Chapter 1 - On Condition
"I don't know about this," Bill said, crossing his arms and looking at his father.
"And what are we suppose to do? Turn over a fifteen year old boy and his comatose mother to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," Arthur Weasley sighed as he turned his gaze over to the blond boy sitting by his kitchen window. "Because that's exactly what we're going to do if we don't help them."
Bill sat down and ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. He was perhaps more disturbed by his young fiancée's instant camaraderie with Draco than he was with actually helping a Malfoy. The instant Fleur had set eyes on the blond's sharp aristocratic features, she attached herself to his arm. He responded to her in perfect French and she was in raptures over the "deere boi." She asked him if he was a Veela (no), how many languages he spoke (four, excluding English and he could only read in Farsi) and to everyone else's utter confusion but theirs, if he knew the proper table setting for a Sunday champagne brunch (apparently, yes he did).
But Bill followed his father's gaze to the teenage boy sitting beside the window. Remus Lupin was walking towards him, holding two mugs of hot chocolate, but he thought he never saw anyone look so lonely in his life. He nodded at his father. "Yeah, we need to help him."
Meanwhile, Remus had placed a steaming mug under Draco's nose. Draco looked up, even though he knew who it was. "Thanks," he said awkwardly.
Remus waved a hand. "No need really. Though perhaps an explanation would be nice. A further one, I mean."
Draco nodded. He knew what his former professor was referring to, of course. Showing up at the Weasley doorstep with his story would not have required a more in-depth explanation. But showing up with the intent of seeking the aid of a werewolf was another thing altogether. Draco took a sip of his hot chocolate and gave Remus a slight smirk. "Dark chocolate. One marshmallow. You still remember it's my mother's favorite."
Remus averted his gaze and set his mug down on the sill. "Mr. Malfoy, I…"
"It's Draco, Professor," his companion interrupted.
"Well then, it's Remus," the other replied, finally looking into silver-blue eyes so much like Narcissa Malfoy's and at the same time, so much their own.
"She never knew."
Remus felt an old tug of pain vibrate through his chest but he only cleared his throat. "Mr. Mal-, Draco, this is not the time to talk of the past."
"It is if the past still matters," Draco said firmly. He also set his mug down and reached into the inner pocket of his robe, pulling out two letters. "She never saw them. I found them only today in my father's desk. I'm not asking you to help her because of what I can do for you. I don't want that kind of help, though I'm willing to offer it. I want you to help her because you still love her."
Remus reached out for the letters with a trembling hand but drew them back. "No…no, I can't take them back. Not yet. But…I'm not sure what I can do."
"Well, if you love her, I figured you would do anything you could."
"Just like you did," Remus said more to himself than the boy in front of him. He nodded at Draco before turning towards the other men in the room. He had to convince them to save the Malfoys.
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Ginny Weasley was in a sour mood. She had just been in Diagon Alley, buying new school robes and her mother, despite the money flowing in from the twins' business, insisted on shopping in the bargain rack and purchasing a nice lavender 'fixer-upper' with frills. And just as they were leaving the shop, an owl had accosted her. It was yet another letter from her boyfriend, Dean Thomas, complaining about how she never wrote to him. 'Well, that's a fine way to make me do it,' she had thought. And now, after spending an entire day with her mother, she had to return to a house full of Phlegm (otherwise known as the snotty Fleur Delacour).
She stomped into the Burrow, her mother crying after her, "You have to remember to do the password question first!"
Ginny only continued stomping upstairs and after throwing her purchases on her bed, rifled through her drawers for some comfortable clothing. She needed to take a long relaxing bath. But when she got to the bathroom, the door was lock. Her brothers never locked the door. She supposed she should be grateful but impatient as she was at the moment, she dropped her items and began pounding on the door. "Get out! I want to take a bath!"
She heard the shower turn off and in moments, the door opened. She flew at her brother, expecting the usual tussle before she could gain access to the bathroom. Instead, she found herself on top of a very startled, dripping wet and half-naked Draco Malfoy.
Ginny opened her mouth to scream but merely let her jaw fall slack as she stared at the boy beneath her. His alabaster skin was far too pale, she told herself, as she admired its smoothness. And his hair is all messy, she thought, as her fingers itched to make it ever more chaotic. She hardly realized her fingers were creeping up his chest until Draco grabbed her wrists and ended her progress up.
"What are you doing?" he asked mildly.
"What-uh, what, what?" she replied stupidly.
One side of Draco's lips quirked up in a half-smile and Ginny didn't know if she wanted to smack him or kiss him. She yelped at the unbidden thought and scrambled off him. Draco pushed himself up with his elbows and seemed to unfold upward with ridiculous grace.
"You're too thin," Ginny said accusingly as she averted her eyes. She was actually glancing at him (covertly, she believed) in the mirror. He was wearing a far too small towel around his waist.
"I apologize for not meeting up to your standards," he drawled in his familiar Malfoy tone.
Ginny narrowed her eyes and tried not to blush as she stared at a point just above his shoulder. "What are you doing in my house?" A sudden thought struck Ginny. She advanced menacingly toward the much taller boy, finger pointed at his bare chest. "What did you do to my family? Because I swear if you so much-"
"Right, Weasley. I broke into your home, and attacked all fifteen of your armed brothers and then I decided, hey, why don't I just take a bath since everyone's tied up downstairs? There are only, what, twenty three of you in total? I'm sure no one will return in the meantime and ship me off to Azkaban to join my father and his merry men." Draco crossed his arms and looked down at the top of the Weasley girl's head. "Be reasonable, won't you, Weasley?"
Now Ginny was really blushing. "Well…I uh, Malfoy…" she threw her hands up in frustration. Her day was just getting worse and worse. She couldn't even complete a full sentence and she couldn't help but noticed how attractive a dripping wet ferret could be.
Draco frowned. "Don't call me that."
"Don't call you what?"
"Malfoy. Don't call me that. I'm not my father," he said quietly.
Ginny's head snapped up and she peered at the boy before her. It seemed like an odd thing to say. At least, an odd thing for him to say. Draco Malfoy had always been proud to be his father's son, hadn't he? But it certainly didn't sound like it only moments ago. "I thought you admired your father."
"We're not the same person," he said so harshly that Ginny stepped back. Draco rubbed his temple. The aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse hadn't left him altogether and standing in the drafty bathroom with only a towel around his waist certainly didn't help.
"Well, I think I can manage to call you Draco if you stop calling me Weasley," Ginny finally said as she grabbed Ron's raggedly robe and handed it to Draco.
The blond took the robe and threw it around his shoulders. "Sure, but on one condition."
Ginny's eyes narrowed. Of course, there were always conditions with Malfoys, weren't there? "What?"
"If you tell me your name."