A Common Cure

It had taken him three weeks but Draco managed to disarm the wards to his father’s private study. He knew his father well enough, or at least better than the Aurors that had failed to gain access to it, to manage the feat. But once he was inside, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. Draco knew his father’s deepest secrets could be found within the blood-red walls of the room but he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what they were. So he closed it up again and sought his mother in the garden.

But she was not alone. His mother’s soft voice was raised to a hysterical shriek and Draco barreled around the corner, wand drawn, anxiety gripping his chest. The only thing he saw were blood-red eyes, and for a moment he thought he was back in his father’s study again, before the Cruciatus curse brought him to his knees.

A throbbing headache accompanied Draco’s return to consciousness. His body sought the peace of oblivion but the sudden recollection of his mother caused him to bolt up. Pain shot up and down his spine and he crumbled to the ground once again. “Mum,” he croaked.

Silence greeted him. He crawled along on his hands and knees, the darkness of the night making it difficult to see anything. He tried to keep his eyes focused and though only mere seconds had ensued before he caught sight of his mother’s long blonde hair, it felt like years.

“Mum,” he whimpered. He pulled her still form towards her and his own heart pounded so furiously in his chest that he almost missed the sound of her shallow breathing. But he could not wake Narcissa Malfoy and when he placed his cold hands to her, he did not feel the surge of power that always took over him when he healed a creature. So he smoothed his mother’s silky hair back from her beautiful face, something she had always done to him when he was a little boy or sick in bed, and waited until he was strong enough to carry her back into the manor.

As it were, his noble actions were unnecessary. The house elves were anxious when they didn’t receive an order for supper and finally, a few ventured to look for their mistress. Fossett (Draco’s 4^th birthday present) squeaked in indignation and surprise to find his young Master and mother in such a deplorable state. He whisked them back to their respective bedrooms and treated them with utmost care but Fossett soon learned what Draco already knew, that there was no simple cure for whatever Narcissa had sustained.

Draco knew he hardly loved anything in his entire life but he did know he loved his mother. His recovery was quick, as it usually was, though he winced when he rolled off his bed and onto the wood floor. Once he was on his feet, however, he did not know what to do or more to the point, who to go to. After all, if the Dark Lord was angry enough to invade Lucius Malfoy’s home and curse his family to an inch of their life, he was pretty certain no Death Eater would provide them haven. And who did he know but Death Eaters? He was a Slytherin after all. Zabini. But no, just because he didn’t think Blaise would join forces with the Dark or had any immediate connections with Death Eaters didn’t mean he or his mother would be willing to risk their lives for others. Then red hair and freckles entered his head. He entertained the notion for a moment but he let it pass as well. Even if the Weasleys would help him, he didn’t know how to contact them.

Draco could almost feel his face harden in resolution. He would find someone or something that could be of use. He was not willing to bet on whether Lucius would choose his family or the Dark Lord and he had to make sure the fanatical half-Muggle would not be able to access him and his mother, by any means. Draco looked in on the still unconscious Narcissa before grabbing a handful of silk handkerchiefs. He slid down the banister to the living room and headed to the back kitchen where he started handing them out to the house elves who began crying and gripping onto his trousers. “Stop it, stop it. You can still work for us if you want!” They immediately let go his expensive clothing and smiled. “Just know that you are free from following whatever orders my father may give if he ever comes back.”

Fossett pushed his way to Draco and bowed deeply. “We are willing to serve you, young Master.”

Draco nodded, feeling awkward but grateful nonetheless. Knowing that he had inspired loyalty from something by a better means than fear felt heady. But he had no time to dwell on that. Draco gave the elves instructions to pack their things and left them to find Graves, the Malfoys’ aptly named ghostly butler, and told him to warn him if any ‘guests’ dared venture into the Manor.

And then Draco again stood in his father’s study, with feelings considerably different from what they were that morning. He tore through the room, overturning stacks of carefully organized documents, wrenching out drawers in his father’s desk, pulling books from the shelves. Though afterwards, the state of things indicated the blond Slytherin had been in a mad rage, Draco had actually been calm, diligent and methodical above all. He did not miss the secret drawer in his father’s desk but smirked when his instincts had been rewarded by a sliding panel in the almost flawless wood. His father was a paranoid man after all. But Draco had been particularly surprised to learn his father’s deepest secret did not concern Death Eaters activity but his mother.

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Finding where the Weasleys lived turned out to be less of an issue that Draco had originally thought. His father seemed to have a ‘hit list’ of sorts, with exquisite details of his enemies’ whereabouts, history and favorite foods. Herbert Chorley, Albus Dumbledore, Allen Meadle, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ted Tonks, Arthur Weasley. Apparently his father did not seem to think much of women. And then there was one particular wizard conspicuously missing from the list.

“You love your mum,” Draco muttered under his breathe as he crossed the lawn to the dilapidated home of the red-haired Weasleys. He knocked on the wooden door and it was some moments before an accented French voice asked, “Whose iz sit?”

Draco pondered whether he should reply in French before he shook his head and said clearly, “Draco Malfoy.”

There was no response but then he heard a scurry of activity on the other side of the door before it was flung open and he found three wands pointed at his nose. Arthur Weasley was peering at him with great curiosity while another member of the Weasley brood, a tall man with long locks and an earring, had a determined, almost fierce, expression on his face. Draco settled his eyes on the bearer of the third wand, a tired looking man with soft brown eyes. “Professor Lupin, I’ve been looking for you.”

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.”

Chapter 2 – Down the Rabbit Hole

A/N: Just to clear up any confusion, Draco knows Ginny’s last name, but alas, couldn’t be bothered with learning her given name.

Also, thanks for reading and reviewing! I really appreciate it!

Dinner at the Burrow was an uneasy affair. Draco had wanted to remain upstairs with his mother but Mrs. Weasley insisted on having him sit with the rest of them at the dining room table. Draco almost commented that a dining room table would generally be in the dining room, not the kitchen, but managed to bite his lip rather forcibly instead. Having brought an army of house elves with him, Draco left them strict instructions to contact him if there was any change in his mother’s condition before sighing and trudging downstairs.

Fred had come home to enjoy his mother’s cooking while his twin brother was on a date with Angelina Johnson. To his utter delight and amusement, he had come across Draco and Ginny in the bathroom. He laughed about it throughout dinner and Ginny, who sat diagonally across from Draco, merely played with her food the entire time. Bill was busy trying to keep Fleur’s attention focused on him but she would start up inconsequential discussions in French with Draco and it took all of Bill’s means of persuasion to distract Fleur once again. Remus had excused himself to think of the woman he once loved and perhaps still loved and managed to do what Draco was dying to do, sit beside Narcissa’s bedside.

Mrs. Weasley kept asking Draco trivial questions that made his head spin a little.

“How many O.W.L.s did you take?”

“All of them.”

“Oh, that’s very impressive. Bill and P-Percy,” Mrs. Weasley had trouble saying Percy’s name and had to pause for a moment, “took every O.W.L. too. What is your favorite subject?”

“Well, I suppose Potions. Though I like Transfiguration too.”

“And what is your favorite food, dear?”

“I rather enjoy lentils. Lentil soup.” He looked down at his mashed potatoes. “But these are good too.”

“Are you fond of potatoes then?”

“Uh, not particularly. But I do enjoy it on occasion.”

“Oh that’s nice. But you haven’t touched the ham.”

Draco did not know how potatoes and ham could be attached with an opposing contraction such as ‘but’ in their particular conversation but let it pass and instead, replied somewhat awkwardly, “I don’t eat it.”

“Excuse me, dear?”

“I’m a vegetarian.”

“Oh,” was all Mrs. Weasley could manage.

Even Ginny had looked up during that comment, not that she was listening intently the entire time. There were moments she was telling herself not to listen intently as well.

“Are you really or are you just trying to be polite, Malfoy?” Fred said with a mouthful of ham.

Draco made a face. Fred’s manners were deplorable, exactly like Crabbe and Goyle’s during meals.

“Don’t call him Malfoy,” Ginny finally said when Draco remained silent. She also didn’t like the look on his face. It was a bit of the old Draco creeping back in. “Wait, when was there ever a new Draco?”

She didn’t realized she had made the last comment out loud until she noticed all eyes were turned to her. Ginny again dropped her eyes to the plate and Fred barked, “I suppose seeing Draco in only a towel has made our sister go bonkers.”

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When Ginny snuck downstairs to the pantry later that night, she was surprised to find a shivering Draco Malfoy wrapped up in a blanket with an open book in his lap. She closed the pantry door and sat across from him.

“I seem to run into you a lot.”

Draco managed to arch an eyebrow. “Is twice a lot?”

Ginny scowled. “Are you always this sarcastic?”

“What do you think, Gin?”

Ginny smiled a little. Only her favorite brother, Charlie, called her that. She had been somewhat angry that Draco didn’t know her name but she supposed other than the Bat-Boogey Hex, he had little reason to notice her. It still stung, of course, but she had managed to accept it without her Weasley temper taking over.

“You could use a warming charm, you know,” she chastised.

Draco shook his head. “I’m not exactly cold.”

“Your shaking indicates otherwise.”

Draco looked at her for a moment before pushing his hair out of his eyes. He had not slicked it back or combed it meticulously as he generally did and now, despite his efforts, it fell in haphazard strands past his brow. Ginny thought it was a good look for him. “It’s from the Cruciatus Curse.”

“Oh.” After a moment, she asked in a trembling voice. “Who-o?”

Draco snorted. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“But why? What have you got to do-”

“I’ve got everything to do with it, don’t I?” The question hung heavy in the air before Draco spoke again. He shook more violently this time. “No, I don’t have anything to do with it. And certainly my mother never did. It was because my father was such a wanker, following a fanatical half-Blood calling for purity. It’s all so foolish and we, his family, have to pay for his failure.”

“So you don’t believe in it? In purity?”

Draco sighed. “I thought I did. I grew up believing in a lot of things my father once said, you know.” He rubbed his eyes. “But I don’t know anymore. It’s like I went down the rabbit hole.”

“What?” Ginny didn’t understand the phrase he used.

“I tried to stop Potter,” Draco said instead.

Ginny gasped. “You mean, from going to the Ministry?”

“Yeah. Unlike that other fool, I’m rather adept at Occlumency.”.

“Why would you do that for Harry?” Whatever Draco meant by the rabbit hole, she was sure she was going down it too.

“I didn’t. I did it for my mother. I did it for myself. What if Voldemort had succeeded? I would have been branded with the Dark Mark before I was even sixteen. I have seen what Death Eaters do for…amusement. I might be a lot of things but I’m not a rapist or a murderer.”

Ginny nodded, believing in the firmness of his voice, the intensity of his silver eyes and the faint shuddering of his damaged body. “So what are you going to do now?”

Draco sighed. “Your father just returned from Order Headquarters. They will protect my mother until I can cure her. In exchange, I will work for them.”

Ginny sat up, her entire body rigid. Her voice again trembled as she whispered, “As a spy?”

“No, as a healer.”

Draco reached a pale hand out and his finger gently grazed a scar on Ginny’s cheek. He could see the fear and confusion in the youngest Weasley’s brown eyes. “Where did you get that?” But he already knew the answer. Her mind was open to him.

“At the battle in the Department of Mysteries.”

Draco gave her a sad half-smirk. “You Gryffs are so foolishly brave,” he said as he traced the scar with the tip of his finger. He felt the tingle of power vibrate in his hand as he healed the mark on her freckled cheek.

Ginny reached up and felt smooth skin instead of the scar she had expected. “How did you do that? And without a wand?”

Draco shifted and closed the book in his lap before responding. “I’ve always been able to do that.”

Ginny stared at him. Her eyes felt oddly unfocused but they were in fact focused. Just, it was on Draco and only Draco. Everything else around her seemed distant, blurred, unimportant.

“Draco.”

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say your name. Because that’s who you are. You’re not your father. You’re…Draco, just Draco.” Ginny looked down, feeling foolish for saying something so simple, and did not see him lean forward. He was already pressing his lips gently to hers before she realized he was kissing her and she at long last pushed her fingers into his silky blond strands, something she had wanted to do since she had accosted him in the bathroom that afternoon.

Anyone noticed the Muggle reference? Any guesses on how it will play out in this story? (Probably too early for you to tell but it will become apparent soon enough...)

Chapter 3 – Once Upon a Time

“Hey Ginny, do you want to get a compartment together?”

Once upon a time, Ginny Weasley wouldn’t have been more pleased by such a request from the Boy-Who-Lived. But since that time had long passed, she had to force herself to smile instead. “Sorry, I told Dean I would meet up with him.”

She barely noticed Harry’s face drop before she turned away and continued heading down the corridor. She, in fact, had no plans of meeting up with her boyfriend. Or rather, ex-boyfriend, but Ginny didn’t need to explain herself to Harry Potter.

As she walked briskly past the compartments, she barely acknowledged her housemates, keeping her eyes open instead for a certain tall blond Slytherin. Ever since the kiss they shared in the pantry, all she could think about was Draco. His lips on hers, the warmth that radiated from him as healed her, his hands on her skin. She had never felt anything so intense in her life. And the next morning, he was gone.

All summer she had hoped he would write or somehow contact her, let her know that he had felt something too, but she hadn’t heard from him. Of course, her parents had forbidden any of them to speak of him. As far as she knew, even George didn’t know what his twin was privy to. So for the ensuing weeks she wondered whether he had only wanted a quick snog or if he had been thinking about her too.

‘Bloody hell,’ she thought. ‘I must be insane. A Malfoy.’

She was near the back of the train by now and feeling rather embarrassed about having scoured its entire length for a boy she had no claim to but had somehow claimed her without doing anything more than learning her name and kissing her breathless. Though she suppose there was something to be said about being kissed breathless.

But in a rational world, this would’ve never happened. She would’ve continued seeing Dean or some other nice bloke from Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Maybe even Hufflepuff, for Merlin’s sake! But a Slytherin. The Prince of Slytherin, no less. No, in a rational world, she wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with Draco Malfoy, she wouldn’t have only wanted Draco Malfoy.

She was ready to turn back when an odd sensation arrested her. She whirled around as a compartment door slid open and Tonks tripped out. Instead of the brightly colored locks that Ginny had become accustomed to, the older witch sported long, glamorous honey curls.

Disappointment and surprise clashed to evoke a strange facial expression from Ginny but she managed to recover quickly enough to give the older witch a strained smile.

“Wotcher, Ginny! What are you doing back here?” Tonks said brightly.

“Oh, just following the trolley,” Ginny replied as casually as she could manage. She unconsciously pulled at her bright red hair. “Don’t know where it disappeared to.”

“Well,” Tonks muttered as she dug into the pockets of her robe, “lucky for you, I’m always well stashed.” She pulled out a chocolate frog and handed it to the girl with an overexaggerated wink.

Ginny took the proffered frog and smiled her thanks. Without any other excuse to loiter down there any longer, Ginny turned to leave just as the panel behind Tonks slid open again and Draco Malfoy stepped out.

Draco’s appearance caused a genuine smile to tug at Ginny’s lips but the corners of her mouth soon drooped into a frown as she realized she had gone both unnoticed and forgotten. Draco was leaning against the doorframe, his head bent down towards Tonks but Ginny could barely see him. The other witch had completely turned her back to her and nearly covered the Gryffindor’s entire view of him though a shock of white blond hair was still visible above Tonks.

She could hardly hear them either; they were speaking so low, their heads close together. But the quiet, fluid words exchanged between them were certainly not in English. French, perhaps? It frustrated Ginny to no end that she had been unceremoniously shunted to the sidelines. And she let out a huff as she kicked the wall beside Tonks.

“Uh, something wrong, Ginny?”

Of course, feeling forgotten and invisible didn’t necessarily make a person so. Especially when they went about announcing it with such physical expressions as kicking. Ginny could feel the blush creep up her cheeks and she studiously ignored the mercurial eyes peering at her from behind Tonks’ curious brown gaze as she responded, “Yes. Just, um, dancing and forgot my surroundings. You know how that happens.” She let out a forced laugh while mentally berating herself. Dancing and forgot my surroundings? This was worse than the time she dropped porridge at the mere sight of Harry or accidently kissed Michael’s teeth after their first date.

“Sure, Ginny,” Tonks offered diplomatically. She patted the girl on the arm before turning to Draco. “I’ll be right back.”

Ginny nearly opened her mouth to protest. Granted, she had been looking for Draco but after her little sideshow, she didn’t think she could face Draco one-on-one at the moment. She closed her eyes briefly while waiting for him to address her. But when he made no comment, she shyly peered at him through her lashes, expecting to see his trademark sneer, or perhaps, she hoped, a friendly smile. But all she saw was his retreating back.

“Hey!” she cried, quickly forgetting her recent humiliation. She stuck her foot in the door before he was able to close it and squeezed through after him.

“What do you want, Weasley?” The question was hard and harsh.

“Oh, back to last names now, are we, Malfoy?” Ginny said, crossing her arms angrily. She couldn’t believe him. He acted as though nothing had happened between them. When he remained silent, with his back towards her, she marched up to him and grabbed his arm to turn him around and was surprised when he actually complied. But only when he fell back against the wall did she realize she had caught him off balance and was in no position to resist anyone anyway.

From up close, she could see he was rather ill. She recalled telling him in the summer that he was too thin but now, his cheekbones were prominent. She could see gray circles under his eyes and a general feeling of exhaustion seemed to emanate from him. Reaching out with tentative fingers, she brushed his blond locks from his face. His fringe was now long enough to graze his cheek.

He flinched backward but didn’t say anything.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ginny asked quietly.

Still he didn’t say anything, just stare at her with his silver-blue eyes. Ginny couldn’t look away and without realizing it, she had inched forward so that she was mere inches away from his face and she could hear and feel his shallow breathing. He didn’t move away this time and Ginny stood on the tips of her feet to close the gap between them when the panel slid open.

Tonks walked in, her usual cheery smile on her face. But when she saw Ginny, it wavered until it settled into a straight line. “Um, Ginny, you’re still here, aren’t you.” If it was meant to be a question, it came out as a statement.

Ginny had turned around when Tonks walked in but she was still very close to Draco. She could feel him behind her. “Yes.”

“I think you should go.”

“What?” Ginny had never seen Tonks serious before and it was almost menacing. Ginny turned to Draco in her confusion, but he was no longer looking at her. In fact, he was leaning back against the wall, his eyes half-closed, his hands rubbing his temple. It was as though she wasn’t there. That no one was there except him.

Tonks walked over to Ginny and placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her out. Ginny looked up at Tonks in surprise. The older witch looked almost angry, her lips set in a tight line. “I’ll see you later, Ginny.” But her voice was unfriendly and she nearly pushed the younger witch out of the compartment. Tonks slammed the panel shut and Ginny heard the lock click behind her.

Ginny didn’t know what was happening but she had never been so bewildered before.

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A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing! The next installment will be posted within a few days but generally speaking, I need a little more time. I’m a law student and high marks are essential so I apologize if I can’t post very regularly but such is the life I have chosen. Also, in the next chapter, Ginny will figure out what is happening with Draco. Don’t worry, he isn’t merely being terrible. Again, thanks for all the encouragement to post. I probably would have taken a day or two longer if it wasn’t for the pressure. ;)

Chapter 4 – Blood

Draco was usually the last one to arrive at the Prefect meetings and the first one to leave. So after a week of staring at his decrepitating form from across the Great Hall, Ginny decided that the only way she would ever talk to him properly was to forgo a Prefect meeting and catch him as he returned to his quarters. She knew Ron would hound her about her absence afterwards but at this point, she didn’t care. She felt as though she was going insane.

After waiting nearly an hour under a jutting archway in a dim hall leading down to the dungeons, Ginny began to wonder if insanity ran in her family. The only thing that had haunted the empty corridor between the eighteenth and nineteenth hour had been the Bloody Baron. He even told her she had better things to do than sit there. Only Slytherins walked down this way, he added before disappearing through an adjacent wall. Ginny was sure he had meant it as a warning but she was also sure that that was what she wanted.

She was looking at the wristwatch she had swiped from Percy last summer when she finally heard heavy footsteps echo down the hall. Ginny quickly scrambled up as a flash of blond hair passed her. Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled him into the empty classroom behind her. Before she even had a chance to say a word to him though, the tip of his wand was against her temple.

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw his attacker. He had meant to point his wand at a much taller person’s chest, not at a young girl’s head. He lowered his wand but narrowed his eyes. “What the hell do you want?”

“Do you have to be so nasty all the time?” Ginny shot back. Her eagerness to talk to Draco quickly dissipated as annoyance and anger took over.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so ill-tempered if you didn’t drag me into dark classrooms all the time,” he sneered.

“All the time? This is the first time I’ve done it!”

“Well, don’t make a habit of it,” he snapped back. He suddenly cocked his head to the side as he looked at her.

“What?” she huffed. His gaze made her nervous and self-conscious.

“Even in this bad light, I can tell you’re red.”

“You prat!” Reaching out, she slapped him on the arm.

“Ow! You don’t have to be so defensive,” Draco muttered, stepping back and rubbing his arm. “After all, you’re the one who mauled me.”

“Mauled you? I hardly did anything of the sort!” And before Ginny could straighten her thoughts or even think for that matter, because afterwards she would tell herself she hadn’t been thinking at all, she cried, “This is mauling you.”

Draco backed up as Ginny threw herself at him. He nearly overbalanced but managed to hold himself up on the edge of a desk before Ginny’s mouth met his in a hungry sloppy kiss. Their teeth clanked against each another’s and their tongues fought for dominance. When they finally broke apart, they both could tell by the state of disarray the other one was in that each had been thoroughly snogged.

For a moment, their heavy breathing filled the enclosed air but Draco finally managed, “What the hell was that?”

It was certainly not the response Ginny was anticipating. She felt tears prick the corner of her eyes and she pushed past him to get to the door. But just as she was about to turn the knob, she felt rough hands grab her waist and spin her around. Before she knew it, she was against the door. “What the hell?” Ginny breathed.

Draco didn’t respond, he just leaned in.

This time, the kiss was much slower but somehow, just as intense. All the troubles that had been weighing him down since the summer seemed far off as he concentrated on Ginny’s wet lips. He relaxed against her warm body and she accommodated him by pulling him as close as she possibly could. He thought he could stay there forever.

But several minutes of intense snogging later, Draco could feel his knees shake. He pulled back abruptly and slid down to the floor, bringing Ginny with him. He laid flat on his back, barely able to breathe.

“Draco?” she cried in a panicked voice. He was practically hyperventilating and his pupils were so dilated, his eyes looked almost black. Not knowing what else to do, Ginny gently brought his head to rest in her lap as he tried to gain his breath. It was some time later before he croaked, “I don’t think I can do this.”

Ginny’s chest constricted. “What’s wrong with you?”

But Draco only shook his head. He rolled off her lap and scrambled to a kneeling position before he was able to get on his feet. He swayed slightly, the room spinning dizzyingly around him.

“Draco?” To Ginny, it looked like he would fall at any moment.

“I’m too tired,” he finally said.

“You do look exhausted,” Ginny replied carefully, almost fearing that the wrong words would cause him to break.

Looking around him for a moment, Draco moved back until he was leaning against the wall. His head was throbbing again but he couldn’t manage to bring his hands up to soothe his pain. He closed his eyes and almost dozed off against the wall. It was possible that he had. In any case, when he opened his eyes again, he saw a pair of concerned brown eyes peering at him.

They looked at each other in silence. Draco too tired to really focus, Ginny unable to see past his fatigue. “What have you been doing for the Order? You’re just healing people, aren’t you?”

“It’s not that simple,” he mumbled.

“Well, I supposed you can’t tell me. No one tells me anything,” Ginny sighed.

“You only think you want to know because you don’t know,” he said quietly. “You don’t want to know.”

Ginny’s anger flared. “Don’t tell me what I want and don’t want!”

“You don’t even know what it is you want,” Draco said in an exasperated tone.

“I want you!”

Draco blinked in surprise. He supposed after the past half hour he shouldn’t have been so astonished but he was nonetheless.

“You should answer when a woman speaks to you,” Ginny said, emphasizing each word by stabbing a finger into his chest. Or rather, the air in front of his chest. She was still concerned, despite her anger, about his rather dismal physical condition.

“Woman? where?” he asked, pretending to look around her.

Ginny was not amused. His joke triggered her memory of the episode on the Hogwarts Express and she shouted accusingly, “Is there something going on between you and Tonks?”

“What?”

“Back in the train. She practically shoved me out the door.”

“Did she really?” Draco said, arching an eyebrow. Though he knew Tonks was protective of him, he could not fathom why she felt the need to be hostile towards Ginny. From what he remembered, Ginny had merely been trying to talk to him through his massive fog of a headache.

“Yes, really! She’s much too old for you anyhow,” Ginny replied, visibly pouting.

Draco smirked. “She’s also my cousin.”

Ginny suddenly felt the need to hold her breathe. Purebloods were not above, or below, however one considered the issue, marrying within their own family to maintain their bloodlines but to Ginny, it was a rather unpalatable concept.

Draco, catching the look on her face, felt a surge of anger and disgust rush through him and was able to propel himself off the wall. “Are you implying...” He didn’t finish his question.

“Well you’re not deny it, are you?” Ginny could feel her cheeks burning. She was unable to comprehend how Draco Malfoy of all people could elicit such strong reactions from her. But her warring feelings of anger, frustration and embarrassment soon drowned under a wave of uneasiness as she saw him stalk towards her, his eyes hard and cold. She reached into the pocket of her robes and clumsily grasped her wand. As she pulled it out however, Draco’s long fingers circled her wrist.

Ginny gulped visibly. But instead of taking the wand from her, Draco directed it to his own chest and whispered, “Legilimens.”

Chapter 5 – My Own

The fanatical eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange swam in front of Draco and he shuttered his own against them. But he could still feel her. Watching him.

“It’s always hard seeing it for the first time, isn’t it?” she asked with a motherly concern that Draco knew did not exist. “But you’ll get used to it, my darling. You’ll even learn to enjoy it.”

She moved closer, crowding him and forcing him to back up against a tree. “You have potential, Draco. Great potential.” She laid a hand against his chest but what concerned him more was her lips mere inches for his. He could feel her hot breath when she spoke. “Your father may not think so, but they never thought I would amount to much you know. Cissy was the beautiful one. Andy the smart one. Sirius the funny one. Reg the obedient one. But now, now, I do things on my own. Don’t you want to do that too?”

Draco nodded meekly, afraid of moving, afraid of the next second hurtling him in the direction he had always been fated to go. His own. He would never do things on his own.

“But you, love, still have so much to learn.” She purred this time and licked her lips. Suddenly grabbing his left wrist, she pulled his hand up to eye level. “I see you wear your father’s ring.” She pressed her thumb against the platinum crest before flicking the off-centered eye-shaped emerald. “But you’re better than a Malfoy. You’re a Black.”

“Bella!” Lucius Malfoy snarled, pulling the witch away from his son. He didn’t like to share. “It’s time for another…demonstration.” He turned angrily towards Draco. “Maybe this one will be more to your taste. At any rate, you better be able to stand for it or I’ll make sure you’ll never stand again.”

Bellatrix gave Draco a wide smile. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. By and by, love, how old are you? seventeen, eighteen now?”

“I’m only fifteen,” Draco croaked.

“Oh, even better.”

_________________________________________

Ginny woke up in a cold sweat. It had been nearly a month since Draco had shown her a mere glimpse of his interaction with Bellatrix Lestrange but still it haunted her. As she wiped her brow with the back of her hand, she thought for the umpteenth time how it must still haunt him too. And though she was desperate to talk to him again, she never managed to get him alone. If she was ever able to find him, which was rarely since he quitted both Quidditch and his Prefect duties, he always had a Slytherin at his side. Usually Blaise Zabini who had recently perfected a glare that even Snape could have been proud of.

But still Ginny persevered. At every opportunity, she tried to make eye contact with Draco. But somehow, he always managed to avert his gaze. Even Ron began noticing her distraction. Only last night, at supper, he had put his fork down (something he rarely did when he had begun eating). “Oi, Ginny, let Malfoy die in peace. Even I’m letting that poor bugger do that.”

Of course there had been plenty of speculation regarding Draco’s condition since the beginning of the year. No one believed the general claim that the Slytherin was mourning his father’s arrest but even Hermione eventually shrugged and said it was beyond her understanding. Though Harry had insisted that Draco was involved in some suspicious activities, the blond’s continued listlessness had elicited a near sympathy in almost everyone else. With the exception of Cormac McLaggen and some fellow Gryffindors who continued to snicker at him, the rest of the school could not help but be disturbed by the boy’s steady deterioration. It was as though the forgiveness that came with death had already descended in anticipation of the event.

Ginny threw herself back down on her bed, willing herself to stop thinking of Draco and fall asleep. But all she could do was think of him. She rolled off the mattress and onto her feet, cursing his name. ‘Might as well grab a snack in the kitchens,’ she muttered to herself. It wasn’t as though she could go back to sleep anytime soon.

She padded down to the kitchens, her socked feet nearly silent against the stone floor. The twins had taught her the path to take in order to avoid Filch and she was tickling the pear in no time. But when she walked in, no house elf greeted her like usual. Though it hardly mattered. The moonlight was streaming in through the tall windows and bouncing off Draco Malfoy’s fair hair.

“Draco?” she whispered. But he didn’t hear her. He was staring out the glass window at the silent night. She could almost see the wish in his eyes. Only, she didn’t know what he wished for. Feeling like an intruder, she started walking backwards and didn’t see the chair behind her in the dimly-lit kitchen. She was on her back before she knew it, her legs above her against the side of the now turned-over chair. And Draco above her, looking half-angry but also fighting an urge to smirk. But he gave in and it was really rather a relief. To see he wasn’t upset with her and that he wasn’t completely devoid of humor; it just made her feel better.

“Help me up, you prat!” Great, Ginny, that’s the way to win him over...

“And pray, why would I do that, Weasley?” he asked, examining his nails and making no move to bend down.

“Because...because you should,” she spluttered.

“That’s a rather mundane answer. I don’t think it merits any action on my part.”

“But I’m a damsel in distress,” she tried. She even batted her eyelashes a little.

“I don’t believe in fairy tales, Weasley. And what? you got something in your eye, too?”

“Oh, who am I kidding?” she huffed, giving up any pretense that she could charm someone like Draco Malfoy. Or even get him to help her. She glared at the boy standing above her. He struck quite the elegant pose. His back straight, his head tilted ever so slightly and his legs casually crossed. Probably breed to do it. “But who are you kidding?” she muttered. Because she knew, she knew, that it was just that. A pose. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Pardon?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Ginny laughed. And of course Draco Malfoy would say pardon instead of ‘what?’ Ginny twisted to get up. Or at least, into a more comfortable position but somehow watching Draco watch her made her lose all ability to control her limbs properly. Draco finally let out a sigh and grabbed her waist, pulled her up and stood her up in front of him.

“Er...thanks.”

“You know, I learned how to stand when I was about two. Perhaps I was a rather advanced child.”

“Ha, ha,” she said as she punched him in the arm.

Draco hissed in pain and grabbed his arm. Even in the dim light, she could see the bruise spreading rapidly on his pale skin, like a spilled ink bottle on parchment. Ginny gasped and tried to – tried to what? She didn’t know what to do.

“We should get you to Madame Pomfrey,” she said as she hovered over him.

“Don’t you think they’ve already tried, Weasley. Don’t you think they’ve already done everything they could,” he snarled, pain and anger contorting his features. “Not everything has a cure.”

And pushing past her, he left Ginny alone in the kitchen with the moonlight still streaming in, making everything it touch shimmer silver in the dimness.

Chapter 6 – At Peace

A/N: Despite the lackluster response I got last time, I thought it was unfair of me to abandon the matter. Actually, I kind of forgot I was posting...but anyway, I hope you like this chapter better or...just have something to say about it. Many thanks to moogle for her dedication.

Large round eyes blinked at Draco. “Does young Master want anything else?”

While most of the former Malfoy elves had grudgingly accepted their reassignment to various Order members and Grimmauld Place, Fossett had made it quite clear he would serve no one but Draco. Dumbledore had only smiled and given the old creature permission to attend Draco at Hogwarts, which the elf had pledged he would do to the utmost.

The said boy looked at the white-capped bottle in his hand and the glass of water in the other. He shook his head but Fossett nonetheless stoked the fire and set a plate of cookies on the floor before leaving him to his own devices. Draco’s lips curved in a ghostly resemblance of his old smirk but instead of indulging his sweet tooth, he opened the bottle and shook out two round-shaped pills. Tipping his head back, he placed the pills on his tongue and took a drink of water.

“I’ve been wondering when you would show up again.”

Draco almost choked but managed to swallow the capsules. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he focused them on a pajama-clad Ginny Weasley.

“It’s late,” she commented as she drew near him.

“Yeah, well, what are you doing here?” he replied, knowing that at another time, he would have had a far wittier reply, made fun of her hair and freckles, and been able to care about his performance. But now, now he merely leaned his head against the hearth and let the bottle slide through his fingers.

It rolled towards Ginny’s slippered feet and she picked it up. “What is this?” Turning the bottle over in her hands, she came across the label, ‘Aspirin.’ The name sounded familiar but it was not till she took the seat next to Draco that she realized it was a term from her Muggle Studies class. She looked at Draco with wide eyes but he seemed particularly interested in the wall opposite them.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she stated, not knowing what else to say.

“And have you been stalking me?”

So what if she had haunted the kitchens every night since she saw him here nine days ago, she thought, mutinously. “I’ve wanted to talk to you,” she said instead, skirting his question.

But Draco hardly noticed. The pounding in his head had barely receded, even with the use of various Muggle medications. After the Healer at St. Mungo’s had shaken his head and said there was no more he could do and Snape had thrown a bottle of his latest potion against the kitchen wall, Tonks had ditched her spiky pink hair in favor of long honey locks and taken Draco to several London doctors for examination. The aspirin had helped some, but the relief was temporary and Draco had almost begged his cousin to find another cure.

“Oh, just because it’s Muggle medicine,” Tonks had sighed.

“No, it’s because I would be dependent on pills for every hour of my life,” Draco had replied, hanging his head. “I can’t live like that. I won’t.”

“Why are you a vegetarian anyway?”

“Wh-what?” he replied, Ginny’s question breaking through his haze.

“Why don’t you eat meat?”

Draco, having little will or reason, to resist her line of questioning or come up with sarcastic replies, answered her with a truthful despair that hardly touched him but endeared her even more to his pain. “Well, Ginny, how could I?” He weakly held up a hand and wiggled his fingers. “Do you think I could kill and eat a creature I have healed?”

“No,” she breathed. And after a moment, asked, “Can you heal anything?”

“I can’t heal the dead, if that’s what you mean. I can’t heal my mother. I suppose I can only do the things any other mediwitch can do. I just don’t need a wand.”

“That’s not true, Draco.”

“You know that for a fact, do you, Ginny?” Draco’s head drooped to the side, until it rested against Ginny’s shoulder. His eyes closed on their own volition and for a moment, he thought he could find peace.

“I know that for a fact, Draco,” she said. “Wandless magic comes to us from the most ancient forms of magic. Powerful magic.”

“I know that. I used to be second in my class.”

“Oh?” Ginny replied, surprise evident in her voice. With the exception of Hermione, she thought all the head of classes were from Ravenclaw.

Draco made a weak movement that Ginny took the liberty of interpreting as a nod. “After Granger.”

“You called Hermione by her last name,” Ginny gasped.

“Yes.” Though Draco could hear her words clearly, he felt oddly disconnected from her voice. Like it was some far-off bell that tolled for him.

“Well you’ve always called her all sorts of nasty names before,” she continued when he said no more.

“I’m too tired to be clever,” he said as he half-slipped, half-crawled into her lap.

“I didn’t know you were clever.” Ginny blushed, finding Draco’s actions detrimental to forming coherent sentences. “I mean…I didn’t mean it like that. I just didn’t know…well, you say some funny things sometimes. Though they are usually mean.”

“Can’t unkind things still be funny? Perhaps I merely have a dark humor. Some people may say that is symptomatic of my upbringing. But you know, my mum brought me up too. Well, as much as she could. My father didn’t like her interfering.”

“You love your mum, don’t you?”

“If I know what love is,” he said wearily.

“Don’t you think you know?” Ginny said, her voice hitching slightly, her heart thumping rapidly as she anticipated his answer.

“Tell me what you think it is,” he murmured.

She wanted to tell him that she thought she saw it in his eyes. But instead of seeing the intense steel of his irises, she only saw his eyelids drifting close once again and for a fleeting moment, she felt him drifting away from her too. She placed her warm hand on his clammy skin and shivered. “I think I grew up surrounded by it,” she began. And she described the Burrow of her memory. The warm kitchen, her fussing mother, a house full of boys. But then they all started leaving. Her cool brother Bill and her favorite, Charlie. And though she didn’t miss Percy’s high-handedness very much, he would step-in whenever the twins and Ron got too rowdy. He taught her useful magic while the others taught her mere parlor tricks. And of course, the twins made her laugh.

“And Weasley?”

“Ron’s there when I need him. But sometimes, he’s just so dense,” Ginny replied. She laughed slightly as she continued, “But I’m just so stubborn. I never let him know when I need help. But I’m not really telling you what love is, am I?”

“You are. It’s on your face. It’s in your eyes. Even in the inflection of your voice.”

“And what do you gather from that?”

“I don’t know. That perhaps love is not something you can exactly put into words. That it is a feeling of warmth, security. You lost that when they left, didn’t you?”

Ginny chewed on her lip thoughtfully. Dark images of a leather-bound diary, dark corridors and red eyes flashed through her mind. “No, I didn’t lose it,” she said slowly. “But I thought I did. I had thought my first year here would be different. I had been left at home for an entire year and I thought coming to Hogwarts meant I was going to be with most of my brothers again and everything would be like old times. Better than old times. But it didn’t turn out that way, and I guess I got myself lost.”

“You didn’t get lost. You were lead astray.”

The harshness in Draco’s voice almost caused Ginny to jump. She turned a startled look down at the boy in her lap and found him looking intently at her. His eyes were liquid silver in the dark and she thought she could drown. But then he blinked slowly, his eyelashes surprisingly dark and thick, especially against his pale skin, and Ginny again shivered at the odd sensation of somehow feeling alone.

“Did you just read my mind?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

A silence enveloped them. “You did know, didn’t you?” she finally said.

“About Tom Riddle and the diary? I didn’t find out until this summer when I was going through my father’s things. There were hints. But I didn’t know completely.”

“What sort of…” Something clicked in Ginny’s head. Until this summer. “Why did you kiss me in the pantry?”

“Why do you think I did?”

“Don’t answer a question with a question!” Ginny practically screamed. She knew she was on the verge of tears but she didn’t know if it was from anger or disappointment. “Why did you do it? Were you sorry for me? Were you sorry for what your father did to me?”

Draco closed his eyes slowly. He took a deep breathe and exhaled it noisily. “I am sorry about what my father did. I’m more sorry than you can perhaps ever know.”

Ginny sniffled and tried to hide her face behind her hands. But Draco reached up and wrapped his long fingers around her wrists, pulling them away to see the tears falling silently from her eyes. “But that didn’t mean I pitied you.” Draco licked his lips. He was never particularly comfortable with crying and his mother always did her best to hide it from him. And of course, this wasn’t his mother. “It was because of what you said. And because of what you saw when you looked at me. Like I was an actual person. Not Malfoy. But Draco. And I don’t know, Gin. Maybe it’s in my head, maybe I wanted to see something that wasn’t there. What do you see in me anyway?”

“Don’t you know?”

“I can read your mind but I can’t read your heart.”

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, she tried to look at the blond clearly. But she could never look at him clearly, could she? Not after he kissed her. Not after he had made her feel so much within herself and so much for him. She couldn’t exactly call it love. The love she had always known was safe and familiar. It was the love she felt for and with her family, for her closet friends, for Hermione and for Harry (now). What she felt for Draco was different. It was not the strong but serene river that stretched back and connected her to all her brothers, her parents and those who were as good as family. It was an intense roaring in her ears. A swelling of her heart, a catch in her throat, the feeling of bubbling over. It was like an explosion of stars. And yet, she had never really known him. She had only felt him underneath her skin as this tingling but fiery sensation. “I don’t know. I don’t just see a boy who fought against his own side to get to the right one. I…I…you’re going to think this is stupid,” she murmured, blushing.

“I promise you I won’t,” he said solemnly, his grey eyes boring into hers.

Ginny grasped his hand tightly with her own. “When I look at you, all I can see is you. When I touch you, all I feel is you. It’s like I’m somehow connected to you. You make me feel alive in a way that’s different from just breathing. I feel like…I’m living.”

As Draco slowly absorbed her words, he realized that the pounding in his head had receded. “That’s funny. Because when I’m with you, I feel at peace.” And he propped himself up on his elbows to kiss her on the lips.

Chapter 7 – Gold Stars

A/N: Thanks for all the replies! I really appreciate them! And it helps me obtain more perspective on my own writing...so thanks again! =)

After pulling the cork off with an audible ‘pop,’ Severus Snape tipped the glass tube with a careful hand. The thick red liquid pooled at the rim before it slowly dripped into the awaiting cauldron.

“Hermione Granger will be joining us tonight.”

Draco looked up from the textbook he was perusing: The Elixirs of Life and Death. “Granger?”

“Very good. That is her surname. You repeated it with surprising accuracy after I had only said it once. Would you like a gold star? Or perhaps a bezoar?”

Having grown used to Snape’s humor and sharing some of its darkness (never mind the other’s arbitrary references to trivial Muggle things), Draco merely frowned. “But I’m feeling loads better now.”

Snape did not immediately respond. Instead, he carefully stirred the bubbling liquid as it thickened and turned a deep purple. Once it had reached the proper shade, he looked up at the blond boy. Draco was flipping through various potions, one hand idly tapping the desktop. “Yes, you have been doing better but that’s because you haven’t been doing anything for the Order lately. A good wind will still knock you down.”

As undignified as it was, Draco snorted.

“It’s best if we find something that will work while you’re feeling better. Though Granger may not be my top student,” Snape said, looking pointedly at Draco. He readjusted his grip on the wooden stirring stick. He didn’t mention that Draco was also his favorite student. “We need to make use of all the resources available to us.”

Without looking up, Draco mumbled his agreement. Personally, he thought his snogging sessions with Ginny Weasley were the only ‘resources’ he needed. He didn’t quite understand why he had denied himself of them at the beginning of the year though he had a sneaking suspicion, one of which he assiduously refused to acknowledge, that he feared the consequence of caring too much and eventually, losing either the affection or the object herself if he allowed himself the indulgence. After all, he already had an intimate knowledge of loss and that was an area of study he didn’t want further lessons in.

“Your responses are a bit wanting, Draco,” Snape growled, interrupting the other’s train of thought.

“Is that so? I thought I was being particularly eloquent this evening.”

A knock on the door prevented Snape from making any further comment. “Come in,” he called.

Balancing a stack of books with one hand and pushing the door opened with the other, Hermione struggled into the Potions classroom without any assistance from its occupants. Draco, having turned his attention to another and far more interesting textbook (A Wizard’s Guide to the Top Glamour Charms), did not see her distress. Snape, on the other hand, merely looked on impassively while she placed her tomes on a nearby desk and pushed her bushy hair from her face.

“Professor Snape, I’m ready for my extra credit assignment,” she managed all in one exhaling breath.

“Extra credit?” Draco inquired, looking up and catching Hermione’s attention.

“Are you doing extra credit too, Malfoy?” the girl sighed. Ever since Draco had been ill, Hermione had somewhat guiltily jumped at the opportunity to finally best him in Potions.

“No,” Draco replied slowly, closing his book. “I believe I am the extra credit assignment.”

“Pardon?”

“Ironic, isn’t it, Miss Granger?” Snape interjected. “You can finally top the best student in Potions by helping him recover his usual standing.”

“But wouldn’t that make us both top students? Or would that mean I would be top student again?” Draco asked, tapping a finger against his chin in mocked rumination. “Or maybe you can just give us both gold stars? I think I’d rather have that…”

Turning to Hermione, Snape deadpanned. “It seems to our great relief that Mr. Malfoy has not lost his sense of humor despite his trials. Indeed, it seems to improve with health. Though his wit has not.” He peered down his hooked nose at the brunette Gryffindor. “I sincerely hope that that is not true of you as well, Miss Granger.”

“Uh, no, sir?” she replied uncertainly.

“Good. I need to fetch some items from storage.” Snape barked to Draco, “you may fill her in,” before he left in a flourish of robes.

“He always gets snappish when he’s a bit nervous or emotional,” Draco said as he leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps he fancies you?”

“Arggh,” was the only response Draco received. He leaned forward, allowing his weight, slight as it was, to right the chair on its four legs. “But let me guess, you, like everyone else, are in love with Potty.”

Hermione blushed at Draco’s observation and turned her back to him.

He had only been teasing her, a residue of his resentment over the attention lavished on the Boy-Who-Lived. But he could tell by her flushed cheeks that he had been right on the mark. He felt a sudden surge of pity for Ron Weasley. It was obvious to everyone the tall redhead was smitten with the bushy haired girl. Draco, having been touched by actual affection, shuddered to imagine what it would be like to have it torn away from him.

“Poor Weasel, huh? Always in the shadow of the Boy-Who-Lived,” he said musingly more to himself than her. “And loses the girl to him too.”

“That’s why Ron will never know! That’s why Harry will never know!” Hermione suddenly burst, whirling around to glare at the blond boy. She just as quickly twirled back and took a book off her towering stack. She slammed it open on the desk and said accusingly, “You sound like you speak from experience.”

“Maybe I do.”

Hermione did not attempt to hide her surprise. “Are you actually admitting–”

Draco held up a hand. “If you even think you’re going to get an open confession from me about anything, you must be sick too.”

Hermione’s lips formed an ‘O’ as she realized what Draco meant. “Is this about you being sick?” She leaned towards him, her eyes lighting up.

“Well you don’t have to be so happy about it,” Draco pouted.

“Oh, come off it! That’s not what I mean.” Hermione reached for her stack of books again. “Start telling me about your symptoms. We’re the two brightest students in our grade. We’ll figure this out in no time.”

“You know I’m second in class?” Draco asked, also reaching for a book. He nearly added, “And deserve to be, too?” But he didn’t. The need to explain himself to her deflated almost at the same moment it had risen. After all, the girl he had taunted and hexed for the past five years didn’t even blink twice about helping him. He didn’t – couldn’t – push for her recognition. And in any case, perhaps no one except Hermione could understand why Draco Malfoy, spoiled brat extraordinaire, never boasted about his grades but let others believe he was teacher’s pet instead. For him, or at least, for the old him, there was no pride in saying he was second-best to a Mudblood. And now, there was no pride in making pretences to someone who truly had the heart of a Gryffindor and an understanding that crossed house lines.

And she did understand. Indeed, she knew all too well the slow pain of being second. She knew that the gap between first and second was always the widest and the most difficult to accept. And maybe she wasn’t really second but she felt second anyway and that was what mattered, wasn’t it? Ron perhaps fancied her but he would always be Harry’s best friend first. And sweet, generous, entirely dense Harry would always treasure her for her loyalty and her intelligence, she was sure, but would never see her the way she wanted her to be seen in his eyes. Yes, second was a hard place to be and she had always imagined, even at the height of her distaste for him, that Draco Malfoy knew all too well what it felt to be second.

“Of course I know.” Hermione said matter-of-factly, pushing her sympathy for the blond boy just below the surface. “I have to keep myself abreast of the competition after all. You excel in Potions, Transfigurations, and Charms. I suppose you are rather good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, but it’s hard to tell since we’ve never had a proper teacher. But I’m much better at Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies, History of Magic and Arithmancy. We’re about even in Herbology and Astronomy. And oh, I have slightly better marks in Care of Magical Creatures though I suspect this has more to do with our instructor than either of us.”

Draco let out a low whistle before furrowing his brow. “You didn’t mention Divination.”

“It’s not worth mentioning,” Hermione sniffed.

Draco allowed himself a small smile. “You’re right, Hermione.” He didn’t mention he got an O in it but of course, during the exam, he also pretended he had dreamt of being Transfigured into a purple cow that had flown over the moon.

Chapter 8 – Threads of Connection

As the portrait swung back to reveal Hermione carrying a large tower of books, Ginny took the opportunity to leave the rather suffocating locales of one Harry James Potter and another Ronald Bilius Weasley.

“Oi, ‘Mione, that’s enough books to last you a lifetime,” Ron remarked from his lounging position on the coach.

Without acknowledging the redhead, Hermione set her books down and picked up the topmost volume before proceeding to bury her nose deep in it.

“And here I thought I would get some decent conversation,” Ginny sighed, putting down the stack of books she had taken from the older girl.

“I’m sorry, Ginny, but I have a lot of research to do. It can’t wait.”

The tight tone in Hermione’s voice stirred the other girl’s curiosity, but she knew it was a hopeless cause. She would not get anything out of Hermione while she was so deeply entrenched in her research. Ginny turned around. Her place between Ron and Harry was still empty.

“Oh, you don’t like our company?” Harry asked, leaning forward.

Ginny squirmed under the boy’s emerald gaze. “It’s not that, Harry. Sometimes a girl just needs to” snog your arch-nemesis “talk to another girl.” Shrugging her shoulders, she continued, “I think I’m going to bed early. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget about Quidditch practice.”

“Of course not,” Ginny said, rolling her eyes at her brother. She gave the trio a half-hearted wave, her mind already turning to Draco as she walked up the stairs. But then she remembered her cloak. She had left it on the coach, next to Ron, and she would need it to meet Draco down in the kitchens after curfew, as they had done every night since they first met there nearly three weeks ago.

“Hermione,” Ron was whining, “are you going to be reading that book all night?”

“No,” she said shortly. “I plan on reading all of the books here by the end of the night.”

Ginny frowned. She didn’t understand why Ron was always antagonizing Hermione. It was hardly the way to win a girl’s heart. ‘Perhaps he should take lessons from Draco,’ she thought, a wicked smile replacing her displeased expression from only moments before.

“You know, there are more important things than N.E.W.T.s,” Harry offered.

“Yes, there are. And I am working on that right now.”

There was a pause while the redhead girl stood on the stairs, trying to decide what to do. It seemed like the conversation could get volatile and she didn’t want to get caught in the middle of it. Nevertheless, she wanted to wear the dark cloth over her school uniform when she snuck out later. She placed her foot lightly on the stone step below as Hermione began talking again.

“Are you working on the Horcruxes, Harry? Dumbledore needs your help.”

“I know, it’s just–”

“It’s just what? Harry, that is important. The remaining four need to be found and destroyed before you can even face Voldemort.”

Ginny could almost hear Ron shutter.

“It’s just a name!” Hermione shouted.

‘Bloody hell,’ Ginny thought. ‘Hermione is in a mood tonight.’ The redhead leaned against the wall, curious about the ever exclusive Golden Trio’s plans for saving the world. She had once been jealous of their little circle, of their guarded privacy which she thought she had a right to, but now, all her thoughts and feelings were channeled to none other than their enemy, Draco Malfoy.

But as Ginny played with a strand of her fire-colored hair, she thought they were all less different than any of them probably thought they were. In fact, Draco’s study habits reminded her of Hermione. Only last week she had gone to the library to catch up on some reading and instead, caught sight of Draco’s white-blond head bent over at least three foot of parchment, furiously scribbling. Blaise Zabini dodged some flying ink with practiced ease while a Hufflepuff boy, she thought perhaps it was Zacharias Smith, was watching the blond with open fascination.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Malfoy? It’s Transfiguration homework, not the Triwizard Tournament of writing.”

When Draco did not respond, or even acknowledge the other boy, the latter leaned forward to snap his fingers under Draco’s sharp nose. “Oi! Malfoy, I’m talking to you.”

Blaise roughly pushed Zacharias’ hand away from his fellow Slytherin. “Look, he’s not going to answer so don’t even bother. You’re a Chaser, right? Why don’t you go chase a rat down?”

Smith scowled but moved off.

When they had met hours later, Ginny opened her mouth to comment on the incident but Draco had pulled her into his arms and left her breathless. She only managed to mention it when parting.

“Grades are important. They are indicative of the work you have accomplished and how well you have accomplished it. Even if I don’t need to get good marks for a job afterwards, the skills I learn here will still be useful.” He had shrugged slightly but his words were formal and his tone quite serious. She knew he meant it.

“What are you doing afterwards?”

“Family business.”

Ginny had raised her brows in surprise. She could only imagine what ‘family business’ really meant when it came to the Malfoys.

“It’s not what you think,” he had replied a bit testily. “My father actually does ‘honest’ business. Well,” he smirked, allowing a small smile to get pass his cool façade, “he inherited the company from his great-grandfather in any case and he runs that at least the way it should be.”

“Oh.” Ginny replied, a little lost on how to respond appropriately. “That’s nice. To have it all set up for you, I mean. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Draco had frowned. “But it’s better that way, isn’t it? You get to decide for yourself, not let anyone decide for you.”

And in those few words, Draco had reminded her of Harry. Harry who had no choice but stood by the choice made from him anyway.

But then again, Draco had shunned his destiny as a Death Eater, hadn’t he? Ginny shook her head. Hardly anything could be simplified to black and white anymore. Leaning against the stone wall of the stairway, she looked for threads of connection between Draco and her brothers, as though comparing them would ground her covert relationship into some concrete entity that had both a present and future existence. Deep inside, she knew she was too young to consider things like a future, never mind how she – they – would move beyond years of bad blood between their respective families. But she could not help herself. She could imagine herself with Draco. Moreover, she could imagine him with her family. After all, he was intelligent like Bill. A great seeker like Charlie. Meticulous like Percy. And to her surprise, he possessed a wicked sense of humor not very unlike the twins. ‘Though I can’t imagine him having much in common with Ron,’ she thought as she was jerked back to the present by a deep snort from her brother. ‘No, nothing in common except me perhaps.’

“How can you forget?”

“How can anyone forget with you nagging us all the time?” Ron huffed.

Crouching down, Ginny leaned forward and peeped around the stone wall. Harry had stood up in front of Ron and was addressing Hermione somewhat nervously. “So, ‘Mione, what are you doing exactly?”

“Extra credit for Snape,” she said briskly.

“Extra credit? How is that more important than N.E.W.T.s?” Ron cried, also standing up.

“It’s a special project, Ronald.”

Ginny smiled as she sat back on the steps, out of sight. Only Hermione could say Ronald the same way Molly Weasley did. She heard Hermione emit a soft “oh” and snap her book shut.

“What are you doing now?” came Ron’s irritable voice.

“I have to go.” And with a bustle of robes, Hermione was gone.

After waiting a few moments, Ginny casually made her way into the common room. “Oh, that’s where I left my cloak.” She pretended to look around and briefly thought this whole acting business was a rather fortunate by-product of spending time with a Slytherin. “Where did Hermione go?”

“She ran off to do some extra credit for Snape, that slimy git,” Ron mumbled.

Throwing her cloak around her shoulders, she said brightly, “But he has such a refined manner, don’t you think? And he has such great posture!”

Ginny flounced out of the common room, leaving her brother and Harry behind with identical expressions of shock on their faces. She made a mental note to tell Draco about Ron and Harry’s remarkable ability to resemble goldfish.

Chapter 9 - Echo

A/N: I meant to slow down the pace of this fic but ended up slowing down the posting of it to a near stand-still. I apologize if you think I’m moving too quick but trust me, this speeds up the posting time exponentially!

***

Ginny never got the chance to tell Draco about Ron and Harry’s reaction to her flippant remark. She had entered the kitchens with a smile on her face, ready to be swept up in the arms of her silver-eyed knight, but she found the fire spluttering in the hearth and the darkness pressing in on all sides. Draco was always there before her. She turned around in confusion before sighing and pointing her wand at the dying embers.

Half an hour later, Ginny sat in the cold, rubbing her arms fiercely and trying to determine whether she was concerned or angry. Rushed footsteps alerted Ginny of his arrival and she flew to him, her discomfort and irritableness vanishing in the few seconds it took her to stand up and wrap her arms around his neck. “Where were you?”

He was breathing heavily and every attempt at speaking was hindered by a rapid intake of breathe. After a few moments, Draco finally managed, “I’m sorry, Gin. I forgot.”

Ginny swayed. She felt as though a dark wave had hit her in the chest. “You forgot?” she said quietly.

Draco nodded mutely. As he was running up from the dungeons, he had prepared himself for a tirade and was somewhat unsettled by her low whisper. “I was working on a project for Snape,” he finally said, frowning at her almost vacant look. He was tempted to read her mind but resisted. He trusted her to tell him her feelings. Only problem was he could not spare the time to hear them at the moment. “Actually, I need to get back.”

“What?” Ginny asked, snapping out of her trancelike state.

“Erfm, I’m in the middle of an…experiment,” he explained, reluctant to reveal more about what he and Hermione Granger were doing in the bowels of Hogwarts’ dungeon. “I told him I was just going to the loo.”

“Oh,” she replied, somewhat bewildered and numb all at the same time. She never imagined Draco would abandon her for schoolwork. Perhaps Hermione, but she wasn’t snogging Hermione for one. “Hermione is doing a project for Snape too. Is it the same one?”

“Not that I know of. Probably trying to get some extra credit.” He was surprised at how easy the half-lie slipped from his tongue. As though his old self was rearing its head once again. That he still retained many of the habits and characteristics that he had grown up with and practiced for years was not remarkable. But ever since he had forged a pseudo-relationship with the fiery redhead, he had never considered lying to her and without actually being conscious of it, hadn’t until that moment. In fact, he didn’t even know exactly why he had lied but found it convenient that he had nonetheless. “I, on the other hand, have to make up work for Snape, being so sick and all.”

Something didn’t feel right. Ginny couldn’t tell what it was but she knew it, felt it, like a prickling sensation on the surface of her skin. She opened her mouth to speak, to say something, anything. But she wasn’t sure what.

As though conscious of her growing suspicion, and indeed, he was concerned that she would not leave well enough alone, he leaned forward and kissed her. He pushed her up against the wall, his hands somewhat clumsily pulling at her jumper.

Ginny was surprised at first but her astonishment became something entirely different as Draco simultaneously kneaded her and rocked his body against her. She gasped into his mouth and he bit down on her lower lip.

The next moment later, he had pulled back from her and was straightening his tie. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Gin.”

And he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor until they were lost to distance and time.

Chapter 10 - Unwilling, Part I

Ginny wasn’t quite sure what compelled her to check Hermione’s room, but as the clock struck the hour, she snuck into the other girl’s dormitory instead of meeting Draco as she was wont to do. She knew he wouldn’t be there anyway. He hadn’t come in the last two days and sent an owl that merely stated the improbability of him being there within the next several days.

She was nearly going mad from Draco’s neglect. She couldn’t fathom why he would avoid her. Granted, he wasn’t entirely avoiding her but the quick snog around midnight hardly constituted a meeting. And certainly, they were unlike the initial few weeks when they would sit beside the fire for hours, sharing cookies, factoids, anecdotes, essentially their lives with one another.

With Harry and Ron complaining about Hermione’s absence as well, Ginny knew it couldn’t be a mere coincidence. And as she stood before Hermione’s empty bed, a flurry of questions plagued her mind.

It was impossible.

But why would Hermione and Draco be meeting secretly in the middle of the night? And why couldn’t either of them tell her what they were doing?

What perhaps stung her the most was Draco’s unwillingness to trust her. She thought he had opened all the truths of his heart to her, just as she had done for him. But here was evidence to the contrary. At least, that was how she saw it as she stood there, in the dark, hardly realizing that the ever growing feeling of suspicion within her was rather proof that she hadn’t given herself to him entirely. That she had already come to a conclusion before the evidence was actually set before her. That she didn’t believe in him.

She hurried out of the room, not caring if she woke up Hermione’s dormmates. She had to know. But even as her feet traced the steps from Gryffindor Tower to the dungeons, a part of her knew she should turn around, wait the night and see things for what they were in the light of day. She should show him that she trusted him. But that was the salt. She didn’t completely trust him. Because even as she was falling for him, even as she felt herself pulling towards him by some sort of magical force, she thought of him as her family’s enemy, her friends’ nemesis, as a Slytherin and the son of a Death Eater. And only when he had given himself to her completely, only when she could with absolute certainty call him hers, could she grant him her love.

Ginny wasn’t actually sure where she was headed. But it didn’t matter. Her feet somehow led her unwillingly to the sight before her eyes. The door of the Potions classroom was only slightly ajar but enough for her to see Draco and Hermione fiercely kissing one another.

A/N: I apologize that this chapter was so short but the update will be quicker!

Chapter 11 – Unwilling, Part Deux

As Snape made his way to the Potions classroom, he began feeling light…and happy? In fact, he added a skip to every few steps he took and even kicked his heels once. He was never much of a singer, even in his youth, but he could hold a tolerable tune while whistling. Unfortunately, the only song he could think of was Draco’s “Weasley Is Our King.”

But soon enough, he couldn’t stop whistling it. In fact, he found it rather catchy. Actually… he rather liked it. No, loved it! He began swinging his arms in an exaggerated motion and a grin threatened to break his usually dour visage into two. But he held it in until he almost burst into giggles. Giggles? ‘What’s the matter with me?’ Snape thought, shaking his head and catching a whiff of what smelled like freshly baked beetle-and-treacle cookies, his favorite.... It brought back found memories of his youth-

Snape cursed colorfully and broke into a run. Only he was impeded by the insane desire to skip. However, any well-trained former Death Eater could – must – not let frolicking get in the way of completing a task that would ultimately be for his own best interest. After all, if he couldn’t save his best students from killing one another, he would be left with imbeciles like Potter and Longbotton, Crabbe and Goyle. He shuddered at the thought; he needed his top students to keep him sane.

So with that forceful motivation driving him on, Snape burst into the Potions classroom, ready to tear Draco and Hermione apart from one another.

He had, of course, expected Draco and Hermione to have their hands around each other’s throat instead of clamped on the sides of each other’s face while caught up in the tightest lip lock he ever had the misfortune of seeing. He was pretty certain that in a few moments, both would pass out from lack of oxygen and the issue would resolve itself. But again, for his own sanity, the Potion Master had to end the offending scene before him. Pulling out his wand, he waved it in an elaborate flourish that both frustrated and filled him with glee; the cauldron emptied and the teenagers instantly broke apart, gasping for breath.

“Well I see you two are getting along famously now,” Snape said dryly. “Perhaps I should let the Headmaster know how much you have been working on improving inter-House relations.”

“I-uh-I er…” Draco began, still blue in the face.

“Well, we, um –” Hermione blushed.

“What, may I ask, were you doing?” Snape said, crossing his arms and tapping his foot in an impatient manner. He always felt better, more secure, whenever he adopted a menacing position. And after his ridiculous coming-of-spring leaps in the corridor, he desperately needed to assure himself he was by no means a nancy boy.

Draco and Hermione looked at each other. They were not particularly sure what had happened. One moment they were peering at the bubbling potion before them and the next they had locked eyes and then lips. Moreover, they couldn’t stop. Draco had panicked, drowning in his own stagnant air whereas Hermione tried breathing through her nose. But even that was not enough. She could not take in enough air and was pilfering Draco’s diminishing supply in the process. No force of will could break them apart and their confusion and anxiety seemed to drain as the kiss continued, whether from lack of oxygen or whatever had brought them together in the first place, they didn’t know.

“What do you need Nolo Torquen vapors for anyway?” Snape continued when neither of them answered his previous question. “And you should have exercised more caution. I’m sure every recipe for it has a–”

“Excuse me, sir?” Hermione’s hand shot up as though they were in class.

“Yes, Miss Granger,” Snape replied, rolling his onyx eyes at her.

“What are Nolo Torquen vapors?”

“What are–” Snape stared at the petite brunette. He rarely looked startled but he knew at that moment he did. “What do you mean, ‘what are Nolo Torquen vapors?’”

“I think she wants to know what are Nolo Torquen vapors.”

“Thank you, Draco, for elucidating the matter.” Snape swiveled on one foot to glare at the blond boy. “Nolo Torquen vapors are emitted from that potion you just brewed. Surely you two knew what you were concocting?”

“Oops.”

“Oops?” Snape echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought we were brewing Felix Felicis,” Draco said, turning to Hermione for confirmation.

Hermione nodded, all the while translating Nolo Torquen vapors from Latin. “I thought we were too,” she replied. “Nolo means ‘to be unwilling.’ Well, snogging to death was not exactly what I had in mind this evening.”

“Are you trying to be smart?” Snape muttered under his breath. He had been ready to berate the pair for brewing such a dangerous potion by mistake, but he himself had never thought of using another potion to help find an antidote for Draco’s condition. And what better potion was there than Felix Felicis?

“I hardly think she’s trying,” Draco replied. “Intorqueo means to distort.”

“So does torqueo.”

“Hmm, well that’s counterintuitive.” Draco turned to the Potions Master. “So what did we concoct exactly? A potion that forces us to do something against our will?”

“Not exactly. When I first came in here, I thought you two would be at each other.” Snape paused. “Well…” Technically, they had been at each other but he didn’t want to think too much about that. “Let’s just put it this way. It does not exactly change your will but distorts it and makes you act in a way that is not quite contradictory to your feelings but not something you would do on a normal basis either. In particular, it intensifies your feelings. Also, the more you resist it, the more potent it is.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “That’s a powerful potion. Why haven’t I heard of it before?”

“Because it’s unpredictable and thus, not highly favored,” Snape explained, “much less quite difficult to brew.”

“Well we were able to do it,” Draco commented, “but it sounds like it’s better used as a gag than anything else.”

“Oh no.”

Snape and Draco turned at the dismal tone in Hermione’s voice. She dropped her face into her hands in humiliation and despair.

“Miss Granger?” Snape finally asked.

“I-I…” Hermione’s lip quivered. She quickly turned and grabbed the textbook that Draco and she had been using to confirm her suspicions. It was for the next level up so she had borrowed it from her most convenient source without thinking much of it. Her breathe hitched when she saw the note on the left hand corner of the first page. How could she make such a mistake? How could she admit to such a mistake? She couldn’t. At least, not verbally. She slid the tome off the desk and held it out for to the Potions Master.

After peering at her quizzically for a moment, Snape took the proffered book. He flipped open the cover and read the loopy handwriting on the first page.

To our dearest Ronniekins,

Use your Potions book well. And make us proud.

Even a wanker like you can give old Hook-nose the slip.

Your ARS-O-YOU (and don’t make us remind you!) favorite brothers,

Gred and Forge

“How charmingly clever they are.” Snape closed the book with a resounding clap. “This is what happens when you trust a Weasley.”

Both Hermione and Draco blushed.

Chapter 12 – La Dame Sans Merci

Perhaps for the fifth time in so many minutes, Draco pulled out the silver pocket watch from his robes. It was nearly midnight and Ginny hadn’t shown up yet. In fact, she hadn’t shown up for the past three days. He tapped his foot impatiently against the cold hearth, willing himself not to worry. But he couldn’t swallow the anxious feeling that had been slowly consuming him. It was not like her to ignore him.

He had hardly seen her between classes and never in the Great Hall. Never was a strong word for three days and generally he was not inclined to use it but now he didn’t care. A flash of red hair and he would turn his head. Twice it was Susan Bones. Once her brother. And finally, he saw her, weaving through the crowd in the opposite direction. He almost ran after her but Blaise checked him with a hand on his arm.

Draco sighed. He couldn’t keep Hermione waiting any longer. Snape had given them his own book and Hermione had returned Ron’s potion book to him with strict warnings not to use it. According to Hermione, Ron had rolled his eyes. ‘Of course, I knew that. It is a book from Fred and George. Even I’m not that daft.’ He had a feeling Hermione was quite embarrassed by Weasley’s comment but suspected she shared it with him as a kind of apology.

Now they were beginning the long process of brewing Felix Felicis. He was sure Hermione was suspicion about his ‘loo’ runs but was too polite to ask. In case they were actually loo runs.

After rubbing his tired eyes for a moment, the blond Slytherin snapped the watch’s cover shut and exited the kitchens, keeping close to the shadows. As he made his way round the East Wing, he heard plodding footsteps followed by scuffling ones.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Potter. Draco stopped and pressed himself against the wall.

“Wasn’t this your idea in the first place?” Ron grumbled.

“Well, yes but –” Harry began.

“Then, let’s just do this,” Ron said with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t want to be reading that poem for Muggle Studies anyway. What was it called again? Something about a vicious, revengeful soul-sucking woman…”

Harry scratched his head. “Uh, I’m not sure if she sucked souls. But it was in French, I think. Le Dam Sand Mercy?”

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘La Dame Sans Merci. Leave it up to Potter to botch French and Weasley to equate women and dementors.’

“Well, we’ll just find Hermione, ask her about the poem maybe and –”

“She’ll see right through that,” Harry interrupted. “Especially since you have obviously not read it at all.”

“Right. But that’s not the point anyway. Did she pierce hearts with a spear?”

“Huh?” It took Harry a few moments to realize that Ron was referring to the poem and not Hermione. “Uh, no.” Harry shook his dark head for emphasis.

“Oh, bloody hell, why can’t we read anything exciting for once?”

They continued walking in silence until Ron exclaimed, “Oi! Maybe you can tell her you need help with the Horcruxes.”

“Well I do need help with them,” Harry mumbled in agreement. “I have no bloody clue what to do. So far it’s been story-time with Dumbledore.”

As Harry and Ron passed him, Draco turned, ready to take another path down to the dungeons without having to cross the Gryffindors. But then, curiosity won over. What in Merlin’s beard were Horcruxes anyway? It sounded Latin in origin, but Draco knew of no Latin words that was simply hor. Though, in all likelihood, hor was a distorted or shorted version of the word. There was hora, which meant time or hour but that didn’t sound right. There was horrendus, or dreadful, which sounded possible, knowing anything associated with Harry Potter. And then, crux referred to cross. Or perhaps it was crucio. The thought made Draco shudder a little. He pulled his robes closer though he wasn’t cold.

He continued following the two who seemed oblivious to everything else but themselves. ‘Typical,’ Draco thought. It was a wonder that Filch hadn’t caught them yet, though granted, the castle was quite extensive. Draco tried to think of other possible meanings for crux but could not come up with anything satisfying. The Slytherin had a feeling it wasn’t crustulum, which was a pastry or a cookie, though Draco thought he could stand for a Digestive at the moment. Tonks had introduced the fiber-enriched biscuit to him despite his initial resistance to a) eating a Muggle cookie and b) eating one called a Digestive.

“And can you believe Ginny!” Ron was saying.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled in reply.

“All that sneaking around, snogging with, with a boy!” the redhead cried in an offended air.

“Well,” Harry replied, trying his best not to laugh. “At least it’s a boy.”

Ron spluttered in response.

Draco paused. They knew about him? That certainly would’ve explained Ginny’s recent behavior. But then, why hadn’t Weasel and Pothead sought him out and beaten him into a bloody pulp yet? Perhaps that was what they were doing. But no, they said something about Hermione. He took some quick steps to catch up to them again and was able to hear Ron ask Harry, “Couldn’t it be you?”

“What?” Harry was the one to stop this time. He pushed his glasses up with a finger.

“Well, couldn’t it be you dating Ginny? Instead of Dean Thomas,” Ron said. “I don’t like the idea of him…well, you know.”

“And it would be different with me because…” Harry said, trailing off.

“Of course it would be different with you. Didn’t you see the way she was kissing Dean last night? I could’ve punched his face in.”

And with those words, Draco felt like he had been the one punched by Ronald Weasley. He stumbled back against the wall, his breaths coming short and rapid. It seemed as though everything had dropped to the pit of his stomach; the hallway itself tilted and swayed before he hit the ground. He scraped one knee against the rough stone floor and jammed his fingers into the crevices between the uneven rocks, only vaguely aware that his family ring pushed itself painfully into the crux of his thumb and index finger.

If the situation had been any different, he might have laughed or been curious about feeling both numb and pained all in one compressed moment. But the situation wasn’t any different. Even his legs couldn’t withstand the blow of Ginny’s betrayal. “No,” he said out loud, shaking his head. He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe Ginny would do something like that, much less to him. He rolled over until he was lying on his back.

He looked up into an impossibly dark ceiling that seemed to stretch up into infinity and he tried to grasp onto any semblance of reality, of truth. And a thin weave of it did come to him, with a suddenness and clarity that sent him reeling, even though he didn’t quite understand it. Somehow, despite his attempts to deny it, he knew, he knew that Ronald Weasley had been speaking the truth, that the redhead had seen Ginny with Dean Thomas, that she had won his heart, a heart he wasn’t sure he ever had until she came along and then, let it fall into the depths of his old, shattered soul.

And for the first time in a long time, Draco Malfoy was very, very angry.

Chapter 13 – Choke

Keeping her head down, Ginny shuffled along the corridor. She hoped that no one would approach her, speak to her, even notice her. She had spent the last few days latched onto Dean. It was just easier that way. No, he did not make her forget about Draco and at times, she thought he only reminded her more of him. Because she would think of how dark Dean’s skin was in comparison to Draco’s almost translucent sheen, how coarse and rough his hair felt in fingers used to long silky strands of silver-blonde. And then the kisses. Sloppy, unexciting, mere fumblings. Nothing like the intense, breath-taking kisses of an experienced Slytherin. And Ginny would close her eyes tight – no, had to – in order to keep her tears from trekking rivulets down her cheeks.

As she thought of this, she was suddenly propelled into a little-used alcove and shoved up against the wall, though she wasn’t aware that her assailant had thrown a hand behind her head to cushion her from any real harm. Even before she could get her bearings straight or see for that matter (her thick red hair was obscuring her vision), she knew it was Draco. She knew it was him even though he had never gripped her wrist with such painful possession before. She knew it was him even though he had never bit her hard enough to taste blood before. But blood she did taste as he brought his teeth down on her lips.

She never thought of resisting him but opened her mouth under his demanding kiss. He pushed himself flush against her while she reached up with her one free hand to tangle it in his ridiculously soft hair. She gasped into his mouth when one cold hand pushed itself under her jumper. She didn’t think there had been room between her and the rough stones of the wall behind her but she managed to arch into him. His explorations were more determined, harsher than she ever recalled. Her eyes popped open when his hand traveled down or rather, up her skirt. She resisted him then but with a feeble half-push that only made him dig his short nails into the wrist he was still holding.

Finally, he pulled back enough to take in short rasping breathes. “Why?” he asked harshly, his teeth scraping the skin of her ear.

“What?” she gasped, her mind still reeling from the assault.

“I want to know...how-you-could-do-this-to-me,” he said slowly and deliberately. He itched to read her mind but was afraid of seeing the images he felt he would surely find. Her with Dean. Her perhaps with Harry or a host of other Gryffindor boys. Maybe…maybe she didn’t stop there. Maybe she worked her way through other houses. Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff. Slytherin. “Tell me, Weasley, have you become the Gryffindor whore?”

His words cut through her passion-drugged mind, filling her pained heart with rage. “Let go of me!” she screamed, trying to pull her wrists from his fast grip. “I’m done with you now! I’m with Dean. I mean, it was fun and all, but really, you became negligent and a bit…boring,” she finished, choking on the last word.

Draco instantly dropped her hands, her touch literally burning his skin. He stepped back and stared at her, his mind still not comprehending everything that had happened in the past few days and certainly not comprehending what was occurring now. He didn’t understand why her eyes were bright with tears. She shouldn’t be the one crying. He was the one who should swimming in a pool of his own tears.

He had come to her for an explanation, to scream at her, to laugh at her poorly contrived joke. But now, he didn’t want to know anything. Not anymore. Though they were not touching, it seemed as though she had pressed her small fingers against his windpipe and he was slowly losing consciousness.

Turning on his heel, he left her by herself.

Chapter 14 – Reckless

“Disaster,” Blaise sighed as he slumped into the plush armchair.

“What else did you expect?” Draco replied, sullenly kicking at the side of Blaise’s chair. At least, he hadn’t expected much else. Trust, friendship and good will only stretched so far, only lasted so long. His dissolution with Ginny. Hermione’s with the Boy Wonder and his freckled sidekick. Examples that promising starts did not promise anything.

“I mean, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it?” Blaise growled, standing up and pacing in front of the other boy.

“Sure,” Draco said, shrugging his shoulders noncommittally. Of course, it was ridiculous. And of course, it made sense too. The Gryffindors, with the exception of Longbottom (he was always the exception), had been suspicious of the Slytherins in their midst and followed the Great Harry Potter’s example in shunning them. Not that Gryffindors and Slytherins interacted much beyond the occasional insult and scuffle on the pitch anyway. But with Hermione involved, the matter was entirely different. Because in shunning them, the Gryffindors shunned one of their own. And in helping her, Draco and Blaise isolated her even further.

She never said a word about it but the despondency was written on her pretty face, in the dark circles under her eyes, in the strain around her mouth. She thanked them for their concern, assured them that she valued their support, but insisted that only she could right the misunderstanding. Of course, this required the Boy Wonder and his sidekick to actually listen to her first. But they all had their own battles to fight.

Meanwhile, Blaise doted on her. Escorted her to class, to the tower, to the greenhouse. He even neglected Draco. Not that the blond minded. It was all part of a cycle. Or rather, downfall that characterized his life. But then, Blaise had to unload himself onto Draco at the end of the day.

[Did he have to hear all of Blaise’s righteous rants?] Draco rubbed his temple. Suffice to say, Draco Malfoy didn’t particularly enjoy Blaise’s company now that the other boy’s thoughts were consumed by Hermione. And his irritation was further compounded by the prospect of spending all of winter hols with Blaise after stupidly agreeing to plans without actually listening to them.

Had it only been a week since Blaise had tricked him while walking back from the pitch? Surely everything belonged to another lifetime.

“Calm down, mate. The whole bloody castle can hear you.”

“No one’s even here,” Blaise scoffed.

Draco sighed. That was true. Hardly anyone had stayed at Hogwarts for the break. Not now when rumors of war compelled parents to keep their children close to home. But for some, there were no parents and there was no home.

The flames in the hearth leaped up, and Blaise jumped back in surprise. Draco merely blinked as Remus Lupin stumbled out of the fireplace and into the cold gray common room. Remus hastily dusted his robes before smiling tiredly at the two Slytherins.

“Are you boys ready to head over to the Zabini estate?”

Blaise, who had almost choked on his own breath, managed to croak, “Just a moment,” before scrambling to his room.

“Well, I assume you, Draco, have been ready for some time,” Remus said as he sat down heavily in the nearest armchair.

“Of course,” Draco said brusquely. He didn’t like Remus’ kind eyes. They made him uncomfortable.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the seconds stretching into eternity in the emptiness.

“I can take you somewhere else instead.”

Draco shook his head. Where else? The Manor? The hovel Remus called a home? Grimmauld Place? It didn’t really matter where he was. But then again, perhaps he could go to 12 Grimmauld and see his mother. Sit by her. Look at her beautiful face. He leaned forward, the request on his lips. But then, he sat back again. Did it even matter? She was practically a corpse already.

Remus saw the conflict in the quicksilver eyes of the boy before him. He gently patted Draco’s pale hand. As though he read the Slytherin’s mind, he said, “Perhaps you could visit your mother.”

“Why did you give up on her?” Draco asked instead.

“I haven’t,” Remus replied, his voice unsteady. He sat back in the chair.

“You know that’s not what I mean. I mean,” Draco’s voice was quiet, vulnerable, “all those years ago. Why did you let her go?” He straightened his posture. “How could you let her go?”

“It’s complicated,” Remus replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Life,” Draco replied slowly, “is complicated.”

A pregnant pause. The air hummed. Finally, Remus said, “I couldn’t give her what she wanted.”

“And you think my father did?”

Remus sighed and ran a hand through his ragged hair. He was nothing like the Malfoys, nothing like the cool elegant boy that sat before him. “You know, your grandparents would have never approved.”

“That didn’t stop Andromeda.”

“No. But your mother was not Andromeda.”

“So you don’t think she loved you enough?”

“No, that’s…” Why did Draco have to ask all the hard questions? “I don’t know what she would have been willing to give up for me, for us, but I was not going to let her do it.”

“You left her then?”

“Draco.” Remus said, almost sternly. He couldn’t let the boy break down all the walls he had built over the years. He couldn’t let him deny all the excuses that kept him sane. “I had to step back and let her live her life. She wanted children. She wanted a home, a family. She would’ve been chained to a werewolf, to poverty, to shame.”

Draco thought he should have been angry. But he wasn’t. He understood. “You thought she would have hated you. I don’t think she ever could.” Though he already knew the answer, Draco asked it anyway. “Do you regret it?”

“Of course. Everyday of my life.”

“If you had married her instead, I wouldn’t have been born.” Draco paused and looked Remus in the eye. “She would’ve been happy. She would’ve been content with you. I don’t think you would have disappointed her the way I have. It would’ve been better that way.”

“Dra-” Remus began.

“Oi! I’m ready,” Blaise called. The next moment, he was in the Common Room. “Ay, professor, do you think I could pop in the kitchens before we go? My mum doesn’t keep any sweets at home.”

As Remus escorted Blaise to the kitchens, Draco rolled his eyes. It was a flimsy excuse and made even weaker by Blaise’s request that their former professor occupy him; in case, he got lost.

It was his birthday today. Sixteen useless years. Fossett had served him breakfast in bed and fussed over him like a mother hen. Draco had hoped that would’ve been the end of it, especially given Blaise’s recent distraction. But hope was a thing long fled.

“Child Rowland to the dark tower came,

His word was still, Fee, fie, foh, fum,

I smell the blood of an Englishman.”*

Draco recited the lines slowly, as though from a dream. He didn’t remember exactly where he had read the verse and he half-thought perhaps it was all a dream. He began imagining Blaise and Remus entering the drab Common Room with fake smiles plastered on their faces and a double chocolate treacle cake at hand. But then, a tall redhead man in worn robes stumbled from the fireplace and Draco was no longer merely living in his head.

“Er, Mr. Weasley?” Draco asked, his palms flat against the arms of his chair, holding him up in a half-seated, half-standing position.

Arthur Weasley was a mess. His sparse hair stuck out in all directions and his eyes were wide and troubled. He moved towards Draco in jerked, frantic movements.

If Draco had known what fear was, he would have been fearful. But he had moved past that and only watched Arthur Weasley come towards him without feeling, without a sense of connection to the scene before him. The blond just stood and waited.

“Draco,” Arthur managed. He placed a shaking hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I need your help. It’s Fred.”

Draco blinked for a moment. Arthur knew better than to make such a request. The Slytherin wasn’t suppose to be healing anyone anymore. Even sealing skin over a simple parchment cut had sapped his strength. Draco looked down at his finger, at the thin scar running along its length, almost down to the edge of his family ring, and then, at the entrance of the Common Room. Blaise and Remus would come back in any moment. He had to act now. It was perhaps one of the few proactive things he had done all year. He turned to the older man and nodded, and Arthur Weasley ushered the blond into the fireplace.

~*~

Harry’s present sat on top of the pile. Ginny had wrapped it last. It could have been a nod to tradition. She had always wrapped Harry’s present last ever since she met him as an awestruck ten-year-old girl who didn’t know any better. Ginny didn’t think she knew any better now. But this time around, she had not savored the moment it took to wrap Harry’s gift as she had done only last year. She had not reserved the shiny emerald wrapping paper expressively for him either. She had wrapped the darn thing with green paper because it was all she had left. And Harry’s present had been last because when she had turned to the remaining items, her heart had lurched up into her throat.

On the faded brown carpet of her room laid three objects. One, a box of chocolate from Honeydukes, was for Dean. Ginny pried the lid off and popped a truffle in her mouth. At least, it was suppose to be for Dean. The next was a book for Hermione. You could never fail with a book. Really, she could have given the older girl any book and she would have been ecstatic. But Ginny had searched the used stacks for nearly three hours before she found something special for Hermione. It was a Muggle book about art. Ginny didn’t understand much about Muggle drawings but there were beautiful pictures of women with long flowing hair and intriguing expressions, all painted by a man named Waterhouse. Ginny had wanted to see the look on Hermione’s face when she opened her gift. But Ginny had bought the book before school even started. Before everything had started.

Ginny shook her head and picked up the last item, a black obsidian pendant on a leather string. It was a healing stone, a strengthening stone. She had saved up for weeks to buy it. And now it rested on the palm of her hand, cold and hard. Just like the person she had purchased it for.

Ginny gripped the stone and its glass edge dug into her skin as she stared out into the night sky. It was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, the beginning of winter. Molly Weasley would have described it otherwise. She would have said it marked the return of the sun. But Ginny had since looked at things differently.

A knock at the door. “Oi, Ginny. It’s dinnertime.”

Rather than put up a fuss about it, Ginny slipped the stone into her pocket and followed her youngest brother. They walked sullenly down the stairs, each occupied with their own thoughts.

“Harry’s suppose to come in a few days.”

“I know.”

“Just trying to make conversation, is all.”

Ron’s gloom somehow made her feel guilty. As though it were her fault that Hermione snogged Draco Malfoy. Of course, how much worse would it have been if he knew she had also snogged the Prince of Slytherin? As they entered the kitchen, Ginny tried not to think of how betrayed Ron might’ve felt. She was half-afraid that he would’ve cared less.

It took her a moment to realize something was wrong. The food laid invitingly on the table but Molly Weasley was nowhere near it. Instead, the plump matron was standing beside the door to the living room, staring blankly into space and wringing her hands.

“Mum?” Even Ron stopped mid-step to look at their mother. Perhaps the entire Hermione business had given him more perspicacity. Normally he would have been halfway through his meal before he had noticed anything was amiss.

Molly Weasley’s head snapped towards them. “Oh my babies!” she exclaimed, clearly agitated. “Why don’t you eat? Dinner’s ready. On the table,” she finished with a careless wave behind her.

Ron and Ginny exchanged troubled looks. As their gazes slipped away from each other, they heard a cry issue from the living room. They all rushed out of the kitchen.

Molly ran straight to Fred, who had been laid out on the coffee table. Of course, Bill had lengthened and elevated it into a makeshift cot while Fleur was busily flicking her wand over Fred’s wounded chest.

Ginny had never seen Fred cry before. But big fat tears were now rolling from the corner of his eyes as he tried to hold in his screams of pain. Ginny crept up, next to the makeshift bed, and was horrified to see the deep angry slashes across her brother’s chest. She almost fell back in an unequal mix of awe and dread when she realized that each wound Fleur closed reopened mere seconds later.

“What are you doing?” she muttered in shock. “Why aren’t you closing them up?”

Strong hands fell on her shoulders and moved her back, as though physical distance could and would dull the pain and horror. “Fleur is doing everything she can,” Bill said close to her ear. “But these are Dark wounds. They’re different from common ones.”

“Why can’t we close them? How are they different?” Ron asked quietly.

Of course, Ron and Ginny knew about magic that destroyed, magic that killed, but that didn’t make it any easier for their oldest brother to talk about it, to describe it and most of all, to acknowledge that, even at their young ages, they had already experienced it. Indeed, Ron and Ginny had often barreled forth into danger without consulting anyone other than themselves or anything more than their own sense of righteousness; yet, now they looked to him for answers, for guidance and he had nothing, absolutely nothing for them. “We don’t always understand the Dark side,” he finally said. “To best fight it, we need to know it.” He didn’t think he could say any more.

Another piercing cry from Fred. “Just end it,” he sobbed. “Just let me…”

“No!” Molly half-hissed, half-sobbed. “Don’t you give up, don’t you dare–”

The flames in the fireplace leapt up bright and green. Bill sighed with relief as a figure stumbled out. His father. But no, as the smoke cleared, it became apparent that instead of a gangly balding man, stood a thin, angular boy with white-blond hair.

Draco’s eyes swept past the nearly identical mops of red hair. He hadn’t been looking for Ginny but of course, he could not help but notice her. She was standing beside her brother, Ron; her eyes wide with surprise and fear. He felt something pull inside of him but before he let himself think any further of it, of her, he moved forward. Fleur was hovering over a damaged Fred Weasley.

“Qu’est-ce qui s’est passé ici?” he asked the Veela.

Fleur hadn’t noticed Draco’s entrance but his question drew her attention. Her head snapped up and she looked at him with her expressive eyes. “Non,” she replied, shaking her head. “Aie besoin de partir.”

As Fleur pushed him away, back towards the fireplace where Arthur Weasley had just stumbled out, Draco stepped to the side and circled the cot where Fred laid. Molly moved out of the way for him.

“No, youz canzt let ‘im do it! Youz canzt. Hez a boi!” Fleur was shooting.

But Draco had already posed his hands above Fred’s bleeding wounds and he was already feeling that dizzying surge of power that often accompanied this course of action. But looking at Fred Weasley’s injuries, looking at the deep gashes that tore his chest apart, made Draco pause. They were slowly opening up again, despite Fleur’s latest ministrations. For Fred, it must’ve felt like he was receiving the wounds anew. Except from the people who we trying to help him.

Draco knew of this magic. Though he had spent most of last year dodging Aunt Bella’s advances, he also absorbed a lot of information from her. Information about Dark magic, of course. After all, she had been - was - steeped in it. All of the Death Eaters were. He had seen them tweak with magic. At least, the more talented and unhinged ones like his aunt. And Bellatrix, especially, was brilliant at it.

Sometimes, it was frighteningly simple and thus, even more perverse. The first time she did a demonstration for Draco, she lured a stout Muggle man who had smiled winsomely at her only to beg for a quick death on his knees just moments later. But no, Bella wanted to play. She explained to Draco that it was merely a simple cutting spell, laced with a healing charm that prevented blood clots. “Clever, isn’t it, Draco darling?” Bella had smiled beatifically. “Using something good to serve an entirely different purpose. That’s all Dark magic really is. What you make of it, what you put into it. ” And she laughed as the man at her feet bled to death from razor thin cuts along his forearms that shouldn’t have killed anyone.

Draco did not know what made him turn to Ginny but he did, his grey eyes locking with her cinnamon ones. As they silently looked at each, really looked at each other for the first time in over a fortnight, Draco realized that for some reason, he needed her reassurance, her strength, to go through with it. He had never done anything like this before. Never battled a Dark power that was still alive, still working on its victim. The most draining thing he had ever worked on was Dumbledore’s hand. It had been black and withered, burnt by some magical fire, Draco mused. But by a force that had already been destroyed.

And why he should turn to her at this time was incomprehensible to him. She who betrayed him. She that nearly broke him. But still...a voice in the back of his mind told him that she had taught him, despite the anger and despite the despair he had spiraled into because of her faithlessness, he was capable of being a better person than he had ever thought he could ever be. He had went with Arthur Weasley on his own accord, hadn’t he? And now, he was here and he could save her brother because he willed it to be so. Not because of what the Order could do for him in return and not because of anything he wanted from her. And with Gryffindor recklessness, he turned to Fred and placed his hands over his Dark marks.

Ron looked around him. Everyone’s eyes were trained on Draco and Fred. “What the bloody hell is going on here? What is he doing? Why isn’t anyone stopping him?”

The power surged from within him, from the very core of him. Beneath his trembling fingers, Fred’s wounds were closing. But he had to go further, he had to go deeper, he had to ensure the vicious slashes would not open again. He closed his eyes, letting his tactile senses take over. He concentrated his strength on extracting the Dark magic from the flesh. And he felt his will win over.

Jumbled pieces of Fred’s memories began flashing behind his eyes. He saw a toddler looking curiously at a redhead infant. Arthur Weasley with hair. A well-built young man expertly handling a dragon. Piles and piles of books. Garden gnomes. A riotous Christmas dinner with too much red. And then, the feelings came.

He had never experienced anything quite like it. He wanted to alternatively laugh, cry, and smile as Fred’s montage continued through him, passed into him, invaded him. He felt what Fred felt at each moment and he wanted to continue watching, to continue feeling what it was to be happy. But everything tore apart as an agonized scream rent the air. Draco wanted to pull his hands away from Fred and cover his ears. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but listen to that terrible sound burn through his chest and only afterwards would he learn that it had been him screaming.

Draco had started trembling early on and Fleur had rushed forward to pry his hands off of Fred. But his usually cool skin was burning hot and she jumped back as the contact with his flesh scorched hers. That was when Ginny began panicking. She, of course, knew nothing about Draco’s healing powers, only that they existed, only that it made him tired when he did too much. But from the looks of those around her, it was evident something was wrong. Deadly wrong.

And then he had begun screaming.

Everyone seemed to burst into activity but Ginny stood still, rooted to the spot. She listened to his agony and felt it run deep into her own chest. She thought she would collapse.

But she didn’t. It was Draco who did. His hands suddenly slid off of Fred. And it was Ron, Ron of all Weasleys, who caught Draco as the blond’s legs gave out from under him. And just when things seemed to finally slow down, they sped up to twice their previous pace. Fred sat up, feeling his unmarked chest, with disbelief apparent in his movements and in his face. Molly rushed forward, followed by Bill. Fleur was running around the cot to Draco. Remus Lupin and Blaise Zabini burst into the living room. And Draco Malfoy began coughing up blood.

Remus was instantly at Draco’s side, nearly pushing Ron out of the way while Blaise watched, making agitated side-steps that would have been amusing in a different situation. “We need to get him help,” Remus said, nodding to Blaise. Blaise leaned down and brought his arm across Draco’s back and helped haul him up. They practically dragged him to the fireplace where Arthur stood, an apology already on his lips.

With a fury perhaps Remus himself did not know he was capable of, the former Professor cut Arthur’s speech short and snarled, “Of course you would be willing to sacrifice someone else’s son for your own purposes.”

And then they were gone, leaving Arthur to sag against the fireplace. He had a feeling that Remus had not been referring to Narcissa per se when he had said that. He turned tired blue eyes to his family. Molly, Bill and Fleur had taken Fred upstairs. But Ginny and Ron were still there. Ginny, with an entirely blanked look on her face. Ron, with a bowed head. Arthur echoed his son’s stance. They had all done Draco Malfoy a disservice.

A/N: After much deliberation, I have decided to post only on the ficjournal, We3Sisters, at http://community.livejournal.com/we3sisters/. All are welcome and you don’t have to be an LJ user to access these stories. Because I have started posting “A Common Cure” here but not at We3Sisters, I will continue posting ACC here until it is finished or I have caught up at the site. If you are interested, I have other stories posted on that site but not here, including, “At the World’s End” (http://community.livejournal.com/we3sisters/33597.html) and “And the Twilight Sounds,” a four part fic (http://community.livejournal.com/we3sisters/35513.html). Thanks so much.