Unofficial Portkey Archive

Blue-Eyed Angel

Chapter Seventeen

Draco pulled over to the side of the road and parked. Ginny looked around, and was confused. They were in the middle of a road, in the middle of nowhere, trees on one side, snowy sloping hills on the other.

"Draco?" she asked.

"You dressed warmly like I advised, right?" he asked, unbuckling himself.

"Where are we?"

"Wiltshire," he said simply.

"I know that, but where in Wiltshire?" she asked.

"If I told you, I would have to kill you," he said with a smirk, opening his door. He climbed out and Ginny unfastened herself, Draco appeared on the outside of her door and opened it for her like the well pedigreed gentleman he was.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. He offered her a hand, which she needed to get up out of the dinky car.

Draco pulled her up so they were right up against each other and he smiled.

"Mind a walk?" he asked.

"My legs are cramped up," she said.

"We will walk slowly then," he said, grabbing her by the hand and leading her towards the trees. She had imagined for a moment that maybe Draco had intended on sledding, the snowy hills looking positively ideal for such a thing, but he headed off towards the trees. She wanted to ask, but he wouldn't tell even if she did, so she saved her breath.

"Wiltshire is a very culturally significant and magically prominent area," he explained, leading Ginny by the hand carefully though the trees. "It's one of the ceremonial counties of England, and two-thirds of the ground here is chalk."

"Chalk?"

"The chalk underlies large areas of Southern England from the Dorset Downs in the west to Dover in the east. Ever hear of the Cherhill White Horse, or the Westbury White Horse?" he asked.

"No."

"They are two of several white horses, carved into the hillsides throughout Wiltshire. They are white because the ground is chalk," he explained, sounding almost like a tour guide.

"Oh," she said.

"This whole area is ripe with magical history. Stonehenge, Avebury, Woodhenge, Old Sarum, Wardour Castle, Silbury Hill, The West Kennet Long Barrow…" he said, clearly ticking off in his mind all that he knew of the area. Ginny had to admit, she knew of some of it, but not of its significance. Draco seemed very interested in it however, his fascination and even pride when it came to the area something she tended to only hear when Hermione spoke of things she had read in some lengthy old text, or something Harry had learned about some thing Quidditch related.

It was cute to hear Draco go on about something he enjoyed. History, who'd have thought?

"Where are we now, exactly? Tell me," she demanded while smiling.

"Bentley Wood," he answered.

"What's here?"

"Butterflies for the most part…in the spring and summer. Noteworthy are the Purple Emperor, White Admiral, and Pearl-bordered Fritillary," he said knowledgably, not looking back at her, guiding them along through the trees hand-in-hand.

"It's the middle of winter, you couldn't have brought me here to look at butterflies," she said and Draco laughed.

"Come summer, I'll bring you here to see them, if you like. I enjoyed them as a boy, but don't mention that to anyone or I will harm you," he said firmly, smiling though Ginny could not see it.

"As a boy? Draco, are you taking me to Malfoy Manor?" she asked, shocked, almost stopping but Draco pulling her along in their steady slow-paced trek.

"I want you to see my world," he said, stopping to stand tall while looking back at her. Ginny looked at him for a long moment and then nodded.

She was about to see Malfoy Manor? The manor was well hidden, and vastly guarded. The protections around the home were the things of legend.

Draco guided them, clearly knowing where they were going, and he stopped in the middle of the trees, looking back at her again.

"Ready?" he asked.

"For what?" she asked.

Draco didn't say anything, he just held his hand up like he was reaching for something, and pulled. The scene of trees before them rippled slightly and split apart like he was drawing a tall stage curtain apart. He held it open and on the other side, through the gap, Ginny could see some sloping lawns, clearly not woods like they had just been passing through, and a tall, dark, stone wall.

Ginny's face was of amazement, and anticipation, and shock. Draco's was confident and pleased, satisfied with Ginny's reaction apparently. He made a sweeping motion with his hand for her to enter and she approached.

"Is it safe?" she asked.

"Most of the wards were taken down after the house was removed from my family's possession. The only ones that remain are the ones they, the Ministry, could not figure out how to remove, and the ones that," he indicated the illusion he was rupturing at the moment, "keep it hidden from Muggles," he said. "I can get you past the ancient family wards, simply because I'm a Malfoy, so just stick close, awright?"

"Why do I have a feeling we are not supposed to be here?" she asked, looking up at him before looking through the gap in the illusion again.

"We are trespassing on Ministry property," he said with a bitter smile. "Now come on, there is much I would like to show you," he said, urging her through again with his hand.

Ginny crept through, turning and ducking and arching her back, trying not to touch whatever illusion was there, trying to fit through the gap Draco had created. Draco just smiled and ducked in carelessly. He let go of the air and it fell back into place. Ginny could not see where it was, it just looked like an edge of trees.

They walked only for a moment before coming to the stone wall. Draco smiled at her.

"Can you climb? It is a wee-bit slippery," he warned.

"There is no way around?" she asked.

"The wall borders and encloses the entirety of the property, and the gate is locked. Wards used to make this wall impenetrable and impassable, but that guard has long since been revoked, so we need to but scale it. This is the roughest and lowest portion of the wall, that's why I took you this way. I figured it would be the best place to attempt to get over."

"Have you done this before?" she asked, looking at the wall that was covered in bare vines, ice, and clustered snow.

"As a youth, I snuck in and out of my home from time to time, most of the wards allowing a Malfoy to pass, for Apparition purposes of course," he said with a mischievous smirk. He might have been raised by his mother and father to be proper and respectable, but he had been, by no means, an angel, despite what his middle name suggested.

Draco, looking at the wall, was conflicted. Should he go first to check and assure safe footing, or go up right behind Ginny, to catch her should she slip? The wall was only about thirteen feet high, nothing too terrible, but the wall was "rough" because it was a little crumbly, and he was worried Ginny could get hurt.

Ginny volunteered to go first, fearless and a woman with a sense of adventure. She played Quidditch, she dueled dark wizards, she had six older brothers; she was not intimidated by walls. Draco followed after her, wishing he could enjoy his view of her bum better if she weren't wearing such a long thick set of winter robes. She did slip at one point and he stopped her from falling more than a few steps by reaching up and placing his hand firmly on that lovely posterior of hers.

Once on the wall, they needed to get down, which was actually easier for some reason. Draco went first that time, and only bothered to get halfway down before just dropping. Ginny followed suit and he didn't catch her in his arms, but when she landed she stumbled into him and he just held her close for a minute, preventing her fall.

"There, it has been an adventure already," he said with a smile.

Draco grabbed her by the hand again and pulled her off towards a long, narrow, building that looked like a dilapidated shell. It was not the manor, so what was it?

"These were our stables," he said, looking at the hollow building mournfully. They did not stop, but Draco turned his head all the way around to look at them as they passed, trying to keep them in his view for as long as possible. Ginny could tell he must have missed his horses.

They trekked across the sloping laws, following the trees.

"I'm taking you the long way around. I want you to see the front first, it's far more impressive seeing the front," he said and Ginny nodded, sure she would be impressed regardless. She had wanted to see the manor for half her life. Her father had seen it, while conducting raids, but he had refused to give any sort of detail to any of them (the kids) about what he saw. Just muttered on about what a waste of money the place was, overly lavish apparently. Ginny wondered what it looked like now.

It was very cold and Ginny was freezing. Draco held her hand tight, but his was just as cold as hers in his black fingerless gloves so it offered little additional warmth.

"Ready?" he asked, looking back at her, seemingly excited himself. Ginny nodded, smiling in anticipation. Draco led her around what was apparently a final bend and a tall building came into view.

Draco had been right, as impressive as any other angle the home might have been, the front was just breathtaking.

It was grey stone, all cut to be rectangular and fit together, no two stones the same color, each varying in either a dark or pale shade. It must have been at least three stories high, judging by the windows. The roof was tall and sloping slate.

There was a path that split to encircle a now dry and snow-covered fountain at least a story high. The walkway led to the front where steps rose up to large, double hung doors set into the stone with a wooden frame. The wood was old, and of a greenish color.

A large, angled turret was to the right of the door, standing taller than the rest of the home like a watchtower. The series of wings the house was composed of could be seen from the outside, and dark windowpanes, set in lead and much taller than they were wide, stood amongst the stone to sparkle in the sunlight.

The home was all angles, all stone, and looked very firm. Black-iron lamps clung to the stone and stood at the base of the steps.

"Wow," she managed.

"See the empty vines?" he said, indicating the dark vines that had crept over much of the front. "In the spring and summer they bring much needed color to the house. In the autumn the leaves become bright-red, like cherry red, and it's quite breathtaking. All around us would be the gardens, but the winter robs this place of its true beauty," he said, looking around.

"It is still beautiful," she said, looking around, trying to imagine the gardens. She bet they were beautiful gardens, the Malfoys settling for nothing less.

"The butterflies are what make it perfect. With the fountain gushing and creating a tranquil atmosphere…" he said, practically sighing in contentment at the thought. "I am bringing you back here to see them, so you can see the gardens and the butterflies," he said with certainty then and she smiled. The gardens had most certainly gone wild in the decade-plus no one had been tending to them, but the flowers and bushes and trees would all still there, probably more beautiful when not meticulously manicured to perfection. Draco always appreciated wild, unruly nature as opposed to well kempt grounds with topiaries and rows.

"I would like that," Ginny said softly, squeezing Draco's hand. Would they still be together come spring, let alone summer? This was a fling, not a long-term relationship. Why did she have to remind herself, convince herself, of that again and again?

"Come on, let's get out of the cold."

"You mean, we are going inside?" she asked, stopping and Draco getting ahead of her a little.

"Naturally," he said, looking back.

"Won't we get in trouble?" she asked.

"Just keep your wand away and I think we will be safe. They won't know we were here unless you cast a spell and get their attention," Draco said, speaking of the Ministry. Ginny nodded, and followed, but was still apprehensive.

Draco led the way up the snowy stairs and stood in front of his doors for the first time in over thirteen years.

Ginny came to stand behind him, and peeking over his shoulder she saw an engraving in the stone above the door.

"Nos exspectata putus of cruor quod digredior of pectus pectoris," he said, reading that Latin easily. "We welcome the pure of blood and devious of heart," he said, giving Ginny the translation.

"Your family is not particular, now is it?" she said, looking up at the lettering where snow had collected.

"We know what we are, and know what we like," he said simply, unbothered, putting his left hand up on the door and the right on the handle.

"You don't expect it to just be open, do you?" she asked.

"No Malfoy can ever be shut out of this home, I assure you," he said, the door opening with a long low groan on its ancient hinges that had clearly gone unused for a little too long for their own good.

Ginny was surprised but leaned closer.

"You would think the Ministry would have better security on this place," she said, Draco having not stepped in yet, an old musty smell of unused air wafting out to greet them.

"The Ministry could not overpower the spells long ago cast on this building by my ancestors. Anyone else that would find their way here and try to enter would surely set off some sort of alarm, but not me," he said.

"What about me?" Ginny asked, looking towards the dark unknown inside the door. Draco held his hand out to her.

"Just hold onto my hand, it will be awright," he assured, confident. Ginny didn't want to say that she did not trust him, but she was nervous.

"I work in the Hall of Records. That allows me a lot of time to read up on things. I know what defenses have been put up around my home, and I know what ones still stand. Nos exspectata putus of cruor quod digredior of pectus pectoris. That is more than just an engraving, it is a spell. Now come with me," he said, still holding his hand out to her and wiggling his fingers playfully from under his overly long sleeves. Ginny placed hers in his and he led her inside.

It was so bright outside that inside everything seemed impossibly dark.

The door groaned closed behind them and sent them into something that seemed like complete darkness for the first few moments before her eyes adjusted, the room coming into sight. It was dim, but she could make out all that was around her, winter light cutting in through the narrow windows to leave gashes of light across the floor, wafting dust in the air caught in their beams.

"Hmm, it looks like the chandelier fell," he said, indicating the large crystal and iron chandelier on the floor looking broken, its chain thrown carelessly to the side. It was draped in a single small sheet that barely covered a third of it, cobwebs encasing what was still exposed.

Ginny looked to it as it sat in the center of what looked like a grand entry hall, and then saw beyond it wide stairs on the left that were gently curved to half cradle the room. At the top of those stairs was an overhanging balcony on the second floor that revealed the grand hall's ceiling to be at least two stories high, another floor above still, more stairs somewhere else in the house obviously.

"Wow," she said, her voice echoing off the nearly empty walls.

"Tapestries used to hang here," Draco said, indicating one wall with his arm held out. The walls were carved, wood paneling half-way up, and white plaster the rest. A gold molding separated the painted ceiling from the wall. Ginny could not quite make it out in the dark, through the dirt that had settled over it, but it looked like the ceiling had clouds decorating it, with something flying amongst them.

"The ceiling was painted by my great-uncle Acacius. He had a thing for Aethonon, winged horses," he explained. "Over there were some grumpy paintings that always yelled at me for running, and down that way you would find the kitchens," he said, Ginny looking around.

"Wow."

"I guess I don't have to ask you if you are impressed."

"I bet this place was truly beautiful in its prime," she said.

"It was," he said, looking around, taking a deep breath of the stale air as though finally feeling home.

"Young Master?" a small voice called. Draco and Ginny turned. A house-elf stood, peeking around a doorway, wide-eyed and teary.

"Mickey?" Draco asked, recognizing his personal house-elf, even after so many years.

"Young Master has returned to us!" Mickey shouted, throwing himself around the doorway to charge at Draco and leap on him. Draco was gripped around the knees and Ginny reached out to grab his shoulders to prevent him from falling as his legs were clamped together. Movement in her peripheral vision caused Ginny to turn and she gasped at the House-elves that came crawling out of the woodwork it seemed to greet their long-estranged master. There must have been fifteen or twenty of them, all clustering around Draco. Ginny backed up to leave Draco standing there near the fallen chandelier, looking at her with pleading eyes for help as little arms reach up to pat him and hug him and grip him.

Ginny managed not to laugh, but it was a feat.

"Hello, um, all," he said, not sure he could address them all by name still, or the proper ones by their correct name. There seemed to be a few more than he remembered, meaning they must have procreated in the years he had been gone.

"Master, you have come home!"

"I am visiting for a moment."

"We have looked after and cared for the house for you, Master. Some evil nasty Ministry Half-bloods tried coming in here and removing our…your great family's belongings, but we did not let them. No sir. We set traps and they learned not to put their filthy Mudblood hands on your positions," the oldest of the elves said with strong conviction and vigor while shaking his bony fist.

"Oh, oh that's good," Draco said awkwardly, looking over at Ginny apologetically. He doubted he was making a great impression on her at the moment with all the bigoted and supremacist talk. He supposed seeing amusement on her face was better than outrage, but not much.

"When did the chandelier fall?" he asked, still precariously balanced amidst the sea of groping elves.

"Seven years ago, Master. We all punished ourselves for a whole month, sir. We tried to raise it again ourselves, but the Ministry kept showing up every time we used too much magic. They threatened us with clothing if we messed with things," Mickey said, the elves collectively shivering at the thought of clothing.

"It's alright, I can see that you have all done well to keep this place in tiptop shape," he said and the elves practically cried at being praised for their efforts.

"Oh thank you, Master, thank you," they sobbed, groping at him more.

"May I have some space?" he asked, fearing he would fall, taking some of the little creatures with him.

"Of course, whatever you like. How may we be of service?" a female one -so Ginny assumed- asked, bowing low, the others all muttering just about the same thing, bowing and looking at him longingly.

"Is there any way we could get some light…?" he started to ask and the elves scrambled. They each leapt for a lamp, or a candle, or a lantern, and with a small spark they each set them ablaze. In just a few seconds the grand hall was glowing in the golden color of soft firelight.

"Won't the Ministry get tipped off by the magic?" Ginny asked, walking over to Draco to stand close, the house drafty.

"Who is she?" Mickey asked, looking over at Ginny with slightly narrowed tennis-ball sized eyes like only then realizing she was even there. The other House-elves looked just as mistrustful. They were very protective of their master.

Draco reached down to hold Ginny's hand in his.

"This is Ginny, she is my…" he said looking at her, silently asking if he could call her his girlfriend or not.

"I'm Draco's girlfriend," she said, nodding down to all the elves.

"You did not set off our traps," another elf said, looking her up and down.

"She is a Pureblood," Draco assured.

"Red hair? A Weasley no doubt," another said, his tone none-too-friendly or pleased.

"You will treat her with the same respect as you would any other Master in this house," he said firmly and the elves all groveled at his feet.

"Of course, whatever Young Master wishes," they said.

"What about the fires though?" Ginny asked.

"They allow us a few simple necessities. Fire to keep warm in the winter and a few other comforts…they will not come, but I fear there is little else we can do for you, Master, when it comes to magic," one particularly knobby elf said, throwing himself down at Draco's feet.

"It's awright. Ginny and I would just like a look around," he said.

The elves sprung up and ran off. Ginny looked at Draco questioningly.

"They are to serve but remained unseen unless requested. They are off to hide, out of sight from us but ever watchful, waiting for us to need something."

"You mean they are, like, watching us right now?" she asked, looking around but seeing nothing.

"Yes," he said, smiling and pulling her close she he could reach around and rest his hand on her hip.

"You can understand now why I never supported that Mudbl…sorry, Granger's little "spew" campaign? House-elves live to serve. It quite literally pains them to not have a master."

"But Dobby seemed so happy to be free, wasn't he one of yours?" she asked.

"Oh, Dobby…yes, well, he was Mickey's brother and my father's personal House-elf. My father had a temper," Draco said, a little aloof, Ginny just accepting the answer for what it was and not inquiring further.

"Let me show you around," he said, leading her off.

Draco walked Ginny through the house, pointing all sorts of interesting little things out, reminiscing in nostalgic memories and entertaining her with tales of the wiles of his seemingly quite insane family. She supposed Draco, as apparently unbalanced as he was, and as mental as everyone around her kept telling her he was, compared to what she was hearing about his family, Draco was positively sound.

She was surprised to see most of the furniture still in the house, the upholstery draped in white sheets.

Apparently the Malfoys were not only a little possessive of their belongings, but a little paranoid about people taking them. According to Draco, nothing belonging to the family could be forcibly removed from the house. Only through a Malfoy's personal and willing consent could things be carried out. Ginny supposed that certainly helped prevent burglary, but it must have really irked the Ministry something fierce to discover that they could not sell off all the worth of the Malfoy estate piece by piece, and with no one able to afford it as a package, it sat there, unused.

Strolling through the drawing room, the dinning room, a sitting room, a smoking room, a living room, an entertaining room, a second, much grander dinning room, and an Apparition hall, Draco brought her to another set of stairs. They climbed the red carpeted stairs to spill out onto the second floor. Draco did not take her into, but he pointed out each bedroom as they passed on their way down the long hallway.

"My great-great-aunt Eudocia hung herself in that room," he sad, pointing to a room as they passed. Ginny though she caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure hanging in front of the window, but when she looked properly she saw nothing.

"I would take you up to the tower, but a nasty Ghoul resides up there and it always frightened me as a child. Theodore…" he said before stopping. Ginny looked at him and Draco seemed to collect himself and continue on. "He and I would, as boys, see who could climb the most stairs before getting too scared and running back down. I got close, but he claimed to have touched the door once. I think he was lying," he said and Ginny squeezed his hand tight.

"We have a Ghoul in the attic at my parent's house, the Burrow," she said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, not really scary, but it bangs on the pipes loudly sometimes, usually only at night when I guess it feels it is too quiet," she said, squeezing his hand again, enjoying this opportunity to see into his "world" as he had called it.

They rounded a corner on the left and Draco's spirits seemed to rise slightly from the gloom that had settled after mentioning his dead childhood friend, a friend she, Ginny, had actually killed.

"My bedroom is on the right, this way," he said, releasing her hand to jog down the hallway. "Don't run," he teased, calling over his shoulder to her as he jogged, seemingly making reference to a common telling from his childhood. He reached a closed door and held the knob, waiting for Ginny to catch up. He was building the excitement and honestly, she was wound up enough all on her own without him smirking at her and lingering there.

"Well, come on then," she said, waving her hands at the door. Draco smiled and pushed open the door.

They stepped in and Draco looked around. Ginny did the same, taking in all she could while Draco seemed to be caught in some nostalgic bliss.

"Wow." This came from Draco that time. Ginny looked over at him.

Draco moved in a sort of double step over to his closet and threw it open wide with both arms. Dust clouded in the air but he paid it no mind. He started shifting through the hung garments there excitedly, looking for something.

"Draco?"

"Looking for something to wear to the ball," he said, explaining himself without having to be asked.

"You're going take something from here? Is that wise?"

"Borrow, I'm going to borrow something from here, and I wouldn't be too worried. The Ministry really is quite distracted at the moment with that case and their pretty little ball so that I don't think they will fuss too greatly over a missing pair of Dress Robes, even if they do realize they are missing, which I can assure you, they won't," he said confidently.

"Will any of that still fit?" she asked and Draco, as he looked in the closet still, placed his hands on his narrow hips in a fashion that made Ginny smile.

"No, I suppose not," he said, looking over at her, weighing less than he did then, but, thankfully, a little taller. "Come on, we'll come back here," he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along to run with him down the hall the way they had come but passing the turn and going down a section they had not yet explored together.

He ran into a room through an already open, double-wide door and swung Ginny onto the huge canopy bed as she laughed as he rounded to the wardrobe to look through it.

"This is the Master Bedroom," he said.

"This where your parents slept?" Ginny asked, practically engulfed in the squishy, dusty bedding.

"Yup. I was conceived there, in that bed, if that makes you feel icky," he said, narrowing his eyes over his shoulder at her and saying "icky" in a very juvenile way.

"Gross, parents don't have sex, it's all a lie to sicken and scare us into not wanting to do it ourselves," Ginny laughed, looking around the massive bed. It must have been larger than a king-size, but then again, she had not seen many king-sized beds in her life, it was just unnecessarily large.

"Oh, I agree," Draco said, riffling through the closet in there like he had the other room before proclaiming "ah-ha!" and pulling out something that was in a garment bag.

"What?"

"This was my fathers," he said, holding out the bag that kept the garment concealed from Ginny.

"Will that fit you?" she asked.

"A little long and it will need to be taken in, but I'm handy with a needle, believe it or not," he said with a smile.

"Excellent," Ginny said with a grin of her own, sitting up to wrap her arms around her knees. She had been excited about the ball already, but now with Draco going, she couldn't wait.

"Come on," Draco said, grabbing her hand and pulling her up from the bed.

"Draco, must we run everywhere?" she laughed as she was pulled along, back down the hall.

"Yes, we must. My terribly spoiled inner child has been denied this for too long to pass up the opportunity," he said, a very honest smile on his face. He drew her into the room and threw her down on his bed in much the same fashion he had his parents' but this time tipping onto it after her, letting himself fall atop of her. Ginny giggled and kissed him, and he let go of the garment bag to let it lie beside them and held her face in his hands.

They carried on for a moment, kissing, groping, grinding, but Ginny finally broke away to make a face.

"There is something on the bed," she said.

"Dust," he said, still kissing at her throat and neck with such need. He had found himself in a bed, how convenient. As he rhythmically rubbed himself against Ginny, he was thankful he had stashed the condom in his pocket, he was going to need it. Twelve years was a long time.

"No, the material is hard and stiff, like something dried here," she said, unable to sit up enough with Draco on her to see exactly what it was.

"I'm more concerned with something else that is hard and stiff at the moment, Weasley darling," he grunted, kissing around her neck and gripping her right breast firmly.

Ginny carried on for a minute, kissing him, but then broke apart again to "yuck" at the feeling under her hand. Draco pushed away, confused, a little irritated that she was pulling away again, and looked down and to the left to what Ginny was talking about. His face seemed to pale and he drew her up and away from that section of the bed. Ginny was then able to look down and see the bedding that was stained and hard. It was a deep brownish-black color, but she knew what it was. It was blood.

"Draco?" she asked, looking at him as he ran his fingers over the edge of the large, decade old stain.

It was bitter cold by day, and now that the sun had set, it was deathly frigid. They did not call it the "Deathly Hallows" for nothing. One could freeze to death in mere moments if they did not mind themselves closely.

Draco sat apart from the group, none making an effort to talk to him, he only being able to stay there because of Harry's insistence.

No one would argue with Harry over it, he would not explain himself, and no one would talk to Draco, so there was this looming feeling of mistrust and wonderment. They each assumed what they wanted and would not gossip with Draco so near so as to overhear them. Too bad they did not realize he could read their thoughts.

Harry had appeared that afternoon with a timid looking Draco Malfoy in tow. They, the Order, had thought he was a captive, a prisoner to torture information out of, (a few had jumped at the opportunity and the honor of doing so) but Harry had guaranteed them that Draco was there to help.

Draco had not spoken a word.

He sat, huddled up over his own bundle of blue flames, shivering in the snowy cold, the wind whistling through the bare trees, chilling everyone to the bone but no one more than Draco. He was unhealthily willowy at that moment and apart from the group who had set up warming charms. As they ate what little provisions they had, Draco remained stubbornly separate. The group had quite plainly shunned him from his arrival on, but his own pride would not allow him to gather himself and join the group for supper.

Ginny kept glancing over at him, often enough to get Harry and Ron who sat with her to notice. She would not tell them why, but she decided to go over to Draco and offer him some food. Ron tried to talk some sense into her, and Harry could not understand her compassion for him since she had not seen what he had of Draco, but did not stop her. He pitied Draco, but felt a slight flair of jealousy as Ginny doted upon him. It was ridiculous to be jealous of Draco when it came to Ginny. It was. He was just protective of her.

Tiptoeing through the snow and underbrush, her wooly blanket wrapped around her, a bowl of cream of chicken held carefully, Ginny hopped over to him. Draco looked up, his cheeks pink from the cold, and stared.

"Hey," she said.

"Hello," he said slowly, unsure of what to expect from the female Weasley.

"I thought you could use some supper," she said, offering him the steaming bowl. Draco looked at her for a long moment and then the bowl. "I didn't poison it," she assured him as he looked from the bowl then to her, still having not taken it, or having said a word on the matter.

Draco looked back at the bowl and took it slowly without a word of thanks and Ginny waited for a moment, expecting him to verbalize some gratitude. When he just sat the bowl down in his hands on his lap and stared at it, refusing to look at her, she turned away, feeling silly for having expected a "thank you" from him.

"You can stay…if you like," he said suddenly, his voice soft, almost timid. Ginny turned back a little to look at him and Draco was looking at her, soup in his lap, face a little unsure. "I understand if you would rather go back over there where it is warm, but," -he looked back at his soup- "you are the first person to extend any kindness to me since I showed up," he said, sounding small and a little depressed. Ginny saw that in him and was shocked.

Draco Malfoy was depressed?

She was still astounded that he would come to them offering help.

Harry had assured her, assured everyone, Draco was sincere without going into any great detail, but she had found it hard to believe until just now.

Who was Draco Malfoy, really?

Ginny turned back around and hopped and tiptoed back to where Draco sat. Ron and Harry looked taken aback by this and Ron looked ready to go over there and start punching Draco in the face, but Harry pulled his arm, Hermione joining them to quietly gossip about why Harry had invited Draco in the first place now that Ginny was not amidst them. They would forever be the Gryffindor trio and when Harry would not confide in anyone, he would share with them. Ginny often felt excluded from this, shunned, left out, and she glared at their backs for a moment before turning her attention back to Draco.

Well, if that was how they were going to be…

Draco scooted over slightly so Ginny could join him on his log so she would have a dry spot to sit, the ground ankle-deep in freezing snow. There was a wide tree at his back that he had been using to break the wind some, but now scooted over he could not lean on it or hide behind it. He shivered and Ginny pointed her wand to his little blue flames, adding a few of her own to mingle with his and grow a little larger and a little warmer. Draco smiled and she offered him a bit of her blanket.

"No," he said.

"Come-on, it's nothing, just to keep warm," she said, not wanting to hold the blanket open for too long and making that clear in her tone.

Draco sighed and made it out to be some great unpleasantness for him to lean over and let her wrap half of her oversized blanket around his shoulder.

"Thank you, Weasley," he said, now sitting side by side with her in the same blanket but as far apart as he could manage as his soup quickly cooled on his lap.

"Lovely night isn't it?" she joked.

"Oh yes, like a Christmas card," he said, just as sarcastically.

"Speaking of Christmas, what have you written to and asked Saint Nick for?" she asked.

"Don't you think we are a little old to be humoring that idea still?" he asked, looking over at her through narrowed eyes, carefully hiding his amusement and his gratitude towards her for the effort she was putting into being light and friendly despite the cold and their past. She had no reason to like him, or even be nice to him, so why was she there?

"We are never too old to make wishes," she said simply, wisely. Draco managed a small smile at that.

"An end to all this would be the best gift of all," he said, stirring his soup with his spoon.

"But a lot to ask for," she said sadly. "Have you been naughty or nice this year?" she asked, trying to be light, and he looked at her.

"I have had my moments," he said vaguely, and she looked a little sadder.

"You should eat that before it turns into a block of ice. With your spoon sticking out you would have to eat it like a popsicle," she said lightheartedly.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" he asked suddenly, looking over at her for a very serious answer. Ginny licked her lips and refused to look at him, staring into the fire instead.

"Because you came here saying you wanted to help…and I don't think any of us really know you," she explained slowly. "You were a foul bigoted git in school, but, we don't know you, not really. We don't know you well enough to know either way…to know if you are going to help us, or if you have other motives…but I believe in giving everyone a chance," she said, finally looking over at him.

"Very…gracious…of you," he said.

"You don't sound like you would have done the same thing if our positions were switched," she said as Draco ate a spoonful of his soup.

"I don't trust people, or their motives," he said simply between two mouthfuls of soup. He would eat dignified, even though he was starving and would have just tipped the bowl to his lips and gulped the soup down if he had thought no one was watching.

"You don't trust me?" she said, it both a question and a statement.

"I can't imagine why anyone would trust me," he retorted, sounding depressed again, obviously making light once again of his confusion as to why she would be over there in the first place.

An owl hooted and swooped down between the trees and ended their conversation and short moment of bonding abruptly. They didn't know it yet, but this was the first of many opportunities to share their thoughts and feelings before the end of the war.

"What's the owl doing here? It could compromise our position!" one wizard shouted from the group. Draco and Ginny looked away from each other as the large eagle owl landed in the tree above them and then dropped down into the snow, hopping and greeting Draco.

"MALFOY!"

"What's going on?" some asked.

The group was standing, shouting; ready to move over to Draco who was removing the letter from his owl.

"Draco?" Ginny asked, looking over at him, pulling the blanket closed tight around her after Draco had flung it away from himself.

Draco opened the letter with shaking hands and read it. He said nothing and Ginny could not see what was written.

"Who is it from," one of the Order shouted over to Draco, everyone ready to believe it was a nefarious note about some evil plan Draco was a part of.

"It is from my mother," Draco said softly, though everyone could hear him. As he read the note over again quickly his stomach clenched.

"What does it say?" people from over in the group demanded.

"Something has happened," he said, everyone looking at him intently as he stood quickly. "Something has happened to my father…I…I have to go."

"Go? You can't go, not after learning of our location!"

The present members of the Order all looked ready to jump Malfoy but Harry chased them back with a glance and moved over to Ginny and Draco himself.

"Draco? What's going on," he asked, firm yet showing his understanding and sympathy. He did not want Draco feeling he did not trust him like the rest of the group, not after Draco had seemingly opened up to him.

"I have to go. My mother needs me. Something has happened to my father but she did not say what," Draco said, sounding a little panicked. He had decided to help the Order and just hours later something happened to one of his parents? It was the Dark Lord, it had to be. Draco felt sick.

"You can't go, not tonight," Harry said but Draco was already pulling out his wand. Draco drawing his wand got the whole group some feet back to do the same; them all ready to curse Draco should he move. He saw this but paid them no mind.

"I have to go to my mother, Potter," he said, flicking his wand and Disapparating away right then. Spells where cast just as he disappeared, hitting the trees that stood behind where he had been, causing sparks.

Ginny yelped and Harry sighed.

Draco appeared in his home, his house's wards allowing a Malfoy through. He stepped down from the Apparition point and looked around. His body and skin burned from the sudden warmth, making his face flush and his ears red. His mother was standing not far, clearly waiting for him to arrive.

"Mother," he said, moving over to her with his arms held out. She accepted him into a hug but immediately started weeping.

"Angel."

"Mother, Mother, please, what is it? What has happened to Father?" he asked, sounding as strong as he could so as to show his support for her, but wanting to know so desperately what had happened to his daddy. The note had not said but it had strongly implied it was something bad. It was the Dark Lord, the Dark Lord must have known he had turned traitor. How could he have thought he could hide this from the Dark Lord? The Dark Lord knew all, saw all.

"The Azkaban Guards Flooed me this afternoon," she sobbed.

"Why? What has happened?" he asked, dreading the answer already.

"Your father, oh god, Lucius…he has…he has died," she said, crying out loud in a way that Draco had never seen or heard before. She would weep, she would sob if she was really upset, but he had never seen her lose her decorum like this before and cry so openly.

The news of his father's death hit Draco like a Full Body-Bind.

His father was dead?

No, he couldn't be.

"Dead?" he managed, the word getting caught in his throat so he could not say another. His mother just sobbed on. It took him a full minute to collect himself enough to speak again. "How?" he asked, not understanding. His father had been in his mid-forties and healthy. Other than being in Azkaban, he was in quite fit shape. What could have possibly happened? Of his parents, his father he was least worried about. He had hidden his mother for months, but that had only brought the Dark Lord's wrath down upon Butler Paul and made him doubt Draco's loyalty. His mother was home again, and if the Dark Lord were to punish him, certainly his mother would have been the easier target.

"He, he, passed away, in his cell this afternoon, suddenly," she said, sobbing and clutching Draco tight, too tight, she was hurting him.

"Mother, Mother, please, relax, let go of me, please," he said, pulling her away from him to force her to look at him. "Sit down, come on, sit with me," he said, a part of him on the inside crying just as hard, if not harder than her, over this news.

One part of him was crying for his daddy, another part was crying over his mummy's anguish, and another part of him was angry.

What had happened?

He kept that angrier part close to the surface so he could support his mother, and find out from her what had happened.

He sat her down on the chesterfield and gripped her hands tight in his as he squatted down before her.

"Mother, what happened? How did he just die?" he asked.

"The guards said it looked like a heart attack, that he just clutched his chest, and screamed, and collapsed. They could not resuscitate him with any spells," she sobbed, Draco releasing her hands to allow her to blot her blotchy wet face with her handkerchief, her careful makeup ruined long before. "We have no family history of heart disease!" she wailed, covering her face with her hands and handkerchief.

"Did someone do this?" he asked, his anger flaring in him to override his sadness. He would see to it whomever responsible for his father's death, his father's murderer, met a just end. He didn't care if it was the Dark Lord, he would avenge his father. Surely the Dark Lord himself didn't appear in Azkaban to kill his father, someone else must have done it. Draco needed to know who.

Narcissa only cried harder.

"You know who did this don't you? Tell me, tell me who. I will kill them for you, Mother, I'll kill them," he said, conviction strong in his voice.

He meant it.

He had never killed anyone in his life, a lot of his problems in his current situation stemmed from that actually, but he would do it, for his father's honor, for his mother so he would not suffer to see tears in her eyes.

"Angel," she wept.

"Yes?"

"What have you done?" she asked and Draco blinked at her.

"What?"

"What have you done?" she repeated, a little anger surfacing.

"I do not understand, Mother."

"Lucius should not have died,"

"I know, but what happened?"

"When you were born, the Dark Lord made an Unbreakable Vow with your father that you would be a servant of his," she said and Draco looked at her, unaware of this.

"What?"

"Even though the Dark Lord had apparently died a year later, your father still raised you to the ideals the Dark Lord had held true. If you should be anything but a supporter of the Dark Lord, your father would die," she said, looking at Draco firmly and Draco paling, unable to swallow the lump in his throat as his stomach tied itself in knots.

"Mother, I," he said, still squatting down before her, looking up into her face.

"Draco, what have you done?" she asked again, voice so low it was hoarse while she used his actual name for the first time that night.

"I…I did not know of this vow, I…" he said, his mind reeling, unable to grasp all he had just been presented with.

His father was dead.

It was his fault?

No, it couldn't be.

He hadn't known.

How could he have known? No one had ever told him…

Surely there was some other cause to blame, some other explanation.

It couldn't have been his fault!

But, his daddy was dead...

"I did not know," he said, tears leaking from his eyes now.

"You have turned your back on the Dark Lord? Angel, what has gotten into you? For Merlin's sake, this is not how we raised you!" Narcissa scolded, Draco flinching and falling backwards onto his butt to sit on the floor, unable to catch a proper breath or keep his balance.

"I didn't…I can't…" he said, breathing again now, but his breaths coming in huffing waves like it did when he cried.

"Angel-"

"I can't serve him, I can't…he…he," he said, crying finally, rocking slightly. His whole world, or what little he had left of it, was tumbling down all around him and he didn't know what to do, how to handle it, so he did all he could: he cried.

"Angel, baby, he is all our family has now! He will look after us, he will make it so we will not be shunned like we are now," Narcissa urged, her own tears still sliding down her face.

"How can you support him? You do not serve him. How can you expect so much from me?" he demanded tearfully.

"Angel-"

"No, no, I want you to tell me why. Why are you not a Death Eater? Why have you never done more than turn your nose up at anyone not a Pureblood while discourteous towards Muggles and just about everyone else!"

"Angel, you wouldn't understand," she said, shaking her head and looking down. Draco reached up and grabbed her chin, looking into her eyes. He used his still new Legilimency to enter her mind and see her memories, the one he wanted to see near to the surface, it being what came to mind with the question he had posed.

It was at this time he had seen the memory of the night he had been born, and how his mother had fled, and the Dark Lord had found her and nearly killed him as a newborn.

Draco learned of the reason he had such a name and why his mother preferred to call him by his middle, and that she followed the Dark Lord out of fear, not loyalty, thus why the Dark Lord thought the same of him so much and why he had to constantly prove himself. He saw his father fight to save him and the vow that had been made.

Draco pulled back, tears running down his cheeks with all the emotion that had come with the memory. He was not skilled enough yet to only take the memory and block out all of the feelings that coincided with it.

One would think, with what his mother had gone through, that she would understand why he couldn't follow. But she blamed him…in her desperate and depressed sense of loss and anguish; she blamed him for his father's death. Draco sobbed, sitting on the floor before his mother, knowing she felt it was his fault Lucius was dead.

"I cannot serve him, Mother, I cannot," he cried.

"Angel."

"He got me sick, Mother," he nearly shouted, Narcissa tilting her head a little.

"What?"

"The summer Father was taken away, the Dark Lord was so furious…he sent Greyback after me, as punishment for Father's failure," he said, eyes streaming with tears.

"What are you saying?" she asked, breathless.

"I'm sick, I have been since the night I got back from Hogwarts between my fifth and sixth year…that night had been the full moon."

"No, no, that's not possible," she said, looking down at her baby. "Please, Angel, tell me this is not true," she begged.

"The house was a mess and you had left. I was here alone with the servants. I was only able to hide what had happened because you had gone away. Butler Paul helped me, as did Aunt Bella. I was so sick at first…I recovered only in time for you to come home. You commented on how ill I was, remember?"

"Angel, no," she cried.

"I'm sorry…I could not tell you…I could not tell you that I, your baby, am a…werewolf," he said, finally saying it. Narcissa held her handkerchief and hands over her mouth, tearful eyes wide.

Draco looked away, crying.

"You understand now why I can't serve him? He is not looking out for us and our best interest. He has lied to us, manipulated us. He would have killed me; it was only a fluke that I had lived at all."

"Angel," she said, slipping onto the floor so that she was kneeling in front of Draco.

They cried together for a long time, holding each other.

They cried over their husband and father, they cried about Draco's condition, they cried about their hopeless situation.

Narcissa cried herself to sleep in Draco's arms and he gathered her up after pushing up his sleeves, eyes red-rimmed and shining from his spent tears. He laid her on the chesterfield and straightened. He looked down at her for a long time, sadness overwhelming him to the point where his chest…his heart…literally ached from it like a physical manifestation of his anguish. He had no more tears to cry, and he did not feel any better from crying, he just felt hollowed out and empty…not numb though, there was too much pain there for him to be numb.

Draco gave his mother a kiss on the forehead, and a kiss on the cheek, and held her hand for a long moment before retreating to his bedroom, giving strict orders to Mickey that he should not be disturbed for any reason.

Draco closed himself up in his room and stood in the middle of it for a long time. His vacant eyes just stared off into nothing as he stood motionless.

He was lost, caught between so many emotions. He had always compartmentalized his life, but now that just left him with a hundred different parts of himself, each aching and looking for comfort where none was to be found.

Not exactly coming to a decision but simply following some predominant thought in his mind, he moved over to his bedside table and opened the drawer. He drew out a long dagger that was sheathed in its leather holster, meant to attach to a belt. He looked at its gem-encrusted handle that resembled a coiling serpent, tilting it in his fingertips to watch it sparkle. It had been in his family for generations, and it had been the last thing he had gotten from his father before he had been sent to Azkaban, no…before he died.

Draco's insides hurt at that thought.

Still staring at the emerald and platinum dagger, Draco turned slightly to sit on the edge of his bed. He drew the dagger slowly, revealing its shining blade, perfectly preserved for hundreds of years, no signs of tarnish, no nicks or impurities to mar its surface.

It was such a beautiful dagger.

Draco held it out to admire it, and without giving it a though, he dragged it against his inner left arm where the Dark Mark was exposed, little pressure needed to break the skin, it sharp enough to cut deep with just one pass.

The pain was not instant; in fact, it took so long to come that Draco thought maybe he had imagined he had done it. He was almost relieved that he hadn't done it, until it started to burn and he realized it was reality.

Blood spilled out of the wound and down his extended arm to drip from his elbow onto his lap. He gasped at the pain, and tears formed in his eyes, but not as a result of the physical pain.

What had he done?

He wanted to die.

Most every part of him wanted to die, but there was still a part of him that was separate, that was scared, and that was panicking at the sight of all the blood.

Taking a deep breath to calm that part of him, Draco rolled onto his bed so he was laying flat on his back, properly on mattress so his head was on the pillows. He let his arms rest at his sides, his left hip growing wet and warm from the blood that was quickly spreading and soaking into the bedding.

He closed his eyes and reached up under his pillow to pull out his bunny without having to look for it. His father had died alone. No one should ever die alone. Draco held Leak, his little bunny with the felt-antlers, in his right hand, hugging it to his chest one-armed, ready to just let himself drift off into sleep, into death, his heart still aching from loss, and guilt. He wouldn't be alone with Leak there. That offered some amount of comfort for that still panicking portion of his slowly dimming mind.

Would his mother survive losing him too?

He wished there were a way to make sure she would be alright after he was gone…maybe he would become a ghost. Malfoys seemed to have a knack for that, there were several in the house.

As though summoned by that very thought, one drifted into his room.

"I sense death in this room," his great-great-great-aunt Venustas said, looking around. She caught sight of her young relation, rapidly slipping away from the living and gasped.

"Oh, good lord," she said, jetting out of the room in much haste to find help.

Draco was disoriented and barely conscious when someone lifted him up off his bed a few minutes later after bursting into the room.

"Draco, my boy, stay with me…don't do this, think of you mother, oh god, stay awake," he said.

Draco was unsure of what exactly was happening, his vision dark and the man's voice distant, but he was sure he himself was talking and telling Butler Paul that everything was alright. He was sure he was explaining to the old, blind man, all the reasons why he needed to close his eyes and sleep a little bit longer, but Butler Paul did not seem to be assured.

Draco felt himself rest on something hard and he was on the floor now. He took a deep breath and let it out, but another did not follow. One last part of him was screaming, panicked almost as much as Butler Paul at that, but most of him was relaxed, willing, relieved.

He felt something run down his throat and his body wanted to gag, but could not. The substance was awful and made his insides burn. Not his stomach, but his bones and then quickly his veins. Someone's lips were on his and air was blown into his mouth and into his lungs. Then someone leaned down on his chest and pumped on it with enough pressure to bruise ribs. His veins burned, burned so much he wanted to move but his body wouldn't, it was too heavy.

His chest was pumped a dozen times and then he was breathed into again. Draco wanted to tell the one responsible to stop, to leave him alone, but his mind was only half there, and it was clearly not attached to his body anymore.

"Come on, Draco, don't do this, don't do this," Butler Paul begged as he did the chest compressions, his third eye, a glass one that allowed him to see since being viciously blinded by the Dark Lord, glinting while his ruined eyes desired nothing more than to tear up if they still could. He breathed down into Draco again and Draco's body fought that a little. It wanted to breathe on its own, but could not manage.

Draco felt more of that foul liquid get dumped down his throat and he managed to choke that time.

"Good boy, good boy," Butler Paul kept repeating, trying to encourage Draco to breathe by pressing onto his chest a little. If Draco did not manage on his own he would start the CPR again.

Draco's body shuddered but seemed confused as to what it was supposed to do. His heart hurt…it wasn't beating, but his lungs were working, or trying to. He felt Butler Paul's lips on his again, his breath being blown into Draco's lungs and Draco's ribs were compressed again.

Another man spoke and Butler Paul apparently backed off.

Draco was left laying there feeling ready to go to sleep finally, despite the burning he felt, when a sudden electricity shot through him causing his back to arch up off the floor. Draco felt his heart jump and he collapsed to the floor, barely conscious mind screaming about what the hell had just happened.

He was dead; did they not have any respect for that?

He was still thinking, so he supposed he wasn't dead yet…but he was mostly dead…couldn't they just let him finish what he had started?

Draco felt that shock run through him again and his eyes opened in reaction, a flash of his Healer pointing a wand down at his chest registering in his mind before everything went black again.

His heart leapt but then stopped. It was quiet for a long moment, but then, it beat once. A moment later it beat again, and then again, and a steady but very slow pace.

Damn it.

Draco felt someone rubbing his chest up and down affectionately, encouragingly.

"Good boy, Draco, good boy," he said, over and over as someone else lifted his left arm, messing with it in some fashion his mind did not have the effort to bother and try to understand at the moment.

His life had been saved by a Blood-Replenishing Potion and some stubbornness on old, blind, Butler Paul's part.

Draco cursed the man as he lay there, only half there still, so tired and body aching.

Why couldn't anyone just let him do what he wanted?

Draco blinked back tears and Ginny hugged him from behind, spreading her legs so that they could wrap around him slightly with her knees pulled up. Draco sobbed softly and she did not ask what was wrong, or even speak for a long time. She was not sure she wanted to know why there was a massive bloodstain on his bed, and given Draco's reaction, she had enough sense to know it bought back a bad memory for him.

Draco could not tell her about that night. It was a difficult thing to have to try and explain to someone, painful enough to simply remember, and that was without all the shame.

He did not want to tell Ginny that he had tried to kill himself, or that he had killed his own father by helping the Order. She had seen the scar years before, when it wasn't even a scar yet, but he doubted it had registered in her mind as she was understandably more shocked by the Dark Mark beneath it. What would she say if she saw the scar now? Would she know what it meant and how he would have obviously gotten it?

Could he hide it?

He wanted to hide it.

Draco just sat there and cried, and let Ginny hold him because, as much as his pride demanded that he stop crying like a big pathetic baby and push her away, he could not bring himself to do it.

Sometimes his persistent flashbacks were just too overwhelming, even for "unflappable" him.

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

Ginny walked the drafty halls of the Malfoy Manor alone, swiveling her head around like an owl as she passed through each hallway, looking around at all there was to see.

Draco seemed to want some space, so she had allowed that.

She did not let him meander far, making sure every time he wandered down some corridor she was not long behind, because she feared getting lost, but she kept her distance.

The hallway she was in now had mirrors of all shapes and sizes hung. She watched her reflection leap from one to another and become fractionalized between several. She stumbled across a few that seemed to be more than just looking glasses, one revealing her as nothing but a bare-boned skeleton, and one inverted so her reflection was upside-down.

She rounded a corner to find Draco about halfway down, standing silently, a stuffed bunny still in hand that he had rescued from the bedroom floor while crying, now looking up at a painting on the wall whose sheet had fallen away partially at some point. It was only as Ginny neared that she saw who the portrait was of.

"Draco?" she asked softly, not touching him as she came up along side him but still some space between them. A strapping and younger Draco stared down his nose at them both. "Draco?" she repeated, looking at his hollow eyes as he looked up at the painting.

"I was quite…handsome once," he muttered.

"What?"

"Before I got sick," he said, indicating the painting of him, undoubtedly when he had been about fifteen, before he had been attacked by Greyback. "I used to be so handsome. The girls at Hogwarts swooned, even though I was a self-righteous git and a prat to them all," he said, looking utterly depressed, a depression that had first emerged back in his bedroom and had since set in. Somehow the topic of conversation they had shared in the car on the way over had gone from lighthearted and teasing then, to downright depressing with Draco staring up at the painting of his former self now.

"Draco, you are still handsome now. Why are you saying this?" she asked softly, studying his profile.

"Now? Now I have wasted away. I'm not what I used to be. I'm scrawny, and sickly, and going blind. My hair is wonky, my body is lanky, my skin looks tired and cold…" he said, looking up at his strapping young self as though he were about to cry. "I was dapper once, now I'm just a mangy looking old werewolf," he said, eyes finally falling away from his old likeness. He did not have to say what he wanted to next, that it was no mystery to him why he had never dated after getting out of Azkaban. He had played it off like his reputation proceeded him, but Ginny could tell he had, over time, some how twisted that to be some harsh judgment other's made on his appearance as it slowly wasted away over the years.

That was a little heartbreaking.

"No," Ginny said firmly, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around to face her. She was not about to listen to this. Draco Malfoy was not allowed to be this depressed. There was something terribly unbalanced in the world if Draco Malfoy was incapable of being a confident prat. She knew he was more than that, but she didn't want what else there was to know about him to just be a ball of self-pitying despair.

She wanted a part of him to be that git she loved to hate back in Hogwarts, and that other part of him to be a sensitive but real person. She had thought she had seen that before in him…but apparently there was another part of him still, a large part of him that was terribly disheartened and insecure.

"Draco, you are not old, and you most certainly are not `mangy' looking, not by any means," she insisted, Draco looking down and not at her. He seemed embarrassed now. She took a deep breath and decided to try and tackle this from a different angle. Draco was still clearly upset from whatever ghost of his past he had encountered in his bedroom, and it had left him vulnerable for this little breakdown he was having now. She understood that, and she knew he was not fishing for complements, so she needed to not assure him that he looked perfect now. That would only make him uncomfortable and sort of be a lie.

She would make him all better, if she could, the only way she could think how.

"You have looked better," she started off honestly, "but not in any way that can't be remedied," she assured, smiling softly while still gripping his shoulders tight. "We could trim your hair. A nice crisp new hairstyle to brighten you up," she offered, speaking softly, brushing his long hair away from his face as he still refused to look at her. "It would really open up your face as well as your personality to not have it to hide behind," she said, tucking the one side behind his left ear to be out of the way.

"A healthy dose of sun would do you some good, but for a quick fix I could warm up your skin with a kiss of sun using a tanning charm. Just enough to give you some color," she said, brushing the backs of her knuckles across his left cheek affectionately. "And I will make sure you eat heartily, to put some meat on you. Just those few little adjustments and you will be just as strapping if not more so than you were then," she said, indicating the painting that gave her a dignified yet outraged "humph."

"I think I'm a lost cause," he mumbled.

"Nonsense. You are just depressed," she said and he dared a timid glance up at her. He felt he was hardly making a good impression on her…

"Give me a chance. A little effort and you will have to beat the women off of you with that cane of yours," she smiled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders loosely while leaning back so their lower bodies flush but their upper were separate.

"You couldn't do anything for my height could you?" Draco asked with a weak smile, eyes glinting slightly with a hint of his old, teasing self.

"I happen to like you just the height you are," she said promptly. "We could give you some Skele-Gro and hope you only grow a few inches and not an extra arm or something, but you would probably end up looking like ol' Hagrid if anything," she teased and was so happy to see a smile break across his face.

"I suppose being a tad on the short side is better than looking like that brute," he said, wrapping his arms around her lower waist and holding her there, their shoulders still a distance apart.

"It's good to see you smile…you should do it more often…it makes you look years younger you know."

"Does it now," he asked softly, smiling just a little.

"I like seeing you smile," she said and he did, for her.

Ginny let him hug her, and she hugged him.

Maybe Hermione had been right and this was more than she had asked for and could handle…but she couldn't turn him away, not now, not after she had been invited into his little world, as gloomy as that seemed to be at times. She couldn't reject him for it.

Maybe all he needed was a little counseling…a little therapy, but if she were to refuse him she would be no better than everyone else. She would be no better than the world that had turned its back on him.

She didn't know anyone from the war that was perfectly well adjusted. Honestly, Harry was a complete mess, and he hadn't spent ten years in Azkaban dwelling like Draco had, on top of being so sick.

A realization swept over her with such clear understanding now, with him holding her, her holding him, it made her eyes open. It was him, compartmentalizing himself, so that people could not know him, get close to him, understand him, then hurt him. While in his arms Ginny knew that Draco was somehow using his Occlumency to help her see this, understand him. He had opened himself up a little to her. It was the most significant thing he had said or done yet. He wanted her to understand him, not pity him.

She was shocked by that because he was actually turning to her for comfort.

She knew no one ever got to see how miserable Draco really was, he would never allow that. He and Harry were a lot alike in that aspect: both so private, neither willing to allow others to see their weakness. That was why she felt so honored that Draco had let her see him cry, that he had confessed his insecurity to her, and that he was now being so honest without a word spoken. Harry had never done that. He had just turned to the bottle for comfort, instead of her.

Draco was always so confident and cool when she wasn't somehow managing to draw out his insecurities; she doubted anyone even saw him to be any different than he had been in Hogwarts.

He stood alone against the world, and that must have been a very lonely place to be.

Ginny realized, with a little shock to her gut, that she could not let him continue on alone.

Was she making this out to be more than what she intended? Was she trying to make this into more than just a fling?

She wanted to say no, but she would have been lying to herself.

No pun intended, but Draco was like a little lost puppy with a limp that needed care, love, and affection. How could she refuse that?

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Author's Note:

Sorry about the sudden turn for ANGST! It was pretty fluffy up until the flashback. I liked writing about the house, and I spent hours doing research on the area and of old English Manors to write it. The House-elves were fun and I liked Draco's reaction to seeing them again/ their reaction to seeing him. This look into "Draco's World" was fun, and I hope for it to not be the last.

Poor Draco needs a hug.

Yes, some of you don't like his "bunny" but I do. It is actually a Jackalope, since it has felt antlers, and I love him. He is a character in this story, whether you like it or not. :P

Review, pweeeeeeze.

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