this bloody maze in
the dark."

"The guard said that there are both Muggle torches and lamps inside the hypostyle hall,"
Ron explained, trying to keep a hold on his patience with the crotchety git in his ear. He chanced
a look behind him but there was nothing but black.

"That's wonderful Weasel but-"

"Oh shove this," Pansy exhaled, stopping so suddenly Ron clumsily ran into her, his face
burying in her thick hair. *"Lumos."*

Everything around them was suddenly alight with more than just the spell from Pansy's wand. It
was a harsh shock to his vision and Ron stood still in an attempt to regain his composer.

"What did you do?" he asked, squinting as he tried to take everything in.

But the widow didn't have time to answer as the thumping sound of marching echoed down the dark
hall. The foul cold air rushing passed them and the foreboding sound spread a rash of goose pimples
over his arms. Something was happening, something bad was happening and this feeling caused Ron to
instinctively turn for his sister but as he faced her something standing far behind her and Malfoy
grabbed his attention.

*~*~*

The harsh yellow light from the temple's lamps burned Ginny's eyes. She had grown
accustomed to the darkness of the tomb and had to squint against the sudden kindling to turn and
follow her brother's pale eyes.

She had to blink twice before realizing what she saw before her was real.

Loose brown rags hung from their dried bodes, waving in the still air as they slowly inched towards
them. Strings of black hair fell into their socket less eyes dropping from their glabrous heads and
it was clear the mummies were less surprised to see her than Ginny was to see them.

She hadn't been aware she was holding her breath and was grateful when she heard the first
whistle of a spell zoom by her ear and felt something wrapping around her arm jolting her from her
lethargy. "We're running Weasley?" Malfoy said in her ear over the casting of
curses.

"I can't," she argued, trying to wrestle her arm away from his grip as he dragged
them backward down the hall counting his steps. "I have to help my brother!"

"Have it your way then?!" he replied nonchalantly, but instead of obeying her wishes he
shoved her harshly into the wall. She swore at him, bracing herself for impact but it never
came.

*~*~*

"Hermione!"

She turned to find Ron, pointing to a stone doorway to their left. Years of friendship and
fleeing together Hermione instantly understood and pushed Pansy into the lit room quickly following
in after her. Reaching for the copper door Hermione held back a gasp as she was met with nothing
but stone wall and hinges. She turned away from the useless threshold searching the glass-shelved
walls and decorated displays for anything heavy enough to bar the empty doorway, magically or
otherwise. Finding only empty canopic jars and useless ushebtis in the cultic equipment cases
Hermione felt herself growing desperate and she shouted a few carpentry spells at the door hoping
maybe it could mend itself but the stubborn stones stayed parted.

Panic began to rise in her as Ron and Harry began retreating into the threshold, hexes flowing off
their lips. She could see their bright eyes were searching for a way out and by her side Pansy was
moving back from the door, her cheeks sucked into the sides of her face and head angled up as she
studied the stone-frame.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked surprised to hear how shaky her voice had
become.

"Shut-up Granger, I'm trying to think," Pansy snapped, not taking her eyes off the
stone.

"Now's not the time to work miracles, Pansy," Ron yelled, poking his head in for a
moment.

"He's right," Hermione added, not striving to insult her but trying to get help in
defending themselves. "Now arm yourself, we need to be ready when they come!"

But Pansy ignored both her and Ron, walking up to the stone frame and tracing over the raised
hieroglyphics that were engraved in the gray rock with her long fingers. Surprising Hermione, she
began reciting the ancient stone words.

*"Come forth door."*

Hermione was almost impressed as she listened to her perfect pronunciation of each biliteral with
the absences of vowels that Hermione herself had fallen victim to pronouncing.

*"Do not cause injury to me."*

Her terms began jumbling in Hermione's mind as Pansy's pace quickened. Hermione
couldn't distinguish the words as the debutante's fingers trailed down each small
character.

*"They are safe. They are protected and guarded."*

"*Weighers of heaven and earth in scales.*"

She was really going to save them. Hermione thought to herself desperately pulling Harry and Ron by
their shirt collars away from the door. The same girl who couldn't pronounce
'precipitation' days before actually had a good idea.

"*Guard until eternity.*"

At her last words, Hermione felt her breath catch painfully in her throat as the stones snapped
into place leaving her staring at a solid dark wall, the rough feel of Ron and Harry's shirts
numbing under her fingers.

"Pansy?" she asked trying to keep her voice from quivering, hoping she had heard Pansy
wrong. "Do you have any idea of what you just said? Of what you’ve just
*done?*"

"Well, I'm not sure really. Saved us I suppose," she answered, wiping the dust from
her fingers on the short leg of the dark trousers she wore.

"No." Hermione answered, studying the hieroglyphics again. Pansy turned on her, her
blue-eyes searching Hermione's face for an answer. "You've locked us in
here."

"So."

"Well in your words ‘*for all eternity,'*" Hermione shrieked.

*~*~*

Draco saw everything through the camouflaged door. It was like a brown linen haze that he could
watch both his enemies and his escorts through. He felt a wave of relief as their company retreated
and the dynasty old guards ran passed his line of vision and out of sight.

"We've gone unnoticed," he whispered to his companion, but the tiny redhead remained
quiet.

Draco was suddenly aware that she hadn't said a single word since they'd stepped into the
room. Not one declaration of saving her brother or insult of how he was a pantywaist for
running.

"Weasley," he whispered into the darkness of the room. He couldn't see passed his arm
and he waved it into the general area he'd pushed her. His hand connected with nothing but the
silent air and Draco felt his stomach drop.

"Weasley this isn't funny," he hissed, moving blindly into the room and then his feet
met air.

*~*~*

Curiously, Ron watched as Hermione and Pansy went over the different characters again. It had to
have been the fourth time they had done it in the last half-hour. Their voices intertwined as they
mumbled each word trying to open the stones again. It had never occurred to Ron to question where
the wizarding world had learned to split stones but now it was quite obvious. Bill had always said
that the Egyptians had been the greatest architects and as he watched Harry's unsuccessful
Reductor curse bounce off the solid barricade, he couldn't help but think that his eldest
brother was right. Their walls were *very* well made.

"Ha!" Hermione yelped, jumping away from the wall and pulling Ron from his thoughts.
"We're not stuck!" she cried, hopping to the wall again, her fingers moving over the
characters. "I misinterpreted Pansy's translation earlier. She didn't mean eternity
but until the sun meets the stars or the stars meet the sun. It's a bit ruff around here."
She circled the worn cartouche.

"How did you muddle *for eternity*?" Harry asked, holding his wand-hand palm up.
"And 'til *night meets day*?" he asked, holding up the other.

Even in the firelight he could see Hermione blushing with embarrassment, "Well, I was quite
frightened if not excited at the time and adrenalin *has* been known to affect someone's
judgment. I don't feel as if this moment's any different."

"Best to hold onto that thought Granger," Pansy said. Her back was to Ron and her face
was veiled by her hair but he had the distinct feeling she was smirking behind that curtain of
chestnut-brown. "So we're stuck in this crypt 'till sunset, right?" she
asked.

"Yes," replied the smaller brunette, curtly. "We should only be barred in here for a
maximum," she paused for a moment and Ron could see her doing the math. "Three hours-
four at the most.

"What about my sister? Will it be the same for her and Ferret-boy? Will they get out?"
Ron asked his sister's safety had more than once crossed his mind since he'd discovered she
and Malfoy were missing. Ginny's skill with a wand was unquestionable but the idea that she was
missing with Malfoy worried him more than a little. She needed someone who would shield her and
Draco-the coward-Malfoy was not the boy to defend her. At the sight of one vengeful mummy the wimp
would without a doubt run from the fight leaving her for dead.

"Well?" he asked when Hermione had failed to answer.

"In theory all the rooms are connected so yes she and Malfoy should be safe," she
replied. Ron wasn't quite convinced with her answer but didn't know if it was from the
nervous wringing of her small hands, or the fact that deep down he was still a bit angry with her
for keeping Ginny's secret from him.

*~*~*

The feeling of falling through water was always strange to Ginny, even after summer days spent
swimming at a pond by the Burrow, it was still rather strange experience and as her descent eased
and she began swimming up to the small white square that appeared to be the only light amongst the
darkness she heard the odd sound of a splash and felt something large and solid plunging passed
her.

It bumped her as it changed direction and drove passed her in a blur of grey-bubbles and murk.
Continuing her ascent to the light and air, Ginny had the overwhelming urge to reach out to it. It
was quite long and she caught it by what could only be described as its foot and it took her only a
moment to identify it as a shoe.

Being inhibited by the loss of one arm, she found it nearly impossible to swim and drag the heavy
body that was attached to the shoe. Her arm and legs burned as she broke the surface, breathing in
much needed air.

Ginny had never described air as being sweet before, but as she broke the surface it was the only
word she could think of. Her arm and legs burned as she struggled to hold onto the leg and keep her
head above the dark water and find a shore. Her muscles burned with every stroke she made in the
direction of the embankment and the task of holding onto the foot was becoming fruitless and stupid
to her when her foot hit soft earth. The water rose to her chest as she kneeled in the water and
turned the dark boot and the attached body upright. White-hair emerged from the brown-water and
Ginny smiled in relief.

She didn't know why but something had told her that it was him. His weight, nearly cut in half
by the water, made it easy for Ginny to pull him by the collar of his shirt behind her. She could
hear him spitting and sputtering as she tried to pull him onto the narrow bank.

Their labored breathing was the only sound that filled the tunnel like tomb as they lay still on
the stone bank.


Draco was the first to break their silence, "You saved me," he gasped.


"I wasn't going to let you drowned," she panted, lying still on the slimy clay
stones.


"Why not?" he asked gasping for air, and using his back to slowly slide up the wall
behind them. "You hate me."

With what little breath she had, Ginny groaned into the soft earth. Now was not the time to talk
about such things, couldn't Draco see that. Catching her breath she rolled over on the narrow
bank, looking at him sideways from the ground. He was paler than usual, his hair and skin had faded
into a singular pristine color, and his chest rose and fell rapidly as he stared down at her.
"I don't hate you, Malfoy. I never hated you, despite what I've said
before."

"Why not?" he asked again and she could see his chest was slowing as his breathing
regulated.

”'Cause I don't hate anyone except..." Ginny trailed off. As long as she'd lived
there had been only one person, one thing she had every truly hated but she would die before she
ever told *him* that giving him that ammunition to use against her. "Let me rephrase
that, I don't really hate anyone. If I dislike someone then I just don't care."

"So that's it, that's my box?" he stated as a matter-of-fact.

Ginny didn't answer. She didn't believe he deserved one. Why was he so interested in
knowing her thoughts on him? She already knew his opinions of her: an employee and a Weasley. Plus,
she wasn't concrete on her thoughts anyway.

"We don't have time for this Malfoy," she said, looking up at the small rectangle
that was their only source of light. How were they going to climb back up there?

She was just beginning to contemplate different ideas when the silence between them was broke by a
low feline growl.

"Malfoy be quiet and start thinking of a way to get us out of here," she ordered.

"I didn't say anything," he argued, withdrawing his wand.

Ginny shook her head contributing the intimidating rumble to a mixture of exhaustion and her
overactive imagination, but the feel of Draco's fingers curling around her arm chased those
thoughts from her mind replacing them with panic.

He swore in her ear dragging them up from their sandy perches. They slowly walked backwards and
Ginny had the unnerving idea that Draco was using her as a shield.

"Do you know where we are?" Ginny questioned him, hoping that she could hold her footing
as her boots slid across the slippery sand and stones as they continued to move backwards.

"I have an idea," he offered and she could hear the subtle and sudden panic that had
risen in his tone. Draco always had everything under-control, including the pitch of his voice, and
the fact that it was at an alto at the moment, unnerved her. "Let's just move,
Weasley," and without warning Draco sprinted in the opposite direction his fingers still
firmly clasped around her arm.

*~*~*

Ron sat back watching Hermione work on the door. She’d certainly figured out how Pansy had
locked them in here. It seemed before this tomb was turned into a museum this corner had been a
preparation room used by priests to prepare the bodies for mummification. They needed complete
privacy and the secret spells they used needed absolute containment so they locked themselves
inside as they worked. But none of that information got them any closer to being out of their stone
prison.

He felt a weight drop beside him and expecting Harry’s familiar voice, Ron nearly jumped as a
female cooed into his ear.


"You're worried about the little Weaslette aren't you?"

Ron didn't answer. He was in no mood to entertain Pansy at the moment and only wanted to eat
his sandwich in peace.

"Don't be," she said with such confidence that it took him back for a moment.
"She's with Malfoy and I'm certain they're both okay. If anything at the sight of
those walking paper-rolls, Malfoy's now miles from here."

"I don't care what Malfoy does, Pansy. Just what he does with my sister."

Hoping to end their conversation Ron took a bite of his sandwich, the meat and bread tasted odd in
his mouth but conjured food always did.

"Then you should watch the little vixen more closely," she said, smiling before standing
and quickly moving to the other side of the room to sit next to Hermione.

"What?" Ron asked, through a mouth of bread and hash. She was really beginning to annoy
him with her nonsense. Yesterday, Malfoy was a Boggart and today his sister is a vixen. Was
everyone Magical Creatures to her?

Focusing his thoughts back on his sister, Ron took another bite of his sandwich. He didn't have
time to contemplate Pansy Parkinson.

*~*~*

Draco's only goal was to place as much space between himself and the sounds that reverberated
from what could only be the place he was destined to go. He was vaguely aware of the Ginny's
throbbing pulse beneath his fingers as he gripped her wrist. All those days running from her
brother's had finally paid off as she'd surprised him by matching his speed and holding her
own against her natural clumsiness as he rushed them down the hall.

He was just beginning to feel the first signs of fatigue in the slow ache of his rib-cage when
Ginny set her feet bringing him to a jerking halt that would have made a *Firebolt*
proud.

"Stop, Draco!" she ordered, tethering him by her arm to the spot on the small sandstone
bank.

"Not now, Weasley," he said, yanking her forward but she held fast.

"Draco, I'm not taking another step 'till you tell me what's going on."

He looked around nervously, insuring himself that they hadn't been followed, "We don't
have time for this," he argued.

"Yes, we do."

He looked back at her, from the determined knit in her eyebrows it was obvious that she was going
to hold true to her threat and not move another foot until he explained his actions.

"In the *Chronicles of Cairo* it was written that Ramses the Great, traditionally used
lions when he rode into battle. He even raised one as a pet-"

"Draco, I took History of Magic I don't need a refresher course," Ginny said, trying
to rush him.

"He also found them very valuable in guarding things. Where he discovered a Sphinx would
undoubtedly fail, lions would flourish and mummified lions could continue their tasks well after
their deaths."

She shook her head. "You're mad, Malfoy. Lions don't exist in Egypt anymore and they
certainly wouldn't be inside a tomb-"

"How can you be sure?"

"Those aren't lions," she insisted but her voice betrayed her doubt.

"Use your brain, Weasley. Even the bloody museum's named after the Egyptian god Aker...A
lion."

"Then what in the hell are they doing down here?" "Obviously inside the mastaba and
guarding something, Weasley," he said. "And I give you one guess as to what."

He could see the realization dawning over her face, "You mean we must get past
those-those...things," she demanded, pointing in the direction they had just run from.

"Precisely," he answered turning to address his map. This underground tunnel wasn't
anywhere on the blueprints that he had, but Draco surmised that it must be built identical to the
building it rested under. The lighting inside the tunnels was horrid and he grabbed Ginny's lit
wand and pulled she and it closer to him.

Taking the advice of his blueprints turned to his right moving further down the tunnel.

*~*~*

Samir Mustafa had always been quiet, being one of those people who could convey all speech through
a look. And now looking was all he was doing as he stood at the edge of *Ahamad's Rugs: The
Only Way to Fly's* parking lot watching the remarkable sunset as his tall ginger haired
friend walked about the half-hazard heaps of rolled carpets and rugs inside the dusty pavilion.
William Weasley was being directed by a slimy man with too little hair and too much gut.

Bill pulled painfully on the tooth of his earring. It was a habit he had for curbing his temper and
curbing his temper he needed. As far as he knew he’d never been the disciplinary sibling, letting
his Mum’s pressure for another mother hen to fall on Percy who had accepted it readily. But after
receiving his friend’s owl this morning, Bill was ready to murder his youngest brother. When he’d
loaned Ron the blueprints he’d never imagined that his brother would’ve dared to travel down here.
What in the bloody hell was the boy thinking?

Bill was pulled from his murderous thoughts as the squat-owner stopped in front of an unusually
large rug. Waving his short wand over the dirty carpet and making its fringe ripple.

"Are you positive this is the flying-carpet they rented, Mister Karim,” Bill asked the sales
clerk.

"Oh yes, my young friend, this is the exact carpet. The two young women that spoke to me were
very adamant about having the best and this sir is the best. I could give you a very good deal if
you’re interested," he said, galleons and greed sparkling in his dark eyes.

"No thank-you," Bill said, almost feeling guilt at denying the man’s offer. It was
obvious from the bursting stock and the empty pavilion that Bill and Samir had been his first
patrons since yesterday. "But I do have one more question. How many carpets did you send out
yesterday?"

The squat owner nodded as he glanced down at his clipboard. "Fourteen carpets and twelve camel
carts, it was a very good day but only two carpets went in the direction of the Aker
Museum."

Confused, Bill glanced sideways at Samir but only received a useless shrug for an answer.

"What of their departure times?"

Visually annoyed he glared down at his clipboard again, "Eleven for the first company and
thirteen hours for the second. Now can I interest you boys in anything or are you going to continue
to waste my time?"

Bill shook his head politely, curbing the temptation to sneer at the squat wizard.

Acknowledging that there would be no sale, the manager gave a quick nod, excusing himself.

"So are we going to take the boat or one of these…" trailing off Samir looked around at
the piles with disgust. "Flying rugs?"

"Lions club is on the river, so I say barque," Bill answered.

"Wise choice, my friend."

"About the only one I’ve made in the last two weeks," Bill said an unusual
self-depreciating air around him.

Silence settled between them and Bill knew that his friend was agreeing with him.

"Shall I send Horus for the team?" Samir asked.

"I suppose," Bill answered tugging the bottom of his red earlobe.

A silent sigh passed between them before Samir turned to look at him an obvious glitter to his
black eyes, "Just like old times."

Bill narrowed his eyes at his old friend’s optimism but he couldn’t help the nostalgic nervous but
not unpleasant feeling that rose inside him at the excitement.

*~*~*

Blaise took in the harsh brown landscape, watching the blurry haze that rose from the tan dunes
around him. Fortunately they had missed the dry season but the heat was still oppressive, and
caused vile sweat to accumulate on his brow and neck. It was nearly unbearable and made him, for
the first time since he'd cut it, glad his ponytail was missing.

But it was still all a reminder of why he despised Egypt.

His mind was littered with memories of his mother bringing him and his sister on many a holiday
here and here is where he'd found refuge before his home had been ambushed by Aurors. But still
there was something about the roughness of the dry land and the lasting decay of a dynasty that he
detested.

He cast a glance back over his shoulder, he'd sent his goons in half-an-hour ago to 'take
care' of the security ghost that according to his informant and his antique watch was posted
there, and they should've been back already. My God, how long did it take to 'freeze' a
ghost these days? He'd practiced enough patience, hard work, and risk with his own life to
extract them from their prison and now he was stuck with them. How had Malfoy dealt with such
idiots?

Flicking the silver lid of his watch open he swore as he read the time. His informant was late. Did
no one find punctuality important anymore? At least Malfoy did, he thought thinking back to when
he'd watched the blonde and his fellowship enter the gates of the dead city.

He turned to glance back over the landscape and spotting his companion Blaise felt a smile of
relief and anticipation curling his lips. Finally, things were going to be righted.

"Soon Malfoy," he promised to himself. "Soon."

*~*~*

Ginny watched with a small satisfaction as Draco stumbled before her, but grabbing onto the stone
walls of the tunnel he righted himself. But Ginny found she was not so fortunate, as she felt the
sudden panic and helplessness that came along with sliding against your will and she could only
yell as she stumbled clumsily into the shallow water. She flayed her arms in an attempt to break
her fall, but unlike Draco her hands only met air. From the sickening pop that echoed from below
her knee, Ginny suspected she had broken something even before she landed painful in the shallow
water.

"Weasley, are you okay?" Ginny heard Draco's voice, but he sounded miles away and she
wasn't sure where he stood until she felt hands around her waist dragging her to her
feet.

"Answer me, Weasley," he ordered. "Are you okay? Did you bruise anything more than
your ego?"

"No," she snapped, jerking away from him. Despite the ache that traveled up from her
ankle, she oddly found herself to be embarrassed.

"Well since it seems your okay. I'm sure you'll be happy to hear that I see away out
of here for us," he said dryly, pointing behind her.

Following his finger, Ginny saw something that made her both thankful to be out of this cold tunnel
and disheartened as her injured ankle would make it very painful to climb it. Flooded in warm light
was a *long* flight of sandstone steps.

"Hobble on Weasley!" Draco said, taking the first few steps through the shallow
water.

*~*~*

From the bright red arrow of the You Are Here Map and the line of Muggle and Wizarding torches that
lined the visitor's desk she could see they had found their way back to the heart of the
museum: The Tourist Center. It was lit well compared to the first time they had run by. She could
see the tan bricked-walls were lined with unbreakable-glass cases that were filled with the
different artifacts that had been discovered deep inside the tomb.

Draco made quick work of finding a very large purple desk to lift her onto. Wet fabric slapping
marble wasn't a welcoming sound to Ginny's ears as he hopped up to sit next to her on the
slab. He pulled her injured ankle into his wet lap.

"Let's see it then," he said, and when she didn't move, he sighed. "I mean
your ankle Weasley. Now off with your boot so I may have a look at the damage you did." His
eyes narrowed on her for a moment. "You didn't expect me to remove it did you?

Because *I* rarely take off my own shoes much less-"

Ginny tried to drown him out as she unlaced the worn leather string of her boot. Before she removed
the top folds, she could fell the orange-sized well of flesh that had been her ankle at one
time.

"-that's what I have house-elves for, but I suppose you wouldn't know anything of that
would you," he finished, sliding her sock over the ball that was her ankle. From the pain
shooting up her leg Ginny was easily able to ignore the softness of his fingers when he pressed
around her injury. She tried to suck in her breath to veil her pain but from Draco's sharp look
she wasn't doing it very well.

"You broke it, Weasley," he said, patting her ankle with an unusual softness that mildly
surprised her.

"Wow, Draco," she replied sarcastically. "Why don't you tell me something I
don't already know," she said, trying to slide her leg off the stone slab, but Draco held
it still, applying enough pressure to make her yelp.

"Let me go, Malfoy," Ginny warned, but Draco ignored her threat bending over her ankle
with his wand.

"Then at least tell me what're you doing?" she questioned.

"Just trust me," he ordered.

It was an odd request that caught Ginny off guard. Stunned with confusion she sat quietly and made
no objection as Draco muttered a healing charm over her ankle and she was pleasantly surprised when
her ankle stopped throbbing with pain.

"Thanks," she said.

"You saved my life," he answered teasingly. "It's the least I could
do."

*~*~*

"Where did you learn to do that?" Ginny asked, taking a bite of the surprisingly dry
sandwich that she had stolen from his leather bag.

"A book," he answered.

He felt her skeptic eyes studying him as he took the first bite of his apple. "Why would
*you* take the time to learn Healing magic?"

"I only learned the basics," he said. “It’s not as if I’m a certified Mediwizard or
anything.”

"That didn't answer my question," she challenged.

"Well, at certain times in your life your shamed into taking care of yourself," he
answered, remembering the nights he had sneaked into the Manor covered in bruises and scratches
after a scuffle with a fellow trainee.

She stared at him for a moment, weighing and measuring his words, trying to decipher his
answer.

"You learned healing magic during your trials, didn't you?" He felt a sudden surge of
annoyance. "I couldn't very well go ask my mother, now could I? What about you, Weasley?
You're an expert on healing sunburn, but can't even fix a sprained ankle."

"I've been *healing* sunburn since I was a child so it was just second-nature to me,
Malfoy. And originally, I had wanted to be a Healer but I met Peter and took what I guess one could
say was my true calling, leaving almost everything 'bout healing behind."

"Almost everything?" he asked.

"Well, I still have a *tiny* thing for potions," she admitted, drawing a circle in
the air with her foot. "My ankle feels tons better. Why didn't you do that before I had to
take that dreadful flight of stairs?"

"You didn't ask," he answered honestly, taking a bite of the apple he had.

"Always the man of logic, aren't you Malfoy," she said, punching him lightly in the
arm.

Not quite believing that Ginny had dared to punch him, Draco looked down at the skin her fist had
it then back up to her. "Well, I do try," he teased and felt a grin tugging at his lips.
He liked teasing Ginny Weasley and in more than the fun malicious way but all thoughts of teasing
fled Draco’s mind as the echo of heavy footsteps approaching reached his ears.

Draco’s lazy childhood and adolescence had been spent being high on the excitement he got sneaking
in-and-out of his father's study taking servant's passages and secret channels to explore
his oversized home and spy on anyone his parents dared to entertain. Over the years he’d developed
a great instinct when to hide and a sharp ear for hushed conversations and the sound of muffled
footsteps but as he'd gotten older and spent less of his time spying Draco had learned to
ignore his honed skill.

But this time something overrode his reserve and told him to listen. He didn't know whose shoes
the heavy footfall belonged to but Draco stilled anyway, his eyes looking over everything for a
place to hide. There was nothing, no visibly decent place for them both to fit, so he quickly
grabbed his bag thrusting his hand in and grabbing the map.

He could feel Ginny’s dark eyes watching him with curiosity as his fingers followed along the
useless lines of the blueprints. Panic was beginning to ebb through his control as the voices grew
near and unfortunately Ginny must have finally heard them, because she turned away from him,
"Do you hear that?" she asked, through a mouth of sandwich. Draco got a slap of wet hair
as she turned her head to the disembodied voices that were only growing louder as they sat
there.

"Must be the others," she voiced to him. “Oi!”

Draco clamped his hand over her mouth before she could croak another word and half-carried
half-dragged her along the wall, his hand searching desperately for what he hoped was still there.
It felt like an eternity before he felt air where there should have been stone. He kept one ear to
the voice as his free arm disappeared into the tan-stone wall, measuring how big his niche was.
Disappointment flooded him at the size of his hiding-space but having no other options he quickly
forced Ginny’s small squirming body into the priest’s hole he’d been looking for on the
blue-prints. Draco sprang back to the desk on light feet, grabbing the blue-prints and his bag in a
messy bundle as he waved his wand to clean the mess they'd made.

Ginny had stopped struggling against him. There was something wrong. She could feel it. It was in
the way his muscles had tensed and the way he clasped his hand over her lips. She ignored the smell
and the taste of dirt and muck that had invaded her mouth from his fingers. He lowered his head
until they sat cheek to opposing cheek with one another. She had never seen him look so serious or
so very old then at that moment.

When he whispered into her ear, his breath didn't tickle her neck or send butterflies racing to
her stomach; his tone was so grave it felt as if she had fallen through a thin-iced lake.
"It's imperative that you follow my orders Weasley. Do you understand?" Ginny deftly
nodded her head. "You must promise me that you *will not* speak a word or move a hair
until I allow you." Again, Ginny nodded her head.

Their footsteps drew closer, accompanied by a pestering laughter that was oddly familiar to him but
Draco couldn't quite place it. However when a gravely voice cut through the rest only to be
answered with a drawling rasp, Draco was positive, who stood on the opposite side of their thinly
veiled hiding space.

He knew they're run in on the merchant street in Luxor had been no mere coincidence. Why
hadn't he thought of it before? In all his research and all his tactical planning why had he
failed to make the obvious connection of his former school mate and his father's associate? But
now was not the time to search for useless answers and he filed the questions into the back of his
mind.

"Hush, you fools," berated Blaise Zabini, in that superior hiss that was usually reserved
for house-elves. "So you're *positive* that *Draco* Malfoy has no idea we're
trailing him."

"Oh yes," answered the demon shop owner, Mr. Pailvouka.

"And they haven't been followed. No one has any knowledge of them being here,
correct?"

"No one knows of there whereabouts. Except for maybe the security ghost but-" Draco could
hear the cruelty in the demon’s unearthly chuckle- "you took care of him."

"That I did," Blaise answered. "And what of you, Mister Pailvouka, have you a
tracker?"

"Oh, no sir, it has been mum's-the-word."

"Excellent," Blaise answered, his tone making the fine hairs on Draco's neck stand on
end.

*~*~*

Draco ran a shaky hand through his silvery hair as he sat inside the confined space, his knees
drawn to his chest and his back to the opposite wall of her own. His wand was drawn before him but
Ginny didn’t think he was in any mood to try and test it. She could see the concentration furrowing
his pale brow and for the first time he didn't hide his fear. She could feel it wafting off of
him in cold waves and it scared her. "Draco what's happening?" she whispered into his
ear.

"Nothing," he said, laying a finger over his lips to remind her to stay quiet.

"But I hear voices," she prodded, slowly inching her body through the cramped space and
across his feet and shins to climb from the unusual nook. "Who's out there?"

She heard him sigh as he forced her back by her shoulders leaning forward until his mouth could
reach her ear, "If you insist on knowing its Blaise Zabini. Now, sit down and shut-up or
I'll Body Bind you I swear," he hissed into her ear.

Stunned Ginny sat back hugging her knees. She hadn't recognized his voice, but why should she?
She'd only known him through case-pictures and at Hogwarts he had been just another shadow lost
among the masses. But she could hear it now, in the admiration and fear of his cronies' tones.
It was surreal. The infamous Blaise Zabini, the wizard her brother had been hunting for three
years, stood a free-man on the outside of the niche she was hiding in.

Her stomach cramped violently. What was she going to do? How were they going to get out of this? If
she and Draco were discovered they would surely be dealt with in the manner that *they* found
fit and she didn't want to entertain thoughts of what three Death Eaters saw as being
fit.

How were Death Eaters out of Azkaban? Who could have been dumb enough to grant pardon to such
horrid men? *No one,* she answered herself, feeling her face contort with her anger. They had
to have escaped and Blaise Zabini had to have been the one to help them.

These were guilty wizards given new lives when they had stolen so many and that fact sent a bitter
fear and stubborn will into Ginny's every pore.

She felt her eyes widen at the sudden thump on the outside of their haven. From the whimpering
gurgle that accompanied the gorilla like laughter Ginny assumed it had been the man with the hoofed
feet that had been thrown close to their feeble stone refuge.

Suddenly Ginny found herself being torn, torn between helping the captured man and staying hidden
with Draco. Zabini, Goyle, and the sandy haired man she only knew from his wanted poster had
destroyed so many things in their young lives and they were about to do it again.

She'd begun shaking, her wand warm inside her grip and she knew it might spark with her fury
but she didn't care. Then she felt them, Draco’s long dirty fingers were like a tranquilizer
deadening her hand and pushing her wand into her lap.

"We have to help," she begged, but from Draco's expression she knew it was useless.
He wouldn't help and he wouldn't let her help either.

He leaned forward his fingers gently pulling her cheek to meet his. "This isn't our
fight," he explained softly in her ear. "All we could accomplish is getting ourselves
killed."

Ginny was silent, feeling her vigor and valor fading from her in degrees. As much as she loathed
admitting it Draco was right. There was nothing they could do without facing certain death or
worse. In both shame and sadness Ginny curled into her knees as the man cried out in surprise and
pain.

*~*~*

The purple marble desk he hoisted himself on was oddly out of place among all the sandstone and
Lebanon cedar but Blaise wasn't terribly worried as he slid himself over the smooth surface. He
relaxed on his new found seat, cuffing his wrist with his fingers as he calmly faced Mister
Pailvouka a smirk lingering on his lips.

“Where’s my payment Zabini?”

If the question had been directed at either of the other two men there, they would have certainly
been startled or at least shown some sign of surprise but Blaise just slouched nonchalantly on his
stone perch looking at the small swarthy demon.

"Yes, about that," Blaise answered. “I don’t actually have it.”

“Well, this is as far as I go,” said the demon. His dark eye narrowing dangerously on Blaise, and
they made it clear to the former Slytherin that this was an intimidation tactic and intimidation
wasn’t something that boded well with him.

“You’ll go as far as I pay you to go, Pailvouka!”

“I don’t have to do anything, you little hairless ape,” Pailvouka snarled. “I want my payment and I
want it now!

“Can’t you wait for it?” Blaise asked, confused and annoyed by the demon’s sudden lack of respect
and cowardice.

“Wait around for Malfoy to pop back with Harry Potter and that Auror. Are you mad?”

"Then I take that as a no?" he asked mockingly. “Well, I don’t have-”

Blaise was cut off by the feel of fingers on his chest as they tiny demon attacked him,
talented-nails projecting from his scaly hands and his lips curled back in a toothless snarl. But
none of his defensive measures mattered as Blaise grabbed him by the waist slamming him into the
marble slab pinning him in place with a tan forearm to the throat. Blaise found that his pleasant
mood was suddenly nonexistent.

“Who in the hell do you think you are trying to defy me?” Blaise rhetorically asked, through
gritted teeth but Pailvouka didn’t cow like he had expected. Like he had wanted.

Instead Pailvouka did something, while brave, was practically suicide. He sent spittle of
yellow-green mucus onto Blaise’s cheek, the acidic spit burning his skin. The cold rage that ran
through Blaise at the repulsive act made him shudder as he stayed leaning over the tiny demon.
“Now, Mister Pailvouka. I think there’s been a change in our payment plan.”

In his strop Blaise grabbed the Disrespectful-Pile of shit by the shoulders lifting him off the
table and throwing him to the stone floor. Unsuccessfully trying to catch his breath he pulled out
his wand, quickly binding the demon with the black rope that slithered from his weapon. He needed
to sort his thoughts because this was not how he had planned it all.

*~*~*

Mister Pailvouka began babbling in odd clicks and disgusting slurps. It was a language Ginny had
never heard before, but she understood him the same. He was terrified.

"Now, there's no need for that whimpering sir," Zabini continued in his soft purr.
"You should count yourself among the lucky, Mister Pailvouka. The boys would have had much
more fun had you been a female...but as it’s plain you're not. They’ll get their kicks
somehow."

"Cover your ears and eyes," Draco ordered. Ginny shook her head no. She might cower with
him, but she would not pretend that nothing was happening. "*Please,* cover your ears and
eyes."

*Coward*, she scolded herself, digging her head deeper into the alcove of her thighs and
forearms. It was a label that no Weasley, not even Percy could ever have been guilty of being
named. Ginny tried hiding in the darkness of her lids, but the action only attuned her to her less
used senses.

The sounds assaulted her, the fizzle and whistle of elementary curses cutting through the air, the
nauseating thud and crack of flesh meeting stone, and the terrifying hyena cackle that erupted from
the "boys" with every successful hex.

But Draco's warm breath against her forearms and bare foot brought her back on the side of
their safe immure. He had stayed her wand and her temper saving both of their lives for the moment
but it did nothing to appease her anxiety. She hid her face between her trembling forearms, not
caring that the thick end of her wand was digging deeply into her shoulder. Usually, she feared the
dark but now it was the only safe place to hide from both her anger and her guilt.

Oddly her brother's words rang like relentless church bells in her mind. You're in trouble,
*real trouble;* he'd told her when they had sat at dinner that night. Is this what he had
meant?

She pushed her thumb into her mouth biting down on the nail until pain spread from her cuticle and
a selfish euphoria swept over her disguised as hope. Why was she so worried? Ron was going to come
for her. Ron was going to save her.

*But he won't,* came a soft voice drowning her delirium. *He didn't come for you and
your mother before and he won't come for you now.*

*Yes, he will. He'll come for me,* she reassured herself. It was a selfish thought but she
wanted him there. No, she needed him there. She needed him to tell her it would be okay, that there
was nothing that she could have done, that she had made the right choice by hiding and not
fighting. She needed him to tell her that she was safe.

*~*~*

Some could scream for hours, the noise piercing his ears until he could bare it no longer and would
force something large and foul passed their lips before binding them closed. He'd been forced
to stop his practice after accidentally suffocating a bloke from Beauxbaton, who'd been holding
valuable information but Blaise hadn't cared, at the time all he knew was he wanted the cunt to
shut-up.

Yes, he didn't particularly care for the Screamers but he would take them over the Comatose any
day.

The Comatose, the ones who refused to let a whimper escape their throats or fear read from their
eyes. His father once said they were simply too stubborn, but Blaise had always silently disagreed.
He believed there was something more than strong will working within them; they were unreachable in
another world untouched by threats or pain no matter how much he inflicted upon them.

From the squeaks he made, Mister Pailvouka was proving to be the former and Blaise hoped he
wouldn't have to perform a silencing curse on him because as much as he disliked it, he
couldn't participate. This was his boys' time to practice before they were to face Weasley
and . . . Malfoy.

Superstitiously, his eyes searched both ends of the hall for any sign of movement. "Is he dead
yet?" he asked gruffly.

Squatting next to the body, McNair lifted a thin green arm and let if fall lifelessly to the stone
floor, "I think so."

"Well, it's about bloody time," he grunted, hopping down from his perch. "I
would've been finished an age ago."

"No reason to get snappish, Zabini," McNair commented, standing to his full height.
"You're beginning to sound like Malfoy."

Blaise felt a sudden violence surge through him at his understrapper's paralleling.
"Don't you *ever* compare me to that blood traitor again McNair or *you* and
Mister Pailvouka here will find yourself in the same boat. Do you understand?"

Blaise waited for the groveling, but McNair made no move to apologize. He just stood like a pale
thin statue, his dark eyes trained on something behind his leader.

At the terror he read in the young mans eyes, Blaise armed with a wand in his hand swiftly turned
to face what had shocked his normally long-winded partner into silence. He'd been ready, a
curse already set on his tongue, but at the sight before him all he could manage was a weak swear
as he stumbled backward.

*~*~*

The light from Harry's wand was dim barely bouncing off the sacred jubilee depicted on the hall
that he and Ron were walking down. They had split into twos to cover better ground and like the bad
movies Dudley used to watch they had done nothing more than get them lost inside the tomb. Harry
couldn't wait to finally find Hermione and Pansy. Confident because Ron was following closely
behind he quickly rounded the corner and painfully collided with Hermione and Pansy who both yelped
in surprise.

"Sorry," he apologized, embarrassed for knocking them down.

"It's alright," Hermione said, accepting the hand he offered.

"So did you two find anything?" Ron asked.

"Nothing but sand and artifacts," Pansy answered wiping the dust from the backside of her
trousers.

His stomach involuntarily tightened at her report. Where were Ginny and Malfoy? This tomb
wasn't so big that they could possibly be that lost.

*Unless they didn't want to be found,* a thought accused. Harry shook his head at his own
mind. Maybe Malfoy would have abandoned them but not Ginny. She was loyal and would be entirely too
worried about her brother to ever think of leaving him behind.

He looked across the hall at his friend, who was running another hand through his hair. Being an
Auror Ron had learned to disguise his emotions well but now he looked white with worry. It had been
a long time since Harry had seen him that pale and it wasn't his own safety that he was
concerned about. Ginny was missing.

"Where in the hell could they be?" Ron asked, kicking the sandstone wall with his foot
and with a yelp of pain filling the silence that had settled over the hall.

~*~*~*~

He and Ginny walked soundlessly down the corridor. They hadn't spoken since Ginny had thanked
him for helping her up from the ground of their hidden alcove. But what did he expect her to say?
He had just forced her to sit idly by while a man was tortured and killed. It was a mystery to
Draco why Blaise had drawn it out, forgoing the Killing Curse. Defense Against the Dark Arts had
taught them it was quick, painful, and effective. But what Blaise had had them do it was clear
he'd wanted the shop-owner to suffer before being left behind like a piece of rubbish.

Draco had never been happier to hear gasps of surprise and the scuffle and taps of stumbling feet
as Blaise and his company laid shocked eyes upon the undead mummies that had been eager to greet
the new trespassers. As anxious as he'd been Draco had almost smirked as he listened to
Blaise's voice shake as he shouted orders for a retreat. *Natural born leader my arse.*
Draco assumed they'd run all the way to Luxor with their tails tucked firmly between their legs
before they'd have the bollocks to stop, but even the comedic aspect of the situation
hadn't broken Ginny's sudden spell of silence.

From the sheltered life she had described to him she'd probably never seen anything like it
before. He sure hadn't. Even during his trials to join the ranks, his father had never allowed
him to *dirty* his hands. Always insuring that he was given the menial tasks a fact that at
the time had hacked him off, but now he was grateful for.

She walked ahead of him, quietly lost in her own thoughts and wanting more than the sound of their
heels on stone he grabbed for her wrist but clasped his fingers around her hand. For a moment he
held it open in his own, her palm and knuckles were covered in the same soft film of mud that had
seeped beneath his fingernails and into the stitches of his clothes, but he was shocked to discover
that he'd never noticed how dainty it was before even if she'd chewed the thumbnail down to
the quick.

Slowly his eyes crept up her arm to a face pale with the shock she had been suffering. There was a
pink rim that lined her eyes and he could see she was holding back tears. But tears for whom? The
Brain-Eater? Surely, not.

"You're not crying are you?" The question was harsher than he'd intended and she
jerked her hand from his as if he'd burned her.

"No, but if I was, it would be none of your business," she replied softly, but Draco
suspected she had more gall behind it and irrationally that annoyed him.

"I don't care if you're angry with me, Weasley. We're alive and that's all
that matters."

"But he's not," she rebutted, her rasping voice trying to rise but failing.

Draco stood silent for a moment looking down at his now empty hand, so he was right; this is what
the silence was about.

"I don't understand why you care? You didn't even know him," he said.

"As if you did."

Draco didn't answer, now was not the time for confessions but he wouldn't lie to her
either. He stared down at her, letting her mind come to its own conclusions.

"Oh Merlin, you did know him didn't you?" she asked, covering her mouth with her
filthy hand.

The accusatory look she gave him compelled Draco to turn from her, he needed to walk away but he
something wouldn’t let him. Something in him needed for her to hear him out. He didn't care if
she hated him for it, but he’d made the only choice for them and she had no right to judge
it.

"So what if I did, Weasley. So what if I knew what kind of thing he was, so what if I let him
die. He likely deserved the way he went, now what does that have to do with me?"

“Did my mother?” she asked and Draco was surprised when he felt his back meet the stone wall, her
open hands promising a bruise on his pale chest. Draco jerked back up but couldn’t go far as she
held him in place between her and the wall. "Huh, Malfoy?! Did my Mother deserve it?! Did
she?!"

She shoved him once more for measure before walking away her anger wafting off her. Her statement
struck Draco surprisingly hard not from her words but the sadness and anger that filled them. After
all the compassion she had given him when it was his time to return it he had failed.

He closed his eyes pinching the bridge of his nose, not wanting to see the tears he knew were
racing the sweat down her freckled cheeks. What was he to do now? What words could he say that
would remedy this situation?

"I'm sorry. I'd completely forgotten about your mother, Weasley," he admitted.
"It was careless of me but-"

"But?" she asked. "There is always a 'but' with you isn't their
Malfoy?"

"But," he continued, "You can't make me feel guilty for saving our lives. I
won't let you."

"I still think we could've done something," she argued.

Draco groaned, their redundant fighting was tiring and now was not the time for either of them to
be righteous. They didn't just have walking artifacts hunting them but Blaise Zabini too and he
couldn't be so easily unraveled.

"Look, Malfoy," she started clearly tired of their feuding too. "My feet hurt. My
ankle is *killing* me. I'm cold. I'm tired and as much as I hate to admit it I'm
scared. All I want to do is to find my brother and go home."

Her words sent a stab of cold worry into Draco. "Your brother? Go Home? What about my map?
Don't you still want to find that?"

"You and your ruddy map can go straight to hell, Draco. I won't put my brother in any more
danger for you."

"What about Blaise, Ginny? Do you think that if we just leave that quarter down there it's
going to stay put or that he'll just use it to resurrect his dead cat?"

His question caught her off guard and she was quiet, her eyes searching the walls of their hall for
an answer. "Fine, I'll find your bloody map," she replied, anger brimming from her
voice before she turned around to walk away from him.

"And don't think that mentioning Blaise to your brother would be beneficial either,"
Draco ordered to the retreating back that quickly turned to face him.

Her dark eyes were wide with uncontainable outrage. "I will not endanger my brother and my
friends to lie for you, Malfoy."

"I didn't say that you should lie to your *beloved* brother, Weasley. But if he knows
Zabini's here he'll only put himself in more danger."

She laughed with out mirth. "You really have gone mad haven't you? You're making
absolutely no sense."

Draco slowly exhaled through his nose, trying to bridle his aggravation for her sake. As much as
she didn't appear it, Ginny was rather fragile at the moment and for someone who claimed to
love and protect her brother so much, she knew very little about his behavior.

"If your brother discovers that Blaise Zabini is anywhere near this tomb, he will go after him
like a cat on a mouse, which is exactly what Blaise wants to happen."

"My brother's not that rash," she claimed, shaking her head.

He raised his eyebrow to disagree. "Okay...maybe he is but how would *you* know what
Blaise wants?"

"Rules of Chess Ginny, loser always moves first," he stated honestly and not casting her
second glance, he clasped her hand in his own like a mother did a child dragging her behind
him.

~*~*~*~

"I was so daft. I knew I should've put a Tracking Charm on her," Ron said through
clenched teeth. He didn't mean to annoy his companions with his repetitive mantra, but he
needed to chastise himself. He had been so enthralled with his operation to entrap Malfoy that
he'd lost his sister. Not only had he lost her but he had lost to the one wizard he was trying
to arrest.

He had been confident, more hoping, that Ginny would have found her way back to the entrance. He
would have found her sitting outside the tomb enjoying the sunrise, but all they'd found was an
abandoned security desk. Which Ron had automatically found odd. Why would the Security Ghost have
abandoned his post? Yes, they weren't the most reliable form of defense being transparent and
all but they weren't prone to leaving their stations. Especially, after the ghost had been so
vigilant before.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Harry said, in that patronizing voice that he'd
adopted from Hermione.

"He's right Ron," Hermione piped in. "I'm not even sure if a Tracking Charm
would have worked here."

"Yes, but at least I would've done something. Instead of letting Malfoy steal her
away," he argued.

"Well Weasley, she wasn't exactly struggling to get away from him," Pansy said,
ducking her head into a room. "Empty."

At her words anger and vigor began to replace his worry and fatigue as he rushed to catch up to
Pansy by the empty room. "Wait, you saw where Malfoy took my sister and just decided to keep
quite this whole time," he accused.

"Well, yes," she argued taken aback by his sudden aggression. "It's not as if it
was going to help us find them. I'd assumed that they'd moved on by now. It's not as if
*we* stayed put."

She attempted to slide past him but Ron caught her by the arm holding her still. She wasn't
going to be so cryptic now. "Where are they Pansy?"

"Let go of me Weasel," she threatened, her bright eyes slitting and her muscles tensing
under his fingers. He could feel her reaching for her wand but he wasn't worried.

"C'mon Ron, let her go this is wasting time and not helping anyone," Harry said,
standing next to Pansy.

Ron knew his best friend was right but he couldn't let her go just yet. She'd been feeding
him riddles and now he wanted the answers.

"Sorry Harry but not 'till she tells me where my sister is," he answered.

"Ron let her go!"

Confused he released Pansy's thin arm and spun to face the voice he'd known all his life.
Ron didn't remember running to her, just the knee collapsing relief at holding his baby
sister.

~*~*~*~

Ginny stared up at Ron from the floor of the cloaked room. Using her brother's blueprints Draco
had led them back to the room where she'd fallen through the floor because everyone but herself
agreed that since the priests had bypassed it the first time it had to be the safest place to
parley.

"So allegedly you two have just been *lost* this whole time?" Ron questioned and
briefly Ginny wondered if this is what his suspects felt like when being interrogated.

She ignored her wrung hands as she nodded her head. She'd told her brother all that had
happened until they'd reached the main room and then let Draco take over from there. She'd
listened carefully as he fabricated a well thought out and very believable story. That involved
mummies and reducio spells.

"You discovered the Altar room? Are you sure? Where was it? What was is it like? Is it really
made out of gold? Were there any Ushabtis?" Hermione asked anxiously.

Ginny felt the dark cloud that had settled over her lessen as she watched Draco's face. She
knew and so did he that his plan was only afloat by the Trio's decision to assist him and he
was desperately trying to appear polite which was a clearly difficult task.

"One question at a time, Granger," he bit out.

"So you're sure the mastaba is located down there?" Hermione asked, pointing at the
missing tile.

"Positive...But there is one small *complication*," Draco answered. "But no
need to worry I have a plan."

*~*~*

The look Harry was shooting Draco was absolutely murderous. From the narrowing of his bright eyes
behind his askew glasses to the tapping of his wand on his denim trousered-thigh, Ginny could read
he was far from impressed by Draco's plan. And she couldn't help but agree.

"Let me get this straight, Malfoy. You expect me to bait and then out run two lions, so you
lot can run in and grab your bloody artifact?" Harry asked.

"Well, you always have been a throw yourself to the lions kind of chap, Potter," he
answered. "Look, I would have sent in Granger and Weasley Junior here, but between you and me
they're a bit on the clumsy side and we can't have them, being eaten, so what do you
think?"

"Not. Bloody. Likely," Harry answered, pausing between each of his words for
effect.

"Well it's not as if I'm sending you in alone. You'll have Weasley over
there," he said, waving a hand at Ron as if it should have been obvious.

"Are you deaf Malfoy!? We're not doing your stupid plan," Ron answered.

"My hearings just fine Weasley and unless you can come up with anything better I suggest you
take my *'stupid plan'* into consideration," Draco drawled out lazily.

"Why should I?" Ron asked. "We can easily just walk out of this tomb with no
endangerment whatsoever."

Worried because her brother was right, Ginny cast a glance at Draco but sliding his wet silver
fringe to the side he seemed completely unperturbed by Ron's answer. He had clearly foreseen
her brother's opposition and had planned a counter attack.

"Because a little bird told me that Blaise Zabini's vying for this artifact as well and
you can't tell me that you want to see it fall into his hands could you, Weasley?"

*~*~*

From the small amount of wand-light that was pouring onto the still water it seemed that Ginny
hadn't fallen as far as she'd originally thought. With wide eyes she knelt beside Hermione
as they stared down the missing tile into the flooded hall below. Moments before she'd watched
as her brother and Harry had climbed down the rope-ladder Hermione had conjured and disappeared
into the darkness.

There was tension in the air around them, that clenched her stomach as she waited for her brother
and his friend to pass by and hopefully trailing far behind them would be the two lions.

Faint mingled screams and the slapping of trainers against stone grew in volume, filling the small
room. She stared down the hole, straining her eyes to catch any glimpse of red or black hair and in
a blur of dark cloaks and boyish screams she knew they'd sprinted passed them. The taste of
salt and copper assaulted her tongue as she chewed on her bleeding quick ignoring the quickening of
her breath as she questioned her faith in Draco and his plans.

She glanced up at him he looked so different than he had when they'd been hidden behind the
desk. Leaning against the sandstone his arms were firmly crossed over his chest. He was staring
back at her, his face completely lax displaying the indifference he felt at the situation. She
couldn't help but glare at him.

She'd just sent her brother and Harry down a manhole to what could possibly be there deaths and
he looked no more concerned than if he'd just sat down to afternoon tea.

Slowly he lowered his arms, pushing himself away from the fall, "Shall we go then. Who's
first?"

Ginny's mind went black for a moment and she could do nothing more than blink at him.

"You, Weasley."

"No, I'll go first," Hermione proclaimed, surprising both Malfoy and Ginny.
"I'm not only older but-"

"No, Hermione it's fine. I've been down there. You haven't," Ginny said. She
watched as Hermione digested her decision but she didn't care what Hermione's opinion would
be. She'd made up her mind and no one was going to change it.

"I don't agree with it, Ginny but you can go. I just want you to be safe so do exactly as
I said and you should be fine," Hermione said, and Ginny could hear the same concern laced
through her voice that she heard when Hermione would talk to her brother and Harry.

A nervous smile twitching her lips, Ginny scooted to the end of the stone, letting her feet dangle
down the dark hole. The whicker rungs burned her fingers as she slowly climbed to the bottom of the
ladder. She could feel Hermione’s shadow and the sudden jostle of her added weight against the
rope-ladder. The water lapping against the walls of the hall, soaked through the bottom of her
trousers and Ginny stopped bracing herself with a deep breath before jumping through the darkness
towards the embankment.

Overcompensation, sent Ginny painfully into the wall and she pulled herself up on her sore ankle
rubbing her shoulder and arm as she retrieved her wand from the pocket of her trousers.

Lighting her wand as Hermione’s soft footfall followed her Ginny nearly gasped in amazement.
Even in the harsh glow of her and her companion’s wands, Ginny could see the grandeur this hall
must have held before it had been flooded.

"I have read about sacred pools but this is ridiculous," Pansy said, the light of her
wand dancing from side to side.

"No, this isn't a sacred lake just overspill from the Nile," Hermione corrected,
guiding herself with the help of the stone wall. “It was probably a causeway or maybe an
underground hypostyle hall. If I had more time I could probably tell you which. Hey-”

Ginny nearly turned around at her friend’s sudden alarm, but was pushed against the moist wall
as a heavy body slithered passed her to take the lead. Her wand illuminated the dirty but still
pale hair on Draco’s head as he stepped ahead of her, his quarter of the map in his hand, his
stride quickening with each step. As she followed him around a sharp corner, Ginny wondered why if
he had wanted to lead the way why hadn’t he been the first down the ladder, but she held her
tongue, continuing to follow him deeper into the tomb.


*~*~*

The air from the tomb was a dehydrating-cold that dried her throat as she and her companions moved
cautiously into the Altar Room. But Hermione believed it should have been titled differently as it
was unlike any altar room she had seen or studied in History or Magic.

The large underground quarter was lit in the same fashion that bordered the rest of the tomb and
tinted the odd objects that filled the room in gold. The stone floor was covered with row after row
of the same altars metal that reflected the light from the torches. Unconsciously, Hermione moved
down a step her eyes searching amid the podiums but to her disappointment there was no map
insight.

"Now what're we going to do?" Pansy asked, expressing Hermione's dread. Slowly,
she moved down the steps. Walking among the podiums she idly studied the identical books. It was
clear they were more lost than Hermione had feared.

"I don't understand," Ginny said, rushing down the steps, her wet trousers and hair
slopping water onto the floor. "What is this place?" she asked, turning in Malfoy's
direction.

"Well, I haven't an idea," Hermione answered.

"Then who does?" questioned Pansy. Her long frame was barely visible on the opposite side
of the room and many rows stood between her and the entrance. "Where are we, Malfoy? Is this
the right room or not?!"

"It has to be," Malfoy said. He was looking over the sea of podiums and books. His
expression was dark and unreadable as his eyes darted from one row to the next and then from one
companion to the other. He reached in his bag extracting the piece of hide that he'd been
carrying about and slightly shook it as if trying to find life. "It just has to
be."

"That's reassuring," said Pansy, curiously tapping one of the many altars with her
wand.

"What about your map, Draco?" Ginny asked, moving closer to him.

"My quarter can only bring us this far. I suppose we must figure out the rest on our
own," he answered. He stuffed the cloth back into his leather bag, snapping the silver fasten
into place.

He and Ginny looked back over the different altars. What were they going to do? There must have
been at least two-hundred different altars standing before them. What were they supposed to do with
that? What did a legion of books have in common with his map?

She watched him step forward, his light brow furrowing, his pale eyes moving over every object in
the room as he assessed the situation.

"The books," he whispered to himself then louder he stated, "The books. The
map's inside one of these books."

"It's inside of a book?" Hermione asked. Her voice was filled with doubt but her dark
eyes soon grew wide with realization, "Of course they would hide it inside a book." The
former Head girl turned to face the wooden shrines. "But the question begs, which
one?"

"Now, that I haven't quite figured out yet," Draco answered, taking the final step
down the stairs wearing an expression that could only be disappointment.

Ginny understood why he wore such a long face. It would take them much longer than they had
anticipated for Pansy to shuffle through all the different altars and books. She *was* the
only one who could touch them after all.

*~*~*
His father hand handed him all the clues to the riddle, every piece to the puzzle: Pansy, the
Egyptian, Weasley, the Auror, Mister Pailvouka the shop owner, and Ginny Weasley, the Untouchable.
And until now every piece had fallen effortlessly into place, fitting smoothly into the overall
picture but Ginny Weasley. She was like trying to fit a square peg of granite through a circle-hole
of marble and now matter how hard Draco tried, no matter which angle he chose, he couldn’t figure
out what her function was.

What was her job? he asked himself but his mind only answered with trivial things. Ginny had
been so many things had done so many jobs: research, stealing, and stupid menial tasks that she was
overly qualified for. But not one of those things could possible he what Father had meant for her.
*She has much better uses than your bed.*

Draco internally looked over his jigsaw again, his mind connecting and assembling every piece into
place and yet the void continued to mock him.

*What was her primary use boy?* a voice that sounded ridiculously like his father
questioned.

Unconsciously sneering at the challenge Draco let out an anger-filled breath, clearing his mind and
opening the dossier that was Ginny Weasley and as easily as he tapped into his memory his riddle
was answered.

"Weasley," he beckoned, feeling the tingle of excitement replacing the numb of
disappointment.

At the drawling sound of her surname, Ginny turned to find Draco moving toward her. The dripping
shoulder-bag, he’d been attached to the entirety of trip, tapping freely against his thigh.

"What?" she asked, curiosity growing in her as she watched his pale-eyes begin to
glitter.

Wagging a long finger at her Draco was nearly smirking when he reached her. “You’re going to find
my map for me.” It wasn’t a question. It was an order.

Ginny felt her mouth drop open with confusion, "What? How?"

"Your party-trick, your hidden talent, your bloody sixth-sense… Well, whatever in the hell you
call it, its going to find which of these shrines is holding my map captive.”


"No, I can't. I can only feel *cursed* objects. It'll be just like the map. I
won't feel anything," she answered, hating that she had to sever Draco's proposal, but
his eyes showed no signs of disappointment.

"That's not true, Weasley. What about my Mother's money purse? It has hardly a stitch
of magic in it at all and you felt something from it, didn't you?"

It didn’t take much for Ginny to realize that Draco was right. She hadn't felt any evidence
that his mother's purse had been cursed but she'd seen entire scenes of Narcissa's
life. Maybe her 'skill' had grown, maybe it had morphed into something else, or maybe it
had been just a fluke but Ginny didn't have time to question her unwanted gift.

"I'll do it, but I can't guarantee that it will work."

"Good,” he said waving an arm around. “Pansy will open the doors and you'll test the book
it's that simple."

Suddenly worried that Narcissa’s purse was an isolated incident, Ginny spun him by the arm to face
her. “Okay, but what if I touch the map, and don't feel anything and by pass it," she
whispered to him.

Draco gave her a half-attempted smile. "Then it’s best that doesn't happen."

*~*~*

A nagging pessimism kept Ginny from believing that this hunt wasn’t anything but a hopeless cause.
She and Pansy were beginning work on the fourth row altars but it felt as if they’d been doing it
for hours. Opening, alter after alter and testing book after book.

But the result was always the same: Nothing. Sure, she’d gotten a tiny flash from a few of the
golden books but it shown nothing more than a spark of static.

Pansy paused, her long fingers wrapped tightly around the golden handles. She let go, turning on
her heel to Draco who was standing to her left, stroking his chin. Pansy’s crystal eyes and crossed
arms showed the contempt she was feeling. "I’m tired of doing this, Draco," she said,
defiantly. "This is useless. Your map’s obviously *not* here."

Leaning her back against the previous altar, Ginny couldn’t help but agree with Pansy. This was
exhausting and a complete waste of time. But Draco looked unaffected by their cynicism and Pansy’s
threatening tone.

"One more," he ordered, quietly.

"Come on, Draco," Pansy whined and Ginny had the distinct feeling Pansy was two stages
away from throwing a fit.

"One more," he said more assertively. His pale eyebrows knitting as his glare shifted
from the altar to Pansy and back again.

"Fine!" Pansy screeched, turning to face the altar again. "Fine!" she
repeated, grabbing the golden handles and reciting the engraved password in an unintelligible
whisper. "But I swear this is the last one," she finished, pulling the pair of small
doors apart, revealing the golden book they held inside.

Ginny sighed, lazily pushing herself away from the altar’s wall. Fatigue and tension were
beginning to weigh on her and walking over Ginny’s shoes felt as if they were made of lead. Turning
away from Pansy, she silently thanked the lanky widow for her fit. This was going to be the last
bloody book she had to touch and when it was done, she would leave this bloody tomb, hop a train to
get out of this bloody country, get home to bed and sleep off this bloody awful day. But at her
first glance of this new tome, Ginny knew that would not be the case.

Disappointment didn’t follow this knowledge as Ginny would have expected, instead an almost
ethereal feeling fell over her.

The book was by far the most exquisite she’d seen. Gold and turquoise mapped out the
hieroglyphic characters as it sat on it’s on thrown of ebony. It demanded to be watched, to be
respected, to be worshipped.

"Well, go on," Draco prodded, and as if she was being snapped out of hypnosis Ginny
was suddenly aware that she hadn’t moved. Taking a deep breath to compose herself she plunged her
hand into the dark altar, laying her palm flat on the cold metal.

*It was as if she were laying flat on a broomstick, watching the scene play out from above. The
room was dark, lit only by the fires of a few alabaster bowls but she could make out dark figures
preparing the room below her. Near naked men dressed only in small brown kilts and each bearing a
unique gold amulet worn over their chests. But one stood alone and out to her, he was adorned in
bright robes that swept down his long frame as did his auburn beard. She could see he was placing
something inside the shrine they circled but even squinting her eyes she could not make it out, but
something inside her knew what it was: Draco's map.

Wands, scepters, and wooden staffs were drawn and in a mixture of light and electricity the small
piece of animal hide and black ink lurched into a more square and polished shape.*

"Ginny?"

At the sound of her name Ginny fought to hold onto to her insight, to be certain that what she had
seen was real but the feminine voice was persistent and beckoned to her again. She let go and fell
from the safety of the ceiling, through the altar she'd been floating above to the cold floor.
Her vision was over and Hermione's voice was anchoring her back to reality. The dark room was
dissolving away, mutating into the reality she knew before, and the first familiar face she saw was
Draco's.

His metallic eyes were dark and creased as he stared down at her. It was clear he wasn't
familiar with an empathetic seizure but she didn't have time to hold his hand through it.

"It's the book!" she gasped, surprised how sweet the air felt filling her
lungs.

"It's the book. It was transfigured or something, I'm not sure. There were so many of
them that I'm not sure what they did?"

"Who are they, Ginny? What did they do?" Hermione asked.

But Ginny ignored her and turned to Malfoy, clasping his dirt stained collar desperately." The
priests they did something to it. You have to believe me, I saw them. I saw him. The map's the
book."

"The map's inside the book?" Pansy asked, trying to pry the metallic cover
open.

"No. No, the map *is* the book," she spat back, hopelessly. "Trust me. Just do
the bloody ritual." She quickly covered her mouth a vain attempt to stop whatever was trying
to find its way back up. Even as Ginny crawled away from them, Hermione could see that the small
redhead was going to be violently ill. She felt the need to go after her, but from experience she
knew it would do no good.

"Is she okay?" Pansy asked, not sounding very concerned.

"She's okay," Malfoy said curtly but there was something distorted in his tone.
"Now do as she said, get moving Pansy!" Malfoy opened his bag removing something shiny
and sharp and thrust it at Pansy.

No words were said and it seemed as if everyone but the small red-head was holding a breath as they
moved around Pansy and the solitary altar. Even in the torchlight her crystal-eyes were bright and
she sucked her bottom-lip into her teeth mentally preparing herself. She took the dagger by the
hilt from Malfoy and brought the blade across the tip of her index finger, drawing a line of
dark-blood that dripped down the mirror-blade.

"Do you have the instructions?" Pansy asked her in an almost trembling voice.

Hermione remembered the waterproof paper inside her trouser pocket and pulled it out, ready to hand
it to Pansy. All movement seemed to slow down as she watched Pansy take the yellowed paper from her
with a thankful nod. She began tracing her finger along the text of the book, smearing blood over
the metallic cover, drowning Ginny's retching as she recited the translated script.

Malfoy's greedy eyes moved slowly between the book and Ginny. His attention seemed almost torn
between watching her and finally grasping his treasure.

The treasure won.

Grasping it with both her hands, Pansy popped the book from its altar breaking whatever spell had
enchanted it as it morphed into a twin of what Malfoy had been carrying.

Everything was silent for a moment, even Ginny’s retching seemed to have stopped in the timeless
instant but the silence was split as the screech of stone against stone assaulted their ears. A
river of yellow poured from the ceiling, sand quickly mounding on the floor as Hermione’s eyes
darted around the room, her mind trying to digest the scene. But cleverness wasn’t going to stop
the enfolding walls from crushing them or stop the sand from drowning them. No, only instinct and
light feet could save them now.

"We have to get out!" she yelled, weaving between the toppling wooden shrines to get
Ginny but Malfoy had beaten her to the girl. Hermione gasped at the sight her friend made. Her dark
swollen eyes were open in her ashen face but Ginny looked worse than Hermione had ever seen her
before. But Malfoy seemed unperturbed as he helped her up using his own body as a crutch.

"Get the book, the dagger, and Pansy. Then go," he directed, propping Ginny against the
base of the entrance and removing his wand.

Her stomach cramped as the stone tiles of the ceiling began to splash and crack against the floor
of the tunnel, "I'm not leaving her alone with *you.*"

"I'm not giving you a choice Granger. Now get the hell out of here!" he ordered
through gritted teeth, lifting Ginny's sagging body.

The redhead raised herself on wobbly legs, trying to push Malfoy away from her. “I don’t need your
help, Malfoy. I can walk,” Ginny croaked.

Malfoy’s face was creased with aggravation as he held onto Ginny’s arm keeping her upright. “Do you
*want* to fall on your face Weasley?” Ginny did nothing but glare at him. “Then stop being a
stubborn cow and let somebody help you.”

Malfoy turned to face Hermione. His eyes narrowed as if she had caught him doing something he was
highly embarrassed of and was daring her to say something.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to get Pansy and get out of here?”

Turning around to gather Pansy, Hermione almost swore aloud. Pansy was splayed across the stone
floor, the leather-piece she had been holding feet away from her body. Cursing Ron and Harry for
not being there, Hermione ran to the collapsed girl. Ignoring the brown-map near her hand, Hermione
knelt beside her.

"Malfoy!" Hermione heard herself screech when Pansy wouldn’t rise.

"What now, Granger?!" he hissed, turning with a barely conscious Ginny by his side.

Hermione had no need to explain herself as a very rude and *very* lengthy string of French and
English streamed from Malfoy.

*~*~*

The thunderous grumble and the ceiling's stones slapping the water as it collapsed made Draco
feel as if he was marching through a pregnant storm cloud and not an imploding tomb. His shoulder
and back burned supporting a near deadweight Pansy as he maneuvered them over the narrow and hidden
embankment. Yes, she had already been spindly and Granger had cut her weight in half with a charm
but she was still more than he was used to carrying when running through waist high water. But even
his burning muscles, the menacing roar of the stones, and the foul water couldn't stop a small
grin from escaping his lips. He had another fourth of his map and he was almost free of this tomb
and that was all that mattered.

*Well, almost all that matters,* a small voice interjected.

But Draco ignored it rounding the last corner, he listened to the echoes of Granger's
optimistic voice and encouraging words to Ginny as the water continued to rise and they waded
through it ahead of him.

Suddenly they stopped. "Harry? What are you doing down here? You should be upstairs with
Ron," he heard Granger ask.

"Long story. Where's Malfoy and Pansy? And what happened to Ginny?" Potter
asked.

"Long story," she replied. "That I'll tell you later but we need to get out of
here. Now!"

"Then let's get you two up," Potter said and as Draco neared he could see the three
figures and the rising brown water bathed in the light from the missing tile.

"Ginny and Pansy aren't strong enough to pull themselves up, Harry," Granger said
handing Ginny to Harry as the water reached her chest.

But soon Draco was watching Ginny move up through the missing tile without touching a single rung
and felt a wash of unexplainable relief as he quickened his trudging.

*~*~*

Ginny didn't walk but crawled away from the hole in the floor. The stones beneath her were
shaking and as if her bones had been removed she fell the small distance to the floor, her cheek
slapping against the dusty stone. The camouflaged door way was gone replaced by the mummies. She
had a bug's eye view from the floor listening to the heavy breathing, the slapping of water
soaked clothes on stone as another person collapsed on the stone floor.

She wanted to scream, to cry out and alert everyone but her body refused to obey her. Her limbs
protested as she commanded them to work. It was as if someone had hit her with a body bind curse
and she could do nothing but watch as the mummies were cast away from the door in a colorful shower
of sizzles and flashes.

Relief and panic fought inside Ginny. The threshold was empty, filled only with shadows and rotten
air and Ginny wondered if everyone could hear her heart trying to beat it's way out of her
chest as she waited for the persons who had rid them of their mummies, to show themselves. She
prayed to herself that it wasn't Blaise, that it was someone else, the security ghost, a lost
tourist, anyone but Blaise Zabini but as the tall figure stepped into the archway the world
suddenly began shrinking as if someone had turned a pair of Omnioculars around on her and as
suddenly as it began it stopped leaving her in total darkness.

*~*~*

*What's wrong with Ginny?

How should I know?

You're the one that's been with her all day?

Stop bickering and help me pick her up. She needs a Mediwitch.*

The first image to swim into Pansy's vision was the warm crowfeet edged eyes of her Mediwitch.
Her head was clear and her body felt well rested but there was an aching in her stomach that needed
to be filled.

"You're awake," said the nurse giving Pansy a motherly smile that made her feel
slightly uneasy. "Your friends will be so happy to hear that. Should I send for
them?"

"No," Pansy answered, but surprising to her, her voice came out in a rough whisper.

The nurse swiveled in her chair and grabbed the silver pitcher, pouring a tall glass of water.
Pansy nodded her head in thanks and disregarded every etiquette lesson her mother ever taught her
gulping the cool water until she felt the last drop on her tongue.

"My friends?" she asked, certain that she had another dozen names picked for them and
that friends was certainly not it.

"You mean the two young ladies...Well the gabby one-"

"Granger, Hermione Granger."

"Yes, I believe that was her name," the mediwitch answered, adding some measured clear
liquid into a purple cup. "She only needed the cut on her arm mended and the bones in her hand
mended where she broke them. The shorter fiery one-"

"Weasley?" Pansy asked, pushing herself up into a sitting position against her
headboard.

"Yes, Ginny Weasely," she answered. "She came in much like you but just needed to be
hydrated then we let her go."

"What about the boys?"

"Besides a few cuts and bruises they were all fine. They should all be in the dining tent, if
you feel up to joining them."

Eager to leave, Pansy went to pull her covers down but stopped, remembering that the entirety of
her wardrobe had been stolen. She'd have to stay until Granger or the female Weasley came by
for a checkup before she could get any decent clothes and her growling stomach did not want to wait
that long.

"Would you send an apprentice or intern or whoever for the two females that I'm traveling
with? Because I could certainly use a change of clothes," Pansy said, lying back in her
bed.

"Of course dear, I assume you didn't like the outfit that the boy brought for you,"
Doloris answered, pointing at the faded orange t-shirt and ghastly green trousers laid out on the
footboard of Pansy's bed.

*~*~*

Ginny felt nothing as she stood outside the Dining tent looking upon the busy compound her eldest
brother had built in less than twenty-four hours, the different wizards who worked under him and
his friend Samir ran about the maze of green and brown tents in an orderly chaos she still failed
to understand. For any other wizard it might have been deemed impressive but for Bill it was
elementary.

Her brother's workers ignored her letting her blend into the green of the tent behind her and
she preferred it. She'd been trying to stay out of everyone's way since she'd awoken
inside the meditent, concerned blue-eyes bearing into her own. She wasn't disregarding her
brothers’ or her friends’ concern she was just choosing to avoid them.

She was far from happy with herself and could tell no one why. If any of them were to find out
they’d surely resent her. It was something she had trouble admitting to herself. She'd let
someone die. Ginny Weasley had let someone be killed. Did that make her and Draco murderers? With
his nonchalant behavior Draco didn't seem to think so, but clearly he believed there was a
difference between what *should* and what *had* to be done.

Ginny closed her eyes against the headache worming its way in. She hadn't slept well in the
medi-tent even after the dreamless potion the Mediwitch had given her and she was beginning to feel
the effects of denying her body rest. She was unable to shake her fatigue even after the frigid
shower she took that only left her cold and tired.

Feeling a pair of eyes on her Ginny forced her lids open despite their heavy and sandpaper feel.
Staring back at the owner of the curious bright-eyes Ginny was unsurprised and unconcerned at whom
she saw. She knew he wouldn't ask her or say anything to her brother. He wouldn't know what
to say. Harry never did. So she smiled and nodded her head at him receiving one from him in return
before they resumed politely ignoring each other. But even after Harry passed her to walk inside
the Dining tent, the feeling of being watched didn't abandon her compelling Ginny to finally
take lunch and follow him in.

Looking for her seat Ginny wondered if staying outside with the stalked feeling would not have been
such a bad idea. She felt she could have been knocked to the ground with the amount of tension that
hit her as she walked down the short aisle and took a seat on the bench behind her brother. From
the unusual manner Hermione and Harry were eating their meals and the fact that Ron and Bill
weren't eating at all, Ginny assumed that she had walked into an already strained
atmosphere.

"I had everything under control!" Ron yelled at her older brother, his knuckles white
around his empty plastic-fork.

"Really?" Bill asked, and for the second time in her life Ginny saw his face as red as
Ron's. "It sure as hell didn't seem that way to me or the Magic Reversal Squad. What
in the hell were you thinking? Oh wait, you weren't."

"You're treating us like a bunch of children. We're grown wizards, Bill. You should
start treating us like them," Ron said standing, his fork abandoned in a clatter on his
plate.

Never the one to play family mediator, Ginny just sat silently as Bill laid a heavy hand on Ron’s
shoulder gently pushing him back onto his seat. "Start acting like one and I just
might."

“Look you three,” Bill began, his tone much softer than before as addressed the three friends.
“There are going to be a good deal of questions and I know I can’t get all of the answers I need
now. But don’t think I’m going to forget this anytime soon.”

The room sat in stunned silence as Bill stood up, straightening the collar of his green robe.
“Now, I want you packed-up. Your train’s leaving at five-past-five.” Ginny’s eyes followed her
brother’s quick progress to the flapped door and before he left turned to face them. “Don’t be
late.”

Ginny took a deep breath of relief at the dodging of the row and the postponement of the
inevitable questions she was sure each of her brothers’ had. But her reprieve was short lived as
Ron swung around in his seat to glare at her, his ears bleeding into his hair and his face
unnaturally plum in color, “This is your fault, you know.”

Shocked by his anger and honesty Ginny could only stare at him for a moment. He was right, it
was her fault. If she hadn't been trying to help Draco then none of them would have come down
here and Bill certainly wouldn't be so outraged. But her stubborn pride kept her from wilting
to her brother’s anger. "Then don't talk to me Ron."

He didn't. Actually no one spoke a word the remainder of the afternoon. Maybe it was from
aggravation or just exhaustion but all were silent as they boarded the train that Bill had booked
them on.

The station was barely out of sight when Pansy hopped up from her seat, straightening her faded
orange t-shirt and disappearing out of the sliding door. Confused Ginny looked to her other
companions for an explanation but found them stacked like fallen dominoes in their seat. Hermione’s
unruly curls were pressed flat against the pane, her book unread and forgotten on her lap. Harry
was leaned against her, the black hood of his pullover hiding his untamed mane and Ron’s head was
on his shoulder, his eyes shut tight beneath his bright red fringe. Shortly after their train
departed Pansy disappeared to the dining cart while everyone tried to get comfortable in their
seats.

Ginny felt a sudden jealousy bubble in her at the sight they made but it wasn’t just the
intimate bond that brought along this particular wave of envy. It was the blissful sleep that she
couldn't join them in. Images were flying across her mind as fast as the smoky scenery outside
their window, each picture demanding her acknowledgement but she wasn’t alone in her
insomnia.

Draco was the only other person in their compartment who hadn't succumbed to the fatigue of
their journey and Ginny watched him as he used the light of the window to study both existing
pieces of his map. After everything that had happened to them in the past forty-eight hours, he
still seemed to be the same Draco Malfoy, living in his own world as he tried to match the pieces.
Silently sighing, he carefully laid them inside his leather bag, giving the appearance of defeat
but she knew better. Draco was tenacious and the two pieces wouldn't stay as separate pieces
for very long.

Lying back on his head rest, he closed his eyes and Ginny assumed he was failing miserably at
trying to beat back a headache. He looked so young and tired and...alone.

Ginny didn't want to think about that. She didn't want to feel sympathy for Malfoy.
He'd done this to himself, pushing everyone away with his toxic personality. But try as she
might she couldn't completely disregard his state even after the things he'd said to her
and that alone made Ginny feel ill.


"Where are you going?" Draco asked, looking up at her as she stood.

Not turning around Ginny answered, "The loo."

*~*~*

Ginny could hear footsteps behind her but paid them no mind. There were many people on this
outgoing train and she was sure everyone would end up following one another at some point. She had
her hand on the long cold knob, when she felt the man behind her was not merely another
passenger.

"I need to talk to you," he drawled in her ear, following as she stepped inside the tiny
compartment.

"What is it Draco?" she asked, slowly turning around in the cramped space. “Why aren’t
you asleep like everyone else?”

“I don’t make a habit out of falling asleep in public, Weasley,” he answered, his voice just as
aggressive as when they’d fought inside the temple. "And I have more important things to take
care of.”

“If you needed to use the toilet, Draco. You could have just said so,” Ginny answered, moving to
walk around him but Draco laid his hand on the sink, his long arm stopping her.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Ginny narrowed her eyes looking up at him, “Let’s have
it then, Malfoy. What do you want?”

“How could you think you are a higher priority than her-"

Anger spiked in Ginny at his accusation and only fatigue and confusion kept her from sparring back
at him. "Than who? Pansy?"

"Stop playing the fool, Weasley. You know exactly who?" he spat back.

Ginny stared back at him struck mute with anger and ignorance.

"My mother, Weasley. How could you think that *we'd* take precedence over
her?"

Ginny snorted in astonishment. She'd always known that Draco Malfoy had been born with an
overwhelming since of pride and smugness but at this moment it was ridiculously overbearing.

"You honestly believe I care more about shagging you then finding the rest of that bloody map,
do you?"

He lifted a delicate shoulder, leaning against the porcelain realm of the sink.

"Then you're a bigger fool then I ever thought you could be," Ginny answered. "I
mean... Who do you think I've been doing this for? After everything you've said to me, why
in the hell do you think I'm still here? My health."

"Money," he said calmly and Ginny couldn't help but think that his answer was
directed as an insult and for a minute she had the urge to thump him and wasn't sure why.

"You just keep getting dumber and dumber don't you Malfoy?" she asked, her voice
laced with cynical laughter. "But since we're being so open and honest what other problems
do you have with me? Is my hair too red? My temper too short?"

"No Weasley, your perfect except for you passive-aggressive dictatorial attitude thinking you
reserve the right to tell me what I can and can not do?" he accused, crossing his arms over
his chest.

"When have I ever told you what to do?"

"The other night, you told me to stay away from you and I'm telling you that I don't
have to."

"That's right because you're Draco Malfoy and Malfoy's can do whatever they bloody
well please-" Ginny mocked.

"Are you not even listening to what I'm saying Weasley?" he asked, grabbing her by
both arms. For a minute the only sound was the rumble of the train around them until Ginny pushed
him away from her.

"Don't Draco," she ordered. "Don't tell me what you think I want to hear
because you're scared that I might tell Ron or someone about what we saw happen. Because
I'm most definitely not going to."

"I'm not telling you this because I think you want to hear it, Weasley. I don't care
if this is what you want or not. All I know is that it's what I want."

Ginny scoffed, "So you finally know what you want. What might I ask brought about this little
epiphany?"

He stood silent making Ginny wonder what information his mind could be contemplating over. What
were the risks it was calculating?

"Well," she prodded.

He sighed. "Would you like the truth or what I'd prefer to tell you?" he asked
lightly.

"The truth is fine," she answered matching his tone.

He let out a long breath. "All right then, my only answer could be... You did."

"What? When?" she asked, confused.

"I don't know," he answered, suddenly entranced by the striped wall paper and the
taste of the inside of his cheek.

"You don't know?" she asked, vexed by his answer.

"That's what I said isn't it," he snapped as if she'd just stepped on the
tail of his new cloak.

"Yes, because 'I don't know' is a good enough answer and might I add *reason*
for you to invite yourself on my loo trip," she shot back.

"Fine, you want the truth Weasley," he started his voice dull and his arms crossed.
"When we were in the temple without question you gave everything you could to help. And for
what gain? None-"

"Not true," she said jokingly. "Two of my brother's now officially hate
me."

"Your brothers don't hate you, Weasley and if they do then they're dumber than I ever
gave them credit for but I didn't come in here to discuss your brothers-"

"Why *did* you come in here?" she asked, cutting him short.

Gray-eyes narrowed but it didn't falter her. "To thank you," he said his voice
surprisingly sincere.

Ginny was stunned silent for a moment by his gratitude and then couldn't help but laugh at the
situation. He had followed her into the toilet to attack her with outrageous accusations just to
turn right around and thank her.

"You make about as much sense as a garden gnome Draco Malfoy," she said, unable to
contain her mirth.

He only sneered at her childish insult and giggles but Ginny could see he was swallowing his
retort.

"So you attack people to show your gratitude is that it?" she asked, still grinning.
"You must have really been grateful to Harry and Ron then."

"I don't randomly attack people Weasley and I certainly didn't attack you... I baited
you. There's a difference."

"So you bait people to be thankful that clears it right up," she said, sarcasm
dripping.

"No, I baited *you* so you'd be vulnerable and frank. Nothing gets honesty better
than a flared temper . . . Especially yours."

"So everything you just said was a lie."

"Now, I didn't say that did I?...But because of you I *am* one step closer to
Mother's cure."

"Now don't credit me with that Malfoy. There were a lot more people-"

"Don't be humble, Weasley."

"I'm not, I'm being honest."

"So am I-" she said, but was cut short at the loud knock on the door.

Shocked she and Draco stared at one another. Quickly, he ushered her behind him and slid the door
open a crack before snapping it shut again. "Your brother's out there," he
whispered.

"So?"

"You don't understand he's right outside the door. He's probably curious as to why
I shut it in his face."

"So? Let's just go," she murmured, unable to see as to why they were whispering. It
was just Ron.

"As much as I'd love to hack your brother off Weasley. I'd also like to leave this
train in one piece."

"Alright Mister Cunning then what do you presume we do?"

Gray-eyes searched the walls landing on the low wooden-door under the vanity.

"Get in here," he said, opening the door to the tiny storage cupboard.

"I'm not hiding in a bloody cupboard Draco," she argued, jerking away from his
outreached hand.

"Well, I don't see anywhere else you could hide and besides compared to the priest’s hole
it looks almost roomy," he whispered.

"If it's so great then why don't *you* hide in here," she said bitterly,
squatting down into the small crawl-space between a box of cleaning potions and a pile of
paper-rolls.

"You're shorter and will naturally fit easier," he answered smirking down at her and
without another word shut the small door.

The cupboard walls were thin and Ginny could easily hear the compartment door slide open.

"Weasley," Draco addressed her brother icily.

"Malfoy," her brother's voice answered curtly. Shuffled feet accompanied the rolling
door and Ginny was prepared to plug her ears against whatever her brother planned to do when the
door suddenly eased open again.

"Finally we're alone," said a familiar voice. Stunned Ginny sat immobile. Why was
Harry in the lav with her brother and why was he so happy that they were finally alone? Curious she
pressed her ear against the door trying desperately to hear their conversation through the thin
wood.

"I know," Ron answered, "Where's Hermione?"

"Still asleep," Harry answered. "I thought she deserved it
after...everything."

"You're right... Well, do you have it?"

"Of course I have it," Harry answered and the sound of a zipper parting made Ginny wish
she were anywhere else but stuck in that supply cupboard. Damn Malfoy for thinking this was the
best place for her to hide. "Nicked it right after you left but I could only copy one of
them."

She strained her ears listening to the muffled sound of whatever was exchanging hands.

"That’s okay. This is excellent, Harry," Ron congratulated. "This should be more
than enough to get the tosser convicted."

Ginny held her breath trying to catch every word. Who was her brother trying to convict? And why
were he and Harry discussing it in a lavatory?

The quiet hiss of the locomotive brakes seemed to jostle all three of them.

Ron swore. "We're almost at the station, we'll have to finish talking about this at
home."

"Yeah, I'll go back first so we don't look suspicious," Harry offered, taking
whatever he had given Ron earlier and zipping it back up in what Ginny hoped was the pullover he
was wearing before. Harry left quietly and Ron followed after leaving the lavatory silent except
for the train's quiet hiss of their arrival.

The bitter taste of copper assaulted her and Ginny pulled her thumb from between her teeth. She was
trembling as endless unanswerable questions went streaming through her mind too frenzied to focus
on but seven words did boldly stick out: What in the hell was going on?

*~*~*

TBC

Special Thanks to: Tegan and The Lovely Lioness for being there.

And Big Thank yous to: Chikkalaura, Reese Darling, Cute Sleeper, Ezmerelda, megh, Awen and Anasis,
crazy kitten, prue1912, Fe, sexybabehp17, Miranda, Kirixchi




12. Chapter XII: Why?
---------------------

Author's Notes: Sorry, this took so long and on top of that it is un-beated so if you find
any mistakes e-mail me or leave it at the bottom thank you.

Chapter 12: Why?

*"Finally we're alone," said a familiar voice. Stunned Ginny sat immobile. Why was
Harry in the lav with her brother and why was he so happy that they were finally alone? Curious she
pressed her ear against the door trying desperately to hear their conversation through the thin
wood.

"I know," Ron answered, "Where's Hermione?"

"Still asleep," Harry answered. "I thought she deserved it
after...everything."

"You're right... Well, do you have it?"

"Of course I have it," Harry answered and the sound of a zipper parting made Ginny wish
she were anywhere else but stuck in that supply cupboard. Damn Malfoy for thinking this was the
best place for her to hide. "Nicked it right after you left but I could only copy one of
them."

She strained her ears listening to the muffled sound of whatever was exchanging hands.

"That's okay. This is excellent, Harry," Ron congratulated. "This should be more
than enough to get the tosser convicted."

Ginny held her breath trying to catch every word. Who was her brother trying to convict? And why
were he and Harry discussing it in a lavatory?

The quiet hiss of the locomotive brakes seemed to jostle all three of them.

Ron swore. "We're almost at the station, we'll have to finish talking about this at
home."

"Yeah, I'll go back first so we don't look suspicious," Harry offered, taking
whatever he had given Ron earlier and zipping it back up in what Ginny hoped was the pullover he
was wearing before. Harry left quietly and Ron followed after leaving the lavatory silent except
for the train's quiet hiss of their arrival.

The bitter taste of copper assaulted her and Ginny pulled her thumb from between her teeth. She was
trembling as endless unanswerable questions went streaming through her mind too frenzied to focus
on but seven words did boldly stick out: What in the hell was going on?
* *~*~*
Ginny bound out from the storage cupboard, skinning the naked skin of her knee against the wooden
frame as she slipped through the sliding door.

She needed to find Draco. She didn’t know why she had the sudden compulsion to find him or why it
was so imperative that she inform him of her brother and Harry’s recent conversation. Reviving the
fresh memory she couldn’t recall hearing Draco’s name used, but she ignored this observation and
let her instinct drive her as she wrestled through the sea of passengers departing the train.

The cold from the compartment window seeped through the knit cotton of Ginny’s yellow jumper as she
flattened her body against the door of an empty compartment. The crowd had grown too thick for her
to move quickly along the train and she could only close her eyes and tuck in her waist as she
waited for one large and congested wave to pass. But instead of being annoyed as she normally would
have been, Ginny found the sudden barricade a blessing as she desperately needed the time to
think.

When she found Draco exactly what was it she was she going tell him? She wasn’t positive that he
was the ‘tosser’ Ron had wanted to convict. Knowing her brother there were a number of loose
culprits who could be classified as ‘tossers’ and suppose even if it was Draco was she obligated to
warn him. Was she supposed to be a stool pigeon and betray her own brother?

“Merlin,” she breathed, taking the opportunity and weaving her way through a particularly thin spot
of witches and their trunks.
Apart from her decision that she would never use this transportation service again, Ginny had only
one other thing on her mind and that was that she needed to get back to her compartment, find Ron
and have this sorted out.

Ginny had to duck into two more niches before the bulk of passengers had left the train filthy and
bare for her to move through freely. Picking up her pace, she jogged down the empty corridor, her
eyes darting from one compartment to the next as she searched for her brother or one of his
companions. She was openly praying to whomever would listen that Harry, Ron and Hermione would be
one of the last to leave but as she quickly approached the end of the train Ginny had a feeling she
was too late.

Where in the hell are you Ron? The thought was running through Ginny’s mind when her burning knee
suddenly collided painfully with a wooden club being swung into the hall. Unable to catch herself
and Ginny watched helplessly as the red and gold carpet rose at her rapidly and like a candle blown
out the world suddenly went dark.

*~*~*

Ginny was aware that there was something not quite right about her rousing. Firstly, it wasn’t her
pillow beneath her head, Colin would never have allowed their house to wreak of disinfectant
potions the way these sheets did and faint but still audible was the sound of people mumbling. Why
would there be people in her room mumbling? Slowly as too not make a sound, Ginny rolled onto her
back. Instantly the scene of white curtains and three familiar wizards huddled together brought a
flash of memories of blood, pain and Hermione’s soothing voice and Ginny knew exactly why she was
here. The thought sent her hand to her nose to cover it superstitiously and she winced at the
painful sensation.

The unexpected movement must have grabbed the attention of the mumbling people because suddenly a
curly haired witch and a tall redhead had broken the triangle and ascended on her sitting at the
edge of her hospital bed.

“You’re awake,” Hermione beamed.

“Does it still hurt?” Ron asked, his eyes squinting as if he were trying to see through the cracks
of her fingers.

“Should I get a nurse?” Harry asked.

He was sitting alone on a white cot, dark stains splattered across his black hooded sweatshirt.
Oddly it was the first time Ginny had noticed him or the cot’s presence in her small corner of the
massive hospital room.

“Thank you, but that’s not necessary,” she said quickly.

“Take your hand away I want to see it, again,” Ron said, his bright eyes still trying to see
through the splits only causing Ginny to protect her nose more.

“See what?” Ginny asked, hoping that indeed it wasn’t her nose but knowing different.

“Come now, Gin. Your nose of course,” Ron answered.

“She’s not a sideshow, Ron,” Hermione berated, reaching out an arm and pushing Ron back. Her
brother let out a deep sigh as he reluctantly got up from his and sat next to Harry.

“What about my nose?” Ginny asked, ignoring both of them. She knew her nose hurt, she knew it was
bruised a bit, but from the way they were reacting it was as if it wasn’t there at all.

“Well, it was black, blue and a blood geyser about ten minutes ago.”

“I was bleeding that bad?” Ginny took her hand from her nose, examining her fingers for any coppery
liquid but found nothing but the same pink fingertips.

“Yes,” Ron started. “You broke your nose or at least that’s what the Mediwitch and Hermione said.
You did a pretty bad too. That’s why Hermione ordered we come here instead of repairing it
ourselves. She was afraid we might fix it wrong or something. But I think between me and Harry we
could do a pretty good-”

Feeling sudden waves of fear at her brother’s obvious ignorance to his and Harry’s abilities and
gratitude for smarter minds prevailing, Ginny was compelled to turn to Hermione. “Thank you for
keeping Mediwizard Weasley away from my nose.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who broke it. I was just trying to fix it,” Ron defended in a light voice.
The sudden acknowledgment of her brother’s improved mood contrasting to his sour disposition from
earlier in the day struck Ginny as odd. Ron was a boy who held a grudge and now he was joking with
her as if nothing had happened. She found it most peculiar.

“How exactly did it break?” Ginny asked, finding the need to move the subject along before she
began to think too much on her brother’s behavior.

Hermione’s light brown eyes darted across the room to Harry’s place on the cot beside her brother
and back as if she had done it subconsciously and Harry suddenly looked very interested in the
matching stains on the thigh of his jeans.

“You don’t know?” Hermione asked. “We thought you would know.”

“Know what?”

“Well, Harry just found you in the middle of the hall. You were unconscious, your pockets were
turned out and your jumper was covered in blood. We think you might have been robbed Ginny, you
really have no idea.”

Ginny felt a cold fear shiver up her spine. Why would anyone want to rob her? It wasn’t as if she
was wearing jewelry or carrying any money, she didn’t even have a money purse on her.

“Can you tell us what you last remember?” Ron asked, and Ginny could hear the serious note his
voice had suddenly taken on.

“The last thing I remember is jogging down the hall looking for you lot and something hitting my
leg, falling, and then-” Ginny made a slight motion with her hand.

“Darkness.”

Ginny sat back into her thin pillows as silence swept over the room, it appeared that everyone but
herself was creating their own conclusions.

“Well, it’s clear what happened,” Hermione started. “The train station’s -elves must have been
unloading the train and accidentally tossed a trunk into your way Ginny. And after they found you,
they probably needed to search your pockets for identification and when finding none, they probably
ran off to find an official. I’m sure it was a complete accident.”

“They just tossed a piece of luggage and broke my sister’s nose,” Ron said. “And we’re supposed to
be okay with that.”

“They are overworked Ron. You know that. S.P.E.W. can only do so much. We’ve certainly
liberated-”

“Ron can you fetch me a mirror,” Ginny interrupted, desperate not to send Hermione into an
impromptu S.P.E.W. lecture that would surely span the rest of the night.

“Absolutely,” Ron said, giving her a wide grin and hopping off the cot, Ginny suppressed a giggle
as she watched Harry’s jealous eyes follow her brother as he
pushed open the curtain in a series of clinks and abandoned him to a chance sermon on the bigotry
still prominent in the wizarding world. Hardly any time or conversation passed before her lanky
brother returned, a small mirror in hand and a regretful look in his eyes but fortunately for all
Hermione had exhausted herself.

Taking the handheld mirror from her brother Ginny sat up turning away from them as she examined
herself. The damage hadn’t been too harsh, a little bruising, but her nose seemed right, it seemed
fitting to her face as it always had. She stroked the bruised bridge and suddenly something shiny
caught her eye and she abandoned her own image as watched the reflections of her brother and his
best friend as they sat huddled on the cot behind her.

They had left her to her own devices, confident that she would be consumed by her vanity and not
look away from her bruised face but Ginny did. Curiosity would always win over vanity. It appeared
they were discussing something serious, she could tell with the nodding of her brother’s head and
the liquid like movement of Harry’s hands as if they were drawing out the plan themselves.

Ginny’s eyes wandered from her brother and Harry to the curly haired witch, nose deep in a
pamphlet, on the end of her bed. She couldn’t help but wonder if Hermione knew, if they had opened
up enough to let her in on their little scheme. But quickly she decided they probably couldn’t
chance Hermione having an ethical objection. No, Ginny concluded. Whatever her brother and Harry
were doing, they were most likely doing it alone.

And Ginny knew confronting her brother, calling him and Harry out in-front of everyone would do no
one any good. Ron would simply deny it. And all she would accomplish for herself would be letting
him know that she was aware of his actions.

No, she would be patient, she would watch and wait because if Ron and Harry were actually given the
time to formulate a plan then they were bound to muck it up.The vow was rolling over in Ginny’s
mind when her attention was instantly snapped to the parting of her curtained wall. Standing
between two bright mint curtains, mousy hair a mess, and tan hands tucked into his worn brown vest,
was Colin Creevey.

“Welcome home, Love,” he greeted, a warm smile parting his lips.

*~*~*

“Tired?” Colin asked, and from his shift in tone Ginny could see he wasn’t altogether pleased. It
came as no surprise to her as Ginny was slowly growing accustomed to people being unhappy with her.
Ron, Harry and Hermione had left shortly after his arrival, with hugs and well wishes on their
tongues but as Colin swung the curtains shut Ginny could feel the change in his attitude. Where he
had been so light and charming in the company of her brother and friends, he was now anything but
happy go lucky.

“I asked if you were tired, Gin?” He repeated, cold brown eyes staring at her as he sank onto the
end of her bed.

“Of course I am,” she replied lightly. “Can you believe I might have been robbed?” she quickly
asked, hoping that a change in subject would bring about a change in her best friend’s mood.

“Absolutely,” he answered, nonchalantly smoothing the fabric of her duvet.

Surprised, Ginny felt her mouth go agape before she had composed herself. “Pardon?”

“Well, what else do you expect hanging about with Draco Malfoy? A life filled with sunshine and
daisies, not even you’re that naive Ginny.”

“So, you think that I deserved to be clubbed and have my nose broken because I’m working with Draco
Malfoy?! Is that it?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Gin. I don’t blame you for a single thing but you’re putting your
life in danger working for that twit. You have to understand that I’m only worried about your
safety.”

“My safety?” she mimicked, biting into her bottom lip. “When has Draco put me in any real danger
that I didn’t walk into voluntarily?”

“How many times had our home been broken into before you befriended Malfoy? How many times had you
landed yourself in a hospital? How many times had you gone weeks without speaking to your brother?
How many times had Bill ever rowed with you?”

“How did you know about Bill?” Ginny asked, her voice softened.

“That’s not important,” Colin replied evenly.

“Of course it’s not,” Ginny whispered to herself, looking down at her bitten nails as she crushed
them into her palms. “Is there anything else I should know about Colin or is your little rant
over?”

“No,” he answered, pushing himself off her bed but Ginny refused to follow him. “As long as you’re
working for Malfoy we won’t give him any rest-”

“We?” she asked, snapping her head up to lock eyes with her best friend.

He seemed to be momentarily surprised by her question and simply looked down at her, his eyes once
again the warm brown that she had always known. He sighed once, before sitting down next to her,
his small hand laying on one of her crossed knees.

“It’s no secret that your brother loves you very much Ginny and he would do anything to protect
you,” he started, his voice both soft and serious. “It’s also no secret that he hates Malfoy just
as much.”

*~*~*

Third bed on the left, is what the medi-witch had confirmed at the reception desk but what she had
failed to tell Draco was that the room in which Ginny Weasley was staying was absolutely freezing.
However, despite the uncomfortable cold Draco repeated the confirmation in his head and slowly
walked down the long aisle of dressed beds. The nauseous scent of strong medicine filled his
nostrils, it was a smell that he knew would eventually bind itself to his mother replacing the
jasmine perfume she had always worn, and it made him gag. He was well aware that he shouldn’t have
been here, he had no business visiting her, but after he’d read the letter he knew he would take
his self-chastising later.

Draco had been grasping at the threads of sleep, his body taking the last plunge of relaxation when
he’d been brought back to reality by a tiny voice. The room’s fire had still been lit and he
needn’t any recovery time as he quickly glanced around his room and found the source of the frantic
voice. His house-elf Tink was standing by his bed, her head barely visible by its horizon but over
her head, she held a small pink envelope on her pale green palm.

His first instinct had been to drown his tiny house-elf and her bloody pink envelope but
fortunately for Tink Draco had learned to curb such compulsions and merely snatched the letter from
her hand. With finesse, he’d torn it open and read it over twice before tossing it away as he’d
made his way to his wardrobe.

It had been written by an informant of his, a medi-witch he had placed on his payroll to track the
health of his Father but in September when Ginny Weasley had agreed to work with him he’d had her
name placed on the list as well. At the time he had done it, Draco had thought it to be a foolish
purchase, something he merely wanted for security, but as he approached Ginny Weasley’s curtained
bed, he was validated in spending the few extra galleons.

His hand was raised to the mint green curtain when the sound of a male voice stilled him. It was
familiar, a high-pitched sound that had grated his nerves for years when he’d attended
Hogwarts.

“Well, you and Ron have anything to worry about,” answered a female. Draco snatched his had away,
shoving it into the deep pockets of his robe. He had recognized that voice instantly, somehow he
knew he’d never be able to forget it, it was Ginny Weasley.

“Ginny,” the male answered, and from its whiny tinge Draco felt he could almost see the person it
belong to.

“What Colin?” she asked, obviously agitated. “I understand that my actions were foolish. I not only
put myself in danger but I put my family and friends in danger as well. It was selfish and stupid
and I’m not going to do it again.”

Draco set his jaw as he watched the mint green curtain.
“What are you saying?” Creevey asked and from the shuffling of fabric Draco knew one of them had
moved on the bed.

“I’m not going to be helping Malfoy any more,” she said confidently.

Draco’s stomach dropped as he curled his toes and balled his fists.

“I’m not your brother or Hermione, Ginny. I know how you felt about Malfoy. You told me yourself as
if you were his Great Defender.”

“He doesn’t mean anything to me, Colin,” she continued. “It was just a childish crush.”

“And you discovered this in the last two days?” Creevey asked skeptical.

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “More happened in those two days that you could possibly imagine, Colin.
And Draco Malfoy, proved to me exactly what kind of person he truly is.”

Draco took a soft step away from the curtain, his fists were shaking inside his robe and the world
was beginning to cloud. His rational mind pleaded from him to leave but white rage was swimming
through his veins and Draco both loved and feared what he knew he would do to Colin Creevey if the
curtain were to be suddenly drawn back.

“I’m sorry, Gin,” announced the effeminate voice behind his mint wall of protection.

“Me too,” she replied and at the sound of her voice Draco knew he could stomach none of it any
longer.

*~*~*

Ronald Weasley had been laying on his bed for an hour, staring at the poster Hermione had given him
from his birthday two years ago. On a normal night he would have already taken his brightly colored
cover and his pillow and fallen asleep on the floor. But tonight as the moon shone through his
sheer curtains keeping his room lit, he sat awake and waiting for someone.

He wasn’t startled as the door creaked open and the sound of bare feet walked across the wooden
boards of his floor, and he didn’t move as the mattress swayed and sunk accepting new weight.

The room was silent, not even their breathing was above a whisper and finally Ron turned on his bed
to face his best friend and vocalize a thought that had been swimming inside his mind.

“She might hate us you know?”

“I know,” answered Harry, his deep voice confident.

“But we have to do this,” Ron continued.

“I know,” he repeated.

Suddenly, a new thought crossed into Ron’s mind. He could feel a smile tugging at the sides of his
mouth as he sat up resting his back against his headboard and coming eye to eye with his best
friend. “She might hate us, Harry, but Malfoy will have finally gotten everything he has ever
deserved. The little slug will finally be paying for some of the damaged him and his family have
caused the wizarding world. Hell, they’ll probably throw us another parade if you think about
it.”

“It's going to make a lot of people happy,” Harry answered, and even in the dark Ron could tell
a smile had tugged at Harry’s lips too.

TBC...

I'm sorry this chapter was much shorter than my previous chapters. It had been apart of a much
longer chapter but after I'd read it I determined that the content must stand alone. The
following chapter will be a good deal longer and I should have it uploaded in less than a week. So
thank you to whoever is still reading this and I hope you enjoyed it.